by Cathy Glass
Donna waited in the hall, head down and arms hanging loosely at her side, until I led the way. ‘This is nice, isn't it?’ Edna said to Donna, trying to create a positive atmosphere. Donna still didn't say anything but followed Edna and me into the lounge. ‘What a lovely room,’ Edna tried again. ‘And look at that beautiful garden. I can see swings at the bottom.’
The French windows were open and to most children it would have been an irresistible invitation to run off and play, happy for the chance to escape adult conversation, but Donna kept close to her social worker's side and didn't even look up.
‘Would you like to go outside?’ I asked Donna. ‘My children, Adrian and Paula, are out there having an ice cream. Would you like an ice cream?’ I looked at her: she was about five feet tall, only a few inches shorter than me, and her olive skin and dark brown hair suggested that one of her parents or grandparents was Afro-Caribbean. She had a lovely round face, but her expression was woeful and dejected; her face was blanked with sadness. I wanted to take her in my arms and give her a big hug.
‘Would you like an ice cream?’ Edna repeated. Donna hadn't answered me or even looked up to acknowledge my question.
She imperceptibly shook her head.
‘Would you like to join Adrian and Paula in the garden for a few minutes, while I talk to Cathy?’ Edna asked.
Donna gave the same slight shake of her head but said nothing. I knew that Edna would really have liked Donna to have gone into the garden so that she could discuss her situation candidly with me, which she clearly couldn't do if Donna was present. More details about Donna's family and what had brought her into care would follow with the placement forms Edna would bring with her when she moved Donna. But it would have been useful to have had some information now so that I could prepare better for Donna's arrival, anticipate some of the problems that might arise and generally better cater for her needs. Donna remained standing impassively beside Edna at the open French windows and didn't even raise her eyes to look out.
‘Well, shall we sit down and have a chat?’ I suggested. ‘Then perhaps Donna might feel more at home. It is good to meet you, Donna,’ I said again, and I lightly touched her arm. She moved away, as though recoiling from the touch. I thought this was one hurting child, and for the life of me I couldn't begin to imagine what ‘sibling rivalry’ had led to this; clearly there was more to it than the usual sibling strife.
‘Yes, that's a good idea. Let's sit down,’ Edna said encouragingly. I had taken an immediate liking to Edna. She was a homely middle-aged woman with short grey hair, and appeared to be one of the old-style ‘hands-on’ social workers who have no degree but years and years of practical experience. She sat on the sofa by the French windows, which had a good view of the garden, and Donna sat silently next to her.
‘Can I get you both a drink?’ I asked.
‘Not for me, thanks, Cathy. I took Donna out for some lunch earlier. Donna, would you like a drink?’ She turned sideways to look at her.
Donna gave that same small shake of the head without looking up.
‘Not even an ice lolly?’ I tried. ‘You can eat it in here with us if you prefer?’
The same half-shake of the head and she didn't move her gaze from where it had settled on the carpet, a couple of feet in front of her. She was perched on the edge of the sofa, her shoulders hunched forward and her arms folded into her waist as though she was protecting herself.
‘Perhaps later,’ Edna said.
I nodded, and sat on the sofa opposite. ‘It's a lovely day,’ I offered.
‘Isn't it just,’ Edna agreed. ‘Now, Cathy, I was explaining to Donna in the car that we are very lucky to have found you at such short notice. Donna has been rather unhappy where she has been staying. She came into care a month ago with her two younger brothers so that her mummy could have a chance to sort out a few things. Donna has an older sister, Chelsea, who is fourteen, and she is staying with mum at present until we find her a suitable foster placement.’ Edna met my eyes with a pointed look and I knew that she had left more unsaid than said. With Donna present she wouldn't be going into all the details, but it crossed my mind that Chelsea might have refused to move. I doubted Edna would have taken three children into care and left the fourth at home, but at fourteen it was virtually impossible to move a child without their full cooperation, even if it was in their best interest.
‘Donna goes to Belfont School,’ Edna continued, ‘which is about fifteen minutes from here.’
‘Yes, I know the school,’ I said. ‘I had another child there once, some years ago.’
‘Excellent.’ Edna glanced at Donna, hoping for some enthusiasm, but Donna didn't even look up. ‘Mrs Bristow is still the head there, and she has worked very closely with me. School doesn't start again until the fourth of September and Donna will be in year five when she returns.’ I did a quick calculation and realised that Donna was in a year below the one for her age. ‘Donna likes school and is very keen to learn,’ Edna continued positively. ‘I am sure that once she is settled with you she will catch up very quickly. The school has a very good special needs department and Mrs Bristow is flexible regarding which year children are placed in.’ From this I understood that Donna had learning difficulties and had probably (and sensibly) been placed out of the year for her age in order to better accommodate her learning needs. ‘She has a good friend, Emily, who is in the same class,’ Edna said, and she looked again at Donna in the hope of eliciting a positive response, but Donna remained hunched forward, arms folded and staring at the carpet.
‘I'll look forward to meeting Emily,’ I said brightly. ‘And perhaps she would like to come here for tea some time?’
Edna and I both looked at Donna, but she remained impassive. Edna touched her arm. ‘It's all right, Donna. You are doing very well.’
I looked at Donna and my heart went out to her: she appeared to be suffering so much, and in silence. I would have preferred her to have been angry, like so many of the children who had come to me. Shouting abuse and throwing things seemed a lot healthier than internalising all the pain, as Donna was. Huddled forward with her arms crossed, it was as though Donna was giving herself the hug of comfort she so badly needed. Again I felt the urge to go and sit beside her and hug her for all I was worth.
At that moment Adrian burst in through the open French windows, quickly followed by Paula. ‘I've brought in my wrapper,’ he said, offering the Cornetto wrapper; then he stopped as he saw Edna and Donna.
‘Good boy,’ I said. ‘Adrian, this is Donna, who will be coming to stay with us, and this is her social worker, Edna.’
‘Hello, Adrian,’ Edna said with her warm smile, putting him immediately at ease.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘And you must be Paula?’ Edna said.
Paula grinned sheepishly and gave me her Cornetto wrapper.
‘How old are you?’ Edna asked.
‘I'm ten,’ Adrian said, ‘and she's six.’
‘I'm six,’ Paula said, feeling she was quite able to tell Edna how old she was herself. Donna still had her eyes trained on the floor; she hadn't even looked up as Adrian and Paula had bounced in.
‘That's lovely, isn't it, Donna?’ Edna said, trying again to engage Donna; then, addressing Adrian and Paula, ‘Donna has two younger brothers, aged seven and six. It will be nice for her to have someone her own age to play with.’ This clearly didn't impress Adrian, for at his age girls were something you dangled worms in front of to make them scream but didn't actually play with. And given the difference in size — Donna was a good four inches taller than Adrian — she would be more like an older sister than one of his peer group.
‘You can play with me now,’ Paula said, spying a golden opportunity for some girl company.
‘That's a good idea,’ Edna said to Paula. ‘Although we won't be staying long — we've got a lot to do.’ Placing her hand on Donna's arm again, Edna said, ‘Donna, you go in the garden with Paula for a few minutes, and then
we will show you around the house and go.’
I looked at Donna and wondered if she would follow what had been an instruction from Edna rather than a request. Edna, Adrian and Paula looked too.
‘Come on,’ Paula said. ‘Come and play with me.’ She placed her little hand on the sleeve of Donna's T-shirt and gave it a small tug. I noticed Donna didn't pull away.
‘Go on, Donna,’ Edna encouraged. ‘A few minutes in the garden and then we must go.’
‘Come on, Donna,’ Paula said again and she gave her T-shirt another tug. ‘You can push me on the swing.’
With her arms still folded across her waist and not looking up, Donna slowly stood. She was like a little old woman dragging herself to do the washing up rather than a ten-year-old going to play in the garden.
‘Good girl,’ Edna said. We both watched as, with her head lowered, Donna allowed Paula to gently ease her out of the French windows and into the garden. Adrian watched, mesmerised, and then looked at me questioningly. I knew what he was thinking: children didn't usually have this much trouble going into the garden to play.
‘Donna is a bit upset,’ I said to him. ‘She'll be all right. You can go and play too.’
He turned and went out, and Edna and I watched them go down the garden. Adrian returned to his archaeological pursuits in the sandpit while Paula, still holding Donna's T-shirt, led her towards the swings.
‘Paula will be fine with Donna,’ Edna said, reading my thoughts. ‘Donna is good with little ones.’ While I hadn't thought that Donna would hit Paula, she was so much bigger, and it had crossed my mind that all her pent-up emotion could easily be released in any number of ways, including physical aggression. Edna gave a little sigh and returned to the sofa. I sat next to her so that I could keep an eye on what was happening down the garden.
‘I've had a very busy morning,’ Edna said. ‘Mary and Ray, Donna's present carers, phoned me first thing and demanded that I remove Donna immediately. I've had to cancel all my appointments for the whole day to deal with this.’
I nodded. ‘Donna seems very sad,’ I said.
‘Yes.’ She gave another little sigh. ‘Cathy, I really can't understand what has gone so badly wrong. All the carers are saying is that Donna is obsessively possessive with her brothers, Warren and Jason, and won't let Mary and Ray take care of them. Apparently they've had to physically remove her more than once from the room so that they could take care of the boys. Donna is a big girl and I understand there have been quite a few ugly scenes. Mary showed me a bruise on her arm, which she said Donna had done last night when she and Ray had tried to get her out of the bathroom so that the boys could be bathed. They are experienced carers, but feel they can't continue to look after Donna.’
I frowned, as puzzled as Edna was, for the description she had just given me of Donna hardly matched the silent withdrawn child who had slunk in unable even to look at me.
‘The boys are staying with Mary and Ray for now,’ Edna continued. ‘They all go to the same school, so you will meet Ray and Mary when school returns. They are both full-time carers; Ray took early retirement. They are approved to look after three children and have done so in the past, very successfully, so I really don't know what's gone wrong here.’
Neither did I from what Edna was saying, but it wasn't my place to second guess or criticise. ‘Looking after three children has probably been too much,’ I said. ‘It's a lot of work looking after one, let alone three, particularly when they have just come into care and are upset and still adjusting.’
Edna nodded thoughtfully and glanced down the garden, as I did. Donna was pushing Paula on the swing, but whereas Paula was in her element and squealing with delight, Donna appeared to be performing a mundane duty and was taking no enjoyment whatsoever in the task.
‘Is Donna all right doing that?’ I asked. ‘She doesn't have to push Paula on the swing.’
‘I'm sure she is fine, Cathy. She's showing no enthusiasm for anything at present.’ Edna returned her gaze to me. ‘I've been working with Donna's family for three years now. I have really tried to keep them together, but her mum just couldn't cope. I put in place all the support I could. I have even been going round to their home and helping to wash and iron the clothes, and clean the house, but by my next visit it's always filthy again. I had no alternative but to bring them into care.’ Edna looked at me with deep regret and I knew she was taking it personally, feeling that she had failed in not keeping the family together, despite all her efforts. Edna was certainly one conscientious and dedicated social worker, and Donna was very lucky to have her.
‘You obviously did all you could,’ I offered. ‘There can't be many who would have done all that,’ and I meant it.
Edna looked at me. ‘Donna's family has a long history with social services, and mum herself was in and out of care as a child. Donna's father is not supposed to be living at the family home but he was there only last week when I made a planned visit. The front door had been broken down and Rita, Donna's mum, said Mr Bajan, Donna's father, had smashed his way in. But he was sitting happily in a chair with a beer when I arrived and Rita wasn't exactly trying to get him out. I made arrangements to have the door repaired straight away, because there was no way they could secure the house and Chelsea is still living there.’
I nodded. ‘What a worry for you!’
‘Yes, it is. Chelsea hasn't been in school for months,’ Edna continued, shaking her head sadly. ‘And she told me that Mr Bajan hadn't been taking his medication again. He's been diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic, and if he doesn't take his medication he becomes very delusional and sometimes violent. I explained to him that he must keep taking it and that if he didn't I would have to have him sectioned again. He was very cooperative, but I don't suppose he will remember what I said. When he is taking the tablets he functions normally, and then because he feels better he thinks he doesn't need the tablets any more, he stops taking them, and becomes ill again.’
I thought what a lot Donna and her family had had to cope with, and I again glanced down the garden, where Donna was still laboriously pushing Paula on the swing.
‘Donna's mum, Rita, has a drink problem,’ Edna continued, following my gaze, ‘and possibly drug abuse, although we don't know for sure. The house is absolutely filthy, a health hazard, and I've had the council in a number of times to fumigate it. Rita can't keep it clean. I've shown her how to clean, many times, but there's always cat and dog mess on the floors, as they encourage strays in. Instead of clearing up the mess, they throw newspaper down to cover it. The whole house stinks. They have broken the new bath I had put in, and the cooker I gave Rita a grant for has never been connected. There is no sign of the table and chairs I had delivered, nor the beds I ordered. The children were sleeping on an old mattress — all of them on one. There's nothing on the floors but old newspaper, and most of the windows have been smashed at one time or another. Rita phones me each time one is broken and I have to make arrangements to have it repaired. There is never any food in the house, and Warren and Jason, Donna's brothers, were running riot on the estate. Neighbours have repeatedly complained about the family, and also about the screaming and shouting coming from the house when Mr Bajan is there.’
I nodded again, and we both looked down the garden, where Donna was still pushing Paula on the swing.
‘Mr Bajan is Donna's father and also the father of Warren and Jason, according to the birth certificates, although I have my doubts,’ Edna said. ‘Chelsea has a different father who has never been named, but she looks like Donna — more than Donna looks like the boys. Mr Bajan has dual heritage and his mother is originally from Barbados. She lives on the same estate and has helped the family as much as she can. I asked her if she could look after the children, but at her age she didn't feel up to it, which is understandable. She's not in the best of health herself and goes back to visit her family in Barbados for some of the winter. She's a lovely lady, but like the rest of the family blames me for bringing t
he children into care.’
Edna paused and let out another sigh. ‘But what could I do, Cathy? The family situation was getting worse, not better. When I first took Donna and her brothers into care they all had head lice, and fleas, and the two boys had worms. I told their mother and she just shrugged. I can't seem to get through to Rita.’
‘So what are the long-term plans for the children?’ I asked.
‘We have ICOs’ — Edna was referring to Interim Court Orders — ‘for Donna and the boys. I'll apply to the court to renew them, and then see how it goes. Having the children taken into care might give Rita the wake-up call she needs to get herself on track. I hope so; otherwise I'll have no alternative but to apply for a Full Care Order and keep the children in long-term foster care. I'm sure Rita loves her children in her own way but she can't look after them or run a house. I wanted to remove Chelsea too, but she is refusing, and in some ways it's almost too late. Chelsea is rather a one for the boys, and mum can't see that it's wrong for a fourteen-year-old to be sleeping with her boyfriend. In fact Rita encourages it — she lets Chelsea's boyfriend sleep with her at their house and has put Chelsea on the pill. I've told Rita that under-age sex is illegal but she laughs. Rita was pregnant with Chelsea at fifteen and can't see anything wrong in it. She's spent most of her life having children — apart from Chelsea, Donna, and the boys she's had three miscarriages to my knowledge.’
I shuddered. ‘How dreadfully sad.’
‘It is. It would be best if Rita didn't have any more wee babies and I'm trying to persuade her to be sterilised, but I'm not getting anywhere at present. She has learning difficulties like Donna and Chelsea. Warren and Jason are quite bright — in fact Warren is very bright. He taught himself to read as soon as he started school and had access to books.’