Breaking the Silence (7 page)

‘Casey?’ It wasn’t my mum. It was John Fulshaw. ‘Sorry to call you at this hour,’ he said. ‘I know I’m making something of a habit of bothering you just lately. I was going to leave a message on your mobile. But then I realised I’m going to be tied up in a meeting till lunchtime tomorrow, and I really need to run this by you as a matter of urgency.’

My ears pricked up. Did this mean Jenson was about to leave us? Or had the situation worsened in some way? But he’d used the words ‘run by you’, which didn’t seem to fit either.

‘What’s happened?’ I said, intrigued.

‘Nothing’s happened exactly. It’s just that we have a bit of a dilemma. We have this boy, you see, Georgie –’

‘Another boy?’ I was confused now. And then something struck me. Was this something to do with Jenson’s family? Was this the little one the neighbour had attested to?

‘Another boy,’ John confirmed. ‘To be honest, we have had you and Mike in mind for him for a while now.’

‘Oh!’ I said, re-jigging my train of thought completely. This was obviously a different boy. A potential foster placement. ‘So he’s one of the ones you mentioned the other day, is he?’

‘Exactly,’ confirmed John. ‘Except it’s looking like we need to place him sooner rather than later. He has his problems, Casey – this is going to be something a bit different for you.’

‘In what way?’ I wanted to know. I was even more intrigued now, prickle on the back of the neck intrigued.

‘He has a degree of autism, to be precise about it. A fair degree of it. Which presents its own challenges, as I’m sure you’re aware.’

Which I knew it did and would. But there was obviously more to it than that. I was most interested to know why he’d been placed in care. ‘What’s his family situation?’

‘There is none. No family. He’s been in children’s homes since he was a toddler. Very young mother. Still in her mid-teens. Simply couldn’t cope with him. And, from what I’ve seen of the file – to be honest, I’ve barely scratched the surface – the family weren’t supportive. Well, you can imagine the scenario, can’t you? Without that kind of support it must have been a big ask for her. So, sadly, the girl put him into care herself.’

I took a moment to digest that, and to wonder how it must have felt. What a tragedy, for all concerned. ‘Oh, John, that’s so sad …’

‘Isn’t it? But also a fact of life, unfortunately. But don’t run away with the idea that this is a kid with a load of baggage. He’s been in the same children’s home since he was 2 and knows no other life. And is a contented little soul, by all accounts. Well, was. That happy state of affairs might not continue. As I say, the home’s closing down, and he needs a new one pronto. They’ve been looking for a long-term foster home for him for a while now.’

‘What, as in
us
?’ Long-term foster care wasn’t in our remit. Our job was to provide short placements – no more than nine months or so, usually, to set the behaviourally challenged kids up so they were
fit
for long-term fostering.

‘No, no,’ John said. ‘That was never the plan, obviously. He’s 9 – same age as Jenson – and he needs somewhere he can stay till he’s 18. In an ideal world, at any rate. So in the meantime we’d earmarked you and Mike as perhaps the perfect interim placement. With your understanding of Asperger’s – and I know it’s not anywhere near the same degree of disability – we thought you’d be better placed to take care of him than most. And best of all, he’s local – and we’d like to keep him local, if at all possible. It will be enough of an upheaval leaving his home as it is, without changing his whole environment as well …’

‘And you don’t think another children’s home is the answer?’

‘I wish! Because he is perfectly settled. Funny, isn’t it? That the very things that make children’s homes less than ideal for most kids mean they’re perfect places for children like Georgie. He loves the routine, loves the privacy, and loves the institutionalised nature of it. And he hates change, obviously. But since this whole drive to try and move kids into family situations … Sounds crazy, but they’re becoming as rare as hens’ teeth. Ones that can accommodate a child like Georgie, at any rate.’

Which was true. Children’s homes had become deeply unpopular in recent years. And with good reason – the statistics regarding the life chances of kids who were raised in them made for depressing reading in the extreme. But John was spot on – a child such as he was describing, with their complex needs and lack of emotional challenges, could often thrive in such an institutionalised environment. Plus he had obviously never known a family of his own.

‘So,’ I said, ‘what’s the matter of urgency in this equation?’

‘The home is closing imminently – they’ve moved it forward a couple of weeks. Which means that, ideally, we need to place him now, this minute. Bless him – he’s the only kid left in there, Casey.’

My heart melted, hearing that. The poor kid. He must be scared witless with all that upheaval going on around him. And to be the only child left – it must be horrible. And, of course, I thought immediately of Kieron.

‘How severe is his autism,’ I asked John, ‘in practical terms?’

‘Well, I remember reading that he’s in mainstream school, supported by a specialist teaching assistant, so that says a lot. And knowing you and Mike, I’m sure there’s nothing you can’t handle. I can call in tomorrow, if you like, and we can run through the paperwork in more detail, but I thought that with Jenson probably off your hands within the week it might be doable. Just a short overlap with the both of them …’

‘It’s okay,’ I said, ‘you don’t need to do a big sell. Of course we’ll take him, John.’

He chuckled. ‘Hadn’t you better speak to Mike first?’

So I did speak to Mike, and, of course, he did his usual Mike thing.

‘Are you sure you can manage both of them?’ he said. ‘It could potentially be quite challenging. If this kid’s used to being alone, and being in a home, he might find that difficult.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘but I’m sure there won’t be anything that’ll faze me. Not with a couple of 9-year-olds.’

Mike gave me one of his old-fashioned looks. He knew as well as I that he could name at least two boys we’d fostered – no, three, come to think of it – who fitted that description. And there had been
plenty
to faze me. To faze both of us.

‘And remember,’ he said, playing up to his established role of calmer-downer, ‘autism is not the same as Asperger’s, Case.’

‘I know that!’

‘And what if they don’t get on? You’ve considered that scenario, have you?’

‘Of course I have,’ I countered. ‘And we can cross that bridge when we come to it. Anyway, why must you always think of the worst?’

‘I’m glad you mentioned that,’ Mike said, ‘because it might be a bridge we have to cross. Suppose Jenson turns out to be with us for longer than we thought? I’m just trying to make you see all the angles, love, that’s all.’

Which was fine. That was his job, and it was good that I had him to do it. But, at the same time, I had my job. To look always on the bright side. And, being well practised now in such situations, I had answers good and ready for all his supplementary questions as well.

‘After all,’ I said gaily, when Mike finally allowed me to call John back, ‘how difficult can two little boys be?’

‘Say yes and worry about the details later’ is probably a good mantra for life generally. But not in every case, perhaps. Maybe, sometimes, it
is
the fools who tend to rush in. Had I been one, I wondered, having been so quick to rush in here? Because pleased though I was to be able to make John’s day – and I clearly had – almost as soon as I started speaking to him about Georgie I began to feel anxious as well.

He had explained that, in this case, a prior visit would be counterproductive, not only because logistically it would be difficult to arrange at such short notice, but also because with change being so upsetting for the boy it was in his best interests if they left it till the last minute.

‘So I was wondering,’ John was saying, ‘if you could email me a few photos of the family. Ideally in some home locations, so he can get a look at the environment as well. We’ve got you and Mike’s mug shots on file somewhere, of course, but a few family snaps – of the whole clan, ideally; everyone he’s likely to come into contact with – would be a good and less unsettling introduction.’

I agreed that I would. ‘And at the same time I’ll pop some notes over for you,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a few already and I’m pleased to be able to tell you that he’ll be arriving with a comprehensive care plan.’

He chortled, having said this, and I could hear the irony in his voice, because that would be a
very
welcome change. How many times had we taken on children with almost nothing about their history to go on? Too many. Oh, the notes were always ‘on their way’ or ‘in the process of getting updated’ but more often than not they simply failed to materialise – or, even if they did, came in such dribs and drabs that by the time we read that this or that event or incident had happened we didn’t
need
telling – because we’d already seen it in action for ourselves.

But, thankful as I was that this time we’d have a bit more to go on than just a couple of measly A4 sheets of not-very-much, it was still sinking in that we might be biting off more than we could chew here. For starters, the poor child would probably be terrified. Would I have the skills to be able to comfort him? Would I be able to even understand what he needed?

I mentally shook myself. Of course I would. And if I didn’t, I could learn. After all, I might feel slightly unequal to the task, but what were the alternatives? Someone who’d probably feel every bit as much out of their depth, but who didn’t even have the benefit of being close to Georgie’s school. Or, worse still, the prospect of being pushed from pillar to post in a series of short respite placements.

No, we’d be fine, I told myself, and told John as well. ‘But what about Jenson?’ I finished. ‘How d’you want me to play it with him?’

John seemed surprised. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t worry about that aspect,’ he said. ‘In all likelihood they’ll only have to rub along for a couple of days.’

He probably didn’t realise the irony of those words any more than I did. Rubbing along, after all, meant one thing – friction.

Relaying all this to Mike after Jenson had gone to bed, I was pleased to find myself beginning to feel as relaxed about that aspect of it as John had. ‘So I’m not going to make a big thing of it,’ I told him as I climbed into bed. ‘I’ll just run it by him over breakfast, I think. He might even find it a welcome distraction. You know – divert him from fretting about his mum.’

And I was of exactly the same mindset the following morning, which had dawned to be another beautiful spring day. So much so that I even decided we’d have our breakfast on the patio: boiled eggs, which I was just bringing to the table when Jenson appeared.

‘Oh,’ he said, intrigued to see the outside table laid. ‘We eating out here then?’

‘Indeed we are,’ I answered, pouring him a tumbler of orange juice. ‘It’s called
al fresco
.’

‘Al what?’

‘
Al fresco
,’ I repeated. ‘It’s Italian. Italian for eating outside. Anyway, crack on,’ I quipped, as he reached for his teaspoon. ‘I’ll go and fetch my coffee and the toast and cut you up some soldiers.’

Jenson grinned. ‘Brill,’ he said. ‘Mum always makes us soldiers. You haven’t forgotten you’re going to ring up today, have you?’

‘No,’ I called back, as I went back inside to fetch the toast for him. ‘Soon as I’ve dropped you off, don’t worry.’

He’d taken the top off his egg by the time I got back outside, and was waiting patiently for the bread to dip into it. That was one thing, I mused, as I cut toast into fingers. At least she bothered enough to make him soldiers.

‘Oh, and by the way,’ I said, as I passed the hot buttered toast to him, ‘I have some news.’

‘You have?’

‘Not about you. It’s some other news. You know you’re only going to be with us for a short time?’

Jenson nodded, and had the good grace not to say ‘thank goodness’. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’ve been speaking to our boss, John, on the phone. And he’s asked us if we’ll take on our next placement early.’

Jenson looked confused. Of course, I thought. Silly me. He wouldn’t understand that concept, would he? ‘The next child,’ I explained, ‘that we’re going to be having longer term. Do you remember me telling you that that was what we usually did? Have children for a few months to do our special training programme? Well, this is the next child we’re due to have, and as we’re going to have him a little early, it means that for a few days at least we’ll have both of you living with us.’

Jenson digested this along with a mouthful of egg.

‘So it’s a boy?’ he said.

‘It is.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Almost the same age as you.’

‘Older or younger?’

‘I don’t know. All I know is that he’s 9.’

Jenson considered this as he ate. ‘An’ is he gonna share my room with me?’

‘No, no. He’ll have his own bedroom. We wouldn’t expect you to share a room.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Yeah, but will I have to share my DS with him?’

‘Heavens, no. That’s yours, Jenson! So, no – not unless you want to let him. But I imagine he’ll have his own toys, don’t you?’

Jenson continued to dip toast into the top of his egg. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Georgie.’

‘Georgie?’ His brows furrowed. ‘As in Georgie-
ee
?’

‘I know – it does sound a little bit like a girl’s name, doesn’t it? But it isn’t. It’s –’

Jenson had paused with a piece of toast halfway to his mouth, dripping yolk.

‘Careful,’ I said. ‘Don’t want to get egg yolk on your school trousers.’ But he didn’t seem to be aware of the toast now.

‘Georg
ie
?’ he said again. ‘Georgie who? What’s his surname?’

‘Umm,’ I thought, trying to recall. ‘Umm, let me see … Georgie Smart, I think. Yes, that’s it.’

‘Georgie Smart?’ he spluttered, dropping the toast back onto his plate now. ‘Georgie
Smart
?’

Yes, I said, surprised. ‘Why? Do you know him?’

‘
Know
him?’ he said, looking mortified. ‘Of
course
I know him!
Everybody
knows him! He’s a dummy! He’s not Georgie Smart, either – he’s Georgie Not-so-smart!’

Well, what a turn up, I thought. ‘Jenson,’ I said. ‘Does Georgie go to your sch—’

But he wasn’t listening. He was too busy looking mortified. ‘Are you saying
he’s
going to live
here
? Here, in this
house
?’

I nodded. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes he is. So he goes to your school then?’

Jenson groaned. ‘But he’s such a
retard
! All the other kids will take the piss! He can’t live here!’

I needed to rein this in. ‘Jenson, it’s not a case of “can’t”. He
is
. And I’d be grateful if you’d stop making such unkind comments about him.’

‘But he
is
,’ he persisted. ‘An’ he’s scary. He says all this weird shit –’

‘Jenson!’

‘But he
does
. He’s just crazy. He can’t come here. No way.’

He was pushing his chair back now, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Jenson,’ I began.

‘I can’t
believe
you’re doing this to me,’ he said wretchedly. Then he stomped off back inside the house.

Great, I thought, pushing my own chair back and following. Shouldn’t John have known something like this? No, perhaps not, I conceded. I really couldn’t expect every tiny detail of every child to pop into his brain every minute of every day, could I? It probably wouldn’t have occurred to him to even think about it. There must have been any one of a dozen primary schools either boy could have gone to. It was a big area, well populated. What were the chances? But I hadn’t thought about it either, more was the pity.

By now I could hear Jenson banging around upstairs, and it occurred to me that potentially I had something of a situation here. He was off to school now – Georgie’s school – after all. Their paths might cross. He might say something. The complications were stacking up.

‘Jenson,’ I said, putting on my stern face as he stomped back down the stairs. ‘Listen, I know this isn’t ideal for you – I doubt it is for Georgie either. In fact, I know it’s not – but it’s what’s happening, and I’d like to think you can be mature enough to make the best of it. Who knows, once you get to know him a little, you might even find something positive to be able to say to him, mightn’t you? And as we both know, it’s only likely to be for a few days. Okay?’

Jenson scowled, but at least managed to produce a grudging nod, though I was once again concerned that it was only because he’d already decided to do another runner back home. ‘Anyway,’ I continued briskly, ‘you will in all probability be able to see Mum today, so that’s good, isn’t it? So be sure to be ready when I come to collect you this afternoon, because if you
are
seeing her today I will be driving you to go and see her. Down in town –’ I made sure to emphasise that bit. With any luck, that should discourage him from absconding.

‘And as far as Georgie goes,’ I finished, handing him his backpack, ‘I’d be grateful if you don’t say anything to him about what’s happening, okay? Because he doesn’t know yet, and it will make him agitated, you understand?’

Jenson shouldered his backpack and regaled me with one of his less lovely expressions. ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ he said. ‘There’s no way I’ll be speaking to him – because he’s a
freak
!’

Great
, I thought again. And a very happy Monday to you all.

I was at least partly reassured after visiting Andrea Cappleman. It may or may not have been as a result of Jenson absconding from school on the previous Friday, but when she promised me she would ensure Jenson and Georgie didn’t come into contact with one another before the end of the week I knew I could trust her to see to it that they didn’t. Though I still felt another stab of anxiety. If Georgie was viewed as dispiritingly as he obviously was in some quarters, there was still a fair chance he’d get wind that something was going on. Much as I wished I could feel differently, I had enough experience around kids to know that Jenson would find it almost impossible not to share his news with all his peers – which meant it would probably be all around the school by lunchtime.

But I couldn’t dwell on that; my job was to deal with the fall-out later. And in the meantime I had things to do myself.

John was apologetic that he hadn’t twigged about the schools being the same. But I wasn’t hard on him anyway, because it didn’t really make a difference. And, actually, I thought, as I disconnected from him, being exposed more intimately to Georgie might prove a useful learning tool for young Jenson. So much prejudice stems from fear – that was a well-documented fact. And who knew? Perhaps exposure to a ‘different’ child like Georgie would form the basis of a useful bit of personal development.

If a short-lived one. My next call was to Marie Bateman, and I was pleased to hear that Jenson would indeed be seeing his mum.

‘Not today, though, I’m afraid,’ she said. ‘Which I know is going to disappoint him. But I just can’t squeeze it into my schedule this afternoon. I wish I could, but you just can’t get a quart into a pint pot – and you know the sort of workloads people like you and I have all too well! Tomorrow, though. Tomorrow after school.’

‘What do you want me to do then?’ I asked, understanding where she was coming from re the workload. I felt for her. At least I didn’t have to spend my days in interminable meetings these days.

‘Oh, nothing. Nothing at all,’ she said. ‘I’ll come and pick him up after straight after school, if that’s okay.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘You sure? That would be brilliant. It would give me a chance to get some paperwork done. Not to mention start preparing the spare room ready for Georgie.’

‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘Though would that you could. No, that’s the point. Until things are sorted, they have to be supervised contact visits. Couple of things have come up that need to be gone into. So they’ll be doing a full assessment of both Karen and the boyfriend.’

‘Anything I should know about?’ I asked, my ears immediately pricking up, recalling ‘all that business with the little one’. I was used to fostering policies, and information being given to us on a need-to-know basis, but it was often the case that social workers assumed I already knew something from my link worker and vice versa.

‘Nothing we can talk about yet,’ she answered guardedly. ‘We just need to dig a little deeper on a couple of matters so that we can satisfy the court’s criteria before sending the kids home. We’ll keep you informed, of course.’

‘But you’re still expecting that they’re going home?’ I asked her.

‘I’ve not heard anything to the contrary,’ she answered, equally vaguely.

Oh well
, I thought, as I put down the phone on her.
Let’s just hope they get it sorted out sooner rather than later.
And in the meantime I’d just have to deal with whatever challenges this novel situation decided to throw at me, wouldn’t I?

I just hoped I wouldn’t need a crash helmet …