Mummy Told Me Not to Tell

by Cathy Glass

  Clearly Mr Fitzgerald was still expecting problems, but I supposed that was natural, given Reece’s school history.

  ‘Is he having lunch now?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. Mrs Morrison is with him.’

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘I will return at three twenty then. Do I wait in the playground?’

  He thought for a moment. ‘No, come into reception and I’ll tell Mrs Morrison to bring Reece to you there. She can also tell you how he has been. I think Annette was hoping to see you, but she is tied up at present.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I said goodbye and made my way down the flight of stairs, along the corridor and into reception, where I let myself out. The playground was empty; presumably all the children were having their dinner in the canteen, wherever that was. And I thought that at some point I would like to be shown around the building so that I would have a better understanding of what Reece was telling me when he described his day at school.

  I arrived home at 12.30, had a sandwich lunch and then phoned the social worker. He wasn’t at his desk, so I left a message with a colleague, asking for him to phone back. He didn’t. So at 2.30 I phoned again and Jamey answered.

  ‘Hello, Jamey, it’s Cathy, Reece’s carer.’

  ‘Hi, Cathy,’ he said in his soft tranquil voice.

  ‘I left a message earlier. Did you get it?’

  ‘Yes. Is everything all right?’

  ‘Reece started school today.’

  ‘Good. Is he enjoying it?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. Have you read his education statement?’ I asked.

  ‘No. I haven’t had a chance. I’ve been so busy with another case.’ Which seemed to be Jamey’s refrain and I wondered now, as I had before, what exactly this ‘other case’ was that merited so much time and distracted him from the time he should be putting into Reece’s case.

  ‘His education statement is pretty horrendous,’ I said, ‘but I have reassured the school that Reece’s behaviour is fine now. They were very apprehensive and I had to stay all morning to make sure he settled.’

  ‘That’s good,’ he said leisurely.

  ‘There are a couple of things I need to talk to you about, Jamey. First, I have a set of consent forms from the school that you need to sign. And second, I was thinking of taking Reece away for a week’s holiday at Easter, possibly to Brighton. Is that OK?’

  ‘It is with me, although I’ll have to run it past mum. Will he miss contact?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ — obviously, I thought — ‘on the Tuesday and Friday we are away. I can hardly bring him back from Brighton to attend contact. It’s a return journey of four hundred miles.’

  ‘No, quite.’

  ‘So can I come into the office tomorrow morning for you to sign these forms?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you, Jamey.’ Again I felt the need to give him a good kick up the backside to get him moving.

  When I collected Reece from school, Mrs Morrison and Miss Broom were waiting with him in reception. All three of them were smiling, so I guessed he’d had a good afternoon. Almost.

  ‘Can I have a quick word?’ Annette Broom said, taking me to one side.

  I felt that little surge of anxiety that always follows a teacher’s ‘Can I have a word’ because invariably it means the day has been flawed by some misdemeanour. Mrs Morrison and Reece were standing together, talking about the children’s work that adorned the walls in reception. Miss Broom spoke quietly and had her back to Reece, so he couldn’t pick up what she was saying.

  ‘He’s been a good boy,’ she said, ‘apart from one small incident which I think you should be aware of. He became a bit overexcited and loud while in music, so to give him a break, Mrs Morrison took him out of the classroom and to the quiet room. As they sat down and she began reading him a story, Reece suddenly grabbed her breast.’ She stopped, and looked at me, clearly embarrassed both at having to report something negative on Reece’s first day and also, I suspected, by the nature of the incident. And who could blame her?

  ‘I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with that,’ I said. ‘Is Mrs Morrison all right?’

  Annette Broom nodded. ‘Yes, it was a shock more than anything. She told him firmly that it wasn’t acceptable behaviour and that you never touch a woman there. Then they returned to the classroom. Mrs Morrison didn’t feel comfortable with just the two of them alone in the quiet room.’

  ‘No. I appreciate that.’ I paused, choosing the right words that would allow me to give Miss Broom enough information so that she could take the necessary measures and reduce the likelihood of it happening again, while not breaking confidentiality. In an ideal world the social worker would have given background information to the school. ‘We had a similar incident at home with my teenage daughter,’ I said, ‘when Reece first came to me. But I dealt with it and it hasn’t been repeated, although Reece does still sometimes try to hug us inappropriately. From what I understand he witnessed a lot of inappropriate sexual behaviour while at home. I’m still waiting for the social worker to give me some more background information. I think Reece is testing the boundaries here and Mrs Morrison was right in making him immediately aware that it wasn’t acceptable behaviour. I will speak to him as soon as we get home. Can I also suggest Mrs Morrison continues to make sure she isn’t completely alone with Reece, and puts a bit of distance between them, until he has settled in?’

  Annette Broom nodded. ‘It would mean not using the quiet room. It’s where we take children if they need time out to calm down.’

  ‘For the time being I think that would be a good idea, until Reece understands that what he has learned at home with us applies to school as well.’ She nodded. ‘I will speak to him firmly,’ I added. ‘He should know it’s not acceptable behaviour.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Apart from that he’s had a good afternoon.’

  ‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘I won’t say anything to Reece now in front of Mrs Morrison because it could be embarrassing for her. But please explain to her and give her my apologies.’

  ‘I will do.’

  I returned to Reece and thanked Mrs Morrison for all she was doing. Reece said goodbye to her and Miss Broom.

  ‘See you tomorrow,’ Mrs Morrison said as we went to the door. ‘It’s normal start time, eight fifty, but will you bring Reece into reception again? Mr Fitzgerald thinks it a good idea for now.’

  ‘Yes, will do, and thanks again.’ Taking a special needs child directly into school rather than leaving them in the playground was something I was used to. It gave the carer and TA a chance to pass on any relevant information that might affect the child, and also gave the child a safe and calm passage in and out of school. Special needs children can be very vulnerable, particularly in a big playground.

  Once we were home I sat Reece down in the living room and went through the rules relating to our bodies and what we called our private parts again. I let him know I was aware of how he had touched Mrs Morrison, for he needed to understand that appropriate behaviour was needed everywhere, not just with us at home. He said he couldn’t remember the incident, and I wasn’t going to resurrect it and labour the point, so I finished by saying: ‘Remember, Reece, you don’t touch anyone else’s private parts — not at home, or school, or anywhere. Not on a child or adult.’

  He nodded, and the evening continued happily, with Reece recounting over and over again what had gone well for him at school.

  He settled easily that night, exhausted from the day, and before I knew it, it was morning again and Reece and I were in the car in our new school routine.

  When we arrived, the playground was full of children playing before the bell rang, when they would line up. We entered reception and Mrs Morrison was already there, spot on 8.50, to welcome us.

  ‘Morning, Reece,’ she said brightly.

  ‘Morning.’ Reece grinned.

  I felt I had to say something to Mrs Morrison in addition to whatever Annette Broom had said yesterday, ju
st to let her know that I had taken the matter seriously and had spoken to Reece. ‘We have spoken,’ I said pointedly. ‘I’m sure it won’t happen again.’

  She smiled and nodded. ‘Thank you. Annette had a chat with me yesterday.’

  ‘Good. And thanks for all you are doing for Reece. It’s much appreciated.’ I said goodbye to her and Reece and, leaving the building, returned to my car. I drove straight to the social services with the school forms for signing in my handbag.

  At the council offices I gave my name, showed my ID to the receptionist and said that Jamey Hogg was expecting me. ‘Go on up,’ she said. I climbed the two flights of stairs to the floor occupied by the social services and entered the open-plan office. Jamey was at his desk with his back to me. As I approached, unseen from behind, I had to resist the temptation to tweak his ponytail.

  ‘Oh, hi,’ he said looking up as I came into view, and vaguely surprised. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Reece’s registration and consent forms for school,’ I said.

  ‘Oh yes. Have a seat.’ He pulled up a colleague’s chair that was empty. The office was slowly filling as social workers came in and turned on their computers.

  I took the forms from my bag and, unfolding them, quickly explained what each one was for. He signed and dated them, crossing out the word ‘parent’ in the printed ‘parent’s signature’ and writing ‘social worker’ underneath. It took only a couple of minutes and once he had finished I refolded them and tucked them back into my bag.

  ‘Have you had a chance to speak to Tracey yet?’ I asked. He looked at me questioningly. ‘About my taking Reece on holiday at Easter?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said with a jolt of memory. ‘Good and bad news, I’m afraid. Mum is OK, sort of, about you taking him away, but won’t have him missing contact.’

  ‘That makes it difficult,’ I said. ‘Can’t she be persuaded to change her mind? It is her son who is benefiting, after all. Reece doesn’t know what a holiday is, apart from the sort his dad takes when he disappears after being found guilty in the magistrate’s court.’

  Jamey smiled. ‘Unfortunately not. Tracey is very angry, and to be honest I don’t want to upset her further at present. Can you go away for a few days between contacts, instead of a week? I don’t want Reece to lose out.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ I said, ‘and it seems that might be the only option. It will mean leaving very early on a Wednesday morning and having him back by 6.00 p.m. on Friday.’ It hardly seemed worth it, but I was determined to give Reece a holiday of some sort, and even if I waited until summer, it was quite likely that the same restraints of contact would apply. ‘So I have your permission to go ahead and book something then?’ I clarified.

  ‘Yes.’ Jamey leant back nonchalantly in his chair. ‘Will you email me the details so I have them on file?’

  ‘Yes. And I’ll also send you a copy of my log notes. There was an incident of sexualized behaviour at school yesterday — nothing major, but you need to be aware of it.’

  ‘OK, fine. I’m going to a meeting soon, so we will have to discuss it another time.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said. I stood to leave.

  ‘And by the way,’ he added, swivelling round in his chair, ‘there’s a child protection case conference on Friday morning. You will be able to attend?’

  I looked at him. ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes. It’s to deregister Reece and take his name off the child protection register now that he’s in care.’

  I nodded. I had known there would be a child protection case conference, because once a child is in care the concerns surrounding the child when he or she was at home no longer apply, so the child is removed from the child protection register (CPR). However, I didn’t know when it would be and I could have done with a bit more notice. I wondered how long Jamey had known of the date and when he would have told me had I not come into the office.

  ‘What time?’ I asked.

  He swivelled his chair towards his desk and drew himself forward to his computer. I looked away from the screen as he clicked the mouse, for quite obviously there would be a lot of confidential files on his computer, unrelated to Reece’s case, and which were no business of mine.

  ‘Ten o’clock,’ he said at last. Thank goodness, I thought, because if it had been in the afternoon I would have had to make arrangements to have Reece collected from school, at very short notice. ‘It’s here,’ he added, ‘in the conference room.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then.’

  ‘Yes, and thanks for bringing in the forms.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ It was no use getting annoyed with Jamey, not yet anyway; it was just his laid-back nature.

  I put the rest of the day to good use. I caught up on the housework, made a cottage pie for dinner that evening and read a chapter of the novel I’d started before Reece had arrived in January. I left in good time to collect him for the end of school at 3.20. When I arrived, the playground was starting to fill with parents and carers waiting for the bell to ring, when the children would stream out. I went up the steps and into reception, where I waited until bell sounded. A couple of minutes later Reece appeared, grinning broadly. Mrs Morrison, his TA, was with him and also the head, Mr Fitzgerald.

  ‘Hello, Cathy,’ Reece cried, happy to see me again. He rushed into my arms.

  ‘Have you had a good day?’ I asked, hugging him.

  ‘Yeah.’ He looked up at me and grinned.

  Mr Fitzgerald hovered. ‘Can I have a word, please, Mrs Glass?’ he said. My heart sank. We stood to one side in reception while Mrs Morrison and Reece once again looked at the children’s artwork. ‘You’re aware of the incident yesterday involving Mrs Morrison?’ The head began, speaking quietly and dispassionately.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, nodding. ‘I spoke to Reece.’

  He looked at me carefully. ‘We’ve had another incident today. At lunchtime in the canteen. Reece was sitting at a table with a few others, Mrs Morrison was close by supervising him, and he put his hand under the table and tried to interfere with the girl sitting next to him.’

  ‘What do you mean by “interfere”?’ I asked. It was no use resorting to euphemisms: I needed the details so that I could speak to Reece, and also to record in my log and inform the social worker.

  ‘He put his hand up the girl’s tunic,’ Mr Fitzgerald said.

  ‘And did what? Tickled her knees?’

  ‘No, it was worse than that. He pushed his hand straight up to her pants and said, “Can I feel your fanny?” The girl was very shocked, as you can imagine. So were we.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. I was shocked and dismayed. Hadn’t Reece listened to anything I’d said to him the evening before? And why did he feel he could do this at school, when he knew very well it was completely unacceptable behaviour with us at home?

  ‘I’ll speak to him,’ I said. ‘Very firmly. I did talk to him last night at some length, but clearly it was not enough. I am so sorry. Is the girl all right?’

  ‘She is now. Obviously I will need to speak to her mother. Annette Broom is in the playground now, trying to find her. Mrs Glass, will you please make it clear to Reece that this behaviour is completely unacceptable? We will not tolerate it in school.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I thought I had made it clear last night, but obviously the message hasn’t sunk in.’

  ‘And I will need to speak to his social worker,’ Mr Fitzgerald added. ‘He needs to be informed and I want more details from him about Reece. We are going to have to be very careful when it comes to changing for PE. Our school is a safe place and has to remain so for all our children.’ I totally agreed with him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. ‘I will speak to Reece. Has he apologized to the girl involved?’

  ‘No. She doesn’t want to see him, understandably.’

  I nodded. ‘When you see her mother, will you pass on my apologies, please?’

  ‘Yes. And if I don’t speak to the social worker
before, I will see him about this at the child protection case conference tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re going?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been invited, although my input will be minimal as Reece has only just started here. Now I need to see the girl’s mother. Please make sure you speak to Reece.’

  ‘Yes, I intend to, and severely.’

  I was quiet in the car as I drove Reece home. When he began chatting about his day at school, clearly unaware there was any fallout from what he had done, I stopped him.

  ‘Reece,’ I said, glancing at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘I am not happy. I will hear about your day later. First I need to talk to you about something very serious that happened today. Can you think what it could be?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I had a good day. I did lots of work and He was off again talking about what he had done at school, minus the incident.

  Once home, I sat him down in the living room and, being direct, I told him exactly what he had done, and why it was very wrong. Again, he claimed not to remember; then he agreed with everything I said about our private parts being private. I went over the areas of the body that we didn’t touch on other people, and he nodded and said ‘Yes, Cathy’ to every statement.

  I looked at him. I wasn’t convinced that even now he fully appreciated what I was saying. Seven years of living in an environment where it was possibly considered acceptable to grab and feel another person’s private parts would take some undoing. But what I didn’t understand was why Reece had stopped behaving like this at home with us but felt it was acceptable at school. Unless it was my influence, in which case the school would have to invest a lot of time in building up the same guidelines and respect for the people there as those Reece now had for Lucy, Paula and me. It was true that he did still try to kiss us on the lips sometimes, rather than the cheek, and that his cuddles were a bit lingering towards me and I had to gently finish them and ease him away. But he hadn’t repeated the overt sexual touching since he had first arrived, and he never spoke about sex in the crude terms he had when he had talked about ‘giving the girls one’.