just to be sure he’d be banged up.
And after that decision, once it was obvious that Eddie wouldn’t have to tell his story in any trial, he came to me.
There he sat, in that chair over there, his thin legs dangling. He was a serious little fellow, still in the habit of peeking upwards surreptitiously, as though he’d kept that ratty fringe we’d seen in that, the first and only photo. (Judges move fast on a child’s privacy.)
I wanted to start off with what he thought about the things that had happened since he left the flat. I can’t remember quite how I began, but it was probably along the lines of, ‘So, how’s it going, Eddie?’
Just an open-ended question.
That didn’t get us anywhere, but over the next few visits the child did seem to overcome his fear of sayinganything at all in case it led to trouble. Gradually he became more and more confident about describing the small excitements of his new life with Linda and Alan. And that did offer some sort of a bridge for going back to talk of earlier days.
Then once, when I was asking him if he had visited his mother yet, he told me he was going there the very next day. With Rob.
‘It’s been a long time since you’ve seen her,’ I ventured.
‘When I was little,’ he agreed.
That floored me. Obviously my first thought was that he’d conflated the mother who had been in hospital (and possibly, in his mind, cured) with the mum he had known so long ago, before Bryce Harris thrashed her into something else.
That didn’t bode too well. ‘Do you think she’ll be pleased to see you?’
He nodded eagerly. I will admit, my stomach turned. We’d barely started, and that relentless hope young children specialize in had already sprung up, setting the poor lad up for horrid disappointment.
I said, ‘She’s been in hospital for quite a time.’
‘She’s in a nursing home now.’
‘That’s different, is it?’ I asked warily.
‘Linda says that it’s better.’ He studied his shoes for a while. ‘We wrote a postcard. I chose it and it was an owl.’
‘What did you say on the postcard?’
‘I told her owls come out at night. And they eat mice.’His voice brightened. ‘Their eyes are fixed. That’s why they have to turn their heads round if they want to see the sides.’ He thought for a moment. ‘They can’t see things near to them very well, though. Only things far away. And they have special sorts of wings so they fly very quietly and don’t frighten off what they were trying to catch. And some owls even eat fish. And baby owls don’t all hatch on the same day.’
I couldn’t help but smile. ‘You managed to fit all that on a postcard?’
For just a moment, he looked puzzled. Then he admitted, ‘No. Only the first bit.’
‘But you know a lot about owls.’
‘Yes. Mr Perkins took us to see a lady who kept lots of owls. She showed us a baby that was so tiny it weighed almost nothing.’
Even before the sessions began, Linda Radlett had filled me in on this Mr Perkins fellow. Indeed, she reckoned that the man had salvaged the child’s life. ‘If he’s still on the planet,’ she’d said to me, apparently quite sincerely, ‘I’m going to track him down and write to tell him so.’
And it was clear that simply telling me about the owls made Eddie feel a little stronger. So we pressed on. They are short sessions and I wanted to prepare him for the visit to his mother because it was so obvious that any hopes he was harbouring were set to crash about his ears.
Poor little chap.
So we talked about how she might still be poorly. How it might be a much, much longer time before she would be even halfway better. (It was important not to let him go on believing that she would ever be the old Lucy Taylor again.) We talked about how it was Eddie’s job to give her time, and keep his fingers crossed – yes, I said that. I know it isn’t very professional. But he was only seven, for heaven’s sake. And if the Social Services
And after that decision, once it was obvious that Eddie wouldn’t have to tell his story in any trial, he came to me.
There he sat, in that chair over there, his thin legs dangling. He was a serious little fellow, still in the habit of peeking upwards surreptitiously, as though he’d kept that ratty fringe we’d seen in that, the first and only photo. (Judges move fast on a child’s privacy.)
I wanted to start off with what he thought about the things that had happened since he left the flat. I can’t remember quite how I began, but it was probably along the lines of, ‘So, how’s it going, Eddie?’
Just an open-ended question.
That didn’t get us anywhere, but over the next few visits the child did seem to overcome his fear of sayinganything at all in case it led to trouble. Gradually he became more and more confident about describing the small excitements of his new life with Linda and Alan. And that did offer some sort of a bridge for going back to talk of earlier days.
Then once, when I was asking him if he had visited his mother yet, he told me he was going there the very next day. With Rob.
‘It’s been a long time since you’ve seen her,’ I ventured.
‘When I was little,’ he agreed.
That floored me. Obviously my first thought was that he’d conflated the mother who had been in hospital (and possibly, in his mind, cured) with the mum he had known so long ago, before Bryce Harris thrashed her into something else.
That didn’t bode too well. ‘Do you think she’ll be pleased to see you?’
He nodded eagerly. I will admit, my stomach turned. We’d barely started, and that relentless hope young children specialize in had already sprung up, setting the poor lad up for horrid disappointment.
I said, ‘She’s been in hospital for quite a time.’
‘She’s in a nursing home now.’
‘That’s different, is it?’ I asked warily.
‘Linda says that it’s better.’ He studied his shoes for a while. ‘We wrote a postcard. I chose it and it was an owl.’
‘What did you say on the postcard?’
‘I told her owls come out at night. And they eat mice.’His voice brightened. ‘Their eyes are fixed. That’s why they have to turn their heads round if they want to see the sides.’ He thought for a moment. ‘They can’t see things near to them very well, though. Only things far away. And they have special sorts of wings so they fly very quietly and don’t frighten off what they were trying to catch. And some owls even eat fish. And baby owls don’t all hatch on the same day.’
I couldn’t help but smile. ‘You managed to fit all that on a postcard?’
For just a moment, he looked puzzled. Then he admitted, ‘No. Only the first bit.’
‘But you know a lot about owls.’
‘Yes. Mr Perkins took us to see a lady who kept lots of owls. She showed us a baby that was so tiny it weighed almost nothing.’
Even before the sessions began, Linda Radlett had filled me in on this Mr Perkins fellow. Indeed, she reckoned that the man had salvaged the child’s life. ‘If he’s still on the planet,’ she’d said to me, apparently quite sincerely, ‘I’m going to track him down and write to tell him so.’
And it was clear that simply telling me about the owls made Eddie feel a little stronger. So we pressed on. They are short sessions and I wanted to prepare him for the visit to his mother because it was so obvious that any hopes he was harbouring were set to crash about his ears.
Poor little chap.
So we talked about how she might still be poorly. How it might be a much, much longer time before she would be even halfway better. (It was important not to let him go on believing that she would ever be the old Lucy Taylor again.) We talked about how it was Eddie’s job to give her time, and keep his fingers crossed – yes, I said that. I know it isn’t very professional. But he was only seven, for heaven’s sake. And if the Social Services
Similar Books
