Four Waifs on Our Doorstep Read online

  ‘No, I’m not going if she brings Wayne,’ shrieked Anita in a sudden panic.

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ I tried to reassure her. ‘I’m sure nobody like that would be allowed to come in with her. It will be relatives only.’

  ‘Will you come in with us?’ asked Caroline.

  ‘I will take you there and wait for you, but I don’t think I’m supposed to go in with you.’

  ‘What if we refuse to go in unless you come in too?’ asked Hamish.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I replied, honestly. ‘Why, do you really want me to come in that much?’

  ‘Yes,’ they all chorused in unison.

  ‘All right, I’ll ask if I can, as it’s the first visit, but I can’t promise they’ll let me.’

  We spoke quite a lot about the impending visit and the older three all seemed apprehensive about seeing their mum, and the tension rose to a crescendo when we pulled up in the car outside the modern family centre building.

  ‘Do I have to go in?’ asked Hamish.

  ‘I think you should,’ I said. ‘Your mum has travelled all that way. She’ll be upset if you don’t come and say hello to her.’

  They all piled out of the back seats and we climbed the shallow steps to the front entrance. Inside, a smiling woman welcomed us and took us to the room where the meeting would take place. As I predicted, there was a lovely play corner, full of books, toys and puzzles, so they all made a beeline for that. Even Simon, who by now was walking a bit more confidently, pattered off after them.

  ‘She’s not arrived yet,’ said the woman. ‘I’ll bring her straight through when she gets here.’

  I passed by the comfortable-looking easy chairs, grouped around a square coffee table, and went over to join the kids in the play area. They had so many lovely picture books there that I chose one and started to read it to Simon and Caroline, while Anita had a go at a jigsaw puzzle and Hamish emptied out a box of Lego to build with.

  I didn’t notice how much time had passed until the woman came back in, alone.

  ‘No sign of her then?’ I asked.

  ‘No. She’s already half an hour late. Shall I call Social Services to see if they know anything?’

  ‘Yes, that’s a good idea. Thank you.’

  Another five minutes and back she came again. ‘I phoned them and spoke to somebody called Steve,’ she said. ‘He told me that they’d given her a train pass and ordered a taxi to take her to the station. But when the taxi got there, she said she had some friends round, so she would have to come another day instead.’ This pleasant woman looked as dismayed as I felt. Having spent the past couple of days building the children up to be ready for this meeting, how was I going to let them down gently? I had to tell them their mum wasn’t coming, but I couldn’t tell them why – that she preferred to spend the afternoon with her friends than with her own children who she hadn’t seen for several weeks.

  I felt sure there would be repercussions over the next few days, but when I told them, they seemed to take it in their stride, as if they half expected it.

  ‘She never goes to appointments,’ explained Hamish. ‘So I thought she might not come, unless somebody drove her all the way here.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t suppose they could do that,’ I said.

  We all went back home and they just carried on as usual, as if nothing had happened.

  ‘I’m just waiting for the aftershocks,’ I told Mike that evening when they’d all gone to bed.

  ‘Don’t worry, love,’ he said. ‘You’ll cope with it. You always do.’

  9

  Dicing with Death

  ‘The centre reports that the care of these children isn’t good enough. They are neglected, unkempt and infested with lice. The children constantly ask for food and have eaten ravenously when food is offered to them.’

  Social Services report

  I knew it couldn’t last. The morning after the missed visit from his mum, Hamish’s fury erupted. He stormed down the stairs and into the kitchen, banged his bowl and spoon about on the table and spat at Anita sitting next to him.

  ‘You wanker!’ she shouted at him.

  ‘You’re the wanker!’ he yelled back at her.

  ‘Get away from me.’

  He got up, threw his spoon across the floor, opened a cupboard and slammed it shut again.

  ‘Steady on, Hame,’ said Mike in his calm voice.

  ‘I fucking hate you,’ Hamish replied. ‘I hate you all. I hate this fucking place.’ He stamped around the outside of the room, muttering obscenities, seething to himself. He stopped, red in the face when he got to me.

  ‘I’m just going to do a cooked breakfast for Mike,’ I said, trying to calm him down. ‘Would you like some?’

  ‘Keep your bloody bacon!’ he yelled, as close as he could to my face, and spat at me. I could feel a gloop of saliva landing on my cheek and running down onto my chin, before I wiped it away with some kitchen towel.

  ‘Right, young man. It’s back to your bedroom for you. I’m not having that kind of behaviour down here. If you want to shout and swear and spit, go and do it in your own room. And don’t come down until you are ready to be civilised to everyone. I understand why you are angry, but that is no reason to upset your brother and sisters, Mike and me.’

  He stood his ground. How could I resolve this?

  But Mike came up with the answer. ‘No fish and chips for you tonight, Hamish, unless you go up to your room. And don’t come down until you are ready to apologise.’

  He thought about this for only two seconds, turned smartly and marched off upstairs. I heard the door slamming, but all was peace and quiet after that.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ said his sad voice from the doorway, an hour or so later. ‘I was just so cross with Mum.’

  ‘I know, love.’ I went over and gave him a hug. ‘It’s hard coping with everything that’s happened to you, isn’t it?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Come on, let’s get you something to eat.’

  As he ate his late breakfast, I sat down at the table with him and sewed a button onto one of Mike’s shirts. ‘I don’t know what Mike does with his buttons. They’re always going missing.’

  ‘Mum wouldn’t do anything like that. She’s very lazy,’ he said.

  ‘Well, lots of people don’t bother with sewing unless they have to.’

  ‘But she doesn’t do anything. No cooking, no cleaning. The house was always filthy. I hated that. I hated having to wear dirty clothes too. Mum hardly ever did the washing, so I sometimes did it when we went to bed, but I couldn’t get the clothes dry in time for morning, so we had to wear wet clothes to school. My teacher told me that she had made a complaint about my wet clothes, but they never did anything about it.’ He paused. ‘It was the same with the food.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I was always hungry. We never had breakfast, so I used to ask for food at nursery when I was younger, and then at school. Some of the teachers used to give me a biscuit, but I was still hungry. I used to look through the school bins at playtimes, looking for something to eat.’

  ‘Didn’t anyone see you?’

  ‘Yes. My teacher asked me why I was so hungry and I didn’t know what to say.’

  ‘Did she contact Social Services about that too?’

  ‘I think she did. I don’t know. Nothing ever happened about it.’

  ‘That must have been very difficult for you, being so hungry all the time.’

  ‘It wasn’t just me,’ he said. ‘The others were hungry too. I had to find food for them as well.’

  He finished his cereal, so I made him some Marmite toast.

  ‘I don’t know why I was so cross this morning,’ he said between mouthfuls. ‘I knew she wouldn’t come. She just sleeps late and lays about the house with her friends.’

  ‘Who were the friends?’

  ‘I don’t know. Just men. We used to get left with them sometimes. But we were left on our own a lot too.
’

  ‘Did that worry you?’

  ‘No,’ he shrugged.

  ‘I know Anita was at school with you before you came here. But what about Caroline and Simon?’

  ‘Caroline was supposed to be going to nursery, but Mum hardly ever took her. Sometimes one of her mates did.’

  ‘One of the men?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Didn’t they buy food when they were at the house so often?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. When I was at school, I used to worry about Caroline and especially Simon, because he was always at home. He was Mum’s favourite, but I used to worry that she wouldn’t change his nappies or feed him.’

  ‘He must have been very smelly by the time you got home.’

  ‘Yes, but sometimes Simon and Caroline pulled their nappies off, so there was a lot of mess when that happened.’

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘I don’t think Mum liked Caroline, so she used to tie her to her bed when I wasn’t there.’

  ‘Yes, Caroline told me that. She said you untied her. Do you think the social workers knew about that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Mum didn’t like the social workers. She argued with them. I remember Mum was right in front of me when she punched one woman in the face.’

  ‘Oh dear. Was the woman all right?’

  ‘I don’t know. We never saw her again.’

  ‘You told me that Simon had nothing to play with in his cot.’

  ‘None of us had any toys. Two social workers brought us toys for Christmas presents one year, but I think Mum sold them.’

  ‘So what did you play with?’

  ‘There was an old wrecked car on our drive.’

  ‘Whose car was it?’

  ‘I don’t know. But it didn’t have any tyres and the doors were falling off. It was good fun to play with. We played games in it. I used to like pretending I was driving the car on a long journey. Sometimes we pretended it was a pirate ship. That was good.’ He smiled. ‘Sometimes me and Anita went down to the river with sticks and we tried to pierce the fish, but they were usually too quick for us. I did catch a fish once and I took it home to show my dad. He gave me a pound coin and told me to go and throw it back into the river.’

  ‘Do you remember your dad quite well?’

  ‘Yes, a bit. He left when I was three or four I think. I remember the police kept coming round to arrest him and take him away.’

  ‘Come on, sunshine,’ I said, standing up. ‘I think we’d better go and see how the others are getting on.’

  ‘Can we take some food down with us?’

  ‘Yes, but let’s make it healthy food. It’s not long till lunchtime.’

  We took four apples down to the playroom, where they were all busy demolishing a toy farm, with Anita about to jump on it.

  ‘An! Don’t do that,’ I said. ‘Simon likes to play with the farm. I’ll put it over there for him.’ I don’t think he’d ever played with it, but I thought he might like it, so I lifted it up and placed it in front of where he was sitting. Hamish, bless him, brought over some of the farm animals that went with it and set them all out on the floor. Simon picked up a cow and took a close look at it. Then he gathered some of the other animals and started to reposition them.

  It was nice and quiet while they crunched their Granny Smiths. I had cut up one of them to make it easier for Simon to eat and he carefully picked up one quarter and started to nibble on it.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘That’s all right,’ I replied, in shock. ‘Good boy.’

  Hamish picked up a picture book and started to read it out loud, word by word. That made me feel guilty.

  ‘Well done, Hame. Do you miss being at school?’

  ‘A bit,’ he nodded. ‘But I’m glad I haven’t got to walk to school any more.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I used to walk Anita to nursery to start with, before I went to school. I was only five and I used to get her up and help her get dressed. Then we had to walk down the path by the canal.’

  ‘Hamish saved my life,’ Anita chipped in.

  ‘Really?’ I couldn’t help being shocked. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Yes, she fell into the canal and I had to pull her out,’ he said matter-of-factly.

  ‘I don’t remember falling in, but I remember panicking. I was struggling.’ She acted it out dramatically. ‘I tried to climb up the wall, but I couldn’t. I was scared because I thought the fishes would eat my toes.’

  ‘I got a stick,’ Hamish continued, ‘and reached it out to her to grab hold of, so that I could pull her in to the side.’

  ‘I nearly drowned,’ added Anita. ‘I lay on the ground and I couldn’t get my breath back.’

  ‘Then we walked further down the path and this man with a beard came out of the bushes. He was watching us, but he didn’t come to help.’

  ‘I was frightened of him,’ said Anita.

  ‘I think his name was David. He used to babysit us. He was dangerous. He beckoned us to go to him, but we ran away.’

  ‘So where was the nursery?’

  ‘Not far from the canal. I used to take her there and then walk the rest of the way to school. But this year she has been coming with me to school. It was OK until we got to the dual carriageway. I never really knew how to cross it, so at first I just closed my eyes and ran across. Later I tried to look for a gap.’

  I was horrified. ‘Didn’t anybody see you trying to cross?’

  ‘Some of the parents saw us from outside the school. One of my friends said his mum told the head teacher. I had to go to her office and she asked me some questions.’

  ‘Did anyone do anything about it?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘It sounds like you were dicing with death!’

  ‘Hamish always looked after me,’ said Anita, with uncharacteristic admiration.

  ‘And me . . . and Simon,’ added Caroline.

  After I had tucked the three younger children into their beds that evening, I came into Hamish’s room. He was standing in his pyjamas, looking at his face in the mirror, with a solemn expression, which slightly unnerved me. He was still very small for his age, but he had the look of an old man, careworn and anxious.

  I walked up behind him, so that he could see me in the mirror.

  ‘What’s up, Hame?’

  He said nothing.

  ‘You look worried.’

  He hesitated. Then out it came: ‘I don’t know who I am.’

  I was shocked, uncertain what to say, so I put my arms gently around his shoulders, then turned him around to face me. He didn’t resist. His big brown eyes, deep and doleful, stared into mine as he let out a long sigh.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked him as we went and sat together on the edge of his bed, my arm still around his bony shoulders.

  ‘I don’t know who I am,’ he repeated with a small voice.

  ‘Really?’ I tried to understand what he might be thinking. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do any more.’

  ‘You mean, because you don’t have to go and find food any more, or keep the others safe, or nag at Mum to change Simon’s nappy, or—’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve taken it all away from you, haven’t I?’

  He nodded, his bottom lip quivering.

  ‘But you do remind me whenever you think I’ve forgotten. That’s very helpful. I have so much to do in the house that I like it when you remind me about mealtimes or snacks or nappies, and you always know what we need when we go to the supermarket, so I know I can rely on you. I reckon you’ve got a much better memory than I have. Mike said that just a couple of days ago.’

  ‘Did he? Really?’ His face brightened up.

  ‘Yes, really. And the younger ones always turn to you for help when something goes wrong, or they’re not sure what to do. So you see, you will always be their big brother-hero, not just for saving An
ita’s life, but in lots of ways, every day.’

  He lifted his hunched shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he said, a slow smile lighting up his face.

  ‘He really is old beyond his years,’ I said to Mike later that evening, as I told him about what Hamish had said. ‘A part of him just wants to be a little boy, but he can’t let himself . . . yet. I suppose it feels like we’ve pulled the rug away from under his feet.’

  ‘Yes, he’s a good lad, and he must know he’s come to the right place. If anyone can help him adjust, you can.’

  ‘I hope so, but you’ll have to do your bit too.’

  ‘Haven’t I always?’

  ‘Yes, love. You’ve always been my rock, and you never complained . . .’ I paused. ‘Do you remember those days when we used to have lots of emergency placements and you never knew who would be here when you came home from work?’

  He laughed. ‘Yes, there’d be three round the breakfast table when I left in the morning, and six eating their tea when I got back home again. That took some adjusting to.’

  ‘For both of us! But you always took it in your stride.’

  ‘Hamish will be all right . . . even if we’re reduced to a frazzle!’ He grinned.

  After more than thirty years of fostering, I was shocked to be invited to attend a case review meeting. In the past, I didn’t even know when they were, and only discovered afterwards what had been discussed and decided. But now that we were with John’s agency, he made sure we could be included.

  ‘Nobody knows these children better than you,’ he explained. ‘We need to know what you think about their progress and how best to meet their needs.’

  So they were not only telling me the date, they were asking me to go along and give my views! I certainly had a lot of questions to ask and things to say.

  My biggest concern at that moment was Caroline and her abnormal fear of the bathroom, so I really wanted to talk about that, and what it might mean.

  I walked into that big room, full of social workers sat around a long table, all looking at me as I sat down on the last chair.

  If I could have read their thoughts, I think they would have been ‘troublemaker’.