The Cast-Off Kids (16 page)

‘I’ve come to take Gilroy to the fair.’

‘Now, come on, Kathleen. You know there’s a court order—’

‘F*** the bleeding court order! It’s time up now.’

‘Really? I thought it was continuous.’

‘You don’t know nothing. You’re as f****** bad as they are.’

‘Well, I can’t let you in without a permission letter from Social Services . . .’

‘Blow that for a f****** lark! I’m not bloody well going down there.’

‘Well, I was about to suggest that I bring you the phone and you can call them from here if you like.’

‘What bleeding good would that do? And what business is it of theirs anyway? A load of stuck-up cows! They don’t know f****** nothing about kids.’

I focussed on her first question. ‘Well, I know you’re supposed to have a letter, but if they can give me permission on the phone, I’m willing to let you in.’

‘Huh!’ She obviously didn’t think much of that.

‘But I can’t let you take Gilroy out without written permission.’

She finally paused to think that through. ‘But I could come in and see him?’ She realised that, if she played ball, she could get some of what she came for.

‘Yes, we can get some toys out and you could sit and play with him.’

She looked doubtful. ‘But I’m not a bloody child!’

‘I didn’t mean that. I just meant you could help him play.’

‘He don’t need no help from me,’ she snorted. ‘But still . . .’

‘I’ll just close the door while I get the phone,’ I said. I had once before stretched the phone cord to the door, when Rocky turned up drunk, so I knew it would reach.
‘Here’s the phone and here’s the number,’ I said, taking the chain off and handing it all to her.

She called Social Services and asked if she could visit and they said yes, as long as I agreed. They then spoke to me and said I could let her in if I felt it was safe, and that was it. I just
hoped I was doing the right thing.

I don’t know what it is with some parents when they come to see their children. They’re often nervous, as if they’re going to be watched and judged, though I was always pleased
to see them together. I think a lot of them have had a drink before they come, thinking it would steady their nerves, not realising it would make them worse. And of course, I’d had first-hand
experience of Kathleen and her drink problem. I could smell it now, but her eyes looked to be in focus and she was standing unaided, so I decided to let her in. I thought it might help Gilroy,
whose mental health was causing me some concerns at that time. Perhaps seeing his mum would relax him, I thought, but I should have known better.

We had a big, family kitchen, so I could go and busy myself at one end of it while they sat at the other. I made her a coffee and handed it to her.

As I rolled out pastry and made some tarts for tea, I watched Gilroy sullenly settle himself on the cushions by the toy box, next to his mother’s chair. Not a word, or even a look passed
between them – in fact they barely interacted at all, except when Kathleen gave her son a packet of sweets and he snatched them from her, guzzling them all in one sitting.

I saw Kathleen getting a packet of cigarettes out of her bag.

‘Sorry Kathleen, but we have a no-smoking rule in the house, to protect the children’s health,’ I said

‘F****** health,’ she moaned, then took a small mirror out of her bag and began to refresh her make-up. Meanwhile, Gilroy built a tall tower on the floor with some wooden bricks,
then stood up, drew back his leg and gave them an almighty kick, so that they went everywhere. The noise and sudden disarray made him smile. But one brick hit his mother and she immediately slapped
his head. She swore at him and he made a face. They were the first words between them in fifteen minutes.

Once I’d put the tarts in the oven, I went over to join them. ‘Why don’t you tell your mum about the model ship your class are making at school, Gilroy?’

‘We’re making a pirate ship,’ he said, grudgingly. ‘When it’s finished . . .’ he paused, looking at his mother, who was looking at her watch.
‘We’re going to smash it to pieces,’ he shouted, acting out an explosion, with all the sound effects.

I felt for Gilroy. Why did his mother bother to come, if she wasn’t even going to take any interest in him? But it was probably Gilroy’s best visit from his mum. They had nearly half
an hour together in the same room. Nobody got into a temper, there wasn’t much swearing and no one was hurt. Sadly, there was hardly any affection at all – only the sweets. As I showed
Kathleen out of the door, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Gilroy’s mum did try once more to visit, but she shouted and swore at me and called me names as loudly as she could. I could smell the alcohol much more strongly this
time, just through the crack of the door with the chain on.

‘Let me in, you f****** c***.’

‘I can’t. I am not allowed to let you in when you’re like this. You’ve got to get a permission letter from Social Services if you want to come again.’

‘F*** you!’ she yelled and tried to kick the door down.

As I closed it I turned round to see Gilroy sitting on the stairs, his face bright red with anger as he punched the step repeatedly with his fist.

‘I’m sorry, Gilroy,’ I said. ‘But I couldn’t let your mum in when she was in a temper like that. It would have frightened the other children.’ I felt so sorry
for him and went to give him a hug, but he backed away up the stairs. I’m not sure if it was my imagination, but there was something very unsettling in the way he stared at me before he
turned and ran off down the landing, then slammed the door. Seconds later, he kicked off and trashed his room as he’d done before, the crashing sounds reverberating around the house.

Paul was always the happy-go-lucky one of the family, with a strong sense of fairness. He would always stick up for his friends, or any of the other kids, if he felt they had
been treated unfairly. So that evening, when Mike was reading the bedtime story to the little ones and the others were all in their rooms, I went along to get Paul, who was now sharing again with
AJ and Ronnie, leaving Gilroy on his own at the end of the corridor, away from everyone else, just in case.

‘Do you think you can help me, Pauly?’ I asked him, as I took him into the spare room to talk. ‘I expect you heard Gilroy trashing his room earlier?’

‘Yes, everybody could hear it.’

‘And I know you helped Mike and Gilroy clear up the worst of the mess and mend his bed so he could sleep on it. Mike says you did a grand job there.’

‘Thank you,’ said Paul with a smile. ‘I like mending things.’

‘Yes, maybe you can do more of that when you grow up. But right now, I want your help in another way.’

‘What way?’

‘Gilroy was very upset this afternoon, when his mother was in such a rage that it wasn’t safe for me to let her in. It wasn’t Gilroy’s fault that his mother was like
that, so I think he needs a friend at the moment, to help take his mind off it.’

‘Do you want me to share a room with him again?’ He looked a bit worried.

‘No, nothing like that. But you’re the same age as him and you used to get on well, so if you could try to include him in your games and help him to have some fun again, like he used
to, that could really help him. What do you think?’

‘Yes, I guess so. As long as he’s not too mean. Shall I tell Ronnie and AJ too?’

‘Yes. Let’s go up and tell them together.’

The next few days were tricky ones for Gilroy. When he was out playing with the boys and they were having raucous fun together, he was fine. But in between I often saw him sitting with that look
in his eyes, chewing his lip and making fists with his hands as his resentment and anger resurfaced.

I checked his room every day, for anything that might be damaging, and I kept a closer eye on him than before, to make sure he didn’t take his anger out on the little ones. But, luckily
for the other kids, he chose to attack the toys instead, breaking a couple of the trikes and a sit-on digger, much to the small children’s indignation; but we bought them a few replacements
at a second-hand shop, so they didn’t lose out for long.

‘Kathleen’s an alcoholic, you know,’ said Gilroy’s social worker when he visited a few days later. He probably shouldn’t have told me that, but I
expect he assumed it was all right, since I’d been at her trial. Apparently, after I’d left the courtroom, a policeman had reported that Kathleen had been in trouble with the police
before for being drunk, and a doctor testified that she had been sent for treatment for her alcoholism, but stopped attending.

Now, looking back, I realise that she had mental health problems as well. She was a very, very difficult woman.

The phone rang one day soon after that and a sharp male voice spoke in a hurried tone. ‘I’ve abducted your foster-daughter Daisy from her school. You’ll never
see her again.’

‘What?’ I shrieked and the phone went dead. I froze in shock. Then I heard myself screaming. I panicked . . . unable to catch my breath. But I knew I had to keep my head, somehow.
There was no one at home but me and the three little ones. What should I do? I was in a terrible turmoil, but I had to act quickly.

I had to get down to the school, straight away. But I couldn’t leave the children.

No, I had to phone
. But who should I phone first? I dialled 999.

‘What service . . . ?’

‘Police, quickly.’ My heart was pounding. The wait seemed endless as I watched the slow second hand on our hall clock.

‘Hello—’

‘You have to help me,’ I interrupted. ‘My daughter, my foster-daughter – she’s been kidnapped. I’ve got to go down there.’

‘Where?’

‘Park Primary School.’

‘Right, we’ll meet you there, and we’ll organise a search.’

‘Please hurry.’

I grabbed three-year-old Mandy and four-year-olds Alfie and Laurel as fast as I could and ran round to Edie and Frank next door. I rang the bell.
Please let them be in. Please
. . .

The door opened.

‘Edie, can you have the kids? I’ve got to go down to the school. It’s urgent. Daisy’s been abducted. Here’s the key if you want to take them back to our
house.’

The police had already arrived when I got to the school. I ran in. ‘Oh my God,’ I screamed at the secretary. ‘Why did you let this man take my Daisy?’

‘Er, no, Mrs Merry. She’s in her classroom.’

‘You mean you still haven’t noticed?’ I was beginning to feel hysterical. ‘She’s been kidnapped!’

‘No, it’s OK, Mrs Merry. She’s fine. Daisy hasn’t been kidnapped. She’s here and she’s safe. It must have been a hoax.’

‘I don’t believe you. Are you SURE?’

‘Yes, certain.

‘I’ve got to see her,’ I shrieked. ‘I’ve got to see her.’

‘It’s all right. Calm down, Mrs Merry. The police alerted us and we checked straight away. She was here all the time. Let me take you to see for yourself.’

So we went down the long corridor, with me racing ahead. When we reached the classroom, the door was open and I walked in. Straight away I could see Daisy, in a world of her own, reading in the
book corner. It was a HUGE relief. She didn’t even notice me, so I left quietly and walked back with the secretary.

The police were talking with the headteacher when we reached the entrance hall again. A policeman and a policewoman.

‘It’s all right,’ I told them. ‘She’s here. Phew. Panic over.’

‘But somebody has played a very cruel trick on you, Mrs Merry. We need to see if we can stop him doing it to anybody else. We need you to tell us all the details about that phone call. You
might be able to give us vital clues to help us try to track him down.’

‘Yes, of course,’ I agreed. I would have done anything to make sure nobody else had to go through the trauma I had just suffered. ‘But I don’t understand who could have
done it,’ I said, still in a flustered state. ‘And why? I mean . . . do you think he got some kind of a kick from trying to destroy me like that?’

‘I can’t say, Mrs Merry.’

Just then, the secretary brought me in a cup of tea.

‘I don’t know whether you take sugar, Mrs Merry, but I think you need it for the shock.’ I thanked her.

‘Do you think you have any enemies?’ continued the policeman.

‘No, not at all,’ I said. ‘Except maybe the neighbours we had at Sonnington, who didn’t like our kids, but that was a long time ago!’ I smiled. ‘And they
wouldn’t have done this.’

‘Well, the man who rang you obviously knew you had a daughter called Daisy and the name of her school.’

‘But I don’t think he said the name of the school,’ I replied, trying to think back to his actual words. ‘Wait a minute . . . yes, it must be someone who knows us,
because he knew that Daisy is my foster-daughter. That’s what he said: “your foster-daughter”.’

‘Right,’ said the policewoman. ‘Let’s write all this down in a statement, Mrs Merry. And we’ll ask you to sign it. Will that be all right?’

‘What a shock!’ said Mike, when I told him the whole story later that day. How are you feeling now?’

‘Still a bit wobbly inside, I suppose, but I can’t tell you how relieved I was to see Daisy sitting there safely in the classroom, completely unaware of all the fuss.’

‘Any ideas about who this man could be? Did you recognise his voice? Or do you think he was disguising it?’

‘I don’t know. I’m trying to remember. It was so quick. He just said those terrible words, quite rushed, then hung up. I went into panic mode, so no, I don’t think it was
a voice I knew.’

‘Was it a local accent?’

‘Yes, I think so. I didn’t notice, so it probably was. But the police seemed to think it could be someone who knows us. Someone with a grudge. Someone who was deliberately getting
back at me for something.’

We sat in silence for a few moments, racking our brains. Then it came to me.

‘You don’t think Kathleen Dobbs could have anything to do with it, do you?’

‘Gilroy’s mum?’ asked Mike. ‘But it was a man’s voice, wasn’t it?’

‘Oh yes. So it couldn’t have been her.’

‘You could mention her to the police though, just in case.’