Mummy Told Me Not to Tell (18 page)

I drew my eyes downward again, and to the second section, which was entitled ‘ACADEMIC SKILLS’. It began by saying that Reece had global delay and then continued with what I already knew — that he couldn’t read or write; but it included the statement ‘Reece has a poor short-term working memory, and is reluctant to improve on his skills.’ Reluctant in education terms means he refused point blank to do whatever was suggested. I had found Reece anything but ‘reluctant’ in his wish to learn. The statement didn’t say that he was capable of learning, given the right encouragement. I turned back to the first page to see the date, wondering if it was a very old statement that omitted any recent improvement, but found it had been amended only eight months previously, presumably just prior to him being excluded from his second primary school, and a couple of months before coming into care.

I returned to the assessment page and started to read the next section, which was entitled ‘LANGUAGE
SKILLS’. It began with ‘Reece has severe difficulties with receptive and expressive language skills’; and continued by stating that when asked a question he responded with one or two words; that his speech was ‘generally unintelligible’, and he was ‘unable to identify complex concepts’. ‘He is unwilling to reflect on his progress, will not discuss his views sensibly, and cannot follow simple instructions.’ Again I could not believe it was the same child.

I turned the page to the ‘SKILLS’ section and read that Reece had a short attention span, couldn’t function in a class or group situation and was ‘easily distracted’. I had just started the next section, which dealt with his ‘SOCIAL SKILLS’, where I was reading that Reece could ‘not successfully interact with his peer group at any level’, when the door opened and the head returned.

‘I can’t believe what I’m reading,’ I said before he’d even sat down. ‘This child is so unlike the one I know that I could believe it was the wrong statement.’

‘It’s the right one, and it’s recent,’ he said bluntly.

‘I know.’

Mr Fitzgerald was sitting in the armchair opposite me, waiting for my further response. I had read the sections that detailed Reece’s needs; the rest outlined what provision had been put in place at the previous school to meet those needs.

I looked at him. ‘All I can say is that Reece has made huge progress in the last three months, since he has been with me. I can only assume his behaviour was because he was so unsettled at home. His mother is
very aggressive, so I think that Reece was copying her while he was at home.’

‘That’s what the director of education said, but it is true he was moved from a number of carers before he came to you.’

‘Well, yes, but since he’s been with me we have seen nothing like the behaviour reported here.’ I tapped the papers on my lap. ‘Reece was a bit aggressive when he first arrived,’ I added, reluctant to remember the headbutting and biting, ‘but he soon settled down. He wants to do the right thing, and he seeks approval, which makes a huge difference. I have fostered children before who have not wanted adult approval, and their behaviour is very difficult to modify, but that has never been so with Reece. He wants to do the right thing and he wants to learn as well.’

Mr Fitzgerald was looking at me carefully, apparently slightly tempted to believe what I was saying but not convinced. I wondered if his hostile and brusque manner on the phone the evening before had been a knee-jerk reaction to Reece’s statement — the portrayal of a truly horrendous and uncontrollable child.

‘So you haven’t seen any of Reece’s aggression replicated at home?’ he asked presently.

‘Not since he first came to me, no, and then it was very short-lived. He does have special needs, but it is his learning that requires attention now, not his behaviour. And he can learn. When he came to me he had a sight vocabulary of one word; now he’s up to forty-five. He has problems writing: his fine motor skills are poor, though improving. He can sit still for quite long
periods, and yes, I am by his side, but he will have a teaching assistant in school, won’t he?’

He nodded. ‘There is provision for a full-time TA, including playground supervision.’

‘Is there? Good,’ I said. But the level of provision was a double-edged sword, for it suggested a child who couldn’t be left alone for a minute. With full TA support, Reece would have adult supervision and support for the whole day, including when he was having his lunch and in the playground.

‘All right,’ he said thoughtfully after a moment. ‘We’ll just have to see how it goes. Now I want you to meet his TA, and I would also like you to be in school tomorrow morning, but not with him.’

‘That’s fine with me,’ I said.

‘If you’d like to wait here, I’ll find Mrs Morrison, his TA, and you can perhaps allay some of her worries as well. I haven’t decided which class Reece will go in yet. We are a two-form entry, and unfortunately both the teachers for Reece’s year are in their first year of teaching. They are very enthusiastic but lack experience in dealing with this type of child. However, from what you are saying, that shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘No.’ I gave a small nervous laugh, for having read the statement and felt the head’s concerns, I was beginning to have doubts. Then I caught myself. ‘Reece will be fine,’ I said.

‘Good.’ Smiling for the first time, Mr Fitzgerald went in search of the TA, while my thoughts ran to Reece. When we got home I was going to have a long chat with Reece and explain how this was a fresh start
for him, and that he must forget all his previous bad behaviour at the other schools and behave now at school as he did at home. But my next thought was that it wasn’t a good idea to remind Reece of how he used to behave, and that I must have faith in him, and in his ability to behave well at school as he did with me.

When the head returned with Mrs Morrison, a well-rounded, motherly figure in her mid-fifties, the three of us spent some time talking. I continued to emphasize how much improvement Reece had made, and that he was a delightful child. Mrs Morrison listened very carefully and seemed relieved. After about fifteen minutes the head suggested I go with Mrs Morrison to sort out Reece’s school uniform, explaining that normally the school secretary-cum-receptionist would have taken care of it but she was off sick. I thanked Mr Fitzgerald for all he was doing for Reece and then left his office with the TA.

We went back along the corridor to a large walk-in cupboard, which was the stockroom and contained shelves of school uniforms in plastic bags. I had been right about the colour of the uniform — it was navy — and Mrs Morrison helped me to sort through the packages, looking for Reece’s size. I knew from holding up the garments what would fit him, and as we worked side by side, collecting together the navy trousers, navy sweatshirt, white T-shirt and PE kit, we chatted.

‘You’ll be fine with Reece,’ I reassured her. ‘He’s a good boy really. He’s just had some bad examples in his past. I expect you’ve had a lot of experience as a TA.’

She smiled nervously. ‘Actually this is a bit new for me. Before this term I was helping children with some extra reading in the library. I used to be a dinner lady, you know.’

‘I see,’ I said. ‘Well, I’m sure Reece will like you a lot.’ She was a lovely lady, warm and friendly, and very approachable, but I wondered at the wisdom of putting her in charge of Reece as her first experience as a TA, given his previous history in school. If I’d have been the head, I would have opted for a specialist TA to begin with, someone with loads of experience in working with children with challenging behaviour, and then once Reece had settled into school again, gradually introduced Mrs Morrison. But it was the head’s decision, and also the cheaper option, for anything left over from the allowance he would be receiving for a specialist TA for Reece could be used in another area of his doubtless tight budget. But then I’m a bit cynical about these things.

Thanking Mrs Morrison for all her help, I came away with the uniform, having arranged to meet her in reception at 8.30 the following morning. The head had suggested Reece and I come in early on his first morning so that he could look round the school before the bell went at 8.50, and the other children came in, which I thought was a good idea.

I had been gone nearly three hours by the time I arrived at Nicola’s at 12.20. ‘Sorry,’ I said as she answered the door. ‘It took longer than I expected.’

‘No problem,’ she smiled. ‘Reece has been keeping Maisie amused. I hope it’s OK: I’ve given him some lunch. He’s having it now.’

‘Thank you. That is sweet of you.’ I followed Nicola through to the kitchen, where Reece was perched on a breakfast stool, tucking into a sandwich and a bag of crisps. Beside him in a high chair sat Maisie, nearly ten months old, and making a good attempt to eat a banana.

‘Hi!’ I said to them both.

Reece grinned with his mouth full. ‘I’m looking after Maisie,’ he said proudly.

‘Well done. Good boy.’ Smiling, I went over and kissed the top of his head.

‘He’s been helping me all morning, haven’t you, Reece?’ Nicola said.

Reece nodded, and then turning to Maisie said: ‘Come on, eat up, and you will grow big like me.’ Maisie giggled.

‘Time for a coffee?’ Nicola asked.

‘I’d love one,’ I said.

I hovered in the kitchen, keeping an eye on Maisie as Nicola made some coffee. ‘Was he really OK?’ I asked her quietly as we leant against the kitchen cabinets and sipped our coffee. We were at the far end of the kitchen and out of earshot of Reece.

‘Yes. Why?’ Nicola said. ‘You sound as though you were expecting something different.’

‘No. It’s just that I have seen his education statement and it’s horrendous. Apparently he was quite aggressive at his other schools. I must admit I was shocked by what I read.’

Nicola shrugged. ‘He’s been great with me.’ We both looked down the length of the kitchen and at the
children. ‘It was probably learned behaviour,’ she added.

‘Yes, that’s what I told the head. I hope Reece proves me right.’

‘He will do. You worry too much. Look at him: he’s fine.’

I nodded. ‘Yes, he is, isn’t he?’

We stayed for about half an hour, Nicola and I finishing our coffee and chatting, while Reece and Maisie finished their lunch. Then Nicola lifted Maisie out of the high chair and Reece and Maisie played with her push-along toys. Thanking Nicola again, we said our goodbyes and left.

‘Can I play with Maisie again?’ Reece asked in the car.

‘Maybe. But tomorrow you will be playing with children your own age at school.’

‘Yippee!’ he yelled from the back.

‘I’ve bought your school uniform and guess what colour it is?’

‘Navy!’ he yelled.

‘That’s right, but Reece, try not to shout. You’ll be in school tomorrow and you can’t shout there.’

‘Why not? I did before.’

‘I know, and it got you into trouble. You will need to speak more quietly at your new school. And do as you are told.’

‘OK, Cathy. I will.’

‘Good boy. I know you’ll do just fine.’

I
took a photograph of Reece the next morning before we left for school. He stood in the living room, grinning proudly and posing in his new school uniform with his PE bag over his shoulder. Because we were going into school early we were leaving before the girls. They stood behind me as I took the photograph, telling Reece how smart he looked and wishing him luck on his first day. It was a real family occasion for all of us, and Reece knew that we would all be thinking about him and rooting for him as he completed this milestone.

I was also looking pretty smart in my suit, as I too would be in school for the morning and presumably meeting some of the staff. With Reece chatting about all the things he anticipated doing — PE, eating lunch, making new friends and even some work — we said goodbye to the girls and got into my car, parked on the driveway. Lucy and Paula waved us off, and I drove up the road, and then took a number of ‘back-doubles’ to avoid the traffic in the high street. Reece was now
telling me what he thought he would be having for his school dinner — beef burgers and tinned spaghetti hoops, for while reducing the number of times he ate these, I hadn’t eliminated them from his diet. He ate healthily the rest of the time, so processed was all right once a week, and it was still his favourite meal.

I parked in the road a little way from the school and held Reece’s hand as we walked along the pavement and up to the main gate. It wasn’t security locked, as the children would be arriving shortly to wait in the playground until the bell rang at the start of school. I heaved open the massive iron gate and we crossed the playground. Reece was holding my hand very tightly now and was uncharacteristically quiet. I could feel his nervous anticipation, as indeed I could feel mine. It was a big day for us both.

True to her word, Mrs Morrison was waiting for us in reception. ‘Hello,’ she said, smiling first at Reece and then at me. ‘Lovely to meet you, Reece.’

‘Hello,’ I said. ‘Reece, this is Mrs Morrison, the lady who will be looking after you in school.’

Reece smiled sheepishly but didn’t say anything. I was reminded again of how much progress he had made, for had this meeting taken place three months previously he would have pulled his hand from mine and run off, making lots of loud and silly noises.

Mrs Morrison bent forward so that she was at eye level with Reece. ‘I’m going to show you round the school first,’ she said. ‘Then we will join your class. Your teacher is called Miss Broom. She is new to the school like you.’

Reece nodded, while I thought of the maxim of new brooms sweeping clean. I also thought that Mrs Morrison, despite her inexperience as a TA, was pitching her introduction exactly right. She clearly had a natural rapport with children. Reece was happy to take her hand and the three of us exited through the door with all the ‘welcome’ signs and into the corridor.

‘We are going to take your mum to the staff room first,’ Mrs Morrison said. ‘Then I’ll show you the rest of the school.’

Reece looked at me questioningly and I knew why. ‘Actually Reece calls me Cathy,’ I said to Mrs Morrison. ‘It’s not so confusing for him then.’ She nodded. It was a mistake made by a lot of people, calling the foster carer ‘mum’. But we are always called by our first names, acknowledging that the child already has a mother, unless the child has been with the carer for years and isn’t seeing his or her natural mother, in which case it is left to the child to use whatever name he or she feels comfortable with.