by Cathy Glass
‘No,’ Edna said evenly, ‘the boys don't do that. Mary would have said.’
‘Well? Does Chelsea do it? Has Rita told her she's dirty too?’
‘No,’ said Edna subdued. ‘I don't think so.’
‘Edna, Donna has been victimised by that family at every conceivable level — whipped for not doing the housework, made to feel responsible for them coming into care and told she is dirty because her grandmother is black! I assume Rita didn't think Donna's father was dirty when she slept with him! It's just as well I don't have to meet Donna's mother at contact! She has a lot to answer for.’ I stopped and wondered if I had gone too far, but I was seething, on Donna's behalf. I took a breath. ‘Donna is completely messed up. She has spent her whole life being vilified, and being told she is rubbish. I think you had better get her some therapy fast before it's too late, because I don't know how to deal with this. Someone needs to try to undo some of the damage that has been done to her, and I'm no psychologist!’
Edna hesitated. ‘I'll raise the possibility of therapy with my manager,’ she said quietly, ‘but as you know, Cathy, they don't usually like to put children into therapy until they are settled. After the final court hearing, when we know where Donna will be living, would be the usual time. Donna is on an Interim Care Order and Rita has the right to object to anything we do. If I suggest therapy I'll lose what little cooperation I have from her.’
I seethed some more, but I knew from experience that Edna was right on both counts. While Donna was on an ICO her parents maintained certain rights to her and could raise all sorts of objections. Rita could make life very difficult for all concerned, not least for Donna, who would still be seeing her mother at contact. I also knew that therapists were reluctant to begin therapy until the court had made a decision about the child's future, and the child was settled wherever the judge decided they would be living. It was generally held that to begin therapy before then would be like lifting the lid on Pandora's box and could actually make the child more disturbed.
‘I assume Donna won't be returning to Rita's care after all this?’ I said.
‘At this point we don't know. But it's looking increasingly doubtful.’ Which was as much as Edna could say at present, until all the reports had been compiled and put before the judge at the final court hearing.
‘Has the date for the final hearing been set yet?’ I asked, calming my tone and looking at the practical issues.
‘It's provisionally booked for next May,’ Edna said, still subdued. ‘Can I come to visit you and Donna tomorrow?’
‘Yes, please. Jill is coming in the morning. Could you make it after one o'clock so that we can have some lunch?’
‘Would two o'clock be all right?’
‘Fine. I'll put it in the diary.’
‘And I will speak to my manager about the therapy,’ Edna finished by saying. ‘But in the meantime if there is anything I can do, please let me know. And obviously I'll talk to Donna when I see her and reinforce what you have said.’
‘OK, Edna.’ There was nothing else I could say, other than asking if Donna could start her life over again in different circumstances, which unfortunately Edna couldn't make happen.
‘Thank you, Cathy. See you tomorrow, and say hello to Donna for me.’
‘I will do.’
I continued to watch Donna like a hawk, for her benefit as much as for Adrian's and Paula's. I knew where she was at any given moment and also what she was doing. Gone was any thought of simply letting the three of them amuse themselves, so I arranged games which we all played together, although Donna had difficulty ‘playing’ as such, presumably because she had never played as a small child. But at least she joined in, and went through the motions, and I hoped that by doing so one day she would find real enjoyment in playing. I organised rounders, bat and ball, basketball and, when it rained, Monopoly and jigsaw puzzles. It was obviously important that the children played as naturally as possible, but I hoped my being in charge would help reinforce in Donna's eyes the difference between my adult role and hers as a child.
I would have played with the children anyway, for some of the time, but having to do it continuously was pretty exhausting and meant that I had to catch up on the housework in the evening when they were in bed. However, some of the chores, like preparing the vegetables, dusting and tidying, became a group activity: I gathered everyone together and gave them a task each, while watching that Donna didn't dominate.
I removed the nailbrush from the wash basin in the toilet, and also the pumice stone from the bathroom, which could have done great damage if Donna had set about using it to try to remove her skin colour. When Donna went upstairs to go to the toilet, or when she had a bath, I found an excuse to hover on the landing, and I listened for any sounds that might have suggested she was trying to scrub off her skin. I reinforced to Donna that children weren't allowed in the kitchen when I wasn't there, again separating our roles, and at every opportunity I praised her, and particularly her appearance. We went shopping, and I bought her a new skirt and blouse and told her how pretty she looked, which Paula reinforced. I told Donna I would buy her new school uniform on the first day of the term because, as with most junior schools now, the logoed uniform could only be bought from the school office, to help raise school funds.
How much of my positive encouragement to raise Donna's self-image was getting through to her was difficult to say. Donna met any praise or encouragement with a bashful, very doubtful shrug — hardly surprising considering I was trying to undo ten years of abuse. Her self-esteem and confidence were zero, and if I asked her to do anything her first reaction was ‘I can't’ or ‘I don't know how.’
Jill and Edna came as arranged and by the end of the day I felt we had all been over ‘social workered’. It was a relief when Edna finally left at 4.15 p.m., having spent over two hours with us, an hour of it alone with Donna in the lounge. It is usual for the social worker to spend time alone with the looked-after child in case the child wants to raise any issues that they would feel uncomfortable about raising with the carer present. I knew Edna would be talking to Donna about what had happened recently, and also continuing my efforts to improve Donna's self-image.
‘You look lovely,’ Edna said to Donna, not for the first time, as we finally saw Edna to the door. But Edna's compliment was met with the same self-deprecating shrug that met all my attempts to raise Donna's self-esteem.
Jill had also praised Donna when she'd visited that morning. Jill's primary responsibilities were to check that the placement was progressing as it should and that I had all I needed to care for Donna, and to offer me support and advice where necessary. As I had kept Jill and Edna updated on a daily basis, when Jill checked my log notes there were no surprises. She signed and dated my record, and I returned the file to the locked drawer of my desk in the front room. Jill had also been in regular phone contact with Edna, so both were fully abreast of what was going on.
I had raised the matter of the forthcoming school run with Edna because I had realised that the logistics of dropping Adrian and Paula off at their school, which was in the opposite direction to Donna's and had the same start time of 8.50 a.m., were going to cause me a problem. Foster carers normally take their foster children to school, as they would their own children, but sometimes that was physically impossible, as it would be in this case, without Donna or Adrian and Paula arriving very late. In situations like this approved escorts are used to take the foster child to school, although this is avoided wherever possible: not only is it a heavy call on the social services' budget — approved escorts are very expensive — but it is clearly preferable for the looked-after child to have their carer (in loco parentis) standing in the playground with the other mothers rather than being collected by a taxi.
Fortunately my problem was solved when Edna said that Donna enjoyed helping at the breakfast club at her school and would like to continue to do this. The breakfast club started at 8.15 a.m., so I could drop Donna off f
irst and then take Adrian and Paula to their school for 8.50. This arrangement wouldn't be necessary on the first day, however, as Donna's school went back a day before Adrian and Paula's. I asked my neighbour, Sue, if Adrian and Paula could stay with her for an hour while I took Donna to school on that first morning. Sue was happy to oblige: we helped each other out from time to time, although I could never have left a looked-after child with Sue because she wasn't an approved carer.
Donna had contact on Friday, as she had done on Wednesday, and following the same routine I took her in and left her with Edna in reception. As before, Donna was quiet in the car on the way home and I was particularly vigilant for the remainder of the evening. I was aware that, despite Edna supervising the contact, Donna had just seen her family, which could have easily reinforced all her feelings of worthlessness. I felt it wouldn't be long before Donna started to make comparisons between the life she had led at home and the one she led now. When she saw the hurt and injustice that had been inflicted on her I was expecting an explosion of unprecedented anger, for as Mary had said Donna was like a firework waiting to go off.
It was with some relief that I would no longer have to be ever vigilant, and also with some regret that the lazy unstructured days of the summer holidays had come to an end, that on the following Wednesday morning I had everyone up, dressed, washed and breakfasted by 8.00. I took Adrian and Paula next door to be looked after by Sue at 8.20. Donna's school's breakfast club didn't begin until the second day of term, so we left a bit later on that first day. I drove the fifteen-minute journey to Belfont School and arrived at 8.35. I had plenty of time to buy the uniform and introduce myself to the head before the day started at 8.50. I parked in a side road a short distance from the school as a few children in their uniforms strolled past with their mothers.
‘OK, love?’ I asked Donna, silencing the engine and glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. ‘I'm looking forward to meeting your headmistress again. I wonder if she will remember me?’
‘Do you know Mrs Bristow?’ Donna asked.
‘I used to. I looked after a boy a few years ago who went to your school. He won't still be there now, though: he's fourteen and at secondary school.’
‘Mrs Bristow is nice.’
‘Yes, very,’ I agreed. ‘It's a good school. I know you are going to do really well this term.’
Donna gave her usual self-deprecating shrug, which she gave at any suggestion she might actually be good at something. I got out of the car and then went round and opened her door, which had the child lock on. She stood beside me on the pavement and looked at the other children heading towards the school. ‘Let me know when you see your friend, Emily,’ I said, ‘and I'll say hello.’ Donna nodded.
We went to the end of the road then turned the corner that would take us towards the main gates. As we did, Donna let out a small cry and her face suddenly lit up.
‘There's Mum!’ she cried. ‘And Warren and Jason! And Aunt May, and Granny Bajan!’
I looked, and saw the group standing directly in front of the school gates. Oh dear, I thought, and on our first morning! Foster carers do run into looked-after children's natural families, and in some instances it doesn't matter. Indeed, in the past I had worked closely with children's natural parents, and it was always preferable for the child to see everyone cooperating. But this appeared to be a welcoming party of unprecedented proportions — at least I hoped it was welcoming. To deal with it I would have to put aside my own feelings towards Rita for Donna's sake. I would also have to make Edna aware of this meeting; Donna's contact was carefully supervised and this unscheduled contact clearly would not be.
Donna had quickened her pace and nearly ran the last few steps towards the chatting, laughing throng. As I approached, I searched the gathering of six adults, a teenager and two boys, trying to identify who was who among the adults. Granny Bajan from Barbados, Donna's gran on her father's side, stood on the edge of the group. She was a plump, kindly-looking woman, in her late fifties and very dignified; she greeted Donna with a big hug and then looked at me.
‘Hello, I'm Cathy, Donna's carer,’ I said.
Mrs Bajan smiled. ‘Nice to meet you, Cathy.’ Her Caribbean accent caused her words to rise and fall like music. ‘But this is so sad,’ she added, and I assumed she meant the children being in care.
A smartly dressed middle-aged white couple on my right introduced themselves as Mary and Ray and we shook hands.
‘Quite a welcoming committee,’ Ray said quietly and I smiled. I looked at Jason and Warren, aged six and seven; with their big brown eyes and sweet open faces, it was very difficult to imagine how they had perpetrated the abuse they had on Donna. But then, at their ages, in a dysfunctional family where morality, respect and kindness were in short supply they had doubtless simply followed the example of their mother and done as she had bade. Removed from that situation and now living with Mary and Ray, and being shown the correct and loving way to behave, they would hopefully eventually change their ways — they were young enough to relearn how good families worked. I felt no anger towards them.
Jason and Warren were all over the person I now took to be their mother, Rita, and she was all over them.
‘Is that mum?’ I asked Mary and Ray quietly.
They nodded. ‘And that woman next to her is Rita's neighbour,’ Mary said. ‘Not sure yet who the other woman is. We got here just before you.’
I looked at Rita. I knew from the Essential Information Forms that she was in her early thirties, but she could have easily been fifteen years older. She was a short dumpy woman, badly overweight, and with long unkempt thin fair hair straggling around her shoulders. She was wearing a faded cotton T-shirt and a short skirt, both of which were stretched tightly across her stomach and hips. The T-shirt had risen up to reveal a pierced belly button and stretch marks. She had an arm around each of the boys and couldn't get enough of them. I noticed she had completely ignored Donna's arrival. Donna, having received a hug from Granny Bajan, now stood watching her mother and the boys, perhaps waiting for her turn to be hugged, although she didn't seem to be expecting it.
‘Hello, Rita,’ I said, taking a step forward. ‘I'm Cathy, Donna's carer.’ Rita ignored me and continued hugging and tickling the boys. I thought they were going to be well hyped up by the time they got into school, and I wondered what the other parents and children who were passing on their way in were making of this noisy gathering.
Beside Rita stood a teenage girl, also badly overweight, and with her stomach showing and revealing a similar piercing. She was chewing gum and staring into space, and I could see the likeness Edna had spoken of. Without doubt it was Chelsea, and she looked like Donna, more than Donna looked like her brothers, although Donna, Warren and Jason were supposed to have the same father.
‘You must be Chelsea?’ I said, smiling. She glared at me and continued chewing; I guessed she had assumed her mother's hostility towards me. Apart from the neighbour that Ray had pointed out, another white woman stood on the edge of the group. I took her to be in her forties; she had blonde hair and a walking stick. I looked at her and she made eye contact.
‘I'm May, Donna's aunt,’ she said. I smiled and nodded, and remembered that Donna had said she went to her aunt's sometimes for her meals; I wondered if this was the same aunt. I didn't know if May and Rita were sisters; I couldn't see any family likeness.
I looked again at Donna, who still hadn't been acknowledged by her mother but was clearly hoping that at some point Rita would leave the boys and at least look at her. I saw Mary and Ray looking at Donna too. I felt dreadfully sorry for her as she stood like an outcast on the edge of the group, while her two brothers competed for, and enjoyed, their mother's attention.
‘How are you, Donna?’ Mary asked. ‘You're looking great.’
Donna gave a shy half nod.
‘She is doing very well,’ I said, loud enough for Rita to hear. ‘I am so pleased with her progress.’
‘That's e
xcellent,’ Ray and Mary both said. Rita said nothing and didn't even glance up.
It was nearly 8.45 a.m. and I was becoming mindful of the time. I wanted to go into reception before the bell rang to buy Donna's uniform and make sure the school had my contact details, and also hopefully say hello to the head, Mrs Bristow. Donna would see her brothers later in the playground and also at lunchtime, and given that Rita was ignoring her, and no one else seemed in any rush to speak to her now that her gran had given her a hug and Mary and Ray had said hello, I thought there didn't appear to be much point in hanging around. Indeed there was every reason why we shouldn't: with each passing minute, as Donna stood on the edge of the group and was ignored, her rejection seemed more pronounced and pathetic. She looked so sad and I felt the indignation of her exclusion even if she didn't.
‘Donna,’ I said, ‘I think we should go into school now so that I can buy your uniform.’ She glanced at me and then looked anxiously at her mother, clearly hoping that her mother would seize this last opportunity to at least say hello, if not hug her, as she was still doing with the boys. Despite the appalling treatment Donna had received at the hands of Rita, Rita was still her mother, and there was doubtless a bond there. Time and time again I had looked after children who had been dreadfully neglected and abused but had still maintained a bond with their parents, and still sought their approval, affection and attention. Only in the absolute worse cases of horrendous (often sexual) abuse did children sever the bond as soon as they could and reject the parents. What I had seen happen, though (and what I thought might happen in Donna's case), was that as time went by and the child started to make comparisons, and judgements on the way they had been treated, they reduced their dependency on their parents and the bond weakened, disappearing altogether if the child was adopted or placed with long-term carers. But for now Donna craved the attention of her mother, and it was pathetic to watch her being ostracised.