by Cathy Glass
The beach was a few minutes’ walk away from the hotel, and the hotel had three swimming pools in its grounds, one designed for children with water activities. Oskar couldn’t swim – his class would be starting swimming lessons in the new term – so he was wearing armbands at present. Paula and I went in the water with him and as well as having fun we showed him some basic swimming strokes. He didn’t mind water splashing on his face and towards the end of the week he was attempting a few strokes unaided as long as we were close by. We spent most of our time either in this pool or at the beach, but one day we went on an organized trip to see more of the island. The tour included historic sites, a church, breath-taking scenery and a traditional market, where we bought presents to take back with us, including ones for Roksana and Luka.
I took plenty of photographs and would give Roksana copies at contact as I had been doing. It’s usual for foster carers to give the child’s family some photos, but previously Roksana, preoccupied as usual with her worries, had said thank you and tucked them into her bag rather than spending time going through them with Oskar. Hopefully she would show more enthusiasm with these, as they were of his first holiday.
I phoned Adrian and Lucy midweek as well as texting them, and Oskar told them excitedly all about swimming and what a great time he was having. They were pleased for him and interested in what he had to say. As was Luka, Aunty Dol, Uncle Ivan and his cousins when we phoned them. Sadly, his mother’s responses were often uninspiring, and she continued to share her problems with him. ‘I’ve just heard that my afternoon shifts have changed. I’ll need to sort that out when I get back,’ she told him once. Then another time, ‘I have to email your social worker and tell him when I’m returning to the UK.’
Oskar didn’t want to be reminded of his social worker when on holiday. ‘Bye, Mum,’ he said, and cut the call.
I wasn’t going to phone back as he’d spoken to everyone, but a few minutes later my mobile rang and I was surprised to hear Roksana’s voice. She wasn’t supposed to have my contact details, then I realized what I’d done – or rather not done. At home I used the landline to call her, which was set permanently to private number. I must have forgotten to do the same with my mobile. Hopefully it wouldn’t cause a problem, but I’d need to let Andrew know.
‘Can you tell Oskar that his abusers have been caught,’ she wanted to tell me.
‘Oh, thank you. Good. I’m pleased,’ I said.
‘So am I.’
‘Did you want to speak to Oskar again?’
‘No, you can tell him.’ And she said goodbye.
‘Was that Mummy?’ Oskar asked. We were in the hotel room.
‘Yes. Those men who abused you have been caught,’ I said, and then wished I hadn’t.
His face fell and I saw the sadness and pain return to his eyes, which I hadn’t seen the whole time we’d been away.
‘So there is nothing for you to worry about,’ I added quickly, and changed the subject.
Each evening after dinner there was an hour’s family entertainment, beginning at eight o’clock. The three of us went and then afterwards returned to our hotel room. There was entertainment later for adults too, but I didn’t feel comfortable using the hotel child-minding service and Paula wasn’t fussed about seeing the cabaret or going to the disco. Once Oskar was in bed, Paula and I either read or listened to music on our headphones. The room had a king-size bed, which Paula and I slept in, and a single bed in the recess, which Oskar had. There was enough space for another single bed, as the room could sleep four. Oskar changed in the bathroom and slept like a log, as did Paula and I. But all too soon the week came to an end and it was time for us to pack up and return home. Not only had we had a lovely, relaxing time, but I felt it had helped cement our family bond, as holidays can do.
Roksana hadn’t telephoned again since the evening I’d inadvertently divulged my mobile number, but on Saturday, as we were waiting at the airport for our flight to be called, she texted: I have an early flight back on Monday so I’ll see Oskar Tuesday.
I texted a reply: Thanks for letting me know. Don’t forget to tell Andrew.
Andrew would have to reinstate contact at the Family Centre. If it wasn’t possible for Roksana and Oskar to have the same arrangements, she would be offered alternative dates and times. I told Oskar that his mother was returning to the UK on Monday.
‘When she’s back will I still be able to talk to Aunty Dol?’ he asked.
‘Hopefully. I’ll need to ask your social worker, and find out your aunt’s number.’ I’d been phoning Roksana’s mobile when Oskar had been talking to his aunt and her family.
‘Mummy has Aunty Dol’s number,’ Oskar said eagerly. ‘I can get it for you.’
‘It’s OK. I can ask her once I’ve spoken to Andrew.’
‘Can I talk to my aunt every night?’ Oskar persisted.
‘Probably not. Remember, you also have to phone your mother and see her at contact,’ I said practically. ‘I was thinking of once a week if Andrew agrees.’
Oskar pulled a face, suggesting he’d rather phone his aunt than see or phone his mother, which in some ways was understandable. It was a more positive experience for him.
It was seven o’clock when we finally arrived home, to an almost empty house. It was Saturday evening and Adrian and Lucy had texted to say they were going out and would see us later or in the morning. Sammy was in and ignored us, punishing us for leaving him as cats do.
‘Sammy doesn’t like me any more,’ Oskar said as the cat turned his back on him and sauntered off.
‘He’s sulking,’ I said. ‘He’ll get over it.’
‘He should tell you what’s wrong,’ Oskar said. ‘Like I do.’
I smiled. Whenever Oskar had a sulk, looked gloomy or angry, I told him to tell me what was wrong and I’d see what I could do to make it better.
While Paula made us a drink, I unpacked the essentials from our suitcases and then got Oskar into bed. He was exhausted from travelling and fell asleep almost immediately, cuddling his teddy bear, Luka, who had also come on holiday with us. Paula went to her room to enjoy her own space again and I sat in the living room with a mug of tea and phoned my mother. We chatted for a while about our holiday and what she’d been doing. She’d seen my brother while we’d been away and also a friend, and had spent time gardening. She seemed fine and I said we’d visit her the following weekend.
I then opened the mail. There’s nothing like the stack of letters that greets us on returning from holiday to ground us in reality again! The tedious assortment of circulars, bills and appointments seemed to have conspired in my absence, as if to say, How dare you try to escape from this lot and relax! Included in the mail was an invitation to Oskar’s second review (which was to be held the following week at the council offices, as the school was closed) and the review forms for Oskar and me to complete. I put those to one side with the other letters that needed to be acted on. The rest I shredded and put in the recycling bin.
At nine o’clock it was still light, so I opened the patio doors and stepped outside. The air wasn’t as warm as in Crete, but it was still very pleasant. Adrian and Lucy had done a good job of watering the potted plants on the patio and they’d also cut the grass. The bird feeder had been topped up and a couple of finches were having a late supper. Sammy strolled out of the living room and, finally forgiving me for leaving him, rubbed around my legs, purring. Normality had returned.
I waited up for Adrian and Lucy to arrive home. Adrian returned at eleven and we hugged and then sat in the living room and talked until nearly midnight. He was going on his walking holiday in the Lake District with Kirsty the following day. As we talked, a text arrived from Lucy to say she was spending the night at Darren’s house and would see us tomorrow.
I texted back, Thanks for letting me know, love. Look forward to seeing you tomorrow.
‘Has
Lucy stayed at Darren’s much while I’ve been away?’ I asked Adrian.
‘Yes, most nights. His parents have been away too, so they had the house to themselves. She’s fine, Mum, don’t worry.’
Sunday morning I spent unpacking and washing clothes, while Adrian packed for his holiday. We gave him the gifts we’d brought back, then wished him a happy holiday and waved him off at the door. He was going to collect Kirsty and then drive to the Lakes. Lucy arrived home in time for lunch and hugged and kissed us all, and Paula gave her the present we’d brought her. We talked as we ate. She was interested in Crete and what we had to say. The music festival she and Darren were going to began on Thursday and lasted four days. It was being held on a country estate about half an hour away. Coaches were being laid on, with various pick-up points, to dissuade people from taking their cars. She was very excited and told us Darren had a tent, small cooking stove and utensils. They both had sleeping bags.
‘You will be careful,’ I said, aware there was often lots of alcohol and drugs at music festivals.
‘Of course, Mum. Trust me. I’m not daft.’
‘I know, love. I just worry about you all, and I can’t help that.’ I wished I could worry less now my children were adults, but as most parents know that is difficult; regardless of how old they are, they’re always your little children.
As the afternoon was warm, we spent most of it outside and had dinner there too, pretending we were still on holiday. Adrian texted our Glass WhatsApp group to say he and Kirsty had arrived safely in the Lakes and were going to get something to eat. Lucy, Paula and I texted back to wish them a good time.
Once Oskar was in bed, I finished the last of the unpacking, put away the cases and emailed Andrew. I’d been checking my email while I’d been away so I didn’t have to face the same deluge in my inbox as I had with the physical mail. I told Andrew that Oskar had enjoyed the holiday, and Roksana was returning to the UK tomorrow. I said that while we’d been away he’d spoken to his mother most evenings and also his Aunty Dol, Uncle Ivan and cousins Sabiny and Tamary. I said Oskar had asked if he could still call them now that we were home, and I suggested once a week. I also acknowledged receipt of Oskar’s review forms and asked if I should bring him with me to the review, as he would have to be there for the whole of the meeting. The first review had been held at school during term time and Miss Jordan had brought him in near the end. I concluded by mentioning that while I’d been away I’d forgotten to set my mobile phone to private number, so Roksana now had my number, although it hadn’t caused a problem so far. I didn’t expect Andrew to reply today as it was Sunday. We phoned Roksana at five o’clock, but the call went to her voicemail, so Oskar left a short message.
On Monday morning I took him food shopping, then after lunch, while he was playing, I printed a dozen of the nicest holiday photos of Oskar to give to his mother at contact. I then completed my review form and helped Oskar to complete his. I would take the forms with me to the review, rather than post them, to make sure they arrived in time, as the review was on Wednesday. There was now a marked difference in Oskar’s replies compared to his first review form, when he’d been scared, unhappy, anxious and harbouring the painful secret of the abuse he’d suffered. Now his replies were far more positive. He circled many more emojis with happy, smiling faces and wrote that he liked seeing his friend Leo, going to the gym and swimming. I said I’d take him swimming during the summer holidays and we could also arrange some play dates with Leo if he wished.
At five o’clock we telephoned Roksana and she answered straight away. Stressed, she told Oskar her plane had been delayed by over five hours and then cancelled, and she’d had to catch another, later flight and was now having to go to work having not had any sleep. Oskar remarked curtly that he was tired too and cut the call.
‘That was a bit rude,’ I told him. He looked at me sheepishly.
She didn’t call back, but Andrew telephoned a few minutes later and I took the handset out of the living room so Oskar couldn’t hear me. He began by thanking me for my email and said I should bring Oskar with me for the whole of the review on Wednesday. He then said he’d spoken to Roksana now she was back, and contact had been reinstated at the Family Centre with the same days and times as before – Tuesdays and Thursdays, from 4.00 to 5.00 p.m. He asked me a few questions about the phone contact Oskar had been having with his Aunty Dol and her family, and then said he’d spoken to her when Oskar had first come into care, which I didn’t know. He said Dol had phoned him and offered to look after Oskar, rather than have him in care, but Roksana had objected.
‘Why?’ I asked. Most parents would consider it preferable to have a family member look after their child if they can’t.
‘Roksana wants Oskar to live in this country,’ Andrew replied. ‘She believes he will have a better standard of living and education, and more opportunity to do well.’
Andrew continued to say that he didn’t see a problem with Oskar phoning his aunt once a week if he wanted to, but that I should monitor the calls, as I was doing when he phoned his mother. I didn’t have Dol’s telephone number, so Andrew found it in his file and read it out to me. He then began winding up by saying that he’d see Oskar and me at the review on Wednesday. ‘Andrew,’ I said, before he had a chance to say goodbye, ‘Roksana told me that Oskar’s abusers have been caught.’
‘Yes, that’s correct,’ he said. ‘I don’t know when the court case is yet.’
‘So they are being held on remand in prison?’
‘No. They’re out on bail.’ Which I’d feared. ‘Don’t worry,’ he added. ‘One of the bail conditions is that they mustn’t go anywhere near Oskar.’ But that didn’t make me feel much better.
‘Let’s hope they stick to the bail conditions then,’ I said dryly.
‘Was that my social worker on the phone?’ Oskar asked as I returned to the living room.
‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘You always go out of the room when he phones.’
I smiled. ‘That’s so I don’t disturb you. I tell you what you need to know. The good news is that you can phone your Aunty Dol once a week.’
His little face lit up. ‘When?’
‘We’ll start on Saturday, as it’s not that long since you last spoke to her.’
‘Goodie,’ he said.
I could have added: ‘And the bad news is that your abusers are out on bail.’ But of course I didn’t. I wouldn’t be telling Oskar that unless he absolutely had to know. He was doing well now, and I didn’t want to send him back to those dark days of being scared, withdrawn and anxiously looking over his shoulder for black cars every time we went out – although it wouldn’t stop me from checking.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Adoption
Despite cutting short his phone call to his mother, Oskar was looking forward to seeing her again at contact. It had been over two weeks since he’d last seen her. I gave him the envelope containing his holiday photographs to give to her, but I looked after the gift he’d bought until we arrived at the Family Centre. It was a decorative pottery plate with a sea scene and the word Crete painted on it and he’d be upset if it got broken.
Oskar was chatty in the car as I drove to the Family Centre in the way that six-year-olds can be, commenting about a whole series of random topics that to an adult seem unrelated. We arrived promptly at four o’clock.
‘You’re in Blue Room,’ the receptionist told us as we went in. ‘But his mother isn’t here yet.’
Oskar’s face fell. ‘Perhaps she’s not coming,’ he said. He returned to the door and peered hopefully through the glass as I signed us in. A moment later he called, ‘She’s here! She’s getting out of a cab. She’s not very late.’
‘Good.’
Roksana rushed in. ‘I had to pay for a cab as the bus broke down,’ she said, fraught. ‘They were going to send another bus, but it was
taking ages.’
‘Oh dear.’ I sympathized. ‘You are having some bad luck with your travelling at the moment.’ Her flight had been delayed and then cancelled, and now the bus had broken down.
‘Have you missed me?’ she asked Oskar.
‘Yes,’ he said, and was about to give her the photos when she turned to sign in the Visitors’ Book. He waited patiently for her to finish and then presented her with the envelope.
‘Some photos of his holiday,’ I said.
Roksana opened the envelope, peered in and then said, ‘Thanks.’ And put them into her bag. ‘Which room are we in?’
‘Blue,’ I said, and gave Oskar the ceramic plate to give to her.
‘I’ve bought you a present from my holiday,’ Oskar said, proudly holding it up to her.
For a moment her face brightened, until she unwrapped the gift and saw what it was. ‘You shouldn’t have wasted your money on this,’ she said.
Oskar looked crestfallen.
I appreciated it was a piece of probably mass-produced pottery, which thousands of tourists take home every year, but Oskar had spent a long time choosing it especially for his mother and had paid for it with his own pocket money. I’m sure Roksana had no idea just how hurt he was as she tucked the plate into her shoulder bag and headed off towards Blue Room. We followed. Oskar didn’t say anything, but his face said it all.
Sometimes as parents we have to pretend or exaggerate the pleasure we feel when our child gives us something or does something thoughtful. Most parents do this instinctively, but Roksana just didn’t seem to get it, possibly because she hadn’t spent much time with her children, or maybe it wasn’t something her parents had done. We learn so much about parenting from our own parents or those who brought us up.
