Casey Watson - Little Prisoners

I herded them both into the bathroom, and began stripping Olivia out of her wet things. Ashton, taking my cue, undressed likewise, ready to wash, and though I made an effort not to pay him too much attention as he did so, noticed that he was clearly embarrassed. Now that, at least, was a good thing, I thought to myself. Feeling uncomfortable about bed wetting was at least half the battle. I felt confident I could soon have him dry. In fact perhaps he was dry, and this was just a lapse, due to the trauma of the past couple of days.

Ignoring his damp things completely, I turned to Olivia. ‘Did you have an accident?’ I asked her gently as I filled the basin. The question was rhetorical – of course she’d had an accident – but her answer still flagged up the extent of the ‘neglect’.

‘Yesh!’ she told me, proudly, as she picked up her sodden pyjama bottoms, gleefully showing me what she obviously considered to be a very impressive stain.

‘It’s okay, Casey,’ Ashton added, in a reassuring tone. ‘Don’t worry. She’ll soon be all dry again.’

Bless him, I thought, as I sponged his sister down, diplomatically leaving him to sort himself out for now.

Once they were both clean and dry, I got them dressed in some of the new clothes Riley had bought for them and we eventually got downstairs for breakfast. True to his word, Mike had everything laid out ready, but it soon became evident that neither of them were interested. In fact, by now, they seemed much more interested in winding each other up; punching each other and running around madly, laughing manically for no apparent reason. It was almost as if they had morphed into different children, the shyness of yesterday having completely disappeared. Ashton, particularly, suddenly seemed a different child; one who now delighted in driving his sister mad; pulling her hair and teasing her and generally being a rather bullying big brother, something that would also need addressing.

‘Right,’ said Mike sternly, in an attempt to regain control. ‘Enough of all this. Time to sit up nicely at the table! It’s time for breakfast!’ But his words fell on completely deaf ears.

Trying to balance the two full bowls of cereal I’d poured, I approached the table and tried myself. ‘That’s enough!’ I snapped, trying to get and hold their attention. But it was hopeless – they just ignored both of us. Perhaps, I decided, I needed to change tack. Perhaps raised voices were something they had got used to simply tuning out. So instead, placing their cereal bowls on the table, I spoke more quietly. ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘This breakfast will be on the table for five minutes. If you haven’t sat down and begun eating it quietly by then, I shall assume you don’t want it and will take it away, and there’ll be nothing more to eat until lunchtime.’

This, thankfully, seemed to work. Finally, two sets of suspicious eyes were on me, and the children, my words having obviously sunk in, climbed onto their chairs, picked up their spoons and started to eat.

It was still like feeding time at the zoo, though. ‘My God, Case,’ whispered Mike as we stood by the kitchen partition and watched them. ‘If they carry on like this, this is going to be a nightmare! I hope they start calming down a bit!’

Shit! I thought suddenly, remembering. ‘Mike, their medication! It’s the bloody ADHD, all this! They must have to have their tablets first thing – of course!’ What with everything, I’d completely forgotten to ask what time of day they needed to take their pills. And now I’d had my answer. As soon as humanly possible after they wake up! I hurriedly gave them one each, and made sure they took them, then prayed that they were pretty fast-acting. Because it really was like watching feral children in action. Though they’d picked up their spoons, they were mostly using their hands to eat, shovelling the food in at an alarming rate, and spilling half of it on the floor. They also didn’t sit on their chairs, but crouched on them, like chimps, almost as if ready to pounce or flee.

Noticing Olivia’s bowl was empty now, I reached to take it from her, but stopped mid-way, as the six-year-old began to growl at me. She raised her hands in front of her, bent her fingers into claws and began hissing at me – it really was something to witness. I was then startled when Ashton banged his fist down on the table. ‘No, Livs!’ he barked at her. Olivia hung her head and immediately began whimpering, clearly scared. I just couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing.

It took an hour for the children to completely calm down. I had tried jigsaws and colouring books, a game of football in the garden … I’d even tried to make a game of them all helping me and Mike to clean up. Nothing had worked, not until the drug had kicked in, upon which the transformation was as sudden as it was huge. I’d seen the effect of Ritalin in school, of course, but never so dramatically as this. And, right now, I couldn’t have been more grateful.

The downside, however, was that they were now a bit like zombies; though ready to follow instructions, which was a positive, they were also confused and a bit droopy, with dampened spirits. Theirs must be, I thought sadly, a pretty strong dose. I made a mental note to take the pair of them to see Dr Shackleton; our local doctor had been the family’s GP for many years, and was always happy to support us with the children we fostered. Perhaps with support, and the right environment, we might be able to lower it slightly. It would be good to pass them on having made some progress in that regard, at least, even if, in the time-frame we probably had available, something of a big ask.

By now Kieron, who had finished college and was now busy job-hunting, had come downstairs. Now the kids were so much calmer, he was happy to stick around and help Mike to mind them while I went into town with Riley to do a proper shop for them. In time I hoped I’d be able to take them out with me, but for now, while they were still such an unknown quantity, I felt happier leaving them safely indoors. I had to hurry, too, as the social-work team were due later. So it would definitely have to be something of a smash and grab – I just hoped the same wouldn’t be happening at home.

Riley and I loved to shop. Always had. In fact, after playing with little Levi, going shopping with my daughter was one of those simple pleasures that I really enjoyed. Whatever the stresses in my life, there was little that couldn’t be made a bit better by spending mother-and-daughter quality time with Riley.

And we could certainly shop. In no time at all we had amassed five sets of underwear each, five cold-day outfits, five warm-day outfits, two pairs of new shoes, two coats, two more sets of pyjamas plus two pairs of novelty children’s slippers. We also added more jigsaws, a tub of Lego, a stack of books and two new PlayStation games, the ones we had being too geared to older children. We’d picked up a couple of new dolls for Olivia, too, one with long hair, and one a baby doll that could drink and wet its nappy. It came with a potty, and I thought it might prove useful when it came to potty training – something I clearly needed to address quickly, particularly with Olivia. I’d easily doubled the amount the social worker had given me, but I didn’t care. I would be able to claim it back eventually.

‘I can’t wait to see their little faces,’ I told Riley, as we hauled our booty into the boot of my car. Riley neither. ‘Can I give Olivia the Baby Born one?’ she asked. ‘Oh, I used to love mine when I was little!’ I nodded, belatedly picturing Mike’s face as well, and the expression it would have on it when I told him what I’d spent. But no matter. These children needed a lot more important things than toys – security, routine, love and boundaries, decent discipline – but they needed to play too.