Crying in the Dark (10 page)

‘Can I have one of those?' she asked, and I handed her the one I had just lit, taking another one for myself.

‘The fact that you're as upset as you are, Olwyn, shows that you know that you could have handled yourself better,' I said, trying to keep my tone gentle; she was miserable enough without me giving her a tongue-lashing.

‘Yeah,' she said. She had that awkward look people with cigarettes have when they don't usually smoke. She didn't seem to know what to do with it; how to hold it comfortably.

‘Rule number one in childcare is never lie; always be honest. Playing games like you're doing, when the child is obviously insecurely attached to you, is just not right. There is no way it can end other than with Larry being hurt. And I can already see that you're hurting pretty badly too.'

She nodded.

‘I wish I could tell you something different, but I'm afraid that there's only
one
thing you can do, and that is go in there today and tell him the truth. You
aren't
his mother; he
wasn't
born of you. He already has a mother, and if he is to ever deal with all the shit that has happened to him, he's going to have to come to terms with who she is and the relationship he's had with her. Now, Olwyn, that's hard enough without you confusing the issue for him. I'm sorry, but there's no other way round this.'

She was crying again, but was nodding too. I wasn't telling her anything she didn't know; she just wanted confirmation from me, and possibly to confess to someone.

‘I'm sorry,' she said.

‘You don't need to apologize, Olwyn. We all mess up from time to time. My own career has had its share of disasters. You learn from them and make sure they don't happen again.'

‘I … I actually liked the attention he gave me. It was lovely going in to work and having him waiting there, knowing that just seeing me was making his day. And I was proud of
myself.
Here I was, straight out of college, my first job, and
I'm
the one to tame the wild boy, the child no one else can handle.
I'm
the one he goes to. I thought I was doing so well. When we were working with him before, you, me and Karena, I felt so fucking useless. I thought that you both knew what you were doing, but I had nothing to contribute.'

‘Olwyn, that probably had more to do with me than with you. I was worried about what you and Karena thought of my abilities. Instead of tending to your needs and thinking about how you both were feeling, I was concerned mostly with myself. I owe you an apology for that.'

She didn't seem to be listening to me.

‘I was trying to be a good mother to him, you know. But I suppose that I don't really know what being a good parent is. My dad was never around, never available for any of us. My mam can be a bit scary. That's why I didn't want to meet you at home. She'd have gone mad if she thought that I'd messed up.'

‘Parents can be a bit over-protective sometimes.'

‘I wanted to be a mother for Larry.'

We were getting nowhere. Olwyn seemed to be falling deeper and deeper into an abyss that had been created a long time ago and which Larry had inadvertently uncovered.

‘You aren't his mother, Olwyn. Sometimes what we do is like mothering – goddam it, they even call it “mother-care” in the college textbooks – but you have to make sure that neither the child, nor you, gets confused about it. That's part of the job.'

‘I know,' she sobbed. ‘But it's hard. When he said to me that I was his mother … for a moment, just a moment … I thought I was.'

I took her by the shoulders and turned her so that she was facing me. It was nearing eleven o'clock, and the sun was heating up the day. By lunchtime it would be uncomfortable. More people had arrived, the pathways becoming busier with teenagers on skateboards and women pushing children in prams. The park was full of the scent of blossoms and the sound of birdsong and insects buzzing about. It all seemed far away from us.

‘Listen to me, Olwyn,' I said, looking her dead in the eye and speaking quietly but firmly. ‘Every now and then you come across children who, for whatever reason, push your buttons. They make you crazy. When you encounter a child like that, you need to be able to identify it and
walk away,
because you can't help that child. All you're liable to do is mess him up further. I think that perhaps you have some stuff you need to work through, issues from your own childhood. That's nothing to be ashamed of, and it doesn't mean you're mad or an ineffectual childcare worker. But you
do
need to get some work done on it, or you're being irresponsible. I have some phone numbers I can give you – of good people. I can't set the counselling up for you, Olwyn. You have to do it yourself. Will you?'

She nodded.

‘I can't be his key-worker any more, can I?'

‘It would probably be better that you're not, but it's hard to call right now. We'll have to see how Larry responds.'

I paused, unsure how to frame what needed to be said next.

‘People get into this work for lots of different reasons. Some people want to save the world. Some people like the power. Some people do it because they've been abused and want to make sure that it doesn't happen to the children on their watch. And some people do it because they never got the kind of love they deserved when they were little, and they have all this love inside them and they want to give it to children who were emotionally neglected, just like them.'

Olwyn laughed at that, but nodded. ‘Yeah. That's about it.'

‘There are far worse reasons for becoming a childcare worker,' I said.

She laid her head on my shoulder and said nothing. I sat with her in the noisy silence of the park for another forty-five minutes, and then dropped her to work. As she got out of the car, I said to her: ‘You need to talk to Larry today, Olwyn.'

Her face was red from the crying, but she looked stronger than I had seen her before.

‘I'll talk to him.'

‘It's not all bad,' I told her. ‘The fact that he's bonded to you so strongly shows that he's ready to ask for some help. That's really positive. This is by no means a wasted experience – it's up to all of us to capitalize on it. I'll stop by tomorrow and see how he's doing. It wouldn't be right for me to come in today and try to stir things up when he'll already be upset. I'll talk to Bríd and explain. Call me if you need to.'

‘Thanks, Shane,' she said, and walked slowly up the path to the house.

It was almost dark when the girls appeared at their corner in the docklands. I had abandoned all sense of subtlety, and parked only a couple of yards up from their pitch as the shadows grew longer. They noticed me immediately but pretended not to. I turned on the light in my car and made as if to look for something in the glove compartment, giving them a few minutes to watch me from the corners of their eyes. What I really wanted was for Sylvie to have an opportunity to recognize me. Two middle-aged men turned the corner and walked past the group of young women. They were scruffy, dressed in dirty jeans and sweatshirts. The girls hailed them enthusiastically, but the men barely acknowledged them.

I got out of the Austin and approached the girls. My behaviour confused them. I was being too upfront. It was as if I didn't care if people saw me. They pretended to ignore me until I was upon them.

‘Good evening, girls.'

‘ 'Lo.'

‘Hiya, Mister.'

Sylvie was looking at me with a puzzled expression on her face. I didn't think she really knew who I was yet, but she seemed to have a vague memory and was struggling with it. I gestured towards her with a nod.

‘I'd like a chat with this young lady, if I may.'

The heads of the other three turned to her. There was muttered conversation. They seemed to pick up on the fact that something was bothering her, and some hard looks were thrown my way. They could tell I wasn't a cop, but there are many worries for a streetwalker, people far worse than cops. I walked slowly to the car and leaned against it, waiting. I didn't want to scare them. Finally Sylvie separated herself from the group and came down the footpath. When she reached me she stood, trying to look brave and defiant. She was a fraction over five feet tall with short dark brown hair. I knew that her eyes were blue, but couldn't see them in the dark. Tonight she wore a black bra-top studded with fake diamonds and a short denim skirt. On her feet were white boots with high heels. She was wearing no jewellery. In the glow of the halogen bulb she looked thin and pale. Her heavy make-up hid her age, but the frailness of a physique still very much in adolescence was obvious to anyone taking the time to look.

‘Hello, Sylvie,' I said.

That stumped her.

‘How do you know me?'

‘You don't remember? I used to work in the care unit on Branch Street. It was a long time ago, but so far as I recall we were good friends.' I held my hand out to her. ‘I'm Shane.'

Realization dawned slowly, and then recollection flooded back. It was joined by confusion and then anger. She thought I was cruising for tricks. My even being there was a betrayal, putting any good memories she had of me into a very different context. She didn't take my hand, just watched me with suspicion.

‘Yeah, I remember you. You look older – you have a beard now. You only worked there for a while.'

‘I was a student. I had to go back to college.'

‘Huh, they all go sooner or later. It's no big deal.'

I said nothing to that. It is a fundamental truth of residential care that staff move on to other jobs, leaving children they may have worked with for years. As I had said to Olwyn earlier that day, childcare may seem like parenting, but it is, ultimately, a job. People who stick with it keep that clear in their heads. Those for whom it becomes personal end up doing something else before too long.

‘So how've you been?' I asked, knowing as the nicety left my mouth that it was a terribly stupid thing to say.

‘Oh, I've been great. Flyin' it.'

She was starting to lose interest now, wondering if I was there to indulge some tawdry fantasy and thinking that I might not have the guts to go through with it. I saw her casting looks back at her colleagues, who were watching us closely.

‘Sylvie, will you come and have a cup of coffee with me? There's an all-night café around the corner.'

‘The truck-stop. Yeah, I know it.'

She grinned lasciviously, and I understood how she knew it, but did not let myself linger on the thought.

‘I just want to talk to you. Catch up.'

She shrugged and looked about her to see if a better offer was available, then returned her gaze to me. I saw something change in it. It was as if a mask had come down, a firewall.

‘One hundred euro for half an hour, one eighty for an hour.'

I shook my head. ‘No, I'm not hiring you. All I want is to have a cup of coffee and a chat.'

‘Well I'm workin'. Take it or leave it. Of course,' she winked, ‘if you pay me and you get bored of talkin', there's plenty else we can do.'

I sighed and shook my head. ‘I'm not going to give you any money, Sylvie. I'll buy you a coffee – dinner, if you want – but I'm not going to rent you out. I know there are guys who look at you and see something they want, but what I see is that four-year-old I used to read
Cinderella
to. I'd like to get to know her again.'

She pouted. I couldn't tell whether it was real or put on.

‘Don't you think I'm sexy?'

‘No.'

‘Don't you think I'm pretty?'

‘You're a beautiful kid, but I'm too old for you, you're too young to be having sex and I don't think
anyone
should have to sell themselves. Put those three facts together and you've got one reason why there isn't going to be any money changing hands between us, Sylvie. Now,' I held out my arm to her, ‘are we going to get something to eat or not?'

She paused, biting her lower lip in an expression of doubt which totally betrayed her age.

‘Okay, but not for long. I'm supposed to work until midnight at least. If I'm gone and have nothin' to show for it, I'll get into trouble.'

She took my arm nervously, and together we walked up the street to the truck-stop. It was only a short stroll, but she spent the entire time looking about her, obviously wary of being seen.

The café was brightly lit and surprisingly clean. It smelt of fried food and freshly brewed coffee and had a black-and-white tiled floor with tables bolted to it, the seats all covered with red velour. It was busy, most of the booths occupied with dockworkers on their break or truckers just finished loading or unloading, stopping for some caffeine to fuel the run home. There was a pleasant buzz of men's voices. A waitress came and I asked for coffee. Sylvie enthusiastically ordered a cheeseburger, chips and a large chocolate milkshake. When the waitress had gone to get our order, I lit a cigarette, offering her the pack. She shook her head.

‘So.' Suddenly I didn't know what to say. She looked terribly uncomfortable, not meeting my eyes and looking anywhere but at me. ‘The last time I saw you, you were in res. I always thought you'd be fostered – there was a family interested in you, if I remember correctly. What happened?'

She shrugged and looked at the tabletop.

‘God, Shane, that was years ago. I barely remember.'

‘I know it was a long time ago. Ten years almost. But work with me, huh? What happened?'

She sighed, fiddling with a loose thread on her top.

‘The family that were s'posed to take me, they wanted me because they couldn't have their own kids. Then the lady got pregnant. They didn't want me no more.'

It was a common enough story.

‘Pity.'

‘I didn't mind so much. I was happy in the Centre. They were real nice to me. I thought I'd be there for good.'