Mummy Told Me Not to Tell by Cathy Glass

families, the best match could only be found outside the immediate area. I also noticed, as I read down the page, that the children had been taken into care at different times, beginning fifteen years previously with Sharon when she had been three. Susie and Reece had been the last to go.
    Before returning the forms to my desk I made a note of the birthdays of Reece’s mum, dad and all the siblings, so I could arrange for Reece to send or give them a present and card on their birthdays, as is normal for foster carers to do. I could hear that Reece had now finished his lunch and, having swooped into the sitting room, was jumping up and down on the sofa. I returned the forms to my desk and went through to the living room.
    ‘Come on, off the sofa,’ I said. ‘We sit on sofas, not bounce on them. Would you like to go to the park?’
    I guessed he did, for with a flying leap he was off the sofa and down the hall, fumbling to get his trainers on while yelling, ‘Park park,’ in a good imitation of a strangled parrot. I quickly joined him in the hall, where I put on my coat and shoes and then helped Reece with his coat zip.
    ‘You’re going to see your mum tonight,’ I said, as we left the house, ‘and maybe some of your brothers and sisters too.’ It was then I realized that since he’d arrived Reece had not once asked when he would be seeing his parents, which was very unusual. Reece had been living with his parents for over seven years and should have formed a strong enough attachment to be missing them badly, particularly as he’d been in care and away from them for only six weeks. I’d found in the past that most children, even those who had been neglected and abused, pined for their mothers (and fathers if they were in contact with one) for months. They eagerly awaited contact and asked repeatedly when they would be seeing their mums again. In my experience only the worst cases of abuse, for example Jodie (of
Damaged),
had resulted in the child having no bond or attachment with their parents and never mentioning them. I also realized, though, that Reece had had an awful lot on his mind with all the moves, and had probably had enough to cope with without the added burden of fretting for his parents.
    ‘Are you looking forward to seeing your mum?’ I asked as, hand in hand, we walked up the street and towards the park.
    ‘Dunno,’ he said.
    ‘Do you remember when you last saw her?’ I asked, for I realized that I didn’t know, and hadn’t thought to ask Melissa. Melissa had said that the judge’s order had set contact at twice a week, so I assumed it had been complied with, apart from in the disruption of Reece’s move to me.
    ‘Dunno,’ Reece said again, hopping along beside me and hissing at a cat.
    ‘Did you see your mum when you were with your other carers?’ I asked.
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What about your brothers and sisters? Did you see them?’
    ‘Think so.’
    ‘OK, love, I just wondered.’ It wasn’t of any great significance, other than that it helped me to gain a better idea of what had been happening.
    We spent an hour in the park, which gave Reece a chance to burn off some of his energy, and arrived home again just before the girls returned from school and college. When they came in I explained I would be in and out with contact that evening, and that I would plate up the dinner and they could have theirs when they wished. Reece didn’t mention contact or that he was going to see his parents.
    At five o’clock I gave him an early dinner and then persuaded him into some fresh clothes so that he would look smart for contact. I also persuaded him into the bathroom, where I ran a flannel over his face. Contact is an ‘occasion’ and I like the children to look their best; this also gives the parents less reason to complain. Sooften the child’s parents are angry about their child being taken into care, and they direct their anger at the carer and seize on anything and everything — from a