Nobody’s Son: Part 3 of 3: All Alex ever wanted was a family of his own. Cathy Glass
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Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.
HarperElement
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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
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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