Free Little Prisoners by Casey Watson Page B

up closer together, then proceeded not to answer a single one of her questions – not even her innocent, ‘So what are you both reading?’ Because to them she was the enemy – the lady who came into their home and stole them from their parents. And as we already knew, because Olivia had told us, they’d been told not to speak to her about anything .
    It was sad, I reflected, as I saw Anna out, that social workers, always filled with the very best of intentions, were invariably seen as the villains by the very kids they were out to help.
     
    Not that the children were entirely without help. Sadly, it was chemical, in the form of the drug Ritalin, but for all that, it did help. Without it, I knew they’d be so much worse. They’d been with us for a month now and as we approached the start of a new school term, I felt I was beginning to get to know them both a little better as individuals. As far as the ADHD was concerned, Olivia was clearly the worst affected. I’d known this to be the case anyway, as her prescription was for a higher dose than that of her brother, and I knew if I didn’t give her her tablet the minute she was up, her behaviour would become the most unmanageable. I’d also worked out that whereas with Ashton the effects of the drug wore out at around five-thirty, with Olivia, it was more like around four. With this in mind, I’d learned to find something to occupy Olivia at that time, to stop her being destructive while her big brother was still relatively calm. Sometimes Riley wouldcome over and take her for a long walk with Levi, or I would set her some task that would occupy her sufficiently – she loved colouring – just to keep the household calm for that bit longer.
    Olivia’s behaviour, once the drug left her system, could be bizarre, too. Sometimes she would sit and write the same word, over and over, scribbling furiously away, as if her very life depended on it. I would find countless such lists; of the same girl’s name or the same boy’s name. Left to her own devices – particularly in bed at night, obviously – the repetitions could be in the thousands. Other times, she’d count things. I was surprised to hear her tell me one morning, that the curtains in her bedroom had 370 pink spots and 262 white spots.
    I didn’t really understand the psychology of these behaviours, but they had clearly grown up over a period of time, and perhaps provided some sort of emotional outlet.
    But as I was to find out in the last days before school time, without that morning pill she was a completely different child. Ritalin is a drug that you’re not legally allowed to stock up on, and must order around every two weeks. Realising I was down to my last two tablets, I popped down to the GP’s for a repeat prescription, and then straight on to the chemist’s to get it filled. I was surprised when the pharmacist told me they were out of stock till Wednesday, but not overly concerned at that point. It was Monday, and I still had one remaining pill for Tuesday, so as long as I went early on the Wednesday and took Olivia with me, I could give her the first of the new batch right away.

    Wednesday arrived, and, predictably, Olivia was jumpy without her meds, but as soon as Riley arrived – she’d offered to come and look after Ashton for me – I was able to take her straight to the chemist’s. Though that in itself was a trial (just getting her to hold my hand and behave was a mission in itself), it was nothing compared to what was coming; the pills, I was told by the pharmacist when I got there, would not be arriving for two hours!
    I tried my best. I asked if perhaps he could let me have just one pill; surely he had one or two knocking around? But he looked at me as if I was stupid. ‘She doesn’t look that bad,’ was his opinion, his expression somewhat stern. I left the chemists red-faced, feeling like a drug pusher.
    But he was wrong. It was one of the longest two-hour periods of my life. I