Free Mummy Told Me Not to Tell by Cathy Glass Page A

his teeth; then I ran warm water into the sink and, wringing out his face flannel, helped him to wash his face. I asked him if he needed the toilet before we went out, and he said he didn’t. I took his hand and we went downstairs and into the hall, where I passed him his coat and shoes. He made a good attempt at putting them on and I was pleased he hadn’t just stood there helplessly as he had done the night before – this was already a small improvement and I praised him immensely.
    I assumed Jill would be phoning at some point during the day, so before going out I switched on the answer-phone and dropped my mobile in my handbag. It took me some while to settle Reece on the booster seat under his belt in the rear of the car; he didn’t appear familiar with the procedure, which was surprising given that yesterday he’d said he was used to being in a car rather than walking. First he wanted to ride in the front passenger seat, which I explained wasn’t legal at his age; then he didn’t want to sit on the booster seat, which I explained was a legal requirement. I secured his seat-belt over his shoulder, but he kept tucking it under his arm, which would have not only rendered it useless in an accident but also badly hurt his stomach if it had suddenly tightened.
    Fifteen minutes later I reversed out of the drive with Reece making brumm-brumm noises at the top of his voice. I stood it for as long I could, for I realized he wasonly doing what a lot of boys do, imitating the car engine noise, but very loudly.
    Then I said, ‘Reece, I need you to be quiet in the car so I can concentrate on driving.’
    ‘Brummmm! Brummmm!’ he yelled, louder.
    ‘Would you like some music on?’ I asked. ‘I have a sing-a-long CD here.’ Although Reece’s singing would doubtless break the sound barrier (everything he did was at such a volume) it would be preferable to the exploding sound of his brumms, which were making me jump each and every time they erupted.
    ‘Brummm! Brummm!’ Reece yelled, his lips trembling with the vibration of the brummm. I inserted the CD in the hope he might join in, but five minutes later, when the brummms had increased in volume and intensity and were drowning out the sound of ‘The Wheels On The Bus’, I switched it off again.
    ‘Reece, you will have to try and sit quietly,’ I said. ‘I can’t concentrate on driving when there is a lot of noise.’
    ‘Bruummm! Bruumm!’ Then, ‘Yeoooo crunch crunch,’ which I wasn’t sure represented a car, a plane or even a shark attack, but whatever it was the noise was deafening. Then he started kicking the back of the passenger seat.
    I indicated, and drew into the kerb. Putting the car into neutral and the handbrake on, I turned in my seat to look at Reece. He was now yelping and kicking the seat in a frenzy.
    ‘Reece!’ I said. ‘Reece, listen to me.’
    He didn’t.
    ‘Reece, I need you to be quiet and sit still.’ I tried again, raising my voice so it could be heard over the relentless yelps. ‘Reece, quiet, and please stop kicking that seat. We don’t kick anything other than footballs.’
    He didn’t stop, so I switched off the engine, got out and went round to the pavement and opened his door.
    ‘Reece,’ I said firmly. ‘Sit still. Now, please!’ I placed my hand lightly on his legs to quell the kicking. ‘Sit still and be quiet. Then we can go to the supermarket and you can push the trolley.’
    He continued with the yelping and kicking for another few seconds; then suddenly he stopped the noise and became still.
    ‘Can I?’ he said, looking at me suspiciously. ‘Can I push the trolley?’
    ‘Yes,’ I said, smiling. ‘Would you like to help?’
    He nodded furiously, his head bobbing up and down. All Reece’s movements were accentuated when he was in a hyperactive state. ‘I’ve never pushed a trolley before,’ he said. ‘Can I really push it?’
    I smiled sadly. The poor kid: while he had been party to goodness knows what