by Cathy Glass
I knew this from other children I’d fostered who’d attended play therapy, but not the reason behind it. ‘Why is that?’ I now asked.
‘I wondered the same thing,’ another parent said.
Marina looked slightly taken aback. Perhaps no one had ever asked before. She took a breath and addressed us all.
‘Play therapy is designed to encourage the child to explore their personal world through art and craft. We provide a safe environment that allows them to get in touch with their innermost thoughts and feelings through the process of creation. These are sensory-based experiences – visual, tactile, kinaesthetic – which encourage the child to express and record their experiences, perceptions, feelings and imagination, which they may not be able to verbalize. What they produce is very personal to them and they may want to return to explore it at a later date, so we keep it here safe.’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I think I understand.’
‘I don’t,’ the other woman said under her breath.
On Thursday evening we baked and iced cupcakes, ate two each and put the rest in the cake tin. This was the week Melody didn’t visit her mother, but I would still go. The following day I took some out for Amanda and wondered if any of my family would notice that the cakes were disappearing faster than would have been expected had it just been us eating them. My visit to Amanda that afternoon was very similar to my previous one. We spent some time in the lounge and then went to her room, where we looked through the photograph album. I’d no idea if Amanda knew who I was, although I told her a few times. Once she said Melody’s name as we looked at her photo. I said, ‘Yes, well done. That’s your daughter, Melody. She’s at school now. She’ll see you next week.’ But that was it. As usual I left her the box of cakes and replenished the fruit bowl. I also asked a care assistant if Amanda needed anything, but was reassured she didn’t.
Friday was also the last day of Adrian’s exams and when I returned home he was already in and relaxing. He would still have to go into school until the end of term, but the lessons were vocational for those who’d taken exams to help them decide on a career and choose the subjects they wanted to study at a higher level.
Jill paid one of her statutory visits the following week and, having updated her, I made my suggestion for including play therapy in foster-carer training to give us a better understanding of what happened in a session. She thought it was a good idea and said she’d pass on my suggestion. I also told her I was seeing Amanda every other Friday when Melody didn’t. She couldn’t see a problem with that but pointed out that if Melody found out I’d have to explain my reasons for not telling her. She also said it was nice of me to go. I shrugged off her comment. I wasn’t visiting Amanda to ‘be nice’. I was going because I had got to know her, was looking after her daughter, and because she was very much alone in the world. It reassured me as much as anything that she was being well looked after. I told Jill that I doubted Amanda knew who I was or remembered my visit after I’d gone.
‘Or maybe she does,’ Jill said, ‘in which case your visits are even more important.’
Our weekday routine continued and towards the end of June Lucy and Paula had end-of-year exams, and Neave visited. She didn’t have any more to tell me but said family finding was ongoing for Melody. I updated her on how Melody was doing, including swimming and her visits to her mother. I said I felt that Amanda’s disease had plateaued for the time being, as I hadn’t noticed much change in her in the last month, and Neave agreed that was the nature of the illness. I told her that Melody was a little ambivalent towards the play therapy but didn’t mind going. At some point Marina would write a report for Neave.
School broke up the third week in July for the long summer holidays, and as Melody was now at home I had to suspend my visits to Amanda on alternate Fridays, but obviously still took Melody as normal. Although the weather was lovely and some residents were outside in the courtyard, Amanda never wanted to go out – unlike Mr and Mrs Bennett. We always followed the same routine: spent time in the lounge (doing occupational therapy if the therapist was there), then went to Amanda’s room. One day when we arrived there was a police car parked outside.
‘I wonder what’s happened?’ Melody asked excitedly.
As we let ourselves in through the outer door we could see two police officers through the inner glass door talking to three members of staff, one of whom I recognized as the manager. Mr and Mrs Bennett were also there. Once we’d signed in and were admitted, I heard the manager thanking the police officers for returning them. I guessed she was referring to Mr and Mrs Bennett. In the lounge, I soon learnt that they had slipped out when the door had been left open during a delivery of catering supplies. Thankfully their absence had been noticed as soon as the lorry had left and the police had been called. They were found just ten minutes away, but the care home’s security was being reviewed, as clearly they and the other residents were highly vulnerable and could easily come to harm out alone. Having said that, you have to admire their persistence.
I hadn’t booked for us to go away during the school summer holidays, but we had plenty of days out, including trips to the coast, theme parks, the zoo and other places of interest that suited everyone. My children were growing up quickly and I knew it wouldn’t be long before they didn’t all want to come on every family outing, so I was making the most of it while they did. Adrian and Paula also saw their father. Lucy saw her birth mother very occasionally. She phoned if she was in the area, but we hadn’t heard from her for a while. Lucy had grown used to this and, although she loved her, she accepted her mother’s shortcomings.
Neave telephoned in respect of Melody’s next review, which was due in August. The previous two reviews had been held at Melody’s school but the school was closed for the summer holidays, so Neave asked if it could be held at my house – reviews are sometimes held in the foster carer’s home. I said that was fine and Melody could play in another part of the house until it was her turn to speak. Then, almost as an afterthought, Neave added, ‘The family-finding team think they may have found a good match. I’m going with them to meet the woman at the start of September. She’s away on holiday at present.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Nothing is definite yet, so please don’t say anything to Melody.’
‘No, of course not. Who is she?’
‘A single woman in her forties with a responsible job. She has no other children, but her work is demanding. I have some concerns that I’ll discuss with her when I meet her. That’s about it for now, really. Can you tell Melody I’ll see her at her review?’
‘Yes,’ and we said goodbye.
Sharing information with foster carers has improved dramatically since I first started fostering – see my book Cut – but it still has some way to go. I now felt marginalized; I’d been told virtually nothing about this prospective adopter who could become Melody’s new mother, not even her name. Where did she live? What was the nature of her work? What were the concerns Neave had? She’d said she was in her forties with a demanding job and no experience of children, so was she really right for Melody? I doubted it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Coping?
The forms arrived for Melody’s next review and as I helped her with the spellings it struck me how much her literacy skills had improved since she’d been with me. I praised her. She wanted to learn and do well, for as her mother had told her, if she studied and passed her exams, she’d get a good job. I thought it was a great pity that Amanda didn’t know how well her daughter was doing, and I suggested to Melody that she took in some of her schoolwork to show her mother on our next visit. I assumed she’d think it was a good idea, but Melody said dejectedly, ‘What’s the point? Mum won’t know what it is or that I’ve done it. She doesn’t even know me anymore.’
I looked at her carefully. ‘Melody, we can’t be sure of that. No one knows how much your mother understands – or any of the patients there.
She still likes looking at the photographs of you and has kept the letter you wrote. I think she’d like to see your schoolwork.’
‘All right,’ she agreed with a shrug. ‘I’ll take some in.’
‘Excellent. Good girl.’
So on our next visit Melody took in a large folder containing selected items of her schoolwork, but unfortunately Amanda wasn’t interested. We both tried showing her the work – in the lounge and in her room – but she just kept pushing it away and then standing and walking around. Indeed, she spent most of the time walking and didn’t sit still for long, not even in her room to look at the photograph album. Understandably, Melody was hurt and lost patience. ‘I don’t know why I come to see you,’ she snapped.
I tried again to engage Amanda in the schoolwork and photographs but without success. Eventually I decided to cut short our visit, as clearly it wasn’t a positive experience for Melody. I suggested to Melody that she could leave her schoolwork in her mother’s room so she could look at it later. She left it on the bed and we said goodbye. Amanda didn’t so much as look at her daughter and simply walked out of the room and along the corridor in the direction of the lounge.
Melody and I signed out of the Visitors’ Book and left. ‘I expect your mum will look at your work later when she is more settled,’ I said.
‘Who cares!’ Melody replied moodily.
I paused by the car before we got in and looked at her. A warm breeze blew from the hills. ‘Melody, I know it’s difficult for you, seeing your mother like this. If ever you feel you want to visit less often or not at all, you must tell me. You know you don’t have to come. You could write letters and send her cards instead.’
She shrugged. ‘I want to keep coming, but why has she started walking up and down like Mr Boo-Boo and the others? She didn’t used to.’
‘No. I think it’s part of her illness. A stage she might be going through.’
The next time we visited, Amanda was the same, so I assumed her dementia had advanced some more.
There were only four of us at Melody’s review. No one from her school was able to come as they were all on their summer holidays, as was the Guardian. So Neave, Jill, the IRO and me settled in my living room. The patio door was slightly open and through the gap came the distant cries of happy children playing in a garden further up the road.
‘Reviews in August are often sparse,’ the IRO said, but we still went through the formality of introducing ourselves. Paula and Lucy were keeping Melody amused in the front room.
The IRO noted apologies for absence and as usual I was asked to speak first. I said that Melody was healthy, up to date with her dental and optician’s check-ups and continued to do well at home and at school. I said she had begun attending CAMHS but was questioning the point of it, as she wasn’t allowed to bring home the artwork she made there each week. I then explained what Dr Marina Short had said and the IRO made a note. I read out Melody’s teacher’s comments on her end-of-year report – a copy of which had been sent to Neave. I talked candidly about our visits to see Amanda and that sometimes they could be very difficult, but that Melody still wanted to go. I confirmed I was keeping Melody’s Life Story Book up to date. This is a record of the child’s time with me and includes photographs and memorabilia and is theirs to keep. I said that her swimming was going well, although she hadn’t joined any out-of-school activities yet – something I’d raise with her again at the start of the new term. I mentioned the outings we were going on during the summer holidays and I finished by adding that I understood from Neave that a possible adoptive match had been found, although Melody wasn’t to be told yet.
The IRO wrote, thanked me, and asked Neave to speak. She confirmed what I’d said – that Melody was happy and continued to make steady progress. She said that the application the family-finding team had received in respect of Melody was from a single woman who had already been approved to adopt. She said she was going to visit her on the 3rd of September and that this was one of two matches for Melody. I wondered why the other one had been discounted, but we weren’t told.
‘If it goes ahead, when would you take this to panel?’ the IRO asked Neave. Although the prospective adopter had been approved to adopt, the match would still need to be passed by the adoption panel – this was usually before the child and adopter met.
‘October,’ Neave said, ‘so we’ll have it for the final court hearing in November.’
I met Jill’s gaze. ‘So you’d be looking to move Melody in late November or early December?’ Jill asked Neave.
‘Yes, if it is a good match and it goes ahead. I have some reservations, which need addressing first. Then I’ll draw up the Adoption Placement Plan in October with a view to moving Melody after the final court hearing.’
‘What about contact?’ Jill asked. ‘It’s fortnightly now.’
‘We’ll reduce it again in preparation for the move.’
The IRO nodded and wrote, while I considered what I’d heard. I’d learnt no more about the prospective adopter or what Neave’s reservations were, and it wasn’t appropriate for me to ask now. If the adoption did go ahead, I’d learn more and be part of the process for introducing Melody to her adoptive mother and then the move, which sounded as if it would be taking place not long before Christmas. While I still had doubts it was going to happen at all, foster carers have to be prepared to accept that at some point the child they are looking after, and have grown close to and loved, might be moved. It’s for this reason that some people who would like to foster don’t, and I fully understand why. I liken a child leaving a carer to a type of bereavement – the loss, sorrow and adjustment. Sometimes they keep in touch, but that relies on the child’s parent or guardian doing so, and many do not.
Jill was then asked to speak and as usual stated her role, said she monitored all aspects of my fostering and that I continued to provide a high level of care. She concluded by saying, ‘I have no doubt that if Melody is moved to an adoptive home, Cathy will ensure that the transition goes smoothly.’
‘Thank you,’ the IRO said. He made a note and then looked up. ‘Does anyone want to add anything to this review? If not I’ll ask Melody to join us.’
‘I’m finished,’ Neave said, and Jill and I both nodded.
I went into the front room where the girls were engrossed in a game of Monopoly. ‘Melody, can you come in now, love?’
‘In a minute,’ she said, concentrating and without looking up. ‘It’s my go next.’
‘It needs to be now,’ I said. ‘We can’t keep them waiting. You can play the game again later.’
Lucy and Paula were still intent on the board, but then realized Melody was needed now.
‘I know it’s a bummer, but you have to go to your review,’ Lucy said.
‘Language,’ I lightly admonished.
‘We’ll play when you’ve finished,’ Paula told Melody.
Reluctantly she stood. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said and, leaving the game, came with me. In the living room, faced with three official-looking adults, notepad and pens on their laps and briefcases beside them, Melody lost her bravado. She stopped dead and looked at them.
‘Hello, Melody,’ the IRO said, smiling encouragingly. ‘You remember me from your last review?’ Melody nodded. ‘Have a seat, next to Cathy if you like.’ Jill moved along to make room.
‘So tell us how you have been doing since your last review,’ the IRO said.
‘OK,’ Melody said quietly.
‘I hear you are doing well at school.’
‘Yes,’ she said in the same small voice.
‘You like school then?’
She nodded.
‘And you’re still seeing your mother at the care home. How is that going?’
‘OK, but she doesn’t always know who I am.’
‘That must be difficult for you,’ the IRO said.
‘Sometimes it is.’
‘Thank you for completing your review form.’ It was on his lap and h
e now opened it. ‘I’ll read some of it out, if that’s all right?’ Melody nodded. ‘You’ve put that you feel happy most of the time, which is very positive.’
‘Yes, I wrote all those sentences myself.’
‘I know. Cathy told me. That’s excellent.’
‘Well done,’ Jill added.
‘I see that Lizzie is still your friend,’ the IRO continued, going through the booklet, ‘but you have other friends too. And if you have any problems you tell Miss May, Cathy, Lucy and Paula, which I believe is what you put last time.’
‘Well, it’s true,’ Melody said a little indignantly. I saw Jill smile.
‘Do you have any problems now?’ the IRO asked.
Melody shook her head.
As he neared the end of the booklet I saw Melody shift to the edge of the sofa ready to leave. The IRO paused and cleared his throat before reading out the next question and Melody’s response, and I knew why. Her reply had choked me up when she’d written it.
‘The next question asks if you have any questions about what is going to happen in the future?’ the IRO said. ‘And you’ve written, When will my mummy die?’
The room fell silent. Even the cries of the children playing outside seemed to stop in sympathy. No one spoke for a few moments or made eye-contact. I heard Jill give a heartfelt sigh.
