by Cathy Glass
‘Contact?’ Jill queried.
‘I’ll confirm the contact arrangements when I’ve spoken to the Family Centre to check availability,’ Neave said. ‘Melody will have supervised contact with her mother at the Family Centre – I’m anticipating on Monday, Wednesday and Friday, four till five-thirty. You’ll be able to take and collect her?’ Neave asked me. It’s expected that foster carers take children to and from contact, school and any appointments they may have.
‘Yes,’ I said, and made a note of the days and times in my diary.
‘I want to see my mum now!’ Melody demanded, having finished the biscuits.
‘You’ve just seen her,’ Neave said, ‘and you’ll see her again tomorrow – Wednesday.’
‘That’s not long,’ Jill said positively.
‘I want to see my mum at home!’
‘The Family Centre is like a home,’ I said. ‘It’s got sofas to sit on and lots of games to play with. I’ve taken children before and they always have a good time.’
Melody threw me a withering look and I returned my attention to the form, as did Jill.
‘Sibling contact with her half-brothers and sisters?’ Jill asked Neave.
‘No, there is no contact.’
‘And the care plan is long-term foster care then?’ Jill said.
‘Yes,’ Neave confirmed.
We had come to the end of the form and I placed my copy in my fostering folder.
‘I’ll need to arrange a LAC review,’ Neave now said. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I have the details.’ LAC stands for ‘Looked After Child’, and all children in care have regular reviews to make sure everything is being done as it should to help them. The first review is usually held within the first four weeks of a child coming into care.
Toscha, our very old, docile and lovable cat sauntered out from behind the sofa where she’d been sleeping next to the radiator.
‘A cat!’ Melody cried in horror.
‘Don’t you like cats?’ Jim asked her.
‘No, they’re horrible. They have fleas that bite you.’ She began scratching her legs and I saw she had a lot of old insect bites.
‘Toscha doesn’t have fleas,’ I said.
‘My mum says all cats have fleas.’
‘I treat Toscha with flea drops so she doesn’t ever get them,’ I explained.
‘Do you have cats at home?’ Jill asked.
‘They come in when we open the door.’
‘There’s always a lot of stray cats around the entrance to the house and inside the communal hallway,’ Neave said. ‘I don’t expect anyone treats them.’
‘Try not to scratch,’ I said. ‘You’ll make them worse. I’ll put some antiseptic ointment on after your bath tonight.’
‘I don’t have baths,’ Melody said firmly. ‘It’s too cold.’ I’d heard similar before from other children I’d fostered who’d come from homes where they couldn’t afford heating and hot water.
‘It’s warm here,’ I reassured her. ‘The central heating is always on in winter and there’s plenty of hot water.’
Melody looked bewildered.
‘It’s bound to seem a bit strange at first,’ Jill said, ‘but Cathy is here to look after you. If you need anything or have any questions, ask her or one of her children. You’ll meet them later.’ Jill knew, as I did, that despite Melody’s bravado, as an eight-year-old child away from her mother, she must be feeling pretty scared and anxious.
‘Shall we look round the house now?’ Neave said to Jim. ‘Then we need to get back to the office.’
It’s usual for the foster carer to show the social worker and child around when they first arrive, so we all stood. I began with the room we were in, which looked out over the garden. ‘As you can see, we have some swings at the bottom of the garden,’ I said to Melody. ‘And there are bikes and other outdoor play things in the shed. You can play out there when the weather is good.’
‘And there are parks close by,’ Jill told her. ‘Cathy takes all the children she fosters to the park and other nice places, like the zoo and activity centres.’
Melody looked at us blankly. Giving her a reassuring smile, I led the way out of the living room and into our kitchen-cum-dining room. ‘This is where we eat,’ I said, pointing to the table. Toscha had followed us out and I saw Melody eyeing her carefully as she wandered over to her empty food bowl in a recess of the kitchen. ‘It’s not her dinner time yet,’ I said to Melody, trying to put her at ease.
‘Cats are always hungry,’ Jim added.
Melody looked suspiciously at Toscha and gave her leg another good scratch. ‘Honestly, love, she hasn’t got fleas,’ I said. I then led the way down the hall and into the front room. ‘This is a quiet room, if anyone wants to be alone,’ I explained. It held the computer, sound system, shelves of books, a cabinet with a lockable drawer where I kept important documents, and a small table and four chairs. It was sometimes used for homework and studying, and if anyone wanted their own space.
‘Thank you,’ Neave said and we headed out.
We went upstairs, where I suggested we look at Melody’s room first. ‘It’s not my room,’ she said grumpily.
‘It’ll feel more comfortable once you have your things in here,’ I said as we entered. I told all the children this when I showed them round, for while the room was clean and tidy with a wardrobe, shelves, drawers and freshly laundered bed linen, it lacked any personalization that makes a room feel lived in and homely. Then I realized my mistake. Melody hadn’t come with any possessions. ‘Will her mother be sending some of her belongings?’ I now asked Neave and Jim.
‘There isn’t much,’ Neave replied. ‘They moved around so often that what they did have got ditched or left behind along the way. I’ll ask Amanda tomorrow.’
‘Have you got a special doll or teddy bear you would like from home?’ Jill asked Melody. A treasured item such as this helps a child to settle. Most children would have at least one favourite toy, but Melody just shrugged.
‘Perhaps one you sleep with?’ I suggested.
‘No, I sleep with my mum,’ she said. That Melody didn’t have one special toy was another indication of the very basic existence she’d lived with her mother. ‘I’ve got a ball,’ she added as an afterthought.
‘Would you like me to ask your mother for it?’ Neave asked her.
‘Don’t know where it is,’ she said disinterestedly, so I changed my approach.
‘You can choose some posters to put on the walls of your bedroom when we go shopping at the weekend,’ I said brightly. ‘And I’m sure I have a spare teddy bear here if you’d like one to keep you company.’ I always have a few handy.
‘Don’t mind,’ she said, which I took as a yes.
I showed them where the toilet and bathroom were, and then led them in and out of my children’s bedrooms, mentioning as we went that all our bedrooms, including Melody’s, were private, and that we didn’t go into each other’s rooms unless we were asked to, and we always knocked first.
‘That’s the same in a lot of homes,’ Jill told Melody, who was looking rather nonplussed. Having spent most of her life living in a single room with her mother in multi-occupancy houses, this was probably all very new to her.
Lastly, I opened the door to my bedroom so they could see in. ‘This is where I sleep,’ I told Melody. ‘If you need me during the night, call out and I’ll come to you.’
‘Do you leave a nightlight on in the landing?’ Neave asked.
‘Yes, and there’s a dimmer switch in Melody’s bedroom so we can set it to low if she wants a light on at night.’
We returned downstairs, where Neave confirmed she’d ask Melody’s mother to take any toys and clothes of Melody’s to contact tomorrow so they could be passed on to me, then she and Jim said goodbye and I saw them out. Jill stayed for another five minutes to make sure Melody had settled and then left. As soon as the front door closed, Melody asked, ‘When can I go home?’
‘What
did Neave tell you?’ I asked gently.
‘That I had to live with you for now.’
‘That’s right. Try not to worry, you’ll see your mother tomorrow and again on Friday. Then every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. That’s three times a week.’ But what Neave wouldn’t have told Melody at this stage – and neither would I – was that, as it was likely she would be remaining in long-term care, the level of contact would gradually be reduced. Then at the end of the year when the final court hearing had been heard and the judge confirmed the social services’ care plan, Melody would probably see her mother only a couple of times a year for a few hours. Sad though this was, it was done to allow the child to bond with their carer and have a chance of a better life in the future. I should probably also say that when children come out of care at eighteen they invariably go back to their birth families – not always, but often.
‘I want to go home. My mum needs me,’ Melody said.
‘I understand, but try not to worry. Your mother is an adult and can look after herself, and Neave will make sure she’s all right.’
‘No, she won’t,’ Melody said.
Best keep Melody occupied, I thought. ‘Adrian, Lucy and Paula will be home from school in about half an hour,’ I said. ‘So we have time to treat your hair and give you a bath before I have to start making dinner.’
‘Treat my hair?’ she queried.
‘Yes, with nit lotion.’ I always kept a bottle in the bathroom cabinet, as so many children who come into care have head lice.
‘How do you know I have nits?’ Melody asked, seeming surprised I knew. ‘My mum said if I didn’t scratch no one would know.’
‘Your social worker told me,’ I said. ‘It must be very uncomfortable for you.’
‘It bleeding well is,’ she said, and jabbing both hands into her matted hair, she gave her scalp a good scratch. ‘Aah, that feels so much better!’ she sighed, relieved.
‘Good, but we don’t swear. Come on, let’s get the nit lotion on and you won’t have to scratch.’
‘Is not swearing another of your rules?’ she asked as she followed me upstairs. ‘Like knocking on bedroom doors.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
‘Do you have many rules here?’
‘No, just a few to keep everyone safe and happy.’
‘I’ll tell my mum. She needs rules to make me safe and happy, then she can have me back.’
I smiled sadly, for of course it was far too late for that. Amanda had had her chance, and Melody wouldn’t be going back.
Chapter Three
Mummy Needs Me
‘I can smell nit lotion!’ my daughter Lucy cried from the hall as she let herself in the front door.
‘We’re in here!’ I called. I was in the kitchen peeling vegetables for dinner, and Melody was sitting at the table colouring in while the head-lice lotion took effect. I’d given her a bath – her first in months, she told me – and she was now dressed in clean clothes from the spares I kept. The lotion had a dreadfully pungent smell and needed to be left on for an hour, but I knew from using it on other children that it was very effective.
‘This is Melody,’ I said, introducing her to Lucy.
‘Hi, how are you? Don’t look so grumpy, you’ll be fine here.’ Having been neglected herself before coming to me as a foster child, Lucy could relate in a special way to the children we fostered. She had an easy manner with them and most of the children formed an attachment to her before they did me.
‘I’m not grumpy,’ Melody said. ‘I don’t like this stuff on my hair. My mum never put it on.’
‘That’s why you had head lice. That will kill the little buggers.’
‘Lucy,’ I admonished, ‘I’ve just told Melody not to swear.’
‘Ooops,’ Lucy said, and theatrically clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry.’ And for the first time I saw Melody smile. ‘Nice picture,’ Lucy said, going over and admiring Melody’s colouring in. Then to me she added, ‘I’m going to my room now, Mum.’
‘Fine, love. Did you have a good day at school?’
‘I guess.’
‘I want to go with you,’ Melody said, clearly finding Lucy’s company far more interesting than mine.
‘Not until the lotion is washed off. It’ll make my room smell.’
I glanced at the clock. ‘Only fifteen more minutes,’ I said.
‘That’s not fair,’ Melody moaned. ‘I want to go with you now.’
‘I’m flattered,’ Lucy said. ‘But you can’t until you’ve had your hair washed. See you later.’ Throwing her a smile, she left the room.
When I think back to how Lucy was when she first arrived, I feel so proud of all she’s achieved. I’m proud of Adrian and Paula too, of course, but Lucy had a shocking start to life and could so easily have gone off the rails. She had a lot of catching up to do, but she didn’t let her past hold her back. Her self-confidence has developed immeasurably; she is happy, has a good circle of friends, eats well and is achieving at school. I couldn’t love her more if she’d been born to me, and I feel very lucky that I have three wonderful children and am allowed to foster more.
No sooner had Lucy disappeared upstairs than Paula came home. She had a different nature to Lucy and was quieter, more placid and could easily let things worry her.
‘Hi, Paula,’ I called. ‘Come and meet Melody.’
‘Hello,’ Paula said, coming in.
‘Are you Lucy’s sister?’ Melody asked.
‘Yes.’
‘You got any more sisters?’
‘No.’ Paula smiled.
‘Good day?’ I asked her as I always ask my children when they first come home.
‘Yes, but I’ve got tons of homework. I’m going to start it now before dinner.’
‘OK, love. I’m nearly finished here, then I’ll wash Melody’s hair, so we’ll eat around six o’clock.’
Paula poured herself a glass of water and, giving Melody a small smile, left.
‘Where’s she gone?’ Melody asked.
‘In the front room to start her homework,’ I said.
‘Can I go?’
‘No, she needs quiet to concentrate. You will see her at dinner when we’ll all eat together.’ I put the chicken casserole in the oven. ‘Now, let’s wash your hair, then you can see Lucy.’
Melody didn’t object, probably because she knew she’d only spend time with Lucy once her hair was washed. We went to the bathroom where I thoroughly washed her hair. As I was rinsing it I heard my son Adrian arrive home. ‘Hi, Mum!’ he called from the hall. At sixteen, he was now six feet tall, although of course to me he’d always be my little boy.
‘I’m in the bathroom, washing Melody’s hair!’ I called down.
‘OK. I’ll say hi to her later.’ I heard him go through to the kitchen. When he came home from school he always fixed himself a drink and a snack to see him through to dinner.
‘You got any more kids?’ Melody asked, head over the bath as I continued to rinse her hair.
‘No, that’s it. Just the four of you.’
‘I’m not your kid,’ came her sharp retort.
‘OK, but while you’re living with me I’ll look after you as if you are.’ There was no reply.
With her hair thoroughly washed, rinsed and nit-free, I towel dried it and then brushed out the knots. She complained throughout that I was pulling, although I was as gentle as I could be. I then dried it with the hair dryer and it shone. It looked quite a few shades lighter now all the grease and grime had been removed. I don’t think it could have been washed for many months.
‘Can I go into Lucy’s room?’ Melody asked as soon as I’d finished.
‘Yes, but don’t forget to knock on her door first.’
She dashed around the landing and banged hard on Lucy’s door – not so much a knock, more a hammering.
‘Hell! Open the door. Don’t break it down!’ Lucy’s voice came from inside.
‘Can I come in?’ Melody
yelled.
‘Yes! If you’ve had your hair washed.’
‘I have!’
She disappeared into Lucy’s room and that was the last I saw of her until I called everyone for dinner. Lucy knew that while Melody was with her she should leave her bedroom door open as part of our safer-caring policy, and to call me if there was a problem. All foster carers have a safer-caring policy and follow similar guidelines to keep all family members feeling safe. One of them is not to leave a foster child in a room with someone with the door closed. Leaving the door open means I and others can hear what is going on, and the child can come out easily whenever they want. There’s no knowing what a closed door might mean to an abused child, and Adrian knew that any girl we fostered wasn’t to go into his room at all, for his own protection. Sadly, many foster families have unfounded allegations made against them and they are very difficult to disprove.
Once dinner was ready I called everyone to the table and showed Melody where to sit. For us, it was a lively, chatty occasion as usual, when we shared our news as we ate. It’s often the only time we all sit down together during the week and it’s a pleasant focal point for us. Indeed, foster carers are expected to eat at least one meal a day together, as it bonds the family. At weekends we sometimes had breakfast together too. But Melody stared at us overawed as she ate.
Like many children who come from disadvantaged backgrounds, she wasn’t used to sitting at a table or using a knife and fork, having relied largely on snacks. She struggled to use the cutlery I’d set, so I quietly slipped her a dessertspoon to help with the casserole. She ate ravenously, all the while keeping a watchful eye on us. I’d seen the same vigilant awareness – a heightened state of alert – before in children I’d fostered who’d had to fend for themselves. They constantly watch those around them for any sign of danger. Children who’ve been nurtured and protected don’t do this, as experience has taught them that those they know can be trusted. It would take time for Melody to trust us.