by Casey Watson
I smiled at Georgie, feeling glad that I’d been prepped about this. And was careful not to touch him as I ushered them both inside. No pat on the shoulder. No ruffling of that gorgeous hair.
Hmm, though, I thought as Mike led them into the kitchen diner. Rose Marion Tyler. Where had I heard that name before?
Chapter 10
Harry Bird supplied the answer to my unspoken question. ‘Doctor Who,’ he said, putting down his tatty leather briefcase. ‘Georgie’s a big fan, aren’t you, lad?’
There was clearly a rapport between the two of them, I noticed, because he then leaned towards Georgie and, in an almost faultless replica of the fabled killing machines, stuck an arm out and growled, ‘Ex-ter-min-ate!’
Georgie looked up and then back to his palms, which he’d cupped, as if holding an imaginary crystal ball. ‘Dalek,’ he said. ‘A mutated organism with a polycarbide mechanical casing. Seeks universal domination. Ex-ter-min-ate.’
‘Wow,’ said Mike, as he switched on the kettle. ‘Impressive! I used to love Doctor Who when I was a kid too. D’you want to take your coat off, Georgie?’
Georgie nodded, though, as we’d been led to expect, he didn’t make eye contact with Mike as he removed it. He then carefully folded it and scanned the room for a place to put it down.
‘Over there, love,’ I said, pointing to the slim cupboard in the kitchen. ‘That’s where we keep all our everyday coats and shoes. And while you’re doing that I’ll make you a glass of juice, shall I?’
Again, there was no direct response but as Georgie walked across to put his coat away he began shaking his head from side to side.
‘Milk, please, for Georgie,’ Harry quickly translated. ‘If that’s okay … Georgie likes to drink milk. He doesn’t like juice. In fact he … well, once we sit down for a chat it will all be a bit easier. That okay?’
‘Of course,’ I said, feeling pleased that – from first impressions anyway – here was a social worker who knew his charge well. As he would; he might have been with him from the outset – probably had. Which was a big plus. Because right now I was bewildered. So having someone on hand who really knew what made him tick would be a huge benefit for all of us.
‘You seem to know him extremely well,’ I said. ‘It’s good that we’ve got someone who has a handle on all the ins and outs. Makes a refreshing change, in fact.’
‘Not for long, I’m afraid,’ Harry said with a sigh. ‘I’m due to retire soon, and Georgie is the last child on my case load. I’d have gone already, between you and me, but I agreed to wait until we had him settled before I hung up my briefcase.’
So that was that bubble burst right away. Harry went on to explain that a new worker would be assigned in due course, but that it might take a while as they would need to get the match right. It obviously needed someone who was conversant with the type of problems Georgie faced, which wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world.
But it would be silly to stress about the future at this point. All that mattered was what was happening now. And that meant the business of Georgie living with Mike and me, and Jenson, who, as if on cue, chose that precise moment to come in. He greeted us, rather charmingly, with a huge belch.
‘Jenson!’ I admonished, mortified.
‘Pardon me!’ he said, grinning. ‘All right there, Georgie Porgie?’ he asked. ‘You see me in school earlier? I seen you. Seen you coming out of your special room.’
He’d managed to load the word ‘special’ with all the sarcasm he could muster, and once again I winced.
‘Jenson,’ I said again, ‘if you remember, I did ask you to give us a bit of privacy while we got all this sorted out. So would you please either go back into the living room or upstairs to your bedroom. I’ll call you down as soon as we’re done, okay?’
But before he could answer, Georgie – who’d now walked back to where Harry was – was once again shaking his head and cupping his hands. ‘He kissed the girls and made them cry,’ he said. ‘Not Georgie. Georgie did not do this.’
I glared at Jenson, who quickly scarpered, his bit of mischief over with, while Mike set a tumbler of milk down on the table for Georgie.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said to Harry, as he passed round all our coffees. ‘They know each other from school – as you probably know.’ Harry nodded. ‘So it’s obviously all a bit “I’m the top dog here because I got here first” right now. Nothing to worry about, though. We’ll soon have that sorted. It’ll be okay, mate,’ he finished, looking at Georgie.
‘No worries at all,’ Harry said cheerfully, directing Georgie to his drink. ‘Actually, if it’s all right with you two, I think now might be a good time to get Georgie settled in front of the telly. There’s a quiz show on shortly that he’s rather keen on – Countdown. Aren’t you, mate?’ he said to Georgie. ‘And he’s cracking at it, too. Certainly seems to beat most of the contestants. And he’s particularly quick at the conundrums.’
Again, he looked at Georgie, and I saw the merest hint of a smile cross Georgie’s lips. But, just as was sometimes the case with tiny babies when it came to smiles, was I just seeing what I wanted to see? For this kid was a conundrum himself. He was clearly aware of his environment – taking in, and responding to, what was going on around him – but he seemed reliant upon others taking control. I realised I had barely scratched the surface with my research into autism, and something else – that I really liked Harry Bird. I loved this gentle, down-to-earth kind of social worker, period. The kind that was motivated by a genuine love of kids; the roll-your-sleeves-up-and-get-on-with-it kind of social worker.
Which made it doubly sad that he’d be leaving so soon. But not that much of a shock, once I thought about it. His type of social worker was such a rarity. And, currently, as well, a dying breed. The case loads social workers were expected to deal with these days meant that it was really hard for them to get to know the children in their care. They knew them superficially, of course – and perhaps sufficiently to do their best for them – but a bond such as I was witnessing between Georgie and Harry was a rare thing, and would only become rarer.
But there was nothing we could do about it, so it was silly to be sentimental. And with both boys sorted, Mike and Harry and I went back to the kitchen and got down to business. The tatty briefcase (another mark of a career social worker of long standing) was opened to reveal what was probably the fattest manila file of case notes I’d yet seen. Which wasn’t that hard, given we so often seemed to be going into placements half-blind – but even so, for a kid who’d spent almost all his life in one care home, there were screeds and screeds of notes.
And I made more of them, scribbling furiously on my usual pad as Harry went through Georgie’s routines in detail – adhering to these was key, he said, to avoiding too many ‘freak-outs’. It was also interesting to note that, unusual for a child in care, Georgie had almost no belongings.
‘He can’t handle too much choice,’ Harry explained, which took me straight away back to Kieron, who would also ‘freak out’, albeit mostly quietly, if bombarded with too much choice. ‘So we’ve learned over the years that it’s best to keep things simple,’ Harry explained. ‘For example, he has just the seven sets of winter clothes and the seven sets of summer clothes – any more than this and he’ll simply refuse to get dressed. Same goes with footwear; one pair of indoor shoes, one pair of outdoor shoes, one pair for special occasions – no more, no less.’
‘What about toys?’ I asked. ‘Does he have a special one? And are there any particular games he likes playing?’
Harry shook his head. ‘Georgie doesn’t really do toys, Casey. Never has. What tends to happen is that he’ll develop attachments. Could be anything – and it’s usually something completely random and obscure. When that happens, he becomes completely absorbed in whatever it is. Right now it’s stones.’
‘Stones?’ Mike asked.
‘Stones,’ Harry confirmed. ‘Stones of all sorts. Pebbles, bits of brick, rough, s
mooth, whatever. And we can’t pinpoint what the attraction is because his collection is so varied. Shiny stones, smooth stones, rough stones, chipped stones … All different colours and textures – who knows what’s going on?’
‘He has a collection?’ I asked, remembering the small silver tin, which Georgie had taken with him into the living room.
But it wasn’t the tin, apparently. That was just for the most special stones. The main collection was still in the car. ‘Shall we go out and get his things in?’ Harry suggested. ‘Mike, perhaps you could give me a hand with his cases. And I’ll show you his collections box as well.’
We filed outside. ‘Like I was saying,’ Harry said, as he clicked the remote to release the car boot, ‘it’s stones at the moment but it could change at any time. Last year it was labels off of food tins – he had hundreds of the bloody things.’ He chuckled. ‘You can imagine how well that one went down at the home, can’t you? He’d go on these sorties into the pantry and strip them off all the cans. Poor cook never knew what she’d be dishing up for tea till she’d opened one …’
We both laughed but, as Mike helped Harry in with Georgie’s things, I felt a twinge of apprehension about what we were taking on. Memories of Kieron’s childhood flooded my mind now – all those little things I’d all but forgotten, like how upset he’d get when we’d go to a shop and he’d want to spend his pocket money, yet would be paralysed by indecision and distress. He’d invariably end up just copying Riley and spending his pennies on whatever she did, whether it was something he liked or not. What a learning curve that had been. And how much of a bigger one might this be? Once again I felt relieved to have someone like Harry on hand to advise us, but even so this really felt like a journey into the unknown.
Georgie’s collections tin was a large silver one, embossed with leaf shapes; it was the kind of speciality biscuit tin the supermarkets liked to bring out at Christmas, and I could see straight away why a child would think it special. Harry opened the lid and quickly showed us the contents which, as he’d said, were essentially a random pile of stones. ‘Mustn’t touch, of course,’ he said, closing the lid again carefully. ‘There’ll be some very important order in this seemingly random pile, and if it’s disturbed he will not be happy …’
I nodded, thinking of Kieron and how nobody messed with his various childhood collections. That one I completely understood.
‘Oh, and as I was just explaining to Mike,’ Harry added, ‘we still need to cover food. About which he’s particularly pernickety.’
I grabbed my pen once more. ‘No juice,’ I said, as I began to write it down.
‘And that’s just the tip of the iceberg,’ Harry commented. ‘At the moment – and this has been the case for about a year now – I’m afraid Georgie will only eat white food.’
‘Really?’ Both my and Mike’s eyebrows made a bolt for the ceiling. And remained aloft as Harry nodded his confirmation. ‘Afraid so.’
‘What, as in all white?’ Mike asked. I could almost see his brain whirring.
‘As in rice?’ I said. ‘That’s the only white food I can think of.’ I noticed my voice had become something of a plaintive squeak. How on earth would I cater for that?
‘It’s not quite that extreme,’ Harry reassured us. ‘He calls it “white” but perhaps a more correct word is “light”. He is keen on “light” generally. And where food’s concerned that means things like pasta in cheese sauce, for example. Most cereals, cheese on toast, macaroni cheese … actually, I’ve said that already, haven’t I? Don’t look so alarmed,’ he said, chuckling. ‘Cook’s put a list of “safe” foods in the folder for you, and, honestly, it’s not as short as you might imagine. And he gets by at school, so there must be a reasonable amount of regular stuff on there …’
Oh, dear God, I thought. This just gets better and better. And just to prove me right, Jenson chose that moment to make his second appearance.
‘Am I okay to come down now?’ he asked from the doorway. ‘I wasn’t taking the piss earlier, honest. Where’s Georgie anyway? You want me to show him his new room?’
Great, I thought, conscious of Harry sitting with us. Making such a wonderful impression. ‘Language, lad,’ Mike checked him. ‘You know the rules well enough. But, yes, that’s a good idea. Let’s all take him up, shall we?’
So that’s what we did, trooping single file up the stairs with Jenson, as the official ‘room shower’, taking the lead. And for reasons of his own, it seemed – reasons for which we should perhaps have been prepared. ‘Ta da!’ he announced, swinging the bedroom door open. ‘Georgie gets the girly room!’
I glared at him and pulled him away from the doorway. ‘Stop being silly, Jenson. And don’t worry, Georgie,’ I added, making space so he could see it himself. ‘It’s only for a few days, love – after that you’ll be in a different room, okay?’
Though I hadn’t actually stipulated how many days – that would, of course, depend on what was going to happen with Jenson – it seemed even a few minutes were going to prove too much, because Georgie looked as if he was facing the jaws of death. Then, without warning, he let out a scream that was so ear-splitting that I actually clamped my hands over my ears.
Harry was quick to try and console him – though again, I noticed, this involved no physical contact. ‘Shh, lad,’ he soothed. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay … Casey didn’t know, you see. That’s all. She didn’t know. It’s okay …’
But Georgie carried on screaming, until, abruptly, he spoke. ‘Imagine what you all look like to them,’ he said, staccato-style. ‘All pink and yellow. Episode 2. Imagine. All pink and yellow.’
Mike and I exchanged helpless bewildered looks as this continued, then it finally hit me – how dozy was I? – that I should shut the bedroom door. And once I did so the screaming and rambling stopped instantly, though I noticed Georgie was now physically shaking.
‘My fault,’ Harry said. ‘I’m so sorry – completely slipped my mind, that. It’s pink. Georgie hates pink – pink and anything pinkie-red, as well, to be exact about it. What a thing for me to forget.’ He looked sheepishly at me. ‘I don’t suppose you have another room free, do you?’
This was beginning to feel surreal, and now everyone seemed to be looking in my direction, as if I could magically snap my fingers and whistle one up. Jenson, in particular, had a distinct ‘I hope you’re not thinking what I think you might be thinking’ face on. But he needn’t have worried. Though Georgie’s needs were many and very evident, there was no way I’d add to Jenson’s more subtle woes by evicting him, however much he’d wound the other boy up.
And, of course, I did have another room. Not ideal, of course, but functional. I nodded at Harry. ‘How is he with double beds and beige?’
Not entirely happy, it seemed, even if this time we were spared what I assumed was a taste of what constituted a ‘freak-out’. Two of the walls were beige, but the other two Mike had papered – a coffee-coloured background, with subtle chocolate and mocha coloured flowers. Which I’d chosen myself, in the January sales, and which had seemed a good idea at the time.
Time for a rethink, perhaps. ‘It’s the contrast,’ Harry explained, as Georgie muttered disconsolately beside him. ‘The wallpapered walls, I think. He’s used to his room being quite bland – all one colour. Though we might be able to talk him round,’ he suggested hopefully. ‘Given a little time, anyway.’
I wondered what time he generally finished his working day. It was gone six already. I was also aware of how, judging from his doubtful expression, ‘might’ was the operative word.
Mike could obviously see that as well. ‘No worries,’ he said brightly. ‘Jenson, lad, go and get your trainers on. You and I can nip down to B&Q and grab a pot of emulsion. Sixty-minute makeover time!’ He chuckled and grinned at Georgie. ‘How does that sound?’
How does that sound? I thought. Like bang goes my flipping wallpaper …
Chapter 11
True to Mike�
�s promise, and with some enthusiastic assistance from Jenson, the spare room was made over in no time. And though there was still a whiff of emulsion lingering in the air when we got up there, Georgie seemed happy enough – having purposefully walked in and inspected it – to cast his eyes around without becoming agitated.
Indeed, once we’d taken all his belongings up, he seemed keen to go to bed. ‘Georgie is yawning,’ he announced, as soon as we’d trooped back down to the kitchen and seen Harry off. ‘I go to bed at seven o’clock sharp.’
He then turned around – before I’d barely even had time to answer – and walked out of the kitchen and straight up the stairs.
Jenson, who was busy rinsing out a paint roller for Mike, sniggered. ‘He’s so –’
‘Jenson!’ I admonished, following Georgie out of the kitchen.
‘Come on, lad,’ chivvied Mike. ‘We made a deal about telly, didn’t we? And if you don’t get that done you’ll miss the start of your programme, won’t you?’
Meanwhile, I followed Georgie up the stairs. Except when I got to the landing, it was to find that he wasn’t in the bedroom, but instead standing patiently outside the closed bathroom door.
Unsure what he was doing, or, indeed, what he expected of me, I opened it – perhaps he needed the loo or something – but at the same time I pointed to the bedroom. ‘All your things are in there, ready,’ I said. ‘And I’ve emptied out some drawers ready for you as well. You can transfer all your clothes into them now, if you like. And your pyjamas and toothbrush will be in your suitcase as well, won’t they? I’m happy to help if you want me to.’
Georgie smiled – the first proper smile I’d seen from him so far, which lit his face up – and, looping a hank of his curtain of blond hair over his ear, trotted into the room and clicked open his case.
Unsure whether to start helping, and deciding against it for the moment, I stood in the doorway while he delved for his night things and wash bag.