by Trisha Merry
‘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.
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
Mum’s Boyfriends
‘Exposure to Schedule 1 offenders, very dangerous to children, often staying overnight in the house. Mrs Mackay was warned about this, but is unconcerned about the risk this poses to her children.’
Independent social work report
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 h
er 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.’