Currawong Creek

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The person from the Department of Human Services was waiting for them in Clare’s office when they got back – a thin, young woman with frizzy black hair and a crooked smile. She introduced herself as Kim Maguire. ‘And this must be John,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we all sit down?’

‘Jack,’ Clare corrected her. ‘His name is Jack.’

Kim pulled a thick bundle of papers from her briefcase and examined it, while Jack slipped from his chair onto Clare’s knee.

‘No, as I said, it’s John. Definitely John.’ Kim brandished a fat manila folder like a weapon. ‘There’s already quite a file on him.’

‘The kid should know his own name, don’t you think?’ said Clare. ‘And he told me his name is Jack.’

Kim’s expression was pained. ‘That’s simply not possible, Clare. John is autistic, quite high on the spectrum.’ She paused. ‘He can’t speak.’

This was so patently untrue that Clare found herself speechless. Kim stared at her and Jack, nodding and looking slightly sad. The silence dragged on until it became uncomfortable. Jack was looking out the window at Clare’s coolabah tree again. He seemed to like trees. She wondered if the little boy had ever been beyond the city limits.

‘He can speak,’ said Clare. ‘He told me his name. He told me his father was dead. Didn’t you, Jack?’ She could feel the child’s small body stiffen, but he didn’t answer.

‘I have no information on file about John’s father,’ said Kim. ‘But there is a wealth of information verifying his autism. Reports from clinical psychologists, doctors, social workers, childcare staff …’ The kid had really done the rounds. As Kim recited each category of professionals, she slapped a corresponding sheaf of paper down on the desk. ‘John has been in care before. The last paediatrician to examine him said that with his level of disability, it’s unlikely that he’ll ever speak.’

‘And what about his mother?’ asked Clare. ‘What does Taylor Brown say about her son?’

Kim shuffled through her pile of papers. ‘Taylor reports that John has spoken, but her caseworkers indicate that she is an unreliable witness. Perhaps she understates the extent of her son’s disability because she fears she’ll be blamed for it.’

‘He talked to me,’ Clare repeated.

‘And told you what?’ said Kim. ‘That his name is Jack, when it isn’t? You must have imagined it, Clare. Files don’t lie.’

Clare frowned. Records were only as good as the people who kept them — and from her own observations of the overworked, under-resourced, burnt-out workers of the child protection system, the people often weren’t very good at all. A slipshod assessment or a wrong diagnosis could follow a kid around for years.

Roderick peered briefly into the room. ‘Finished here, are we?’ he asked. ‘Ready to get back on the treadmill?’

Clare heaved a sigh, picked up the boy, whoever he was, and placed him on the chair beside her. She tried to be more objective. Jack had to leave no matter what, so they may as well both make the best of it.

‘This lady is Kim,’ she said stroking Jack’s white-gold hair. Kim smiled her crooked smile. It occurred to Clare that, if she was a child, she might think Kim was a witch. ‘She’s going to take you to another nice lady, who’ll look after you until Mummy’s home.’

The boy shook his head violently and crawled back onto Clare’s knee.

‘Come along, John,’ said Kim, in a cheerful voice. ‘We’re going to have a lovely time.’ The boy picked up a heavy stapler and aimed it at Kim’s head. His throw was surprisingly accurate. Kim shrieked as the stapler thudded into her temple. Her hand found the spot; blood showed on her fingers. Now the boy was screaming. He ran to the corner of the room and started to bang his head rhythmically against the wall. Bang … bang … bang. How could he do that? Surely it must hurt? When Clare tried to get close to him, he vomited up his lunch — a projectile stream that hit her skirt and dribbled down her tights.

In a truly impressive move Kim tackled him from behind, pinning his arms and holding him too close for his kicking feet to have much impact. The boy hurled himself backwards and struck her in the belly with the rear of his skull. Kim gasped like she’d been winded, but hung on grimly.

When Roderick rushed in, the boy was still yelling. Not crying, but yelling. Long, angry bellows, like an animal. Clare couldn’t bear to watch. She ducked from the room and headed for the bathroom. The boy’s cries reverberated through the walls. Clare pressed her palms to her ears. The row grew fainter and fainter until at last, all was quiet again. She checked herself in the mirror. What a mess. Her face was red. Her tangled blonde hair had sticky bits that refused to comb out, and there was pickle on her teeth. Clare dabbed ineffectually at the sick on her skirt with some damp toilet paper.

When she’d cleaned herself up as best she could, she ventured out, tiptoeing down the corridor back to her office. Overturned chairs and scattered files told the story. A suspicious puddle lay on the floor near the door. She picked up the bag of Happy Meal toys, along with Jack’s special trading cards. He must have dropped them in the fight. Clare switched on Tepig. His purple light now shone pale and sad.

Debbie came in with a mop. ‘Don’t worry. Veronica’s seeing your next customer.’ She looked around and shook her head. ‘He seemed like such a sweet boy. I wonder what happened?’ Clare began to collect the rainbow of multi-coloured paper clips dotting the carpet. Yes, what had happened? The boy had been in care before. Where? How many times? Was that when the error-filled reports were made? Clare stood up, stepped over Debbie’s broom, and went to see Roderick.

Roderick was on the phone when Clare entered his office. He waved her in and she sat down to wait. ‘Still no sign, I’m afraid … I know it’s not an ideal arrangement for the child, but what do you expect us to do? Produce his mother out of thin air? Potentially she’s unfit to retain custody anyway … Of course, you’ll be the first to know … Bye.’

‘Well?’ asked Clare. ‘What’s the upshot?’

‘You know what it’s like, trying to put a kid like that with a regular foster carer.’

Clare shifted uneasily. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I means the placement fell through.’

‘So, what happens to the boy?’

‘They’ve found him some sort of short-term emergency housing.’

‘He’s four years old,’ said Clare. ‘You’re not telling me he’s going into a contingency unit?’

‘Brighthaven.’ Roderick shrugged. ‘What can you do?’

‘You’re not serious?’ But she could tell by the look on his face that he was. Contingency units were used as a last resort, usually for older children with multiple behaviour problems. One of her clients had been placed in Brighthaven a few days ago. Aiden: a troubled teenager, in and out of state care all his life — guilty of s*x offences against younger boys. Brighthaven was a risky place for any child, let alone a vulnerable four-year-old.

‘Jack did tell me his name,’ she said. ‘And Rod ‒ Aiden’s just been placed in Brighthaven.’

Clare watched his face as he made the connection: puzzled at first, then concerned and finally, pale. She handed him his phone. ‘You call Kim and tell her to bring the boy back or I will.’

Roderick opened his mouth as if he was about to argue, then smiled. ‘That attitude,’ he said, ‘is what makes you such a terrific advocate. You have until the end of the day to find him a new placement.’

Clare returned to her desk and began to make calls. One call. Two calls. Three …

Five o’clock. Déjà vu, all of them back in Clare’s office. Jack sat on her lap again, clutching his bag of Pokémon toys. Kim finished her phone call and wrote something down on a notepad.

‘Well?’ asked Clare.

Kim looked grim. ‘There is nowhere else,’ she said. ‘He must return to Brighthaven.’

Clare shook her head. ‘I’ll take him.’ The words startled out of her mouth. ‘For a little while,’ she said. ‘Until his mother comes back.’

Kim looked at Clare for a long time without speaking. ‘A foster care assessment takes time,’ she said at last. ‘Months.’

‘What about a kinship care assessment? Can you do that?’ Clare already knew Kim could. Kinship assessments could be fast-tracked in emergencies, and only rough guidelines existed as to who a kinship carer might be. There was nothing to legally rule her out.

Kim frowned. ‘It’s a little unorthodox, seeing as you and John aren’t related.’ Another long pause. ‘But the term kinship is a flexible concept. For the purposes of this assessment we can perhaps regard you as a person who shares a community connection with the child.’

‘Perfect.’ Clare could feel herself smiling and tried to arrange her face into a more professional expression. It was no use. She beamed as Jack wrapped his arms round her waist.

Kim gave Clare a probing look. ‘Are you sure you want to do this? Jack has very complex needs. He belongs in a disability placement.’

‘Do you have one of those?’ asked Clare. They both knew she didn’t. ‘Just get on with it.’

‘I’ve seen people like you before,’ said Kim. ‘You think that if you just love a child enough, you can cure him ‒ make him normal. Love can’t cure autism.’

‘Who said anything about love? The kid needs a safe, temporary place to stay. You don’t have one, so I’m offering. Nothing more, nothing less.’

‘As long as you know what you’re getting into. It will only be until we find John somewhere else, so don’t get too attached.’

Clare nodded and Kim finally seemed satisfied.

‘Okay, let’s get started. I need to be finished by six,’ Kim said. ‘We’ve got tickets to the football. The Brisbane Bears elimination final.’ Her eyes lit up at the prospect, and she began crossing questions off on the form in front of her. ‘That’s not pertinent to you … nor that … okay. How do you propose to meet the needs of such a challenging child?’

Clare didn’t have a clue. Kim believed the boy was mute and Clare knew he wasn’t, so they didn’t even agree on what those needs were. But Clare would play the game if it meant she could take Jack home.

‘Suppose John shows aggression,’ said Kim. ‘What would you do?’

Clare tried to remember what she was learning at puppy school with her new dog, Samson. ‘I’d try ignoring it. Provide no response, no talking, no eye contact. Oh, and I’d give positive reinforcement when his behaviour improved.’ Clare had almost said that she’d give Jack a dog biscuit.

Kim looked impressed. ‘Excellent. I see you’ve done some child psychology along the way. That will be a great help.’

Clare nodded and smiled.

‘What else might you try?’

‘Um … Redirecting. I’d distract him with a toy when he starts to get agitated and refocus him on a calming activity.’ Kim beamed, and ticked off a series of boxes. The puppy training technique for children was working like a charm.

‘What about discipline?’ asked Kim. ‘What are your thoughts?’

‘No physical discipline, obviously,’ She wracked her brains for some more canine tips. Of course, crate training. ‘Time out, perhaps?’ said Clare. ‘Or a naughty chair?’

Kim moved on to easier questions. Stuff about the layout of her flat, and where Jack would sleep. For some reason, when asked about relationships, Clare didn’t mention Adam. Was it because they hadn’t been dating for that long? No, a year was long enough. It was more that she didn’t want Kim talking to him. Adam wouldn’t approve of her impulsive decision any more than Roderick had when she’d suggested it. ‘You know the golden rule,’ he’d said. ‘Don’t get involved. A lawyer who breaks that rule is less effective professionally, loses objectivity, can’t function. You know all this, Clare. Let it go, will you?’

‘I’ll let it go,’ she’d responded. ‘Just as soon as you tell me you’ve found somewhere safe for Jack.’

As the assessment continued, Clare wasn’t entirely forthcoming about Samson either. German shepherds had a bad reputation with some people, so Samson was magically transformed into a cuddly labrador pup.

‘Before we proceed any further, you should see this.’ Kim handed Clare a few stapled pages titled Report by Specialist Children Services on John Brown.

Her eyes ran down a daunting litany of behavioural problems listed by the clinical psychologist. Repeated and severe head banging, extreme tantrums, food obsessions. Clare took a deep breath. Hitting others, hitting himself, screaming, spitting, biting, bed-wetting, soiling. What on earth was she getting herself into? John has failed to develop language. He only communicates through yelling or by inflections of grunting (animal noises). His mother reports that John never cries. Given his diagnosis of mid- to high-range autism, he may never learn to talk. Perversely, this piece of misinformation cheered Clare up. Jack could definitely talk. If that part of the report was wrong, maybe the rest was too?

An hour later and the assessment was complete. ‘You’ll need to book him in for a general health check with your doctor.’ Kim stood up. ‘And get his vaccinations up to date.’

‘Of course,’ said Clare. That reminded her ‒ Samson was due for his next set of shots too.

‘There’s funding available for child care,’ Kim continued. ‘You can arrange that yourself. Just make sure I sign off on it once it’s organised.’

Clare hadn’t thought so far ahead. What about that crèche just around the corner from home? Jolly Juniors? No, Jolly Jumbucks. And it was right opposite Samson’s doggy day-care. She could drop them both off on her way to work. How long would those places care for Jack in one stretch, she wondered? Whole weekends, maybe? As long as they did late nights so she could still go out with Adam. He wouldn’t be able to stay at her place for now, not unless he jumped through some hoops, like submitting to a police check, and she couldn’t imagine him doing that. But perhaps, despite her misgivings, he might actually warm to the little boy? It was hard to say with Adam.

Kim handed Clare a business card with her phone number and an after-hours contact. ‘For emergencies,’ she said. ‘There’s a spare car seat in my boot. I’ll just go get it. And I’ll give you a ring in a day or two; see how you’re getting on.’

As Kim went to shake hands, she reached past Jack, who was still perched on Clare’s knee. The boy bit Kim on the arm. Clare could see his little teeth marks, opposing white crescents on Kim’s pink skin. Jack growled low in the back of his throat.

‘Good luck,’ said Kim, rubbing her arm and frowning. ‘You’ll need it. I’ll meet you outside with the car seat.’

Clare nodded her thanks as Kim left the room. Had she lost all perspective? Lost all judgement? Was she just flattered that Jack seemed to like her and nobody else? She stroked his hair and he snuggled into her shoulder. Clare hugged him tight. What did it matter if her motivation was flawed? All that mattered was that Jack stayed safe and happy until Taylor came back. ‘Come on,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘Let’s go home.’