chorused together.
‘Who’s George?’ Lucy asked.
‘George,’ Danny repeated. ‘George. George.’
‘Tell me who George is,’ I said, ‘and I can help you.’
Danny stared around the room and then towards the kitchen as though he was looking for something or someone. ‘George,’ he said again, louder. ‘George!’
‘Danny, who is George?’ I asked, trying to make eye contact with him.
But he didn’t look at me or reply. He was staring around searchingly, clearly looking for something, but what or who? He was also growing increasingly anxious in his demands for George. ‘George! George!’
‘Is George a person?’ I asked him.
He didn’t reply.
‘A toy, maybe?’ I suggested. ‘Is George a toy in your holdall?’ I was envisaging a favourite toy packed by his mother that went everywhere with Danny and he couldn’t be separated from. But Danny shook his head vigorously.
‘George!’ he shouted again. Sliding off his chair, he ran into the kitchen and to the back door. I went after him.
‘Danny, who is George?’ I asked again.
‘George!’ he said, facing the back door as though George could be outside. ‘George! George!’ Danny was very agitated now and close to tears.
‘Danny, there’s no one out there, love,’ I said, going up to him. ‘George isn’t out there. Tell me who George is and I can help you.’
Danny turned from the door and looked around him, bewildered. Then he threw himself onto the floor, face down, and began sobbing and beating the tiles with his fists and feet. I knelt beside him and placed my hand lightly on his arm, but he wriggled out of reach and sobbed louder. Adrian, Paula and Lucy had fallen silent at the table and were looking at him, very worried.
‘George!’ Danny cried at the top of his voice as if he thought George might be able to hear him. ‘George!’
‘Danny, calm down,’ I said, staying close to him. ‘I’ll do what I can to find George.’
But he didn’t calm down; he continued sobbing loudly, crying out for George and beating the floor as his upset began to escalate into a tantrum. Sometimes, when a young child has a tantrum, holding them close and soothing them can ease them out of it, while older children often have to work through it before they can be held. Danny was so little and vulnerable my instinct was to pick him up, but given his resistance to physical contact I wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do.
‘Danny,’ I said, lightly touching his arm again, ‘can you tell me who George is?’
There was a small pause before he cried, ‘No!’ and thrashed around on the floor even more.
‘I can’t help you unless I know what it is you want,’ I said more firmly.
‘George!’ Danny yelled at the top of his voice.
At that moment Toscha, our rather lazy cat, perhaps intrigued by the commotion going on indoors, leapt in through the cat flap. Danny suddenly fell quiet – from shock, I think – and, sitting bolt upright, stared at Toscha. She threw him a disparaging glance and then sauntered over to her food bowl.
‘Not George!’ Danny cried, pointing to Toscha.
‘No. That’s Toscha, our cat,’ I said.
‘Not George!’ Danny cried again as though it was her fault.
‘No, our cat,’ I repeated. Danny got onto all fours and crawled to the cat flap and pushed it open.
‘Is there something you want to see outside?’ I asked.
Danny nodded vigorously.
‘Can you bring me Danny’s coat and shoes, please?’ I called to Adrian, Lucy and Paula. I was wearing slippers, but Danny only had on his socks. Paula stood and went into the hall for Danny’s shoes while Lucy unhooked his coat from the chair and brought it to me.
‘Thank you,’ I said with a reassuring smile.
Danny was calmer now he knew he was going outside, although what he expected to find out there I’d no idea – I could foresee another tantrum when he was disappointed.
‘Do you want me to get your coat, Mum?’ Paula asked, arriving with Danny’s shoes.
‘No thanks, love. We won’t be out there for long. It’s cold.’
I set Danny’s shoes on the floor beside him. ‘Shall I put them on for you or do you want to do it?’ He took first one and then the other, quickly stuffing his foot in and doing up the Velcro. ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Now stand up and put your coat on.’ I held his coat out ready for him. There was a moment’s pause, as though he was processing or considering what I’d asked him to do, and then he slipped his arms into each of the sleeves and drew his coat around him.
‘I want you to hold my hand when we go out into the garden,’ I said to him. ‘It’s dark and there’s a step outside. I don’t want you falling.’ Also, not knowing what Danny wanted to do in the garden, I was concerned he might be thinking of running off and hiding again as he had done at school.
Danny didn’t offer me his hand, so I repeated that he needed to hold my hand before we went into the garden. After another pause he did as I’d asked. ‘Good boy,’ I said, taking every opportunity to praise him.
I opened the back door. The light from the kitchen shone out illuminating the step, and I helped him over it. Once outside Danny began looking around again anxiously. ‘George?’ he asked. ‘Where George?’
‘I don’t think we’re going to find George here,’ I said gently.
‘George,’ Danny repeated. Still holding my hand, he led me round the back where we stood on the patio facing the house. He pointed to the wall beneath the kitchen window. ‘George?’ he asked, puzzled. ‘George?’
‘Did you think George would be here?’ I asked him. He nodded. ‘I’m sorry, love, he’s not. I expect he’s at your house. Who is George?’
Danny opened his mouth as if to answer, but it was as though he couldn’t find the right word, so he said something else instead – ‘George needs dinner’ – and his eyes filled with tears.
Then it dawned on me. ‘Is George an animal?’ I asked.
Danny gave a very small nod.
‘Is George your pet who lives outside?’
Danny nodded. ‘George needs feeding.’
‘I expect your mother has given George his dinner,’ I reassured him. ‘What type of animal is George?’
Danny looked around, bemused, apparently unable to find the right word.
‘Does George live
