LITMIR.BIZ

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summer trousers and a short-sleeved blouse, then drove to Max’s school, arriving at 12.10 p.m. The receptionist remembered why I was there and asked me to sign the visitor’s book and then wait in reception for Mrs Marshall. At exactly 12.15 a lady approached with a friendly, ‘Hello, Cathy Glass?’

      ‘Yes.’ I stood.

      ‘Daisy Marshall. Lovely to meet you.’

      ‘And you.’ We shook hands. Dressed practically in a pleated blue summer dress, and with short, neatly layered grey hair, I guessed her to be in her late fifties.

      ‘Let’s go to my classroom to talk,’ she said. ‘There’s no one in there.’

      ‘Thank you for making the time to see me,’ I said as we went. ‘I know how busy you must be.’

      ‘Not at all. I’m pleased you’ve come into school. I like to meet the foster carer as soon as possible if a child moves home. We don’t have many children in care – last year one of our older children lived with a foster carer, but an aunt has him now.’ With 70,000 children in care in the UK, most schools have experience of pupils living with a foster carer. ‘How is Max settling in?’ she asked.

      ‘Very well indeed.’

      ‘He’s a lovely boy, I’ve got a lot of time for him.’ Mrs Marshall opened the door to her classroom and we went in.

      ‘You’ve been busy,’ I said admiringly. The classroom was festooned with the children’s work. Every wall was covered with paintings, drawings, pie charts, essays, poems and so on. Handmade bunting hung from the ceiling showing the different flags from around the world, and a magnificent model of a Roman village stood in one corner. There was also a nature table, the like of which I hadn’t seen since my own school days.

      ‘Yes, the children keep me on my toes, but I wouldn’t have it any other way,’ she said with a smile. ‘Take a seat.’ She drew out two of the children’s chairs from beneath a table and we sat either side.

      I’d taken an immediate liking to Mrs Marshall; she came across as a kind and caring person as well as a dedicated teacher. She was straightforward in her manner and I sensed she could be firm with her class when necessary.

      ‘Max is a lovely child and a pleasure to teach,’ she began. ‘He’s interested in learning and will join in and ask pertinent questions in class discussion. He’s well above average in his learning, especially literacy. He loves reading. It’s a form of escapism for him, as indeed it is for many people. Although now, sadly, watching television has largely replaced reading in many homes.’ I nodded. ‘However, I do feel sad when I see him sitting all by himself in the playground with a book instead of joining in with the other children. Of course, Max can’t run and play like others his age because of the thing we’re not allowed to talk about.’

      I held her gaze. ‘His weight?’ I asked quietly.

      ‘Exactly. It’s a taboo subject with his mother, and apparently it’s not politically correct to raise it with his social worker, although obviously she must be aware of the problem. Max struggles. If he had a learning disability, he’d receive all the help he needs, but obesity isn’t being properly acknowledged and dealt with.’

      ‘I know it limits what he can do,’ I agreed. ‘How does he manage in PE lessons?’

      ‘He changes into his kit and joins in as best he can. He would rather sit and read a book, but it’s important he has some exercise, just as it is for all the children. I know he feels self-conscious and I never suggest he tries something of which he is not capable. We have another obese child in the class, although she’s not as overweight as Max, and she’s on a diet and losing weight. Her mother wants her to exercise more, but I’m always sensitive to her and Max’s limitations. By the way, Max’s PE kit could do with a wash. I’ll remind him to take it home with him tonight.’

      ‘Yes, please do. I usually take the children’s PE kits home every week to wash them. He hasn’t come with a spare.’

      ‘They can be bought here from reception.’

      ‘I’ll get an extra set on the way out.’

      ‘I’ll leave you to shorten it this time, save me a job,’ Mrs Marshall said with a smile. I looked at her questioningly. ‘You’ve probably noticed how the clothes that fit Max are for much older children. His mother rolls up the sleeves and trouser legs to make them fit, or fastens them with a safety pin. It’s not nice for Max. The trousers unroll and he trips over them. Other kids notice. So I’ve been turning up his school uniform.’

      ‘That’s very kind of you, and also explains something,’ I said. ‘When I unpacked his bag last night I wondered why his school uniform was neatly turned and hemmed but his other clothes weren’t.’

      ‘It helps his mother, although I’m not sure she’s noticed. The poor woman has so many health issues of her own to deal with. Have you met her?’

      ‘Yes, briefly last night when I took Max to the hospital to see her.’

      ‘She was supposed to be out of hospital by now, but I understand her foot is taking longer to heal than anticipated.’

      ‘Yes. The care plan is that Max will stay with me until she is home and sufficiently recovered to look after him.’ She nodded. ‘Max has an inhaler, but doesn’t seem to need it much,’ I said. ‘Does he have asthma?’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ Mrs Marshall said. ‘Max gets out of breath after exertion, but I think that’s because of his weight. His mother has been committed to him having an inhaler for a long time and it seems the doctor has finally agreed. Many children in the school have inhalers now. Personally I think they’re over-prescribed. One of my children had asthma – he still does – so I know the signs and symptoms. Max has used his inhaler once since he got it and that was after his sister, Summer, made him rush in, as she was going to be late for her school. He was out of breath but more panting rather than wheezing, which is what you hear when a child has asthma. But obviously I’m no doctor and we have to let him use it if necessary.’

      ‘He’s used it once with me, when he first arrived,’ I said. ‘He’ll be having a medical before too long, so I’ll raise it with the paediatrician.’

      ‘I’d be interested to know what they say. And also what is said about his weight and going on a diet. Caz says it’s their genes, and it’s true they are all chronically overweight apart from the father. But when you hear what they eat, coupled with an inactive lifestyle, it’s hardly surprising. As part of our “staying healthy” project in school all the children kept a food diary for a week and it was quite an eye-opener.’

      ‘I’m limiting the amount of sweet foods Max has,’ I said.

      ‘Good. But we can’t do that here in school unless we have the parent’s permission and the child is following a special diet. We have a child with a nut allergy, another who has gluten intolerance, and the girl I mentioned earlier in the class who is trying to lose weight has a diet plan. The kitchen staff are aware of what these children can and can’t have, but they can’t stop a child having a second helping of pudding unless they’re told to do so. And the puddings here are delicious.’ She licked her lips.

      ‘So I understand,’ I said with a smile. ‘Max said it was sticky toffee pudding yesterday.’

      ‘It was tasty.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘I wish I could do more for Max. He’s bright and has huge potential but isn’t given the support he could be at home. There are no books in his house and reading isn’t encouraged, so he borrows books from the school library and reads them in his bedroom. He has a lot to contend with. He’d love a proper relationship with his father, but he has little time for him and refers to him as “Mistake”. There’s a gap of seven years between Summer and Max, and according to Caz, Max was a mistake. But it’s not fair to make the child aware of it, and in some ways he is very different to them.’ Mrs Marshall paused and a smile crossed her

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