The Cast-Off Kids (21 page)

‘What on earth do you mean?’ He still had his serious face on.

‘Outside . . . on the rockery . . . Tracey . . .’

Mike didn’t wait to hear the rest. He opened the door, took in the scene and bellowed at the top of his voice: ‘Tracey! Pull your knickers up and get in here immediately.’

There was some scrabbling about as they knocked a couple of stones off the rockery in their haste. I couldn’t imagine why they had chosen that, of all places, when there was a perfectly
good patch of grass on the other side, which surely would have been more comfortable. Or perhaps they were into a bit of masochism . . . I didn’t dare think about it.

In they both came, the man looking rather sheepish and she with her defiant face on.

I don’t know what made Mike say it – we could have been had up for suggesting it, but I heard him say in a scolding voice: ‘If you want to do something like that, you’ve
got a perfectly good bedroom upstairs to do it in.’

There was a moment of stunned silence, in which we all digested that, then Tracey went into her affronted voice.

‘If you think I’m that sort of a girl! . . . I’d never do it in your house,’ she said. ‘That wouldn’t be right.’

I was about to respond about it not being right anyway, but I stopped myself just in time. It wouldn’t have got us anywhere at that moment.

‘Come into the sitting room,’ Mike said to them both, as if it were an order.

They were on the defensive by then, understandably, and I think the young man, who must have been in his early twenties, was quite surprised that he’d even been allowed into the house at
all.

We then had this inane conversation, as if he was our prospective son-in-law or something.

‘Where do you work?’ Mike asked him.

‘The fairgrounds,’ he replied. ‘Wherever we go. Mostly across the Midlands.’

It became increasingly bizarre as this young man, whose name we discovered was Lee, began to tell us about his work. Tracey was mostly a spectator, hanging on his every word. We were
encountering a new world, as he proudly explained and taught us some of the tricks of his trade.

‘Palming,’ he said. ‘Now that’s something we all have to learn to do.’

‘What’s palming?’ I asked, betraying my total ignorance.

‘Well, it’s . . . Say you are going on a ride that costs sixpence, and you gave me half a crown. You would need two shillings change, wouldn’t you? Now let me show you what I
do.’ He searched each of the pockets of his jeans in turn and seemed not to find what he was looking for.

‘Have you got any change, mate?’ he asked Mike.

‘Yes, will this do?’ Mike put a handful of change from his pocket onto the coffee table and Lee took it.

‘So I would count out loud, in front of you, the two shillings in small coins in my open hand, like this, so that you can see it.’ He deliberately counted out the change. ‘Then
I would hand it over to you. But what you haven’t noticed is that when I turn my hand over to give you your change, that you’ve already seen, I’ve put my thumb over a couple of
the coins, so only the rest will go into your hand.’ He demonstrated this. ‘You’re not likely to stop and check your change, when you’ve already watched me count it out
before I gave it to you. So that way, I can make a bit of extra money every time.’

‘That’s so clever,’ Tracey said with admiration.

It wasn’t what I was thinking, but I had to keep that to myself. I briefly exchanged glances with Mike, who raised his eyebrows. ‘Don’t show AJ that one,’ I said.

And Lee didn’t stop there. He showed us a couple more tricks.

‘Clever, ain’t it?’ he gloated.

It was gone midnight by the time Lee left. Tracey disappeared up to bed, so Mike closed the sitting-room door behind her. We just took one look at each other and burst into laughter. ‘What
an education that was,’ I said. ‘Did he give you back your change?’

‘Oh, no!’ he spluttered. ‘And what a little madam that Tracey is.’ We both laughed again. ‘But I’ll tell you what . . . I don’t think I’ll ever
look at that rockery in the same way again!’

S
ure enough, as soon as she was sixteen, Tracey was kicked out to fend for herself. Not by us of course. We offered to keep her a little while
longer, without being paid, if she wanted to stay. That would have given her time for us to help her find a good, clean bed-sit. But Social Services said they wouldn’t allow it as it was
their job to resettle her.

However, when the day came, Tracey snubbed us all. The lure of the fairground had won her over. She packed all her stuff, said her carefree goodbyes, went out of the front door and into the
heavily tattooed arms of Lee, the fairground man. Without a backward glance, she disappeared down the road in Lee’s old banger and we never heard from her again.

The phone went just after breakfast on a Friday morning. I always thought it was going to be somebody new coming to join us. But not today.

‘Alfie’s mother has remarried and her new husband wants her to have Alfie back,’ said the Social Services voice.

‘That sounds as if it’s the new husband who wants him, rather than his mother.’

‘Does it?’ asked the voice. ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you.’

These Social Services staff are taught to be economical with the truth.

‘They’ll collect him at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.’

‘Right, I’ll tell him tonight and make sure he’s all packed up and ready in time tomorrow.’

We had met this man when the couple had been to visit Alfie about six weeks before. Alfie hardly knew his mother, so it was a tricky meeting, but the man who was now Alfie’s stepfather
seemed very kind and interested in him, so I was glad to hear that he’d been approved. I was still concerned about his mother, who seemed such a cold, aloof woman, but perhaps that was just a
form of nervousness. I hoped so.

Alfie was shocked when I told him after tea that evening. He clung to his beloved elephant stronger than ever as he went to bed and I tucked him in for the last time. The tears came as I left
his room. He had been with us since he was two and now he was six and a half.

When we saw him off the next morning, he clung to me much longer than I should have allowed, but his stepfather seemed touched by that scene. His mother, as usual, lacked any kind of expression
in her face, and seemed almost churlish in her manner. But she did hold his hand as they walked across to their car.

‘Bye, Alfie,’ we all called out, almost in unison.

‘Bye, Ellie the elephant,’ shouted Paul.

Alfie turned as he got to the car and gave us all a final wave, then a wave from Ellie too.

We were down to just six foster-children now – eleven-year-old AJ, ten-year-olds Ronnie and Sheena, Daisy nine, Paul eight and five-year-old Mandy. But it wasn’t six for long.

‘According to our records, Mrs. Merry, you have some spare foster-places?’ asked the female voice.

‘Yes, that’s right. I can take up to four more, maximum.’

‘Good. Well, we have a family of six . . .’

‘Oh no, I’m not allowed to take that many.’

‘Yes, I understand that. But a different arrangement has to be made for the three older children.’

I thought that sounded odd, but I focussed on the younger three. ‘Yes, I do have space for three. What are their ages?’

‘Well,’ she hedged. ‘It’s actually the youngest one for sure – her name is Lulu and she’s just three months old.’

‘But I said ages ago that I didn’t want any babies under six months,’ I reminded her.

‘I know, Mrs Merry. I saw that against your name, but we’re all hoping you’ll change your mind on this occasion. This is a bonny baby who hasn’t suffered any neglect and
is in perfect health. We think you would be the best placement for her, and possibly the next two up.’

‘Well . . .’ I thought about it for a few seconds. ‘All right. I’ll say yes then. How old are the other two?’

‘Duane is two and Sindy is three.’

‘Is that all you can tell me?’

‘I’m afraid so, but they will be coming with their social worker. Lulu will definitely stay with you, if you agree, and we will observe the other two interacting with your children,
before we make a decision about them.’

That sounded strange. In fact it had never happened to me before. I wondered why she should think it would be necessary now.

As usual, I heard the car and watched as a youngish woman approached our front door, carrying a tiny baby against her shoulder, holding hands with a toddler, with another small
child walking alongside.

‘Mrs Merry? I’m Susie, the children’s social worker.’

I nodded and smiled at the two little ones.

‘Hello, come in, all of you,’ I said, welcoming them through the door. Then I had a peek at the adorable, sleeping baby. ‘What a little angel.’

‘Yes, she’s the lucky one, we think,’ said Susie.

Another odd comment
, I thought, but decided it was best not to ask her what she meant straight away. Hopefully I might learn more once the children were settling in and we could talk more
easily.

Our children were great and tried their best to help these two new little ones to feel at home. Lulu was oblivious to it all at this point, still sound asleep. I noticed that, when Susie sent
them off to play, she was observing them very closely. In fact, she didn’t take her eyes off them, until Lulu suddenly woke up, with a wail of hunger.

At just that moment, two-year-old Duane went toddling over to Daisy, who was on a bean-bag at the far side of the room, reading. He clambered onto the beanbag and, before I could alert Daisy, he
delved his hand right inside her pants. She shrieked and shot out of the bean-bag. Susie handed the screaming Lulu to me, while she rushed over and picked up Duane, taking him right away from Daisy
and sitting him next to her on the sofa.

‘You must not do that to other children, Duane,’ she said to him in a slightly stern voice. Far from looking guilty, or embarrassed, he seemed surprised, perhaps even confused, that
she had stopped him. Susie reached for a couple of cars for him to play with on the sofa, hemmed in by the way she sat.

Meanwhile, three-year-old Sindy was looking through the books. Finally she found one that met with her approval and brought it over to Mike, who was sitting on a big easy chair in the corner,
with his newspaper.

‘Read the book, for your little friend?’ asked Sindy, tapping his leg.

He put down his paper. ‘All right then.’ He took the book she was holding out to him.

Sindy clambered up on to his lap, so that she could see the pictures, I thought. But as Mike opened the book and started to read, she started to wriggle strongly on his lap.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

‘I make your little friend happy,’ she said.

He gave me a quick look as he reached for a thick cushion, lifted her off his lap, slid the cushion underneath and plonked her back down. ‘There, that’s better,’ he said.

Susie was busy with the baby and with keeping Duane occupied and hadn’t noticed what might have seemed an everyday story-time. I watched Mike start again to read the book to Sindy, but she
had lost interest now and climbed down. I took her with me to the kitchen.

‘Let’s get a bottle out for the baby,’ I said to her and she happily held my hand. She seemed such an innocent child, yet I couldn’t get that scene with Mike out of my
head. I warmed up the milk, then took Sindy back to the playroom to collect baby Lulu. I had sometimes seen small children behave inappropriately before. But what both Duane and Sindy had done
seemed different somehow . . . as if deliberate and yet normal for them.

‘I think we should take Duane and Sindy to the kitchen with us to feed the baby,’ I said to Susie in a low voice that I hoped sounded like it was important.

While I fed the baby and she played on the rug with Sindy and Duane, I whispered to her what I had seen Sindy do on Mike’s lap, and what she had said. The exact phrase. I expected her, as
a social worker, to show some concern at least, but it was as if she wasn’t surprised at all.
What was going on here?
The earlier comments that had puzzled me came back to me now.

‘Have these children been sexually abused?’ I asked her outright.

‘I’m not normally allowed to tell you anything,’ she said. ‘But in this case my boss said I could explain and apologise if the toddlers acted up.’ She paused.
‘So, the answer to your question is yes. But it’s more complicated than that, I’m afraid, and more terrible too.’

Now I was really on edge, as I waited for her to continue.

‘These are the youngest three, but they also have three older siblings, and this has been going on for a long time, without even the neighbours knowing anything about it,’ she said.
‘But it was the health visitor who found out, when she visited this new baby, Lulu, right in the middle of a shoot.’

‘A shoot? Do you mean with guns?’ I must have sounded very naive.

‘No, a film shoot. As we now know, this couple made their living by making sex films.’

‘Of themselves?’ I asked.

‘Mostly of the children,’ she corrected me. ‘The parents had trained all their children, even these two.’ She looked at Sindy and Duane. ‘They had trained them all
to do sexual things to each other, and with each other, as well as with them sometimes. And that’s not all – they regularly invited known paedophiles to come round and join
in.’

I was stunned into silence, hit by waves of shock and disgust. How could any parent do this to their own children?

‘They made them for people who paid them a lot of money for each thirty-minute film. They wanted as many as they could produce . . .’ I struggled to cope with my anger and horror at
what she was telling me. ‘And they’ve been doing it for a long time, ever since the eldest child was born, eleven years ago.’

‘What, even with a newborn?’

‘Yes,’ she said in a quieter voice. ‘I know all this must be a terrible shock to you, Trisha. But we all thought you ought to be told, if it seemed necessary. We really hoped
you would have all these three younger children for us. I know it’s a lot to ask . . . What do you think?’