Chapter 03
On Tuesday morning 21st June I was woken before my alarm went off by the house phone, which someone answered. Then there was a knock at the door.
"Dave, it's your mother on the phone," came Kim's voice.
I put on my dressing gown and went to the phone on the landing.
"Hello, Mum?" I said. "Problem?" I knew she would not be phoning so early unless there was a crisis at home.
"Davey, Craig was in a police cell overnight," she said. "He'll be released on bail this morning until tomorrow."
"What's he done this time?" I asked her with no small measure of resignation. From puberty onwards Craig had been a tearaway, always in fights, having had previous brushes with the law: shoplifting and petty theft. He was two years younger than me. Old enough to tone things down a little, I thought without much hope.
"He's seriously hurt some lad In a pub brawl last night. Mind you, he's a bit the worse for wear himself."
"Mum, he's nearly twenty two years old. He's an adult. What do you want me to do about it?"
"Could you represent him in court?"
I sighed. "Does he want me?" Craig and I were always arguing, and were not usually on good terms.
"He's really worried this time. It's his temper. You know what he's like. He actually asked for you."
"When's the hearing?"
"Tomorrow at ten."
"I'll see if I can get the time off, unless he wants me as an official rep. from the practice."
"I don't think he could afford you," she said, laughing for the first time.
"OK, leave it with me. I'll get back to you."
My 'Mum' was in fact my foster-mother, and Craig was my foster 'brother'. Both of us boys were long term foster-sons, while other children came and went. Then there was Gina, who was also a long term foster 'daughter' and was now eighteen. She too had done well at school, had just completed her 'A' levels. She was a quiet girl. She and I got on well and always had.
I'd been with Mrs Brenda Collins since I was five years old, and to all intents and purposes she was my mother. As I grew older I realised what a heroine she was. She always said it was as if her life had been mapped out for her.
After she was married she found that she was unable to have children of her own, and it seemed like the end of the world. It was then she had the idea of adopting, but her relatively new husband couldn't cope with that: he wanted children of his own and he left her heartbroken. She was deprived of motherhood and then of her husband whom she loved dearly.
A few months after the divorce, her widowed grandmother died and left Brenda her house and everything in it, as well as bank deposits, stocks and shares worth nearly four hundred thousand pounds.
The house was a large Victorian edifice free and clear of mortgage, and she wondered what to do with it. She wondered if she could adopt, but on enquiring, in those days she was told that as a now single young woman she was not eligible to adopt.
However the kind soul at the adoption agency suggested she might think of fostering. She told me that from that moment she knew exactly what she was going to do with the house: she was going to live in it with lots of fostered children!
And she did! At first she did fairly short-term fostering, anything between a few nights and some months. I came along after she'd been fostering for about five years, and I stayed.
She told me that I was quiet and reserved, some would say introverted, as a young child and did not smile or make friends easily. She said I scowled at prospective adoptive parents, and would not talk to them. I remember this: I had made up my mind that I wanted to stay with my 'Mum'. I got my way!
Craig arrived when I was ten and Craig was eight. He had suffered terrible physical abuse by the time he arrived at our foster home.
He was a wild child who was always in trouble and Mum was often at her wit's end with him. From mid-teens he was into gangs and drugs, but after a few brushes with the law he seemed to have settled and at that time had a job as a car mechanic.
However, his major problem was his temper, which got him into further trouble, mainly after drinking too much.
Gina was twelve when she arrived, but quickly made it clear she wanted to stay, and stay she diid.
Around us, other children came and went, and by virtue of us being permanent, we took our share of looking after them. In spite of Craig's wild ways, he was very gentle with them and kept his bad habits away from them.
When Brenda fostered her fortieth child, the three of us insisted on having a party.
Back to the present. After the phone call, I went to work and found that by reorganising one meeting with my mentor, and then working late, very late, that evening, I could take the whole of next day off if necessary. When I returned to the House at ten from work, Imogen collared me as I came in.
"Where've you been?" she said with some exasperation. "Helen came this afternoon to discuss repainting the walls of her room. She waited until eight and then had to go."
"Family emergency," I replied curtly, "and I won't be here tomorrow either. I've got to attend a magistrates' court. Did anyone help her?"
"Nuala basically told her she was free to paint the walls and the ceiling any colour she liked: it was her room. She gave her some hints, like rolling back the carpets and such. Then Christian arrived and said he'd help her. I think they are going shopping for paint tomorrow evening, and he's going to take the day off on Thursday to help get her started."
"That's OK then," I said.
"No it isn't!" snapped Imogen. "Again she came hoping to see you and again you didn't show. Now she's certain you are avoiding her."
"That's ridiculous!" I exclaimed. "Look, just explain to her that I have to handle a family emergency. Now I need something to eat; I haven't eaten since lunch."
"There's some lamb stew left over. I think Christian put some leftover potatoes and carrots in it."
I heated the remaining stew and got two bottles of beer from my room. The stew was delicious and clearly Christian's doing. I resolved to find out which herbs and spices he used, for his meals always had a uniquely delicious taste to them.
I finished the beer, washed up and put away the pan, cutlery and dishes without anyone else arriving in the kitchen, for which I was grateful.
Once in my room I stripped, got into bed and turned on the radio for some soothing music. I was disappointed, for BBC Radio 3 had 'new music' on, which sounded to me like dustbins being emptied next to an abattoir. I switched it off again and lay in silence and the dark.
