I rose at first light, while the bedroom was still bathed in a weak grey glow. In the kitchen I switched the kettle on and glanced out at the back garden: the oak by the entrance was already peppered with yellow leaves, and a thin mist hung over the tarmac.
Six months ago, over evening tea, my wife Emily and I decided to become a foster family. From a handful of profiles, we were drawn to a lanky teenager with wary blue eyes. The younger kids get placed faster, and at fifteen his chances are slim, Stephen had said then. The medical exams, interviews, and a course for foster carers took months, and every agency kept telling us, Dont expect miracles, help will come, but youll face plenty of challenges.
Im fortyeight years old, working shiftwise as an engineer at the railway depot. Emily is a teaching assistant at a nearby college. By sixp.m. shes usually free. We lived a steady life: work, Sunday walks, cheap cinema nights. It was that orderly routine that suddenly felt shaky. Now or never, I said, signing the final assessment form.
At the end of August we drove to the council childrens home. The interview room smelled of disinfectant and cold porridge. The boy perched on the windowsill, swinging his leg in a scuffed sneaker and answering in monosyllables. When I joked about cassette players he just shrugged. On the drive back, I squeezed Emilys hand words escaped me.
The council prepared a separate room for Daniel: they painted the walls a soft skyblue, put in a desk, a fresh bed and a tiny speaker a music gift. On the desk lay a clean notebook and a pen.
Around midday the childrens home van pulled up to our block. The driver handed over two bags and a battered backpack. Daniel slipped into the hallway without a word, set the bags by the wall and clutched the backpack to his chest. Its yours now, Emily whispered. He nodded, speechless.
At dinner soup and chicken patties the lad ate quickly, avoiding eye contact. I talked about the school hed soon transfer to, Emily mentioned the local allowance: This is your money, well spend it together. His reply was a flat, Can we skip the ruler on the first of September? We need it, she answered gently.
Early September rain made everything damp. A week later frictions began. Daniel started coming home late, saying hed been out with his mates. Once he forgot his key and Emily had to wait at the door, missing the staffpupil meeting. I suggested we build a computer for the school club, but he was glued to his phone screen.
The night before the weekend a box of sweets vanished. I asked cautiously what had happened. Buy a new one, Daniel snapped, retreating to his room and slamming the door. I reminded him of mutual respect, but my words fell flat.
At school things went downhill. The class teacher called Emily almost daily about tardiness and arguments. Daniel hid his diary under the mattress, replying that he wasnt obliged to follow stupid rules. The fostercare paperwork offered little comfort when a tired teen sat behind headphones.
By midSeptember the flat grew chilly. The radiators werent scheduled to come on until after the 15th. I put the kettle on, Emily wrapped herself in an old sweater, and Daniel stayed under a desk lamp behind a closed door. Each of us felt the cold in our own way.
One Saturday at dawn a dull knock woke Emily. In Daniels room his backpack lay open, clothes strewn about. Barefoot, he fumbled in a side pocket. Looking for my charger, he said without meeting my eyes. An hour later Emily discovered £20 missing from the wallet on the shelf.
We called Daniel in for a talk. Did you see the money? I asked. No, he replied. Emily tried to soften her tone: If you took it, tell us and well sort it out together. He stayed silent, arms crossed. I then said firmly, In our house we dont take what isnt ours. This isnt my home! You pretend to be kind and then youll hand everything over anyway! Daniel exploded.
He bolted for the door and rushed onto the landing. I caught him, gripping his sleeve. A cold draft slipped in through the slightly open window. Give the money back and well talk, I said. I didnt take it. He twisted, and a few notes slipped from his pocket. I stepped back, realizing my harshness, while Emily, standing in the doorway, felt the sharp draft and a flicker of fear that the loss might be permanent.
Daniel lifted the money and handed it to her, his lips trembling. You still wont believe me, he whispered. In that instant Emily decided the conversation must happen then and there. She gestured both of us inside.
The draft ceased once the door shut. Emily, still clutching the notes, walked to the kitchen and set them on the edge of the table. Have a seat, she said. Stephen and Daniel dropped onto the stools; tension hung in the air, but now it was shared by the three of us.
Emily poured hot tea. Warm steam rose above the mugs, marking the boundary of a new scene. Were here because we chose you deliberately, she began, keeping her voice steady. We all make mistakes, but running away isnt the answer.
I gave a quiet nod. I was scared youd decide we didnt matter. The real fear is losing you before anything even began.
Daniel looked away, twirled the strap on his backpack and exhaled, I wanted to show the lads I had cash, thought theyd accept me. Now I see Ive messed up.
Emily heard not arrogance but confusion in his voice. She handed the notes back, Lets treat them as your allowance. Well discuss every expense together. Agree? For the first time Daniel met her gaze directly and nodded.
We talked at length: about school, about rules being a safety net, not a trap; about the fostercare psychologist we could all see together. I suggested a small start a joint timetable and one phonefree evening a week. Daniel didnt object, only asked if he could sometimes bring his new friends over. The answer was brief: Yes, but let us meet them first.
By evening the wind died down, and a few stray leaves twirled lazily in the courtyard. Emily stepped onto the balcony and felt the longawaited warmth from the radiators the heat arrived earlier than promised. She smiled, returned to the kitchen where I was noting expenses, and Daniel was ticking off a note in his notebook: Weekend trip to the cottage.
On Sunday the three of us drove out of town. The crisp air carried the scent of pine, and the motorway hummed with traffic. I showed Daniel how to mend an old garden fence, while Emily laid out sandwiches on the table. Nothing heroic happened, but as we drove back, Emily spotted Daniels backpack on the back seat, its zipper neatly closed.
Late that night, back home, Daniel placed the keys on the communal hall shelf and said quietly, Tomorrow Ill come straight from school. Ive got to stick to the schedule. Those simple words sounded more important than any pledge. Emily felt a space within herself widen, making room for a future where mistakes could be fixed together.
Outside, a streetlamp caught the last yellow leaves against the dark. September was drawing to a close. There were still many talks, school reports and psychologist visits ahead, but wed taken the first step and wed taken it together.
