Cruel to Be Kind

by Cathy Glass

  On Sunday we visited my parents and, as usual for a Sunday, Mum cooked a full roast dinner, followed by delicious homemade apple pie with melt-in-your-mouth pastry, served with a choice of warm custard or vanilla ice cream or both. I’d already had a quiet word with Mum and asked her not to offer us second helpings, as Max was on a diet. Mum loves to feed her family. She didn’t offer second helpings, but the portion sizes of the first servings were so generous that we couldn’t have eaten any more anyway. We had to leave at 4.30 p.m. so we were back in time for Max’s evening contact.

  School broke up the following week and Max and Adrian came out of school very excited and with bagfuls of schoolwork and their end-of-year reports. At home I read the reports while they played in the garden and then later congratulated them individually. Adrian’s was very good; Max’s was outstanding. He was way above average in all core subjects and his test results showed he was working at the age of a nine- or ten-year-old. Mrs Marshall mentioned in her summing-up how pleased she was that he had maintained his progress throughout the year, despite some unsettling changes at home. Her only criticism – if it could be called that – was that she would like to see Max interacting more with other children his age, which she’d mentioned to me when I’d met her. I’d asked Max if he had some friends he’d like to invite home to play during the summer holidays (Adrian and Paula would be seeing their friends sometimes), but he said he didn’t. If Max was still with me in September when the new school term began, I’d up my efforts to encourage him to bring home some friends. I appreciated how important it was for children to interact and socialize with their peer group, not just to make friends; it helps them to be able to get along with people in adulthood too – at work and in their personal relationships. Children and adults who aren’t at ease in company often struggle.

  I received a copy of the new contact arrangements in the post and transferred them to my diary. The first day of the summer holidays fell on a Thursday, so according to the new arrangements Max was seeing his family in the afternoon between 2 and 3.30 p.m. He took all his schoolwork with him and his school report for his family to see, and when I collected him he said his mother had read his report and was very pleased. Fantastic, but she’d rewarded him with a box of chocolates! Of which he’d eaten the entire top layer before Kelly had stopped him. Pity his poor teeth and glucose levels, I thought, but I didn’t say anything: old eating habits die hard.

  On Friday Jill and Jo visited us. It was unusual to have the social worker and the supervising social worker visit on the same day, but they were both about to go on their summer holidays so wanted to squeeze in their statutory visits before they went. Jill’s visit was at 10.30 a.m. and Jo’s at 1.30 p.m. I knew Jill wouldn’t be late and would want to see the children, so I kept them in the living room playing until she arrived. She said a bright and relaxed ‘Hi’ to them and then sat chatting informally to us all, during which time she would be observing Max, my children and me to see how well we were all interacting and getting along. Although it could be said we were on our best behaviour, Jill was experienced enough to see through any pretence, and she knew me well enough to know that I’d raise any problems I might be having in fostering, not hide them. Supervising social workers also make at least one unannounced visit each year so that the carer isn’t expecting them and doesn’t have time to prepare for their visit.

  She talked with Max for a while as he played. Although he was quieter than many children I’d fostered, she did manage to engage him in a conversation about books and what he liked to read, and some card and board games I was teaching him. She also talked to Adrian and Paula, who knew her from her previous visits with other children we’d fostered, so they were less shy. I knew she’d want to talk to me alone at some point, so when she’d finished talking to the children and was taking out her notepad and pen I suggested they went into the garden to play.

  ‘Can I go too?’ Max asked quietly.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ she said. I guessed he realized that Jill’s visit was specifically about him.

  Adrian automatically offered Max his hand to help him stand, which he found difficult to do from the floor or a low seat. While it was a kind gesture and done naturally, it seemed to highlight Max’s lack of agility due to his weight. I saw Jill watching him as with Adrian’s help he hauled himself to his feet and then, the last to leave, took hold of the edge of the patio doors to heave himself over the small step.

  ‘How’s the diet and fitness plan going?’ she asked when he’d gone.

  ‘Well,’ I said. I opened my fostering folder and read out his weight loss, which she wrote down.

  ‘He looks healthier,’ Jill said.

  ‘Can you see a difference already?’

  ‘Yes. He’s brighter-eyed and his skin has lost that pastiness. Cutting out much of the junk food and encouraging him to play actively outside is bound to have a positive effect.’

  I was pleased Jill had already noticed a difference, for it wasn’t just about Max losing weight, but generally being healthier. We spent a little while discussing the type of meals I was giving him and his routine, then I told Jill about his very good school report and she asked how Adrian had done. I updated her on contact. Although I’d mentioned this at the LAC review, I now gave Jill more detail, including that Max was coping with contact well and wasn’t upset afterwards, but that he was spending a lot of time during contact alone in his bedroom. Jill said she’d mention it to Jo. The agency had some printed sheets that they gave to parents containing guidance on making the best of contact, for obviously it was a different situation to when a child was living at home. Jill then asked if there had been any changes to my household, which was a standard question at each supervisory visit, and I said there hadn’t. We discussed the training I’d attended and was due to go on. I usually attended training one or two days a month, but it had stopped for the summer holidays. She asked if I needed any additional support to look after Max, which I didn’t.

  She then checked and signed my log notes and handed me a printed copy of the minutes from her last supervisory visit, which I had to check and sign to say they were correct. We got out our diaries to arrange a date for her next visit in four weeks’ time, although Jill said she’d telephone me when she returned from her holidays in two weeks. If I needed any help or advice in the meantime, I could telephone the agency and speak to one of her colleagues or the local authority duty social worker. Before she left she called goodbye to the children, and then I saw her to the front door, where I wished her a relaxing and well-deserved holiday. Some of those working in social care think that support social workers (compared to those working in child protection) have an easy time of it, but in my experience they work just as hard. Jill had twelve foster carers to supervise and support, which included visiting them regularly at home, attending meetings with them, writing reports on them, assessing them for their annual review, participating in training, liaising with the child’s social worker, as well as taking turns on the rota to cover out-of-hours calls, as the agency offered twenty-four-hour support every day of the year. It’s surprising how often they’re needed in the middle of the night and even on Christmas Day.

  We had lunch indoors – cold chicken salad – and then sat in the living room, as Jo was expected at 1.30 p.m. But when it got to two o’clock and she still hadn’t arrived and the children were asking to go outside I let them, with the proviso that they came in when called. Jo finally arrived nearly an hour late, full of apologies, stressed and with indigestion. She’d had to attend an emergency strategy meeting at twelve and had then grabbed a sandwich, which she’d gobbled down while driving to me. I fetched her the glass of water she asked for as she settled in the living room.

  ‘Our flight is in twenty-four hours and I haven’t started packing yet,’ she said. ‘More stress!’

  ‘Where are you going?’ I asked, sitting opposite her.

  ‘Greece. If we ever get there. They’ll all just have to help.’ I
assumed she meant her family. She took a pen and large notepad from her bag and I asked her if she wanted me to call Max in from the garden, but she said she’d talk to me first. Like Jill, she would have a checklist to work through, although the child’s social worker’s agenda was slightly different to the carer’s supervising social worker, as their responsibility was primarily with the child and establishing a relationship with them, whereas Jill was responsible for the welfare of my family and me as well as the child. Jo began by asking about Max’s routine, including his bath and bedtime, then his self-care skills (which were good). She asked if we all ate together as a family (which is considered very important), what he liked to do in his spare time and how the new contact arrangements were working. I said they’d only begun the day before when the children broke up for the summer, which she seemed to have forgotten. I told her what I’d told Jill about contact and that Jill had said her agency had notes for parents about making the most of their time together.

  ‘She’s sending them to me, right?’ Jo asked, glancing up from writing.

  ‘I think so. She was certainly going to speak to you.’

  ‘OK. And you’re not going away during the summer?’ she asked, moving on.

  ‘No. We’re having some days out.’ Which had been my main reason for asking that contact wasn’t every afternoon.

  ‘And you’ll be taking Max?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Who lives here again?’

  ‘My children, Adrian and Paula, Max and myself. And our cat, Toscha.’

  ‘No issues with his health?’ she asked, racing through her checklist.

  ‘Yes.’ I reminded her that Max had been diagnosed with asthma, although he rarely used his inhaler, and that this and his snoring and rash could be due to his obesity. I also reminded her that he may have to have further teeth out, and that he was now following the diet and fitness plan recommended by the paediatrician (although all of this had been covered before at the review).

  ‘What paediatrician?’ she asked.

  ‘The one you arranged to give Max his medical when he first came into care. I gave you the details of what she’d said at the time.’

  ‘Oh yes. It must be on file. That’s what Kelly and Paris were talking about yesterday, which reminds me, I have to phone them.’ She hastily scribbled another note at the top of the page and drew a large circle around it to remind her. ‘Go on.’

  I told her of Max’s weight loss, which she noted, and that Max’s school report was with his mother. ‘Hopefully, his teacher will remember to send a copy to the department,’ she said, starring what she’d just written. It’s usual for a copy of the child’s school report to be on their file at the social services.

  ‘No other issues?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I’ll see Max now then,’ she said.

  ‘Shall I leave you two alone?’ I asked. The child’s social worker usually wanted to see the child alone in case there were any issues the child wanted to raise that they didn’t feel comfortable mentioning in front of their carer.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  I called Max in and once he was settled on the sofa beside Jo, I said I’d be outside if I was needed. Going out through the patio doors, I joined Adrian and Paula in the garden, who were doing some puzzles on the ground mat in the shade of the tree.

  The amount of time the child’s social worker spends alone with the child varies. They need to satisfy themselves that the child is happy and is being well looked after, and the child or young person may have a lot they want to say or nothing much at all. Max reappeared through the patio doors after about fifteen minutes. I stood and left the mat. ‘She wants to see you,’ he said as he drew near.

  ‘OK, love. Thanks.’

  As Max joined Adrian and Paula on the mat I heard him ask Adrian, ‘Will you have to see her?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Adrian replied. ‘She is your social worker, like Jill is ours.’ Which summed it up pretty well.

  In the living room Jo was putting away her folder and pen. ‘He showed me his bedroom,’ she said. The child’s social worker usually sees the child’s bedroom at each visit. ‘He seems comfortable enough, and he’s coping all right?’

  ‘Yes, I think he’s coping very well.’

  I sat down, for although Jo had packed away she’d made no move to go. ‘There’s something I want to ask you about,’ she said. And from the seriousness of her tone and her expression I assumed it was something negative, possibly something I’d done wrong or that Max was struggling with. But, tucking her bag on the floor by her feet, she said, ‘I’m thinking of leaving my post and becoming a foster carer. What do you think?’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Strange, the Way Things Turn Out

  Taken off guard by Jo’s question, I opened and closed my mouth in a good impersonation of a fish before I found the words I needed. ‘The two roles are very different,’ I said. ‘Why are you thinking of changing?’

  ‘Less stress.’

  ‘Fostering can be very stressful, although it’s probably a different stress to yours.’

  ‘In what way? You always seem pretty chilled.’

  ‘That’s for your benefit,’ I said with a smile, but it wasn’t returned. ‘We have to appear calm and in control for the sake of the child or children in our care, but some of the issues we deal with are very stressful. And remember, we’re on call every hour of every day. You can go home in the evening and recharge your battery, ready for the following day.’

  ‘But that’s the same with your own children, it’s twenty-four/seven.’

  ‘Yes, but fostering a child is more intense and stressful than looking after your own child. The foster child comes with history and baggage that you are never fully aware of, so you have to be hyper-vigilant to meet their needs, especially in the early weeks. With your own children you know their history and there is little they can do to shock you. But many of the children who come into care have unsafe and dangerous behaviour because of their early years’ experiences. And to hear what they have been through first-hand – the abuse they’ve suffered – is heartbreaking. I’ve had many sleepless nights.’

  ‘So have I,’ Jo put in.

  ‘I’m sure. Dealing with the child’s parents is also stressful for foster carers. No one wants their child to go into care. At best they resent it and often they are very angry.’

  ‘But they don’t hate you like they do social workers,’ Jo said.

  ‘Many do,’ I said. ‘They see us as part of the system that’s working against them to take their children from them. And remember, foster carers don’t have the support of colleagues like social workers do. You can see a client in your office if necessary, or if you make a home visit, you can take a colleague with you. Carers don’t have that. We meet the parents regularly at contact and sometimes they wait outside their child’s school. If they are angry, the foster carer is an easy target. We have no protection. I’ve been on the receiving end of plenty of anger and abuse, some of it threatening, which has left me very shaken and stressed.’

  ‘So why don’t you report it?’ Jo asked

  ‘We do if it’s very bad, but nothing happens. There aren’t the resources to provide foster carers with back-up each time they take a child to contact or school. So we defuse the situation as best we can and try to build up a relationship with the parents, just as you do. Sometimes it works, but other times the parents remain angry, especially if the child isn’t able to go home. They blame the carer as much as they blame the court and social services.’ I wasn’t trying to put her off, but she needed to know the reality.

  ‘Hmmm,’ she said reflectively. ‘But carers only have one child or a sibling group to look after. Our case loads are ridiculously high.’

  ‘I know, I sympathize, I really do, but remember, the children we foster are often very distressed, even disturbed, with challenging behaviour. We are here day and night for them, sometimes with very l
ittle progress at the start. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do – you couldn’t do it if you didn’t – but there are a lot of issues to consider. Fostering isn’t really a job, more a vocation. Have you thought about the financial implications?’

  ‘Foster carers get an allowance, don’t they?’ she said, clearly having already considered this.

  ‘Yes, but all the expenses for the child, including their food, clothes, leisure activities, holidays, transport and so on, has to come out of it. We only receive the allowance when a child is living with us, so you can’t view it as a regular income.’

  ‘How do you manage then?’ she asked.

  ‘I have to be very careful with money. I also have a small part-time admin job, which I can do from home. I fit it in around the children – when they are at school or in bed.’

  ‘My husband works so we have a good standard of living,’ Jo admitted. I nodded. She looked thoughtful. ‘I came into social work with such high hopes. I didn’t have the best childhood myself and I wanted to help others. But the reality is I’m spread so thinly I can’t help anyone. I dash from one meeting to another and then beat myself up over the decisions I have or haven’t made. I’m so stressed when I get home I don’t have time for my own family.’ She shrugged. ‘Perhaps I just need a holiday.’