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  ‘I did,’ he said, his voice rising in protest and still looking me straight in the eyes. ‘Then when you weren’t there, I did what they tell us to do and came back in here to wait.’

  And so adamant and convincing was he that for a few seconds I could feel the others begin to doubt my version of events. Then Roberta de la Haye said, ‘You weren’t here fifteen minutes ago, Tayo. We looked.’

  His gaze left mine and went to her. ‘I went to the toilet first, Miss, then I came here.’ And I could tell by his look that he knew there was no way we could disprove it and he wasn’t going to back down. Roberta saw it too.

  ‘That’s twice in two days you’ve vanished, young man,’ she said. ‘A third time and I will become highly suspicious.’

  He lowered his gaze, and I saw the briefest flicker of a smile cross his lips as though he knew he was safe and had won a victory.

  I turned to his class teacher. ‘Mrs Gillings, perhaps for the next few weeks, until Tayo is more settled, he could wait with you in the classroom, and I’ll come in here to collect him. Then there’s no possibility of my missing him, or him me.’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine with me,’ she said knowingly.

  I returned my gaze to Tayo whose face had now set in a disgruntled acknowledgement of his defeat. Yes, my friend, I thought. You’ll have to get up earlier if you’re going to play games with me. ‘Thank you so much for all your help,’ I said to the teachers. ‘I’m very sorry you’ve had your time wasted. I’m sure you had better things to do.’ Then I said to Tayo, ‘Come on, as quick as you can, please. We’re supposed to be going shopping. I don’t think you want to spend another night in those Winnie the Pooh pyjamas, do you?’

  He heaved himself from the desk and sauntered over to me with what I could only describe as attitude. I caught the eyes of the teachers. We all knew for sure then that Tayo had been giving us the run around, as he probably had yesterday lunchtime when the social worker and police had tried to find him.

  My perfectly mannered little visitor was going to prove somewhat of a challenge after all.

  Tayo was very quiet in the car as I drove into town. I didn’t mention what had happened again: it had been dealt with, and I never dwelt on negatives or bore grudges.

  Tayo knew as well as I did that this particular escapade wouldn’t happen again, so it was perhaps his defeat that kept him sulky and silent in the back of the car. I had seen another side to Tayo but it didn’t worry or surprise me. He was an intelligent child with a troubled past, and he’d used his intelligence to try and put one over on me and place me in the wrong, probably having a bit of fun in the process. He was, after all, only ten. It was perfectly normal for a child to test boundaries and discover what he could get away with.

  ‘I think you’re going to be very happy staying with us,’ I said, as I entered the multistorey car park and reached out of my window for the ticket. ‘The nice thing about being in care and being looked after is that you don’t have adult worries and responsibilities. A lot of children I’ve looked after have spent so much time worrying about grown-up things – like where they were going to live, or how they were going to pay the bills – that they didn’t have time to play like children should. So I think we should consider some clubs we could enrol you in. You like sport, so how about Saturday morning football?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ he cried, at last forgetting his pique. ‘Could I?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll get permission from your social worker tomorrow, then you can start on Saturday.’

  ‘Thanks, Cathy. That’s great!’ A big grin covered his face. I was back in favour.

  I smiled at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘You’re a good boy, Tayo, and I know things haven’t been easy for you, but that’s going to change now. OK?’

  He nodded.

  I reversed into the parking bay and we got out. As we walked down the stairs to the shopping centre, I told Tayo about his new social worker Sandra and how nice she’d sounded on the phone, and that she was looking forward to meeting him tomorrow. He asked why he had to have a social worker and I briefly explained her role and how, like me, she was here to help him.

  ‘Does my mum have a social worker?’ he asked.

  ‘Not exactly, but Sandra will be meeting her and making sure she’s all right.’

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘My mum needs help more than me.’

  I glanced at him sadly, thinking how true that was. Like so many other children I’d known, Tayo had probably struggled for years in an adult role, having to make decisions in a world he was ill equipped for and had little control over.

  With only an hour to closing time, we rushed in and out of the shops buying from the list I had drawn up that afternoon. Fortunately, Tayo was an easy shopper, happy just to have new clothes. We bought his school shoes first, black lace-ups, and also a pair of trainers and slippers. At only ten years old, he was already a shoe size 4 which meant that undoubtedly he was going to be a big lad.

  ‘I bet you’ll be as tall as Adrian,’ I said, as I paid.

  He said, ‘Good. My dad was big—’ and then stopped abruptly.

  ‘Have you seen your dad recently?’ I asked casually, as we left the cash desk. But he shrugged and said nothing, so I dropped the subject; it would only raise his defences further if I tried to pursue it.

  In the boys’ department we bought two complete outfits of casual clothes, then pants, socks, two sets of pyjamas with Action Man pictures on the front (his choice), and a winter coat. I wrote a cheque for £297.35. Part of the foster carer’s weekly allowance was designated for clothes, the scale rising according to the child’s age. At ten years, it was about £16 a week, which in my experience just about kept them in T-shirts so I paid for the rest myself and got my recompense from the pleasure of seeing the delight on a child’s face.

  As we left the store, Tayo said he was thirsty so I popped next door into Marks and bought a bottle of juice and a muffin just as they were closing. Then we made our way back to the car carrying our bags of shopping.

  ‘Have you got enough money for the car park?’ Tayo asked anxiously as we entered the multistorey and began the climb up.

  ‘Of course.’ I smiled to reassure him. ‘It’s my job as an adult to make sure of these things. It’s not for you to worry about.’

  Five minutes later, as I approached the exit barrier, he said nervously, ‘You need the correct change.’

  I lowered my window. ‘It’s all right, Tayo. I always keep change for car parks here.’

  He watched as I retrieved £1.50 from the small well in front of the gear stick, and fed it into the machine. Not until the barrier had lifted and I drove out was he convinced I had the means or wherewithal to get us out.

  ‘Do you keep change for the gas and electricity meters at home?’ he asked a few minutes later.

  ‘No. I don’t need to. I have a quarterly bill.’

  ‘Do the lights go off when you don’t pay it?’

  ‘No, never. I always pay the bill. I expect that when you were with your mum in bedsits, the electricity stopped and the lights went off when she didn’t have the money to put in the meter. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes. It was frightening. I don’t like the dark when I’m alone.’

  ‘No one does, love. But I promise you, it won’t happen when you live with me, and you won’t be left on your own, either. You’re ten, Tayo, and that’s far too young to be left. Occasionally I go out in the evening, but someone will always be with you – Adrian or Lucy, or my sitter. You will never be at home alone, day or night. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘Thank you. And thank you for my clothes.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  When we arrived home it was after six and the smell of cook ing greeted us in the hall.

  ‘Dinner’s ready!’ Lucy called from the kitchen.

  We left our shopping in the hall and went to kitchen where Adrian and Lucy were about to dish up homemade chicken curry, rice and Na
an bread.

  ‘Oh, my angels,’ I said. ‘What a lovely surprise!’ And it was. I sometimes grumbled that they could all do more in the way of domestic chores now they were older, but this was a timely reminder that when necessary everyone could pull together to make the house run smoothly.

  ‘Where’s Paula?’ I asked.

  ‘Upstairs, doing her homework.’

  Another pleasant surprise. Perhaps I should stay away more often, I mused, because certainly it had a very positive effect.

  I called Paula down for dinner and we sat around the table while Adrian and Lucy served the meal. As we ate, I told them of the successful shopping trip Tayo and I had had.

  ‘We did very well, didn’t we, Tayo?’ I said, trying to draw him into the conversation.

  Tayo nodded, then he looked over at Paula and said pointedly, ‘Your mum spent over four hundred and fifty pounds on me today.’ He waited for a response.

  I was taken aback, first that Tayo had even known what the total was – he must have been watching over my shoulder as I wrote the cheques in the shops, and then added it to the cost of the school uniform, which was displayed on a board in the school’s reception – and secondly by the manner in which he had said it. It was designed to provoke. But if Tayo thought it was going to elicit jealousy in Paula, he was very much mistaken.

  ‘You’re lucky, aren’t you?’ she said, more interested in eating than in the edge to his remark. Fortunately the family were well aware that when a child arrived with nothing, there was always a huge initial outlay.

  I didn’t like the way Tayo had aimed his comment at Paula. At fifteen, she was suffering from teenage lack of confidence and low self-esteem, and was therefore the most vulnerable. Tayo had spotted this and homed in on it.

  ‘Have you got much homework, love?’ I said to Paula, changing the subject.

  ‘Loads. And it’s maths!’ She pulled a face.

  I looked at Adrian.

  ‘OK,’ he said, knowing what my request was going to be before I asked. ‘I’ll have a look, but straight after dinner. I’m going out later.’

  ‘Thanks, Adrian,’ I said. It was just as well there was one person in the house whose strong point was maths, because it certainly wasn’t mine. ‘Have you got any homework, Tayo?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But presumably you get some from time to time in Year Six?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not often.’

  I decided to check that with his class teacher, as Roberta de la Haye had told me that Tayo was behind with his work, and in my experience Year 6 children were usually set a fair bit in preparation for going up to secondary school in September. ‘Would you like me to set you some?’ I teased.

  ‘No, thanks.’ He laughed openly and naturally, his face relaxing into a truly charming, genuine little boy grin.

  We all cleared away, and Tayo asked if he could take his bags of new clothes up to his room.

  ‘Certainly, love,’ I said. ‘If you could hang them up in the wardrobe, that would be a great help. You’ll find your other set of school uniform already there. I’ve put your name in it.’

  ‘Then can I watch television?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, if you like. Or there are games and activities in that cupboard I showed you in the conservatory.’

  He disappeared down the hall and I heard him make two trips up and down the stairs with the bags. Adrian went up with Paula to her room to help her with the maths, while Lucy slipped off to watch Coronation Street. They were let off loading the dishwasher tonight in view of their splendid work in the kitchen earlier, and homework. I cleared up, wrote my log notes, then it was nearly eight o’clock. I went up to Tayo’s room, knocked on the door.

  ‘Enter,’ he called.

  I went in. ‘Shower time.’

  He jumped off the bed immediately and switched off the television. ‘I’ve hung up my clothes,’ he said. ‘Would you like to see?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  Opening the wardrobe doors, he proudly stood aside for me to view the contents. He had certainly done a good job. The trousers, creases aligned, were over the hangers, and on the shelves beside were neatly folded piles of his new sweatshirts and T-shirts.

  ‘This is my pants drawer.’ He opened the top drawer of three. ‘And this is for my socks.’ He opened the second. I’d never seen a ten-year-old boy set out his clothes with such neat precision: the arrangement of socks and pants could only be described as meticulous.

  ‘Well done,’ I said. ‘That’s fantastic. You’re a very good boy. There aren’t many children who’d be so neat and tidy, and so conscientious. Now, get a pair of your new pyjamas and go through for a shower.’

  ‘Cathy?’ he said, as I began towards the door.

  I stopped and turned. ‘Yes, dear?’

  ‘There’s just one thing I’m not certain about, well two things really, and I need to ask you.’

  ‘Yes, love, of course. You know you can ask me anything, and I’ll try my best to answer.’

  He paused. ‘Well, you know the trainers you bought me?’

  ‘Yes.’ I glanced down at them. They were in a neat line beside his school shoes and slippers, at the end of his bed.

  ‘They’re not Nike,’ he said. ‘And I noticed all the rest of your family have Nike or Adidas trainers. I wondered why I wasn’t allowed them.’ He was looking at me intently, watching closely for my reaction, and I knew his choice of the word allowed had been carefully designed to highlight the apparent injustice.

  ‘It’s not that you’re not allowed them, Tayo, but designer trainers are very expensive, as I’m sure you know. Paula’s were her birthday present, and Lucy and Adrian bought theirs from the money they earned at their Saturday jobs. I have a rule in this house that applies to all children. I buy the clothes and shoes everyone needs but if anyone wants a designer label, that has to be a Christmas or birthday present. Otherwise I’d be bankrupt, wouldn’t I?’

  He nodded, but for the second time that day his expression was one of reluctant defeat, as it had been earlier in the classroom. It was though he was trying to catch me out and gain imaginary points. Why, I’d no idea.

  ‘You said there were two things you wanted to talk about,’ I said. ‘What was the other?’

  ‘The meal tonight,’ Tayo said, still watching me carefully.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I don’t eat curry. I’m not Indian.’

  ‘Neither are we, love, but we can enjoy a curry. And as I recall, you had a clean plate.’

  ‘I was hungry, but my mum would be furious if she knew you’d given me curry. They don’t eat curry in her country, it’s foreign muck.’

  I looked at Tayo and he stared back. Why, oh why did issues that needed dealing with always raise themselves at bedtime, when I was looking forward to the chance of sitting down with a coffee and the paper?

  ‘All right, Tayo. I think we need to have a chat. You sit on the bed and I’ll take this chair.’

  Suddenly he looked frightened. ‘Why? I only—’

  ‘Don’t worry. You haven’t done anything wrong. I just want to talk to you. You’d don’t have to say anything unless you want to, OK?’

  He nodded, and sat on the edge of the bed as I pulled up the chair. It wasn’t going to be a marathon session, but I needed to nip a few things in the bud before they had a chance to grow.

  I leaned forward and looked him straight in the eyes. ‘Tayo, you really are a nice boy, and you’re very polite which counts for a lot.’ He smiled. ‘You’re also intelligent so I know you’re going to understand what I say. It won’t take long – then you can have your shower.’ He nodded again; I had his attention and cooperation. ‘Now, Tayo, you said your mother would be furious if she knew what I’d given you to eat—’

  ‘I—’ he began.

  ‘No, just listen for a moment, then you can have your say. First of all, I’m sure it wasn’t intended as a threat, but it did sound like one. I’ve been fostering for a long time and
trying to use your mother in this way won’t work, and doesn’t help anyone, OK? I know it’s difficult to adjust to being in care but it’s not a good idea to start playing people off against each other. Do you know what I mean by that?’ He nodded. ‘Good. Now, if there are certain things that you and your mother don’t eat – we usually call them cultural needs – then all you have to do is tell me, and I’ll make sure you’re not offered them. According to the papers Brian brought here yesterday, you don’t have any special dietary needs so you must tell me if you do. When your new social worker comes tomorrow we can discuss this with her. And she might have had a chance to talk to your mother as well by then.’

  ‘If she can find her,’ Tayo put in quickly.

  ‘Yes. But the Social Services are quite successful at finding people so there’s a good chance.’ I wasn’t about to tell him that she had been found and was in prison. I paused. The next part was going to be more difficult and required all my powers of tact and diplomacy; I could guess that this was a particularly sensitive subject for Tayo. ‘Now, love, there are lots of different races and cultures on this planet and some of us have different customs and food from each other. However, we never refer to what other people eat as “foreign muck”, it’s derogatory. Do you understand?’ He nodded, albeit a little sullenly. ‘Good. We always respect differences, especially in this house. One of Lucy’s parents came from Thailand and so Lucy is slightly different in appearance to Adrian, Paula and me. She was brought up in this country and likes all types of food, but she has inherited her beautiful jet-black shiny hair and some of her features from the part of her that is Thai. Just as you have inherited your lovely light brown skin and black curly hair from the part of you that is African. My guess is one of your parents or grandparents is Nigerian. Would I be right?’

  He nodded and looked down. Then said vehemently, ‘Yes, and I hate it.’

  ‘I had a feeling you did, but why?’

  He shrugged. ‘My mum, I guess. I’m not allowed to tell anyone. She said I shouldn’t look like this.’

  ‘Why not? Does that mean your father is African, and your mother is not?’

  ‘Yes, and she wants me to look like her.’