Little Prisoners (17 page)

Ashton put his head in his hands then, and refused to speak further, and I knew it would be pointless trying to make him. This shut-down, this closing off seemed very much a learned behaviour. Had they been taught that if they ignored something it would simply melt away? Well, this wouldn’t. This couldn’t. I needed to take this further. However grim a prospect it might be, and however it harmed our fragile relationship, I would be failing in my duty if I
didn’t
take this further.

I’d heard Mike bringing Olivia back downstairs now, so I explained to Ashton that he had to go sit in the living room, as I had to go and phone the doctor. I made it clear I wasn’t happy about whatever he had done. ‘So why don’t you think hard,’ I told him quietly, as I ushered him out of the kitchen, ‘about telling me the truth about this, Ashton?’ Still not looking at me, he went into the living room. If he understood the implications of what I’d told him would now happen, he didn’t show any outward signs that he was bothered.

Ashton dealt with, I then went into the hall and called EDT. EDT stood for the Emergency Duty Team – a team of mainly social workers, who were the first point of contact if anything happened to a child in our care out of hours. This was in order to get advice on what to do, obviously, but also to ensure that any incidents were reported and logged.

In this case the on-duty social worker advised me that I should call the local hospital right away. She told me that I should ask to be put through to the duty paediatrician and to explain that Olivia was a looked-after child, together with the nature of the incident and alleged injury. This was to ensure, I was told, they’d act promptly.

I was shocked but pleased that she’d been right; it was quick. Within minutes we were talking to the on-call paediatrician, who told Mike and I to bring Olivia around to the hospital right away. I was keen to have Mike along, as I felt sure that what was going to happen, examination-wise, would probably distress Olivia (who was probably used to her brother’s ‘attentions’) a whole lot more than the original incident.

Riley, bless her, stepped in, and was around at ours in minutes, so within the hour we were clustered, beneath the bright lights of the A&E department, while the paediatrician examined a very agitated Olivia.

As I’d expected, she was terribly traumatised. And I was hardly less so, as I fought against her writhing so that the doctor could examine the area properly.

‘Stop it!’ she was sobbing. ‘Stop the bad man, please, Casey! I don’t want my bum touched! Go away!’

Thankfully, the paediatrician decided that, in this case, he wouldn’t need to do anything internal. ‘There don’t seem to be any signs of actual penetration,’ he reassured us. ‘What I suspect we might have had here is just an act of simulation, which might have caused some bruising and soreness. But that’s all, in my opinion. You say the brother’s 10?’

We confirmed that he was – just – over the cacophony of Olivia’s protests, and the doctor confirmed that that would be in keeping with what he’d seen; that it would be unusual and unlikely that a boy of that age would be physically able to do any more than that. ‘Though I’ll obviously liaise with social services where required,’ the doctor finished. ‘And well done you,’ he said warmly, to a very shaky Olivia. ‘Here –’ he reached across us to a small plastic pot in a side shelf. ‘Here’s a sticker for being
such
a brave girl.’

It was mid-evening by the time we left the hospital, bitingly cold and dark now, and it occurred to me again that for Olivia – still clinging to me like a limpet, still trembling and tearful –
this
would be the bad part, the traumatising memory. Not Ashton ‘bumming’ her: that might have hurt, but who knew? The grim truth was that it might be all par for the course for her, whereas, sticker or no sticker, the prodding and poking by a scary stranger in a white coat was clearly a very frightening experience.

We stopped at McDonald’s on the way home, to get her an ice-cream, to cheer her up. We must have looked a sorry sight, the three of us, huddled around out little table. Two fraught-looking parents, and a tot in her pyjamas, even if
she did brighten somewhat. And, even so, it was still the proverbial Band-Aid on a big, gaping wound. Dare we even now let the two of them out of our sight?

No. What a mess. What a horrible, ugly mess. And not a single sign of light on the horizon.

Chapter 14

I didn’t have a clue how to turn things around with Ashton. He seemed to hate us now. Why wouldn’t he? Didn’t matter how much we told him the thing he’d done was wrong, unless he understood that himself it would essentially just cast us in the role of horrible foster carers, intent on making his life even more of a misery than it already was.

I kept going back to what he’d told me about what his grandfather had done to him, and how he’d been made to do the same to his little cousin. Should I really have been shocked that he’d tried to do the same to Olivia? Perhaps not, but it was still a measure of how much his life experience had warped his mind that he was clearly unhappy at the sexual abuse that had been done to him, distressed about the things he’d been made to do to his little cousin, but at the same time thought nothing of trying to do that very thing with his own sister. This was
why sexual abuse of the young was such a canker. Prior to their own sexual awakening they would soak it up as ‘normal’ every bit as readily as they would the art of using cutlery. And he was
ten
. So while there might be a good chance for his younger siblings, time – time in which to re-programme that troubled mind of his – was a commodity in very short supply.

The day after the hospital visit Ashton didn’t speak to me at all. If I spoke to him, he snarled, and otherwise, he ignored me. It was obvious I wasn’t going to be able to break through to him any time soon. Olivia, on the other hand, seemed fine. By the following morning, the trauma of the hospital done with, she was back to her usual happy self. And, bar the sore bottom, why would she be concerned about what had happened? It was becoming depressingly clear that it had probably been happening – or some version of it anyway – for much of her tragic young life.

But for me, it was just all so depressing. And not just me, either, Kieron too. I’d filled him in the previous day and his expression had said it all. But it felt wrong to hide this sort of stuff from him. The day I kept secrets from my nearest and dearest would be the day I must hang up my fostering hat. Predictably, of course, he was distraught. But then, perhaps he should be. This was the reality we were living through. No point in sugaring the pill about kids like these two, and if Kieron was serious about wanting to work with damaged and dispossessed youngsters, he needed to go in with his eyes open.

‘You know, Mum,’ he said now, ‘I just keep going over and over it. How
could
he?’

Kieron had just returned from Lauren’s, where he’d stayed over, as he often did now, and was keen to hear if anything had been done.

‘I know,’ I said, shaking my head sadly.

‘So what will happen?’

‘I don’t know yet. I’ve still got to speak to John and Anna.’

‘It’s bad, though, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, love. It’s bad. We just have to work out what’s the best way to deal with it. But I’m sure once I’ve spoken to John, we’ll be able to form a plan.’

Kieron looked completely unconvinced as I said this. I hoped the reality didn’t match his cynical expression. I hoped he could witness some sort of happy outcome for these little ones, particularly after the trauma of Sophia. That had been tough for him. Still continued to be, really. Though she was making good progress in the adolescent unit where she lived now, happy families might never be an outcome for her.

Kieron went up to his bedroom to get changed, and I went to make myself a cup of coffee. It was automatic with me; it was my miracle cure for everything. Where others administered sweet tea for shock, I dosed myself up on coffee when down.

Coffee and a cigarette, ideally, and even though it was perishing, I dutifully took both into the garden. I’d always smoked in the conservatory – the one place the
rest of the family allowed it – but since the little ones had come, I’d stopped. It just didn’t seem right. But now winter was setting in with a vengeance, I reflected, shivering, I might just have to come good on the promise I’d made Mike to quit as soon as it got too cold to smoke outside.

But today wasn’t that cold. Or at least, that was what I told myself. I’d just have this cigarette and call John.

But Anna beat me to it. I came inside to hear the phone already ringing.

‘I just read your email,’ she told me. ‘And saw the EDT report flagged up, too. How are you? How is everything there now?’

‘Well,’ I said. ‘Ashton’s not speaking – he’s very angry, I can tell. Olivia’s fine, though. It’s like she’s forgotten all about it.’

‘And did the hospital say they intended to follow things up?’

‘I don’t think so. I think they’re just going to notify social services.’ Another report in another file, to be stashed in a drawer.

‘They’re not involving the police, then?’

‘Not as far as I know. Are they meant to?’

Only if they believe an actual abuse took place. But from what you said in your email, it sounds to me like they must have decided to just put it down as horseplay.’

‘I bloody hope not!’ I said. How could this all be normalised so readily? To my mind the only reason for there being no penetration was that with Ashton being so young, it
wasn’t physically possible. But it soon would be. It was what was in his
head
that mattered, surely?

‘Look,’ I said, ‘I know it wasn’t actually that, but still. It
could
have been. That certainly seemed to be the intention. He needs help, Anna. Counselling … to stop this rot before it –’

‘I know,’ she interrupted. ‘And it’s awful. Really awful. We need to put more strategies in place for you, Casey. I know you’re sort of out on a limb over there, and we need to give you more in the way of help. I’ve already spoken to John Fulshaw this morning and if it’s alright with you, we’ll both come to visit you next Wednesday, and see what we can come up with between us.’

More talk
, I thought irritably, as I agreed to her arrangements.
It’s action I want, not bloody words!

Though when I spoke to John afterwards, it was as if he’d read my mind. He told me he’d handed social services an ultimatum. He said he’d demanded that if I didn’t get extra help, then they would have to look for an alternative interim placement. Which wasn’t what I wanted at all. I knew he was trying to be helpful, but I didn’t want these kids wrenched away from us. I wanted to see this thing through. I wanted to be sure that, when they did finally leave us, that would be it. No more moves. A permanent placement; not have them shunted all over the place. Yes, it did mean our lives would continue to be chaotic, but, as I so often reminded myself, this was exactly what Mike and I had signed up to do.

But Kieron hadn’t, and it was to be only a couple of days later that this hit home very hard. It was Friday evening and Kieron had brought Lauren over, and once the children were in bed, and we were about to settle down and watch some telly, they asked if they could both have a word with us.

My first thought – not surprisingly – was the obvious one. I didn’t mean to, but found myself looking straight at Lauren’s stomach, thinking uh, oh, I think I know what’s coming. To be fair to myself, this wasn’t completely unwarranted; Riley and David had done almost exactly the same thing when they broke the news that they were going to have Levi.

Kieron must have noticed my panicked expression, because he immediately laughed out loud. ‘Mother, it’s not that!’ he said, guffawing. ‘Don’t be daft! Lauren’s not pregnant!’ At this I could see Mike grinning too. ‘God!’ Kieron went on. ‘You must be mad if you think that! We’re far, far too young and irresponsible for that!’

Lauren went scarlet. ‘Casey!’ she admonished. ‘I’m not daft!’

‘I never said a word!’ I blustered back at them. ‘I didn’t think any such thing, as it happens!’ And I remembered to thank God, as I said it, too. Much as I loved babies, I would have been worried if Lauren had been pregnant right now. Kieron got stressed out enough by life as it was. He wasn’t ready. Not one bit. We all knew that.

‘Anyway,’ he went on, he face becoming more serious. ‘Me and Lauren have been thinking about this … thinking for a while now. The thing is that Lauren’s mum and dad
have got a massive house – miles too big for just the two of them, and, well, they’ve offered us the top floor. There’s a little kitchen, and a bathroom, and all we have to do is pay them a small …’

He tailed off, obviously seeing my face fall.

‘But why? Why d’you want to leave?’ asked Mike. Then he checked himself. ‘Sorry. I should rephrase that. I know you two …’ He smiled at them both now. ‘I know you’re close. But why now, particularly? It’s not because how things have been at home lately, is it?’

I was glad he was speaking for me. All sorts of things were going through my head.

‘It’s not that, Dad,’ Kieron was saying. ‘It’s just sensible. I’m 20 now. Old enough to be standing on my own feet. And Lauren’s mum said she’ll save half of whatever we pay in rent – put it in an account for us so that when the time feels right, when we’re ready to go and live on our own, we’ll have money saved up for a deposit.’

Which all made sense. ‘Oh, but Kieron,’ I said. ‘Are you sure you’re not doing this because of the kids? Because if that’s the case, you know there is honestly no need. They won’t even be here for that much longer, and –’

‘Casey, it’s not that, really,’ said Lauren firmly. ‘We’ve been thinking about it for a long time.’

‘We
want
to do it, Mum,’ Kieron added gently. ‘I spend most nights there anyway. It’s only fair that I start paying rent to Lauren’s parents.’ He smiled at me. ‘And, Mum, d’you really want me to be that kid who spends the rest of his life with his parents and never leaves home?’