Mike flicked his gaze towards the ceiling. ‘As in this Sam? Who looks like he wouldn’t say boo to a goose? You’d never think it, would you?’
We agreed we wouldn’t. ‘Any more on why?’ I asked.
‘Not really,’ Christine said. ‘Early days yet, and I’m sure we’ll find out more, but one of the children apparently said he thought he was a dog. That he spent a lot of time living in the dog cage.’
‘What is a dog cage when it’s at home?’ Mike asked.
‘Well, like a kennel, I imagine,’ Christine said.
‘Or a crate, perhaps,’ I suggested. ‘You know, like in Marley & Me. Isn’t crate-training a thing? I’m sure I’ve heard of it.’
‘Probably,’ Christine said. ‘Though this one was definitely in the garden.’
‘What about the dog?’
‘No dog. They checked. No evidence of a pet either. They said it looked as though Sam spent a lot of time in there, though. It was decked out with blankets. Scraps of food. A few toys.’
‘And they were genuinely that scared of him?’
‘Apparently so.’
‘But, even given that, it’s still odd that their wishes were so readily taken on board, isn’t it? Hard enough to find one foster family at such short notice, let alone two.’
‘You’re right,’ she said, ‘but I think the neighbour’s comments were taken into account too. She told them Sam was practically feral – I know, you wouldn’t credit it, would you? – and that she’d seen him attack his siblings on more than one occasion.’
I couldn’t be shocked by what Christine was telling me because I’d heard him for myself when I was on the phone to Kelly. No, not the howling, but there was no question that he was out of control. But at the same time, could this really be the same boy? From what I’d seen with my own eyes, he’d seemed no more feral than I was. And I’d fostered near-feral children, so it wasn’t as if I hadn’t seen some.
Which meant nothing, of course; he’d been with Kelly for long enough to have been washed, scrubbed and polished. Except for one thing – it ramped up my compassion for the boy. It affected me deeply to think this little lad’s brother and sister wanted to be away from him in a completely different home. It meant that not only did Sam have the trauma of going into care to deal with (away from his mother, and everything familiar – however grim life might sound for him, it was the only one he knew), but he also had the knowledge that even his siblings didn’t want him. Enough to send anyone’s behaviour spiralling out of control.
Christine didn’t stay long. After a quick trip upstairs, to pop up Sam’s suitcase and say goodbye, she left us, promising to let us know as and when she found out any more – though that would obviously be unlikely to happen before Monday morning. In the meantime, it was really just a case of watch and wait. Though in the shorter term, just a case of settling him in and putting him to bed, which, surprisingly, proved as simple a task as it sounded. It had been gone seven when they’d arrived, Sam had already eaten, and after the best part of an hour playing on the PlayStation with Tyler, it seemed that he didn’t even need telling it was bedtime.
‘Am I allowed to go to bed yet?’ he asked when I checked on them.
‘Yes, of course, love,’ I told him. ‘Shall I help you with your things?’
‘I’m okay,’ he said, getting to his feet, as Tyler paused the game. ‘I’m nine now,’ he added. ‘I can do stuff for myself.’
There was no side to him. No attitude. And he didn’t seem to mind me watching as he trotted this room, unzipped his case and started rootling round for pyjamas. (That he’d have everything he needed wasn’t going to be an issue, as I knew Kelly would have diligently packed everything she’d thought he might.)
‘How about a glass of water?’ I suggested, once he’d finally found them.
‘I’m okay,’ he said, briefly meeting my gaze. ‘Night, night.’
My cue to go, then. So I did – only pointing out the bathroom, so he could clean his teeth. Which he did, albeit that I suspected this was a pretty recent ritual. I knew because I lingered with Tyler for a bit – duty done, he was getting ready to go out now – and heard Sam pad across to the bathroom minutes later. ‘Seriously?’ Tyler whispered to me. ‘Feral? If he’s supposed to be feral, what does that make the eleven-year-old me?’
‘Or the sixteen-year-old you, come to that,’ I shot back at him.
But he was right. Could this be the same boy? Because when I peeked in on him later, just before heading to bed myself, he was sleeping, and looked the absolute picture of innocence. I wondered, as I pulled the door to, when this other child might show his face, the one that everyone was afraid of, with the devilish nature, the spiteful attitude, the belief that he was canine. Was that child really somewhere within Sam’s cute, sweet, exterior?
But I’d been doing the job long enough to know appearances could be deceptive. That the answer was almost certainly ‘yes’. And that, despite my observations, that child would probably show up soon enough. As sure as night followed day.
I switched off the landing light, and tiptoed across to my own bedroom. Fingers crossed not quite as soon as that, though.
There is a place between sleep and waking which, if you linger there long enough, makes you forget where you are, where you’ve been and how you got there – which is why, for a few moments the next morning, I was knocked completely off guard by the strange sounds assaulting my ears.
Mike, too, it seemed. ‘What the hell is that?’ he spluttered, as he twisted around to check the time. ‘God, it’s not even bloody six o’clock!’
It was an animal sound, so my subconscious automatically supplied the details. ‘Not those cats from next door, again,’ I mumbled blearily. ‘Honestly! You’d think she’d let them in in this weather.’
The noise continued, and, as it did so, I finally woke up properly, and realised that it was actually coming from inside our house. Which was when it hit me. Of course. We had a new child in. D’oh!
Comprehension having dawned, I sat up and shook Mike’s shoulder. ‘Listen!’ I said (as if he had a choice). ‘I think it’s Sam.’
Mike groaned, threw back the duvet and swung his legs out of bed. ‘I think you’re right, love. God, he’s howling, isn’t he? Just like they said. Better go and check on him.’
Gathering such senses as I could – early mornings, particularly in winter, were more Mike’s domain than mine – I got up too, grabbed my dressing gown and pulled back the curtains. It was still fully dark. Just the street lamps were burning, illuminating the silvery sheen the frost had painted on the path. Which made the mournful sound coming from across the landing even more so. And very eerie. Like a werewolf in a movie.
Mike was already coming back in again as I was coming out. ‘Very weird,’ he said. ‘It’s almost like he’s in some sort of trance. He’s just lying there in his bed. Not moving or anything – just eyes shut and howling. No response when I spoke to him. Come on,’ he beckoned. ‘Come and look.’