jumping or falling

I am still cold from the walk. She sits opposite me with a notepad.

"You have to give a bit" My solicitor had said yesterday. "I'm not going to lie" I said. Pause. "She said they are working towards him coming home, but you have to cooperate. If they ask you to jump, you ask how high"

Our son has been in care nearly 4 months now. He's six. If I handle this right, he could come home in July.

"How are you?" the social worker asks "Apart from him not ... being with you, of course"

"Cold" I reply, tucking 1984 into my bag. I was hoping Orwell's depiction of language as a trap, a deceit, ghost of a dead ideal, might stop me crying at this powerlessness, clawing with words like bare hands against the stone wall of social work self-righteousness. How can there be, in a civilised society, a system whereby the accused is not given, AT ANY TIME the chance to defend themselves? Where the diagnosis of GPs and therapists about a mother's mental health can be overruled in favour of the opinion of people who do not recognise the effect on a 6 year old of having contact sessions he has just started to trust cancelled, of being told he is going get more time with his parents and then, as his confidence grows that he will come home, be safe again, having this cancelled also, again and again. Let alone allowing him at the start to think both parents were dead for 8 days.
Or that I might "present as being suicidal" simply because they told me they were taking my child away.
I was not cold enough.

I had thought Labour was a good party, concerned with people's rights. Yet the category 'potential emotional harm' as a reason for putting children into care was introduced by Harriet Harman. All the cutbacks they keep announcing, why can't they leave children with their parents, when there is no actual evidence of either emotional, let alone physical harm? Instead supervised contact is restricted to less than legal minimum because of "staffing issues."

Social worker is doing her I'm human too bit "You had to walk didn't you? I thought it was cold when I went out for lunch." I realise belatedly I am meant to smile at the shared experience. I am no good at this. I find it very difficult to look her in the eyes and hide how I feel. I put my hands under my coat so she won't see if I start shaking.
I have come to the social work office for the penultimate interrogation of my part of the parenting assessment. The last children's hearing had "trusted" that it would have been completed by now, and a new hearing requested by social work, but a month after the last hearing they had done nothing. If I'd not appealed it would have been a further 6 months, rather than 3, before our case was reviewed (this is Scotland, I think it's even worse in in England) Yet no one holds social work to account for this delay. And now I am uncooperative for a reason other than not admitting they were were right to take my child away, lack of contact etc.

You may be wondering what 'potential emotional harm' consists of?

"How is your...health?" Still human
"Fine"
Pause. "Fine?"
Is this where I'm meant to jump and say I'm suicidal? "Yes"
Her lips twist. One of her two main expressions. The other is a raised eyebrow. Distaste that she is being lied to, and incredulity that anyone thinks she could believe something so boring. "So he was still wearing nappies when he was 4 and a half? I contacted preschool and they said he had toiletting issues..."

?????
"When he started at preschool I asked the lady in charge if she could mention to him that other children his age didn't wear nappies. He wasn't using them, he went to the loo fine, was dry all night, he just liked wearing nappies. I thought, when he went to preschool and realised the other children didn't wear nappies, he wouldn't want to either. It worked. Peer pressure is much better than parent pressure for things like that, isn't it?"
Raised eyebrow
Pointed out the daughter of his carer still wears nappies sometimes, at 4 and a half, it's not unusual.
Twisted lips.
Am I going to get carer in trouble?
"Toiletting seems to be quite an issue with you?"

Should have expected this. She's seen me take him to the loo on several occasions. His Dad thought he had explained it to her."He has constipation. He's had it since he was a baby. So long as he eats lots of fruit he's ok, but he gets frightened it will hurt and puts it off till there really is a problem. When he started at preschool he didn't go for a week. We had to get some medicine from the chemist, but he was more worried about the medicine than going, so he went anyway" Why am I having to justify holding my crying child's hand in the loo?
Raised eyebrow "His carer says he is fine."
"He waits to do it at home" What is this about? What should I be saying here? help help help. "When we first started getting contact I asked if he'd been since I last saw him, which was a wednesday, and he said no, that was a monday."
Both eyebrows "Did you ever go to the doctor about this?"
Like I don't care whether he's bleeding or not?
"Yes, when he was little. She said eat lots of fruit. But it gets worse with stress, and he needs encouraging to go or it gets worse. I had constipation when I was little, it hurts."
She looks pleased, and writes in her notebook "So, you think because you had constipation that he must have it too?"
Is this the potential emotional harm stopping him coming home?
(Looking back, I should be saying here 'he goes fine on his own most of the time', but I'm too upset she thinks I've invented his constipation, as presumeably she thinks he wore nappies against his will till preschool)

Human bit again she asks how the home contact is going (1 and a half hours 4 days a week) now it's no longer supervised?
Fairly safe question, I think. "OK." This is not enough, though, mustn't seem uncooperative: words come like shingle under a fall. "We decided to stop having tea as he wasn't telling his carer he'd eaten at home - he thought she'd be angry he'd eaten outside their mealtimes, but as he was full he couldn't eat what they made, which was difficult, so we went back to just having fruit when he got back from school. He'd wanted it to be how it was before he was taken away, but it's better like this, there's no telling the truth issues, like with the gel thing, and he has more time to play"

"Yes, tell me about this gel thing" social worker says eagerly, notebook poised.

"He came home from school and burst into tears, saying he was sorry he was a liar, he didn't mean to, he couldn't help it, it was something in his head which made him do it. I asked him what he meant? He has never been a liar"

Eyebrows and lips and legs crossed and uncrossed. "Of course he's not a liar..."

How not to say anything bad about carer, who is very kindly looking after him, as a friend, since he was taken away. "One day, when he came out of school, I stroked his hair, and said it felt like a toothbrush? He said his carer had put gel in his hair. He volunteered he could manage gel, so long as the carer didn't make him have spikes. He had got a bit upset and said again he didn't want spikey hair. I said I was sure she wouldn't make him have spikey hair if he didn't want it. He seemed unconvinced but didn't talk about it again. The next day his hair was a bit less gunky, and I asked if he had had a hairwash. He said no, he'd got it out himself at school. The next day his hair was soft again. A few days later the lying thing came up. When he stopped crying, and we'd persuaded him we wouldn't be cross, he explained his carer had asked where the gel in his hair had gone. He'd said he got it out at school. She said gel was too difficult to get out on your own, and carer's husband asked if he was lying? Carer asked if his Mummy had washed it out, because his mummy didn't like him wearing gel? He'd said no, he'd got it out himself. Asked again if he was lying, he's said yes, Mummy had washed it out. Then he was told to go to his room and think about how wrong it is to tell lies."

Twisted lips "That's not what I was told. His carer says he won't wear gel when he sees you because it upsets you, and he is very worried about upsetting you. His carer says he loves wearing gel, and only doesn't on the days he is going to see you."

??????
"That is not what he told me"

"IT IS WHAT HE SAYS"

Is this the jump? Do I say yes, I'm a bad mother, I never tried to put gel in his hair?

She's in her stride now "You have often said you think not conforming is a good thing, that you learned that at art college. Do you feel uncomfortable with the idea of him being like other children, of wanting to conform?"

I wonder if she's read 1984?

"What I said was, everyone should be allowed choices, animals and people. There are some things you don't get to choose, when you are a child, like running into the road, playing with the gas and throwing things at windows etc. But there should be as much freedom as possible. For example, his carer said in one of the meetings they won't let him choose what he wears. I think that's wrong. A child should be allowed to define their personality anyway they want. They should be encouraged to explore. If he wants to have gel in his hair, that's fine. If he wants to do painting or play in the mud, that's fine. He's only six! Maybe he will be good at Maths, like one grandparent, a brilliant plumber like another, a computer expert or businessman. There's loads of options in his genepot. Maybe he is so different from me that what I've learned won't be any help to him. All I can do is love him, and respect him, and be there if he wants me"
Is this what Harriet Harman had in mind?

Twisted lips, asks how I'm getting on with the therapist. I say we mostly talk about how I'm coping with my child being taken away. This is not what she wants. She asks if she can write to the therapist. I say yes, of course. Raised eyebrows, asks if she can call my brothers, almost smiles I am so keen. Maybe she will be able to explain to them why he can't come home -my mental health problem prevents me understanding.

She asks if I have any questions, but I've had enough lies.

When was I asked to jump? All I remember is falling. Flailing.
Failing.
The silence stretches and then I'm allowed to go, until next week.

I walk home in the cold wind.