Too Scared to Tell: Part 2 of 3. Cathy Glass
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end of school. I moved away from the others so I couldn’t be overheard.
‘I’ve spoken to Roksana,’ Andrew said. ‘Because of her work commitments she can only see Oskar on Tuesday and Thursday for an hour – from four to five. Then she has to start the evening shift. I’ve checked with the Family Centre and there is a room free then. She has asked for phone contact on the other days, which I have agreed to, but I would like you to supervise it, so put your phone on speaker.’
‘All right. When does this new arrangement begin?’
‘Start the phone contact this evening, and then they will see each other next Tuesday and Thursday. Do you have Roksana’s mobile number?’
‘Yes, it’s in the placement information forms. What time should Oskar phone her?’ I asked.
‘Between five and five-thirty is good for her, or after ten, but I’m guessing Oskar will be in bed by then.’
‘Yes, he goes up around seven. And the lift home she wanted?’
‘It won’t be necessary with these new arrangements.’
‘OK.’
I ended the call with a heavy heart. A parent who was fighting to get their child back should be demanding more contact, not less. Andrew had offered Roksana three ninety-minute sessions a week and she’d cut it to two sessions of an hour each. Yes, she had to work and she was gaining phone contact, but it wouldn’t be viewed in a positive light. The inference could be drawn that if Roksana wasn’t able to make time to see her child while he was in care then she was unlikely to have the time to successfully parent him if he was returned to her.
I obviously didn’t tell Oskar this when he came out of school. I began by asking him if he’d had a good day, and he replied, ‘Yes. I like school.’
‘Excellent.’
As we walked to the car I told him I’d spoken to Andrew and then explained the new contact arrangements in a positive light. ‘So you will be seeing your mother twice a week and speaking to her on the phone on the other days,’ I said.
‘Will I have to speak to my uncles?’ he asked quietly.
‘No. Just your mother.’ I unlocked the car door. ‘Why? Do you want to speak to your uncles?’
‘No.’
Before I started the engine, I swivelled round in my seat so I could see Oskar. ‘I’ve looked after a lot of children,’ I said. ‘And I get a sense when something is wrong. If there is anything worrying you, I think it would help if you could tell me.’
He shrugged.
‘I know when you saw Mummy yesterday she asked you not to talk about when your uncle slapped you, but it is important you tell.’
‘He did slap me!’ Oskar blurted. ‘I told Miss Jordan the truth.’
‘Yes, I believe you, so did she.’
‘Mummy doesn’t,’ he said, his face falling. ‘She thinks I made it up.’
‘I know, it’s difficult for her. Why do you think she would say that?’ I asked.
‘Because I don’t like being left alone with those men. Some are nice, but others aren’t.’ It was the most Oskar had said and I wanted to learn as much as possible before he clammed up again.
‘Which men are nice?’ I asked.
‘Uncle Nowak.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘Some are OK.’
‘Who isn’t nice?’
Silence.
‘Do you know their names?’
He looked thoughtful and then shook his head. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘OK. If you do, tell me, please.’
Andrew had said we should telephone Roksana between 5.00 and 5.30, so shortly after 5.00, with Oskar sitting beside me, I made the call, blocking the caller identity on my landline. Roksana wasn’t to be given my contact details. It went through to voicemail, so I left a message. ‘Hello, it’s Cathy, Oskar’s carer. Andrew said to phone. I’ll call you back in ten minutes.’ I knew that many people didn’t answer their phones if the number was withheld. I explained this to Oskar.
Ten minutes later I called again and Roksana answered straight away. ‘It’s Cathy. Oskar is here, ready to talk to you.’
‘Andrew said you were going to listen in,’ she said. ‘Are you recording this call?’
‘No, it’s just on speakerphone. Only Oskar and I are present.’
I passed the phone to Oskar. I’d had to supervise phone contact before and it’s never easy to begin with. I felt uncomfortable listening in and obviously it’s not nice for the parents, but this was worse than most. I didn’t know if it was the fact that Roksana knew I was listening or whether their conversation would have been stilted anyway, but they hardly said a word to each other, so that I was left wondering if Roksana knew how to engage with her son at all.
‘Oskar, it’s Mummy.’
‘Yes.’
Pause. ‘Can you hear me?’
‘Yes.’
Another pause. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’
More silence. ‘I’m going to work now.’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell Mummy about school,’ I prompted Oskar.
‘I went to school,’ he said uninspiringly.
‘I know. I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Be good. Bye.’
‘Bye.’
The line went dead and Oskar passed the phone back to me. It was probably the shortest, saddest telephone conversation I’d ever heard between a mother and her son. There was so much they could have said. Clearly it wasn’t only Roksana who’d had difficulty in talking; Oskar had been equally inhibited. However, as the parent, Roksana bore the responsibility for trying to engage with him, if she knew how, which I was doubting. Most parents, even those who have neglected or abused their children, can talk to them on the phone. In the past I’d often had to wind up a conversation or it would have gone on all night. I hoped that the next telephone contact – on Friday – would be better.
It was no different. Then, on Saturday evening, Oskar refused to speak to his mother at all and went to his bedroom. I explained to Roksana as tactfully as I could that Oskar didn’t feel able to talk to her right now, and I didn’t think it wise to insist.
‘It’s OK,’ she said, far too accepting.
‘We’ll try again tomorrow. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault. He can be like that sometimes.’ Most parents would have blamed me.
That night, I tried talking to Oskar about his mother and the phone calls, his life at home with her and whether there was anything worrying him, but I got no further than I had all the other times. Nods, shrugs and silence.
Chapter Eleven
On a positive note, during the weekend we managed to get Oskar playing some games. Weekends were easier, as we had more time, so he painted pictures, modelled in dough and built castles out of Lego, quietly and with the same self-contained approach he applied to most tasks. He hadn’t asked