did you get that idea from?’ Adrian asked, obviously impressed.
Danny didn’t answer.
I assumed Danny would be pleased with the praise and admiration he was receiving – most children would be – and that he would show it by smiling, but he didn’t. His face remained expressionless, as it often was, and he continued to stare at the Lego pattern.
‘Very good,’ I said again. ‘We’ll leave it there while we have some dessert.’
‘What is for dessert, Mum?’ Adrian asked.
And before I could answer, without looking up, Danny said, ‘Ice cream and chocolate pudding.’
‘That’s right, Danny,’ I said. ‘Well done. We’re having ice cream and chocolate pudding. Let’s go to the table and have some now.’
Although Danny hadn’t acknowledged me when I’d mentioned dessert earlier in the car, he’d clearly taken it in and remembered what I’d said. His words had come out so quickly and on cue it was as though he’d had them ready at the forefront of his mind, for when they might be needed, whereas it seemed that if I said something new to him there was a delay before he responded, as though he needed time to process the information.
Leaving the Lego, Danny stood and we went into the kitchen-cum-dining-room where the children returned to the table and I went to the kitchen. I heated the chocolate pudding and spooned it into the dessert bowls, then added a generous helping of ice cream on top of each pudding. My children and I loved it served this way so that as the ice cream melted it created a delicious combination of taste and texture, hot and cold. I assumed Danny would like it too – all the other children we’d fostered had – but as the rest of us began eating Danny spent some time scraping the ice cream from the top of his pudding before he made a start. Then he ate the ice cream first, followed by the pudding.
‘Do you prefer your ice cream separate?’ I asked him.
He gave a small nod.
‘I’ll remember that for next time,’ I said. ‘If I forget you must tell me.’
It was only a small point but accommodating a child’s preferences, likes and dislikes helps them settle in and feel part of the family. Danny finished all his pudding and scraped his bowl clean. I was pleased he’d eaten a good meal. He was very slim and needed to put on some weight.
It was after seven o’clock now and I thought I should start Danny’s bedtime routine. He was only six years old and he’d had a very traumatic day. I was sure that once he’d slept in his room and enjoyed a good night’s sleep everything wouldn’t seem so strange to him and he’d start to feel better. I explained to him that it was time for bed and that I’d take him upstairs and help him get ready. He didn’t look at me as I spoke – his gaze was down – but he seemed to be concentrating and taking it all in. I asked him if he’d like a bedtime story before we went up, but he shook his head.
‘Would you like to see the other rooms in the house now?’ I asked. He’d only been in the living room and the kitchen-cum-diner.
Danny shook his head again, but then asked, ‘George?’
‘George is in bed,’ I said, hoping this was the right answer. ‘And you’ll see Mummy tomorrow at school,’ I added.
‘Daddy?’ he asked.
‘I expect Daddy’s at your house.’ I didn’t know if this was true, but it seemed a reasonable assumption given that Danny lived with both his parents and it was evening. Danny accepted this.
‘Would you like to say goodnight to Adrian, Paula and Lucy?’ I asked him. He looked away awkwardly and didn’t reply, so they said goodnight to him.
I offered Danny my hand to hold but he didn’t take it, so I led the way into the hall. As we passed the living room he looked in to check on the Lego. ‘We can leave the Lego as it is until tomorrow,’ I said.
He gave a small nod, and then came with me down the hall. Adrian had previously taken Danny’s holdall upstairs and placed it in his bedroom. As we passed the spot in the hall where the holdall had been Danny stopped and pointed.
‘Your bag is in your bedroom,’ I said.
Then he pointed to his coat, now hanging with ours on the coat stand. ‘Your coat is with ours ready for when we go out in the morning,’ I said.
He wasn’t reassured and began waving his arms agitatedly.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. ‘Your coat will be safe there.’
He flapped his arms more vigorously and then began rocking back and forth on his heels while making a low humming noise, clearly heading for another tantrum.
‘Enough, Danny,’ I said firmly. ‘I need to know what you want so I can help you.’
He started tugging at his coat, so I assumed he wanted it, but it was too high up for him to unhook.
‘OK. Stop,’ I said. ‘I’ll reach it down for you once you’re calmer,’ and I waited for him to relax. While giving him his coat wasn’t an issue – he could take it upstairs with him if it made him feel more secure – I didn’t want him to think that throwing a tantrum would get him what he wanted. He had some language skills and he needed to use them.
Gradually Danny grew still and became less agitated, so I took his coat from the stand and gave it to him. He didn’t put it on or clutch it protectively to his chest as he had done before; instead, he began reaching up to the coat stand again.
‘Do you want to hang it up yourself?’ I asked, having seen many toddlers do this.
Danny nodded.
‘Would you like me to lift you up so you can reach it?’
He nodded again.
He let me put my hands around his waist, and I lifted him up until he was high enough to hook his coat onto the stand. Then I set him on the floor again.
‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, without looking at me.
‘You’re welcome. It’s always best to try to tell me what you want, then I’ll know and can help you.’
I offered him my hand to hold to go upstairs but again he refused it, using the banister rail for support instead. Upstairs I showed him where the toilet was and asked him if he needed help. He shook his head, so I waited outside. I heard the toilet flush and then the taps run. He came out and I led the way to his bedroom.
‘This is your bedroom,’ I said. ‘I hope you like it. It will be better once you’ve got your things around you.’
Danny didn’t comment, nor did he look around the room, but he went to his holdall and unzipped it. At the top lay a soft-toy rabbit, which he picked up and held lovingly to his cheek.
‘George,’ he said with a small sigh, and for the first time since he’d arrived I saw him smile.
Chapter Four
