Mummy Told Me Not to Tell: The true story of a troubled boy with a dark secret. Cathy Glass
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.
Jill 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