by Cathy Glass
‘Caz, I know you’re upset. I would be. But the social services have to be certain Max will be looked after and that Dan won’t be coming home.’ Max wasn’t within earshot so I felt I could speak freely to her.
‘I wished I’d never agreed to Max going into care in the first place!’ Caz blurted. I didn’t comment, but had she not agreed the social services would have applied for a court order at the start to remove him from home. You can’t leave a six-year-old unattended, as had happened to Max.
‘Did Jo’s manager give you some idea of the timescale?’ I asked when Caz had stopped crying.
‘No. She says she’ll need to speak to Jo, as she’s our caseworker, then set up the home visits and the review. I think she was talking weeks, possibly months, not days.’
‘What about contact arrangements?’ I asked. ‘You’re seeing Max this afternoon at the Family Centre and then when?’
‘I don’t know,’ she cried, distraught. ‘Could you find out for me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you, Cathy. I can’t cope with all this and my foot is killing me. I’m going to take some painkillers.’
It was the least I could do for her. Although dispassionately I knew the reasons Max couldn’t go home at present, as a mother I sympathized with Caz – separated from her child and up against the social services, who had no immediate plans to return him. Adrian and Paula had been away for a few days and I was so pleased to have them back again. Not only was Caz separated from her son, but she had no control over when or even if he would be returned. Whether I could find out any more I didn’t know, but first I needed to check on the children’s teeth-cleaning.
I went upstairs, where they were all gathered in the bathroom, but I got as far as the landing when the phone began to ring again. I answered it in my bedroom. ‘Is that Cathy Glass?’ a woman asked.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s Lorraine, Jo’s manager. You’re the foster carer looking after Max, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, that’s correct.’
‘Jo’s off sick and I’m handling her caseload for the time being. I’ve just spoken to his mother, Caz. She wants to take Max home, but I’ve had to explain that’s not possible now. I wanted to check the contact arrangements with you. I believe Max is seeing his mother this afternoon from two o’clock to three-thirty at the Family Centre. Are you able to take and collect him?’ She sounded very efficient.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. I’m going to book the Family Centre and transport for Thursday this week too, at the same time.’ I reached for a pen and paper and made a note. ‘Then next week, and until Max returns to school, contact will be Monday, Wednesday and Friday, two o’clock to three-thirty at the Family Centre.’
‘Do you want him to phone his mother on the evenings he doesn’t see her?’ I asked as I wrote. ‘He has been doing.’
‘Yes. If phone contact is going well, it can continue. I’ll speak to Caz shortly with the arrangements. How is Max coping? He’s bright, isn’t he?’
‘Yes, he’s coping well. He misses his family, obviously, but he has a good understanding of why he is in care.’
‘And he can stay with you for as long as necessary?’
‘Yes.’
‘Excellent. Thank you.’
‘Lorraine, will Paris be staying at home?’ I asked.
‘I’m going to see her as soon as I can this week,’ she said, and then ended the call with a pleasant and efficient goodbye.
It crossed my mind that Jo’s absence could be stress-related. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised. I wondered what Caz would make of the new contact arrangements. Until the last few days she had been used to seeing Max every day, but now – and for the foreseeable future – it would be three times a week. I knew there wouldn’t be the funding for more supervised contact, as resources were stretched to the limit. Usually only babies and toddlers who are being adopted or rehabilitated home have daily contact. But how would Caz take these new arrangements? It wasn’t long before I found out.
The children had brushed their teeth and we were now downstairs. We’d had some rain, so they were rummaging in the toy cupboard for games to play indoors. When the phone rang, I answered it in the living room.
‘Cathy!’ I recognized Caz’s voice. ‘They’re only going to let me see Max three times a week! It’s shocking. They should be reported. I’m going to speak to …’ I couldn’t hear for the noise in the background. ‘Paris! Turn the television down!’ Caz shouted. The volume was reduced, but a banging sound continued. ‘The lock’s being changed on the front door,’ she added. ‘It’s doing my head in. I can’t think straight.’
‘Hopefully it won’t take long,’ I offered.
‘And we’re being supervised the whole time!’ Caz said, returning to the issue of contact. ‘A stranger will be in the room with us constantly. It’s not right.’
‘It’s standard procedure,’ I said.
‘But I have been seeing him at home.’ Which was obviously true.
‘Did Lorraine explain why the contact has been moved?’ I asked.
‘Sort of. It’s because of him [Dan], and Max not being properly looked after before. But I told her Dan had gone, and although I can’t get around properly, Max’s sisters will be here to look after him.’
‘I know, but the social services have to satisfy themselves that Max is safe and being properly looked after.’
‘Of course he will be,’ she snapped.
‘You know that, but they need to be certain too.’ I heard her tut and sigh. ‘Caz, my advice would be to concentrate on enjoying your time with Max this afternoon. That’s the most important thing, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but …’ she began and stopped as one of the girls shouted.
‘Mum! The nurse is here.’
‘Oh drat, I forgot about her. I’ll have to go.’
‘I’ll see you this afternoon then,’ I said.
‘Why? Will you be there?’
‘Yes, I’ll bring Max into the Family Centre, say hello to you and then leave. At three-thirty I’ll come into the centre to collect him.’
‘Oh good,’ she said, brightening. ‘I didn’t realize you’d be there. See you later then.’
I was left thinking how much our relationship had improved since those first days at the hospital, that she now viewed me as an ally and welcomed my presence. I could appreciate it was daunting for a parent to have to see their child at a Family Centre with a supervisor watching, but I knew from experience that after a few visits they fell into the routine and were more relaxed and able to make the most of their time together. Indeed, some parents living in poverty actually prefer being at the centre rather than home. It’s clean, comfortable, well equipped, the staff are friendly and in winter it’s warm – which, sadly, some family homes aren’t.
The rain stopped and the children went outside to play until lunch, then at half past one we set off in the car for the Family Centre. I stopped at a small grocery store on the way to buy some fruit for Max to take with him, as it had become a little ritual, and he chose a box of ripe peaches. ‘Don’t forget to wash them before you eat them,’ I said as I paid. ‘There’s a kitchen at the centre. The supervisor will show you and your mum where it is.’ The supervisor’s role wasn’t only to monitor and record, but also to help and intervene as and when necessary.
I parked in the car park at the front of the centre and we all got out. Adrian and Paula had been before and knew the routine. I never left them in the car, as it was out of sight of most of the rooms, and I never knew how long I would be.
‘It’s bigger than I thought,’ Max said, carrying the fruit and surveying the single-storey building. It sprawled round in an L shape and a large outdoor play area was at one end with a slide, swings, a sandpit and wooden benches. Two children were out there now, riding tricycles as their parents watched. The whole centre was surrounded by a six-foot-high security fence.
Paula held my hand and the boys followed close behin
d as I led the way up the path to the main entrance. Max was looking slightly apprehensive.
‘Don’t worry, it will be fine,’ I said, throwing him a reassuring smile. I pressed the buzzer and the CCTV camera overhead whirred before the door clicked open. Inside, the receptionist sat behind a low partition, working at a desk. She recognized me from previous visits with other children and said hello and smiled at the children. ‘Is Max’s mother, Caz, here yet?’ I asked.
‘Yes, and his sisters. They’re in Red Room. Sign in, please, and then you can go straight through.’ The six rooms are identified by colours. I signed the visitors’ book and then pushed open the swing doors and we went down the corridor.
‘My sisters have come too,’ Max said, pleased, and glancing up at the brightly coloured artwork on the wall as we went. The whole centre was attractively decorated and child-friendly.
The door to Red Room was open and I stepped in with Max while Adrian and Paula waited by the door. Caz was sitting in the middle of the sofa with her feet up on a child’s stool and her crutches balanced against the sofa either side of her. Her daughters were sitting on chairs around her, leaning in and talking in a huddle, pretty much as they had been when I’d first seen them at the hospital. But now there wasn’t the same air of collusion or hostility; they seemed to be huddling together for moral support rather than presenting a united front. They looked relieved and pleased to see me.
‘Hello, Cathy,’ Caz said, ending their conversation.
Summer immediately stood and came over to Max. ‘Hello, little man,’ she said, ruffling his hair.
The contact supervisor, seated at a table in one corner, looked up and said hello and then continued writing. Goodness knows what she was finding to write about, as Max had only just arrived – possibly the way they’d greeted him and were interacting with each other, which was often included in the reports.
‘Come and give me a kiss, son,’ Caz said. ‘I can’t get up, my feet are bad.’
He plodded over in his usual style, kissed his mother on her offered cheek and set the box of peaches on her lap. ‘Cathy says you have to wash them first,’ he said.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I was running short of time so I bought them on the way here.’ She knew I usually washed the fruit first so it was ready to eat. I glanced at the contact supervisor. ‘Could someone show them where the kitchen is?’
‘I’ve already done that and shown them where the bathroom is,’ she said.
‘I know where the kitchen is,’ Kelly said. ‘I can wash them.’ Standing, and apparently pleased to have a little job to do, she took the peaches and disappeared out of the room, saying hi to Adrian and Paula as she went by.
‘We can have drinks and biscuits later,’ Caz enthused to Max.
He nodded but was still looking around, rather bemused and a little overwhelmed, not sure what he should be doing. ‘There are games and books over there,’ I said, pointing to the cupboards and shelves overflowing with boxed games and books.
‘Let’s go and find a game, shall we?’ Summer said to Max. He crossed the room with Summer while Paris stayed where she was, looking rather pensive.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked her.
She gave a half-hearted nod.
‘There’s been a lot going on for you,’ I said sympathetically.
‘I know.’
I didn’t want to pry, and having seen Max in and said hello, it was time for me to leave. Contact is the family’s time together and I shouldn’t impinge on it. ‘Bye then, see you at three-thirty,’ I said and left, collecting Adrian and Paula on the way out of the room.
I signed out of the visitors’ book and we left the centre. There’s a small park not far away that I’d visited before while children had been at the Family Centre and we walked there now. By coincidence another foster carer I knew was there. She was fostering two children from different families and the little girl was in the centre seeing her parents, so she’d brought the five-year-old boy, David, to the park. We introduced the children to each other and then chatted as they played. ‘I spend most of my life here at the moment,’ she said. She then explained that David had contact Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings, and the little girl on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons.
I enjoyed her company and the children played nicely, with Adrian, as the eldest, organizing some games. We had to leave before them, as their contact didn’t finish for another half an hour. I said I might see her again on Thursday (Max’s next contact), but then the following week we were at the centre Monday, Wednesday and Friday afternoon.
We said goodbye and returned to the centre, where I buzzed us in and signed the visitors’ book again. Children’s voices playing happily could be heard coming from one room and a baby crying in another. Sometimes on the way in or out of the centre I’d heard a distraught parent crying as they’d had to say goodbye to their child, and it always broke my heart. Sometimes I think I’m too soft for this work, but then again you need a lot of empathy to foster.
The door to Red Room was closed. It was exactly 3.30 p.m. so I knocked and went in. Had we been early I would have waited outside, as every moment is precious when you are only seeing your child for a few hours a week. Max and his mother were sitting together on the sofa with a large colourful book about animals open between them. Summer and Paris were sitting cross-legged on the carpet either side of a low occasional table and playing a board game. Kelly, grown up as she was, had a child’s colouring book open on her lap and was concentrating on colouring in a picture with wax crayons, possibly an activity she hadn’t done since a child. It was a welcoming and convivial scene – a family relaxed and enjoying each other’s company – and it supported the centre’s policy of not having televisions in the rooms so that families were encouraged to interact rather than stare at a screen. I had never seen Caz sitting with Max and sharing a book, nor the girls playing a game. So involved were they that they’d barely acknowledged my arrival, and the contact supervisor had to tell them twice it was the end of the session and time to pack away.
Max returned the book to the shelf and then went round the room kissing his mother and then his sisters in turn and saying goodbye. I said goodbye and that we’d phone tomorrow evening at six o’clock and then see them again on Thursday. It’s usual for the carer and the child to leave the centre first so that long, drawn-out emotional and potentially upsetting goodbyes don’t spill out onto the pavement.
I signed us out and we left. Max was far more relaxed now he was familiar with the centre, and said he’d had a nice time without being asked. In the car he told us that he and his mother had read a book together about unusual animals, and did I know that the spiny echidna, found in Australia, is one of only two egg-laying mammals.
‘No, I didn’t,’ I said. ‘I don’t expect many people do.’
Nor that the buzz a house fly makes is always in the key of F.
‘Why?’ Adrian asked.
Max shrugged. ‘The book didn’t say.’
‘Perhaps it’s the only tune it knows,’ I offered.
It took the children a moment to realize I was joking. ‘You are silly, Mum,’ Adrian said.
But a really cute fact Max shared with us was that sea otters hold hands when they’re asleep to stop them drifting out to sea alone.
From Max’s overall enthusiasm I guessed he and his mother didn’t often sit down together with a book, if ever, and that the girls rarely played games together. So if there was a positive side to the family having to see each other in the confines of the Family Centre, it was that – to use a cliché – they had spent quality time together and enjoyed it.
The next day was Wednesday and I’d kept it free, as I needed to buy the boys their school uniforms. I’d left it until near the end of the summer holiday, as I’d got caught out before, buying new uniforms and shoes in plenty of time and then finding the child had had a growth spurt and everything was too small and had to be exchanged. I was also hoping that this had allowed Max t
ime to come down a size in clothes from all the exercise and healthy eating during the summer holidays. In the department store I didn’t draw attention to the sizes as I selected pairs of trousers and tops for Max to try on. Adrian was easy as he was average for his age and I knew exactly what would fit him.
I was therefore very pleased to find that the clothes that now fitted Max were for age eleven to twelve. His last school uniform had been for twelve to thirteen, so he’d come down a whole size. They would still need turning up, but this was real progress, although I didn’t draw Max’s attention to it in the store. I would note it in my log later and also tell Jill and Jo (or Lorraine) when I next updated them. Whether I would tell Caz or not I was uncertain. Would she view it in a positive light? I didn’t want her taking Max’s achievement as a personal slight, the inference being that if he could lose weight then so could she. It was difficult to know what to do for the best.
As it was, Max told his mother when we telephoned her that evening. Although I hadn’t mentioned it to him, he was smart and had read the size on the label while in the changing room. I couldn’t hear her reply, but it seemed positive so when he’d finished the call I praised him and told him he was doing well with his eating.
Max had contact again on Thursday afternoon, then the following week – the last week of the summer holidays – Lorraine had said it would be Monday, Wednesday and Friday. What the arrangements would be when the new school term started I hadn’t been told yet, but I quietly hoped contact would remain at three times a week rather than every night, as it had been when Caz had been in hospital. The new school term is always a time for hard work and it would put both boys under a lot of pressure if homework had to be fitted in around nightly trips to the Family Centre. However, what happened next changed contact arrangements in a way no one could have foreseen, and was truly shocking.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Very Poorly
After a pleasant weekend (we went to an adventure park on Saturday and my parents came for lunch on Sunday), Max had a dental appointment on Monday morning and he wasn’t looking forward to it. I don’t think anyone does, but Max had more to fear than most after his previous experiences when he’d had many fillings and then teeth extracted. I reassured him as best I could, although I, too, was anxious. Adrian and Paula were quietly pleased they didn’t have to go to the dentist; they’d had their check-ups during the spring bank holiday so weren’t due another one until December.
