Saving Danny

‘So do I,’ Reva said a little brusquely. ‘But it’s different at school. There are other children here and Danny has respect for you. At home it’s just him and me, and he doesn’t have respect for me. He does what he wants, and if he won’t talk to me there is nothing I can do about it.’

‘Does he talk to your husband?’ Terri asked.

‘Sometimes, a little. But he only sees him for a few minutes in the evening, and at the weekends, when Richard’s not playing golf. Danny doesn’t talk like other children his age do. He doesn’t have a conversation; he repeats what you say or nods or comes out with half-sentences and words that don’t make any sense. Then he gets frustrated because you don’t understand what he wants, and that leads to a tantrum. Yet he can talk to George or himself. Danny would rather talk to himself or his rabbit than to me.’

‘Does Danny smile or laugh or show his feelings?’ Terri asked.

‘Not often. His expression is usually blank. Sometimes he’ll suddenly laugh but it’s not at the right time or in the right context, if you know what I mean. He can laugh loudly – cackle – for no obvious reason. He does it in public. It’s so embarrassing. It’s impossible to know if Danny is happy or not, and he doesn’t show physical affection normally. He’ll let you touch him sometimes, but only on his terms. He let me hold him in the playground just now and carry him into school, but I can’t remember the last time he let me cuddle him. It’s as though he doesn’t want or need anyone else. Not even his mother.’

‘I’m sure he does need you,’ I said. ‘But he has difficulty showing it.’

Terri and Sue nodded in agreement.

‘But other children kiss and hug their mothers,’ Reva blurted, her eyes filling again. ‘I’ve seen them in the playground kissing and hugging their parents goodbye when it’s time to go into school. Danny just turns and walks away with his classroom assistant. She has to tell him to say goodbye to me. He shouldn’t need telling. Other children don’t, but Danny seems to have no empathy or feelings. If I cry in front of him, he just looks at me.’ Reva was in tears again.

‘I’m sure Danny does feel things,’ Terri said seriously, looking at Reva, ‘just as you and I do, but the difference is Danny can’t express them. It’s a trait of autism, if that is what Danny has.’

‘And he does love you, just as other children love their parents,’ I added, trying to console Reva.

‘How can you be so sure?’ she demanded, taking another tissue from her bag. ‘You’ve only just met Danny. Wait until you know him better, you’ll see. He’ll be as cold to you as he is to me.’

I didn’t reply. Reva was very upset and didn’t mean to be rude.

‘Sorry,’ she said after a moment.

‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I can appreciate how upsetting Danny’s behaviour is for you.’

‘Have you fostered anyone like him before?’ Reva now asked, wiping her eyes.

‘No two children are the same,’ I said. ‘But I have seen some of Danny’s behaviour in other children.’

‘Do you think he is autistic?’ she asked me.

‘I don’t know. And it would be wrong for me to guess.’

‘The education psychologist is the person who should make the diagnosis,’ Terri put in. ‘I’ll speak to your husband about it.’ I saw Terri glance at her watch. She had to leave in fifteen minutes to go to her other meeting. ‘We still need to talk about contact,’ she said. ‘But before we do, are there any strategies you’ve found particularly helpful in managing Danny’s behaviour that you would like to pass on to Cathy?’

Reva shrugged. ‘Not really. I just do what Danny wants to keep the peace, but that doesn’t always work either.’

It won’t, I thought but didn’t say. Boundaries for good behaviour are essential for all children; as well as socializing the child they show them that the parent cares, whatever syndrome or condition the child may have. I knew Reva had developed some strategies for managing Danny’s behaviour, although she probably didn’t realize it.

‘You taught Danny how to put on his clothes in the correct order,’ I now said to her. ‘That’s important. Without it Danny would become frustrated, which could lead to a tantrum. So that’s a useful strategy.’

Reva looked at me thoughtfully. ‘I suppose you’re right,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t really thought of it that way.’

‘And you’ve taught Danny a workable bedtime routine that includes him washing his face, brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed,’ I said. ‘These are all strategies that help him to cope with daily tasks that are simple to us but not to Danny. You taught him all of that.’

A faint smile crossed Reva’s face. ‘Have you noticed how methodical Danny is?’ she said. ‘He loves doing things in order. Patterns and order are his lifeline. Mealtimes used to be a nightmare, but then we discovered that as long as he can eat his food in order of colour he’s fine. He always starts by eating the palest food first and then the darker. It takes him a while, but it works.’

I now realized that that was what Danny must have been doing at dinner the evening before when he’d arranged the components of the casserole around the edge of his plate. He’d eaten them a pile at a time, the lightest first: chicken, potatoes, carrots and then peas.

‘So you’ve created quite a few strategies to help him without realizing it,’ Terri said.

‘I suppose I have,’ Reva said, and her eyes filled again. But this time her emotion wasn’t from despair; it was the realization that she had been doing some things right after all. ‘Thank you,’ she said, looking at me.

‘There’s no need to thank me. You’re the one who’s been helping Danny to cope all these years.’

And her look of gratitude made my own eyes fill.

‘Well done, Reva,’ Terri said, and Sue smiled. ‘Now to contact,’ Terri said. I took my diary and pen from my handbag and opened it on the table in front of me. ‘You and your husband obviously want to see Danny regularly,’ Terri said to Reva. ‘So I suggest we set contact at two evenings a week, and one day at the weekend. The care plan is for Danny to return home as soon as possible, so we need to keep the bond between you strong. We can review the contact arrangements as we go and adjust them up once Danny is more settled.’

Reva nodded.

‘I suggest Tuesday and Thursday evening after school, starting tomorrow,’ Terri said. ‘Reva, if you collect Danny from school on those nights and take him home and give him dinner, then return him to Cathy’s at about six o’clock, then he’ll have a little while to settle before he has to go to bed.’

‘And time to feed George,’ I put in, aware this was going to be part of Danny’s evening routine.

‘Yes, absolutely,’ Reva agreed.

‘Good,’ Terri said, making a note. I also wrote the arrangements in my diary. ‘I was going to suggest telephone contact on the nights Danny doesn’t see you,’ Terri said. ‘But I’m not sure Danny would cope with it.’

‘No, he doesn’t use the telephone,’ Reva said. ‘It frightens him.’

‘OK, so no telephone contact,’ Terri confirmed as she wrote. ‘Which day of the weekend would suit you and your husband best?’ she now asked Reva. ‘When does Richard play golf?’

‘Sunday mainly.’

‘So we’ll make the weekend contact on Saturday. Cathy will bring Danny to you and you can return him.’

I wrote this in my diary.

‘As routine is so important to Danny,’ Terri said, ‘it’s essential we all keep to the contact agreements.’

Even for a child in care under a Section 20, where the parents retain full legal responsibility for the child, it is important to adhere to the timetable of contact, otherwise the child can become very unsettled (for example, if the parents keep changing contact arrangements, or suddenly turn up at the foster carer’s home wanting to see the child or take them out).

‘Is it for the whole day on Saturday?’ Reva asked, concerned.

‘Yes,’ Terri said. ‘I’m thinking ten o’clock till six. Why? Is there a problem?’

‘I hope I can cope,’ Reva said, her brow creasing.

‘Your husband can help you with Danny,’ Terri said, looking at her seriously.

‘Yes,’ Reva said uncertainly.

‘If you feel you are not coping then telephone Cathy and she’ll come and collect Danny, or you can return him early.’

Reva gave a small, unconvincing nod, and I thought that many of Reva’s problems in coping with Danny seemed to come from her lack of self-confidence in her ability to meet his needs.

‘I’m sure everything will be fine,’ Terri said. ‘Now, if there is nothing else, I need to be going. I’ll leave the two of you to make the arrangements to collect George.’ She glanced around the table, but no one had anything to add so she put away her notebook and pen. ‘I’ll need to visit you both,’ she said to Reva and me as she stood. ‘I’ll phone to arrange the appointments. Reva, can you ask Richard when he is available. I need him to be present when I see you.’

‘Yes,’ Reva said in a small voice. ‘He’s very busy, though.’

‘So am I,’ Terri said. I could understand why she sounded terse. Danny’s home life had deteriorated to the point where he’d had to come into care, so surely his father should be doing everything in his power to get him home again as soon as possible, including making time for the social worker.

‘Can I see Danny to say goodbye before I go?’ Reva now asked Terri.

‘Yes, that’s fine with me,’ Terri said, and looked at Sue.

‘Come down to the classroom when you’ve finished talking to Cathy,’ Sue said. ‘Yvonne will bring Danny out to you.’

‘Thank you,’ Reva said. ‘I won’t keep him long.’

Sue smiled, then she and Terri said goodbye to us and left the staff room.

I looked across the table at Reva. She seemed marginally more relaxed now there was just the two of us. ‘Do you want to bring George to my house or shall I collect him?’ I asked her.

‘Can you collect him, please?’ she said. ‘I didn’t like to say it in front of Terri but my car is a sports car and the hutch won’t fit in the boot.’

‘No worries,’ I said. ‘I’ll come to you. My car is a hatchback, so I’m sure George and his hutch will fit in the back.’

‘Thank you. Do you have my address?’

‘Not yet. Jill, my support social worker, is bringing the placement forms this evening.’

Reva reached into her shoulder bag and took out a business card, which she passed to me. I read the smart black embossed lettering. Below her name was printed ‘Corporate Hospitality’ and then her contact details.

‘I had some notion I would work freelance after I had Danny,’ she said with a small, dismissive laugh. ‘So I had the cards printed. But it’s been impossible. I still have most of the cards.’

‘Were you in the corporate hospitality business before?’ I asked, making conversation.

‘Yes, that’s where I met Richard. He was one of my clients. I was good at my job. Far better than I am at being a mother. I should have known when I was well off.’

‘You’re doing fine,’ I said encouragingly. ‘You’ve got very tired and weighed down by all of Danny’s needs. I’ve only had Danny for one night, but already I can see how much attention and patience he requires. Once you’ve had a break and time to recharge your batteries I’m sure you’ll feel better and see things differently.’

‘I hope so,’ she said with a sigh. ‘I’m in such a dark place right now. I’m no good to anyone – not Richard or Danny.’

‘Give yourself time,’ I said again.

‘I’ll try. Thank you, and thanks for having George. What time do you want to come to collect him tomorrow?’

‘Shall we say about eleven?’

‘That’s fine. I’m in most days. I’ve little reason to go out. I’ll give you some of Danny’s toys and more of his clothes. I wasn’t thinking straight yesterday. Have you got enough for now?’

‘Yes. Plenty.’

‘I’ll go and see Danny now then. It’ll be strange not having to come to school to collect him this afternoon.’

‘Try not to worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll take good care of him.’

‘I know you will, and you’ll do a better job of it than me.’

There was little more I could say right now to help Reva, for, as she’d admitted, she was in a ‘dark place’ and felt a failure as a mother, wife and, I suspected, as a person too. I assumed Terri would have advised Reva to see a doctor if she felt she needed help with depression. It wasn’t for me to suggest it to her. We stood and left the staff room. At the end of the corridor we said goodbye to each other, and Reva went to Danny’s classroom while I went towards reception and then out of the school.

Once home I made a cup of coffee and took it to the table, together with Reva’s notes. I began reading as I sipped my coffee. There was so much detail. Too much detail. I flicked through. Every minute of every day was accounted for, with lengthy, painstaking instructions on what to do and what not to do in every situation. Mealtimes included how to position Danny’s cutlery the way he liked it to avoid a tantrum, and the morning routine included what to say to Danny when I woke him, and then again at night when he went to bed. Reva had written how I should greet him at the end of the school day, and that I shouldn’t ask what he’d done at school as he didn’t like that and could become angry. I should say, ‘We’re going home in the car, Danny,’ but then I had to remain silent as we walked to the car, because he didn’t like to be talked to. I had to let him open the car door himself, and I wasn’t to help him climb in, or touch his seatbelt, as it annoyed him. Reva had also noted that it took Danny a long time to fasten his seatbelt due to his lack of coordination, and consequently she always made sure she parked her car with the passenger door on the pavement side so she didn’t have to stand in the road while she waited for him to fasten it. And so it continued, page after page …

While some of what Reva had written would be helpful – for example, Danny’s bath-time routine, the toys he enjoyed playing with and the television programme that most engaged him – much of it was too regimented to be of use in my household. My family was very different to Reva’s, and I couldn’t expect my children to change their lives to revolve around Danny’s routine. I also felt that so much regimentation was stifling. To have every minute of every hour accounted for meant there was no room for creativity or impulsive or impromptu actions. Yet I could see why Reva had run their lives like this. There’s a feeling of safety in the familiar and predictable. She was in a fragile state and had desperately clung to what she knew worked as a coping mechanism. The downside was that she and Danny were hostages to his behaviour – prisoners locked in their routine.

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