The Cast-Off Kids (11 page)

‘Yes, I know, Mrs Merry, but Mandy is not a baby. She is nearly two years old and her family live nearby. Her father is particularly keen to have her near enough to visit regularly, so
please, do you think you could reconsider? It would be a perfect placement for this child.’

So I agreed and, as I put the phone down, I wondered about Mandy’s mother. Why had she not been mentioned in the same sentence as her father? Maybe something had gone wrong there?

So Mandy came to join us. She was a lovely-looking child with dark wavy hair and rich brown eyes, but quite stubborn, and even at not quite two I could see she was a bright little button –
I could almost hear her thinking. It looked like this child was going to be challenging in her own way, but I’ve always relished a challenge. I knew at once that I was going to enjoy having
her to stay and watching her blossom. It’s the psychology of children that fascinates me – the way they learn and the way they think. Mandy was going to be one to watch.

I always patrolled round the children’s rooms at night before going to bed myself. On the night Mandy came, everywhere was quiet, but I looked into each room, paying
particular attention to the little ones, Alfie, Laurel and Mandy. They were all fast asleep, so next I went into the older girls’ room, where all was fine, then last the boys. AJ and Ronnie
were sleeping soundly too, though I had to tuck AJ’s legs back under the straightened duvet before going next door to Paul and Gilroy’s room. They were in bunk beds, with Gilroy at the
top, so I had to stand on the end of Paul’s bed to check Gilroy . . . and I was shocked at what I saw. One hand was sticking out and in his fist was the missing knitting needle. I’d
forgotten all about it. Although he was soundly asleep, he clutched it so tight that I had a job to extricate it from his hand. Fortunately he didn’t stir, but even in sleep he had a
malicious look on his face. I wondered what he was intending to do with it.

There was a clue a couple of mornings later, when Paul had a very lucky escape. Gilroy took the safety rails off the bunk-beds, then started bouncing up and down, harder and harder, until his
top bunk gave away. Gilroy and his bed came crashing down on Paul’s . . . and missed him by seconds. Paul had a very lucky break that day, having got out of bed to go to the toilet, unnoticed
by Gilroy. When I heard the rumpus, I rushed up to their room, arriving only a second after the crash, just in time to see the triumphant look on Gilroy’s face when he thought he had killed
Paul, then his disappointment when Paul sauntered back into the room, very much alive and well.

Having not experienced the danger, Paul was quite amused. But the whole incident had unnerved me so much that I had to go out and buy two single beds for immediate delivery, so that we could
split the boys up straight away.

The time had come to consider a move. We loved our house in Sonnington, loved the garden, loved the orchard . . . but we didn’t love the neighbours. We didn’t like
the cliquey people who lived around us, and murmured to each other whenever I walked past them pushing the pram. They never took to us, with our rag-bag of children, and could never bring
themselves to see how lovable they were.

Then there was the school. Sometimes when I was called to go and sort out one of the children’s misdemeanours – mostly Gilroy’s, but quite often AJ’s or Paul’s as
well – it might be break-time and I would have to take the little ones with me to cross the playground. I was sad to see that my kids were usually playing in one corner, apart from the other
children. I spoke to the headmistress about it.

‘Whenever I come to the school,’ I explained to her, ‘I see all the other children keeping away from mine. Did someone tell them to do that?’

‘Certainly not, Mrs Merry,’ she said in her snooty voice. ‘We believe in inclusion here. We treat everyone as equal.’

‘Well, somebody needs to make sure,’ I said. ‘Because some children seem to be more equal than others . . . and there’s no inclusion here for my foster-children, as far
as I can see.’

We decided it was time to sell the house and move somewhere we might be more welcome and where there were more activities and clubs for the older children to join.

We didn’t have to look for long before we found a huge Victorian semi in just the right place, a few miles away, on the edge of town, near a park. A semi probably wasn’t ideal and I
dreaded what these neighbours would be like; especially what they would think of having all of us moving in, with just a party wall between us. But it was a good house, well built, and it went back
a long way. It had a big family kitchen and a room we could convert into a playroom for the kids. There were plenty of bedrooms too – enough to have Gilroy in his own room, away from Paul and
the others. We wouldn’t have three acres at this house, but the garden was larger than average, so it would be fine. The move couldn’t come soon enough.

One weekend we were all sat around the breakfast table, wondering where to take the children for their Sunday outing.

‘Where would you like to go today, kids?’ asked Mike.

They were not short of ideas: ‘The park . . .’, ‘the conker-tree woods . . .’, ‘the library’ (Daisy’s suggestion), ‘a boxing match’
(Gilroy’s), ‘the cinema . . .’.

‘I like animals,’ said Sheena.

‘So do I,’ shouted Paul. ‘I love animals.’

‘Now that’s a good idea!’ Mike grinned. ‘We could all go to the zoo.’ He turned to look at one child in particular. ‘What about you, Alfie? Would you like to
go and see some real elephants?’

Alfie looked confused. He looked down at Ellie, his cuddly elephant that he still took everywhere with him, tucked under his arm.

‘Are real elephants like Ellie?’ he asked, stroking her grey body and cream tusks.

‘Yes, but bigger. We could go and visit her relations in the zoo. Would you like that?’

Alfie whispered to Ellie. ‘Do you want to see your ’lations?’ Then he listened. ‘Ellie says yes. And I want to go too.’

He got up and did a little stamping sort of a dance. ‘I can’t wait!’ and everyone laughed to see how thrilled he was.

So we cleared away the breakfast things and off we went to squeeze everyone into our big estate car, and Ellie as well, of course.

We were all in high spirits, especially Alfie, and the others hyped him up even further. Mike was the worst.

‘Oh, you’re going to see the elephants,’ he sang in his deep voice, watching his driving mirror to see Alfie’s face light up.

As we all piled out of the car, Alfie clutched Ellie to his chest and took hold of Mike’s hand as we paid to go in – very expensive, but it was worth it for Alfie alone. I’m
not keen on zoos myself – never have been – but I was looking forward to seeing this great encounter. Real elephants at last. Alfie would be so thrilled.

I was pushing the big pram with the toddlers in, while the older ones forged ahead with Mike. We followed the signposts and soon we approached the entrance to the elephant enclosure. Mike and
the children waited outside, with Alfie jumping up and down in anticipation, while I caught up with them and we all went through together. When we reached the end of the path, we stood alongside
the enclosure and looked.

‘Where are they?’ shrieked Alfie in his high-pitched voice, looking straight ahead. ‘Where are they?’

‘They’re here,’ said Mike, pointing forwards.

Alfie looked confused. ‘Where?’

‘There they are.’ Mike pointed again, gradually taking his finger upwards.

Alfie followed Mike’s finger as he gazed up and up and up . . . He gasped, then stiffened, as if struck by lightning, and then he ran. He was gone – disappeared. He was petrified,
poor boy. Somebody must have been opening the gate and he just ran straight through and as far away as he could.

‘You’ll have to go after him,’ I said in panic. ‘I’ll keep the kids here. You go and find him.’

So Mike went off in pursuit of the boy who loved elephants . . . as long as they weren’t real. Finally he tracked him down, at the ticket office, cuddling Ellie as the tears poured down
his face.

On the way back in the car, everyone was rather subdued, Alfie most of all.

‘Were the real elephants too big, Alfie?’ asked Daisy, in her kindest voice. She was always good with children in distress, whatever their ages.

‘Yes,’ he gulped.

‘But we told you they were big,’ said Mike.

‘And I showed you pictures of how big they are,’ I added. ‘Do you remember, in that book? There was a boy in one of the pictures and they were much taller than the
boy.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But I liked them in the pictures . . .’

We could tell he was on the verge of more tears, so none of us said anything else. But we all remembered that day. Especially Alfie, who never looked at the elephant book again, although his
love for Ellie remained as strong as ever.

T
he day came and we moved into our new house. The children went out to explore the garden, while we started unpacking the boxes.

I remember saying to Mike: ‘I’m not speaking to the neighbours. I am NOT going to speak to the neighbours.’ That was my one big worry.

Just as we finished unpacking in the kitchen, the doorbell went. I wondered who it could be as I walked with trepidation around the pile of boxes in the hall. I opened the door . . . and there
stood a smiling couple, probably in their sixties.

‘Hello,’ said the woman, with a warm voice. ‘I’m Edie . . .’

‘And I’m Frank. We’re your next-door neighbours.’

‘Oh, hello,’ I smiled back. ‘It’s good to meet you both.’ They seemed genuine, but I couldn’t help being wary. They obviously hadn’t seen the children
yet.

‘We’ve made you a pot of tea,’ continued Edie. ‘And some biscuits.’

‘We’ll pop it through the hedge at the back,’ added Frank.

‘Oh right. Thank you.’ I must have looked confused.

‘We used to do that with the people before you,’ explained Frank. ‘We made a gap to pass things through.’

‘Oh, I see.’ I smiled. ‘What a good idea.’ Well, I hoped it was.

‘And we can hear the children . . .’

Oh no
, I thought.
Here we go!

‘Yes, we’ve made them all a drink too, and we’ll pass all the drinks and biscuits through the gap for you.’

‘That’s very kind,’ I said, breathing a sigh of relief. They seemed like a lovely couple. I just hoped they would still be smiling after a day or two of our kids’ noise
in the garden!

So I went right through the house and out of the back door, onto the crazy paving, and over to the boundary with our adjoining house. It looked as if the hedge had been trimmed down low for the
first three or four feet away from the house. So that made the gap.

Mike came out to see what was going on.

‘Call the kids,’ I said to him, just as Edie came out with a tea-tray for us and handed it through to me. Then Frank passed through a huge jug of lemonade for the kids, a motley
collection of plastic cups and a full tin of biscuits.

‘Thank you so much,’ I said. ‘What a lovely welcome.’

‘Come on, kids!’ yelled Mike. ‘Drinks and biscuits.’

They all came running over, the bigger ones dishevelled from climbing the trees and everyone excited to be somewhere new. Daisy brought up the rear, walking sedately, holding little
Laurel’s hand.

‘Don’t forget to say thank you,’ I said to the kids.

‘Thank you,’ they all chorused as they stuffed the biscuits into their mouths.

‘There are plenty left,’ said Edie. ‘Keep the tin and finish them if you like.’

‘That’s very kind. Thank you.’ In fact, I could hardly believe it, after the last neighbours we’d had. Especially that woman with the doves! I just hoped this
neighbourliness would last.

All went well to begin with. Then one afternoon, when the kids had been having a lovely time in the garden, making new camps and playing with the garden toys, I went out to
call them in. ‘Tea in five minutes,’ I called out. ‘Tidy all the toys away in the shed.’

‘OK.’ They knew that all the toys had to go in there before they could come in, so I left them to it.

Two minutes later I went out again. Brilliant, I thought. Everything was tidy. ‘That was quick,’ I told them. ‘Well done. Now come in and wash your hands.’

They rushed in and had a quick hand-wash, then sat down round the kitchen table to have their tea.

Just then, the doorbell rang. I opened it.

‘Trisha,’ said Edie, standing on the doorstep with an anxious expression. ‘Now there’s nothing to worry about – no problem, and I don’t want you shouting at
the children or anything . . .’

My brain went into overdrive. I thought:
God, what could they possibly have done
?

‘It’s just that they’ve thrown all the toys over . . .’

‘Oh, no!’ I exclaimed.

‘. . . onto Frank’s vegetable patch.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ I gasped. ‘I told them to put the toys away in the shed!’

‘Yes, I heard you.’ She gave me a wry smile. ‘But they must have decided it would be quicker if they just threw them over the hedge!’

‘Oh dear . . .’

‘Don’t worry.’ She seemed quite amused about it all.

What a relief that she wasn’t angry. But maybe Frank would be. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘I’ll bring the kids round straight away to apologise and collect the
toys.’

I went back to the kitchen and made them all come with me, all ten of them, from eight-year-old Chrissy, right down to two-year-old Laurel, who had to run to keep up with us. ‘Now
you’ve all got to pick the toys up and say you’re sorry,’ I instructed them sternly.

As I rang Edie’s doorbell, they all stood there, heads down, chins on chests. They knew I was cross with them for upsetting our lovely neighbours like that. They knew they were in the
wrong.

Just like our house, Edie and Frank’s went back a long way, so when Edie let us in, we all trooped through the hall, through the dining room, through the kitchen, through the glazed
conservatory that had once been a wash-house and out into the garden. As we went out I could see Frank standing among the neat rows of his flourishing vegetable garden, right next to our hedge. I
could also see our garden toys strewn all over the vegetables, any old how. A broken bean pole hung at a crooked angle, with a skipping rope dangling among the beans. One of the trikes had landed
precariously on top of a water butt, and everything else was scattered across the plot. I felt awful.