Mummy Told Me Not to Tell (4 page)

‘I don’t think it contains any more than you’ve already been told,’ Veronica said. ‘The contact arrangements haven’t been finalized yet.’

I glanced up from number 24, which was twenty-four small white mice. ‘All right. Fine.’

Reece nudged me to continue, which I did. Then I paused and said: ‘Reece, you’ve been a very good boy. You’ve sat here very nicely. I’m so pleased you like books, because I do too.’ Number 25 was twenty-five red tulips. Reece yelled out the number and I turned the page again.

‘Well, unless there is anything else you can think of, I’ll leave you to it,’ Veronica said, placing the set of essential information forms on top of the placement forms.

I stopped turning the pages and looked at Reece, still calm beside me. ‘Reece,’ I said. ‘I will continue reading this in a minute after we have said goodbye to Veronica. All right?’

He jabbed the open page with his forefinger. ‘No, read!’ he demanded. ‘I want the book.’

‘Well, in that case, if you are not going to say goodbye, you can look at the book by yourself for a moment while I see Veronica to the door.’

I moved the book, now open at twenty-eight twinkling stars, from my lap to his and stood up. Reece immediately jumped up beside me, jettisoning the book on to the floor. ‘What about me fings?’ he yelled at the top of his voice.
Veronica and I looked at each other and smiled. In all the kerfuffle of Reece’s arrival we had both forgotten about Reece’s belongings, which would be in Veronica’s car. Learning difficulties Reece might have, but he wasn’t going to be left without his possessions!

‘Well done,’ I said to him. ‘We can’t let Veronica go without giving us your things, can we?’

He grinned his toothy grin. ‘You silly buggers, you forgot!’ he shouted, giving me a hefty whack on the arm. He shot out of the living room and down the hall towards the front door. I went straight after him, leaving Veronica putting away her paperwork.

‘Reece, don’t open that door!’ I called.

He was already grappling with the front doorknob, which fortunately sticks, trying to turn it to get out and to the car for his belongings. I arrived beside him and gently put my hand over his on the doorknob. ‘There’s a busy road out there,’ I said. ‘You must always wait until I open the door. We don’t want you getting hurt.’

My left hand was lightly on top of Reece’s hand, and both of them were on the doorknob, which was level with his head. Before I realized what he was about to do he’d brought his mouth forward and sunk his teeth into the back of my hand.

‘Ow!’ I cried, and immediately withdrew my hand as Reece continued to yank on the door. I pressed my foot against the bottom of the door so it wouldn’t open and looked at the back of my hand. His front teeth were clearly imprinted in my flesh, but fortunately it wasn’t bleeding. I took hold of him lightly by the shoulders
and, turning him away from the door and towards me, I tried to make eye contact.

‘Reece,’ I said firmly, ‘that was naughty. You don’t bite. It hurts. It’s not a nice thing to do.’ But his eyes were darting all over the place and I knew he couldn’t hear me even if he’d wanted to. ‘Reece,’ I said more loudly, still holding his shoulders, ‘Reece, look at me. You don’t bite.’ Still not looking at me, he brought his chin down on to his left shoulder and tried to bite my hand, which was resting there. Then he turned his head quickly and snapped at my other hand, but both were fortunately out of his range.

‘No!’ I said again. ‘Don’t bite. It’s cruel. You will stop that now!’

He snapped again at both my hands, and then wrenched free of my hold and charged up the staircase.

Veronica was beside me now. ‘Cathy, are you all right?’ she asked.

We both looked at my hand, which still bore the perfect impression of Reece’s front teeth.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It hasn’t broken the skin.’ I glanced anxiously up the stairs. I could hear Reece charging around the landing. I certainly didn’t want him up there alone.

‘Veronica,’ I said. ‘Could you bring Reece’s belongings in from the car while I go up and settle him?’

‘Of course,’ she said. I quickly propped the door open so that she could get in and out, and then I went upstairs.

I found Reece in my bedroom, bouncing up and down on the bed for all he was worth. The springs bonged unhappily.

‘Off now!’ I said. He continued bouncing, turning away so that his back was towards me. ‘Reece! Get off that bed now!’

He ignored me, so I moved forward. I leant over the bed and, taking hold of him round the waist, I drew him down on to the bed and into a sitting position. I sat behind him and encircled him with my arms, with him facing away from me. My hands covered his and were out of reach of his teeth. He laughed at being held, and then struggled, laughing some more, before finally he gave up and relaxed.

‘Good. That’s better,’ I said. I held him for a moment longer; then I took my arms from around his waist and took hold of one of his hands. I led him off the bed. ‘Reece, this is my bedroom,’ I said. ‘It’s private. It’s just for me. You don’t come in here. I’ll show you your bedroom when we’ve said goodbye to Veronica.’

‘Want to see it now,’ he yelled.

‘And I want you to stop biting, Reece. Look at my hand.’

I raised the hand he had bitten to his line of vision while holding on to him with my other hand. Had I let go of him I had no doubt he would have shot off straight into another bedroom. ‘Look at those marks,’ I said, needing to make the point about biting. ‘Your teeth did that and it’s not good.’ In truth the physical damage was small, but biting is a nasty habit and I had to stop it straightaway. If he had broken the skin it would have been far more serious, for all types of infections including hepatitis and the HIV virus can be passed through blood drawn by a bite.

Reece now seemed to be focusing on my hand and I left it in his line of vision while remaining alert to any sign that he might strike again. ‘People don’t bite each other,’ I emphasized. ‘And you mustn’t.’

‘I’m not a people. I’m a shark,’ he said.

I turned him round to face me squarely, and searched again for eye contact. ‘Reece, you are not a shark. You are a little boy, and boys don’t bite.’

‘Yes, they do. I’m Sharky boy.’

‘You’re not Sharky. You are Reece and you will stop biting. Do you understand?’

He didn’t say anything and his eyes once again ran over the room, looking at everything except me.

‘Have I got a telly in me room?’ he asked suddenly.

‘Yes, you have. And it’s a special treat to have a television in your bedroom. As you can see, I haven’t got one in my bedroom.’ I would be using the television in his room — as I had with other children who liked television — as a reward for good behaviour and its removal as a sanction for bad behaviour. ‘OK, Reece,’ I said, taking his left hand in mine and leading him from my bedroom, ‘we’ll look at your room now and I’ll show you the television.’

Springing along beside me, with his hand in mine, we went round the landing and into his bedroom. I heard Veronica downstairs make another trip into the hall with Reece’s belongings.

‘I want it on now,’ he yelled, making a lunge for the remote control, which lay on top of the television.

I intercepted and took it. He glared at me. ‘Right, Reece,’ I said, trying to make eye contact again, ‘having
a television in your bedroom is a very special treat. You will be allowed to watch it for short periods if you are good. Being good means not biting and doing what I ask you to. Do you understand?’

He nodded, and briefly looked in my direction.

‘Excellent. Now, you can sit on this beanbag, and I’ll see if there are any children’s programmes on.’ It was just after three o’clock, so I thought there would be. He did as I asked and sat on the beanbag. I turned on the portable television at the plug, and then flicked the remote until I came to a pre-school children’s cartoon.

The change in Reece’s behaviour was instant and dramatic. He was immediately transfixed, as he had been earlier by my reading a book. His limbs stopped their frantic and continuous twitching and his breathing regulated; all his attention was on the bright cartoon images chasing across the screen. Although his calmness was welcome, it was also odd because children with true ADHD often can’t relax even in front of a television. I could see that carefully controlled television watching together with story reading were going to be useful strategies in managing Reece’s behaviour. Leaving Reece on the beanbag, completely absorbed in the programme, I went downstairs to Veronica, who had just finished offloading Reece’s belongings into the hall. She was now waiting for me.

‘OK?’ she asked hopefully.

‘Yes. He’s watching children’s cartoons and is much quieter.’ I glanced at his luggage — a large suitcase, a couple of rucksacks and two toy boxes, which was
about what I would have expected to come with a child who had been in care for just over a month.

‘Well, I hope you have a good evening,’ Veronica said. Then she took a folded piece of paper from her pocket and passed it to me. ‘His previous carer asked me to give you this. It’s the food he likes.’

I unfolded the paper and read:
‘Reece likes most things but his favourites are Chicken Dippers, fish fingers, tinned spaghetti hoops and Wall’s sausages. He is used to drinking a lot of fizzy drinks but these make him hyperactive. He has been having milk, juice and water with me.’
Very sensible, I thought, because research has shown that diet can play quite a large part in children’s behaviour, particularly if they are sensitive to additives, which many children with behavioural problems are.

‘Thanks,’ I said to Veronica, refolding the paper.

‘And I should keep him off the E numbers,’ she said with a smile.

‘Absolutely,’ I agreed.

After Veronica had left I took the bags and boxes up to Reece’s room. I told him I would start unpacking his clothes and he could help me if he liked, or he could continue watching his programme. He didn’t answer or turn in my direction, but remained absorbed in the colourful cartoon, which was designed for children aged about four. I opened the suitcase and began taking out his clothes, folding and hanging them as I put them into the wardrobe and drawers. As I worked I repeatedly glanced in Reece’s direction. He remained relaxed but oblivious to my presence. His eyes followed the
rapidly moving cartoon figures, which were now on an adventure in a park. Occasionally he made little noises, sometimes grunting his approval at something that was happening on screen and repeating the odd word as the story unfolded. It crossed my mind that Reece seemed to relate far better to the television than he did to people, probably as a result of all the years he’d spent in front of the television that Karen had mentioned. And I thought that while television might be a useful tool in managing Reece’s behaviour his viewing was going to have to be very carefully regulated. I wanted him to engage and interact with people, not a screen.

When Lucy and Paula arrived home just before 4.00 they did not, as they had expected, enter a house heaving under the strain of an out-of-control child, but one that was quiet, with a child sitting serenely on a beanbag, watching television, while I unpacked.

‘Up here,’ I called as I heard the front door go.

Leaving their bags and coats in the hall they came straight up. They knocked on the bedroom door, which we always do before entering a bedroom other than our own, and came in.

‘Hi,’ I said. ‘This is Reece. Reece, these are my daughters, Paula and Lucy.’

The girls said ‘Hi’ and ‘Hello’. Reece grunted what could have been an acknowledgement while not taking his eyes from the screen.

‘I’ll finish unpacking this case,’ I said to them. ‘Then I’ll think about dinner. Have you had a good day?’

‘Yes,’ Paula said.

‘Not bad,’ Lucy added.

The girls looked from Reece to me and back again. I knew what they were thinking: that the child who was sitting so contentedly and now smiling at
The Basil Brush Show
couldn’t possibly be the one I’d told them to expect. However, I also knew, given what I’d previously seen of Reece’s behaviour, that things could revert very quickly.

W
ith Reece being entertained by the television and before I began making dinner, I took the opportunity of mentioning to the girls that they should be a bit careful, as Reece could and did head-butt and bite. They nodded, but I could tell they weren’t convinced. We had fostered children before who’d come to us with appalling records of bad behaviour but had never shown it to us. ‘Just be careful,’ I said. ‘I don’t want any injuries.’

I also took the opportunity of interrupting Reece’s television for five minutes to show him where the toilet was and explain the rules regarding other people’s bedrooms: that our bedrooms were our own private space and we never went in to anyone else’s without being asked. Reece compliantly agreed because he knew the television awaited once I’d had my say. I knew I would have to repeat the bedroom rules because children of Reece’s age (even those without learning difficulties) are impulsive and tend to be in a room in search of someone before they have remembered to knock and wait.

At five o’clock while I was making dinner, Reece left the television, stood at the top of the stairs and yelled at the top of his voice: ‘Cathy! I need a pooh!’ I heard him clearly from the kitchen, which is at the opposite end of the house, so great was the volume in his voice. Aware that Reece had a history of soiling himself, I immediately left peeling the potatoes and went upstairs.

‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Straight into the toilet, then.’ I turned him round and steered him along the landing, and opened the toilet door. Completely unselfconsciously he pulled down his joggers and pants and sat on the toilet. I held the toilet door to and waited outside. Presently a none-too-pleasant smell wafted out, followed by, ‘Cathy! I’ve finished!’

‘Good boy,’ I said from the other side of the door. ‘Now wipe your bottom and wash your hands.’

I remained waiting outside because I wanted to make sure Reece did wash his hands, and properly, for so many children come to me having never been taught basic hygiene. I waited some more but couldn’t hear the toilet roll being used; it was on the back of the door and rattled on its fitting when pulled.