by Cathy Glass
They continued telling me about the fair they’d been to with their father, and while I was pleased for them, it still hurt that I hadn’t been part of their enjoyment and able to witness their pleasure first-hand. It’s a feeling that I think many single parents will recognize and share. Then suddenly, mid-conversation, we fell silent; a scratching noise was coming from the patio doors. Both children looked at me anxiously. It was dark outside now and I’d closed the curtains.
‘Toscha,’ I said, but then I immediately saw her curled up by the radiator. I stood, went to the curtains, parted them and peered out. There was nothing to be seen. ‘Perhaps it was a neighbour’s cat,’ I said, closing the curtains again. I returned to my seat. ‘And what did you have for lunch?’ I asked, picking up the conversation. Before they had a chance to answer the scratching came again. ‘I’m scared,’ Adrian said, grabbing a cushion to hide behind. ‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know.’ I went over, opened the curtains and looked as far as I could into the dark, but there was nothing. Although I didn’t show it, I was becoming unsettled and feeling spooked too.
I’d just sat down when we heard the scratching again. Adrian squealed and buried his head in the cushion, which frightened Paula.
‘That’s not helping,’ I said to him. ‘It’s nothing to be worried about. Stay here with your sister and I’ll go and see.’
‘No, don’t go!’ Adrian pleaded. ‘I’m frightened.’
‘You’re safe in here. If it’s not a cat it’s probably a fox.’
But as I left the living room with my senses on full alert, I wondered at the wisdom of going outside. Supposing there was someone out there? What would I do? Perhaps I should call the police, but if I told them I’d heard a scratching sound outside they’d probably say it was a fox or badger – they’d been spotted around here. Of course it would run off when I opened the curtains, I told myself.
Going into the kitchen, I switched on the light and then raised all the blinds so the light shone out onto the patio. I was tense with apprehension, unsure if I was doing the right thing and not knowing what I might find. But I couldn’t think of a reasonable alternative if the children and I weren’t to spend the entire evening scared and on edge. I was about to turn the key in the back door when I realized it was already unlocked, and for a moment fear gripped me. I thought an intruder must already be in the house. I always kept the back door locked. Then logic returned and I realized that someone hadn’t let themselves into the house, but out. I continued outside.
‘Alex! Is that you?’ The outline of a boy darted from the patio doors and down the garden, quickly disappearing into the dark. ‘Alex! Come here now. I’m not playing games with you. It’s cold and dark.’
I began down the garden, lambasting myself for not keeping a closer watch on him, but it was impossible to see anything. Our garden is long and narrow and has plenty of dense foliage, even in winter. I could hear him moving around in the bushes but couldn’t see him. I needed a torch. I kept one in the cupboard under the stairs. ‘Alex!’ I called one last time, but there was no reply. I returned to the house and went first to the living room where Adrian and Paula were huddled together on the sofa.
‘It’s Alex,’ I said. ‘He’s run off down the garden. It’s naughty. Stay here while I find him. I’m taking a torch.’
‘Do you want some help?’ Adrian asked. Reassured by it being Alex, he spied the opportunity for an adventure. ‘I can fetch my torch.’
‘So can I,’ Paula added.
‘I’d rather you both stayed here. You can see me through the window if you like.’ I didn’t think it would help to have them in the garden too.
They crossed to the curtains and I went to the cupboard under the stairs, where I took the torch from its hook. Leaving Adrian and Paula looking through the glass of the patio doors, I returned outside and switched on the torch. Thankfully the batteries were good so the beam was strong. Two little faces were pressed against the glass and I threw them an encouraging smile, then headed down the garden. It was cold and damp but not freezing.
‘Alex!’ I called, flashing the torch around. ‘Alex, I want you inside now.’ Nothing. No reply or movement. He must be hiding behind a bush. Then the torch beam picked up what could have been a figure, and as I advanced he ran off and hid in another part of the garden. ‘That’s another half an hour you’ve lost from television tonight,’ I said into the dark. ‘I mean it, Alex.’ But the night air was quiet again.
Some children would have thought this a funny game, but Alex wasn’t laughing or making any noise. The night was eerily still, the only sounds coming from my voice or the sudden rustle of his feet as he moved from one hiding place to another. ‘Alex, I’m not telling you again,’ I said, following his movement. ‘You need to come in now or you’ll lose your television tomorrow night as well.’
A window suddenly opened in my neighbour’s house. I looked up to see my good friend and neighbour Sue looking out of her bathroom window. ‘Cathy, is that you out there?’ she called. ‘I can hear voices.’
‘Yes, Sue. Sorry I disturbed you.’
‘What are you doing out there, love?’ she asked in a deadpan voice. She knew I fostered and she made allowances for the unusual behaviour she sometimes witnessed, but losing a child in the garden was a first.
‘Alex is out here somewhere and he needs to come in,’ I called back, flashing my torch around as I spoke.
‘Do you want some help?’ she asked.
‘No, it’s OK, thanks. But if he doesn’t come in soon he won’t be going on any of the activities I’ve planned for next week. I’ll have to leave him with another foster carer when we go to the cinema and activity centre,’ I added, labouring the point for Alex’s benefit. These sanctions might have sounded excessive, but Alex needed to understand that he couldn’t just run off when he felt like it.
‘I’m sure he won’t want to miss out on those fun days,’ Sue called back so Alex could hear. ‘Not if he’s got any sense. I’ve just got out of the shower, but let me know if you want any help.’
‘Thanks, Sue.’ She closed her bathroom window and the garden fell silent again.
‘Right, Alex,’ I said firmly. ‘You heard what I said. I’m going indoors now and if you are not inside in five minutes there will be no outings at all for you next week and no television either.’
I turned and began decisively up the garden, the torch beam concentrated a little in front of me. It’s essential when issuing an ultimatum to a child who has been behaving badly not to hesitate, otherwise they can spot a flaw in your resolve and call your bluff. I didn’t know if I would carry out my threat and I hoped I wouldn’t have to be put to the test. Adrian and Paula still had their faces pressed against the window and could see I was coming in without Alex. Inside I took off my shoes and then, leaving the back door slightly open, I went into the living room.
‘Isn’t Alex coming in?’ Adrian asked, worried.
‘I hope so, in a minute. But close the curtains now.’ I didn’t want Alex to feel he had an audience and would lose face by returning.
A few minutes later we heard a movement in the kitchen. I went in. Alex was sitting on the floor taking off his muddy shoes. I didn’t say anything but busied myself with drying some dishes until he’d finished. Without speaking he went into the living room to join Adrian and Paula. I quickly locked the back door and put the key out of reach on a nearby shelf, then I went into the living room, where I read Paula a story while the boys played separately on the floor.
I didn’t let Alex watch any television that evening and he didn’t ask if he could. He also had an early night. As I said goodnight I reminded him that he could talk to me at any time about his worries, but he wasn’t to run off again. He turned away from me and, pressing his cheek against his soft toy, closed his eyes.
‘Goodnight then, love,’ I said. ‘Tomorrow is a new day and a new start.’ I waited to see if he would say anything or if he wanted a hug, but he r
emained on his side, facing away from me, so I came out.
Alex must have been exhausted from riding his bike in the park and running around the garden, for he slept until after eight o’clock without waking in the night. Adrian and Paula, tired from a fun day out with their father, slept well too.
I always start each day afresh and encourage children to do the same, so I greeted Alex with a bright, ‘Hello, love. You had a good sleep. How are you?’ There was no reply. I began setting out his clothes for the day and as I did I talked about the fun things we were going to do during the week, starting with a trip to the cinema that afternoon. Alex met my enthusiasm with expressionless silence, so with a cheerful ‘come down for breakfast when you’re ready’ I left him to get dressed.
The morning was free, so after breakfast I covered the table in the kitchen-cum-diner with a plastic tablecloth, set out paints and paper and gave each child an apron. Most children love painting, but Alex approached this activity as he was now approaching everything – with silent apathy, as if it was a chore, with no real interest or commitment, despite my enthusiasm and encouragement. Debbie telephoned while they were painting, and I took the call in the hall where I could keep an eye on them but remain out of earshot. She began by saying that she had arranged Alex’s LAC review for Friday at 10.30 a.m. and she’d put the invitations and questionnaires for the review in the post. She then asked how Alex had been and I gave her an update, including my concerns that Alex might be depressed. I asked her if it was possible to bring forward his appointment for CAMHS and Debbie said she’d see what she could do but didn’t hold out much hope. She had children on her books with problems far more urgent than Alex’s who were still waiting for a first appointment. I thought it was sad that so many children were now in need of urgent counselling and therapy. When I told Debbie that Alex had been running away at home and school she said, ‘But his behaviour is manageable?’
‘Yes. At present.’ I knew why she was asking. The care plan for Alex was that he should live with a foster carer long term, but if his behaviour was very challenging then the social services would struggle to find him a suitable home. ‘Although I don’t suppose another move will help him,’ I added.
‘There were no concerns about his behaviour before. It’s bound to take a while for him to settle down again after his disappointment.’
Disappointment! I thought. Devastation might be a better word to describe what he must have felt when he’d heard that his adoptive family didn’t want him.
Alex came to the cinema with the same silent lethargy that now seemed to dominate most of his waking hours – he was present in body but not in spirit. He watched the film and ate the popcorn without sharing the enjoyment shown by Adrian, Paula and the other children around us, who laughed, cheered and shouted as children do at kids’ movies when they are having fun. When the film finished and the lights went up I asked Adrian, Alex and Paula if they’d had a nice time. Predictably, Adrian and Paula said they had and asked when we could come again, while Alex said nothing.
That evening, while I was making dinner, Alex came to me. ‘What did Debbie want?’ he asked in a small voice. I was pleased he was taking the initiative and instigating conversation. Although I’d told him this morning why Debbie had phoned, I was happy to tell him again.
‘To see how you are getting on and to tell us about the review.’ Alex knew what a review was from having attended previous ones before.
His face set. ‘I don’t want a review,’ he said. ‘I’m not going. All those people lie.’ Turning, he fled from the kitchen and then stomped upstairs to his room. I heard his door slam shut. I set down what I was doing and went after him. I was in the hall when I heard the first crash.
Chapter Sixteen
Say Something Positive
‘What’s that?’ Adrian cried in alarm from the living room.
‘It’s Alex. I’m going to him now.’
I hurried up the stairs to his bedroom as one crash followed another. After giving a perfunctory knock on his door I went in. A toy car zoomed past my head and crashed into the wall behind me.
‘Alex! Put that down,’ I said as he picked up another toy ready to throw. ‘You’ll break it.’
‘Don’t care!’
He threw it. The floor was already littered with items he’d thrown in the short time it had taken me to leave the kitchen and come upstairs: toys, books, his new trainers: in fact, anything that had come to hand.
‘That’s enough!’ I said as he raised his hand again. A box of crayons flew across the room. I went over and, taking him by the arm, drew him away from the toy box.
‘Leave me alone!’ he cried, struggling.
‘No. You’re going to regret breaking your toys. I know you’re angry and upset, but this isn’t the way to show it.’
‘Yes, it is!’ He pulled against me, trying to reach a book, possibly to hit me with.
‘No, Alex. Come and sit down and calm down.’
‘I hate you!’ he cried. He was easily held, he was so small and light.
‘Alex, if you’re angry punch the pillow,’ I said, directing him to the pillow on his bed. ‘It’s better than breaking your toys or hitting me.’ I thumped the pillow hard with my fist to demonstrate. ‘You can hit the pillow as hard as you like.’ I’d encouraged other children I’d fostered to pillow or cushion thump when they needed to let go of their anger. It was one of the techniques I used. ‘Go on. Thump it hard, like I am,’ I said, pummelling the pillow. He followed my example and thumped the pillow a few times, then turned his anger on his soft toys and thumped them too. He immediately regretted it and burst into tears.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, picking up Simba and hugging him. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.’
I eased him down to sit on the bed and I sat next to him. ‘Simba will be OK,’ I said gently. ‘Lions are very strong.’
Alex buried his face in his soft toy and cried quietly, his anger spent for now. I slipped my arm around his waist. ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘You’ll be all right soon.’
Footsteps sounded on the stairs and then Paula appeared at Alex’s bedroom door, looking very worried. I threw her a reassuring smile. ‘You go down with Adrian. Alex and I will be down soon.’ She gave a small nod, turned and went downstairs.
‘We’re all worried about you,’ I said to Alex. ‘Adrian, Paula, me and Debbie.’
‘I’m not going to my review,’ he said through his tears.
‘If you really don’t want to, you don’t have to. You can tell me what you want to say.’ But I knew this wasn’t the only reason for his anger.
He sniffed and drew his hand across his eyes. I reached for a tissue. ‘You can tell them I don’t want to be adopted again,’ he said tightly.
‘OK. But I think Debbie has already told you that she’s looking for a special foster family for you where you will be the youngest or only child.’
‘Because of what happened with James?’ he asked astutely. I wiped his eyes. ‘I tried to get on with him, honest I did.’
‘I know, love. It wasn’t your fault. You need to believe that.’
‘They lie at my reviews,’ Alex said bitterly. ‘At my last one they promised I’d have a forever family. I’m not going to any more reviews because they lie.’
‘I understand it must look that way. But no one knew this would happen. We all thought it would be good for you.’ His little face was so sad and pitiful. I dearly wished I could take his pain away. It was difficult to know what else I could say. We were quiet for a moment. ‘Alex, I know what happened seems dreadful now, and of course you are feeling upset and angry, but I have found in life that often things happen for a reason. Even things that go wrong and seem very bad at the time can turn out for the best in the end. Does that make any sense?’
He shook his head. ‘I wanted a family, but they didn’t want me.’
‘Perhaps that wasn’t the right family for you,’ I suggested.
‘But you
all said it was.’
‘I know. We thought so. They seemed right, but perhaps if you’d stayed there you would have been unhappy. We won’t ever know. But what I’m saying is that possibly in the future you may think that what happened was for the best.’ Unlikely though this seemed at present, I had to give him some hope.
Alex didn’t say anything further, and very likely my philosophy was too much for a seven-year-old. We sat together for a while longer, Alex cuddling Simba and me with my arm around him. I was aware that Adrian and Paula were alone downstairs and worried. ‘Do you feel you could come down now?’ I asked. ‘Adrian and Paula will be wondering where you are.’
He nodded, tucked Simba into bed and then we stood, stepping over the thrown toys as we left his room. Downstairs Alex joined Adrian and Paula in the living room and, squatting on the floor, he continued with the puzzle he’d been doing previously. Adrian and Paula glanced at him and then at me. I nodded and they resumed what they were doing. I knew they wouldn’t say anything to Alex about his outburst, for they appreciated that all children get angry and upset sometimes, and no one wants a reminder once they’re over it. Alex would be helping me clear up his room later though, which should make him less likely to throw things in anger again in the future.
If I’m honest the half-term holiday grew more and more fraught, despite the activities I’d arranged. Alex’s behaviour steadily deteriorated. He exploded into anger at the smallest provocation, although he was never cruel or unkind to Adrian and Paula. He was also running away whenever we were out, despite my watching him very carefully. His running off not only caused me a lot of worry but also embarrassment. Losing a child once is forgivable, but losing them regularly isn’t. On Tuesday Alex disappeared while we were at the indoor activity centre, and after a frantic search by me and the staff he was found hiding in the men’s toilets. I told him off and cut half an hour of his television time. Then on Wednesday morning, while we were shopping for some new school trousers for him, I turned to the hangers to select another size and he was gone. Adrian and Paula didn’t see in which direction he’d vanished, and we began calling his name and hunting around the rails of clothes. With no sight of him I became increasingly anxious, and I reported him missing to one of the assistants, who put out a call over the Tannoy system. After another very anxious fifteen minutes he was found – the security guard had stopped him as he was about to leave the store. Reunited, I thanked the guard profusely, told Alex off and warned him of the dangers of running away. I also said that if he didn’t stop running off I wouldn’t be able to take him out again. The thought of what could have happened to him had he left the store tormented me for the rest of the day. That evening I heard Adrian say to Alex, ‘You must stop running away. It makes us all worried and Mum upset.’