Читать книгу Where Has Mummy Gone?: A young girl and a mother who no longer knows her - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 12

Melody finally went to sleep shortly before nine o’clock, cuddling the teddy bear I’d given to her and with me sitting on her bed, stroking her forehead. Bless her. I felt so sorry for her. I was sure she was a good kid who was badly missing her mother. Yes, she was feisty, streetwise, could become angry at times and would need firm boundaries, but I felt positive that once she’d settled I could help her to a better life, which is what fostering is all about. Because it was unlikely Melody could return to her mother, the social services would try to find a suitable relative to look after her as the first option. They are called kinship carers and are considered the next best option if a child can’t be looked after by their own parents. If there wasn’t a suitable relative then she would be matched with a long-term foster carer, and if that happened it was possible I might be considered, but that was all in the future.

Once I was sure Melody was in a deep sleep, I moved quietly away from her bed and, turning the light down low, came out of her bedroom. I left the door ajar so I could easily hear her if she was restless in the night. I checked that Paula, Lucy and Adrian were taking turns in the bathroom. Even at their ages they still needed the occasional reminder to make sure they were in bed at a reasonable time. Some evenings, as with this evening, they were mostly in their bedrooms, doing their homework or relaxing, but at other times, especially at the weekends, they would all be downstairs in the living room, talking, playing a board game or watching television. I felt it was easier for a new child to relax and settle in if my family carried on as normal. I’d see them later before they went to bed, but now I went downstairs to write up my log notes.

All foster carers in the UK are required to keep a daily record of the child or children they are looking after. This includes appointments, the child’s health and wellbeing, education, significant events and any disclosures the child may make about their past. As well as charting the child’s progress, it can act as an aide-mémoire for the foster carer if asked about a specific day. When the child leaves, this record is placed on file at the social services. I wrote objectively and, where appropriate, verbatim about Melody’s arrival and her first day with us – about a page, which I secured in my fostering folder and returned to the lockable drawer in the front room.

I checked on Melody – she was fast asleep – and then as Adrian, Lucy and Paula came downstairs I spent some time talking to them before they went to bed. By 10.30 p.m. everyone was asleep and I put Toscha in her bed for the night and went up myself, again checking on Melody before I got into bed.

I never sleep well when there is a new child in the house. I’m half listening out in case they wake, frightened, not knowing where they are and in need of reassurance. But despite my restlessness and looking in on Melody three times, she slept very well, and I had to wake her at 7 a.m. to get ready for school.

‘Not going,’ she said as I opened her bedroom curtains to let in some light. ‘I need to go home and get my mum up.’

‘Melody, your mother will be able to get herself up, love. You’ll see her later at the Family Centre. Now get dressed, please. I want to go into school early today so I can buy you a new school uniform.’ She reluctantly clambered out of bed. ‘You can wear these for now,’ I said, handing her the fresh clothes I’d taken from my store.

‘Not more clean clothes!’ she sighed. ‘You must like washing.’

I smiled. She could be so quaint and old-fashioned with her remarks – an old head on young shoulders – but then of course she’d had to grow up quickly and take care of herself, living with her mother.

‘The washing machine does it,’ I said.

‘My mum and me had to go to the launderette.’

‘Yes, many people do that.’ I left her to get dressed.

Melody wasn’t used to a routine or having to leave the house on time to go to school, because she’d hardly ever gone to school, so I had to chivvy her along. She didn’t even know the name of her school, let alone where it was. I explained it was on the other side of town – about a thirty-minute drive in the traffic. Adrian, Lucy and Paula were of an age where they went to school by themselves, meeting friends along the way. Melody saw them briefly at breakfast and passed them on the landing and in the hall as we all got ready to leave. We left first, calling ‘goodbye’ and ‘see you later’ as we went.

‘What’s the time?’ Melody asked, bleary-eyed despite a wash, as we stepped outside into the cold morning air.

‘Eight o’clock. I can teach you the time if you like.’

‘Why?’

‘So you’re not late.’

Having never had to be anywhere regularly, punctuality must have been a bit of an alien concept to her. She shrugged and climbed into the back of the car, and I showed her how to fasten her seatbelt, closed her car door and got into the driver’s seat.

‘My mum knows the time,’ Melody said as I pulled away.

‘Good. Adults usually do.’

‘She’s still late, though, and misses things. It takes ages for her to wake and get up.’ Which was doubtless a result of her substance misuse.

‘What time we got to be in school?’ Melody asked after a moment.

‘School starts at eight-fifty, but it’s good to be there at least five minutes early. Today I’m hoping to arrive by eight-thirty so we can sort out your uniform.’

‘My mum went to the school a few times,’ she said as I drove.

‘Good.’

‘What time am I seeing her?’

‘Four o’clock until five-thirty,’ I said, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. ‘That’s an hour and a half. School ends at three-twenty, so I’ll collect you and drive straight to the Family Centre.’ I’d checked the location of the school and knew where it was in relation to the Family Centre. ‘Morning playtime will be around eleven o’clock and you’ll have lunch between about twelve and one o’clock,’ I added, trying to give her a sense of the day. Time is a difficult concept for children, but by Melody’s age most children are able to read the time.

‘So am I having my dinner at school like I did when I was with my mum?’ she asked.

‘Yes, you have school dinners,’ I confirmed.

‘I like school dinners, they’re free.’

While Melody had been living with her mother she was on benefits and would have been entitled to free school meals. Now she was in care I would pay for her school dinners and any other expenses; for example, her school uniform, outings, clubs, hobbies and so on – that’s what the fostering allowance is for.

I arrived at the school just before 8.30 a.m. and parked in a side road.

‘Why are we stopping here?’ Melody asked, peering through her side window.

‘That’s your school there,’ I said, pointing to the building on our left. It was a two-storey brick building surrounded by a tall wire-netting fence but it was clearly visible from the road.

‘Oh yeah, I remember now,’ she said.

‘Melody, when was the last time you were here?’ I asked, turning slightly in my seat to look at her.

‘I dunno.’ She shrugged.

I got out, went round to the pavement and opened her door, which was child-locked. She clambered out and we made our way towards the main entrance. As we entered the playground we passed some children playing and others were slowly joining them.

‘I remember coming here before Christmas,’ Melody said. ‘They had a Christmas tree.’

‘Was that the last time you were here?’ It was the third week in January now.

‘Think so,’ she replied. ‘It’s all a bit of a haze.’

We went through the main door into the reception area. Behind a low counter on my right was a small open-plan office where two ladies worked at desks. One came over and I introduced myself, explaining I was Melody’s foster carer.

‘News to me,’ she said. ‘Let me try to get hold of Mrs Farnham, our deputy head, she might know what’s going on.’ She turned her back and picked up a phone on the desk behind her. I threw Melody a reassuring smile. It wasn’t the best start to the school day. Usually when I take a child into school the staff know the child well and are genuinely pleased to see them. This school secretary appeared very distant and not to have recognized Melody, or been aware she was in foster care. That relied on the social worker notifying the school. Melody looked around at the walls displaying the children’s artwork as we waited.

‘Yes, they’re here now,’ I heard the secretary say on the phone. Then, ‘All right. I’ll tell her.’ She set down the phone and returned to the counter. ‘Mrs Farnham is coming down now to see you. Take a seat.’ She nodded to the row of four chairs against the far wall. Melody and I sat down as another parent came in to talk to the secretary.

A couple of minutes later the door to our right, which led from the school, opened and a woman came through it and walked straight to us.

‘Nice to see you again, Melody,’ she said with a very welcoming smile. Then to me, ‘I’m Mrs Farnham, the Deputy Head.’

‘Cathy Glass, Melody’s foster carer,’ I said, standing.

‘Lovely to meet you. Melody’s social worker phoned me late yesterday afternoon, so I haven’t had a chance to update the staff. Shall we go somewhere more private to talk? The Head’s office is free – I’m covering for her this week.’

I was relieved that someone knew what was going on. Melody and I followed Mrs Farnham through the door, up a short flight of stairs and into a large comfortable office overlooking the playground. The room was carpeted, with framed prints on the walls, a desk and filing cabinets at one end and a small sofa and two easy chairs at the other.

‘Do sit down,’ she said. Melody and I settled on the sofa as Mrs Farnham took one of the easy chairs. ‘How are you?’ she asked Melody, who was eyeing her cautiously. ‘We haven’t seen much of you in school.’ Which I thought was a tactful way of putting it. It is a legal requirement in the UK, as it is in most countries, that all children receive an education, and if they don’t the parent(s) can be prosecuted.

‘I’m all right,’ Melody said quietly, a little overawed at being in the Head’s office.

‘Melody tells me she thinks the last time she was in school was before Christmas,’ I said.

‘She’s right. I looked it up. Seventeenth of December, so exactly a month ago.’

‘She’ll be coming in every day from now on,’ I said.

Melody gave a small sigh and Mrs Farnham threw me a knowing look. ‘Melody joined our school in September, having moved into the area during the summer holidays, but she only ever attended a couple of days a week during the whole of the autumn term. Melody has a lot of catching up to do,’ Mrs Farnham added, as much for Melody’s benefit as mine. ‘She’ll have classroom support from a lovely teaching assistant, Miss May.’

‘I’ll help Melody at home,’ I said. ‘I have three secondary-school-aged children of my own and they have homework to do most nights.’

‘Excellent.’ I guessed Mrs Farnham to be in her late thirties, and her warm, child-friendly manner was combined with a quiet efficiency. Clearly the children in the school were her priority, but I sensed she could be firm when necessary, as any good teacher needs to be. ‘Melody is in Miss Langford’s class,’ she said. ‘She’ll introduce herself to you at the end of school. You’ll be collecting Melody?’

‘Yes, and bringing her in.’

‘Good. We gave her a school uniform from our quality seconds when she first started.’

‘She hasn’t brought it with her, or anything else,’ I said, ‘so I’ll buy her a new school uniform today if possible.’

‘Yes, of course. We stock most items here. Aren’t you lucky?’ she said, looking at Melody, who managed a subdued nod. ‘In fact, why don’t I ask our welfare lady, Mrs Holby, to sort out Melody’s uniform now so we can have a chat? Do you remember Mrs Holby?’ she asked Melody. ‘She gave you a uniform when you first arrived.’

Melody nodded uncertainly.

‘I’ll take you to her now and then you can come back here in your new uniform to say goodbye to Cathy.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘That is helpful. I’d like her to have a spare set of the uniform and the PE kit. Also, if your school has its own logoed book bag and PE bag, I’d like her to have those and anything else she needs.’

‘You’ve done this before,’ Mrs Farnham said with a smile as she stood.

‘Quite a few times,’ I admitted.

Melody looked a bit apprehensive as she left with Mrs Farnham. Unused to school and certainly never having had a complete new school uniform before, I guessed she was a bit overwhelmed, but Mrs Farnham was lovely. I sat back in the chair as the distant sounds of children laughing and shouting in the playground drifted in and occasional footsteps passed outside the door. A few minutes later Mrs Farnham returned. ‘Mrs Holby will bring Melody back here once they’ve finished, then you can settle up the bill at the office on the way out.’

‘Thank you.’

‘So how has Melody been with you?’ she asked, returning to her chair. ‘We hardly know her, we’ve seen so little of her.’

‘We had a good first night, although she’s worrying about her mother, but that’s natural. Once she’s seen her tonight at contact I think she will be reassured.’

‘I raised concerns about Melody with the social services halfway through last term,’ Mrs Farnham said. ‘On the few occasions she was in school, she arrived late, unwashed and hungry. Miss Langford, her class teacher, went to the address her mother gave us, but a man answered the door and said he’d never heard of her. It was one of those big Victorian houses in Station Road converted into small flats.’

‘Yes, that’s it. The social worker had a problem getting to see her too.’

Mrs Farnham nodded. ‘We met Melody’s mother in September when she first brought Melody to school, but that was the only time. Melody appears to have had very little schooling or parenting. Why wasn’t she taken into care sooner?’

‘I’m not sure exactly, but they moved around a lot, which means they could have evaded the social services.’

‘Melody will be staying with you now?’ Mrs Farnham asked.

‘Yes, until the final court hearing when the judge will make a decision on where she should live permanently.’

‘We’ll obviously do all we can to help her catch up with her schoolwork. We tested her when she first arrived last September and her results showed she was working at reception level, so about four years behind what she should be.’

‘Oh dear. That is a long way behind.’

‘We’ll test her again, but I doubt she’s improved much because she’s hardly been in school. Have you met her mother?’

‘Not yet. I should this evening at contact.’

‘She’s got a reputation for being very volatile. Other parents have seen her outside the school causing a scene. On one occasion, when she was rushing Melody to school late, she attacked a driver who didn’t immediately stop to let her cross the road. She swore at him and kicked his car. He called the police, but she’d disappeared by the time they arrived. Another time – I think it was in October – she screamed at a parent because her daughter wouldn’t play with Melody.’

‘Does Melody have any friends?’ I asked.

‘Not really. She wasn’t in school often enough to make friends. Also, when she did come she was grubby and had head lice, so the other children didn’t want to play with her. Hopefully that will change now. She looks so much cleaner already.’

‘I gave her a good bath last night and treated her hair.’

‘It shows,’ Mrs Farnham said. ‘There’s a couple of other children in the school I have concerns about who could do with a good wash. And if head lice aren’t treated, they quickly spread through the class.’

A bell suddenly rang outside, signalling the start of school. At the same time a knock sounded on the door. ‘Come in!’ Mrs Farnham called. Melody came in dressed in a new school uniform, followed by a woman I took to be the welfare assistant, Mrs Holby. ‘Don’t you look smart!’ Mrs Farnham exclaimed. Melody smiled proudly.

‘I’ll buy her some school shoes today,’ I said, glancing at the torn plastic trainers, which seemed even more noticeable now.

‘She’ll need some plimsolls for PE too,’ Mrs Farnham said. ‘We don’t stock them here.’

‘This is Mrs Holby, our lovely welfare assistant,’ she said, introducing her to me. ‘It’s time for lessons, so if you would like to go with her to the office, I’ll take Melody to her class.’

‘Thanks again,’ I said, standing. I said goodbye to Melody, told her to have a good day and that I’d meet her in the playground at the end of school. She went with Mrs Farnham while I accompanied Mrs Holby to the office, where I settled the bill for the uniform. She also gave me a school prospectus, which included term dates, and a form for my contact details, which I filled in there. I thanked Mrs Holby again and made my way out of the school. The playground was empty now, with all the children in their classrooms for the start of lessons. Outside the gates a few parents stood chatting in a small group.

Mrs Farnham had said that Melody’s mother, Amanda, had a reputation for being volatile and aggressive. Aware she would know it was highly likely that I had brought Melody to school, I kept a watchful eye out as I made my way to my car. I’d had impromptu meetings before with the parents of children I’d fostered. Sometimes they were friendly and just wanted a glimpse of – or a few words with – their child, but at other times they’d vented their anger at me for having their child taken into care. I didn’t know what Amanda looked like, but I couldn’t see anyone watching or following me and I made it safely to my car. As it happened, it was later that day that Amanda found the opportunity to turn her anger on me.