by Cathy Glass
‘You can be very persuasive,’ Lucy said, with small smile.
‘Good.’
Yet I saw that Lucy’s Life Story Book had ended with the photographs of her stay at Pat and Terry’s. I wondered why she hadn’t stuck in the photographs I’d been giving her. I’d taken plenty and had always given Lucy a copy, but there wasn’t one in her book.
‘Where are all the photographs of us?’ I asked presently.
‘In my drawer,’ Lucy said. ‘I haven’t added them because in the past every time I put the photographs in the book I had to leave. I didn’t want to leave here, so I didn’t stick them in, and it worked. I’m staying!’
My heart melted. ‘It’s safe for you to stick them in now, love,’ I said. ‘You won’t be tempting fate. Trust me, you’re staying. I’m certain the panel will approve it.’
Lucy smiled and, leaving the bed, she returned her Life Story Book to the drawer and closed it. Climbing back into bed she snuggled beneath the duvet. Mr Bunny was tucked in beside her. I kissed her goodnight. ‘Thank you for sharing your special book with me,’ I said. ‘I’m so pleased you were able to pick up Pat’s phone.’ For without doubt that had been crucial in Lucy coming to me.
‘I’m pleased I was able to,’ Lucy said.
I kissed her goodnight again and came out, aware of just how close I’d come to being another entry in Lucy’s Life Story Book. Had I not pursued my application to keep Lucy, had we not had a change of social worker, had Peter not been so proactive, my family and I would have simply become yet another photograph. If ever there was a story showing the failings of the care system, it was in Lucy’s book. All those years of missed opportunities, where everyone involved had played their part and inadvertently contributed to her life of rejection, insecurity and isolation … I felt the collective responsibility, and hoped that in time I could make it up to Lucy and undo some of the harm done.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘I’ll Try My Best’
On Friday, Lucy’s friend Josette came to dinner. They used the bus to come home and Lucy let them in with her front-door key. I went into the hall to greet them.
‘Mum, this is Josette,’ Lucy said, introducing me.
‘Come on in and make yourself at home,’ I said.
Josette smiled and offered her hand for shaking. ‘Lovely to meet you,’ she said, with a strong French accent. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’
‘You’re welcome. It’s nice to meet you too.’
‘We’ll get ourselves a drink and then go up to my room,’ Lucy said, hanging their coats on the hall stand.
On the way to the kitchen Lucy took Josette into the living room to introduce her to Paula. I kept out of their way while Lucy and Josette were in the kitchen making themselves a drink, and when they went up to Lucy’s room I continued with the preparation of the evening meal. It wasn’t long before Paula appeared in the kitchen.
‘Can I go and play with Lucy and her friend?’ she asked.
‘Perhaps later,’ I said. ‘I think they’re listening to music and chatting now.’ I thought that girls of Lucy’s age needed some privacy when spending time with a similar-aged friend. ‘How about helping me with the meal?’ I suggested. But it didn’t hold the same appeal to Paula, so she skipped off to amuse herself until I called everyone for dinner.
As the children arrived at the meal table, Lucy introduced Adrian to Josette, and I could see he was a little taken aback when Josette offered her hand for shaking. But the French shake hands easily, it’s part of their custom and charm, and Adrian responded with a charm of his own. I could see he was quite taken with her. They sat down and I brought in the serving dishes and placed them on the table and we all helped ourselves. After an initial awkwardness everyone relaxed and started chatting as they ate. Listening to Josette with her delightful French accent was captivating, and I could see Adrian and Paula were very impressed that she could speak a second language so fluently. Josette told us that her father’s work had brought her family to England. They’d arrived four months previously and would be staying for at least three years. I wondered if being the new girl in the school had encouraged Lucy to make friends with her, for, having moved herself so many times, Lucy knew what it felt like to arrive in a new class and not know anyone.
When I took Josette home in the car that evening, she invited me in to meet her parents and elder brother. They were all as delightful as Josette, although we didn’t stay long as it was getting late and Paula was with me. Josette’s mother thanked me for inviting Josette to dinner and bringing her home in the car, and then confirmed that Lucy was invited there for dinner the following Friday and she would bring Lucy home afterwards. I didn’t know if Lucy had told Josette I was her foster mother or if she’d let her assume I was her natural mother, but it didn’t matter. It was up to Lucy what she told her friends, and I knew she’d tell them whatever she felt comfortable with. Clearly my old friends knew Lucy was my foster daughter who was now staying permanently, but what Lucy told her new friends was her decision, and I would go along with it.
The following Tuesday, Lucy’s review was held as scheduled at my house. It was relatively short and consisted mainly of Lily updating Peter on all that had happened since Lucy’s last review the month before. Lily told him that she’d taken Lucy’s case back to her manager and the family-finding team, and that they’d decided to support my application to keep Lucy permanently.
‘Good,’ Peter said, without any surprise. So I guessed he was already aware of the decision, having been in contact with Lily since the last review.
‘I’ve spoken to Lucy,’ Lily continued. ‘She confirmed to me that she wants to stay with Cathy long term. The social services are now of the opinion that Cathy can meet Lucy’s needs. I’ve submitted the application to the permanency panel, including the matching report, and it will be heard at the March panel.’
‘Excellent,’ Peter said. ‘And you’ve given Cathy the date of the panel meeting?’
‘Yes,’ Lily confirmed.
‘You know you have to attend the panel hearing?’ Peter said to me.
‘Yes, it’s in my diary,’ I said.
‘So how does Lucy feel about staying?’ he asked me.
‘She’s over the moon,’ I said. ‘It’s what she’s wanted for a long time. We all have.’ Lily and Jill nodded.
‘And you’ve advised Bonnie of the decision?’ Peter now asked Lily.
‘Yes,’ Lily confirmed.
‘I understand Lucy has seen her mother since the last review?’ Peter now said to Lily.
‘Yes,’ Lily said. ‘The contact went as well as could be expected.’
‘And contact will remain at twice a year?’ he said, making a note.
‘Yes, that’s the department’s recommendation,’ Lily said. ‘Although it will largely depend on Bonnie keeping in touch.’
‘And how was Lucy after the last contact?’ Peter asked me.
‘She took it in her stride,’ I said. ‘I think she was helped by knowing she’s settled now and that her mother is happy with the arrangement.’
Peter nodded as he wrote. Then he raised a couple of questions with Lily about procedure and, satisfied, asked Jill if she had anything to add. Jill said only that she was pleased with the outcome and thought it was a good match, and Peter agreed.
I then asked if it would be possible for Lily to go through some of Lucy’s history with her. ‘We have been looking at her Life Story Book,’ I explained. ‘Lucy is rather confused about some episodes in her life and the decisions that were made at the time. I think it would help if you could fill in the gaps and explain what happened. I don’t know enough of her past to help her.’
‘I’ll pull out the files and see what I can find,’ Lily said helpfully. ‘There’s been social services involvement since Lucy was a baby, so it may take me a while to piece it all together.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, as Peter and Lily wrote. ‘Also, Lucy would like some photographs of when
she was a baby and a toddler,’ I said. ‘The first photographs she has in her life-story book are of her aged three, when she first went into care.’
‘You will need to ask Bonnie for those,’ Peter said to Lily.
Lily nodded and made a note.
‘And, finally,’ I said with a smile, ‘can I have a copy of Lucy’s birth certificate, please, so I can set up a savings account for her, and also apply for a passport for her.’
Peter looked at Lily again, as this would be for her to initiate. ‘Yes, I’ll apply for one,’ Lily said. ‘Lucy should be saving. Have you got any plans to go abroad on holiday?’
‘Not straight away,’ I said. ‘But I would like the passport ready for when we do.’
Peter nodded, finished writing and, with no further business on the agenda, he took out his diary to arrange the date for Lucy’s next review. ‘April,’ he said. ‘In two months’ time. After that we’ll go to six-monthly reviews.’
Perfect, I thought. Easter was in April. ‘Can we schedule the review for the Easter holidays?’ I asked. ‘So Lucy can attend.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Peter said, slightly amused. ‘I take it Lucy’s feeling a bit happier with us all if she wants to attend her review?’
‘Yes. A lot happier,’ I said.
Three weeks later I attended the permanency panel hearing, which was held in a conference room at the local government offices. As a foster carer, I had to attend a similar panel hearing every three years to renew my registration to foster, so I knew it would be quite daunting. Knowing, however, didn’t help. As Lily came out of the conference room, having given her report to the panel and answered the panel’s questions, Jill and I went in. A sea of faces looked up at us: ten panel members sitting along three sides of a huge rectangular oak table. My stomach churned. Two chairs had been left empty facing the other panel members, so Jill and I sat down. I took a very deep breath and thought I heard Jill do the same. I guess it was daunting for her too. Each panel member had a bundle of papers in front of them – copies of my application, with all the supporting documentation. They would have received these a week before the hearing so that they had time to read them and compose their questions.
The chairperson began by saying good morning and introducing himself by name and explaining that he was the chairperson, after which all the other panel members introduced themselves. Going round the table, they gave their name and position. The panel was comprised of two social workers, a doctor, a foster carer, one local authority elected member, two parents who’d adopted and a teacher, none of whom I knew. Jill and I then introduced ourselves: Jill, as my support social worker; me as Lucy’s foster carer. The chairperson thanked us, and then said a few words about why we were here: to consider my application to foster Lucy long term. Jill was then asked to speak and gave a brief résumé of my fostering history, the composition of my family and the reasons why she supported my application to look after Lucy permanently. The chairperson thanked Jill and then looked to me.
‘We’ve all read your application thoroughly,’ he said. ‘Your fostering history is very impressive. I should like to start the questions by asking you to tell us what Lucy is like to live with on a daily basis. Then I’ll pass to the other panel members so that they can ask their questions.’
Here goes, I thought. I took another deep breath before I began. I’d anticipated this question or something similar, and gained confidence from being able to answer – describing Lucy, and what she was like to live with, all of which was of course positive. The chairperson nodded and thanked me, and then one of the two social workers asked me what impact I thought looking after Lucy had had on my children, positive and negative. I said that she’d fitted into my family very easily and was like a sister to Adrian and Paula. I described how she played with Paula and helped her out. I said that Lucy had taught us humility and forgiveness, because despite everything that had happened to her she wasn’t bitter. I said that she and Adrian teased each other sometimes, as siblings do. That was the only negative comment I could think of.
The other social worker then asked me to describe Lucy’s routine, which I did, although it overlapped with the first question and I repeated myself a little. Then, one of the adoptive parents asked what Lucy’s interests and talents were. I elaborated on points I’d mentioned in response to the first question, adding that she wanted to be a beautician when she was older, although of course that might change. Then the elected member from the local authority, obviously a veteran at these panels, asked: ‘Can you tell us about Lucy’s ability to make and sustain friendships?’
I certainly could, and I spoke at some length on the huge improvement Lucy had made since coming to live with us – from not being able to make friends to having a number of school friends, including one best friend whom she also saw regularly out of school.
‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
The doctor then asked: ‘As an experienced foster carer, how do you see Lucy’s ability to form attachments to significant people in her life?’
This wasn’t a question I’d prepared, but having attended many training sessions on attachment issues I knew the significance of the question and how to answer. I said that despite Lucy’s early experiences, once she trusted an adult she was able to form an appropriate attachment to them, and had done so with all members of my family, including my parents. I nearly added ‘and the cat’, but thought that might have sounded flippant. The doctor then asked if I was aware that sometimes abuse and deprivation in early life didn’t surface until much later, and I said I was. Then suddenly I found the questions had stopped and the chairperson was thanking me. So the question that Jill and I had been convinced would come up – in respect of Lucy’s cultural needs – hadn’t, possibly because it had been covered extensively in my application. Whatever the reason, I breathed a sigh of relief.
‘If you and your support social worker would like to wait outside the room, we’ll conclude our discussion,’ the chairperson said. ‘I’ll invite you to return when we have made our decision.’ I knew this to be normal practice.
Jill and I stood and the panel members waited until we’d left before commencing their discussion. I’d been answering questions for half an hour, but it didn’t seem that long. Once outside the room I flopped into one of the chairs in the waiting area. High on adrenalin, my cheeks were flushed and my heart was racing.
‘You did well,’ Jill said, sitting in the chair beside me.
‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘I answered their questions as best I could. I just hope it was good enough.’
‘Don’t worry. You’ll be fine,’ she said. Yet, while it was almost certain the panel would approve my application, there was a slim chance they might not, and I wouldn’t relax until I officially had their approval.
Fifteen minutes later, the door to the conference room opened and a member of the panel asked us to return. My heart started pounding again and my mouth went dry. As we entered the room the panel members looked at us, but I couldn’t read anything in their expressions. Once Jill and I were seated, the chairperson looked directly at me as he spoke.
‘We’ve now concluded our discussion,’ he said. ‘I’m pleased to be able to tell you that the panel unanimously endorses your application to foster Lucy long term. Congratulations.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, grinning. ‘Thank you very much.’
‘Well done,’ Jill said to me.
Other panel members also added their own ‘congratulations’ and ‘well dones’. Jill then thanked the chairperson and pushed back her chair, ready to leave. It suddenly hit me that it was all over and I stood too. If I’m honest, it seemed a bit of an anti-climax: hearing the chairperson’s words and then just walking from the room after all those anxious months of hoping, planning and waiting. I would have liked a fanfare with thousands of congratulatory balloons released into the sky. Instead, I heard the door to the conference room close behind us and a little voice in my head offering a sil
ent prayer of thanks for the outcome.
‘Come on,’ Jill said, touching my arm. ‘Let’s go and get a coffee.’
‘Good idea,’ I said.
‘And there’s something I need to ask you,’ she added.
‘Oh yes?’
I’d seen that look on Jill’s face before.
‘I’ve been thinking, now Lucy is settled and we’ve got the panel hearing out of the way’, she said, as we made our way downstairs, ‘that you might like to start fostering again properly, rather than just doing respite?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve been thinking that too.’
‘Good,’ Jill said. ‘Because I’ve had a referral through for a four-year-old girl.’
‘Jill, you’re incorrigible!’ I exclaimed with a smile.
‘I know. What would you do without me?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’
Over coffee, Jill explained that the referral was for a little girl called Alice. Her social worker was applying to court the following morning for an Interim Care Order. ‘I understand she’s a real sweetie,’ Jill said. ‘She’s been staying with her grandparents for the last few months, as her mother has mental-health issues. They’re in court at ten o’clock tomorrow so, assuming the order is granted, she’ll be with you about one o’clock. I have a copy of the referral in my bag.’
That afternoon, when Lucy, Adrian and Paula returned home from school, I had a lot to tell them. First and foremost was that the panel had said Lucy could stay permanently, so it was official. Everyone clapped and whooped for joy. Then I told them about Alice and their responses were:
‘Goody, a little one to play with,’ from Paula;
‘She’ll be very upset, so I’ll help settle her in,’ from Lucy;
‘Not another girl!’ from Adrian.
I tell Alice’s story in my book I Miss Mummy, so I won’t say any more about her now, or anything about the very worrying circumstances of her arrival, which didn’t go to plan, not at all. Instead, I want to move on ten months to when Alice was about to leave us. It was a cold night in January. Paula was in bed asleep, Adrian was in bed reading and I went upstairs to say goodnight to Lucy.