The Cast-Off Kids

by Trisha Merry

  I started with John himself, which was more than likely against the rules, but nothing ventured . . . He couldn’t say much, of course, just that it was a reorganisation, which sounded like a recipe for chaos to me as it’s the kids who always lose out. I asked John what he knew about the new man, Bernard Brown. That’s how I found out that he had been a bus driver for years, before switching careers, so he was a newly trained social worker – a rookie. Just our luck!

  ‘What’s happened about Luke’s education?’ asked Mike one evening. ‘Shouldn’t he have started at the high school by now?’

  ‘Officially, yes. But I came up with another plan. I spoke to a senior social worker about him being so dyslexic that he couldn’t read or write yet, and the fact that he’s hardly had any formal education, and is adamant that school isn’t for him.’

  ‘So what did they say?’

  ‘Well, that’s where I gave them the solution. They discussed it with the education department and, amazingly they agreed! They’ll give him his own home-learning tutor two days a week, as long as I supervise the work he’s set on the days in between.’

  ‘Well done,’ said Mike.

  ‘And,’ I said, ‘what’s great is that they have someone in mind that they think will be just right for him.’

  The following Monday the tutor arrived, as agreed. I don’t know quite what I was expecting, but it wasn’t what I saw. In fact, we heard it first, sounding like a fire-breathing dragon pulling up outside our house. I opened the door to a bearded, tattooed, leather-jacketed ‘Hells Angels’ type on a monster of a motorbike, gleaming proudly in the sunlight.

  ‘Hi,’ he said as he took off his helmet, to reveal his bald patch and his long pony-tail. ‘I’m Guy. I guess you’re Trisha?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Hey Luke, my man,’ he said with a grin and a strange hand-greeting that I’d never seen before, but Luke seemed to know what to do. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Good,’ the boy replied, in an American accent.

  They came in and I sat them down at our dining room table. ‘Will you be all right in here for working?’ I asked. ‘I’ll shut the door and put up a “do not disturb” sign, in case anyone comes.’

  Luke looked a bit uncertain, but Guy took charge. ‘We’re not stopping,’ said Guy. ‘I’ve got a busy day planned.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes.’ He turned to Luke. ‘Man, how do you fancy putting on my spare helmet and jacket and going out for a burn, to the hills?’

  Luke nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘Aren’t you the tutor?’ I asked, uncertainly, thinking I’d let in some anarchist Luke must have met on the streets.

  ‘No worries, Trisha,’ Guy reassured me. ‘We’re going to do all this week’s history, geography, English and maths today, so let’s get going, Luke. Are you up for it?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Luke, with a bemused expression. I could tell this was not at all what he had expected either.

  ‘Well, I did suggest he needed a new way of teaching and learning!’ I told Mike over supper.

  ‘What do they say? Beware what you ask for . . .’ We laughed. ‘How did they get on? Did they show you anything when they got back?’

  ‘Yes. I have to confess, I was amazed at how much Luke had achieved. Probably more in one day than in any of his previous schooling! He got it all out of his backpack to show me. Apparently they’d gone on a breezy ride to the Malvern Hills. They sat on the top of the highest hill with a compass and worked out the different counties and geographical features, then Luke drew his own map, with things labelled. Guy must have helped him with that. Then Luke drew in Caractacus fighting the Romans on the map, and marked the civil war battles too. They followed a stream down to the valley to see what fish and wildlife they could find and sketched them. And then there was maths, like the distances on the map . . . I think they had a great time, and it was all about learning.’

  ‘This Guy sounds like everybody’s ideal teacher,’ said Mike with a grin.

  ‘Yes, and he’s got loads of great ideas for other educational outings and subjects too! I’ve never seen Luke look so enthusiastic or so healthy after all that fresh air!’

  In between worrying about Daisy and Paul’s new social worker’s inexperience, and supervising Luke’s independent assignments, I also had developments to take care of at the sex-film children’s house.

  It was three years now since we had set up the wraparound package for them, with all the amazing helpers and professionals who supported them. All five were making small steps of progress. However, the two youngest ones seemed better able to change some of their behaviours and instincts than the older ones.

  ‘I think it’s time to consider placing these younger two in a family setting now,’ said the senior social worker as he sat with me and a psychotherapist one morning, down at the council offices. ‘Duane is five and Sindy is six now, and they’ve both made a good start with their reading, writing and arithmetic.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed the psychotherapist. ‘It has taken a lot of specialist input and care, but I think they may now be ready to join the outside world, living with a caring family, going to school and making friends of their own.’

  ‘That would be great,’ I said. ‘If you’re sure they’re ready, and that they can avoid the sexualised advances they made the day I first met them when mixing with other children and unknown male adults.’

  The senior social worker turned to the psychotherapist. ‘Would you like to respond?’

  ‘Yes.’ She turned to me. ‘It’s a chicken and egg situation, in a way,’ she began. ‘I believe they have left a lot of their early programming behind and that they’re young enough to become normalised now. However, until we take this step, we won’t know for certain that it will work.’

  ‘Yes.’ The social worker nodded, and looked straight at me. ‘That’s where you come in, Trisha.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I know you have some spare spaces, you and Mike, and I wonder whether you would now reconsider and take them in. They already know you, and you are the best, most experienced foster-carers we have . . .’ She tailed off when she saw the expression on my face.

  ‘You’ve caught me completely off-guard,’ I spluttered. ‘I wasn’t expecting that.’

  ‘Will you think about it?’ he asked.

  ‘Hmm . . . I’ll have a chat with Mike this evening and see what he thinks,’ I said.

  What they didn’t know was that Mike and I had recently decided not to take in any more children and to gradually run down the numbers, as they grew up or left, so that we could prepare for our retirement. Still, I explained it all to Mike as soon as we were on our own.

  ‘Well,’ he began. ‘I know we agreed not to take on any more foster-children. But we do already have their younger sister, Lulu, so we would have to wait for her to grow up, anyway . . .’

  So, we surprised ourselves by agreeing. First thing the next morning I called the senior social worker and told him we would take on both Sindy and Duane, on the understanding that it would be for a probationary period to start with. ‘We have to give them the chance they need and the love they deserve,’ I told him. ‘As well as the time to renew their sibling bond with our Lulu.’

  So I went to collect them a couple of hours later and they seemed to take to Lulu immediately. In fact, all our kids just accepted them straight away. But the next few days would tell, especially going to school for the first time.

  A couple of days later, the overdue call from Daisy and Paul’s new social worker, Bernard, finally came. He started by introducing himself and checking our contact details and the children’s names and dates of birth.

  ‘I believe their father visits them?’

  ‘Yes, but very infrequently. He hasn’t been for more than a couple of years now. And the one time we needed to contact him, to ask his permission for Daisy to have tests in hospital, he refused and put the phone down.’

 
‘Yes, I can see that John has documented that.’

  ‘And the doctor who was with John was anxious to go ahead, but Rocky took no notice.’ I paused to let that sink in. ‘Daisy felt very let down by her father, when she most needed him. She still does.’

  ‘Yes. I can understand that.’ Bernard seemed impatient. ‘But what about the mother? I can’t see anything here about her, other than her name and a contact number.’

  ‘Well, that’s more than we have. According to Rocky, she walked out on him and the kids just after Paul was born. She just abandoned them. I don’t know if that’s true, but neither of the children could remember her and they have never mentioned her at all.’

  ‘I do believe that mothers should not be sidelined like this, Mrs Merry.’

  ‘Trisha,’ I said, indignant at his tone. ‘I hope you’re not accusing us of sidelining her? We’ve never heard from her, or anything about her. You may have a telephone number, but nobody gave it to us, and she certainly has never attempted to make any contact with us, nor even sent as much as a birthday card to either of her children. So I don’t think sidelining is the right word.’

  ‘I see. Well, I’m sorry if I have offended you, Trisha. I didn’t mean to do that. I suspect the Social Services Department may have been guilty of not following through on the contact side. There’s no record that anybody here has ever made contact with her. And all the paperwork was signed by the children’s father, alone.’

  ‘Yes, I was there when he signed the papers.’

  ‘I do apologise, as it seems I haven’t made a good start in my relationship with you as the children’s foster-mother. I do recognise the great importance of your role in acting as their mother . . . while they are with you.’ He was saying some of the right words, but I had an uncomfortable feeling about the way this conversation was going.

  ‘Are you hoping to come round and meet the children?’ I asked. ‘I think it would be helpful for you to get to know them, and us too.’

  ‘If you wish.’ I didn’t like the way he said that, as if meeting the children didn’t really matter.

  We arranged for him to come on the following Monday, 2 December, in the late afternoon.

  Bernard came as agreed and spent the first half hour, sitting on the playroom sofa, chatting with each of the children in turn. I assumed he would be asking them about their schools, their friends and hobbies. Maybe he would ask them about living as part of our family, and about us too. He was a social worker. I trusted him. Perhaps that was my first mistake.

  Next, it was my turn. ‘Mrs Merry—’

  ‘Trisha,’ I interrupted him.

  ‘Yes, Trisha, I’ve had a good chat with both Daisy and Paul, and they would like to see their mother.’

  ‘What?’ I spluttered in astonishment. How had that come about? They hadn’t mentioned her once in ten years, so why would they say that to a stranger on his first visit? ‘Did you actually hear them say that?’ I asked, in a cool voice.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘On their own initiative?’

  ‘Well, no . . . but they seemed OK to talk about her.’

  ‘But they don’t know anything at all about her.’

  ‘No, but I wanted to know whether they’d like to see her.’

  ‘That’s outrageous,’ I protested. ‘You are raising their awareness of their mother, giving them the hope that she might want to see them, when, as the last ten years have shown, she clearly has no wish at all to see them.’ I paused to take a big breath and lower my shoulders. ‘What do you think that will do to them?’

  ‘But, have you considered her point of view?’

  ‘No, because it’s the kids I care about. I would never do or say anything that might lead to their disappointment and any further feeling of betrayal. Have you ever seen a child waiting all day for their parent to show up, then go to bed in tears because they hadn’t? Daisy and Paul’s mother abandoned them once. Why wouldn’t she do it again? If she cared, she could have contacted them at any time before now. But she hasn’t.’

  ‘Don’t you think that everyone needs the chance to at least meet their own mother?’ he insisted.

  I didn’t answer that rhetorical question. I do believe in rights for all, of course, but he seemed to have this all skewed in his mind. What was he thinking of? I feared where this could lead and needed to say so. But, as I suspected, he had his own agenda.

  ‘Well, I think that the children’s mother should be part of their picture of who they are,’ he continued. ‘So, although the number I was given was wrong, I did manage to track down Daisy and Paul’s mother, and I had a chat with her. As a result of that conversation, she has agreed to come and visit the children. Isn’t that marvellous?’

  Another question to which I could not give a polite answer. I was livid, but I had to try not to show it too obviously. I composed myself as best I could.

  ‘I can only answer that with another question,’ I replied.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Did you ask her to come and see them, or did she ask to visit them?’

  ‘Well . . . that’s a good question.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But I want to hear the answer.’

  ‘Well, I think you know it already. I phoned their mother, had a chat with her and then asked her if she’d like to visit them.’

  ‘And did she answer you straight away?’

  ‘Er, no. She wanted to think about it. She rang me back the following day and agreed to come.’

  ‘Why? What for?’

  ‘Because she’s their mother. Don’t you think that’s enough?’

  ‘What I think is that you’re setting the children up to be knocked down – very badly. I hope I’m wrong, but—’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ he interrupted, clearly annoyed with my concerns.

  ‘Then what is?’

  He said nothing.

  ‘Do we have a date?’

  ‘Wednesday at noon. Will that be all right for you?’

  I felt like snapping at him: It will have to be, won’t it? But I didn’t. I said ‘Yes. Though it means they will have to miss school. At least I’ll have the time in between now and then to prepare the children gently for her visit.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Merry.’

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Brown.’ I shut the front door as soon as he had passed through and stood with my back to it, leaning against it.

  How dare he get us into this mess? It would be fine, better than fine, if their birth mother genuinely wanted to get to know her children. I’d be delighted for that to happen, as long as she turned up and it wasn’t a one-day wonder. If they really did develop a positive relationship, I’d be very happy for them and do all I could to support it. But I feared what it would do to Daisy and Paul if she let them down in any way, let alone abandoning them again. It would be so much worse this time.

  Bit by bit, that evening and over the following day, I created opportunities to talk with them about their mother.

  But I must say, they seemed remarkably matter-of-fact about it, both of them. The message I was getting from them was: We’ve got a mother, but we don’t remember her. We don’t know what she looks like, or anything about her life. But she’s a stranger, so we’re not really interested. That’s how they seemed to be taking the conversation.

  However, I hadn’t yet broken the news to them that their mother was coming to see them the next day. I would have to do that after school tonight. I wondered how they would react.

  28

  Cold Comfort

  Daisy and Paul had a similar reaction to mine.

  ‘Why does she want to come?’

  ‘To see you. I know you don’t remember your mother, but she remembers you. When she last saw you, Pauly, you were probably a newborn baby, or not much bigger than that. And Daise, you were one year old – a toddler. You had probably just learnt to walk, but you couldn’t talk yet, except gibberish, which only you understood.’

  Paul giggled at the thought of hims
elf as a tiny baby.

  ‘Did I used to suck my thumb then?’ asked Daisy, as she tried to imagine herself at that age. ‘Maybe I didn’t have this haircut yet?’ she asked. It was still a sore point with her, and she blamed her mother for all the years of having to put up with it, and all the horrid things other children said about it. But she was not a child who held a grudge, so I hoped she wouldn’t take it out on her mother. ‘I expect that, when she sees you now, Daise, she might let you change it, if you ask her. I hope so.’

  ‘Why hasn’t she come before?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘I don’t know, sweetheart. Perhaps she didn’t want to disturb your life here with us. The main thing is that she’s coming here to meet you both now.’

  ‘Will she bring us a present?’ asked Paul, with a cheeky grin.

  ‘Not if you ask for it!’ I said. ‘Let’s wait and see.’

  ‘What will we do when she gets here?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘Say hello and get to know each other. Maybe chat a bit. Then take her up to see your bedrooms, if you like.’

  ‘Can I go outside and show her tricks on my bike?’ asked Paul.

  ‘Yes, of course, if it’s not too cold and wet. Or she could watch you from the kitchen window if the weather’s bad.’

  ‘She won’t want to take us away, will she?’ asked Daisy, with an anxious expression.

  ‘No. She’s just coming to visit. She certainly can’t just take you away tomorrow or anything like that. So you don’t need to worry.’

  ‘Oh good,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t want to leave you and Mike. And I don’t want to leave my school, and I’ve just started going to Guides, so I don’t want to leave that either.’

  ‘She’s just coming to see you,’ I said, putting my arm round her shoulders to reassure her. ‘Then you’ll know what she looks like, and you can tell her the things you like doing.’

  Daisy chose what she wanted to wear and spent some time in front of the mirror, experimenting whether to do up her cardigan or not. Whereas Paul said, ‘I’m not bothered – you choose.’ So I picked out an emerald green jumper and the new pair of navy cord trousers I’d bought him the previous week. I had to remind him to change into them, just in time.