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

in the adult world at home he had missed out on the simple childhood pleasure of pushing a supermarket trolley and helping mum to shop.
    ‘All right, Reece, now listen to me,’ I said, looking at him carefully. ‘You can push the trolley as long as you sit quietly while I drive to the supermarket. OK?’ It wasn’t bribery, just positive reward for good behaviour, and he nodded furiously. I returned to the driver’s seat and drove to the supermarket at the edge of town withno more than a ‘wow’ when I had to brake quickly as the car in front suddenly pulled into the kerb without signalling. And I thought that pushing the trolley was going to be another strategy for encouraging Reece’s good behaviour, so that together with reading a lot of books I was also going to be doing a lot of shopping, which was fine because we consumed a lot of food.
    Reece pushed the trolley remarkably well, controlling the speed to an acceptable 5mph, once I’d explained there were elderly people in the store who couldn’t get out of the way in time if he went any faster or tried to run them over. Reece’s biggest problem in the supermarket was curtailing his enthusiasm. I had asked him, as I ask all foster children, to choose some of his favourite food. We already had Chicken Dippers, tinned spaghetti hoops and Wall’s sausages in the trolley in abundance, but would also have had, had I not returned them, five cartons of chocolate ice-cream (I kept one), six packets of Jammie Dodger biscuits (I kept two) and twelve tubes of brightly coloured sweets (I put them all back because of the additives and replaced them with milk chocolate bars). I praised Reece for the way he steered the trolley and helped me, and he glowed from achieving the task successfully. He was also pretty patient at the checkout, considering the length of the queue, and I only had to remind him a couple of times not to shunt the trolley into the back of the man in front.
    Once it was our turn at the checkout Reece’s enthusiasm for shifting all the food from the trolley on to thebelt knew no bounds. The items were jettisoned with such force that they found their way to the cashier without the need of the moving belt. I held back the box of eggs and put them on myself. I paid, and then Reece helped me push the trolley out of the store and through the car park, missing most of the cars. I strapped him into his seat while I packed the bags in the boot — it was safer than having him hopping around in the car park. Once all the shopping was in the boot I returned the empty trolley to the trolley park close by and got into the car. Before inserting the keys into the ignition I turned and looked at him. ‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Thanks for helping me.’ Then I noticed he was chewing something.
    ‘What are you eating?’ I asked, for certainly I hadn’t given him anything. I had said he could have one of the iced buns when we got home.
    ‘Sweets,’ he said, producing a packet of fruit pastels from his coat pocket.
    ‘Where did you get those?’
    ‘From the shop.’
    I stared horrified. ‘But I didn’t buy them.’
    ‘No, I looked them,’ he said, popping another one into his mouth.
    ‘But Reece, that’s stealing. I didn’t pay for them.’
    He gave a shrug. ‘No worries. The police can’t do me. I’m under age.’
    I stared at him, dumbfounded, as he chewed loudly, unashamed by his admission. Clearly Reece had no idea that stealing was wrong but was well aware he was below the age of criminal responsibility and therefore couldn’t be prosecuted even if he was caught.
    ‘Who told you that?’ I asked.
    He shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’ So I could guess.
    ‘Did you use to steal things when you lived at home?’
    He didn’t say anything, but popped another pastel in his mouth and grinned. I certainly couldn’t let him enjoy the spoils of his theft. I opened my door and got out. I went round to his door.
    ‘Reece,’ I said leaning in and taking the