The Cast-Off Kids (31 page)

‘What?’ I dreaded what he was going to say, and I was right.

‘She put a couple of firelighters in among our belongings and lit them with a match.’

‘No!’

‘That’s what I shouted, again and again. “No! No!” I even tried to go and pull out my memory box, but it was too late. It was already on fire and the fierce blaze made it
too hot for me to reach. So all we could do was to watch all our memories going up in flames. All our past happiness burnt to ashes.’

‘And what was Pamela doing?’

‘Smiling!’ He spat out the word. ‘She was enjoying our misery. It was like she wanted to get rid of our past, and everything that was important to us.’

There was a look of utter desperation on Paul’s face as he sat silently remembering. I didn’t want to interrupt, so I just reached across and put my hand on his.

‘We were in floods of tears, Daisy and me,’ he said. ‘I lost everything that day. My Ted, my times-table book, my special pen, all my school reports, my photos of all of you,
my everything. And it was the same for Daisy. I think one of the things she was most upset about was that French knitting snake that had taken her so long to do; just gone in a few seconds, eaten
by the fire. We lost all our happiness that day, and we never got it back again . . . until maybe now. Now that I’ve found you. We can keep in touch now, can’t we? Now that I’m
grown up?’

‘Of course. You won’t stop me now! I’m thrilled that you found your way back here in the end. I can’t wait to tell Mike. He’ll be just as excited as I am that you
came, and just as appalled about Pamela burning all your things.’

‘I’ll never forget that, as long as I live.’

I had an idea. ‘Tell you what. Next time you come, when you’re on leave, why don’t we put together a new memory box for you?’

‘Really? Can we? But how? Everything was burnt.’

‘Well, it won’t have all your treasures in it of course, but I can get copies made of the photos of outings we went on and all that. And I’ll have a look around and see what
else I can find to put in.’

‘That would be brilliant,’ he said, his face lighting up at the thought.

I looked at my watch. ‘You’ve got half an hour before you need to go to the station. Would you like me to rustle you up a sandwich?’

‘Yes please. Have you got any—’

‘Bacon?’ I interrupted.

He laughed. ‘Yes please. A Trisha Merry bacon sandwich – Yum!’

‘Yes, I remember. They were always your favourite.’

I made the sandwiches and a mug each of tea. ‘Shall we go and sit in the garden to eat these?’ I suggested.

He nodded, already taking a bite out of his first half. ‘I used to love this garden,’ he said, with a wistful smile. Then suddenly he thought of something. ‘Have you still got
my bike? The one she made me leave behind?’

‘Yes, I think we might have, tucked away at the back of the garage. We kept if for you, just in case you ever came back for it.’

‘Well, I’m here now! But it will probably be too small for me . . .’

‘Definitely!’ We laughed. ‘I’ll keep it till next time you come.’

‘Thanks.’

‘So, what happened after your things were burnt?’ I asked as we sipped our tea.

‘Well, Christmas came and went, without our presents from you of course. No tree, no party lunch, no carols or charades – no fun.’

‘Didn’t Pamela give you a present?’

‘Just one book each. Daisy’s was too young for her, and she had read it about two years before. Mine was a picture book for five-year-olds.’ He shrugged. ‘And nothing
from Father Christmas.

‘Oh no! I gave him your letters when he came.’

‘Thanks. Maybe she wouldn’t let him in!’ We laughed again.

‘So what happened after Christmas?’

‘It was very boring, and I got told off every time I moved or made a noise. I remember we started at a new school, but she must have been talking with Social Services, because there was a
social worker at the house when we got home on the first day.’

‘To meet you?’

‘No, to take me away. I didn’t even have time to say goodbye to Daisy or take anything with me. He just whisked me into his car and took me straight to a children’s home. He
said my mother couldn’t handle me any longer, so I would stay there.’ He paused, his whole body caved in on himself. ‘It was awful,’ he said in a low voice. ‘How could
she do that to me? She didn’t even get to know me – just rejected and abandoned me again on the first day she could.’

‘Did you tell the social worker about having lived with us for ten years?’

‘Yes, but he said it was a different area and he couldn’t transfer me back to you. Anyway, he said, if I was too difficult for my own mother to handle, at eleven years old, a home
was the only place that would take me.’ Paul tried to choke back the tears. ‘He didn’t even try to understand.’

‘Come on, Pauly,’ I said. ‘Time for a big hug before you go and catch your train.’ We stood there, in the garden of his childhood, making up for lost years with a long,
loving hug.

‘Sorry I have to go,’ said Paul, drawing away at last. ‘But I don’t want to be court-martialled!’ He smiled. ‘No, don’t worry. That wouldn’t
really happen, but I don’t want to get in any trouble.’

We quickly exchanged contact details and went out through the hall, where I looked at the clock and realised there wasn’t much time left.

‘Let me drive you,’ I urged him.

‘No thanks. It’ll be all right. Remember, I’m a fast runner.’

‘Yes, I do remember. But you’ve only got six minutes.’

‘I’ll make it easily. I’ve got my ticket. Byeee.’ And he was gone, sprinting up the length of our road.

As I watched him disappear from sight, I went back inside and pushed the front door shut behind me. Mulling over the awful revelations of what happened after he was taken from us, I realised
there must have been so much more that he didn’t tell me. And it was all caused by a meddling, ‘do-gooding’ rookie social worker.

O
ver the next couple of years, while he was in Germany, Paul and I wrote to each other fairly regularly – one flimsy page of airmail letter
at a time. And we rang each other when we could. Mostly, we couldn’t talk for long, but once, when he was home on leave, he rang me from a private phone.

‘Hello, Mum!’ He always started the conversation that way, since he’d arrived on my doorstep that day. It was a running joke with us now. ‘How’s things?’

‘Not bad,’ I said. ‘We’re all fine. What about you? What have you been doing? And where are you phoning from?’

‘Chester’ he said. ‘I’ve got a new girlfriend. She’s gorgeous.’

‘Oh yes?’ I laughed.

‘Yes, and she’s funny, kind, everything that’s good. I know you would love her, Mum.’

‘You’ve fallen on your feet, then? Or has she knocked you off your feet?’ I teased him. He had always been easy to tease, and usually enjoyed it.

‘Yes to both,’ he agreed. ‘She lives in Chester, with her family. That’s why I’m here.’

We carried on chatting. He told me about his latest escapades on his army base in Germany, and the exercises they’d been on. Then I told him what had happened to a few of the other foster
children he remembered from his time with us.

‘I’m sure you’ll remember Ronnie?’

‘Of course. He was my mate.’

‘Well he did surprisingly well at school and went on to join the police.’

‘What about Gilroy?’

‘He absconded from the psychiatric unit and went off the rails I’m afraid, to a life of crime. I’ve often seen his name in the local papers, for a string of minor convictions,
but he’s now in prison, serving quite a long sentence I believe, so he won’t be out for years.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘We lost touch with Sheena, I’m afraid, although I did meet someone who knew her father. Sheena went to her mother, but they moved away suddenly, so her father is desperate to find
her. I hope he does, because I have some photos I’d like to pass on to her.’ I paused. ‘I’ve not been in touch with AJ. He left when he was sixteen and disappeared from the
area. Do you remember Kevin, who loved aeroplanes?’

‘Yes, he was always looking at aeroplane magazines with Dad.’

‘That’s right. Well, when he was meant to leave us at sixteen, Dad got him an apprenticeship at a factory, making parts for military planes. He stayed on for another year with us. He
never liked change or new people much. But he always got along OK with Luke.’

‘The boy in the porch?’

‘Yes. Well, Luke did so well with his reading and writing, and he did such talented drawings, that he got a place at the art-college in Birmingham. When he left there, he got a job
designing the graphics for those new electronic, handheld games.’

‘Wow. I bet that was his dream job?’

‘He loves it, and Kevin has moved in with him. It’s great for them both.’

‘Sounds it.’ He paused and changed track. ‘Do you know what I wish?’

‘No, what?’

‘I wish you could have adopted us. Our lives could have been so different, so happy.’

‘I don’t think I ever told you this, but we did try to adopt you. We started the adoption process, but our local authority were against multiple adoptions when you were little, so
they wouldn’t let us adopt you both, and we couldn’t choose one of you above the other. That wouldn’t have been fair. And anyway, your dad might not have agreed.’

‘No, he didn’t even agree to let Daisy go into hospital that time when she was ill. We had a miserable life with him.’

‘Really?’ I felt so sorry things hadn’t worked out for them.

‘I’ve got a lot more I can tell you when we meet,’ he said.

‘OK.’ Then I suddenly thought. ‘Are you in a phone box?’ I was aware that we’d been talking for quite a while.

‘No, it’s all right. My girlfriend’s parents invited me to come and stay when I came back on leave and they said I could call you. They’re lovely people – very
kind. Will you be in tomorrow? I’ve got a free day. I could get a train down to Birmingham and then on to visit you. Would that be OK?’

‘Yes, of course,’ I agreed. ‘I’d love to see you. We could start on that new memory box for you if you like. I’ve found some things to put in it.’

‘Yes please. That would be cool. I’ll try and be with you by about midday, or possibly sooner. I’ll look up the trains and let you know.’

The following day, I drove to Ashbridge station and picked him up from his train, then back to our house.

I made us some coffee and we caught up on news.

‘So, tell me about your girlfriend.’

‘She’s a lovely girl, Mum – very pretty, and intelligent too. I’m sure you would like her. I’d like you to meet her one of these days. But she had to work today.
And anyway, I wanted to tell you about her first. Maybe I could bring her next time I come?’

‘I’ll look forward to meeting her,’ I said, with a smile.

Gradually, the conversation turned back to when Paul and Daisy left us. ‘I’ve been wondering what happened to you after Pamela sent you to that children’s home,’ I said.
‘What was it like? Did you settle there all right?’

‘No. It was awful, but I wasn’t there for long.’

‘Why? What happened?’

‘Well, I’m not quite sure how it happened, but Dad – Rocky – do you remember him?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Well, I hadn’t seen him for years, I don’t think, but then he turned up at the home, out of the blue, really angry.’

‘With you?’

‘No, not at all. Well, not then anyway. I assumed he was angry with Pamela.’

‘Right?’

‘Well, apparently, Rocky had been told we’d been moved to Pamela’s, so he rung her. He was furious that she’d already sent me away, after just two weeks. So he guessed
which school Daisy went to, drove there as the kids came out and picked her up.’

‘So he abducted her from the school?’

‘Kidnapped her, yes.’

I suddenly recalled that awful day when a man phoned me to say Daisy had been abducted from school when she was about five. What a trauma that was.

‘Next, Rocky turned up outside the children’s home with Daisy. Boy, was I glad to see them! I had been worried about her, coping on her own at Pamela’s. Rocky asked them at the
home if he could take me out, so off we went . . . and I never went back, thank goodness.’

‘So where did he take you?’

‘To our grandma’s. Apparently, she looked after us for a couple of months when we were babies, but neither of us remembered, and we hadn’t seen her since. She was quite old,
but seemed pleased to see us. That was a change for the better. We stayed there, in hiding. We didn’t go to school for about four or five months. Rocky turned up every now and then, and his
sister came to stay there to help Grandma, so it was quite good for a while. We even saw that boy, Carl, but he just ignored us.’

‘So what did you do at your grandma’s, if you didn’t go to school?’

‘We watched television a lot. And there were some fields and a bit of woodland behind her house, so we ran wild there, well I did anyway, while Daisy sat under a tree and read, or drew
something.’

‘Typical!’

‘Anyway, the police got involved and Social Services tracked us down in the end, so we both had to go to new children’s homes. None of them had more than one space, so we were
separated again. And a few months later I was moved to a new one, so Daisy didn’t know where I was, and I lost her address in my move.’

‘So neither of you went back to Pamela?’

‘No. She didn’t want us.’

‘And where was Rocky during all this time?’

‘Oh, moving about I think. You know what he was like. He still is as far as I know, but we fell out about three years ago, after he took me away from my third children’s home and
down to Canvey Island in Essex for a bit, sharing a room with him above a pub. Then we collected Daisy from her children’s home and went on to a tiny flat in Clacton. That’s when we
really got on each other’s nerves and he started knocking me about. He got really violent. Well, I wasn’t going to stick around for any more of that, so I went and joined the army
cadets and slept rough until I could join the proper army.’

‘What about Daisy?’