by Cathy Glass
I immediately put down what I was doing and went round to the front room. Although Adrian was a nine-year-old boy with a good imagination his worries needed to be taken seriously. I entered the front room and crossed to the bay window. ‘Where?’ I asked, joining him and Paula behind the net curtains.
‘There!’ Adrian pointed.
I looked across the road to the woman standing on the opposite side of the street a few houses up. She was of medium height and build and was dressed in beige summer trousers and a short-sleeved blouse. She wasn’t looking at our house now, but up the street as if she might be waiting for someone. Her face was turned slightly away, so I could only see her profile, but it suggested someone in her late twenties or early thirties with chin-length dark hair.
‘She’s been standing there for ages,’ Adrian said.
‘She’s probably waiting for someone,’ I said. ‘What makes you think she’s watching our house?’
‘She keeps staring over here,’ Adrian said, with the same mixture of excitement and anxiety. ‘She’s stopped now. But she’s been there all the time we’ve been watching for Nana and Grandpa.’
As I looked the woman did indeed look over and possibly at our house or the house next door, but it was no more than a cursory glance before she continued looking up and then down the street.
‘There! Told you,’ Adrian said.
‘She just glanced over,’ I said. ‘I’m sure she’s waiting for someone. There’s nothing to worry about.’
‘It’s all those silly spy comics he reads,’ Paula put in.
‘No, it isn’t,’ Adrian returned.
At that moment my parents’ car drew up and Adrian immediately forgot the woman as he and Paula rushed into the hall, where they waited for me to open the front door. Before my parents were out of the car we were on the pavement welcoming them, and the woman was walking up the street, presumably to meet the friend she’d been waiting for.
We had a lovely afternoon with my parents. Mum chatted to me in the kitchen as we put the finishing touches to dinner. Then after we’d eaten we all went in the garden, as the weather was warm and dry. Mum and Dad were soon as besotted with Harrison as we were, and Harrison spent most of the afternoon on one of their laps being cuddled and fussed over. Mum naturally asked me why Harrison’s mother couldn’t look after him and I replied honestly that I didn’t know. Mum helped me bath Harrison while Dad played badminton in the garden with Adrian and Paula. It was seven o’clock before my parents left, and once they’d gone the children began their bath and bedtime routine, ready for school the following day.
The following week was very busy and flew by. I drove Adrian and Paula to and from school each day. On Tuesday I took Harrison to the clinic to be weighed – he’d put on four ounces, which the health visitor entered in his red book. On Wednesday I had foster carer training run by Homefinders fostering agency, who also provided a crèche so that Harrison was looked after in the room next door while I attended the course. On Thursday I went to Adrian and Paula’s school sports day with Harrison in his pram. He slept for a while and then when the cheering and applauding woke him I held him in my arms so that he could see what was going on. So many outdoor activities in the UK rely on the weather for their success and the weather stayed fine that afternoon, so the annual sports day was a great success.
By the end of the week I felt I had established a good working routine with Harrison and although I was tired – from having two three-hour sleeps instead of one of seven hours – I knew from the experience of having Adrian and Paula that in a few months Harrison should, I hoped, no longer need his 2.00 a.m. feed and sleep through. And to be honest I didn’t mind the early-hours feed, as I hadn’t minded it with Adrian and Paula. I found something quite serene and magical in sitting in bed by the light of the lamp with Harrison in my arms – the two of us quietly alone while the rest of the world slept. It was an oasis of calm and peace in an otherwise busy schedule and Harrison’s little smile when he was full, and his gurgles of contentment as he lay in his cot before falling asleep, more than compensated for any tiredness I felt.
I thought nothing more of the woman we’d seen in our street on Sunday and the week drew to a close with much excitement from Adrian and Paula, as there was only one week left until school ended for summer, or as Adrian put it: ‘Freedom! For six whole weeks.’ He was also in the end-of-year play, which the school staged in the final week. This year they were putting on The Jungle Book and Adrian was one of the vultures. He’d been practising his lines with a Liverpudlian accent at every opportunity: What do you want to do? Don’t know. What do you want to do? Don’t know, etc.
I was, therefore, starting to feel that life was running smoothly again and I needn’t have worried so much about looking after a baby, as I’d successfully accommodated Harrison into our family with minimum disruption to Adrian and Paula. Indeed, they were enjoying helping me look after him and easily forgave him if he was fractious or woke them at night. However, on Saturday morning my complacency and feelings of well-being were shaken.
I opened the front door, ready to leave with the children to go shopping, and became vaguely aware that there was someone on the opposite side of the street. I didn’t think anything of it to begin with, as I was concentrating on Harrison and checking I’d remembered to bring my shopping list, keys and purse, while Adrian and Paula stood behind me in the hall, ready to follow me out. Then I looked up and my heart missed a beat. Although she was dressed in different clothes, I was sure it was the same woman Adrian had spotted the previous Sunday. She was standing in the same place and seemed to be looking over at our house. As soon as she saw me she turned and headed up the street, walking quickly away just as she had done on Sunday.
Closing the front door and with my heart racing I put Harrison, who was in his car seat, on the floor. Could she be connected with Harrison? Had my contact details accidentally been released? It had happened before. Could she possibly be Harrison’s mother? Then something else occurred to me that made my heart thump loudly and my mouth go dry. If a child is in care under an Emergency Protection Order or Full Care Order where there are concerns for the child’s safety then the foster carer’s contact details are not given to the parents. However, Harrison was in care under a Section 20 and I knew that usually with a Section 20 the parent(s) are given the foster carer’s contact details. While Cheryl had stressed that no one knew where Harrison was, it now occurred to me that that might not have included Harrison’s mother or father.
Adrian and Paula, who hadn’t seen the woman this time but had seen me open and close the door, were now looking at me questioningly. ‘Will you keep an eye on Harrison for a minute, please?’ I said. ‘I need to make a quick phone call.’
I left the children entertaining Harrison in his car seat, while I went down the hall to use the telephone in the sitting room. I closed the door to the sitting room so that the children couldn’t hear, as I didn’t want to worry them. Perching on the sofa and wondering if I was over-reacting I dialled Homefinders’ office number. As it was Saturday I knew the call would be re-routed through to the agency’s social worker who was on duty that weekend. A moment later a male voice answered and I recognized it as Michael’s.
‘Hello, Michael, it’s Cathy Glass,’ I said, trying to keep the anxiety from my voice.
‘Hi, Cathy. What can I do for you?’
‘Michael, am I right in thinking that with a Section 20 the parents are usually given the foster carer’s address?’
‘Yes. Usually. Why? Is there something wrong?’
‘I’m not sure. How much do you know of Harrison’s case?’ I asked carefully.
‘Not a lot, I’m afraid. If you explain the problem I can advise you, or I could phone Jill. She’s not on duty this weekend but she won’t mind if it’s an emergency and I can’t help.’
I hesitated. It wasn’t exactly an emergency and while I didn’t want to disturb Jill unnecessarily on her day off, I wasn’t sure
it was wise to explain Harrison’s case to Michael. Given the level of confidentiality surrounding Harrison it was possible that only Jill and the manager at Homefinders were aware of his background.
‘Michael, would you mind phoning Jill, please?’ I said. ‘It’s not an emergency but I would appreciate her advice.’
‘OK, if you’re sure I can’t help?’
‘It’s very complicated,’ I said. ‘It would be easier if I talked to Jill.’
‘Of course. I’ll phone her right away. Shall I tell her to phone your landline or mobile?’
I paused. ‘Mobile, please. I’m just going out.’
‘OK. Will do.’
I thanked him and, after replacing the handset, returned down the hall, where Adrian and Paula were still keeping Harrison amused. As I didn’t know how long it would be before Jill returned my call I decided we’d continue with our shopping trip rather than wait in. I’d take Jill’s call when it came through on my mobile.
I opened the front door and checked the street. The woman was nowhere to be seen. Adrian and Paula followed me out of the house and I closed and locked the front door. I checked the street again as the children got into the car and I strapped Harrison in his car seat under the seatbelt. With another glance around I climbed into the driver’s seat and was about to start the engine when my mobile rang. I took the phone from my bag and saw it was Jill’s number. I pressed to answer. At the same time I got out of the car and closed the driver’s door so that Adrian and Paula couldn’t hear what I was saying.
‘What’s the problem?’ Jill asked straightaway.
‘Jill, I’m sorry to disturb you at the weekend, and it may be nothing, but Cheryl said I should report any strangers hanging around in the street. Last Sunday and then again this morning I saw a woman standing across the road, just over from our house. The first time I thought she was waiting for someone but now I’m not so sure. Each time she walked off quickly when I came out of the house. Jill, Cheryl said no one knew where Harrison was but is it possible social services have given my details to Harrison’s parents, as he’s in care under a Section 20?’
‘I shouldn’t think so, given the level of confidentiality,’ Jill said. ‘What did the woman look like?’
‘I didn’t get a very good look at her because each time she rushed off. But I’d say late twenties or early thirties, smartly dressed, average height and build with dark hair and light brown skin.’
Jill went quiet for a moment as I looked in the car window to check on the children.
‘I’ll phone Cheryl first thing on Monday,’ she said. ‘It’s no good me phoning now: their duty social worker won’t know the case. Obviously if the woman or anyone else approaches you or comes to the house, don’t take any chances: phone us or the police. We don’t know who she is or why she’s there.’
‘All right, Jill.’
We said goodbye and I got into the car, slightly spooked by Jill’s warning and her instruction to call the police if necessary.
We continued with our shopping trip but I was vigilant for the rest of the day and indeed that weekend. I checked the street every time we entered or left the house, but I saw no one acting suspiciously.
By Monday morning I was starting to think the woman’s appearance was pure coincidence and was not connected with Harrison. That was until Jill phoned.
Chapter Ten
Shut in a Cupboard
It was just after midday on Monday and I was sitting on the sofa with Harrison in my arms, feeding him. It was raining outside and I was thinking I would need to take Adrian’s and Paula’s macs when I collected them from school if it hadn’t stopped raining by home time. Harrison jumped when the phone rang and paused from sucking. I quickly reached over and picked up the handset.
‘Hello,’ I said, lodging the handset between my chin and shoulder so that I could continue holding Harrison’s bottle.
‘Cathy, it’s Jill. Are you free to talk?’
I heard the seriousness in her voice. ‘Yes, I’m feeding Harrison. What’s the matter?’
‘I hope you’re sitting down,’ Jill said. I felt my heart set up a strange little rhythm. ‘I’ve just spoken to Cheryl on the phone and I’m afraid your address—’
‘Has been released,’ I interrupted, realizing the reason for her call and seriousness.
‘Yes, you were right. Your address was included on the paperwork that was sent out. I’ve told Cheryl I’m very unhappy that we weren’t informed and she sends her apologies. She said that as Harrison’s mother was cooperating with the social services she saw no reason to withhold your address, and had assumed that as it is a Section 20 you and Homefinders would have realized Rihanna would know where Harrison was, which clearly we didn’t.’
‘No. Cheryl went to such lengths to emphasize that no one must know where Harrison was, I assumed “no one” meant no one. It never crossed my mind anyone would have my contact details until Saturday, when I saw that woman in the street for the second time. Who else knows my address?’
‘Only Rihanna’s solicitor,’ Jill said. ‘There are no other parties involved in the case.’
‘What about Harrison’s father?’
‘He’s not involved.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘That’s what Cheryl said. She also assured me Harrison’s mother won’t cause you any problems. Rihanna’s still cooperating fully with the social services and wishes only that Harrison can be found a good adoptive family. She doesn’t want any contact with him.’
‘So why was she outside my house?’
‘Cheryl doesn’t think it was her,’ Jill said. ‘Rihanna has told Cheryl she is trying to rebuild her life and has returned to work. But to put your mind at rest Cheryl said she’d write to Rihanna’s solicitor and mention your concerns. Cathy, it could have been anyone in your road, although as Cheryl pointed out even if it was Harrison’s mother she hasn’t done anything wrong.’
‘No,’ I agreed thoughtfully. ‘She hasn’t.’
‘Look, Cathy, if you are very worried I could try and find another carer to look after Harrison.’
‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘There’s no need for that.’
‘Good. So let’s assume for the time being that it wasn’t Harrison’s mother and see what her solicitor has to say – although it will probably be a few weeks before the social services receive a reply. In the meantime let me know if you have any more concerns, and please be assured that only his mother and solicitor have your contact details. All right?’
‘All right.’
Jill apologized again for the oversight Cheryl had made in not telling me Harrison’s mother would be aware of my address, and we wound up the conversation and said goodbye. I replaced the handset and remained where I was on the sofa, staring into space and deep in thought, as Harrison took the last of his bottle. Clearly Jill and Cheryl had decided that the woman outside my house wasn’t Harrison’s mother, but I wondered how they could be so sure. Cheryl had told Jill that Rihanna was trying to rebuild her life and had returned to work, but both sightings of the woman has been at the weekend when she wouldn’t be at work. Or maybe, if it wasn’t Harrison’s mother, then it was someone his mother knew and had confided in: a sister or close friend. Clearly I didn’t know, but I was annoyed that, not for the first time since I’d begun fostering, a social worker had forgotten to pass on a piece of vital information.
Harrison finished his bottle and I sat him upright on my lap and began massaging his back to release his wind, at the same time reassuring him (and myself) that he wouldn’t be taken away: ‘Naughty Jill,’ I said, ‘suggesting she could move you. Of course you’re not leaving, not for a long, long time. You’ll stay with us until the social services have found you a nice adoptive family, which will take most of the year.’
Harrison responded with a loud burp and I wiped the residue of milk from his lips with a bib. I then lifted him up and turned him round to face me so that I could kiss his nose, which he loved.
He was such a cute little baby you couldn’t help but pet and kiss him at every opportunity, and my thoughts went again to his mother and the fact that she would never know the joy of kissing her son or seeing him giggle.
I sat Harrison in his bouncing cradle while I washed the bottle and put it in the sterilizer; then I wrote up my log notes, briefly including Jill’s phone call and what Cheryl had said. Jill would have made more detailed notes in her records of the conversations she’d had with Cheryl and with me. When I’d finished updating my log notes I took some photographs of Harrison in his bouncing cradle, and was about to switch on the television for the one o’clock news when the phone rang again. Harrison frowned and looked in the direction of the ringing as I picked up the handset. I was surprised to hear Jill’s voice again and immediately assumed it must be more bad news.
‘What ever is it?’ I said.
‘Nothing to worry about. We were wondering if you could help us out with some respite care?’
I breathed a sigh of relief. Foster carers are often asked to help out other carers by offering respite. ‘I should think so. Who and when?’
‘It’s little Ellie. She’s six. Ava is her carer. I think you met them briefly on the agency’s spring outing?’
‘Yes, I remember. Ava and her husband are new carers.’
‘That’s right. Could you look after Ellie next week? I was thinking that as Harrison’s cot is in your room Ellie could use the spare room? It’s just for the week.’
‘Yes, that should work out fine.’
‘Thanks, Cathy. You’re a gem. Ellie is a very quiet child, withdrawn, and just starting to talk about the abuse she suffered. Ava is doing a great job with her, but her brother is very ill and he lives in Scotland. Ava wants to go up to Scotland for a week to help. Her own two children are going to stay with her sister’s family, who live close by. They offered to look after Ellie too but they’re not police-checked, so I’m afraid they can’t.’ (Only families who are vetted by the social services and are police-checked can look after a foster child.)