by Cathy Glass
It took her a moment to work this out and then she smiled.
Despite her appalling behaviour and bravado, I liked Joss. I felt that underneath there was a nice kid trying to get out. I appreciated that losing her father in such tragic circumstances and then not getting on with her stepfather was a bad deal, but I was hoping that coming to live with me would give her the chance to sort her life out.
Joss did thoroughly enjoy herself at the Tree Top Adventure Park, despite staying in the very tight jeans that pinched her legs when she climbed. She was confident and tackled even the very high walks, wires, swings and ladders fearlessly. So much so that the supervisors stationed throughout the park warned her a few times to take it more steadily or she could fall and injure herself. But then, of course, that was part of Joss’s problem. She had no sense of danger. Paula and Lucy took the course together at a steadier pace, and Adrian met a friend from school and they went off together. I completed one circuit and then sat on a bench in the shade of the trees reading my book and also watching the young people having fun. By six o’clock they were all tired and hot and sitting with me in the shade eating ice creams. Our tickets allowed us to stay until the park closed at eight o’clock, but everyone agreed they were ready to go. As we left, Joss actually asked if we could come again.
‘We could,’ I said. ‘But there are other fun places to go on a day out.’
‘But I like it here. I’ve had a good time,’ she said.
‘Great. You win the bet,’ I said. I handed her the two pounds.
On the way home we picked up a takeaway, and after we’d eaten Adrian resumed his studies, Lucy and Paula went up to Paula’s room and Joss went to hers. I was just congratulating myself on a successful day when Joss appeared in the living room. I knew straight away from her expression she was in challenge mode. ‘As I did what you wanted me to this afternoon, can I go out now?’ she said.
‘No, Joss. Not tonight, love. You were out Friday and Saturday, and you have school tomorrow. It’s already seven-thirty.’
‘I’ll be back by ten. Just for a couple of hours.’
‘No, not tonight. Two nights out over the weekend is plenty.’
‘But that’s not fair.’
‘I think it is fair, but you can raise it with your social worker tomorrow if you wish.’
‘I fucking will!’ she said, stamping her foot. ‘And you can’t stop my pocket money now, because you’ve already given it to me! Cow!’
She stormed out of the living room and upstairs into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. I felt my heart start racing. Another confrontation. It was so stressful. But I reminded myself that at least she was doing what I’d asked and was staying in, which was a huge improvement. At her previous carers’ she’d come and gone as she’d liked, often defying them when they said she had to stay in. Foster carers (and care-home staff) are not allowed to lock a child in the house or physically prevent them from leaving, even if it is for the child’s own good. It’s considered imprisonment. With your own child you’d do anything within reason to keep them safe, and I think the whole area of what a carer can and can’t do to keep a young person safe is something that needs to be looked into, with practical guidelines set up.
I tried not to take Joss’s words personally. I knew she was angry – not only with me, but with life in general – and I was an easy target, especially when I put boundaries in place. Once she’d calmed down she usually reverted to being pleasant and often apologized. Sure enough, ten minutes later I heard her bedroom door open. She came down and said she was sorry. Then she joined Lucy and Paula in Paula’s room, where the three of them sat chatting and listening to music until it was time to get ready for bed.
Joss had another nightmare that night. I heard her scream and was out of bed in a heartbeat, going round the landing to her room. As usual, she was sitting up in bed with her eyes closed, still half asleep. Normally she didn’t say anything as I resettled her, and in the morning she would have no recollection of the nightmare, so I no longer mentioned it. But now, as I gently eased her down and her head touched the pillow, she said softly, ‘Daddy used to take us on outings too.’
‘That’s a lovely memory,’ I said quietly. Her eyes were still closed. I sat on the edge of the bed and began stroking her forehead to soothe and comfort her. I guessed the memory had been triggered by our day out.
Her eyes stayed shut, but then her face crumpled in pain. ‘Why did you leave us, Daddy? Why? I thought you loved us.’ A small tear escaped from the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek onto the pillow. I felt my own eyes fill. The poor child.
She didn’t say anything further and appeared to be asleep. I continued to stroke her forehead and soothe her as she drifted into a deep sleep. Then I stood and quietly came out and returned to bed. Joss had never talked about her father to me, but I guessed the horrific memory of that day was probably as fresh as ever. There are so many feelings connected with the suicide of a loved one, apart from the immense sadness at losing them: regret and remorse at things that were said and unsaid; rejection because the person chose to go; guilt (was it something I did?) and anger – perhaps the most difficult to cope with – that the person has gone. Joss was clearly still hurting badly, and I didn’t think her behaviour would improve until she had dealt with all the conflicting emotions she must still be wrestling with following her father’s death.
The following morning Joss didn’t mention her dream. I assumed that, as before, she hadn’t remembered it, so I didn’t say anything. She had her usual cereal and a glass of juice for breakfast, and then, as I saw her off at the door, I reminded her that she had to go straight to the council offices after school for the meeting with her social worker. I was going too, and so was her mother. I’d offered to collect Joss from school, which would have guaranteed that she arrived, and on time, but she’d refused, and I felt it wasn’t something I needed to take a stand on.
‘Make sure you catch the first bus as soon as you come out of school,’ I emphasized to Joss as I said goodbye. ‘No chatting with your friends tonight.’
‘I know. I’ll see you there,’ Joss said. ‘But if Mum brings him to the meeting, I’m leaving.’
As usual, ‘him’ meant her stepfather, Eric, whom Joss so deeply resented. I hadn’t met her mother or stepfather yet, and I didn’t know if Eric would be there, but it wasn’t for me to tell the social worker whom to invite to a meeting. She was aware of the animosity between Joss and her stepfather, so hopefully would have advised Joss’s mother, Linda, accordingly.
During the morning, Jill, my supervising social worker, telephoned to see how the weekend had gone, so she had an update from me prior to the meeting. She would be there too. All foster carers in England have a support social worker, also known as a supervising social worker or link worker, supplied by the agency they foster for. Jill had met Joss a few times and was aware of her history. I gave Jill a brief résumé of our weekend, good and bad, but emphasizing that we’d had a good afternoon on Sunday, and Jill said she’d see me at four o’clock at the meeting.
Chapter Three
Contract of Behaviour
I arrived in the meeting room that afternoon five minutes early; even so, Amelia, Joss’s social worker, whom I’d met when she’d brought Joss to me, was already there, talking to another woman I took to be Joss’s mother. I smiled as I sat down but Amelia didn’t introduce me, so I said, ‘I’m Cathy.’
‘Sorry,’ Amelia said. ‘This is Cathy, Joss’s current foster carer. Cathy, this is Linda, Joss’s mother.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ I said. Linda managed a small smile. She looked anxious and a little intimidated. ‘Joss is coming here on the bus, straight from school,’ I clarified, and Linda nodded.
‘You’re Joss’s third carer, aren’t you?’ Amelia now said, looking at me.
‘Yes, and I need to be her last. She’s had too many moves.’
‘I’m pleased to hear you say that,’ Linda said quietly. �
�It’s been an added worry for Eric and me.’
‘I can imagine.’ I sympathized.
‘The social services were talking about putting Joss in a secure unit if her behaviour didn’t improve,’ Linda said.
This was news to me. I looked at Amelia.
‘It’s something that we might have to consider if Joss doesn’t turn her behaviour around, to keep her safe,’ she said.
No pressure then, I thought.
‘But you know how to look after Joss, don’t you?’ Linda asked me, desperation in her voice. ‘They said you were very experienced.’
‘Yes, I am,’ I said. ‘And I’ll do my very best. I think there are a lot of things we can do to help Joss.’
‘Thank you so much,’ Linda sighed gratefully.
I’d taken an immediate liking to Linda and felt sorry for her. Quietly spoken and unassuming, she was petite – I could see where Joss got it from – and in her early forties. She must have suffered dreadfully after her husband’s suicide, and then her stab at happiness had ended in disaster with her daughter becoming out of control and leaving home. It’s every parent’s worst nightmare.
‘Is Joss doing what you tell her?’ Linda asked. ‘Amelia says her behaviour has already improved.’
Since Joss had been placed with me Amelia had telephoned twice for updates and had obviously passed these on to Linda, although with a little embellishment by the sound of it.
‘There haven’t been any major incidents,’ I said, ‘although the first weekend I had to report her missing to the police. There have been a couple of instances of her drinking and, I believe, smoking dope when she’s out with her friends, but no violence. I’ve sanctioned her and she’s not happy with me, nor with the boundaries I’m putting in place. I know she wants to talk about these today, but it’s early days yet, so I’m hopeful.’
‘So you haven’t had to call the police to her?’ Linda asked. ‘She hasn’t hit you?’
‘No. Joss obviously has a lot of anger and I wonder if counselling would help?’
‘She won’t go,’ Linda said. ‘Our doctor has offered it a number of times. When my first husband …’ Linda paused and took a deep breath. ‘When my first husband took his life, our doctor thought it would help Joss to come to terms with the bereavement, but she wouldn’t go. I did. Then, more recently, after I married Eric and Joss’s behaviour deteriorated badly, I went to our doctor again. But when I told Joss I’d been she got so angry. She accused me of betraying her father and even said that I’d made him so unhappy that he took his life.’ Her eyes filled. ‘It’s not true. We were happy together. No one was more shocked than me. There was nothing in our lives that could have made him do that.’ She stopped and looked away.
The room was quiet for a moment and my heart went out to her, then Amelia said, ‘It’s often the case that loved ones have no idea their partner is thinking of suicide.’
Linda gave a small nod and, taking a tissue from her handbag, blew her nose.
‘I’ll ask Joss if she will attend counselling at CAMHS [Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services],’ Amelia said. ‘I suggested it when she first came into care, but she refused. Maybe she’s changed her mind.’
The door opened and Jill came in. ‘Sorry I’m late – the traffic’s heavy,’ she said. Then to Linda, whom she hadn’t met before: ‘I’m Jill, Cathy’s supervising social worker.’
‘Hello,’ she said.
Jill sat next to me. I glanced at the wall clock. It was now five minutes past four. ‘I told Joss to come straight here,’ I said, feeling responsible for her lateness.
‘I hope she comes,’ Amelia said, a little weakly. ‘One of the items on my agenda is to draw up a contract of behaviour, and I can’t do that without Joss.’
A contract of behaviour is a signed agreement between the young person and the adult(s) responsible for them, sometimes known as a home rules contract. It’s a set of rules and expectations to modify the young person’s unsafe or unacceptable behaviour, with rewards for improving it and consequences for not doing so. For example, the young person may have to be in at a certain time, or do their homework, or stop swearing, smoking or drinking. The consequence of breaking a rule is usually the loss of a privilege.
‘What do you do if Joss doesn’t do what you tell her?’ Linda now asked me.
‘I explain why I’m asking her to do – or not do – whatever it is, and if she still won’t cooperate I warn her that I’ll have to sanction her. Then I make sure I see it through.’
‘What sort of sanction?’ Linda asked.
‘Sometimes I remove the television from her bedroom. All teenagers like to relax on their beds and watch television. It’s just for a set period – for example, an hour – then I return it. It’s a statement as much as anything, saying that she has to do as she’s told. I’ve also withheld her pocket money and she earns it back through good behaviour. She’s not happy with that and it’s something else she wants to raise today.’
‘Eric and I tried all sorts of things,’ Linda said. ‘But it just made Joss hate me and become more angry.’
‘Joss doesn’t hate you,’ Jill said. ‘She’s upset by everything that’s happened. It’s coming out in her behaviour. We tend to hurt the ones we love.’
At that moment the door opened and Joss came in. ‘Are you talking about me?’ she asked confrontationally.
I saw Linda tense.
‘Of course,’ Jill said lightly. ‘You’re the most important person here.’
‘We haven’t really said much so far,’ Amelia said timorously. ‘We were waiting for you.’
Joss pulled out a chair at the far end of the table, away from us all, sat down and tucked her earphones into her bag. She hadn’t said hello to her mother, nor had she looked at her, although Linda was looking at Joss very anxiously.
‘Now we’re all here, let’s start by introducing ourselves,’ Amelia said. ‘I’m Amelia, Joss’s social worker.’ We took it in turns to state our name and role. When it was Joss’s turn she gave a snort of embarrassed laughter and said, ‘Joss, the foster kid.’
‘Thank you,’ Amelia said to Joss as she wrote in her notepad. ‘I’ll be taking a few notes of the meeting, although we will be keeping it very informal so there’s nothing for you to worry about, Joss.’
I heard the patronizing edge in her comment, and so did Joss.
‘Whatever,’ Joss said with attitude and a dismissive shrug.
Linda looked at her daughter but didn’t say anything, and I formed the impression that she was frightened to chastise her.
‘This meeting gives us a chance to work together and plan how we can best help you,’ Amelia said, addressing Joss. ‘First, perhaps you’d like to tell us how you feel you are settling in at Cathy’s. You’ve been there two weeks now.’
‘OK, I guess,’ Joss said with a shrug.
‘Cathy has children of a similar age to you,’ Amelia said. ‘How are you getting on with them?’
‘OK, I guess,’ Joss said again.
‘She’s getting on well with everyone,’ I said.
‘I can confirm that,’ Jill said. ‘Joss has settled in well.’ Although Joss’s stay with me so far had been far from easy, it was important we stayed positive as well as addressing the negative issues so that Joss could hear good things said about her too.
‘So you’re happy to stay at Cathy’s for the time being?’ Amelia now asked Joss. This wasn’t the right thing to say, and I saw Jill look at Amelia. The question suggested to Joss that she could leave whenever it suited her, which shouldn’t have been an option. Every child in care needs to feel secure by putting down roots with their foster family and bonding with them.
I was half expecting Joss to reply with something like, ‘For now, maybe,’ but to her credit and my relief she said, ‘Yeah. It’s OK.’
‘Good,’ Amelia said, making a note. ‘Is there anything you want to add about living at Cathy’s? Anything you particularly like or dislike?’
‘Not really,’ Joss said, and shrugged again.
‘All right,’ Amelia said. ‘Let’s start by looking at the contact arrangements with your natural family. As you know, you’re in care voluntarily, under what is known as a Section 20. That means you and your mother agreed it was best for you to come into care, so the department didn’t have to go to court for an order. We can therefore decide on the level of contact, and at present you go home when you want. I think it would be a good idea to formalize the contact arrangements so that you have set days when you see your family. For example, you could spend all day Saturday with them so you can see more of your brother.’
‘Yeah, I want to see more of Kevin,’ Joss said. ‘But not if he’s gonna be there.’ He, of course, was her stepfather.
Amelia looked at Linda for her response.
‘I can’t ask Eric to go out every Saturday,’ Linda said quietly. ‘It wouldn’t be right. It’s his home too.’ Which was a fair comment.
‘There! Told you!’ Joss exclaimed. ‘It’s always him!’
‘Perhaps Eric could go out for part of the day?’ Amelia suggested. ‘Or maybe you and the children could go out? To the cinema, shopping or to the park, or similar?’
‘It’s possible,’ Linda said. ‘I’d have to ask Eric. He likes to do things together as a family at the weekends.’
‘That’s right. You go and ask him! What about me?’ Joss snapped.
The problem Linda was experiencing is one faced by many stepfamilies: trying to be fair to all family members and cater for everyone’s needs. It’s a juggling act and plenty of stepfamilies struggle in the early years. For some it never works out, and sadly either the children leave home as soon as they can or the parents end up separating.
‘What do you think about going out with your mother and Kevin?’ Jill asked Joss, who was now tapping her fingers on the table and looking very moody. ‘Would you like to give it a try?’
‘Yeah, OK,’ Joss said.