A Stolen Childhood (8 page)

‘Wow!’ I said, ‘you’re a big boy for 11, aren’t you? Do you have any brothers or sisters, Jonathan?’

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘not real ones. It’s just me. But there’s three foster brothers at home.
And
a baby foster sister. So I share them.’

A pretty busy foster mum then, I thought. ‘Have you lived with this family for a long time?’ I asked him next. I already knew he’d been in care for six months, but I was keen to get a sense of his own perception.

He gave the question serious thought. ‘I think so,’ he said. ‘I don’t get to see my dad much anymore. My real daddy I mean. Not my foster daddy. I see him at weekends when he comes back from work.’

‘And do you like school?’ I asked. ‘Do you enjoy it? Miss Vickers said you’d been having some problems and getting angry just lately.’

He bit his lip and started to twiddle with the cuffs of his jumper. ‘I do have problems, miss,’ he said eventually. ‘It’s ’cause I’m stupid, miss. I don’t know stuff and I’m rubbish at football, and the other boys make me mad and then I get cross and swear and then I lose my mummy dollars and then I don’t get stuff and then I get angry all over again.’

He sighed heavily. It was a long, impassioned speech. This anger about losing rewards was clearly the driving force in his life.

‘Tell me about your mummy dollars, Jonathan,’ I prompted, and he explained that his foster mum had a cabinet in her kitchen, in which was a box containing treats and small toys. At the end of the week, provided he’d earned sufficient dollars (by doing specific tasks and being helpful) he could spend them on the treats of his choice. A bad day at school could derail this, however, as poor behaviour would result in previously earned vouchers being taken away again, often resulting in him having none left come treat day.

I actually thought it was a great idea; a classic way to incentivise a child to change their behaviour, not via punishment, but by accentuating the positive to give them motivation. Though, at the same time, I was sorry that his school day was included in the system, because, to my mind, what happened in school should, in a case like this one, be dealt with in school. Both carers and teachers were working towards the same goal after all, and I couldn’t see the logic in him effectively being punished twice for his small transgressions. Was this the key to his growing frustration? That he’d simply got into a cycle of negative reinforcement? Perhaps all that was needed here was to break it. And in my Unit, he had a fighting chance of doing just that. With no flash points, or clever-clever peers, or bullies, or impatient teachers needing answers, there was simply so little opportunity to be ‘naughty’.

‘Well, we’ll try and help you with that, love,’ I said gently. ‘You’ve been a very good boy so far this morning, and I’m going to enjoy getting to know you. You can go back now, sweetie, and carry on with your story. Could you ask Thomas to come over, please?’

As Jonathan made his way back to his new classmate, I glanced over at the girls. They were both busy writing now, having presumably shared their respective stories, and I was tickled to see Chloe reach a hand out now and then, and stroke Kiara fondly on her forearm. I wondered what Kiara was making of it – she didn’t draw her arm away – and it seemed I wasn’t the only one, either.

‘She’s a bit funny in the head, that one, ain’t she, miss?’ Thomas said conversationally, as he settled down beside me on a floor cushion. ‘This is a bit of alright, miss,’ he added, scooping his fringe from his eyes. ‘I ain’t never seen a classroom like this before. It’s well cool.’

‘Thank you, Thomas,’ I said. ‘But you know –’

‘It’s Tommy, miss. I didn’t like to say before, but it’s Tommy. No one ever calls me Thomas ’cept me granny.’

‘Okay, Tommy it is, then,’ I agreed. ‘But, you know, one thing I need to tell you is that we don’t name-call in this classroom,’ I added mildly.

‘I weren’t calling her names. I was just saying she ain’t right in the head, miss. And he’s not, either, is he?’ he added, nodding back towards Jonathan. He did a circular motion with his index finger beside his temple. ‘Bit away with the fairies, like, isn’t he? That’s not calling people names, miss. It’s just a fact. That’s why they’re here, isn’t it?’

I half-expected him to ask why
he
was here, given that. The old ‘why have I been put in with the retards?’ being a common refrain, from kids who, in saying so, were answering their own question. But I had detected no cruelty in Tommy’s tone, just simple curiosity.

‘I know what you mean,’ I said, ‘and I know what you’re trying to say, Tommy, but in this class we have children with
all
kinds of different problems, and we don’t use words that mock them, okay?’

‘But I wasn’t, miss.’

‘You don’t think saying “away with the fairies” isn’t mocking?’

He had the grace to blush at this. ‘Aw, well, okay, miss, I s’pose you’re right. Anyway,’ he added, brightening again. ‘What do you wanna know about me?’

‘Well,’ I said, looking down at the notes Julia had given me, ‘according to what I have here, you are coming to me for half the week, and going to your regular lessons for the other half. Do you know why you’ve been asked to come and spend time with me?’

‘Cos I ain’t done much school, miss,’ he said immediately. ‘Since we did a runner from me step-dad, we was never in any place long enough. Mr Clark says I need breaking in gently.’

He grinned then, obviously remembering something. ‘Like a horse, was what he said. You can’t rush these things can you, miss?’

I almost burst out laughing. If Tommy was trying to sell me the idea that he needed a good long stint on my floor cushions, he was going about it the right way.

‘You’re absolutely right, love. We can’t rush these things. And we shouldn’t try to, should we? How are you finding the lessons that you do attend, anyway?’

‘Not bad,’ he answered, ‘but I don’t think the teachers like me very much.’

‘Nonsense!’ I said. ‘What’s not to like about you, eh? You seem like a perfectly nice young man to me.’ I paused then, and leaned closer, so I could speak to him more quietly, and as I did so, I nearly gagged breathing in the whiff of unwashed clothes. I found myself feeling desperately sorry for him all of a sudden. ‘Well, when you’re not being silly like you were yesterday, anyway,’ I reminded him. ‘But I think you already know that, don’t you? And, if you didn’t, I imagine Mr Brabbiner made that clear enough at the hospital, so I’m not going to go over it again now. Suffice to say that while you and Kiara are here together, that’s the side of you I expect to see, okay?’

The swagger subsided somewhat. He’d learned a lesson. No doubt about it. ‘I know, miss. I won’t do it again, miss.’ There was a pause. ‘Though, miss,’ he added, lowering his voice, ‘I didn’t say all them things she said I did – and nor did Connor. Just so’s you know, okay. She weren’t telling the truth about that.’

‘Are you telling
me
the truth?’ I asked him, conscious of the sudden seriousness of his expression. Perhaps she’d over-egged the pudding just a little in her half-awake, hysterical state.

‘Honest to God, I am, miss,’ he said, putting me in mind of Fagin’s gang again.

‘
Good
,’ I said, ‘because that’s part of the deal in being here. Anyway, as far as I’m concerned, that subject is closed. So, Tommy,’ I asked him then, ‘do you have any brothers or sisters?’

He shook his head. ‘No brothers,’ he said, looking gloomy. ‘I wish I did, but me mam had had enough. I got four older sisters and they’re a nightmare, they are.’

I laughed. ‘That’s girls for you, Tommy. Whatever else do you think we were born for, if not to be nightmares to our brothers?’

At which point the bell rang for mid-morning break, eliciting a fist-pump from Tommy and a cry of ‘Yes! Playtime!’ and a similarly animated whoop across the room from Jonathan. Chloe and Kiara, in contrast, didn’t seem as if they could care less. Which didn’t surprise me. In Kiara, Chloe had everything she wanted right there, and I had a strong sense that the feeling might be mutual. Tommy’s presence notwithstanding, my mysterious girl seemed almost serene, and I wondered which of these kids would prove the most challenging to help. Would it be the boys, with their seemingly straightforward set of problems, or Kiara? In Chloe, I knew the situation was rather different. In reality, though I would obviously do what I could with her, I was mostly keeping her safe till she could be sent somewhere more appropriate. As for the rest, it was probably too early to say.

Which was fine. I felt a familiar rush of pleasure as I watched my little quartet troop out into the corridor, Tommy first, Jonathan second, the girls together, bringing up the rear. It was perhaps the silliest way of describing things imaginable, so it wasn’t something I’d ever share, but it was at this stage that I got the strongest sense that anything was possible; that in the children I’d been given a set of raw ingredients and that working with them as a group was like baking a cake. That together, provided I put my skills to good use, we’d create something even better than the sum of its parts. Well, sort of. I probably just needed another coffee.

Chapter 6

During break, Gary Clark had called in to let me know that Thomas’s new timetable had been completed, and this meant that he would spend Mondays, Tuesdays and the first half of Wednesdays with me, and the rest of the week would go to normal lessons.

‘We’ve looked at the schedules and his mum is keen to see him do English, Maths and French – he’s apparently very good at languages,’ Gary explained. Then he laughed. ‘I wonder if she knows much of the language I’ve heard him using in the corridors since he’s been here …’

‘He’s not the only one,’ I said, ‘and I bet he’s certainly not the worst offender. I’ll let him know after break, then.’

‘Did you make any headway with him and Kiara?’ Gary asked.

‘Kiara doesn’t seem in the least bit fazed by any of it,’ I told him. ‘But I did notice Tommy was keeping his distance. I guess he never expected to be sharing the same class with her, poor kid.’

Gary snorted as he got up to leave. ‘Poor kid? I’m not so sure about that. I think young Tommy can hold his own at our school, no worries.’

I was pleased to see that after break the four students returning to me seemed to have spent their break time together. I always liked that. The children that came to me were so often the outsiders – quite literally, sometimes, as well. The ones who hovered at the edges of groups and playgrounds, never quite managing to break in, much less fit in. Not all of them, obviously. Some commanded huge retinues out in the world of ‘real’ school, but they tended to be the bullies and they did so for all the wrong reasons. This little lot didn’t fall into that category, however, and I had high hopes that they’d gain much from each other’s company. Had done already, it seemed. There was definitely a jovial atmosphere and they all seemed to be a lot more relaxed.

‘Back to your seats then,’ I called out above the chatter. ‘I took a look at your books while you were out and I see that you’ve been working well. It’s time for you to start working on your self-portraits now though, and remember, these will be going on the wall, so best efforts, please.’

I then pointed to the two long sets of drawers along the side wall. ‘All the art materials you’ll need are in there so take out what you need and try to keep the drawers tidy.’

I noticed that Chloe was trying, unsuccessfully, to hold Kiara’s hand as they walked across to the art materials, so I decided I’d do her life-space interview first, and give Kiara a break. ‘Chloe, love,’ I called, ‘time for our getting-to-know-each-other chat, sweetheart, okay? Let’s go sit in the quiet corner, shall we?’

Chloe let go of Kiara’s cardigan sleeve, but not before giving it a gentle stroke with her other hand, and then followed me over to the book shelves.

‘I love Kiara, miss, she’s so pretty,’ was the first thing she said to me, as she sat cross-legged on one of the large floor cushions. ‘Tommy and Jonathan are nice too. Jonathan said I’m not allowed to call him Johnny, miss. Did you know that? I have another friend called Johnny, miss. I like that name.’

‘Well, that works out fine, then, doesn’t it, Chloe, because now you won’t get them mixed up, will you?’ I said, smiling at her as I took the small chair opposite her. ‘But anyway, we don’t need to worry about that – I want to hear a bit more about you now. Is that okay?’

She nodded, simultaneously trying to pat her unruly hair down. It seemed to be something of a thing with her.

She obviously became aware of it and smiled ruefully at me. ‘It’s a bit windy out there, miss, isn’t it? And Mum forgot to give me a hairbrush. Do
you
have a hairbrush?’ She looked at me hopefully. ‘Tommy said I look like I’ve got a bird’s nest on my head.’

‘Is there just you and your mum at home, Chloe?’ I asked her, once I’d assured her that I did.

Chloe nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I don’t have sisters or brothers. So there’s just me to look after Mum.’ She paused. ‘She’s poorly, see, and if I had a sister she’d be able to help, wouldn’t she? But I don’t. I’d like a sister. I don’t think I’m going to get one though.’

I glanced down at my file. It didn’t say anything about Chloe’s mum having any sort of illness. But then, perhaps it wouldn’t. Perhaps her illness was the one I’d already been told about. The one that, sadly, came out of a bottle.

‘She’s poorly?’ I asked Chloe anyway, so I could try to see things through her eyes. ‘Oh, I didn’t know that, love. What’s wrong with your mum?’

She leaned in towards me. ‘I’m not s’posed to say, but it’s if she doesn’t have her Vodka. That’s when she gets really sick and she needs my help the most.’ Chloe scratched at her scalp before continuing. ‘My nan sometimes comes round to help out but I don’t like her. She shouts at my mum, miss. Really loud sometimes, and all. She’s mean, my nan. It’s not my mum’s fault she’s poorly, is it, miss?’

‘No, love,’ I soothed. And, in a sense, she had a point. Who chose to be an alcoholic, after all? What was also clear was that talking about her mum was upsetting for the poor child, who seemed to be drawing herself inwards on the cushion. I felt so sorry for this poor, affectionate, probably often bewildered girl. I didn’t want to judge her mother because I knew nothing about her, or why she drank, but as I began to take in Chloe’s dirty finger nails, wild hair and general air of dishevelment, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of frustration that she should be so neglected. ‘Does your nan live close to you?’ I asked.