A Dark Secret. Casey Watson

Hmmm. Complicated, by the sounds of it. So, how’s it going with Sam now? Any progress?’

      I looked across at the boy in question, who was sitting on the sofa quietly, looking through the big child’s encyclopaedia that I had dug out for him. It was a pictorial one, filled with pictures and text aimed at much younger children, but he seemed to like it. He seemed engrossed in it, at least. Which was plenty for the moment. I took a couple of steps out into the hallway.

I lowered my voice. ‘Better than you probably imagine, if you’ve already spoken to Steve and Kelly,’ I told him. ‘Which isn’t to say that there aren’t multiple challenges to be addressed.’ I knew he’d have read my email updates (I had obviously been logging everything, daily and comprehensively) but gave him a quick summary of the main issues anyway; the meltdowns, the sudden rages, the instigation of the chart and so on – not least the early signs that it was having some effect.

      ‘Chart?’ he asked.

      ‘Yes, we’re using the old behaviour modification programme we were originally trained for.’

      ‘What, like Pavlov’s dogs?’ So he had obviously studied psychology at some point.

      ‘Kind of,’ I admitted. ‘Though perhaps a tiny bit more complex. It’s essentially a system to help him with his behaviour issues using positive reinforcement.’

      ‘I’ve not come across that yet,’ he said.

      ‘I’ll run you through it when I see you. Though it takes time and perseverance, so don’t expect instant miracles. Plus, we haven’t really left the house with him yet,’ I admitted. ‘It could all go dramatically wrong when we try. But so far, so good. We’ve done a short walk to the park and survived that. So I’m on to the next step – my plan is to address that today. I’m going to take him out for pancakes at my sister’s café. See how he copes with that before we venture further afield.’

      ‘Good plan,’ Colin said. ‘All about little steps, isn’t it? And it does sound as though it’s going better than any of us would have expected, given his background. So, when can I pop round and meet him? Are you free at all next Monday?’

‘I am,’ I said, ‘and I was wondering – have you heard anything yet about the possibility of a school for him? The days are marching on, and it can’t be good him being out of education for all this time.’

      ‘I believe ELAC are looking into it as we speak,’ Colin confirmed. ‘So keep your fingers crossed that we get something from them very soon. Perhaps even by the time I see you,’ he added. Then he chuckled. ‘Well, perhaps not – that’s probably just my holiday brain talking, isn’t it?’

      I agreed that it was but, nevertheless, felt quite positive as I ended the call. ELAC – Education for Looked After Children – had avenues into schools for children in care that other ‘mere mortals’ didn’t. And that was because if a child was in care, the normal obstacles to getting them into a school often didn’t apply. Just because they’d been out of education for a while, or had been excluded in the past, didn’t mean they couldn’t quickly be put on roll at a local primary; schools, or special branches of schools in an alternative setting, weren’t just helping out – they were legally obligated to provide looked-after children with some form of learning. As they needed to be – some of those children weren’t the kind schools would be exactly fighting to admit, after all.

So, two little bits of happy to start my day with. Progress – a school for Sam might already be on the horizon, and with the chart seeming to be working, and the outbursts becoming less violent and less frequent, I was also puffed up with pride. So much so that I pushed away the tiny thought that popped into my head: my mother’s voice whispering, ‘You know what pride comes before, don’t you, Casey?’

      ‘Come on then, kiddo,’ I said to Sam, as I returned to the living room and grabbed my bag from the back of the chair. ‘Let’s get our coats on and get on the road. I promised you pancakes at a café once I’d had my phone call, and that’s what we shall have.’

      He nodded towards the television, which was now on, the book having been discarded. ‘But I’m watching Fireman Sam now,’ he said plaintively. ‘Can’t we just stay in?’

      ‘Well,’ I said, immediately clocking signs that a meltdown might be imminent. ‘We could do that, I suppose, but equally, we could pause it where it is, go to Truly Scrumptious, get pancakes with strawberries and chocolate, stuff our faces, and then rush back to finish off watching Fireman Sam afterwards?’

      It was touch and go. His body was already stiffening as I watched him – a kind of physical ‘hum’ of trapped energy. Then he started to shake, head to foot, and his hands bunched into fists. But at the same time I could tell he was trying to contain it; breathing deeply, in and out, just as Mike had shown him several times, and eventually succeeding in keeping the lid on himself. At least for the moment. ‘Okay,’ he said finally. ‘As long as we’re quick. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight …’