by Cathy Glass
‘Well, she would, wouldn’t she? I mean, it’s not going to help her case if Aimee was abused while she was asleep on the sofa.’ I thought that perhaps Beth was new to social work and therefore inexperienced, and perhaps a little naive.
‘I’ll have to talk to my manager,’ Beth said. ‘It can be very traumatic for a child to be interviewed by the police.’
‘I could help prepare Aimee,’ I said. ‘And she knows Nicki Davies from when she was interviewed before.’
‘Who?’ Beth asked. ‘What interview?’ So I guessed that, like most temporary agency social workers, Beth hadn’t familiarized herself with her cases.
‘DC Nicki Davies is the child protection police officer who has interviewed Aimee before – twice to my knowledge.’
‘I’ll speak to my manager,’ Beth said again. And was about to wind up the conversation.
‘Before you go,’ I said, ‘there is one more thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘Aimee had her medical this morning and the paediatrician asked me if Aimee or her parents had ever had a test for HIV. I said I didn’t know. Do you know?’
‘No.’
‘Would you look on the file and tell me if a test has been done and the result?’
‘It’s usually considered confidential information, but I’ll ask my manager.’
‘Thank you.’
At least I’d raised the matter.
That evening Aimee had contact after school and as usual I took her into the centre at the start of contact; then the new arrangements were to apply at the end of contact, when I was to wait in the car for the supervisor to bring Aimee out. But when I returned to the centre to collect Aimee, to my surprise a dog that looked remarkably like Hatchet was tethered to the railings outside. If it was Hatchet I thought that two sightings in one day was too much of a coincidence and I wondered how he had got there. Hatchet hadn’t been there at the start of contact, and that he was tethered suggested someone had put him there, after contact had begun, for I doubted he could have tied himself to the railings.
The dog’s identity was confirmed when Aimee appeared from the centre with the contact supervisor and without Susan. Recognizing Aimee, Hatchet barked and jumped up. Aimee went over and stroked him before the supervisor brought her to my car.
‘How did Hatchet get here?’ I asked Aimee once she was in the car.
‘Craig brought him,’ Aimee said, pulling a face at the mention of Craig’s name. ‘So Mum didn’t have to walk home alone in the dark.’ Which seemed a thoughtful gesture but one that didn’t quite fit the picture I had of Craig.
‘Did you see Craig?’ I asked as I drove.
‘Ugh, no! I don’t want to see him. He’s horrible. A lady at the centre came into the room and told Mum Craig had left Hatchet outside.’
‘I see,’ I said.
Then a few minutes later Aimee said: ‘I don’t like Craig using my dog to scare people.’
‘Who does he scare?’ I asked.
‘People who haven’t paid him for drugs. Mum always lets him use Hatchet but I’ve told her not to.’
‘Hatchet bites, then?’
‘Only when Craig winds him up. Craig trained Hatchet to bite when he tells him to. But he doesn’t bite me.’
‘Good. But why was Hatchet at the family centre tonight?’ I asked, puzzled.
‘To scare you, I guess,’ Aimee said easily.
‘Why does Craig want to scare me?’ I asked, glancing at Aimee in the rear-view mirror.
‘When I was at home, Craig told Mum if I was taken into care he’d set the dog on the social worker and the foster carer.’
I returned my attention to the front and tried to concentrate on driving home.
The following day Beth phoned to say she’d signed the medical consent form for Aimee’s dental treatment, so I could go ahead and book the appointment. ‘Shall I put the form in the post or do you want to collect it?’ she asked.
I was impressed by her efficiency. ‘I’ll collect it,’ I said. ‘Thank you for dealing with it so quickly.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Beth said. ‘Susan refused to sign the form, so I asked my manager what I should do and he told me to sign it.’
‘Why did Susan refuse to sign it?’ I asked. ‘The treatment is for Aimee’s good.’
‘She said fillings would hurt Aimee and Aimee would blame her. I tried to explain that as parents we sometimes have to make difficult decisions for the benefit of our children, but she just didn’t get it. I guess she never did, which is why Aimee is in care.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed reflectively. ‘It’s not always easy being a parent.’
On Friday morning the Guardian ad Litem, or Guardian, as such people are referred to, was due to visit at 11.30. The Guardian is a qualified social worker who is appointed by the court in childcare proceedings for the duration of the case. He or she is independent of the social services and, with access to all the files, would be able to answer my questions, the first being why hadn’t Aimee been brought into care sooner?
The Guardian’s name was Eva and she arrived exactly on time and accepted my offer of coffee. Middle-aged, she had a warm but efficient manner, as most Guardians have. Eva thanked me for seeing her, admired my house, and then chatted lightly about the weather while I made the coffee. Once we were settled in the sitting room with coffee and biscuits, I asked the question: ‘Why was Aimee left at home for so long?’
‘I don’t know,’ Eva said. ‘I was going to ask you the same question. I was shocked when I read the referral. It seems Aimee was forgotten.’
Chapter Twenty
‘Father Christmas Didn’t Come to My House’
‘I haven’t seen all the social services files yet,’ Eva explained. ‘I’ve requested them but they are with a manager. I hope to have them soon. When I’ve read the files I’ll let you know the reason why Aimee wasn’t brought into care sooner, if there is one.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘It’s a question everyone is asking. Even Kristen, the social worker who was responsible for bringing Aimee into care, couldn’t understand why Aimee had been left at home for so long. Especially when she was on the child protection register at birth. Why didn’t someone notice what was going on?’
‘I agree, it’s shocking – more so when you consider the older children were all taken into care years ago. Obviously no one wants to see a family split up but there comes a point when the parents have been given sufficient chances to put their lives right and you have to say enough is enough and put the children first. Early intervention can and does save lives. It can give children a fresh start, but from what I’ve read so far Susan had a very bad start in life too. Did you know that?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ I said.
Eva nodded. ‘She was badly abused, sexually abused, from the age of five, through to her teenage years. She finally ran away from home at the age of fourteen and ended up living on the streets, where she was picked up by a pimp. He introduced her to drugs, as they do, got her hooked, and set her to work as a prostitute in exchange for the drugs she quickly got addicted to. I dread to think what life she led with him, which of course scarred her for life.’
I was silent for a moment before I said, ‘How dreadfully, dreadfully sad. Susan didn’t stand a chance.’ And despite all the trouble Susan had been causing me, my heart went out to her, and my attitude towards her softened a little, for she, like many other parents of children in care, had been a victim just as Aimee had.
‘Susan’s had a lot of help and support from the social services over the years,’ Eva said. ‘And therapy. From what I know it seems the social services have tried to keep her children with her but it hasn’t worked, so I now have to concentrate on what is best for Aimee. She can’t possibly be returned home. I’m trying to work with Susan but she’s very angry. She pushed me at our first meeting and I’ve told her if she does it again I will take out a summons. I understand she’s causing you problems too?’ I was impressed, for
despite not having had access to all the files Eva had a good grasp of Aimee’s case.
‘Yes. Susan has been very aggressive towards me,’ I confirmed. ‘So much so that I no longer see her at contact.’
‘And she’s made an allegation against your son, I believe.’
I nodded. ‘That’s the most worrying aspect.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Eva said. ‘Susan’s made so many allegations in the past – against the carers of her older children – no one will take this one seriously. She usually seizes on something her child says and then twists it.’
‘That’s exactly what happened with us,’ I said. ‘Adrian would be devastated if he knew what had happened.’
‘You haven’t told him?’
‘No. He’s away at university but I’ll have to say something when he comes home for Christmas.’
‘Which university does he go to?’ Eva asked, making conversation. I told her, and we then spent a few minutes talking about universities, as her two children were also away studying at university. ‘So how is Aimee settling in?’ Eva then asked, bringing back the conversation to Aimee.
‘Very well, considering her past,’ I said. ‘When I first saw the referral she looked like the child from hell, but she is responding well. I have to be firm, as she often challenges the boundaries. But Aimee is gradually understanding that when I ask her to do something, or stop her from doing something, it is for her own good.’ I then gave Eva a resumé of Aimee’s routine and the progress she’d made: the variety of foods she now ate, that she slept well, and that she was starting to learn at school and had made friends.
‘Great,’ Eva said, making a few notes. ‘Now, in respect of the disclosures she’s made – the sexual abuse she’s saying happened at home. I’ve spoken to Nicki Davies and it’s highly unlikely she will be interviewing Aimee again until she is confident Aimee is ready to talk about what happened.’
‘I see.’
‘It’s possible that once Aimee is no longer seeing her mother and is settled with a permanent family she will feel able to name her abusers. When that happens the case will be reopened.’
‘And with regard to who will look after Aimee long term, what will you be recommending?’ I now asked, aware the Guardian’s report was crucial to the judge’s decision and where Aimee would go.
‘The social services’ care plan is for adoption,’ Eva said. ‘But I’m not so sure. At Aimee’s age and with her experiences of severe neglect and abuse she comes with a lot of baggage. I wonder if a long-term foster placement with a very experienced carer wouldn’t be more appropriate. It’s something I shall be exploring. What do you think?’
‘I’m not sure. It’s difficult,’ I said. ‘It would be nice if Aimee could have a new family and a fresh start, but it would take a very special adoptive parent to put in the work Aimee needs. And what about her relationship with her mother? There is a bond there. If Aimee was adopted she wouldn’t see her mother again.’
‘No, although some adoptions allow for a child to see their birth parents once or twice a year. But whether that would be in Aimee’s best interest, I don’t know. Sometimes a clean break is best for all, if there is no chance of the child being returned home, as in Aimee’s case. If Aimee does go to a long-term foster home rather than adoption she will see her mother regularly and it will be impossible for either of them to move on.’ Eva sighed and rubbed her forehead. ‘It’s very difficult. I’m due to meet Susan again next week, and then I shall visit Aimee’s father in prison the week after. If I can persuade them that adoption is in Aimee’s best interest my decision will be a lot easier.’
I smiled weakly. ‘Is that likely?’
‘No. I doubt either of them will be able to put Aimee’s best interest first.’
‘Eva,’ I said, ‘given that there is no chance of Aimee going home, it seems cruel to continue with such a high level of contact. Aimee sees her mother three times a week and speaks to her on the phone the other nights.’
‘I agree. I can probably have the phone contact reduced. Phone contact for children Aimee’s age is often very difficult. But there’s nothing I can do about the face-to-face contact. I know it seems cruel, but as the law stands that contact will have to continue at its present level until the judge makes his or her decision on where Aimee will live permanently, at the final court hearing, which could be a year away.’ I knew this to be so but like a lot of social care law I felt it was something else that needed reviewing. ‘And in the meantime, until the final court hearing,’ Eva asked, looking directly at me, ‘Aimee can stay with you?’
‘Yes, I hope so. As long as the matter with Adrian is resolved. Although Aimee isn’t the easiest child I’ve fostered, she is doing well. We all like Aimee and I hope that underneath she likes us too.’
Eva smiled. ‘I know Aimee likes you and your family,’ she said positively. ‘Yesterday, when I was talking to the head of her school she said Aimee had told her teacher that she loved living with you, even though you make her wash, eat proper food and go to bed on time. Her words, not mine.’
‘That’s lovely,’ I said, touched. ‘And it’s reassuring. Aimee keeps me at a distance.’
‘It might be unfair to tell you this,’ Eva now said, ‘but Aimee has also told her teacher that if the judge decides she can’t go home to live with her mother then she wants to stay with you forever.’
I felt my eyes mist. ‘Really? Oh, bless her. How sweet of her! Yet she won’t even let me give her a hug.’
‘She will in time,’ Eva said. ‘Deep down she thinks a lot of you. I need to ask you: would you consider looking after Aimee permanently? Would that be an option?’
I looked at Eva carefully. ‘I’d have to ask Adrian, Lucy and Paula for their views,’ I said. ‘It’s a very big commitment and Aimee would have to change her ways around Adrian, but yes, I would.’
‘Thank you.’
There was no need to thank me. I knew I was growing close to Aimee, and thought that Lucy and Paula were too. Aimee had ‘attitude’ and a lot of bravado, and regularly challenged the boundaries, but beneath that hard protective shell there was a little girl in desperate need of love and protection. My eyes welled every time I thought of the shocking life she’d led before coming into care; little wonder she was angry and defiant sometimes. I knew it would take time, patience and understanding to help Aimee put the past behind her and move on, so she could make the best of her life. I recognized that and I was willing to put in the work. I liked Aimee and I knew I could easily grow to love her. The biggest problem was her behaviour towards Adrian, and indeed men and older boys in general, because quite simply she flirted with them. We’d seen it with Adrian and his friends when they’d visited, and also with the older boys at school, and with my friends’ husbands and their sons. Aimee hadn’t met my father, brother and his son yet but when she did I knew I was going to have to watch her carefully until she learnt how to behave appropriately.
As it was Friday and we didn’t have to be up early for school the following morning, Aimee stayed up past her usual bedtime and watched two Walt Disney DVDs back to back. Having lived on the edge of an adult world before coming into care she hadn’t seen much children’s television or films, and indeed had been scornful of them, demanding to see the adult soaps and late-night films she’d watched with her mother. I’d stopped her watching adult programmes immediately and had introduced her to children’s films – classics like Mary Poppins and The Lion King and more recent titles like Finding Nemo. Tonight she had watched A Bug’s Life, and with Christmas approaching I’d shown an old favourite of ours, Santa Claus: The Movie. It was nearly nine o’clock when the Christmas film ended and Aimee, who’d sat silently throughout, now looked at me, amazed and overawed.
‘Wow!’ she said. ‘I wish I was that little girl with all those presents. Father Christmas didn’t come to my house.’
Lucy, who’d been watching the film with us, said: ‘He’ll definitely come here, Aimee. Don’t
you worry.’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘We’ll have a lovely Christmas. We always do.’
‘He won’t give me any presents,’ Aimee said a little sulkily.
‘Of course he will!’ Lucy exclaimed with a small laugh. ‘Father Christmas brings us all presents. We hang our pillowcases on the front door on Christmas Eve, before we go to bed, then in the night he comes and fills them. In the morning when we wake they are beside our beds.’
‘Yes,’ I said, mindful that it was Mummy Christmas who had to get up at 4.00 a.m. to fulfil this.
‘He won’t give me presents,’ Aimee said again, her face now setting.
‘He will,’ I said. ‘And don’t scowl. Christmas is a happy time.’
‘No he won’t,’ Aimee persisted. ‘I won’t get any presents because I haven’t been good.’
‘Yes you have,’ Lucy and I said together.
‘You’re doing very well,’ I added, wishing as I often did that I could give her a hug.
‘No,’ Aimee said. ‘I meant before I came here I wasn’t good. Craig said I was very naughty and I would never get any presents ever.’
‘Forget what he told you,’ I said. ‘That was rubbish. Everyone has presents here.’
‘Didn’t you have any presents last year?’ Lucy now asked Aimee.
‘No. But I got a good spanking instead.’ I had to stifle a smile, for although what Aimee had said was clearly sad, the way she’d said it was so quaint.
‘You surely didn’t get smacked at Christmas?’ Lucy asked, shocked.
Aimee nodded. ‘I did. Craig brought lots of beer and he and Mum drank it all day until they were drunk and all over each other, kissing. I kicked up because our Christmas wasn’t like the ones I’d seen on television. Craig sent me to the bedroom with a packet of biscuits and told me to be quiet or else. I wasn’t quiet, I kept kicking the door, which made Craig angry. He came storming into the bedroom and grabbed me by my hair. He put me over his lap, pulled down my pants and smacked my bottom hard. Whack whack whack. I could feel it stinging, so I bit his leg and he thumped me. I had so many bruises I couldn’t leave the house for a week.’