by Cathy Glass
‘I see,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘Something certainly seems to have gone badly wrong for you all to feel this way.’
‘Every time she speaks to Laura, Laura ends up in tears. And when she’s not there Laura worries about what she’s saying about her – the reports she writes and the meetings she has with her manager, which Laura isn’t invited to. Laura says she feels her life is slipping out of her control again, because of this woman. She was doing so well. Do you think we have a good reason to ask for a change of social worker or will they say we’re causing trouble?’
‘I know of cases where there has been a change of social worker,’ I said. ‘Either because the social services felt it was appropriate, or the client requested it.’
‘So it does happen?’
‘Yes. Sometimes.’
‘Do you think we should say it’s a personality clash, rather than blaming the social worker?’
‘I suppose it would be more diplomatic, although I think she needs to know how you all feel. She’ll probably have no idea of the harm she’s doing. Have you spoken to her about it?’
‘No.’ Geraldine shook her head.
‘Would you feel comfortable discussing it with her?’
‘I think that would be very difficult,’ she said, her brow creasing.
‘Then you will probably need to speak to her manager.’
‘And we wouldn’t be considered trouble-makers, for going behind her back?’
‘No. You have valid concerns.’
‘So if we request a change of social worker, can we ask for one by name? And if so, can you recommend one, or is that not allowed?’
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘But I’ve worked with a lot of excellent social workers. What’s happened here is unfortunate. If it’s decided that a change of social worker is appropriate, it will depend on caseload and experience as to who takes over Laura’s case.’
‘I see,’ Geraldine said, and wrung her hands in her lap. ‘This is so difficult. Should we phone, write or make an appointment to see someone? Who do we ask for? Do you know the name of her manager?’
‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t offhand.’ I hesitated and then said, ‘Would it help if I telephoned the social services and found out who you should speak to? And confirmed what the correct procedure is?’
‘Oh, yes. Would you? We’d be so grateful. We feel completely out of our depth. We don’t want to say the wrong thing and make it worse.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll phone on Monday. But if they ask who it is in connection with, do I have permission to tell them?’
She hesitated. ‘Yes, if it helps. I’ll leave it to your discretion. Do what you think is necessary.’
‘And Laura and Andy are happy for me to telephone?’
‘I’m sure they will be. I’ll ask them when I get back. Thank you so much, Cathy. I am grateful. I’ll let you get on then.’ Adjusting her cardigan, she stood ready to leave.
As I saw her out she thanked me again and said she’d phone as soon as she’d discussed what I’d said with Andy and Laura. She was going there now. I asked her to pass on my best wishes to Laura and to remind her that if she felt like dropping by I’d be very pleased to see her.
‘I’ll tell her,’ she said.
Having seen her out, I closed the front door and returned to the living room, deep in thought. I could understood why Geraldine, Andy and Laura felt the way they did: viewing the social services as a vast, secretive, impenetrable organization with immense powers, ultimately to take your children away. Many feel this way, and until there is complete transparency in the system, with court cases accessible to the public, this view won’t change. Sadly it seemed that Laura’s social worker had compounded this perception. I suppose the family saw me, a foster carer, as a halfway point, a stepping stone, between them and the social services, and to a certain extent I was. Because of my role I had greater insight into the workings of the social services and possibly more accessibility. However, I didn’t know whom I should contact to ask advice about a change of social worker; it wasn’t something I’d ever been involved in before. Recently, I’d been working with two very good social workers, albeit for respite care only: Samson’s and Shelley’s. Of the two I’d found Shelley’s more approachable. Shelley had spoken highly of her social worker, and I remembered she’d said she’d been very supportive of her when she’d been low after having Darrel. I decided she was the person to ask for advice and I decided I would telephone her on Monday, assuming of course that Andy and Laura agreed with Geraldine that I should phone.
They did. At nine-thirty, three-quarters of an hour after Geraldine had left me, Andy telephoned.
‘Thanks, Cathy. Geraldine’s told us what you’ve said and we’d like to accept your kind offer. Please go ahead, but could you emphasize that we’re not making a complaint; we just feel Laura would benefit from a change of social worker.’
‘I understand,’ I said.
I then asked after Laura, and Andy said more or less what Geraldine had said. I finished by saying I’d let them know as soon as I’d spoken to someone at the social services on Monday.
‘Thanks again,’ he said.
I find that bad news never seems to come alone, and having heard that Laura had suffered a setback, I was shortly to receive more unwelcome news. On Sunday evening the children and I were in the living room; I was reading a story to them while we waited for John’s weekly telephone call from America. He always called about the same time on a Sunday and Adrian answered it. Aged five, this was the only time he was allowed to answer the phone, as I knew who it would be. He loved this small responsibility. ‘Hello, Daddy,’ he always said proudly, as soon as he picked up the handset, without waiting to hear his father’s voice. Then John usually said, ‘Hi, Son, how are you?’ And they’d start chatting. Tonight, however, with John due home the following weekend, Adrian’s excitement was bubbling over. He snatched up the handset and cried all in one breath, ‘Hi, Dad, I’m going to see you soon! I can’t wait.’
He went very quiet and I watched his little face fall, then he said quietly, ‘Why not? You promised.’
Close to tears, he passed the handset to me. ‘Dad wants to speak to you,’ he said. ‘He’s not coming home next weekend.’
I put the phone to my ear. ‘John?’
Both children watched me carefully as I listened to what John had to say. Paula wasn’t old enough to understand what was happening, but she sensed the atmosphere had changed.
‘I’m sorry, love,’ John said. ‘I know you’re all disappointed. But the project I’m working on has developed a problem. I’ve had to cancel all leave and keep everyone on site until it’s sorted out.’
‘How long is that likely to take?’ I asked, trying to adopt the sensible, adult approach.
‘I’m hoping we’ll get it fixed in a couple of weeks, but it could take longer.’
‘And you have to be there?’ I asked. ‘Someone else couldn’t manage it?’
‘No. I’m in charge of this project, so it’s my responsibility. I’m to blame, if you like. Trust me, I’d much rather be at home.’ I heard the stress in his voice and knew he needed my support, not a guilt trip.
‘I understand,’ I said. ‘I’ll explain to Adrian, but he’s bound to be disappointed.’
‘I know. Let me talk to him again. I am sorry.’
I set my expression to an encouraging smile and passed the phone to Adrian. ‘Daddy will be home before too long, he’s just been delayed,’ I said.
I couldn’t hear what John was saying, but I could see from Adrian’s expression that gradually, as his father spoke and reassured him, he accepted that the delay couldn’t be helped and his dad would be home as soon as possible. He then brightened a little and told his father about some of the activities we’d done during the last week. When Adrian had finished talking to his father he passed the phone to Paula. She was able to say ‘Hello’ and ‘Goodbye, Daddy’, and in between she giggled and kept looking at the ph
one to see where his voice was coming from. John always finished by saying goodbye to Adrian and then me.
‘Take care,’ I said. ‘And come home as soon as you can.’
‘Of course I will,’ he said.
That evening as I lay beside Adrian and we had our goodnight chat and hug, I reassured him again that his father would be home as soon as possible.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘At least my daddy lives with us most of the time. Some of the kids at school don’t have that.’
‘That’s right,’ I said, pleased he was adopting a positive approach. ‘And in a few weeks’ time he should be home for good.’
Chapter Twenty
Waiting In
At 11.30 on Monday morning I settled Adrian and Paula in the living room with their toys and took the phone into the hall where I telephoned Shelley’s social worker. It was the second time I’d tried to call her that morning. When I’d phoned her previously a colleague had said she was out of the office and would return around 10.30. I guessed she was very busy on a Monday morning, but now she answered.
‘It’s Cathy Glass. I looked after Darrel,’ I said, feeling slightly guilty for bothering her with a non-urgent matter.
‘Yes, of course, hello. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thank you. I’m sorry to trouble you, but I need some advice and I thought you’d be a good person to ask.’
‘Is it about Shelley and Darrel?’ she asked, a little concerned.
‘No. Not at all. I’m really phoning on behalf of a friend.’ I then quickly explained Laura’s situation – her postnatal depression and psychosis, her admission to hospital, discharge and the problems she was now facing with her social worker, without giving any names. I finished with, ‘Shelley mentioned you’d helped her after she’d had Darrel, so I thought you might be able to give me some guidance that I can pass on to the family on the best way to approach this.’
‘I see, well, normally the social worker would be the person to approach in the first instance when a client has concerns, but it seems to have gone past that point, so they would need to speak to the social worker’s manager. If you tell me who the social worker is I can tell you which manager the family needs to speak to.’
‘Thank you. That’s rather what I thought.’ I told her the social worker’s name.
There was a short pause. ‘Does this refer to Laura and Liam?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I said, slightly surprised.
‘I know their social worker, we’re in the same team and share the same manager. I’m sure she has no idea of the effect her words are having.’
‘No, I’m sure she hasn’t,’ I said. ‘And the family are keen that this isn’t treated as a formal complaint. They might still have to work with her.’
‘Yes, I understand, but our manager is very approachable. I’m sure she’ll be able to help. Her telephone number is –’ I wrote it down. ‘I have a meeting with her this afternoon. Shall I tell her what you’ve said so she’s expecting a call from the family?’
‘I think that would be helpful. Thank you.’
‘But you know, it’s strange that they feel this way. From what I know of the case, Laura is doing very well.’
‘She was,’ I said. ‘I don’t know all the details.’
‘All right. I’ll speak to my manager. And please tell Laura not to worry. I’m sure we can work something out.’
‘Thank you so much. I am grateful.’ We said goodbye.
Before I made the next call – to Laura’s home – I checked on Paula and Adrian, who were still playing, then I stepped into the hall again. I was half expecting Laura’s telephone to be answered by Geraldine, but it was Kim who said a very polite, ‘Hello, who’s calling, please?’
‘Hi, love, it’s Cathy, Adrian’s mum. How are you?’
‘I’m very well, thank you. Did you want to speak to Mummy?’
‘Yes, or Geraldine.’
‘She’s not here. Mummy is in charge. Granny Geraldine only comes here sometimes, when Mummy asks her to.’ Which sounded positive.
‘OK. I’d like to speak to Mummy then, thank you.’
‘Mum!’ Kim shouted. ‘It’s Cathy.’ A moment later Laura came to the phone.
‘Hello, have you spoken to the social services?’ she asked slightly anxiously.
‘Yes, just now. They told me to tell you not to worry, that something can be worked out.’ She gave a long, heartfelt sigh; not so much from relief, I thought, but more as though it was all too much for her. ‘Laura, would you prefer it if I called back later with the details when Andy is home?’ I asked.
‘No, I need to face this. I can’t just hide.’ I heard her sigh again.
‘All right, if you’re sure.’
‘Yes, go ahead.’
‘I’ve emphasized that you’re not making a complaint but that you’d like to discuss certain issues relating to your social worker. As I thought, you need to speak to your social worker’s manager. I have her name and number here.’
‘Just a minute while I fetch a pen and paper.’
I waited, and when she came on the line again I gave her the manager’s details. ‘She’s expecting your call,’ I said.
‘Is she?’ Laura asked, now sounding alarmed. ‘You told her I’d phone?’
‘Not necessarily you. But I said one of your family would – Geraldine or Andy.’
‘Oh yes, sorry. I see. I thought you meant I had to phone them. I couldn’t do that right now. Or perhaps I should and push myself.’ She sounded very tense, so different from the last time I’d seen her when we’d sat in her garden chatting and drinking tea.
‘It’s up to you who phones, but try not to worry,’ I said. ‘The social worker I spoke to was very helpful, and confident something could be worked out. You’re not the only person to ever have had issues with their social worker.’
‘Aren’t I?’ she said. ‘She makes me feel like I am. If she’d just leave me alone I could get on with looking after Liam and Kim. I’m sure I’d do better then. As it is I feel like she’s breathing down my neck the whole time, and one wrong move will put me back in hospital, and the children on the child protection register.’
‘She didn’t say that, surely?’ I asked, horrified.
‘No, but that’s how she makes me feel.’
Cleary Laura’s relationship with her social worker had broken down irretrievably, and I hoped the manager would act quickly before Laura lost any more confidence.
‘So how are you and the family generally?’ I asked, wondering if she’d like a chat.
‘The kids are OK. I’m up and down and trying to stay positive,’ she replied honestly. ‘Sorry I haven’t been to see you.’
‘That’s OK. Come when you feel like it.’
‘I will. Thanks for phoning the social services. I’ll tell Andy when he calls at lunchtime. He’ll know what do to. I’d better go now and see to Liam.’
Laura didn’t want to chat so we said goodbye. I felt very sorry for her. Although it appeared she hadn’t gone back to those really dark days of psychosis, she did sound very down and anxious. I supposed that was the depression resurfacing. I’d done all I could to help, so, forcing aside my worries for Laura, I returned to play with the children.
Life is never dull as a foster carer, and crises in families that require social services’ intervention can develop at any time, so carers have to be very adaptable. At around 12.30 that Monday the children and I were making the most of the good weather and the last week of the school holidays by enjoying a picnic lunch in the garden. When the telephone rang I went into the living room to answer it. I could still see the children from there. It was the social worker of the runaway teenager I’d been put on standby for, and after a pleasant, ‘Hi, how are you, Cathy?’ she told me that the girl, Tracy, had been found and she would bring her to me later that afternoon, together with the paperwork I’d need – essential information and placement forms. She didn’t know what – if any – clothes or to
iletries Tracy would have with her, so I reassured her that I had spares she could use. She couldn’t give me an exact time of arrival, but guessed it would be in a couple of hours. She said she’d phone later when they were on their way. Tracy had been found at the home of a friend by the girl’s mother. They lived two doors away from Tracy and she’d been hiding in her daughter’s bedroom.
I returned to the garden and had to tell Adrian (and Paula) that we couldn’t go to the park that afternoon as we’d planned because Tracy was on her way. To minimize their disappointment I said we would fill the paddling pool, which they loved to play in. But before I did I checked the spare bedroom and changed the duvet cover to one that would appeal to a teenager. Adrian and Paula then helped me to clear away the picnic and fill the pool. The water was cold but that added to their shrieks of delight. I joined in, paddling and splashing, although I was also listening out for the telephone that would bring further news of Tracy. I told Adrian that when they did arrive he and Paula would have to come indoors as I couldn’t leave them unattended by the pool. However, the afternoon went by without Tracy arriving, so when they’d had enough of playing in the pool I emptied it, as I always did for hygiene and safety.
It was nearly five o’clock before the social worker telephoned again, and it wasn’t good news.
‘Tracy’s done another runner,’ she said. ‘By the time we got to her friend’s house she’d gone. Tracy’s mother has given us a couple of addresses of other friends where she might be hiding, so we’ll need to check those.’
‘She’s not coming today then?’ I asked.
‘Not sure yet. The police are going to visit the addresses soon. If she is found then they may bring her to you later this evening or tonight. They’ve got your address and telephone number.’ Which I had to accept. But this meant that not only had I spent the entire afternoon on tenterhooks waiting for news of Tracy’s arrival, but that this was now set to continue into the evening and night. I’m not always sure social workers fully appreciate just what carers go through when they are on standby waiting for a child to arrive. If you’re a police officer or social worker involved in the case you know exactly what’s going on, but the foster carers are often left sitting at home, unable to go out, with little to do but speculate and worry. And the nature of accepting emergency placements, as opposed to long-term fostering, means that this can happen at any time. I love fostering, but it can be very disruptive and makes planning ahead difficult.