If
you would like to read the earlier episodes of this story, click
here. James
is telling his wife Jane about his early life for the first time
– a conversation triggered by her suggestion that it was
time for his koala bear, Sydney, to be thrown away. This is the
last episode.
Simon
stayed around for quite a while after these two tragedies. Mr
Jackson helped him to find a job and Mrs Jackson kept him looking
neat and tidy enough to keep it. He spent a lot of time with me
and Paul and tried to get us things to be like the other kids
at school. He even came with the Jacksons to parents’ evenings
at our schools. He looked at our work in detail and asked questions
about standards and our progress. He was very keen that Paul should
catch up and that I should have better opportunities than any
of the rest of them had had.
In
a way it was a bit like having three parents and Paul and I certainly
enjoyed the attention. One day Simon suggested to us that the
Jacksons might like us to call them Mum and Dad. I think he had
asked them first. Now that neither Paul nor I had any parents
it seemed OK. So we talked about it and from then on that’s
what we called them. But Simon called them by their first names,
not because he disliked them, but because he was so much older
than us.
With
the help of the Jacksons he started on an evening course at the
local college. Everybody was very pleased with his results and
again with the Jackson’s help and encouragement he applied
to go to university. We were all so excited. After everything
that had happened to us Simon was finally getting the chance he
deserved.
The
Jacksons loaded Simon and all sorts of things he might need into
their car to drive him the hundred or so miles to his university
town. At the last minute it was decided that Paul would go with
them because the teachers at his school were having a training
day. Mine were not, so I waved goodbye at the school gates. They
had arranged for me to go to my best friend Tom’s house
for tea, in case they were late coming back.
Soon
after I had got to my friend’s house some police came to
the door. They talked to Mrs Green for a while, while we watched
TV in Tom’s bedroom. Then Mrs Green called me. She had been
crying and Tom ran to her, but it was me she hugged tightly. “We
all have to be very brave James”, she said. “Tom will
help you and so will his Daddy and me. A terrible thing has happened.
On the road to Simon’s university there was a big crash
on the motorway”.
Tom
interrupted her, “We just saw it on Newsround”, he
said. “There was a big fire”. “Yes”, Mrs
Green said. “Sadly, James, it seems most likely that Mr
and Mrs Jackson and Paul were all killed and Simon is very poorly
in the hospital”.
I
don’t remember what else got said. I don’t remember
much about the next days, or weeks either. I know we went to see
Simon, but he was all bandages and tubes and couldn’t speak.
I was not sure he knew we were there.
I
stayed with the Greens for a few nights and they did all try to
be brave and help me. But my crying and wandering round the house
in the dark at night and not talking to them got them down and
they had to ask for help. After a couple of days they did get
Sydney from the house for me and then I didn’t need anybody
anyway. I told Sydney all about it and he scratched my nose.
After
a couple of short term places they finally found a couple who
would stick with me. They also got me some therapy, which was
when I learned how to control, to shut things away to stop being
overwhelmed by the regrets, the fears, the tears and the aching
loneliness. I kept asking myself, “Was it my fault? Would
this happen to anyone I loved? Would mother, Richard, the Jacksons
and Paul all be alive if it were not for me?”
Of
course the rational answer was no, for a variety of reasons they
would not. Certainly the lorry, driven by a man who fell asleep
and caused a ten-car pile up with a huge fireball, which left
a dozen or more people dead or critically injured, had nothing
at all to do with me. But five deaths in two years is too much
to ask any child to survive unscathed.
The
Blackstones were amazing. They sat with me. They told me stories.
They took me to see all sorts of interesting places. They fed
my mind and my body and slowly I came out from under the cloud.
They also took Simon in for a while when he finally came out of
the hospital months later, but he was even more of a mess than
I had been. He knew that if it hadn’t been for him none
of the others would have been on that piece of road at that time.
After
a time he limped less noticeably, but would always be in pain
from one injury or another and had started on a diet of prescription
drugs. Also he had trouble concentrating, so even though the university
was prepared to be very flexible he decided not to take up his
place. Eventually he announced that he thought he would take some
time out and travel.
I
know that he had spent some time trying to locate his father and
that was his first objective. At first he phoned or sent a postcard
every week. Then we had a letter saying he had news of his father
in Canada and was going there. After that we had a couple of cards,
then silence.
The
Blackstones were always there for me. Soothing, calming, absorbing,
keeping me company, sometimes from a distance, sometimes holding
me when I needed it and would let them come close. Of course I
talked it all over with Sydney, but in the end it was time and
the constant support and stimulation of the Blackstones that got
me through. But they also made sure that I could be self sufficient
and could cook, do laundry, go shopping and manage on a small
budget. They also gave me every support through school and on
to university.
I
knew they were there for me, but with their encouragement I made
a life for myself away from them and their home. So when finally
they told me they were selling up and going to Spain while I was
in my final year it felt OK. They had helped to make me a self-sufficient
person who could make his way in the world.
Then
I met you and it seemed as if everything had finally come out
right for me at last.
My wife hugged me tight, but then stepped away and frowned up
into my face. 
“But
you never told me any of this. All the stuff that you have been
through. All these terrible things. How could you cope? Why didn’t
you tell me? Didn’t you trust me? I feel as if you are a
stranger suddenly.”
“No. Please don’t say that. I just wanted to keep
all the horrid memories in another box, away from us and our happiness.
Don’t be angry with me. I love you so and I want things
to be good for us with our baby. I want a happy family, with you.”
It took some days of talking, questions and answers, telling and
re-telling, until I felt that we were getting back to where we
had been before dear old Sydney had caused the past to be brought
out so dramatically.
I finally felt as it things were going to be OK when my wife led
me into the nursery and put Sydney at the foot of the cot. “Do
you think he can look after our baby, like he looked after you?”
she asked. We hugged each other and I am sure Sydney did his best
to look wise and reliable.
