Little Prisoners

by Casey Watson

  ‘Can you elaborate?’ Emma wanted to know.

  Julia could. ‘She uses some strange language,’ she said. ‘And has a slightly odd manner and general demeanour. Then there are the bouts of hyperactivity, and the bouts of arm flapping that often accompany it. These are clearly longstanding behaviours that have become reinforced over time and need addressing as a priority. I also wonder if she needs her medication reassessed, as the ADHD is clearly still a factor.’

  Next up was the school nurse, who expressed her agreement, but was able to add a positive about both children’s weight gain, which had, since they’d been with us, come along nicely, with both of them being now within the correct boundaries for their age.

  Emma duly noted all this down, together with Anna’s testimony that the council were doing all they could to find permanent placements, as well as outlining their decision to split Ashton from Olivia, and why. This still upset me, of course, even though I understood the reasoning, and I had by now come to accept, however sadly, that the truth was that we didn’t live in a utopia.

  But the sadness was suppressed by a warm glow of positivity as John rounded up that part of the meeting.

  ‘I think we can all agree,’ he said, smiling in Mike and my direction, ‘that the Watsons – who, I might add, were only supposed to have these two very short term – have been doing an exemplary job. And that’s without the support they could have done with,’ he added. ‘As you all know, as temporary carers, they have no input from CAMHS, so apart from the support of the school, which has been excellent, they really have been going it alone.’

  Was it that, I wondered afterwards, that so rankled with the other teachers? All I knew was that from that point on things became unpleasant. We moved straight on, then, to looking at an action plan for the immediate future, and it was at this point that the two of them were asked to contribute, to add their insight into the root of the children’s problems. But we were all in for something of a shock.

  I’d spoken briefly to Julia, of course, about the lack of documentation she’d been sent, but it seemed that was the tip of the iceberg.

  The children’s previous headmaster, Mr Moore, cleared his throat noisily, and proceeded to make something of a speech. ‘I’m very pleased we’ve been asked to come here today,’ he began. ‘Because the extended family have been known to our school for a long time, and this latest pair did and do mean a lot to us. We taught both of them, right from reception class on and, as I say, knew the family extremely well. Educationally,’ and here he paused and scanned the faces around the table, ‘I must say I am surprised by what I’ve heard here today. According to our records, and from what I remember of the children personally, both children were perfectly capable at school. We never had problems with them.’

  You could have heard a pin drop at that point, which I felt sure was what he intended, such was the tone of his words. I glanced at Julia, whose expression of shock mirrored mine. ‘Really?’ she said, her professional hackles up now. ‘I have to say, I am somewhat surprised at that. We have conducted a lot of tests and are a hundred per cent certain that both children have a degree of learning disability. We will, of course, bring in the educational psychologist to re-affirm this, but they definitely require learning support.’

  Had a pin dropped now, it would still make a clatter in the ensuing silence, as Mr Moore turned to his assistant. ‘Well, Ann here,’ he said, gesturing to the now nervous-looking woman sitting beside him, ‘is the teaching assistant attached to the classes of both Ashton and Olivia and she assures me –’ he smiled and she bobbed her head slightly – ‘that there was never a problem with the children. They were always hard-working, quiet and friendly. There was nothing to suggest they needed extra support. The only worry we did have, was for Olivia and her rather “quaint” ways.’

  ‘Which wasn’t documented,’ Julia shot back immediately.

  ‘If you’ll let me finish,’ Mr Moore said. ‘I was going to say that we were about to bring in a therapist when the children were removed from the school. But apart from that, we saw no evidence to concern us.’

  ‘That’s right,’ added Ann, who appeared to have found her voice now. ‘They were always adequately presented, and –’

  It was at this point that perhaps she wished she hadn’t.

  ‘Adequately presented?!’ This was Mike, who, up to now, had been silent, but his voice was as explosive as it was sudden. I could see he was aghast. ‘Adequately presented? Are we talking about the same family here? These are kids that were brought to us without any clothing to speak of, filthy dirty, heads ridden with lice! They the ones? Oh, and covered in scabies, too. The same kids, right?’

  I placed my hand over Mike’s on the table. He was livid – that was clear – and I could understand why. These people who professed to know these children so well didn’t seem to know them at all. Could they even bring them to mind now? I seriously doubted it. I decided to speak before my husband blew a gasket.

  ‘Mike’s right,’ I said, trying to keep my voice level. ‘And, actually, our records indicate that the school – your school –’ I looked pointedly at Mr Moore here – ‘had sent a report to social services, saying pretty much the same. That they were unkempt most of the time, and hungry as well. And that they’d been caught stealing food from other children’s lunch boxes, and the school rubbish bins, too, as I recall. Also, as far as their learning capacity goes, we all believe –’ I glanced at Julia here, and she nodded – ‘that they are at least a couple of years behind their peers. At least.’

  Ann, the teaching assistant, smiled at me sweetly. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs Watson,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t realise you were a teacher.’

  I hated that it happened, but I felt my cheeks redden, as the sarcasm in her voice reached my ears.

  ‘Actually, Ms Phelps,’ I said, glancing at her name on the agenda, my heart beginning to thump against my ribcage, ‘I do have a teaching degree, if that’s any of your business. But that’s irrelevant to what I’m telling you about these children. You don’t need a teaching qualification to back up what I’m saying, which is that these children clearly have problems which have been manifest for years.’

  I was fuming. I had no idea why this woman so had it in for me. I’d never met her, never slighted her. What was going on here? Was it just because the children had been removed from their school? Was that it?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mr Moore again, filling the space his assistant’s shocked silence had created. ‘But I, um, we, have to disagree with your evaluation. And I’d like it to be noted that, as a school, we feel that if the children have now deteriorated, then maybe … well, maybe the current carers have let that side of things slide somewhat.’

  Mike slammed his hands down on the table so hard that I almost jumped out of my skin. ‘How DARE you!’ he railed at the head teacher. ‘How dare you! How dare you insinuate that we don’t know our job! I tell you what, mate, if you had done your job properly, these kids might have been spared one hell of a lot of suffering and grief! In my opinion, you have contributed to that, you hear me?’ He turned to me then. ‘Are you okay, love?’ His face was grey.

  I was on the verge of tears now. So stunned by what had happened that I couldn’t speak. Had the man actually said that? That we had made the children deteriorate? It was as ridiculous a suggestion as I’d heard in my life, but, even so, I felt cornered. Judged. In the headlights. How could he even suggest such a thing?

  John stood up. He looked every bit as shocked as I felt. ‘Emma,’ he said. ‘Would you mind if we called a halt? Ten minutes, okay? I’d like to have a word with Mike and Casey.’

  She nodded, looking relieved, and the three of us trooped out.

  Out in the corridor, Mike was as angry as ever. ‘Honestly, Case, I could go right back in there and … God! I can’t believe what they’re trying to insinuate!’

  John nodded his agreement. ‘Mike, I’m as gobsmacked as you are. But you know how these
things can get – emotions run high. Everyone’s under pressure. Things get heated … You okay, Casey?’

  I nodded. ‘I’m fine. I’m just furious! How could he? And that woman! And after everything we’ve done for the kids! What the hell is her agenda? She sat right through the bloody meeting! She heard what was said. How can she come out with that? Honestly, John, I felt like slapping her one!’

  ‘I could see that,’ said Mike, making a concerted effort to calm down. He managed a thin smile. ‘Which is why I thought I’d better step in for you.’

  Seeing Mike regaining his temper reminded me I should do likewise. There was nothing to be gained by getting so het up. I took a deep breath and let it stream out through my nostrils.

  ‘I’m okay now,’ I said. ‘I’m just fine.’

  ‘Well, I’m not!’ said John. ‘Look, you just say the word, Casey, and I’ll go right on back in there, this very minute, and tell them that’s that. Placement over. I won’t have any member of my team spoken to in that fashion! Just say the word and I’ll go back and tell the whole bloody lot of them that that’s it. That you’ve had enough. That you won’t be spoken to like that. That they’ll have to find an emergency placement elsewhere. Today!’

  ‘John, come on. It wasn’t really Anna’s fault –’ I began.

  He shook his head. ‘Makes no difference. She should have spoken up for you. I should have spoken up for you.’

  Mike put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Come on. You hardly had a chance, John.’

  ‘Even so, I should have. Honestly, both of you, just say the word. If you’ve had enough, just say. I’ll go and tell them.”

  I looked at Mike. Mike looked back. We didn’t need to say anything. I had no idea how such a bizarre conversation had come about. But one thing was for sure. On the strength of what had clearly come before, these kids needed people like us in their corner. ‘No way,’ I said firmly. ‘No way.’

  Chapter 17

  I brooded about that meeting all week. After we’d left it, John had agreed with Mike and I that there was something going on, that there was something we didn’t know, and that he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

  Several days passed, however, before he did as he’d promised; but he came good. Instead of phoning to tell me, or emailing, he turned up unexpectedly, just after the school run.

  ‘Surprise!’ he said cheerfully, as I gawped to see him standing there. ‘Well, come on, let me in then,’ he said. ‘I have news!’

  ‘Was I expecting you?’ I asked him, trying to flick through a mental filing cabinet, wondering if there was an appointment I’d forgotten about.

  ‘No, of course you weren’t!’ he said. ‘The clue’s in the word “surprise”, Casey. Now let me in, will you, woman? It’s brass monkeys out here!’

  I made him a hot drink and allowed him to thaw for a few minutes before pestering him to put me out of my misery. ‘So what is this news?’

  He pulled a slim folder from his briefcase. ‘Hold your horses,’ he said. ‘First up, here’s the LAC review minutes. All fine, nothing to worry about. Pretty straightforward stuff.’ He placed them on the kitchen table. ‘You can read them at your leisure. My real news, however, is more edifying.’

  This was what I’d been waiting for. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, as you can probably imagine all too well, I was still bloody livid when I got back to my office, so I decided to do a bit of detective work right away. Detective work on the school, following my gut instinct – which I trust – about just how “friendly” the school had actually been with the family. I mean, unless we had a case of pretty serious crossed wires, my understanding was that the school, though they clearly never intervened, did file a report when social services got involved and discussed plans to put the children into care.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, they did. Anna said so.’

  ‘Exactly. And they definitely did make reference to the kids being unkempt. And they definitely did make reference to them stealing out of bins.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I saw it. Which means –’

  ‘– that the head, Mr Moore, was talking rubbish, agreed?’

  ‘Well, exactly! God, don’t do this to me, John – spill!’

  ‘And now I know why.’ He paused, for effect, and sipped his coffee. ‘So, earlier this year, that same school had their OFSTED inspection. And OFSTED, of course, are the governing body that go in to check that a school is performing to the standards laid down in the National Curriculum, and –’

  ‘John …’

  ‘Oops!’ he said, looking suddenly sheepish. ‘Sorry, I keep forgetting you used to work in education. But anyway,’ he leaned forward and whispered theatrically, ‘the results, in this case, were atrocious. The school were told, and in no uncertain terms, it would seem, that they had only so many months to clean up their act before they would officially be put in special measures. OFSTED apparently targeted lots of different areas, but for the purposes of shedding light on what happened at that meeting, the main one of interest is in pastoral care. So my guess – no, more than a guess, I was damned damned certain – was that a finger pointing towards evidence of apathy towards these children was exactly what they didn’t, and don’t, need right now.’

  I sat back, feeling a small glow of vindication. It all fell into place now. ‘No, I can see that. They definitely wouldn’t. No wonder they were so keen to try and lay the blame elsewhere.’ I sat forward too, now. ‘And in circumstances where it would definitely be minuted. And so on record. Well of all the bloody cheek!’

  ‘I know. But don’t worry. I’ve phoned the head myself and drawn his attention to the original report. And I’ve also let my personal suspicions be known. He’s not happy about it, obviously, but neither is he stupid. He’s basically admitted that perhaps he wasn’t suitably prepped before the meeting, and that “perhaps” – oh, how I loved that “perhaps”! – he’d not managed to read all the relevant paperwork first. The upshot is that he has now agreed he’ll look into it and has also agreed – following my, erm, “directive” on the matter – that he’ll prepare us a more accurate written report, which we can obviously attach to these minutes.’

  ‘Sounds like you went in pretty hard, then.’

  ‘I sure did.’

  ‘And I’m really grateful, John. I can’t tell you. Not that I’m not still bloody angry at the pair of them. It’s so unprofessional! Fancy them putting the needs of those kids second – not to mention our reputation – to the saving of their own arses!’

  ‘But no more. It’ll all be down in there’ – he pointed to the folder – ‘in black and white. So that no fingers get pointed towards you and Mike. And quite right. The least I could do.’

  ‘And as I said, I’m really grateful. Mike too, when I tell him. Though it shouldn’t have been bloody necessary in the first place, should it?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, it shouldn’t. But, hey ho. Such is life, eh? Anyway,’ he said, draining his mug. ‘Better get off. See you in a week or so, no doubt.’ He stood up then, and I followed him back out into the hall, reaching past him to open the front door. The postman had been, so I picked up the letters from the mat while I was at it.

  ‘Ooh,’ I said, spying a bright-red envelope among them. ‘First Christmas card! Anyway, thanks again, John. We really do appreciate your support.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Casey, you know that. Oh, but just the one thing,’ he added, pointing towards the envelope. ‘It’s 1 December. Please, please don’t let me come back here next week and find this place already trimmed up to the bloody nines! With my workload this month, I might just have to kill you.’

  ‘John, I can’t think what you mean!’ I said, grinning.

  So it was that, on 2 December, the run-up to Christmas properly started. I spent the next few days nagging Mike to go into the loft and get the decorations down, and didn’t give him a minute’s peace until he did. And it was all John’s fault, I thought to myself, grinning. In truth, I
hadn’t even really thought of the ‘C’ word until he’d seen that card and brought it up on my doorstep. Now it felt almost obligatory to have the place done out like Santa’s grotto before he next came.

  But who was I kidding? It would only have been a matter of days anyway, because Christmas is my very favourite time of year. In my eyes there is nothing as glamorous in the world as an overdressed Christmas tree forming the centre piece of a house dripping with tinsel and fairylights. Curmudgeonly John or no (and I knew him well enough now to enjoy winding him up about it), I was always the first on our street to put up my glitzy decorations, both inside the house and outside. Indeed, there’d been years in the past when I’d have the stuff out of the loft almost the minute the last Bonfire Night firework had fizzled out, and would make a start on creating my window dressings. As the children got older, I had become a little less manic, but then along came the foster kids, and Levi, and, well … let’s just say that I had long since learned to misinterpret the shaking heads of passers-by. I preferred to imagine that what they were thinking as they passed was, ‘There she goes again! And good on her! That woman is just so dedicated to Christmas!’

  Not that I was entirely democratic about the decorations. Though I always promised the children they could help to trim the tree, I was a one-man band when it came to the rest of the house, a job I traditionally liked to have done and truly dusted before the schools broke up and everything got so hectic.

  It was funny what a turnaround I’d experienced in that regard. When I worked in schools myself, like everyone else, I used to love the school holidays. But now, I guess, like millions of other parents across the country, it felt like the schools always seemed to be on holiday! It would certainly feel like a pretty long three weeks this year.

  Though this wasn’t just selfishness on my part. Just lately – well, increasingly over the last few weeks, if I was honest – the children’s behaviour, particularly in regard to their ADHD, seemed to becoming more evident. And in the midst of that, it was becoming increasingly hard to maintain a calm home environment. Olivia, in particular, was becoming trying. Having the school draw attention to some of her over-excited behaviour seemed to make me notice it with greater frequency. And she really did remind me of an over-excited little bird when her medication levels dipped, as she’d run around and then jump up, perching on the backs of chairs, crouching, and then leaping onto anyone who passed by. She was affectionate with it, but she’d still scare everyone half to death, and I knew it really needed addressing.