what to say.
‘And Mrs Hughes said that she found the other girl’s crisp and chocolate bar wrappers in your pocket.’
‘Yes,’ he said, hanging his head. ‘But I don’t know how they got there. Somebody must have put them there.’
‘We could talk about this for a long time,’ I said. ‘But I don’t want to take up all your playtime with the others, so why don’t you just tell me the truth? Did you
take those things out of the girl’s lunch box?’
‘No,’ he insisted, turning his head away. ‘I told you . . .’
‘Yes, you did.’
Silence . . . and I let it last before saying anything.
‘Why did you take them, AJ?’
‘I was hungry.’
‘You had lots of food in your lunchbox.’
‘Everyone takes things,’ he said, changing his tack.
‘You told Mrs Hughes that your dad made you do it.’
‘Yes,’ was his sullen answer.
‘What did you mean?’
‘Well . . . my dad and my mum steal things . . .’
‘OK.’
‘And my dad makes me steal things too.’
‘Really?’
‘He said I have to steal something every day, so they can buy me food to eat.’ AJ paused. ‘I’m not very good at it.’ He crumpled up and burst into tears, then
wracking sobs, his bony shoulders heaving.
I put my arm round him and held him close for a while, stroking his straggly hair. Gradually his sobbing subsided as he sat in a limp heap, cuddled up to me. I thought we’d said enough for
now. But there was one thing I was puzzled about.
‘I heard that someone found you in a skip on Friday. Is that true?’
‘Yes.’ He sniffed and I passed him a tissue to blow his nose.
‘Tell me how that happened.’
‘It was my dad. When he came home he wanted to see what I stole that day. But I couldn’t, so he got angry. He took me outside and threw me in the skip.’
‘Oh dear,’ I sympathised. ‘Was it empty or were there things in it?
‘Nearly empty. Just some bits of wood and old carpet at the bottom. I tried to climb out, but I couldn’t reach.’
‘Did you call for help?’
‘No. My dad beats me if I make a noise. It was dark and I was cold, so I made a little bed out of the bits of carpet and tried to sleep.’
I gave him another cuddle. ‘You must have been very cold.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well you’re here now.’ I gave him a hug and sent him off to join the others for a short playtime before bed.
Later that evening, I told Mike what the teacher had said at school about AJ stealing, and what he himself had told me about his father and the skip.
‘So has he stolen anything from us or the other children?’ he asked.
‘Not as far as I know. Not yet anyway.’
‘Do you think he will?’
‘Probably, yes.’ I nodded. ‘I think it’s become the norm for him – something he has had to achieve every day, poor mite. It’s turned most people’s set
of values entirely on its head. We can’t expect him to suddenly shun everything he’s known as being right and make his mind think of it as wrong. We may have a lengthy process ahead of
us . . . if he stays that long.’
‘Oh, that sounds too psychological for me.’ Mike paused. ‘I guess you’re right. We’ll have to watch him and help him understand . . . And maybe hide our valuables
away where he can’t find them.’
We sat in silence for a minute or two, neither of us wanting to voice how uncomfortable we felt about the way this situation was making us think.
‘It’s going to be an uphill climb,’ Mike admitted. Do you think we’re up to it?’
‘I hope so.’ I sighed. ‘He needs us. We have to help him.’
The term ended without much further trouble, apart from AJ bringing home some of the decorations off the class Christmas tree, pinching a chocolate roll from another lunch-box
and taking a Superman figure from a coat pocket in the cloakroom. We had to have words about those. There may have been other things too of course, but in all the end-of-term excitement I suppose
they didn’t come to light.
The run-up
‘And Mrs Hughes said that she found the other girl’s crisp and chocolate bar wrappers in your pocket.’
‘Yes,’ he said, hanging his head. ‘But I don’t know how they got there. Somebody must have put them there.’
‘We could talk about this for a long time,’ I said. ‘But I don’t want to take up all your playtime with the others, so why don’t you just tell me the truth? Did you
take those things out of the girl’s lunch box?’
‘No,’ he insisted, turning his head away. ‘I told you . . .’
‘Yes, you did.’
Silence . . . and I let it last before saying anything.
‘Why did you take them, AJ?’
‘I was hungry.’
‘You had lots of food in your lunchbox.’
‘Everyone takes things,’ he said, changing his tack.
‘You told Mrs Hughes that your dad made you do it.’
‘Yes,’ was his sullen answer.
‘What did you mean?’
‘Well . . . my dad and my mum steal things . . .’
‘OK.’
‘And my dad makes me steal things too.’
‘Really?’
‘He said I have to steal something every day, so they can buy me food to eat.’ AJ paused. ‘I’m not very good at it.’ He crumpled up and burst into tears, then
wracking sobs, his bony shoulders heaving.
I put my arm round him and held him close for a while, stroking his straggly hair. Gradually his sobbing subsided as he sat in a limp heap, cuddled up to me. I thought we’d said enough for
now. But there was one thing I was puzzled about.
‘I heard that someone found you in a skip on Friday. Is that true?’
‘Yes.’ He sniffed and I passed him a tissue to blow his nose.
‘Tell me how that happened.’
‘It was my dad. When he came home he wanted to see what I stole that day. But I couldn’t, so he got angry. He took me outside and threw me in the skip.’
‘Oh dear,’ I sympathised. ‘Was it empty or were there things in it?
‘Nearly empty. Just some bits of wood and old carpet at the bottom. I tried to climb out, but I couldn’t reach.’
‘Did you call for help?’
‘No. My dad beats me if I make a noise. It was dark and I was cold, so I made a little bed out of the bits of carpet and tried to sleep.’
I gave him another cuddle. ‘You must have been very cold.’
‘Yes.’
‘Well you’re here now.’ I gave him a hug and sent him off to join the others for a short playtime before bed.
Later that evening, I told Mike what the teacher had said at school about AJ stealing, and what he himself had told me about his father and the skip.
‘So has he stolen anything from us or the other children?’ he asked.
‘Not as far as I know. Not yet anyway.’
‘Do you think he will?’
‘Probably, yes.’ I nodded. ‘I think it’s become the norm for him – something he has had to achieve every day, poor mite. It’s turned most people’s set
of values entirely on its head. We can’t expect him to suddenly shun everything he’s known as being right and make his mind think of it as wrong. We may have a lengthy process ahead of
us . . . if he stays that long.’
‘Oh, that sounds too psychological for me.’ Mike paused. ‘I guess you’re right. We’ll have to watch him and help him understand . . . And maybe hide our valuables
away where he can’t find them.’
We sat in silence for a minute or two, neither of us wanting to voice how uncomfortable we felt about the way this situation was making us think.
‘It’s going to be an uphill climb,’ Mike admitted. Do you think we’re up to it?’
‘I hope so.’ I sighed. ‘He needs us. We have to help him.’
The term ended without much further trouble, apart from AJ bringing home some of the decorations off the class Christmas tree, pinching a chocolate roll from another lunch-box
and taking a Superman figure from a coat pocket in the cloakroom. We had to have words about those. There may have been other things too of course, but in all the end-of-term excitement I suppose
they didn’t come to light.
The run-up
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