Cruel to Be Kind. Cathy GlassЧитать онлайн книгу.
have dinner just as soon as Jo has gone, all right, love?’
He nodded. ‘Paula said we could have an ice cream.’
‘Yes, after dinner.’ It was a bit close to dinner now to have it before, I thought.
‘I like ice cream,’ Max said.
‘So do Adrian and Paula.’ I offered him my hand, as I would any young child, for comfort and reassurance, and he took it. Because of Max’s size it was easy to forget he was only six. Rotund, he looked more like a portly little gentleman – Dickens’s Mr Pickwick – rather than a small child. I could picture him in a waistcoat with a pocket watch.
Max also used my hand for a degree of support. I felt his weight, a pull, as we trod over the lawn towards the patio, then even more so as he hauled himself up the step. Taking hold of the edge of the patio door with one hand, he kept a grip on me with the other and levered himself into the living room with a small sigh, then dropped my hand.
‘How are you doing?’ Jo asked him.
‘OK,’ he said.
‘It’s a nice big garden, isn’t it?’ Jill said brightly.
Max nodded dispassionately, for of course the appeal of a garden to a child is that they can run and play in it, but Max’s running and playing was so severely compromised that the garden would probably be just another hurdle to overcome, rather than a means of having fun.
‘Cathy is going to show us around the house now, and then I’m going to see your mother at the hospital,’ Jo said. ‘As it’s getting late I’ll suggest to your mum she speaks to you on the phone tonight, rather than you visiting her. Is that OK?’
I was expecting a reaction – ‘I want to see my mummy’ or similar – as was Jill from the way she was looking at Max. But he just nodded stoically, apparently as accepting of this as he appeared to be of most things.
Jo and Jill now stood and I began the tour. ‘This is the living room,’ I said, addressing Max. ‘We use this room the most and often sit in here in the evenings to play games or watch some television.’ He nodded and I led the way out of the living room and into the kitchen-cum-diner, where I explained that this was where we usually ate.
‘Something smells good,’ Jill said, sniffing the air.
‘Dinner, I hope,’ I said. ‘It’s a chicken casserole. Do you like casserole?’ I asked Max.
His eyes lit up, and with the most enthusiasm I’d seen since he’d arrived, he said, ‘I love casserole.’
‘Good.’ I smiled at him. I showed them out of the kitchen, down the hall and into the front room. ‘This is a sort of quiet room,’ I said. ‘If you want to sit quietly to read or think, or just be by yourself.’ It contained a table and chairs, the computer, sound system, bookshelves and a small cabinet with a lockable drawer, where I kept important paperwork.
There wasn’t much more to say about this room, so I led the way upstairs to Max’s room – clean and fresh but sparse, without any personal belongings. ‘It will look better once you have some of your things in here,’ I said encouragingly to him.
He looked at me, puzzled. ‘How will I get my things?’ he asked sensibly.
‘I’m going to ask your sisters to pack a bag for you and take it to the hospital tomorrow evening,’ Jo explained. ‘Is there anything in particular you want from home?’
Max looked thoughtful.
‘Like your favourite teddy bear or toy?’ Jill suggested.
‘Buzz Lightyear,’ Max said, referring to the toy from the movie Toy Story. ‘He’s on my bed.’
‘I’ll tell them,’ Jo said.
‘And my clothes. I haven’t got any pyjamas.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Jo said.
‘I’ve got pyjamas you can wear tonight,’ I reassured him, although I knew the ones I’d taken out, which now sat neatly folded at the foot of his bed, would be far too small. I’d quietly change them later without a fuss.
Jo glanced out of the bedroom window and admired the view. This bedroom overlooked the rear garden, as did Adrian’s room next door. I then pointed out the wardrobe and drawers to Max, where he would keep his belongings, and the pinboard on the wall for his drawings. He appeared to be a sensible child, so this would be the type of thing he might be wondering. There were already some posters on the walls and I told him we could change them or add to them. ‘Perhaps some pictures of Toy Story?’ I suggested.
He managed a small, brave smile, bless him. I appreciated there was so much for him to take in – a new home with everything different from what he was used to, and new people with different ways of doing things.
I showed them around the rest of the upstairs: Adrian’s room, the toilet, Paula’s room, the bathroom and finally my bedroom. ‘This is where I sleep,’ I told Max. ‘If you wake in the night and want me, just call out and I’ll be straight round. All right?’
He nodded, and we returned downstairs. Jo went briefly into the living room to fetch her bag and then joined us in the hall to say goodbye. ‘His inhaler is in his school bag,’ she reminded me. Then to Jill and me, ‘I’ll phone about the issues we discussed.’
‘Thanks,’ Jill said.
Jo said goodbye to Max and left. Jill, Max and I returned down the hall and Jill went into the garden to say goodbye to Adrian and Paula, while Max flopped onto the sofa. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said again, this time with a little groan.
‘So am I,’ I said. ‘We’ll eat as soon as Jill has gone.’ It was nearly six-thirty, later than we usually ate, and I knew Adrian and Paula would be hungry too.
Jill came in from the garden. ‘Well, have a good evening then,’ she said to Max. He stayed on the sofa while I saw Jill to the front door. ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow to see what sort of night you’ve had,’ she said. ‘If you need to speak to someone tonight, phone our out-of-hours number.’ I doubted I would with Max, but it was reassuring to know that twenty-four-hour support was always available from the agency if necessary.
Having said goodbye to Jill, I returned to the living room to check on Max, and as soon as he saw me he told me again that he was hungry. ‘We’ll have dinner now,’ I said. ‘While I dish it up, would you like to go into the garden and tell Adrian and Paula dinner is ready?’ I could have called them myself through the open patio doors, but I find that if a child is involved in the routine of the house, they feel included and settle more quickly.
Max was happy to oblige and hauled himself off the sofa, while I went into the kitchen. Taking the oven gloves from their hook, I opened the oven door and carefully lifted out the piping-hot casserole. I set it on the work surface and began dishing it onto four plates. The children appeared and I asked them to wash their hands at the sink before dinner. I finished dishing up and returned the rest of the casserole to the oven, then went to the table and suggested to Max that he might like to sit next to Adrian. We tend to keep the same places at the meal table. ‘I’m hungry, Mum,’ Adrian said as they sat down, rubbing his tummy theatrically.
‘So am I,’ Max agreed, copying him with a rub of his tum.
I carefully carried the plates of food in from the kitchen and set them in front of each child. I added a basket containing chunks of warm baguette to the centre of the table and told them to help themselves. By the time I’d sat down with my plate Max had taken three large chunks of bread, which he propped on the side of his plate. ‘There’s plenty,’ I said, for I wondered if he thought I might run out. I’d fostered children before who’d been so underfed at home that they grabbed and hoarded food whenever the opportunity arose, although I didn’t think this was true in Max’s case – it seemed to be more habit.
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