Mummy Told Me Not to Tell: The true story of a troubled boy with a dark secret. Cathy Glass

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ again. By the time I’d finished peeling the potatoes I had been summoned twice more, and the girls were now asking what the strange smell was permeating round the landing and into their bedrooms, or words to that effect.

      At 5.25 I knew Blue Peter had finished, and with the dinner cooking, I went upstairs and explained to Reece that the children’s programmes had come to an end, and that he had watched enough television. I asked him to switch it off. He didn’t, so I asked again; then I switched it off.

      As soon as I pressed the button on the remote it was as though a button had been pressed on Reece. An hour of sitting still in front of the television had recharged his batteries and he fired off like a rocket. In his own world and oblivious to us, he charged round the landing, up and down the stairs, in and out of all the rooms including the bedrooms, making loud and unrelated zooming and whooping noises. Paula, who tried to catch him as he made another lap of her bedroom, narrowly missed a head-butt as he collided with everything and anyone who happened to get in his way. Reece was hyped up and out of control. I knew the only way to make him calmer was to do a more controlled release of some of his pent-up energy. In the summer I encourage all children into the garden, where they can run and make whooping noises to their hearts’ content. But it was the middle of winter, cold and dark, so I decided to use my other strategy of going for a brisk walk.

      ‘Could you keep an eye on the dinner?’ I said to Lucy and Paula, who were standing on the landing watching Reece unwind like a coiled spring. I’ll take him for a short walk. I’ll only be twenty minutes, but it should do the trick. He probably hasn’t had much exercise today.’

      It was no good trying to catch Reece because he would see that as a game and enjoy the chase, and that in turn would make him even more hyperactive. So I went down the hall, unhooked my coat from the hall stand and began putting it on, while calling: ‘Come on, Reece. You and I will go for a walk before dinner.’

      He was still zooming around, up and down the hall, in and out of the front room and the living room, now yelping for all he was worth. I wasn’t sure if it was imaginative play and he was pretending to be something like a Boeing 727 or a pterodactyl, but it was dangerously out of control. He had his arms out either side of him like wings but the accompanying noise was more like that of a wolf than a plane or prehistoric bird.

      ‘Come on, Reece,’ I said again. ‘Let’s go for a quick walk before dinner.’

      ‘No!’ he yelled at the top of his voice, zooming past me and narrowly missing my arm with his outstretched wings.

      I knew there was little point in insisting he come with me because it would have led to a confrontation, so I tried a different ploy: one of feigned indifference, which can work with younger children. ‘No problem,’ I said lightly. I’ll go for a walk by myself. You can stay here with Lucy and Paula. They will look after you very well.’ I would never have left a child on their first night with my daughters babysitting, let alone one who had Reece’s problems — it would have been far too much responsibility for them — but Reece didn’t know that. I slowly put on my shoes and then concentrated on buttoning up my coat, while Reece had a chance to think about what he was going to miss. He had slowed down now and was watching me from the far end of the hall. I didn’t look at him but nonchalantly turned towards the front door, calling out, ‘See you all later.’ My hand was on the doorknob, ready to turn it.

      ‘No! I want to come!’ he yelled, charging the length of the hall and straight into me.

      ‘Steady,’ I said, lightly holding his shoulder and looking at him. ‘Are you sure you want to come? You don’t have to.’

      ‘Yes! Take me! I’m coming for a walk!’ He was already trying to get his trainers on.

      ‘OK, if you’re sure.’

      All children like to feel they have some control and responsibility for their own lives, and this is even more so for children who have been brought into care, as they had no choice when being removed from home. By giving Reece the choice I had allowed him to feel he had made the decision. Sometimes there isn’t a choice — for example, when having to get dressed for school at a certain time — but so often if a child feels they have a say in the matter they can be eased into doing something to which they would otherwise have put up fierce resistance. It’s not rocket science, just a useful little ploy, which most parents use without realizing it.

      I helped Reece into his coat, did up his trainers and took hold of his hand as we went outside. It soon became obvious that Reece hadn’t the least idea how to walk safely along the pavement. He hopped and jumped all over the place and tried to pull away from me while gyrating his free arm in large circles.

      ‘Stay away from the kerb,’ I said, as he kept trying to jump into the gutter. Then I swapped hands so that he was on the inside and well away from the road and passing cars. As we walked he repeatedly tripped, over nothing, and had I not been holding his hand he would have gone heavily, knees first, on to the pavement each time he stumbled. Although I was retrieving him before he hit the ground and he wasn’t hurt, he yelped and cursed the pavement as if it was to blame. ‘Watch it!’ he threatened. ‘I said watch out!’

      I was walking briskly to burn off some of his energy, but my pace wasn’t excessive and shouldn’t have caused him all the problems it did. Apart from stumbling and tripping he was very soon puffing and panting, completely out of breath.

      ‘Aren’t you used to walking?’ I asked, slowing slightly.

      ‘Don’t know,’ he said.

      ‘Did you walk when you were with your other carers?’

      ‘No, in the car.’

      ‘What about at Mum’s? Did you have a car there?’

      ‘Don’t know.’

      It wasn’t important; I was trying to make conversation more than anything, and it was pretty obvious he wasn’t used to walking and was very unfit. What I was also starting to notice, as I had done previously at home, was that any question about Mum or home was met with ‘Don’t know’. I never question children about their life at home beyond a general enquiry, unless of course they are trying to tell me something about an abuse they have suffered, when I would gently draw it out of them. But what I was finding with Reece was that even the most innocuous enquiry like ‘Did you have your own bedroom at home?’, which I’d asked earlier when I’d shown him his bedroom, was met with ‘Don’t know’. Reece had only been in care six weeks, so it was unlikely he’d forgotten all about home and the seven years he’d spent there, particularly in relation to quite significant details like having his own bedroom or his parents having a car. I was starting to wonder if he’d been warned off saying anything about his home by his parents. He wouldn’t be the first child I’d fostered who’d been threatened into silence. So a question like ‘Which cereal would you like for breakfast?’ was answered without any problem, but ‘Did you have this cereal at home?’ was met with no reply or ‘Don’t know’. The child, rather than trying to sift through what they were allowed to answer and what was a ‘secret’, found it easier to say ‘Don’t know’ to everything.

      Fifteen minutes later, with my right arm now a good inch longer than my left from having it continually wrenched by Reece tripping up or pulling, we completed our circuit and headed for home. I swapped sides so that Reece was again away from the roadside, because he was still all over the place and would have happily walked in the gutter and under a car if I’d let him. I was still trying to make conversation, but although Reece could talk in short sentences he didn’t seem able to converse. If I made a statement like ‘It’s cold, isn’t it?’ either he didn’t СКАЧАТЬ