by Cathy Glass
She was gone. I replaced the receiver and went back along the landing, knocking again on the bedroom doors, this time slightly more insistent. ‘Come on, people. Time to get up! A ten-year-old boy is on his way, and I need some shopping.’
I continued along the landing and into the spare bedroom. A ten-year-old boy was very different to seven-year-old girls, and although political correctness said I shouldn’t gender stereotype, experience had taught me that the things that appealed to little girls – the fluffy toys, Barbie play-scene, jewellery-making set, and Cinderella duvet covers – would not appeal to a little boy. So I packed them away and in their place I laid out a set of model dragons, a Star Wars castle with dubious inhabitants, and a Simpsons duvet cover showing a big picture of Homer saying ‘D’oh’. These were always a safe bet with boys.
I still had no details about Tayo but I would learn more when the promised ‘someone’ from the team phoned. I only hoped I’d get the call before the child arrived. This wasn’t the best way to start a placement and I felt uneasy about the lack of preparation. What if the little boy arrived and I discovered he had dietary or health requirements and no time to address them?
I was also worried about the fact that Social Services were taking Tayo from school. In ideal circumstances, the child would visit a few days before the move to get a sense of the new environment and have time to adjust emotionally. Even if this couldn’t be arranged, most foster children had time to pack their favourite toys and some clothes. Not so in this case. Tayo had gone to school this morning, presumably expecting to finish his day and go home to his mother as usual. Instead, his life would change abruptly and he would be sent on an entirely different course, ending up at my house. With no warning of what was to come, he would probably arrive angry, upset and very confused, with just what he stood up in. I was sure I would have some clean pyjamas and underwear that would fit him until we had time to get his belongings – I had most sizes tucked away in my cupboards.
With all of this playing on my mind, I went downstairs to get some lunch. I heard bedroom doors open and footsteps along the landing as Lucy and Adrian emerged from their bedrooms and stumbled to the bathroom and shower. Just as I was sitting down for a quick sandwich, the phone rang. I hurried over to answer it. ‘Hello?’
‘Mrs Glass?’
‘Speaking.’
‘It’s Brian Williams, social worker from Children and Families. Binta asked me to phone you. About Tayo Mezer?’ He was on his mobile too.
‘Yes.’ I reached for the pen and paper; I always kept a set beside all of the four phones in the house.
‘I’m on my way to the school,’ Brian continued, ‘but we’re not sure if Tayo’s there. I’ve already alerted the police and they’re going to meet me there.’
‘Which school?’ I got in quickly.
‘Meadway.’
I jotted it down. ‘But you don’t know if he’s there?’
‘Mum said in court that he was at home, but the Head said he was at morning registration. When I phoned the school half an hour ago, they couldn’t find him. Once we’ve searched the building, the police will put out an alert. It’s possible Mum’s snatched him from the playground but not likely, as she was pretty drunk in court.’
‘I see,’ I said, concerned. This did not sound at all good. If the boy had been snatched by his mother, then they were now on the run. But if she hadn’t taken him then it appeared that he’d vanished of his own accord. My heart went out to him. Poor little boy. Somehow he must have found out what was happening, and had probably run for his life, petrified by what he thought must be waiting for him. Now he was going to be picked up by the police, which would only increase his distress, even though they were excellent at dealing with runaways. This placement was quickly going from bad to worse.
‘I’ll keep you posted,’ Brian said.
‘Before you go, do you have any more details about the child?’ I asked. ‘Other than his name and age, I have nothing.’
‘Neither have we. Didn’t Binta tell you?’
‘No? What?’
‘There’s no record of the child or his mother anywhere in the UK. They’re still searching computer data but it looks like they could be here illegally, although the boy’s English is perfect, which is odd.’
‘Which country are they from?’
‘Don’t know. His mother, Minty, didn’t produce any documentation in court.’ He paused. ‘I’m at the school now, I’ll phone as soon as I have anything.’
‘All right, Brian. Thank you.’
I put the phone down and looked at my notes. All I had written was the name of the boy’s school. This was a first for me. I’d never dealt with any placement with so little to go on but if Tayo and his mother were here illegally it would explain the lack of information.
I went back to the table and sat down. I’d just taken a bite of my sandwich when the phone rang again. I dashed over and picked it up.
‘Hi, Cathy. It’s Jill.’
I made a muffled noise of acknowledgement.
‘Sorry, have I caught you in the middle of lunch? I’ve just come out of my meeting. I phoned the team and they said Brian had been in touch. Any news?’
I swallowed and gave her a quick précis of the situation. ‘If Brian and the police can’t find Tayo at school then the police will put out an alert,’ I finished.
‘Oh dear.’ I could hear the concern in Jill’s voice. ‘The poor kid’s going to be in a right state by the time they get him to you. Do they have any idea where the family’s come from?’
‘No.’
‘OK, take him as an emergency placement. I’ll be back in the office in an hour. I’ll phone from there.’
‘Talk to you later then.’
I returned to my now forlorn-looking lunch and managed to finish it just before the phone rang again.
‘Cathy Glass speaking.’
‘Cathy, it’s Brian Williams. There’s no sign of him at the school, so the police are beginning a search. Hopefully we’ll find him before the end of the day, but he could be anywhere. I’ll phone when I have news.’
‘Thanks, Brian.’
Foster carers are used to feeling in the dark about the great goings-on in courts and council offices, and all the machinations that bring some little soul to our door. Often we feel that social workers don’t update us as much as they should, that there’s barely time in their busy days to tell us what’s going on. Not so in this case. I’d never had so many phone calls keeping me updated but in effect telling me nothing. And if I was starting to feel jittery with all this nonproductive activity, how much worse must the child be feeling?
Lucy appeared, washed and dressed. ‘What’s going on with the phone, Mum? It’s been non-stop all morning. You’re blocking the line.’
I smiled at this role reversal. I was usually the one reprimanding Lucy for hogging the phone. ‘I know, it’s about the ten-year-old boy, Tayo. They can’t find him.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Is he on the run? I’m sure he’ll turn up. Look, I’ll get the shopping. I’ve got to go into town anyway to get some more hair gel. Can I borrow five pounds until Saturday?’
I nodded. ‘Take it from my purse, and another twenty for the shopping. The list is on the side in the kitchen. Thanks, love, I really appreciate it.’
She disappeared.
There was a fifteen-minute phone respite while I made a mug of tea and tidied up the lunch things, before the phone rang again.
‘Cathy?’
‘Yes, hello, Brian.’
‘The police have found him.’
‘That was quick.’ I couldn’t help imagining a scared little schoolboy running for his life, puffing with exertion, before the police caught him.
‘He was in the library at school all along. He was reading a book.’
‘Really?’ I said, relieved. ‘Thanks, Brian. I’ll see you both later.’
Now all I had to do was wait.
Chapter Three
Manner
s Maketh Man
It must be distressing for any child to be taken into care, whatever their home circumstances but, as I waited for Tayo, I considered how much worse it must be for him. Here he was in a foreign country and his mother was obviously considered unable to look after him. She must have drowned her sorrows before arriving at court and by turning up drunk, she would have lost any chance of persuading the judge to let her take Tayo back home. No doubt Tayo had seen himself off to school that morning – it was probably the one place he felt safe. And then the police and a social worker had arrived without any warning while he sat in the library and whisked him away from everything that was comfortable and familiar. I felt for him, I really did.
The last telephone call from Brian had come just before one-thirty. The school was a twenty-minute drive away, so I guessed they’d be with me soon after two.
While I prepared myself to meet my mysterious new charge, Lucy left to go into town and Adrian came down, grabbed a bite to eat and wandered out to meet some friends. The phone rang again, but this time it was an old friend calling to wish me a happy New Year, and by the time we’d finished, it was three o’clock. There was still no sign of Tayo.
Jill phoned fifteen minutes later. ‘Is he with you?’
‘No. He was due here at two. I can’t think what the delay is. They’re only coming from Meadway.’
‘I’ll try and find out what’s going on.’
But as soon as we’d hung up, the phone rang again.
‘Hi, Cathy. It’s Brian. We’ve stopped by the office for the paperwork. We’ll be with you in half an hour.’
‘OK, Brian.’ I didn’t really mind but it was a little irritating. If Brian had told me he was coming via the office, I could have put the time to good use instead of waiting anxiously for the doorbell to ring.
Lucy got back from the shops and we both agreed we were feeling jittery. Despite over twenty years of fostering, I still found that the build-up to the arrival of a new child was nerve wracking. Lucy went up to her bedroom to listen to music. Paula returned from school and quickly disappeared up to her room, while I tried to pass the time plumping cushions and tidying everything within an inch of its life.
At just after four o’clock, the doorbell finally rang and I shot down the hall, my heart pounding.
‘Hello – Cathy?’ said the man I took to be Brian.
‘Yes, hello.’
‘This is Tayo.’
I was already looking at the boy standing confidently beside him. With pleasant open features, large dark smiling eyes, light brown skin and short black hair, he really was a very handsome little chap. Except he wasn’t little – at just under five feet, he was nearly as tall as me. He gave me a broad smile and offered his hand for shaking. I shook it and smiled back.
‘Hello Tayo. It’s lovely to meet you. Come in, both of you.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Tayo said.
Did I hear him right? I thought, astonished. In all my years of fostering, I’d never been addressed as ma’am. I don’t think most of my foster children would ever have heard the word. I exchanged a glance with Brian, who stood aside to let the boy come in first. Tayo stepped in and walked past me, confident and assured, but not brash.
‘Straight down the hall,’ I called to Tayo, who was already heading that way. ‘The lounge is directly in front.’ As Brian and I followed, I said quietly, ‘Is everything all right?’
He nodded. I wondered if Brian was new at the offices, as I hadn’t met him before. He looked like he’d been through the wringer today.
‘Would you like tea, or a coffee?’ I asked him as we entered the lounge.
‘Coffee please, milk and no sugar. Thanks.’
‘And what about you, Tayo? Would you like a drink?’
‘Yes, please, ma’am. Black tea with no sugar.’
I was slightly taken aback, not only with the continued use of ma’am but with the request of black tea, not a drink I was used to children asking for. I smiled. ‘OK, but please call me Cathy.’
He nodded. I went through to the kitchen, wondering where on earth the boy had acquired such impeccable, if slightly old fashioned, good manners. And his English was faultless with no trace of an accent. It didn’t add up.
I made the drinks, arranged the biscuits on a plate, and carried the tray back through to the lounge.
Tayo stood as I entered, and Brian and I exchanged another pointed glance.
‘Good boy,’ I said to Tayo, and passed him his drink and offered him the plate of biscuits.
‘Thank you,’ Tayo said, and was about to say ma’am again but stopped himself in time. I watched him as he sat upright on the sofa and sipped his tea, then, setting the mug on the coaster (which not even Brian had managed to do), he began eating his biscuit, cupping his free hand under it to avoid dropping the crumbs. Perhaps I should have used the best china cups and saucers, I thought. I noticed that Tayo’s shoulders and chest were quite broad and muscular under his fleece, and his neck thick and firm.
‘Do you like sport, Tayo?’ I asked curiously. He seemed to have an athletic physique.
‘Very much so …’ He hesitated, reluctant to use my name.
‘What do you play?’
‘Everything from table tennis to rugby, when I get the chance. Recently I’ve been doing more skate-boarding and roller-skating.’
His English was indeed perfect, and his accent was almost a public school one. With his confidence and good manners, he was nothing like the child I’d been expecting, nor like any child I’d ever fostered or known to have come into care.
I assumed Brian would now throw some light on Tayo’s background with the documents he’d collected from the office. He had finished his coffee and was delving into his briefcase. I smiled at Tayo. ‘This is the boring bit, I’m afraid, Tayo. There’s always lots of paperwork when someone comes to stay with me. But we’ll try not to take too long and once we’ve finished, I’ll show you your room.’
He smiled. ‘Thank you for having me. You’re very kind. Is all your family white?’
I glanced at Brian, surprised by the directness of Tayo’s question. ‘Yes. Well, my adopted daughter Lucy is part Thai. I’ve looked after children from many different ethnic backgrounds, though,’ I said quickly, to reassure him. ‘Why do you ask, Tayo?’
‘Mum was worried I’d be placed with black carers. But I’m not black – I’m white.’
I didn’t know what to say. Tayo was quite clearly mixed race, or of dual heritage as we’re now supposed to say – one of his parents or grandparents was obviously Afro-Caribbean. It was very concerning that he saw himself as white, and that it was an issue he had raised almost at once. A child’s cultural identity is of paramount importance if a positive self-image is to be cultivated. Why was he so vehemently opposed to the black part of him? What circumstances had made him that way? It sounded as though his mother might have had something to do with it, but now was not the time to question him.
‘Here we go – the dreaded paperwork. Placement Agreement and Essential Information Part One,’ Brian said, passing me two wads of stapled papers.
I reached over and took them just as his mobile went off. He answered: ‘Speaking. I’m here now.’ He listened, then looked at me. ‘It’s Jill, your support worker. She’s been called to an emergency and wants to know if you’re OK to continue alone?’
I nodded. Normally Jill, variously referred to as a link worker, support or supervising social worker, would be with me when a child was placed, but it was only really essential for new carers. By now I knew which forms to sign and what questions to ask.
‘She’ll phone you this evening,’ Brian said, closing his phone and returning it to his pocket.
‘Fine.’ I smiled again at Tayo. He had finished his drink and biscuit, and was now sitting patiently, his back upright, and hands folded in his lap. ‘Help yourself to another biscuit,’ I said.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he said, before he could stop himself
. ‘Whoops, sorry, I mean, Cathy.’
‘It’s OK. Whatever you feel comfortable with.’
I began flicking through the ten pages of the Placement Agreement, which was in a different format to the one I’d had for the twins the previous year. The administration department did have a habit of changing them, usually for the worse. I noticed the boxes for the information, which were normally hand-written by the social worker at the time of placement, were now already computer printed, and not very successfully.
‘We’ve just gone over to the new computer system,’ Brain explained, seeing my expression.
‘Another one?’ There always seemed to be some new system being implemented.
‘’Fraid so. It’s not without its teething problems, as you can see.’
‘No,’ I agreed. The first page contained the child’s full name, sex, and date of birth, which was shown as 12–12–1996 – or would have if it hadn’t collided with the heading.
‘So you’ve had a birthday recently?’ I asked Tayo, and he nodded. ‘Did you get anything nice?’
‘This jumper.’ He pulled at the bobbled and stained nylon sweatshirt he was wearing that appeared to be a cheap imitation of Nike and looked as though it had been worn every day since his birthday on 12th December.
‘Do you wear it for school?’ I asked. It didn’t look to me like a Meadway uniform.
He nodded, and suddenly looked downcast.
‘Oh, yes. I meant to say. He’ll need a full school uniform,’ Brian put in. ‘I’ll authorize the allowance, of course.’
‘Fine.’ Carers are given an extra payment towards the cost if a child needs a whole new uniform. ‘Is Tayo going to school tomorrow?’
‘Yes,’ Brian said.
I looked at Tayo. ‘We’ll go in early and I’ll introduce myself to the Head, then we’ll get you sorted out with some uniform.’
His expression lifted. ‘I’ve been wearing these trainers for school. I’m not supposed to.’
I looked at the badly worn grey plastic trainers. They were in a dreadful state. ‘If you can make do for one more day, we’ll go to the town after school tomorrow and buy school shoes. I’ll need you with me if I’m going to buy shoes so you’ll have to wear those until we can go shopping. Don’t worry, another day won’t hurt and I’ll explain to the Head why you’re still in them. Do you have any clothes at home?’
