Free Four Waifs on Our Doorstep by Trisha Merry Page A

the difference that medicine is making to Caroline,’ I said to Mike when we got up on the Saturday morning. But for the first time, she didn’t eat all her
breakfast. And she seemed quite listless and droopy. It wasn’t a very warm day, so I wrapped her in a blanket and laid her down on the settee in the study while I went to make her a drink.
When I was in the kitchen I suddenly heard a great commotion, and somebody was shouting for me. I ran to the other side of the house, where they were all gathered round her, with brown froth coming
out of her mouth. She was covered in it and the froth was everywhere.
    ‘Go and get the biggest towels you can find in the airing cupboard,’ I said to Mike. ‘Put her in that and I’ll pop round to the surgery.’
    ‘Take her straight down to A & E,’ said Dr Ogden.
    Half an hour later, I was in a cubicle, next to Caroline’s bed, holding her hand and soothing her as best I could. She’d had such a fright. We all had.
    ‘When did she come into care?’ asked a woman registrar. ‘Do you know anything about her background?’
    ‘Not a lot. But she was badly neglected and had a lot of minor injuries when she came, as well as a badly broken arm, which her brother told me was caused by a male visitor.’
    I saw the look she gave the nurse. Then they both left the room.
    I could hear their voices talking nearby, and a male voice too, but I only managed to pick out a few words. ‘Foster mum . . . can’t tell her . . . classic case . . . penetration . .
. impacted bowel . . .’ It was enough for me to work out what they were thinking.
    Only a couple of days later, when I was talking to another woman I knew who had fostered children, I mentioned all this.
    ‘Yes, we’ve had children with that problem too. I found out later that the most likely reason for a young child to have an impacted bowel is sexual abuse.’
    I told Mike what she had said. ‘Do you think that could be the reason for Caroline’s impacted bowel?’
    ‘Possibly,’ he hesitated. ‘But I expect there could be other causes too.’
    ‘Yes. But I wouldn’t be surprised if that was it. I just wish they’d tell me. It’s so frustrating when everyone knows and they won’t say anything to us.’
    ‘Never mind, love. As long as we help her cope with it. That’s the main thing.’
    ‘Yes, you’re right. Well, at least A & E took her seriously this time and gave her a thorough examination. If they’d done that the first time I took her, maybe it
wouldn’t have made her so ill.’
    ‘Yes,’ Mike sighed as he opened out his newspaper.
    ‘But there’s always something to worry about with these four. I wonder what it will be next.’

7
Knickerbocker Glory
    ‘Simon’s face is not responding. He needs time.’
    My diary entry, 13 March 1997
    A longside the swearing chart, we had a behaviour chart, with stickers for good behaviour. The children all loved to see the columns and the jars
filling up.
    ‘What happens when the jar is full and we can’t get any more money into it?’ asked Hamish.
    ‘I’ll give you another jar.’
    He beamed with pride as he went to bed that evening. But the next morning he was a different boy. The others were all sitting at the breakfast table in the kitchen, when Hamish stormed in. I
don’t know what had happened to change him, but he just went ballistic, shouting obscenities, punching Anita’s arm, pinching Caroline, then throwing his breakfast bowl, full of cereal,
onto the tiled floor, so it smashed into smithereens and splattered milk everywhere.
    ‘What’s the matter, love?’ I tried to give him a cuddle, but he wriggled free and kicked my leg. ‘Ouch! That hurt.’
    ‘Good!’ he shouted. ‘I fucking hate you. I hate this fucking place—’
    ‘Right,’ I interrupted him. ‘You’ve thrown away your breakfast and you’ve hurt and upset everybody, so I think we’ll have to empty your jar and you can go up
to your room. You can shout and swear as