Moving Fostering Memoirs 2-Book Collection. Casey Watson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Phoebe was settled at the dining table. Our house is open-plan so even though I could still see her, she was out of earshot. ‘What’s the story with Phoebe?’

      ‘Oh,’ Lenke waved her hand dismissively. ‘Phoebe, she has a touch of, er, what you say?’

      I shook my head.

      ‘Er,’ she hesitated then reached into her bag, pulling out her diary and flicking through it as if the word she was looking for would miraculously leap from the page. ‘I do not have the, what is it, the papers yet. It was all such an emergency. But it is, er, I think you say autism?’

      ‘Autism?’ I said, louder than intended. Phoebe inclined her head, staring at me with a strange grin on her face and then, without warning, she threw her head back and began barking. ‘That wasn’t mentioned by the agency,’ I said over the din. Of course, autism would explain her erratic behaviour. The mimicking, screeching and barking made much more sense now.

      ‘Well, it’s how you say, erm, mildly, not much autistic.’

      ‘Really?’ In the background I could see Phoebe flapping her arms in front of herself like a demented penguin. That could never be described as mild, I thought drily, not in any language. Emily was watching the antics of the new arrival, her eyes wide with fascination.

      ‘Why was she taken into police protection?’

      Lenke watched my lips avidly. ‘Excuse me?’

      ‘I said …’ I raised my voice again to compete with the animal noises coming from across the room. Phoebe fixed me with another icy stare. ‘Why has she been removed?’

      ‘Er, she is, erm, telling one of her teachers today that her mum hurt her arm. She twist it behind her back, so she say.’

      ‘Is she known to social services already?’

      ‘Sorry? I don’t know this …’

      ‘Is she subject to a Child Protection Order?’

      ‘Oh no, no,’ Lenke shook her head. ‘This family is fine, no problems. Her father is very successful financier. Respectable. I think that this is possibly false alarm. It may be, erm, possibly part of the illness. We interview the parents this afternoon. They are mortified, really. Nice people, yes. She should be able to go home as …’

      A scream from across the room stopped Lenke in mid-sentence. The noise was somewhere between a balloon squeak and a smoke alarm. ‘Please, Phoebe,’ I said evenly but kept my tone stern, ‘don’t scream, sweetie. It’s upsetting.’

      ‘Don’t scream, it’s upsetting,’ she repeated contemptuously, but picked up another pen and returned to her colouring.

      Lenke smiled serenely, the picture of innocence. ‘I think it be good for her parents to have a break. When she back home we will look into the, how you say,’ she fluttered her hand through the air, as if trying to catch the right word, ‘you know, a rest?’

      ‘Respite?’ I offered.

      Lenke nodded emphatically. In the background Phoebe began flapping again, this time accompanied by a loud ‘whoop-whoop’ noise. I could certainly understand how her parents may have reached the end of their tether, dealing with such severe problems on a daily basis. We’re going to have our work cut out here, even just to get through a few days, I thought rather guiltily. Still, Phoebe was just a little girl and we would have to make the best of it. I had dealt with difficult situations before, I reassured myself. There had been times in the past when I had been daunted by difficult behaviour but with patience and support from my family we had managed to overcome whatever problems we encountered.

      Within half an hour I had signed several copies of the Placement Planning Agreement. Most of the form was blank since so little was known about Phoebe but the basic facts were there, along with her parents’ details. Their address caught my attention – Rosewood Drive, a rather prestigious road several miles from us, with manicured lawns and substantial houses. So, the family must be fairly well-to-do, I thought to myself, which tied in with her well-spoken accent. Most of the children I had cared for in the past were from impoverished backgrounds.

      Every family has its problems, I mused. ‘Is she on any medication to control her …?’ But Lenke zipped up her bag, then stood, tying her belt around her coat. I guess that’s a no then, I thought. She began drifting from the room, her relief palpable.

      ‘Well, that is all I know for now. I’ll leave you to it, Rosie. Bye bye, Phoebe.’

      Phoebe barked in response.

      ‘Good luck, Rosie,’ Lenke called out over her shoulder as I stood on the doorstep, waving her off. ‘Ah, I forgot to mention one more thing: the school says that Phoebe has the condition called pica so you need to be careful about leaving her unsupervised.’ I stared at her agog but she scuttled down the path without a backward glance. She may as well have shouted, ‘See you, wouldn’t want to be you!’ Not for the first time since I received the initial call about Phoebe, I was filled with a growing trepidation.

      I remembered from our initial training that children with pica were inclined to eat inedible objects. I had no personal experience of the condition but guessed it meant that Phoebe would have to be treated like a toddler: any object could be a potential choking hazard. I was beginning to understand how difficult it must have been for her parents to cope with her.

      It was as I closed the door that a strange groaning noise from the dining room drew me back. Emily called out, ‘Mum, I think maybe you should come here …’

      Rushing back into the room I noticed the look of concern on Emily’s face as she watched Phoebe standing on the table with her legs spread wide, loudly remonstrating with thin air. Her arms flailed wildly as she spewed words out in no meaningful order – ‘You get that off, pens so useless, rip it out, bitch!’

      ‘Are you alright, Phoebe?’ Emily asked, moving forwards before I could form the words to stop her.

      Phoebe screamed, kicking Emily’s outstretched arm, hard.

       Chapter 4

      ‘We don’t kick in this house,’ Phoebe mimicked in response to my admonishment, her lip curled into an ugly sneer. She stared at me with defiance, her feet still firmly planted on the dining room table.

      Following her brother’s recent footsteps, Emily had disappeared upstairs, shocked by the violence of Phoebe’s outburst. I forced myself to take a few deep breaths, my mind racing to come up with a strategy to deal with her behaviour. Making a mental note to research autism as soon as I had the time, I summoned a commanding tone. ‘Get down from the table, please, Phoebe. I’d like to show you around.’

      As I spoke I ran through my discipline options if she refused to move. My mind drew a blank but fortunately she climbed down, giving me a flinty, hard stare. ‘Good girl,’ I said, forcing a bright tone. ‘Now, let’s show you where you’ll be sleeping.’

      A shadow crossed her features, giving me a brief glimpse of a little girl lost, but a moment later it had gone, replaced by the same disturbing glare. ‘Woof, grrrr, woof.’ Phoebe followed, close at my heels. I sensed it would be futile to ask her to be quiet so I raised my voice above СКАЧАТЬ