Mummy Told Me Not to Tell by Cathy Glass Read Free Book Online

outstretched wings.
    I knew there was little point in insisting he come with me because it would have led to a confrontation, so I tried a different ploy: one of feigned indifference, which can work with younger children. ‘No problem,’ I said lightly. I’ll go for a walk by myself. You can stay here with Lucy and Paula. They will look after you very well.’ I would never have left a child on their first night with my daughters babysitting, let alone one who had Reece’s problems — it would have been far too much responsibility for them — but Reece didn’t know that. I slowly put on my shoes and then concentrated on buttoning up my coat, while Reece had a chance to think about what he was going to miss. He had slowed down now and was watching me from the far end of the hall. I didn’t look at him but nonchalantly turned towards the front door, calling out, ‘See you all later.’ My hand was on the doorknob, ready to turn it.
    ‘No! I want to come!’ he yelled, charging the length of the hall and straight into me.
    ‘Steady,’ I said, lightly holding his shoulder and looking at him. ‘Are you sure you want to come? You don’t have to.’
    ‘Yes! Take me! I’m coming for a walk!’ He was already trying to get his trainers on.
    ‘OK, if you’re sure.’
    All children like to feel they have some control and responsibility for their own lives, and this is even more so for children who have been brought into care, as they had no choice when being removed from home. By giving Reece the choice I had allowed him to feel he had made the decision. Sometimes there isn’t a choice — for example, when having to get dressed for school at a certain time — but so often if a child feels they have a say in the matter they can be eased into doing something to which they would otherwise have put up fierce resistance. It’s not rocket science, just a useful little ploy, which most parents use without realizing it.
    I helped Reece into his coat, did up his trainers and took hold of his hand as we went outside. It soon became obvious that Reece hadn’t the least idea how to walk safely along the pavement. He hopped and jumped all over the place and tried to pull away from me while gyrating his free arm in large circles.
    ‘Stay away from the kerb,’ I said, as he kept trying to jump into the gutter. Then I swapped hands so that he was on the inside and well away from the road and passing cars. As we walked he repeatedly tripped, over nothing, and had I not been holding his hand he would have gone heavily, knees first, on to the pavement each time he stumbled. Although I was retrieving him before he hit the ground and he wasn’t hurt, he yelped and cursed the pavement as if it was to blame. ‘Watch it!’ he threatened. ‘I said watch out!’
    I was walking briskly to burn off some of his energy, but my pace wasn’t excessive and shouldn’t have caused him all the problems it did. Apart from stumbling andtripping he was very soon puffing and panting, completely out of breath.
    ‘Aren’t you used to walking?’ I asked, slowing slightly.
    ‘Don’t know,’ he said.
    ‘Did you walk when you were with your other carers?’
    ‘No, in the car.’
    ‘What about at Mum’s? Did you have a car there?’
    ‘Don’t know.’
    It wasn’t important; I was trying to make conversation more than anything, and it was pretty obvious he wasn’t used to walking and was very unfit. What I was also starting to notice, as I had done previously at home, was that any question about Mum or home was met with ‘Don’t know’. I never question children about their life at home beyond a general enquiry, unless of course they are trying to tell me something about an abuse they have suffered, when I would gently draw it out of them. But what I was finding with Reece was that even the most innocuous enquiry like ‘Did you have your own bedroom at home?’, which I’d asked earlier when I’d shown him his bedroom, was met with