Mummy Told Me Not to Tell (6 page)

‘I’ve got homework,’ Paula called.

‘I’m on the phone,’ Lucy said.

‘Well, put it this way, girls,’ I called up, above the noise of Reece’s imitation Boeing/pterodactyl, ‘if you want to eat then someone needs to read to Reece.’

They immediately appeared from their bedrooms and came down, and I felt guilty for my terseness. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘It’s impossible for me to do anything with him zooming around like this. Reece!’ I said loudly, above the noise of what could have been a plane landing on reverse thrust or a pterodactyl swooping on its prey. ‘Go into the living room and choose a book. Lucy and Paula will read you a story.’

The mention of the words ‘book’ and ‘story’ was like the off switch being pressed again. Reece dived into the living room and on to a sofa, where he sat quietly waiting for the girls with a book open on his lap. I waited as Lucy and Paula sat either side of Reece and began taking it in turns to read the pages of Shirley Hughes’s
Alfie’s Feet.
Reece sat mesmerized. It seemed that when he was absorbed in something visual his mind and
body were able to switch off and relax, but the second the visual stimulus stopped, hyperactivity kicked in, big time. Whether this was the reason for him watching a lot of television while at home, or the result of, I obviously didn’t know, but one thing was for certain: I was going to be reading a lot of books, particularly with him not being in school.

Fifteen minutes later I called through to say that dinner was ready. Reece appeared first. ‘This is your place,’ I said, showing him to his seat at the table. ‘Lucy will sit here’ — I patted the chair beside him — ‘and Paula opposite.’ Reece sat where I had shown him and the girls took their places. I served a chicken casserole, explaining to Reece what it was. He looked at it, and then up at me with a huge appreciative grin.

‘Cor, this looks nice,’ he said.

‘Thank you, love,’ I said. ‘That was polite.’ I took my place at the end of the table and felt that things were looking up.

Reece picked up a piece of chicken with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. ‘Hmm, yummy,’ he said, chewing loudly.

‘Good,’ I said, ‘but try to use your fork. It’s better than fingers for this meal.’ He looked at the fork and then at me and popped another piece of chicken into his mouth with his fingers. I picked up his fork, stabbed a piece of chicken and laid the fork on his plate, ready for him to use. Somewhat clumsily he gripped the fork in the palm of his hand like a spoon and pushed the meat into his mouth. Then he resorted to using his fingers again.

‘Reece, have you never used a knife and fork before?’ I asked lightly. The girls looked up.

‘Don’t know,’ Reece said.

I skewered another piece of chicken on to his fork and left him to take it to his mouth, which he did. Then he attempted to use his fingers for the boiled potatoes.

‘Would you like a spoon?’ I asked, for I could see the peas and gravy were going to cause him a real problem. Reece nodded. I fetched a dessert spoon, which he used quite successfully, so I guessed that that was what he had been used to. ‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ I said, smiling.

He grinned back. ‘I use me fingers for Chicken Dippers and burgers.’

I nodded and thought that here was another child who had never had to master a knife and fork because they had only ever eaten ‘finger food’. I’d recently read a newspaper article which had highlighted the number of ‘well brought up’ children from good homes who didn’t know how to use a knife and fork properly because so much of their diet hadn’t required one.

Reece had a very healthy appetite and wanted seconds. Although he was heavily built, he wasn’t so much fat as solid, and as he was a growing boy I gave him a second helping, and a yoghurt and piece of fruit for pudding. Considering that he obviously wasn’t used to sitting still at the table and using cutlery he had done very well and I praised him. However, as soon as he’d finished the last mouthful of banana he was up and off, zooming around and yelping at the top of his voice. Lucy and Paula read him another story while I cleared the table
and loaded the dishwasher. Then I read him a story before explaining it was time for his bath.

‘Don’t want one,’ he said and was off the sofa and chasing around again. Paula came out of her room and tried to take hold of his arm, narrowly missing a headbutt.

‘Reece, don’t do that,’ I said. Then to Paula: ‘Let me. I’ll call if I need help.’

I waited until he was doing a return lap of the landing and caught hold of him lightly by his arm. I encircled him as I had done before to get him off my bed. He struggled briefly before laughing and relaxing against me. I gave him a cuddle; then, with a mixture of cajoling and promises of a bedtime story, I managed to run the bath and get him into it. Reece wasn’t able to undress himself (another skill I would have to teach him another day) so I did it, and as he sat in the bath pretending to be a shark, I realized that neither had he the first idea about washing himself. It would have been helpful if the previous carers had written down some of this detail so that I could have anticipated and better accommodated Reece’s needs in the first few days. As it was, apart from knowing about his love of burgers and Chicken Dippers, I was working in the dark. I showed him how to lather the soap on to the sponge and then encouraged him to run it over his body. Although I was happy to wash his back and neck it was important to teach him to take care of most of his washing, particularly his private parts. This is another example of giving a child responsibility for his or her own body and nurturing self-respect.

‘Wash your feet and knees,’ I encouraged, ‘and between your legs. Do you have a name for your private parts?’

‘Willy,’ he responded with a laugh. ‘Sharks have willies but no legs.’

‘Well, wash your willy and your legs.’

I waited while he squashed the sponge on various parts of his body, which would be sufficient for now. Then I ran the sponge over his shaved head — there wasn’t enough hair to shampoo. Letting out the water, I wrapped him in the bath towel.

A mixture of more cajoling and repetition saw Reece into his pyjamas, and after another bedtime story, for which he sat on the beanbag with me squatted beside him, I eased him into bed.

‘I want Henry,’ he said, snuggling down and obviously finding comfort in being cocooned beneath the duvet. I guessed Henry was a soft toy he took with him to bed and that he would be in either the rucksacks or the toy boxes, which I hadn’t had a chance to unpack yet.

‘What does Henry look like?’ I asked, as I undid the first rucksack.

‘A hippo,’ Reece said.

I smiled. ‘Henry Hippo, that’s a good name. Did you call him that?’

‘Don’t know.’ So I thought that Henry Hippo was probably an old favourite and had come with all the other ‘Don’t knows’ from home.

I began rummaging through the first rucksack, which contained an entire school uniform, hardly worn, and presumably from one of the schools Reece had been
excluded from. At the bottom of the bag my fingers alighted on something soft and furry, and I pulled it out.

‘That’s not it!’ Reece yelled.

‘No.’ It was a soft toy but in the shape of a shark.

I began on the second rucksack, which contained some new books. As I took them out and placed them on the bookshelves in the recess of his bedroom, I saw that they were all about sharks, or ocean creatures including sharks. ‘Who bought you all these?’ I asked.

‘Carers,’ Reece said.

I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to indulge Reece’s love of sharks, given his biting, but doubtless the carers had acted with the best of intentions by giving Reece something he liked. Further down this bag were some large-piece jigsaws, the pictures on the front of the boxes showing underwater scenes with fish and sharks. The boxes were new, so I guessed a well-meaning carer had bought these too. I pulled out a couple of short-sleeved T-shirts emblazoned with pictures of sharks, but there was no sign of Henry Hippo.

‘Do you know where Henry is?’ I asked, dearly hoping that Henry had been packed. I took the lid off the first toy box.

Reece didn’t answer. He was lying in bed, watching me intently. Although the toy box was new, it contained lots of old small toys, many broken, so that I guessed the contents had come from home. As I rummaged through I saw that the theme of sharks dominated here too. There were models and toys of sharks in plastic, rubber and cardboard, in various poses of swimming, all with their mouths open, displaying rows of barbed
white teeth. They had clearly been well used, for many had been chewed and had bits missing. One particularly nasty creature, which was a model of a shark’s head about ten inches across, had half its teeth missing but the grin on its face said that it was still capable of doing real damage and enjoying it. When social workers take a child into care they always try to bring as many of the child’s clothes and favourite toys as possible so that the child feels comfortable with what they know around them. Usually these things are loaded into carrier bags, so I assumed one or more of the previous carers must have bought the new toy boxes, rucksacks and suitcase. Reece was still looking at me carefully, not saying a word; clearly these toys were poignant reminders of home.

‘Well, it’s not here,’ I said.

I shuffled over on my knees and took the lid off the second toy box. To my great relief and Reece’s delight, at the top lay a grubby, well-chewed, but clearly much-loved hippopotamus soft toy.

‘Henry!’ Reece cried.

I smiled and tucked Henry in beside Reece. Then I had a quick glance at the toys that had been under Henry in the box. It was no great surprise that the shark theme dominated again, together with McDonald’s. The fast-food chain must have been giving away small plastic models of sharks and aquatic creatures in their children’s Happy Meal boxes, for this toy box was full of them. Putting the lid back on the box, I stacked it, together with the rucksacks, on one side of the bedroom, to be sorted out the following day.

“Night ‘night,’ I said to Reece, kissing his forehead. His face was buried deep into Henry’s soft fur, the toy’s familiar smell welcoming and secure.

“Night,’ came the muffled reply.

I went to the bedroom door. ‘Would you like your light on or off?’ I asked, as I ask all children on their first night. It is essential the child sleeps as they are used to and feels comfortable.

‘On,’ came the muffled response.

‘OK, but I’ll dim it a little so it doesn’t keep you awake.’ I turned the knob on the light switch down so that the room was lit but not startlingly bright. ‘And Reece, do you want your door open or shut, love?’

‘Shut,’ Reece said.

‘All right. See you in the morning. Sleep tight.’ Only the top of his head was visible as his face snuggled into Henry. ‘See you in the morning,’ I said again and came out and shut the door.

I waited on the landing, for given how hyperactive Reece had been during the day, coupled with it being his first night in a strange bedroom, I was expecting him to be out of bed the moment I left the room, in which case I would keep resettling him until he finally dropped asleep. But five minutes later, when there had been no sound from his room, I gently eased open the bedroom door and found him fast asleep. He was exhausted and so was I. Closing the bedroom door again, I went downstairs, where Lucy and Paula were in the kitchen making a hot drink.

‘He’s asleep.’ I said. ‘Thanks for all your help. It’s much appreciated.’

‘Mum?’ Paula said, pouring milk into
her tea.
‘What’s the matter with Reece’s front teeth?’ Lucy looked at me too.

‘I don’t know. I’ll ask the dentist when I take him for a check-up. I’m sure it’s something that can be corrected by an orthodontist when he’s older.’ I hesitated. ‘I know this sounds odd but Reece has the nickname Sharky. I think it could be because of his teeth and that he bites.’ They both looked at me. ‘His toys and books are all about sharks. It was a label that began at home and they encouraged him to behave like a shark and bite. He bit me when he first arrived earlier, so please be careful. And obviously we all have to work towards getting rid of that ridiculous nickname.’

They nodded and I could see from their expressions that they didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, because who on earth calls their child Sharky and encourages him to bite?

‘We’ll get him interested in something other than sharks,’ I said. ‘Something that doesn’t bite, like cars or aeroplanes.’ And it occurred to me then that perhaps all the zooming around the house Reece had been doing with his arms outstretched wasn’t a plane or prehistoric bird but a shark skimming through the water in search of prey. Anyway, thanks again. You were both a big help.’

They smiled and handed me a very welcome mug of tea. ‘Oh yes,’ Lucy said, ‘I nearly forgot. Jill phoned while you were out and asked how we were doing. I said we were all fine.’

I
went to bed early that first night, at ten o’clock, expecting to have a very broken night’s sleep; children, unsurprisingly, are often unsettled for the first few nights, in a strange bed and a new house. But Reece must have been exhausted, for I wasn’t woken until five o’clock. Then it was with a vengeance!

I was just starting to surface, with my eyes flickering open, when I heard Reece’s door fly open with a loud bang, followed by the sound of Reece in full flight. His feet thumped along the landing and he was making a high-pitched yeooowing noise, banging on the walls and bedroom doors as he went. He had done a full circuit of the landing and was on his way downstairs before I was out of bed. I threw on my dressing gown and went after him. Apart from stopping him from waking the girls (if they hadn’t already been woken), I needed to start to get him into the routine of staying in his bedroom and amusing himself until I was up and dressed.

I caught up with Reece downstairs, where he was trying to get into the living room, which I locked at
night for security. ‘Reece,’ I said over the noise of his yeooowing. ‘Reece, sshhh, quietly, love.’ I placed my forefinger to my lips and, with my other hand lightly on his shoulder, turned him to face me.