Cathy Glass - Saving Danny

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.

The school building and surrounding trees and shrubbery seemed a lot more welcoming now it was light than it had the evening before in darkness. Some parents were already in the playground chatting to each other while their children played before the start of lessons. I was planning on going straight into school with Danny that morning as the meeting started at nine o’clock, but as we entered the playground I heard Danny’s name being called. I turned and saw a woman rushing towards us in tears. I guessed it was Danny’s mother, Reva. She scooped him up and, holding him to her, buried her head in his shoulder and sobbed.

‘Shall we go inside?’ I suggested, touching her arm reassuringly. ‘It’ll be more private.’ I could see others in the playground looking and I felt Danny’s reunion with his mother – and her grief – needed some privacy.

‘Yes, please,’ Reva said quietly.

She carried Danny and we walked towards the main door. As we approached, it opened from inside and Sue Bright, Danny’s teacher, came out. ‘I’ve been looking out for you,’ she said. ‘Come in. We can use the medical room, it’s free.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

We followed Sue down a short corridor, turned left and entered the medical room, which was equipped with a couch, three chairs, a sink and a first-aid cupboard. Danny’s mother sat on one of the chairs and held Danny on her lap, close to her. ‘He must have missed me so much,’ she said through her tears. ‘He never normally lets me touch him.’

Danny said one word in a flat and emotionless voice: ‘Mum.’

‘Would you like some time alone?’ Sue asked Reva.

‘Yes, please,’ she said.

‘We’ll come back in a few minutes when school starts,’ Sue added.

I left the medical room with Sue and she closed the door behind us. ‘Has he been very upset?’ she asked me, concerned.

‘More quiet and withdrawn, really,’ I said. ‘But he slept well, and has been eating.’

Sue nodded. ‘Danny is often withdrawn in school; that’s one of his problems.’

‘Has there been an assessment?’ I asked.

‘Not yet.’ She paused. ‘Would you mind waiting until the meeting to talk about this? It’s complicated and I need to see to my class soon.’

‘That’s fine, of course,’ I said.

‘Thanks. His social worker, Terri, is on her way. She’ll be about five minutes. Once school starts Danny can join his class, and then we can have our meeting. We’ll use the staff room. It’ll be empty once school begins. We’re only a small school and a bit short of space. Are you all right to wait here while I bring my class in from the playground?’