Читать книгу The Boy No One Loved and Crying for Help 2-in-1 Collection - Casey Watson, Casey Watson - Страница 17

It was a freezing cold day at the end of February, and, looking out of the front window, I saw the cavalry arriving, here for Justin’s LAC review.

LAC simply stands for ‘Looked After Child’, and this meeting, following Justin’s distressing disclosures, had already been put in the diary. But given the school incident and subsequent exclusion, the powers that be had decided to flag it up as urgent.

He’d been excluded from school for a week for what he’d done, and I’d been asked to go in for a meeting to discuss things, with both the head teacher and Justin’s special needs co-ordinator, Julia Styles. Thankfully, the girl hadn’t been hurt, and was just shaken, but given the potential for serious injury in what he’d done, it was felt important that Justin be sent a strong message. He had also been told how easily this could have been a matter for the police. Thankfully, though, that wasn’t going to happen on this occasion, as it seemed that the girl’s parents had been satisfied that the school had dealt with the matter appropriately.

Neither I nor the school had been able to establish much in the way of background facts, however, it being almost impossible to get anything out of Justin about it, bar repeated grunts about how all the other kids liked to ‘wind him up’, and how, on that particular occasion, he’d ‘just lost it’. I realised that I would just have to accept that I wouldn’t ever get to the bottom of this one.

Since then, we’d spent a trying week with Justin at home, who was guarded, withdrawn and generally uncommunicative, as well as feeling the effects of his resultant loss of points, loss of TV and computer time being the worst – so perhaps the most effective – kind of punishment. Irrationally, I felt like I was being punished too. Life was so much harder at home when Justin was unhappy.

But now he was back, and so the way was cleared for the meeting with his care team to finally take place and his package of current measures reviewed. I reminded myself to have my notebook and pen at the ready for the review, as I knew that it was to be an important one and I didn’t want to forget anything that might be helpful.

Not that the situation – Justin being absent – was what I’d initially expected. There was something else going to come up at this meeting, I was sure. They’d specifically told me not to even mention it to Justin and said that Janice wouldn’t be invited to it, either. This was very unusual; Mike and I had been told during training that the child is always present at an LAC review, and, if they still have contact, the child’s parent/s or guardian are always invited too. That Justin’s mother wasn’t to be consulted seemed very odd to me. It just didn’t seem right – whatever the circumstances around it – for a child’s future, assuming the parent still had legal access, to be discussed without that parent being present.

But even without Janice it was a pretty big meeting. On my doorstep that morning stood a small but robust posse: as well as our link worker John Fulshaw and Justin’s social worker Harrison Green, there was Helen King (educational support), Gloria Harris (the reviewing officer), Julia Styles (the special educational needs co-ordinator) and Simon Ellis (the supervisor of our specialist fostering programme). As Mike was at work, last but not least, there was me.

Good God, I thought, counting them one by one over the threshold. I just hope I’ve got enough cups.

‘Come in,’ I said aloud, as they made their way past me. ‘We can talk in the dining room – through there. Door to the left. I’ll just go into the conservatory and grab some more chairs.’

I could hear John telling people to make themselves comfortable. Moments later, he’d joined me in the conservatory.

‘Sorry, Casey,’ he said. ‘We’re a little mob handed today, aren’t we?’

‘You’re telling me!’ I said, passing him the least tatty of my tatty garden chairs. ‘Bloody hell, John. You could have warned me we were having a party.’

‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘Here, let me grab that one as well. It’s just that there’s some other stuff come up – quite serious stuff – that needs discussing. Hence the big boss being here, and all the others. Go on – you go and start getting some drinks sorted or something. I can take these through and get everyone settled.’

I tutted at John in mock indignation, though, in truth, he was a master at putting people at their ease, and I always felt more secure when he was around. Which was just as well, because these people, all together, were all a little bit intimidating. They didn’t mean to be, I was sure, but they couldn’t help it. They just were. They were the ones who made all the life-changing decisions, whereas I felt very much the little pit pony, toiling at the coal face.

I went into the kitchen and pulled down my large coffee jug and tea pot and, once I’d filled them, I took them into the dining room to sit alongside the assortment of china I’d already taken through; my non-matching milk jug and sugar bowl and mish-mash of different cups. Why would I have matching cups, though? In our family, we all used mugs.

Seeing them all, I felt slightly embarrassed at my lack of taste in such affairs, even so. It was something I’d definitely inherited from my mother; we’d always been a make-do-and-mend kind of family, always able to find a bit to enjoy a nice treat with the children, but not so fussed on wasting money on posh china. But perhaps, now that I was going to be hob-nobbing with the great and the good of social services, I ought to splash out a bit. I made a mental note to buy a matching set of cups, at least, the next time I did the shopping.

No-one else seemed to notice though – or, if they did, it wasn’t obvious – and, to my surprise, Harrison leapt up and proceeded to be mother; it was the most animated I’d seen him so far.

It was Gloria – the ‘big boss’ – who started the ball rolling, by introducing herself and letting us know she’d be chairing the meeting and also taking minutes – this was going to be pretty official, it seemed. She seemed really nice, though, and I found myself warming to her immediately; she had a friendliness about her, and I wondered what her background might be. She seemed both warm and wise: a reassuring combination. Which was important, as over the last few days, and amid all recent the trauma, I was beginning to find a sense of maternal protectiveness growing inside me. I felt professionally responsible – which I was: Mike and I both were, of course – but now also emotionally responsible for Justin’s welfare.

The next stage was for everyone present to give an update to the others about their contact with Justin and his current condition. John confirmed that he’d been unable to glean anything further concerning the disclosures I’d recently passed on to him. Harrison did likewise – he had no notes with him, but said pretty much the same as John had; no further progress.

Julia did have news: she was able to update us about the recent school exclusion. She was able to confirm what the school had told me, that the girl’s parents had decided not to take the matter further; but added that as the girl had told the school that she was still frightened of Justin – as were several other pupils – it had been decided that Justin be supervised at break times and lunchtime. He wasn’t happy about this, apparently, but they were going to stand firm – it would continue for the foreseeable future.

Helen had more positive news. Apparently Justin’s behaviour in class had improved slightly, as had the level of his academic accomplishments. As a result they’d decided to reset his school targets in order to make him push himself even harder, the key to an improving profile being very much grounded in the child constantly striving to do better. They believed this particularly applied to Justin, as they felt that, academically, he had much more to offer than anyone had originally thought, which was pleasing.

It was then my turn and I spent some time describing in detail the distressing disclosures, the discovery of self-harming and the blow-up following Justin finding out I’d passed it all on. I felt strongly, and said so, that though we’d come through it and were okay now, that he was still quite distressed at having to deal with the feelings that confronting these suppressed memories had evoked.

Gloria nodded her agreement. ‘I think you’re absolutely right, Casey,’ she said. ‘This is a pattern we see regularly with abused and damaged children. It all comes out and, well … then, sadly, we see what we’ve seen.’ She consulted her notes. ‘Anyone got anything else to add here? I see that you’ve something, John, yes? Some information from one of the younger siblings’ social worker?’

I felt my stomach shift. So here was that ‘something else’ I’d been expecting.

John cleared his throat. ‘Yes, and I only got the phone call confirming all the details this morning, so what I’ve discovered will be news to all of you, I think. But, yes, a colleague rang me to inform me that Mikey – he’s the older of Justin’s two younger brothers – has given a teacher at his primary school cause to believe that he’s been subjected to sexual abuse.’ He paused to let all of us take this news in. The implications, if so, were very serious – particularly, I realised, with an already sinking heart, for poor Justin himself.

John continued. ‘He apparently told his teacher that his mum’s “friend” had been “pulling on his winkie” and that he “didn’t like it”. And of course, since this fits in with what Justin’s told Casey about similar occurrences involving drug dealers in the past, we’ve alerted the child-protection team. They’re obviously investigating it as a matter of urgency because if she still has relationships with any of these characters, then the two boys are obviously at risk.’

‘So contact for Justin needs to be suspended, then,’ Gloria said.

John nodded. ‘Yes, of course. Certainly while all this is going on.’

‘Which is going to be tough on him,’ I said.

‘I appreciate that,’ Gloria answered, smiling at me sympathetically.

‘And what about the other boys?’ I asked. ‘Will they be taken into care too?’

‘Too early to say,’ she said. ‘Depends what the child-protection team discover. All I can tell you for sure at the moment is that Mikey, Alfie and Janice are all very much under the microscope.’

‘But whatever happens, it’s going to impact badly on Justin. Seeing his little brothers is such an incredibly big thing for him. If he’s denied that …’

‘Well, we’ll just have to keep everything crossed that doesn’t have to happen,’ soothed Gloria. ‘But don’t worry in any case – whatever happens with the siblings in relation to their mother, we’ll make sure they can remain in contact with Justin. We’d obviously make that a priority.’ She glanced at her notes and shook her head slightly. ‘And from what I’ve read, the relationship with his mum is pretty fractured in any case.’

Not half as fractured, I thought privately, than it would surely become if Janice found out that Justin had disclosed details of the abuse he had suffered and the part it was about to play in the current investigation. If the intervention by social services meant she lost her younger sons, she’d blame him. Of that I was sure. However peripherally his own past was a factor compared to the disclosures made by Mikey. However morally wrong and muddle-headed that position might be.

I thought sadly of the contact they had at the moment, which amounted to one phone call to Janice every week. He barely spoke to his little brothers – there’d be the odd time they’d come to the phone, but it wasn’t often – and the calls (still, despite everything, a highlight of Justin’s week) were absolutely heartbreaking to listen to. The halting conversations, the banality of the subject matter, the lack of anything approaching meaningful, much less loving, communication … if you didn’t know, you could easily be forgiven for thinking that he was trying to make conversation with a stranger on a bus.

It seemed so screamingly clear to me that Justin’s most deep-rooted problem – in the here and now of his current life – was not just the trauma of what had gone before, painful though that all was, but the soul-sapping reality of continued rejection by the person who was supposed to love him unconditionally for all time. His mother. His mother, who did not love him at all, it seemed to me. Who had decided at age five that he was some sort of monster. And God only knew what would happen if she lost her other boys. It was too terrible a prospect to even contemplate.

‘No, the main thing now,’ Gloria said, ‘in light of the new information is for us to pull together and support Justin the best way we can. Simon?’ She turned to the fostering programme supervisor, who’d up to now said very little. ‘You’re going to run through this for us, aren’t you?’

‘Absolutely,’ he said, moving his coffee cup to one side and opening a file he’d brought with him. I liked Simon, as did Mike. He’d been one of our assessors during our foster training. He was a no-nonsense Liverpudlian with a real warmth about him, and what seemed a really genuine desire to help the kids. He was also one of those rarities within the system who would cut corners if he had to, bypass the red tape, even at the risk of landing himself in deep water.

‘My feeling,’ he said now, ‘is that Justin could really benefit from some extra, one-on-one contact from one of our support workers, Sandie, the idea being that they can begin meeting once a week, and hopefully build a relationship, gradually, that will take him through into his next mainstream foster placement –’ he glanced at me here – ‘which is obviously still the ongoing plan. The hope is that she’ll become someone he trusts and can talk openly to, of course.’

I took all this on board, and John and I exchanged glances. The idea was that, as foster carers, we became very close to the situation and, in being so, our job was to act as parents, not counsellors. We’d been told that as such we should play ‘mum and dad’ and leave the professional therapy to the professionals. I absolutely understood the thinking, but, as Simon knew, because we’d discussed it during training, I didn’t necessarily agree with it. As parents, we all take on many roles with our own children, and I felt – as did Mike – that the same logic applied; there was no reason why foster care couldn’t be simply an extension of this.

But whatever the arguments about the boundaries between parent and counsellor, this was extra support and friendship for Justin, and that could never be a bad thing. I nodded and gave Simon a quick smile.

He smiled back. ‘We’re also going to allocate a skills worker to him. Someone who can take him out and about into the wider community, and hopefully engage his interest in some new hobbies and team activities, as a means of helping him form proper friendships.’

I really did like the idea of this because, right away, I could see how much Justin would get from this extra, focussed-on-fun-instead-of-talking kind of attention. He’d be excited, I knew, and I’d enjoy telling him about it.

‘So there you have it,’ Simon finished. ‘Let’s hope it reaps some benefits. At the very least, if we can continue to make progress with his schoolwork, and all things social, he’s definitely moving in the right direction.’

Twenty failed placements already, I thought. And now a child-protection investigation for his mother, to boot. Could it really be that simple to make progress? I wasn’t sure I believed that, but I truly hoped so.

The meeting was adjourned soon after, and everyone started preparing to leave, but John, I noticed, didn’t put on his jacket.

‘Couple of things to tell you,’ he said, as everyone filed back out through the front door. ‘Any chance of another cup of tea?’

We went back into the kitchen, John carrying the tray of crockery, and I set about re-filling the kettle.

‘I’ve tracked down one of Justin’s previous social workers,’ he said, joining me at the sink and transferring cups and saucers to the dishwasher for me. ‘He’s retired now, so I went and paid him a visit personally. Just to see if there was anything else I could dig up.’

I rinsed out our mugs ready for a fresh brew. Him tea, and me my drug of choice, another coffee. ‘And?’ I said.

‘And I think the consensus is that Justin’s been telling you the truth. It’s pretty much the exact same thing he told this chap back then. Back when he was … oh, about six or seven.’

‘But that wasn’t on his file,’ I pointed out.

John shook his head. ‘No, you’re right, it wasn’t. Seems this chap at the time pretty much dismissed it.’

‘Dismissed it? What, all that stuff about performing oral sex on the drug dealer? About the dog? About setting the house alight? He was five. Why would he lie about something like that? God, could there have been a greater cry for help?’

‘I know.’ John frowned. ‘But apparently – and I quote – he just “thought he was being fanciful”. Told me he was always lying. And used to say a lot of stuff that was obviously untrue, like when – aged 5 – he beat up his mum’s boyfriend with a pool cue, and how he used to smoke cannabis and so on.’

I tried to picture Justin the little boy and this notion of him ‘always lying’, and how risky a business it was to just assume something like that. I wasn’t naive – I knew better than to believe everything children said, but, still, there is a difference between a kid telling you that he beat someone up in a fight, and the other kinds of horrible things that Justin had disclosed. It didn’t take a genius to realise that a child of five wouldn’t know such things. Not unless he had actually witnessed them.

I was so sad. How different might his future have been if he’d been properly listened to when he was still young enough to benefit from someone actually believing him? Instead, it seemed, it hadn’t even been recorded. He’d already, it seemed, been given up on. ‘But I’m still on it,’ John promised, as the kettle boiled. ‘I’ll keep you posted.’

And John had obviously meant what he’d said, for there was more. That lunchtime, not an hour after he’d left, an email came through:

Casey, just thought you should know I have located some more old files relating to Justin. They had been boxed up and stored away on one of the occasions that he was living back with his mum. It seems that when he was taken back into care, the old material, for some strange reason, didn’t appear with his new records!!! Honestly, heads should roll for this but probably won’t. Anyway, when Justin was seven he was placed with a single carer in her 30s. Coral Summers. She had two young children of her own, a girl of 5 and a boy of 6. Justin had been with them for just two months when Coral requested that he be immediately removed. Apparently he had taken a lighter and got the six-year-old to help him hold down the little girl whilst he started to burn her. Coral heard her daughter screaming and found the three of them in Justin’s room. I don’t want to alarm you but as I delve further into this, I am beginning to think that this lighter thing is starting to look as though it is a common thread throughout his past, which would seem to further corroborate what I said further. I will let you know if I uncover anything else. Speak to you soon, JF

This new information, strangely, didn’t faze me at all. If anything, it simply cemented my determination to stop this damning cycle – this business of everything Justin said about the horrors of his early childhood seeming to fall on deaf ears. Challenging though he must have been to deal with – I recalled again those twenty failed placements – I simply couldn’t understand why there’d been no continuity in caring for him. Except perhaps it wasn’t so difficult to understand why. He’d been shunted back and forth, from care home, to foster home, back to his mother’s home, endlessly, and it seemed that at no point had anyone taken responsibility for addressing the root of his problems. At no point had anyone even heard alarm bells, and stopped to ask themselves why.

Justin was damaged because of the things that had happened to him when he was too young to make any sense of them. Then damaged further by an assumption – be it for whatever reason, perhaps no reason – that the problem, at every stage after that, was him.

Well, no more, I thought. From here on in, no more.

When Justin got home from school that afternoon I had already prepared a tea of crumpets and hot chocolate – his favourite – for us both. And as I boiled the milk and toasted the crumpets I told him about all the new things the agency had decided to put in place. How he’d have a couple of new friends to take him out for treats and new activities at the weekends; how, because he’d started doing so well at school (both in terms of behaviour and schoolwork, the incident notwithstanding) that they’d set him new, more challenging, targets and, most importantly, because he’d been doing so well with his points – the recent outburst again, notwithstanding – that Mike and I were setting him new targets too.

From now on he’d earn points by doing more complex things, because the day-to-day things that seemed challenging when he came to us, such as behaving nicely at mealtimes and making his bed, were no longer things any of us even thought about any more. From now on he would have to think harder about earning points.

‘How?’ he wanted to know.

I sat down beside him with the buttered crumpets, and showed him the new list I’d made up that afternoon.

‘No more exclusions from school, obviously, is at number one,’ I said. He smiled ruefully at this.

‘And then there’s no TV till you’ve done whatever homework you’ve got, okay? Three chores around the house every week – but without being asked, which is what makes it harder – and being polite all the time, to everyone, both in and out of the house.’ I went down the complete list for him as he finished his first crumpet. ‘What d’you think, then? You reckon you can manage all of those?’

‘Easy,’ he said, picking up his mug and grinning at me over it. ‘Easy, that lot are, Casey. Piece of cake. Does this mean that my pocket money goes up too?’

I grinned back at him. ‘Well, let’s just see how you go with your new points first, then me and Mike might have a chat about that.’

I put a second round of crumpets into the toaster to start browning. He seemed genuinely excited about both the new targets and the new provisions. And why wouldn’t he be? There were clearly people in the world who genuinely wanted to make his life better. It wasn’t rocket science, was it? Of course it pleased him.

In any event, he seemed to have forgotten all about being angry with me. Long may that state of affairs continue, I thought.