by Cathy Glass
‘Can I have egg and bacon for breakfast?’ Aimee said, changing the subject.
‘Yes, but will you remember what I’ve told you? And try and share any worries you have with me or another adult you trust, like your teacher?’
‘I’ll try,’ she said. ‘Egg, bacon, beans and fried bread, please.’
‘Fine. Would you like your hair washed before or after your breakfast?’ I asked, relying on the closed choice.
‘After,’ she said, not realizing she’d agreed to a hair wash.
‘Excellent.’
And that is what we did. I cooked Aimee the breakfast she wanted and once she’d finished eating she kept her part of the bargain and allowed me to wash her hair – with, of course, her usual protestations, which I didn’t mind. The old Aimee was back and I was pleased.
However, when Adrian and his two friends arrived just after one o’clock it soon became obvious I was going to have to keep a watchful eye on Aimee to make sure they weren’t embarrassed.
‘Cor, they’re nice,’ Aimee said, sighing, as the lads stepped into the hall and we greeted each other. ‘Much better-looking than me mum’s men.’
Lucy and Paula had heard Aimee’s remark and looked at me, worried, but I didn’t think Adrian and his friends had heard. But once we were in the sitting room Aimee snuggled herself cosily in between the lads on the three-seater sofa and then gazed up at them adoringly.
‘Aimee, come and sit with me or the girls,’ I said, going over. I took her hand and led her off the sofa. ‘There’s not enough room for four on there.’ Aimee was about to object but thought better of it, and joined Paula and Lucy on the two-seater sofa. The girls knew why I’d moved Aimee, and Adrian might have done too, while his friends simply thought I’d moved her to give them more room.
I made drinks and then we all sat in the sitting room while the dinner cooked and chatted – about the lads’ trip to the Lake District, university, and what the girls and I had been doing. Aimee sat between Lucy and Paula and tried to join in the conversation. Most eight-year-olds would find adult conversation boring and prefer to be off playing, but Aimee, having never been allowed a carefree childhood, was used to living on the edge of her parents’ adult word. I was slowly teaching her to play as a child should but there was still a long way to go.
When I had to leave the room to check on dinner I suggested to Aimee that she might like to come with me and help, but she wanted to stay in the sitting room. Lucy and Paula knew to watch her if I wasn’t in the room, and when dinner was ready I set a place at the table for Aimee between Paula and me, and on the opposite side of the table to the lads. But she had clearly taken a fancy to Adrian and stared at him adoringly throughout the meal. I would like to say it was the adoration of a younger sibling towards an older brother but it was more than that. Aimee batted her eyelids and threw him flirtatious looks designed to catch his attention, which Adrian either ignored or didn’t see. Every so often I said, ‘Come on, Aimee, concentrate on your meal,’ to redirect her attention, but whenever she regained concentration it was short-lived.
I knew that Aimee had watched a lot of adult films before coming into care and she’d said she’d seen her mother go with men in return for drugs, so it was possible she was imitating what she’d seen, but it was also possible Aimee’s sexual awareness was a result of sexual abuse. Clearly Aimee had secrets and had been living in an environment where she could have been sexually abused, but I wouldn’t know for sure unless she told me.
After we’d finished eating everyone helped clear the table, and a short while later Adrian said he and his friends should be going, as they had a lengthy drive to university and the temperature was set to drop to freezing that night. The girls and I went to the front door to see them off and we kissed each other goodbye. Aimee, as part of our family, was included in this and the lads bent down so that she could reach their cheeks to kiss them goodbye, which she did appropriately. But once they’d gone she then spent the next hour with a silly grin on her face talking about the ‘three big boys’ she’d kissed. I knew that taken out of context and repeated to a third person her comments could sound highly inappropriate, so eventually I said, ‘Aimee, in our family we always kiss each other goodbye on the cheek. It’s nothing to be silly about, so just forget it.’
‘I’m not silly,’ Aimee said. ‘I know about kissing. I kissed lots of men at me mum’s.’
‘Did you?’ I asked with assumed nonchalance, pausing from what I was doing.
‘Who were they?’
‘My mum’s friends. We did lots of kissing.’
‘What, on the cheek?’
‘Sometimes, and sometimes we kissed on the mouth like this.’
I looked at Aimee and she parted her lips and demonstrated a lingering open-mouthed kiss on the back of her hand. ‘Who did you kiss like that?’ I asked.
‘Can’t remember,’ she said, perhaps now realizing it wasn’t appropriate for men to kiss a young girl like that.
‘Are you sure you can’t remember?’
She nodded. ‘My mind’s a blank.’
‘Well, if you do remember, please tell me,’ I said. ‘A grown man shouldn’t kiss a young girl like that.’
I’d have to note this in my log, for clearly if what Aimee had said was true, adults kissing a young girl in this manner was another abuse. Adrian was due to return home from university for Christmas in three weeks’ time and I hoped that by then Aimee would have learnt how to behave appropriately when around him so that I wouldn’t have to watch her the whole time. It is always difficult fostering a child who is sexually aware beyond their years and has come from a background where sexual abuse was possible. You want to give the child love and affection and make sure they felt included in the family but at the same time you are aware you have to protect your own family. For this reason all foster carers have a document called ‘A Safer Caring Policy’, which includes how to kiss, touch and hug the foster child appropriately. It’s sad that this is necessary, but children who are sexually aware or have been sexually abused view affection very differently from the average child, so that even the most innocent gesture can be misinterpreted.
That evening at 6.30 I called Aimee to the sitting room, ready for phone contact. As usual we had the phone between us on the sofa and I pushed the hands-free button to set it to speakerphone. I dialled Susan’s number, hoping she had recovered from her stomach upset of the day before and that there’d be no mention of Craig.
Susan answered almost immediately and sounded a bit brighter. ‘Hi, how are you?’ she asked Aimee pleasantly.
‘I’m all right, Mum. I’ve had a nice day.’
‘Have you?’ Susan asked, sounding slightly surprised. ‘What have you been doing?’
‘Kissing boys,’ Aimee said, and giggled.
‘What do you mean?’ Susan asked, her voice even.
‘Cathy has a big boy and he and his friends came to the house and we all kissed goodbye.’
Although the emphasis was on kissing it was a reasonable explanation and I waited for Susan’s reply. I didn’t want to jump in with further explanation if it wasn’t necessary. If I spoke to Susan on the phone it always made her angry.
A moment later Susan said, ‘OK, so what else have you been doing?’ So I assumed that no further explanation was required.
Aimee couldn’t think what else she’d been doing and I quietly prompted her to say she’d been playing lots of games, had watched some television, and had spent a relaxing day at home, all of which she repeated. Then she added, ‘And I had to have me hair washed. I don’t like having me hair washed. I was forced to.’
Susan sympathized. ‘I know you don’t like having your hair washed. I never made you wash you hair at home, did I?’
‘No,’ agreed Aimee. ‘You were nice. You didn’t make me wash my hair and I could eat lots of cakes and sweets, and watch television with you all night.’ And their conversation continued on the merits of Aimee’s life at home with h
er mother, in which she could do whatever she wanted to and never had to go to school or wash or eat a healthy diet, compared with the life she led with me where I ‘forced’ her to do all sorts of things that were good for her. However, on a positive note, Susan didn’t mention being ill, or Craig, so that by the end of the phone call I felt that compared to previous phone calls, it could have been a lot worse. I was getting used to Aimee and her mother criticizing me during the phone contact, and while I would note what had been said in my log I tried not to react or take it to heart. I knew that Aimee felt she had to show loyalty to her mother and this was exacerbated because of Susan’s hostility towards me.
That evening when I tucked Aimee into bed I asked as I usually did: ‘Would you like a hug and kiss goodnight?’
‘No, but keep asking,’ Aimee said with that cheeky little grin.
I smiled, said goodnight and came out. Paula, who was on the landing and had overheard what had become a nightly refrain, said, ‘I don’t know why you keep asking her, Mum. She never wants a hug, from any of us.’
‘No, but she will one day,’ I said. ‘You wait and see.’
The following day was Monday, and the week was set to be a busy one. Apart from the (time-consuming) school run and contact, I’d booked a dental appointment for Aimee for after school on Tuesday, for her to have a check-up. I’d also received a letter saying that I should take Aimee for a medical on Wednesday at 9.30 a.m., and an email had arrived from the Guardian ad Litem to say she’d like to visit me at 11.30 a.m. on Friday. I was also hoping to do some Christmas shopping. It was the end of November and many of the shops had their Christmas gifts on display; some were playing Christmas music. Aimee was looking forward to Christmas. Last Christmas, when she and her mother had stayed at Craig’s, had been dreadful, and from what she’d told me her previous Christmases hadn’t been much better. She’d never hung up a pillowcase on Christmas Eve, never had a proper Christmas dinner, or played party games; in fact she’d never known the sheer joy of Christmas. As with many children from deprived homes, for her Christmas was something you saw on television or that happened in other people’s homes. I intended to change all that and give Aimee a Christmas she would remember for a long time.
Jill phoned at Monday lunchtime and, having asked if we’d had a nice weekend, said that the duty social worker at the social services had just phoned, having received a call from Susan. ‘More complaints, I’m afraid,’ Jill said. ‘The duty social worker is dealing with it until a new social worker has been assigned to Aimee’s case, which should be by the end of the week.’
I sat on the sofa and reached for my fostering folder, which contained my log notes. ‘I’m ready. Go ahead. What’s the matter now?’
‘Well, we’ve got the usual complaints – that you’re forcing Aimee to wash, eat fruit and vegetables, go to school, brush her hair, eat at a table, and you don’t let her watch any television,’ Jill said. ‘I’ve reassured the duty social worker on these points but there are two new complaints: you stopped phone contact on Saturday, and on Sunday you let Aimee kiss some teenage boys in your house.’
I sighed. Apart from Susan’s complaints being a huge waste of time for all the professionals involved, I was getting fed up with having to justify my actions, and I think Jill was getting fed up with having to ask me to. Fine, if the parent of a child in care has genuine concerns, but this was just spiteful troublemaking.
‘I suppose Susan didn’t mention that Aimee had a nice weekend and went to the cinema on Saturday?’ I asked Jill cynically.
‘No. She didn’t.’
‘Have you got your pen ready?’ I said. ‘Here goes. I stopped the telephone contact on Saturday because Susan started talking about Craig. She said Craig was going to her house to look after her. As you know, Craig is the man Aimee has accused of abusing her and he is under police investigation. Aimee became very confused and upset at the thought of Craig going to her mother’s. She was worried that he would hurt her mother as he’d hurt her. I therefore made the decision to stop the phone contact. I told Susan why. Aimee was quiet for the rest of the evening and blamed herself for being taken into care. She also said she shouldn’t have told me about Craig hurting her.’
‘I hope you reassured her she did right to tell you?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the incident on Sunday? What’s all that about? I told the duty social worker it was sure to be a misunderstanding.’
‘Thank you. Adrian and two friends stopped by for Sunday lunch on their way back to university. They’d been to the Lake District for the weekend. Aware that Aimee can be over-familiar with boys and men, I kept a watchful eye on her. They weren’t here for very long and when Adrian and his friends left, Aimee came with us into the hall to say goodbye. We all kissed each other on the cheek, just as we always do when saying goodbye, and Aimee was included. She was a bit silly about it afterwards and told me she’d kissed men on the lips at her mother’s. I’ve written it all down.’
‘And that’s it?’
‘Yes. Except Aimee told her mother on the phone that she’d been kissing boys.’
‘According to what Susan told the duty social worker, Aimee made it sound like a game of kiss chase.’
‘Ridiculous. That’s Susan causing trouble,’ I said. ‘It’s true Aimee said she’d kissed some big boys, but then she clarified it by saying she kissed them goodbye. I’ll read you exactly what was said.’ I looked at my folder and read Aimee’s words, which Jill made a note of.
‘Thanks, Cathy. I’ll get back to the duty social worker and if I need any more detail I’ll give you a ring.’
‘There aren’t any more details,’ I said a bit curtly. ‘That’s all that happened. Susan’s just out to make trouble.’
‘I know.’
We said goodbye and, still irritated by all the trouble Susan was causing, I left the house and did a quick round of the local supermarket. I returned home and had just finished unpacking the shopping when Jill phoned, quarter of an hour before I had to leave to collect Aimee from school.
‘I’ve spoken to the duty social worker,’ Jill said. ‘He and I both support your decision to stop phone contact on Saturday. He’s told Susan that Craig must never speak to Aimee on the phone while he’s under investigation, and it’s better if his name isn’t mentioned. But about the other matter – on Sunday – can you confirm there were three lads? Susan says there was a gang involved.’
‘You’re joking! Of course there were three: Adrian and his two friends.’
‘And what are their ages? I know Adrian is twenty-one.’
‘The other lads are about the same age. They’re all in the same year at university.’
‘Thanks. And can you confirm it was only Aimee’s cheek they kissed?’
‘They didn’t kiss Aimee at all!’ I said, my voice rising angrily, aware of just how easy it was to make an innocent gesture sound sinister. ‘Aimee wanted to kiss the boys goodbye as Lucy, Paula and I were doing. She couldn’t reach, so they bent down, and she kissed them on the cheek quite appropriately.’
‘You’re sure about that, Cathy? It’s not possible one of Adrian’s friends could have kissed Aimee on the lips?’
‘No! Absolutely not. What are you suggesting? I was there. I saw what happened.’
‘Sorry, but you appreciate I have to ask. Susan is saying one of the boys kissed Aimee on the mouth, an open-mouthed kiss, and she’s threatening to report your family to the police for child abuse.’
My mouth went dry and a cold shiver ran down my spine. Although I knew Susan’s allegations were ludicrous, I also knew other foster carers who’d had their lives ruined by unfounded allegations from angry parents. The police (if it becomes a police matter) investigate allegations of child abuse against a foster carer just as they would if it is a parent who has been accused. The foster child is removed from the foster home and the resulting investigation can take many months. During that time the carers are not allowed to foster and i
f they have children of their own they can be placed on the child protection register. All parties involved are interviewed and have statements taken; sometimes employers and relatives are also interviewed. Approximately 35 per cent of all foster carers will have an allegation made against them during their fostering career, and often when they are cleared they are too upset to continue fostering and resign – all because an angry parent sought revenge for having their child taken into care.
Not for the first time since I’d started fostering I was grateful I’d kept detailed log notes, and I read out to Jill the details of Adrian and his friends’ visit on Sunday.
‘Thanks, Cathy,’ Jill said. ‘I’ll tell the duty social worker and hopefully that will be an end to it. I’ve explained that Susan has a history of unfounded allegations against foster carers. As the duty social worker he didn’t know. Try not to worry. I’m sure her allegations will be seen for what they are – malicious.’
I thanked Jill and said goodbye and then, anxious and angry, I left to collect Aimee from school. My dear son, Adrian, a lovely, trustworthy, sensitive, caring lad who’d always welcomed foster children into our home, and his two nice friends, had been accused of inappropriate behaviour and could be the subject of a child protection investigation. I was fuming and hurt. And while I hoped that, given Susan’s history of allegations against foster carers, common sense would prevail and the matter wouldn’t be taken further, I couldn’t be sure.
I arrived at school preoccupied and with a very heavy heart. I stood in the playground in my usual place so that Aimee would know where to find me among the other parents when she came out. Yet despite my worries and anxieties, my spirits lifted a little as Aimee came out and I caught a glimpse of her face. She was grinning from ear to ear and I knew she had some very good news to tell me.
‘Guess what!’ she cried, bounding to my side. ‘I’ve made some friends! You said I would and you were right. Now I’m not smelly and I don’t have nits the kids want to play with me! I told them I went to the cinema. I’m so happy!’