by Angela Hart
I sighed. I’d told Grace that she only had to ask me if she needed something to eat or drink. There was certainly no need for her to smuggle food upstairs like this, and my initial reaction was to wonder if perhaps she was too shy to ask me for snacks. I didn’t think that was the case; she’d asked me for a biscuit straight after breakfast, hadn’t she?
Inevitably, I had to consider if there might be a deeper or more serious explanation for Grace’s behaviour, especially considering the fact she appeared underweight. It wasn’t long before this that Princess Diana’s struggle with bulimia had made headlines around the world, and I was well aware that even ten-year-old girls were at risk of developing eating disorders. I’d have been naive not to question whether Grace might have an unhealthy relationship with food. Thinking about it, I realised we’d talked an awful lot about food in the short time she’d been here. Perhaps she was hung up about it in some way, or was I overthinking things?
I can remember smuggling food, as a young girl myself, into my friend’s bedroom during a sleepover party. We’d intended to have a midnight feast but we all fell asleep before twelve o’clock, and when we woke the next morning we were dismayed to find the room smelled awful. Our haul had included some fish fingers we managed to swipe from the dinner table, not thinking about how cold and smelly they would be hours later. I had a little laugh at the memory and told myself not to get carried away with hypothetical theories. Hopefully, the truth about Grace’s food haul wouldn’t be as bad as I feared.
I left the cereal and crackers where I’d found them and decided I would talk to Grace about this later on, when I felt the time was right.
5
‘It’s as if the paperwork has been muddled up!’
Back in the garden, I let Grace play on her pogo stick as I’d promised. She appeared to have completely forgotten what I’d said earlier about staying on the soft grass and immediately started bouncing on the patio. I asked her to move to the lawn and reminded her why.
‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I forgot.’ Lots of kids forget things ‘on purpose’ when it suits them, but this didn’t appear to be the case with Grace; I think she genuinely forgot.
‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated solemnly. ‘I didn’t mean to wind you up.’
‘I know, sweetheart, and you didn’t wind me up. You just forgot what I said earlier, that’s all. There’s a lot to remember in a new place, isn’t there? I just don’t want you to hurt yourself. I wouldn’t let any child bounce on the patio. It’s dangerous.’
‘I didn’t mean to wind you up, honest,’ she said anxiously. She was staring all around, her eyes wide and unblinking and her front teeth biting into her bottom lip so hard it went white.
‘Sweetheart, it’s fine. I know that. You didn’t wind me up at all. Now, let’s see what you can do on your pogo stick!’
I sat in a garden chair and watched Grace step on her pogo stick and launch herself on the grass. I was glad of an excuse to take the weight off my feet for a few minutes, but I soon found myself feeling anything but relaxed. It was exhausting to watch Grace. She bounced so frenetically, a look of deep concentration on her face as she earnestly counted how many bounces she could stay up for. Every time she faltered she diligently went back to zero and started counting again. She was relentless. After five minutes or so Grace was red and panting, and her curls were clinging to her sticky little face. The sun was already full of heat and I suggested we should both have a cool drink and then go over to the playing field with the frisbee. Thankfully, she readily agreed.
‘Will the people at that barbecue tomorrow like me?’ she asked quietly as we headed out of the garden gate. She suddenly seemed quite subdued after all her exertion; her voice reminded me of the little whisper she’d used when she first arrived. She was also looking away from me, into the distance, although I’d noticed that she avoided eye contact a lot of the time. That’s not uncommon in children who are settling in and are feeling shy. I don’t ever mention it, but I do make a point of giving eye contact back, in the hope they will mirror my actions. Saying ‘Look at me when I’m talking’ is never advisable. We’ve been told this in training many times, because although the child is not looking at you, for whatever reason, he or she can still hear what you are saying, and the majority of the time they are taking in what you are saying to them.
‘Will the people at the barbecue tomorrow like you?’ I repeated back cheerfully, focusing all my attention on Grace. ‘I’m sure they will! You’re such a lovely girl. I think everyone will be very pleased to meet you.’ I reminded her that the barbecue was taking place at the home of a good friend of mine who had lots of children, and that she would also meet the two girls who were living with us at that time.
‘I hope they all like me,’ she said meekly. ‘But if they don’t, what can you do?’ She shrugged and bravely flashed me a half-smile. Once again, I had the feeling she was mimicking a phrase she’d heard someone else use. ‘What can you do?’ It sounded like something an older person would say, not a ten-year-old girl. I wondered who she’d picked it up from.
We had a great game on the playing field. Grace raced around like an excited pup, retrieving the frisbee even when it fell closer to me than her. When she’d had enough we walked over to the play area, where two young girls, roughly the same age as Grace, were taking it in turns to idly launch their dolls down the slide. They looked slightly bored. Grace immediately went up to them and asked if she could play. I was pleased she’d done this all by herself. I saw the girls exchange uncertain glances but then the older-looking of the two shrugged and said OK. Grace smiled and set herself up as the ‘catcher’ at the bottom of the slide, running the dolls back to the girls at the top of the steps after each turn.
I sat down on a nearby bench, from where I could keep an eye on things without cramping Grace’s style. I noticed that the first time she scooped up their dolls the girls didn’t look entirely comfortable, but when she quickly handed them straight back after each slide, the two girls relaxed. Very quickly, they seemed to be having a lot more fun than before Grace joined in, which was good to see. I heard Grace say nice things about the outfits the dolls were dressed in, which was also heartening.
‘Why don’t you give them a race?’ Grace suggested excitedly.
The girls liked this idea and they both lay on their tummies on the wooden platform at the top of the slide, ready to launch the dolls when the race began. Grace gave the ‘starting orders’, and as the dolls careered down the slide she provided a lively commentary that made the two girls giggle. ‘Sindy’s giving her a run for her money, but it’s Barbie in the silver skirt by a nose!’ Grace had the patter down to a tee; I reckoned she must have watched horseracing on the telly.
‘We have to go home now,’ one girl said eventually.
‘Can you play with us again?’ the other asked Grace. ‘Do you live here? When do you come out to play?’
The two girls looked like they’d had a great time.
‘I’m not sure,’ Grace muttered. ‘I’m just here for a few days. Then I’m going home, to my mum’s.’
‘OK then. Bye! Thanks for the game.’
The girls linked arms and walked off together, chattering animatedly. When I told Jonathan about this later, I remarked that Grace had lit up the girls’ morning. ‘They really enjoyed her company,’ I said. ‘Isn’t that great?’
‘Yes,’ he replied, looking impressed. ‘No winding up?’
‘No.’
‘No aggravating?’
‘No.’
‘Isn’t it odd?’ he said, scratching his head. ‘This doesn’t tally at all with the sort of behaviour we expected from Grace. I know we’ve barely got started, but . . .’
We’d had cases like this in the past, where the notes from Social Services didn’t seem to describe the child we had staying with us at all. I finished Jonathan’s sentence with him, knowing exactly what he was about to say: ‘It’s as if the paperwork has been muddled up!’
&n
bsp; We were forever saying the same thing at the same time, and we still do. Lots of children have asked us if we’re telepathic, which always makes us smile. Often a child asks one of us if, for instance, they can stay up late, and when they don’t get the answer they want they ask the other. They’re always dismayed when they get exactly the same response from both of us, despite the fact we haven’t consulted one another.
My trip with Grace to the shops and to my mum’s house was really enjoyable, and incident-free. She helped me pick out a few bits and bobs to take to the barbecue the following day, we got a packet of the crunchy cornflakes she liked, and Grace even insisted on carrying one of the shopping bags. At my mum’s she was very polite and well behaved.
‘What a little poppet,’ Mum commented. Grace had shown great interest in my mum’s knitting and patiently listened when my mum explained how she made all the separate panels of a baby’s cardigan then sewed them all together. At Mum’s suggestion, Grace explored the garden and delighted in filling an old margarine tub with some blackberries that were ripe and juicy.
‘Can I eat them, Thelma?’
I was impressed by Grace’s social poise. Mum always told the kids to call her Thelma, but I noticed that many of them avoided using her name to her face, or they said it but looked self-conscious, as if they’d accidentally addressed their head teacher by their Christian name.
‘Yes, of course you can, dear, but let’s give them a wash first. Bring them through to the kitchen. That’s it. This way, dear.’
By the time we reached the kitchen sink Grace already had purple stains around her lips, though I hadn’t spotted her popping any berries into her mouth. ‘They look yummy,’ she said as Mum washed the fruit. ‘I can’t wait to eat them!’
‘They do,’ I agreed. ‘I think they’re going to be delicious.’ Mum caught my eye and gave me a knowing smile; she’d spotted the giveaway stains on Grace’s lips too.
We had a generous slice of Mum’s homemade lemon cake and a cup of tea before we left, and on the way home I decided to talk to Grace about the chocolate biscuit wrappers I’d found in the bathroom bin. She was in such a chatty mood and we’d had a lovely morning. I hoped that if I approached the subject gently she’d be open to discussing it.
‘Oh yes, there’s something I’d like to talk to you about,’ I said casually. ‘When I cleaned the bathroom this morning I found some biscuit wrappers in the bin.’ Grace didn’t look fazed at all, and she waited for me to carry on. ‘I just wanted to remind you that if you want anything to eat or drink, please just ask. I know there are lots of things to learn, but in our house we don’t allow children to help themselves without asking, and we don’t allow food upstairs.’
‘Oh,’ she said, unperturbed. ‘So I’m not allowed chocolate biscuits?’
I was relieved she hadn’t denied it, as there was nobody else who could have put the wrappers in the bin, and of course I’d seen the stash under her pillow. I gently explained that of course she was allowed to have a chocolate biscuit or a snack if she was hungry between meals, but that she needed to ask me first. This was one of the rules we had for all the children, I reminded her.
‘Nobody told me,’ she said. She narrowed her eyes, as if she was thinking hard. ‘I’m not lying, you know. Did you tell me that?’
‘Yes I did, but as I’ve said, I understand you’ve had a lot to take in.’
‘Sorry. It’s hard to remember all the different rules and stuff. Every house is different, isn’t it?’
‘Of course, and I know it can’t have been easy for you to move house lots of times. I’m not cross, but now you know what the rule is in our house, please just ask next time you want a snack or anything from the kitchen. You can help yourself to water but please ask about anything else. This is for your benefit, by the way. The rule is there so all the children who live with us eat healthily. Do you remember that phrase we talked about?’
‘No, sorry.’
‘Everything in moderation. It’s not that you can’t have treats, but you can’t have too many, and that’s why you need to ask first.’
‘OK. Sorry.’
‘It’s OK, there’s no need to apologise again. Have you taken anything else you want to tell me about, or is it just the biscuits? I’m not cross, I just need to know if there is anything missing from the cupboards, in case I need to replace it.’
She thought for a minute and told me about the crackers and ‘something else I can’t remember’. She added that she hadn’t eaten the other stuff but just had it there ‘in case I needed it’. I think she genuinely had forgotten what the other item – the mini cereal pack – was.
‘That’s all right, sweetheart. Thanks for telling me. If you remember what the other thing is, please let me know, and when we get home you can put them back in the kitchen and ask me if you want them.’
I felt some relief. I was no expert on eating disorders but I did know that, typically, those with issues were likely to feel ashamed and cover up their habits. I was confident Grace was telling the truth, and I was relieved she didn’t lie or look embarrassed or guilty. Also, I’d seen her enjoy the slice of lemon cake at Mum’s house in a very normal way, just as my mum and I did. She didn’t pick at it or disappear to the toilet afterwards; she simply enjoyed it, as any child would. My instincts were telling me Grace’s food smuggling had more to do with her unsettled background and unstable predicament than with any kind of eating disorder, but I’d still keep my eyes peeled. I’ve always lived by the motto ‘you can never be too careful’, and one fact was undeniable: Grace was very thin for a child who enjoyed her food so much. Mind you, as she said herself, she does have ants in her pants. That thought collided with all the others in my head as I tried to work Grace out.
I’m always on particularly high alert at the start of a placement, trying to assess a child from all angles. Not only am I aware that you rarely, if ever, get the full picture from Social Services – sometimes with good reason – but I’ve also learned that the longer a child has been in care, the sketchier the handover information can be, simply because of the volume of notes in a child’s file. I’ve never met a social worker who hasn’t been snowed under with work and, as I’ve said before, when a child urgently needs a new home there is rarely enough time to fully digest and summarise a child’s full history in order to pass this on to a new foster carer. Often, we have to make do with notes that only scratch the surface of the child’s background and circumstances, and in some cases information of a confidential nature is deliberately held back for data protection reasons, or only handed over on a ‘need to know’ basis. I don’t object to this; a child in care, and their family, has the same rights to privacy as everybody else. However, this often means that when I start to look after a new child – and particularly one who has been in multiple placements – I feel like I’ve been given a jigsaw puzzle with pieces missing. I don’t even know how many pieces there are to find or if they have been lost forever. Grace was definitely a puzzle, but I welcomed the challenge. I liked her a lot already, and I wanted to understand her and help her as best I could.
Our conversation about the chocolate biscuit wrappers prompted me to ask Grace if she would like me to write down a set of our house rules for her to keep in her room. She said she would like that and repeated that she couldn’t remember me telling her the rules in the first place. I knew I had, because I always run through the house rules with every child who comes to stay with us as soon as I possibly can.
When I first started fostering I didn’t like the idea of imposing rules, especially on the day a child moved in. It seemed unwelcoming, but I soon learned that it’s beneficial to children to know exactly what to expect, and what’s expected of them. Having rules, sticking to them and being consistent are all keys to happy fostering. When children know where they are, and what the boundaries are, it makes them feel more stable and secure in their new environment, and helps them settle in and feel more confident in themselves.
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sp; ‘Look at it like this,’ a social worker once explained, when Jonathan and I began attending our ongoing training sessions for specialist carers. ‘Do you remember going to a school friend’s house for tea for the very first time, or starting a new job?’ she asked the group. We all nodded knowingly, and were urged to recall how we felt, being out of our familiar routines and comfort zones. I thought about when I moved away from home to take a job in the city. I was eighteen years old and eager to spread my wings, yet I was still homesick and had moments of feeling lost and lonely. ‘Now imagine that the first thing you do, in this new situation, is sit in someone else’s chair unwittingly. You are immediately asked, or told, to move. It might be your friend’s father who politely tells you that you’ve sat in his place at the dinner table, or a work colleague who rudely tells you to get out of his seat. Either way, how do you feel?’ The dozen or so foster carers in the class all agreed they would feel embarrassed and also annoyed, because nobody had explained to them which chairs were taken. ‘Precisely,’ said the social worker. ‘And that’s how children feel when they break rules they don’t even know exist. Let them know your house rules. Photocopy them and pin them on the walls if need be, but whatever you do make the children aware of what those rules are.’
Once Grace and I were back home I took a piece of card from the collection of art material I kept in a cupboard in the dining room and carefully wrote out a set of house rules for her. The first time I ever compiled a list of house rules I typed it up on my old Olivetti typewriter. These basic rules were pinned up on the noticeboard in the kitchen and had been for years. I knew them off by heart. However, with each new child I always make an effort to consider if any additional rules need to be put in place, and with Grace I decided to start from scratch and customise a list for her. I’d recognised that she often needed things to be told to her twice, and that she had a habit of forgetting things. I thought a simple, personalised set of rules would help her. Some of our general rules, such as ‘no smoking in the house’ and ‘always come in on time’ were aimed at older kids and teenagers, in any case.
