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