Читать книгу Where Has Mummy Gone?: Part 1 of 3: A young girl and a mother who no longer knows her - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 8

Even after many years of fostering I’m still slightly anxious before a new child arrives, wondering if they will like us and what I will be able to do to help them. Now I had the added concern of Melody’s angry and challenging behaviour. But by lunchtime I’d given her bedroom a final check, cleaned, hoovered and tidied all the communal areas in the house (I might not have another chance for a while), then I tried to concentrate on the part-time administration work I did mainly from home. As a single parent – my husband having run off with another woman some years before – the admin work plus the small allowance I received from fostering helped to make ends meet. I’d have fostered anyway, even without the allowance. I enjoyed it, and it had become a way of life.

My three children – Adrian, aged sixteen, Lucy, fourteen, and Paula, twelve – were at school, so they’d have a surprise when they arrived home to find Melody here, although it wouldn’t be a huge one. Adrian and Paula had grown up with fostering and knew children could arrive at very short notice. Lucy had been in foster care herself before I’d adopted her, so was only too familiar with the way the system worked. (I tell Lucy’s story in my book Will You Love Me?)

I had a sandwich lunch as I worked and it was nearly two o’clock before the front doorbell rang, signalling Melody’s arrival. I felt my pulse step up a beat as I left the paperwork on the table in the front room and went to answer the door. A female social worker I took to be Neave stood on one side of Melody and a male social worker was on the other, as if escorting her.

‘Hello, you must be Melody,’ I said with a smile. ‘Come in. I’m Cathy.’

Melody glared at me but didn’t move. ‘This is the foster carer I told you about,’ Neave said, and touched Melody’s arm to encourage her to move forward.

‘Get your hands off me!’ Melody snapped, angrily shrugging her off, but she did come in.

‘I’m Neave, and this is my colleague Jim,’ Neave said as they too came in.

Jim shook my hand. I guessed both social workers were in their early forties, and were dressed smartly in dark colours, having come straight from court.

‘Shall I take your coats?’ I offered, but Neave was already halfway down the hall, looking to see which room she should go in. ‘Straight ahead!’ I called. Jim took off his coat and also his shoes, which he paired with ours beneath the hall stand.

‘Would you like to take off your coat and shoes?’ I asked Melody, who was still standing beside us and hadn’t followed her social worker into the living room. She looked at me as though I was completely barmy, probably having never taken off her shoes and coat as part of the routine for entering her home. ‘We usually do,’ I added.

Melody was of average height and build, but her pale skin was grubby. There were dark rings under her eyes from lack of sleep and her brown, shoulder-length hair was unwashed and matted. I already knew she had nits and I would treat those later. Her zip-up anorak was filthy, a long rip down one sleeve showed the white lining and the zipper was undone and hanging off. Beneath her jacket she was wearing a badly stained jumper and short skirt. The skirt and ankle socks she wore were more suitable for summer than winter; her legs must have been freezing. Her filthy plastic trainers had holes in the ends where her toes poked through. Not for the first time since I’d started fostering, I felt greatly saddened that in our reasonably affluent society a child could still appear in this state.

‘Are you going to take off your coat and shoes?’ Jim now asked.

‘No!’ Melody said, and headed down the hall.

‘That told us,’ I said quietly to Jim. He smiled. Foster carers and social workers have to maintain a sense of humour in order to survive the suffering and sadness we see each day. I’d ease Melody into our way of doing things as we went along.

‘Would anyone like a drink?’ I asked as Jim and I entered the living room.

‘Coffee, please,’ Neave said from the sofa. ‘Milk, no sugar.’

‘And for me too, please, if it’s not too much trouble,’ Jim added.

‘And what about you?’ I asked Melody, who’d sat next to Neave.

‘No. I don’t want anything from you.’ She scowled.

‘OK, maybe later. There’s a box of games you might like to look at,’ I said, pointing to the toy box of age-appropriate games I’d put out ready. ‘There’s some children’s books on the shelves,’ I added.

‘Not looking,’ she said. Folding her arms defiantly across her chest, she glared at Neave. ‘I want to go home. Take me back, now!’

‘You know I can’t do that,’ Neave said. ‘I explained in the car what was happening.’

‘I don’t care what you said. It’s not your decision. It’s up to me and I want to go home!’

‘That’s not possible,’ Neave said evenly. ‘You’re staying with Cathy and her family for now, and she is going to look after you very well. You’ll do lots of nice things and you’ll see your mother soon.’

‘I want to see Mum now!’ Melody’s anger flared and for a moment I thought she was going to hit Neave. Neave thought so too, for she moved further up the sofa. ‘My mum needs me!’ Melody said with slightly less aggression. Many children come into care believing that their parents won’t be able to manage without them, and part of my role is to take away the inappropriate responsibility they’ve had at home and encourage them to be children.

I made my way towards the kitchen to make the coffee but as I left the living room the front doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be Jill,’ I said, and went to answer it.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said. ‘I’ve come straight from placing another child. Are they here?’

‘Yes, just arrived. They’re in the living room. I’m about to make coffee. Would you like one?’

‘Oh yes, please,’ she said gratefully. ‘Have you got a biscuit too? I haven’t had time for lunch.’

‘I could make you a sandwich?’ I offered.

‘No, a biscuit is fine.’

Jill went into the living room and introduced herself, while I set about making the coffee. I could hear Jill talking to Melody in a reassuring voice, telling her she would be happy with me, that I’d look after her and there was nothing for her to worry about. Jill was a highly experienced social worker and I greatly valued her input, support and advice.

I took the tray carrying the drinks and a plate of biscuits into the living room and set it on the coffee table. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink?’ I asked Melody as I handed out the mugs of coffee.

‘No, but I’ll have a biscuit.’ Standing, she grabbed a handful of biscuits and returned to the sofa to eat them.

‘Are you hungry?’ Neave asked her as they quickly vanished.

‘No,’ she snarled.

‘I’ll make her something to keep her going until dinner once we’ve finished,’ I reassured Neave.

I passed the plate of biscuits to the adults and then put the empty plate on the tray. For a few moments there was quiet as they sipped their coffee and ate the biscuits. I thought Jill wasn’t the only one who hadn’t had time for lunch. Neave set her half-empty mug on the coffee table and took a wodge of papers from her briefcase. When a child is placed there are formalities that need to be completed, and Neave handed Jill and me a copy each of the Essential Information Form Part 1. This contained the basic information I needed about the child I was fostering, and I began to look through it, as did Jill, while Neave finished her coffee. Much of the information I already knew from Jill. It included Melody’s full name, most recent home address, date of birth and her parents’ names, and in the box for other family members was printed Four half-siblings, all adopted, but not their names. Melody’s ethnicity was given as white British and her first language English. The box for religion showed None, and her legal status showed Interim Care Order. There were no special dietary requirements and Melody had no known allergies. Her school’s name and address were shown with a comment in the box saying she’d only been there since September. It was January now, so she’d joined four months previously.

‘Melody changed school last term then?’ I asked Neave.

‘Yes, with the most recent move,’ she replied. ‘She’s had a lot of changes of school, with long gaps in between when she didn’t attend at all. Now she’s in care she’ll have more stability in her life. She’s very behind with her school work.’

‘I hate school. I’m not going,’ Melody said, her face setting.

‘All children have to go to school,’ Jill said gently.

‘I don’t!’ Melody snapped.

‘You do, love,’ I said. ‘All the children in this house go to school and tomorrow we’ll buy you a nice new school uniform.’ Not a bribe, but an incentive.

‘I was going to mention her clothing,’ Neave said. ‘I’m afraid she just has what she is wearing. Her mother said she has other clothes, but they needed washing.’

‘Not a problem,’ I said. ‘We’ll use my emergency supply until we can go shopping and buy her new clothes. The school usually sells the uniform, so we can get that tomorrow morning when we go in.’

‘That’ll be nice, won’t it?’ Jill said encouragingly, turning to Melody. ‘Lots of new clothes.’

Melody scowled, but not quite so forcibly. All children like new things, especially when they haven’t had any before.

Jill and I returned to the Essential Information Form. The next line was about special educational needs – Melody requires classroom support was printed in the box. The next question asked if the child had any challenging behaviour and printed in the box was Melody has challenging behaviour. She can be angry. The next box about contact arrangements was empty.

‘Contact?’ Jill queried.

‘I’ll confirm the contact arrangements when I’ve spoken to the Family Centre to check availability,’ Neave said. ‘Melody will have supervised contact with her mother at the Family Centre – I’m anticipating on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, four till five-thirty. You’ll be able to take and collect her?’ Neave asked me. It’s expected that foster carers take children to and from contact, school and any appointments they may have.

‘Yes,’ I said, and made a note of the days and times in my diary.

‘I want to see my mum now!’ Melody demanded, having finished the biscuits.

‘You’ve just seen her,’ Neave said, ‘and you’ll see her again tomorrow – Wednesday.’

‘That’s not long,’ Jill said positively.

‘I want to see my mum at home!’

‘The Family Centre is like a home,’ I said. ‘It’s got sofas to sit on and lots of games to play with. I’ve taken children before and they always have a good time.’

Melody threw me a withering look and I returned my attention to the form, as did Jill.

‘Sibling contact with her half-brothers and sisters?’ Jill asked Neave.

‘No, there is no contact.’

‘And the care plan is long-term foster care then?’ Jill said.

‘Yes,’ Neave confirmed.

We had come to the end of the form and I placed my copy in my fostering folder.

‘I’ll need to arrange a LAC review,’ Neave now said. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I have the details.’ LAC stands for ‘Looked After Child’, and all children in care have regular reviews to make sure everything is being done as it should to help them. The first review is usually held within the first four weeks of a child coming into care.

Toscha, our very old, docile and lovable cat sauntered out from behind the sofa where she’d been sleeping next to the radiator.

‘A cat!’ Melody cried in horror.

‘Don’t you like cats?’ Jim asked her.

‘No, they’re horrible. They have fleas that bite you.’ She began scratching her legs and I saw she had a lot of old insect bites.

‘Toscha doesn’t have fleas,’ I said.

‘My mum says all cats have fleas.’

‘I treat Toscha with flea drops so she doesn’t ever get them,’ I explained.

‘Do you have cats at home?’ Jill asked.

‘They come in when we open the door.’

‘There’s always a lot of stray cats around the entrance to the house and inside the communal hallway,’ Neave said. ‘I don’t expect anyone treats them.’

‘Try not to scratch,’ I said. ‘You’ll make them worse. I’ll put some antiseptic ointment on after your bath tonight.’

‘I don’t have baths,’ Melody said firmly. ‘It’s too cold.’ I’d heard similar before from other children I’d fostered who’d come from homes where they couldn’t afford heating and hot water.

‘It’s warm here,’ I reassured her. ‘The central heating is always on in winter and there’s plenty of hot water.’

Melody looked bewildered.

‘It’s bound to seem a bit strange at first,’ Jill said, ‘but Cathy is here to look after you. If you need anything or have any questions, ask her or one of her children. You’ll meet them later.’ Jill knew, as I did, that despite Melody’s bravado, as an eight-year-old child away from her mother, she must be feeling pretty scared and anxious.

‘Shall we look round the house now?’ Neave said to Jim. ‘Then we need to get back to the office.’

It’s usual for the foster carer to show the social worker and child around when they first arrive, so we all stood. I began with the room we were in, which looked out over the garden. ‘As you can see, we have some swings at the bottom of the garden,’ I said to Melody. ‘And there are bikes and other outdoor play things in the shed. You can play out there when the weather is good.’

‘And there are parks close by,’ Jill told her. ‘Cathy takes all the children she fosters to the park and other nice places, like the zoo and activity centres.’

Melody looked at us blankly. Giving her a reassuring smile, I led the way out of the living room and into our kitchen-cum-dining room. ‘This is where we eat,’ I said, pointing to the table. Toscha had followed us out and I saw Melody eyeing her carefully as she wandered over to her empty food bowl in a recess of the kitchen. ‘It’s not her dinner time yet,’ I said to Melody, trying to put her at ease.

‘Cats are always hungry,’ Jim added.

Melody looked suspiciously at Toscha and gave her leg another good scratch. ‘Honestly, love, she hasn’t got fleas,’ I said. I then led the way down the hall and into the front room. ‘This is a quiet room, if anyone wants to be alone,’ I explained. It held the computer, sound system, shelves of books, a cabinet with a lockable drawer where I kept important documents, and a small table and four chairs. It was sometimes used for homework and studying, and if anyone wanted their own space.

‘Thank you,’ Neave said and we headed out.

We went upstairs, where I suggested we look at Melody’s room first. ‘It’s not my room,’ she said grumpily.

‘It’ll feel more comfortable once you have your things in here,’ I said as we entered. I told all the children this when I showed them round, for while the room was clean and tidy with a wardrobe, shelves, drawers and freshly laundered bed linen, it lacked any personalization that makes a room feel lived in and homely. Then I realized my mistake. Melody hadn’t come with any possessions. ‘Will her mother be sending some of her belongings?’ I now asked Neave and Jim.

‘There isn’t much,’ Neave replied. ‘They moved around so often that what they did have got ditched or left behind along the way. I’ll ask Amanda tomorrow.’

‘Have you got a special doll or teddy bear you would like from home?’ Jill asked Melody. A treasured item such as this helps a child to settle. Most children would have at least one favourite toy, but Melody just shrugged.

‘Perhaps one you sleep with?’ I suggested.

‘No, I sleep with my mum,’ she said. That Melody didn’t have one special toy was another indication of the very basic existence she’d lived with her mother. ‘I’ve got a ball,’ she added as an afterthought.

‘Would you like me to ask your mother for it?’ Neave asked her.

‘Don’t know where it is,’ she said disinterestedly, so I changed my approach.

‘You can choose some posters to put on the walls of your bedroom when we go shopping at the weekend,’ I said brightly. ‘And I’m sure I have a spare teddy bear here if you’d like one to keep you company.’ I always have a few handy.

‘Don’t mind,’ she said, which I took as a yes.

I showed them where the toilet and bathroom were, and then led them in and out of my children’s bedrooms, mentioning as we went that all our bedrooms, including Melody’s, were private, and that we didn’t go into each other’s rooms unless we were asked to, and we always knocked first.

‘That’s the same in a lot of homes,’ Jill told Melody, who was looking rather nonplussed. Having spent most of her life living in a single room with her mother in multi-occupancy houses, this was probably all very new to her.

Lastly, I opened the door to my bedroom so they could see in. ‘This is where I sleep,’ I told Melody. ‘If you need me during the night, call out and I’ll come to you.’

‘Do you leave a nightlight on in the landing?’ Neave asked.

‘Yes, and there’s a dimmer switch in Melody’s bedroom so we can set it to low if she wants a light on at night.’

We returned downstairs, where Neave confirmed she’d ask Melody’s mother to take any toys and clothes of Melody’s to contact tomorrow so they could be passed on to me, then she and Jim said goodbye and I saw them out. Jill stayed for another five minutes to make sure Melody had settled and then left. As soon as the front door closed, Melody asked, ‘When can I go home?’

‘What did Neave tell you?’ I asked gently.

‘That I had to live with you for now.’

‘That’s right. Try not to worry, you’ll see your mother tomorrow and again on Friday. Then every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. That’s three times a week.’ But what Neave wouldn’t have told Melody at this stage – and neither would I – was that, as it was likely she would be remaining in long-term care, the level of contact would gradually be reduced. Then at the end of the year when the final court hearing had been heard and the judge confirmed the social services’ care plan, Melody would probably see her mother only a couple of times a year for a few hours. Sad though this was, it was done to allow the child to bond with their carer and have a chance of a better life in the future. I should probably also say that when children come out of care at eighteen they invariably go back to their birth families – not always, but often.

‘I want to go home. My mum needs me,’ Melody said.

‘I understand, but try not to worry. Your mother is an adult and can look after herself, and Neave will make sure she’s all right.’

‘No, she won’t,’ Melody said.

Best keep Melody occupied, I thought. ‘Adrian, Lucy and Paula will be home from school in about half an hour,’ I said. ‘So we have time to treat your hair and give you a bath before I have to start making dinner.’

‘Treat my hair?’ she queried.

‘Yes, with nit lotion.’ I always kept a bottle in the bathroom cabinet, as so many children who come into care have head lice.

‘How do you know I have nits?’ Melody asked, seeming surprised I knew. ‘My mum said if I didn’t scratch no one would know.’

‘Your social worker told me,’ I said. ‘It must be very uncomfortable for you.’

‘It bleeding well is,’ she said, and jabbing both hands into her matted hair, she gave her scalp a good scratch. ‘Aah, that feels so much better!’ she sighed, relieved.

‘Good, but we don’t swear. Come on, let’s get the nit lotion on and you won’t have to scratch.’

‘Is not swearing another of your rules?’ she asked as she followed me upstairs. ‘Like knocking on bedroom doors.’

‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

‘Do you have many rules here?’

‘No, just a few to keep everyone safe and happy.’

‘I’ll tell my mum. She needs rules to make me safe and happy, then she can have me back.’

I smiled sadly, for of course it was far too late for that. Amanda had had her chance, and Melody wouldn’t be going back.