by Cathy Glass
‘Bye, Mum,’ Max said. ‘See you tomorrow.’ Kissing her cheek, he left her bed.
‘See you tomorrow,’ I said. Caz nodded and Summer just stared at me.
The ward was hot and stuffy and Max yawned repeatedly on the way out of the building, but once outside in the fresh air he perked up. ‘Have we got time to put up my posters tonight?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And tomorrow we’re going to play in the tent?’
‘We are.’
‘I’m hungry. Can I have a snack when we get home?’
‘Yes.’
And his face lit up at the prospect of eating, the thought of food giving him as much – if not more – pleasure as his posters or playing in a tent, which I thought, for a child of his age, was sad.
That night, as Max climbed into bed, with the Toy Story posters on his bedroom walls and Buzz Lightyear sitting on the bed, he said wistfully, ‘I wish I was Andy, then all the toys could be my friends.’ For anyone who doesn’t know the film Toy Story, it is a computer-animated adventure story where the toys owned by six-year-old Andy come to life and have amazing adventures.
‘It’s a nice idea,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘I don’t really have friends at school.’
‘I’m sure you do,’ I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Mrs Marshall said what a lovely boy you are.’ I’d already told Max in the car coming home from school that she’d said he was doing very well in lessons.
‘If my toys were alive, I could play games with them. I don’t play with anyone at school.’
‘Why is that?’ I asked gently. I was pretty sure I knew the reason, as Mrs Marshall had, but I wanted to hear what Max had to say.
‘The kids play running games and I can’t keep up with them,’ he explained. ‘They don’t want me to play with them, really.’
‘How do you know that?’ I asked, inching the conversation towards the possibility of Max being bullied. ‘Do they say something?’
He shrugged. ‘Not really. They’re not allowed to. It’s the way they look at each other. I can tell from their faces they don’t want me in their team.’
‘I understand,’ I said. It wasn’t overt bullying but the result was the same, and clearly you can’t force children to play with a particular child. In PE Mrs Marshall was in control and included and encouraged Max to participate, as she did the other overweight child in the class. The playground was very different and a free-for-all.
‘I can’t run like they can,’ Max added quietly, picking up Buzz Lightyear for comfort. ‘I’m very slow and I can’t keep up. I get hot and out of breath and go red in the face.’
I nodded sympathetically. ‘But perhaps you could join in with their games in a way that doesn’t involve you running fast.’
‘Like what?’ he asked. ‘All their games involve running.’ Which was probably true, as children of this age are usually very active, especially after having to sit quietly during lessons.
‘Well, let me see,’ I said, thinking. ‘What about this for an idea? If they play football you could offer to be the goalkeeper, or the linesman, or referee. You wouldn’t need to run much in those positions.’
‘That’s true,’ he said, ‘but they play a lot of tag and other chasing games like stuck in the mud and shipwrecked.’
‘OK. So you could be “home” or the “safe place”?’ This was the person or place the child being chased could go to so they couldn’t be caught.
Max looked thoughtful. ‘That might work.’
‘Have a think about it and I’m sure you can come up with ways of joining in. You read a lot of books and have a good imagination.’ He nodded. Max hadn’t mentioned his actual weight as being the problem. He hadn’t said, ‘I’m fat and I can’t run fast enough.’ His concern had been about joining in and I thought it best to deal with that issue. If he began talking about his weight and the need to lose some then I would do all I could to help him. But of course losing the weight would be a long-term goal and would require encouragement, willpower and the full commitment of his mother.
Chapter Eight
Tears
On Saturday morning, when I went into Max’s bedroom to see if he was awake, I found him sitting up in bed reading, which he told me he did at home at the weekends. Then he said that on Saturdays and Sundays and during the school holidays he had two breakfasts at home to make up for the one he didn’t have at school, and would he be doing the same with me. I explained that we usually had breakfast and then a mid-morning snack, which he accepted, but it soon became clear that this wasn’t enough for Max. Not only was he used to having two breakfasts, he also ate constantly throughout the day, given the opportunity. I sensed that eating had become a habit for him – a pastime – rather than resulting from any pressing need to satiate hunger, which is what usually drives healthy eating. Max told me that at home he and his sisters helped themselves to biscuits, packets of crisps, chocolate bars and drinks of cola and lemonade whenever they wanted to. He said he ate these snacks in his bedroom, where he appeared to spend most of his time, as the television was always on in the living room with programmes about celebrities that his sisters liked. Of course, Max could have some snack foods with me, but in moderation, and I hoped to replace some of them with healthier alternatives.
After breakfast, when the children were washed and dressed, we took the tent from the shed, laid it on the lawn and everyone helped to erect it. This was an activity Max could fully join in with and it was lovely to see him so involved, trying to decide which tent pole fitted where (as indeed we all were, for we can never remember from the last time), then helping to hammer in the stakes. In this activity at least he was on an equal footing with everyone else and size didn’t prevent him from participating. Even so, the exertion of assembling the tent and hammering in the stakes caused him to go red in the face and break out in a hot sweat, which it wouldn’t have done to a slimmer, healthier child.
Once the tent was up Max asked if it was time for the mid-morning snack and I agreed it was. I went indoors to make the snack and pour drinks while the children fetched some toys they needed for the imaginary game they were planning to play in the tent. When I returned, carrying the tray, the door to the tent was zipped shut and I had to give the password before it was opened. Adrian took the tray and explained I was now the enemy alien and I had to leave the area immediately or I would be zapped. Max, meanwhile, having given it some thought, asked if this snack was his second breakfast or would he have a snack as well later. I said it was a mid-morning snack and the next meal would be lunch – obvious to us, but Max’s routine at home had been very different to ours. I then quickly left the area to avoid being zapped.
While the children played I decided to take the opportunity to turn up Max’s new PE shorts, and also his casual trousers from home. I worked in the living room, where I could keep an eye on the children. Having eaten their snack, they were in and out of the tent, playing. The PE shorts I’d bought were for age twelve and would have come halfway down Max’s shins rather than his thighs, so I used the pair Mrs Marshall had turned up as a guide. I cut off some of the length and then turned and hemmed the edge. I didn’t cut off the excess from Max’s casual clothes that had come from home though; I just turned them up with neat hemming stitches. Foster carers have to be very careful in respect of the child’s possessions that the parents have bought. All these are the property of the parent and have to be returned to them intact, whether the child goes home or not, even those the child has outgrown or worn out. Had I cut the extra off the trousers, I could have been accused of damaging them. As it was, Caz could let them down again and restore them to how they were if she wished.
Once I’d turned up the clothes I pressed them with a hot iron and damp cloth and returned them to Max’s wardrobe. Downstairs again I stood on the patio, watching the children play for a while. Toscha had gone into the tent (of her own accord) and the children were now hunting the jungle for other feroc
ious lions and tigers. Adrian was leading the hunting party and Max and Paula were following, Paula having slowed her pace so Max could comfortably keep up. Presently I went over and asked them if they’d like a packed lunch in the tent rather than coming inside to eat. There was a resounding yes, so I suggested they use the bathroom and wash their hands ready. I returned indoors and made up three packed lunch boxes, containing sandwiches, a packet of crisps, a piece of fruit, a yoghurt and a drink. I took the packed lunches to the tent where the door was now open to let in more air, as it was hot inside, then I ate my sandwiches on the patio, enjoying the lovely weather. Once finished the children brought their rubbish to me, but then no more than thirty minutes later Max came to me and asked if it was time for a snack yet. I thought he couldn’t really be hungry, so I explained we’d have a snack mid-afternoon and then dinner at five o’clock before we left for the hospital.
Fifteen minutes later Max asked me again if it was time for a snack, and then I overheard him ask Adrian if he wanted a biscuit, meaning he wanted one. ‘Not fussed,’ Adrian said, too busy playing. Max’s thoughts even when playing weren’t far from food, which I supposed was a result of his habit of snacking all day. Halfway through the afternoon I gave them all ice cream and fruit in a bowl, and I also made sure they had plenty of water to drink all day, as it was hot. They’d had juice with their lunch and Max seemed happy to have water.
At 4.30 p.m. I said we needed to start packing away, ready to have dinner and go to the hospital, and I asked them to bring in their toys – the tent could stay up. They’d spent all day playing nicely together and I was pleased.
I always like the children I foster to look smart for contact, so after we’d eaten I set out a fresh set of clothes for Max on his bed and he changed into them. We then left for the hospital and in the car I heard Max say to Adrian that he really liked playing in the tent and could we do it again tomorrow.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Also, I was thinking, we could go to our local park for a while. It’s got swings and other play apparatus, and a duck pond.’
‘Great!’ Max said excitedly. ‘I haven’t been to a park in ages. Mum can’t take me.’
‘Because she’s been poorly,’ I said, although I wondered why one of his sisters or his father couldn’t have taken him to a park for a while.
We arrived on the ward on time to find Caz and her daughters arguing. It became immediately apparent what it was about. It was Saturday evening and the older two girls, Kelly and Paris, were leaving earlier than usual to go out, while Summer had to stay behind with her mother.
‘It’s not fair,’ Summer moaned. ‘I’ll miss my favourite television programme again.’
‘I’m not sitting here all alone like a wally on a Saturday night,’ Caz said, clearly put out.
‘So they can stay with you,’ Summer said, jutting out her chin and referring to her older sisters. ‘It’s always me that has to stay. It’s not fair.’
‘Because you haven’t got anything better to do,’ Kelly said, which clearly didn’t help the situation.
But I could appreciate that sitting on a hospital ward night after night wasn’t much fun for Summer, especially on a Saturday when her sisters were going out, although I’m sure all the girls loved their mother. I took the opportunity of a gap in the exchanges to say hello, which was ignored. Max made his way to his mother, squeezing past Kelly to get to her. ‘See you later then,’ I said. ‘Have a nice time.’ And I left.
Upstairs in the café Adrian finished off his weekend homework so he wouldn’t have to do it tomorrow, then he and Paula played for a while; there were only a couple of toddlers in the play area that night. I bought us a drink and then Adrian read his book while I read a story to Paula. Every so often Adrian glanced at the wall clock. ‘Not much longer,’ I said. I felt sure that Adrian, like Summer, would rather have been at home, probably still playing in the garden on a fine summer evening, than waiting here.
When we returned to the ward Summer was in the chair beside the bed as usual. Caz was propped up on her pillows and both were staring into space, having run out of conversation and sweets. Max looked pleased to see us and, giving his mother a quick peck on her cheek, made his way to my side. ‘Hopefully you’ll be able to go home before too long,’ I said to Caz, appreciating how boring it must be for her to have to stay in hospital.
‘Hopefully,’ she agreed. It was the nearest we’d had to a conversation.
‘Can I go now? Max is,’ Summer asked her mother. ‘I’ve got an hour’s bus ride.’
‘If you want,’ Caz said with a dismissive shrug. ‘You’re no good when you’ve got a face on you. And don’t talk to strangers.’ Summer rolled her eyes.
‘Would it help if I gave Summer a lift home?’ I asked Caz. ‘It’s not far out of my way.’
‘Yes,’ Summer said, her face immediately losing some of its grumpiness. ‘Then I’ll be able to watch Whose Date Is It?’
‘It’s up to your mother,’ I said.
Caz nodded. ‘Save me giving her the bus fare.’ Summer stood and began to walk away from the bed. ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ Caz said. Summer returned and kissed her mother’s cheek.
‘Bye,’ I said. ‘See you tomorrow.’
Caz nodded.
Outside the ward it soon became clear that Summer had a bit of a dilemma. Should she remain loyal to her mother and continue to be hostile towards me, which would be a little awkward as I was giving her a lift home, or was it OK to talk to me? She began by making a point of talking to Max with her back to me and then, once in the car, settled in the passenger seat beside me, she turned and gazed out of her side window.
‘I don’t know your exact address,’ I said as I drove, ‘so when we get closer, can you direct me to your home?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and then added, ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome. I watch that programme Whose Date Is It? sometimes,’ I said, trying to make conversation.
‘I see it every week,’ Summer said, glancing at me. ‘I always guess who is the best match and gets to go on the date.’
‘Really? I’m usually way out.’
‘Last week I knew it would be that guy with the blond hair …’ she said animatedly, and with the ice now broken she began chatting easily about the programme and conversation flowed. We talked about other television programmes she liked too, and then I remarked that it must be difficult at home with her mother in hospital, and they must miss her.
‘Yeah, we do,’ Summer admitted. ‘And Max. Even though he spends most of his time in his room with his head in a book, you just know he’s there and it’s strange without him.’
‘It’s strange without you too,’ Max’s voice came from the back seat.
Summer turned. ‘Big ears,’ she said affectionately to him. ‘Anyway, Mum should be home soon.’ She returned her gaze to the front.
‘That’s good.’
‘She said they’re making her get out of bed and walk more. She doesn’t like it, but the nurse said she has to walk to get ready for going home.’
I nodded. ‘I’m sure she’ll be pleased to get home.’
‘Dad doesn’t think so. He says she likes lying in bed all day with nothing to do but eat and sleep.’
It was the first mention I’d heard of their father.
‘Does your dad visit her much?’ I asked. I hadn’t seen him.
‘He’s been once,’ Summer said. ‘He says he can’t stand the smell of hospitals. Kelly told him he should go, but I think he might be right that Mum likes it there. It’s better than being moaned at by him all day.’
‘Your dad moans at your mum?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, and me and Kelly. Max keeps out of his way. Paris is his favourite. He likes her and buys her loads of stuff. But we all got a bollocking when we left Max alone and he had to go into care.’
‘I can imagine,’ I said.
‘I’m leaving home as soon as I can,’ Summer continued. ‘My mate and me are going
to be hairdressers and live in London so we can do the celebrities’ hair. They have it done lots, some of them every day.’
‘Do they?’
‘Yeah. Before every photo shoot.’
I smiled. Many teenagers have dreams of living in the city and mixing with celebrities, although I was sorry to hear that Summer felt her father favoured one of her sisters more than the others. Parents shouldn’t have favourites; they should love, respect and care for their children equally. If a child grows up feeling second best, it can undermine their confidence for life.
We were now approaching the area where Summer lived and I asked her for directions. A few left and right turns later I pulled onto the estate and then stopped outside her house – about a ten-minute drive from where I lived. She thanked me for the lift and then, turning in her seat, said goodbye to Max. ‘What are the names of your kids?’ she asked me.
‘Adrian and Paula.’
‘Goodbye, Adrian and Paula,’ she said.
‘Goodbye,’ they returned.
‘See you tomorrow,’ I said to her as she got out.
I waited until she’d let herself in through the front door before I pulled away. I knew it had been positive for Max to have seen Summer getting along with me, and sure enough, a few minutes later, he said, ‘You like my sister, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I said, glancing at him in the interior mirror. ‘And I like you too.’
He grinned back at me.
Once home we followed our usual evening routine of a snack and a drink, and then bath and bed. Once the children were in bed I wrote up my log notes, including that I’d given Summer a lift home from the hospital. I wondered at Summer’s comments about her mother preferring to be in hospital rather than at home and being nagged at by her husband. It didn’t sound like a very happy home to me, but Jo had said the social services had been involved with the family for some time, so I assumed she was aware of this.
