by Cathy Glass
‘He was in school when he was wiv me,’ Tracey added.
‘I understand the education department is looking for a school,’ I said to Tracey. I’ll phone the department next week and see if I can speed things up.’
‘Yeah, you do that. I want ‘im in school on Monday,’ Tracey snapped. I thought that was highly unlikely, given it was Wednesday evening now, but I also knew I wouldn’t be saying that to Tracey. I just wanted to get Reece into the car. He was going frantic, and I knew he would be very upset later.
The other carer, who’d been waiting by her car, now came over and Sharon looked at her. ‘We need to be going,’ the woman said to Sharon, so I guessed she was a carer from the residential home where Sharon lived. The woman was only in her mid-twenties and no match for Tracey.
‘She’ll go when I say she’s ready!’ Tracey barked at her. ‘And I want a word wiv you. I ain’t pleased about Sharon’s care.’
At that moment another car drew into the car park. We all looked over as it pulled to a halt a few yards away.
‘It’s Marie,’ Susie yelled, and I realized that up to that point, there hadn’t been anyone to collect Susie and take her home.
‘She can wait! I ain’t finished yet,’ Tracey hollered.
Marie got out of the car and came over. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said. ‘There was an accident on the motorway.’
Tracey ignored her, returning her attention to me. ‘And why ain’t Sharky wearing a vest? He’ll catch ‘is bleeding death.’
Reece was actually well wrapped up, with a T-shirt under a zip-up fleece and his winter coat on top, but I wasn’t going to argue. ‘He can wear a vest if you wish,’ I said. ‘It’s not a problem.’
‘Make sure he does,’ Tracey returned. ‘It’s bad for ‘is chest if he ain’t wearing a vest. He always wore one wiv me.’
I nodded and said nothing, thinking that not wearing a vest wasn’t as bad as breathing in her smoke.
‘We must go,’ Sharon’s carer said again. ‘It’s gone eight.’
‘She will go when I say,’ Tracey hissed at her and I saw the carer take a step back.
I looked to the social workers and I could see from their expressions that they were as exasperated as we were, but reluctant to do any more than placate Tracey and hope the children would eventually find their ways into the cars as the boys had done. The situation was ridiculous; it was bedlam. I cringed at the thought that contact had been set at twice a week.
‘Reece, come and say goodbye to your mum,’ I called, but Reece was making so much noise I doubted he had even heard me.
‘Time to go, Susie,’ Marie called to her as Tracey’s attention was diverted by barking at the social workers.
‘Sharky ain’t been in school for months,’ she yelled at the social workers, starting to wave her fist. ‘What you doing about it? Bleeding nuffin’!’ The security guard took a step closer to Tracey. ‘And you can bog off,’ she yelled at him.
‘Tracey, it’s getting very late,’ the social worker said eventually. ‘Reece and Susie should be in bed by now. If you come into the office tomorrow we can discuss it then, and I’ll try to find out what’s happening.’
This seemed to defuse Tracey slightly and spark some cooperation. ‘Sharky!’ she bellowed. ‘Get in that bleeding car now!’
‘Sharky,’ Sharon yelled in a direct imitation of her mother. ‘Get in that bleeding car now!’
‘Shut up, will ya,’ Tracey yelled at Sharon. ‘I ain’t asked ya!’
Reece took no notice. He was still yelping and whooping and jumping up and down, out of control and oblivious to everyone, even his mother.
‘Sharky! Get in the bleeding car now!’ Tracey yelled again. Then she went over and, grabbing him roughly by the arm, brought him to my car.
‘Get in, good boy,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ll put your belt on.’
Reece got in and then Tracey stuck her head in. ‘You got the right belt in ere?’ she yelled at me over her shoulder.
‘Yes, I’m very particular about car safety,’ I reassured her.
‘Good, ‘cos I can sue you if you ain’t. I’m not ‘aving me kids’ lives put at risk like that last bleeding carer.’
Tracey pulled her head out of the car and I fastened Reece’s seatbelt.
‘Mum! Mum!’ Reece yelled.
‘What is it, boy?’ She stuck her head back in. I glanced at the social workers, who met my gaze with resigned frustration.
‘Bring me Nintendo next time,’ Reece yelled into his mother’s face, ‘and me games, all of ‘em.’
‘OK, Sharky. Don’t you worry, I will,’ Tracey yelled back. Pulling her head out of the car, she turned to me. ‘Ain’t you got no Nintendo for ‘im to play wiv?’
‘No, but we’ve lots of other toys,’ I said tersely, because I was coming to the end of my patience. ‘If you would like to bring Reece’s Nintendo, it would be nice for him to have that too.’
‘I’ll bring it, Sharky!’ she yelled towards the open car door. ‘Don’t you worry, your mum will see to it.’
I had my hand on the car door, ready to shut it as soon as the opportunity presented itself. ‘Say goodbye to your mum,’ I said, and began to ease the door to.
‘Goodbye, Mum!’ Reece yelled, but Tracey wasn’t listening. She had her back to him and was now bellowing at Marie about Susie’s hair.
I quickly closed Reece’s door, went round to my door and got in, pressing the central locking system.
‘Mum,’ Reece screeched. ‘Mum! I want me games! All of ‘em!’ He was banging on the window now, screaming, ‘Mum, Mum!’
But Tracey was oblivious, shouting at Marie and gesticulating at Susie’s hair. There was nothing to be gained by staying, so I quickly started the engine and pulled to the exit.
‘Mum, don’t forget me games!’ Reece screamed again, banging his fists even harder on the window.
Once out of the car park, and a little way along the main road, I turned into a side road. Parking, I got out and went round to settle Reece. He was beside himself, screaming that his mum would forget the games and also just screaming. I climbed into the back seat and sat next to him. With my arm around him I gently talked to him and stroked his head for over quarter of an hour until he had calmed down.
By the time I arrived home it was after nine o’clock. Lucy and Paula met me in the hall, looking worried.
‘What happened?’ Lucy said.
‘Don’t ask.’
‘We thought you were just going to collect Reece from contact,’ Paula said.
‘I was! I’ll explain later.’
I took Reece straight up to the bathroom and helped him have a quick wash and clean his teeth; then I helped him into his pyjamas and into bed. He was emotionally exhausted, as I was. He fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. I came out and went downstairs. Then I did something that I only normally do at Christmas, New Year and on my birthday: I poured myself a drink.
I sat in the living room with a glass of white wine and rested my head back on the sofa. My ears still buzzed from all the noise, and my forehead throbbed with tension. It had been an absolute nightmare and I doubted it had done the children much good either. Reece had been hysterical and I knew the other carers would have their work cut out calming their children down too. Contact is supposed to give the children quality time with their parents and siblings, not generate chaos, with all of them shouting and hitting each other. If it had been like that during the actual contact session, then I would have thought the supervising social workers would have something to say about it in their reports.
Yet, despite the chaos and Tracey’s aggressive and highly critical manner, part of me felt sorry for her. She obviously had learning difficulties herself and when all was said and done, she’d had seven children and hadn’t been able to parent any of them. I wondered if all her shouting and threats was a lot of hot air – a desperate woman trying to cling to the last vestige of responsibility. Only time would tell.
Chapter Eight:
‘School’
The improvement in Reece’s behaviour temporarily disappeared and in the following days returned to what it had been when he’d first arrived. I suspected this was a result of being with his mother and having his ‘old’ behaviour reinforced. He woke at five o’clock in the morning and it took me a long time to resettle him. Then he spent most of the day charging around the house banging into things, throwing things, making loud noises, swearing and telling us to ‘fuck off’ if anyone tried to stop him. He would only become calmer if either Lucy or I sat with him and read a story. Paula was still keeping her distance after the incident of Reece touching her sexually. She talked to him, obviously, but wasn’t playing with him, as this would have put her in close physical proximity to him.
Apart from Reece’s aggression and hyperactivity we also had a number of instances of him trying to head-butt Lucy and me, and two of him biting, one of which had resulted in teeth marks in Lucy’s hand. I told Reece off and stopped some of his television time, which produced a full-scale tantrum. He kicked everything within reach and screamed at the top of his voice that he ‘fucking hated’ me, so he lost more television time.
I wasn’t surprised Reece had taken a step backwards after contact. Apart from having his ‘old’ behaviour reinforced, there was the reminder of the home he had left. All children become a bit unsettled after contact and if the child already has behavioural problems then they tend to escalate as he or she expresses their feelings of confusion in the only way they know how. I knew Reece would settle again and continue with the progress he had already started, until the next contact, when he would take another step back. Eventually, as the weeks passed, and he got used to the routine of contact and adapted to the change, the ‘fallout’ afterwards would, I hoped, be less. However, there would always be some reaction afterwards as he struggled to bring the two halves of his life together and come to terms with everything that had happened.
Current social work policy dictates that children should see their natural parents in all but a very few exceptional circumstances. Many foster carers would challenge how much good ongoing contact is for the child if there is no hope of them ever returning home. But as in many areas of fostering, we have to do as we are told and just pick up the pieces afterwards by giving the child lots of hugs and reassurance.
By Monday Reece was settling down again and as he wasn’t going to school, I decided the days ahead, until he was found a school, needed some structure. I would ask Jill and the social services what was happening about Reece’s schooling when we next spoke, but I knew from experience it could take weeks, sometimes months, to find a school willing to take a child who had been excluded. So after breakfast I explained to Reece we would do some reading and writing for a little while — pretend he was at school — and then have a break with a drink and a snack; then we would do a little bit of maths work. The rest of the day would be play. He liked the idea of ‘playing schools’. We would also be going out for a while each day, for apart from the practical issues of my having to shop etc., Reece needed the release of energy that a trip to the park or even a walk would, I hoped, effect.
I’d no idea what stage Reece was at with his learning, so I got out a selection of early learning books from the cupboard, which included first- and second-level reading books, and some work sheets. I’d photocopied the work sheets from those of a tutor who’d visited another child I’d fostered who hadn’t been in school. The books and work sheets began at the most basic reception school level and were very appealing, designed to capture the child’s interest, with big words and pictures for the child to colour in.
But before I started I needed a better idea of where to begin, for if I pitched the work too low Reece might see it as ‘babyish’ and reject learning out of hand. A copy of his statement of special educational needs would have been helpful and would have detailed the level he was at, his progress and his difficulties, but I hadn’t received this statement yet. So to gauge his level I decided to show him some ‘key word’ cards, which I had also photocopied from the tutor’s work sheets, and then mounted on brightly coloured cards. Each card contained a simple word beginning with the words a child would learn first, such as ‘he’, ‘she’, ‘the’, ‘we’, ‘so’, ‘cat’, ‘dog’ and ‘go’, gradually going on to more difficult words like ‘where’ and ‘because’.
I began showing Reece the very basic words, passing the card to him and asking him if he knew what is was.
‘Mmm, not sure,’ he said to each, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
‘OK, so we’ll put them in this pile,’ I said, placing the cards on the table. ‘These are the words we will learn first.’
By the end of the first twenty very basic words, I stopped. Reece had recognized only one word — ‘a’. He was seven and a half and appeared to have a sight vocabulary of one word, which was a single letter. The average child of the same age would have had a sight vocabulary of about 150 words; brighter children would have been reading Harry Potter.
‘Can I do me reading now?’ Reece asked eagerly.
I opened the most basic of the books and began. It was from a structured reading scheme I had bought years before to help a child who had just started school and was struggling. Each page contained a large picture with a single word describing the picture printed underneath — for example, dog, cat. Of course with Reece having no sight vocabulary, I had to tell him each word, which he then happily repeated. We went through the first book twice.
I then opened the second book in the series, which repeated the words in the first book and was supposed to consolidate what the child had learned. But because the pictures had changed in the second book, although the words were the same Reece couldn’t recognize them: he had memorized the sound of the word with the picture, and not the sight of the word, which is what reading is. I returned to the first book and, covering up the pictures, went through the words again. Then I did the same with the second book, repeating the word over and over again.
Although this was very repetitive for Reece and he had some difficulty sitting still in his chair, he was very happy with what we were doing and appeared to want to learn. After about fifteen minutes of this word recognition I put away the reading books and said we would do a little bit of writing, and then have a break. I gave him a pencil and paper and asked if he could write his name.
‘Yeah,’ he yelled excitedly. ‘Of course I can. I ain’t stupid!’
‘No, you’re not. You are doing very well.’ I smiled and he planted a big kiss on my cheek.
‘I like it here,’ he said. ‘I like you.’
‘That’s nice,’ I said. ‘I am pleased. We like having you here.’
He looked surprised. ‘Do you?’
‘Yes. Very much, Reece. I’m pleased you have come to stay with us.’
He beamed from ear to ear. ‘Good, ‘cos I ain’t bein’ moved again. It’s a bleeding disgrace.’
I had to smile, for although Reece had learning difficulties he had remembered word perfect what his mother had said in the car park the previous Wednesday. There was certainly nothing wrong with his hearing!
Reece could only write his first name, and the letters he formed were large and poorly drawn, equating to the average child’s first use of a pencil at about the age of three and a half. I wrote Reece’s surname in large letters, and then made a series of little dots in the shape of the letters, which he joined together to form his name. I did the same with some other basic ‘key words’, and he enjoyed doing this very much.
‘I’m writing!’ he screamed with excitement right in my ear.
‘Yes, you are, but try to talk a bit more quietly, Reece,’ I encouraged, as the girls and I did constantly. But I knew only too well where all the shouting had come from, and seven years of shouting to be heard at home wasn’t going to be altered in weeks or even months.
We had a short break after the writing, when Reece had a banana and a
glass of milk and I had a cup of coffee. Then we completed the morning’s ‘school work’ with some very basic number work, using more photocopied activity sheets. After that we went out, via the park, to the shops. I bought the bread, fruit and vegetables we needed, and then we headed back, Reece helping me carry the shopping.
When we got into the hall I saw that the answerphone was flashing with a message. I pressed play: ‘It’s Mary Smith, Jamey’s team manager. I’m in the office until two. Could you call me back please on this number …’
Eureka, I thought. At last! The team manager would have more information and be able to answer my questions. Aware that I might be talking to her for some time, and it was already lunchtime, I quickly made Reece a sandwich, let him choose a packet of crisps and left him eating while I used the phone in the hall so that I couldn’t be overheard. I dialled the number Mary had given and she answered immediately.
‘It’s Cathy Glass, Reece’s carer,’ I said.
‘Good. Thank you for calling back. How are you?’ I could tell from the urgency in her voice she had a lot to say and wanted to get on with it.
‘We’re doing all right,’ I said.
‘Contact,’ she began. ‘I understand it was a fiasco last week, so I have decided to split it. Have you got a pen handy?’
‘Yes.’ I reached for the pen and paper I keep beside each phone. Mary sounded very efficient and I was relieved.
‘I’ve read the contact supervisor’s reports,’ she continued, ‘and I don’t want a repeat of last Wednesday. I shouldn’t think you do either.’
‘No,’ I said with a light laugh. ‘It took quite a while to resettle Reece.’
‘I can imagine. I’ve heard from the other carers as well, so I’m separating contact. Reece will be seeing his parents on Tuesday and Friday, same time and place. Will you be able to take and collect?’
‘Yes,’ I said as I wrote. ‘So he will be seeing his father as well?’
‘Yes. We couldn’t have Scott there last Wednesday because of Susie being there. There’s a police investigation in respect of Scott’s alleged sexual abuse of Susie. But Tracey insisted she wanted to see all her kids together. She knows her rights, as you probably found out when you saw her, but it’s Reece’s rights I’m thinking of here, and he has a right to see his father.’
