by Cathy Glass
‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Very well read.’
‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said. ‘You’re welcome.’
I smiled and could have kissed him, but he wasn’t ready for that yet. Then, in his well-practised routine, he returned the book to his bag and took out the flash cards, which he placed face down on my lap.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘You’re welcome,’ he returned.
Starting with the top card, I held it up for Danny to see. There was a long pause before he was able to recognize the word. ‘Well done,’ I said. I held up the next card and then the next, and so on. Each card showed a single word that had appeared in the book he’d just read, but taken out of context and without the picture for reference he struggled. He got about half of the eight cards right first time and I praised him. Those he got wrong we tried again and I helped him break down the word phonetically, but he quickly tired and grew agitated, windmilling his arms, so I knew it was time to stop.
‘Good boy. You’ve done well,’ I said. ‘That’s enough for this evening.’
‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said. Whipping the cards out of my hand, he returned them to his bag and took out an exercise book, which he placed squarely on my lap. On the front was written ‘Home School Book’.
‘I have to write in this,’ I said.
He nodded and then watched me carefully as I opened the book and turned the pages. I would read it thoroughly when I had more time, but I read some of the entries. His teacher had written: Danny was able to sit with the other children while I took registration. He practised his numbers to ten. At morning break he stayed in the playground for the whole fifteen minutes. His mother’s comments included: Danny was very tired and angry this evening so didn’t do his reading. Danny tore up his homework sheet. Danny hid for most of the evening and had an early night. Danny says he hates school. That morning Yvonne had written: Danny took a long time to settle and we spent half an hour in the quiet room. The afternoon had improved and Yvonne had written: Danny joined the other children in the class for art and story time.
‘So you had art today?’ I said. ‘You like that.’
‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said.
I took my pen from the corner table and Danny watched me carefully as I wrote. I said out loud what I was writing. ‘Danny had a very good evening,’ I said slowly. ‘He met my social worker Jill, played with Lego, ate a good meal and then read his book to me. We spent ten minutes working with the flash cards and Danny got half of them right first time. Well done, Danny.’
I closed the book and, smiling, handed it back to him, and he returned it to his bag.
‘Time for your bath now,’ I said. I stood and offered him my hand.
‘Time for your bath,’ he repeated.
He ignored my hand but came with me, and we went upstairs with Danny clambering up on all fours like a much younger child. I knew his bath-time routine from his mother’s notes. First he went to the toilet while I waited outside. Then we went into his bedroom where he lifted soft-toy George from his pillow, took out his pyjamas and returned George to sit on top of the pillow.
‘Time for your bath now,’ he said again.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
We went out of his bedroom, round the landing and into the bathroom. I explained to him that I would run the water in his bath to make sure it was the right temperature, as I had done the night before with the water in the basin. I guessed he remembered this for he didn’t object as he had done the previous evening. While the bath filled he took off his clothes and put them into the laundry basket.
‘Good boy,’ I said.
Once the bath was ready, I offered him my hand to help him in. ‘You can get in now, Danny,’ I said. ‘It’s the right temperature.’
He suddenly gasped and, turning, flung open the bathroom door and ran round the landing in his birthday suit. I went after him. Lucy came up the stairs at the exact moment Danny flashed by on the landing. ‘Oh!’ she cried in mock horror, covering her eyes. ‘You haven’t got any clothes on!’ Lucy was joking, although in keeping with fostering guidelines we always wore clothes around the house and encouraged the children we fostered to do the same. While appearing naked in front of other family members is perfectly natural in many families, it can be very embarrassing, intimidating or even traumatic for a child who has been abused. But Danny was oblivious and continued into his bedroom, where he pulled open the bottom drawer of the chest and took out a plastic bag, which I now remembered contained his bath toys. ‘Well remembered,’ I said.
He closed the drawer, sped back round the landing to the bathroom and flung all the toys into the bath. Still refusing my help, he scrambled over the side of the bath, and then sat happily in the warm water playing with the toys. The brightly coloured plastic and rubber toys included a variety of fish, a small yacht and a dinghy that contained a little figure in diving gear. Danny chopped the water with his hands, creating waves, which made the fish appear to swim and the boats bob up and down as though they were on the ocean. While he was occupied playing, I washed his back with the sponge, and then gave it to him to wash his front and legs. Like with many boys his age, it was a very quick wash – he liked playing in the water but didn’t like washing. I knelt beside the bath as he continued playing contentedly. A warm bath is comforting for children, as it is for adults. Danny took the little diving man from the dinghy and plunged him into the water. ‘Drowning! Drowning!’ he suddenly cried, holding the toy under the water. Then he pulled the figure out. ‘Saved him!’ he declared. ‘Danny saved him!
I smiled.
He repeated this a number of times. He seemed to like the idea of the diver falling into deep water, nearly drowning and then being rescued by him. Perhaps it gave him a feeling of being in charge, I didn’t know. But then suddenly, without warning, Danny threw himself under the water and lay submerged in the bath with his mouth and eyes shut and his blonde hair floating out. I was surprised he didn’t mind the feeling of being completely covered by water – many children don’t like it and keep their heads above water when learning to swim. But Danny stayed beneath the water with his face submerged until his breath ran out and he had to come up for air.
‘Danny drowning,’ he said, as he sat upright, with water running down his face. He looked at me carefully.
‘No, you weren’t drowning,’ I reassured him. ‘You were playing a game and having fun. You’re safe.’
‘Danny drowning,’ he said again, more insistently, and taking a deep breath threw himself under the water again.
He stayed under for longer this time, and when he rose he looked at me, clearly expecting a reaction. ‘Danny drowning,’ he said adamantly.
I wasn’t sure what game this was, but it didn’t feel good to me. ‘No, you’re not drowning,’ I said. ‘You’re playing.’
He went under again and when he resurfaced he almost shouted, ‘Danny drowning!’
I thought it was time to end the game. ‘You’re safe,’ I said. ‘You’ve had your bath. Now it’s time to get out and dry yourself.’
‘Danny drowning,’ he said, and was clearly about to take a breath and go under the water again.
I opened the plug and the water began to drain out. ‘Danny will be on dry land very soon,’ I said.
He looked at me oddly, clearly not knowing what to make of this.
‘I like other games when Danny isn’t drowning,’ I said, and offered my hand to help him out.
He ignored my hand and with a lot of effort clambered over the side of the bath. I wrapped him in his bath towel and patted him dry as I knew from the notes his mother did. Reva hadn’t mentioned the ‘Danny drowning’ game, yet I felt sure it wasn’t something new, for it had seemed a well-practised routine to me.
Once Danny was dry I waited while he put on his pyjamas. He wanted to do it himself. I knew from the notes that he didn’t like the noise of a hairdryer, so following Reva’s advice I towel-dried his hai
r. I then waited as Danny meticulously brushed his teeth, wiped his mouth and spent some time folding and adjusting his towel on the rail beside ours. As we went round the landing I called to Adrian, Lucy and Paula that Danny was going to bed.
‘Night, Danny,’ Adrian called from his room.
Lucy and Paula came out of their rooms to say goodnight.
‘Would you like a kiss, Mister?’ Lucy asked, bending down to his height.
But he shook his head, so they just said goodnight.
In Danny’s room I parted his curtains as he’d showed me he liked them the evening before – even so he went over and adjusted them – then he turned down the dimmer switch until the light was a faint glow, which would stay on all night. Finally, he climbed into bed. I knew from Reva’s notes that she didn’t read him a story in bed, but kissed him goodnight and came out.
‘Would you like a kiss?’ I asked him.
He shook his head. ‘Mummy kiss Danny,’ he said.
‘That’s all right. I understand. Goodnight, love.’
He looked at me, almost making eye contact, and I knew he had something to say and was searching for the words he needed. There was often a delay before he spoke. ‘George come here tomorrow?’ he asked eventually.
‘Yes, that’s right, love. I’m collecting George tomorrow while you’re at school.’
He paused again before he said, ‘Danny go home for dinner and then George here?’
‘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
Don’t Tell the Social Worker
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 yes
terday 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.