Mummy Told Me Not to Tell (21 page)

‘Yes, I intend to, and severely.’

I was quiet in the car as I drove Reece home. When he began chatting about his day at school, clearly unaware there was any fallout from what he had done, I stopped him.

‘Reece,’ I said, glancing at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘I am not happy. I will hear about your day later. First I need to talk to you about something very serious that happened today. Can you think what it could be?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I had a good day. I did lots of work and He was off again talking about what he had done at school, minus the incident.

Once home, I sat him down in the living room and, being direct, I told him exactly what he had done, and why it was very wrong. Again, he claimed not to remember; then he agreed with everything I said about our private parts being private. I went over the areas of the body that we didn’t touch on other people, and he nodded and said ‘Yes, Cathy’ to every statement.

I looked at him. I wasn’t convinced that even now he fully appreciated what I was saying. Seven years of living in an environment where it was possibly considered acceptable to grab and feel another person’s private parts would take some undoing. But what I didn’t understand was why Reece had stopped behaving like this at home with us but felt it was acceptable at school.
Unless it was my influence, in which case the school would have to invest a lot of time in building up the same guidelines and respect for the people there as those Reece now had for Lucy, Paula and me. It was true that he did still try to kiss us on the lips sometimes, rather than the cheek, and that his cuddles were a bit lingering towards me and I had to gently finish them and ease him away. But he hadn’t repeated the overt sexual touching since he had first arrived, and he never spoke about sex in the crude terms he had when he had talked about ‘giving the girls one’.

‘All right, Reece,’ I said at last. ‘Just remember what I have told you. It’s probably best if you don’t touch anyone at school. There is no need to, and then you can’t possibly get into trouble for touching in the wrong way.’

He nodded, and I let him watch children’s television, while I put the cottage pie in the oven to heat. While it heated I went to my computer and searched online to see about booking up a few days’ holiday at Easter. We ate and the evening passed happily. In the morning I would be taking Reece into reception at 8.50, and then going straight to the child protection case conference. If it followed the format of the previous ones I had attended, then, apart from taking Reece’s name off the child’s protection register, it should also enable me to learn more about Reece’s background and the reasons for him being taken into care.

T
he oblong oak table in the conference room was laid out formally, with a set of case conference notes and a glass of water for each person. Places had been set for nine people, which was about the number I would have expected to attend. As I sat in one of the leather chairs I smiled at the two women seated opposite. I didn’t know who they were, but they knew each other, and they were talking quietly between themselves as the room slowly filled. I slipped off my coat and draped it over the back of my chair. Then I took the opportunity to read the CP (child protection) case conference notes that were on the table. It was quite a thick bundle, stapled at one corner.

The top sheet gave the date and reasons for the meeting, and listed those who would be attending, together with those who had sent apologies for absence. The next page was the minutes of the previous CP meeting, which I quickly read. Behind these were three reports — from the police, social worker and Reece’s previous doctor. There was no report from the school, which
was hardly surprising as Reece had only been there a few days, and no report from me, which there should have been, had I been sent the relevant forms.

I began reading the police report. Then Jill arrived. I’d emailed to say the conference was taking place but she hadn’t been sure she could attend. I was pleased to see her.

‘How are you?’ she said, sitting on my right.

‘Good.’ I smiled. ‘Thanks for coming.’

‘I thought I’d give you a bit of moral support. Hopefully we’ll learn something.’ She began reading her set of notes as the door opened again and another woman entered, whom I didn’t know. She sat on my left and we exchanged a ‘good morning’. Then she too looked at her notes. A couple of minutes later the head, Mr Fitzgerald, appeared, and took a seat at the table opposite me. I guessed I was the only familiar face, for it was to me he directed his ‘hello’. Two more women came in and sat together at one end of the table. The last to arrive was Jamey. As he entered and looked down the length of the table, I was surprised to see that his usual calm demeanour had been ruffled and he appeared flustered.

‘Morning,’ he said, out of breath and taking the vacant chair next to the head. The rest of us murmured, ‘Good morning,’ while Mr Fitzgerald took the opportunity to introduce himself and they shook hands.

I hadn’t finished reading the notes when one of the two women at the end of the table opened the meeting.

‘I’m Kim Stacey,’ the woman said. ‘I shall be chairing this case conference, which is in respect of Reece
Williams. The purpose of this meeting is to review the health, development and safety of the child, and to decide if his name needs to remain on the Child Protection Register. Apologies for absence have been received from the GP, the designated CP nurse, the education welfare officer, the family worker, the principal solicitor and the team manager.’ There was no need for these people to attend, as either their input would be covered by someone else present or their involvement had finished when Reece had been taken into care. They had been asked to attend as a formality, having attended previous CP conferences.

The chairperson then said she wanted to draw attention to the fact that Reece’s parents had been excluded from attending the conference because of their ‘abusive and threatening behaviour towards professionals and others in the past’. For the parents to be excluded from the meeting was unusual but not unexpected, I thought.

Jamey, who still had a high colour and was uncharacteristically on edge, then addressed the chair. ‘Could I add that I have just been speaking to Tracey, Reece’s mother. She is outside the building now, although she was informed by her solicitor that she wasn’t allowed to attend. She is very angry and we have two security guards with her to stop her from entering the building. I have tried talking to her but it is impossible. I am assuming she will be gone by the end of this meeting, but I suggest that those of you whom she knows by sight should take particular care when leaving the building. She has been known to lie in wait and assault
staff. The security guards will remain there until the meeting has finished, but they only have jurisdiction in the building, not the car park.’

Eyes met across the table as we exchanged sober glances.

‘I take it she doesn’t know me?’ Mr Fitzgerald said dryly.

‘No,’ Jamey said; then, looking round the table: ‘She knows Cathy, Kirsty and the county nurse.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll see you out,’ Jill whispered to me.

‘Thanks,’ I returned. I saw the minute-taker noting what Jamey had just said.

‘Thank you, Jamey,’ the chairperson said. ‘Now, we seem to have got a bit ahead of ourselves because of this, so can we continue with the introductions. I’m Kim Stacey, the chairperson and conference organizer. Next to me is our minute-taker, Hannah Giles.’ Hannah looked up from writing and smiled. We then went round the table introducing ourselves. Apart from the chairperson and the minute-taker there were Jamey, Jill and Tom Fitzgerald, whom I knew, and three people I didn’t know — Kirsty (the police liaison officer), and two nurses, one the county nurse and the other the school nurse for the area.

Introductions over, the chairperson looked at me. ‘Cathy, would you like to start by telling us how Reece is doing? He came to you in January after a number of moves.’

‘Yes, that’s correct,’ I said. I sat upright and looked at those present. I still felt a bit nervous addressing meetings, even after the hundreds I’d had to attend in the
twenty-plus years I had been fostering. I knew I had to remember to speak slowly, because sometimes when I’m nervous I speed up and gabble. ‘Reece has settled in very well indeed,’ I said, ‘and his behaviour has improved dramatically. He still needs reminding sometimes about what is acceptable but he wants to do the right thing, and accepts the guidelines I have set. He eats well and sleeps well, and joins in all family activities. He likes going to the cinema, ice-skating and playing in the park. When Reece first came to me he appeared to have been given no responsibility for himself and could do very little. Now he takes care of his own hygiene and can dress himself. He is a special needs child but he is willing to learn, and can learn slowly. He often needs reassurance for quite small tasks. At present we are working towards him tying his own shoelaces. I always hold his hand when we are out in the street, as he has no sense of danger. He is a long way behind with his learning and has only just been found a new school.’ I glanced at Mr Fitzgerald and he nodded. ‘We have had some incidents of sexualized behaviour and I have made his social worker aware of these. Reece is a loving boy but he can become hyperactive, so I make sure he has some form of exercise every day. I’m also careful with his diet.’ The chairperson nodded and smiled. ‘Reece has some understanding of why he is in care, and obviously I will be talking to him more about this as time goes on. However, for Reece, “being in care” seems quite normal, as all his half-siblings are. Reece and I meet up with his half-sister Susie and her carer every three weeks, and although
Reece enjoys this outing he never mentions his sister in between meetings.’

‘Does he ever mention his parents?’ the chairperson asked.

‘No. Never. If I ask him anything about his home, like “Did you have a garden?” he says, “Don’t know.”’

Jamey nodded. ‘I have witnessed this. When I visited Reece at Cathy’s home and tried to talk to him he repeatedly resorted to “Don’t know” as a means of evasion. My feeling is he has been sworn to secrecy, possibly even threatened by his mother.’

‘Yes,’ the chairperson agreed, ‘without a doubt. I have met her and she can be very frightening when angry. Why she keeps having all these children when there is no hope of her looking after them I will never know.’ Good question, I thought, as no doubt many of the others present were also thinking, but it was a personal view and not part of the proceedings. ‘Do you think Reece is frightened of his mother?’ she asked me.

I paused. ‘It’s difficult to say. When I used to take and collect Reece for contact he appeared to have a much better relationship with his father than with his mother.’

‘You don’t see him with his parents now?’

‘No. An escort takes Reece and brings him home.’

‘It wasn’t felt safe for Cathy to continue,’ Jamey put in. ‘Tracey refused to say goodbye to Reece in the building and subjected Cathy to a lot of intimidation and verbal abuse in the car park.’

‘I see,’ the chairperson said. I saw Mr Fitzgerald looking at me, and looking very concerned. He was clearly
worried by what he was hearing, and with good reason. ‘Thank you, Cathy,’ the chairperson said. ‘And thank you for taking such good care of Reece.’

I smiled and relaxed, for although I would be contributing to the discussion later, the spotlight was off me. All eyes were now going towards Jamey as the chairperson said: ‘Would you like to tell us about Reece and his family now, James, please?’

Jamey had now calmed down from his earlier run-in with Tracey and had resumed his usual pallor and relaxed demeanour. ‘Reece was brought into care on an Interim Care Order,’ he said languidly, ‘and I was assigned the case at the beginning of the year. I was on annual leave until the end of February, so I am still getting to grips with the case. I am also the social worker for all the other siblings. The family has a long history, and has been known to the social services for over fifteen years. I am in the process of gathering together all the files for this case, which I have so far located in five different buildings. The family has moved around a lot, in this county and others. This partly explains why there has been no continuity, or any overall picture. Had there been, I believe Reece and Susie would have been taken into care years ago. The family has a history of violence, both in the home and outside. Scott, Reece’s father, has served a number of prison sentences for drink-related assault, and at least one paedophile has been visiting the house. For what purpose no one knows. Tracey is aggressive and volatile, and in the past has assaulted social workers, teachers, carers, police officers, other adults and even
children. Although she has been arrested on many occasions she has never been sentenced.’

‘Why not?’ the chairperson asked, amazed.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps the police liaison officer can help. My guess is that Tracey makes such a commotion and shouts so loudly that the police and others are just pleased to get her out of the building, as we are here. I have come across over a hundred incidents on file where the police were called to affrays where she was involved.’

Kirsty, the police liaison officer, nodded. ‘I think you’re probably right about wanting to get her out of the police station,’ she said. ‘There is always at least one investigation pending where Tracey has accused a police officer of assaulting her. Over the years we have received hundreds of these formal complaints. We know they are rubbish but we still have to go through the whole lengthy and costly process of investigating them. In some instances the police officer involved has had to be suspended pending the investigation. The woman knows her rights and knows how to work the system. She has made a full-time career out of threatening and accusing the police. We think she likes the attention. And the elder children are turning out the same, particularly Sharon.’

The chairperson nodded sadly, and there was a pause as we considered what Kirsty had said. What a dreadfully sad state of affairs, I thought, particularly if the children were following in Tracey’s footsteps, despite being taken into care and having the benefit of a fresh start. After a moment the chairperson looked to Jamey to continue.