by Cathy Glass
Oskar was staring down into his lap, twisting a tissue.
‘He saw those two men in the black car parked outside at lunchtime. I’m so pleased he could tell me.’
‘Yes, so am I. Well done, Oskar.’ But he didn’t appear greatly relieved from telling. ‘The car isn’t there now,’ I added.
‘No, I informed the Head straight away,’ Miss Jordan said. ‘She went out to speak to them, but they drove off when they saw her approaching. I believe she’s telephoning Andrew.’
‘Thank you.’ I wondered if the reason they’d suddenly reappeared had anything to do with Roksana being upset and angry with me at contact for telling Andrew about Oskar’s reaction to his toys.
‘The Head said you could take Oskar home now rather than come back later if you wish.’
‘I will, thank you. An afternoon off,’ I said to Oskar with a smile. He didn’t return it. Sombre and preoccupied, he slowly stood. ‘You did well, telling Miss Jordan what upset you,’ I said again, and Miss Jordan agreed.
She passed me Oskar’s school bag and jacket and I thanked her for taking care of him. I said goodbye, that we’d see her tomorrow, and we left the medical room. In reception I told the school secretary I was taking Oskar home so she could amend their attendance record. We left the building and crossed the playground. The children were still playing during their lunch break, but Oskar was quiet and kept his head down.
‘Are you OK, love?’ I asked him, giving his hand a squeeze.
He shrugged.
Oskar was quiet getting into the car and during the drive home, but when I parked outside the house he said, almost in a whisper, ‘Cathy, you told me if there was anything worrying me, I should tell you.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ I turned in my seat so I could see him.
‘I think I want to tell you something.’ His face was pale and deadly serious.
‘OK. Good. I’m listening.’
‘Can we go in the house so no one can hear me?’ he asked, looking anxiously through his side window.
There was no one around to hear, but he was obviously worried, so I got out, opened his car door and let us into the house. As soon as we were inside Oskar said, ‘It’s about those men in the car.’
‘Yes. What about them?’
‘I’m scared of them.’
‘I know, love. Let’s go and sit in the living room and you can tell me why. Do you want a drink of water?’
‘No. I just want those men to leave me alone. They gave me toys and hurt me.’
I went ice cold and knew my worst fears were about to be realized.
Chapter Fifteen
They Made Me
I now knew Oskar was going to tell me things I really didn’t want to hear. Things that would keep me awake at night and haunt me for years to come, probably forever. Having heard previous foster children disclose abuse, I knew there were evil people in the world who were capable of anything and took advantage of innocent children for their own perverted pleasure. What’s heard cannot be unheard. But if listening was bad, how much worse was it for the child who had suffered? I had to stay calm and strong for Oskar. It had taken a long time and a lot of courage for him to get to the point where he felt he could tell me, and he would need comfort and reassurance.
He and I sat on the sofa in the living room, side by side, Oskar’s arm resting against mine. He reached out for my hand, so small and defenceless; a child’s hand, in need of protection. Sammy was sitting at the patio window, gazing out down the garden, blissfully unaware of what was about to unfold. Oskar had fallen silent again, finding it difficult to begin.
‘How did those men hurt you?’ I asked after a moment.
‘They did things to me.’ His voice was slight, just above a whisper.
‘What sort of things, love?’
‘Rude things that hurt me.’
‘Can you tell me what, so I can tell your social worker and the police?’
Another silence, then: ‘Yes. They made me take off my pants. They touched my private parts and took photographs.’ I felt physically sick and took a deep breath to steady myself.
‘Both men did that?’ I asked.
He nodded.
‘The two men in the car?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were there ever any others present?’
‘No.’
‘Can you tell me the names of those two men?’
He shook his head.
‘Can you write them down if I get a pen and paper?’
‘No. They’ll hurt me if I tell,’ he said in the same tiny voice.
‘Is that what they told you?’
‘Yes.’
‘They are very bad men, Oskar, but they can’t hurt you any more.’ I held his little hand between mine. ‘You’re safe now.’
‘I don’t think I am,’ he said, his voice quivering. ‘They said they’d find me if I told and cut me up in little bits, but I had to tell you because I’m unhappy all the time.’
‘I know, love.’ I put my arm around him. ‘You’ve done the right thing. They won’t harm you again,’ I said firmly, blinking back my tears. ‘They won’t be coming anywhere near you, ever. Did you tell your mother what they did?’
He shook his head. ‘They said if I told her or anyone, they’d cut her up in little bits too. But I’ve told you. Will they come and get you, me and Mummy?’ He looked at me, petrified.
‘No, they won’t. Absolutely not. I can promise you that. They won’t hurt you or any of us. They will be going to prison for a long time.’
‘I’m scared,’ he said, shivering. ‘They gave me toys and said I mustn’t tell, but I don’t want the toys.’
‘I know. I’ve put them away. You’ve done the right thing to tell me.’
‘When I saw the toys, it made me remember how they hurt me,’ he said. ‘That’s why I wet myself.’
‘I understand. They are very bad men and they will be punished. You won’t be hurt again.’
His hand trembled in mine as he struggled to say more. ‘Sometimes I wet myself when they were doing bad things to me and they laughed.’
I swallowed hard. ‘They are evil,’ I said, trying to hold back my anger.
‘I had to bend over so they could take photos of my bottom and willy. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t stop them.’ He began to cry.
I held him close. I went to speak but my voice caught in my throat. It was a moment before I could ask, ‘Where did all this happen?’
‘In my house when I got home from school. I used to hate going home from school. I wanted to stay with Miss Jordan.’
‘Was Uncle Nowak there?’ I knew he’d often collected Oskar from school.
‘No. He took me home and then left for work. Whoever was in the house was supposed to look after me. But there wasn’t anyone in after school but those men. Everyone else was working. It was just me and them until dinnertime.’
‘How often did they do this to you?’ I asked. It was important I gathered as much information as possible while Oskar was talking so I could tell Andrew and ultimately the police.
‘Lots of times,’ he said, shuddering. ‘It got worse when Mummy was away and went to see Luka. They hit me, that’s how I got the bruise on my face.’
‘And your mother didn’t know?’ I asked again.
‘No.’
‘You’ve done well to tell me, Oskar. Is there anything else you want to tell me now?’
‘I didn’t want to do it,’ he said, stifling another sob. ‘They made me. They said it was a game and I liked to play it. But I didn’t, honestly. It wasn’t my fault, was it?’ He looked up at me beseechingly and I could have wept.
‘No. It certainly wasn’t your fault,’ I said firmly. ‘None of it was. Bad men like that tell the child they are abusing it’s a game and the
y enjoy it. They give them gifts and threaten them, which makes the child very confused, so it’s more difficult for them to tell. You’ve been very brave, Oskar. I am proud of you.’
‘Will my mummy be proud of me?’ he asked quietly.
‘She certainly should be,’ I replied. But I knew from experience that parents reacted differently to being told their child had been abused while in their care. Some believed the child unreservedly, supported them and ostracized the abuser, even separating from a partner if it was them. Others refused to believe the child had been abused and claimed they were lying, which was devastating for the child and often impacted on them for the rest of their life.
Oskar and I were silent, the enormity of what he’d disclosed thick in the air. I then realized I had my arm around him and he’d been letting me hold and comfort him, something he’d never allowed me to do before. I stayed where I was, still and quiet, the weight of his little body against mine. I needed to phone Andrew, but that could wait for a few more minutes.
‘I like hugs,’ I said softly after a moment.
‘So do I,’ he said and, slipping his arm around my waist, he hugged me for all he was worth. It was our first proper hug and it had taken the disclosure of dreadful abuse to allow him to do it.
‘Mummy doesn’t have time for hugs,’ he said presently, and a tear escaped and ran down my cheek. After all the hurt he’d described, it was something as simple as this that had finally made me cry. I wiped away the tear and swallowed hard.
‘Hopefully she will in the future,’ I said unevenly, and held him closer still.
I knew that all the signs Oskar had been sexually abused had been there from the beginning: not wanting to take off his clothes, the nightmares, his wariness around men, being permanently anxious and sad. And all those times when he’d started to tell me something and, out of fear of being cut up, had stopped. Oskar had said the toys from home had hurt him, but I could now see what he meant. It wasn’t the toys themselves; it was that he associated being hurt with the toys.
I also remembered how cautious he’d been when I’d first given him the teddy bear I’d bought. Now I understood that presents in the past had been given to buy his silence. Whatever had gone through his mind when I’d given him what I thought was an innocent present? Little wonder he’d been wary of us, especially Adrian. Before I telephoned Andrew and he set the wheels in motion, I needed to try to begin to restore Oskar’s faith in others, although I was sure it would take years before he truly trusted anyone again. One of the lasting legacies of sexual abuse is distrust.
‘Oskar, those two men who abused you were evil – very, very bad, wicked men – but most men aren’t evil. They’re good. Adrian is a good person. He won’t hurt you, and neither will your social worker. You have nothing to fear from them or most men.’ Obvious to those from loving homes who haven’t suffered, but not to an abused child. ‘I’m going to telephone your social worker now and tell him what you’ve told me. OK, love?’
Oskar reluctantly took his arms from around me. ‘We can have another hug when I’ve finished,’ I said with a smile. ‘Would you like to watch some television while I talk to Andrew?’
‘Yes, please,’ he said quietly.
‘Good boy.’
I switched on the television, found a children’s channel, then, taking my mobile, I stepped outside the living room, drawing the door slightly to. With the television on, Oskar shouldn’t be able to hear me. I tapped Andrew’s office number and he answered straight away.
‘Sorry, I was going to phone you,’ he said. ‘Elaine Summer called and said Oskar was upset. I understand he saw those two men again parked outside his school.’
‘Yes, that’s right. I’ve brought Oskar home, but there’s been a development since then.’ I told Andrew everything Oskar had told me, finishing with, ‘I’ve no doubt Oskar is telling me the truth.’
There was a moment’s pause and then Andrew said, with a heartfelt sigh, ‘I agree. The poor child. I’ll alert the police straight away. How is he?’
‘Very quiet. He’s watching some television. I’ve reassured him as much as I can.’
‘I’ll need to see him at some point, but let me get this moving first. Did he say if anyone else knew of the abuse?’
‘From what he said it was just him and those two men in the house at the time of the abuse. I don’t think anyone else knew.’
‘And he wouldn’t give you their names?’
‘No, he’s too scared.’
‘And he didn’t tell his mother?’
‘He says not.’
‘Do we know when the abuse started?’
‘I didn’t ask him, but I got the feeling it was weeks if not months ago. It escalated when Roksana was out of the country, seeing Luka.’
‘Because there was no one in the house responsible for Oskar,’ Andrew said. ‘Roksana told me her friends were looking after him while she worked and was away, but clearly that wasn’t so. OK, thank you, Cathy. I’ll be in touch.’
‘Andrew, one more thing. There is supposed to be phone contact this evening. Do you want Oskar to call his mother?’
He paused for a moment and then said, ‘No. I don’t want her alerted until the police have been to the house and spoken to her.’
‘All right.’
The call ended and I returned to the living room. Oskar was where I’d left him, sitting on the sofa facing the television, although I’m not sure he was actually watching the programme. As soon as I entered, he turned and looked at me, worried. ‘Did you tell Andrew?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Yes. He will tell the police. You’ve been very brave. There is nothing for you to worry about now.’
‘I hope the police catch those men and lock them up,’ he said in the innocent, childish way of a six-year-old.
‘So do I,’ I said. ‘It would help if you could tell me their names.’
But I could see from his expression he was still too scared to tell, and he slowly shook his head.
‘OK. I’m sure the police will be able to find out who they are,’ I said with a reassuring smile. ‘You’re safe. Nothing can harm you now.’ I’d said it before and I would say it again, many times, although I knew it would be a long time before he truly felt safe.
I left Oskar briefly again while I fetched my fostering folder from the locked draw in the front room. I wanted to write up my log notes while what Oskar had told me was still fresh in my mind. It was possible my log would form part of the evidence against the two men when they were caught. So while Oskar continued to watch the television, I sat a little way from him on the sofa and wrote what had happened that day – from when the school secretary had telephoned to what Oskar had told his teacher and his disclosure to me, using his words as much as possible. I ended by writing that I had telephoned his social worker at 3 p.m. and notified him.
I returned the folder to the drawer in the front room and sat beside Oskar again. Now all I could do was wait and hope that those two men were caught and there was enough evidence to prosecute them. Sadly, I’d fostered children before who had found the courage to disclose abuse, but then after a police investigation there’d been insufficient evidence to take the case to court. Not only was it frustrating for all those involved with the child, but it was soul-destroying for the child or young person who hadn’t seen their abuser punished. Having said that, I know some victims have found that being able to tell and having their claims taken seriously and investigated by the police has given them some closure.
I looked at Oskar as he watched television, his little face so innocent and vulnerable. It beggared belief how anyone could hurt and humiliate him. My anger flared towards those responsible and I felt even more protective of him. I wondered how Roksana would feel when she was told what had happened. There was nothing so far to suggest she knew Oskar was being abused, but she’d repeatedly left h
im without proper supervision, so that when she’d worked and gone abroad he’d been at the mercy of two paedophiles. However, there was no point in speculating, for now my priority was – as always – Oskar.
‘How are you doing?’ I asked him after a moment, touching his arm.
He gave a little nod and turned to look at me. ‘I feel a bit better now I’ve told you,’ he said, and managed a small smile. I could have cried.
‘Good. I thought you might.’
‘Can I have another hug?’ he asked.
‘Yes, of course.’ I put my arm around him and he snuggled close. We continued watching television, hugging each other. It was at moments like this I knew exactly why I fostered. I had helped Oskar take the first step towards a better future.
As Paula, Lucy and Adrian returned home I took them aside and told them that Oskar had disclosed sexual abuse (although not the details) and if he said anything else they should let me know so I could pass it on to his social worker. Sometimes when a child starts to talk about the abuse they’ve suffered more comes tumbling out, and it was important I logged it and told the social worker, as it was all evidence. Of course, my children were horrified that Oskar had been abused, although they weren’t wholly surprised. Having grown up with fostering, they could often spot the signs when a child was harbouring a dark secret, just as I could. Fostering had taught us that evil things do happen and they’re not just horror stories in the news.
It was only as we sat down to dinner that Oskar realized he hadn’t telephoned his mother.
‘Andrew decided we wouldn’t call her today, as he’ll need to talk to her and she’ll have a lot on her mind,’ I said.
‘Oh, I like talking to her,’ he said, disappointed. Which surprised me, as they struggled to make conversation and the calls were never more than a couple of minutes. I supposed it was the brief contact with his mother and hearing her voice that he liked. I didn’t doubt he loved her, and she him, but Roksana’s absence during so much of his life due to her long working hours had prevented them from forming a very close attachment.
