by Cathy Glass
Later that afternoon, while Paula played with Alice in the garden, I typed up my log notes, printed out a copy and put it in an envelope addressed to Kitty. I would post it when we went out later, and I would also phone her on Monday and update her. The doubts I’d previously entertained about Chris parenting Alice (due to his lack of enthusiasm and commitment) were compounded and I felt very protective towards Alice. For while I knew that contact was strictly supervised and Alice was safe there, I also recognized how confusing and upsetting it must be for Alice to be seeing her (abusive) father. She was now in regular contact, and being encouraged to form an attachment to a man whom she’d witnessed violently and sadistically assaulting her mother, while her mother – the victim, whose only crime was not being strong enough to stand up to Chris and say no to the drugs he’d offered – had been banished from Alice’s life. What a conflicting and warped message this must be sending to Alice, I thought! How confusing and frightening! And if he had behaved as Alice had described, what was stopping him from behaving similarly in future when Alice went to live with him? I feared for Alice’s safety and wanted desperately to protect her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Happy Sand
Kitty wasn’t in the office when I phoned on Monday; she was in court on another child protection case, which was expected to last most of the week. I left a message with her colleague, saying I had spoken to Alice as Kitty had asked, and I had put a copy of my log notes in the post. I guessed Kitty would receive my telephone message and log notes when she returned to the office later in the week, and phone me.
In the meantime the week ran as usual for us. The following day was Tuesday and Alice was due to see her father and Sharon again. I wasn’t looking forward to meeting Chris after what Alice had told me. I knew I would have to wear my most professional, neutral face and put my own feelings to one side.
Chris and Sharon always arrived early at the family centre which, according to the contact supervisor, was a sign of their commitment to parenting Alice. They waited in reception where they could see us as soon as we walked in. Sharon used to rush over to greet Alice, while Chris remained sitting in his chair, waiting for Sharon to take Alice to him. But in recent weeks both Sharon and Chris had remained seated and I had taken Alice over to them to say hello. I always waited with Alice until the contact supervisor arrived before I said goodbye and came away, and they went to whichever room they were using for the contact. Chris and Sharon had never missed contact, unlike some parents, and their reliability was taken as another sign of their commitment to parenting Alice.
On Tuesday afternoon, true to form, they were already sitting in reception. Alice and I went over, and I said hello. As usual Sharon spoke before Chris and said: ‘Hi, Alice,’ and then, ‘Say hello to your dad,’ which Alice dutifully did. Having observed the way they’d greeted Alice in previous weeks, with Sharon always taking the initiative, I had put Chris’s lack of enthusiasm down to simply that – ambivalence towards Alice, or possibly (and more kindly) an awkwardness from not really knowing Alice or how to behave as a father, although it hadn’t improved with time. Similarly I’d attributed Alice’s reticence towards her father to not having had a relationship with him in the past. But knowing what I now knew I realized that Alice’s reserve – her guardedness – could be due to fear. I wondered if it continued in the contact room and, if so, if the supervisor had noticed and included it in her reports. Part of the contact supervisor’s role is to observe and note how family members interact with each other. The standard of the reports and the training and experience of contact supervisors varies greatly, from excellent to not good, but this supervisor had noted Sharon’s enthusiasm waning towards Alice, so I thought there was a good chance she’d noticed Alice’s reaction to her father.
Having said a polite hello to Sharon and Chris, as usual I said that Alice was well, and told them any news she had. In the early weeks Sharon had been eager to hear all snippets of information about her ‘future daughter’ but now, as in recent weeks, they both looked at me blankly and nodded, uninspired.
‘Thank you for telling us,’ Sharon managed when I’d finished, while Chris nodded with as much enthusiasm as a wet lettuce leaf. The contact supervisor appeared, so I said goodbye to Alice, and then watched the four of them go down the corridor towards the contact room, with the supervisor chatting brightly to Alice, and Chris and Sharon following in silence at the rear.
Alice never spoke about contact afterwards and, other than asking her if she’d had a nice time, which was usually met with a shrug, I didn’t press her. I would be told anything I needed to know by Kitty, who received a copy of the contact supervisor’s reports each week. Alice had contact again on Thursday, and Sharon seemed to make a bit more effort and gave Alice a hug when we went in. Chris remained as impassive as ever and waited until Sharon told Alice to say hello before he said hi.
On Friday Kitty phoned and immediately apologized for not phoning sooner, as she’d been in court all week. She’d read the copy of my log notes I’d sent her and was shocked by what Alice had witnessed last summer at her mother’s. Kitty believed what Alice had said, as I had done, for it tied in with what Mr and Mrs Jones were claiming, and it was also unlikely that a child of Alice’s age could have invented a story with that degree of detail. However, Kitty quickly pointed out that Chris was vehemently denying Alice’s allegations, and they would be difficult to prove.
‘When I spoke to Chris this morning,’ Kitty said, ‘he said Leah must have told Alice to say that.’
‘When? Alice hasn’t seen her mother in nearly four months. And she isn’t a child who can easily be manipulated, not as some children can, or else Sharon would have had her calling her Mummy by now. Furthermore Alice isn’t feeling very loyal to her mother at present. She’s still angry with her for not seeing her, and doesn’t speak of her mother, so she’s hardly going to lie for her.’
‘I know,’ Kitty said, ‘but the problem is there aren’t any independent witnesses. I’ve contacted the police and asked them to check their records for the calls the neighbours made about Leah shouting. I want to see exactly when those calls were made and what the neighbours reported hearing. I’ve also asked them for details of the 999 call Mrs Jones made when Chris went to her house. Mrs Jones can’t remember the exact date the incident happened, so it’s going to take a while. When I spoke to Chris he admitted he went to Mr and Mrs Jones’s house, but he says it was only to see Alice and he came away quietly when they wouldn’t let him in. He denies pushing Mr Jones. Mrs Jones says Chris arrived at their house very angry, demanding to see Leah and cause trouble, and didn’t ask for Alice.’
‘That is more or less what Alice said.’
Kitty sighed. ‘It’s a dreadful mess. My feeling is that a more thorough investigation should have taken place when the social services were first involved, before it was decided that Alice should live with her father, but don’t quote me on that.’
I gave a tight laugh. ‘No, I won’t quote you, but I’m pleased to hear you say it.’
‘I shall be observing contact as soon as I can,’ Kitty continued, ‘so will you explain to Alice that I’ll be in the contact room sometimes? I’ve also asked a psychologist I’ve used in the past to make an assessment of Alice in relation to her father and Sharon, and her grandparents. Her name is Brenda Taylor and she’ll be observing contact too, but not at the same time as me. Brenda is very nice and I’ve found in the past she can spot things in the way a child relates to their parents that the contact supervisor has missed.’
‘That sounds very positive,’ I said. ‘I’ll explain it all to Alice. Thanks for all you’re doing.’
‘It’s the least little Alice deserves,’ Kitty said with another sigh. ‘But you know, Cathy, it may be that in the end the judge decides Alice should go to live with her father. If hitting an ex-partner was a bar to parenting there would be an awful lot of kids without fathers. Chris’s and Sharon’s parenting assessment has been
positive so far and, apart from Sharon’s enthusiasm waning a bit, which I suppose is understandable given all the delays, the contact supervisor’s notes are positive. I’ll see what the police come up with, but as you know there are two sides to every story. Who’s to say Leah didn’t provoke Chris?’ Which of course was perfectly possible.
The next five weeks until the end of the summer term flew by, and before I knew it Alice was saying goodbye to her friends at nursery and I was saying, ‘See you in September’ to the parents, which seemed increasingly likely. A place was being kept open for Alice in the first year of the infant school, although the head teacher was aware of the uncertainty surrounding Alice’s future. If Alice did go to live with her father and Sharon, she would go to a different school, closer to where they lived on the other side of the county.
Kitty, and Brenda, the child psychologist, attended contact and observed Alice with Chris and Sharon, and also with her grandparents. Brenda was indeed very pleasant and sat, as Kitty had done, unobtrusively at the back of the room and made notes, while Alice played. But whereas Alice continued as normal, uninhibited by the presence of an extra adult in the room, Mrs Jones confided in me during the following telephone contact that she found it most intrusive and felt very self-conscious at being monitored and having everything she said and did written down. Of an older generation and having looked after Alice she couldn’t see why a contact supervisor was necessary, let alone the added intrusion of the social worker and psychologist. I reassured Mrs Jones this was normal practice and that while the supervisor would always be in contact until the final court hearing when the judge made a decision on Alice’s future, Kitty and Brenda’s presence was only temporary – half a dozen sessions at the most. But I could understand the indignation she and Mr Jones felt, and I again wondered how my grandparents would have coped in their position.
We went on holiday the first week in August and had a wonderful time. Alice had seen the sea before – her mother and grandparents had taken her on day trips to the coast – but she hadn’t actually stayed at the seaside. I rented a three-bedroom bungalow overlooking a small Pembrokeshire bay in Wales. Lucy and Paula shared a bedroom, as did Alice and I, while Adrian had a room to himself. Alice was a little unsettled to begin with and woke the first two nights, wondering why she wasn’t in her ‘own bed’ and where all her things were – not fully understanding that we would be going home again at the end of the week. After that she slept well, helped, I think by exhaustion from having spent all day on the beach and eating late in the evening. Interestingly, halfway through the week, Alice suddenly began talking about her mother again – of happy thoughts and memories as she used to. It was as though being away had helped heal her feelings of anger and rejection.
‘I wish my mummy could come on holiday with us,’ she said more than once as we made sandcastles or paddled in the sea. ‘My mummy would like a holiday. It would make her happy.’
‘Perhaps Mummy will be able to have a holiday another year,’ I suggested.
Alice nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’ll take my mummy on holiday. When I’m grown up I’ll bring her here on holiday and we can make sandcastles.’
I smiled. ‘That’s a nice idea, love, although there are lots of different beaches you can go to. It doesn’t have to be this one.’
‘I’ll bring her here,’ Alice said decisively. ‘This sand has made me happy and it will make my mummy happy too.’ Which I thought was a lovely sentiment, and how popular this beach would become if its therapeutic qualities became known.
The only ‘negative’ aspect to our holiday was Lucy’s eating. Having seen her make so much improvement in recent months – Lucy had been eating small regular meals and encouraging Alice to eat – I now saw a dramatic decline in Lucy’s eating, and in her swimming costume I noticed how slim she was. She didn’t have the skeletal frame of some anorexics, who cover up their starved bodies with layers of baggy clothing, but she didn’t have an ounce of fat on her. I knew she was still underweight for her height and needed to put on at least a stone in weight.
Since we’d been on holiday Lucy had been eating a slice of toast for breakfast, one small sandwich for lunch, which we usually had on the beach, had refused all ice creams and candies, and had eaten very little of the evening meal, which we usually had at a restaurant. I’d half anticipated that dining out might cause Lucy a problem as she panicked at the sight of a full plate of food and the expectation to eat, but I’d assumed she could perhaps just have a starter and pudding, which she did a few times but left more than she ate. I also caught her examining her stomach and patting it as if it had suddenly ballooned.
I was tempted to say something but, in keeping with my usual policy at home, I decided against drawing attention to the problem, which would probably have made Lucy self-conscious and was unlikely to improve her eating. My amateur psychology and reading on eating disorders had told me that, away from home and all that was familiar, Lucy felt a loss of control – similar to that she’d experienced when she’d first come into care. As a result she was exerting control in the one area where she had absolute control and for which she was totally responsible: her food intake and body weight. I hoped that once we returned home she would start eating again and resume the progress she had made.
On the last day of our holiday we left the beach early to go present shopping. The children wanted to buy their close friends little mementos of our holiday; I wanted to buy my parents something; and Alice should likewise take something back for members of her family. We spent over an hour in the gift shop, with other families doing similarly, and finally had a small souvenir for everyone, including Alice’s grandparents, Alice’s mother (which we’d send via her grandparents) and, after much persuasion, a box of candy for Alice’s father and Sharon. I felt it would have been impolite not to give Chris and Sharon something, especially if they found out that we’d bought gifts for Alice’s mother and grandparents.
As it turned out, Alice didn’t get the chance to give the box of candy to her father and Sharon, for on our return home the second letter I opened was from Kitty, advising me that contact with Alice’s father had been stopped.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Letter
The letter from Alice’s social worker also said that contact with Alice’s grandparents remained unchanged – an hour every two weeks, and telephone contact each Saturday. Kitty didn’t give a reason for the suspension of contact with Alice’s father but asked me if I would tell Alice, and said that she would phone me on Monday – presumably to explain.
It was a little after 3.00 p.m. and we’d just arrived home. I was standing in the kitchen opening the mail as I waited for the kettle to boil so I could make a cup of tea. The children were upstairs, familiarizing themselves with their bedrooms after our week away; we’d had a lovely holiday but everyone was pleased to be home again. I wondered if Alice’s grandparents were aware that contact with Chris had been suspended and, if so, if they knew the reason. I couldn’t think of any reason myself. Alice’s allegations against her father hadn’t yet been proved and even if they had that wouldn’t have been grounds enough to stop contact. Contact is set by the judge at one of the first hearings in childcare proceedings and I knew from previous experience that the arrangements were only altered before the final court hearing in very exceptional circumstances. We were due to phone Alice’s grandparents at 6.00 p.m. and I was sure Mrs Jones would say something if she knew; failing that I would have to wait until Monday to find out what was going on when Kitty phoned.
After I’d finished opening the mail, which was largely bills and circulars, and I’d had a cup of tea, Adrian, Lucy and Paula helped me unload the suitcases from the car and heave them upstairs. I took Alice’s case into her room and began taking out the essentials of Brian the Bear, wash bag, etc.; the rest of the unpacking could wait until later or even tomorrow. Alice was busy peering into her toy boxes, happy to be reunited with her possessions, while I considered what to
say to her about not seeing her father.
Children can become very upset if contact is cancelled – even if it is just one session that is missed. The routine of contact and the expectation of seeing a parent (or whoever the main care giver was before the child came into care) quickly becomes part of a looked-after child’s life, and generally children still love their parents and want to see them, even though their parents may have fallen short in their parenting. Only in the worst cases of (sexual) abuse do children not want to see their parents. If contact is cancelled, I usually have to let the child down gently and explain that mummy (or whoever they were due to see) unfortunately can’t make it, but they send their love and will see them next time. However, given Alice’s lack of a relationship with her father and ambivalence towards Sharon, I didn’t think Alice was going to be too disappointed.
I propped Brian the Bear in his usual place at the bed head, and then said matter-of-factly: ‘Alice, I’ve just opened a letter from Kitty, your social worker. She says you won’t be seeing your dad or Sharon for the time being, but you will still be seeing your nana and grandpa.’
