He raised his eyebrows in exasperation.
‘We all have different ways of doing things,’ I said, and led the way into our kitchen-diner. To a younger person who’d grown up with computers, routers and mobile phones, switching off the wi-fi at night would seem ludicrous, but not to someone of Fred and Peggy’s generation.
While we were in the kitchen I took the opportunity to ask Stevie if he had any special dietary needs or was allergic to anything. It’s something the social worker would tell me in respect of a younger child.
‘No, I eat most things,’ he said easily.
‘Excellent,’ I smiled.
We left the kitchen-diner and went down the hall and into the front room. ‘I call it a quiet room,’ I said. ‘You can read and do your homework in here or in your room, whatever you prefer. The computer and printer are here too,’ I said, pointing. These were now considered essential items in a foster carer’s home.
‘And there’s the router,’ Stevie said, spotting the hub on the bookshelf. I didn’t have to read out the passcode, as he beat me to it. Going over, he entered the code and began tapping away at the keypad on his phone as if his life depended on it. I watched him for a while as his fingers flew over the letters. Completely absorbed, I think he almost forgot I was there.
‘Stevie, what do you do on the internet?’ I asked.
He looked up. ‘Chat to friends, you know, the usual stuff,’ he said, and returned his attention to the screen.
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