Mummy Told Me Not to Tell (17 page)

I was annoyed, not to mention disappointed, and really struggling to keep my emotions and tongue under control. It sounded as though Reece was being set up for failure even before he had begun. ‘His behaviour isn’t that bad,’ I said lamely. ‘In fact he has settled down really well with me.’

‘Have you seen his statement of special educational needs?’ he demanded.

‘No,’ I had to admit.

‘Right. I will have a copy ready for you in the morning. I want to see you before he starts on Wednesday.’

‘He’s starting on Wednesday?’ I asked

‘Yes. I was told he had to start tomorrow, Tuesday, but I’ve made it clear to the director of education that that isn’t possible. I need to see you first.’ I felt like a child summoned to the head’s office.

‘All right,’ I agreed. Without a copy of Reece’s statement of special educational needs, I really was impotent to argue with him about Reece’s behaviour or confirm how much he had improved. I was annoyed that Jamey hadn’t found the time to send me a copy so that I could have defended Reece. With no details before me I had to accept what the head was saying, although I thought he must be exaggerating and was possibly overreacting — probably annoyed by being forced into accepting a child who didn’t fit the ‘norm’ and would require extra time and effort. However, the head would be receiving an extra payment for his school budget in respect of supplying the extra help Reece would need. ‘Reece has settled down incredibly well,’ I said again. ‘He really does want to learn. Now his home life is stable, I’m sure his behaviour at school will reflect this.’

‘That’s what the director of education said,’ he said, unimpressed. ‘But I will reserve my judgement. I would like you to come to the school tomorrow at ten o’clock. Somehow I’ve got to put together an education plan by Wednesday morning. I want you to stay the first morning in case he becomes a problem.’ The implication was that if Reece did ‘become a problem’ I would be taking him straight home again, excluded on his first day!

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘I’ll do all I can to settle Reece into school.’

‘Right. I’ll see you at ten o’clock then. Goodbye.’

I set down the phone and sat for a moment. I was fuming. All the weeks of looking forward to Reece starting school, and my hopes for him making real progress, and friends, had been dashed. From what I had just heard not only was the poor kid going to be spending the greater part of each week in an environment where he was not wanted but at the first sign of any trouble he would be excluded and sent home in disgrace. I wondered if there was anything I could do about finding him another school, but quickly came to the conclusion there wasn’t. The system for allotting children places in schools had changed in recent years, and Reece’s situation was complicated by him being a ‘looked-after’ child. If he had been my own child it would have been different: I would have found a suitable school with a vacancy and applied for a place. Now I was confined (as was the head, Mr Fitzgerald) by the education department’s decision based on the directive of the judge.

Reece had had his bath and was in his pyjamas and dressing gown, being read to by Lucy in the living room before I took him up to bed. I knew I couldn’t let Reece see my disappointment and concern when I told him he was going to school. I would have to make it sound positive, although I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. The other thing I needed to do immediately was to find someone to look after Reece the following morning while I went to see the head. Fortunately I have a number of good friends who also foster and are therefore approved by the social services to look after another
fostered child for a short while. I could hear Lucy still reading to Reece in the living room so I quickly phoned my friend Nicola and, resisting the temptation to offload my anger and worries about Mr Fitzgerald and his attitude, explained that the head of Reece’s new school wanted to meet me alone the following morning, and asked if she could look after Reece for a couple of hours. Nicola had already briefly met Reece when we had been out shopping in the high street.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Happy to. Bring him as soon as you like.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I owe you one.’

‘No, you don’t,’ she said. We often helped each other out, and Nicola fostered very young, pre-school children, so if she had a dental appointment or wanted to go to the hairdresser I would look after her toddler. I was happy to help her out, as she was happy to help me.

‘Thanks,’ I said again. ‘Can I drop Reece off at nine thirty? That will give me plenty of time to get to the school for ten o’clock.’

‘Sure. No problem. Tell Reece I’m looking forward to meeting him again. And I’ve lots of toys for him to play with.’

We said goodbye and I hung up. Then I went through to the living room. I waited until Lucy had come to the end of the story and they both looked up at me expectantly, aware it was time for Reece to go to bed.

‘Reece,’ I said, squatting just in front of him, ‘I have some good news.’

‘’Ave you, Cathy?’ he asked, his eyes growing wide with anticipation.

‘Yes. Now listen carefully.’ Lucy was listening carefully too. ‘You know how we have been waiting for a school for you to go to?’ He nodded. ‘Well, they have found one. The headmaster has just telephoned me and you will be able to start on Wednesday.’

‘Wow!’ he yelled. ‘A new school!’

‘Yes, that’s right. I know you will be a good boy when you start, because you know how to behave now, don’t you?’ He nodded vigorously. ‘So, today is Monday.’

‘I know that,’ he put in quickly.

‘So tomorrow is?’

‘Tuesday.’

‘And the next day is …?’

‘Wednesday!’ he shouted.

‘That’s right, good, but don’t shout.’ I smiled. ‘Tomorrow morning, Tuesday, I have to go to your school and meet the headmaster. I shall be talking to him and telling him how well you are doing, and what a good boy you are. While I am there you will be going to my friend Nicola for two hours.’

‘Who’s Nicola?’ he asked.

‘She is a very good friend of mine and we met her once in the high street, but I don’t suppose you remember?’ He shook his head. ‘Nicola is very good at looking after children, and she said to tell you that she has lots of toys for you to play with.’ It might sound as though I was labouring the point, but when children have been moved around as much as Reece had, they can easily become insecure.

Reece pulled a face. ‘I want to go to school with you.’

‘We will both go to school on Wednesday, but tomorrow, just for a couple of hours, I need you to stay with Nicola. You can play, and she will give you a drink and a biscuit, and then it will be time for me to come and collect you.’

The drink and the biscuit seemed to seal it and Reece said: ‘Yeah. I’ll go to Nicola’s for a drink and a biscuit and you will go to my school.’

‘That’s right, love. Well done.’

‘Will we go in the car?’

‘Yes. I’ll take you to Nicola’s, and then I will go on to school. OK?’

He nodded again, and my heart went out to him, so naïve and vulnerable, and so looking forward to starting his new school. I hoped that by the time I had finished talking to the head he would have decided to give Reece a fair chance. I would tell Mr Fitzgerald how much Reece’s behaviour had improved, and how well he was doing generally. Perhaps, I consoled myself, he’d been put out by being forced into taking him and having his view overruled. I hoped Reece would prove himself.

Reece was still chatting about his new school as I took him up to bed and said goodnight. ‘Do they have a uniform?’ he asked.

‘Yes. I think it’s navy, but I’ll find out tomorrow.’

‘Good. I like navy. Do they have a playground?’

‘Yes, they will have.’

‘Good. I like playgrounds. What’s my teacher’s name?’

‘I don’t know yet, but I’m sure I will be told tomorrow.’

‘Maybe it’s Miss Smith,’ he said. ‘Same as my last one.’

I smiled. ‘Maybe. Now, come on, off to sleep. We have both got a busy day tomorrow.’

‘Yes, Cathy. I’m asleep,’ he said screwing his eyes tightly shut. ‘I like my school, and I like my home. I’m very ‘appy ‘ere, Cathy. I like you.’

‘Good, darling. I’m pleased to hear that. I like you too, very much.’ I kissed his forehead and then came out and closed his bedroom door.

I didn’t sleep well that Monday night, as the head’s words were buzzing round in my head, and I was also pretty anxious about meeting him the following morning. My brain kept trying to formulate the words and sentences I would need to win him over, and persuade him that Reece wasn’t the ‘bad lot’ he thought he was. With his learning difficulties Reece would need support in the classroom from a teaching assistant (TA), but his behaviour was not only manageable but also quite sweet. ‘Clear and consistent boundaries’ is a cliché among foster carers looking after children with behavioural difficulties, but it is a strategy that works. Once the child knows what behaviour is expected and is acceptable, and the boundaries for good behaviour are consistent, then the child adjusts accordingly and, hey presto, you have an angel, or almost. The same ‘clear and consistent’ expectations of behaviour would apply at the school, which obviously the staff would know and already have in place as a matter of course. Assuming the teacher and TAs were proficient in their jobs, I couldn’t see Reece was going
to cause them any more of a problem than the average seven-year-old.

Reece was in good spirits as we arrived at Nicola’s the following morning and the first thing he said to Nicola was that he was starting school the next day.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you lucky?’ I thought if you did but know! I saw Reece into her living room, kissed him goodbye, then thanked Nicola again and drove to the school. I parked in the road outside at 9.50 and got out. I straightened my skirt and jacket and then went up to the security gates and pressed the intercom buzzer. My stomach was churning at the thought of meeting the head, but I was ready to do battle with him if necessary on Reece’s behalf. He deserved a proper chance at school.

‘Hello?’ A female voice said from the intercom grid.

‘It’s Cathy Glass. I have an appointment to see the head at ten o’clock, about Reece Williams.’

‘Yes. Push the gate. I’ll open it now.’

Hearing the security lock click its release, I pushed open the massive iron gate and went into the playground. The gate clanged shut behind me and I crossed the playground and went up the two steps to the main entrance. I tried the door but it was still locked, so I pressed the buzzer on the intercom grid to my right, and the door immediately opened.

The small reception was empty but seemed quite welcoming, with children’s work displayed on two of the walls and a large pinboard with photographs of all the staff, and their names printed beneath. The word
‘welcome’ in as many languages as you could imagine was printed on coloured card and pinned to the door opposite me. This door now opened and a man in his late fifties dressed in a grey, slightly creased suit came in.

‘Mrs Glass?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Tom Fitzgerald, the head teacher. I’m sorry our receptionist is off ill.’ I nodded and we shook hands. Although he didn’t smile, he wasn’t the ogre I had imagined. In fact, short, with a worried expression, he seemed more anxious than intimidating. ‘Do come through to my office. Can I get you a coffee?’

‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’

I followed him through the door with all the ‘welcome’ signs, and along a short corridor, where we turned right, and into his office. This was warm and pleasantly furnished with a bright blue carpet, light blue emulsion walls and a huge desk with a computer, and four armchairs dotted in front of it.

‘Do sit down,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to leave you for five minutes while I sort out a problem with another child. I have a copy of Reece’s statement of special education needs here. Perhaps you could read it while I’m away.’

‘Yes, thank you.’ I sat in an armchair and Mr Fitzgerald took a wad of papers, stapled at one corner, from his desk, and passed it to me.

‘I shouldn’t be too long,’ he said.

I nodded and smiled, and he left the room. Undoing my jacket, I looked at the top page of Reece’s statement,
which contained his full name, age, date of birth, religion and language spoken. The statement, like most educational documents now, was computer generated, so it was printed. Beneath his details were family details; the names of his parents with their address had been crossed out and my details written beside them in ink. I made a mental note to remind the head that my address was strictly confidential and mustn’t be divulged under any circumstances, just in case his mother found out which school Reece was attending and approached it.

All statements of special educational needs follow the same format and I began to read the first section which was about behaviour. To my horror I read that Reece was reported as being impulsive and aggressive, rude and violent, and that he often hit other children and adults, causing them real harm. It said he was unable to play or cooperate with his peers and refused to take part in any organized activity, becoming rude and violent, that he was disruptive, emotionally very immature and that he often banged tables, shouted, screamed and threw things when angry which was very frightening for other children and staff. It said he would only complete a task if someone was sitting beside him, and that he often spoke in a very loud voice or shouted to gain attention.

I stopped and looked up. I couldn’t believe what I was reading! It was far, far worse than I could have ever imagined. Of all the statements about all the children I had ever fostered, this was the worst by a long way. I sat staring around me, trying to equate the child whose
details I was now reading with the one I had left at Nicola’s playing with her toddler. The only clause I could relate to was the last one about Reece’s loud voice. No wonder Mr Fitzgerald had reacted as he had. With only the statement to go on it appeared Reece was violent, aggressive and completely uncontrollable. If I’d been the head in charge of this large town school, I wouldn’t have wanted Reece in my school either. I noticed there was no mention of the head-butting and biting which I’d had to deal with in the early weeks, so I assumed that behaviour had been reserved for home, and I was grateful for small mercies.