Another Forgotten Child. Cathy Glass
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I believe,’ I said. ‘But we won’t be watching it.’
‘I will!’ Aimee said.
‘Not while you’re living with me. That programme is for adults. You will be able to watch children’s programmes.’
Aimee pulled a face. ‘What about Texas Chainsaw Massacre or Friday the 13th? You got those DVDs?’ she asked.
‘No. But I have got Mary Poppins, Toy Story, The Jungle Book, The Lion King and many others that are nice.’
‘Never heard of them,’ Aimee scoffed.
‘You will, love, I promise.’
The path that led to the school’s main reception took us past the school playground.
Aimee pointed to children who’d arrived at school early and were playing. ‘What are those kids doing?’ she asked.
‘Playing,’ I said, feeling I was stating the obvious.
‘They should be in their classrooms,’ Aimee said.
‘Not at this time. There’s ten minutes before the bell goes for the start of school.’
Aimee frowned, puzzled, and we continued to the main door, where I pressed the security buzzer. The door was opened a minute later by a very pleasant lady, who smiled a warm hello. ‘Good to see you, Aimee,’ she said. ‘Your hair looks nice.’ Then to me: ‘I’m the school secretary. Do come in.’
‘I’m Cathy Glass, Aimee’s foster carer,’ I said. ‘I expect you know she came to me yesterday evening?’
‘Yes. How is she?’
‘Doing very well,’ I said, glancing at Aimee. ‘I thought I’d come into school this morning to make sure you had my contact details, and also if possible to meet Aimee’s teacher or the designated teacher.’
‘Lynn Burrows is the designated teacher,’ the school secretary said. ‘She asked me to let her know when you came in. Take a seat and I’ll fetch her.’
I thanked her and she disappeared through the double doors that led into the main body of the school while Aimee and I sat on the chairs in reception.
‘She said my hair was nice,’ Aimee said, running her fingers through her hair.
‘It was worth all the pain and suffering, then?’ I said lightly, with a smile.
‘No it wasn’t,’ Aimee retorted. ‘And you ain’t doing it again!’
We’ll see about that, I thought, but didn’t say. I’d already discovered that Aimee automatically rejected or contradicted most of what I said – presumably as a result of there being no boundaries at home – so I let it go, although Aimee would be doing as she was told while she was with me.
‘Look at you! Don’t you look nice!’ A lady said, coming through the double doors a few minutes later. ‘I wouldn’t have recognized you, Aimee.’
I thought she might, as Aimee was still wearing the clothes she’d arrived in, but Aimee smiled, pleased by the second compliment within a few minutes of arriving.
‘Lynn Burrows, designated teacher,’ the woman said as I stood. We shook hands. ‘Pleased to meet you, Cathy.’
‘And you.’
‘Let’s go to my office for a chat. I’m also the school’s SENCO, so they give me an office of my own,’ she added with a small laugh. The SENCO (Special Educational Needs Coordinator) helps children with special needs and also often assumes the role of designated teacher.
‘Did you sleep well?’ Lynn now asked Aimee as we made our way down the corridor.
Aimee didn’t answer; she was more interested in the playground, which we could see through the windows on the right of the corridor. ‘Mrs Burrows, can I go in the playground with the other kids?’ she said, pausing at one of the windows. ‘Please, I haven’t been there before.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Lynn said as we drew to a halt. Then to me: ‘It’ll give us a chance to talk in private. I’ll just ask the playground supervisor to keep an eye on Aimee.’
Aimee and Lynn went out of one of the doors that led into the playground while I waited in the corridor. The building was old, I guessed built in the 1950s, but my first impression was that it was a friendly and caring school. I liked Lynn, she was a warm and bubbly person, but I thought Aimee must have been mistaken when she’d said she hadn’t been in the playground before, because, even allowing for her poor school attendance, she would have gone into the playground at break and lunchtime.
Lynn returned with a smile. ‘She’s happy enough and she looks so much better already. Amazing what a good wash can do.’
I smiled. ‘I need to buy her a new school uniform,’ I said, as I followed Lynn up a short flight of stairs and into her office.
‘Aimee will love that. She’s never had a school uniform before. We’ll sort one out when we’ve finished talking. You know why Aimee was so keen to go in the playground just now?’ Lynn said, as we settled in her small but comfortable office on the first floor.
‘No.’
‘It’s the first time she has had the opportunity of playing in the playground before the start of school, because she’s never arrived on time before.’
I looked at Lynn amazed. ‘Are you saying that in four years of schooling she never once arrived on time?’
‘That’s right. Aimee’s attendance averaged about twenty per cent each year, and on the days she was in school she never arrived until the afternoon.’
‘Good grief!’ I said. ‘That’s probably the worst school attendance I’ve ever heard of for a young child. And it explains why Aimee was puzzled that the children were in the playground first thing. As we came in she remarked that the kids should be in their classrooms, not the playground.’
‘That’s because they were always in school doing their lessons when she arrived before.’
‘But how did Aimee’s parents get away with not sending her to school and always arriving late?’ I asked.
‘I wish I knew,’ Lynn said with a sigh. ‘We kept reporting it to the social services, together with all our other concerns: Aimee’s poor hygiene and head lice, the rags she wore for clothes, the bruises we saw and also her bad behaviour, but nothing seemed to happen. A social worker must have visited the mother’s flat, for we had some meetings here. But we never saw the same social worker twice and Aimee’s mother, Susan, is very manipulative. She’s had plenty of practice with all her older children being in care. She always had lots of excuses as to why Aimee wasn’t in school, was always filthy dirty and didn’t have a school uniform. Have you met Susan yet?’
‘No. But I will tonight when I take Aimee to contact.’
‘Be warned: she can be very aggressive. I guess it’s all the drink and drugs. I’ve had her escorted off the school premises many times. Whenever I phoned the social services and raised my concerns she came in here looking for trouble. I have the feeling the social workers are frightened of her. She often has that nasty Rottweiler with her. God knows how much that dog must cost to feed!’
‘I don’t understand why Aimee wasn’t brought into care sooner,’ I said. ‘The current social worker can’t understand why she was left so long at home either.’
Lynn nodded. ‘I blame myself for not doing more, although I’m not sure what else I could have done. When Aimee first came to the school and was in the nursery we tried to help Susan. We put in a lot of support – much of it with school funding – but it achieved nothing. She’s followed the same path in the neglect of Aimee as she did with the other children. I’ve sat in case conferences and it’s history repeating itself. It’s so sad.’