Mummy Told Me Not to Tell (12 page)

Tracey immediately turned on the security guard. ‘Get your fucking ‘ands off’im!’ she yelled. ‘I’ll sue you for assault!’

I stayed where I was by the side of my car, as did the other two carers, while the scene before us quickly developed into mayhem. Sean, now released from under his brother, retaliated by walloping Brad in the middle of his back. Brad yelled and, turning, hit his brother in the chest and the play-fighting escalated. Tracey was still shouting at the security guard and the social workers that she was going to ‘fucking do ‘em all for assault’. I wanted to get Reece into the car as quickly as possible, for I could see he was beside himself, jumping up and down, shouting at the top of his voice and imitating his mother, ‘Do ‘em, do ‘em for fucking assault,’ he yelled. I wondered how long it was going to be before he joined in the fighting with his older brothers. It was not for me to intervene — not with two social workers and the security guard present.

The chaotic throng slowly moved forward into the centre of the car park. Tracey looked at us again, still undecided about whom she was going to approach first. I cowed and hoped it wouldn’t be me. The social workers followed her while the security guard tried to break up the boys again. The noise reached a new level, with all Tracey’s family now bellowing at each other. Even little Susie had begun imitating her mother: ‘Sue ‘em, fucking sue ‘em!’

As they drew closer, under the light, I could see more clearly the faces of Reece’s siblings. What struck me was that they all looked the same. Brad and Sean, who were now making a haphazard approach to their carer’s Range Rover, were, given their age difference, identical — older versions of Reece. And I now saw that the other woman whom I hadn’t been able to place when she’d first come out of the building was in fact a younger version of Tracey. I guessed it was Sharon, her eighteen-year-old daughter.

Sharon’s red bloated face and heavy hips and thighs maligned her youth, giving her the appearance of a middle-aged woman. She wore nylon jogging pants and a Liverpool T-shirt, and her hair was pulled straight back in a severe ponytail exactly like her mother’s. It wasn’t just her appearance that was the same as Tracey’s: when Sharon shouted to Reece to ‘shut up’, it was Tracey’s voice that came out. I looked at little Susie, who had dropped the social worker’s hand and was now dancing up and down beside Reece and imitating his whooping noises. She had the same features — the pale skin, brown hair and eyes and unusual prominent
and serrated front top teeth. It was weird and quite unsettling to see such a starting likeness in all the children, particularly as they all had different fathers. Clearly Tracey’s must have been the dominant gene and it crossed my mind it was a pity that fate hadn’t been kinder to them, for without doubt they appeared a strange bunch.

It had now become obvious to the social workers that the most pressing need was to get the two older boys, Brad and Sean, into their carer’s car first. The social workers were trying to herd them in that direction, while the boys, fists up, circled each other as if in a boxing match. Their carer took a step forward into the approaching throng and said forcefully, ‘Brad, Sean, in the car now, please.’

The boys glanced at him and continued the play-fighting, smacking each other around the head with their open palms. ‘Brad, Sean,’ the carer said again. ‘Say goodbye to your mum and get in the car. It’s time to go now.’

One of the social workers repeated this, with no greater success. The boys continued slapping each other while at the same time gradually inching towards the Range Rover. The carer opened the rear door and waited patiently as they made their halting approach. He was as impotent to do or say much as the other carer and I. When foster children are with their parents, the carers have to stand back and allow the parents a chance to perform the role of parenting, and clearly Tracey wouldn’t have appreciated intervention.

I looked at Reece and tried to make eye contact with him, hoping he might come to the car and get in of his own accord. I even opened the rear door ready, but it had no effect. Reece was having a great time leaping up and down and hollering, possibly aware I had little authority now. Susie then took off, and began circling the car park.

‘No, come here, Susie. Good girl,’ one of the social workers called.

“Ere, now!’ Tracey bellowed, and Susie did return.

‘Please get in the car, boys,’ the male carer said. Sean and Brad were close now, near the bonnet, but still slapping and throwing punches at each other. I wondered if they behaved like that at home with their carers; probably not.

‘Why ain’t Brad been in school?’ Tracey yelled, going right up to the boys’ carer and jabbing a finger in his face. ‘He says he ain’t been in school for a week.’

‘He has been excluded,’ the carer said evenly, taking a step back. ‘The social services have been informed and we are looking for another school.’

‘Social services ain’t gonna do nuffink,’ she hollered. ‘I want me boy in school. I’m seeing the judge next week and if he ain’t in school by then, you’ll all be in for it!’

‘We’re doing our best,’ the carer said calmly, while still holding open the car door for the boys. It would be doing nothing for the boys’ respect for their carer to hear him being spoken to like this, and I thought his job was probably difficult enough without his having his authority undermined.

‘Well, make sure you do,’ Tracey finished, prodding her finger at his shoulder. ‘I want me kids educated. No good ‘aving kids in care if they ain’t educated.’

Five minutes later, with a mixture of repetition and the promise that dinner was ready and waiting at home, the boys were in the Range Rover being driven out of the car park. With the boys gone, Tracey turned her attention to me. So too did Sharon, in a mirror image of her mother.

‘Why ain’t Sharky in school?’ Tracey glared at me.

‘Why ain’t Sharky in school?’ Sharon repeated.

‘He was in school when he was wiv me,’ Tracey added.

‘I understand the education department is looking for a school,’ I said to Tracey. I’ll phone the department next week and see if I can speed things up.’

‘Yeah, you do that. I want ‘im in school on Monday,’ Tracey snapped. I thought that was highly unlikely, given it was Wednesday evening now, but I also knew I wouldn’t be saying that to Tracey. I just wanted to get Reece into the car. He was going frantic, and I knew he would be very upset later.

The other carer, who’d been waiting by her car, now came over and Sharon looked at her. ‘We need to be going,’ the woman said to Sharon, so I guessed she was a carer from the residential home where Sharon lived. The woman was only in her mid-twenties and no match for Tracey.

‘She’ll go when I say she’s ready!’ Tracey barked at her. ‘And I want a word wiv you. I ain’t pleased about Sharon’s care.’

At that moment another car drew into the car park. We all looked over as it pulled to a halt a few yards away.

‘It’s Marie,’ Susie yelled, and I realized that up to that point, there hadn’t been anyone to collect Susie and take her home.

‘She can wait! I ain’t finished yet,’ Tracey hollered.

Marie got out of the car and came over. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said. ‘There was an accident on the motorway.’

Tracey ignored her, returning her attention to me. ‘And why ain’t Sharky wearing a vest? He’ll catch ‘is bleeding death.’

Reece was actually well wrapped up, with a T-shirt under a zip-up fleece and his winter coat on top, but I wasn’t going to argue. ‘He can wear a vest if you wish,’ I said. ‘It’s not a problem.’

‘Make sure he does,’ Tracey returned. ‘It’s bad for ‘is chest if he ain’t wearing a vest. He always wore one wiv me.’

I nodded and said nothing, thinking that not wearing a vest wasn’t as bad as breathing in her smoke.

‘We must go,’ Sharon’s carer said again. ‘It’s gone eight.’

‘She will go when I say,’ Tracey hissed at her and I saw the carer take a step back.

I looked to the social workers and I could see from their expressions that they were as exasperated as we were, but reluctant to do any more than placate Tracey and hope the children would eventually find their ways into the cars as the boys had done. The situation was
ridiculous; it was bedlam. I cringed at the thought that contact had been set at twice a week.

‘Reece, come and say goodbye to your mum,’ I called, but Reece was making so much noise I doubted he had even heard me.

‘Time to go, Susie,’ Marie called to her as Tracey’s attention was diverted by barking at the social workers.

‘Sharky ain’t been in school for months,’ she yelled at the social workers, starting to wave her fist. ‘What you doing about it? Bleeding nuffin’!’ The security guard took a step closer to Tracey. ‘And you can bog off,’ she yelled at him.

‘Tracey, it’s getting very late,’ the social worker said eventually. ‘Reece and Susie should be in bed by now. If you come into the office tomorrow we can discuss it then, and I’ll try to find out what’s happening.’

This seemed to defuse Tracey slightly and spark some cooperation. ‘Sharky!’ she bellowed. ‘Get in that bleeding car now!’

‘Sharky,’ Sharon yelled in a direct imitation of her mother. ‘Get in that bleeding car now!’

‘Shut up, will ya,’ Tracey yelled at Sharon. ‘I ain’t asked ya!’

Reece took no notice. He was still yelping and whooping and jumping up and down, out of control and oblivious to everyone, even his mother.

‘Sharky! Get in the bleeding car now!’ Tracey yelled again. Then she went over and, grabbing him roughly by the arm, brought him to my car.

‘Get in, good boy,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ll put your belt on.’

Reece got in and then Tracey stuck her head in. ‘You got the right belt in ere?’ she yelled at me over her shoulder.

‘Yes, I’m very particular about car safety,’ I reassured her.

‘Good, ‘cos I can sue you if you ain’t. I’m not ‘aving me kids’ lives put at risk like that last bleeding carer.’

Tracey pulled her head out of the car and I fastened Reece’s seatbelt.

‘Mum! Mum!’ Reece yelled.

‘What is it, boy?’ She stuck her head back in. I glanced at the social workers, who met my gaze with resigned frustration.

‘Bring me Nintendo next time,’ Reece yelled into his mother’s face, ‘and me games, all of ‘em.’

‘OK, Sharky. Don’t you worry, I will,’ Tracey yelled back. Pulling her head out of the car, she turned to me. ‘Ain’t you got no Nintendo for ‘im to play wiv?’

‘No, but we’ve lots of other toys,’ I said tersely, because I was coming to the end of my patience. ‘If you would like to bring Reece’s Nintendo, it would be nice for him to have that too.’

‘I’ll bring it, Sharky!’ she yelled towards the open car door. ‘Don’t you worry, your mum will see to it.’

I had my hand on the car door, ready to shut it as soon as the opportunity presented itself. ‘Say goodbye to your mum,’ I said, and began to ease the door to.

‘Goodbye, Mum!’ Reece yelled, but Tracey wasn’t listening. She had her back to him and was now bellowing at Marie about Susie’s hair.

I quickly closed Reece’s door, went round to my door and got in, pressing the central locking system.

‘Mum,’ Reece screeched. ‘Mum! I want me games! All of ‘em!’ He was banging on the window now, screaming, ‘Mum, Mum!’

But Tracey was oblivious, shouting at Marie and gesticulating at Susie’s hair. There was nothing to be gained by staying, so I quickly started the engine and pulled to the exit.

‘Mum, don’t forget me games!’ Reece screamed again, banging his fists even harder on the window.

Once out of the car park, and a little way along the main road, I turned into a side road. Parking, I got out and went round to settle Reece. He was beside himself, screaming that his mum would forget the games and also just screaming. I climbed into the back seat and sat next to him. With my arm around him I gently talked to him and stroked his head for over quarter of an hour until he had calmed down.

By the time I arrived home it was after nine o’clock. Lucy and Paula met me in the hall, looking worried.

‘What happened?’ Lucy said.

‘Don’t ask.’

‘We thought you were just going to collect Reece from contact,’ Paula said.

‘I was! I’ll explain later.’

I took Reece straight up to the bathroom and helped him have a quick wash and clean his teeth; then I helped him into his pyjamas and into bed. He was emotionally exhausted, as I was. He fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. I came out and went
downstairs. Then I did something that I only normally do at Christmas, New Year and on my birthday: I poured myself a drink.

I sat in the living room with a glass of white wine and rested my head back on the sofa. My ears still buzzed from all the noise, and my forehead throbbed with tension. It had been an absolute nightmare and I doubted it had done the children much good either. Reece had been hysterical and I knew the other carers would have their work cut out calming their children down too. Contact is supposed to give the children quality time with their parents and siblings, not generate chaos, with all of them shouting and hitting each other. If it had been like that during the actual contact session, then I would have thought the supervising social workers would have something to say about it in their reports.

Yet, despite the chaos and Tracey’s aggressive and highly critical manner, part of me felt sorry for her. She obviously had learning difficulties herself and when all was said and done, she’d had seven children and hadn’t been able to parent any of them. I wondered if all her shouting and threats was a lot of hot air – a desperate woman trying to cling to the last vestige of responsibility. Only time would tell.

T
he improvement in Reece’s behaviour temporarily disappeared and in the following days returned to what it had been when he’d first arrived. I suspected this was a result of being with his mother and having his ‘old’ behaviour reinforced. He woke at five o’clock in the morning and it took me a long time to resettle him. Then he spent most of the day charging around the house banging into things, throwing things, making loud noises, swearing and telling us to ‘fuck off’ if anyone tried to stop him. He would only become calmer if either Lucy or I sat with him and read a story. Paula was still keeping her distance after the incident of Reece touching her sexually. She talked to him, obviously, but wasn’t playing with him, as this would have put her in close physical proximity to him.