by Cathy Glass
‘Yes, and also that he often gets into his sleeping bag in the evening and at weekends.’
‘So he doesn’t have a bed?’ Andrew asked, frowning.
‘Not according to him.’
‘I’ll be doing a home visit once Roksana is back, so I’ll look at the sleeping arrangements then. I think that’s all for now,’ Andrew said, checking his notes. ‘Do you have any further questions?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘I’ll have a look around,’ he said, returning his pad and pen to his briefcase, ‘then I’ll leave you to have your dinner. Something smells good.’
‘That’ll be the casserole,’ I said. While we’d been talking the smell of the dinner cooking had drifted in from the kitchen.
As we stood, I heard the front door burst open and Lucy’s excited cry of, ‘Hi, guys! Guess what? Darren has finally seen the light. I’ve got a date tonight!’
‘That’s my other daughter, Lucy,’ I told Andrew, and quickly stepped into the hall before she could say anything further. ‘Hello, love, Oskar’s social worker is here.’
‘Whoops, I forgot!’ Lucy said, clapping her hand over her mouth and grimacing. ‘I hope he doesn’t take me into care.’
‘Lucy!’ I cautioned. Andrew appeared in the hall.
‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘I hope you have a nice evening.’
‘Thanks,’ she replied a little brusquely. ‘I’m going to my room now to get ready.’
I smiled indulgently. Having been in and out of care herself for some years before coming to me, Lucy hadn’t always had the best experience of social workers and had been quite anti them for a while. She was much better now, but could still be hostile sometimes, although I doubted she saw it that way, and I’m sure they’d experienced far worse.
I’d been about to show Andrew around our house, and I now led the way into our front room, which contained the desktop computer and printer we all used, bookshelves, a sound system, small sofa and an extending dining table with chairs that we used when we had guests. From there, I took him back down the hall and into the kitchen-diner, where Paula and Oskar were still at the table doing puzzles.
‘Thank you,’ I said to Paula, and I praised Oskar for playing nicely, as did Andrew.
I then showed Andrew upstairs, where he looked in all the rooms except Lucy’s, as he said there was no need to disturb her. Sensible decision, I thought.
Downstairs again, Andrew collected his briefcase from the living room said goodbye to Oskar and Paula, and I showed him out. Five minutes later Adrian arrived home and I called everyone to dinner. Lucy joined us late, gobbled down her dinner and then returned to her room to finish getting ready, although I told her she looked beautiful as she was. Darren was a co-worker of hers at the nursery and she’d been talking about him for some time, so I’d known they were friends, but now it seemed their relationship had shifted to a different level. Adrian and Paula tempered and often internalized their feelings, but Lucy wore her heart on her sleeve. I was pleased she was going on a date but feared she might get hurt if she invested too much in their relationship too soon. But there is only so much you can say as a parent before advice becomes dogma.
Sometimes, when a child sees their social worker, it helps to reassure and settle them into their foster home, but Oskar was just as quiet and withdrawn after seeing Andrew as he had been before. He didn’t mention his visit and I didn’t press him, and so our evening continued. After dinner, Oskar and I went into the living room where he read his school book, then I read him some stories before beginning his bath and bedtime routine. As on the previous evenings, I waited outside the bathroom door while he undressed, bathed and put on his pyjamas. Then I went in while he brushed his teeth. It was as we were going round the landing to his bedroom that he asked, ‘Will I have to see Andrew again?’
‘Yes, he’s your social worker. If you have a problem, you can tell him or me.’ Oskar frowned, worried. ‘Andrew’s nice,’ I said. ‘He wants to make sure you’re safe and well looked after.’
He looked thoughtful and then asked, ‘How do you know he’s nice?’
‘Because he’s a social worker and wants to help children. He will have passed a lot of exams and checks to make sure he is suitable to work with children.’
Oskar went quiet again and as we entered his bedroom he asked, ‘Is Adrian nice?’
‘Yes, he’s my son.’
Another thoughtful pause and then, ‘Are my uncles nice?’
‘I don’t know, love. I’ve never met them. You probably know that better than me. What do you think?’
Silence. He picked up his teddy bear and, ignoring my question, said, ‘My brother Luka is nice.’
‘Yes, I’m sure he is. What about your uncles?’ I asked.
Oskar climbed into bed and snuggled down on his side, facing away from me, signalling the conversation was over.
‘Night, love, sleep tight,’ I said. ‘Friday tomorrow and then the weekend.’
There was no reply, so saying goodnight again, I came out, closing his bedroom door behind me.
In terms of fostering Oskar, I was having an easy time. Some children and young people arrive with huge behavioural problems and have passed through a number of foster carers before coming to me. Oskar was very well behaved, did as I asked, was eating and sleeping well, and was happy to go to school, but I wasn’t reassured. His passive acceptance, the haunted look in his eye, his apparent wariness around men, and some of the questions he asked and statements he made but didn’t follow through on gave me real cause for concern. My feeling that he had suffered more than neglect and a slap to his face increased, but it was still only a gut feeling from years of fostering; so far there was no evidence. When I wrote up my log notes that evening, I gave my usual objective account of Oskar’s day, without any speculation or conjecture, but I was fearing the worse.
Lucy returned home from her date with Darren at around 10.30 p.m. I was in the living room, about to go up to bed, but she came in and wanted to talk. She was far less excitable now and looked tired – hardly surprising after a day at work and then all the energy that had gone into getting ready. She said she’d had a nice time, and as we talked I learnt that Darren was the same age as her, 23, and had a younger sister who already had a two-year-old child. Darren and their parents were very supportive.
‘Good,’ I said, while thinking I hoped Lucy had the sense not to go down the same route. ‘Are you seeing him again?’ I asked.
‘Yes, tomorrow at work.’
‘No, I meant on another date.’
‘I hope so, I’d like to,’ Lucy said. ‘But he needs to do the running. I remember what you told me.’
‘What was that, love?’ I asked sceptically.
‘You said, “Flee and they follow. Follow and they flee.”’
I smiled weakly. ‘Oh, yes, I remember, but don’t take it too literally. That was the advice given back when I was courting John, and look where it got me!’ John was my ex-husband.
‘It’s still true,’ she said, taking my hand. ‘Most guys like to do the running. It makes them feel in charge.’
‘OK, if you say so. I’ll look forward to meeting Darren.’
‘Not yet, Mum!’ she exclaimed, horrified. ‘That’s months away.’
Oskar slept well, dressed himself and then came down to breakfast and wanted his usual roll with a ham and cheese filling. When I eventually met his mother, I would ask her what else he liked for breakfast. I’d asked him a few times, but he had just shrugged. As in most instances like this, it was as if he didn’t feel he had the right to voice his opinion or make choices but had to accept everything that came his way. Perhaps that was what had happened in the past.
At school there was no sign of the black car, although I saw Oskar looking. My friend Angela was in the playground again and came over to talk while we waited
for the start of school. The children she was fostering played with their friends, while Oskar stayed close by my side. Once he’d gone into school I went home and phoned my mother to see if we could visit her at the weekend. She lived about an hour’s drive away and I tried to see her most weekends. My father had died two years before. We also spoke on the phone a few times during the week. Mum was gentle, kind, patient, and she loved children. She and my father had always been very supportive of my fostering and I thought if anyone could persuade Oskar to relax and come out of his shell then she could.
Chapter Eight
Preoccupied
Saturday was a more leisurely day for us all without any school, college or work. In the morning I set up various activities for Oskar to do at the table in the kitchen-diner and encouraged him to paint, model with dough, draw and play, all with some success. In the afternoon after lunch I took him to our local park, while Lucy, Adrian and Paula did what they wanted to at home. Paula had some college work to complete, and they were all going out later: Adrian to see his girlfriend, Kirsty, Paula with a friend to the cinema and Lucy on another date with Darren – preparations had already begun.
It was a fine spring day and there were plenty of other families in the park. I showed Oskar to the gated area where the children’s play equipment was, but he didn’t immediately run off to play as another child might. He stayed close beside me, apprehensive and wary. It took some encouragement to get him to try the apparatus, but eventually he began playing and, I think, enjoying himself in his own quiet way. As long as I was close at hand, he went from one piece of equipment to the next and played alongside the other children. I pushed him on the swings, spun the roundabout and then, as I rocked him on the sprung dragon, I asked casually, ‘Does your mother take you to the park?’
‘No, she works,’ he replied.
‘What about at weekends?’
‘She works,’ he said again.
‘All of Saturday and Sunday?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. Lulled and occupied by the rocking motion, he was more willing to talk.
‘So who looks after you at weekends?’ I asked. No one was close enough to hear us.
‘My aunts and uncles,’ Oskar said.
‘Do they take you out?’
‘No. I stay in my sleeping bag.’
I doubted he did stay in his sleeping bag all weekend, but if he wasn’t taken out it probably seemed like it. He was still enjoying the rocking dragon, so I continued to probe. ‘Who cooks your meals at the weekends?’
‘Whoever is in the house.’
‘Your aunts and uncles?’
He nodded.
‘Are they nice to you?’
Silence. He slowed the rocker and said, ‘I want to play on something else.’ His guard was up again and the moment had passed.
Once Oskar had exhausted all the play area had to offer, I took him to the duck pond on the other side of the park where a mother duck was swimming up and down, with her cute little ducklings following. I bought him an ice cream from the park café and we sat on a bench as he ate it. Then we took a slow walk back to the house and I thought Oskar was the most relaxed I’d seen him. He had some colour in his cheeks from being outside all afternoon and his expression was softer, less guarded. I’d found before that doing something together – even a small outing – can help a child relax, bond and feel part of the family. Although I didn’t know how long Oskar would be with us, it was important he felt included and formed some attachment to us. I was therefore hoping that what had begun in the park would continue once we were home, allowing us to build on it.
However, as we began up our garden path the front door suddenly opened and Adrian stepped out, on his way to see Kirsty. Oskar started and I saw his expression change to one of caution and vigilance. It was the same reaction he’d had when he’d seen Andrew. I didn’t think it had anything to do with them personally but suggested a wariness of men in general. Thankfully Adrian hadn’t seen it and said, ‘Hi, Oskar, did you have a good time in the park?’
Oskar gave a small nod, head down and chin pressed into his chest.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I said. ‘Say hello to Kirsty. Will she be coming with us to Grandma’s tomorrow?’
‘No, she’s seeing her own gran.’
‘OK. Have a good evening. Give her my love.’
‘Will do.’ He kissed my cheek, said goodbye to us both and then disappeared down the path to his car.
As soon as Oskar and I were indoors I said, ‘Adrian won’t harm you, neither will Andrew.’
He concentrated on taking off his shoes.
‘Most men are good like Andrew and Adrian, but there are a few who can hurt children. If that happens, it is important the child tells an adult they trust so the man can be stopped.’ I thought that by putting it in general terms Oskar might feel able to tell me, but that wasn’t going to happen yet. Having taken off his shoes and put on his slippers, he came with me into the kitchen where I began preparing dinner. He liked to be close by, so I gave him some little jobs to do and then he fed Sammy.
That evening, after we’d eaten and Paula and Lucy had gone out, I read to Oskar, then told him a little about my mother, who we were all going to see the following day, and where she lived. He sat quiet and accepting, as he was in most things. Once he was in bed, with the house to myself, I completed some work on my computer and then relaxed in the living room, where I watched a film on the television. I was in bed by the time Paula, Lucy and Adrian let themselves in. They were very quiet, but a short while later I heard the most appalling shriek from Oskar’s room. Throwing on my dressing gown, I raced round the landing and, knocking on his door, went in. He was under the duvet, crying hysterically, ‘No! Go away. Leave me alone.’
‘Oskar,’ I said kindly but firmly, turning up the light. ‘It’s Cathy.’ I gently eased the duvet away from his face. His expression of horror and fear before he realized it was me was awful to see. ‘Oskar, it’s all right, love. You’re safe. You’re having a bad dream.’ I sat on the edge of the bed and took him in my arms. He lay his head against my chest and sobbed.
I heard Paula’s and Lucy’s bedrooms doors open and they appeared on the landing outside Oskar’s room, looking very worried. ‘It’s OK,’ I told them. ‘You go back to bed. I’ll stay with him until he’s settled.’
They returned to their rooms. I held Oskar and gently stroked his head, soothing him. ‘You are safe. You had a bad dream.’
Eventually his sobbing eased, but his head still rested against me. ‘Can you tell me what the dream was about?’ I quietly asked him.
‘No,’ came his small reply.
‘You’re safe here in your own room,’ I said. ‘But if someone has hurt you in the past, it will help if you can tell me.’
‘I want to go to sleep,’ he said, changing the subject, and he drew away.
‘All right.’ He snuggled down, cuddling his teddy bear, and I drew the duvet over him.
‘Can you close my door and leave my light on?’ he asked from under the covers.
‘Yes. But you are safe here,’ I said again.
There was no reply, so, leaving the light on, I came out and closed his bedroom door as he’d asked. Of course, I could have believed the nightmare had simply been a product of Oskar’s imagination, as bad dreams often are, had I not fostered abused children before whose only outlet for their past suffering was through night terrors.
Oskar didn’t wake again and the following morning, Sunday, we all slept in a bit later – including Oskar. When I heard him moving around in his bedroom, I knocked on his door and went in. ‘OK, love?’
He nodded, left his room to use the toilet and then returned to dress. ‘You had a bad dream last night,’ I said, setting out the clothes he would wear today to go to my mother’s. ‘Do you remember what it was about?’
‘Yes,’ he
said quietly.
‘Can you tell me?’
‘No.’ He began to dress, so I didn’t ask any further questions at that point and left him to it.
At eleven o’clock we left the house to go to my mother’s. Adrian drove my car and I sat in the passenger seat while Lucy and Paula sat in the rear with Oskar, keeping him amused with books and the iPad. Mum used to cook us all a traditional Sunday lunch when we visited her, but now she was in her eighties it had become too much, so I usually treated us to a meal out. I’d booked a table for today at a pub restaurant a short walk from where Mum lived. We’d been there before and it was child-friendly, with a small play area for children.
Mum must have been looking out for us, for as we pulled onto her driveway just before midday her front door opened and there she stood, ready to greet us, smiling and waving. She always makes such a fuss of us and the children we foster. Although I’d left home many years before when I’d married, it still felt as though I was coming home each time I visited. As we filed in, Mum kissed us one by one and I introduced Oskar. ‘Would you like a kiss?’ she asked him, but he shook his head. She understood. ‘Another time then, when you know me better. I’ll show you where the toys are.’
Mum keeps a large toy box for the children in the living room, but Oskar wasn’t going anywhere without me. Holding his hand, I took him through to the living room and then sat on the floor with him and encouraged him to explore the toy box. Lucy and Paula had gone into the kitchen with Mum to make us some drinks. Adrian was with them too, asking Mum if she had any odd jobs she needed doing. Since my father had died, Adrian did the general maintenance jobs that my father had done; for example, cutting the grass and clearing a blocked gutter. My brother and his family helped out too.
There was nearly an hour before we needed to leave for the restaurant so we sat in Mum’s living room with our drinks. I would like to say that Oskar quickly relaxed around Mum – or rather Nana, as most of the children we fostered called her – and was soon following her around as he did me. But that wasn’t so. He remained watchful and on high alert. Every noise that came from inside or outside the house startled him and he anxiously looked to see where it had come from. It got a bit easier as we walked to the pub restaurant and during lunch, perhaps because we were in neutral territory, I don’t know, but once we returned he sat by me for the rest of the afternoon. When it was time to go, Mum said to me, ‘Oskar seems a nice child, but he’s far too quiet.’
