Saving Danny

by Cathy Glass

  ‘Absolutely,’ I agreed.

  ‘Well, enjoy your day,’ she called, and with a small wave to us all she closed her bedroom window.

  ‘Danny, you need to be quieter,’ I said. ‘It’s early on Sunday morning and people stay in bed.’

  ‘Come on, Danny, we’re going to the park,’ Lucy encouraged, eager to get him away to avoid further embarrassment.

  Danny remained where he was, as though his feet were set in concrete. I could see we weren’t going anywhere fast, and I didn’t want Danny’s refusal to spoil Adrian’s, Lucy’s and Paula’s enjoyment of our outing or to embarrass them more. ‘You three go on to the park,’ I said. ‘Danny and I will join you shortly.’ The park was only a ten-minute walk away and I knew I could trust them to be sensible.

  ‘I’ll stay with you, Mum,’ Paula offered.

  ‘You don’t have to, love,’ I said. ‘Danny will be fine soon.’

  But Paula wanted to stay, so Adrian and Lucy went ahead while Paula and I talked calmly to Danny, trying to reassure him that the snow wouldn’t hurt him and to encourage him to take another step. There was so little snow it would have been comical, had he not been so afraid of it.

  ‘Watch me, Danny,’ Paula said. She walked to the end of the path and back again.

  Danny stared, horror-struck, at her footprints as though she’d performed witchcraft.

  ‘Put it back,’ he said, pointing to the indents she’d left.

  ‘You can’t put the snow back,’ I said. ‘It’s not missing. Paula has squashed the snow down. It’s nothing to worry about.’

  I assumed Danny hadn’t experienced snow before, although we’d had some in recent years. I tried to think of something I could compare it to that might make him less afraid. ‘You like making patterns, Danny,’ I said. ‘You can make patterns out of snow.’

  I squatted and drew some circles in the snow with my finger. Danny watched carefully. Then Paula drew two eyes, a nose and an upturned mouth in each of the circles, creating three smiling faces.

  Danny’s expression lost some of its anxiety.

  ‘You can make all sorts of patterns in the snow,’ I said. I drew a zig-zag line, a triangle and then a house.

  Finally Danny raised his hand and tentatively poked a gloved finger at the snow. He watched the impression it made and then gradually moved his finger around, drawing some wavy lines.

  ‘Wonderful, well done,’ I said. ‘That’s a nice pattern. Footprints are patterns too. Let’s see if we can make some footprint patterns, shall we?’

  Danny let me hold his hand and we took a step along the path, then another and another. ‘Patterns,’ he said, pointing to the footprints we’d made.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ I said. ‘We are making patterns, and we are going to make them all the way to the park.’ Which is what we did.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Love

  By the time we were in the park Danny had lost much of his fearfulness of the snow and actually began enjoying it by hopping and jumping to create different footprint patterns. Paula and I praised him enormously. He’d just needed encouragement to gain the confidence to experience something new. We spotted Lucy and Adrian laughing and running around as they threw snow at each other. Paula ran over to join them while Danny stayed with me and we concentrated on making more footprints in the snow. There were other people in the park, but much of the snow was still untouched.

  ‘Danny’s footprint,’ he said in wonder each time he created a fresh imprint.

  ‘Yes, that’s your footprint,’ I said. ‘And here is mine.’

  He was mesmerized and in wonder at it all. I was so pleased I’d made the effort to bring him, for it would have been far easier to return indoors. But the more Danny broke out of his comfort zone and tried what the world had to offer, the more his confidence would grow.

  I’d brought some slices of bread with us to feed the ducks, so Danny and I made our way towards the pond. Adrian, Lucy and Paula joined us there, but Danny was frightened of the ducks and it took a lot of persuading before he would break off a piece of bread and throw it to them, as we were doing. Most of the ducks were standing on the bank, and Danny jumped back with a start if one of them came too close. He watched in awe as Adrian extended his arm trying to encourage the ducks to take the bread from his hand, but laughed, as we did, when one adventurous mallard came slipping and sliding across the icy pond towards us to take some.

  ‘People should never walk on ice,’ I took the opportunity to caution Danny. ‘It’s not safe.’ Although I didn’t think it was likely he’d ever try – he wasn’t a child who was tempted by adventure.

  Once we’d thrown all the bread to the ducks, Adrian, Lucy and Paula went off across the park in search of some fresh snow to throw at each other. I asked Danny if he wanted to go with them or play in the children’s area and have a swing or a slide, but he shook his head.

  ‘We’ll go on the swings another time then,’ I said.

  Danny was content to keep making footprints in the snow. As with most of his pursuits and activities, when he found something that interested him he wanted to do it over and over again, long after most children would have grown bored and wanted to play something else.

  Eventually, with our faces glowing from the cold and ready for a hot chocolate, we made our way home. The snow was melting and Danny became agitated when he saw that the footprints we’d made on the front path had distorted and were disappearing. I tried to explain that the snow was melting, but he scowled and told it to ‘Stop!’

  Lucy and Paula smiled indulgently, but I could see that Danny was becoming very agitated. I diverted his attention by pointing out the large pigeon that was sitting puffed out against the cold on the neighbour’s fence as I opened the front door and let us in.

  The green light of the answerphone on the hall table was flashing, signalling a message. I thought it might be John, Adrian and Paula’s father, who sometimes telephoned on a Sunday if he wasn’t seeing them. But when I pressed play Reva’s voice came through, tight and anxious: ‘Whatever you do, Cathy, don’t take Danny out in the snow! It will freak him out, he’s petrified of it.’

  ‘Mummy?’ Danny asked, puzzled.

  ‘Yes. It’s all right, love. There’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll telephone your mummy later and tell her you’ve had a good time in the snow.’ Which Danny accepted. He was now more interested in letting George out in what was left of the snow.

  Adrian went into the garden with Danny while I made the hot chocolate and a snack. Lucy and Paula had had enough of the cold for one day and stayed indoors. I watched Adrian and Danny through the kitchen window as the milk warmed in the pan. George was on the lawn and Danny had squatted down to examine the footprints he’d left, which were clearly very different to ours. I could see he was intrigued, and Adrian was beside him, doubtless talking to him about the footprints. Adrian read a lot and had good general knowledge, which, like my father, he was happy to share with others.

  When everyone was at the table with their hot drinks and snacks I took the opportunity to telephone Reva – from the living room, so Danny couldn’t hear. I explained that I’d only got her message after we’d returned home and that Danny – after some persuasion – had been fine in the snow.’

  ‘As long as he’s all right,’ Reva said a little stiffly. ‘I’ll see you Tuesday then.’ And with a rather curt goodbye she hung up, so I guessed I was still in her bad books, although I wasn’t sure why.

  Danny desperately needed new experiences, even if it stretched him to his limit, otherwise he would miss out on so much. By Monday morning all the snow had melted and I needed to do a small shop at our local supermarket, about a fifteen-minute walk away, so as it was half-term holiday I decided to take Danny. Adrian, Lucy and Paula didn’t want to come, preferring to stay at home. I explained to Danny where we were going and why. He didn’t say anything but did put on his coat and shoes when I asked him to without a fuss. We passed the
supermarket on our way to school, so it wasn’t completely unfamiliar to him, although I’d never taken him inside before.

  Outside Danny held my hand, as he knew he had to in the street, and as we walked I talked to him about some of the things we passed – the crocuses and other plants in the front gardens, the house numbers on the gates, the birds looking for food, as well as the shop we were going to. Danny didn’t say much, but I knew from the look of concentration on his face that he was taking it all in. Talking to him would also widen his vocabulary as well as his general knowledge.

  I’ve found before that if children are involved in shopping they are less likely to become bored and disruptive, so I enlisted Danny’s help from the start, explaining that I needed a big boy to help me. I took a wire basket, showed him my shopping list, read out the first item – a can of tomatoes – and asked him to help me find it. I knew where it was, but we had the time and it was an interesting challenge for him to search it out.

  ‘Well done,’ I said, as he proudly took the can from the shelf and placed it carefully in the basket.

  I showed him the list again and read out the next item – bananas – and we went off in search of the fruit and vegetables. It took a long time before we had the dozen or so items on my shopping list and were at the checkout. The assistant was very patient as Danny, in his slow methodical way, insisted on taking each item from the basket and handing them to her one at a time for scanning. As we left the store I praised him and thanked him for his help. Although shopping was a comparatively small achievement, it had been another positive experience for Danny that would help boost his confidence and self-esteem.

  Unfortunately, as we headed back an ambulance sped past, its siren suddenly switching on and wailing. It made me start, but Danny was petrified. He threw himself on the ground and, clamping his hands over his ears, curled into a ball as he tried to protect himself from the noise. I knelt beside him and talked to him calmly as passers-by looked at us. Eventually I persuaded him to his feet, but it was some minutes before he felt able to take his hands away from his ears and was ready to continue home, even though the siren had long gone. I’d noticed before that Danny covered his ears if there was a loud or sudden noise, as though it was painful for him, and I was aware that some special needs children have very sensitive hearing. It was something I would mention to Terri.

  On Tuesday morning Danny returned to using the phrase ‘Yes, thank you very much’, which was to prove useful later that morning when the questionnaire for his review (due to take place the following week) arrived in the post. As usual with a child’s review there were two sets of forms: one for me as his carer to fill in, which I would do later when I had a quiet moment, and one for the child. It was a small booklet designed to encourage the child to give their views on being in care. As a foster carer I had a duty to ensure the child received the booklet and help them to fill it in if necessary. Although it was child-friendly – with coloured sketches and simple questions – given that Danny could barely write his name and had communication difficulties, I knew it was beyond him, even with my help. Nevertheless, I sat him down quietly at the table with the booklet in front of us and told him that Terri had sent the booklet for his review. I explained in simple language what a review was, and that the booklet gave him the chance to tell everyone what he thought about being in foster care. By the time I’d finished he was agitated and drumming his clenched fists on the table.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll read out each question. You say what comes into your head and I’ll write it down.’ I’d done this with other special needs children I’d fostered who couldn’t read or write. I began with the first question, which asked if he knew why he was in care. ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ Danny replied.

  It was his response, so I wrote it down and read out the second question, which asked how often he saw his social worker. ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said, which I also wrote. The next question asked what he liked about living with his foster carer and what he didn’t like. ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ Danny replied to both. And so on and so on until we’d completed the ten questions, all with the same response. Some questions included drawings of little faces with various expressions ranging from happy to sad to angry, and the child had to tick the one that best applied to them. Danny ticked them all, which I thought was probably a fair appraisal of the mixture of feelings he often had.

  On the back of the booklet was a line where the child had to sign their name, and Danny carefully wrote ‘Danny’. Beneath that was another line where the name of any person who had helped the child complete the form had to be entered. I wrote my name and added a note that ‘Yes, thank you very much’ was Danny’s favourite expression. I told Danny he’d done well, but I wondered how much he’d gained from the experience other than a degree of patience. While it’s important children in care are given the opportunity to express their views and have a say in planning their future, I sometimes feel that correct procedure can override common sense when it comes to form-filling. The review would learn more from me about Danny’s views on being in care than it would from the form.

  At twelve noon Reva arrived to collect Danny for the extra contact. She thanked me for having him ready with his coat and shoes on and said that she would return him at six o’clock. I used the time to catch up on the housework, which had fallen into second place due to the high level of Danny’s needs, as well as taking the opportunity to spend time with Paula, Lucy and Adrian. I was planning on taking Danny out again the following day. Like many parents and foster carers I liked to make the most of the school holidays, with a mixture of outings and activities at home. Normally I would have taken us all out on at least one day trip, but I knew Danny couldn’t cope with a full day in a strange place with new sights and sounds, so I was considering taking him to the cinema. Because it was half-term there was a good selection of films on suitable for children of most ages. Whether Danny could cope with a trip to the cinema was another matter, but I wanted to try.

  When Reva returned Danny she didn’t come in but said goodbye to him on the doorstep. Danny went through to see George and I asked her if he had ever been to the cinema.

  ‘Good grief, no!’ she exclaimed, astounded. ‘He couldn’t cope with that.’

  ‘Have you ever tried?’ I asked. I hoped it didn’t sound like a criticism, but if she had taken him I could learn from her experience.

  ‘No, and neither would I,’ she said. ‘He’s scared of the dark and loud noises.’

  ‘I understand that,’ I said. ‘I’d choose the film carefully. But would you have any objection if I took him tomorrow?’ It was appropriate to ask her.

  ‘You can try if you wish,’ she said a little stiffly. ‘But I don’t know how you think he’s going to sit in a cinema for two hours when he doesn’t even watch television for five minutes. And supposing he has a meltdown?’ she asked anxiously. ‘What will you do with all those people there?’ Yet again it seemed that Reva had become imprisoned by Danny’s condition as much, if not more, than he had, and was scared to try anything new with him.

  ‘If necessary I’ll have to carry him out,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t stay if he was upset.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ she said. ‘Good luck.’

  I thanked her and we said goodbye.

  After Danny had fed George and we’d done a little of his homework (which he still liked to do as part of his evening routine, even though it was the school holiday), I talked to him about the cinema. I likened it to a very big television screen that we’d sit in front of to watch a film with other adults and children. I told him where the cinema was and that I was thinking of taking him tomorrow.

  He was silent.

  ‘Would you like to go to the cinema?’ I asked him.

  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said, which of course meant very little, being his stock phrase. But then there was a long pause when I knew Danny was trying to find the words he needed to reply. Finally he said, ‘Ch
ildren at my school go to the cinema.’

  ‘Yes, I expect they do,’ I said, delighted he’d answered with something appropriate. ‘Do the children at school talk about the cinema and the films they’ve seen?’

  There was another long pause before Danny said, ‘They have seen the films Chicken Run and Scooby-Doo.’

  ‘They were on at the cinema recently,’ I said. ‘Did they like going to the cinema?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Although Danny rarely spoke to the children at school and often appeared unreceptive and on the sidelines of their social interaction, he’d clearly been listening to what they said and taking it all in. I felt sad as I imagined him in the playground standing alone or with his classroom assistant, overhearing the other children chatting excitedly about what they’d been doing in their leisure time but never being able to join in.

  ‘So we’ll go to the cinema tomorrow afternoon,’ I said to him. ‘Then you will be able to tell your friends what you saw.’

  He looked very thoughtful and after another pause said quietly, ‘Yes, Danny tell friends he go to the cinema.’

  The following morning when I went into Danny’s bedroom I was expecting that he might have some questions about the cinema, having had time to process the information and compose them, but his bed was empty. I turned to the wardrobe, concerned that the door was closed and he might have shut himself in again, as I’d warned him not to. I opened the door, but the wardrobe was empty. Then I heard a noise under the bed. Turning, I knelt down and peered underneath. Danny was on his back, eyes open. I didn’t think he’d been there for long as his bed was still warm.

  ‘What are you doing under there?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m at the cinema,’ Danny said.

  ‘You’re pretending to be at the cinema,’ I said. ‘You are really under your bed.’

  ‘Pretending to be at the cinema,’ Danny repeated. ‘It’s dark.’

  ‘Yes, the cinema is dark,’ I agreed. This, of course, was the only similarity between being under the bed and in the cinema, but it was significant that he’d latched onto the word ‘dark’ when I’d told him about the cinema.