Saving Danny
Authors: Cathy Glass
Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.
HarperElement
An imprint of HarperCollins
Publishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published by HarperElement 2015
Text © Cathy Glass 2015
Illustrations © Nicolette Caven 2015
Cover layout design © HarperCollins
Publishers
Ltd 2015
Cover photograph © Deborah Pendell/Arcangel Images (posed by model)
Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record of this book
is available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780008130497
Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780008130503
Version: 2015-01-15
Contents
Chapter One: Lost and Frightened
Chapter Ten: Don’t Tell the Social Worker
Chapter Eleven: ‘Carrot Before the Donkey’s Nose’
Chapter Fifteen: Danny’s World
Chapter Sixteen: Making Friends
Chapter Seventeen: Terri’s Visit
Chapter Eighteen: Footprints in the Snow
Chapter Twenty-One: For the Good of the Child
Chapter Twenty-Two: No Cavity Club
Chapter Twenty-Three: History Repeating Itself?
Chapter Twenty-Four: Significant Development
Chapter Twenty-Five: Stay Calm
Chapter Twenty-Six: Saving Danny
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Another Story …
Damaged
Hidden
Cut
The Saddest Girl in the World
Happy Kids
The Girl in the Mirror
I Miss Mummy
Mummy Told Me Not to Tell
My Dad’s a Policeman (a Quick Reads novel)
Run, Mummy, Run
The Night the Angels Came
Happy Adults
A Baby’s Cry
Happy Mealtimes for Kids
Another Forgotten Child
Please Don’t Take My Baby
Will You Love Me?
About Writing and How to Publish
Daddy’s Little Princess
The Child Bride
A big thank-you to my family; my editor, Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; and all the team at HarperCollins.
Chapter One
It was dark outside, and cold, at five o’clock on Tuesday, 1 February. I was expecting a six-year-old boy to arrive with his social worker at any moment. Indeed, I’d been expecting them for the last hour. Danny was coming into foster care and Jill, my support social worker, had given me some details about him over the phone two days previously. As well as being six, I knew he was an only child who had learning difficulties and challenging behaviour, which included meltdowns, tantrums and aggression, and his parents – unable to cope any longer – had approached the social services. Danny was coming into care under a ‘Section 20’, also known as accommodated or voluntary care, where the parents agree to the move and retain full legal parental rights. The hope was that Danny would eventually be able to return home.
I was in the kitchen preparing dinner. My children – Adrian, fifteen, Paula, eleven, and Lucy (soon to be adopted), thirteen – were upstairs in their bedrooms, hopefully doing their homework before they watched television or generally relaxed. As I worked I listened out for the doorbell signalling the arrival of Terri, Danny’s social worker, with little Danny. If all had gone to plan Danny’s mother would have taken some of his clothes and toys to his school at the end of the day, where she would have met with Terri, explained to Danny that he was coming into foster care and said goodbye. It would have been an emotional and upsetting parting for mother and son, but they would be seeing each other regularly. Jill was going to arrive with the placement information forms once Terri and Danny were here. However, when the telephone rang I guessed things weren’t going smoothly. Experience had taught me to expect last-minute changes, even if the move was planned, as Danny’s was.
‘I’ve just heard from Terri, Danny’s social worker,’ Jill said. ‘There’s a problem. Danny became very distressed when they told him he was coming into care, even though Terri handled it sensitively and stressed he’d be seeing his mother regularly. Apparently he kicked his mother and ran off screaming. He’s somewhere in the school grounds. Terri and the staff at the school are looking for him. Hopefully they’ve found him by now. His mother was too upset to stay and went home. Terri has asked if you can go to Danny’s school and collect him. She thinks he’ll feel a bit better once he’s met you.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘I’ll leave straight away. It should take me about fifteen minutes.’ I knew from the information Jill had already given me where Danny’s school was.
‘Thank you,’ Jill said. ‘Can you let me know when you’re home with Danny? If it’s too late for me to visit I’ll come tomorrow.’
‘All right. Will do.’
We said a quick goodbye and I hurried out of the kitchen and upstairs to where my children were. Thankfully they were old enough now to be left for short periods. When they were younger and I was called out at short notice, as a single-parent foster carer I had to take them with me, which at times was quite disruptive for them. Now, however, I knocked on each of their bedroom doors, stuck my head round and said, ‘Jill’s just telephoned. I have to collect Danny from school. Can you keep an eye on the dinner, please? I should be back in about an hour.’
They knew Danny was coming to stay and that plans in fostering could change without much notice, so their responses were: ‘Yes,’ ‘OK,’ and ‘See ya later,’ followed by a chorus of ‘Bye, Mum.’
Downstairs again, I quickly slipped on my shoes and coat and, grabbing my bag and keys, headed out the front door. I felt the adrenalin kick in and my pulse quicken as I jumped into my car and then drove in the direction of Danny’s school. Poor little mite, I thought. He went to school as usual this morning, expecting to return home to his parents at the end of day, and then his mother and a social worker arrived to tell him he’s going to live with a foster carer – a complete stranger. How devastating, especially for a child like Danny, who already had problems. Little wonder he’d run off. I hoped he’d been found and was calmer now.
I turned into Yew Road where Danny’s school was and the first thing I saw was a police car parked outside, with its lights casting a moving glow over the front of the school building and nearby houses. With a stab of fear I thought the police’s presence must have something to do with Danny. I parked in the road, a little back from the police car, and got out. His school, Yew Primary, like many in the area, had a small tarmac playground at the front and grass playing fields at the sides and rear, which were flanked by shrubs and trees. As I hurried along the pavement and then across the front playground I could see torch lights flickering over the playing fields to the right of the building and hear voices calling, ‘It’s OK, Danny! There’s nothing to be frightened of!’ and ‘Danny, are you there?’ So Danny hadn’t been found and was still out there in the cold and dark.
I went in the main door, which was no longer security locked as it would have been during the day, and then through the empty reception and into the corridor beyond. All the lights were on, but it was eerily quiet and empty. I didn’t know the building, but the layout was clear. It was single storey and I hurried along the corridor towards the door that led out to the playing fields. All the classrooms I passed were empty. School finished at 3.30 and I assumed the staff that hadn’t gone home were probably on the playing field looking for Danny. I pushed open the door at the end of the corridor and stepped outside. A security light flashed on overhead. I could see three torch beams flickering along the edges of the fields as they searched the shrubbery, and male and female voices were calling Danny’s name. Then one female voice came closer.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked, stepping out of the dark to stand beside me.
‘I’m Cathy Glass, Danny’s foster carer.’
‘Hello. I’m Terri, Danny’s social worker,’ she said. ‘Thank you for coming. It’s a nightmare. I called the police. There are two officers as well as some of the staff looking for him. The police and the caretaker have the torches, but there’s no sign of Danny. Goodness knows where he is.’ In the light of the security lamp I could see Terri looked very stressed and worried, with good reason. She was average height, mid-thirties, with short brown hair, and was dressed in a quilted winter jacket and jeans.
‘How long has he been out here?’ I asked.
‘Nearly an hour now. He has his coat on, thank goodness – or did have, when he fled. It all seemed to be going well, but when his mother began to say goodbye to him, he flipped. He kicked her and ran off crying and screaming. He’s been out here ever since.’
‘Is it possible he’s not in the school grounds?’ I asked, concerned.
‘We’ve searched the building twice,’ Terri said. ‘The police have said once we’ve finished searching the grounds, if we haven’t found him they’ll widen the search and bring in the police helicopter. He could have got out of the school grounds, but it’s unlikely. He would’ve had to scale a six-foot-high fence, which runs all around the perimeter.’
‘What can I do?’ I asked.
‘Help search,’ Terri said. ‘We’re taking it in sections. Come with me.’
I went with her across the dark, damp playing fields as torch beams flickered in the shrubbery like ghostly will-o’-the-wisps. Without a torch visibility was only a few metres, and then all you could see were shadows. I wished I’d brought a torch, but then I hadn’t known Danny was still out here. I followed Terri to a section of the perimeter where no one else was searching and we began peering in and around the bushes, all the time calling Danny’s name. ‘Danny’ echoed in the darkness behind us as the others searching also called his name. We were concentrating on any movement, sound or irregular dark shadow that could be a young boy hiding, huddled small with fear, but there was nothing. I felt a growing dread that he had managed to leave the school grounds, for I knew from experience that when a child is very distraught they can scale heights and run distances they wouldn’t be able to normally. Terri must have been thinking the same thing, for after a few minutes she turned from where she was looking and said, ‘I think we need to bring in the police helicopter now and look outside the school.’
Yet just as we turned to head back to the school, a male voice came from the far side of the playing field: ‘Found him!’
‘Thank God,’ Terri gasped.
We hurried across the dark field in the direction of the voice. The others were doing the same – those with torches had their beams pointed a little ahead, lighting their way. As we drew close to where the voice had come from I saw that it was one of the police officers who had found Danny. His torch was tucked under his arm, and he was holding Danny against his chest. All I could see of Danny was the back of his head and coat.