Little Prisoners (19 page)

I turned to Ashton. More self-conscious than his little sister, he seemed to be finding the whole thing just a little bit overwhelming. ‘Go on,’ I told him. Why don’t you go and join in with your sister? Or maybe go and get some food from the buffet.’

Ashton still seemed reluctant to leave my side, perhaps shy about helping himself among all these strangers. ‘You hungry?’ I asked him. I nudged him. ‘I’m surprised you weren’t the first there!’

I was, too. Though we’d not seen the stark evidence of it that Olivia had displayed when she’d first come to us, Ashton cared about food and when it was coming. Not to the extent of our first foster child, Justin, who had to know exactly what the next meal would be, and when. But Ashton did worry about it and, like Olivia had that first night, he still sometimes binged on it and hid it. Where his little sister seemed to have settled down in that regard, he’d often still squirrel away biscuits in his room. These were understandable behaviours, given both the children’s shocking background. But in the midst of all the sexual stuff going on with these kiddies, perhaps I’d not fully grasped the true extent of Ashton’s obsession with the everyday business of getting fed.

‘I’m starving,’ he said now. ‘But I can’t go by myself. I don’t know what to get.’

‘Love, you can have anything you fancy. That’s the point of a buffet. You get a plate and then you choose the things you like best.’ His brow furrowed as I said this and he looked unconvinced. I took his hand. ‘Tell you what, shall I come with you?’

He shook his head then, his pride clearly coming to the fore. ‘I’m okay,’ he said, wriggling his hand from my grasp. ‘I’m fine.’

And, oh, how I wish I’d just gone with him.

As it was, I watched him walk across to the room to the groaning table, where at first it seemed nothing was amiss. He filled a plate with food, nibbling on a sandwich as he did so, and I was so busy chatting to one of Riley’s friends about her children that it was a while before I realised he hadn’t moved away. He seemed rooted to the spot, clutching his full plate of food, just looking from side to side at all the half-full platters, as if unable to tear himself away.

The next bit seemed to happen in slow motion. I saw David go over to him and then smile and say something, and, from what I could see, gently try to steer him away. Ashton’s response was to put down his plate and then grip the buffet table with both hands. It was difficult to be clear about what happened next because there were children playing between us, which kept obscuring my sight-line, but when I saw David wincing and hopping on one leg, I hurried over to see what was going on.

‘He stamped on my bloody foot!’ he said. ‘Hard!’ He glared at Ashton, who was still clinging on to the edge of the table. ‘Look, lad,’ he said to him. ‘You’ve had
enough
now!’ He turned to me. ‘He’s not stopped, Casey. Been stuffing food down his throat now for close on twenty minutes. Honestly, he’ll be sick if he carries on.’

‘Ashton, come on, love,’ I tried. ‘You’ve had enough.’

‘No!’ he practically snarled at me. ‘There’s still loads here. I
can’t!
’

Just then, a young mum approached the table with two little ones and reached out to take a couple of iced buns.

‘Gerroff!’ Ashton snapped at her. ‘They’re mine. Just leave off!’

‘Ashton!’ I barked. ‘They are
not
! They’re for everyone!’

His face was a mask of distress by this time, and before I could really register what had happened, he kicked out at the startled woman, his foot delivering what would have been a pretty painful blow had she not darted sideways to avoid it. And the same fate befell another child, who’d dared to approach. It was only my yanking Ashton smartly backwards that spared another unsuspecting shin from getting whacked.

People were looking towards us now, aware of the growing commotion. ‘Get off!’ he screamed. ‘Tell them, Casey! Tell them! It’s all gonna be gone!’ He had tears in his eyes and was trembling with anger and it became clear that I was witnessing behaviour around food that was every bit as troubled as Justin’s had been. He simply couldn’t deal with seeing so much food in one place at one time without needing, not just wanting – compulsively needing – to eat
or hide away every scrap. In short, he could not walk away from it. Years of chronic hunger had so damaged his psyche that his response was as powerful as it was instinctive. The only reason I’d yet to see it was because he’d not been in this situation. He couldn’t help it, I realised. He had no control over it.

Smiling apologetically at the growing crowd, and anxious not to cause a scene that might spoil the party, I gently prised Ashton’s white fingers from the edge of the table. Then, with David to help me, I forcibly, but calmly, led him from the room, trying to ignore the screams of protest and the wildly thrashing limbs, which were a distressing enough sight as it was, and meant the people closest had to hurriedly shimmy out of the way. Already a couple of the little ones had started crying and, as I passed him, I could see my little grandson was one of them, looking petrified at the sight of this hysterical, flailing boy.

It was a job to contain him, but we were eventually through the doorway, upon which, sensing our grip on him loosening, Ashton wriggled free of us both and threw himself on the floor.

‘Go back in,’ I told David. ‘Get back to the party. I’ll sort Ashton out.’

‘You sure?’ He looked sceptical.

‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘Just got himself into a bit of a state.’

David still didn’t look convinced, and I did understand his reticence. I was five foot nothing, and Ashton wasn’t much shorter. But he had no fight left in him, and was no threat to anyone. He just needed comforting, that was all.

Once David had gone back in, I sat down on the floor beside him, stroked his hair and tried my best to console him.

‘It’s okay,’ I said softly. ‘I understand, Ashton. That was hard for you, wasn’t it? Seeing all that food and not being able to –’

‘But you don’t understand!’ His face was running with tears now. ‘You don’t understand! It’s your fault! I coulda had that! An’ now it’ll get wasted! And I’ll starve! You’re so cruel to me, Casey! You just want me to starve!’

‘Don’t be daft, love,’ I said. ‘Why on earth would I want to starve you? I feed you enough, don’t I? I give you lots and lots of food. But you know what? I do understand how you feel, you know. How you must fret about going hungry. I get that, I really do.’

But Ashton was still too upset to be mollified. He was now a picture of perfect misery. And all over a few sandwiches and sausage rolls. I should have thought. I should have realised. I should have prepared him better. And because I hadn’t, this had ruined Levi’s party. ‘I don’t care,’ he sobbed. ‘I just wanna go home. They can keep it. They can throw it all away. I DON’T CARE!’

‘Okay, love. That’s okay,’ I said, hugging him to me. He was now like a big floppy rag doll. ‘We’ll get you home, okay? And then you’ll feel a whole lot better.’

I popped back inside and explained to Mike what was happening, knowing David would be happy to drop off him and Olivia. Then we slipped out the back and went home.

Chapter 16

‘You know what?’ Mike said to me the following evening, as the pair of us tackled the mound of Sunday dinner washing-up. ‘I really think we have to
do
something about these kids, love. I mean, look at Ashton’s behaviour. Remember Justin?’

I nodded as I passed him the roasting tin to dry. And laughed ruefully. ‘How could I forget?’

‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘And that was the first thing I thought about when he kicked off on Saturday. That this is not just ADHD. The poor kid has serious issues going on. Which nobody seems to be taking remotely bloody seriously!’

This wasn’t strictly true. There
would
be help forthcoming eventually. But since CAMHS wouldn’t get involved until the kids were placed permanently, the net result was the same as if the situation
wasn’t
being taken seriously. Nothing was being done now, and nor would it be. Mike was right in what he said, and the party had been
a catalyst. Every day that went by was another day wasted. So if no-one else was prepared to step in and do something, then perhaps I should do it myself.

I called Dr Shackleton first thing on the Monday and, as ever, he was incredibly helpful. He’d been our GP for years, since long before we started fostering, and now we were, he couldn’t have been more supportive.

‘So they’re getting nothing in the way of counselling at present?’ he wanted to know.

‘Nothing,’ I confirmed. ‘They’re just on medication for the ADHD, as you know, but they’re all in such a mess, in one way or another – particularly Ashton – and getting a settled place, and so some support from CAMHS, might take months yet. And the longer this goes on, the worse I think they’ll get. It just all feels so
wrong
to be doing nothing.’

‘Leave it with me,’ he said. ‘I come up against this sort of thing all the time. Red tape’s all well and good, eh? But sometimes it needs cutting. Let me see if I can get the ball rolling for you.’

I felt much better having spoken to Dr Shackleton. When he said he’d make things happen, he generally did. And I felt even better when I then called John Fulshaw and learned that he completely supported my decision. ‘Mind you,’ he said, ‘brace yourself, because Anna won’t like it. Protocols and all that. Proper CAMHS procedure. She’ll be cross you didn’t talk this all through with her first.’

‘But if I did that she’d just tell me not to. You know that.’

‘Yes I do, and between you and me, I agree with you. You and Mike are the ones at the front-line in all this. If they expect you to care for these children properly, it’s faintly ridiculous not to give you a degree of autonomy. No, you did the right thing, Casey, and I’m one hundred per cent behind you. Let me know how it goes. Keep me posted.’

John turned out to be right. Anna was definitely sniffy. The next day, no less, I received a curt email informing me that while it was perfectly okay for me to organise routine doctor’s appointments (which was kind of her) I must ‘in future inform a member of the team before making decisions of this nature’.

Suitably chastised, though not in the least repentant, I composed an appropriately apologetic email in reply, ensuring her I had definitely taken all her advice on board, and would of course do as she asked ‘in the future’. It was easy to press ‘send’, I thought, smiling, as I did so, because I’d already done what I’d set out to.

But I was soon to find out that the politics of the care system were more complex and frustrating than even
I
had thought. The following week, I took a call from Julia Styles, the special needs co-ordinator at the children’s primary school. I knew Julia quite well because our paths had crossed for years. She’d recently transferred to the primary from our local secondary school, which was not only the school our first foster child, Justin, had attended, but was also the place where I’d worked for several years, before Mike and I had trained as foster carers.

‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ she said, because of course that’s what I’d done. I’d not long dropped the children and automatically assumed there had been some sort of problem with one of them.

‘I’m glad to hear that,’ I said, relieved.

She laughed. ‘It’s just admin, in the main. It’s just that we’ve finally received the records from the children’s old school, and it’s left me with something of a conundrum, to be honest. Because they don’t seem to bear any real relation to the reality of the kids themselves, you know?’

‘You’ve only just got them?’ I mentally calculated. ‘But it’s been almost four months!’

‘They’ve certainly not hurried themselves, that’s for sure,’ she said. ‘And now I’ve got them, I’m a little confused. Honestly, Casey, if you read them you’d hardly think they described the same children!’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, it’s obviously not for me to make assumptions, but according to these records, the children, when transferred, seemed to be down as having no significant problems.’

‘But we both know that’s not true.’

‘Exactly. In fact my recommendation, having now reviewed this first half-term, is that they both have some degree of learning disability, so they should be spending time in our learning support unit. They need a proper assessment to see if they need statementing, obviously, which I’d bet my bottom dollar they all do. And it needs doing as a matter of priority, in my view. Not only so we
can get the extra funding we need to support them, but also because this has been overlooked for far too long already.’

‘You’re telling me!’ I said.

‘Anyway, as you know, they have their LAC review next week, so I just thought I’d let you know my recommendations. I’ll obviously be bringing all this up then.’

I felt really happy after speaking to Julia. At last, I thought, at long last things were starting to happen. And not a moment too soon for these poor little ones. People think it’s just a cliché to talk of children ‘languishing’ in care, but, to my mind, if they weren’t getting the psychological and educational support they needed, that was
exactly
what kids like these two were doing. So what if Anna got her knickers in a twist about protocols? I didn’t care. I’d come into fostering to do my bit to
stop
that. And that’s what I intended to do.

A Looked After Children (LAC) review is a periodic meeting, held to discuss the situation and progress of a child (or sibling group) who is placed in the care system. It is run by an independent reviewer, and its purpose is to review the situation as it stands and to put in any plans for the future. Everyone involved with the child is invited, from foster carers, link workers and social workers, to the child or children’s teachers and nurses, and, if family contact is a part of the arrangement, the parents as well.

The next scheduled meeting for Ashton and Olivia was to be held at their school the following Wednesday. And, in the meantime, as was the requirement, I had been busy
writing our report. As foster carers, we were asked to update everyone else at the meeting, about both the progress that had been made since the last LAC review, as well as any ongoing concerns we wanted to raise.