by Trisha Merry
‘Let me in, you f****** c***.’
‘I can’t. I am not allowed to let you in when you’re like this. You’ve got to get a permission letter from Social Services if you want to come again.’
‘F*** you!’ she yelled and tried to kick the door down.
As I closed it I turned round to see Gilroy sitting on the stairs, his face bright red with anger as he punched the step repeatedly with his fist.
‘I’m sorry, Gilroy,’ I said. ‘But I couldn’t let your mum in when she was in a temper like that. It would have frightened the other children.’ I felt so sorry for him and went to give him a hug, but he backed away up the stairs. I’m not sure if it was my imagination, but there was something very unsettling in the way he stared at me before he turned and ran off down the landing, then slammed the door. Seconds later, he kicked off and trashed his room as he’d done before, the crashing sounds reverberating around the house.
Paul was always the happy-go-lucky one of the family, with a strong sense of fairness. He would always stick up for his friends, or any of the other kids, if he felt they had been treated unfairly. So that evening, when Mike was reading the bedtime story to the little ones and the others were all in their rooms, I went along to get Paul, who was now sharing again with AJ and Ronnie, leaving Gilroy on his own at the end of the corridor, away from everyone else, just in case.
‘Do you think you can help me, Pauly?’ I asked him, as I took him into the spare room to talk. ‘I expect you heard Gilroy trashing his room earlier?’
‘Yes, everybody could hear it.’
‘And I know you helped Mike and Gilroy clear up the worst of the mess and mend his bed so he could sleep on it. Mike says you did a grand job there.’
‘Thank you,’ said Paul with a smile. ‘I like mending things.’
‘Yes, maybe you can do more of that when you grow up. But right now, I want your help in another way.’
‘What way?’
‘Gilroy was very upset this afternoon, when his mother was in such a rage that it wasn’t safe for me to let her in. It wasn’t Gilroy’s fault that his mother was like that, so I think he needs a friend at the moment, to help take his mind off it.’
‘Do you want me to share a room with him again?’ He looked a bit worried.
‘No, nothing like that. But you’re the same age as him and you used to get on well, so if you could try to include him in your games and help him to have some fun again, like he used to, that could really help him. What do you think?’
‘Yes, I guess so. As long as he’s not too mean. Shall I tell Ronnie and AJ too?’
‘Yes. Let’s go up and tell them together.’
The next few days were tricky ones for Gilroy. When he was out playing with the boys and they were having raucous fun together, he was fine. But in between I often saw him sitting with that look in his eyes, chewing his lip and making fists with his hands as his resentment and anger resurfaced.
I checked his room every day, for anything that might be damaging, and I kept a closer eye on him than before, to make sure he didn’t take his anger out on the little ones. But, luckily for the other kids, he chose to attack the toys instead, breaking a couple of the trikes and a sit-on digger, much to the small children’s indignation; but we bought them a few replacements at a second-hand shop, so they didn’t lose out for long.
‘Kathleen’s an alcoholic, you know,’ said Gilroy’s social worker when he visited a few days later. He probably shouldn’t have told me that, but I expect he assumed it was all right, since I’d been at her trial. Apparently, after I’d left the courtroom, a policeman had reported that Kathleen had been in trouble with the police before for being drunk, and a doctor testified that she had been sent for treatment for her alcoholism, but stopped attending.
Now, looking back, I realise that she had mental health problems as well. She was a very, very difficult woman.
The phone rang one day soon after that and a sharp male voice spoke in a hurried tone. ‘I’ve abducted your foster-daughter Daisy from her school. You’ll never see her again.’
‘What?’ I shrieked and the phone went dead. I froze in shock. Then I heard myself screaming. I panicked . . . unable to catch my breath. But I knew I had to keep my head, somehow. There was no one at home but me and the three little ones. What should I do? I was in a terrible turmoil, but I had to act quickly.
I had to get down to the school, straight away. But I couldn’t leave the children.
No, I had to phone. But who should I phone first? I dialled 999.
‘What service . . . ?’
‘Police, quickly.’ My heart was pounding. The wait seemed endless as I watched the slow second hand on our hall clock.
‘Hello—’
‘You have to help me,’ I interrupted. ‘My daughter, my foster-daughter – she’s been kidnapped. I’ve got to go down there.’
‘Where?’
‘Park Primary School.’
‘Right, we’ll meet you there, and we’ll organise a search.’
‘Please hurry.’
I grabbed three-year-old Mandy and four-year-olds Alfie and Laurel as fast as I could and ran round to Edie and Frank next door. I rang the bell. Please let them be in. Please . . .
The door opened.
‘Edie, can you have the kids? I’ve got to go down to the school. It’s urgent. Daisy’s been abducted. Here’s the key if you want to take them back to our house.’
The police had already arrived when I got to the school. I ran in. ‘Oh my God,’ I screamed at the secretary. ‘Why did you let this man take my Daisy?’
‘Er, no, Mrs Merry. She’s in her classroom.’
‘You mean you still haven’t noticed?’ I was beginning to feel hysterical. ‘She’s been kidnapped!’
‘No, it’s OK, Mrs Merry. She’s fine. Daisy hasn’t been kidnapped. She’s here and she’s safe. It must have been a hoax.’
‘I don’t believe you. Are you SURE?’
‘Yes, certain.
‘I’ve got to see her,’ I shrieked. ‘I’ve got to see her.’
‘It’s all right. Calm down, Mrs Merry. The police alerted us and we checked straight away. She was here all the time. Let me take you to see for yourself.’
So we went down the long corridor, with me racing ahead. When we reached the classroom, the door was open and I walked in. Straight away I could see Daisy, in a world of her own, reading in the book corner. It was a HUGE relief. She didn’t even notice me, so I left quietly and walked back with the secretary.
The police were talking with the headteacher when we reached the entrance hall again. A policeman and a policewoman.
‘It’s all right,’ I told them. ‘She’s here. Phew. Panic over.’
‘But somebody has played a very cruel trick on you, Mrs Merry. We need to see if we can stop him doing it to anybody else. We need you to tell us all the details about that phone call. You might be able to give us vital clues to help us try to track him down.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I agreed. I would have done anything to make sure nobody else had to go through the trauma I had just suffered. ‘But I don’t understand who could have done it,’ I said, still in a flustered state. ‘And why? I mean . . . do you think he got some kind of a kick from trying to destroy me like that?’
‘I can’t say, Mrs Merry.’
Just then, the secretary brought me in a cup of tea.
‘I don’t know whether you take sugar, Mrs Merry, but I think you need it for the shock.’ I thanked her.
‘Do you think you have any enemies?’ continued the policeman.
‘No, not at all,’ I said. ‘Except maybe the neighbours we had at Sonnington, who didn’t like our kids, but that was a long time ago!’ I smiled. ‘And they wouldn’t have done this.’
‘Well, the man who rang you obviously knew you had a daughter called Daisy and the name of her school.’
‘But I don’t think he said the name of the school,’ I replied, trying to
think back to his actual words. ‘Wait a minute . . . yes, it must be someone who knows us, because he knew that Daisy is my foster-daughter. That’s what he said: “your foster-daughter”.’
‘Right,’ said the policewoman. ‘Let’s write all this down in a statement, Mrs Merry. And we’ll ask you to sign it. Will that be all right?’
‘What a shock!’ said Mike, when I told him the whole story later that day. How are you feeling now?’
‘Still a bit wobbly inside, I suppose, but I can’t tell you how relieved I was to see Daisy sitting there safely in the classroom, completely unaware of all the fuss.’
‘Any ideas about who this man could be? Did you recognise his voice? Or do you think he was disguising it?’
‘I don’t know. I’m trying to remember. It was so quick. He just said those terrible words, quite rushed, then hung up. I went into panic mode, so no, I don’t think it was a voice I knew.’
‘Was it a local accent?’
‘Yes, I think so. I didn’t notice, so it probably was. But the police seemed to think it could be someone who knows us. Someone with a grudge. Someone who was deliberately getting back at me for something.’
We sat in silence for a few moments, racking our brains. Then it came to me.
‘You don’t think Kathleen Dobbs could have anything to do with it, do you?’
‘Gilroy’s mum?’ asked Mike. ‘But it was a man’s voice, wasn’t it?’
‘Oh yes. So it couldn’t have been her.’
‘You could mention her to the police though, just in case.’
So the next day, I rang the police station.
‘You’ve beaten us to it, Mrs Merry,’ they told me. ‘We were just about to call you. We’ve had a breakthrough, and we’re ninety per cent sure we’ve found the culprit. Can we come round and explain?’
‘So you see,’ said the male police officer I’d met at the school the previous day, ‘we just had a hunch about this case. One of my colleagues attended when you had all that trouble with a woman who was drunk and hurling milk-bottles at your house. Do you remember?’
‘I’ll never forget!’
‘Well, she has a cousin, who’s known to us. He’s a bouncer at a local club. We took him in for questioning this morning, and she’s also been interviewed at the station by two of my colleagues. I’ve just heard that she admitted putting him up to it. He was the one who phoned you and they’ve both been arrested. They planned it together, to frighten you.’
‘Well, they succeeded,’ I said with feeling. ‘I’ve never been so frightened in my life.’
‘So, have the police charged Kathleen and her cousin?’ Mike asked me when I phoned him at work to tell him the mystery was solved.
‘Not yet. They wanted me to take her to court and I said no.’
‘Why on earth did you refuse?’
‘Because Gilroy has a hard enough time as it is, without us making it even worse. If she was put in prison, he wouldn’t see her at all. It might be hard for us to swallow, but she’s all he’s got, apart from us.’
We finally heard that the police had taken action themselves and secured a lifetime ban on Kathleen Dobbs coming down our road at all, on pain of imprisonment. I had to agree that I was pleased about that. It made us all feel safer.
If she wanted to see Gilroy, she had to book a time with the local authority. Then his social worker would come and fetch him and supervise their visit at the family centre.
Unfortunately, that made things even worse for Gilroy. She would arrange a date and time and I’d get Gilroy ready to be picked up. He and his social worker would be waiting at the family centre and she didn’t turn up. This happened nearly every time. The poor lad hardened and grew more defiant and angry with the world every day. He was a troubled boy and we had to help him as best we could.
All the children we had at this time had been with us for at least two years, so it was the most settled we had ever been. Others had come and gone, and we currently had one place, but we thought maybe it was a good time to think about taking all the children away on a holiday in the summer. It would be the first time, so it would need a lot of planning.
‘What about Bournemouth?’ asked Mike.
‘Good idea. We’ll need at least two caravans,’ I pointed out. ‘It will be quite a squash . . .’
‘Hey kids,’ said Mike at teatime the next day. ‘Would you like us all to go on holiday together this year?’
‘YES!’ they all shouted in unison, highly excited, jumping and laughing and dancing and cheering . . . all except for Daisy, who stood back and watched all the fun – with a big, beaming smile on her face. So it was unanimous.
Now all we had to do was organise the finer details . . . and pray hard not to lose or maim anybody for the whole holiday. Quite a daunting prospect!
17
Jekyll and Hyde
‘I’ve heard such good things about you,’ said the educated voice on the phone. I know you’re a foster-parent, but would you consider child-minding?’
‘Well, I started off with child-minding.’
‘Please say you’ll do it. I’m at my wits’ end with my eighteen-month-old. He’s adorable when he’s asleep, but a nightmare all the rest of the time. And I have to work.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I’m a university researcher, so even when I can work at home, I do have to concentrate. I need a wonderful fairy godmother to take Max on and tame him. I know that’s a huge ask, but I wonder if perhaps you could have him for a few days to start with, and see how it goes?’
‘Well, maybe, but I think I’d better discuss it with my husband.’ I didn’t tell her that Mike always said yes – he must be the most tolerant man ever.
‘And could you maybe . . . I know it’s a bit of a cheek, really . . . but as you are a foster parent, do you think it might be possible . . . if you’ve got enough space . . . to have Max to stay over occasionally, to give me a break?’ She paused. ‘Of course, that bit is not essential. If you can only do the day-care, that would be great for me anyway, but if you could do the odd night as well, you would be my lifesaver.’
‘OK, I’ll talk it over with Mike. Can I let you know tomorrow?’
‘Yes, perfect. The sooner the better. My name is Vanda, by the way, and this is my phone number . . . Thank you so much for not saying no. I can’t tell you what a relief it is that you’re even considering him.’
She sounded such a lovely person, this woman who had phoned out of the blue. But experience had taught me to be wary. I have to say, I don’t always learn from my mistakes, although I do try to; so I had an idea.
‘I know you said you have a lot of work on, but if you can spare half an hour this afternoon, why not bring Max round for a cup of tea? That way I can meet you both and it will be easier to tell my husband about you.’
‘Well, that was an interesting visit,’ I told Mike later on. ‘I could hear this child screaming and kicking off inside their car as soon as they turned into our drive.’
‘You mean something more than interesting, don’t you?’ Mike knows me so well. ‘I bet you were doing your amateur psychology thing on them!’
I laughed. ‘Yes, you’re right. But it was fascinating to see just how naughty that child is when his mother is in the room. He was throwing things everywhere, having tantrums, trying to hold her mouth closed to stop her speaking and bawling loud enough to disturb Edie and Frank next door. But the moment his mother left the room to go to the loo, he immediately became a sweet-natured, smiling cherub who played beautifully with me. As soon as she came back into the playroom, he switched back to being a little devil.’
‘Are you sure you want to take on this Jekyll-and-Hyde child?’ He looked doubtful. ‘After all, you’ve already got your hands full with Gilroy, AJ, Paul and all the rest. Why make life harder for yourself?’
‘Well . . . I liked Vanda, and I liked her son, when she wasn’t with him. I want to watch him, to see how his brain works. And anyway,
I love a challenge.’
‘You can say that again!’
‘So you don’t mind?’
‘Of course not. When did I ever mind?’
The first day I had Max, he was awful when he arrived, but as soon as the front door closed behind his mother, it was like pressing the ‘off’ switch. This lovely boy with blond curls was the most amenable child ever.
‘Come on, Max,’ I took him into the playing end of the kitchen. We got out some chunky wooden shapes and made a funny building, then we got some cars out to whiz and clatter around on the tiles.
‘Would you like something to eat?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘Some cereal?’
‘Es pees.’
He hardly stopped smiling and he was obviously enjoying the toys, playing happily with our other pre-school children, four-year-olds Laurel, Alfie and Mandy. In fact, he charmed them completely.
‘Right, you four,’ I said. ‘It’s time to clear away the toys, so we can go out for a walk.’
I was impressed to see Max toddling about, dextrously picking up cars from all around the kitchen and putting them in the toy box.
I waited all day for this obnoxious tearaway to emerge, but there was no sign of the bad Max. He was obviously saving that for later. His mother was due to come for him at six. So after he’d had his tea with us, he went and sat on the window seat in our hall. Daisy and Sheena sat on either side, doing rhymes and actions with him to keep him amused. He giggled away until he heard the sound of his mother’s car.
I saw the switch-on moment when he turned into his tempestuous alter-ego. Before I could even get to the door, he was banging and kicking it. And when I opened it, he started hitting and kicking his mother, shouting and roaring in his fury. The girls and I were gobsmacked.
‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. Has he been like this all day?’
‘No. Honestly. He’s been as good as gold. Absolutely brilliant. No trouble at all. I can’t believe the sudden change in him.’
‘So can I bring him again tomorrow?’ She looked doubtful.