by Cathy Glass
‘What’s your favourite food?’ Adrian asked.
Max thought for a moment. ‘Chocolate cake with chocolate ice cream,’ he said, smacking his lips. ‘Yummy.’
‘That’s mine too,’ Adrian agreed, although I couldn’t remember him ever having both in the same dish.
‘I like chocolate cake and ice cream,’ Paula said, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.
‘What food do you hate the most?’ Adrian now asked Max.
‘Cabbage, carrots, broccoli, cauliflower,’ Max reeled off. ‘And tomatoes and the green stuff they give us at school. I leave it. What food do you hate?’
‘Brussels,’ Adrian said without hesitation.
And so the discussion about food continued as we ate and it was very insightful. By the end of breakfast I knew that Max actively avoided all vegetables and fruit apart from grapes, loved all things sweet, and that at home they lived off fast food and takeaways because his mother couldn’t stand for long on her bad legs to cook, and his dad said cooking was women’s work.
‘Don’t your sisters cook?’ I asked casually as I cleared away the dishes.
‘No,’ Max said, leaving the table. ‘Dad says they’re too fucking lazy.’
Adrian paused and looked at me, aware this wasn’t a word we used.
‘I think I get the picture,’ I said to Max. ‘I’m so pleased you don’t swear.’
‘I get clouted at home if I do,’ he said. ‘But my dad can swear.’
‘That’s the problem with grown-ups,’ Adrian commiserated. ‘They can do things children can’t, like stay up late and drive cars.’
‘I know,’ Max agreed. And the two boys went upstairs to brush their teeth and get ready for school, continuing their discussion on the numerous advantages of being an adult compared to being a child.
Chapter Six
Hostile
I pulled up outside Max’s school at 8.15 a.m. and parked in the road. I always introduce myself at reception on the first day, check that the school has my contact details and if possible arrange to meet with the child’s form teacher. Not wishing to leave Adrian and Paula alone in the car, I brought them in with me. I went up to reception, where I gave the school secretary my name and said I was Max’s foster carer.
‘Really?’ she said. ‘I haven’t been given your details.’ Which was often the case. She suggested Max went through to join breakfast club while I completed the paperwork, as breakfast finished at 8.30. I told Max I’d collect him from after-school club and wished him a good day, and then the three of us said goodbye to him. With his school bag over his shoulder and dressed in just trousers and shirt, as the weather was still good, he waddled off down the corridor towards the dining room.
Adrian and Paula now sat on the chairs in the reception area, looking at the children’s artwork displayed on the walls, while I filled in the forms with my contact details. Adrian and Paula had come in with me before when I’d taken a new child to school, so they knew they had to sit quietly while I completed the necessary paperwork. Once finished I handed the forms back to the receptionist and asked her where I should collect Max from the after-school club.
‘It’s held in the hall,’ she said, pointing towards the corridor behind me. I then asked if I could make an appointment to see Mrs Marshall, Max’s teacher.
‘Now? I think she’s busy.’
‘No, I have to take my children to school. Can we make it another time?’
‘I’ll ask her when she’s free and either she or I will phone you.’
‘Thank you.’
Adrian, Paula and I returned to the car. I retraced the route, passed the end of my road and drove on to Adrian’s school. Paula’s nursery was on the same site and she attended five mornings a week. Having seen them both in, I returned home. I’d only been in a few minutes when the telephone began to ring. It was Jo and I could tell immediately she was stressed, and it was only 9.30 a.m.
‘You didn’t phone Max’s mother last night,’ she said. ‘She’s been on the phone and she’s very upset.’ My heart sank.
‘I’m sorry. I did apologize to her. I must have misunderstood the arrangements. I was waiting to hear from you. I hadn’t realized we were supposed to phone her.’
‘I thought you didn’t want her to phone you,’ Jo said, misinterpreting. ‘Well, never mind. As long as it doesn’t happen again. You know what time you have to take Max to the hospital tonight?’
‘Yes. Five-thirty.’
‘His sisters will pack his bag and take it with them. I told them to bring his toy. Caz said she doesn’t want you waiting on the ward, so you can go and do something and then return to collect Max around seven.’
‘All right.’
‘Don’t be late, will you? She’s not happy with you or me right now.’
‘I won’t.’
‘Caz has given permission for Max to have a medical, so I’ll set it in motion. You should receive an appointment letter in the post in a couple of weeks.’
‘OK.’
‘I asked Caz about allergies and she said she thought Max might have some but didn’t know what they were. Sometimes he comes out in a rash, so just keep an eye on him.’
‘Yes, I will.’
‘She said to tell you to make sure he has his inhaler with him at school for his asthma.’
‘Yes. It’s in his school bag. He didn’t need it again last night. It’s blue – a reliever inhaler – so I’m assuming he just has it when he needs it.’
‘I’ll need to set up a review if he’s with you for more than a few weeks,’ Jo continued in a rush. ‘I’ll let you know. As I thought, Max has seen the dentist recently. He had to have some teeth out. Caz said he hasn’t been to an optician but there’s nothing wrong with his eyesight and he doesn’t wear glasses. The paediatrician will give him an eyesight test as part of his medical, so if there are any concerns he can see an optician after.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘So I don’t need to make an appointment for him to see either a dentist or an optician?’ I wanted to clarify this to avoid any more misunderstandings. When a child comes into care under a court order the foster carer usually arranges both check-ups straight away and in time for their first review.
‘Not at present,’ Jo confirmed. ‘So what sort of night did he have? I can’t be long, as I’m due in a meeting now.’
‘Max slept well, although he snores very loudly. It could be connected to his asthma, although his chest sounded clear. Has Caz mentioned it? There may be other reasons for it.’
‘Like what? She hasn’t said anything.’
‘Enlarged tonsils and adenoids can cause snoring in children.’
‘I’m sure she would have said when I asked her about Max’s health, but I’ll ask her when I see her. And you can raise it with the paediatrician when he has his medical.’
‘Yes.’
‘I think that’s everything.’
‘I found some pyjamas for Max to wear last night, but they were for age twelve to thirteen,’ I said.
‘He should have his own things by tonight,’ Jo replied, missing the point. ‘Make sure you’re at the hospital for five-thirty. Speak soon.’ And with a brief goodbye she was gone.
Twenty minutes later Jill telephoned to ask how Max’s first night had been. I told her, and then about Caz’s and Jo’s phone calls and the misunderstanding over telephone contact. It’s important for a foster carer to keep their support social worker up to date even on relatively minor issues, as they have a habit of escalating, and a missed contact – even phone contact – was certainly not a minor issue.
‘Well, you apologized,’ Jill said. ‘Max is seeing his mother tonight, so hopefully that will make up for it. To be honest, my understanding was the same as yours: that Jo was going to speak to his mother first and then phone you.’
‘Thank you, Jill,’ I said, and felt slightly exonerated. I found Jill very easy to talk to and, as an experienced social worker, greatly valued her opinion
and advice. ‘On another matter, I am concerned about Max’s weight,’ I said. ‘I haven’t weighed him but you’ve seen him – he is badly overweight. Last night the only pyjamas that would fit him were for age twelve to thirteen. They were too long in the arms and legs but fitted around his middle.’
‘Yes, he’s certainly a big boy. What has Jo said?’
‘Nothing. I appreciate he may not be with me for very long, but I feel I should do something to help him. His mother knows he has a sweet tooth, so I was thinking of limiting the sweet things he eats. And trying to get him to eat some fruit and vegetables, which he tells me he hates. I think it would be wrong of me to do nothing while he’s with me.’
‘I can’t see any harm in limiting his sweet foods as long as you do it subtly, which I am sure you will do,’ Jill said. ‘The whole area of obesity is a minefield, not just in respect of childhood obesity but adults too. In one camp there is the “big is beautiful” and “it’s the person I am” argument, while all the medical evidence is now pointing to obesity doing as much damage to our health as smoking. We had some foster carers a couple of years ago who were both badly overweight,’ she continued. ‘They kept piling on the pounds until it was mentioned at their annual review in the context of it not setting a good example to the children they fostered. They took offence and left the agency. Although I heard later that when they applied to foster for the local authority they took the same view and refused them. I know you need a lot of willpower to lose weight, but as professionals working with children we have a duty to set an example by eating healthily and not smoking. But obviously don’t make an issue of it.’
‘I won’t. Thank you.’ I felt Jill spoke a lot of good sense.
‘And Max went into school happily this morning?’ she now asked.
‘Yes. He likes school and reading. He seems to be taking being in care in his stride. He’s a sweet child.’
‘He’s very likeable, rather a character. And you’re OK to take him to the hospital tonight?’
‘Yes. Jo has confirmed I can wait in the café.’
‘Good. It will be nice for you to finally meet his mother. It should help your relationship with her.’
‘I do hope so.’
‘I’ll be in touch then. You know where we are if you need us.’
‘Thank you.’
We said goodbye and within five minutes the phone had rung again. This time it was the secretary from Max’s school to say that Mrs Marshall could see me the following day at the start of her lunch break at 12.15 p.m. I thanked her, confirmed I’d be there and made a mental note to ask a friend to collect Paula from nursery, which ended at noon.
The afternoon disappeared. After Paula and I had eaten lunch, she amused herself while I cleared up and then prepared dinner. Although the logistics of the afternoon school run – collecting Adrian and then Max, fitting in dinner and then going to the hospital for contact – were manageable, I knew there wouldn’t be a minute to spare. At 3.30 Paula and I were in the playground again to collect Adrian. Max didn’t have to be collected until around 4.15, so we had time to pop home for a quick drink and to freshen up before leaving again.
Adrian and Paula came with me into the school and to the hall where Max’s after-school club was held. He saw us as we entered and immediately stood and came over. I explained to the person in charge who I was and showed her my ID, which all foster carers now carry. She’d been informed that I would be collecting Max and, thanking her, we left.
On the way home in the car I asked Max if he’d had a good day as I always ask the children at the end of school. Max said he had, adding that he liked school and school dinners, particularly the sticky toffee pudding and custard they’d had today, of which he’d had second helpings.
Once home, the children washed while I put the finishing touches to dinner. There was just enough time for us to eat before we had to leave again at five o’clock to go to the hospital. I was pretty paranoid about being late after all the warnings from Jo and had one eye on the clock the whole time, but despite meeting traffic in the town we arrived at the hospital with ten minutes to spare. I knew the name of the ward and Max knew where it was from his previous visits. Using the handrail, Max hauled himself up the two flights of stairs and we went into the ward.
It was a typical National Health Service six-bed ward, with three beds on each side, separated by a bedside cabinet, chair and curtains, none of which were closed at present. Everyone had visitors, and even if one group of visitors hadn’t looked over as we walked in I still would have guessed which was Caz’s bed. At the far end of the ward on the left, three teenage girls were grouped around a bed, one sitting in the chair and the other two leaning against the bed. All were badly overweight.
‘Hi, Max,’ one of the girls called. ‘Come here.’
He waddled down the ward and I told Adrian and Paula to wait just inside the door while I said hello to Max’s family. They knew we were going to go to the café afterwards.
I went up to the bed as Max was giving his mother a kiss on her offered cheek. His sisters stared at me, looking me up and down, curious as to who was looking after their brother. I smiled. ‘Hello, I’m Cathy. Nice to meet you all.’ Then to Caz, ‘How are you?’
She was propped on three pillows, the covers raised off her legs and feet by a curved blanket support. She completely ignored me and made a point of concentrating on offering Max a sweet from one of the many packets open on the bed. I’d experienced parents of children I’d fostered blanking me, or even being rude and aggressive, because they were angry at having their children taken into care. Clearly Caz was still angry with me. Apparently, so too were her daughters.
‘Mum doesn’t want to talk to you,’ the girl leaning against the right side of the bed said to me.
The girl on the other side nodded. ‘You should go,’ she said rudely.
I looked at Caz, who kept her gaze down and was helping Max choose another sweet. ‘I’ll come back at seven o’clock then,’ I said positively. ‘I’ll be in the café and play area if you need me.’
‘Why should we need you?’ the girl to the right said.
‘In case Max wants to leave early,’ I replied politely.
‘He won’t,’ Caz said, still not looking at me.
I nodded, forced a smile and walked away to the sound of them whispering and laughing, probably about me.
Hiding my discomposure, I went to Adrian and Paula and we left the ward. I was hurt by Caz and her daughters’ open hostility and rudeness. It wouldn’t help Max either, witnessing that. Children in care often struggle with divided loyalties: wanting to like and get on with their foster family, while loving their own family. It can be very confusing and it helps the child enormously if they see everyone getting along. But clearly that wasn’t going to happen yet.
We went up another flight of stairs to the play area and café, which were adjacent to each other. Children of various ages were already there. Adrian and Paula went over to play, while I sat at one of the tables and watched them, then after a while they came over and I bought us all a drink. I wondered if Max was thirsty, but I didn’t think going back to the ward to ask if he wanted a drink would be welcomed by his mother right now. Adrian set about doing his homework while I read Paula a story, then she returned to play with another similar-aged child in the play area.
So the time gradually passed. Adrian completed his homework and Paula was happy to play. Just before seven o’clock I said it was time to go and we packed away. Paula called goodbye to the new friend she’d made and we returned to the ward. Again I told Adrian and Paula to wait just inside the door while I went over to Caz. There was only one of her daughters there now, the youngest, sitting in the chair by the bed and yawning while absently flicking through a glossy teenage magazine. She looked bored stiff. Max was leaning against the bed but straightened when he saw me. ‘Are we going?’ he asked brightly.
‘Yes. It’s seven o’clock. Have you had a nice time?’
‘Of course he’s had a nice time,’ Caz snapped. I hadn’t intended any harm by the comment. I always ask a child if they’ve had a nice time if they’ve been somewhere.
‘Good. How are you doing?’ I tried again with Caz.
‘She’s had her toes off,’ her daughter said, stifling another yawn.
‘And it bleedin’ hurts,’ Caz said forcefully to her.
‘I’m sure it does,’ I sympathized. I would have liked to engage Caz in a proper conversation, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen, and Max seemed ready to leave.
‘My bag is under the bed,’ he said, struggling to bend down to retrieve it. I helped him pull the large zipper holdall from beneath the bed. ‘They remembered Buzz, so Adrian can have his back,’ he added.
‘Who’s Adrian?’ Caz said, suddenly turning to me.
‘My son. He’s waiting over there by the door with my daughter.’ She looked over and then returned her attention to her daughter. ‘Any good celeb gossip in there?’ she asked her, referring to the magazine.
‘Nah,’ she said, flicking the page and just looking at the pictures.
‘We’ll be off then,’ I said. ‘See you tomorrow.’
Caz turned to Max. ‘Give us a kiss then.’ She offered her cheek and he dutifully kissed it. ‘And your sister.’ His sister didn’t move, so Max squeezed around the bed to where she sat and she lowered her cheek, just enough for him to kiss it, while keeping her gaze on the magazine.
‘Goodbye,’ I said to them both, raising another smile. ‘Take care.’
But they kept their eyes down and Caz reached for the bag of sweets.
I picked up the holdall and we crossed to where Adrian and Paula were waiting and left. Some children become very distressed after separating from their parents at the end of contact, but Max seemed to deal with it in his usual pragmatic, matter-of-fact manner. He plodded along the corridor, then, taking the handrail, carefully manoeuvred himself down the stairs. By the time we were outside he was telling me he was hungry and asking if there would be time to have a snack before bed. I said there would be. We’d had an early dinner so it was reasonable for us to have a drink and a snack before bed. I asked Max if he’d been thirsty while he’d been on the ward, as he could take a bottle of water in with him next time. He said it was OK, as his sister had got him a bottle of cola. Then as I drove he asked if he could read in bed as he did at home.