by Alex Flynn
I somehow manage to get through the rest of the school day without causing any harm to myself, or anybody else, so I’m free to retreat to my bedroom. Whilst I’m going through a text updating session with Jack there’s a knock on my bedroom door. Because it’s around about the same time that I received the call yesterday from Mum I let myself think that it could be her again so I get up and answer the door.
Unfortunately, it’s Mrs Robinson standing on the other side so there’s no way that there’d be a call for me, Mrs Robinson isn’t clever enough to deal with new fangled technology.
‘I’ve got some papers to go through with you,’ Mrs Robinson says.
I wonder what for but I’m too pre-occupied with Mrs Robinson just barging into my room to have time to question what about. When she’s made an adequate enough space for herself on the edge of my bed, she tells me it’s all about the process for when I go out to see Mum tomorrow.
Basically, there are some forms that cover Mrs Robinson’s back tomorrow in case something goes wrong and Mum tries to abscond with me. I feel like reminding her that Mum’s only got 9 days until she’s due to be released so she’s hardly likely to try to do something like that, but Mrs Robinson doesn’t look like she’s got to mental capacity to process something like that. She’s just got a siren blazing in her head screaming “risk”. If something goes wrong then she’s in danger of losing everything that she’s arse licked her way through for the past 30 years.
I look through the various risk assessments that have been completed. Mrs Robinson has kindly granted me permission to leave the premises for 3 hours provided that Sandra is in my care the whole time. We’re only allowed to visit a designated cafe in town and Sandra must contact Mrs Robinson upon arrival at the cafe. When we’re about to leave, Sandra should also let her know if the meeting was a success and what our expected return time will be.
I still try to kid myself that I don’t live in a prison but it’s times like this when it’s hard to compare living here to anything else. It doesn’t really bother me because things could be worse, but it does make me wonder if my life will ever be my own and if I’ll ever truly be free. That’s why I want to try and get some GCSEs. Then at least I’ll be able to attempt to look for a job because the only way I’m ever going to get any peace in life is if I conform like the rest of the drones and go to work in a dead end job that painfully eats away at my soul.
‘Do you understand all of this?’ Mrs Robinson asks.
‘Some of it,’ I reply, seeing if she’ll fail to pick up on my sarcasm and waste her time going through it all with me.
‘Well, I’m sure that I can get Sandra to explain it when she arrives tomorrow morning.’
‘If you could do please.’
Mrs Robinson tilts her head sideways and nods it back and forth like she’s about to peck at me. I wait for her to say something, to see if she’s going to pull me up on my insolence, but she just shuffles her papers into a neat pile and tells me that she’ll leave me to it.
Before I’ve even had a chance to sit down on my bed and find my place in my book, Kate lets herself into my room. I don’t touch myself in front of her any more. Sandra had a word with her about it one day. I found that I was just able to stop simply by telling Kate when she was annoying me and that I wanted her to go.
Looking back at it now, I feel really embarrassed about what I used to do to myself. Through Sandra, I’ve managed to let Kate know I think that her time when she’s my Key Worker would be better spent allowing me to focus on certain tasks that will help me when I eventually leave her. So today Kate’s dragged the ironing board in with her.
Even though she’s already told me twice how to use the iron, Kate insists on going through the various settings with me. It’s like she’s finally found a part of her job that she’s actually good at so she’s going to utilise it as much as possible to justify her wage.
Going through stuff like this makes me feel like one of those orphaned chimpanzees you see on television that have to be taught by zoo keepers how to behave as a primate because their mother’s have been shot by poachers. At least they spare me the indignity of having to wear a nappy.
Ironing is about as fun as waiting for The Psychotic to finish writing a sentence but it’s one of the “life skills” that I have to learn for myself. There’s no point in my mental state getting to the point where I can fend for myself without having my every need catered for if I’m unable to perform simple tasks like ironing.
Kate asks me if I’ve ever been interested in learning to sew but I think that I’ll take up that lesson when I actually need it. I get myself set-up with the ironing board and Kate sort of gets the hint that I can manage it myself and leaves me alone. After all, I want the satisfaction of knowing that I ironed the clothes I’ll wear to see Mum tomorrow all by myself.
Chapter Eleven
Even though it’s going to be Sandra who takes me out today, it’s Kate who’s fussing around me all morning. Putting me on edge and making me stress out over something that has enough chance of going wrong as it is. I think about the amount of “procedure” that I’ve had to go through just to get permission to be officially allowed out for 3 hours so it must be a lot worse for Mum with her circumstances. Surely they’re not going to have her chained to the prison guard? That would be so embarrassing, for everyone concerned.
I eat the breakfast that Kate’s brought in for me but I consider not eating too much of it in case I’m not hungry later on. But then knowing me I’ll be too nervous to eat after so it won’t really matter. Another of the life skills and routines that I’m keen on getting into my life is to do my own washing up. Although washing a few plates in the sink in my en-suite bathroom doesn’t really amount to much, it’s still a start. When Kate made the joke that I could always do the washing up in the staff room I just ignored her. When Sandra made it, I laughed, slightly.
It’s times like this, when I’m just sat waiting for time to tick on by, that I realise how little I’ve got going on in my life. If a normal person were arranging to meet someone for lunch then they’d have things to do in the morning. Shopping to do. Washing to do. Cleaning to do. But I get all of that done for me.
So does it really help me? Well, sometimes it’s nice to take advantage of it because everyone has one of those days when they don’t want to do anything expect mong out and stare blankly at the T.V. But other times it sort of makes me feel incapable. It’s almost like they don’t trust that I’m able to look after myself.
Because of this, when the time to make the decision of where I should be moved on to finally comes, they can use the fact that I’m practically waited on hand and foot as proof that I’m not ready to move out of specialist care, especially with someone who’s just been released from prison.
I know I keep on going over this time and time again but it really is important to me. I don’t want to stay in the care system for a day longer than necessary. I know that bad things have happened to me in the past, and I’ve fallen into the hands of people who’ve exploited my vulnerability, but I’m not that same person any more.
I’ve now got some structure in my life. Some focus. Some things that I actually look forward to. Text messages from Jack. Morning hugs from Sandra. I even look forward to being given some homework to do from Miss Baxter because it makes me feel like I’m doing something with my evenings, rather than wallowing in self-pity.
I might well be one of life’s victims but that doesn’t mean that I should let it control my life. I’ve got more than enough excuses to justify being addicted to anti-depressants and spending my whole life on benefits, but I don’t want to live like that. I’ve not got any big plan of what I’m going to do with my life yet, but I know that I’m not going to let it be totally ruined.
For once Sandra seems satisfied with the choice of clothes that I’ve made, or maybe she’s learnt that I don’t cope well with people trying to tell me what
to wear, when she enters my room. I don’t have the best of choices as it is. I have been taken out shopping in the past but it was never a good experience. At least one of The Others would be dragged along as well and I was more bothered that people would be able to tell that we were “kids in care”.
And yes, I am ashamed at being stigmatised with that tag. Wouldn’t you be? It’s also one of the things I’m most worried about today. I’m sure that we’re going to stand out too much. There’s going to be me and at least three adult women sat in a little cafe. That’s not normal. How many 16 year-old girls do you see who pop out for tea and gossip with her mum and friends? But it’s something that Mum wanted to do. She’s going to get another mini-taste of freedom today so I’m going to put myself out for someone else for a change.
‘How are we going to get there?’ I ask Sandra.
‘We’ll go in my car.’
‘Will they pay your petrol money?’
‘The money’s not important.’
‘What else did you have planned today?’
‘Nothing that can’t wait until next week.’
Sandra’s normally very candid about her private life. She’ll tell me the odd fact about herself every now and again but she never goes into much detail. She’s the exact opposite of Gillian. I think that’s why I like her so much. You sort of have to learn about Sandra as you go along.
When I first met Sandra, I thought that she was just another of the bumbling middle-aged idiots who seem to find their way into this industry. On her first day, she didn’t really do anything to impress me, but she slowly revealed her true self and she’s just what I needed.
After double checking that she’s got the all important relevant paperwork with her, Sandra announces that it’s time to go. I’m not as nervous as I was the other day but today’s meeting is a big step-forward. Mum’s due to be released in just over a week so it’s important that we stop being virtual strangers around each other as soon as possible, otherwise our relationship isn’t going to work.
Mrs Robinson comes out into the car park to wish us good luck. She looks more nervous than I do but if today goes wrong then she’s the one who’s got the questions to answer. Not that anything is going to go wrong. After all, I’ve got Sandra by my side.
Chapter Twelve
We arrived at the cafe a little early, but ten minutes after the appointed arrival time and there’s still no sign of Mum. I ask Sandra if she’s got anyway of contacting Mum. She says she hasn’t but that Mrs Robinson confirmed that she’d had notification Mum had set off so she must be stuck in traffic. Plus, she’s not familiar with this town so unless whoever Mum is with knows where they’re going then they might have trouble finding us.
It feels weird being out and about. I feel like I stand out. Not because I look young. I look older than most of the uneducated teenage delinquents who’ve got no chance of ever finding a job they like so they have to spend their time wondering around shopping centres and deluding themselves that they’re hard. But it feels weird being out because I sort of have a purpose today. A reason for being out.
When my impression of being a whining teenager is realistic enough, Sandra agrees to phone up Mrs Robinson to see if she’s had notification that Mum’s changed her mind on the way and has gone back to her prison cell. Just as Sandra starts talking to Mrs Robinson I notice Mum approaching us across the road, but I don’t say anything. I let Sandra go through all the rigmarole of talking to Mrs Robinson until she notices Mum standing over her.
‘Sorry we’re late,’ Mum says, ‘got a little bit lost.’
Mum looks a little bit flustered, like she’s been worried that I’d have been concerned that she wouldn’t be coming. Thankfully she’s not in handcuffs today but the same prison guard is with her. There’s also two male prison officers who are trying to keep as low a profile as possible, but it’s obvious who they are and what they’re here for. Well, it’s obvious to me. Although I don’t think everyone else in the cafe is as perceptive as me.
‘I wanted to take a detour as well,’ Mum says, ‘past the house I’ll be moving into. It doesn’t look much from the outside but a home is what you make of it on the inside.’
Sandra offers Mum her help if she needs anything whilst she’s getting to grips with the local area. I sit listening to every word but I don’t stick my nose in. Mum’s doing her best to turn every negative into a positive but crucially she’s not mentioned anything about me living there or even visiting.
I want to ask Mum what area the house is in but a waitress comes over to take our order. None of us, apart from the prison guard, have even looked at the menu so it takes us ages to order. The waitress does her best to smile and look patient with us but I can tell that this is a part of her job she hates.
I look at the waitress and try to work out what kind of a life she’s had. She’s probably around my age and looks like she could be intelligent but doing school work or exams has never been a priority of hers. When it comes to ordering I just have the same as Sandra because I always seem to like what she brings in for me to eat. However, Mum gives me a look like she’s slightly jealous and wishes that it was her that I was copying.
The waitress comes back with our drinks and some cutlery and I can’t help but wonder how she’d have survived if she’d have lived my life. I also wonder if I’d have ended up doing something normal like working as a waitress if Gavin had never of walked into Mum’s life. But there’s no point in thinking about things like that. Nothing is going to change it.
‘You’re quiet today,’ Mum says to me.
‘Sorry. Where abouts is your new house?’
Thankfully Mum says that it on the opposite side of town to where Adam and his “friends” live so that makes me feel a little bit easier about the place.
‘Has the house been decorated?’ Sandra asks Mum.
‘I’ve asked for plain paper to be put up so I can paint it whatever colour I want.’
‘See,’ Sandra says to me, nudging me in the side, ‘you’ll have to get Kate to give you some painting lessons so that you can paint your own room.’
I try to laugh at Sandra’s joke but I’m concentrating more on Mum’s reaction. Thankfully she laughs and starts a story about the past.
‘I was always pretty good at decorating. Do you remember Jennifer? Your granddad taught me. I’d just finished our old house when...,’ she stops and looks away. ‘Well, no point in dragging up the past.’
‘No,’ I say quietly, looking down at the table. I expected things to be easier today. I expected to be more relaxed and that I’d automatically know what to say. Instead, I’m looking at the clock on the wall and feeling thankful there’s only around 45 minutes until Mum will have to go.
To break the silence Sandra asks Mum more about the course she has to go on when she is released to help her get back into work. That’s another way in which I’ve ruined Mum’s life. Although she was a single mum, I remember that she always worked. Even though it was only part-time, it was still far more than the stereotypical single mum that no doubt people are quick to assume that she would have been when they first heard about her.
So because of me Mum’s got a massive gaping hole on her C.V. And not only that, she’s going to have to spend her time in a room full of morons who’ve got to pretend that they’re looking for a job otherwise they’ll get their benefits stopped.
I saw a programme about it on T.V. once and I certainly wouldn’t want to be forced into a situation like that. The day starts by being patronised by some middle-aged frump who stands in front of a flip-chart and writes down potential jobs types that people with their “skills” can apply for. And the second half of the day consists of being split into small groups to make cardboard buildings of a shopping centre and calling it “teamwork”.
Mum seems like she’s not exactly looking forward to the course but is resigned to the fact that it’s something that she
’s got to do. After all, even though she might be about to be released from prison she’s still at the mercy of others, like her parole officer, because without their help then she’s going to find it very difficult on her own to get anyone to give her a chance.
My future situation is a little uncertain. Because I’ve started doing school work again then they’ve started to encourage me to look at the possibility of enrolling in a college. Although to me that just looks like I’d have to start again next September. The best solution for me would be to enrol in a college for this year but to receive a home tutor, someone better than Miss Baxter of course, then I could do the exams in the college, with all the other school drop outs and general thickos who couldn’t pass their exams the first time, in the summer. I’m working on that prospect with Sandra from time to time but she says I’ve to put things like that on hold until after Adam and his “friends” trial.
The waitress brings our food over and I’m slightly disappointed with how bland my jacket potato with cheese and beans looks. I’ll copy whatever Mum has next time as her sandwich is dripping with chicken, bacon and cheese. No one says anything as we eat our food but then I realise that today isn’t about the conversation; it’s about the situation. It’s about doing something normal. It’s about being able to go out in public without standing out. Not freaking out. It’s all about Mum showing her prison guard that she’s not a danger to the public any more and that she isn’t going to be responsible for any more drowning children.
Mum asks me a few more questions. They’re pretty basic, the sort of questions a Mum should know about her 16 year-old daughter, but then I haven’t exactly made any attempt to keep her updated with my personal life over the past couple of years. And then the subject turns to the next couple of weeks.
‘It’s going to be strange for me moving into a new house in a new town on my own,’ Mum says.
