Читать книгу A Long Way from Home: Part 3 of 3 - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 6

The strain of having Anna live with us was taking its toll on Adrian and Paula. Since she’d arrived I had hardly spent a minute with them, and they were looking forward more than usual to spending the day with their father on Sunday, when he would take them out somewhere nice. He saw them every month and phoned in between. Regardless of what I thought of him leaving us, I didn’t let it impact on Adrian and Paula’s relationship with him. I told Anna they were seeing their father and I wondered if this would prompt a comment from her about seeing her own parents. She’d hardly mentioned them at all since she’d arrived, which was very unusual. Most children who come into care, even those who have been abused by their parents, pine for them, want to see them as soon as possible and often ask when they can return home. Anna had originally said she didn’t want to see her mother. Had that changed? Apparently not. She didn’t mention wanting to see her parents at all – not then, at least.

Once Adrian and Paula had left with their father, I asked Anna what she would like to do and suggested the cinema, a park (the weather was cold but dry) or an indoor activity centre. She didn’t want to do any of these, so I said we could do something at home then. She shrugged and didn’t offer a better suggestion, so I opened the toy cupboard in the conservatory and asked her to choose some games we could play together. The phone rang and I answered it in the living room. It was my mother; we usually spoke a couple of times a week, but now I said I’d have to call her back later for a chat. When I returned to the conservatory Anna was nowhere to be seen. I’d only been away from her for a couple of minutes. I went round the downstairs calling her name and then upstairs. My bedroom door was wide open and I went in to find her going through my wardrobe.

‘Anna, whatever are you doing?’ I asked, going over.

‘Nothing,’ she said. But she didn’t immediately stop.

‘That’s private,’ I said, and closed the wardrobe door. ‘Do you remember when you first arrived, I explained our bedrooms were private and we didn’t go into each other’s rooms unless we were asked?’

‘You go into mine,’ she said.

I was taken aback. It wasn’t the reaction of an average five-year-old, even one with behavioural issues. ‘Yes, because I am your carer and I look after you. I go into your room to make your bed, put your clothes away and keep it clean and tidy. At your age it’s part of my responsibility. When you are older you can do it yourself. Now come on, out of here, we’re going downstairs to find a game to play.’

She didn’t move, but stood with her back to the wardrobe. ‘I go into my parents’ bedroom whenever I want,’ she said brazenly.

‘That’s up to them,’ I said.

‘No, it’s up to me.’

I believed her, and not for the first time I saw that the distinction between adult and child in their house had become blurred. This, among other things, would make disciplining Anna very difficult. Children need to see the adult in the parent, set apart from them, in order to respect and be guided by them, until they become adults when (hopefully) they have learned what they need to be responsible for themselves.

‘Well, in this house we don’t go into each other’s rooms unless asked,’ I reiterated. ‘Now, come on downstairs and I’ll choose us a game to play.’ This was enough for her to leave.

‘I’m going to choose the game, not you!’ And she rushed out.

I closed my bedroom door. I didn’t want to have to start locking it as I had done with one young person I’d fostered, but I might have to if Anna kept going in. Apart from the privacy issue, I had items likes scissors and nail varnish remover in my room, which could be harmful in a young child’s hands.

Downstairs Anna was already rummaging in the toy cupboard. Taking out a large, brightly coloured jigsaw puzzle suitable for quite young children, she took it to the table. I sat on the chair next to her but it soon became clear she didn’t want me to join her, so I simply sat beside her. When the puzzle was only half complete she gave up, despite my offer to help her finish it, and chose another. The second didn’t get completed either, but the third did. Then she wanted to crayon, then ten minutes later paint, then model with Play-Doh, and so the day continued with a break for lunch.

Usually when I have one-to-one time with the child I’m fostering I find our time together is enjoyable and it advances our relationship, with the opportunity to talk and break down barriers. But I didn’t feel that with Anna, not at all. Although I stayed close by her as she played, she didn’t want me to join in any of the activities and continued to reject me and shut me out of her world. Any questions or comments I made she answered with a shrug or ‘don’t know’, or she just ignored me. It was hard work and the day disappointing. Also, not only had our one-to-one had no positive effect on Anna, I discovered later it had actually had a negative one. When Adrian and Paula returned Anna clearly resented them being back, as she was no longer the centre of attention. She told Adrian she didn’t like him and that his father would die soon.

‘Anna, that’s a hurtful thing to say, and untrue,’ I said.

She shrugged dismissively, then pushed Paula out of her way so hard she fell over. I told her off again and said she’d lost television time. It was an impotent sanction as Anna barely watched television, but I had to do something.

‘Don’t care,’ she said, and clearly didn’t.

The atmosphere was strained, with Adrian and Paula even more wary of Anna now, and at dinner they weren’t their usual chatty selves after a day out with their father. Of course I felt guilty for allowing this to happen. After dinner I read to Adrian and Paula while Anna, who didn’t want to listen, played with one of her toys. Then I began their bath and bedtime routine, taking Anna and Paula up first.

‘Why do I always have to go up before Adrian?’ Anna grumbled.

‘Because you’re younger than him.’

It was around ten o’clock again when Anna finally settled and stopped getting out of bed, and as usual once asleep she slept through until I woke her the following morning for school. I praised her, but not too much, for my amateur psychology said that if Anna thought she was starting to cooperate she would rebel and go back to square one. The following night, to my absolute delight and relief, after I’d said goodnight and come out of her room she didn’t leave her bed, not once! Nor the night after, so I knew we had turned a corner with this issue at least. She might relapse, but it would be easier to correct the next time – the hard work was done here. And this wasn’t just about us all having a good night’s sleep, but about Anna doing what the adult looking after her had asked.

The next morning at eleven o’clock Jill visited as arranged. I made us coffee and we settled in the living room, with the heating turned up and Toscha asleep on her favourite chair. Her visits usually lasted about an hour, but she was with me for nearly two as there was so much to discuss – an indication of how complex Anna’s needs were. By the time she left there was just an hour before I had to return to collect Anna from school. The next time I’d see Jill would be at Anna’s review in three days’ time.

As well as managing Anna’s challenging behaviour I was trying to help her sort out the muddle of thoughts about past and present and who her ‘real’ parents were. The longer Anna was with me the more I appreciated what her teacher, Mrs Taylor, had said about Anna confusing the past and present. So successful had Anna’s parents been in doing what is seen as the right thing and making Anna aware of her origins that it had created confusion, mixed loyalties, insecurity and uncertainty in her. If I asked her about home, she was unsure if I meant the orphanage, home with her birth mother or home with her adoptive parents. Similarly, if I mentioned her mother she’d say, ‘Which mother?’ She told me her father was dead. I didn’t know if her natural father was dead or not, the paperwork didn’t say, but certainly her adoptive father – the one she should have thought of as her father – was alive. Lori was in the process of tracing him.

What I had also noticed was that if Anna mentioned a memory from her early years, before the adoption, it was always of a scene in one of the photographs in her Life Story Book. Sometimes she repeated the caption her parents had written beneath, for example: ‘My mother is a lovely lady. She was very brave outside the court.’ Or, ‘I went on a plane. An hour to landing.’ So that I thought most of her ‘recollections’ were in fact false memories from the Life Story Book. If I asked her anything outside of these, such as, ‘Did you have toys at the orphanage?’ or, ‘What did you have to eat there?’ she didn’t know. I’m not saying she didn’t have any memories of her early years, just that most of what she believed she remembered appeared to be from the photographs and what her parents had told her. It was something I would bring up with her social worker and possibly at the review.

All children in care have regular reviews. The child’s parent(s), social worker, teacher, foster carer, the foster carer’s supervising social worker and any other adults closely connected with the child meet to ensure that everything is being done to help the child, and that the care plan (drawn up by the social services) is up to date. Very young children don’t usually attend their reviews, whereas older children do. I’d received the review forms in the post, which Anna and I were expected to fill in and I would take to the review. There’d been a note enclosed from Lori saying she wouldn’t be able to see Anna before the review, but as her parents were being invited and there was no contact at present she didn’t think it was appropriate for Anna to attend. At her age not many children did attend anyway, and their views were expressed through the review form and their foster carer.

Given Anna’s general lack of cooperation, I wasn’t expecting her to be at all interested in completing her review form, but the expectation is that the carer tries. It is a child-friendly booklet with colourful illustrations and questions designed to ascertain the child’s feelings and wishes on being in care. After dinner that evening I asked Anna to remain at the table (while Adrian and Paula went into the living room) and, taking the booklet, I sat beside her and explained about the review and the questions. She was interested and grabbed the booklet from my hand. I knew she couldn’t read the questions or write her responses, so I said, ‘I’ll read the questions to you and then you tell me what you want to say and I’ll write it.’ This was what I usually did. She nodded, which was a first.

‘Great.’ I picked up my pen, slid the booklet so it was between us and I could see the words, and read out the first question. ‘Do you know why you are in care?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Can you tell me why,’ I encouraged, ‘so I can write it down?’

She thought for a moment. ‘Because I’ve been very bad at home.’

I looked at her, taken aback. ‘No, love, that’s not the reason. You’re not bad. Your mother was finding it difficult without your dad and needed time alone.’ No child should ever believe themselves to be bad, and it wasn’t Anna that was causing the problems but her behaviour.

‘Mummy needed to be alone because of me,’ Anna said quietly and without emotion.

‘Who told you that?’ I asked.

‘No one. I just know.’ I continued to look at her. ‘Write it,’ she said, nudging my arm. ‘Why aren’t you writing? You have to write because I have been bad at home.’

‘You really want me to put that?’

‘Yes.’

So I wrote it.

The next question asked if the child knew who their social worker was and Anna shook her head. I told her it was Lori and then I wrote Anna didn’t know her name so I reminded her. I said the words out loud as I wrote them so Anna knew exactly what I was writing.

The next question asked: Would you like to see more of your social worker? Anna shook her head so I wrote No.

The next question asked what she liked about living with her foster carer.

‘Nothing,’ she said without any need to think.

‘Nothing at all?’ I asked, feeling a little hurt. She shook her head. ‘What about the milkshakes and puddings I make you? You like those.’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Well, you eat them.’

She shrugged. ‘Write nothing,’ she said, nudging my arm again.

So I wrote Nothing and wondered what the review would make of this.

The next question asked what she didn’t like about living with her foster family and Anna had plenty to say. ‘I don’t like you, I don’t like Adrian and Paula, I don’t like your cat, I don’t like your house and I don’t like having to stay in my bed.’ There was so much it barely fitted in the space provided.

‘Anything else?’ I asked.

‘Yes. I don’t like you,’ she said again.

‘I think we’ve already covered that,’ I said, pointing to the first line. I then turned the page and read out the next question. ‘What has gone well for you since your last review? I’ll write N/A, which stands for not applicable,’ I said, ‘as this is your first review.’

She eyed me suspiciously. Likewise the next question was: What has gone badly since your last review? I read it out and told her I was writing N/A again.

Who are your friends? was the next question. Anna said, ‘Don’t know.’ Which was very sad. Most children of Anna’s age can name a few good friends.

‘Who do you play with at school?’ I asked.

‘Anyone.’ She shrugged despondently but I could see the pain in her eyes. I didn’t push it further as I knew from Mrs Taylor that Anna was struggling to make friends because she was very bossy and controlling. I wrote Anna doesn’t know who her friends are. The next question asked if the child would like to see more of their friends and Anna shrugged, so I wrote Anna wasn’t sure. The following question was If you have a problem, who do you talk to? She looked puzzled, so I rephrased it.

‘If you have something worrying you, who would you tell?’

‘Mrs Taylor,’ she said.

I wrote Mrs Taylor, Anna’s teacher. Interesting, as most children would have said Mummy. ‘You know you can always talk to me and tell me your worries?’ I said. Anna ignored me, so I moved to the final question. ‘Is there anything you want to ask?’

She shrugged, then said, ‘Will I go home?’ A question asked by most children in care and I wrote it down, but Anna was looking at me for a reply.

‘I don’t know, love,’ I said, ‘but for now I will look after you. You won’t have to move again until everything is sorted out.’

‘Will I have to go on a plane again?’

‘Not unless we all go on holiday.’

‘When can I see my mummy?’

‘Your adoptive mother?’ I clarified.

Anna nodded.

‘I’m not sure yet. Would you like to?’

‘Yes,’ she said quietly.

My heart clenched. ‘I’ll write that down too then: Anna would like to know when she can see her mummy,’ I said as I wrote.

But would her mother want to see her? I had no idea, but I sincerely hoped so.