The weather had changed and it was more like winter again, still almost dark outside and rain dribbling down the windows. Vera pulled her attention back into the room. She hadn’t slept much, but felt charged with energy, could feel it running through her big awkward feet and tickling her fingers.
‘The teacher’s concerns were a bit vague. Elias was coming to school tired and hungry. There were outbursts of temper and he wasn’t that sort of kid. A couple of times he peed his pants. She knew social services were involved, so she got in touch with Connie Masters. Any other situation she’d probably just have had a word with the parents.’
‘No sign of abuse?’ Holly was wearing smart jeans and a tight black sweater. Vera always noticed the younger woman’s clothes, fuelling the irrational envy just like picking at a scab.
‘Not physical abuse,’ Vera said. ‘No bruises or burns. A younger child and they’d have called it “failure to thrive”. Just a sort of listlessness, a change of personality.’ She thought abuse came in many forms.
‘What came out of the case conference?’ Joe Ashworth was good at feeding her questions; he wanted to move the meeting on. He looked tired. But then he’d been up most of the night too, digging into the Elias Jones case.
‘Everyone decided there was no reason to take dramatic action. Connie Masters would visit a bit more regularly – she was only calling in three or four times a year. She’d talk to the lad on his own and to the mother. The teacher would investigate what was going on at the school. It could be that the boy’s change of behaviour had nothing to do with the situation at home. Maybe a bit of bullying or a falling-out between friends in the playground.’
Charlie coughed and spluttered into a grey handkerchief that might once have been white. Vera looked up at her class. ‘So at this point everything done by the book, you see. All decisions and actions recorded. Exemplary social-work practice.’ She waved her fingers in the air to indicate quotation marks. The last phrase had been taken from the committee of inquiry’s report.
‘Where does the victim come into it?’ Charlie asked.
‘Jenny Lister.’ Vera emphasized the words, glared at him to make sure he’d got the point: the woman deserved the dignity of a name. ‘She was Connie Masters’s boss. She chaired the case conference. She’d known Elias’s mum since she was a bairn, because Mattie Jones had been in and out of care all her life too.’ She looked at Ashworth, inviting him to take over the story. He walked to the front of the room. Eh, lad, is this what you want? To be in charge and push me out, like some cuckoo shoving its overweight foster mam out of the nest. She wasn’t sure whether to be proud of him or annoyed by his cockiness.
‘So it was left to Connie Masters to follow up with the family. But she was falling apart at the time too. Her husband had just left her and she had a toddler to bring up on her own. A lot was made of that in the inquiry. It wasn’t felt that she was entirely objective when it came to working with Elias’s family.’ His tone was verging on the self-righteous. He could get that way at times, and it made Vera want to give him a good slap. Just because he had the perfect wife and kids, he thought everyone should be able to do it. But she let him continue.
‘Connie Masters arranged to take Elias out. Sold it to him as a treat. They’d take a picnic out to the coast, stop for fish and chips on the way home. She thought a full afternoon away and he’d be more likely to open up to her.’
‘Was that normal?’ Holly interrupted, turned in her seat to make sure they were all taking notice of her. ‘I mean, for a social worker to spend all afternoon on one child. If there was no real reason for concern. I thought they’re all supposed to be snowed under with work.’
‘This was a special child,’ Ashworth said. ‘A favourite, if you like. And like I said: Mattie was known to them, almost like family herself. Maybe they felt a special responsibility for her son.’
He showed no irritation at the interruption, but went on as if it hadn’t happened. ‘So there was an afternoon out at the seaside. Longsands, Tynemouth, with a bucket and spade, egg sandwiches and fizzy pop. Elias had a great time, making sandcastles, kicking about a ball. Connie asked him about his mam’s boyfriend: “What about Michael? Does he take you out?” But no response. Not even: “He’s OK.” Elias just refused to discuss him.’
He paused and for a moment they could hear the whir of a printer in another room, the rain on the window, the rush-hour traffic building up below.
‘Then, just before they were about to leave the beach, Connie suggested they went for a paddle. “We can’t go to the beach and not get our feet wet!” Elias was reluctant, but she took him by the hand and led him to the edge of the water. When it ran over his toes, he shrieked and she thought the cold had startled him. Then a slightly bigger wave came and splashed him, and he really freaked out apparently. Panicked, clung to her, and she had to carry him back up the beach to the dry sand. She tried to get to the bottom of his anxiety. Was he worried Mattie and Michael would be angry about his damp clothes? There was no problem – she’d explain it was her fault. But he went all silent on her again and closed down completely. When she dropped him back at the flat, she felt she’d achieved nothing at all.’
‘And you got all this from the report, did you?’ Holly asked, sceptical. She was ambitious and there was always an element of rivalry in her dealings with Ashworth.
Ashworth looked at her. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Pretty much. Masters was a journalist before she went into social work and she knows how to tell a good story.’
They fell silent again and Vera thought they were there, on the beach with the kid, and they were all thinking: What would I have done? And the honest ones would have known they’d have done nothing. A lad who was a bit of a wimp, scared of being splashed by water. Hardly grounds for taking him away from his family. The courts would laugh in your face. She was scared herself when water got in her face.
Ashworth went on to tell them what Connie Masters did. ‘A couple of weeks later she called into the family in the evening. No appointment. Elias was in bed, so she didn’t see him, but that wasn’t what she was there for. The school was supposed to be looking out for him and she wanted a chat with the mother and the guy who had become, in effect, Elias’s stepdad. Apparently it was all very civilized. On the surface. Michael was at the table writing – work apparently – and Mattie was washing up the tea things. Masters noted that Mattie seemed rather subservient and eager to please.’
Charlie looked up. ‘One time,’ he said, ‘there’d have been nothing unusual about a man working and the woman making his tea.’ He coughed again and settled back into an angry silence. Everyone knew his domestic situation was fraught and they took no notice.
‘Another thing she noted,’ Ashworth continued as if Charlie had made no comment. ‘The telly had gone. When she was on her own with the boy, Mattie had liked the telly, talked about the soaps as if the characters were real people. Masters asked about it. She thought maybe it had gone for repair or they were waiting for a new one. “Michael doesn’t like the television,” Mattie said. “He thinks it dulls your mind.” No real answer to that one.’
Listening in her corner, Vera thought there were times when that was just what you wanted. To dull the mind. Whisky was her drug of choice, but she could see that television might work for some folk, the endless reruns of Morse or Midsomer Murders, the makeover shows and the talent contests, they might get you off to sleep at night.