A Life Lost. Cathy Glass

Do you like that?’

      ‘Not fussed.’

      ‘OK, but I don’t want you sitting up here by yourself.’

      ‘Can if I want,’ he replied.

      Despite his bravado, I felt sorry for him. He looked so lost and alone, sitting there on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped forward, pretending he didn’t care. I’d seen children before trying to put on a brave face when they were scared and hurting inside. His mother had said he wouldn’t talk to her about his feelings, but not opening up was only prolonging the agony for him. I was about to suggest he come down and sit in the living room when his phone rang.

      ‘It’s Mum,’ he said, his face brightening a little. But instead of answering, he rejected the call.

      ‘Why did you do that?’

      ‘I don’t want to talk to her.’

      ‘Couldn’t you just say hello and let her know you’re all right?’ I suggested.

      He didn’t reply.

      ‘I’ll give her a ring then,’ I said. ‘She’ll be worried about you.’

      ‘No, she won’t,’ he retaliated.

      ‘Jackson, I know you’re feeling rejected. But your mother loves you and will be missing you a lot. You all need some time and space to get through this, but she has feelings too. She’s grieving like you and your sisters are, but she’s having to hold your family together as well.’

      ‘We’re not a family any more!’ Jackson snapped, and I could hear the pain in his voice.

‘You are a family, love, just a different one. I know this isn’t exactly the same – my husband didn’t die, but he left us many years ago when Adrian and Paula were little. We all had to adjust to life without him, difficult though it was, so we could see a way forward. In time and with counselling, you will be able to see a future too.’ I had no idea if I was saying the right thing, as I’d never experienced the devastating bereavement Jackson had, so I was relying on common sense.

      Jackson didn’t say anything, but he must have heard what I’d said. Hopefully he would think about it and know I was there for him, just as his mother was.

      A knock sounded on his bedroom door – I’d left it ajar – and Tilly appeared. ‘Hi, I’m in care too,’ she said to Jackson. She was bright and sparkly and wanting to help, but the timing was wrong.

      ‘So?’ Jackson said under his breath.

      ‘I’m just saying. I thought it would help.’

      I threw her a reassuring smile. Jackson’s phone rang again and this time he accepted the call. ‘What do you want, Mum?’ he asked, his voice flat. But at least he’d answered.

      ‘Come on,’ I said quietly to Tilly. ‘We’ll leave Jackson to talk to his mother.’

      We went out and I drew the door to but didn’t completely close it. I went with Tilly into her room. ‘He’s very moody,’ Tilly said.

      ‘Don’t take it personally. He’s had a lot to cope with.’ I’d already told her and the rest of my family what they needed to know about Jackson’s loss.

      ‘Can Abby come round this evening?’ Tilly asked. Abby was her best friend and they saw a lot of each other.

‘Yes, if her parents can collect her. I can’t leave Jackson with Paula at present.’ My daughter Paula was one of my nominated sitters – police checked and approved by the social services – but I’d never leave a new arrival with her. They needed to have settled in first.

      ‘They should be able to,’ Tilly said. ‘Can Abby stay for dinner?’

      ‘Yes, it’s going to be lasagne.’

      ‘Great.’

      Although this would mean another new person for Jackson to meet, I’d found in the past that it helped the child to relax if everyone continued with their plans as usual.

      ‘I’ll phone her now,’ Tilly said. Then she paused and looked at me seriously. ‘Jackson’s very young to have a mobile phone, when you think what happened to me.’

      ‘I know, love, but I understand there is a parental control app on it. I’ll check it when I have the chance and make sure it’s up to date and doing its job.’

      Tilly had learnt the hard way that while having a mobile phone had many advantages, it was also open to abuse. The poor girl had been to hell and back and as a result of what had happened still wasn’t talking to her mother.

Leaving Tilly to call Abby, and Jackson on the phone to his mother – listening rather than talking – I went downstairs. Paula was in the front room using the printer. We all had our own laptops but shared the printer. Having graduated in the summer, like many young people she was finding it difficult to get a permanent job and was temping in the meantime. We chatted for a few moments and then I said I was going to start dinner and asked her to let me know if she heard Jackson moving around. From his room to the front door was a straight run down the stairs, and I wouldn’t have put it past him to try to leave. Foster carers can’t lock children in the house, even if it is for their own good, so I put the safety chain on the front door, which would at least slow him down a bit.

      I was right to be cautious, for five minutes later I heard footsteps on the stairs and then Paula ask, ‘Are you OK, Jackson?’

      I went quickly into the hall in time to see him at the front door.