by Cathy Glass
Supervisory meetings are semi-formal and take place at the foster carer’s home, and are in addition to any other meetings or telephone conversations the carer might have with her support social worker (Jill in my case). During the meeting the support social worker checks the carer’s records, discusses any difficulties he or she may be experiencing and generally monitors the foster carer to ensure he or she is doing everything as it should be done for the good of the child.
Jill and I set the date for her visit for the following Thursday, by which time Jill said she hoped to have the date for the meeting with Rihanna. It seemed to me that the urgency of the meeting with Rihanna had diminished somewhat and I wondered if Rihanna had had second thoughts, perhaps deciding it wouldn’t help her to meet me, which I could understand, for I did wonder what she would really gain from it.
However, when Jill arrived the following Thursday she was holding a piece of paper on which were scribbled two dates. ‘Cheryl’s just left a message on my mobile,’ Jill said, coming in. ‘Rihanna has suggested the second or fourth of October to meet. Cheryl can do either of these dates, and so can I.’
As Jill went into the sitting room, where Harrison was in the bouncing cradle, I fetched my diary and, opening it, found I too had both these dates free.
‘Let’s make it the second of October, then,’ Jill said, grinning and making faces at Harrison. ‘Cheryl suggested eleven o’clock. Is that all right with you?’
‘Yes, fine.’ I noted the meeting in my diary.
‘I’ll arrange for your sitter to arrive just after ten o’clock so that you have plenty of time to show her where everything is and then drive to the council offices.’
‘Thank you, Jill,’ I said, adding a note in my diary of the time the sitter would arrive. ‘Coffee?’
‘Yes please.’
While Jill baby-talked and fussed over Harrison I went into the kitchen and made coffee for us both. Returning to the sitting room I placed the coffee on the table within our reach and we sat on the sofa. Jill took the supervisory forms from her bag and began filling in the top sheet with my name, the date of the meeting, and the name and age of the child I was fostering. Then, as we drank our coffee Jill made notes from the update I gave her on Harrison’s progress and development since her last supervisory visit, including his weight gain and his first vaccination, both of which I showed her recorded in the red book. Jill then checked and signed my log notes; she also asked me if there were any changes to my household, which she knew there weren’t but was still obliged to ask. As there was nothing else to discuss Jill thanked me and tucked the supervisory forms in her bag. When she returned to the office she would type up her notes and print two copies, which we would both sign; one copy would go on the agency’s files and the other was for me to keep. Jill finished by saying she would phone with the details of the carer who would babysit Harrison when it was confirmed; then, coochicooing a goodbye to Harrison, she told me not to worry about meeting Rihanna, and left to go to another carer.
Although I was reassured by the safeguards Jill had put in place for my meeting with Rihanna, which was now less than two weeks away, I was still concerned. As a foster carer I’d had a lot of experience meeting parents of the child or children I was fostering and it was never easy. Sometimes the parents were very angry that their child or children had been taken into care; sometimes they were upset and cried, and in the case of Michael’s father who had been terminally ill when I’d met him, it had been me who’d cried. But until now I’d never met a mother who had been separated from her child at birth and had no hope of being reunited with him or ever seeing him again. I tried not to think about the meeting but it kept creeping into my thoughts, and I’d suddenly catch myself trying to imagine what Rihanna would be like in person: her tone of voice, her mannerisms, what she would say, the questions she would ask and of course how she would react to me. I was still taking lots of photographs of Harrison and I wondered if I should take some of the recent photographs with me to give to Rihanna at the meeting. Babies grow so quickly and the ones I’d previously sent to her via Cheryl were already old. Would Rihanna appreciate up-to-date photographs of her son or would they be too upsetting for her? I didn’t know. I couldn’t decide what to do for the best, so when Jill next phoned – with details of the carer, Chris, who would be babysitting Harrison – I asked her for advice.
‘Take some of the photographs with you,’ she said. ‘Keep them in your bag, and then we can decide at the meeting if it’s appropriate to give them to Rihanna.’
Simple really, but so often when we are in the middle of a situation and emotionally involved in it, logic and common sense disappear.
That evening I telephoned Chris to thank her for agreeing to babysit Harrison and also to check she knew where I lived, which she did. On Sunday Adrian and Paula spent the day out with their father and all too soon it was the evening of 1 October, and the eve of my meeting with Rihanna. Before I went to bed that night I placed the photographs I was taking with me in an envelope and put it in my handbag; then upstairs in my bedroom I laid out the clothes I had chosen to wear – a smart skirt and blouse. In the morning when I returned from taking Adrian and Paula to school I wouldn’t have much time and I needed to be ready for when Chris arrived to babysit Harrison at ten o’clock.
I gave Harrison his late-night feed and he was soon sleeping peacefully in his cot. He was three months old and had just started sleeping through the night, not waking for another feed until five o’clock. Soon I would move him into his own room, as I had done with Adrian and Paula when they’d started sleeping through the night. Before I got into bed I stood by his cot and gazed down at him. The faint glow from the street lamp meant that my room was never completely dark. I could see Harrison’s little face completely relaxed in sleep and his mouth slightly open. I could hear the faintest whisper of his light breathing, and one of his little hands lay characteristically against his chin as though he was deep in thought. I wondered what Rihanna was thinking and doing now – on the eve of meeting me. Was she nervous, upset, trying to imagine what I would say or do? Or had she resigned herself to letting go of Harrison and moving on with her life? I’d no idea.
Chapter Nineteen
A Right to Cry
‘Have I explained everything?’ I asked Chris, the babysitter, the following morning as we stood in the kitchen and I looked anxiously around.
‘Yes, I’m sure you have,’ Chris reassured me. ‘Harrison’s feeds are made up and are in the fridge. All I need for changing him is upstairs in the spare bedroom. He is likely to wake at eleven o’clock for a feed and then he’s quite often up for the rest of the morning, so we’ll play.’
I smiled. ‘Thanks. I’ll leave my mobile on silent, so if you need me, call.’
‘All right, but I’m sure we will be fine. I’ve had lots of experience looking after babies and young children.’
‘I know you have,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that this is the first time I’ve left Harrison with anyone.’
Chris smiled kindly. ‘I’m exactly the same with my babies, but please don’t worry. Now off you go – you don’t want to be late.’
It was now 10.25 and it was just as well Jill had arranged for Chris to arrive early, as it had taken me over twenty minutes to show her where everything she might need was kept and talk her through Harrison’s routine, although that was probably due to my fussing. Chris came with me down the hall to see me out and as we passed the pram I checked on Harrison one last time. He’d been awake when Chris had first arrived and now he was having his morning nap.
‘Bye, little fellow,’ I said quietly. ‘Be good.’ Then to Chris: ‘I should be back by twelve-thirty.’
‘OK, but don’t worry it your meeting overruns. I’ve nothing planned for this afternoon.’
Thanking Chris again, I came out and she closed the door quietly behind me so as not to disturb Harrison. I unlocked my car, climbed in and reversed off the driveway; then I he
aded for the council offices. I now realized I should have had something to eat before I left. I’d had very little breakfast and my stomach was churning – partly from hunger but also, I suspected, from nerves. My thoughts went again to Rihanna and I wondered how she was feeling as she too approached our meeting.
I arrived at the council offices at 10.50, parked the car and entered reception, where I’d arranged to meet Jill. She was already there and looking out for me. Seeing me she immediately came over.
‘All right?’ she asked, touching my arm reassuringly.
‘Yes, I think so.’
‘Good. I’ve just seen Cheryl and Rihanna go up. We’re in Room 3 on the first floor.’
I felt my stomach churn again as we crossed reception and made our way up the stone steps. As we went up Jill tried to make light conversation, asking me how Adrian, Paula and Harrison were, did we have a nice weekend, wasn’t the weather good; and had I remembered to bring the photographs? But my thoughts were elsewhere and I answered all her well-meaning questions with ‘Yes, fine, thank you.’ Or just ‘Yes.’
We arrived on the landing and turned left into the corridor where the meeting rooms were and my anxiety soared; my mouth went dry and my heart began thumping loudly in my chest. The door to Room 3 was closed and Jill gave a brief knock, threw me a reassuring smile and, turning the door handle, pushed the door open. I took a deep breath and followed her in. My gaze went immediately to the right of the room where, away from the main conference table, there was an informal circle of four chairs. Cheryl and Rihanna were sitting in two of the chairs, next to each other, and looked up as we entered. I closed the door and followed Jill across the room. Rihanna stood to shake our hands.
‘Hello, Rihanna. Pleased to meet you,’ Jill said, shaking her hand first. ‘I’m Jill, Cathy’s support social worker.’
‘Hello, Jill,’ Rihanna said softly, with a small fragile smile.
Lowering Jill’s hand Rihanna turned to me and as our eyes met I saw Harrison – so strong was the likeness.
‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ I said, taking Rihanna’s hand.
‘And you, Cathy,’ she said quietly. ‘Thank you so much for coming. It was very kind of you.’
I felt her hand warm in mine. A little taller than me, she was dressed in a pale blue summer suit, and was slim despite her recent pregnancy. My immediate impression was how elegant and gentle she appeared and also how very sad. Her black hair was cut neatly to chin length, as it had been when I’d seen her outside my house; she wore no make-up but her light brown skin and large eyes had a beauty of their own. Outwardly composed, she thanked me again for coming before she finally dropped my hand.
The four of us sat in the small circle of chairs; I was opposite Rihanna and Jill and Cheryl were either side of us. Now I was in the room and had met Rihanna I was starting to feel less anxious. Jill and Cheryl were taking notepads from their bags and opening them on their laps. Rihanna stole a glance at me and I smiled reassuringly; she returned a small sad smile before looking away.
‘OK,’ Cheryl said, straightening in her chair. ‘I’ll open this meeting by thanking everyone for coming. I am sure we will find it very helpful. Although this meeting is informal, Jill and I will be taking a few notes. I wasn’t going to produce minutes unless anyone present requests them.’ She looked up and then around at each of us.
Rihanna shook her head and I did likewise. ‘My agency will be satisfied with my notes,’ Jill confirmed.
‘Good. That’s one less piece of paperwork,’ Cheryl said, trying to lighten the mood. Rihanna briefly smiled again but it was a smile of politeness and I could see the tension beneath.
I’d no idea what to expect now in respect of the format the meeting would take, as I’d never attended a meeting like this before, but I guessed that as Rihanna had come here to learn about Harrison, I’d be asked to speak first and tell her about him. I was nearly right.
‘As you asked for this meeting,’ Cheryl said, looking at Rihanna, ‘perhaps you would like to tell us what would be most beneficial for you? I would suggest we hear from Cathy first and then you ask her any questions you have.’
Rihanna met my gaze and said quietly, almost timidly: ‘I just want you to tell me about Harrison, please.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said.
‘Jill and I will be writing,’ Cheryl said to me, ‘but don’t let that put you off.’
I nodded, and then looked at Rihanna. ‘Shall I start with Harrison’s routine?’ I asked. ‘From when he wakes in the morning?’
I saw Rihanna hesitate and then she said quietly. ‘Could you go back and tell me about when you collected him from the hospital, please? I’d like to hear that. I should have stayed to meet you. I was sorry I didn’t, but at the time I couldn’t face it. I was so upset.’
‘Yes,’ I said, touched she wanted this detail. ‘I’ll have to think back and remember. Stop me if you have any questions.’ And I wondered what I could possibly have been afraid of in meeting this gentle, quietly spoken woman who wanted nothing more than to hear about her son.
‘I was told I should collect Harrison at one o’clock,’ I began, looking at Rihanna as I spoke. ‘I made sure I was prepared. I had the carry car seat to take Harrison home in ready and also a bag with a bottle of milk in case he needed feeding. If I’m honest I was quite nervous driving to the hospital because I thought you and Harrison’s father might be there. I wasn’t sure how you would react to me or what I could say to you. When I arrived on the ward and found you weren’t there I was relieved but also a little disappointed; I would have liked to have met you too.’ A small flash of gratitude crossed Rihanna’s face in acknowledgement that we’d both had similar feelings about meeting.
‘I went to the end of the ward,’ I continued, ‘where Harrison’s crib was, and when I saw him my heart melted. He was such a cute baby – he still is. The nurses were making a fuss of him. He looked gorgeous in the little white hat and shawl you wrapped him in. He was asleep but he had one little hand pressed to his chin. He still does that when he’s in a deep sleep as though he’s thinking hard.’
‘Yes,’ Rihanna said softly. ‘One of the photographs you sent me shows him doing that. I have that photo and some others propped up by my bed.’ I saw her eyes mist, and my heart went out to her.
‘The nurse told me you’d fed and changed Harrison before you left,’ I said, continuing. ‘So I knew he wouldn’t need feeding again until we were home. I remember I was reluctant to pick him up to begin with, as he seemed so small and fragile. But I carefully lifted him into the baby seat and he didn’t wake. I noticed he was wearing a blue sleepsuit very similar to the one I’d bought. I haven’t used any of those I bought as I always make sure he’s dressed in the clothes you sent.’
‘Thank you, Cathy,’ Rihanna said quietly. ‘That means a lot to me.’ Jill and Cheryl nodded as they wrote.
I hoped I wasn’t giving Rihanna too much detail but I was trying to give her a clear picture of her son, which is what I thought she wanted, so I continued with my recollections of that day. ‘I left the hospital and then spent a long time in the car park making sure the car straps were fastened and Harrison’s car seat was secure. I still do that now – double check his harness and seatbelt very carefully. Harrison slept all the way home and then once we arrived he woke and I gave him a bottle and changed him. We very quickly fell into a routine which has largely continued today,’ I said. Then I talked about Harrison’s average day – beginning with his five o’clock bottle and finishing with his late-night feed. ‘Harrison sleeps well,’ I said. ‘But when he’s awake he is very alert, and interested in all that is going on around him. He is a bright baby and I know he is going to be very intelligent when he grows up. He gurgles a lot as though he’s trying to talk, and also has a funny little habit of wrinkling up his nose, which is so cute.’
‘Does he?’ Rihanna asked suddenly, interrupting me. ‘My father does that – wrinkles his nose. It’s a family t
rait. I’ve been told my grandfather did it too.’
I paused, wondering if Rihanna was going to say any more about this inherited characteristic, which had obviously taken her by surprise and touched her, but she didn’t, so after a moment I continued.
‘I have Harrison weighed and checked every week at the clinic and I update Jill and Cheryl on his progress. I understand Cheryl passes that information on to your solicitor, who tells you.’
Rihanna nodded.
‘I’ve given Rihanna an update today,’ Cheryl added.
I now wanted to reassure Rihanna that as well as looking after Harrison’s physical needs – feeding, changing and bathing him, etc. – we were also looking after his emotional needs, and indeed we were very attached to him. I thought Rihanna would find it reassuring to know Harrison was loved and cherished. ‘Harrison fitted very easily into my family,’ I said. ‘He soon became one of our family and we all adore him. My children treat him as their little brother, and my parents, and my brother and his wife, think the world of him. Harrison’s adorable and we love him, although we appreciate that at some point he will leave us to go to his forever family.’ I saw Rihanna’s eyes mist and I realized I’d said too much or the wrong thing.
‘I wish you could keep him,’ she blurted, her face creasing. ‘You would take such good care of him. You would love him as I would have done, I know you would.’