by Cathy Glass
‘It’s OK. You don’t have to,’ I said with a smile. I always ask the child, otherwise it’s an invasion of their personal space to suddenly be kissed or hugged by an adult if they’re not comfortable with it. Some children are very tactile and want hugs and kisses as soon as they arrive, while others wait until they know me better.
‘Sandy used to kiss me goodnight,’ Alex said quietly. ‘But I’ll wait for my proper mummy to do it.’ Which was very revealing. Alex had been close to his previous carers and felt their rejection. He wasn’t going to risk making an emotional investment in me straight away; he was saving it for his adoptive parents, whom he could rely on. ‘When will I meet her?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure yet. I’ll know more when I’ve spoken to your social worker tomorrow.’
He smiled wistfully, his little face peeping over the duvet. ‘I hope it’s soon.’
‘It shouldn’t be long.’ My heart went out to him. He was so looking forward to having a family of his own forever, which, of course, most of us take for granted.
Having said goodnight I came out, leaving the door slightly open, and checked on Paula. She was fast asleep, on her side and cuddled up to her soft toy rabbit. I called Adrian up for his bath, and once he was in bed I lay propped beside him on the pillow and we had our usual bedtime chat before we hugged and kissed goodnight. I came out, closing his door as he preferred, and went downstairs. I took the folder Graham had given me from the front room, made a cup of tea and then settled on the sofa in the living room next to Toscha.
With my tea within reach I opened the folder, which contained the information Graham and Sandy – as Alex’s carers – had received on Alex. On top was a handwritten note: ‘The planning meeting on Wednesday is at 11 a.m. at the council offices. Good luck. Sandy.’ I immediately fetched my diary and wrote in the time and venue. I’d have to ask a friend to collect Paula from nursery, as she finished at twelve. I knew the meeting would last at least an hour and then I had the twenty-minute or so drive from the council offices to the nursery. Setting my diary to one side, I began going through Alex’s paperwork. The most recent was on top: the minutes of Alex’s last review. Children in care have regular reviews to make sure that everything is being done as it should to help the child, and that their care plan is up to date. I glanced through the pages. They were more or less what I would have expected, just an update on his previous review three months before. Sandy had been present at his last review, together with her support social worker, Alex’s social worker, his teacher and the independent reviewing officer who chaired and minuted the meeting. Alex’s care plan at the time had been to remain with Graham and Sandy until he moved to his adoptive parents’, but it had all changed since then, culminating in him being placed temporarily with me. I wondered if there’d be a review while Alex was with me; it’s usual when a child moves.
I turned the pages and scanned down the copy of Alex’s school report – he was making good progress – then the medical and health checks, a copy of the court order that had brought him into care and miscellaneous paper work. Going further back I found a copy of the minutes of the previous review, from which I learned that Alex had had supervised contact once a week with his mother at the contact centre, but it had been stopped (three months ago) in preparation for Alex being adopted. While this was usual practice for a child who was going to be adopted – to sever any existing bond with his birth family before introducing him to his adoptive parents – it stung my heart as it always did. I could picture that traumatic and distressing scene as Alex’s mother said goodbye to her son for the very last time and then had to watch him walk away, never to see him again. While I appreciated that everything would have been done to try to enable his mother to keep Alex, and that the judge would not have made the order without very good reason, it was nevertheless still heartbreaking. How any mother ever comes to terms with losing her child or children I’ll never know. Possibly many don’t and are never able to rebuild their lives and move on. It made me go cold just thinking about it. Losing a child for any reason is truly the stuff of nightmares.
I continued turning the pages – more reviews and school reports. Alex had been in care a long time, so there was a lot of paperwork. Then nearer the back I found the essential information form, which included a résumé of Alex’s early life and the circumstances that had brought him into care. I read that he had been badly neglected as a baby. His mother had mental-health problems and was drug dependent. Alex had never known his father – little wonder he was so looking forward to meeting his adoptive father, I thought. Alex had been in and out of care for the first three years of his life and had remained in care since then, but that wasn’t the end of his unsettled life, for since being in care permanently he’d had to move home a number of times. I couldn’t find the exact number or the reasons for the moves, but the foster carers’ names on the minutes of the reviews kept changing, and reference was made at the review to the most recent move. Sometimes children in care have to move and it’s unavoidable – for example, a child with very challenging behaviour may be placed with inexperienced carers who simply can’t cope – but Alex didn’t have challenging behaviour as far as I knew.
Since publishing my fostering memoirs I’ve received many emails from young adults who were in care and had repeated moves. Some have lost count of the number of different foster homes they lived in, and are now trying to deal with the fallout of such an unsettled childhood: insecurity, anger, panic attacks, depression, irrational fears, lack of confidence and low self-worth are a few of the issues. True, some care leavers email me to say their experience in care was a very good one and they’re grateful to their carers who loved and looked after them as their own, but not all. In a developed society like ours, which prides itself on being caring, we tend to think that if a child can’t live with their natural parents then our social-care system will step in and look after them, giving them the love, care and security that their parents failed to, but sadly sometimes they are failed by the care system too. And to make matters worse for little Alex, I now read that he’d been born in prison and had spent the first six months of his life there while his mother completed her sentence. It didn’t say what crime she had committed. It was all so very sad.
Chapter Three
Alex’s Parents
My heart ached for Alex. Thank goodness he’d been found a loving adoptive family who would help right the wrongs of his past and nurture him towards a bright and positive future, where he would feel loved and valued and thrive as a child should. I drained the last of my now-cold tea, closed the folder and went into the front room, where I placed it in the lockable drawer. I took out my fostering folder so that I could write up my log notes – the daily record foster carers are required to keep of the child or children they are looking after. When the child leaves this record is usually placed on file at the social services. Returning to the living room, I took a pen and a fresh sheet of paper and headed it with today’s date, then I wrote a couple of paragraphs on how Alex was settling in and what we’d done that day. Closing the folder, I placed that in the drawer in the front room too.
Before I went to bed I looked in on Alex. He was sleeping peacefully, although Simba had fallen out and lay on the floor. I quietly picked him up and set him on the pillow again, and then crept out. I never sleep well when there is a new child in the house. I’m half listening out in case they wake frightened, not knowing where they are and needing reassurance, but Alex slept like a log. He was still sound asleep when I checked on him at 6.15, just before I showered and dressed. At seven o’clock I woke all three children and said it was time for them to wash and dress ready for school, and that I needed everyone downstairs for breakfast by 7.20 so we could leave the house at 7.45. I was a little apprehensive about the timing of this new school run; I always am at the start. I obviously didn’t want anyone to be late so I was allowing plenty of time, although I knew that by the end of the week it would all be second nature.
I waited on the landing, checking everyone was getting washed and dressed. There was a clock in each of their bedrooms, although Paula couldn’t tell the time yet. We all went downstairs together and the children sat at the table while I made breakfast. Alex wanted porridge, the same as Adrian and Paula, and said he was looking forward to seeing his friends at school again. As Alex’s school started earlier than Adrian’s it also finished earlier, which would allow me time to collect Alex and then return for Adrian. If I was a few minutes late Adrian knew to wait with his teacher until I arrived. The logistics of this school run were a lot easier than some I’d had to organize.
We left the house on time and arrived at Alex’s school as I intended, just after eight o’clock. As it was the first day I wanted to go into reception and check the school office had my contact details, as very often they didn’t. It relied on the social worker advising the school of the foster carer’s details, and with so much going on when a child comes into care or has to move carers, it can easily be overlooked. As we entered the school Alex said goodbye and went off to join his friends in breakfast club, while Adrian and Paula came with me to the reception desk and then waited to one side as I explained to the school secretary that I was Alex’s new foster carer. She hadn’t been given my contact details and reached for a form for me to complete.
‘I’ve lost count of the number of times that poor kid’s address has had to be updated,’ she said, unimpressed.
‘I know he’s had a lot of moves,’ I agreed. I filled in Alex’s name on the form and then my name, address and telephone number.
‘I assume he’s staying with you permanently?’ she said as I returned the completed from to her. Clearly she was unaware that shortly Alex would be moving to his adopted home, and it wasn’t for me to tell her.
‘He’ll be with me for the time being,’ I said.
She tutted, slid the form into a file and then handed me a copy of the school’s prospectus, as I’d guessed she’d done to other carers before. ‘The term dates are in there, assuming he’s still with you then.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, ignoring the slight. Caring primary-school staff are often very protective of their pupils, with everyone – including the office staff, teachers and the caretakers – knowing the children and looking out for them, but it wasn’t my fault Alex had had so many moves.
We arrived in Adrian’s school playground with two minutes to spare. Paula and I said goodbye to Adrian, and I waited until he’d lined up with his class ready to go in before I took Paula to nursery, which was on the same site. She attended nursery three mornings a week and was always a little clingy on Monday, after the weekend, but one of the nursery assistants came over and took her to the sandpit where a friend of hers was playing, so I was able to kiss her goodbye and leave.
When I arrived home the green light on the answerphone was blinking with a message. It was from Jill. ‘Good morning, Cathy, I guess you’re on the school run. When you have a moment can you give me a ring, please, to confirm Alex’s move yesterday went well. Thank you.’
I took off my coat and shoes and returned the call straight away. Jill was always very efficient and I tried to be too. I told her that Graham had brought Alex as arranged and that Alex appeared fine and was settling in, and was in school now.
‘Excellent,’ she said. ‘Well done.’ Jill often praised her carers and it was appreciated by us. She was responsible for twelve foster carers and made sure she kept up to date and knew as much about the children we fostered as we did.
‘Has there been any mention of a LAC review?’ she asked. LAC stands for ‘looked-after children’.
I’d read the minutes of his previous reviews. ‘No. Just the planning meeting on Wednesday,’ I said.
‘I’ve got that in the diary. I’ll be there. Usually a child has a review after a change in carers, but I’ll check with Debbie. As Alex is only with you for a month she may not feel it’s worth it. I’ll let you know. I’ll see you on Wednesday, but obviously phone if you need to.’
‘Thanks, Jill. I will.’
We said goodbye. It was reassuring to know that the fostering agency offered twenty-four-hour support, seven days a week, although I didn’t think I’d be needing any help with Alex. He was a dear little boy and was only with me for a very short while.
An hour later Debbie, Alex’s social worker, telephoned for an update and I told her more or less what I’d told Jill, including that Alex was in school and the school now had my contact details.
‘Thanks, Cathy. The school have been very good with Alex. Has he got all his belongings with him?’
‘Yes. I think so.’
‘Is there anything he needs?’
‘No. Well, apart from his new parents. He’s so looking forward to meeting them.’
‘I know. Bring your diary with you on Wednesday. We’ll be planning the introductions and the move. It’s a good match. His adoptive parents already have the experience of bringing up their son, so Alex will have a sibling.’
‘Great. How old is he?’
‘Nine. Two years older than Alex. He can’t wait to have a brother.’
‘Fantastic. I do so like happy endings.’
‘So do I, Cathy, so do I.’
The morning flew by and it wasn’t long before I was collecting Paula from nursery. While I was there I took the opportunity to ask Kay, a good friend of mine who had children of a similar age to Adrian and Paula, if she could collect Paula from nursery on Wednesday, as I had to go to a meeting at the social services. She knew I fostered and said straight away that she could. ‘I’ll give the girls lunch and I can also collect Adrian if you’re not back in time,’ she offered.
‘Thanks, Kay, that’s kind of you, although the meeting should finish long before the end of school.’ But it was reassuring to have that safety net. Kay knew a little of what was involved in fostering and we’d helped each other out in the past. She’d been very supportive when my husband had left me and I greatly valued her friendship, as I hoped she did mine. As a foster carer it’s essential to have a good support network of friends and relatives who can be relied upon to help out if necessary, just as it is in everyday life. We left the nursery together and then went our separate ways. Paula was delighted she was going to play with her friend on Wednesday. I would need to inform the nursery of the arrangement, in line with their ‘keeping children safe’ policy.
I find the days fly by, especially during term time with the nursery and school runs. I’d also started working part time, mainly from home – administration work for a small local firm – and I did the work in the evenings or when Paula was at nursery.
After lunch I played with Paula and then read her some stories. Before long it was time to put on our coats and shoes to collect Alex from school. That morning, when I’d taken him, I’d arranged to meet him at a specific place in the playground – over to the right – so he could easily find me. It’s difficult enough for a child to be met from school by a foster carer – the other kids know they’re in care – so it helps them if they can go straight to the carer and not have to search a sea of faces for a half-familiar outline.
Alex spotted me and Paula straight away as soon as his class came out, and his teacher came with him to introduce herself and confirm who I was. Foster carers have identity cards they can show if necessary. She said that Alex had had a good day and had some spelling and reading homework in his bag, and then, wishing us a pleasant evening, went to talk to another parent.
Alex seemed happy and relaxed, and in the car on the way home he talked sweetly to Paula, asking her what she’d been doing while he’d been in school. Not all children know how to talk to little ones, but I guessed he’d had to fit in with so many different families (with different-aged children) that he knew how to interact with younger as well as older children. It was nice to see, and Paula appreciated it.
We arrived in Adrian’s playground just as the klaxon was sounding and I stood in my usual spo
t with the other mothers. Adrian came out and ran over to us and I asked him as I normally did if he’d had a good day. He said he had, but that he had maths homework to do. I suggested to the boys that they did their homework as soon as we were home so that it was out of the way. This was what Adrian usually did and Alex said he’d done the same at his previous foster carers’. I guess most families have a similar routine.
Once home I made the children a drink and then Adrian and Alex fetched their school bags and settled at the table to do their homework. Seeing the boys working, Paula wanted to do some homework too, so I gave her a sheet of paper, wrote her name at the top in big letters and asked her to copy them beneath and then draw a picture. I’d begun teaching her the letters in her name and it was good practice holding a pencil. Once she’d finished she left the table and watched some pre-school television until the boys had finished.
After dinner all three children played nicely together in the living room, sharing their toys, until it was time for Paula’s bath and bedtime. I left the boys playing while I took her upstairs and once she was settled I brought Alex up and then Adrian. I usually put the children to bed in age-ascending order – it seemed fair that way and worked well – so the youngest went first and the eldest last, although Alex was only six months younger than Adrian. Alex chose his soft toy giraffe to take into bed with him, and as I said goodnight he asked me, ‘Do you know when I’ll see my new mummy and daddy?’
