Too Scared to Tell

by Cathy Glass

  ‘I know. Hopefully he’ll be more at ease next time we visit.’

  On Monday morning, Edith, my supervising social worker (SSW), telephoned. She asked how Oskar was settling in and said she wanted to visit us the following afternoon. I told her we would be home from school by four o’clock and then made a note in my diary that she was coming. An hour later Andrew telephoned. He asked how Oskar was and then said, ‘Oskar’s mother, Roksana, is due back in the UK tomorrow evening. I’m going to see her Wednesday morning, and I’ll set up a meeting for you to meet her in the afternoon at two o’clock. I’ll also arrange supervised contact for Oskar to see his mother on Wednesday at the Family Centre, four o’clock until five-thirty.’

  ‘OK.’ I reached for my diary and scribbled down these arrangements. ‘Where am I meeting Roksana?’ I asked as I wrote.

  ‘Here at the council offices.’

  ‘I’ll need to leave at three o’clock to collect Oskar from school and take him to the Family Centre,’ I said.

  ‘That should be fine. It’s just a short, informal meeting.’

  ‘Do you want me to tell Oskar he will be seeing his mother?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, please. I won’t have a chance before.’

  We said goodbye. My diary was quickly filling. I had Edith visiting straight after school on Tuesday afternoon, the meeting with Roksana on Wednesday, followed by contact, and a day’s foster-carer training on Thursday.

  That afternoon, when I collected Oskar from school, I told him what his social worker had said: that his mother was returning tomorrow so he would be able to see her on Wednesday at the Family Centre. Most children would have been ecstatic at the prospect of seeing their mother again, but not Oskar.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice flat.

  I explained a bit about the Family Centre. ‘It’s like a big house with lots of living rooms,’ I said as I drove. ‘You will see your mother in one of the rooms. It has a sofa, table and chairs, and lots of games and toys.’ All the rooms used for contact were similar. ‘Other children will be seeing their families in the other rooms too. A lady called a contact supervisor will be with you the whole time to make sure you’re all right.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said in the same voice. I appreciated it was a lot for him to take in.

  ‘In the past I’ve taken many other children I’ve looked after to the Family Centre,’ I continued. ‘They always had a good time with their parents.’

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘Oskar, are you happy you are seeing your mother?’ I asked, glancing at him in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Yes,’ he said in a tone that suggested he wasn’t. He changed the subject. ‘I’ve got maths homework in my school bag.’

  ‘OK. I’ll help you with it after dinner. Is there anything worrying you?’ I glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. He shook his head. ‘You know you can tell me if there is.’

  He didn’t reply and the subject of contact, the Family Centre and seeing his mother wasn’t mentioned again.

  As it turned out, Oskar didn’t need my help with his homework, but I sat with him at the table anyway while he completed it, then I heard him read. Afterwards, he watched some television, quietly and not really engaged with the programme, as he often seemed to be – gazing into the distance with a slight frown. At seven o’clock we followed our usual bedtime routine.

  The following morning, Miss Jordan came into the playground as Oskar and I waited for the start of school and made a point of asking me how he was settling at my house. ‘Slowly,’ I said. ‘How is he at school?’

  ‘He does his work nicely but seems preoccupied,’ she said, lowering her voice.

  ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ I agreed. Preoccupied summed up Oskar perfectly. Most of the time I had the feeling he was there in body, while his thoughts were a million miles away. ‘He’s seeing his mother after school tomorrow,’ I told her. It’s important the child’s teacher knows of any events that could impact on their general well-being and learning, so they can make allowances and offer support if necessary. I remember going into my children’s school when my husband left me and telling the Head. My children didn’t need additional support to get them through what was a very difficult time for us all, but it was reassuring to know it was there if necessary.

  Oskar was standing by my side as Miss Jordan and I talked, and she now spoke to him. ‘I expect you’re pleased to be seeing your mother again.’

  ‘Yes,’ Oskar said, without any indication of being pleased.

  ‘There’s a lot to adjust to,’ I told her. ‘What was their relationship like before?’ I asked quietly.

  ‘It’s difficult to say. He was usually dropped off and collected by his uncles. Will he be seeing her regularly?’

  ‘Yes, I would think so. His social worker will give me the details.’

  ‘What about his uncles? Will he be seeing some of them?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’

  Edith’s visit that afternoon was predictable if nothing else. In my experience, supervising social workers can interpret their role differently. My previous SSW, Jill, was very hands-on, committed and enthusiastic, often going beyond the call of duty or her job description. Edith, on the other hand, was more reserved in her energy and passion for the job, but we got along.

  She arrived half an hour late, didn’t apologize or remove her shoes and, saying a rather curt hello to Paula who’d just come home, took herself through to the living room where Oskar was patiently waiting for her. ‘How are you?’ she asked quite brusquely, sitting next to him.

  ‘OK,’ he said quietly, and moved further along the sofa.

  ‘Have you been to school?’ she asked in the same tone.

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘Has he been to school?’ she asked me, taking a notepad and pen from her shoulder bag.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is he seeing his family?’

  ‘He is seeing his mother tomorrow.’

  While she was writing, Oskar slipped quietly from the sofa and left the room. I heard him go up to his bedroom. ‘Oh, he’s gone,’ she said. ‘Never mind. I’ve seen him.’

  The rest of Edith’s visit followed its usual course. The outline is the same for most SSWs; it’s the interpretation that’s different. She gave me a copy of her report from her last visit, which I had to read, sign and return – I’d be emailed a copy for my records. Then, making notes as I replied, she asked questions from her check list: what were the contact arrangements? I didn’t know yet. How was Oskar doing at school? I told her. Were there any placement issues or changes in my household? No. Was Oskar receiving his pocket money? Yes. How much was I saving for him? ‘Ten pounds a week,’ I replied. All carers are expected to save for the child they are looking after. Edith then asked what training I’d attended since her last visit, made a note, and then read and signed my log notes. She looked around the house, called goodbye to Oskar, who was still in his bedroom, and left to write her report on this meeting. She’d done her job, but I never felt there was any real involvement or warmth.

  That evening Oskar was even quieter than normal, if that were possible. I asked him if he was all right and he nodded. I asked him if he was nervous about seeing his mother tomorrow. He shrugged, so I reassured him there was nothing to worry about. However, that night he had another nightmare and when I went to his room, he murmured, only half awake, ‘Am I seeing Mummy at my house?’

  ‘No, at the Family Centre,’ I replied, settling him. Reassured, he went straight back to sleep.

  Chapter Nine

  A Strange Reunion

  While Oskar wasn’t showing any emotion at seeing his mother again, I was pretty churned up and nervous inside. It’s always worrying, meeting the child’s family for the first time, wondering if they are going to like me and hoping we can get along. It is important for the child to see their pa
rent(s) and carer(s) working together, but it’s not always possible. Some parents remain very angry that their child is in care and direct it at the carer, constantly criticizing them and fault-finding, trying to undermine their role, even to the point of making unfounded allegations. Hopefully, Roksana wouldn’t be like that and we could work together for Oskar’s sake.

  I changed into a smart outfit for our meeting. Andrew was seeing Roksana that morning, I assumed at her house. Hopefully, he had been able to reassure her that Oskar was being well looked after so she would be calmer and more accepting by the time we met.

  I arrived at the council offices five minutes early, signed in at reception and then asked the receptionist which room the meeting was in. She didn’t have it listed but spent some time phoning various extensions, trying to find out where I should go, before calling Andrew’s mobile. He told her the meeting was in Room 7 and he was already there. I thanked her for her trouble and, looping the Visitor’s Pass around my neck, went up the stairs to Room 7.

  Andrew and the woman I assumed to be Roksana were sitting on the opposite side of a large table. Roksana was well built with brown hair and a pale complexion, but her eyes were red from crying. There was a plastic cup of water and a box of tissues on the table in front of her and she’d just been about to reach for another tissue when, on seeing me, she abruptly stood and rushed towards me. For a moment I thought she was going to hit me. I think Andrew did too, because he stood. But Roksana didn’t lash out, far from it. She threw her arms around me and sobbed, ‘Please, you must help me get my child back! He’s all I’ve got.’

  I’d met many parents before who’d been upset, but not one who dissolved into tears on my shoulder at our first meeting. I was deeply moved as she wept openly. ‘You must help me, please. Oskar is my reason for living,’ she said, distraught.

  I’ll admit I felt slightly uncomfortable at the close physical contact of this stranger, but I couldn’t just ease her away. Andrew was looking at us awkwardly, clearly not sure what to do for the best as Roksana continued to cry. ‘I’m so sorry I went away. I had to go for my other child, but I promise I won’t do it again.’ She had a slight accent, which seemed to highlight her emotion and remorse.

  I comforted her as best I could and presently Andrew picked up the box of tissues and came over. ‘Shall we sit down?’ he asked, offering her the tissues.

  Roksana took one and wiped her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she said, regaining control, and we sat at the table.

  ‘I know it’s difficult,’ I said to her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, and blew her nose. ‘I’m embarrassed, but it’s all such a shock. I had to see my other son, Luka – he’s not well – but now I’ve lost Oskar. I haven’t seen him for nearly three weeks.’

  ‘You’re seeing him this afternoon,’ I said, and Andrew nodded. I knew this wasn’t much by way of reassurance, but it was all I could think of.

  ‘Thank you for looking after Oskar,’ she said without any resentment.

  I felt so sorry for her. Andrew was still looking awkward and I wondered how their meeting that morning had gone; it had probably been more difficult than this one. She took a sip of water.

  ‘Roksana feels she has been treated unfairly,’ Andrew now said, looking at me. ‘And it was unnecessary for us to apply for a care order. I’ve explained our reasons and have suggested she takes legal advice.’

  ‘I have an appointment with a solicitor tomorrow,’ Roksana said. ‘But I don’t have enough money for a lawyer. Andrew says I will be given help.’

  ‘I believe you can apply for legal aid,’ I said.

  ‘Do you remember, I gave you some literature?’ Andrew reminded her.

  She nodded. ‘I haven’t read it yet.’

  ‘Your solicitor will be able to explain more about legal aid, and how to apply,’ Andrew said. Roksana looked lost and I appreciated what a daunting and massive task it must seem to a parent whose child had been taken into care, to have to deal with the legal complexities of the care system while grieving for their child. However, I reminded myself that if Oskar hadn’t been badly treated and in danger he would never have been taken into care. It had been done to protect him.

  ‘I didn’t hurt him,’ Roksana blurted out, as if reading my thoughts. ‘And neither did any of my friends.’

  ‘I think it might help if you could tell Roksana a bit about yourself and how Oskar is doing,’ Andrew said to me, changing the subject. We only had an hour and we were already twenty minutes into it.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘In my country we pay people to look after children,’ Roksana said. ‘And they’re not always nice to them.’

  ‘We have high standards of foster care here,’ Andrew said, and looked to me to continue.

  ‘I have been fostering for a long time – over twenty-five years – and I always do the best I can for the child I’m looking after,’ I began.

  ‘Do they all go home?’ she interrupted.

  ‘Not in all cases,’ I replied honestly, hoping I was saying the right thing. ‘But those who can’t are found permanent loving homes.’

  ‘I love Oskar,’ she said forcefully. ‘My home is good.’

  I nodded and continued. ‘I am divorced and have three grown-up children who live with me, a son and two daughters. The children we look after are always treated as part of our family. Oskar has his own bedroom and I have plenty of toys and games for him to play. We eat together whenever possible and I have been taking him to school and helping him with his homework.’

  ‘Do you take him to school every day?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, and meet him. If for any reason I can’t then my daughters, Lucy and Paula, are my nominated carers and they can help if necessary.’

  ‘Yet I am in trouble for letting others help me and take Oskar to school!’ she shot back, annoyed. I could see her point.

  ‘My daughters have been assessed as being suitable and are police-checked,’ I replied.

  ‘What does “police-checked” mean?’

  ‘Their details are run through a database to make sure they don’t have any criminal convictions,’ I said. ‘All members of a foster carer’s family are police-checked.’

  I saw a flash of recognition, guilt maybe, possibly suggesting she or someone who was responsible for Oskar could have a criminal record. But that wasn’t for me to comment on. The social services would look into it. I continued to describe my house, a typical day and what we liked to do in our leisure time, including activities especially for Oskar. I then asked, ‘If you could tell me what sort of things Oskar likes, and his routine, it would help me look after him.’

  ‘Routine?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, you know, when he goes to bed and gets up. If he prefers a shower or a bath in the morning or evening. What he likes to do in the evenings and weekends. That sort of thing.’

  ‘I don’t know. I work long hours. My friends take care of him. You’ll have to ask them.’

  I was surprised by her admission that she didn’t know her child’s routine, but she seemed unfazed.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘I have established a routine, but I always try to include the parents’ wishes if possible. Do you know what Oskar likes to eat?’

  ‘Most things,’ she said. ‘He has what he is given.’

  I nodded. I saw Andrew watching her carefully.

  ‘He chose some rolls for breakfast and he’s been having them with a cheese and ham filling,’ I said. ‘Is there anything else he might like?’

  ‘Breakfast is not a big meal for us. We all have to leave for work, so a roll or bread with butter and jam is OK.’

  ‘And for the evening you are happy for him to have what we have? It’s usually meat or fish and vegetables, casseroles, stews, sometimes pasta, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Yes, he has what we do. There are no sp
ecial meals for children.’

  I nodded. ‘Is there anything Oskar really doesn’t like?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘And he doesn’t have any allergies?’

  ‘No. Andrew asked me that.’

  ‘I’ve bought Oskar new clothes, but if there is anything you want him to have from home, can you send them, please? Also, any of his toys.’

  ‘There was no need for you to buy new clothes,’ Roksana said indignantly. ‘He has plenty. I work hard to buy him clothes, but my friend didn’t pack them for you. I was angry when I found out. I can send more.’

  ‘It’s not a problem,’ I said. ‘But if you would like Oskar to have them, that’s fine.’

  ‘Perhaps you can take them to contact this afternoon,’ Andrew suggested to Roksana.

  ‘I won’t have time to go home this afternoon, but I will bring them another time.’

  ‘Good, thank you,’ I said. ‘It’ll be nice for him to have his own belongings. Are there any toys he might like to have with him?’

  ‘Maybe. I’ll have a look in his sleeping bag,’ she replied.

  ‘Is that where Oskar keeps his toys?’ I asked. ‘Oskar mentioned a sleeping bag.’

  ‘Yes. The children keep their toys in their sleeping bags so they don’t get lost.’

  ‘Everyone in the house has their own sleeping bag on a mattress on the floor,’ Andrew explained. I assumed he’d seen this when he’d visited Roksana at home that morning.

  ‘Do the children sleep in their sleeping bags as well?’ I asked.