Four Waifs on Our Doorstep (12 page)

‘So where was the nursery?’

‘Not far from the canal. I used to take her there and then walk the rest of the way to school. But this year she has been coming with me to school. It was OK until we got to the dual
carriageway. I never really knew how to cross it, so at first I just closed my eyes and ran across. Later I tried to look for a gap.’

I was horrified. ‘Didn’t anybody see you trying to cross?’

‘Some of the parents saw us from outside the school. One of my friends said his mum told the head teacher. I had to go to her office and she asked me some questions.’

‘Did anyone do anything about it?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘It sounds like you were dicing with death!’

‘Hamish always looked after me,’ said Anita, with uncharacteristic admiration.

‘And me . . . and Simon,’ added Caroline.

After I had tucked the three younger children into their beds that evening, I came into Hamish’s room. He was standing in his pyjamas, looking at his face in the mirror,
with a solemn expression, which slightly unnerved me. He was still very small for his age, but he had the look of an old man, careworn and anxious.

I walked up behind him, so that he could see me in the mirror.

‘What’s up, Hame?’

He said nothing.

‘You look worried.’

He hesitated. Then out it came: ‘I don’t know who I am.’

I was shocked, uncertain what to say, so I put my arms gently around his shoulders, then turned him around to face me. He didn’t resist. His big brown eyes, deep and doleful, stared into
mine as he let out a long sigh.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked him as we went and sat together on the edge of his bed, my arm still around his bony shoulders.

‘I don’t know who I am,’ he repeated with a small voice.

‘Really?’ I tried to understand what he might be thinking. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do any more.’

‘You mean, because you don’t have to go and find food any more, or keep the others safe, or nag at Mum to change Simon’s nappy, or—’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve taken it all away from you, haven’t I?’

He nodded, his bottom lip quivering.

‘But you do remind me whenever you think I’ve forgotten. That’s very helpful. I have so much to do in the house that I like it when you remind me about mealtimes or snacks or
nappies, and you always know what we need when we go to the supermarket, so I know I can rely on you. I reckon you’ve got a much better memory than I have. Mike said that just a couple of
days ago.’

‘Did he? Really?’ His face brightened up.

‘Yes, really. And the younger ones always turn to you for help when something goes wrong, or they’re not sure what to do. So you see, you will always be their big brother-hero, not
just for saving Anita’s life, but in lots of ways, every day.’

He lifted his hunched shoulders and looked me straight in the eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he said, a slow smile lighting up his face.

‘He really is old beyond his years,’ I said to Mike later that evening, as I told him about what Hamish had said. ‘A part of him just wants to be a little
boy, but he can’t let himself . . . yet. I suppose it feels like we’ve pulled the rug away from under his feet.’

‘Yes, he’s a good lad, and he must know he’s come to the right place. If anyone can help him adjust, you can.’

‘I hope so, but you’ll have to do your bit too.’

‘Haven’t I always?’

‘Yes, love. You’ve always been my rock, and you never complained . . .’ I paused. ‘Do you remember those days when we used to have lots of emergency placements and you
never knew who would be here when you came home from work?’

He laughed. ‘Yes, there’d be three round the breakfast table when I left in the morning, and six eating their tea when I got back home again. That took some adjusting to.’

‘For both of us! But you always took it in your stride.’

‘Hamish will be all right . . . even if we’re reduced to a frazzle!’ He grinned.

After more than thirty years of fostering, I was shocked to be invited to attend a case review meeting. In the past, I didn’t even know when they were, and only
discovered afterwards what had been discussed and decided. But now that we were with John’s agency, he made sure we could be included.

‘Nobody knows these children better than you,’ he explained. ‘We need to know what you think about their progress and how best to meet their needs.’

So they were not only telling me the date, they were asking me to go along and
give my views!
I certainly had a lot of questions to ask and things to say.

My biggest concern at that moment was Caroline and her abnormal fear of the bathroom, so I really wanted to talk about that, and what it might mean.

I walked into that big room, full of social workers sat around a long table, all looking at me as I sat down on the last chair.

If I could have read their thoughts, I think they would have been ‘troublemaker’.

‘I really just need more information,’ I said when it was my turn to speak. ‘Because I think these children have been abused.’

‘Oh, no, no, no, no. These children haven’t been abused.’ It was like a brick wall.

‘The children have told me about all the men in and out of the house and some of the things they did to them. I’m wondering if they were paedophiles.’

‘No, no, no. We wouldn’t let that happen.’

‘Well, I’m sorry, but . . .’

They weren’t listening – maybe they didn’t want to listen. Of course, what happens in that sort of situation is you start thinking, well, perhaps it’s me, imagining
things. Perhaps I’m not reading it right. That’s how I felt. But then as I watched them continuing their self-righteous discussion, I thought no, I know what I’ve seen, and what
the children have said. How could they make up some of those things, if they hadn’t happened?

‘How have they settled in, Mrs Merry?’

I glanced across to Carol from John’s agency, the only friendly face in the room, and she tilted her head slightly, as if to encourage me to say some of the things we had often
discussed.

‘They were all in a terrible state when they arrived,’ I began. ‘Straight out of the workhouse. That’s what they looked like. But they’ve settled as well as we
could have expected, considering all their problems. And this little family had more problems than I’ve ever known, in all the nearly seven hundred children we’ve looked after, from
starvation to fear, and everything in between.’

‘Is there anything major that still worries you?’

‘Yes, a lot of things, in all four children. For example, Caroline has a screaming fear of the bathroom, and we can’t work out why. We’ve tried everything, and we hate having
to carry her in kicking and screaming. So I’ve taken to giving her a thorough wash at the basin in the downstairs loo. But we can’t go on with that indefinitely.’

‘No, that does sound unusual,’ said a young man sitting next to Carol.

A rather pinched-faced woman glared at him.

‘Something must have happened to her in a bathroom,’ I suggested.

‘No, it sounds more like attention-seeking to me,’ she insisted.

Oh, here we go again, I thought, so I changed the subject. ‘Well, these children have all been badly neglected. And the only way I can do my job well is if you give me all the information.
I don’t care how bad it is. Just tell me.’ Stunned silence. They were invisibly closing ranks.

‘What about their mother?’ I asked. ‘I’m wondering, does she have learning difficulties?’

‘No learning difficulties,’ replied the pinched-faced lady, so adamantly it gave her away.

‘What about mental health problems?’

‘No mental health problems, nothing like that,’ said another woman, her fingers fidgeting.

‘They all have a bit of a speech problem, especially Caroline. It’s often difficult to understand what she says. Do you know if there’s a history of speech or hearing problems
in the family?’

‘No.’

‘Why have they never been to the dentist?’ I asked. ‘Couldn’t a social worker have taken them? And not knowing their medical history made it difficult when Caroline was
ill and we had to take her to the hospital.’

‘You’re a gobby carer!’ scowled pinch-face.

They were all looking very uneasy now, even Carol.

I thought I had been invited to that meeting to discuss the children’s needs, but I left more frustrated than ever.

Mike was pleased to see me back and I told him about the meeting over a nice mug of tea.

‘They wouldn’t even tell me about the speech problems,’ I said. ‘Whether anyone in the family had speech or hearing difficulties.’

‘Well, perhaps it’s simpler than that. If nobody talks to you, how are you going to learn to speak properly?’

‘That’s true,’ I agreed. ‘How did your morning go with the children?’

‘Well, you know what they’re like. Hamish was edgy and couldn’t settle to anything. Anita was her usual hyper self – off the wall, swearing like a trooper. Caroline was
constantly tugging at me, in between pinching Anita and shoving Simon away, anything for attention. All being spiteful to each other and spoiling each other’s games.’ He shrugged.
‘I think sharing passed them by!’

‘A normal morning then?’

‘Yes.’ He made a face. ‘So I just took them all over to the park for a good runaround. They were better after that.’

The phone call came from Social Services. ‘We’ve arranged for both of the children’s parents to come up and visit them.’

‘Together?’ I had visions of the nightmare that might be . . . if they both turned up.

‘No, the same day, but different times.’

‘When?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Not much notice then.’

‘Sorry about that, Mrs Merry. Gary will come at noon and Jill at two.’

‘Is somebody driving them here?’

‘No, Jill asked me to bring her, but I’m not driving her anywhere in my car!’

‘Why is that?’

‘Personal hygiene. And she’s with Kevin, the paedophile, and I’m not having him in my car. So we’ve given them both train passes.’

I shuddered, remembering the smell of the children when they arrived, and having to pick off the lice crawling on their bodies. Eugh!

Later it occurred to me that this mention of Kevin’s status had been an unintentional slip. So they did know that Jill had paedophiles in the house. But they’d always sworn blind to
me that this was nonsense.

The next morning, I put together some food and we all piled into the people-carrier.

‘It will be Dad first,’ I explained. ‘Then Mum after lunch.’

‘How will Mum get here?’ asked Hamish, his face creased with anxiety.

‘On the train. They’ve given her a ticket.’

‘But she won’t know how to do that.’

Children like Hamish, with all the cares of the world, can be very perceptive sometimes.

‘Maybe she will bring a friend with her.’

‘I don’t want to see Mum’s friends,’ wailed Anita.

‘Don’t worry, it will be all right. I’ll tell the lady at the centre not to let anyone else in.’

‘What about food?’ panicked Hamish. ‘Where are we going to eat?’ Food was still his number one priority. Some things never change.

‘I’ve made us all lots of sandwiches and cakes and I’ve packed drinks and yoghurts and fruit as well.’

‘And chocolate biscuits?’ asked Caroline.

‘Yes. It’s for Dad and Mum too. We’ll spread the cloth on the floor and put all the food out. Then you can just help yourselves.’

Hamish nodded his approval, so I knew I’d passed the test.

First it was Dad. He came down on the early morning train from Scotland to visit them. Hamish and Anita were quite excited, because it had been a long time since they had seen him. Caroline and
Simon didn’t remember him. They were all sitting in the play area when he came in through the door, so he sat down on the nearest chair and lit up a cigarette.

‘Hello, kids,’ he said as he delved into a carrier bag and pulled out a can of lager, which he opened and started to drink.

‘Do you like my dress?’ asked Anita, doing a twirl. But her father wasn’t looking. ‘Look at me, Dad,’ she insisted crossly.

‘Very pretty,’ he said with a quick glance and a preoccupied expression.

He turned to Hamish. ‘What about you, son? What have you been up to?’

‘I help Mike collect the fish and chips on Fridays,’ said Hamish proudly. Then his face clouded over. ‘Why didn’t you take me to Scotland?’

‘I couldn’t,’ was his only reply.

Caroline tried to climb onto his knee, but he brushed her off gently and she sat scowling on the floor by his feet.

‘Farm,’ said Simon to me, pointing at the toy farm in the corner, so I took him over to help him play with it.

‘Do you want a sandwich, Dad?’ asked Hamish, bringing a plate over to him.

‘No, I’m all right, son.’

Their dad stayed for a while, but didn’t really interact with the children. He just sat there and drank and chainsmoked, then finally he gave them all a wave. ‘Bye, kids,’ he
said as he left.

The children demolished the sandwiches enthusiastically.

‘That went OK, didn’t it, Hame?’ I said to the eldest.

‘Yeah, I suppose. But he could have talked with us.’

The time for their mum’s visit came . . . and went. Then, finally, as we were beginning to pack up, she ambled in. Caroline made a beeline for her and got there first.

My heart lurched as her mum just pushed her away, sending her sprawling on the floor. Caroline cried and cried, but her mum ignored her. So I put my arm round her narrow shoulders and took her
into the play area, where I read her a book called
The Tiger Who Came to Tea
.

‘That’s my Anita,’ said Caroline.

‘Yes, she does look a bit like her.’

I called Anita over and we read it through again.

Meanwhile, Jill had picked up Simon and was carrying him around the room.

Hamish kept getting in front of her, trying to tell her things, about the fish and chips, the park opposite our house, the playroom in our cellar . . . But she made no response, just ambled
about with a bored expression, looking intently out of the window every now and then. I don’t think the children noticed that, but I knew why. Kevin was lurking somewhere.