Cathy Glass - Mummy Told Me Not to Tell - The true story of a troubled boy with a dark secret

‘No, neither have I, but believe me, her behaviour merited it. Reece has obviously seen a lot of violence at home, and when he is frustrated he resorts to aggression. There have been no boundaries at home, no discipline at all. My feeling is that he and Susie should have been removed years ago.’

‘So why weren’t they?’

Karen sighed. ‘I don’t know. Unfortunately there have been a lot of changes of social worker, and mum is very good at getting what she wants and controlling people. She shouts and threatens, and with her volatile and erratic behaviour most professionals who have dealt with her just seem pleased to get away in one piece. When we removed Reece and Susie, there were two social workers and three police officers present, and there was only mum and the two children at home. You can’t reason with her: it’s impossible. She often comes into the council offices and we have to have security remove her. She was in again this morning, demanding to know where Reece was being moved to. We didn’t tell her, obviously.’

Good, I thought, and please make sure my contact details aren’t accidentally disclosed, as had sometimes happened in the past with previous placements.

‘From what I know of Reece,’ Karen said, trying to finish on a positive note, ‘he’s not really a bad kid. I’m sure his aggression is learned behaviour from home.’

‘Yes, it usually is,’ I agreed.

‘Can you think of anything else I can tell you that might help?’

‘Not at present. Thanks, you’ve been very helpful.’ ‘Thank you for taking Reece. We were getting desperate,’ Karen said.

That evening when Lucy and Paula were home and we’d eaten, I took the opportunity to tell them of our new arrival before they started their homework or television watching. Lucy and Paula were fully aware of the implications of fostering a child with ‘challenging behaviour’ and, knowing they had a well-developed sense of humour, I decided to take a light-hearted approach.

‘Ladies,’ I said, as we loaded the dishwasher, ‘you know what a quiet time we’ve had over the last couple of months — just doing the respite fostering?’ They looked at me cautiously, suspiciously almost. I smiled. ‘Well, I thought it was time for a change, something to liven us up a bit.’ I smiled again. ‘Tomorrow a boy called Reece will be coming to stay with us. He is seven but has learning difficulties, so functions at a much younger age. Although he shouts, bites and hits people when he is frustrated, I’m sure with all our help he will soon change. What he needs more than anything is stability and boundaries—’ and I was about to continue with a few reminders on how we would achieve this when there was a chorus of:

‘Can’t someone else have him?’

I looked at them sombrely. ‘They have. We will be his fifth carers in six weeks.’

Another chorus: ‘You’re joking!’

‘No.’ And I could tell by their expressions they were shocked and knew, as I did, that whatever Reece threw as us, physically or emotionally, he couldn’t have another move, and would stay with us until the court made its decision on his future, which would take the best part of a year, or longer if the case was complicated.

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