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Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy. HarperElement An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF First published by HarperElement 2017 FIRST EDITION © Cathy Glass 2017 Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017 Cover photograph © Deborah Pendell/Arcangel Images (boy, posed by model); Shutterstock.com (background) A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. Find out about HarperCollins and the environment at Source ISBN: 9780008187569 Ebook Edition © February 2017 ISBN: 9780008187613 Version: 2017-01-09 Contents
Chapter Sixteen: Say Something Positive
Chapter Seventeen: Not to Blame
Chapter Nineteen: Conflicting Emotions
Chapter Twenty: Not Mum and Dad
Chapter Twenty-One: The Family
Chapter Twenty-Two: The Line Went Dead
Chapter Twenty-Three: Before It’s Too Late
Suggested topics for reading-group discussion
Chapter Sixteen ‘What’s that?’ Adrian cried in alarm from the living room. ‘It’s Alex. I’m going to him now.’ I hurried up the stairs to his bedroom as one crash followed another. After giving a perfunctory knock on his door I went in. A toy car zoomed past my head and crashed into the wall behind me. ‘Alex! Put that down,’ I said as he picked up another toy ready to throw. ‘You’ll break it.’ ‘Don’t care!’ He threw it. The floor was already littered with items he’d thrown in the short time it had taken me to leave the kitchen and come upstairs: toys, books, his new trainers: in fact, anything that had come to hand. ‘That’s enough!’ I said as he raised his hand again. A box of crayons flew across the room. I went over and, taking him by the arm, drew him away from the toy box. ‘Leave me alone!’ he cried, struggling. ‘No. You’re going to regret breaking your toys. I know you’re angry and upset, but this isn’t the way to show it.’ ‘Yes, it is!’ He pulled against me, trying to reach a book, possibly to hit me with. ‘No, Alex. Come and sit down and calm down.’ ‘I hate you!’ he cried. He was easily held, he was so small and light. ‘Alex, if you’re angry punch the pillow,’ I said, directing him to the pillow on his bed. ‘It’s better than breaking your toys or hitting me.’ I thumped the pillow hard with my fist to demonstrate. ‘You can hit the pillow as hard as you like.’ I’d encouraged other children I’d fostered to pillow or cushion thump when they needed to let go of their anger. It was one of the techniques I used. ‘Go on. Thump it hard, like I am,’ I said, pummelling the pillow. He followed my example and thumped the pillow a few times, then turned his anger on his soft toys and thumped them too. He immediately regretted it and burst into tears. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, picking up Simba and hugging him. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ I eased him down to sit on the bed and I sat next to him. ‘Simba will be OK,’ I said gently. ‘Lions are very strong.’ Alex buried his face in his soft toy and cried quietly, his anger spent for now. I slipped my arm around his waist. ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘You’ll be all right soon.’ Footsteps
