Too Scared to Tell

by Cathy Glass

  The next day and during that weekend Oskar was his usual quiet and contained little self, although he did want plenty of hugs from me, and then Lucy and Paula. We were of course happy to oblige. He was still wary around Adrian and I hoped that in time this would pass as his trust in men was restored. Therapy should help, but I was still waiting for an appointment for CAMHS.

  When we telephoned Roksana in the evening the conversation between her and Oskar was as short and stilted as before. I don’t think she knew how to talk to her son – she never really had. I prompted Oskar to tell his mother about school and what he’d been doing generally, but she replied to everything with a flat, ‘That’s nice.’ It sounded dismissive and didn’t invite further conversation, although I don’t think she meant it to. It was her way with Oskar. I also thought she must have a lot on her mind, dealing with Oskar’s disclosure and the police investigation. But at least she held it together while she spoke to him on the phone and didn’t cry. Had she, I would have stopped the phone call, as it would have been upsetting for Oskar.

  On Monday Andrew telephoned mid-morning and said that the police were going to video interview Oskar that afternoon and he would collect him from school at one-thirty, take him to the interview and then return him to me afterwards. I was relieved Andrew was taking Oskar rather than me. I’d accompanied other children I’d fostered to similar interviews and knew how upsetting it could be. The police are specially trained to interview young children and are sensitive to their needs, but obviously they have to ask in-depth questions to obtain enough detail to prosecute the abuser(s). The interview is usually conducted in a special suite at the police station with a sofa and toys, designed to relax the child. For the actual interview, just the child and interviewing officer are present, but there is an adjacent room where the person accompanying the child can wait and observe what happens. Watching and listening to a child describe the details of sexual abuse stays with you for years to come, although I’d already heard some of what Oskar had suffered when he’d disclosed to me. I think foster carers should be offered counselling. Some fostering agencies do but not all, and it relies on the carer’s supervising social worker to apply for it, when it should come as standard.

  That afternoon my thoughts were with Oskar. As one-thirty approached I began worrying about him and continued to do so all afternoon. It was nearly five o’clock before Andrew returned him and they both looked washed out. ‘I’ll come in briefly,’ Andrew said. ‘Then I need to stop by the office.’

  ‘Are you OK?’ I asked Oskar.

  He nodded. ‘I’m going to my room,’ he said, and kicking off his shoes he went upstairs. Paula was in her room so I asked her to keep an eye on him while I talked to Andrew.

  Andrew gratefully accepted a coffee, which I set on a tray with a plate of biscuits and carried into the living room. I placed it on the occasional table within his reach. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and with a heartfelt sigh he took a few sips. ‘Oskar did well. The police should have enough evidence with his testimony and the evidence they found in the house to prosecute those responsible, once they catch them.’

  ‘They haven’t caught Mihai and Codrin yet?’

  ‘No, and it’s unlikely those were their real names, but the police know who they are from the details given by those in the house. They’ve told Oskar they are looking for them and have reassured him he is safe and they won’t come after him.’

  ‘Good. He was worried they might.’

  ‘I know, he told the police he was.’ Andrew took another sip from his coffee. ‘I’m going to speak to CAMHS and try to bring forward Oskar’s appointment. I think it should be classified as urgent now.’

  ‘Yes. That would help him. I’m glad there’s enough evidence to prosecute.’

  ‘So am I,’ Andrew said, setting down his cup. ‘The police found a number of USB memory sticks concealed in a mattress in the room they used. They’d recorded some of the abuse as it took place.’

  My stomach churned. I didn’t ask what was on those USB sticks, I could guess. Unbelievably sick and shocking clips of children being abused, destined to be shared with other paedophiles on the Dark Web. This is a place on the Internet most of us are completely unaware of, as it won’t come up on a search engine, but it’s where criminals – paedophiles, terrorists, traffickers and so forth – share their illegal activities.

  ‘The recordings showed other children being abused as well as Oskar,’ Andrew said. ‘The police are trying to identify and trace them. There is nothing to suggest that Roksana or anyone else living in the house knew or was involved, although the police enquiries are on-going.’

  I nodded. Obviously, it was a relief that his mother wasn’t involved.

  ‘I’d better be going,’ Andrew said with a sigh, and finished his coffee. ‘Can you let me have a copy of your log notes? Anything that relates to Oskar disclosing abuse.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll type them up this evening. Is Oskar to phone his mother tonight?’

  ‘Yes, contact is as usual. I’ll go up and say goodbye to him and leave you to it.’

  I waited in the hall while Andrew went up to Oskar’s room and Paula left them together. After he’d gone, I went to check on Oskar. He was sitting on his bed. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said in a small voice.

  ‘Andrew tells me you did very well.’

  ‘I didn’t tell the police their names,’ he said seriously. ‘Someone else did.’

  ‘I know. There’s nothing for you to worry about.’

  ‘Will they know it wasn’t me?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. Those evil men won’t come anywhere near you. They are wanted by the police and on the run. They will be far away from here by now.’ I hoped I was right. The last thing Oskar needed was to see them again, even from a distance. ‘You have to phone your mother, so let’s go downstairs now and do that.’

  ‘Will she want to speak to me?’ he asked gloomily.

  ‘Yes, of course. Although it’s later than we usually phone so she may be at work. If she doesn’t answer you can leave a message.’ That he had to ask was worrying, as most children would assume their parent wanted to talk to them.

  Downstairs in the living room, we sat in our usual places side by side on the sofa and, with the phone on speaker, I pressed Roksana’s number. As I thought might happen, the call went through to voicemail. ‘Leave Mummy a message,’ I told Oskar, and passed him the phone.

  ‘Hello, Mummy,’ he said in a small voice. ‘It’s Oskar.’ And that was it. He handed the phone back to me.

  ‘It’s Cathy,’ I said. ‘Hope you’re OK. I’m guessing you’re at work, so we’ll see you tomorrow at contact. Just to let you know that Oskar is all right. Bye, then.’

  I kept Oskar occupied that evening. He fed Sammy and then helped me make dinner. He didn’t want much to eat and kept yawning at the table, so I guessed he was exhausted from the afternoon. I took him up for an early bath and bed. As I tucked him into bed he asked, ‘Will those men be a long way away now?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t worry.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Andrew told me the police were looking for them. I think they told you something similar?’

  ‘Yes, but how do they know they have gone?’ he persisted.

  ‘The police are smart,’ I said. ‘They know all about catching criminals.’

  ‘Smarter than those men?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, much smarter.’ Which seemed to help. At Oskar’s age, he was simply looking for reassurance, and didn’t need to know the ins and outs of a police enquiry.

  I sat with him for a while and then, kissing his forehead, I left him to go to sleep, which he did quite quickly. Downstairs I took my log book and a marker pen from the drawer in the front room and sat at the table, going through my notes, highlighting al
l the sections relevant to Oskar disclosing abuse. Not just the actual time he’d managed to tell me but when he’d got close, and how he’d been – if he’d gone quiet and appeared anxious. It would help build a case and substantiate what he was saying. Once I’d finished going through my log book, I typed the extracts into a Word document and emailed it to Andrew.

  Afterwards I spent time with my children, all of whom were in, and then went to bed, finally falling asleep in the early hours. Oskar slept well and seemed refreshed in the morning. However, as we left the house to go to school I got the shock of my life. He was just ahead of me on the front path and as he approached our gate he suddenly screamed and darted round the corner of the house, terrified. I went after him, my heart racing, and found him crouching behind a large potted shrub down the sideway.

  ‘Whatever is the matter?’ I asked. ‘Have you been stung?’ It was my first thought as the rhododendron bush in the front garden was in flower and wasps were buzzing around it.

  ‘They’re there!’ he cried, burying his head in his knees and pointing to the road. ‘I saw their car.’

  I felt sick with fear. I didn’t need him to tell me who. ‘Stay there,’ I said, and quickly took out my phone ready to call the police. I returned to our garden gate and saw what was frightening Oskar. A black car was parked on the opposite side of the road, but it was a different make and model to the one his abusers had, and this car was empty. True, it wasn’t usually parked there, but there were any number of reasons why it could be, and there was nothing to link it to his abusers other than its colour.

  ‘It’s not them,’ I said, putting away my phone as I returned to him. ‘It’s a different car. It belongs to someone else.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, daring to raise his head.

  ‘Yes, positive.’ I offered him my hand and he slowly came out from his hiding place. ‘See,’ I said as we went to the gate and the car came into view. ‘It’s very different and it’s empty.’

  ‘But why is it here?’ he asked.

  ‘The owner is probably visiting someone who lives in the road. It’s nothing to worry about.’

  I opened his car door and he got in, but I could see he was still looking anxiously across the road. ‘Oskar, there are thousands of black cars. It’s one of the most popular colours. I’ll show you on the way to school.’

  I started the car and pulled away, then as I drove I pointed out all the black cars I could see, and there were plenty! ‘There’s one,’ I said. ‘There’s another one …’ And so on, until I felt I had made my point. ‘OK?’ I asked, glancing at him in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Yes.’ But a few moments later he said, ‘Their car smelt funny inside.’

  My heart stopped and I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. There was only one way he could know that. ‘Have you been in their car?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Were you abused in their car?’

  I saw him nod.

  ‘Did you tell the police?’ I kept my eyes on the road ahead.

  ‘Yes. I told them everything.’

  ‘Good boy.’

  Oskar was quiet for the rest of the journey to school while I struggled with the images and thoughts racing through my head. Not only of Oskar being abused at home and in their car, but of the other children the police had discovered on those sickening videos. It was horrendous, and I only knew part of what had happened. It was enough to strike terror into the hearts of any caring adult. I wondered if the parents of the other children in the videos knew they had been abused or possibly still were being. It’s the stuff of nightmares, and hearing about it undermines one’s faith in human nature. There are evil people out there. Oskar was safe, but what about all the others? It’s a shocking thought that thousands of children across the world are being abused at this very moment.

  On a lighter note, when we arrived in the school playground, fellow foster carer Angela came over. I hadn’t seen her for a while and I soon learnt why. She’d been involved in rehabilitating the brother and sister she was fostering back home to their mother, so for the last few weeks the children had been attending their new school, near their home. Angela had brought them here today to say goodbye to their class. While it was fantastic the children could go home, it was bittersweet for Angela, who, like most foster carers, had grown very close to them. We talked for a while and then, when it was time for the children to go into school, we said goodbye. It was unlikely we’d see each other at the end of the day as Oskar and I had to leave smartly to go to contact and she would be involved in final goodbyes. I’d probably see her again at a foster-carer training or one of the social events.

  Later, as I drove to contact that afternoon, I wondered if I’d ever be in the same position as Angela and returning Oskar home. I thought it unlikely. A lot would have to change before the social services felt it safe to return him. Roksana hadn’t abused her son, but her neglect had left him without proper parenting and vulnerable to abuse.

  As if to give weight to my supposition, Roksana was late for contact. She’d phoned the Family Centre to say she was on her way, so Oskar and I waited in Green Room with the contact supervisor for her to arrive. I read story books to Oskar to pass the time.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, when she finally appeared twenty minutes late. ‘I didn’t sleep well and my boss is angry I phoned in sick yesterday. Bastard. It’s the first time I’ve ever been off sick.’ She looked tired and strained.

  ‘That doesn’t seem fair,’ I said sympathetically. ‘Can’t you work for a different agency?’ I knew there were plenty of cleaning agencies in the area.

  ‘I’ll have to if he fires me,’ she said, dumping her bag and jacket on the sofa. ‘But they pay better than most agencies.’

  I returned the books we’d been reading to the shelf. ‘Have a good time with Oskar.’

  ‘Oh yes, Oskar,’ she said, as if seeing him for the first time. She’d been so preoccupied with her work worries that he’d come second again. I wondered again if she’d truly learnt any lessons from what had happened.

  Outside, I sat in my car with the window down and the radio on. It wasn’t worth going home. Presently my phone bleeped with a text message from Lucy: Hi Mum. I’m going to spend the night at Darren’s. See you tomorrow.

  Oh no you’re not! was my first thought. Then I stopped and took a moment.

  This had caught me unawares. I hadn’t realized their relationship had progressed so quickly and, in my eyes, Lucy was still my little girl, just as Paula was. I took a breath and tried to think rationally. Adrian spent nights with Kirsty, but they’d known each other for years, not weeks, and, dare I say it, Adrian was more sensible – his head ruled his heart. Lucy was the opposite, but I loved her for it. I’d seen the way her face lit up every time she mentioned Darren, which was often. She was besotted with him, but did he feel the same about her? I suppose because of the rough start she’d had in life I was very protective of her. However, she was an adult and I needed to have faith in her decisions.

  Have you got your overnight things with you? I texted, practical to the last.

  Yes.

  So this had been planned ahead and she’d taken what she needed with her to work.

  I replied: OK, love. Thanks for letting me know. I look forward to meeting Darren. Love, Mum xxx

  Much later, I wondered if I’d done the right thing, but how wise we are in hindsight! And realistically, would me saying I didn’t think spending the night with Darren was a good idea and they should get to know each other better first have made any difference? Probably not.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Family

  After all the upset and turmoil of Oskar revealing he had been sexually abused, our lives settled down for a while. May slipped into June and the weather grew warmer. Flowers bloomed, birds sang and everyone looked that bit happier, even Oskar. Of cours
e, it was a huge relief for him, and us, that he had been able to tell, and his abusers were being sought by the police. I asked him again if he would like to invite a friend from school home for tea. He wasn’t overly enthusiastic and said quaintly he’d think about it. He liked PE at school and was good at it, so I enrolled him in a Saturday-morning gym class for children at our local sports centre. The session was an hour long and he thoroughly enjoyed it, and it gave him a new interest.

  The final court hearing for the child-care proceedings was scheduled for October. If Oskar wasn’t returned to his mother (which was unlikely), I assumed he would stay with me. But that was all in the future, and our routine continued with school and the same contact arrangements, the quality of which didn’t improve, so that Oskar’s relationship with his mother stayed the same – cool. I had hoped that after Roksana’s initial upset at learning Oskar had been abused, she might have invested more time in him, but that didn’t happen. Contact remained an hour twice a week and she often arrived preoccupied and anxious about one worry or another – mainly work and money problems. I was sympathetic, but my first concern was Oskar.

  Now he was more settled with us, he felt secure enough to begin releasing his anger, which I’d guessed might happen at some point. Since disclosing abuse he hadn’t mentioned it again, but I knew it would be brewing inside him. I hoped therapy would help, but we were still waiting for the CAMHS appointment. It began with him being less cooperative and compliant, and saying no when he should have been saying yes to something I’d asked him to do or not do. It was accompanied by a scowl, which made him look cute rather than threatening, although it was becoming irritating. Eventually, at the dinner table one evening, Lucy said, ‘What’s the opposite of no, Oskar?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied.

  ‘Excellent. You need to use it more often.’