Little Prisoners (14 page)

‘Gerroff me!’ he growled. ‘I can take myself in!’ His anger was clear, but who was it directed at, I wondered? Me, for mentioning Anna? Himself, for having confided in me? That he was now regretting having done so really upset me. I couldn’t know what was going on in his head at that moment, but one thing I did know: that the bonds we had tentatively formed these past weeks were now in real danger of breaking. This was the lad who asked me if he could come and live with Mike and I for ever. Now he could barely stand to have us near him.

After everyone was in and Mike had started running a bath, I took a moment to check the answerphone for messages. Sure enough, there was one from Anna, so I quickly shut the door, realising she might have spilled the beans to the machine.

And I was right. ‘Hi, Casey,’ she began. ‘It’s Anna. Just left court, and I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear we won our case. So the kids won’t be going back home, ever. But I’ll catch up with you properly on Monday. About eleven? Would that work for you? If not, then obviously just text me and we’ll rearrange.’

I replaced the receiver. When exactly should we sit the children down and tell them? Not tonight, I thought. Not unless one of them asked me outright. I wouldn’t lie. But better, I decided, to leave things till tomorrow. Till I’d had a chance to get some advice on strategy from Anna.

I was just returning to the holdalls and all the washing when Mike called down. ‘Love, could you come up here a min?’ he asked.

Olivia by now was back downstairs, colouring in a picture at the dining table. I left her to it and headed up the stairs. Mike was in the bathroom, tidying up.

‘It’s Ashton,’ he said, gesturing towards his bedroom door. ‘He’s insistent he doesn’t want any tea and is going to bed.’

And he had, as well. I went in to find him in bed, in his pyjamas, light off and almost certainly feigning sleep. There was no way he could be really, not with the amount of sleeping they’d done on the journey. I sat on the edge of the bed and shook him gently.

‘Love,’ I said. ‘You okay? Hey, you haven’t even had tea yet. Bit early for bed, don’t you think?’

‘Leave me alone,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a headache and I don’t want no tea.’

‘Are you feeling ill?’ I asked, instinctively reaching out to place a hand on his forehead to check if he was running a slight temperature.

His recoil from my touch was dramatic. ‘Go away!’ he burst out. ‘You’re not my mum! Go away!’

He was trying very hard not to cry and my heart really went out to him. All I wanted to do was scoop him up and cuddle him. He was in so much pain, and I just wanted to try and help take some away. But I knew I mustn’t. So instead I just patted him through the duvet, and went back downstairs, only returning a while later to leave a sandwich
and a glass of milk beside the bed. There was nothing more I could do for him. Not tonight.

By the morning, however, he seemed brighter. Which should have been reassuring, except that he was
too
bright. Joking with his sister and gobbling down his breakfast, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. It was clear his jolly demeanour was too forced. Not good. I’d enough experience to know that what this really represented was the defence barrier he’d now managed to put in place to protect himself. But it was an unsteady barrier that could just as easily come crashing down. Or worse, become so strong as eventually to be impenetrable. That’s what had happened to Justin, the first child we’d had. I knew Ashton needed help to come to terms with what had been done to him, but how could we help if he wouldn’t let us? I sent him off to school that morning every bit as anxious about him as I’d been when he
had
opened up to me.

As an antidote (or diversion, dose of normality – perhaps all three) I drove straight round to Riley’s after the school drop-off. She was now over five months’ pregnant, and her bump was swelling nicely, so one of the things I’d been doing over the couple of days before the Wales trip was to dig out some of my loose baggy tops for her.

These she took with an expression of slight derision; I knew she found it amusing that it tickled me to see us sharing clothes. ‘What are you like, Mum!’ she said, laughing as she riffled through the carrier. ‘You know these only fit me because of my big baby belly!’

‘Cheek!’ I retorted. ‘And don’t be so quick to mock, young lady. Any more kids and you’ll soon be catching me up!’

It felt good to be back on normal ground, joshing with my daughter. And good to be able to cuddle my gorgeous grandson as well. He’d learned a new trick since I’d last seen him, which he was anxious to show me, pulling Riley’s top up, kissing her belly and going ‘Baby in there! Baby!’ I scooped him up, only to be smothered in slurp kisses and sticky fingers, but instead of laughing as I normally did, I felt my eyes spring with tears.

‘Mum, what is it?’ asked Riley, her voice now full of concern.

‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ I said, brushing them irritably away. ‘I’m just feeling a bit emotional. You know, after the court case and everything. I just heard last night – they won.’

‘What, the family?’ She looked aghast.

I shook my head. ‘No, social services. So I’ve obviously got to tell the kids.’ I sighed. ‘That they won’t be going home again. Ever.’ I put a wriggling Levi down and rubbed the unshed tears away. ‘I know it’s the right thing, but, oh, why is life so bloody unfair? Why can’t all kids be happy kids?’

‘Oh, Mum,’ Riley said. ‘You are a softie.’ She hugged me. ‘They will cope. I know they will. Kids do. And remember, they’ll have a chance now – they’ll be going to new families, who’ll love them. Just keep that in mind, okay? That’s what matters.’

She was right, of course. It was just the contrast that kept hitting me. Seeing Riley and Levi, and then thinking about my two. That and the stress of the last few days and weeks. I mentally rolled my sleeves up, enjoyed a delicious bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee, then headed home to tackle the washing before Anna showed.

I’d just finished the domestics and was getting out my journal when the doorbell rang. I glanced at the clock. It was still only twenty to. Obviously champing at the bit, I thought, going into the hall to open the front door. But it wasn’t Anna. It was John Fulshaw. ‘Oh!’ I said.

‘Caught you!’ he said cheerfully. ‘And don’t look so horrified. Thought I’d turn up unannounced so I can get to the real truth. See what the house is like when you’re not actually expecting me!’

John cheered me up immediately, as was usual. ‘You clearly don’t know me as well as you think you do,’ I said, laughing. ‘I’d rather have hives than leave my home a day without a proper clean. But you’re right about one thing. I wasn’t expecting you. I was expecting Anna …’

‘I know. And I decided to sit in. If that’s okay, that is?’

‘’Course it is,’ I said, as he followed me into the kitchen.

‘Good. Because I thought it would save you having to tell me about it later. And I also want to know what our sainted social services plan to do. Anyway, coffee? A man could die of thirst in this bloody house!’

I laughed again. We both knew the opposite was true. But by the time I’d made and poured the coffee, the atmosphere had changed. It had to. Since he was here I decided
I should quickly fill him in on the new disclosures poor Ashton had made to me.

John shook his head once I’d finished. ‘Well, we’re going to have to act on this, aren’t we?’

I nodded. ‘I bloody hope so! Kids generally don’t just invent this sort of stuff, do they?’

‘No, of course not. Though from what you say, we might have a problem. If he refuses to talk again about it, then we’re stuck, of course.’

This was familiar territory. It had been exactly what had happened with Olivia. No wonder wily paedophiles could so often could get away with it.

‘Let’s hope he will, then,’ I said, glancing at the clock. It was now eleven. ‘Let’s hope we can help him to feel secure enough to get all this stuff out.’

But there was no time to discuss things further and the doorbell rang again then, and we were soon all around the dining table, the meeting under way.

The findings had been pretty much as expected. Following a full psychiatric evaluation both parents had been formally declared unfit, unable to cope with the demands of everyday life, let alone care for five dependent children. The children had now been placed, therefore, in the care of the local authority, to safeguard their future wellbeing. But there was more, and this did come as a bit of a shock. It had been decided to split the children up. Ashton would be placed with one family, Olivia with another; both specialist carers, hopefully, though not specialists like we were. They would seek long-term foster
families who fostered exclusively, ones who had no other day jobs and who’d received extra training. It was deemed that with such a history of neglect and damage these children needed that much input to recover and to thrive.

‘But why separate them?’ I asked Anna. ‘That’ll be devastating for them.’

‘Well, one reason is simple logistics. It will be easier to place them if we split them. We’re not exactly overrun with carers willing to take on two such troubled kids. The other reason is that because of what we’ve seen – and what your notes suggest, too – we feel Ashton has some kind of hold over the little one; that she relies on him too much to lead and direct her. We feel she’ll be better able to let go of her feelings and adapt if she’s in a different place to him.’

‘And what about the younger three?’ John asked. ‘And what about sibling contact for all five of them?’

‘Oh, they’ll all have that, obviously, don’t worry. I’m not sure how it’s going to work yet, but we’re going to make it twice yearly, at least, as a start point.’

Twice
yearly
? She was saying it as if it was actually twice
weekly
! I couldn’t believe it. It just all felt so bleak. But John was speaking again. ‘So have any potential placements been identified?’

Anna shook her head. ‘Not yet. But you’ll be pleased to know that my manager has now said that she’s going to make a determined effort to find somewhere for them all ASAP.’

John’s expression darkened. ‘Well, no, Anna. That doesn’t
please
me in the slightest. To be honest, I feel like we’ve been duped. What you say implies that she never had
any intention of looking for a placement before now, which is the exact opposite of what we were told at the start of this process.’ He stared hard at her. ‘I’m not in the habit of making promises to my carers that I can’t keep. I assured Casey and Mike that this placement with them would be for two to three weeks max. It’s already been nearly four
months
. So what now?’

Anna reddened, and I couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her. But at the same time, I could see why John was angry. I’d never seen him so heated, and I knew he was only doing it out of genuine concern for my family. Anna quickly tried to justify her manager’s intentions. ‘I realise how it looks,’ she said. ‘But we have been trying, really. If we’d managed to find a suitable alternative before this, we would have,
of course
. And we do realise Mike and Casey don’t normally do this kind of fostering –’

‘Exactly!’ John bristled. ‘And which they can’t currently do – having been trained at great expense in their speciality –’

‘– and we really will be pulling out all the stops to get these kids placed.’

John got up then, with a terse-sounding ‘Anyone need more coffee?’, and I left him to fill the kettle while Anna – somewhat determinedly – steered the conversation back to what else had been said in court. Which soon diverted my attention from the OK Corral stand-off because there were new revelations, which were chilling.

Apparently ‘Gwandad’ had not only slept with the children’s mother – his own daughter – he’d had relationships
with
all
sorts of frighteningly young women. The whole file seemed to be full of similar allegations, most backed up by some pretty solid evidence. All that was lacking – and this was what threw me the most – was any evidence of anyone taking criminal action.

And there was more. I was also shocked to learn that the woman the kids called ‘grandma’ was no such thing. She was, in fact, the daughter of a neighbour! When his first wife had died, their grandad had started up a relationship with her, moved her in and immediately embarked on a relationship with her – as she was sixteen, there was nothing the parents could legally do. This relationship – it was unclear if they’d actually married – had then produced a further three children. It just got worse by the minute, and I couldn’t help but shudder. The implications were almost too horrible to even contemplate. A choice not available to the offspring of this evil, evil man.

I was still reeling that night when I relayed everything to Mike. I’d wimped out of sitting down with the kids to spell things out. They hadn’t asked and I’d decided that I’d wait until the next day. I wanted to be measured and in control when I told them, so I could support them, and right then, I didn’t feel nearly calm enough.

‘And I’ve been thinking,’ I told Mike as I snuggled in bed beside him. ‘We mustn’t push this. Not now.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean we mustn’t put the pressure on for them to find somewhere. I don’t want those little ones going
anywhere
till you and I are absolutely certain it’s going to be perfect.’

‘It’ll never be perfect,’ Mike said sadly. ‘How can it, after everything?’

‘I know, ‘I said. ‘But at least as perfect as can be.’ I turned to face him. ‘Deal? Because they really need us, don’t they?’

Mike nodded. ‘And now it’s all out – now we know what we know, maybe the worst bit is over anyway.’

And perhaps he was right. We had to look forwards now, not backwards. From tomorrow we could start the lengthy process of re-building. Of the children grieving for their mummy, of course. That process had to happen. But, in a sense, maybe the worst for them
was
over now.

But not for me. I still had my worst bit to come. Tomorrow I had to tell them they were never going to see home again.