Читать книгу Skin Deep: All She Wanted Was a Mummy, But Was She Too Ugly to Be Loved? - Casey Watson, Casey Watson - Страница 12

The morning I waved Tyler off to school for the start of a new term didn’t turn out to be the day that Flip joined her class. Despite getting the go-ahead from the local authority – and I had carefully guarded the confirmation letter as evidence, should it be needed – the school had already been informed about her history and her lack of attendance at her previous school, so, before deciding which class to put her into, they wanted to meet Flip and me for a chat.

Given the time we’d had with her so far, this did make sense, even if it meant that in the end they didn’t take her. Should that be the case, then perhaps a more specialist school was going to be the way forward in any case, though the big stress was the time it would take to get her a place at such an institution – I knew things like that could take weeks, and Flip needed to be back in the routine of education, for everyone’s sakes.

I’d also made an appointment with our GP’s surgery, with a view to discussing where she was with her medication, and coming up with a slightly more scientific answer than ‘Aargh!’

As for giving her a morning dose of Ritalin, I was very much in two minds, but reasoning that, for the most part, it was a drug that calmed children down rather than making them go off pop, I opted to give it to her and hope for the best; odds on, it would surely only help our case once we got to school.

‘Here you go, sweetie,’ I said, passing Flip a glass of water and her pill. ‘Take this and then we’ll have a nice walk down to see the doctor.’

Flip pulled a face at me, wrinkling her nose. ‘Thems horrible, Casey. They make me feel funny.’

It was the first time she’d made reference to how the drugs made her feel so I pressed her for more, thinking it may help the doctor. ‘How do they make you feel, love? Funny how?’

She swallowed the pill and put the glass down, then shrugged. ‘Just funny. And I don’t like it. Sort of wonky.’

I suppressed a smile as I took the glass. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard a child try to explain how Ritalin affected them, but it was the first time I’d heard the word ‘wonky’. But perhaps she had hit the nail on the head. I couldn’t imagine having to take a pill that made me feel out of control, and from what I knew of this particular medication, that’s kind of what it did. Other children had described it as making them feel that they were stuck in a dream, and ‘not quite there’. Wonky. I got that. And I mentally filed it. Whatever it did, I didn’t suppose it was very nice.

In most cases there was no doubt Ritalin had the ‘desired’ effect – it subdued the need to be constantly on the go, increased the ability to concentrate for more than five minutes and, I guess more importantly, it allowed parents who were at their wits’ end to cope and teachers to allocate their time to all of their class, rather than having to be constantly tied up with a child who had ADHD. Which was obviously important in a world full of 30-strong classes, a curriculum to be delivered to a timetable and, of course, those frazzled parents.

Which was why I was slightly open mouthed at Dr Shakelton’s suggestion when we were sitting in his consulting room half an hour later.

‘What I’d like to do, Casey, if you’re okay with it,’ he said, after we’d discussed what we both knew of Flip, and he’d chatted to her himself, ‘is to have a bit of a trial run without the Ritalin.’

I looked at Flip, who was now disengaged from us, sliding her new school socks up and down her legs. Then I turned back to the doctor. ‘Without the Ritalin? I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘She’s been assessed as having ADHD – well, as far as I believe, and she’s very hyper even though she’s taking the tablets.’ I frowned, choosing my words carefully as she was in the room with us. ‘I don’t know what it would be like without them.’

‘And that’s precisely my point,’ the doctor said. ‘Despite popular opinion, Ritalin can actually have an adverse effect on some children. From what you’ve told me – and her records seem to suggest the same – the medication isn’t doing much to control the hyperactivity at all.’ He smiled at Flip, who smiled back at him as if he was Santa in a suit. ‘Young Philippa here says she doesn’t like the tablets, so we ought really to have some time off from them, shouldn’t we? Just to see what happens.’

Flip’s smile became a pout. ‘S’not Philippa!’ she said crossly. ‘It’s Flip. With a “F”! Mummy, can we go now?’ she whined, turning to me. ‘I’m bored an’ I wanna go to school.’

Dr Shakelton smiled again. ‘I do beg your pardon, Flip with a “F”. So, Casey? What do you think? You up for a bit of a medical trial?’

The answer was, of course, yes. Had to be, really. Dr Shakelton had been our family GP for many years. He didn’t just know the job I did, and the kinds of kids I tended to look after – he’d been pretty active in supporting us in doing so. If he was suggesting something, I trusted him enough to know that he was acting in Flip’s best interest. ‘I guess we can do that,’ I said, mentally crossing my fingers that the ‘trial’ went the way we both hoped. ‘How long before we see any results, do you think?’

‘We might not see any results,’ he said, ‘but then again, if she was misdiagnosed by any chance – and it can happen – we just might. Either way, I’d say to give it at least a month, and if things worsen in that time we can always try putting her back on it again.’

Flip was already up on her feet, clutching my hand and hopping from one to the other impatiently. I stood up as well. ‘Right then, kiddo, let’s go see what school has to say, then, shall we?’

Flip grinned and pulled at me. ‘Yes, come on! I promised the brothers we wouldn’t be late!’ She then seemed to remember something. ‘Mummy, could you ask the doctor man if I can have a poo in his toilet first? I don’t wanna have no accidents, do I?’

This was fast becoming something of a thing with Flip. We’d all banged on so much about the importance of recognising you needed the toilet in good time to actually get to a toilet that we’d arrived at a place where Flip wanted the opportunity to use any toilet, anywhere, whether she needed to or not. There were points involved for using a toilet, after all. It had almost become something of a game to her.

‘Do you really need to go?’ I asked her, just as Dr Shakelton was raising a finger to point us in the direction of his. ‘Could you wait five minutes till we get home, do you think? You’ll still get a star on your chart.’ It really was like dealing with a pre-schooler.

Happy now, she assured me she could wait and we hurried home – her chattering away in her usual manner about the first thing that caught her attention, and with me wondering what line the school might take when I told them she wouldn’t be getting any medication for the foreseeable future. Which I absolutely had to do, even if it was tempting not to.

And Flip clearly did need to use the toilet. She was halfway up the stairs before I’d even closed the front door.

‘Hang on, why don’t you use the downst—’ I began.

‘Can’t!’ she said. ‘It’s already coming out!’ Then she disappeared round the corner of the landing.

I shook my head as I went to find my car keys, ready to drive to school. That made no sense either, but the main thing was that I would need to have a word with her about her tendency towards the descriptive when it came to bodily functions; a social nicety that would be second nature to an average eight-year-old and the sort of lapse that would mark her out as odd. And I had no doubt she’d probably been a much-bullied child. I found the keys, then went to grab a couple of shopping bags to take with me, so I could pop to the supermarket as soon as we’d finished up in school – well, assuming they allowed her to stay. I had also promised Kieron that I’d drop in on Lauren – she’d been feeling under the weather since getting back from holiday and was taking a few days off work. I decided I’d get a few extra bits and drop them off for her. I’d just stuffed the bags into my handbag when Flip appeared again on the landing – this time with Pink Barbie in her hand. So that was why she was keen to use the upstairs bathroom.

‘Uh-oh,’ she said, her face taking on the expression of an exasperated mother as she came back down the stairs. ‘Looks like this little princess doesn’t know her manners. She was meant to wipe my bum for me, and she managed to leave the poo on my new knickers.’ She frowned at the doll and then at me. ‘She left skidders, Mummy!’

‘Oh, Flip!’ I said, dropping the car keys and my bag onto the hall table. ‘Are you serious? Truth, now. Did you poo in the toilet or in your pants?’ I turned her around and started walking her back up the stairs. ‘Come on, back to the bathroom. Let’s get you sorted out.’

‘I told you! It was this little madam!’ she cried indignantly. ‘I wouldn’t mess in my new school knickers! Not never!’

Though of course she had. And it wasn’t just the underwear. It was down the back of her legs, the lovely white school socks, and also smeared down the back of her cute pinafore dress. I could have cried. She’d looked so pretty a couple of hours ago, when I’d taken the obligatory first-day-at-school photo that I’d done with my own children, and every foster child since.

I’d been reading up on soiling and, with such a plethora of information on the subject (good old Google …), I felt no better informed about what might be at the root of Flip’s behaviour than I had when I’d started. There just seemed to be so many factors that might be involved. It was clearly something that needed more professional intervention, and as a priority, because I couldn’t really see much progress being made on the ‘socialising’ front till it was dealt with.

But it wasn’t her fault, and I knew I had to keep that uppermost in mind while, nose wrinkling, I stripped her down and cleaned her up, ready to change into another set of clothes. I thanked the lord that I’d had the foresight to buy four of everything. If things went on like this, I’d struggle to keep up.

Fifteen minutes later – and ten minutes late for our appointment – we were sitting in the headmaster’s office. Mr Stancliffe, the headteacher, had already introduced himself and was now introducing the friendly-looking woman who had also joined us.

‘Selina Carter,’ he said as I leaned over to shake hands with her. ‘Selina runs our nurture group.’

I’d not heard of them having a nurture group, and it must have shown on my face, because Miss Carter was quick to explain. It was a new class, apparently, born out of the previous learning support group, and simply renamed to differentiate it. She smiled at Flip, who reciprocated. I had a hunch she was going to like Miss Carter. ‘We decided that, while Flip gets used to her new surroundings, and we work out which groups she needs to be in,’ she went on, ‘she’ll spend her first couple of weeks here in my class. It’s just a small group – six other children or so, generally no more than that – and she’ll be doing the curriculum, just the same as everyone else. Just in a less stressful environment, you know –’ she smiled at Flip again – ‘to help get her settled in.’

Flip didn’t return the second smile. In fact, she immediately gripped my hand and wriggled herself closer to me. ‘What about the brothers?’ she whispered, as if discussing some obscure religious sect. ‘Ask her, Mummy. Are the brothers going to be in my class?’ She squeezed my hand tighter, her voice tight, and I feared the imminent arrival of tears followed by a meltdown.

‘Sweetie,’ I said, leaning towards her, hoping I could prevent it. ‘No they won’t, but that’s because this is a special, special class, for very special little girls. It’s because you’re such a special little girl that you’ve been picked – you have been hand-picked – to go in with Miss Carter, just for a little bit. Because you’re special. And I’m sure it’s going to be lots and lots of fun.’ I glanced meaningfully at the two teachers who were watching our exchange, and thankfully Mr Stancliffe seemed to know what to do.

‘Mrs Watson … um … your mummy … is absolutely right,’ he said. ‘In fact, Miss Carter’s class is the most fun in the whole school, Flip, and you’ll still get to play with … um … the brothers?’ He glanced at me, confused.

‘My grandsons,’ I quickly supplied. ‘Levi and Jackson. They’re both here, and that’s how Flip refers to them.’

‘Because they are my brothers,’ she added, her anxiety seemingly now forgotten.

‘Ah,’ Mr Stancliffe said, ‘yes, yes, of course. Well, you’ll get to play with them at playtime – and lunchtime, of course – and I’m sure you’ll get to wait for them at home time.’ He leaned towards her. ‘I promise you, you will love it in Miss Carter’s group.’

It was a lot to live up to, but Miss Carter looked equal to the task. She stood up and held out a hand towards Flip. ‘Why don’t you and I go and have a sneaky peek at your new classroom, eh, Flip? You can meet the other children, and do you know what? I bet you anything you make a best friend forever this very morning. Don’t worry,’ she added, seeing Flip’s worried look. ‘Your mum can come and see you before she leaves.’

I encouraged Flip to go by producing Pink Barbie, who, unbeknown to Flip, I had slipped into my handbag before we left. ‘I’m sure Barbie will be allowed just for today,’ I said, glancing at Miss Carter hopefully. ‘Just to see your new school.’

I then had to force a smile as I watched Flip leave the office, glancing back at me anxiously as she left. Bless her heart. She looked absolutely terrified.

I ended up spending the best part of an hour with the headteacher, trying to give him a bit of insight as to what he might expect from Flip; what sort of background was involved, how she’d been since she’d come to us, the problems of lack of attachments, her meltdowns and her tendency to wander, plus the fact – and to his credit, he didn’t look too traumatised – that as of tomorrow she was off her Ritalin for a month. I hurried on, then, to what long-term plans had been tentatively put in place.

‘Essentially to get her placed with a long-term foster family,’ I told him. ‘Or, ideally, an adoptive one, obviously.’ I smiled. ‘Well, once we’ve managed to socialise her a bit, at any rate.’ I paused then. Better I do it now than have it – literally – come out once I’d gone. ‘There is one other issue I should make you aware of, Mr Stancliffe.’

He raised his eyebrows quizzically. ‘Which is?’

‘That it seems she’s never been properly potty-trained.’

I could see his brain whirring, wondering perhaps if I’d delivered her in a nappy. ‘Which means?’

‘Which means we’re working on it, but she does need reminding to go to the toilet and, to some extent, if it’s feasible, er … accompanying. Which is why I’m so pleased that you’ve decided to start her off in your nurture group,’ I rattled on. ‘Because it’ll make the process altogether easier, won’t it?’

I mentally apologised to poor Miss Carter as I said that, but, again, Mr Stancliffe seemed to take it all in his stride.

‘Right,’ he said, scribbling down something on the pad in front of him. ‘Right.’

He put his pen down.

‘So she’s effectively an unknown quantity as of tomorrow,’ he said finally.

I nodded. ‘Well, I suppose, yes. We’re doing this blind. All I know is that her medication doesn’t seem to have any impact on her. She’s just the same with it as when it wears off. My GP is hoping that it’s the meds that are making her so erratic, and that after some time off from them she might settle down a bit. That’s the plan, anyway. We’ll just have to see. You never know – it might even help with the soiling.’

I saw his nose wrinkle, almost imperceptibly, but definitely. ‘Ri-ight,’ he said again, then cleared his throat decisively. ‘As you probably already know, Mrs Watson, we did tell the local authority that we were at full capacity here.’ I nodded. ‘And that, like yours with her medication, this is going to be something of a trial. If we can’t fully meet her needs, we’d be doing her a disservice if we held on to her. I’m sure you’d agree.’

I did. On both counts. The word ‘trial’ had more than one meaning, after all. So after I’d gone and blown a kiss goodbye to Flip, who I could see through the classroom window now seemed be enjoying herself enormously with Miss Carter, I crossed both pairs of fingers on both of my hands. And then crossed my thumbs for good measure.