Little Prisoners (18 page)

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.’

Chapter 15

I called Anna the next morning. I felt helpless; I hadn’t even really known what to
say
to Olivia, let alone what to do. All I could do was what I
did
do; record it and report it. And as ever the advice was the same.

‘Remain vigilant,’ Anna told me. ‘And keep recording everything, obviously. That’s all you
can
do.’

Which wasn’t much help. ‘But you know what?’ she suggested. ‘Perhaps it would be a good idea if I came for a special visit and perhaps gave her a bit of a biology lesson using her dolly; see if we can find out a bit more about where her knowledge lies.’

I was conscious that Anna’s motivation might be more about securing more evidence against the family than worrying about the urgent need for help for these kids. ‘I could probably do that myself,’ I answered shortly, ‘rather than you having to drag up here.’

Her response, after a brief pause, was interesting. ‘You know, Casey,’ she said – had she read the irritability in my tone? – ‘if this is all becoming a bit too much for you, we could try to find some respite care for the kids for a couple of days. Would that be helpful?’

Helpful?
I politely declined her offer.
No
, I thought, that
really is not
what I need.

But Anna’s comments did at least energise me. Over the next couple of days I trawled the internet to try and find some information about sex education, and what would be appropriate to discuss with children of different ages. I felt sure that Olivia was still too young to be told anything graphic, but these were not normal kids, and had been exposed to sexual practices, and I felt strongly that there must be something I could do to help. I simply couldn’t just sit there and have Olivia do things like she had to her doll and just observe and record and report them. This child –
both
these children – needed these things addressed, and it needed to start happening as a matter of urgency. To just stand and watch – to not point out that the things they were doing were inappropriate was tantamount to actually reinforcing them. Every episode left unchallenged brought them closer to a point where they might be scarred irreparably, for life. Was there anyone who hadn’t heard the familiar – and true – adage that abused children often went on to abuse?

But my investigations threw up something positive at least. I was out of touch, these days, with the
various childhood ages and stages, so it was news to me that apparently Olivia
was
already at an age when she should know about reproduction, recognise and name body parts and be able to talk about feelings and relationships. That was all the encouragement I needed. I would give her that biology lesson myself.

I don’t know what a casual observer might have thought had they happened upon Olivia and me in the kitchen a week later, with our two new temporary members of the family, Mr and Mrs Gingerbread, which I’d bought from the local supermarket, and accessorised myself – with a little bit of white writing icing in the places I wanted to discuss.

But though Olivia was giggling – I’d decided to leave Ashton out of this one; he was in the other room, on the PlayStation – I was in deadly earnest about this.

‘Casey, you’re so rude!’ Olivia laughed, once I’d got her sitting up at the table and explained what we were going to talk about. ‘Look! This one’s got boobies and a tuppence!’

She giggled. ‘An’ this one got boobies and a pee pee! You can’t have boobies
and
a pee pee, Casey!’

I was about to answer, when Olivia corrected herself. ‘Actually, you can, can’t you? Mens got boobies, but only tiny. Only the ladies got milk. That’s right, innit, Casey?’

I nodded. ‘Yes, that is right, Olivia,’ I agreed. ‘Only ladies have milk in their breasts. Do you know why that is?’

Olivia adopted her knowing expression. ‘I’m not stupid!’ she informed me. ‘It’s to feed their kids, of course!’ Upon
which, grinning impishly at me, she picked up Mr Gingerbread, and bit off his head.

This was beginning to feel a little pointless. ‘My mummy’s got fat boobies!’ she then informed me, through her mouthful. ‘Big old boobies. Like footballs!’ she said, gesturing with her free hand. ‘Gwandad always used to say that,’ she added, by way of explanation. Mr Gingerbread, I could see, was now half the man he had been.

This
was
pointless. Perhaps I should leave it to Anna after all. ‘Come on,’ I said, picking up Mrs Gingerbread and snapping an arm off. ‘How about you help me make tea then? Meatballs and spaghetti. Kieron and Lauren are coming.’

‘Yeah!’ she trilled, beaming happily at me, and looking for all the world like a bright-eyed little innocent who wouldn’t yet know one single inappropriate thing about tuppences and pee pees or anything else. Such a wicked twist of fate that she was not.

It hadn’t been as bad as I’d expected, Kieron moving out, because he’d been home almost as many times as there’d been days since he’d left. Indeed, on more than one occasion, he’d just turned up as usual, yelling ‘I’m starving! What’s for tea, Mum?’ as he came in. So we made plenty of meatballs, and it was just as well we did, because Riley and David turned up for tea too. And it was an absolute joy to have the whole brood together. Not just for us, but for the little ones as well. And all the talk was about Levi’s upcoming birthday.

It hardly seemed possible that my first grandchild was going to be two already. It seemed only yesterday that I’d watched him being born. But an awful lot had happened since he’d come into the world. It was no exaggeration to say our lives had changed dramatically. But all for the good, I thought, even if it had been challenging sometimes. We might have had our stressful moments, but on the whole, I felt happy and fulfilled.

And definitely up for a party. And, as per the Watson family tradition, Levi’s wasn’t going to be a low-key affair. Riley had already hired a local hotel for it; one that had established a reputation locally for providing brilliant birthday parties, themed to whatever was your choice.

Riley had refused to spill the beans on what she’d decided upon for Levi, but when the following Saturday came around, it was clear what it was as soon as we pulled up in the car park. We were greeted by staff wearing Teletubbies costumes and greeting us all pretty manically. Half of the car park was already cordoned off too, to house a giant bouncy castle, from which hung a banner that said ‘Hip hip hooray! Levi’s 2 today!’

‘This is fantastic, love!’ I said, as I took it all in. And it was. There was a wooden bridge, which led to the back door of the hotel, which was decked out with balloons and cardboard daisies. Even the ground was decorated – with big splats of red and yellow, which were presumably supposed to be jelly and custard – the Teletubbies’ favourite.

‘You wait till you get inside,’ Riley told me excitedly. ‘Honest, Mum, you ain’t seen nothing yet!’

But the children, like all the other little guests, only had eyes for the bouncy castle, so, even though it was a bitterly cold November day, I was happy to stay outside and supervise for a bit. Not that I needed to do much. The hotel staff, all in costume, were doing a wonderful job, keeping Levi’s playgroup friends, plus all his cousins, plus my two, entertained with lots of games and silly dances.

But eventually the weather drove most of us gratefully inside, and, despite a few clinging tenaciously to the small fence around the inflatable, the little ones’ attention was soon readily diverted by the delights on offer in the warmth of the function room. Here too, they’d done Levi proud for his birthday. They’d created a setting just like the original, complete with cut-outs of daisies and other Teletubbies characters and, the
pièce de résistance
, at the far end of the room – an actual working jelly and custard machine, which looked just like the one on TV.

Ashton and Olivia were speechless, and looked around the room open-mouthed, eyes like saucers.

‘Oh my gosh!’ said Olivia in awe. ‘Look at all this! Oh, where’s Levi? I want to show him all the pretty flowers. He loves flowers!’

Touched, I pointed him out to her. ‘I’ll bet he’d love that,’ I agreed. ‘Go on, then. But remember, no picking him up, okay?’

I had to take care with Levi where Olivia was concerned because, being the second of five, she had no qualms about
marching around holding little ones. It had probably been a big part of her young life. But she nodded obediently and trotted over to Riley, who I knew I could rely on to keep an eye on her.