Saving Danny

  ‘So will I,’ Lucy added.

  George was clearly already very popular.

  ‘Danny just needs to feed George now,’ Reva said.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I gave him a run earlier.’

  Adrian and Reva went to fetch the stand for the hutch from Reva’s car as Danny appeared at the back door, looking very anxious.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked him.

  He looked down and began banging the heels of his hands together agitatedly, his face grimacing as he tried to find the words he needed.

  ‘George went in the garden this afternoon,’ I said, wondering if this was the problem. ‘He just needs feeding now.’

  This wasn’t the problem, and Danny continued pumping the heels of his hands.

  ‘Do you want the toilet?’ Lucy asked him.

  I didn’t think this was the reason. He’d been very good at going to the toilet and just took himself upstairs when he needed it.

  Danny shook his head rigorously. ‘Food!’ he eventually blurted.

  ‘You’re hungry?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘No. Food!’ he cried, his voice rising.

  ‘George’s food?’ Paula asked.

  Danny nodded. ‘George’s food,’ he repeated. ‘George’s food.’

  Well done, Paula.

  ‘I’ll show you where it is,’ I said to Danny and offered him my hand, which surprisingly he took.

  I led him to the cupboard under the stairs where I’d stored the bags of food and hay. Paula and Lucy joined us. ‘This is where we will keep George’s food and hay,’ I said to Danny.

  Danny stepped forward and tried to lift the bag of food, but it was too heavy for him. ‘I think it would be best if you brought George’s food bowl in here to fill,’ I said. But the sentence was too long and not directive enough for Danny to follow. ‘Bring George’s bowl here,’ I said.

  Danny turned and ran through the kitchen and out of the back door. Lucy and Paula followed to see if he needed any help, but he didn’t. They returned quickly with Danny carrying the empty food bowl. He clearly knew what to do and wanted to do it all by himself. The girls and I watched as he set the bowl carefully on the floor, opened the resealable bag of food and, taking out a small plastic scooper, began filling the bowl.

  ‘One. Two. Three.’ He counted out the measured helpings and then replaced the plastic scooper in the bag and carefully sealed the top. He was as meticulous in this as he was in other things and it was touching to watch.

  ‘Well done,’ I said once he’d finished. I closed the cupboard door.

  Adrian and Reva were now coming in carrying the stand, so I left Danny with Lucy and Paula and went to see if I could be of assistance. The stand wasn’t heavy, as the hutch had been, but it was cumbersome and I guided them around the corner in the hall, through the kitchen and out of the back door. It would have been easier to take it down the sideway as I had the hutch, but it was dark and the gate was locked. Lucy, Paula and Danny were already outside, Danny with the bowl of food in his hand, waiting by the hutch. There was enough light coming from the kitchen to see what we were doing. Adrian and Reva set down the stand, then I helped them lift the hutch onto it and shift it into position against the wall. Now the hutch was on the stand it was a much better height, especially for Danny, who hardly had to bend at all to see George at eye level. George seemed a little bemused as he looked through the wire mesh of his living quarters at the gathering outside.

  ‘It’s past his dinner time,’ Reva said to Danny. ‘You can give George his dinner now and say goodnight.’ Then to me she said, ‘Danny always feeds George after he’s had his own dinner, but of course it’s been different tonight because he had dinner with me and then we came here.’

  ‘Shall I open the hutch door?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Danny likes to do it,’ Reva said.

  Danny took his time doing this, as he did with most of his routines. First he set the bowl of food on the floor, then slowly opened the door as far as it would go. He didn’t immediately pick up the bowl and put it into the hutch, and George didn’t seem to expect it but sat waiting patiently.

  ‘Danny checks he has water and hay before he says goodnight and feeds him,’ Reva explained. ‘And he always gives him fresh water and hay in the morning.’

  Once Danny had done this Reva said, ‘Say goodnight now, Danny, and give George his food.’

  We watched as Danny leant into the hutch and pursed his lips to kiss George goodnight. As he did, George tilted his head as though offering his cheek for kissing.

  ‘Look at that!’ Adrian said, amazed. ‘George was waiting for a goodnight kiss!’

  And even more amazing was that, when Danny offered his cheek for kissing, George nuzzled his nose against it.

  ‘He kissed him!’ Paula exclaimed.

  ‘They always kiss each other goodnight,’ Reva said.

  ‘Did Danny teach him to do that?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Not really,’ Reva said. ‘It was just something that seemed to develop between them. They’re very close. It’s as though George senses what Danny wants. You’ll see what I mean when he takes George out in the garden. He follows Danny everywhere.’

  ‘Can he come out now?’ Lucy asked.

  Reva hesitated but clearly didn’t like to say no.

  ‘I think it’s too late,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, it’s night time,’ Reva said.

  ‘Night time,’ Danny repeated, having heard our conversation.

  ‘Danny has George in a routine,’ Reva explained to Lucy. ‘He lets him out when he gets home from school, and then feeds him and says goodnight after he’s had his dinner. Danny will be coming here tomorrow straight from school, so you’ll see him out then.’

  ‘Does he just have the one meal a day?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, but if you have any raw vegetables to spare he can have some of those too. Danny knows.’

  We continued watching Danny and George. Danny hadn’t given George his food bowl yet, but was lightly stroking George’s head and face, and petting him gently. The special bond between them was obvious. Then Danny rested his cheek gently against George’s and rubbed it a little, obviously enjoying the feel of his soft warm fur. I wasn’t sure about the hygiene of all of this, but it was incredible to watch, and Danny obviously took much comfort from the physical contact – the touch and the warmth of George’s fur. George appeared to be enjoying it too. I’d never seen a rabbit keep so still and be so accommodating – ours certainly hadn’t behaved like this. Finally Danny said, ‘Goodnight, George,’ and stood back.

  He picked up George’s food bowl and placed it in the hutch, then closed and bolted the door. ‘Goodnight, George,’ he said again. ‘You’re safe with me. Call me if you need me. I’m up there.’ He pointed up to his bedroom. Then he drew the plastic sheet over the front of the hutch so George was protected from the cold of the night.

  My children and I stood motionless, transfixed by the glimpse of Danny and George’s world and their bond of love, understanding and affection. Perhaps George sensed that Danny needed extra care. I’d heard before of children with special needs who’d formed a strong bond with their pet; it was therapeutic for children who often struggled with life and relationships. But what struck me most was the ease with which Danny had talked to George: Goodnight, George, he’d said. You’re safe with me. Call me if you need me. I’m up there. It was the most I’d heard him say to anyone, even his mother, and the words had formed sentences that made sense. Reva must have been aware of this too, and I now understood her comment about Danny loving his rabbit more than he loved her.

  We returned indoors and I asked Reva if she’d like a tea or coffee. I didn’t say drink as that could have suggested alcohol, which wasn’t on offer. She didn’t want a drink, so I offered to show her around the house, which she accepted. It’s usual to show parents where their child is staying if it’s appropriate. Danny had gone straight into the living room, as had the girls, so we began our to
ur in there. Danny was squatting on the floor, still in his coat and shoes, again playing with the Lego bricks. Paula and Lucy were sitting on the floor, watching him.

  ‘Danny’s been making some lovely patterns out of the Lego,’ I said to Reva. We went over for a closer look.

  ‘It’s good,’ Reva said a little flatly. ‘But he won’t take his coat and shoes off, will he? He does that at home. Sometimes he has dinner with his coat and shoes on. It infuriates Richard.’

  It was a pity Reva had said this in front of Danny. Doubtless he’d heard, and it would reinforce his negative behaviour, which wouldn’t help her or me in managing it, so I felt I had to do something.

  ‘Danny,’ I said, ‘it’s warm in the house so we take off our coats and shoes when we come in. Do you remember where you hang your coat and put your shoes?’

  There was no reply. He continued playing with the Lego. Reva glanced at me.

  ‘Danny,’ I said again, now going up to him. ‘Would you like to show your mother where you hang your coat and put your shoes, or shall I show her?’

  Still no response; his gaze was down as he concentrated on the Lego. So I took a step away and said to Reva, ‘I’ll show you where Danny hangs his coat and puts his shoes. This way.’

  Danny was immediately on his feet, scampering past me and down the hall to the coat stand. It wasn’t rocket science, just a variation on the ‘closed choice’ and a bit of child psychology. Reva and I went down the hall, where Danny sat on the floor, took off his shoes, paired them and set them neatly beside ours.

  ‘Good boy,’ I said.

  He undid the zipper on his coat and struggled out of it. He raised his arms up to his mother, wanting her to lift him up so he could reach to hang up his coat, as he had done with me the evening before. ‘He needs your help to reach the hook,’ I said to her.

  A smile crossed her face and she took Danny in her arms and lifted him up. My heart went out to her. Danny wanted so little in the way of physical contact from her, and he gave even less, so this little passing closeness meant a lot to her. She made the most of it, holding him after he’d hung up his coat until he struggled to be put down.

  ‘Good boy,’ I said again, praising him, and he went back to the living room.

  ‘Could you watch Danny while I show Reva around the rest of the house?’ I called to the girls, who were in the living room. Adrian was in his bedroom.

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ they returned.

  We were standing by the door to the front room so I showed Reva in there first, and then we went upstairs into Danny’s bedroom. I was conscious that my house must seem very small and basic compared to Reva’s, although I was happy with it. It was my home. Reva didn’t say anything as we entered Danny’s room, and given that Danny had a bedroom and an adjoining playroom I wasn’t surprised. She hadn’t shown me his rooms as she’d said she would when I’d collected George that morning, but I could imagine that they were very spacious and palatial. She spent some minutes looking around Danny’s room, at the posters and pictures I’d put on the walls, at the duvet and matching pillowcase depicting Disney cartoon characters. Then she picked up soft-toy George who was sitting on Danny’s pillow, absently stroked his head and then returned him to the pillow.

  ‘Thank you for showing me Danny’s room,’ she said. ‘I’ll be able to picture him at night now. You’ve got a lovely home. It’s very warm and welcoming; so are you and your children.’ Which was the biggest compliment anyone could pay me. ‘I know Danny will be happy here,’ she added.

  We went downstairs and I suggested we sat in the living room for a while, but Reva said she would just say goodbye to Danny and go.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a while?’ I asked. Most parents of the children I fostered would have done so, and often had to be persuaded to leave.

  ‘No, thank you,’ Reva said a little stiffly. ‘Not today. Richard will be home soon and I should be there.’ From which I understood that her husband hadn’t been at home when Danny had been there earlier, which was a pity.

  We went through to the living room so that Reva could say goodbye to Danny. He was still poring over the Lego, rearranging the bricks into a different pattern as Paula and Lucy watched.

  ‘I’m going now,’ Reva said to Danny. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday.’

  Danny had his back to us and didn’t move or acknowledge he’d heard his mother.

  ‘Danny, your mother is going,’ I said, going round to face him. ‘Do you want to come to the front door to say goodbye to her, or say goodbye to her here?’

  Silence.

  ‘Say goodbye to your mummy,’ Lucy encouraged.

  ‘Say goodbye to your mummy,’ Danny echoed without turning to look at her.

  Reva apparently saw nothing strange in accepting this as Danny’s goodbye. ‘Goodbye, Danny,’ she said. ‘Bye, girls.’

  ‘Bye,’ Paula and Lucy said.

  I went with Reva to the front door where she thanked me again for all I was doing for Danny and then left. Her parting from Danny had been completely emotionless and barren. Often parents of the children I foster leave in tears, distraught at the thought of being separated from their child until the next contact. But Reva had appeared as detached as Danny, unlike at school when she’d been very upset. Also Reva had shown a complete lack of urgency about having Danny home again. Usually parents question me endlessly about when I think their child is likely to be able to go home. True, Danny was in care under a Section 20, so theoretically Reva could remove him at any time, but she’d given no indication that she was hoping to have Danny home again – either in the short or long term. Perhaps she wasn’t? There’d been an unsettling finality when she’d said, I know Danny will be happy here. Had she meant forever?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cooped Up

  I returned to the living room where Danny was still sitting on the floor redesigning his Lego pattern, while the girls sat close by chatting between themselves. They would have played with Danny if he’d wanted them to, but he didn’t. Outwardly self-sufficient and in his own personal bubble, Danny appeared unaffected by going home and then having to return to me and part from his mother, which would have unsettled and upset most children. Although, of course, what Danny was thinking and feeling might well be another matter, unless he really was incredibly resilient, which I doubted.

  It was nearly seven o’clock and I needed to start Danny’s bedtime routine. I’d already decided we’d miss his bath on the nights he had contact so that he didn’t become overtired, which could easily develop into a tantrum. Most children become crotchety if overtired, and special needs children like Danny are more prone to this. I was just thinking that maybe we should give his homework a miss too, when he suddenly stood and, leaving the Lego, went down the hall. I thought he was going to the toilet, so I followed him out, ready to go upstairs and begin his bedtime routine. But instead he went to his school bag, picked it up and came towards me with it clutched to his chest. ‘Do you want to do your reading?’ I asked him.

  ‘Yes, thank you very much,’ he said.

  ‘Good boy. Come on then.’

  I guessed Danny must have sensed it was that time in the evening when he normally did his homework, for he couldn’t tell the time. We returned to the living room and sat side by side on the sofa. The girls said they were going to make themselves a drink and asked Danny if he’d like one, but he shook his head. He carefully opened his bag, took out his reading book, turned to the first page and began reading. But two pages later, when his progress had become agonizingly slow and he struggled to recognize even the simplest of words, it was obvious he was too tired or unsettled by the changes that evening to concentrate, and he lost his patience. His fists tightened around the book as he let out a low, guttural noise of anger.

  ‘That’s enough reading for this evening,’ I said. ‘You did well. Put your book away.’

  There was the usual delay as Danny processed what I’d said, and then he repeat
ed, ‘Put your book away.’ He often repeated or echoed what someone said, as if it helped him process the information.

  ‘Yes, put your book away,’ I confirmed. ‘We won’t do the flash cards tonight. It’s too late and we’re both tired.’

  ‘No flash cards?’ he asked.

  ‘No. Not tonight.’

  Another pause and then he did as I asked. Then he passed me his home school book for me to write in. I spoke the words out loud as I wrote them so that he knew what I was writing. The record book was as much for his benefit as it was for his teacher’s and mine. ‘Danny read two pages tonight. He had contact with his mother and settled well on return, but it was too late to do any more homework. We will do some more tomorrow.’ I signed and dated my entry, closed the book and passed it to Danny, who carefully tucked it into his school bag. Then he took his bag down the hall and set it precisely beside his shoes ready for morning.

  ‘Good boy,’ I said.

  On the way upstairs I explained to Danny that he would wash his face and hands and brush his teeth, but because it was late he wouldn’t have a bath. Advising a child in advance of changes in routine causes them less disruption, especially children like Danny who thrive on routine. I also knew from Reva’s notes that she sometimes skipped Danny’s bath if he was tired or was being especially difficult. Danny didn’t say anything but began his bedtime routine as I waited on hand in case I was needed – first outside the toilet, then in his bedroom, and finally in the bathroom, where he began by once again repositioning the step stool in front of the wash basin until he was satisfied it was perfectly square. I helped him run the water to the right temperature and then I perched on the edge of the bath as he slowly and meticulously washed and dried his face, brushed his teeth in the rhythm he’d perfected and then spent some time patting his mouth dry, before hanging his towel on the rail beside ours and adjusting it.

  ‘That’s perfect,’ I said eventually. We’d been in the bathroom for nearly half an hour.

  ‘That’s perfect,’ Danny repeated.

  ‘Time to get into bed,’ I said.