Casey Watson - A Dark Secret

Mike groaned, threw back the duvet and swung his legs out of bed. ‘I think you’re right, love. God, he’s howling, isn’t he? Just like they said. Better go and check on him.’

Gathering such senses as I could – early mornings, particularly in winter, were more Mike’s domain than mine – I got up too, grabbed my dressing gown and pulled back the curtains. It was still fully dark. Just the street lamps were burning, illuminating the silvery sheen the frost had painted on the path. Which made the mournful sound coming from across the landing even more so. And very eerie. Like a werewolf in a movie.

Mike was already coming back in again as I was coming out. ‘Very weird,’ he said. ‘It’s almost like he’s in some sort of trance. He’s just lying there in his bed. Not moving or anything – just eyes shut and howling. No response when I spoke to him. Come on,’ he beckoned. ‘Come and look.’

I followed Mike into Sam’s room, which was lit only by a night light, and where Sam, as Mike had said, was perfectly still in his bed. And I shuddered – were it not for the racket he was making, it was almost as if he was laid out at an undertaker’s, before a funeral, his hair spread across the pillow and his hands clasped on his chest.

‘Sam, love?’ I whispered. ‘It’s Casey. You okay, sweetie?’ Nothing. It was as if he didn’t even realise we were there.

I touched his hand, and felt the heat of his soft, living skin. ‘Sam, love?’ But again, there was no response – just the merest hint of movement beneath his eyelids. But he didn’t seemed at all agitated, and to intrude might distress him. Better, at least for now, to leave him to it, I decided.

I gently tugged on Mike’s forearm and we shuffled back outside again. ‘Let’s leave him be for a bit,’ I suggested. ‘I think he’s self-soothing. Probably his way of coping with waking up in yet another strange house.’

‘What an odd way to go about it. Still, you’re probably right. Let sleeping dogs lie, eh?’ He mouthed ‘boom-boom’ in the half-light. ‘Sorry. Couldn’t help it. Anyway, I’d better go and shower. You okay to make the coffee? I need to get a shift on. We’ve a big delivery due in at seven.’

These days, Mike pretty much ran the warehouse where he worked, which meant long hours, sometimes even on a Sunday, like today, and greater responsibility. And with senior management having always been so understanding about our fostering – not least because it sometimes meant him taking time off at short notice – he took those responsibilities very seriously. It was a point of principle that he was never, ever late.

So I rattled down the stairs, got the coffee on and generally gathered myself together, all the while listening to an almost unbroken soundtrack of those unmistakeable rising and falling ‘ah-oooo, ah-ooooooo’ sounds.

Though not particularly loud or urgent, it was a sound that went through you, but, at the same time, if it soothed him, then I was loath to intervene. After all, I reasoned, it would defeat the whole purpose if he wasn’t allowed to do what made him feel better. Even so, I gave myself a mental time limit. Once Mike had gone to work, I would go up again and see if I could rouse him.

Mike having left to do just that, I was just about to head up and do so when a very confused-looking Tyler appeared in the kitchen.

‘What’s going on up there?’ he asked, sleepily rubbing his eyes. ‘Have you been in and seen him? What on earth is he doing?’

‘Howling, love,’ I said as I finished off my coffee (and reflected that ‘howling, love’ was such an unlikely thing to find yourself saying if you weren’t in a horror film). ‘Apparently, he used to act like a dog to scare his younger brother and sister. But I think it’s more that he’s scared. And that he’s howling to soothe himself. We once looked after another little boy who had autism, and he used to flap his arms, a bit like a bird, when he was stressed or afraid of a situation.’

‘Sam’s autistic?’ Tyler asked. ‘Really? He doesn’t seem autistic.’

‘It’s a very broad spectrum, love,’ I explained. ‘Some signs are hardly noticeable and others a lot more so. Sam hasn’t been officially diagnosed but he must have displayed some of the signs for it to be mentioned in his file, but we’ll just have to wait and see. You never know, this howling might be the extent of it.’

Tyler shuffled across the kitchen to grab a box of cereal. As was often the case, now he’d started at college, he had a full schedule of Sunday-morning football to attend, and needed a suitably hearty breakfast. Though possibly a little earlier than he’d planned.

‘Shall I cook you something love?’ I said.

He shook his head. ‘Don’t worry, Mum. I’ll see to it. You want me to make a bacon sarnie for you too? You need to deal with – ah. Hold up. I think he’s stopped finally.’

I listened. ‘Yes, you’re right. I think he has. I’ll nip up and see what’s happening. Oh, and double yes about that sandwich, with brown sauce and knobs on. Because I suspect this might just be the calm before the storm.’

I hurried back upstairs. ‘Morning, sweetie!’ I called out brightly after knocking and entering. ‘Would you like to come downstairs and have some breakfast with me and Tyler? I’ll pop some cartoons on for you while we get things ready, if you like.’

Sam was still lying on his back, staring blankly at the ceiling. But he was aware of my presence now, because he immediately turned to look at me. He looked confused at first – not surprisingly – but then smiled and sat up, and swung his legs out of the bed.

It was an odd smile, however, that didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes, and I tried to remember where I’d seen that before. It hit me then that it had been Georgie, the autistic boy I’d just mentioned to Tyler. When I spoke to him, he’d often adopt that exact expression – as if he knew what a smile was, but didn’t really feel it. Just understood, or had been taught, when he was expected to produce one.

‘I like cartoons,’ Sam said. Then he pointed at his pyjamas, ‘Look, Mrs Bolton,’ he said. ‘See? These are cartoon pyjamas. Fireman Sam. The lady got them for me because I’m a Sam too. And I’m going be a fireman as well.’

I laughed and held out my hand. ‘Come on then, Fireman Sam. And Mrs Bolton – Christine – is the lady who brought you yesterday. My name is Casey, remember?’

Sam took my hand, which surprised me, and nodded. ‘Choo, choo! Casey Jones!’ he said, pulling on an invisible train whistle with his other hand. And this time his accompanying smile seemed more genuine. ‘I know that story, too. You know, you should be a train driver.’

I smiled back. This kid was certainly full of surprises. How on earth did he know about a TV show that pre-dated even me?

‘You know what?’ I said, as we walked, companionably hand-in-hand, down the stairs. ‘I would have loved to be a train driver. But I couldn’t get a job. I was too short to see over the engine.’

‘For real?’ he said, eyes wide.

‘Just kidding,’ I told him. ‘So. What would you like for breakfast? Cereal? Bacon sandwich? Boiled eggs and soldiers?’

‘Boiled eggs and soldiers ?’

‘You mean you’ve never eaten soldiers?’

Sam shook his head. He looked flummoxed. ‘What, real soldiers?’

‘Yes, absolutely. But made of bread, so you can stick them in the egg. If you listen closely, you can hear them going “oi!”’

I studied Sam while Tyler and I made short work of our bacon sandwiches, and our little visitor wolfed down his eggs and soldiers. What a complicated little lad he was. And an immature one, as well – both physically and mentally. Though not immature in the pejorative sense of the word. I was just building a picture of a boy half his age. The precious backpack, the pyjamas and the talk of being a fireman – a fine ambition at any age, of course, but, in tandem with what I knew of his regular toddler-tantrum-like outbursts, I felt sure I was in the presence of arrested development, of a child who had probably missed many milestones. And conceivably, given the little I did know of his background, a fair bit of schooling. Possibly as a result of his autism or neglect, and perhaps both; a child who’d never heard of boiled eggs and soldiers.