together, and put them back in the box. Then how about I see if I can find Fireman Sam on the telly?’
‘But I never did it!’ he squeaked at me. ‘I never!’
But I could tell from his changing body language that this was only the embers. The raging fire, quick to ignite, had died away equally quickly. I let go of his hands finally. He flexed and unflexed his fingers.
‘Come on,’ I said, getting down on my knees now. ‘Tell you what, shall we make it a race?’
In answer, he was down on his own knees in seconds, gathering. ‘Beat ya, beat ya, beat ya!’ he sang. ‘Gotcha, gonna eat ya!’
Which made little sense to me, but that was absolutely fine. The important thing was that the storm had passed as quickly as it had started. And at least we’d had it, which meant that we were at last up and running. And though I didn’t know to where, quite, with this tornado of a child, at least I had a better idea of what I was dealing with.
If that one small incident opened a window to what Kelly might have been dealing with, the next couple of days saw me thrown headlong straight out of it, and onto what I had to concede was something fast approaching a battlefield. Life with Sam was definitely going to be no picnic. No wonder Kelly, with two little ones, had struggled to cope. Because it wasn’t just the screaming and the howling and the tantrums, and it wasn’t just the constant threat of violence when Sam exploded. It was that I just never saw them coming.
And they seemed destined to be a regular occurrence. That same afternoon, after Mike and Tyler had returned, I was in the kitchen, toiling away at a late-afternoon roast, when there was another major blow-up.
Sam had been watching TV while Mike and Tyler had been going over some college coursework, and, as the volume had been creeping up to a disruptive level, Mike had asked Sam if he could turn it down a little. He’d duly nodded – this was apparently no problem in itself, because he did as he was told immediately – but when he accidentally pressed the ‘change channel’ button, and lost the programme temporarily, it triggered a second bout of screaming and swearing and lashing out – this time, and just as I ran into the living room, by throwing the remote across the room in a fit of temper, catching Tyler a glancing blow across the face.
Mike was obviously quick to act, grabbing Sam up in a bear hug before he could lay hands on anything else to throw, and while Tyler heroically took the blow – in both senses – on the chin, Mike was already deploying the restraint technique we’d been trained in; using his superior strength to physically contain Sam while trying to quell the storm of his temper.
And what a whirlwind of a thing that temper was. Mike had his arms firmly around Sam, pinning his own to his sides, but I could see he was looking for any opportunity to attack, gnashing his teeth, and trying to get his mouth close enough to bite Mike, while kicking his feet out to try and kick him on the shins. Had he not been just nine – and such a scrap of a thing – it would have been a fearsome sight. As it was it just made me feel very sad.
While Tyler gathered up the batteries and put the remote back together, I went across to see if I could help. ‘Sam, until you stop that silly kicking and biting, Mike can’t let you go,’ I tried. ‘The way you are carrying on, you will hurt yourself, and we don’t want that to happen. We just want you to calm yourself down, okay? So stop yelling and take some deep breaths, please.’
But the only thing Sam was listening to was his anger, which seemed to be drowning all other sounds out. Eyes squeezed tight shut, he continued to wriggle and squirm. ‘Are you listening, mate?’ Mike asked. ‘You need to stop this, okay? Because I can’t let you go till you do.’
Mike shuffled back a little, towards the sofa, pulling Sam up onto his lap, speaking softly as he did so despite the heels hammering at his shins. ‘There we go, mate,’ he said, as he cradled and rocked him. ‘That’s better, you’re settling down now. Come on, shhhh, stop your fuss now, that’s it, in and out, take deep breaths.’
And, bit by bit, once again, the storm began to ebb away. Whether by will or exhaustion, I had no idea, but after ten minutes it appeared to have passed altogether, and once he was limp in Mike’s arms, his eyes finally open, I took a chance – those little feet could pack one heck of a punch – and knelt down in front of him on the carpet.
‘Sam, d’you want to talk?’ I asked. ‘About what made you angry?’
His eyes flicked past me to where Tyler was standing, holding the remote.
‘Stupid buttons!’ he said immediately. ‘The stupid buttons make me angry. They’re rubbish buttons,’ he added. ‘They’re just stupid.’
‘They’re just buttons, love,’ I pointed out. ‘Are they really worth getting in such a pickle about? Tell you what, how about Tyler sits down with you after dinner, and goes through what all the different buttons do with you? Would that help, do you think? Though for now, I think you first need to say sorry to him, don’t you?’
‘Mum, it’s fine,’ Tyler began. ‘He didn’t mean –’
‘Exactly. I didn’t mean to,’ Sam finished for him.
‘Nevertheless,’ I said, ‘it hit him, and you were the one who threw it. Which makes it a consequence of an action you took, Sam. Which is something I’d like you to think about, okay? And meanwhile, I’d better get back to the kitchen, or none of us will be getting any tea tonight, will we?’
Sam’s chin jutted as he looked at me, apparently astonished. ‘I’m allowed tea?’
‘Of course you are, mate,’ Mike said. He too took a chance and let his arms fall away. ‘Can’t have a little scrap like you starving, can we?’
Sam twisted round to look at him. ‘Even though I’m bad? I still get tea?’
I touched Sam gently on his head. His forehead was damp from his exertions, as was his hair. ‘Of course you get tea, silly. And you’re not bad, love,’ I said. ‘You’re just a little boy who gets angry quite a lot, and we’re going to all have to work together to help you with that. And we will. Though in the meantime’ – I got to my feet and put my hand out – ‘how about you come into the kitchen and help me with the veg, so Mike and Tyler can finish off what they’re doing?’
Sam managed a smile as he took my hand. ‘Are we having peas?’ he asked. ‘I could count them. I’m good at counting peas.’
I think we all chuckled in unison. ‘I’m not sure we actually need to count them,’ I told him. ‘But yes, if you want peas, we can definitely have peas. But first, are you going to say sorry to Tyler?’
‘Oh, yeah, sorry,’ he said. Then trotted off with me, happy as Larry. What a conundrum this little boy was.
I pondered the puzzle of Sam as I finished preparing dinner and, deprived of counting peas, he helped sort out the cutlery instead. Because it was a puzzle. There being no unhappy aftermath to Sam’s violent outbursts – at least so far – was interesting in itself. As had been the case earlier in the day, once Sam was over his anger, it was as if he’d forgotten all about it. No contrition. No regret. But no sullen defiance either. Though he’d been genuinely astonished that he was still going to be fed after what he’d done (which meant
