Mummy Told Me Not to Tell (3 page)

‘Not at present. Thanks, you’ve been very helpful.’ ‘Thank you for taking Reece. We were getting desperate,’ Karen said.

That evening when Lucy and Paula were home and we’d eaten, I took the opportunity to tell them of our new arrival before they started their homework or television watching. Lucy and Paula were fully aware of the implications of fostering a child with ‘challenging behaviour’ and, knowing they had a well-developed sense of humour, I decided to take a light-hearted approach.

‘Ladies,’ I said, as we loaded the dishwasher, ‘you know what a quiet time we’ve had over the last couple of months — just doing the respite fostering?’ They looked at me cautiously, suspiciously almost. I smiled. ‘Well, I thought it was time for a change, something to liven us up a bit.’ I smiled again. ‘Tomorrow a boy called Reece will be coming to stay with us. He is seven but has learning difficulties, so functions at a much younger age. Although he shouts, bites and hits people when he is frustrated, I’m sure with all our help he will soon change. What he needs more than anything is stability and boundaries—’ and I was about to continue with a few reminders on how we would achieve this when there was a chorus of:

‘Can’t someone else have him?’

I looked at them sombrely. ‘They have. We will be his fifth carers in six weeks.’

Another chorus: ‘You’re joking!’

‘No.’ And I could tell by their expressions they were shocked and knew, as I did, that whatever Reece threw as us, physically or emotionally, he couldn’t have another move, and would stay with us until the court made its decision on his future, which would take the best part of a year, or longer if the case was complicated.

J
ill phoned at just gone 11.00 the following morning and I felt my stomach tighten. I’d had a night to sleep (or rather not sleep) on all that I’d heard about Reece and, despite years of fostering, my nerves were starting to get the better of me. Supposing his behaviour was as bad as had been reported and I wasn’t able to help him? Supposing this was the one child I had to give up on? I pulled away from that thought.

‘A male social worker, Imran, will be bringing Reece,’ Jill said. ‘At about one thirty. I’ll aim to be with you half an hour before — at about one.’ Jill tried to be with me when a child was placed, partly to make sure the paperwork was all correct and also for a bit of moral support.

‘OK. Thanks,’ I said.

And I believe Karen phoned you yesterday.’

‘Yes, she was very helpful.’

‘Good. She worked with Reece’s family for a while. It’s a pity she’s not still on the case. She’s very practical and down to earth.’

‘Yes.’

We said goodbye and I returned upstairs, where I was putting the finishing touches to what would soon be Reece’s room. With Lucy and Paula at school and college, and Adrian away at university, I was alone in the house and it seemed very quiet. Not for long, I thought. In a couple of hours I’d have Reece to entertain me! I finished putting the Batman duvet cover and matching pillowcase on the bed, and then I glanced around the room. I hoped Reece would like it. I’d put posters of
Star Wars
on the walls, and jigsaws and puzzles in the toy box; and, mindful that Reece was functioning at a much younger age, I’d included a poster of Winnie-the-Pooh, two soft cuddly toys and a wizard castle with play people.

I always try to make the child’s bedroom suitable for their age and gender, with things that are likely to appeal, based on the information I have on the child. If the child comes with a lot of their own personal possessions, then I pack away what they don’t want of my things and put up theirs instead. It’s so important for the child to have their possessions around them: it helps them to settle and makes them feel secure.

As I had been doing respite fostering for three months, the theme in the room had changed repeatedly and as a result there were little nests of drawing-pin holes where posters and pictures had been up and down. I’d filled them with a quick coat of paint, a pot of emulsion being another essential tool for good fostering.

At twelve noon I was about to have a bite of lunch when the phone rang. It was Jill.

‘Sorry, Cathy, will you be able to manage alone this afternoon? I’ve been called into our south county office. One of the workers has gone home sick.’

‘Yes, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.’

‘Phone my mobile if you need anything. Otherwise I’ll phone you later after Reece is placed.’

‘All right, Jill.’

Jill being unable to attend when a child was placed had happened before and I wasn’t unduly concerned. I’d been fostering long enough to know the procedure and Jill knew that. Had I been new to fostering another worker from Homefinders would have come in her place, but I could cope — so I thought!

By 1.30 I was as prepared as I was going to be for Reece’s arrival. I wandered in and out of the front room, glancing up and down the street from behind the net curtains. Nerves were starting to get the better of me again, and I wished Reece had arrived as an emergency placement as Sam (and others before him had done); then I wouldn’t have had this build-up. But I reminded myself that if I was feeling anxious, goodness knows what Reece must be feeling, on his way to his fifth new home in six weeks.

At just after two o’clock, when there was still no sign of Reece, I began thinking about giving Jill a ring to make sure everything was going according to plan. I gave one final glance through the front room window and as I did a silver car drove up and stopped outside the house. I looked out from my vantage point behind the nets and saw a boy who’d been in the rear of the car scramble over the top of the passenger seat, fling open the
passenger door and leap out on to the pavement. Aged about seven, heavily built with a shaved head, he began jumping up and down, yelling at the top of his voice: ‘Beat you! Beat you out! Beat you out the car, slag!’

Reece had arrived.

As I watched, a woman, who I assumed must be a social worker, jumped out of the driver’s seat, ran on to the pavement and grabbed his hand. ‘Don’t do that!’ she cried, anxiously. ‘It’s dangerous. You should have waited until I got out.’

Reece, oblivious to her caution, continued jumping up and down, still shouting: ‘Beat you! Beat you, slag!’ Then he tried to head-butt her. I flinched as he narrowly missed her nose.

I began towards the front door, making a mental note that when Reece was in my car I would have the central locking down, rather than just the child locks, until he learned to stay in his seat until I opened his door. I also made a mental note to keep my head up as I greeted Reece, for clearly head-butting was another of his accomplishments.

‘Hello,’ I said, smiling, as I opened the front door and they came down the path. ‘I’m Cathy, and you must be Reece?’

The social worker was holding Reece’s wrist to stop him from running off — he clearly didn’t want to hold her hand. As they came into the hall she transferred his arm to me and sighed.

‘Hello, Reece,’ I said, not bending to his height. He didn’t look at me but stared and then lunged down the hall. I kept hold of his arm and he pulled against me.

‘Leggo! Leggo of me,’ he yelled.

Placing my free hand on his shoulder, I tried to turn him round to face me so that I could make eye contact with him and gain his attention. ‘Reece, listen,’ I said, kindly but firmly. ‘Listen to me.’ He was still pulling and refusing to look in my direction. I didn’t want to bend forward to make eye contact, as that would leave me in exactly the right position for a well-aimed headbutt. ‘Reece, we are going down the hall now and into the back room. There are some toys there already set out for you.’

‘Leggo! Leggo of me!’ His voice was rasping, guttural, like an old man’s, and so loud it filled the air and obliterated any other sound.

‘OK. Let’s go down the hall together,’ I said calmly but firmly. I knew if I let go of him now in his heightened state of alert he would be off like a free radical, charging around the house, doing damage to himself and anything that got in his way. Later I’d show him round, but for now I just needed to get him calmer and establish some form of control.

With Reece still pulling against me — and he was very strong with his weight behind him — I began steadily, if not a little jerkily, down the hall and towards the back room, which is our living room.

‘I’m Veronica,’ the social worker called from behind me, closing the front door.

‘Nice to meet you,’ I returned over my shoulder.

‘Slag!’ Reece shouted.

Once we were in the living room I let go of Recce’s hand and closed the door. As I’d hoped he would, he
went straight to the selection of games I’d arranged in the centre of the room; the rest of the toys were in cupboards in the conservatory that acts as a playroom.

Veronica sank gratefully on to the sofa, happy to transfer the responsibility for Reece to me, while I remained casually standing in front of the door. It wasn’t obvious to Reece, but I was blocking his exit in case his interest in the toys vanished and he made a dash for it.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ Veronica said. ‘Imran was supposed to bring Reece but it became impossible.’

I glanced at her questioningly as Reece continued overturning the toys, tipping them from their boxes but not actually playing with them. ‘Imran is Asian,’ she said, and then nodding at Reece, mouthed: ‘He’s racist.’ She looked anxiously from me to the framed photographs of my children on the walls, where there were some of my adopted daughter Lucy, who is part Thai.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’ll deal with it.’ For while some carers would refuse to look after a child who is deemed racist, I had found that children of Reece’s age will have learned such behaviour from home, and it can be unlearned pretty quickly. I was more concerned about Reece’s apparent ADHD (Attention Deficit and Hyperactivity Disorder), which hadn’t been mentioned by Jill or Karen but was very obvious now. His continual agitated and jerky movements, his short quick breaths as though he was hyperventilating and his heightened state of alert, which stopped him from focusing on anything for longer than a second,
suggested hyperactivity. I needed to get him calmer before I could offer Veronica a coffee, let alone address the paperwork, which she was now taking from her briefcase.

Reece had finished turning out all the boxes of puzzles, jigsaws and toys, and they were now in a colourful mountain in the centre of the room. I slowly moved away from where I was standing by the living-room door and went over, squatting on the floor beside him.

‘Reece,’ I said, trying again to make eye contact, ‘choose a game for us to play with and we’ll put the rest away.’

He didn’t so much as glance in my direction. His brain seemed so busy firing off in random directions it had blocked out almost everything and everyone around him, or any logical thought. I lightly touched his hand and he glanced towards me, but I didn’t think he’d actually seen me. ‘Reece, shall we play with these building bricks?’ I suggested. ‘I bet you are good at building things.’ I put two pieces together but Reece was already on his feet, going straight over to the bookcase, where he began pulling books off the shelves. By the time I was at his side he had cleared one shelf and was starting on the next. ‘Reece, would you like me to read you a story?’ No reply, and no response, just more books thrown on the floor.

‘Right, Reece. Here’s a nice book,’ I said more loudly. I stooped and retrieved a large colourful counting book from the ever-increasing pile on the floor. ‘Let’s read this one. It’s a counting book, with lots of pictures, and
all the numbers to a hundred. I wonder if you can count to ten?’

The books suddenly stopped raining down and he turned to look at me properly for the first time since arriving. I noticed what lovely brown eyes he had but what unusual front teeth. His front four teeth at the top were very large, overlapped each other and had prominent serrated edges. It crossed my mind whether this had contributed to the ‘Sharky’ tag his mother had given him, in which case it was unbelievably cruel.

‘Well?’ I said, making direct eye contact. ‘Can you count to ten, Reece?’

He grinned broadly, which highlighted even more the unusual configuration of his teeth. ‘Of course I can, you silly bugger!’ he said. ‘I can count to a hundred.’ He grabbed the book from my hand and, throwing himself on the sofa, sat expectantly, waiting for me to read. I wasn’t worried about being called a ‘silly bugger’ or his snatching the book, for at last he was calmer and I had his attention.

I sat beside him on the sofa as Veronica began sorting through her paperwork. Reece moved closer into my side and then placed the book in my lap. I opened it at the first page, which showed a huge three-dimensional number 1 on the left-hand page with a corresponding picture of one large white cuddly rabbit on the right-hand page.

‘So what is this number?’ I asked.

‘One!’he yelled.

‘Good. Well done. But there’s no need to shout. I’m sitting next to you.’ I turned the page to reveal a large
three-dimensional number 2 and an accompanying picture of two rag dolls.

‘Two!’ Reece yelled.

Veronica now had the placement forms and relevant paperwork ready on her lap. Between turning the pages and reading the numbers I began answering her questions, first about my doctor’s contact details where I would register Reece, and then my mobile number, which the social services didn’t have.

‘I would offer to make you coffee,’ I said to her, ‘but I think it would be wise to keep this book going for a while.’

‘Absolutely,’ she said. I continued turning the pages as Reece shouted out the numbers, and Veronica asked questions and made notes. By the time Reece and I had arrived at number 15, Veronica had all the additional information she needed, and the placement agreement form was ready for me to sign. She leaned forward and passed me her pen and the form. I signed with my right hand, while turning the page of the book with my left. Veronica separated the copies and put one copy on the coffee table for me.

‘I would normally go through the essential information forms with you,’ she said, glancing at Reece, ‘but I’m not sure that’s a good idea at present.’ The essential information forms contained the full names, addresses and ages of the child’s immediate family, and details of his and their ethnicity, any religious, dietary or medical needs, the type of court order granted to bring the child into care and any special conditions the child had such as behavioural difficulties.
‘No,’ I agreed. I’ll look at it later when I have the opportunity.’ I turned the page to the number 20 and a picture of twenty little elves.