Another Forgotten Child

by Cathy Glass

  ‘Not catching up!’ Aimee scowled, folding her arms defiantly across her chest. ‘And you can’t make me!’

  I was getting used to Aimee rejecting all my requests: it was spontaneous, and a prerequisite before doing as I’d asked. But Lucy and Paula sighed with exasperation.

  ‘Here we go again,’ Paula said quietly under her breath.

  ‘I know you’ve had a busy day,’ I said to Aimee. ‘So we’ll just spend a quarter of an hour reading, and then you can watch some television before bed.’

  ‘I want television now,’ Aimee demanded. ‘Or I’ll tell me mum.’

  Lucy and Paula left for their bedrooms while I continued to explain to Aimee the advantages of learning to read and write. But Aimee didn’t want to know. I suspected she was unsettled from seeing her mother and being reminded of life before she came into care, where the focus was on immediate gratification rather than long-term goals: Aimee wanted to enjoy watching television now rather than doing some homework which would help her in the future.

  ‘Aimee,’ I said finally, ‘in my house we always do our homework first before we watch television. It’s one of our rules. Where do you think Paula is now?’ I added for good measure.

  ‘How should I know?’ Aimee shrugged.

  ‘She’s in her bedroom doing her homework. Then when she’s finished she’ll watch her television.’ I omitted to mention that Paula often did her homework with her television on and with her iPod in her ears. She was seventeen and that was the way she studied, and it worked for her.

  Aimee thought about this for a moment and then asked, ‘What about Lucy and your boy who ain’t here? Are they doing their homework?’

  ‘Adrian is doing homework at university,’ I said. ‘And Lucy did homework until she was eighteen. She got the qualifications she needed, so she doesn’t have to do homework now, but she still likes to read.’ Nothing like labouring the point, I thought! But it was so important that Aimee got into the right mindset for making the most of her schooling and learning.

  The message began to sink in. Aimee sulked for a while longer, glared at me (just as her mother did), and then, having thought about it a bit longer, and probably swayed by the examples of my grown-up children, she plonked herself on the sofa next to me. ‘You always get your own way!’ she huffed. ‘You said quarter of an hour, that’s all. Then I’m having me television on.’

  ‘Excellent. Deal done,’ I said with a cheery smile.

  But Aimee couldn’t read the time so I managed to stretch the fifteen minutes’ homework to thirty minutes before, tired after a day at school and contact, she began to yawn and lose concentration.

  ‘Well done,’ I said. ‘That wasn’t so painful, was it?’

  She almost agreed but not quite.

  Aimee watched some children’s television and then with the usual protest that she wanted to stay up later and watch more (adult programmes) I saw her up to bed. I tucked her in and asked her if she wanted a goodnight kiss or a hug but she didn’t.

  Having said goodnight I came out, closed the door and went downstairs, where I wrote up my log notes. I then spent some time chatting to Lucy and Paula before I went to bed soon after ten o’clock, exhausted. My weekday routine had begun. The following day we had school and phone contact; then on Wednesday we had school and face-to-face contact. Thursday was school and phone contact again, and then Friday school and face-to-face contact. My routine with Aimee would continue largely unaltered until the final court hearing, possibly a year away, when the judge would decide who should look after Aimee. During that year the legal cogs would turn slowly in the background, with reports being written, assessments and observations being completed, and Aimee’s progress monitored. As with all the children I’d fostered Aimee would be part of my family for the time she was with me and I would care for her as I did my own children. Aimee certainly wasn’t the easiest child I’d fostered, but her behaviour was manageable, if not a little wearying. I was more concerned about the physical and emotional distance she kept between us. It was as though she thought that to allow me close was a sign of weakness. I hoped that in time she would put her trust in me, as long as there was time and Susan’s complaints didn’t lead to Aimee being moved.

  I took Aimee to school the following morning and after school Jill visited as arranged, but it was only a brief visit – to meet Aimee – as Jill was on her way to another carer, whose teenager kept running away. After dinner I took Aimee to the sitting room for telephone contact but when I phoned Susan’s mobile it wouldn’t connect, and an automated message said that her phone was off and to try again later. My phone was on speaker and Aimee, who was sitting beside me ready to talk to her mother, could hear the recorded message and was angry.

  ‘Silly cow! Why isn’t she answering?’ Aimee stormed.

  I reassured her that sometimes mobile phones didn’t connect and we would try again later. I tried twice more over the next half an hour but received the same automated message. Now Aimee was very angry – with me, believing it was my fault her mother’s phone was switched off. I explained that I had no control over the number we dialled, but Aimee was not convinced and thought I was stopping her from speaking to her mother. In Aimee’s view this would be preferable than having to accept that her mother’s phone was off and she wasn’t waiting for her daughter to call. It was only when Lucy came downstairs and confirmed what I’d said about mobile phones that Aimee finally accepted there was nothing I could do to connect the call. Our whole evening had been disrupted by not getting through to Susan on the phone and as a result Aimee wasn’t in the right frame of mind to learn, so I read her some stories.

  The following morning I took Aimee to school and as I left the playground my mobile began to ring. It was Kristen. ‘Susan’s just called me. She’s very upset. Why didn’t Aimee phone her last night?’

  I sighed wearily and explained what had happened: that we’d tried to phone three times but Susan’s mobile had been switched off.

  ‘Are you sure her phone was off?’ Kristen asked. ‘Susan says her phone was on all evening and she was waiting for your call. Perhaps you dialled the wrong number?’

  ‘What? Three times. No. It was the right number. I explained to Aimee these things happen sometimes with mobile phones and it wasn’t her mother’s fault.’

  It was Kristen’s turn to sigh. ‘All right, I’ll try and explain this to Susan. But she’s very angry and pointed out that phone calls are part of the court order. She threatened to take us’ – the social services – ‘back to court for breaking the order.’ It sounded as though Kristen was holding me responsible.

  I stopped where I was on the pavement and moved to one side. ‘Kristen, there’s nothing I can do if Susan’s phone is switched off.’

  ‘No, but she says it wasn’t. Look, if it happens again keep trying.’

  ‘What? All evening?’

  ‘Well, more than three times.’

  ‘All right, if you insist, but it’s very disruptive to Aimee.’

  ‘I appreciate that but Susan’s out to make trouble.’ At the expense of her daughter, I thought. But I knew why Kristen was so eager to placate Susan, for at this stage in the legal proceedings the parents had the ‘upper hand’. In court the judge had granted the social services the care order with certain stipulations, one of them being that telephone contact should take place four times a week. This had to be upheld, and if it wasn’t Susan could go back to court and possibly make a case for having Aimee returned to her. Kristen had previously said that the social services had been forced to agree to a high level of contact, as otherwise they wouldn’t have been granted the care order. In my view one of the elements of the child protection service I would remove is the adversarial nature of the proceedings where the social services and the parents are battling on opposite sides of a courtroom instead of around a table, working for the good of the child.

  ‘I’ve spoken to child protection about Aimee’s allegations against Craig,’ Kriste
n said, moving on. ‘Detective Constable Nicki Davies will interview Aimee at school on Thursday.’

  ‘Do you want me to be present?’ I asked. ‘I’m happy to be if it will help.’

  ‘No, I’ll be there,’ Kristen said, ‘and Aimee knows Nicki. She’s been interviewed by her before.’

  ‘Has she?’ I asked, surprised. This was news to me. Children are only interviewed by a child protection police officer when there is a specific incident of abuse; the police don’t provide a monitoring service as the social services do. ‘Can I ask in what connection?’ I said.

  ‘Certain things Aimee said before coming into care – about her father, and others,’ Kristen said vaguely, not knowing or not wanting to tell me.

  ‘Do you want me to talk to Aimee about Thursday so she’s prepared?’ I asked.

  ‘No, don’t say anything. We don’t want her changing her mind.’

  ‘I’m sure she won’t do that,’ I said. ‘You’ll let me know the outcome so I can deal with any questions Aimee might ask?’

  ‘I won’t personally, but I’ll put a note on the file for someone to phone you. As you know, Aimee’s case will be going to the children in care team after Thursday. So if I don’t speak to you again, goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ I said, and returned my phone to my pocket.

  I took one step along the pavement and was about to continue round the corner to the street where I’d parked my car when I felt a heavy tap on my shoulder. I turned, to see Susan standing directly behind me. Stick thin, pale and drawn, with bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils, she looked dreadful. Her hair was dishevelled, as though she’d just got out of bed, and she looked very angry. She had a large dog on the end of a short thick chain lead, which I took to be Hatchet.

  I didn’t have a chance to say hello and try to defuse her. The dog barked as she jabbed a finger at me and said: ‘If you go making trouble for me and my girl, you’ll be sorry.’

  The dog barked again and she yanked its lead; then, turning, she headed back along the pavement, the dog at her heels, while I continued quickly around the corner and to my car. I got in, pressed the internal locking system, and then sat for a moment while my heart settled. It was only the week before that Susan had been escorted off the school premises when Lynn had called the police, and now here she was again, this time outside the school and threatening me. She knew I’d be here at the start and end of school each day and I had no doubt that unless I put a stop to it Susan would approach and threaten me again. There are many good elements in fostering but angry and irrational parents aren’t one of them.

  Retrieving my phone from my pocket I pressed Kristen’s number. She answered straightaway. ‘It’s Cathy. Susan has just come to school and threatened me.’ I told her what Susan had said.

  ‘I guess she’s angry about the allegations Aimee has made against Craig,’ Kristen said. ‘I didn’t tell her, but apparently the police asked Susan for Craig’s address.’

  ‘So can you warn her off approaching me again, please?’ I said. ‘Susan’s very threatening, especially with that dog.’ The last time I’d been threatened by a parent the social worker had taken my concerns seriously and had told the woman that if it happened again the social services would take out an injunction. But social workers vary in the level of support they give their foster carers and Kristen was about to leave the case.

  ‘I don’t like that dog either,’ she said. Then: ‘I won’t have time to raise this with Susan today, so I’ll put a note on the file for whoever takes over.’ There were going to be a lot of notes on the file, I thought. ‘Must rush, I’m in a meeting soon.’ And she was gone.

  Not satisfied with a note being left on the file, and concerned for my safety, even if Kristen wasn’t, I now pressed Jill’s number. It might seem that I was making a fuss over what was in effect one incident but given Susan’s generally aggressive attitude towards me I thought that if I left it unchecked she’d escalate her threats. Often foster carers have to speak up and make a fuss to safeguard themselves, as no one else does.

  Jill answered and I told her what Susan had said and Kristen’s response.

  ‘Not good enough,’ Jill said. ‘I’ll email Kristen now. Best to have it in writing.’

  True to her word, Jill did as she promised and an hour later she phoned and said Kristen had spoken to Susan and had told her not to approach me again in the street. But of course telling Susan not to do something was like ‘a red rag to a bull’. That evening at contact Susan was furious with me, and so too was Aimee.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Keep Asking

  I hadn’t seen Susan when I’d taken Aimee to contact, as she was already in the contact room, but when I collected Aimee at the end of contact Susan came out with Aimee and the supervisor.

  It was Aimee who spoke first. ‘You’ve upset my mummy! She likes to go to my school, and I like to see her.’ I hadn’t said anything to Aimee, so I assumed Susan must have told Aimee that I’d complained about her being outside the school that morning, while omitting to mention why I’d complained.

  ‘There! Told you so,’ Susan said to the contact supervisor. ‘My girl likes to see me at school, and that woman is trying to come between us.’

  ‘Yeah, I like seeing me mum through the railings at playtime,’ Aimee agreed. So it appeared that Susan going to the school had become a regular occurrence since Aimee had come into care. A public footpath ran down one side of the school with only a railing fence separating it from the playground. I’d seen children in the morning call goodbye to their parents through the railings, so I guessed that was where Aimee had been meeting her mother at playtime.

  Aimee and Susan glared at me while the contact supervisor looked at me coolly and said nothing. I didn’t know the supervisor and she hadn’t introduced herself. It was a different supervisor to the one of the week before and while she should really have intervened and stopped Susan from lambasting me I knew that wasn’t going to happen. Susan was a formidable woman when angry and this contact supervisor, like the last one, wasn’t going to cross her unless it was absolutely essential. Susan was therefore allowed to continue unchecked.

  ‘She’s got new bruises on her legs,’ Susan said to me, accusingly. ‘Craig couldn’t have done those, could he? Aimee hasn’t seen him for two weeks.’

  ‘No, Craig didn’t make the bruises,’ Aimee agreed.

  ‘So who made them?’ Susan asked me. The contact supervisor opened her notepad and began writing.

  ‘I wasn’t aware Aimee had any fresh bruises,’ I said to Susan. ‘Perhaps she fell over at school. Have you asked Aimee how she got the bruises?’

  ‘No, I’m asking you!’ Susan said, stabbing her finger at me.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ I said. ‘Did you fall over at school?’ I asked Aimee.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Aimee said with a shrug. ‘But Craig didn’t do them.’ I wondered what conversation had taken place in contact about Craig bruising Aimee and what effect it would have on Aimee’s testimony the following day when she was interviewed by the child protection police officer. I’d been told not to discuss the matter with Aimee, and Susan shouldn’t have discussed it either, but clearly something had been said.

  As the supervisor wasn’t going to intervene and stop Susan’s diatribe against me, it was left to me, so I said what the contact supervisor should have said. ‘Susan, if you have any concerns you need to raise them with your social worker, not here.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, I will!’ she snapped at me.

  ‘Are we ready to go, then?’ I said to Aimee.

  ‘No!’ Aimee said.

  ‘Say goodbye to your mum,’ I encouraged Aimee.

  The contact supervisor stopped writing and I hoped she might help and encourage Aimee to say goodbye to her mother, which was part of the contact supervisor’s role, but she didn’t.

  ‘Not going with her,’ Aimee said, folding her arms across her chest and scowling at me.

  ‘Dinner is rea
dy and waiting,’ I tried. ‘I bet you’re hungry.’

  ‘Don’t want dinner,’ Aimee scowled. ‘I’m full of sweets.’

  There was a few moments’ silence when I wondered how long we were going to stand here in this impasse before the contact supervisor decided to intervene and help. Then Susan spoke, and what she said left me speechless. The supervisor looked shocked too.

  ‘Aimee, go with Cathy and have your dinner,’ Susan said quietly, all signs of anger gone.

  I wondered if I’d heard right, and so too did the supervisor, who was staring at Susan, as well as looking somewhat relieved. ‘Come on, say goodbye, love,’ Susan said, taking a step towards her daughter to hug her.

  I continued to look at Susan, amazed at the sudden change. There was no sign of her previous anger; as she concentrated on Aimee she just looked very tired and old. Then I noticed she was sweating; beads of perspiration stood out on her forehead and the skin on her cheeks and chin glistened, despite it being a cold winter’s day. The heating in the centre was on but it wasn’t especially hot – not enough to make you sweat. I also noticed that Susan was shaking, her hands trembled as she reached out to hug Aimee, and she kept licking her bottom lip and swallowing. Either Susan was ill or badly in need of her next fix. For it now occurred to me that Susan was showing classic signs of drug withdrawal.

  ‘Give me a kiss,’ Susan said to Aimee, agitated and clearly in a hurry. Her hand trembled on Aimee’s shoulder as she bent forward to hug her daughter. And just at that moment, as they hugged and kissed goodbye, I felt sorry for Susan. How and when had her life gone so badly wrong? She hadn’t started life intending to lose all her children into care, and I feared if she didn’t get off drugs soon she’d lose her life too.

  ‘Bye, speak on the phone tomorrow, and see you on Friday,’ Susan said, easing her daughter away from her and towards me. I saw the desperation in Susan’s eyes and I think she knew I’d seen it.