Cruel to Be Kind. Cathy Glass

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      We all began eating and for a while all that could be heard was the chink of cutlery on china as three hungry children ate. When a child first arrives mealtimes can sometimes be awkward for them. Eating is an intimate and social occasion, with unspoken but assumed rules that can differ from household to household. I didn’t even know if Max ate at a table at home; many children don’t. And sitting close to people you’ve only just met can be embarrassing and make you feel self-conscious. I’d looked after children who felt so uncomfortable to begin with that they ate next to nothing for the first few days, and it’s very worrying. Max showed no sign of being self-conscious, though, and ate confidently and heartily, mopping up the last of the gravy with another chunk of bread he took from the basket. Adrian finished at the same time and asked if there were seconds. He knew there would be.

      ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. I stood and picked up his plate. ‘Max, would you like a second helping too?’

      ‘Yes, please,’ he said, and passed me his plate. Paula and I were still finishing ours.

      I carried the plates to the kitchen, dished up seconds and also cut up some more bread, which I placed in the basket.

      ‘Thank you,’ Max said as I set his plate in front of him. He took some more bread, as did Adrian, and we all continued eating.

      Paula is a bit of a slow eater and was still working on her first helping as both the boys came to the end of their second. Adrian sat back with a sigh of contentment and, patting his stomach, said, ‘I’m stuffed.’

      ‘Full,’ I corrected.

      Max was looking at me expectantly. ‘Is there any more?’ he asked.

      ‘There is a little. But leave some room for the ice cream you wanted.’

      ‘I’ve always got room for ice cream,’ he said, with a small smile. It was a passing reference to him being overweight, but I didn’t comment. I checked with Paula that she didn’t want any more and then with mixed feelings spooned the last of the casserole onto Max’s plate.

      ‘Thank you,’ he said. He began eating with the same urgency as he had the first serving, although I couldn’t see how he could still be hungry.

      Feeding one’s family is laden with emotion unconnected with the food itself. As well as providing sustenance, cooking is СКАЧАТЬ