others (more often than not, that was precisely why they did it), it almost seemed as if Sam rationalised them on a ‘what’s done is done’ basis. Since he had no problem brushing them off once they were over – and forgetting them completely – it didn’t seem to occur to him that we wouldn’t too. I was no psychologist, but I found Sam’s psychology fascinating. It was as if he was living in the moment, but to the nth degree. So much so that it was as if his previous rages hadn’t even happened.
Yet, happen they had, and happen they did again. And, over the next twenty-four hours, they happened at regular intervals. Without warning, the slightest thing could tip him over into a raging, yelling bundle of fury. Because the eggs and soldiers hadn’t been set out the same way as yesterday. Because he’d coloured over the lines in the colouring-in book I’d given him. Because someone on Fireman Sam didn’t do what Sam thought he should do. By the time Monday evening came around, I looked as if I’d done a few rounds myself – in a boxing ring with Anthony Joshua.
‘We can’t allow this to continue,’ Mike said once we’d put Sam to bed that evening, after another flare-up over some nonsense or other. Yet another episode during which I’d had a fistful of hair grabbed.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’d be tearing my own hair out, but he’s busy doing it for me. I’ll be flipping bald soon, at this rate!’ I felt my scalp, which was so tender that I winced as I touched it. ‘I just wish I could get a handle on his triggers.’
‘Sure you’re not just clutching at straws?’ Mike said. ‘Because from what I’ve seen and you’ve described, anything could be a trigger. He’s just in max on-the-edge mode, twenty-four seven. How can we get to the bottom of something we can’t see coming?’
Yet, for all that Mike was right (he had to be – how else to explain the rages?) when he wasn’t flying off the handle Sam was no trouble at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. Though I’d been anxious that Tyler would lose his rag sooner or later, when I’d gently probed him about Sam (he was now out for the evening) he’d laughed it all off, apparently genuinely.
‘It’s obviously going to be like living with a little cyclone,’ he’d admitted. ‘But as long as he doesn’t touch my stuff I can live with it.’
‘Seriously?’ I’d asked. After the troubles we’d had with Miller, I was anxious above anything that we didn’t have a re-run. Happy as I was to take on Sam, it just wouldn’t be fair.
‘Seriously,’ he’d reassured me. ‘I know it’s going to sound weird, Mum, but I quite like him. He’s sweet.’
And though I knew Mike wasn’t convinced yet, what Tyler had said had struck a chord with me. Bottom line was that I liked Sam too. Which was no way a requisite for caring for him and doing my best for him, but it was a happy extra fact. And a welcome one, too. Whatever else it was, it was a plus point, because we were at the start of a journey that could end up as rocky as many others I’d already taken. A little stock of goodwill and sympathy would be a big bonus.
‘You’re right,’ I agreed with Mike now, ‘but, you know, even only forty-eight hours in, I feel we’re already gathering pieces of the jigsaw. His comment about being fed when he’d been “bad” – that was telling, for instance. No, I know it’s not earth-shattering knowing he was probably punished by being denied food, but it’s something, isn’t it? Not a lot, but something. And all the kicking, biting, hair-pulling – that doesn’t just come from nowhere. It’s learned behaviour. As is all the dog stuff. I think I need to do some comprehensive note-taking with this one, because although it all seems kind of random in the moment, we might just find a pattern if we record everything.’
I could see from Mike’s expression that he knew I was on a roll. But I could also see that he wasn’t yet rolling with me. ‘Well okay, love, I guess you know what you’re doing, but it’s one thing him attacking us and Ty, but what about when the grandkids come round? Have you thought about that?’
‘Of course I have,’ I sniffed. ‘I can’t believe you’ve even asked that. In fact, I filled Riley and Kieron in this afternoon, before you got home. And, yes, I’ve pre-warned them that things might be a little sticky in the short term, but it’s not like we’re going to have them round here and leave them alone with him unsupervised. And, besides, Levi and Jackson are both older than Sam – and stronger, don’t forget. I doubt he’d give them any nonsense. I doubt he’d dare. And as for the girls –’
‘Case, there you go. That’s exactly what I’m getting at. It’s all well and good dealing with it after the fact, but in the meantime one of the kids might have been frightened or even hurt, and we can’t ask them not to come to the house, can we? I just think we need to be clear that Sam poses a risk to them, and be upfront about how – and if – we want to manage that. I don’t think either of us want a re-run of Miller. No, I know we don’t, in fact.’
I didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking. Not one bit. ‘So you’re saying we shouldn’t commit to Sam yet?’
‘No, I’m not saying that. I’m just saying – and don’t throw a cushion at me, okay? – that we should be clear that if Sam continues with these violent outbursts there is a line to be drawn, and we’re not going to cross it. That our grandkids being safe here with any foster kid is non-negotiable. One thing you being covered in bruises, because you’re tough as nails, you are, but quite another it happening to them. Isn’t that fair?’ He looked at me pointedly.
Which he had a right to. I’d bent his ear enough about Miller, after all. He knew more than anyone just how close I’d come to throwing in the fostering towel with him. So perhaps he was just pre-empting things; looking out for me.
But I was gung-ho. I don’t know why, but I just felt I could get a handle on Sam – get through to him, autism or no autism. ‘Oh, stop looking for problems that may not exist, love.’ I grinned at him. ‘You know I hate when you do that.’
Mike laughed. ‘No, love, what you hate is when I touch on your own fears. You know as well as I do that this could be a real issue.’
As I went to put the kettle on I felt an overwhelming urge to let out a growl myself, because what I hated even more than that was admitting that Mike was right, and I might be wrong.
So I’d just have to prove him wrong, wouldn’t I?
It felt a little like saying hello to an old friend. Not in reality; all the previous examples in my life had long gone now, along with the children with whom I’d made them. But in gathering what I’d need to make a chart for Sam – the stickers, the paper, the array of felt pens – I felt the warm glow of re-acquaintance with a cherished buddy.
When was the last time I’d set about my job with my old friend to support me? Too long, it seemed to me. Much too long. If I’d been slightly stung by Christine’s opinion of our points system when I’d first met her, now I was even more zealous. And because it had been her suggestion that we try helping Sam within its framework, I also felt vindicated – which made me even more determined to prove the naysayers wrong. For some children, in some circumstances, positive and structured behaviour modification was the key to unlock the potential for better lives.
That we needed to access that key in Sam was increasingly obvious. We knew almost nothing about him yet, and I doubted we would for a few days more, but whatever the underlying issues for his various behaviours, helping him to find ways to quash them before they completely took hold
