Little Prisoners

But the thing that most struck me, as I smiled my best smile and welcomed them inside, was the head lice they had in their hair. I’d seen lots of head lice, at the school where I used to work. And like most mums, I’d deloused my own from time to time. But these were lice like I’d never seen them before. As I leaned down to give the little girl a welcoming cuddle, it hit me. There were so many, and they were so active, that her hair looked alive. The more you gazed on it, the more you saw what a seething mass it was. A virtual lice-metropolis had established there.

No, I thought, again. The word neglect really didn’t cover it. I glanced at Mike and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. What else were we about to uncover?

Chapter 2

Fighting the need to gag, I ushered everyone inside, pasting a smile on my face, leaning down towards the children, and starting with the usual introductions.

‘Now, you must be Olivia,’ I gushed, smiling warmly at the frightened little girl. Like her brother, she had dirty-greyish, straggly blonde hair, and such sad, sunken eyes – two huge blue pools in her pale face. ‘And you’ll be Ashton …’ I went on, smiling at the tousle-headed boy. His hair, I noticed, for all that it was matted around his head, was almost as long as his sister’s. He nodded nervously, as he stepped past me into the hall, his whole demeanour suddenly reminding me of a little boy in a Second World War film who’s just stepped off a train full of frightened evacuees and is determined to maintain a stiff upper lip. ‘You’re very welcome,’ I finished, grinning broadly at them both. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Come in. It’s lovely to meet you.’

I straightened again, shocked at how tiny they seemed. So much smaller and younger than the ages ascribed to them. I then turned my attention to the two adults. ‘Nice to meet you both,’ I said, proffering a hand, which, after disentangling themselves from the children, who were still clutching on to them, the man and the woman shook in turn. ‘And this is my husband, Mike,’ I finished. Mike duly did likewise, before saying his own cheerful hellos to the little ones, who visibly shrank back at the sound of his voice.

‘Great to meet you too,’ the female social worker said. ‘I wonder … could the children perhaps go and sit down somewhere? Watch some telly or something? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ she added, turning to her two charges. Ashton nodded.

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘Come this way, kids.’ I led them both into the living room and switched on the television, flicking through to find a cartoon channel for them to watch. Mike, meanwhile, I could hear, had led the two adults into the dining room, so we could all have a proper briefing over coffee before they left.

The children sat, huddled close to one another on the edge of the sofa, meekly and silently accepting the drinks of squash and biscuits that I’d already prepared in anticipation of their arrival. They looked I thought, a little like extras from Les Misérables. I tried not to think about their proximity to my soft furnishings. Head lice can’t jump, I reminded myself firmly, as I left them to it and went to join the adults.

Mike was pouring coffees when I walked into the dining room. ‘Here we are, love,’ he said, handing me my one.

The female social worker smiled across as I took my place at the table. ‘I’m Anna,’ she said. ‘We spoke on the phone. And this is Robert,’ she finished. ‘Robert Foster.’ He raised a hand. ‘He’s the family support worker attached to the children.’

Mike, the coffees dealt with, now sat down as well. ‘So,’ he said, ‘what can you tell us about these two?’

‘Not as much as we’d like,’ Anna immediately confessed. ‘I’ve only been working with the family for the last couple of months, you see. The last social worker on the case was involved with the family for six years, or so I’m told, but, regrettably, she’s on long-term sick leave right now, so I’m pretty new to the situation. All I can tell you is that there are three more children – all of them younger; two, three and four, they are – who were removed and found a placement two months back.

‘Five kids!’ Mike exclaimed, voicing my own thoughts. They’d been busy.

Anna nodded. ‘Indeed, but it’s these two, being older than the babies, who are proving problematic for us. Up till now the service has been unable to find anyone willing to take them.’

‘Why were they removed?’ I asked her. ‘I mean, I can see they’ve been neglected, but is that it? Is that the only reason?’

Both Anna and Robert looked slightly uncomfortable at the question, and it was Robert who now stepped in to answer. ‘Mainly,’ he said. ‘Yes, that’s about the size of it.

Gross neglect, quite a number of complaints, from various sources, and the parents, to be frank with you, seem incapable of looking after themselves, let alone five kids. Learning difficulties, both of them. Dad fairly mild but, in the mother’s case, really quite severe. So we’ve been going through the usual channels, of course – there’s a court hearing coming up soonish for a full care order, but as the hearing date’s got closer, and our investigations more frequent – and also more thorough, of course – it’s become increasingly clear that we’d be doing the kids a disservice if we left them with the parents any longer.’

‘But why so sudden?’ Mike asked him. ‘That’s what we don’t understand. Why now as opposed to after the actual hearing. What’s prompted it?’

He was getting to the nub of it. There must be a reason. What had they discovered, bar the lice and the stench and the obvious dishevelment, that would prompt them to take the kids so suddenly?

Anna answered. ‘Like Robert said, the situation’s just deteriorated. And despite several warnings, the mother’s not turned things around. We simply couldn’t leave them, that was all. She’s not been feeding them, washing them, washing their clothes – stuff like that, mainly. And they’ve been eating out of dustbins and stealing food from other children’s lunchboxes in school. We just had to act, basically … well, you’ve seen for yourselves now, of course.’

I glanced towards the living room. ‘Those poor, wretched kids,’ I said. ‘They just look so sad and scared. This must be awful for them.’

‘It has been. It is. It was really traumatic taking them.’ I saw the anguish in her expression and I believed her. This was probably the least edifying part of her job. No, more than that – it must have been grim for her. ‘They were clinging to their mum,’ she said. ‘Screaming at her to stop us. To help them. Really upsetting …’

She tailed off, and I could see it was upsetting her now. ‘So what about their stuff?’ I asked briskly, to change both the tone and the subject. ‘They don’t seem to have much, even by these kinds of standards.’

‘That’s it,’ Anna said. ‘They have nothing. Literally nothing.’ She nodded towards the hall. ‘I helped pack, so I can tell you, there’s nothing of use in there. Couple of sets of disgusting pyjamas, a couple of raggy hoodies and T-shirts – very little else.’

I could feel a wave of sadness wash over the table. Poor, poor children. What desperate straits to be born into.

‘So,’ Mike said, trying, as I had, to lift the tone again, ‘anything else useful you can tell us?

‘Well, just about their medication, really,’ Anna answered. ‘We’ll obviously sort everything out paperwork-wise, when we have the pre –’ she smiled ruefully. ‘Ahem, pre-placement meeting. But in the meantime –’

‘Medication?’ I asked. ‘What medication?’ This was news to both of us and it filled me with dismay. Sophia, our last child, had had a rare disorder called Addison’s disease, and along with all her other problems, the illness had caused many, many more, as we struggled with a regime of careful nutrition and daily meds, any wobble in which could potentially make her seriously ill. And had done, more than once. I shuddered to recall the stress of it. And now again. What on earth was wrong with these ones?

‘Oh,’ Anna said, colouring slightly. ‘Did John not explain? Or maybe I forgot to explain to him. Both the kids have been diagnosed as having a form of ADHD. They are absolutely fine on their Ritalin,’ she was quick to reassure me. ‘And they’ve both had it for today, so you don’t need to worry. In fact, it’s nothing to worry about in any case, really. Just a tablet each morning and that’s all there is to it. They do have a specialist they’re under, of course, but they’ll be here so short a time that it’s not going to be relevant to you. Just a tablet a day, and that’s it sorted.’

That the children had ADHD – attention deficit hyperactivity disorder – wasn’t really much of a surprise to me. As a behaviour manager in the local comprehensive I’d dealt with plenty of kids in school who were similarly afflicted, and was familiar with the condition and its symptoms, not to mention the action of Ritalin on them – that ‘zombie’-type demeanour the drugs seemed to make them have. But, yes, compared to Sophia’s Addison’s disease, this was mild. But I felt my hackles rise, even so. Not relevant to me? Of course it was relevant, I thought, you silly woman! And fancy just springing something like that on us at the last minute. Did she really forget before? I was doubtful.

‘Okay,’ I said pointedly, ‘but is there anything else we should know?’

‘Not really,’ she said, seemingly oblivious to my slightly chippy tone. ‘Like I was saying, we’ll be here the same time tomorrow for what should have been the pre-placement planning. I’ll bring all the paperwork, of course and – oh, in the meantime, my boss asked me if I’d give you this.’

She reached into her bag and pulled out a white envelope which, when I opened it, turned out to be stuffed with ten-pound notes.

‘What on earth’s that?’ asked Mike, seeing it and grinning. ‘Danger money?’

‘It’s two hundred pounds,’ Anna replied, her own smile somewhat sheepish. ‘I know it’s a bit irregular, but you’re to spend it as you see fit. You know – get anything you think the children need. We’re well aware how much stuff you’re going to need to get for them, even if it is for a very short while.’

Very irregular, I thought as I pushed back the flap. And it was. The normal procedure was that we’d buy anything our foster children needed, then put in the receipts and justify – very robustly – why we’d needed to spend the money. It would invariably be weeks and sometimes months before we saw it back in our bank account. Yes, this was odd indeed. And it made us both wonder. Why exactly were they trying to butter us up so much? Were they that worried we’d change our minds and reject them?

They needn’t have worried. While the social workers said their goodbyes to the children, I took a quick peek at the sorry pile of belongings in the hall. Anna had been right. In the case there were indeed two pairs of manky, torn pyjamas, jumbled up with a couple of T-shirts, the colour of dirty washing-up water, and a couple of broken photo frames, containing pictures of, presumably, their mum, dad and what looked like all five siblings together. In the bin bag there was very little more. A couple more items of clothing that I wouldn’t even have used as rags to clean my kitchen floor, an empty baby’s feeding bottle and a large undressed doll. It looked like it should have belonged to the bad boy in the Toy Story movie; faintly sinister, with half-shorn, matted hair, missing eyeballs and scribbles of ballpoint pen all over its face and body.

‘That’s Olivia’s,’ Robert whispered, as he emerged from the living room. ‘Loves that doll, apparently. Dad got it for her when she was four. Only toy she has. The other one has nothing.’

‘Literally?’

‘Yes,’ he said, frowning at me. ‘Literally.’

I put the dolly carefully back in the dusty bag. There could hardly have been a more apt metaphor, I thought. And in every sense, as we were soon to find out.

Chapter 3

When Mike and I returned to the living room the children were exactly where we’d left them, but one thing had changed – it was the smell. The room reeked now, and I went across to open some windows. These poor kids. It broke my heart to think they could be left to get into such a state.

‘Now, then, you two,’ I said brightly. ‘What would you like to do first? I bet you’d like to see your rooms, wouldn’t you? Yes?’

Olivia, her arm looped tightly through Ashton’s, looked immediately up at her big brother. Ashton nodded. ‘Do we both sleep together?’ he asked, shyly. ‘Cos we do at Mummy’s.’

Mike shook his head. ‘No, Ashton,’ he said. While you’re here you will have a nice big boy’s room, and Olivia will have a nice small room all to herself.’

Olivia jumped up so suddenly she startled me. I could see tears springing in her eyes. She looked horrified. ‘No, mister!’ she said. ‘I sleeps wiv my bruvver! I already lost my little bruv and sisters!’ Her voice was plaintive. ‘An’ I need to be looked after!’ she finished, sniffing back tears.

I was struck again by how much younger than her six years she looked. I bent down and scooped her straight up into my arms. She was as light as a feather; it felt like I was holding a baby, all the more so when she wrapped both her arms and legs around me, then buried her face in my neck and began sobbing. ‘Shhh, sweetie,’ I soothed. ‘You will love your room, I promise. It’s a princess’s room, specially for beautiful little girls like you.’

‘But, miss,’ she sniffled. ‘I always piss the bed when I get scareded, an’ I will be scared, I really, really will!’

‘She will, miss,’ Ashton added. ‘’s why we need to sleep together.’

I kissed Olivia’s forehead, trying my utmost to keep her wild infested hair from my own, before settling her back down onto the sofa. ‘Now, listen, kids,’ I said gently. ‘First off, you’re making me feel like I’m back at school again. It’s Mike and Casey, isn’t it, Mike?’ Mike grinned at them and nodded. ‘No Mr and Miss stuff round here. And second, the bedrooms have already been arranged for you.’ I turned to Ashton. ‘Ashton,’ I said, ‘At nine, you are practically a grown-up – far too old to be sharing a room with your little sister. She’ll be absolutely fine, and we can keep your doors open, and with the landing light on too, so she won’t be scared. You don’t want to be in a room cluttered with toys and dolls, do you?’

I could have bitten my tongue as soon as heard myself say that. What was I thinking? These kids had never had any toys. It must have gone over Ashton’s head, though, because he looked thoughtful before saying, ‘Yeah, Olivia. I’m fed up with sharing with girls anyway. I wanna proper grown-up boy’s room so I can do boy’s stuff, okay?’

‘Yeah, well!’ shouted Olivia, her tears gone, her voice indignant. ‘I’m sleeping in a princess room, so there! An’ I don’t want no smelly boys in it, okay?’

‘Well, that’s that, then!’ laughed Mike. ‘Come on, then, kids. What are we waiting for? Let’s go and show you round the house!’

But I stopped him. ‘Hmm, Mike,’ I said. ‘I tell you what. Why don’t I show them around while you pop down to the chemist’s and get some of that special shampoo we used to use on our kids when they were little?’ It took a few seconds, but, with the help of my scratching my head somewhat emphatically, it eventually dawned on him what I meant. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Good idea! Anything else I need to get while I’m there?’

I was just about to open my mouth, when Olivia piped up. ‘Could you get us some stuff for our nits, Mike?’ she asked him. ‘Anna said you’d get rid of ’em for us.’

While Mike set off to get the head-lice shampoo, I thought it would be a good idea to take the children to meet Kieron and Bob. They were both chilling in the sunshine, Kieron asleep on my sun lounger and the dog, more practically, given his fur, stretched out in the shade under a bush. The children whooped, and immediately ran to pet him, which woke up Kieron, who sat up, still sleepy. He rubbed his eyes for a bit before fixing his gaze on the two little ones and exclaiming, ‘What the …? Oh my God, Mum!’

‘Hush!’ I chided. ‘They’re not deaf, Kieron, for goodness’ sake. And besides, it’s just dirt. We’ll soon have them cleaned up. Oh, and they have head lice, just to warn you, so not too close, eh?’

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I won’t be.’ But then he jumped up from the sun lounger. ‘Hey, you two!’ he called. ‘How about you come and tell me who you both are, then?’

Ashton shyly introduced himself, once again adopting that rather stiff, formal expression he had when he’d arrived. It was rather endearing, I thought. It was as if he knew he had a responsibility to set a good example for his little sister, by giving a good account of himself. A responsibility he clearly took very seriously.

‘An’ this is my little sister. She’s called Olivia,’ he explained. ‘But you can probably call her Livs, can’t he, Livs?’

He turned to his sister, who was blushing now, under Kieron’s smiling scrutiny.

‘Can I?’ asked Kieron. ‘Would that be okay with you?’

Olivia stood and thought for some time before answering. ‘Maybe,’ she said eventually.

Kieron nodded seriously. ‘Well, you just let me know when,’ he said. ‘Okay?’ It was difficult for me to keep a straight face.

Olivia it was, then. For the moment at least. But so far, so good. As they had clearly warmed to Kieron – he was such a sunny personality, it was difficult for anyone not to – I suggested that it was he who led the tour of their new bedrooms, while I went off to phone his sister, Riley. There was no way I was going to put the kids in any of the things that had come with them – they were fit for nowhere but an incinerator – so I needed some clothes for them urgently. And, bless her, Riley said she’d head straight into town and get them two sets of T-shirt and shorts, plus flip-flops, and some underwear to see us through the night. Once they were respectable, of course, I could take them in myself, to choose their own clothes and nightwear, but for now that would do. Thank goodness it was summer.

I joined the party upstairs just as Mike returned with the bug-zapping lotion. It was almost lunchtime but I had a higher priority. To see the lice gone before they infested the whole family. They might not be able to jump but they were very efficient crawlers, and anxious young children needed lots of hugs and cuddles. Not a very practical combination if we wanted to stay nit-free.

‘Right,’ I said, brandishing my family-sized bottle. ‘Time to get you both showered!’

The effect was electric. They both huddled on Olivia’s bed. ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked them. ‘You need to get in the shower so I can do your heads with my special magic shampoo.’

‘We’re scared,’ Olivia whimpered. ‘We don’t fink we like showered.’

‘There’s nothing to be scared of,’ said Mike in his best reassuring voice. ‘Casey and Kieron and me all have a shower every day. It’s lovely. You’ll enjoy it. Tell you what –’ He gestured towards Ashton. ‘Ashton’s the eldest, and he’s a big boy, so how about he goes first? That way he can show you how easy it all is. Come on Ash!’ he said jovially. Ashton looked terrified but, bless him, he got off the bed and followed Mike, albeit very reluctantly, into the bathroom.

Olivia, at this, leapt up and followed the pair of them, huddling nervously behind me in the doorway. Us helping the children shower was unusual in itself. But one of the things Anna had mentioned as an afterthought was that they’d both need quite a lot of help with personal care – washing, hair washing, toileting, teeth cleaning – since they had no idea how to look after themselves. This was something that would have to be written into the safe-care agreement; a document that every carer has created for them and filed, for each different child they look after. It details care specifics such as whether the child is allowed to play outside, whether they are fit to travel alone and so on, and also contains details that cover the carer in the case of any allegations, including whether help with personal care is needed, and the specifics of privacy in the child’s bedroom.

That this short placement would be quite physical was clearly evident, and I was reminded, as Mike helped Ashton to take his raggy clothes off, that we would need to be sure the document covered that. Then, when he’d done, Mike turned on the shower and, having checked the temperature, helped Ashton to stand in it. It was only seconds before the air was filled with a series of piercing screams. ‘Arrrgh!’ he cried. ‘Arrrgh! It really hurts! Get me out!’

Mike had had his back to me, but now he turned around, his expression grim.

‘Grab me a towel, Case,’ he said. ‘I need to get him out of there.’

I grabbed one from the pile of clean ones we’d brought in from the airing cupboard, and it was only as I thrust it at Mike that I could properly see all the raw sores that covered Ashton’s skinny little body.

I threw the towel over him myself, while Mike turned off the water, and tried to calm him while gingerly patting him dry through the fabric. I had never seen anything quite like it.

‘There, there, sweetheart,’ I said to him. ‘It’s okay now. No shower. Perhaps a bath would be best.’

He nodded, sniffing away his tears. ‘I can do a bath,’ he said bravely. It was gut-wrenching. Horrible. How could these kids be in this state and the social worker have no idea?

‘How long have you had all these nasty sore spots all over you, sweetie?’ I asked him.

He shook his head, his wet hair forming commas on his brow. ‘I dunno. A long time. I dunno. Always?’

Olivia too was covered in similar sores and scabs, just as we’d anticipated. Scabies, I guessed. Something like that, anyway. We’d have to have a doctor check them out and treat them as soon as possible. Many looked infected and were weeping. It was as grim a sight as I’d seen in a long time, and had particularly upset Kieron, who’d had tears in his eyes when he’d come to see the source of the commotion, while Mike and I had got Ashton out of the shower.

We helped Ashton carefully into the bath and Mike and I tried to gently wash him, between us, while Kieron perched on the loo seat, with Olivia on his lap, trying to stem her increasingly fearful tears.

This was as up close and personal as we’d been as a foster family, and though our modern bathroom no way resembled that Victorian orphanage, I wondered what anyone might make of the scene, should they see it – they could be forgiven for thinking we’d procured these two little ones via time-travel, because they really did look like they belonged in another age. It was hard to believe how much filth and grime came off Ashton that day. We sponged him gently – never scrubbing – but even so, the grisly gnarly scabs kept sloughing off, revealing bright red inflamed skin underneath. It was so pitiful it even made tears well in my own eyes. They’d obviously been living like animals.

This was brought home most forcibly when I tried to clean his battered feet and, taking a good look at them, because they looked so odd, decided Ashton must have webbed toes. It was very rare, but not that rare, so he could well have. ‘Mike,’ I said, nudging him. ‘Take a look at this.’

He did so, peering closely, then said quietly, ‘Oh, Case …’ He gently started massaging the webbing between Ashton’s big toe and the next one, and we both gasped when a triangle of something plopped into his supporting hand. We both looked at it, horrified. It was dirt! A big grey plug of dirt! A further inspection, which I found difficult to make without gagging, revealed all his toes similarly glued together by solid filth. Mike had to use a toothbrush to remove the disgusting deposits in their entirety, revealing skin between the toes that was completely raw and livid.

Next up was to clear the filth from the bath sides and plug hole, and do Olivia, who was in no better state than her brother. Only then could we properly dry them both – being as gentle as we could – and, finally, put them both in clean clothes. As Riley wouldn’t be arriving for at least another hour, I had Kieron achieve this by rummaging in his wardrobe, and finding two of his big T-shirts to put them in.