Читать книгу Saving Danny - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 11

I was upstairs for two hours helping Danny get ready for bed. He didn’t have a huge amount in his holdall – there was a couple of changes of clothes, pyjamas, a towel and wash bag – but Danny insisted on unpacking it all himself, and he was very precise. First he spent some time deciding which drawers to put his clothes in, then he spent a long time arranging them and rearranging them until, mindful of the time, I began chivvying him along. Once he was satisfied that his clothes were in the right drawer and positioned correctly he spent more time arranging his soft toy rabbit on the pillow, repositioning it in a number of different places.

‘It won’t ever be quite the same as at your house,’ I said, for clearly Danny couldn’t replicate exactly what he had at home.

But Danny continued until he was satisfied, and then finally changed into his pyjamas, neatly folding the clothes he’d taken off and placing them squarely at the foot of his bed, as I guessed he did at home. Eventually we went round the landing and into the bathroom. I showed him where everything was, and he spent some time arranging his towel and wash things beside ours. He was probably the most precise and self-sufficient six-year-old I’d ever come across, yet at the same time there was a vulnerability about him that was younger than his years.

‘You can have a bath tomorrow evening,’ I told him. ‘There isn’t time tonight. A good wash will be fine for now.’

Danny didn’t object and I placed the childstep in front of the hand basin so that he could comfortably reach into the bowl. He then spent some moments repositioning the step, squaring it, before he was satisfied and finally stood on it. I put the plug into the sink and turned on the taps. Danny turned them off, and then on again, wanting to do it himself.

‘The water is hot,’ I said, turning down the hot tap. ‘I need to help you with this.’ His face set; he didn’t like my interference, but he was six, and in some things he had to accept my help for his own safety. ‘Hot water can burn you,’ I told him.

He didn’t reply but stared blankly at the sink. I ran the water and checked the temperature. ‘That’s fine now,’ I said. ‘Do you want me to wash your face, or can you do it?’

There was pause before he picked up his flannel, folded it in half and half again, carefully submerged it in the water, squeezed it out and began washing his face. ‘Good boy,’ I said.

As Danny washed and dried his face and then cleaned his teeth, I saw there was something measured, almost ritualistic, in the way he performed the tasks. I guessed he carried them out exactly the same way every evening. In cleaning his teeth he carefully unscrewed the cap of his toothpaste, set the cap to one side, squirted a precise amount of paste onto his toothbrush, put down the brush, screwed the cap back on the paste and then began cleaning his teeth. Such exactness was very unusual for a child, and of course it was a slow process. I realized we would have to start the bedtime routine earlier in future. When Danny brushed his teeth the movement was so regular that it created a little rhythm as the brush went back and forth over his upper front teeth, then the left and right, and the same on his lower teeth. But he appeared content, as though he enjoyed the feel of it. I began to think he could continue indefinitely, so eventually I said, ‘You’ve done a good job, Danny. You can rinse out now.’

There was a pause before he did as I’d asked. Then he patted his mouth dry on his towel and returned it to the rail, where he spent some moments squaring it before he was satisfied. I wondered how much of his precise and ritualistic behaviour was because he was anxious and how much was just part of Danny. He was certainly an unusual little fellow, and I clearly had a lot to learn about him.

It was now nearly nine o’clock, and while I’d been upstairs Adrian, Lucy and Paula had come up and were in their rooms getting ready for bed. As Danny and I went round the landing I pointed out everyone’s bedrooms, but he didn’t want to look in.

‘If you need me in the night, call out and I’ll come to you,’ I said. ‘There is a night light on the landing, but I don’t want you wandering around by yourself. So call me if you need me.’ I told all the children this on their first night, although given Danny’s lack of language I doubted he would call me. I was a light sleeper, though, and usually woke if a child was out of bed. We continued into his bedroom. ‘Do you want your curtains open or closed?’ I asked him, as I asked all children when they first arrived.

Danny didn’t reply and looked bewildered. ‘They are closed now,’ I said. ‘Are they all right like that?’

He gave a small shake of the head and then went over to the curtains and parted them slightly.

I smiled. ‘Good boy. I’ll know what you want next time. Do you sleep with your light on or off?’ This was also important for helping a child settle.

Danny didn’t say anything but went to the light switch and dimmed it.

‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘Is there anything else you need before you get into bed?’

He shook his head and climbed into bed, then snuggled down. He pulled the duvet right up over his head and drew the soft-toy rabbit beneath it.

‘Won’t you be too hot like that?’ I asked him.

There was no reply.

I tried easing the duvet down a little away from his face so he could breathe, but he pulled it up over his head again.

‘All right then, love. I’ll say goodnight.’ It was strange saying goodnight without being able to see his face. Often a child wanted a hug or a goodnight kiss, or, missing home, asked me to sit with them while they went off to sleep. Clearly Danny didn’t want any of these.

‘Night then, love,’ I said to the lump in the duvet that was Danny. Silence. ‘Do you want your door open or closed?’ I asked before I left.

There was no answer, so I left the door slightly ajar and came out. I’d check on him later. Yet as I went round the landing to Paula’s room I heard Danny get out of bed and quietly close his door. He had known what he wanted but hadn’t been able to tell me. Whether this was from poor language skills, shyness or some other reason I couldn’t say.

Once I’d checked that Paula, Lucy and Adrian were OK and getting ready for bed, I went downstairs. I would go up later when they were in bed to say goodnight. I was exhausted, but I knew I should write up my fostering notes before I went to bed while the events of the day were still fresh in my mind. All foster carers in England are asked to keep a daily log in respect of the child or children they are looking after. They record any significant events that have affected the child, the child’s wellbeing and general development, as well as any appointments the child may have. It is a confidential document, and when the child leaves the foster carer it is sent to the social services, where it is held on file.

I sat on the sofa in the living room with a mug of tea within reach and headed the sheet of A4 paper with the date. I then recorded objectively how I’d collected Danny from school and the details of how he was gradually settling in, ending with the time he went to bed and his routine. I placed the sheet in the folder I’d already begun for Danny, and which would eventually contain all the paperwork I had on him. I returned the folder to the lockable draw in the front room and went upstairs to say goodnight to Paula, Lucy and Adrian. Then I checked on Danny. He was still buried beneath the duvet and, concerned he would be too hot and breathing stale air, I crept to the bed and slowly moved the duvet clear of his face. He was in a deep sleep and didn’t stir. His cheeks were flushed pink, and his soft-toy rabbit lay on the pillow beside him. Danny looked like a little angel with his delicate features relaxed in sleep and his mop of light blond hair.

I checked on him again at 11.30 before I went to bed, and then when I woke at 2 a.m. Both times he was fast asleep, flat on his back, with his face above the duvet and soft-toy George beside him. I didn’t sleep well – I never do when a child first arrives. I subconsciously listen out for the child in case they are upset. But as far as I was aware Danny slept soundly, and he was still asleep when my alarm went off at 6 a.m. I checked on him before I showered and dressed, then again before I went downstairs to feed Toscha and make myself a coffee. At 7 a.m., after I’d woken Adrian, Lucy and Paula, I knocked on Danny’s door and went in. He was awake now, still lying on his back but with his arm around the soft toy and staring up at the ceiling.

‘Good morning, love,’ I said, going over to the bed. ‘You slept well. Did you remember where you were when you woke?’

His gaze flickered in my direction, but he didn’t make eye contact. Then he spoke, although it wasn’t to answer my question.

‘For breakfast I have cornflakes, with milk and half a teaspoon of sugar,’ he said.

I smiled. He had clearly prepared this speech, and I wondered at the effort that must have gone into finding the correct words and then keeping them ready for when they were needed.

‘That sounds good to me,’ I said. ‘I want you to wash and dress and then we’ll go down and have breakfast.’

I looked at his little face as he concentrated on what I’d said and tried to work out if a response was needed, and if so, what.

‘So the first thing you need to do is get out of bed,’ I said. I appreciated that Danny needed clear and precise instructions. There was a moment’s pause before Danny pushed back the duvet and got out of bed. ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘The next thing you need to do is go to the toilet and then the bathroom so you can have a wash.’

Danny turned, not towards the bedroom door but to where his clothes were at the foot of the bed. He stared at them anxiously.

‘Do you usually put your clothes on first?’ I asked him.

He nodded.

‘That’s fine, but you’ll need clean clothes. I’ll wash those.’ I usually replaced the child’s clothes with fresh ones when they took them off at night, but I hadn’t had a chance the previous evening. I went to the chest of drawers where Danny had put his clean clothes and opened the drawer. Danny arrived beside me, wanting to take out what he needed himself.

‘I’ll put your dirty clothes in the laundry basket,’ I said.

He shook his head and, setting down his clean clothes, picked up the dirty ones, again clearly wanting to do it himself. ‘OK. I’ll show you where to put your laundry,’ I said. But Danny went ahead. I followed him round the landing and then waited just outside the bathroom while he put his clothes into the laundry basket. He’d obviously remembered seeing it the night before.

‘Good boy,’ I said.

He used the toilet and then we returned to his bedroom. I was on hand to help if necessary. Before he began dressing Danny laid out his clothes on the bed in the order in which they would go on. His vest at the top, beneath that his school shirt, then his jumper, pants, trousers and socks. I wondered if this was a system he’d thought of to help him dress or if it had been devised by his parents. Special needs children often struggle with sequencing tasks like this that appear simple to the rest of us; they can easily put their vest on over the top of their shirt, for example. Danny’s system worked. Slowly but surely he dressed himself and didn’t need my help.

‘Well done,’ I said as he finished.

He didn’t reply but now concentrated on folding his pyjamas – precisely in half and half again – and then tucked them neatly under his pillow. He carefully positioned his soft toy, George, on his pillow and then drew up the duvet so just the little rabbit’s face peeped out. After that he spent some moments readjusting the duvet until I said, ‘Time to go downstairs for breakfast now.’

He finally stopped fiddling with the duvet and came with me. At the top of the stairs I offered him my hand, and for a second I thought he was going to take it, but then he took hold of the handrail instead. Because Danny was quite small he navigated the steps one at a time, as a much younger child would. He then came with me into the kitchen-cum-diner and went straight to his place at the table.

‘Good boy,’ I said again.

Adrian came down and took his place at the table. ‘Hi, Danny,’ he said. ‘How are you?’

Danny didn’t answer but did look in Adrian’s direction.

‘Toast and tea?’ I asked Adrian, which was what he normally had for breakfast during the week.

‘Yes please, Mum.’

In the kitchen I dropped two slices of bread into the toaster, poured Danny’s cornflakes into a bowl, added milk and sugar and then placed the bowl on the table in front of him. He picked up his spoon and began eating, clearly used to eating cornflakes. ‘What would you like to drink with your breakfast?’ I asked Danny.

There was silence. His spoon hovered over his bowl and he concentrated hard before he said, ‘I have a glass of milk with my breakfast.’

I poured the milk, gave it to Danny and then joined him and Adrian at the table. The girls came down and said hello to Danny, then poured themselves cereal and a drink. As we ate, Lucy and Paula tried to make conversation with Danny, asking him what he liked best at school and what his favourite television programmes were. He didn’t answer, and I could see he was growing increasingly anxious at their questions, although of course they were only trying to be friendly and make him feel welcome. Danny appeared to be a child who needed to concentrate on one task at a time, and he finally stopped eating.

‘I think Danny is finding our talk a bit much first thing in the morning,’ I said as diplomatically as I could.

‘I know the feeling,’ Adrian added dryly.

‘Watch it,’ Lucy said jokingly, poking him in the ribs.

But the girls understood what I meant and not usually being great conversationalists themselves first thing in the morning, they left Danny to eat. Once I knew more about Danny’s difficulties I’d be better equipped to explain them to Adrian, Lucy and Paula, and also to deal with them myself. At present I was relying on common sense and my experience as a foster carer.

As the children finished eating they left the table one at a time to go upstairs and carry on getting ready for school. I waited with Danny while he emptied his bowl of cornflakes and then drank his glass of milk.

‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Now it’s time for you to go upstairs so you can wash and brush your teeth.’

‘George?’ he asked questioningly, glancing towards the back door.

‘Do you feed George in the morning?’ I asked.

He nodded.

‘Your mummy will feed George today,’ I said. ‘I’ll talk to her about George when I see her this morning at school.’

He accepted this, slid from his chair and then followed me down the hall and upstairs. In the bathroom he completed the tasks of washing and brushing his teeth in the same order and with the same precision as he had the previous evening.

Adrian, Lucy and Paula left for their respective secondary schools, calling goodbye as they went. Then, once Danny had finished in the bathroom, we went downstairs, where I told him we needed to put on our shoes and coats ready to go to school. I went to unhook his coat from the stand, but he put his hand on my arm to stop me. ‘Of course,’ I said, smiling. ‘You want to do it yourself.’

I lifted him up and he unhooked his coat, then struggled into it, finally accepting my help to engage the zipper. He sat on the floor to put on his shoes, and when he’d finished I praised him. He put so much effort into everything he did, it was important he knew when he’d done well. He didn’t have a school bag; I assumed it had been left at school.

‘We’re going outside, so hold my hand, please,’ I said as I opened the front door.

He did as I asked and we went to my car on the driveway. I opened the rear door and Danny clambered into the child seat and then fastened his own seatbelt. I checked it was secure, closed his door and went round and climbed into the driver’s seat. As I drove I reminded Danny what was going to happen that day (as far as I knew); that we were going to school where he would see his mother, and I was going into a meeting. Then at the end of the day I would collect him from school and bring him home with me. I didn’t mention that Jill was visiting us at 4 p.m., as I thought it might overload him with information; I’d tell him after school. He didn’t reply, but I knew he was taking it all in – his gaze was fixed and serious as he concentrated.

Although I was slightly anxious about meeting his mother for the first time, I was also looking forward to it. I would learn more about Danny, and hopefully I’d be able to work with his parents with the aim of eventually returning Danny home. Having looked after Danny for only one night, I appreciated how his parents might have struggled. Caring for Danny was hard work, and I’d had plenty of experience looking after children – many with special needs. Some parents are very angry when their child or children first go into care, although given that Danny had been placed in care voluntarily I didn’t think that was likely. I thought his parents would probably be upset rather than angry, and I was right – although I was completely unprepared for just how upset Danny’s mother would be.