by Angela Hart
I sighed and went on. ‘I never could have imagined how difficult it is to look after a child who randomly runs away. You simply can’t rest, at any time. When she’s in I’m on pins. When she’s out I’m afraid she won’t come back. When she’s run off and actually gone missing I’m afraid for her safety, imagining all the terrible things that could happen to her. I know waking up in the night isn’t going to bring her back here any quicker, but we can’t help the way we are. It’s instinctive to be on alert, isn’t it?’
Wilf nodded wisely and said he could see how much we cared about Melissa and that he understood how hard it must be for us. He acknowledged that he’d undeniably put us under a bit of pressure to take on Melissa, and then the boys so soon afterwards. I told him we understood he’d done what he thought was best for the children, and we had done the same thing, as looking after kids was our priority.
‘You’re good people,’ Wilf said, finishing his coffee. ‘I’m not surprised you can’t sleep properly. I’m sure I’d be awake all night if I were in your shoes. It’s tough, but you’re doing a fantastic job.’
Whenever he had the time to chat like this – which wasn’t as often as either of us would have liked – Wilf was always very complimentary and made us feel highly valued. It never fails to brighten my day whenever a social worker praises us, and I told him I appreciated his kind words. ‘I’m only speaking the truth. And I have to say, I really respect you for doing the specialist training. It’s a big ask, and I have nothing but admiration for any foster carer who stays the course.’
The social workers who ran our specialist course had emphasised that we were professional foster carers now, due to the extensive training we’d received. Additionally, the social workers who supervised our ongoing, regular support meetings often reminded us how important our role was too, telling us we were on the front line, we knew the children best and should therefore be listened to.
Over the years we’ve heard foster carers complaining that some social workers don’t treat them with respect and don’t seem to listen to them, or value their judgement or opinions. Some felt they were treated even worse after doing the specialist course, saying they thought the social workers somehow felt threatened when confronted with a highly qualified foster carer. One carer told me she believed social workers went out of their way to ignore her views and assert their authority. Thankfully, that was never our experience; it was the opposite, in fact.
The saying ‘foster carers are like mushrooms – keep them in the dark and feed them shit’ is one we were made aware of very early on in our careers. We’ve had moments when we could identify with that but, by and large, once we’d done the specialist course, Jonathan and I felt very much more appreciated and respected than before, not least by Wilf.
‘You’ll both be as grey as me,’ he joked before he left. ‘It’s not that many years since people used to say I looked like Tom Cruise, you know. Puts years on you, this job!’
This made me smile: I’d recently watched the film A Few Good Men and an image of Tom Cruise as a dashing, young Navy lawyer with a fine head of dark hair flashed into my mind. Wilf was bald on top and had a rim of silver hair forming a thin semi-circle around the back of his head. I quipped that I’d be straight round to the hairdresser if I got any grey hairs so nobody would ever know, but the truth was this was no laughing matter. I felt I’d aged five years already since Melissa arrived.
14
‘I didn’t know anyone was in trouble with the police’
Lynne came over to see me. Melissa had been gone for two nights by now and we’d heard nothing at all from the police.
‘I thought this might be useful,’ she said kindly.
Lynne had cut out from an old fostering magazine, a long article about kids who abscond and she pushed it across the kitchen table.
‘I know how hopeless it makes you feel when the police and Social Services tell you to sit tight and do nothing. I’m not sure anything you do will stop Melissa running away, but I always say you can’t have too much information.’
I thanked her and scanned the article. It looked really interesting and Lynne could tell I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it, even though the kettle had started to whistle on the hob and I wanted to make a pot of tea.
‘Go ahead,’ she said. ‘You have a read of that and I’ll finish making the tea if you like.’
The article gave many reasons a child may abscond. These included the need to feel in charge of their own life; random recklessness; having feelings of antagonism or anger towards parents or carers; a failure to think about consequences; and a strong desire to join in with whatever their friends are doing, otherwise known as peer pressure. With Melissa, I felt sure it was all about her friends, and the fact she wanted to be accepted by the older kids who she looked up to, and who probably made her feel more grown up.
Lynne agreed with my view. ‘She’s definitely heavily influenced by her friends. Do you want milk and sugar?’
‘Just milk, thanks. Skimmed please.’
Lynne opened the fridge and reached to the bottom shelf. We’d had many cups of tea together in my kitchen and she knew where everything was. While she poured the milk I stood up and fetched a packet of oat biscuits from the cupboard. ‘I’m sure that with Melissa it’s all about getting out to see her friends or boyfriends,’ I said. ‘I don’t think it has anything to do with getting away from her carers, although maybe it is? Maybe she had a bad experience in the past and simply wants to run away because she’s hostile to the whole idea of being in care?’
Lynne was stirring two sugars into her tea, looking thoughtful. She took a biscuit and dangled it over her mug, ready to dunk. Before she did so she said, ‘Maybe. Who knows?’
I went on to read a section entitled ‘Strategies to stop a child absconding and what to do while they are gone’.
This talked about considering the layout of your house and how easy it was for the child to leave without you immediately noticing. It also asked if the boundaries put in place were age-appropriate. I thought about Melissa simply walking out of the house and getting in TJ’s van. We hadn’t spotted her until it was too late, but how could we stop her going to her room or to the bathroom, and walking freely about the house? I couldn’t stand guard at her door or follow her when she went to the toilet, could I?
I think Lynne could read my mind. Before I said anything she sighed and said, ‘I considered all of the practicalities of trying to keep watch and I’m sure you have too. But it doesn’t really apply to Melissa, I don’t think. She’s only twelve but if she wants to go, she’ll go. You can’t put security guards on the doors day and night. As for the boundaries, we can only do what Social Services tell us, can’t we? There are some useful bits here though, but again they may be more useful for other kids and not Melissa. The more I think about it, the more I think she’s a bit of a special case.’
Lynne pointed at a boxed-in section of the article labelled ‘Help and advice’. I read on. One piece of advice was not to leave the house immediately to look for the child, as they may be hiding and watching and they may enjoy the drama of provoking a ‘search’. Far better, it advised, to calmly carry on with what you’re doing, or sit down and count to ten. It also suggested that you try to remember what was said immediately before the child went missing, so you could use this in conversation later. For example, you may want to say, ‘I could see you were upset when I said you had to be home at the usual time.’
I thought back to my last conversation with Melissa. I remembered how she’d told me she’d love to be in a show and sing on a stage, and I’d suggested she join a choir or a drama group.
‘Me? Really, do you think I could do it?’ she’d asked.
‘Oh my God,’ I said to Lynne, suddenly remembering what came next. ‘My last words to Melissa were, “You can do anything you want to do if you put your mind to it and work hard enough.”’
Lynne rolled her eyes. ‘Angela, none of this is your fault
and it’s not about you, or Jonathan, or what either of you have said or done. She behaved in exactly the same way when she was with Nick and me, remember? I think the best advice that article gives is not to panic, not to blame yourself and to take time to gather your thoughts and prepare for when she does come home. Have a cup of tea and an oat biscuit – because what else can you do?’
‘Mmm,’ I said, turning to a column headed ‘What to do when the child is back home’. The advice here was to avoid an in-depth analysis of why the child had run away. Instead, it suggested showing kindness and understanding, for example, by asking if they were too hot or too cold, needed something to eat or drink or felt tired and needed some rest.
‘This is interesting,’ I said. ‘“Is there a link to the past?” Now that’s a good question.’ I continued reading aloud. ‘“Ask yourself, was there ever a time when the young person’s freedom was restricted? Did they feel constrained or unable to move around as they would have liked to? If so, has this driven the child to push boundaries and run away?”’ I paused for breath. ‘Well, I wish I knew the answer to all of those questions.’ I looked at Lynne and raised my eyebrows. ‘What d’you think?’
Lynne shrugged. ‘I know very little about Melissa’s past – probably exactly the same as you – but maybe there’s something in this? It would certainly provide a good explanation if, for example, she was locked in the house as a child. But I was never told about anything like that.’
I thought about the fact Melissa said her stepfather used to hold drunken parties in the house. I wondered if Melissa started running away to avoid going back to the house when she knew he’d be there, drinking with his friends? Maybe it had become a habit, a kind of avoidance tactic, so she didn’t have to deal with the mess at home?
Lynne said she thought it was possible Melissa became a runner because her home life was so chaotic. ‘Who wouldn’t want to run away from home if you lived in a place like that?’
I thought this was a good point, but then again why would she run from Lynne’s house, and from ours? We didn’t have chaotic houses; we were trying to provide a haven of stability and support.
The final page of the article talked about keeping the peace, avoiding shouting at the child when they returned home and gently encouraging them to talk to you in a calm manner, in the hope they may open up about where they’d been. This was sensible advice, particularly as talking was really our only tool.
‘Using “natural consequences” could be worth a go,’ Lynne said, though to be honest she didn’t sound convinced; I could tell she was just trying her best to help me in any way she could. She gave me an example of how she’d used this method, telling me about one occasion when Melissa wanted to wear her favourite tracksuit but Lynne had not got round to washing it.
‘I told her that I’d spent the previous afternoon driving to and from the police station to collect her, and that was why I was behind with the washing. That actually seemed to get through. She said sorry and I really do think she saw things from my point of view. Not that it stopped her running away again of course, but at least I got through for a short while. I think I did, anyhow. It’s very hard to tell what makes a difference, or if anything at all really does get through.’
I took good note of this; imposing ‘natural consequences’ fitted in with everything we’d been taught on our training course, and maybe if I kept up a steady flow of consequences like that, it might just make Melissa think twice about running away again.
The police phoned just before 9 p.m. to tell us they’d picked Melissa up and she was at a local station. Jonathan and I agreed to collect her, after first making sure my mum could come over and sit with the boys while we were out. Social Services generally advise us not to travel alone in a car with a child if we can avoid it, and if you have no choice you must put the child in the back of the car for safeguarding reasons. We didn’t know what state we’d find Melissa in, though we imagined she would be dishevelled and would possibly have had a drink. At the very least she was probably annoyed or angry at being picked up by the police, and in the circumstances neither of us would want to risk being alone in a car with her. As we’ve been told many times during training, children can lash out or make false accusations about their carers, and it’s always best to avoid being alone in a confined space with any child, if at all possible.
Ryan and Marty were ready for bed by the time we got my mum installed in front of the TV. I explained to them that we were going out to fetch Melissa and they didn’t miss the opportunity to exploit the situation, asking if they could stay up a bit later so they could spend time with my mum. I agreed, saying they could play a game of dominoes, and they seemed thrilled to bits about this, so much so that they didn’t ask any more questions and couldn’t wait to get started. I was relieved they didn’t quiz us about Melissa, as we wouldn’t have been able to give them any more information about why we were going out at short notice like this to collect her; it was her business, not theirs. We were also in a hurry, not wanting Melissa to be in the police station a minute longer than necessary. Jonathan and I hastily put on our shoes, grabbed our coats and dashed out of the door.
‘I think we could have told the boys we were going to the moon and they’d have just accepted it,’ Jonathan laughed as we climbed in the car and headed into the night.
‘I know! I remember being that age myself. Kids will do anything for a later bedtime – especially when a game is thrown in. It’s great to see them playing something other than computer games.’
The box of dominoes the kids were playing with was the same one I had as a child. I used to love sitting down on a Sunday afternoon for a game with my parents. We loved all the classic board games, like Monopoly and Cluedo and Snakes & Ladders. Though my dad had his issues with alcohol I have barely any memories of it affecting our lives. With Mum’s help and support he managed to stop drinking when I was five years old; something I did not find out for many years.
My parents both worked very hard, running the shop, and Sunday afternoon seemed to be the only time they ever rested. Mum would always make a roast dinner, and we’d invariably be full of beef and Yorkshire puddings and rhubarb crumble and custard when we sat down to play. Dad often excused himself after a short while so he could read the paper or do a crossword, but Mum would sit with me for longer, and I loved spending that special time with her.
Seeing Mum playing with the kids we fostered, and setting up the same old games we’d played together, always warmed my heart. I know a lot of the kids we’ve looked after over the years had never been taught how to play dominoes or draughts, or any of the board games that most kids grew up with and took for granted. Shockingly, one child we looked after disclosed that she had been taught to play a certain game by a male relative, only for it to lead to sexual abuse, as he had told her that if she lost she had to go and lie on the bed and wait for him. When I heard that, it was one of those times when I had to try very hard not to show the child I was shocked, so as not to put her off disclosing anything else in the future. I shed a tear afterwards, in private.
Jonathan and I got lost trying to find the police station. It was a small village station we’d had no reason to ever visit in the past, and in fact we didn’t even know it existed until now. Just when we thought it was going to be around the next corner we ran out of directions and spent about ten minutes going round in circles, trying to pick up the route. I’d hastily scribbled down the brief directions I was given over the phone when the police called, and now I was hunting through an old A to Z street directory.
‘Would you believe it? This map doesn’t even go that far!’
Jonathan was very patient, following my directions, even when he thought we should be heading in completely the opposite direction and when I led us down the narrowest roads, pitted with pot holes and with no street lamps. In the end we came out on a main road and decided to pull in at a garage.
I ran in, dodging hailstones, and asked in a rather too l
oud voice where the police station was. There were a few other people in the garage shop, and it felt like all eyes turned to me. I guessed they must have been wondering what business I had with the police.
‘Are you all right love?’ the man behind the counter asked, looking a bit embarrassed.
‘Pardon?’
‘I mean, is everything OK?’ He looked towards Jonathan, who was parking the car on the forecourt.
‘Oh, yes, I’m fine. I don’t need the police, I just need to find the police station.’
‘Right. It’s third left out of here, over the mini roundabout and it’s behind the pebble-dashed building a couple of hundred yards up on the right.’
The man avoided making eye contact with me when he spoke and the other customers seemed to look at me sideways as I walked out.
‘Honestly,’ I huffed when I got back in the car. ‘You’d think they’d never seen anyone from out of town before. I think they thought I was some kind of criminal!’
Jonathan started chuckling.
‘What?’
‘Maybe they just thought you were a bit eccentric.’
‘Eccentric? Why?’
He pointed at my neck and I looked down at my scarf. In my haste to leave the house I’d grabbed the first one I put my hand on when I reached in the hall cupboard. The only problem was, it wasn’t a scarf at all; it was a large tea towel. My friend had brought it home for me from a trip to Portugal and it had a donkey’s face emblazoned on it, and long red tassels. How it had ended up on a peg beside my coat in the hall cupboard I had no idea. Jonathan and I still laugh about that wardrobe malfunction to this day, but all I can say is that these things happen when you are short of sleep, feeling stressed and are called out unexpectedly on a dark winter’s night. At least by the time we finally found the police station I’d got over my embarrassment and seen the funny side. We both laughed, and I think it helped release some of the pressure we were experiencing.
