by Cathy Glass
‘Oh, I see.’ I smiled. ‘You’ve got a good memory. You were only little then.’
‘Mummy tells me and we have photos we look at.’
‘That’s nice.’ I was pleased Anna had shared this with me but surprised the memory was so alive with so much going on at present.
It was getting late and I always like to round off the day with a story or game before I take the children up for their baths and bed, so leaving the washing up, I ushered everyone into the living room. Anna didn’t want to listen to a story or play any game Adrian, Paula or I suggested, so I told her to fetch one of hers for us all to play. Her luggage was where I’d left it – I hadn’t had a chance to unpack – but I’d seen plenty of toys and games in the boxes. I went with her and as she searched for what she wanted I saw that the bags had cardboard luggage tags attached to the handles (labelled either by Anna’s mother or one of the carers) stating what the bag contained, which was helpful. I placed the bag marked ‘Night-time clothes and school uniform’ at the foot of the stairs ready to go up. The rest I would sort out tomorrow. Anna had now taken out a hand-held activity centre that only she could play with, thereby excluding us. We returned to the living room and while I read Paula and Adrian a story, Anna played independently until it was time to start their bath and bedtime routine.
I usually take the children up in age-ascending order – the youngest first and the oldest last, so it should have been Paula, Anna and Adrian, but I wasn’t about to leave Anna downstairs unsupervised with Adrian. She was far too unpredictable and volatile at present. I took Paula and Anna up together, which gave Adrian the chance to watch the programme on the Tudors in peace. Upstairs, Anna told me bluntly she didn’t want a bath.
‘You can have one tomorrow then.’ I would never insist that the child has a bath or shower on their first night. To have to undress and bathe in an unfamiliar house while the carer hovers is likely to make the child feel even more uncomfortable. So I left Anna in her bedroom to change while I gave Paula a quick bath. Paula was exhausted. I tucked her into bed, then took Anna to the bathroom. ‘Do you need any help washing or brushing your teeth?’ I asked her, as I would ask any child of her age on their first night.
‘No. I’m not a baby,’ she snapped.
Nevertheless, I waited on the landing while she was in the bathroom, then when she came out I took the opportunity to praise her. ‘Good girl. You did that nicely.’
‘I’m not sleeping in that room,’ she said, pointing down the landing to her bedroom, and began towards my bedroom.
‘No, love, you can’t sleep in there,’ I said, drawing her out. ‘That’s where I sleep.’
‘I’ll sleep in your bed,’ she said. Which I thought was an odd assumption for a child of her age to make.
‘No. You’ve got a nice room of your own,’ I said, closing my bedroom door. ‘I’ll leave your light on low and your bedroom door open if you like.’ Many children prefer that.
‘I sleep in my mum’s bed at home,’ she said, not moving from outside my bedroom.
‘Not every night, surely?’
‘Yes. With Mummy now, but with Daddy as well before he left.’
‘But you’re a big girl. You need your own bed.’ I moved away and led the way along the landing to her room. She followed. I doubted she slept with her parents every night, not at her age.
‘I sleep where I want,’ she said defiantly as we went into her room.
‘Not here, love. We all sleep in our own bedrooms. Would you like your curtains open or closed?’ Small details like this can help a child settle.
‘Don’t care,’ she said. ‘I’m not staying here. You can’t make me.’
‘I’ll close the curtains then and make it nice and cosy,’ I said, ignoring her rudeness.
I then eased back the duvet and waited, wondering if we were going to have a standoff, but eventually she climbed in. ‘Do you have a cuddly toy at night?’ I asked. There hadn’t been one in the bag containing her nightclothes. She turned away without answering. ‘Would you like a goodnight kiss?’ I asked, pretty sure of the answer.
‘No. Go away.’
‘OK, but don’t be rude. It’s bound to feel a bit strange for a while with everything new, but tomorrow you’ll feel a bit better, and the next day and the next. Try not to worry. I’ll look after you. Call out if you want me. Night then, love.’ I waited but there was no response so I came out, leaving her bedroom door slightly ajar.
I checked on Paula, who was fast asleep, and then went downstairs to Adrian. As I entered the living room I heard movement on the landing and quickly returned upstairs. Anna’s bedroom door was wide open and, when I looked in, her bed was empty. I found her in my bed.
‘Anna, I’ve already told you, you can’t sleep in here. Come back to your own bed. I’ll stay with you until you’re asleep if you like.’ It’s not acceptable for a child to sleep with their foster carer. Only babies in cots can share their carer’s room. Apart from which, it wouldn’t be fair on Adrian and Paula if she slept with me. I eased back the duvet for her to get out.
‘No!’ she said. ‘Not going.’
‘Why? What’s the matter? Are you frightened of something?’
‘No. I want to sleep here.’ It seemed therefore it was more about Anna getting her own way than out of any fear or anxiety.
‘Come on, I’ll stay with you until you’re asleep,’ I said again, offering my hand.
‘I’ll scream if you try to move me,’ she threatened.
‘You’re still going to have to sleep in your room.’
I waited and then took her arm and gently eased her from my bed. She screamed – all the way round the landing, waking Paula, and bringing Adrian running upstairs to see what was the matter. ‘It’s all right,’ I reassured him. ‘I’ll be down in a few minutes.’
I returned Anna to her bed, asked her again if anything was worrying her, then once she’d settled I came out. I resettled Paula but as soon as I was downstairs I heard Anna’s feet cross the landing as she returned to my bed. The pattern continued for most of the night. Each time she got up I took her back to bed with her screaming and waking Paula and then later Adrian. Goodness knows what the neighbours thought, but it wasn’t the screaming of a frightened child but one used to getting her own way.
At 1 a.m. I stopped returning to my bed and sat on the landing ready to take Anna back to her room when she emerged. She was very angry at not being allowed to do as she wanted and tried to kick and pinch me. Eventually, at around 3 a.m., utterly exhausted, she fell asleep – in her own bed. I waited ten minutes and then returned to my room, shaken and drained. I couldn’t ever remember having such a dreadful first night with any child I’d fostered before.
Chapter Eighteen
I Haven’t Got a Home
The following morning we were all shattered and it took a lot of coaxing and cajoling to get everyone down to breakfast on time. Anna was so tired she didn’t have the energy to object – to getting dressed (I’d set out her school uniform on her bed ready) or to eating the breakfast I’d prepared, which I think she might have done otherwise. Everyone was very quiet at the table as we ate. I saw Adrian and Paula stealing furtive glances at Anna, clearly concerned that the child they’d heard screaming ‘I hate you’ repeatedly during the night might reappear. Meanwhile Anna kept stealing glances at me, not quite sure what to make of me. Perhaps I was the only adult who’d made her do as they’d asked. I didn’t know, but I behaved perfectly normally, and didn’t refer to her tantrums of the night before. It had been dealt with and I hoped that Anna had begun to see that when I asked her to do something it was for a good reason and I wouldn’t be bullied into submission. I’d explained at the time why she had to sleep in her own room, and sometimes children simply have to do as they’re told. Whether there would be a repeat of last night remained to be seen. I hoped not. I wanted Anna to be happy while she was with us for however long that might be.
Despite our lack of sleep, we d
id manage to leave the house on time, and so began our new weekday routine. With the children under seatbelts in the back of my car, I drove first to Adrian’s and Paula’s schools, which were on the same site, saw them in and then went on to Anna’s school. Hers was on the other side of town, about a thirty-minute drive in the traffic. We arrived with ten minutes to spare. I parked, released my seatbelt, then, turning in my seat, asked Anna if she’d like me to read her a story from the book she had in her school bag while we waited until ten o’clock when she went in.
‘No,’ she said sullenly, looking through her side window.
She’d been quiet in the car, and a few times during the journey I’d asked her if she was all right. She hadn’t replied and at one point she’d looked as though she was about to nod off, so I thought she was probably just very tired. I switched the radio on low and tuned it to soothing classical music. Occasionally I turned in my seat to say something to Anna, trying to open up communication and establish a relationship. ‘It’s a nice school … I’m looking forward to meeting your teacher and TA (teaching assistant) … What do you like doing best? … You could invite a friend home for tea.’ And so forth. She ignored me and continued to gaze out of her side window.
Just before ten o’clock I said it was time for us to go into school, so I got out and went round to open her door, which was child-locked. Now on familiar territory, Anna’s assertiveness returned and she strutted up to the main gate and pressed the security button, then went ahead across the playground to the main door where she pressed the next security button. I joined her. The door clicked open and she went ahead into reception. Two office staff sat at their computers behind a counter to my right and one stood and came over. ‘You must be the new foster carer?’ she said.
‘Yes.’ Clearly Lori had updated them so they were aware of Anna’s most recent move.
‘Can you fill this in, please?’ she said, passing me a form. ‘Miss Rich, Anna’s TA, will be down to collect her soon.’
I filled in the form: standard questions for when a child moved home, asking for the child’s full name and date of birth, my name and contact details, and my relationship with the child – foster carer. I handed it back. ‘I’d like to make an appointment to see Anna’s teacher, please,’ I said. I always like to meet the child’s teacher to find out how they are doing and what I can do to help them.
‘That’s Mrs Taylor. She’s left a note saying she’d like to see you. She’s teaching now but if you can come in half an hour early at one-thirty today she will see you then.’
‘Wonderful. Thank you. That’s very efficient.’
‘She is,’ the secretary said.
The door behind me opened and a slender, fashionably dressed young lady I guessed to be in her late twenties came in and said hello to Anna. Then to me, ‘Hi, I’m Lauren Rich, Anna’s TA.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ I said, going over. But my gaze went to Anna. Having rejected any contact with me, she made a point of sidling right up to her TA and now had her arm around her waist. While this could simply have been because she knew her TA well and felt safe with her, her expression said otherwise. The smirk said, See, I like her better than you, which I ignored.
‘I support Anna in the classroom, and also she is in a small group I take in the afternoon,’ Miss Rich said. ‘I know Mrs Taylor, her class teacher, will tell you about Anna’s progress when she sees you later, but do let me know if you have any concerns.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Her reading book and homework will be in her bag at the end of school each day. The homework is usually reading practice and a work sheet – maths or literacy. There is also a home school book in her bag where I write what they have to do, and also any comments about her day. Feel free to add anything that may help us here.’
I thanked her again. She seemed very pleasant, and as I was the third carer she must have explained this to in a week, very patient. I said goodbye to Anna and wished her a nice day, but she ignored me.
‘Say goodbye to your carer,’ Miss Rich encouraged. Anna shook her head.
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘You both have a good day and I’ll see you later.’ Given all the issues I was having to deal with, the least of my concerns was Anna not saying a polite goodbye.
I arrived home at 10.30 so I had two and a half hours before I had to return to Anna’s school to meet her teacher at 1.30. The hall and front room were still clogged with Anna’s bags and boxes, but before I tackled those I needed to write up my log notes. I usually did them at the end of each day but I hadn’t had a chance the evening before with constantly having to settle Anna. Foster carers are required to keep a daily record of the child or children they are looking after, which includes appointments, the child’s health and wellbeing, education, significant events and any disclosures the child may make about their past. When the child leaves this record is placed on file at the social services. Over time the logs can show the improvement (or not) the child makes and also act as an aide-mémoire for the carer and social worker. With a mug of coffee, I took the folder I’d begun for Anna from the lockable drawer in the front room, and sitting at the table wrote a few paragraphs about Anna’s arrival. It was objective and I hoped honest.
Returning the folder to the drawer, I then set about unpacking, taking up to her room the bags she needed now, and leaving in the front room the bags marked summer clothes, outgrown toys, Memory Box and Life Story Book, and so forth. Again I had that cold, sinking feeling. Why had Anna’s mother packed all of this? It was Anna’s history. Wasn’t she going to try to bring Anna home ever again? The vast majority of parents whose children go into care would keep these things in the belief that their child would be returning home before too long, but it seemed Anna’s mother had closed the door and said goodbye to her daughter for good.
I arranged Anna’s winter clothes neatly in the wardrobe and drawers in her bedroom, and her books, small toys and other knick-knacks on the shelves. She had come with two framed photographs, which I also put on the shelves, pausing to look at them. One was of a couple in their forties whom I guessed to be Anna’s parents, and the other was of a younger woman standing alone outside an old stone building in what looked like a cobbled market square. Who was she, I wondered? Then I saw the familial likeness to Anna and I guessed it was her birth mother.
With her room looking more homely and the hall (but not the front room) clear, I had a quick sandwich lunch before setting off to Anna’s school. As I drove I thought about the photograph of Anna’s birth mother and also Anna’s comments the evening before about the biscuits from her ‘own country’. Cleary her parents had worked very hard to make Anna aware of her roots and keep the memory of her birth mother alive. I knew this would be considered appropriate and PC (politically correct) by the social services, so when and why had it all gone so horribly wrong? As with many children I’d fostered, when they first arrived there was a lot I didn’t know and I’d learn more as time went by. Sometimes the child’s teacher was able to fill in some background details, and the more I knew about Anna the better, so I could understand and meet her needs.
I arrived at Anna’s school five minutes early and signed in the Visitors’ Book, then waited in reception where I looked at the children’s artwork on the walls. Also on the wall was a laminate photo board with photographs of all the staff and their names beneath, including the caretaker and support staff. Mrs Taylor, Anna’s teacher, I guessed to be in her early fifties, and she had short, neatly cut hair and looked confident and efficient, as the secretary had said. When she came into reception I recognized her immediately from her photograph. Wearing a tweed skirt, pale grey blouse and cardigan, she shook my hand warmly. ‘Mrs Glass, lovely to meet you. Thank you for coming in.’
‘Thank you for making the time to see me,’ I said. She seemed efficient but also very personable and friendly.
‘Have you been fostering long?’ she asked, leading the way out of reception.
‘Yes,
about nine years now.’
‘Good. So I take it Anna won’t have to leave you as she did the others?’
‘No. Not until everything is sorted out, and where she lives long-term is decided.’
Mrs Taylor opened a door on our right and I followed her into a small room containing filing cabinets, a small desk and a couple of chairs. ‘Take a seat. We shouldn’t be disturbed in here,’ she said as we sat. ‘I met Anna’s first foster carers. They were very pleasant, but apparently unable to deal with Anna’s behaviour. I didn’t meet the second set. Anna was in and out so quickly, and in my view should never have been sent to them.’
‘Unfortunately there is such a shortage of foster carers that often there isn’t a choice of where to send a child,’ I said.
She gave a little sniff. ‘That’s what her social worker said. Anyway, Anna is with you now, although probably more disturbed than ever by all the moves.’
What could I say? She was right. ‘I will do all I can to help her.’
‘Mmm,’ Mrs Taylor said, as though that remained to be seen. ‘What have you been told about Anna and her past?’ She looked at me carefully.
‘I know she was adopted at the age of two and a half from an orphanage overseas, and has since been diagnosed with an attachment disorder. Her father left home at Christmas and her mother wasn’t able to cope with her behaviour alone.’
‘That’s about it in a nutshell. We’ve had Anna in the school since she was three, so we know her and her parents well. She came to our nursery after being excluded from another nursery. Have you met her parents?’
‘Not yet. Hopefully I will before too long, or her mother at least. I don’t think they know where the father is at present.’
Mrs Taylor suddenly looked very sad. ‘I feel as if I have watched those poor parents unravel. They are a lovely couple whose hopes of a family have been dashed. It wasn’t their fault. They were naïve and bit off more than they could chew with Anna. They never liked to say no to her.’ I nodded. ‘Anna is fiercely independent, probably from having to be as a small child. She rejects help, advice and comfort. Goodness knows what she went through in those early years, but problems began as soon as they returned home with her – even before, from what her mother, Elaine, told me. Elaine used to come in and see me and ask for advice. The school works very closely with parents, especially if their children are experiencing difficulties. They tried to deal with her as they thought fit, then someone put the idea in Elaine’s mind that the child probably had a disorder. She took her to a round of specialist doctors until eventually Anna was diagnosed with an attachment disorder.’
