Four Waifs on Our Doorstep Page 5

  ‘Well done, Simon,’ I encouraged him, against the background melee of scrapping children with short attention spans and the growing pile of broken toys, as the older three just trampled over them.

  Up to now, I could put him down somewhere and know that if I didn’t move him myself, he would be in the same place two hours later. I went over, picked him up and took him to a clean area of carpet, near the door. Then I held him up so that he let his legs down, lowered him to the floor and gently let go. I sat back three or four feet to see what he would do. Simon stood, with his arms outstretched at each side, as if about to hold on to something, although there was nothing there. Then he took a few steps forward, into the room. His legs were very unsteady, as if the ground was moving. I feared he would fall, but he kept going another step or two. It was a very odd and ungainly walk.

  ‘Hamish,’ I said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Does Simon always walk like this?’

  ‘He doesn’t usually walk. Mum carries him everywhere. He’s her favourite. When she isn’t carrying him she puts him in his cot.’

  ‘Where is the cot?’

  ‘In the lounge,’ said Hamish, reaching for a large ball. ‘Can I go outside and play football?’

  ‘Not now, love. But maybe later.’

  The social worker from the agency was due to come round that afternoon, so we had an early lunch, giving me time to tidy up before she came. We had stacker boxes full of toys in the kitchen, so I put various toys, puzzles, modelling dough and colouring books out on our long kitchen table, and the children sat on the old church pews at one end. I sat with them to get them started and for the first few minutes, with their tummies full, they all chose something to do without squabbling. That was an achievement.

  Then the doorbell rang.

  Carol introduced herself and I took her through to join the children at the kitchen table.

  I think she wanted to have a chat with them to start with, but by now they were too busy trying to take the puzzles and colouring books away from each other.

  ‘Let go, you wanker!’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  Carol raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Let’s just talk here,’ I suggested, pulling out a couple of chairs. ‘I’m sure Hamish and Anita will chip in if they feel like it.’

  ‘Well, the first thing to tell you,’ she said, ‘is that it’s now a full care order, so that means you can do all the normal things that need doing, but you must not cut the children’s hair, or take them away overnight, without permission through the fostering agency.’

  ‘I don’t think the boys will need their hair cut for quite a while!’ I smiled, looking at their shaven heads. ‘And Anita says she wants to grow her hair.’

  ‘It’s going to be blonde,’ Anita added.

  Carol looked at her black, tufty hair and smiled.

  ‘Anita’s very girly,’ I explained.

  ‘What time did they finally arrive on Friday?’

  ‘About eleven o’clock at night. They were in such a state when they got here – tired, starving hungry . . .’

  ‘I believe there were some delays at the other end.’

  ‘Yes, what happened? I did ask Hamish, but he seemed a bit vague about it all. I don’t suppose the children were told what was going on.’

  ‘I don’t know much more than you do, I’m afraid. All we’ve been told so far is that Caroline’s arm was broken, several days before, and it was a social worker who took her to the doctor and he called an ambulance. I’m afraid it’s all quite fuzzy apart from that. It seems they were all at the hospital with the social workers, but it’s not been explained what happened to break her arm . . .’

  ‘Wayne,’ interrupted Caroline. ‘Wayne broke my arm.’ I repeated this more clearly for Carol.

  ‘He pulled a cupboard across to block the door and attacked her,’ explained Hamish.

  ‘And she screamed,’ added Anita.

  ‘Really?’ Carol paused and waited, but the children said nothing more. ‘I don’t know what happened after that,’ she continued. ‘There seemed to be a gap, till the next day I think, and then they came to you.’

  ‘So why didn’t they come here earlier, instead of that awful, long drive late at night?’

  ‘It might have been something to do with the courts.’

  Hamish had been half-listening to our conversation. ‘Me, Anita and Simon, we went to a foster home for the night, but we didn’t like it there.’

  ‘What do you know about the children’s family?’ I asked Carol, hopeful that she could fill me in.

  ‘Very little, I’m afraid.’

  That might have been true, with an emergency care order like this. But if she had known, she probably couldn’t have told me anything anyway. The agency is in a difficult situation. They can’t slag off the local authority who are responsible for the children, because they are the people taking the children from that local authority.

  ‘All I can tell you is that all four children were on the at-risk register. That’s the only information they’ve sent us so far.’

  ‘I do have a lot of concerns over these children, so I was hoping you could give me some answers,’ I said. ‘For a start, there seems to be a lot of gaps in their education.’

  ‘You mean their schooling?’

  ‘No, I mean eating, language and social skills – all that sort of thing.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that,’ she said with a smile, as Caroline chose this moment to grab a doll from Anita.

  ‘Give me that back, you cunt!’ yelled Anita, pulling it back from her.

  Caroline immediately burst into tears and banged the table with her uninjured fist. ‘I fucking hate you!’ she yelled, though it was difficult to understand and I don’t think Carol realised what she had said.

  ‘I tell you what,’ continued Carol. ‘I’ll arrange for a support-worker to come and help you. It looks like you might need it!’

  ‘Could you? That would be a great help.’

  ‘It will only be for a few hours a week.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But it will allow me to nip out and get the main supermarket shopping done.’ I told her about our chaotic experience, shopping with them all the night before and we had a good laugh. ‘They’re like over-enthusiastic puppies, you know, so excited they’re running everywhere, leaving havoc behind them. You should have seen Mike and me, trying to control the trolleys and run after them at the same time!’

  I suddenly noticed the look of alarm on Hamish’s face. ‘If I can do the big shop on my own once a week,’ I continued, ‘then I can take the children on a smaller trip every day for their things.’ Hamish relaxed again.

  ‘Every day?’ asked Carol in surprise.

  ‘Yes, they were starving when they arrived on Friday, and they’re all desperate for food. Hamish panics if he thinks we might run out of anything.’

  ‘Did we get enough cornflakes?’ he asked, as he went over to the pantry.

  I waited while he checked. ‘How many packets, Hamish?’

  He counted them. ‘. . . five, six . . . seven packets,’ he announced with a smile.

  Carol raised one eyebrow.

  ‘Hamish was in charge of food before they came here. I don’t think any of them would have survived without him,’ I explained, then turned to him. ‘Tell Carol what you told me.’

  ‘About the bins?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, we were always hungry, so I had to go out at night to get some food for us.’

  ‘On your own?’ asked Carol, shocked by this news. ‘Every day?’

  ‘Yes, I used to unlock the door and let myself out when it was dark. Then I went round the back of Tesco’s every night to get food out of their bins. If they were empty, I knocked at the door and a man gave me food, so I could take it back for Anita and the others.’ He sounded so matter-of-fact. ‘We had to eat.’

  ‘Yes, of course you did, Hamish,’ Carol reassured him, trying her best to hide her dismay. ‘Y
ou were a brave boy to do that for your sisters and brother.’

  ‘Give me that fucking pen!’ screeched Anita, snatching it from Caroline, who promptly pinched her arm.

  ‘I think it’s time for a runaround in the garden,’ I suggested. ‘Hamish, please can you take Simon out with you and let him play on the grass. Then, go to the shed and get out some garden toys for you all to play with. I’m sure there’s a football out there too if you want.’

  ‘OK.’ Hamish picked up his little brother. ‘Can we come in again when we are hungry?’ he asked, his face almost lined with anxiety.

  ‘Yes, of course you can. We’ll never be short of food here.’

  ‘Ooh, isn’t it quiet?’ sighed Carol when they had all gone out.

  ‘Yes,’ I said with a grin. ‘Great, isn’t it? Mike’s taken a couple of days off and he’s out there gardening, so he’ll keep an eye on them.’

  ‘Are you serious about going shopping every day, Trisha?’

  ‘If I don’t, Hamish will be permanently panic-stricken, and they all eat like horses, so we would soon start running out of things.’

  ‘Aren’t you making a rod for your own backs?’

  I shrugged and changed the subject. ‘Nappies are a problem. None of them are dry at night. I always put a waterproof cover on the mattress, but the bedding was soaked through and soiled. You should see the mound of washing in the bath!’ I laughed. ‘But when I looked for nappies for them at the supermarket, there weren’t any big enough. I managed to get some trainer pants to squeeze Hamish into and the largest available size of nappies for Anita, but they are too small. Caroline too. It’s a good thing they’re so thin, or I don’t know what I would do!’

  ‘I can help you with that,’ said Carol. ‘We have a special supplier for all that kind of thing.’

  ‘The girls were both covered in bruises when they arrived. Especially Caroline. She had more bruises than I could count. Simon had a cigarette burn on his ankle and they were all thick with grime and alive with head and body lice.’

  ‘Eugh!’ shuddered Carol.

  I told her my concerns about Caroline’s fear of the bath.

  ‘I wonder why,’ she said.

  ‘There’s a huge difference between someone who is frightened of water, and the fear caused by something that has happened.’

  She gave me a look. I’m sure she knew what I meant.

  ‘Simon worries me too,’ I told her. ‘The older three are quite wild, almost feral in some ways, but Simon just sits and does nothing.’

  ‘Remind me, how old is he?’

  ‘Nearly three. The strangest thing is that I didn’t think he could walk at first, but when I stood him up and let go, he did sort of stagger a few paces, very unsteady on his feet, with his hands held out to the sides like this.’ I showed her what it looked like. ‘It reminded me of a documentary I saw a few years ago about a Romanian orphanage, where children his age were left in iron cots all day. Some of them stood up and tried to walk in their cots, but the mattresses were so wobbly on the springs, they walked with their hands out, ready to catch the sides. Simon walks just like that, as if he learned to walk in his cot.’

  ‘Where is the father?’

  ‘I don’t know. The children never mention him. But I do wonder whether there was more than one father.’

  Carol watched the children playing outside while I made a pot of tea.

  ‘I can see what you mean about them being quite wild.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I suppose they need to let off some steam.’

  Just then there was a crash as a rounders bat flew into the air and landed on the patio, breaking a plant pot.

  ‘Come on, kids,’ I heard Mike saying, in his usual calm voice. ‘Let’s put these things away and go to the park.’

  ‘Yeah!’ the three older ones cheered, as they threw all the toys into the shed.

  ‘He’s very good with them, isn’t he?’ smiled Carol.

  ‘Yes, I couldn’t do any of this without him.’

  ‘Where were we?’

  ‘Their mum’s boyfriends,’ I said. ‘Do you know if there’s any history of abuse?’

  ‘No, we don’t have any background information at all yet. Do you mean sexual abuse?’

  ‘Yes. I suspected it from the first day, when they were in the playroom and Mike came in. Anita and Caroline both seemed to switch their behaviours.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘All I can describe it as is sexualised behaviour.’

  ‘Surely not. They were probably just vying for his attention.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I thought. It did seem very obvious, but they are so young. Perhaps I was imagining it. But Hamish said something last night.’ I paused. ‘He said that Wayne, the guy who broke Caroline’s arm . . . he said that Wayne sexed Anita.’

  ‘Sexed her? Are you sure that’s what he said?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely sure. But I didn’t ask him what he meant or how he knew. Maybe he’ll say more about it one day, when he’s ready.’

  ‘Perhaps you misunderstood him, Trisha,’ said Carol, making a note on her pad.

  ‘I hope so,’ I nodded, knowing I hadn’t.

  Just then, the children tumbled back into the house, all rushing into the kitchen, followed by Mike, looking sheepish.

  ‘Sorry, I couldn’t keep them out there any longer. They’re a barrel of monkeys today.’

  ‘OK, kids . . .’ I got up and stood in front of our tall fridge to prevent a food-fight in front of our visitor. ‘You’ve worn Mike out, so you can come and sit back at the table and play quietly while Carol and I finish our chat. And you can have some of these.’ I put out a plate of rock-cakes for them, which they all grabbed straight away and shovelled into their mouths before I had even got back to my seat.

  ‘Have you thought yet about schools for Hamish and Anita?’ asked Carol.

  ‘Well, no. It’s all been such a whirlwind, and it was just an emergency order to start with.’

  ‘That’s right, but now they’ll be here for longer, with the full care order, I think it will help you to get the two older ones settled in somewhere soon.’

  ‘So how did you get on with Carol?’ asked Mike later that evening.

  ‘All right, I think. She said she’d get a support worker to come for a few hours each week to give me a break.’

  ‘So you can go out and lunch with your friends?’ He grinned.

  ‘Some hope! As if I’d have time for that when I’ve got all the shopping and washing and ironing and cleaning to do for everyone.’

  ‘Do you think the kids have been any better today?’

  ‘Not that I noticed,’ I said. ‘I wonder what tomorrow will bring.’

  6

  Fish and Chips

  ‘All four children have suffered significant physical and emotional damage and deprivation.’

  Independent social work report

  I had been trying to get Hamish and Anita into schools – I rang every school I could think of, but it was always the same conversation.

  ‘Their names and dates of birth please, Mrs Merry.’

  That part was straightforward.

  ‘Are you wanting them to start straight away?’

  ‘Well, I’d like to settle them in here for another two or three weeks first. So maybe they could start after the Easter holiday?’

  ‘You do realise that these children should legally be in school now?’

  ‘Yes, I do realise that, but they’ve had a horrendous time before they came here, and they need . . .’

  ‘What school did they go to before you moved to this area?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I didn’t feel like explaining all the background before I even knew if the school had any places for them.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Not so much an apology as a question.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I repeated. ‘As their foster mother, I wasn’t told what school they went to.’ There was a silence at the other end. I could almost picture the express
ion on her face.

  ‘So . . . these are foster children?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. They’ve been badly neglected I’m afraid, and they’ve had a hard time, so they do have a few problems . . .’

  ‘Oh.’ A very curt sound.

  ‘So, can you take them from the beginning of next term?’

  ‘No, we’re completely full in those year groups,’ she said in a snooty voice. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Well, I knew she wasn’t sorry.

  After the last school in the city turned them down, I wasn’t sure what to do next. So I rang the education department at County Hall and told them the story of trying to find places and all the schools being full.

  ‘They can’t be,’ said this clipped voice on the other end of the phone. ‘We do have places in years one and two in some of our schools, so I don’t understand why they turned you away.’

  ‘Oh, but I do understand,’ I said. ‘None of the schools turned me down until I explained the children’s backgrounds.’

  ‘What do you mean, Mrs Merry?’

  ‘Their being foster children, taken away from years of severe neglect and brought to us, damaged and starved. As soon as I mentioned foster children and problems, suddenly every school place was full.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe.’

  ‘Well, you don’t have to believe. It’s true. I could hardly send them to a school without any explanation, as they are both likely to carry their problems into the classroom with them, and they will need sympathetic, caring teachers.’

  ‘All the teachers in our schools are sympathetic and caring, Mrs Merry.’

  I know when I’m being patronised and I don’t take it well. ‘So what do you want me to do?’ I challenged her.

  ‘Well, you’ll just have to keep trying.’

  That was my red rag moment.

  ‘No,’ I raised my voice. ‘That’s it. I’ve tried every school in the city and they’ve all said no. So if you don’t find my foster children places, I won’t be sending them to school.’

  ‘But you must. If you don’t send them to school, you’ll be breaking the law.’