Sample from Graham's Gang

“OK, geniush, shtart by telling us ‘ow you knew where we lived and ‘ow you got here.” Graham’s speech had continued to improve but the impediment caused by his head injuries would never clear completely.

Jimmy had stopped shivering though he was unaware of it. His attention was focused on Nancy as she busied herself in the kitchen. The smell of toast made him realise how famished he was. He was so emboldened by feelings of accomplishment and well-being that he offered an explanation without the usual sense of caution. “When we were in hospital you told me where you caught the bus in Leicester, outside our old house and your address was on the letters you sent me.”

“Sooo to begin wiv, you ran away from the home?”

Jimmy looked down at the table and after a few moments nodded slightly.

“I can unnerstand ‘ow you knew the way to your old house, but how did you get there?”

Jimmy kept his head down, “Don’t know. Just walked.”

“Sho how did you get here?”

“Same bus as you. The driver said it was the last one and I shouldn’t be allowed out at that time of night.”

“How did you pay your fare?”

“Didn’t.” The following silence continued until Jimmy felt compelled to elaborate, “I told the driver that some bigger boys had taken my money off me and he said that he wasn’t going to see any kid my age left out at that time of night.” He glanced up at Nancy who was waiting at the cooker for a pan of water to boil for the poached eggs and with the hint of a guilty grin added, “He told me to tell my mum off for letting me out so late.” The irony was not lost on Nancy who had been watching. She turned around to tend the pan of water and hide her reaction.

Nothing more needed to be said, though Nancy and Graham would have felt better for hearing an angry tirade from the child; for the dreadful absence of any contact by them, apart from a weekly letter to the care home. No visits, none of the promised outings and none of the very special support or relationships this child needed. Instead of having someone to cuddle up to on those bad, bad nights, he lay in solitude and re-lived the morning his mother was kicked to death , just a metre away from his refuge. And then the terrible head injuries to the best friend he’d ever had, a black mongrel named Sally. His nightmare still found him at night, taking him back to the kitchen and time telescoped to more horror as Sally made it to her young master still yelping in agony. There she shakily made it onto his lap and he gathered her into his small arms, rocking to and fro, weeping. His mother had crawled partway across the floor and raised an arm towards the sink before collapsing back. He had started to move out of his hiding place under the work surface but quickly retreated in fear of his father’s return and what he might find if he did reach his Mum. The neighbour had peered through the kitchen window some time later and called the Police who attended the scene an hour after the father had left. The tableau was still in place with the boy holding his dead pet and rocking to and fro.

He had no-one to cuddle on those nightmare nights or in the morning when he struggled out of his wet pyjamas and pulled the sodden sheets off the bed. Instead the other kids doled out a quota of unfeeling cruelty as children so often do.

He was well behaved at the home but unwilling, or unable, to communicate normally. As one carer aptly said, ‘a grey little character’. One thing he excelled at was running away, which he did, often.

Jimmy couldn’t understand how Graham and Nancy could keep writing to him yet fail to keep their promises of visits and excursions. They had tried to explain why procedures had to be followed but even they were at a loss to understand the weight of bureaucracy.

Naively, they now realised, they contacted the care home to make arrangements to take Jimmy out for the day. The person they spoke to was startled by the notion of releasing one of their charges to strangers, so much so that to begin with she thought it was a prank. Eventually, the truth in varying forms dawned on everyone and procedures came into place.

Graham and Nancy completed the application form for fostering children, in as full a form for a day trip as for providing a long term foster home. The Social Services contacted them and in due course they received a visit by a social worker who inspected the house and spoke to them about the regulations and the need to consider their plans carefully. Confronted with Graham’s facial devastation, the stitch marks and scar were still livid then, she also mentioned their need to run Police checks. Graham drew her attention to the list of referees which included a Detective Sergeant and a Child Protection Officer, continually pointing out that they only planned to take an individual child out on day trips but the interviewer doggedly continued, adding brightly at one point that they may decide to take more children on. Graham started to correct her but sank back into a polite silence, realising how difficult it would have been to explain why Jimmy was so special.

They were also required to attend a preparation course where they sat through a well-meaning but largely inappropriate agenda. The process was the same for everyone, and an acceptance would be for all or nothing.

Further meetings with the social worker were deemed necessary and references were taken up before she prepared her report, recommending their approval as foster parents. Three months had passed by and they were told to expect a further wait of at least four weeks before the report would be considered by an independent panel.

Until approved as full foster parents they were not allowed near Jimmy, not even for an hours’ visit. Meanwhile, a six year olds’ light of hope faded away. Graham could only begin to imagine the desperation that drove Jimmy to run away from the home again and track them down.

Breakfast was over and Jimmy had readily agreed to help with the washing up while Graham went back upstairs for a shave and shower. By the time he returned to the kitchen Nancy was enjoying another cup of tea and watching Jimmy draw on the notepaper they had found in the drawer.

Time passed and Nancy called in to say that she would be late getting to her cleaning jobs. Thankfully, it was one of the days Graham didn’t attend work. His job as car park and trolley attendant at a local superstore was for just three days a week, Thursday to Saturday.

It was time. “Nanshy, could we boys have a glass of coke please. We’ve got shome sherious talking to do and I’d rather not do it without a coke in front of me.” Jimmy’s head remained hunched down over the paper and his concentration on the task in hand had increased. A glass was set down by his arm but he showed no reaction.

“Maytee, would you be kind enough to look at this for me pleashe.” He reached over to the nearby kitchen surface and dragged a large red transfer file across and dropped it onto the table. The thump it made bore evidence of its volume and served to startle Jimmy into looking up.

Tapping the side of his nose with his forefinger he continued, “Now, you won’t undershtand very much of this but,” he leant down until his head was next to Jimmy’s and said in a lighter, but surprised tone, “Neither do I! The people in charge of everything must think you are very, very important. More important than the queen even. I reckon I could take her out for tea without sho much bother.” He opened the file and quickly summarised the different letters and forms in terms a six year old might understand. “Then they sent someone to see us and made sure that if we put you up for the night the bed was nice and soft. And they didn’t just ask us a lot of questions. They’ve been in touch with lots of other people to shee if they think we’re good enough to take you out. Excushe me.” He picked his glass up and took a fortifying gulp. Jimmy did likewise.

“All thish has taken three months. That’sh a quarter of the way to next Christmas! Which I might add will be spent here with us, - if you wanted to.” Several nods indicated that an arm and leg would willingly be traded for such an opportunity. Graham reached behind and removed a wall calendar from a hook. A full year planner was printed on the reverse and Graham pointed at January. “That’sh when we first met in hospital, shortly after Christmas.” He started to cross each day off, announcing the move from one month to the next until he reached the 12th of April. “That’sh today and all those days have passed by.” He dragged the pen over the spent period. “They’ve said we should know within a month, which is there.” As he drew a heavily-marked square around the 15th of May a sense of anger and frustration swept over him, prompting him to say something foolish, though if it helped Jimmy get through even part of the next month he would argue that it was worth it. “If you haven’t heard by then, catch another bus here on this day.” As he drew a triangle around the 23rd May he received a sharp kick of censure on his ankle. He continued, “I would like you to take thish pen and calendar back with you so that you can crosh each day off when you go to bed.” He felt the boy tense and allowed a moments’ pause by reaching forward for another mouthful of coke. Jimmy followed suit.

Graham spoke quietly, “I’m shorry maytee, but if we didn’t take you back they would say that we were not good enough to see you at all and then we would never get to Skegnesh.” He paused to allow time for things to sink in. “Would you like me to see if Aunty Sarah could drive you back, we’ll come with you.”

There was the slightest nod and Nancy left the table to telephone the care home and Sarah Whiting.

Jimmy slowly leant against Graham and began to cry. Graham wrapped him in his arms, and thought of the trauma this child had lived through, - and his eyes filled too.

Ironically, Sarah was a Social Services Child Protection officer who had witnessed Graham’s gift first-hand and was part of the very small group who knew of it. She had met Jimmy whilst visiting Graham in hospital and had helped, via contacts, to fast track certain elements of the approval process. Her natural affinity with children ensured that Jimmy came to call her Aunty too. Since Graham and Nancy didn’t own a car Nancy had telephoned Sarah to beg a ride back to the home.

“Oh, that poor child, done a runner again has he?” She listened as Nancy described the details and gasped as she learned of his night spent in a plastic sack. “Of course I’ll come, and we’ll treat him to a burger and milkshake on the way.”