Four Waifs on Our Doorstep (13 page)

Looking at Jill, I wondered again about learning difficulties. When Anita took the tiger book to her birth mother, she wouldn’t even look at it, just turned away. Perhaps she
couldn’t read. She didn’t make any effort to please her children, or seem to understand the effect she had on them.

‘I don’t know why they took my kids away,’ she said to me at one point. ‘I did everything I could for them. Why did they interfere? I didn’t need their interfering,
just more money.’ She paused. ‘They never helped me. I can’t do it all on my own.’

From what the children had told me, it didn’t sound as if she had been alone, much, but I just nodded sympathetically and said nothing, which is quite unusual for me!

The only child she showed any attachment to was Simon, and that was more passive, just carrying him around, rather than any active show of affection. Even he plodded off with his strange walk as
soon as she put him down to light a cigarette.

Caroline let out a sob every now and then, clinging to me most of the hour that her mother was in the room. Finally Jill left to meet Kevin for the train home. The children seemed
unconcerned.

Caroline sobbed and sniffed by turns, all the way home and for most of the evening. I gave her lots of cuddles and even the other children were unusually kind to her that bedtime, letting her
sit on my knee for the whole story.

I was surprised that the other three showed no reaction following their parents’ visits, but over the next few days Caroline started stealing food from the kitchen cupboards and hiding it
in her room.

10

A
few days after their parents’ visits, Hamish went into overdrive again with his ballistic behaviour. He was spiteful towards his brother
and sisters, rude and rebellious to me and Mike and at times quite wild, throwing things about, stamping, shouting and of course swearing. It wasn’t the same every day, but most days were
challenging anyway, and he pushed us, especially me, almost to the limit. After a particularly spiteful outburst, I gave Hamish a long, intense gaze that must have made him feel uncomfortable. He
hung his head to prevent eye contact with me.

So I sat down next to him at the table. We stayed there like that, the two of us, in silence, while Mike was out in the garden with the other three.

‘What’s up?’ I asked him eventually.

‘I’m cross with Mum. I don’t think she really cares about us.’

‘Why do you think that?’

‘She didn’t ask me what I’ve been doing, and she was mean to Caroline, pushing her away like that. All she said was that she’d brought Kevin to see us but they
wouldn’t let him come to the family centre with her.’

‘Did you want to see him?’

‘No. I did not! I didn’t want to see any of the men that used to come and stay in our house. I didn’t like any of them. I didn’t like the things they did.’

‘What sort of things?’ I don’t suppose I should have asked that question, but it came out.

‘Like Larry. He used to tape up our mouths to keep us quiet. And he used a stick to make us good. Then he sometimes gave us money or sweets if we were.’

‘Was Larry at your house a lot?’

‘Sometimes. But he used to get in trouble with the police for being dirty with kids.’

‘Was he ever dirty with anyone in your house?’

‘I couldn’t see what he did with Anita or Caroline when he took them upstairs. But I didn’t like him being in our house.’

‘Was he ever dirty with you?’ I persisted.

Hamish dropped his chin to his chest and said nothing.

That afternoon, as I was putting some of the laundry away in the children’s drawers, I was in Anita’s bedroom when she came in to change into dry socks.

‘Here you are Anita.’ I handed her some clean pink socks.

‘I like socks,’ she said. ‘I never had any before I came here. And my shoes didn’t fit.’

‘I remember when you came.’

‘I never had new clothes till I came here.’

I finished putting her things away and closed the drawer.

‘And I didn’t have a proper bedroom. It was always busy in our house.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘A lot of people, Mum’s boyfriends. There was always something going on.’

‘I expect your mum liked having lots of her friends around.’

‘I don’t remember much about Mum,’ said Anita. ‘She didn’t talk to me. One day she was running around the house in the nude, with one of the men who sometimes
picked on me. Then he took me outside and made me chase him down the street in just my knickers. And the twins were there too. They played around with my mum and one of them picked on me too. I
didn’t like them. They were scary and they hurt me. And Kevin always got cross with me.’

‘Was this when your dad was still there?’

‘No, he went before that.’

‘Wayne always wanted me to go upstairs with him.’

‘Was he there a lot?’

‘Yes, and other men too. I remember one day. I don’t know who this man was. He had green Y-fronts on and they were round his legs, under his knees. I just remember his tummy, and the
green pants around his legs.’

I was horrified at how matter-of-fact Anita was about all this, at only six years old, and that she even knew those pants were called Y-fronts. I didn’t know what I could say.

‘Mum always took her clothes off with men. I remember one time,’ she continued, ‘I don’t know if it was Kevin, or a friend of Wayne’s, but him and Mum made Hamish,
Caroline and me watch them sexing together.’ She looked down at the carpet.

I sat down next to her on the bed and took her hand in mine, but I said nothing.

‘Wayne . . .’ The tears came and her little body began to tremble. ‘He always made me . . .’ She sobbed, unable to speak any more.

‘
Shh, shh
. . .’ I put one arm round her shoulder, stroking her hair with my other hand, trying to soothe her. ‘You don’t need to say.’

She remained silent, her little chin quivering as her whole body shook. I gave her a big cuddle. ‘It’s OK, An, they’re all a long way away now.’

She nodded as the tears streamed down her face.

‘Come on. Let’s go downstairs and see what the others are doing.’

She let me hold her hand across the landing. ‘If we don’t go back soon, Mike will be pulling his hair out. He won’t have any left!’

I don’t suppose she understood what I meant, but it raised a smile.

‘Mike is funny,’ she said.

As I was cooking tea, all the children were at the table.

‘I don’t want to go back to being hungry and cold,’ said Hamish, out of the blue. ‘I like having cooked food.’

‘You a good cooker.’ Caroline smiled.

‘Thank you. It’s nearly ready, so time to go and wash your hands while I clear the table.’

‘I’m drawing rude men and ladies,’ announced Anita, holding up her paper for me to see. ‘This is what ladies do.’

‘I’ll look at it later, Anita,’ I said gently. ‘I’m glad you like drawing, but it’s time to go and wash your hands for tea.’

As I gathered all their puzzles and colouring things into a box, I took a look at Anita’s rudimentary but revealing pictures. I folded up the piece of paper to show Mike later, and Carol
on her next visit.

It had been quite an upsetting day for both Hamish and Anita, and Caroline was still reacting to her mother’s most recent rejection, so they were all on edge. I sat with them as they ate
their tea. Usually it was a noisy, boisterous time, but today seemed more subdued.

‘You sound a bit snuffly,’ I said to Simon as I reached for a tissue to help him blow his nose. ‘I hope it’s only a cold.’

‘You can take Night Nurse for a cold,’ announced Anita.

‘That’s right, some people do,’ I said, surprised that she knew about that. ‘But I prefer natural medicines, like honey and lemon. That’s much healthier.’

‘Yes, Mum had a bottle of Night Nurse. I drank half of it, but it made me ill. And I didn’t even have a cold.’

‘Half a bottle? I think that’s for grown-ups. It should be only a spoonful at a time.’

‘I didn’t know that. The top was off so I drank it.’

‘What happened?’

‘She went to sleep,’ said Hamish. ‘She wouldn’t wake up and I thought she was going to die.’

‘I only remember lying on the sofa, like I was in a cloud, with lots of people talking to me. I was asleep and they told me to wake up. I tried to open my eyes.’

‘You were very floppy,’ added Hamish. ‘When the social worker came, she called an ambulance.’

‘When I woke up I was in hospital. That was good.’

‘Why?’

‘Because a nurse gave me the best hug. And then I rode a trike round the ward.’

It was one of those bright, warm spring afternoons, with the smell of blossom, when we arrived at John’s house. In all my previous thirty-five years of fostering, I had
never before been invited to any get-together like this. John had asked all his carers to bring along their foster children one Sunday afternoon. He had a beautiful garden that led down to a
shallow stream, with a climbing frame and swings in one corner and lots of balls and games out for the children to play with. Play they did, rather wildly as I remember, but that was nothing
unusual – they were just having a good time.

‘Hi, Trisha,’ John called with a smile as he came across to me, standing with a group of other foster mums. ‘Did you know?’ He turned to them, offering a plate of jam
tarts and mini-éclairs round the group. ‘This woman was voted Mum in a Million?’

‘No? . . . Really . . . Well done . . .’ They were all very gracious about it. Too nice really.

‘But the people who voted would have been shocked if they saw the state of my house after the kids have trashed it.’ I grinned. ‘Or heard me bellow when I have to shout above
their noise! I’m not very motherly then!’

‘No, I’d never win something like that,’ said the young foster mum standing next to me. ‘But you have to be tough, don’t you? Even with one child. I can’t
imagine how you cope with four!’ She looked pointedly at the havoc they were creating, pushing other children off the climbing frame and pinching their skipping ropes.

‘I don’t think I do,’ I shrugged, making a mental note to talk to the kids about being kinder to others. ‘I just try to keep my head above the troubled waters, one day at
a time!’

‘That’s so right!’ said another woman. We all laughed, pooling our experiences. It was such a lovely afternoon and it was all down to John and his partner Suzy, who plied the
children with cakes and buns. My four loved her for that.

The children were beginning to get used to us and our ways, though it was always two steps forward and at least one back from day to day. Nothing was ever predictable.

One morning, the hoity-toity woman from the education department phoned me.

‘I’m just ringing to check,’ she said. ‘Are your two older foster children attending school yet?’

Here we go again, I thought. ‘No. As I told you before, I tried all the schools and as soon as I said the words “foster children” and “problems”, nobody would take
them.’

‘Well, try some more schools outside the city.’

‘You try them,’ I said, losing patience with this jobsworth woman. ‘Look, four weeks ago I told you that if you couldn’t find Hamish and Anita places at the same school,
I would have to keep them at home.’

‘But you can’t do that.’

We’d been here before. ‘Yes, I can. I refuse to send them to school until you find them places,’ and I put the phone down. I probably shouldn’t have done that, but it
worked!

Everyone came out of the woodwork and within an hour the phone rang again.

‘Have you tried any of the smaller village schools outside the city, like St Mary’s?’ asked a warmer female voice, quite different from the first woman. ‘I wonder if
Hamish and Anita might settle more easily into a small school. What do you think?’

‘Well, I assumed they would have to go to their local school, and I thought a bigger school could more easily handle them. But now you put it that way, a village school with smaller
classes might be better, more personal, more like a family. Do you think St Mary’s would be willing to take them?’

‘I’ve just called to see if they have spaces and they do. It’s not too far to drive. You could give them a try. I said you might call.’

So that’s what I did.

‘Yes, Mrs Merry. We do have places in both Year 2 and Year 1.’

‘Did the education department tell you they are foster children who have a lot of adjusting to do and may have problems settling in?’

‘Yes, they did. And we’ll discuss with you the best way to meet their needs.’

‘Thank you, thank you!’ I was so grateful to have found a small school with a good reputation to start them in at last. That woman was right. They might have felt lost in a big
school, but small classes in a village school – that would be much better.

I began to get them into school routines: getting up at the right times, doing some reading and writing practice with me in the mornings, and counting out the money in my purse.

Simon and Caroline used to sit with us too during these morning sessions. Of course their needs were very different. Simon, at nearly three, was just beginning now to play with wooden bricks or
his beloved farm animals, so he sat on the floor with them while Caroline, coming up to five, joined us at the table. I would set both Hamish and Anita a handwriting or adding task, while I tried
to teach Caroline some numbers and colours, but with no success. She could repeat them after me, but she didn’t retain them.

So Caroline didn’t know her colours, couldn’t count at all, had a speech problem, was still in nappies day and night and . . . who’s going to take her? Well, I’d worry
about that later, once the older two had started school.

One morning the health visitor arrived to do her weighing and measuring. All four children had been very small for their age, so this monthly ritual was an important factor in
judging their progress since coming to us. Then she observed them playing, over a cup of coffee with me in the garden.