Breaking the Silence (19 page)

‘I promise,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell her, love, and about your football too. I bet she’s really proud of you. In fact, I know she is.’

He looked up at me. ‘How d’you know that?’

‘Because I’m a mum,’ I said. ‘And there are some things that mums know
all
mums think and feel. Trust me on that, okay?’

Which was a platitude, I knew, but an acceptable one, surely? ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘okay, but …’ he faltered. ‘You know Sammy?’ Now it was me nodding. ‘I couldn’t help what happened to our Sammy, Casey,’ he whispered. ‘I
swear
it, I didn’t know. I can’t even really remember what happened. It’s like it’s gone …’

‘You know, Jenson,’ I said, squeezing his upper arm for emphasis, ‘what happened that day –
whatever
happened – that day was
definitely
not your fault. You weren’t much more than a baby yourself – you were only
5
, love. And a lot of years have passed since then. These things take time, but I’m sure your mummy realises that it had
nothing
to do with you. And if she’s grumpy, try to remember that she’s not grumpy at you. It just hurts her to think about losing her baby, that’s all. It’s not
you
, I promise. Will you remember that?’

And all power to the social worker’s elbow, I thought. Now they knew there was a problem, they could start to fix it.

By the time the car pulled up, Jenson was waiting at the front door with his new suitcase and proudly clutching his beloved ‘stifficate’ in his hand. ‘They’re here! They’re here!’ he whooped and shouted through the hall.

‘Come on, sweetheart,’ I said to Georgie, who was in the living room, studiously watching his beloved
Countdown
. That would be some challenge if they ever took it off air. ‘Let’s go say goodbye to Jenson, shall we?’ I urged. ‘He’s going home now to be with his mummy. You remember me telling you about that happening, don’t you?’

Mike had taken the morning off work and we could both see out of the window that he was now lugging Jenson’s heavy case out to the gate. Georgie stood up and then made a sudden bolt for the stairs.
Oh well
, I thought,
I can’t force him to face this if he doesn’t want to.
I left him to it, and, plastering a polite smile on my face, went and joined Mike and Jenson in the front garden.

As people usually do, I had formed a mental picture of Karen but, as people usually find, seeing her in the flesh completely dispelled it. I don’t think I’d been prepared for quite how much she looked like Jenson, or how young she seemed, or how vulnerable looking. But mostly how much her dead baby sprang to mind, and how my heart went its own way and went out to her.

She was very nervous, to the point that her hands were trembling as she shook ours. ‘Thank you,
so
much,’ she said shyly, ‘… for all you’ve done for him and everything. He thinks a lot about you, so … thanks.’

‘You’re welcome,’ I said warmly, ‘you really are. ‘It’s been a joy to have him. He’s no angel, but he’s a lovely little kid, he really is.’ I grinned across at Jenson, over at the car, with Mike and Marie, busy loading it. I watched as he shoved the green holdall he’d come with into the luggage space above the back seats. Where had the time gone? It suddenly felt like yesterday. ‘Look,’ I added, ‘I don’t know if you knew, but when we took him to Wales on holiday Mike taught him how to swim. He’s really good at it, too, and wants to know if he can keep it up.’

There. I’d said it. And it had struck a definite chord. That was clear. Karen looked directly at me. ‘I suppose you know what happened to my little girl, don’t you?’ I nodded. ‘So you can … well …’ she shrugged. ‘I’m sure you probably understand why I’ve never, well …’

‘Of
course
I do,’ I said quickly. ‘Of
course
I do. But he
loves
it.’ Now it was my turn to look at Karen pointedly. ‘And it’s done wonders for his confidence, and he really wants to keep it going. And maybe you could also … I don’t know …’

‘I know,’ she said, nodding. ‘And I’ll try. Honest I will.’

Which had to be sufficient. It was work that could be continued by the social worker. Right now they had to head off. I could see Marie looking at her watch.

Jenson, however, was disappearing back into the house again. ‘Jenson, love,’ I called to him. It’s time to get going …’

He turned. ‘But where’s Georgie? I have to say goodbye to Georgie.’

‘Georgie is here,’ said a voice from behind the front door.

‘Come on then, you div!’ Jenson laughed. ‘’Cos I’m heading off now. You gotta come out an wave an’ that,’ he said, pulling a reluctant Georgie out through the door.

‘Present,’ Georgie said, and at first I thought he meant
he
was present. But no, in his hand he had his own gift for Jenson. He opened his palm. It was a silver-grey, highly polished stone. ‘A for ever stone for Georgie’s for ever brother Jenson,’ he said solemnly.

I could see Karen watching this exchange with some confusion. Which was a measure, I decided, of quite how far Jenson had come. This was now his normal, which could never, ever be a bad thing. Nor could what he did next, which was to fling his arms round a startled Georgie, and, while his for ever brother stiffened like a board, gave him a bear hug. And when he released him I thought I could see tears in Georgie’s eyes.

‘Thanks, bro,’ he said, patting him. ‘See you at school, mate, okay?’

And with that – and I could see that he didn’t want to prolong the agony – Jenson ran to the car, jumped in and slammed the door.

The car had begun to disappear in seconds, leaving me with one clear impression to hang on to: of that luminous, bilious green holdall. I gulped a few times, and automatically put my arm around Georgie. But he was having none of it – he’d clearly had enough manhandling for one day. So while he went indoors Mike and I formed the small farewell party, waving and smiling as the car headed off down the road.

‘I’m sorry, love,’ I sniffled, ‘I’m an emotional wreck, I really am. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.’

‘Well, you better brace yourself, love,’ he said, as we followed Georgie inside. ‘One down. Still another one to go.’

However much, as a foster carer, you must expect the unexpected, sometimes you have to expect the expected as well. It was always the same when a foster child left the family. The house felt much too quiet, the vacated bedroom one room too many and the days seemed to drag like an old lady’s bloomers. But it was to be expected. It was a period to be got through.

But, for some reason, particularly since he’d been with us a relatively short time, Jenson was proving to be a hard child to get over. Every now and then I would come across something that had belonged to him – an old sock at the bottom of the laundry basket, or his well-chewed school pencil – or I’d see his grinning photograph, which now adorned my living-room wall, smiling down among the photos of all the other kids. I would then have to force myself not to dissolve into tears. I was convinced I must be going through the menopause, I was that emotional.

But as Riley pointed out when I moaned on at her about it, Jenson wasn’t like any of the other kids we’d looked after. He didn’t come with half of the emotional baggage and we’d always known exactly where he’d be going back to. Therefore, Riley reasoned, we hadn’t really seen him as a ‘looked-after’ child; we had taken him into our hearts and our family just as we would if it were a niece or a nephew, and this is what had made it all so difficult. I didn’t know if I agreed with her or not, but it kind of made sense, so I went along with it. Better than the other explanation!

Georgie’s reaction after Jenson left puzzled me as well. Despite the emotional display on the doorstep, ten minutes later, when we’d gone in and made a restorative cup of coffee, it was if he’d forgotten all about it.

‘Here, Casey,’ he’d said to me a couple of days later. ‘Georgie good boy. Georgie helping doing housework.’ I’d smiled as he’d handed me a crumpled mound of paper. I opened it up to find that it was actually two photos of Jenson, one from the bathroom door and the other from his bedroom.

‘Oh, thanks, sweetheart,’ I said. I didn’t know what else to say really. ‘But wouldn’t you like to keep these in your special box?’

Georgie looked at me blankly. ‘There are fixed points throughout time where things must stay exactly the way they are,’ he said. ‘This is not one of them. The eleventh Doctor.’ He then dropped his head, clasped his hands behind his back and walked away, leaving me open-mouthed.

I stared after him.
Did this kid actually realise what he was saying? Did he try to select the correct quote to fit the occasion, or was it just luck?
Whatever the answer, that particular bit of mish-mash was uncannily apt.

Due to our impromptu holiday, I hadn’t yet met up with Georgie’s social worker, Mandy Heseltine. We’d spoken on the phone a couple of times and she seemed really nice and, most importantly, very enthusiastic about working with Georgie. So I was pleased to finally make an appointment to meet her and have the chance to put the face to the name.

It was the following Tuesday, just a week before school started – as if anyone who didn’t know that could have missed it. The shops were no longer trying to offload all their summer-sale stuff, and instead were looking distinctly autumnal and back-to-work-ish – full of the usual reminders that it was time to knuckle down again: pencil cases, ring binders, racks of cardigans and jumpers, backpacks and lunchboxes and boots.

‘Come in, come in,’ I said to Mandy as I greeted her. ‘I’ve explained what’s happening to Georgie and he’s waiting in the front room. I think he’s a little nervous. He’s been pacing.’

Mandy, who was very tall, very blonde and in her thirties, laughed as she followed me in. ‘That makes two of us!’ she confessed, and I immediately took to her. ‘I was thinking – is it okay if I just say a quick hi to Georgie, and then you and I have a chat before I get to meet him properly?’

‘Of course,’ I said, understanding that a two-stage process might suit her better. Though we’d discussed Georgie on the phone, it still made sense to do it that way – she could grill me first and be better prepared.

I made a quick introduction and was as pleased as any mother that Georgie remembered his manners and held his hand out to shake. This was a recent accomplishment and a huge thing for Georgie. He found physical contact so difficult – and sometimes painful – but had been really trying to improve all his social skills so that he could be, at least superficially, a bit more like other kids. It was still all very stiff but, even so, a giant leap for him, and I felt a real sense of pride as I got him out some jigsaws before taking Mandy through into the dining room.

‘Oh, wow – he’s gorgeous!’ Mandy remarked as we sat down with our coffee. ‘He’s on course to break a few hearts when he’s older, for definite.’ She sipped her coffee and grinned. ‘But what about the maintenance? How on earth do you manage all that
hair
?’

‘I actually haven’t tried as yet,’ I admitted. ‘I’ve been too scared. He washes and brushes it himself and he’s really very good at it, but I’ve never attempted to take him for a cut, because his last care-home manager said it might be a bit of a nightmare. They used to have to build him up to it for days in advance, but even then he got upset when he saw bits of his hair falling off.’

I also told her about the incident when we’d had to take him to casualty, and how they’d had to gather up the hair they’d had to remove to check his wound, so that he could take it home to keep in his special box.

‘Doesn’t surprise me in the least,’ Mandy reassured me. ‘I have another one just the same. One of my other long-term case kids – he’s autistic too.’

‘I didn’t know that. But, of course, that’s why they’d allocate you to Georgie. And you probably know so much more about it than I do. It’s been a steep learning curve for me.’

‘Oh, I know,’ she said. ‘Always is.’ And the way she said it and smiled at me made me think that perhaps I was missing something. ‘And that’s exactly why,’ she went on, ‘they’ve given me Georgie. I’ve been Joshua’s case worker for almost eight years now and he’s quite high on the autism spectrum. He’s verbal autistic – do you understand that?’

‘I think so.’

‘So you know that, like Georgie, he’s acquired the ability for speech, although, as I’m sure you’ve realised, a lot of it’s simply imitation and echolalia.’

I nodded, and wondered why she was going into all this. Was she perhaps preparing me for putting him on some sort of programme?

‘Anyway, Joshua – that’s his name – although pretty high on the spectrum, is relatively high functioning, compared to many. He’s 18 now and has moved into a unit with three other young adults – all with special needs, and under the care of a support worker.’

I still didn’t get why she was telling me all this. But then it hit me. Were they planning to move Georgie to some sort of similar but child-centred unit?

‘I see,’ I said, not really seeing at all.

Mandy beamed. ‘It’s been quite a transition, of course – him leaving his foster parents. Nine years he was with them, and they are missing him dreadfully. Wonderful couple. No children. Absolute superstars. But he’s moved on, and is doing well, and that’s what everyone’s been working towards.’

I smiled back at her, my brain finally catching up at last. ‘Oh, I
see
,’ I said again. ‘And you know, that’s
so
good to know, because me and Mike were only saying the other day how worried we were for Georgie’s future. I never realised that people like him could eventually move on as adults and have some degree of independence.’

Mandy leaned forward and poured herself another coffee from the jug. She was beaming again. That’s when it hit me, like a lightning bolt. We weren’t talking about Joshua here. We were talking about
Georgie
. And about a place that might be suitable for
him
.

‘So this couple,’ I said, wondering how I could be so slow on the uptake, ‘they have a Joshua-shaped hole in their lives, which could perhaps be filled by Georgie?’

‘Precisely,’ said Mandy, reaching into her laptop bag and pulling out a file. She flipped it open and turned to face me. ‘Helen and Mark,’ she said, fanning out a sheaf of photos.

I looked at the pictures, one by one – such a happy group of images. Happy snaps of what was clearly a happy life. The three of them on a boat, the three of them laughing and eating ice creams, the three of them paddling in the sea, and many more. All depicting such love. I felt my eyes starting to prickle, and quickly blinked to stop the inevitable.
Riley’s wrong
, I thought.
This just
has
to be hormonal!

‘Casey, Helen and Mark are such wonderful people. We think they’d be the perfect carers for Georgie. He’s around the same age as Joshua was when he joined them, except Joshua had a lot more problems, and they worked miracles with him, they really did. They are devastated that he’s left – devastated – even though this was always the ultimate goal. But when the time came – well, you of all people know how it feels, don’t you? So, yes, they definitely have a Joshua-shaped hole in their lives. So. How about it? Is it time to meet young Georgie?’

I nodded again. I was beginning to feel like one of those nodding dogs that you see in the back of cars. I simply couldn’t trust myself to speak. I’d been so sure I’d have Georgie for a good few months yet. Never dreamed I’d be losing him so quickly after Jenson. And just after I’d got myself so blooming organised and found
the
best website about autism.

And Mandy, in her wisdom, could see that. ‘And here’s the best news,’ she said. ‘They’d love to meet you. And for you to go and visit Georgie any time you’d like to. They realise how important attachments are, no matter how brief and tenuous …’

‘What about school?’ I asked suddenly, realising Georgie might be spirited many miles away. ‘The attachment he has with Jenson, the other boy we fostered, is a really positive one. Incredible, really, given the short time they’ve been together. I couldn’t bear it if he couldn’t see Jenson again.’

Mandy’s face fell. ‘They live fifteen miles away, Casey. And there is a really good school near them. Joshua thrived there, honestly.’

Kick me, but I was beginning to get a little irked by this Joshua. This was about Georgie thriving. Georgie
and
Jenson thriving.
That
was what mattered to me. Mattered a lot. I decided to be assertive. ‘If they understand about attachments,’ I said, thinking on my feet and doing some mathematics, ‘then they’ll understand how important this particular friendship is. So my recommendation [
Hark at me
, I thought,
giving my professional opinion!
] is that, for the last year of primary school, transport is arranged so that Georgie is able to stay at his current school. It’s not just about Jenson either,’ I added. ‘It’s the whole sense of continuity he’ll get from it. It’s only one more school year – only nine months of minor inconvenience – and then he’d be moving up to secondary anyway. At least give him that time. It will be much better for him in a new environment. Particularly if he has Jenson as his constant.’

Mandy laughed. But in a good way. ‘John Fulshaw said you might give me a hard time about this,’ she said, grinning. ‘Said you were a force to be reckoned with when it came to the kids.’

I felt myself blush. ‘Oh, did he now?’ But I was happy to laugh with her. Something told me that this might be a done deal.

‘I will do my very best,’ she promised me. ‘In fact I really can see the benefit. Leave it with me.’ She stood up then, towering over me. ‘Right then,’ she said. ‘How about I go try to make Georgie understand our plan?’

The following Tuesday, the day before the autumn term started, we found ourselves once again on our doorstep, waiting for yet another social worker to tear our hearts out. I looked down at Georgie, who was looking down at the ground, hands behind his back, and reflected that this was something completely new.

Where he’d come to us with that singular ‘cupping his hands in front of him’ behaviour, that had been replaced with this new and different action. It made him look like a professor, trying to work out some important theorem, and it put me in mind of all the working out
we’d
had to do – and reminded that there was so much we still had to learn about him. The things he did, the ways he interacted, his very personality was so complex that you never knew, from one day to the next, what might be coming. But it wouldn’t be us doing the learning now; it would be his new carers, and now he was going to them I really wished he wasn’t.

Not yet anyway. Not that Georgie seemed that bothered either way, and seeing him smile, though I wasn’t sure precisely what about, I was suddenly grateful for his lack of empathy.

Mike couldn’t be with us today. An emergency at work meant he had to go in, and I felt, though we hadn’t actually discussed it at all, that with Georgie it would be different – and perhaps not as traumatic, meaning he was safe to let me say goodbye alone.

Though not entirely alone. Kieron had come to see him off with me.

‘You all right, mate?’ he asked now, as he gently touched Georgie’s shoulder. ‘It looks like Mandy’s here now. The car’s arriving. See?’

I looked up to see it pulling up outside the gate. ‘Kieron’s right, Georgie, she is here. Are you happy?’ Georgie just continued to smile, but at some point in the middle distance. ‘You’ll be seeing Jenson at school tomorrow, too.’

As I got no reaction to this either, I stopped talking. I’d won on that front, and I felt pretty chuffed to have done so. Georgie would be attending the same school for another year. Oh, but if only I could get one last tiny reaction …

‘Mum, it’s okay,’ Kieron said, and he put an arm around my shoulder. For someone who was supposed to have problems with unspoken nuances, my son could read me like a book, he really could.

‘Come on then, young man,’ said Mandy briskly, as she came and joined us. ‘Would you like to say goodbye to Casey and Kieron?’

She held her hand out, and, as if remembering a new important rule, Georgie took it, and then, also as if on cue – all my gentle training paying off? – he turned to us. I bent down. ‘Is it okay if I give you a little kiss on your forehead, sweetie?’ I asked him. ‘I’m going to miss you but I’ll visit you lots, I promise.’