Saving Danny

‘All right, love,’ I said. ‘Leave it on for now, although I think you’re going to be hot in the house. The heating is on.’

Danny didn’t answer, nor did he look at me. He kept his chin down, his little face expressionless. But any thoughts I’d entertained about him being deaf now vanished. Upstairs Paula opened her bedroom door. Danny heard it and looked up anxiously. ‘That’s Paula,’ I said to him. ‘One of my daughters.’

He lowered his head again.

‘Come and meet Danny,’ I called to Paula, and she came downstairs. ‘He’s feeling a bit lonely at present, but I’m sure he’ll be fine once he gets to know us all.’

‘Hello, Danny,’ Paula said softly, going up to him. ‘How are you?’

His head was down but he gave the smallest of nods. It was the first sign of recognition from him and I was pleased. ‘Well done, Paula,’ I said.

‘The dinner was ready, Mum, so I switched off the oven,’ she said.

‘Thanks, love. I was longer than I thought I’d be.’

‘And Jill telephoned,’ Paula said. ‘Lucy answered it. Jill thought you’d be back and asked if you would phone her when you returned.’

‘Yes, I’ll phone her now,’ I said.

Lucy and Adrian called ‘Hi’ from the landing and then returned to their rooms to finish their homework. They’d come down and meet Danny properly later. I looked at Danny. He was going to have to get off the chair now and come with me.

‘Danny, we’re going into the living room,’ I said. ‘There are some toys in there for you to play with. I’ll unpack your bag later.’ I’d sorted out a selection of age-appropriate games and puzzles for him to play with that afternoon.

Danny didn’t move or say anything.

‘Come on, love,’ I said, gently taking his arm. ‘You can’t stay here.’

Paula was looking a bit concerned. Most children arrived with something to say – some had plenty to say. I eased him off the chair, took his hand and led him gently down the hall and into the living room.

‘He’s still got his coat on, Mum,’ Paula said.

‘Yes, he’s going to take it off later, aren’t you?’ I said to Danny, but there was no response.

Now he was standing I could see just how small he was. I’d previously fostered a four-year-old girl, Alice, whose story I told in I Miss Mummy, but Danny, two years older, was about the same size as her, and definitely well below the average height and weight for a boy of his age. Perhaps his parents were of small stature, I thought, which could account for it.

Danny looked at the toys in the centre of the living room but didn’t immediately go to them as most children would have done, so I led him over. ‘Do you like building bricks?’ I asked, pointing to the Lego. ‘Perhaps you’d like to build a car? Or a castle, or a boat, or a house?’ I suggested.

He didn’t say anything but did squat on the floor by the toys, where he just sat staring at them.

‘I need to phone Jill,’ I said to Paula.

‘I’ll play with him,’ she offered.

‘Thanks, love.’

Paula knelt on the floor beside Danny while I sat on the sofa and picked up the handset from the corner table. It was after office hours, so I keyed in the number for Jill’s mobile and she answered straightaway.

‘It’s Cathy. Danny’s with me,’ I said. ‘We’ve just got in.’

‘Is everything OK?’ Jill asked.

‘I think so. It took a while to find him. The police were there. But he’s safe now. I’ll give him some dinner soon.’ I couldn’t say too much as Danny was within earshot, and I didn’t want to leave him so soon after arriving and phone from another room.

‘Is Terri with you?’ Jill asked.

‘No, she stayed behind to telephone Danny’s mother and tell her Danny had been found. There’s a meeting at school first thing in the morning. At nine o’clock.’

‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it,’ Jill said. ‘I won’t be able to attend. I’ve got a child’s review booked in at nine-fifteen. It’s been in the diary for a month.’

It was more important for Jill to attend a child’s review than the meeting at Danny’s school, and Jill knew that as an experienced foster carer I’d be all right to attend the meeting without her, otherwise she would have arranged for another support social worker from the fostering agency to accompany me.

‘No worries,’ I said. ‘I’ll let you know what happens.’

‘Thanks. I’ll visit you and Danny tomorrow after school,’ Jill said. ‘Four o’clock?’

‘That’s fine. We’ll be home by then.’

‘And you’ve got everything you need for tonight?’ Jill asked.

‘I think so. Danny’s come with a holdall. Terri didn’t say he had any allergies or special dietary requirements, so I assume there are none.’

‘There’s nothing in the essential information forms,’ Jill confirmed. ‘And he hasn’t come with any medication?’

‘Not as far as I know, no.’

‘All right, well, good luck then, see you tomorrow.’

We said goodbye. I replaced the handset and looked at Danny. He was now watching Paula put together the pieces of Lego but wasn’t making any attempt to join in, although Paula was encouraging him. It was 6.30, and I really needed to get the dinner on the table. Danny was calm, so I asked Paula if she could stay with him while I went into the kitchen. I went over to Danny to tell him what was going to happen. When a child first arrives I find it helps them if routines, practices and expectations are explained as they arise. Households vary and what is obvious and familiar to members of one household won’t be to another. It helps them to settle in if they have a routine and know what to expect.

‘Danny,’ I said, squatting down so I was in his line of vision (although he didn’t make eye contact), ‘it’s nearly time for our dinner, so I’m going into the kitchen to finish making it. Then we’ll all sit at the table and eat. Paula is going to stay here with you, while I’m in the kitchen. All right?’

He didn’t look at me or acknowledge me, but I now knew he could hear, so I continued. ‘If you need anything, tell Paula. Do you need the toilet yet?’ I thought to ask.

Danny gave a small shake of his head.

‘OK. Good boy. When you do, ask Paula or me, and I’ll show you where it is.’ Usually, I took a new child on a tour of the house soon after they’d arrived so that they knew where everything was, and normally they were inquisitive and ready to have a good look around, but Danny wasn’t. He was clearly struggling with all the changes, so I thought I’d leave the tour for another time. He was a child who needed to take things very gradually, one step at a time.

‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked him as I stood.

He gave another little shake of his head.

‘I’ll leave the door open so you can hear me in the kitchen,’ I said. I went to touch his shoulder – a little reassuring physical contact – but he moved out of reach. Not rudely, just showing he didn’t want to be touched, which I understood. I hoped that would change in future when he got to know me, for if there was ever a child who looked in need of a hug, it was Danny.

As I worked in the kitchen I could hear Paula talking to Danny, encouraging him to play, but there was nothing coming from Danny. I would learn more about his language delay and general development at the meeting at his school the following morning, when I would also meet his mother.

Once dinner was ready I went into the living room where Paula and Danny were sitting on the floor as I’d left them. Paula had built a small house out of Lego, complete with windows, a door and a potted plant on the doorstep. Danny appeared not to have even touched the Lego. There were other games and toys within his reach, but he hadn’t attempted any of them, despite Paula’s encouragement.

‘Very nice,’ I said to Paula, admiring her house.

She grinned. ‘I’ve always liked Lego.’

‘I know. Dinner’s ready,’ I said to them both. ‘I’ll call Adrian and Lucy.’

I left the living room and went to the foot of the stairs where I called up to Adrian and Lucy. They replied that they’d be down straightaway. I returned to the living room where, to my slight surprise, Danny was slowly undoing the zipper on his coat. Then he began struggling out of it – difficult while sitting down. Paula instinctively reached out to help him, but he pulled away from her. She looked at me and I motioned for her not to worry. Fiercely independent, Danny struggled out of his coat and then clutched it protectively to his chest.

‘Danny, we’re going to eat now,’ I said, going over to him.

He didn’t look at me or reply, but he did stand up.

‘Wotcha!’ Lucy said to Danny, as she bounced into the living room. ‘I’m Lucy, Cathy’s other daughter. How are you doing, Mister?’

Danny didn’t look at her.

‘I was a foster child once,’ Lucy said, trying to reassure him. ‘So I know how you feel. But you’ll be fine here, I promise you. You’ll be well looked after and will soon feel at home.’

Bless her, I thought, although Lucy’s arrival as a foster child had been very different to Danny’s. She’d been older and had been grateful for the stability that being in care offered. I wondered if Danny would respond to her approach, but he didn’t; he just clutched his coat and stared at the floor. He looked so lost and alone I dearly wished I could reach out and hug him, as I’m sure Paula and Lucy did too, but clearly Danny was nowhere near ready for that yet.

‘Let’s eat,’ I said.

Lucy turned and led the way into the kitchen-cum-dining room with Paula following and then Danny and me. Danny was still clutching his coat.

‘This is where you sit,’ I said to Danny, drawing out the chair. We tended to keep the same places at the table, partly from habit but also because it helped the children I fostered to settle in if they knew where to sit. It became known as their place, and some even wrote their name on a piece of paper and stuck it to the back of the chair.

Danny was standing by his chair, still holding his coat. ‘Shall I put your coat with ours in the hall?’ I asked him.

He shook his head.

‘Hang it on the back of your chair then,’ I said, ‘so it doesn’t get food down it. It’s a nice coat. You don’t want it spoilt.’

Thankfully, Danny did as I asked and very slowly and meticulously draped his coat around the chair-back, and then spent time adjusting and straightening it.

‘That’s cute,’ Lucy said, watching him. Indeed it was, but it was also a little odd. Most boys of Danny’s age would have happily thrown their coat on the floor, not spent minutes perfecting its position. Adrian still dumped his coat on the floor sometimes if he was in a hurry.

‘Sit down now,’ I said to Danny, for having arranged his coat to his satisfaction he was still standing by the chair.

There was a small delay, as though he was processing or considering what I’d asked him to do, before he climbed onto his chair.

Adrian arrived and said, ‘Hi, Danny,’ as he took his place at the table.

Danny lifted his head slightly in Adrian’s direction but didn’t look at him.

‘This is my son Adrian,’ I said to Danny.

‘Hi, Danny,’ Adrian said again, but Danny still didn’t reply.

‘It’s bound to take Danny a while to get used to us all,’ I reassured everyone.

I served dinner and then sat in my place at the end of the table. Danny and Paula sat next to each other, to my right, and Adrian and Lucy to my left. We all began eating except little Danny, who sat motionless with his hands in his lap, staring at the contents of his plate. I’d given him a spoon as well as a knife and fork, but he made no attempt to pick up any of them. ‘It’s chicken and vegetable casserole,’ I said. ‘Try some. I’m sure you’ll like it.’

‘It’s nice,’ Lucy encouraged.

‘Yummy,’ Paula said.

Danny didn’t move or make any attempt to start eating.

‘Come on, love,’ I said. ‘You need to eat something,’ I picked up his spoon and placed it on the edge of his plate, ready for him to use.

After a moment he slowly picked up the spoon, but instead of dipping it into his food to start eating he set it down again. He repositioned it precisely beside his plate and then picked it up again. Independent, or resenting my help? I didn’t know. My children had seen this, but they knew better than to comment. Nor did they say anything about what Danny did next. Having picked up his spoon, he didn’t use it to start eating but began separating out the various components of the casserole. He arranged them in little heaps around the edge of his plate so that after a while there was a little pile of chicken pieces, another of diced potatoes, another of sliced carrots, and a mound of peas. You couldn’t really call it ‘playing’ or ‘toying’ with his food – it was too exact and precise for that. My children and I watched mesmerised – surreptitiously, of course, so Danny didn’t notice.

‘Are you going to eat it now?’ I asked him eventually.

Danny gave a small nod and then, using his spoon, began eating his food, one pile at a time. First the chicken, then the potatoes, carrots and peas. It wasn’t how one would normally eat a casserole, but the important thing was that Danny was eating. He finished it all and then spent some minutes scooping up the gravy until his plate was clear.

‘Good boy,’ I said.

He was the last to finish, and I now stood and began gathering together the dirty dishes. As I did, Danny finally spoke. He said one word: ‘George.’

Chapter Three

George

We all looked at him. We couldn’t help it. Danny suddenly speaking had taken us all by surprise.

‘George?’ Paula and I chorused together.

‘Who’s George?’ Lucy asked.

‘George,’ Danny repeated. ‘George. George.’

‘Tell me who George is,’ I said, ‘and I can help you.’

Danny stared around the room and then towards the kitchen as though he was looking for something or someone. ‘George,’ he said again, louder. ‘George!’

‘Danny, who is George?’ I asked, trying to make eye contact with him.

But he didn’t look at me or reply. He was staring around searchingly, clearly looking for something, but what or who? He was also growing increasingly anxious in his demands for George. ‘George! George!’

‘Is George a person?’ I asked him.

He didn’t reply.

‘A toy, maybe?’ I suggested. ‘Is George a toy in your holdall?’ I was envisaging a favourite toy packed by his mother that went everywhere with Danny and he couldn’t be separated from. But Danny shook his head vigorously.

‘George!’ he shouted again. Sliding off his chair, he ran into the kitchen and to the back door. I went after him.

‘Danny, who is George?’ I asked again.

‘George!’ he said, facing the back door as though George could be outside. ‘George! George!’ Danny was very agitated now and close to tears.

‘Danny, there’s no one out there, love,’ I said, going up to him. ‘George isn’t out there. Tell me who George is and I can help you.’

Danny turned from the door and looked around him, bewildered. Then he threw himself onto the floor, face down, and began sobbing and beating the tiles with his fists and feet. I knelt beside him and placed my hand lightly on his arm, but he wriggled out of reach and sobbed louder. Adrian, Paula and Lucy had fallen silent at the table and were looking at him, very worried.

‘George!’ Danny cried at the top of his voice as if he thought George might be able to hear him. ‘George!’

‘Danny, calm down,’ I said, staying close to him. ‘I’ll do what I can to find George.’

But he didn’t calm down; he continued sobbing loudly, crying out for George and beating the floor as his upset began to escalate into a tantrum. Sometimes, when a young child has a tantrum, holding them close and soothing them can ease them out of it, while older children often have to work through it before they can be held. Danny was so little and vulnerable my instinct was to pick him up, but given his resistance to physical contact I wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do.

‘Danny,’ I said, lightly touching his arm again, ‘can you tell me who George is?’

There was a small pause before he cried, ‘No!’ and thrashed around on the floor even more.

‘I can’t help you unless I know what it is you want,’ I said more firmly.

‘George!’ Danny yelled at the top of his voice.

At that moment Toscha, our rather lazy cat, perhaps intrigued by the commotion going on indoors, leapt in through the cat flap. Danny suddenly fell quiet – from shock, I think – and, sitting bolt upright, stared at Toscha. She threw him a disparaging glance and then sauntered over to her food bowl.

‘Not George!’ Danny cried, pointing to Toscha.

‘No. That’s Toscha, our cat,’ I said.

‘Not George!’ Danny cried again as though it was her fault.

‘No, our cat,’ I repeated. Danny got onto all fours and crawled to the cat flap and pushed it open.

‘Is there something you want to see outside?’ I asked.

Danny nodded vigorously.

‘Can you bring me Danny’s coat and shoes, please?’ I called to Adrian, Lucy and Paula. I was wearing slippers, but Danny only had on his socks. Paula stood and went into the hall for Danny’s shoes while Lucy unhooked his coat from the chair and brought it to me.

‘Thank you,’ I said with a reassuring smile.

Danny was calmer now he knew he was going outside, although what he expected to find out there I’d no idea – I could foresee another tantrum when he was disappointed.

‘Do you want me to get your coat, Mum?’ Paula asked, arriving with Danny’s shoes.

‘No thanks, love. We won’t be out there for long. It’s cold.’

I set Danny’s shoes on the floor beside him. ‘Shall I put them on for you or do you want to do it?’ He took first one and then the other, quickly stuffing his foot in and doing up the Velcro. ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Now stand up and put your coat on.’ I held his coat out ready for him. There was a moment’s pause, as though he was processing or considering what I’d asked him to do, and then he slipped his arms into each of the sleeves and drew his coat around him.

‘I want you to hold my hand when we go out into the garden,’ I said to him. ‘It’s dark and there’s a step outside. I don’t want you falling.’ Also, not knowing what Danny wanted to do in the garden, I was concerned he might be thinking of running off and hiding again as he had done at school.

Danny didn’t offer me his hand, so I repeated that he needed to hold my hand before we went into the garden. After another pause he did as I’d asked. ‘Good boy,’ I said, taking every opportunity to praise him.

I opened the back door. The light from the kitchen shone out illuminating the step, and I helped him over it. Once outside Danny began looking around again anxiously. ‘George?’ he asked. ‘Where George?’

‘I don’t think we’re going to find George here,’ I said gently.

‘George,’ Danny repeated. Still holding my hand, he led me round the back where we stood on the patio facing the house. He pointed to the wall beneath the kitchen window. ‘George?’ he asked, puzzled. ‘George?’

‘Did you think George would be here?’ I asked him. He nodded. ‘I’m sorry, love, he’s not. I expect he’s at your house. Who is George?’

Danny opened his mouth as if to answer, but it was as though he couldn’t find the right word, so he said something else instead – ‘George needs dinner’ – and his eyes filled with tears.

Then it dawned on me. ‘Is George an animal?’ I asked.

Danny gave a very small nod.

‘Is George your pet who lives outside?’

Danny nodded. ‘George needs feeding.’

‘I expect your mother has given George his dinner,’ I reassured him. ‘What type of animal is George?’

Danny looked around, bemused, apparently unable to find the right word.

‘Does George live in a cage?’ I asked, narrowing down the possibilities.

Danny nodded.

‘Is he a rabbit?’

Danny turned to me, and for the first time since I’d collected him from school and brought him home he made eye contact. ‘Yes. George Danny’s best friend,’ he said so sadly I could have wept.

‘All right, love,’ I said. ‘I understand. Let’s go inside and I’ll explain.’

Danny still had his hand in mine and he slowly turned away from the place where he thought George would be. He looked lost and utterly defeated as he allowed me to lead him back indoors.

Danny’s assumption that George had come with him to live with us was, I felt, logical for a child of six. Danny had come to stay, so why shouldn’t his beloved pet and best friend have come too? It would have helped Danny if his mother or his social worker had explained to him more fully about coming into care – or perhaps they had, for I was realizing that Danny was a child with very special needs who not only had difficulty with language but seemed to have great difficulty processing information as well. I wondered if he’d been assessed.

Danny appeared slightly dazed by what had happened and let me help him out of his coat and shoes without protest. Paula took them into the hall. He was too preoccupied with George’s absence to notice that his coat had gone to hang with ours on the coat stand. I explained to Adrian, Lucy and Paula that George was Danny’s much-loved pet rabbit, which he had hoped had come with him. I could see from their expressions that they were as moved as I was by Danny’s upset, for they appreciated the bond that existed between pets and their owners from having Toscha with us for so many years.

‘Come on, Danny,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and sit down and I’ll try to explain what’s going on.’

I took him into the living room where I asked him to sit on the sofa. He clambered on and I sat next to him, close but not touching, which, to a child such as Danny who wasn’t naturally tactile, could have felt threatening and like an invasion of his personal space.

‘No George?’ he asked sadly, without looking at me.

‘No, love, George isn’t here. He’s at your house, safe and warm. I’m sure your mother will have given him his dinner.’

Danny shook his head and tried to say something, but nothing came out.

‘Do you usually feed George?’ I asked him.

He nodded.

‘After you’ve had your dinner?’ I asked. From the way Danny had left the table and started looking for George as soon as he’d finished his dinner, I thought it was probably a routine.

He nodded again.

‘Danny, I need you to listen carefully to what I am going to tell you. My name is Cathy and I’m a foster carer. I look after children to help their parents. You’ll still see your mummy and daddy, and you’ll be going to school as normal. But you are going to live with me for a while. Your mummy and daddy love you, and George loves you too. You mustn’t worry about any of them. They are all safe.’ I’d no idea what Danny understood about coming to live with me, but I knew from experience that many children who came into care fretted and worried that something dreadful had happened to their parents and any loved ones they’d left behind. Once they’d seen them again at contact they were usually reassured. ‘Your mummy and daddy are safe at home, and George is safe in his hutch,’ I said.

‘George here,’ Danny said.

‘No, love, George isn’t here. He’s at your house.’

‘George here,’ Danny repeated, growing anxious again. I was puzzled that he was still asking as clearly he’d seen for himself that George’s hutch wasn’t outside.

‘No, love. George is at your house,’ I said again.

‘No! George here!’ Danny cried more insistently. It was then I realized that ‘George here’ now meant something different and was no longer a question.

‘You want George here?’ I asked.

He nodded.

‘I understand.’

This was a difficult one, because pets don’t usually accompany a child into care. Reasons for this include that it isn’t always practical, members of the foster family may have allergies to animal fur, the animal might be unsafe (this usually applies to dogs), or the parent(s) might not want the pet to go with the child, which is understandable as they can be as attached to it as the child. But this was a little rabbit we were talking about that lived in a hutch outside. None of us were allergic to fur and I didn’t mind pets, so I decided not to immediately rule out the possibility of George coming to stay with us, but neither was I going to give Danny false hope.