by Cathy Glass
‘Sorry,’ I said, turning to Aimee. ‘But I can’t let you talk to your mother while she’s like that. Do you understand why I ended the call?’
Aimee nodded, and then said quietly, ‘I hope Mum is OK.’
‘I am sure she will be,’ I said, silently annoyed that Susan had treated Aimee so badly on the phone and Aimee was now worrying about her mother.
Aimee remained quiet and subdued as she had a bath and got ready for bed. I asked her a few times if she was all right and she nodded unconvincingly. Eventually, as she was about to climb into bed, she said: ‘I’m really worried about my Mum. When she’s like that I have to put her on her side to stop her choking. She’s sick and it goes down her throat. I’m not there to help her. Can you go to the flat and help her?’
Clearly I couldn’t, and I was appalled that a child of eight had been put in that position, although I appreciated why Aimee was worried. And the fact that Susan had suddenly gone quiet on the end of the phone raised my own concerns.
‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do,’ I said, as Aimee stood by her bed, looking at me anxiously. ‘You get into bed and look at a book, and I’ll phone your mum and make sure she’s all right. How about that?’
‘Thank you, Cathy,’ Aimee said very sweetly, and my heart clenched. The poor child had had so much responsibility.
I settled Aimee in bed with a book and then went round the landing and into my bedroom. I picked up the phone from my bedside cabinet and keyed in the numbers to Susan’s mobile, which I now knew by heart. Her phone rang a number of times and then went through to her voicemail, which heightened my concerns for her well-being. Was she lying on the floor, unconscious and choking in her own vomit? For, despite all the problems she’d caused me and her dreadful neglect of Aimee, I didn’t wish the woman harm. I didn’t think there was any point in leaving a message on her voicemail, so I cut the call and re-dialled. Again there were a few rings and then the call was directed through to her voicemail. I decided to try once more and if she didn’t answer, I would phone our local police station. I’d explain who I was and the position regarding Susan, and ask if an officer in the area could check Susan’s flat and make sure she was all right. In the past I’d always found the police very helpful in respect of children in care.
However, phoning the police wasn’t necessary, for on the third try Susan answered. ‘Yes? Who is it?’ she asked groggily. I breathed a sigh of relief.
‘It’s Cathy Glass, Aimee’s carer,’ I said. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Aimee was worried you might be sick.’
‘Who?’ Susan asked, clearly disorientated. ‘Who’s sick?’
‘No one. I was just checking you were OK.’ As Susan was clearly conscious and not choking, but still impossible to hold a conversation with, I said, ‘I’ll tell Aimee you are all right. Do you have someone with you?’ For if she did I thought I could reassure Aimee on that point too.
‘What the fuck has it got to do with you who I see?’ Susan snapped.
‘Goodnight,’ I said, and replaced the receiver.
As I left my bedroom I heard the scamper of feet along the landing, so I guessed Aimee had been out of bed and listening. ‘Your mum’s fine,’ I said, going into her bedroom, where Aimee sat innocently in bed.
‘Thank you, Cathy. I’m never taking drugs or drinking beer. You don’t drink, do you?’
‘Only the occasional glass of wine with a meal,’ I said.
‘But you never get drunk, do you?’
‘No,’ I said.
‘It’s frightening for kids to see their parents off their heads with drink or drugs. That’s why I’m in care, isn’t it?’ Aimee may have been a long way behind in her learning but in some respects she was the smartest kid I knew – having learned lessons from life.
‘Yes, that’s one of the reasons you’re in care,’ I said. ‘Parents can’t look after their children properly if they take a lot of drugs or drink heavily.’
Satisfied and reassured her mother was all right, Aimee snuggled down in bed, and then suddenly sat bolt upright again. ‘Hug!’ she said, stretching out her arms.
I smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. Taking my cue from Aimee, I hugged her for as long as she wanted, and then as she snuggled into bed I lightly kissed her forehead. Although Aimee was slowly putting her trust in me I knew there was still a huge area of her life before she came into care which was a closely guarded secret and would probably remain so for a long time to come.
Now I no longer had to see Susan at contact, my life had become a good deal easier. Being on the receiving end of her anger and derogatory comments three times a week had been getting me down quite badly. But instead of seeing Susan I now saw Hatchet, who was tied up outside the family centre at the end of each contact. Perhaps he was there to scare me, as Aimee had said, but I found Hatchet far less threatening than Susan.
We were now heading through December at an alarming rate and I was busy planning and shopping for Christmas. Aimee wanted to buy her mother a present and I took her shopping. After the first time I’d taken Aimee shopping – when she’d first come into care – when she’d thought it was all right to steal if the item was a gift, I kept a watchful eye on her. But Aimee had learnt that stealing, like much of her other behaviour, was no longer acceptable. We had a pleasant couple of hours’ shopping and eventually Aimee chose a silver necklace as a present for her mother. I gave her the money and then stood by and let her pay the cashier. She looked so proud as she returned, clutching the little bag, the change and the receipt.
‘I’ll wrap it in Christmas paper and I’ll put a bow on it,’ Aimee said, joyfully. ‘That will make Mum happy. She’s never had a Christmas present before.’
As well as December passing at an alarming rate we were going through social workers at a similarly worrying pace. Kristen had been the social worker responsible for bringing Aimee into care, and then as was normal practice the case had been passed to the children in care team, where Beth, an agency social worker, had taken over. Beth had gone very quiet and hadn’t been in contact with Jill or me as we would have expected, given that there was a lot going on with Aimee’s case at present. Then, purely by chance, Jill found out that Beth had left the local authority the week before and a new (agency and therefore temporary) social worker had taken over. She was in post long enough to phone me and introduce herself as Dolores before she was replaced by Tony, who came and went within the week. By the middle of December we were awaiting the arrival of social worker number five. ‘Five social workers in six weeks!’ Jill quipped. ‘Perhaps they’re going for gold.’ Meaning the social services might be trying to set a record, but it was no record to be proud of.
A week before Christmas someone at the social services realized that Aimee’s child in care (CIC) review – a legal requirement – was now more than two weeks overdue. A CIC review is a meeting for all those involved with a child in care, to share information and to make plans for the child to ensure that all the child’s needs are being met. Beth had commented that Aimee’s review needed to be arranged but hadn’t done so before leaving, and with all the changes of social worker it had subsequently been overlooked. The team manager had picked up the omission and a CIC review was quickly convened for 11.30 the following morning, which was also the last day of the school term. It was to be held at the council offices. With so little notice, Jill and the Guardian couldn’t attend, as they had prior appointments; the school couldn’t spare anyone on the last day of term, and with no permanent social worker appointed an agency social worker was despatched to stand in at the last minute. It soon became clear that I was the only person present who knew Aimee and therefore had any idea what they were talking about.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Perfect Christmas
There were three of us at the CIC review: the temporary agency social worker, myself and the independent reviewing officer, who chaired and minuted the meeting. Normally at a review, in addition to the social
worker, the foster carer, the carer’s support social worker and the reviewing officer, one can expect to see the Guardian, the school nurse, the child protection police officer, a representative from the school, the manager from the family centre, a psychologist if one has been appointed, possibly the child’s parents and anyone else immediately connected with the child. I assumed the poor attendance was due to the meeting having been arranged at the last minute. It would have made sense to postpone the review until after Christmas so that others could attend, but I knew that hadn’t happened because to delay further an already overdue meeting would have looked bad for the social services when they were inspected.
The chairperson, having introduced himself as Philip Case, made a note of the names of those present in a large black-covered book; then, looking at the agency social worker, said: ‘So can we expect anyone else to arrive?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I was only told to attend this review half an hour ago.’
Philip Case looked at me with the same question.
‘I know the Guardian and my support social worker have prior engagements,’ I said. ‘But I don’t know about anyone else.’ I wouldn’t know who had been invited to a child’s review or who was attending unless the social worker told me.
‘Let’s begin, then,’ Philip said, making a note of the time. We formally introduced ourselves and after that the rest of the review was farcical. A review usually takes over an hour, with everyone present giving their reports on the child and then discussing any changes that need to be made to help the child. Now I was the only person present who knew Aimee or had the least idea of her family’s troubled history, so I gave an update on Aimee’s progress, answered a couple of questions Philip had about Aimee’s learning and self-care skills, and the meeting might as well have been closed.
‘What stage are we at in the care proceedings?’ Philip asked the social worker referring to the legal timescale.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know,’ she replied.
‘Aimee is in care under an Interim Care Order,’ I said. ‘I don’t know if the date has been set for the final court hearing.’
‘Do you know the date for the final court hearing?’ Philip asked the social worker.
‘No, I don’t,’ she said.
‘Is the case being contested?’ he asked her, meaning were Aimee’s parents fighting to have Aimee returned.
‘I don’t know,’ the social worker said.
‘Do you know what the long-term care plan is for Aimee?’ he asked her, with a slight frown, presumably anticipating her reply.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I am not at all familiar with the case.’ She wouldn’t be, I thought, having been assigned the case half an hour before, and I wondered if as an agency social worker this type of situation happened a lot to her.
‘I understand Aimee won’t be returned home,’ I said, stepping in and stating what I knew. ‘The Guardian and the social worker who placed Aimee were adamant that there was no chance of her returning home.’
‘No, quite so, given the history,’ Philip said. ‘It’s a wonder the child wasn’t brought into care sooner.’ As the independent reviewing officer he would have received a referral with the basic information about the case. ‘Do you know if there are any relatives who might be able to look after Aimee long term?’ he asked me. This is usually considered to be the next best option if a child cannot be looked after by their own parents, although the question would normally have been asked of the social worker.
‘As far as I know there is no one,’ I said.
‘So the care plan will presumably be adoption or a long-term foster placement?’ he said, more thinking aloud than asking the question.
‘I think so,’ I said, and the social worker agreed.
‘Well, unless there is anything else, I may as well wind up and close the meeting,’ he said. ‘I’ll set the date for the next review, which will hopefully be better attended.’ Then to the social worker: ‘Will you be staying in post as Aimee’s social worker?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. Which was understandable, as agency social workers are usually on temporary short-term contracts, which often only last a few weeks.
I made a note in my diary of Aimee’s next CIC review, scheduled for three months’ time; then Philip wished us both a merry Christmas and we said goodbye. All the meeting had accomplished was to allow a box to be ticked on a social service’s spreadsheet: ‘CIC 1st review ’. I knew there were other meetings that were overdue – for example, the child’s Personal Education Plan (PEP) to discuss Aimee’s progress at school – and which should have taken place within twenty days of Aimee coming into care. But without a permanent social worker this meeting and similar ones had been overlooked. I couldn’t organize them, as they had to be actioned by the child’s social worker.
Apart from which, I had other things on my mind beside overdue meetings, for I knew that by the time I arrived home, Adrian should be there, having returned home from university for Christmas. I was looking forward to seeing him, but I also wanted to talk to him about Aimee before I collected her from school.
As soon as I pulled into our road I saw Adrian’s car (financed by his student work), parked on the driveway. Pleased he’d made good time and hadn’t been stuck in traffic, I let myself in the front door and found him in the hall, surrounded by his bags and admiring the Christmas decorations, having only just arrived.
‘Hi, Mum!’ he said with a huge grin. He immediately came over and hugged me, slightly lifting me off the floor as he did.
‘I’m sure you’ve grown again!’ I said.
‘No, Mum, you’re shrinking,’ he joked, and set me down.
‘Great to see you,’ I said, giving him another hug. ‘Come into the kitchen and tell me all your news while I make us some lunch.’
‘Yes, I’ll leave the unpacking. I’m starving.’
So while Adrian filled the kettle and made us coffee and I made us some lunch we talked, catching up on all the news. He was in his last year at university and was thinking that when his course ended he would take a year out to go travelling before applying for a permanent job, which I thought was a good idea. He hadn’t taken a gap year before going to university, so once he’d finished his degree seemed a good time. We took our lunch to the table and continued chatting there. Adrian mentioned he’d spoken to his father on the phone earlier in the week and would arrange to see him, with Paula, over the Christmas holiday, which was what had happened in the past.
Once we’d finished catching up on our news and had finished eating I decided I couldn’t put off any longer what I needed to say about Aimee. I didn’t want to upset Adrian but I knew I had to make him aware of Susan’s allegations; for while I’d been told the matter wouldn’t be taken any further, I wanted to make sure there was no chance of similar allegations being made over Christmas, when we would all be together for two weeks. Adrian always played with the children we fostered, treating them like younger siblings, but sadly that wouldn’t be possible with Aimee.
‘Adrian, you’re going to have to be very careful when you are around Aimee,’ I began, going straight to the point. ‘Her mother has made a number of allegations by twisting things Aimee told her and it’s caused quite a lot of trouble.’
‘Like what?’ Adrian said, immediately concerned.
‘All sorts of things. Some are really silly, like I’m making her have a bath and eat vegetables, and I limit her sweets and television, but others are more serious. You remember when you and your friends stopped by on the way back from the Lakes?’
‘Yes,’ he said, frowning.
‘Aimee told her mother that I’d let “big boys” kiss her here. Not a kiss on the cheek but a full opened-mouth kiss on the lips.’
‘You’re joking!’ Adrian exclaimed, looking horrified, as I knew he would.
‘Don’t worry. It’s been dealt with, but I want you to be careful when you are around Aimee, for your own prote
ction. You know the sort of thing: keep some distance between you; don’t be left alone in a room with her; and don’t go into her bedroom even to reach something down for her – call me.’
Adrian nodded. We’d had to take similar precautions with some of the other children we’d fostered. ‘But she’s only eight,’ he said with a sigh. ‘Why’s she been saying things like that?’
‘She’s been sexually abused,’ I said. There was no point in avoiding the subject; Adrian needed to be aware. ‘We don’t know the full extent of the abuse, and Aimee’s not saying much at present. But what she has said is bad enough. She has a sexual awareness well beyond her years.’
‘Like Jodie?’ he said.
‘I don’t think she’s been as badly abused as Jodie,’ I said. ‘And she doesn’t have the same psychological problems Jodie had, but there are similarities.’
Adrian gave a heartfelt sigh and pushed his chair slightly away from the table. ‘I wish you’d tell me when there’s a problem, Mum,’ he said. ‘You insist on dealing with all these things alone. When I’m away I worry about what’s going on here.’
‘Don’t!’ I said forcefully. ‘I’ve told you before we’re fine. I’d phone you if I needed help.’
‘I’d like to think you would,’ Adrian said pointedly. ‘But I’m not convinced.’
I met his gaze. It was true I still tried to protect my children, even though they were grown up. Since their father had left us many years before I’d purposely been careful not to heap too much responsibility on to Adrian, as the eldest child and only male. Now as I looked at him across the table, my heart swelled with pride as I recognized, not for the first time, what a fine young man he’d grown into – responsible, kind, caring and wanting to help me.
‘All right,’ I said, with a smile. ‘I’ll try to confide in you more. Now let’s forget all about that. Christmas is coming and we’re going to have a great time.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ he said.
* * *