Little Prisoners (11 page)

‘No, it’s not,’ I said sternly. ‘You shouldn’t be watching things like this. Mummy shouldn’t have let you. And I absolutely forbid it. Do you understand me?’ Now he nodded. ‘And that’s it for the computers today,’ I finished. ‘Come on. Out into the garden, please,
now
.’

Olivia, close beside him, but now apparently engrossed in what she was watching on the other laptop, made to move from her chair as well. I placed a hand on her shoulder while her brother scuttled out. Before getting sidetracked by the offerings on her brother’s screen, she’d been watching excerpts from the movie
Grease
. One was still playing.

‘Much more fun,’ I said, sitting down on Ashton’s chair, beside her. She nodded, her eyes still on the screen.

‘Don’t like that porn,’ she said. ‘It’s ’scusting an’ wrong.’

I noticed Riley had come in, bearing Levi on her hip. She too sat down, bouncing him on her knee. She’d heard everything.

‘You’re right,’ I said, even though I guessed she was just parroting a version of what she’d heard
me
say. But maybe not. Maybe she didn’t really relate this to the ‘innocent fiddling’ she practised at home. ‘And I’m
so
surprised Mummy let you watch it. Have you seen it lots?’

She turned to look at me now. ‘Only when I have to. We have to watch it with our uncles an’ my gwandad sometimes.’

I felt chilled. We
have to watch it
. ‘All together?’

She nodded. ‘When Mummy goes to the mucky beer pub. She said we was good kids to watch telly wiv the family.’

I nodded too, but I wondered if she really understood what she was saying. ‘But you know you shouldn’t.’

Another nod. ‘I tol’ you. I don’t like it.’

‘And you shouldn’t be made to watch it. Not by Mummy, or your granddad.
Or
by Ashton. Okay?’

She looked anxious now. ‘But what about my music and my
Grease
? Can’t I watch them no more either?’

‘Oh, no, love. You can watch
them
. Of course you can. They’re fine.’

She smiled. ‘Look,’ she said, turning her attention back to the laptop in front of her. ‘Look, Riley, it’s the best.’ She deftly moved her finger over the track pad to bring a clip up. ‘It’s where Sandy starts to grind her butt on Danny, cos she wants to sex him.’

Riley had bought her cup of tea into the room with her. Now she almost spluttered a whole mouthful back out. ‘Olivia!’ she exclaimed. ‘You shouldn’t even
know
words like that!’

I reached across and closed the second laptop. ‘Right madam,’ I said brightly. ‘Come on, out into the garden with you too. Enough sitting indoors on computers for one day.’ She smiled equally brightly, jumped down and ran off to join her brother while I turned to my daughter, who was stifling a laugh.

‘So, there you have it,’ I said ruefully. ‘
That’s
what I’m dealing with. And, trust me, it’s really not that funny.’

Riley composed herself and we took Levi back into the kitchen. Thank goodness he was still too young to know what had just occurred. ‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t help it. I do know it isn’t funny. It was just so unexpected. What do you plan to do?’

I shook my head. ‘I wish I knew. Right now, I’m just fire-fighting, really. The more we dig, the more odious their home life seems to have been. The evidence is stacking up so plainly. But all I can do – till social services get some counselling support for them, anyway – is just observe it, and log it, and report it, and then sit on it. Honestly, it’s driving me up the wall.’

‘And I guess you can’t really get cross, because they think it’s all normal.’

‘To a great extent, yes. I mean, Ashton clearly knew watching that movie was subversive. That was obvious. But I’m faced all the time with the underlying problem that they don’t think it’s wrong, they just know it’s wrong
here
. In their own home it’s obviously perfectly acceptable. Take the other day, for instance, with Olivia. It’s like being sexual’s just innate with her.’

‘What happened?’

‘Oh, just a bit of light lap dancing. After school, this was, and they’d gone up to change out of their uniforms, ready for tea, but when I go up to see why they’ve not come downstairs – I’d been calling – I go up to find Olivia dressed like a kind of ‘Porn Barbie’ – lipstick, tiny bra top, the lot – and dancing for Ashton like she works in Stringfellows!’ Riley was shaking her head as I sketched out the picture. ‘Honestly, you really had to see it to appreciate it,’ I told her. ‘It was sick, love. Just sick. She was moving like a lap dancer! And of course you straight away wonder where and how she learned to
do
that.’

‘And for who?’ Riley finished. ‘That’s the real point.’

‘Exactly.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘Not much. As I say, to these kids, this is
normal
. And you know the worst thing?’

‘What?’

‘The worst thing is that this sort of thing is happening so often that I can feel myself getting desensitised to it. I sat there and listened to Olivia telling me that not only did she do ‘sexy dancing’ for her brother, but also various male members of her extended family, and I wasn’t shocked. Not half as much as I feel I ought to be, anyway. I feel like I have to keep shaking myself awake – reminding myself just how appalling this all is. Not just the things I’m witnessing, but what it all means. Just what horrors have been inflicted on these children?’

Riley looked thoughtful. ‘You’re right, Mum. It really isn’t funny. It’s just
horrible
. That’s what it is.’

When Monday came around, I was ready for action. Mulling things over with Riley at the weekend had really fired me up. It was unacceptable to just let this ride. These kids had been deeply psychologically damaged and the sooner their skewed sense of normality was addressed, the more hopeful the outcome for both of them. I was many things, but I wasn’t naive. Having such a warped understanding of all matters sexual would have a profound effect on their characters as adults; just the thought of sweet little Ashton morphing into a predatory, sexually abusing adolescent filled me with both horror and rage. Yet the stats were clear; abused kids often became abusing adults. Which was hardly surprising; if you think sex between family members is normal, why wouldn’t you be drawn to continue the cycle? Social norms can be a very strong inhibiting force, but, as everyone knows, sexual urges can be stronger. It was so chilling to think how badly damaged these mites might be, but so much more so to think what kind of
adults
they might become, and every day I failed to try and do something about it was a day – to my mind – which was just embedding it deeper. But it seemed my sense of urgency wasn’t shared.

Having recorded and logged and filed all my latest observations to John and Anna, I followed up with a phone call to Anna as well. She was due to come the following week, for her next statutory visit, but I didn’t want to wait
for that to come around. I felt I needed to make it clear
now
how hard this placement was becoming; how much more complex than we’d all thought originally. I also needed her advice on how to handle things effectively – with no specialist training in paediatric psychosexual counselling, I felt I really wasn’t up to the job.

Any kind of counselling would be a plus, I explained to her. ‘CAMHS,’ I suggested. ‘Wouldn’t they consider doing something? I know the protocols, but surely, given the seriousness of what’s been happening …’

But even as I said it, I knew what Anna’s answer would be. I’d had dealings with CAMHS several times before.

‘You know that’s not going to happen,’ Anna answered frankly. ‘They won’t touch them at the moment, Casey, not till they’re permanently placed.’

Frustratingly, this seemed to be set in stone. They had their reasons, of course. CAMHS – which stands for the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service – work on the principle that if a child is in transition, it isn’t helpful to work with them. ‘Which is logical,’ Anna seemed to feel duty bound to tell me, even though I knew it already. ‘If a child makes disclosures and as a result becomes emotionally unstable, then it’s obviously imperative they start counselling immediately. And if that counselling is disrupted by a move to a new placement, then the psychological impact can be even more damaging than if they hadn’t begun counselling in the first place.’ She sighed. ‘I’m sure you know as well as I do what it’s like. They could move to a new area and wait months for an appointment …’

‘I do realise that,’ I said. ‘But that’s not a lot of help to me. How about some other kind of counselling?’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Genuinely. But you know how things are. Budget cuts and so on … too many kids, too little staff. Look, how about I make some calls and see if I can get you some advice at least? Coping strategies, or something. Would that help?’

Coping strategies.
Or something
. No, I thought. Not a lot! I
am
coping. It’s the kids that need help here, not me!

But I didn’t say that. ‘Well, whatever you think is best,’ I said instead. ‘But
something.
Because right now I feel all I’m really doing is containing them. Trying to keep them away from each other, mostly. Which, seeing as they’re siblings, is not only hard, but unnatural.’

‘I know,’ Anna soothed, not knowing at all, to my mind. ‘I know. I
do
understand, Casey.
Poor
you.’

Poor me. Those two words kept me awake half the night. It was action I wanted, not bloody platitudes.

Chapter 9

If I was frustrated by a lack of action on the part of social services, I was anxious to see less of it where the children were concerned. Action of the type I’d been witnessing, at any rate. I found myself constantly following them around. If they went outside to play, I would casually potter in the conservatory, or use it as an excuse to have a cigarette. And all the while, I’d have one eye on whatever it was that they were getting up to. I also started imposing new rules. If they wanted to play on their own in their bedrooms, they must leave the doors open. And if they wanted to play upstairs
together
, then they must play outside their rooms, on the landing.

I felt awful about it – particularly as they wanted to know why I made them do this – but at the same time I felt I had no choice. It felt so unfair, though. These little kids should be able to play freely with one another, just like any other brother and sister would. Instead, they were being policed
and I was the one doing it, but I knew I had to do it, for their own good.

Not that I was doing anything more useful than sticking a not-very-sticky Band-Aid over a big oozing cut. I could see it in their eyes every time I sneaked up to see what they were up to. They just thought I was mad. Yes, they did as I asked them, but I could see it was only because they were at heart obedient children, not because they understood why the way they interacted was wrong. Indeed, Olivia, being so young and as a consequence so guileless, was so matter of fact about her horribly sexualised childhood that she regularly took my breath away.

On the Friday morning when Anna was due, I got up early, determined to have a good read through my log, so that I could impress upon her yet again how important I felt it was that we try to press for some counselling to be put in place. It was with this thought in mind that I tiptoed out of my bedroom and crossed the landing, intending to brew a big pot of coffee and enjoy an hour’s peace with all my notes.

Olivia’s door was open, and right away I could tell she was awake, because I could hear her, chattering away to her dolly. At first I thought I’d leave her to it, but then I heard the word ‘gwandad’, which, as was becoming usual these days, made me prick up my ears. I stepped closer.

‘There,’ she was saying, ‘now you’re a proper pretty Polly. Nice peachy botty now, all nice for Gwandad.’

I shuddered inwardly and pushed open the door.

She was sitting in bed, the doll naked on her lap, the clothes she’d obviously just removed in a pile beside her. ‘Morning, love,’ I said brightly. ‘You’re awake early. What are you and Polly up to?’

‘Jus’ playing bedtimes,’ she answered. Her expression was wide-eyed and completely innocent. ‘Polly’s being me and it’s her turn to sleep with Gwandad. So she has to have her dress off, because it’s very very itchy. You can’t wear itchy clothes when it’s your turn to sleep with Gwandad. He don’t like things that itch. They make his skin sore. Even jamas,’ she added, as if remembering a very important point.

‘You know,’ I said, keeping my voice conversational, ‘little girls really shouldn’t sleep with their granddads – specially without pyjamas.’ What was I saying? I thought. They shouldn’t sleep with them at
all
.

Olivia digested this.

‘Why not?’ she asked, clearly puzzled at this early morning interrogation.

‘Because it’s not the same as having hugs. Bedtime’s private. Granddads shouldn’t even
ask
little girls like you to sleep in their beds. It’s –’

‘What about daddies, then? Casey, don’t you ever even sleep in your daddy’s bed?’

The question was straight out of leftfield, and floored me. ‘Daddy?’ I said. ‘D’you mean Mike, love?’

She smiled now, and shook her head. ‘No, silly!’ she teased. ‘I mean your
daddy
!’

‘Well, of course not, Olivia,’ I said firmly. ‘Because that would be wrong too. Mummies and daddies sleep together,
and children sleep on their
own
. Daughters definitely don’t sleep with their daddies.’

She took this all in with a slight frown, then shrugged. ‘That’s a shame,’ she said matter-of-factly.

‘A shame?’

‘Yes, cos you’d probly get a new dolly if you did.’

There was little I could say or do in response to Olivia’s suggestion, bar do what I had been about to do anyway, so I told her I’d be back when it was time to get up and dressed, and went downstairs to make a coffee as planned. I spent the next half an hour adding this latest encounter to my growing file, and when Mike came down shortly afterwards reiterated what she’d told me and how I was at least to have yet another piece of evidence to support my case.