by Cathy Glass
‘I did,’ he said, ‘but they got lost in the last move.’
‘OK, no problem,’ I said. Last move. That suggested there may have been others. ‘We’ll get you what you need tomorrow.’
I returned to the Placement Agreement and checked that my name and contact details were entered correctly, which they were, albeit at an odd angle, then looked down the page. Child’s legal status: Interim care order, I read. That was normal. I turned over the page to the set questions and their answers.
Is the child on the Child Protection Register? Yes. Have the carers been given a copy of the Care Plan? Yes – it was part of the form I held. Other significant information was blank. Mother’s name: Minty. The surname was blank, so too were her contact details, apart from a mobile phone number. Child’s health concerns: Mild asthma? Below that, Behavioural difficulties was answered with a blank space. Then the boxes containing the social worker’s contact details were filled in, except that the computer had missed the box and overprinted the line above.
‘Can I write down your extension number, Brian?’ I said. ‘It’s not come out on the form.’
‘Of course, but I don’t know how much use it will be to you. I’m only placing Tayo. Another team member will be taking over the case tomorrow.’
‘Do you know who?’ I asked, aware this was normal procedure.
‘Not yet. I’ll make a note on the file for them to call you first thing in the morning.’
I nodded and looked down again. The penultimate page was the actual contract of the placement, which the social worker and I would have to sign and date. The social worker would be signing to say all the information was correct to the best of his knowledge, and that he agreed to carry out duties specified in Section 11 of Foster Placement Requirements 1991. I would be signing to agree to look after the child under the same 1991 schedule, and also ‘to cooperate with all arrangements made by the local authority’, or in other words, the social workers. As if I wouldn’t!
I signed and passed it to Brian. ‘Is that my copy or yours?’ I asked helpfully, as he put his signature in the appropriate box.
He tutted. ‘Oh dear. I only brought one copy. That’s annoying – I’ll have to get it photocopied and put it in the post first thing tomorrow.’
‘Don’t worry, that’s fine,’ I said. ‘But I’d be grateful if you could make sure you do – you know that without it I don’t have any legal right to look after Tayo. And I’ve just noticed that the medical consent form isn’t signed either.’
This form gave me permission to seek any medical treatment that might be necessary and it was supposed to be signed by the parents, but in practice it rarely was when the child had been removed on an Interim Care Order. The parents were often angry and uncooperative and not in the mood for agreeing to anything. Without it, though, I couldn’t give Tayo so much as a spoonful of Calpol, the mild analgesic designed for young children. ‘Obviously I’ll need that too, so could you also ask whoever is taking over the case to send the medical consent form, please?’
‘Will do.’ Brian made a note.
I glanced at Tayo who was still sitting patiently, then down at the information form. ‘It says here you have mild asthma. Do you have an inhaler?’
‘No. I don’t need one now, only when I have a cold. Last year I borrowed a friend’s.’
Struth, I thought, shocked. A child borrowing medication! No one should use anything prescribed for someone else and certainly not a child, especially when an inhaler would be free. ‘Have you been to see the doctor about it?’
Tayo looked at me cautiously and seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. ‘Not since I’ve been in this country, no.’
‘And how long is that?’
He looked down and shrugged. ‘I don’t know, four or five years, maybe.’
I hid my shock at this and turned to Brian, saying quietly, ‘Is that right? Tayo’s been here for five years and has never seen a doctor?’
‘We don’t know. I’ll have a word with you later.’ He gave me a meaningful look, which clearly meant we’d discuss it out of Tayo’s earshot. ‘But could you take him for a check-up at the doctors as soon as possible please?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I smiled at Tayo. ‘It’s important to have your own medicine if you need it, not to borrow a friend’s. Everyone’s needs are different, and if you have asthma it should be monitored. OK?’
He smiled back but didn’t look wholly convinced.
I returned to the second set of forms: Essential Information Part 1. This was supposed to tell the carer everything they needed to know about the foster child. To quote from the guidance notes at the top of the form: ‘All questions must be answered before any child/young person can be left in a placement.’ Well, that’s the theory!
The form started well, with the correct name, date of birth, and Tayo’s gender. Below that were several blank boxes for dates and contact details, then the address and telephone number of the Social Services offices, which I was already very familiar with.
There was no home address but the principal carer was given as Minty, his mother. Ethnic origin was given as British/African, followed by a question mark, while the boxes for the ethnic origin of the birth mother and the father were blank. What culture does the child/young person identify with? was answered with White UK? From then on, box after box was blank. According to the form, he had no religion, spoke English, suffered from mild asthma and went to Meadway School. Minty’s mobile phone number was also included. There was nothing about Tayo’s father, or any siblings, or any extended family he might need to keep in touch with.
So, at the end of ten pages of official forms, all I had was what I knew to start with, and for once I didn’t think it was entirely the fault of Social Services.
I glanced up at Brian, resisting the temptation to quip something about it being a bit sparse.
‘Can we go somewhere to talk?’ he asked, his face sombre.
I glanced at Tayo. I didn’t want to leave him alone, all too aware we were discussing him. With a child of his obvious intelligence and understanding, it seemed downright rude and marginalizing.
‘Tayo,’ I said, ‘you’ve been great, sitting there through all of this. How about if I introduce you to my daughter, Lucy, and the two of you can have a game of cards or something, while Brian and I finish off?’
Although Paula was closer to Tayo’s age, I volunteered Lucy, not just because she’d been relaxing while Paula had been at school all day, but also because she had a gift for bonding with children I fostered, always being the first to connect with the new arrival. Perhaps it was because she had been fostered herself once, and knew what it felt like.
‘Lucy is with her sister, Paula, upstairs listening to music,’ I said, standing up. ‘I’ll just get her.’
I went upstairs, knocked on Lucy’s door and went in. She was sitting on her bed listening to her MP3 player but when she saw me, she took her earphones out. ‘Hi, Mum. What’s up?’
‘Tayo’s here. Could you do me a favour and keep him occupied while I have a chat to the social worker?’
‘Sure.’ She switched off the music and jumped off the bed. She was used to lending a hand when a child first arrived. ‘Is he hyperactive then?’
‘No. Not at all, he’s fine. It’s just that the social worker wants a word in private.’
She followed me back downstairs. As we went in, Tayo stood up politely and offered his hand for Lucy to shake.
‘Lucy, this is Tayo,’ I said, as a surprised Lucy shook the proffered hand.
‘Hi, Tayo,’ she said brightly. ‘Do you fancy a game of Uno?’
‘Very nice to meet you, Lucy. And yes, please, I would like to play Uno. I know that game.’
‘Great, I’ll get the cards.’
Brian and I left the two of them dealing a hand in the lounge and went through to the front room.
‘So I take it you’re still very much in the dark about Tayo’s past,’ I said, as I clos
ed the door.
Brian nodded. ‘We still haven’t come up with anything. Other than what you have on the forms, there’s nothing. No doctors’ records, no benefit records, no immigration records – not on the names they’ve given us, anyway. There’s just Tayo and his mother. No family, no history, nothing.’
‘I see,’ I said, thoughtfully. It certainly made a change from the usual thick case files of my foster children. ‘And what about the school? They must know something. How long has he been there?’
Brian sat down. ‘One term. Tayo appeared at the end of September. The school was one of the parties that raised concerns. The Head contacted us in December.’
‘One? There were others?’
‘Yes. There was also a taxi driver, who picked up Tayo’s mum a few times from home and thought there might be a child left alone, and an anonymous caller. We tried to see Tayo at school before Christmas but he vanished, then reappeared today. It’s their first day back.’
‘So you don’t know where he was over Christmas?’
‘No. He says he stayed with friends. And I gather he didn’t see Mum from when school broke up last year until yesterday.’
‘What? He wasn’t with her over Christmas?’
‘It seems not.’
‘Didn’t that make him anxious? Frightened?’
Brian shrugged. ‘Apparently not.’
This little boy was becoming more of a mystery. It was hard to imagine a child who didn’t seem to mind being apart from his mother over Christmas. I frowned. ‘And he’s been in the country for possibly five years?’ I asked.
‘That was the first I’d heard of it just now,’ Brian said. ‘Mum’s not saying anything. Perhaps Tayo will open up to you.’
‘Well, let’s hope so but it won’t happen overnight. He’s got to trust me first, and that takes time. How was Tayo when you collected him from school? He seems very relaxed now.’
‘It all went very smoothly, actually. He was playing chess with a friend in the library, and when we told him what was happening, he just put down his chess piece and said, “We’ll have to continue this tomorrow” and happily came with us.’
‘I see.’ I’d never heard of such a calm and collected response to being taken into care.
‘Whoever takes over the case will arrange the placement meeting,’ continued Brian. ‘They’ll invite Mum, but I’m not hopeful of her coming, even if we can contact her. There’s only her mobile and that’s not often switched on.’
‘And does she know our address?’
‘We’re not giving it yet. There are too many unknowns. Further down the line maybe, if you haven’t any objections.’
‘None that I can think of.’
‘Good.’ Brian smiled. ‘Well, that’s everything for now, Cathy. I’ll just say goodbye to Tayo.’
We went back to the lounge where Tayo and Lucy were finishing a second game of Uno and Tayo was about to win again, much to his obvious delight.
‘I’m going now,’ Brian said to Tayo as he picked up his briefcase.
Tayo stood to shake Brian’s hand. ‘Thank you, sir, for everything.’
Lucy raised her eyebrows and shot me a glance. I motioned for her not to say anything, although I doubted she would. We were well used to different, unusual, even bizarre behaviour in the children we fostered, although extreme politeness wasn’t something we usually had to contend with. If that’s as bad as it gets, I thought, we can certainly count our blessings.
After Brian left, I offered to show Tayo round the house before dinner. He was immediately on his feet, more relaxed now the social worker had left. I gave him my usual guided tour of the downstairs first, then upstairs to his bedroom.
‘Hopefully, we’ll be able to get some of your bits and pieces from Mum,’ I said. ‘It’ll make you feel more at home.’
‘This is fine, Cathy,’ he said, at last managing to use my name comfortably. ‘I don’t know where my things are.’ He abruptly stopped, and I knew he was saying nothing further.
I marvelled again at his self-possession. It was completely outside my experience. How long, I wondered, would it take a child like this to open up, and begin to reveal the truth about himself and his past?
Chapter Four
Settling In
Our first night seemed to go extremely smoothly.
Tayo asked me if it was all right if he stayed in his bedroom to watch the portable television until dinner was ready.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘That’s your room – you can come and go as you please. You won’t be disturbed there. And by the same token, Tayo, you must respect other people’s privacy when they’re in their rooms. We don’t go into each other’s bedrooms without being asked. OK?’
Tayo nodded and said, ‘Yes, Cathy’, before disappearing upstairs.
I wouldn’t normally have left a child unattended in their room for an hour on the first night but Tayo was different. It was obvious he had a maturity well beyond his age and, with no sign of any behavioural difficulties, there was no reason why he shouldn’t relax in his bedroom, as the girls were doing in theirs.
Adrian returned just after six o’clock and I served dinner at six-thirty. I showed Tayo his place at the table and as Paula and Adrian arrived, he stood and shook their hands. I saw Tayo instantly warm to Adrian, another male in the house, and I thought it was a pity for Tayo that Adrian would be going back to university in two weeks.
As I could have predicted, Tayo’s manners were impeccable at the meal table. He shook out his paper napkin and laid it across his lap, sat upright, used his knife and fork properly, and never once spoke with his mouth full, which was a glowing example to everyone. His gratitude at what for us was a routine and rather mundane meal of roast chicken, boiled potatoes and peas, knew no bounds. When I produced the dessert of a shop-bought apple crumble and instant custard, I thought he was going to hug me. He was the perfect guest, polite and grateful.
‘Tayo,’ I said, as a thought struck me, ‘have you often had meals at other people’s houses?’
He nodded. ‘Mum had some good friends and they were very kind to me.’
‘And you spent Christmas with some of her friends?’
‘Yes. I …’ He stopped and returned to his pudding, and I knew that was as far as any talk about Mum and home was going at this point.
At the end of the meal, Tayo helped clear the table without being asked, and then hovered, and asked if I needed help with the washing up, which again was a fine example to the others, although unfortunately there was no one around to witness it. The girls had gone to watch television and Adrian was getting ready to go out.
‘That’s very kind of you, but don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I have a dishwasher, I’ll load it.’
He still hovered, almost as if he liked the domestic feel of being in the kitchen and watching me go about my chores.
‘Have you lived in the house a long time, Cathy?’ he said after a while.
‘Yes, over twenty-two years.’
‘That’s nice. So your children have never had to move?’
‘No, darling, they haven’t.’
He was looking thoughtful and slightly sombre and I thought this was another opportunity to find out a little more.
‘Have you had lots of moves, Tayo? It can be very unsettling if you never get to stay anywhere for long.’
His eyes met mine. ‘Yes. I don’t like it. I lose my things and some of the people are nice but not all.’ He thought and then said, ‘Will I have to move from here?’
‘Not until everything is sorted out. Did Brian explain to you about the court process?’
‘Yes, he said he thought it would take nearly a year.’
‘That’s right. I know it sounds a long time but it goes very quickly. The judge will want to make sure your next move is the last one and that you’re looked after properly until you are an adult. He’ll also ask what you want to do so that he can bear it in mind when he makes his decision. Did Brian mention the
Guardian Ad Litum?’
Tayo nodded. ‘He said that was the person appointed by the court to watch out especially for me.’
‘Yes. Well, that person will talk to you and then tell the judge your wishes. At your age you won’t have to go to court. It all takes time and during that time you’ll stay with us, go to school, and try not to worry. If you like sport, we could enrol you in some clubs.’ I was mindful that a child of Tayo’s age and intelligence could well spend a year of his life fretting. Younger children and those with learning difficulties were in some ways protected by their limited understanding.
‘Thank you, Cathy,’ he said. ‘But I know what I want right now.’
‘Do you?’ I asked, and I expected him to say, ‘Yes, I want to stay with my mother.’
He nodded. ‘I want to live in Nigeria.’
I stopped what I was doing and looked at him. ‘I see,’ I said slowly. ‘Is that where you used to live?’
He gave a small nod, then his gaze slid away and I knew that he would say no more at present. ‘I’ll watch the television now, if that’s all right?’ he said.
‘Yes, of course, love. See you later.’
He smiled as he turned, and with a little hop, jogged off down the hall and upstairs, with the ease of someone who had been with us for years rather than a couple of hours.
Nigeria? Nigeria had not been mentioned before or Brian would have said. This must be a new piece of information, and could be the first bit of the jigsaw of Tayo’s past that would, I hoped, slowly be pieced together over the months ahead.
When I’d finished clearing away, I went through to the front room to start a file on Tayo. It was something I had to do for all the children I fostered. Once the child had left me and the file was complete, I had to lock it away in a filing cabinet in my room; these files are highly confidential and have to be kept for twenty years. They could be wanted by a judge in a court case in years to come, and are available for scrutiny by the Social Services or the child at any time now or in the future. The five-drawer metal filing cabinet was already pretty full.
