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?’
Sad as it was, I knew I could only agree with them. It did make sense. It was a good way for Kieron to experience independence, but with a safety net. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about him struggling in some crappy flat and feeling too proud to ask for help.
‘Well, if that’s what you both want,’ I said. ‘Then of course it’s the right thing to do. You know where we are …’ I let the sentence go unfinished. Kieron knew what I meant. He knew he had more challenges to face than most. But it didn’t need spelling out. This was a positive development. That empty nest was always coming, and I just had to face it. I kept the smile firmly glued to my face.
It was tough, though. That weekend, Kieron, Mike and Lauren’s dad moved all of Kieron’s things down to Lauren’s, and it hurt. And after cleaning his room – important to keep super-busy, I decided – I set about transferring all Ashton’s things into it, so that I wouldn’t have to look at it empty and son-less for so much as a minute longer than I had to. The room Ashton had been in could go back to being spare. So much better than seeing Kieron’s empty.
‘You’ll enjoy being in here,’ I told Ashton brightly, as we brought in the last of his DVDs and toys. ‘Lots more space,’ I said, ‘and look! You can see the park from the window in here!’
Eventually, I could see a flicker of interest. He was trying hard, still, not to engage positively with me, but the barriers were coming down, bit by tiny bit.
‘Casey,’ he asked, ‘would I be allowed a CD player? You know, for my room, so I could listen to music?’
‘Of course, love,’ I said. ‘That’s a brilliant idea. Tell you what, when I go to the supermarket later, I’ll get you one. Might even stretch to some new CDs, too. What’s that stuff you like? That silly rapping stuff? Some with that on?’
The face he pulled was priceless, and it cheered me up no end, because it was like watching Kieron all over again. ‘God, Casey, don’t you know anything about music? It’s not rap, it’s hip-hop. Like my mum used to like.’ He grinned, and it looked genuine, and I felt all the better for it. It was the first smile I’d got out of him in days.
And as the rest of the afternoon wore on, I began to see more positives. The move would be good for Kieron – I could see that more and more now – and at the same time, it would make my life just that little bit less stressful, now that I wouldn’t fret about my sensitive son having the reality of such troubled kids rammed daily down his throat.
No, that was our job. We’d planned on homemade chicken curry and egg fried rice for our tea, which Mike had volunteered to make, bless him. But, as Mike was a bit of a stress head in the kitchen, I had sensibly decided not to volunteer to help. So after I’d done the shop and got the CD player and a new colouring book for Olivia, I forwent the chance to play commis chef in our kitchen, and instead volunteered to take charge of bathing Olivia. Mike had almost finished anyway, and had promised Ashton that as soon as the curry was in the oven, they could play on the PlayStation together; a treat which Ashton really loved.
‘Polly needs a bath too, don’t forget,’ Olivia told me, as we went up to her bedroom and helped her get undressed. ‘Babies get so dirty, don’t they, when they’ve been out playing all day?’
I smiled at her quaint chit-chat – she really was a sweet endearing child – and agreed that, yes, Polly needed a bath too. Olivia’s new favourite doll (not the raggedy one she’d arrived with, thank goodness, even if she did share her name) was practically a part of the family now. She accompanied us everywhere, had to be kissed goodnight at bedtime, and even had a place set up at the table at mealtimes if she happened to be downstairs when we ate.
‘Okay, love, ‘I said to her, as we weren’t in any hurry. ‘How about you bath Polly while I change your sheets, then I’ll be back to help you wash your hair, okay?’
She smiled happily as I lifted her into the bathtub and passed her the now undressed doll.
I left her for ten minutes, stripped the bed and re-made it, before returning to shampoo her hair for her. But when I entered the first thing I saw were some wet footprints, where she’d obviously got out of the bath. She was back in it now, but the next thing I noticed was that she was now wearing a pair of clear plastic gloves that had come from a carton of my hair dye. The box was open by the sink. Hence the footprints. But it was what she was doing, gloved up, that really stunned me. Too absorbed to notice me, she was very busy, carefully inspecting between the doll’s legs, and making a poking motion with her finger.
I moved closer to the bath and asked her what she was doing. She really jumped, then, and dropped the doll in fright.
‘Oooh, you scareded me, Casey!’ she said, patting her heart dramatically.
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, ‘I said, ‘I didn’t mean to. Why the gloves?’ I asked conversationally, as she retrieved the doll from the water. ‘And what were you doing with Polly?’
‘Oh, I’m just giving her an internal,’ she answered, her fright over. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said brightly. ‘It doesn’t hurt her.’
‘An internal?’ I said lightly. ‘What’s an “internal”, sweetie?’
She smiled knowingly, and in that instant, a sudden thought occurred to me. That I probably shouldn’t worry about becoming de-sensitised. What she was saying – and its implication – made me feel sick.
‘Silly Casey,’ Olivia said, shaking her head. ‘Don’t you know? You can get stuff stuck up there. You know. In your tuppence. That’s why all liccle girls have to have internals.’