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

one thing was for certain: I was going to be reading a lot of books, particularly with him not being in school.
    Fifteen minutes later I called through to say that dinner was ready. Reece appeared first. ‘This is your place,’ I said, showing him to his seat at the table. ‘Lucy will sit here’ — I patted the chair beside him — ‘and Paula opposite.’ Reece sat where I had shown him and the girls took their places. I served a chicken casserole, explaining to Reece what it was. He looked at it, and then up at me with a huge appreciative grin.
    ‘Cor, this looks nice,’ he said.
    ‘Thank you, love,’ I said. ‘That was polite.’ I took my place at the end of the table and felt that things were looking up.
    Reece picked up a piece of chicken with his fingers and popped it into his mouth. ‘Hmm, yummy,’ he said, chewing loudly.
    ‘Good,’ I said, ‘but try to use your fork. It’s better than fingers for this meal.’ He looked at the fork and then at me and popped another piece of chicken into his mouth with his fingers. I picked up his fork, stabbed a piece of chicken and laid the fork on his plate, ready for him to use. Somewhat clumsily he gripped the fork in the palm of his hand like a spoon and pushed the meat into his mouth. Then he resorted to using his fingers again.
    ‘Reece, have you never used a knife and fork before?’ I asked lightly. The girls looked up.
    ‘Don’t know,’ Reece said.
    I skewered another piece of chicken on to his fork and left him to take it to his mouth, which he did. Then he attempted to use his fingers for the boiled potatoes.
    ‘Would you like a spoon?’ I asked, for I could see the peas and gravy were going to cause him a real problem. Reece nodded. I fetched a dessert spoon, which he used quite successfully, so I guessed that that was what he had been used to. ‘That’s better, isn’t it?’ I said, smiling.
    He grinned back. ‘I use me fingers for Chicken Dippers and burgers.’
    I nodded and thought that here was another child who had never had to master a knife and fork because they had only ever eaten ‘finger food’. I’d recently read a newspaper article which had highlighted the number of ‘well brought up’ children from good homes who didn’t know how to use a knife and fork properly because so much of their diet hadn’t required one.
    Reece had a very healthy appetite and wanted seconds. Although he was heavily built, he wasn’t so much fat as solid, and as he was a growing boy I gave him a second helping, and a yoghurt and piece of fruit for pudding. Considering that he obviously wasn’t used to sitting still at the table and using cutlery he had done very well and I praised him. However, as soon as he’d finished the last mouthful of banana he was up and off, zooming around and yelping at the top of his voice. Lucy and Paula read him another story while I cleared the tableand loaded the dishwasher. Then I read him a story before explaining it was time for his bath.
    ‘Don’t want one,’ he said and was off the sofa and chasing around again. Paula came out of her room and tried to take hold of his arm, narrowly missing a headbutt.
    ‘Reece, don’t do that,’ I said. Then to Paula: ‘Let me. I’ll call if I need help.’
    I waited until he was doing a return lap of the landing and caught hold of him lightly by his arm. I encircled him as I had done before to get him off my bed. He struggled briefly before laughing and relaxing against me. I gave him a cuddle; then, with a mixture of cajoling and promises of a bedtime story, I managed to run the bath and get him into it. Reece wasn’t able to undress himself (another skill I would have to teach him another day) so I did it, and as he sat in the bath pretending to be a shark, I realized that neither had he the first idea about washing himself. It would have been helpful if the previous carers had written down some of this detail so that I could have anticipated and better