by Cathy Glass
I nodded and glanced down the garden to where the children were now playing on the bikes. ‘Have you discussed fostering with your family?’ I asked.
‘Not properly. I mentioned I was thinking about it. They weren’t that keen to have someone else living with us the whole time, but the foster child would be my responsibility.’
I looked at her carefully. Jo seemed rather naive when it came to fostering. ‘It doesn’t work like that. Fostering includes the whole family, so everyone has to be fully committed. It’s not like having a lodger. The child is a member of your family for however long they are with you. You know when you visit a child in a foster home one of the things you look for is that they are fully integrated into the family and included in all family activities. It can’t work if any of the family is half-hearted about fostering or doesn’t want to.’
‘You’re right. I’ll have to talk to them about it again.’
‘I would. Everyone needs to be committed. It’s such a juggling act to make sure your own children have their fair share of attention. It’s so easy for them to resent the intrusion when their lives have been disrupted and turned upside down.’
‘How are they disrupted? Other than having someone living with them,’ Jo asked.
It wasn’t difficult to find an example. ‘Take Max. He’s a lovely boy and has fitted in well and we all think the world of him. But since he arrived my children haven’t had an evening to themselves when they could relax at home and play because of the contact arrangements. I’ve been collecting Adrian from school, driving to Max’s school to collect him and returning home with just enough time to eat dinner (which I’ve been having to prepare earlier to save time). Then we’ve all been getting back in the car to take Max to the hospital, where Adrian, Paula and I have had to while away an hour and a half in the hospital café every evening. Adrian has been trying to do his homework there, but it hasn’t been easy, and I’ve had to keep Paula amused and awake. She’s usually in bed at seven o’clock. After collecting Max from the ward and coming home, there’s been just enough time for a snack before their bath and bedtime routine.’
‘And your kids didn’t mind?’ she asked, amazed. ‘Mine would kick up a right stink.’
‘Adrian and Paula are used to it, although I’m sure they’d rather have been at home playing, given the choice. But as you know, contact takes priority and overrides any plans the foster family may have. It might be easier for you, as you have your husband who can help,’ I added.
‘I doubt it; he works long hours too,’ Jo said.
I had clearly given Jo plenty to think about, and although what I’d said was true I thought I needed to balance it a bit. ‘On the positive side,’ I said, ‘the joy of seeing a child improve and knowing that in some small way you have helped them towards a better future is immeasurable.’
‘That’s what I used to think about social work,’ she said, her voice flat.
‘Why don’t you have a chat with some other foster carers and ask them for their views?’ I suggested.
‘Yes, I might do that when I get back from my holidays. Anyway, thanks. I’d better go now and start packing. I hope you have a good summer.’
‘And you.’
Standing, she crossed to the patio doors where she called goodbye to the children, then I saw her out. It was now 3.45 p.m. and although I didn’t have the school run during the holidays, I still had to make dinner early so there was time to eat before we left to take Max to contact. As I made my way through the living room to check on the children and see if they wanted another drink Adrian came dashing in. ‘Mum, come quickly! Max has fallen off the bike and he’s crying!’
I rushed outside and down the garden to where Max was sitting on the grass beside the overturned bike, head in his hands and crying quietly.
‘Where are you hurt?’ I asked, kneeling beside him. He was wearing shorts and his legs, apart from being a bit grubby, didn’t appear cut or grazed. I couldn’t see his face properly, but that didn’t appear cut either.
‘Max, love,’ I said, touching his arm. ‘Where are you hurt? Show me.’ Although he’d fallen onto the soft grass, I knew that if you fell heavily or at a funny angle it was possible to hurt yourself badly or even break a bone. He was now rubbing his eyes, so both his arms were obviously working and not causing him pain.
‘Show me where it hurts, love,’ I said again. Adrian and Paula were standing watching and looking very worried.
‘I’m all right,’ Max said with small sob, but he made no attempt to get up. Usually when a child takes a tumble while playing they soon jump up, brush themselves down and carry on with the game. But Max didn’t.
‘You’re not all right,’ I said, holding his arm. ‘You’re upset. Can you tell me what’s wrong?’ There was no reply. I then wondered if his distress was more to do with hurt pride rather than any physical damage, and perhaps he’d feel better without an audience. ‘Adrian, Paula,’ I said, glancing up at them. ‘Could you go and sit on the patio for a few minutes while I help Max?’
Without further ado Adrian took Paula’s hand and they walked up the garden to the patio.
‘What’s the matter, love?’ I quietly asked Max, shifting my legs to sit more comfortably. ‘Can you tell me?’
He let out another small sob. ‘I want to ride a bike like Adrian, but I can’t. I’m too fat.’
I could have easily cried too – for Max. The poor child. What he’d said was true. I’d realized soon after he’d arrived that he would struggle to ride a child’s bike of any size due to his weight, and he wouldn’t be able to reach the pedals on an adult bike. He couldn’t easily ride a scooter or skateboard either – I’d seen him try. The fat on his thighs stopped him from working his legs to gain the necessary momentum for these types of activities. He also had very poor balance. It requires agility and core stability to master the skills required, as well as muscle tone, especially in the lower limbs, which Max simply didn’t have. But what could I say to him to make him feel better?
‘I know some of these activities are difficult for you at present, but it will get easier. Jill said to me this morning how much fitter and healthier you looked, and that’s just after a few weeks.’
‘But I want all this to go now,’ he said, prodding the fat on his thighs and stomach. ‘I want to be like Adrian and the other kids at school, so I can run and play football and hockey and cricket and score goals and win points in high jump.’
‘We’re not all good at sports, Max. Some children excel at sports, but I never did.’ I was concerned that Max could be laying too much at the door of losing weight.
‘And you weren’t fat?’ he asked.
‘No, I just wasn’t good at sports. Many children aren’t.’
‘Did they like you at school?’ he asked, his face sad and serious.
‘Yes, I think so. Why? Has someone said something to you at school?’
‘Not really.’ He sniffled. ‘But I’m not popular like the kids who are good at sports. Everyone wants to talk to them and be in their game.’ I remembered from my own school days how those who excelled at sports were very popular and always seemed to be on the stage collecting trophies and medals.
‘We can’t all be good at everything,’ I said. ‘You are very good academically, which will take you a long way, Max. Your school report was excellent. Do you know what I mean by academic?’
He nodded. ‘It’s when you’re good at most subjects and know things, then go to university to study.’
‘Yes. I can see you going to university.’
‘I’d like that,’ he said, finally looking at me. ‘I like books.’
‘I know you do and I’m pleased, but I’m also pleased you are out here in the garden playing. That’s important too. I’m sure there will come a time when you can ride a bike very well, but in the meantime, don’t let it upset you. Life’s too short.’
‘That’s what Mrs Marshall says sometimes.’
‘Sensible lady.’
I helped Max to his feet and waved to Adrian and Paula to come down from the patio to join him. Satisfied he was all right, I went indoors to begin making dinner. I had a good view of the garden from the rear window of the kitchen and as I peeled potatoes and other vegetables I repeatedly glanced out to make sure they were all OK. They’d left the bikes and were now playing with the bats and a ball. There were no rules as such; it was just a matter of hitting the ball to someone when it was hit to you. I could see both my children surreptitiously helping Max. Adrian wasn’t hitting the ball with the force he would usually use, but more pushing it towards Max to give him the best chance of returning it. If Max missed the shot, which he did quite often (even a game of bat and ball requires agility), Paula would quickly pick it up and bat it to Max so he could have his turn. I’d noticed before, when they’d been playing in the garden and park, that Adrian and Paula often tailored their playing to assist Max. Most children would; they do it instinctively. In some respects, and I hesitate to say this, it was as if they were helping a child with a disability. Whether Max realized they were making allowances for him I didn’t know. If he did then hopefully he appreciated it was because they cared about him, very much.
After we’d eaten I gave Max the box of peaches I’d washed for him to give to his family and we left for contact. As before, I parked directly in front of his house and left Adrian and Paula sitting in the car with the door open onto the pavement so I could see them. The front door to the house was opened by Max’s father, Dan, who was on his way out. No more charming than the first time I’d met him, he gave a curt nod in my direction, tapped Max on the head in a vague gesture of acknowledgement and disappeared off. Max waddled down the dark hall. ‘Hello, anyone in?’ I called.
Summer appeared in the hall. ‘Me and Paris are here. Mum’s having a rest.’
‘OK. See you at seven.’
When we returned it was Summer who saw Max out.
So our holiday routine continued. We still had a lot of toing and froing in the car, with Adrian’s and Paula’s afternoons or evenings being disrupted by contact, but at least there wasn’t the frantic rush there had been during the school term. We didn’t always go home when Max was at contact but instead went to a local park. As promised, on the days when we had evening contact I arranged day trips out: to the zoo, castle ruins, the adventure park and even a day trip to the coast, when we had to get up at the crack of dawn to make it worthwhile. Max had only been to the seaside once before when his family (minus his father) had rented a caravan with an aunt. We took buckets and spades, built sandcastles, paddled in the sea and had fresh fish and chips while sitting on the beach. It was fun, we all enjoyed it, and the complete change made it feel as though we had been away for much longer than a day.
On the days when contact was in the afternoon time was limited, so I organized games at home, both indoors – like painting and clay modelling – and outdoors. Sometimes I just let the children amuse themselves, as I knew it was important that they weren’t organized every minute of every day but had the space and time to use their imaginations and create and develop their own play. They also spent some time each day with a book: Max and Adrian reading, while I read Paula a story. Max also read while Adrian and Paula were watching children’s television in the early evening. He didn’t have any interest in television, which I think was due to it being on constantly at his house. It had gone from being a source of entertainment to an irritation, and as a result he’d completely rejected it.
Max liked non-fiction books as well as fiction and we were going to the library regularly to change our books. He loved the library – the smell of books, the muted sounds – and basked in its atmosphere of quiet learning. I think he would have happily spent the entire day there if lunch had been provided. His family weren’t bookish, so they never went to the library. His only experience of libraries was the small school library and the visit his class had made to this library when they’d been shown around and read a story. As I’d got to know Max I’d realized he had a thirst for knowledge and seemed to retain facts and figures much more easily than the average six-year-old. He could also use reason and logic better than any young child I’d known. I didn’t think he was a child prodigy, but he was bright and had taken refuge in books and learning. He’d been given the opportunity to learn a musical instrument at school the following term and he’d chosen the violin – not the obvious choice for a six-year-old. But he liked classical music and if I had it on in the background at home or in the car, he’d ask me about the piece of music and the composer.
At the start of the third week of the summer holidays my parents asked if Adrian and Paula would like to stay with them for a few nights. They’d done this before in the school holidays and naturally they were delighted. It was a real treat for them, and my parents always spoilt them with their time and affection. I’d miss them, of course, but it would only be for a few days and I could give Max some one-to-one attention. So on Wednesday Mum and Dad arrived, stayed for lunch and then took my two very excited children with a case each back with them. The plan was that on Sunday Max and I would go there for dinner and then bring them home. It’s strange, the way things work out, for had they not gone they would have been in the car when I took Max to contact, which means I wouldn’t have accepted the invitation into his house and learnt what was really going on in there.
Chapter Seventeen
Abused Child
Their front door was opened unusually by Caz. Leaning heavily on her crutches, her mobility apparently no better than the last time I’d seen her, she was clearly in a lot of discomfort. ‘Hi, Mum,’ Max said, offering up the box of fruit.
‘Put them in the kitchen, will you?’ she said. ‘I haven’t got any hands free.’
‘How are you?’ I asked. Max disappeared into the darkness of the hall.
‘Not good,’ Caz said, grimacing.
‘Oh dear. What’s the matter?’
‘Everything,’ she sighed. ‘But I won’t keep you. You’ve got your kids waiting.’
‘Actually, I haven’t,’ I said. ‘They’re spending a few days with their grandparents.’
‘Do you want to come in then?’ she asked in the same despondent tone.
‘Yes.’ I smiled, pleased that I was being asked in and Caz appeared to be making an effort to get along with me. I waited on the doorstep as she awkwardly turned, easing her crutches around in little jolts until she was facing down the hall.
‘Shut the door behind you, will you?’ she said. I did as she asked and with no natural light the hall became darker still. ‘Light bulb’s gone,’ she said. ‘I can’t get up there to change it.’
‘Is no one else in?’ I asked.
‘They’re all out. Could have done with resting myself. My feet are killing me.’
‘Oh dear,’ I sympathized. ‘You should have phoned me – we could have cancelled contact tonight.’
‘Not likely! And let that social worker think I’m not coping? Quickest way to lose your kids, I’d say.’
We were now in their open-plan living room, which smelt of cigarette smoke despite the window being wide open. A large plasma-screen television stood against one wall with a sofa and two armchairs grouped in front of it. A kitchen area at the other end of the room was separated by a Formica-topped breakfast bar. I could now understand why Max went to his room to read; it was impossible to have privacy or escape from the television in this room. The television was on now, its bright lights and constantly moving images and loud dialogue dominating the room. Max had made a space for the box of fruit on the work surface and was waiting, uncertain of what to do next, presumably because his usual routine had been disrupted by me coming in. Caz noticed and said, ‘You can go to your room. Cathy can make me a drink if I want one.’
With a brief smile he turned and plodded off upstairs and a few moments later I heard his bedroom door close. Caz eased herself down into one of the armchairs, then lifted her feet onto the foo
tstool. ‘They told me at the hospital I should keep my feet elevated when sitting,’ she said. Both her feet were bandaged now and her slippers had been cut to fit.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ I asked. ‘I could change the light bulb in the hall.’
‘No. One of them can do it when they get back. It’s always going. It gets left on all night. Sit yourself down.’
The other armchair was occupied by one of their cats, so I sat on the sofa where I was at right angles to Caz. She picked up the remote and lowered the volume on the television until it was just a hum in the background. In front of me was a glass-topped coffee table littered with teenage magazines. A bright-red glass fruit bowl stood in the centre, but instead of containing fruit it held an attractive display of sweets – small packets of Smarties and Jelly Tots, lollipops and sherbet dips and so on. Very tempting indeed. I could picture Caz and her daughters in the evening watching television or flicking through the magazines while popping sweets, as they had done at the hospital. Jo had said it was what they did – a little family ritual. The rest of the room contained the detritus of six people living in a relatively small house where the main caregiver was incapacitated. Pans were in the sink, the draining board was stacked with cutlery and crockery, while the work surface was littered with takeaway pizza boxes and half-empty bottles of fizzy drinks. A number of beer cans had been stacked beside the overflowing bin. ‘Sorry about the state of the place,’ Caz said, nodding towards the kitchen ‘They just eat and leave me with their mess.’
‘Where have they gone?’ I asked, making conversation.
‘Dan’s out with his mates, drinking, and the girls have gone to the community hall. They put extra entertainment on in the summer. I used to go. It’s nice. You can meet people and have a cup of tea and a chat. But I haven’t been able to get there since I’ve been ill.’
‘You’ll be able to go again soon, once your foot is properly healed,’ I said encouragingly.
