by Cathy Glass
I’d bought a bunch of flowers for Max to give to his mother as a welcome-home gift, and he plodded stoically up to the front door with them held aloft. Paula slipped her hand into mine, uncertain about being somewhere new. The small front garden was unkempt, mainly concrete, with weeds growing through the cracks. A wheelie bin for rubbish stood by the front door, and the door needed painting, although the original windows, like the others on the estate, had been replaced with modern uPVC ones. Net curtains hung at the ground-floor windows.
I rang the bell and as we waited for it to be answered I looked at Max. He hadn’t said much on the way there, but he was clearly pleased to be going home again, although he understood that he would still live with me until his mother was well enough to look after him properly. No one answered the door, so I pressed the bell again. ‘Perhaps they’re out,’ Max said, his brow furrowing with concern.
‘They’re expecting us,’ I said. Unless, of course, there’d been an emergency – for example, Caz having to be readmitted to hospital – and no one had told us. I pressed the bell again and then a few moments later a man’s voice sounded gruffly from the other side of the door.
‘All right, hold your horses! I’m coming.’
‘That’s Dad,’ Max said.
‘Good.’
The door opened and Dan, whom I knew to be forty, stood framed in the doorway. Of average height and build, he looked as though he could have just got up: unshaven, bare-foot, with a sleeveless vest hanging loosely over his jeans. His bulging biceps were heavily tattooed and his blunt expression suggested he wasn’t pleased at being disturbed.
‘Hello, I’m Cathy,’ I said pleasantly. He frowned, puzzled. ‘Max’s foster carer,’ I clarified.
‘Oh yeah. Go on in, lad,’ he told Max. ‘Your mother’s put herself to bed.’ I caught the smell of beer and cigarette smoke on his breath.
As far as I knew Dan hadn’t seen Max since he’d come into care, and I would have expected a warmer welcome, but Max seemed unfazed and, stepping past his father, disappeared down the hall. Paula’s hand tightened in mine.
‘Is Caz all right?’ I asked, concerned.
‘Yeah, she’s fine. Why shouldn’t she be?’ he replied defensively.
‘You said she’s in bed.’
‘She’s always in bed,’ he returned.
‘She’s not ill?’
‘No, just lazy. I expect I’ll have to get my own dinner again.’ And maybe take some to Caz, I thought but didn’t say. ‘Are the girls in?’
‘Summer is. Why?’
‘I just wondered. Please say hi to her and Caz.’
He gave a curt nod. He clearly wasn’t going to invite us in so I said, ‘I’ll come back and collect Max at seven then.’
‘If that’s what you’ve been told.’
‘It is.’ I raised a smile and said goodbye, but the door was already closing.
I try not to make a snap decision or value judgement when I meet someone for the first time, but I’d taken an instant dislike to Dan. He came across as brash, uncaring and brutish, although clearly he must have some hidden charms that appealed to Caz. Perhaps I’d caught him on a bad day, but Paula deftly summed it up with the honesty of a young child. ‘Is that Max’s dad?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘He’s not like Max. I like Max, but I don’t like him.’
There was enough time for Paula and me to go home briefly before we had to return to collect Max, after which we had to collect Adrian from school at the end of the second showing of the production. A similar arrangement would apply to the following evening – the final night of the production. Hoping I would have a chance to see Caz and wish her well, at seven o’clock Paula and I returned to Max’s house to collect him. As I pressed the bell, Paula tugged at my arm. ‘We won’t go in, will we?’
‘Yes, if we’re asked. Don’t worry, it will be fine,’ I reassured her. Perhaps Dan would be more hospitable, or maybe Caz or one of her daughters would come to the door and invite us in. We didn’t know how long Max would be staying with me and it would help if the contact arrangements were relaxed and cordial. I felt that towards the end of Caz’s stay in hospital some of her hostility towards me had gone, and of course I’d got along with Kelly and Summer when they’d been by themselves, so I was hopeful. As we waited for the doorbell to be answered a tortoiseshell cat joined us, rubbing around our legs. ‘I remember Max telling me they had two cats,’ I said. Its presence seemed to make the house more welcoming and homely.
‘He likes us,’ Paula said, dipping down to stroke him, and also partially reassured.
The front door opened, the cat shot in, and Max stood before us. ‘Bye!’ he called over his shoulder.
‘Bye!’ one of his sisters – I think it was Summer – returned from inside.
I looked down the hall to see if anyone was going to come to the door to see him off, but no one appeared. He came out and closed the door behind him. He seemed very young to be seeing himself out, and I saw Paula looking at him, concerned.
‘Did you have a nice time?’ I asked him as we walked down the short path to the car.
‘Yes.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I sat in my room and read a book, like when I live at home,’ he said matter-of-factly.
‘Did you see your mum?’
He nodded. ‘I gave her the flowers and she said thank you, then she was tired so I went to my room.’
‘Was your dad in?’
‘For a bit, then he went out.’
‘And your sisters? Were they there?’ I asked as I opened the car door for Max and Paula to get in.
‘Summer and Kelly were there watching television,’ Max said, clambering into the back seat.
‘While you read in your bedroom?’
‘Yes.’ Although this wasn’t the welcome-home family reunion I’d envisaged for him, I accepted that it was his family’s way of doing things and they felt comfortable with it. Providing there was a responsible adult looking after Max – he was, after all, only six – there shouldn’t be a problem. Although I was mindful that the reason he’d come into care in the first place was that he’d been left at home alone.
‘So your sisters and mum were in all the time, although they weren’t in the same room?’
He nodded. ‘But Kelly was disappointed because I didn’t bring any grapes.’
‘Really?’ I asked, surprised, as Max fastened his seatbelt. ‘So she liked the grapes?’
‘Yes, and the other fruit. We all did. Can I take some with me tomorrow?’
‘Yes, I’ll buy some.’ I smiled to myself. Of course, they could have bought their own fruit, but clearly Max taking in a nicely presented box of fruit to the hospital every evening had been appreciated after all.
I checked the children’s seatbelts, closed the car door and went round to the driver’s door and got in. Max’s little voice came from the back. ‘Oh yes,’ he said as nonchalantly as he could. ‘While I was in my room reading, I ate a whole packet of biscuits. That wasn’t good, was it?’
I glanced at him in the rear-view mirror as I started the engine. ‘I think one or two biscuits would have been better, don’t you?’
‘I know, but once I started I couldn’t stop. I needed you there to just give me two.’ Bless him.
I could see this being a problem in the future: that any improvement in Max’s diet could be undone during contact if he lay on his bed every evening and ate his way through a packet of biscuits. It was asking a lot of a young child who had unlimited access to snack food and was used to snacking to limit his intake and self-regulate. Caz, and ideally the whole family, needed to be involved and committed to a healthier eating plan if Max was to have any long-term success. Hopefully, there would be a chance to talk about this at Max’s review the following morning, assuming Caz was there.
Chapter Fourteen
First Review
The timing of Max’s LAC (looked-after child) review at ten o’cl
ock on Thursday was perfect for me, as Paula was at nursery. Reviews usually last about an hour, which meant I would be back in time to collect her when nursery finished, although I had my friend with a child at the nursery on standby just in case. She’d take Paula home with her if necessary and look after her until I arrived. If I have to attend a meeting at the social services, I always have a back-up plan, as I know the meetings can start late or overrun.
I was dressed smart-casual, in light grey cotton trousers, a blouse and black kitten heels. I parked the car in the council offices car park and arrived in reception with ten minutes to spare, where I waited for Jill. I had a manila folder with me containing some notes and the eating and fitness plan the paediatrician at the clinic had given to me. I knew from experience I’d probably be asked to speak near the start of the review and say how Max was doing so that everyone present was brought up to date. I had a fair idea of what I wanted to say.
A couple of minutes later Jill arrived. ‘Hi, Cathy, how are you?’ she said with her usual cheerfulness.
‘Good, thanks, and you?’
‘Pleased it’s nearly the summer holidays.’ She, too, had children and was looking forward to the break.
We signed the visitors’ book in reception and then made our way up the stairs to the second floor, where the meeting was to be held. ‘Hopefully, we’ll find out how long Max is likely to be with you,’ Jill said as we went. ‘I’ve had a referral for another child who needs an experienced carer. I’d like her to go to you, if possible.’ Jill wasn’t being dismissive or marginalizing Max, but there is always a shortage of foster carers, so often as one child leaves another arrives. She was caring and professional, although she didn’t have the emotional attachment that a foster carer develops towards the child. At present I could only think of Max, so I nodded absently as she told me the few details she had about the new child and we continued to the top of the stairs. We turned left, went down a short corridor and to the meeting room. Jill gave a perfunctory knock on the door before opening it and we went in. A woman sat alone at one end of the table with a pen and folder in front of her. ‘Are you here for Max’s review?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Yes,’ Jill said.
‘Good. I was starting to think I was in the wrong room. I’m Cindy Ashmore, the IRO.’ LAC reviews are chaired by an independent reviewing officer (IRO), who also minutes the meeting.
‘I’m Cathy, Max’s foster carer,’ I said, smiling as I sat down.
‘Jill, Cathy’s supervising social worker from Homefinders Fostering Agency,’ Jill said, sitting next to me.
‘Pleased to meet you both.’ The IRO had social work experience with additional training. She glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I hope we’re not too late starting. I have another review at twelve.’
It was exactly ten o’clock and Jo should have been here by now. Leaving the IRO sitting alone in a meeting room wasn’t really acceptable.
‘I’ll make a note of your names while we’re waiting,’ she said, picking up her pen and opening the folder she had in front of her. She would minute the names of all those who attended.
We gave her our full names and roles and then she thanked me for returning the review forms. These are short questionnaires – one for the carer to complete and one for the child – sent out just before the review to give feedback on how the child is settling in. The door opened and Jo came in.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she flustered. ‘Max’s mother is on her way. I’ve had to organize a taxi for her – we’ve agreed to fund it.’ So I assumed that’s what had occupied her. Social services help with funding in some circumstances, and it was important Caz attended her child’s review so she could have a say in planning Max’s future.
‘His mother is out of hospital then?’ the IRO asked. She would have been briefed on the case some days before.
‘Yes, just,’ said Jo. Sitting down with a sigh, she deposited the folders she was carrying onto the table in front of her with a thud. ‘Tuesday, late afternoon.’
The IRO nodded and made a note of Jo’s name. She would know her from other child-care cases they’d worked on together. ‘Do we know who else is coming?’ she asked Jo.
‘Max’s teacher was invited but she can’t attend, as it’s the last day of term,’ Jo explained. ‘She’s given me an update. I think one of Caz’s daughter’s might be coming too.’
‘And Max’s father, Dan?’
‘Not as far as I know,’ Jo said. There was a short silence and then Jo asked me, ‘How did contact go last night?’
‘All right, I think. I didn’t go into the house. Max’s father came to the door when we arrived, and I didn’t see anyone when I collected him. Two of his sisters were in and Caz was in bed.’
‘But Max spent time with her?’ Jo asked.
‘Yes, briefly, then he went to his bedroom and read for most of the evening. He also ate an entire packet of biscuits,’ I added indulgently. Jill gave a light-hearted tut, but Jo didn’t comment. She seemed preoccupied.
‘Max was all right after contact?’ Jill asked. Sometimes children become upset after seeing their family. They hold it all together and appear to cope with being in care and then this brief, bittersweet reminder of home unsettles them.
‘He seemed to take it in his stride, as he does most things,’ I said.
Suddenly a phone began to ring loudly from somewhere in the room, making us start and look around. Jill spotted it first – on the floor in one corner. I wasn’t even aware that these meeting rooms had phones; I’d never heard one go off before.
‘Shall I answer it?’ Jill asked, looking at Jo as the ringing continued. I suppose Jill felt it was Jo’s prerogative, as she worked in the building.
Jo shrugged.
‘I think you’d better,’ the IRO said. It was making quite a noise.
Jill stood, crossed to the phone and, lifting the handset, said, ‘Hello?’ She listened and then said, ‘Yes, it is.’ Then listened again before turning to Jo. ‘It’s reception. Caz has arrived. She’s asking if there’s a wheelchair available?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Jo said, immediately stressed. ‘How did she get from the cab into reception?’
Jill asked the receptionist on the phone, ‘What is Caz using now?’ And after a moment she said, ‘Crutches.’
‘So she can use those to get to the lift, can’t she?’ Jo asked. ‘I don’t know if there’s a wheelchair here or not.’ I could see her stress level rising.
‘Can she use the crutches to get to the lift?’ Jill said more diplomatically into the phone. There was a pause as the message was relayed to Caz. I saw the IRO glance at the clock again; it was now 10.15.
‘OK. Thanks,’ Jill said, and replaced the handset. ‘She said it’s painful using crutches, but her daughters are going to help her to the lift.’
I thought I heard Jo sigh.
‘Perhaps the council needs to look into making a wheelchair available in reception?’ the IRO suggested to Jo. ‘I know some authorities have one.’
Jo nodded, although I thought this would probably be the last thing on her mind with her busy work schedule, as most wheelchair users would arrive with their own. We waited in silence and Jo checked something in one of the folders she had in front of her, then presently we heard voices in the corridor outside, followed by a loud knock on the door.
‘Come in!’ the IRO called.
The door opened. Paris entered first and then held it wide open so Caz could come in, followed by Kelly. Caz was clearly struggling to use the crutches; it was taking a lot of effort, not helped by her size. It was the first time I’d seen her standing; at the hospital she’d either been in bed or sitting in the chair beside the bed. She wasn’t tall and the strain on her arms as she transferred her weight from one crutch to the other was enormous. Her face was bright red. Jill, who was sitting closest to the door, stood. ‘Here, Caz,’ she said, pulling out a chair to make it easier for her to sit down.
Caz heaved herself
to the chair and sat down. Jill and I then moved round so she and her daughters could sit together. I was touched by the way Kelly and Paris were helping their mother and looking out for her. Childlike in her endeavours to make herself comfortable, they helped manoeuvre her chair closer to the table and straighten her bandaged foot, which now had a protective post-operative boot covering it. They then positioned her crutches either side of her.
‘Are you comfortable?’ the IRO asked politely, once they’d settled. ‘I’m sorry there wasn’t a wheelchair available.’
‘It’s OK,’ Caz said.
‘Let me know if there is anything you need during the meeting or if you want to take a break.’ Caz nodded. ‘I know it must have been an effort for you to come here, so thank you for making it.’ Caz nodded again. ‘Can I take your full name and that of your daughters, please, for the minutes?’ Caz told her and she made a note. ‘Your husband’s not coming?’ she asked.
‘No. He doesn’t have to, does he?’ Caz said a little defensively.
‘No, but I’d have waited for him before starting the meeting if he was.’
‘He’s busy,’ Paris put in.
‘Thank you,’ the IRO said, smiling at her. ‘I’ve noted his apology for absence.’ Which is the standard way of minuting those who have been invited to a meeting but can’t attend.
‘Is Summer coming?’ Jo asked Caz.
‘No. Her school hasn’t broken up yet.’
‘That’s your other daughter?’ the IRO clarified.
‘Yes,’ Caz said.
‘So let’s start with introductions,’ the IRO said. ‘I’m Cindy Ashmore, the reviewing officer for Max. I think you’ll have been given some information on my role and the nature of the review.’ Caz nodded. The IRO now looked at Jo to introduce herself. Jo gave her name and said, ‘Local authority social worker for Max.’ Jill was next, then me, then it was Paris’s turn. A little embarrassed, she said, ‘I’m Paris, Max’s sister.’
