Authors: Cathy Glass
Saving Danny (12 page)
‘Yes. Exactly right,’ I said. ‘That will happen tomorrow.’ There seemed to be little wrong with Danny’s memory; it just took him longer to process and retrieve the information he needed and then find the words to express himself.
‘Goodnight then, love,’ I said again. ‘Time to go to sleep. You must be very tired.’
He lay down, drew soft-toy George into bed beside him and then pulled the duvet right up over his head. ‘Goodnight,’ I said again as I came out, but there was no reply.
I closed his bedroom door as he liked it and then waited on the landing to see if he got out of bed, but it was all quiet. I’d check on him again later, and also ease the duvet from his face as I had the night before. I was pleased Danny was settling at night. Some children who come into care are so upset to begin with that it takes them hours to go to sleep – worries often seem worse at night – and I sit with them and comfort them until they eventually fall asleep. But despite Danny’s difficulties, he seemed to be coping with all the changes and the loss of his parents in his own way, although of course I didn’t know what he was really thinking or feeling.
It was now after 8.30 p.m. and the evening had disappeared, firstly with Jill’s visit and then seeing to Danny. The foster child (or children) tend to have first claim on a carer’s time, so it’s essential we redress the balance and make time for our own children when we have the opportunity. Otherwise they can feel unappreciated and resent all the time their parents spend with the looked-after child. I now went to Paula, Lucy and Adrian in turn and spent some time chatting with each of them – about what they’d done during the day and any worries they had. There was always something to talk about. Satisfied they were all OK, I went downstairs to read the placement information forms Jill had brought, while they took turns in the bathroom, showering and then getting ready for bed.
I sat in the living room with Toscha curled up beside me on the sofa and read the paperwork, which included Danny’s parents’ names and contact details, a brief medical history of Danny and what was known of his behavioural and learning difficulties, much of which I already knew. I filed it in my folder and then took Danny’s education plan from the envelope Yvonne had given to me. It was a single-page document headed with Danny’s name, date of birth and the names of his teacher and classroom assistant. Below these were three vertical columns headed ‘Target’, ‘Strategy’ and ‘Evaluation’. Danny’s present learning targets, which would be revised as he met them, were to write his name; learn two new key words a week, which would be reinforced by the flash cards; and recognize which were the bigger numbers in one to five. These targets were obviously very basic for a six-year-old and would already have been achieved by most children that age. Danny and I had practised the key-word flash cards that evening, and the rest we’d do as and when we had time. Danny had a lot to cope with in life aside from school, and it was important he didn’t feel under pressure and become overloaded. His emotional wellbeing was as important as his education, which I felt sure his teacher, mother and social worker would appreciate.
I filed the individual education plan in my fostering folder and then I looked up Danny’s home address on a street map of my area in preparation for collecting George the following morning. Although I’d lived in the same area all my life, Danny’s home was in a new development that I wasn’t familiar with. I jotted down the house number and road and made some notes on how to get there. Before I wrote up my log notes I went upstairs to check on Danny and to say goodnight to Adrian, Paula and Lucy.
I slowly opened Danny’s bedroom door and crept in. As the light was on low it was easy to see the lump in the bed that was Danny. I gently eased back the duvet and tucked it under his chin. He was fast asleep, flat on his back with soft-toy George snuggled on the pillow beside him and his mouth slightly open. He looked so angelic and vulnerable I felt a surge of love and protection. Clearly he must be missing his parents a great deal, but he lacked the ability to express his emotion. Perhaps he sensed my presence, for he stirred slightly in his sleep and very, very quietly said, ‘George coming tomorrow. I love George.’
Chapter Ten
The following morning I got the shock of my life when I went into Danny’s room to wake him for school and found his bed empty. The duvet was on the bed, pushed back, but the pillow was missing. ‘Danny!’ I called, looking under the bed. ‘Where are you?’
My heart immediately began racing with anxiety. Surely he couldn’t have left his room in the night? I would have heard him, wouldn’t I? But there was nowhere else in the room he could have hidden other than under the bed. I frantically looked around and with rising panic started towards the bedroom door. As I did I glanced at the small single wardrobe standing against the wall to my left. He couldn’t be in there, could he? It wasn’t big enough. I opened the wardrobe door and to my utter relief and surprise saw Danny at the bottom, curled on his pillow like a hamster in a nest. He was awake and looking at me.
‘Danny, whatever are you doing in there?’ I said, offering him my hand to help him out.
He looked at me blankly.
‘Come on, out you get,’ I said. ‘You gave me a fright. How long have you been in there?’
Ignoring my hand and my question, he clambered out, dragging his pillow behind him. He silently returned the pillow to his bed and pulled up the duvet, making his bed.
‘Danny, I don’t want you hiding in the wardrobe again or in any cupboard,’ I said. ‘It’s dangerous. You could have got trapped inside.’ Although all the doors in my house, including cupboard doors, could be opened from the inside, Danny didn’t know that, and one day he might find himself in a house that didn’t have this safety precaution and accidentally lock himself in. There’d been tragic accidents reported in the news of children hiding in cupboards and disused freezers, and suffocating. ‘Do you understand? No hiding in cupboards,’ I said, emphasizing the point.
He didn’t look at me but gave a small nod.
‘Good. Now it’s time for you to get dressed.’
I waited while he laid out his clothes in order on the bed, and then I left him to start dressing while I woke Adrian, Lucy and Paula. When I returned to his room there hadn’t been much progress, but I’d allowed plenty of time for him to dress and get ready in the morning. When he was finally dressed and we were going downstairs he said, ‘For breakfast I have cornflakes in a bowl, with milk and half a teaspoon of sugar.’
‘Yes, you can have that,’ I said with a smile. ‘It’s what you had yesterday for breakfast. Or you could have something different.’
‘For breakfast I have cornflakes in a bowl, with milk and half a teaspoon of sugar,’ he said again, concentrating hard as if he might forget it,
‘That’s fine. You will have that,’ I confirmed.
Adrian, Lucy and Paula were just finishing their breakfasts as we arrived.
‘Hi, Danny,’ Paula said as she left the table to finish getting ready.
Danny didn’t reply.
‘Good morning,’ Adrian said to him as Danny sat at the table.
Danny looked blank.
‘Are you going to say hi, Mister?’ Lucy asked him, affectionately ruffling his hair.
He pulled away.
‘Suit yourself,’ she said, a little put out.
‘Not everyone likes having their hair ruffled,’ I said to Lucy. Adrian did it to the girls and they thought it was funny.
‘Are we allowed to talk to him?’ Lucy asked a tad sarcastically, not at her best first thing in the morning.
I threw her a warning look.
‘Just asking,’ she said with attitude, and flounced upstairs to finish getting ready. I knew she’d be fine later. We all have our moments.
Although I’d left plenty of time for Danny to dress, eat his breakfast and then wash and brush his teeth, there was no time to spare and we arrived in the playground five minutes before the start of school. I waited with Danny at the end of the hopscotch as the other children played around us. When the whistle blew, Yvonne appeared from the main doors and came over to us.
‘Good morning,’ she said with a cheery smile. ‘Did you have a nice evening?’
Danny managed a small nod. I said, ‘Yes, thank you. Danny met Jill. He played with the Lego and we also had time to read his book and work on the flash cards. I’ve written it in the home school book.’
‘Excellent,’ Yvonne said, looking at Danny. ‘So you had a good evening at Cathy’s.’ Our rather overstated conversation was to help Danny develop language; the more he heard language being used the more he would hopefully learn what to say and when.
‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said at last.
‘Good. And Mummy is collecting you tonight from school?’ Yvonne said to him.
‘Yes,’ I said when Danny didn’t answer.
‘And I think something important is happening this morning,’ Yvonne said with a twinkle in her eye, encouraging Danny to make conversation. ‘I think it’s about George?’
We both looked at Danny for a response, but his expression remained neutral. ‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘I’m collecting George this morning.’
‘It’ll be nice having George stay with you,’ Yvonne said. ‘Now say goodbye to Cathy and we’ll line up with the other children, ready to go into school.’
‘Goodbye, Danny,’ I said. ‘Have a good day. See you this evening.’
Danny didn’t reply.
‘Say goodbye to Cathy,’ Yvonne encouraged. But he kept his eyes down.
‘It’s OK, don’t worry,’ I said to Yvonne. ‘There’s a lot going on for him, and he’s been a bit quiet this morning.’
She smiled, we said goodbye and they crossed the playground to line up with Danny’s class. While it didn’t really affect me that Danny refused to say goodbye, I could see how upsetting it must have been for his mother, when all the other children were calling goodbye and hugging and kissing their parents. Why Danny had refused to say goodbye to me or talk to Yvonne about George I didn’t know, but it seemed to be part of his difficulties that he couldn’t always understand how to communicate appropriately or respond to the emotional expectations of others. An assessment from the educational psychologist should offer some explanation.
I went home, had a coffee, loaded the laundry into the washing machine and then set off in my car to Danny’s house to pick up George, with my written directions on the passenger seat beside me. I’d seen some of the houses in the development where Danny lived advertised for sale in the local newspaper. The estate agents had used terms like ‘select’, ‘luxurious’, ‘magnificent’, ‘spacious’ and ‘bespoke living’ to describe them, so I assumed they were rather nice. But it wasn’t until I drove into the road marked ‘Private’ that led to the new estate that I realized just how magnificent they were.
Huge detached houses stood majestically in their own grounds on both sides of the road, many behind security gates. Each house was unique and different from its neighbours, but they all had double or treble brick-built garages with sweeping carriage driveways, mature shrubs and neatly trimmed front lawns. Clearly a lot of thought had gone into the planning of the estate, for although it was relatively new it looked well established and had character and charm. I briefly wondered what the houses cost – the advertisements had stated ‘price on application’ – and who could afford to buy them. Certainly no one I knew.
I slowed the car to glance at my notes, then continued to the end of the road and turned left towards Number 11, where Danny lived. I stopped outside his house and hesitated, unsure if I should pull to the end of the drive and approach the security gates or leave my car in the road. There were no other cars parked in the road, presumably because the owners’ and visitors’ cars could be accommodated in the garages and on the massive expanse of driveways. Reva must have been looking out for me, for as I hesitated the security gates began to swing open. I pulled over and drove between the two stone pillars either side of the entry gate and then along and round the drive. There were no other cars on the drive, so I parked close to the vast mock-Tudor house. Cutting the engine, I got out and crossed the brick driveway to the front door. Although Reva knew I was there she didn’t open the door until I’d pressed the chimes. When she did I could see she was far more composed than when I’d met her the previous day at school.
‘Good morning, Cathy, do come in,’ she said politely.
‘Thank you. How are you?’ I stepped in.
‘Well, thank you. This way. Follow me.’
There was a formality in Reva’s manner, and she was dressed quite formally too, in a navy skirt and blouse, stockings and low-heeled navy shoes. Perhaps she was going out straight after I’d collected George. In my casual trousers and jersey top I felt underdressed. I tried not to appear overawed by the splendour of the house as I followed Reva through the reception hall, which was about the same size as most of the downstairs of my house. It was decorated a pale cream and was furnished in a minimalist style, but splendidly, with a large palm tree in a huge stone pot beside a luxurious hand-crafted grey leather chaise longue.
‘You’ve got a lovely home,’ I said.
‘Thank you,’ Reva said. We continued into a sitting room.
If the outside of the house and the hall were grand, the sitting room took my breath away: expansive glass sliding patio doors extended the entire width of the room, giving a panoramic view over the countryside and rolling hills beyond. The plain décor continued in this room, with pale walls, two long cream leather sofas, matching coffee tables and a mature fig tree in a cream marble pot, which matched the magnificent marble fireplace.
Reva hesitated. ‘Let me show you George first and then I’ll make us a drink,’ she said.
I nodded and followed her out of the sitting room and into the bespoke modern kitchen, where an expanse of polished silver-grey granite work surface glittered in the concealed lighting. A six-hob double oven was built into the oak units, as was a towering American-style fridge freezer. Reva opened a door at the end of the kitchen and I followed her through the utility and laundry room, which was about the same size as my living room. Given that my house was so very different from Danny’s, I thought he was doing well in the way he was settling with me.