Kitabı oku: «Cruel to Be Kind: Part 2 of 3: Saying no can save a child’s life»

Chapter Nine

Act of Defiance

As I held and comforted Max I could picture only too clearly the embarrassment school sports day would cause him. It was supposed to be fun, when all the school came together to show off their fitness and agility skills in healthy competition – although I didn’t remember my school sports days with relish. I wasn’t overweight, but neither was I very good at sport, and regardless of how hard I tried,I always came near the end in a race – not last, but well back from the leaders. In high jump and long jump my legs didn’t seem able to generate the necessary spring to propel me high enough or far enough, and I remember how self-conscious I felt in the qualifying heats when I tried and failed, with the rest of my class watching. Then there was the relay race, in which we all had to participate, but I could never run as fast as the person passing the baton to me or to whom I passed it, so I always felt I’d let down the team. The fun races at the end were OK – the egg and spoon race, sack race and three-legged race, but they were just for fun and held little in the way of true competition or achievement. Looking back, my performance was probably average for my age, but it didn’t feel like that at the time, so I had every sympathy for Max, whose obesity put him at such a disadvantage in most physical activities.

‘Come on, love,’ I said, passing him a tissue. ‘Dry your eyes. We’ll sort something out.’

‘Can I stay at home, please, and pretend I’m ill, like I did last year?’

I helped him wipe his eyes. ‘If that’s the only way, but first I want to speak to your teacher and see what she has to say.’ Given how sensitive Mrs Marshall was to Max’s limitations, tailoring his involvement in PE lessons, I wanted to discuss it with her first.

Eventually Max’s tears subsided and I put my arm around him and gave him a hug. With more reassurance that he wasn’t to worry about sports day and no one would force him to participate, he lay down, ready for sleep.

‘I wish I wasn’t so big,’ he said wistfully. ‘It’s because I eat too much, isn’t it?’

‘It’s the most likely reason, yes. We get energy from the food we eat and what we don’t need is stored in our body as fat.’

‘So how do you get smaller?’ he asked. Cleary the subject hadn’t been discussed at home.

‘By eating a little less each day, especially sweet things. And exercise, like walking rather than going in the car, which you are doing here with me.’

‘Why don’t my sisters and mum do that?’

‘I don’t know, love.’

‘My dad says he likes big women.’

‘Does he?’

‘Shall I try to eat less sweet things so I can run in sports day?’

‘Yes, but it takes quite a long time. You won’t suddenly see a change. It takes many months to lose weight, sometimes years. But please don’t worry about sports day. I’ll sort something out.’ And so the conversation ended as it had begun, with me trying to allay Max’s fears about sports day.

I sat with him a while longer to make sure he was ready to go to sleep and wouldn’t lie there worrying. It was late and we had school in the morning, so I didn’t suggest he read for a while. When I was satisfied he was slowly drifting off to sleep I kissed his forehead, said goodnight and came out.

Paula was already in bed asleep and Adrian, aware that I was spending longer than usual with Max, had come up and got ready for bed and was now in bed waiting for me to say goodnight. Adrian’s school had already had their annual sports day, and because Adrian was reasonably fit and athletic he’d met the day with excitement – a challenge – not dread. And he’d done very well.

When I wrote up my log notes that night I included Max’s anxiety about his school’s sports day and the discussion we’d had about losing weight. As well as containing appointments and charting the child’s day-to-day progress, the log can act as an aide-mémoire. It’s easy to forget what happened or was said on a particular day months later, and I’d learnt from experience to be conscientious in my record keeping. I’d once been asked to check my log notes in respect of a child who’d left me nine months previously, when a child protection matter arose and the case went to court. So regardless of how tired I was, I always updated my log before I went to bed, while the events of the day were still fresh in my mind. Jill checks them each month as part of her statutory visit.

There wasn’t time to try to see Mrs Marshall when I took Max to breakfast club the following morning, as I had to take Adrian and Paula to school and nursery straight after. Once home, I telephoned Max’s school secretary and said I’d like to arrange to speak to Mrs Marshall and asked when it would be a good time for me to phone. I didn’t think this necessitated us meeting, as it was something that could be discussed over the phone. The secretary said she’d speak to Mrs Marshall and let me know. Then, at eleven o’clock, the phone rang and it was Mrs Marshall, taking the opportunity to call while the children were in the playground on mid-morning break.

‘Thank you so much for phoning,’ I said. Aware that her time would be short I came straight to the point. ‘Max was very upset last night because of sports day. He tells me he was so worried last year that he took the day off school. He wants to do the same this year, but I said I’d speak to you.’

‘Oh dear, the poor child,’ she sympathized. ‘He should have told me rather than worrying.’

‘Exactly, but he thinks if he goes into school on Friday he will be made to participate.’

‘It’s true we like all the children to join in, but our sports day, like in many other primary schools, is different now from what you and I remember. The children compete as teams, not individually, so there is no pressure.’

‘How does that work?’ I asked. Adrian’s school sports day was traditional and similar to the ones I remembered.

‘They compete in their house teams,’ Mrs Marshall explained. ‘The children are divided into their four house teams and each team consists of all ages of children, from Reception to Year 6. The teams then rotate around fun activities; for example, an obstacle course, shuttle run, hockey dribble, beat the goalie and so on. They collect points for their house. They have regular breaks when they have a drink of water, and each activity only lasts about five minutes. At the end all the children receive a sticker and the trophy is presented to the house with highest number of points.’

‘I see,’ I said. ‘So Max would be in a team with older and younger children, and always competing as part of the team?’

‘Yes. There’s no pressure on any individual child, and some children do sit out from time to time. Some need to use an asthma pump and some just need a rest. I’ll talk to Max and explain again what happens. I’m surprised this wasn’t made clear to him last year, but perhaps his teacher wasn’t aware how anxious he was about sports day.’

‘It took a while before he would tell me. Thank you so much. I didn’t want him to just stay at home.’

‘No, he needs to join in as much as possible. How was he at the weekend?’

‘Good. He played with my children during the day and then I took him to see his mother in the evening. His sisters were there.’

‘He told me he’d been playing in the tent with Adrian and Paula. Let me know if he has any other worries, won’t you? And I’ll look forward to seeing you at sports day.’

I thanked her again and we said goodbye.

I was very pleased I’d spoken to Mrs Marshall. I felt considerably relieved, as I hoped Max would, and easier about him participating in sports day, although of course even team events could hold some anxiety for him. But I agreed with Mrs Marshall that he should join in, and I’d do all I could to reassure him, as I knew she would. Feeling the week had got off to a good start, when the phone rang again a few minutes later I answered it with a bright ‘Good morning’.

‘Cathy, it’s Jo, Max’s social worker,’ she said, her voice tight and flat, so I knew straight away it wasn’t good news. ‘Max’s mother telephoned me first thing this morning with a list of complaints about his care.’ My heart sank. I always try to do my best for the children I look after and it was soul-destroying to receive one complaint, let alone a list. ‘I told her I’d speak to you straight away.’

‘Oh dear. What am I supposed to have done?’ I asked.

‘Firstly, and most worryingly, she says you’re not feeding Max properly. She says he’s always hungry and that you won’t give him second helpings. She said you refuse to let him have any biscuits, cakes and sweets and keep putting stuff on his plate that he doesn’t like. He’s told her there are no fizzy drinks in your house so he has to drink water, which he doesn’t like. She also says you’re too stingy to use your car so you make him walk everywhere. He hates walking. Then there’s the matter of his clothes – she says you’ve ruined them. There’s other stuff, but those are the main ones.’ I heard her let out a sigh of exasperation.

As well as being hurt, I was now annoyed – not with Max, for I doubted he’d complained; it wasn’t in his nature. I thought that Caz (and possibly her daughters), still angry at having Max in care and wanting to make my life difficult, had seized on comments Max might have made, exaggerating and twisting them to put me in a bad light.