by Cathy Glass
‘Elf,’ she said, smiling at her.
Chris didn’t have time to come in so I wished her good luck and she kissed Elspeth goodbye.
‘Bye,’ Elspeth said, waving.
‘Bye,’ Paula repeated, also waving.
Two little cuties. Chris smiled as she left, despite the pain she was in.
Six months older than Paula, Elspeth (or rather Elf) chatted away to Paula and kept her amused, when she wasn’t chasing the cat. Elspeth didn’t have any pets at her house, so Toscha was a novelty. She was fascinated by the way she cleaned herself with her paw and purred when stroked. Chris was only gone for an hour and returned with a prescription for antibiotics and another appointment in ten days’ time, when I said I’d look after Elspeth again if necessary. She thanked me and stayed for a quick cup of tea before we both had to leave and go our separate ways to collect our children from their schools. I knew the care plan for Elspeth was originally for her to return to her mother, but that was looking increasingly less likely as the poor woman kept dropping out of the methadone programme she was in and returning to heroin. I knew that before long the social services would have to decide if going home was feasible and, if not, they would place Elspeth for adoption. Sad though this would be, it’s unfair to leave a child in care indefinitely and deny them a chance of a permanent family of their own.
On Friday morning my thoughts turned again to Samson’s gran and they continued to do so as the day wore on. By early afternoon I knew the judge would have probably heard all the evidence and would be delivering his or her judgment. I thought Samson’s gran (and other family members) were probably resigned to their fate by now and would just want to get the inevitable over and done with – to hear the decision and prepare to say goodbye to Samson.
I collected Adrian from school, gave Samson’s room a final check and then made dinner. I was expecting his social worker to telephone at any time, but by 5.30 when she still hadn’t phoned I assumed she’d been too busy and would simply arrive with Samson after contact, which finished at six o’clock. I knew how hectic it was for social workers after a court hearing when they had to bring a child into care. I’d no idea what personal possessions Samson would be bringing with him, but if necessary he could use the spare clothes I kept until he had some of his own, either from home or bought by me. Hopefully his gran would pack his favourite toys, which would help him settle in.
When the phone rang at 5.45 I was relieved to hear Samson’s social worker. ‘Sorry I haven’t been in touch sooner,’ she said. ‘This is the first opportunity. It’s been non-stop.’
‘I can imagine,’ I said.
‘I doubt it. We didn’t get the order. Samson’s not coming into care. Not now, at least.’
‘Oh,’ I said. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed – I felt a bit of both.
‘The judge wants more support put into the family, with a review in three months’ time. I’m not sure what else we can do, but we have to accept and abide by the ruling. The hearing had its moments, though. The first day was a fiasco. The whole family turned up: aunts, uncles, cousins I’d never heard of, his gran, his father – no sign of the mum. They brought the dog with them too, which they tied up outside the court.’
‘Oh no!’
‘You could hear it barking from inside the courtroom. The judge wasn’t impressed and said it was cruel to leave it tied up all day, and also it was terrorizing those coming into and leaving the building. He told them not to bring it back the next day.’
I had to smile; having met Bruno, I fully appreciated the scene.
‘But Gran’s barrister made a good case for Samson staying at home, with more support. So that’s what we’re going to do, starting with fumigating the flat.’
‘Pardon?’ I said, thinking I’d misheard.
‘They’ve got bed bugs. Gran told the judge she’d been asking the council for weeks to fumigate the flat, but nothing had been done. She pulled up her top and showed him her bite marks. The family laughed, but they were bad, and the judge criticized us for not doing anything about it sooner. I’ve just contacted pest control now; they’re fumigating the flat next week. I hope Samson didn’t bring any bugs with him when he stayed with you.’
‘So do I!’ I said, grimacing and involuntarily scratching my arm.
‘Check the room he slept in. Especially the bedding and curtains. They are easily transported on clothes and in luggage and can reproduce very quickly. Do you know what they look like?’
‘Yes, I think so. I’ve seen pictures.’
‘So, Cathy, that’s it really. Samson will continue to have supervised contact with his father once a week, and we’ll look at what other support we can put into the family. I expect you’ll be asked to have Samson again on respite.’
‘That’s fine if I haven’t got another child,’ I said.
‘I’ve put your name back on the board again. I’m going home now. I’m exhausted. Have a good weekend.’
‘And you.’ We said goodbye.
I could tell she was disappointed at the ruling, as indeed to some extent I was. All that planning and organizing had come to nothing. Clearly the social services had believed that bringing Samson into care full time was the right course of action or they wouldn’t have applied for an order, but now they had to comply with the judge’s decision, whether they agreed with it or not. What would happen in three months’ time would depend on the progress the family had made in meeting Samson’s needs, but for now he could stay at home and I had to readjust to that, as would his social worker. I went into the living room where Adrian and Paula were playing with Lego and I told them that Samson wouldn’t be coming to live with us after all.
‘Oh,’ Adrian said, surprised. ‘Why not?’
‘The judge has decided he should stay with his gran, although he may come to us again on respite.’
‘That’s good for him and his gran then,’ Adrian said perceptively.
‘Yes, it is. Very good,’ I said. ‘Can you watch Paula for a few minutes? I need to check Samson’s room – I mean, the spare room.’
Adrian nodded. He was responsible enough that I could leave him with Paula while I went upstairs for a while. It still seemed to me to be Samson’s room with the bedding and posters I’d chosen with him in mind. I went in and began searching for any uninvited guests: little brown bugs that turned red after feeding on human blood and caused their host a lot of itching and painful swelling. I checked the walls first, especially the corners, for while bed bugs feed on their hosts at night in bed they can live anywhere in a room. Although the bedding was freshly laundered I carefully pulled back the duvet, watching for any signs of life, and removed the cover and thoroughly checked it inside and out. Then the pillowcase, sheet and mattress protector. I turned the mattress and examined it on both sides but it was clear. I’d have been surprised if I had found bugs, as I regularly change the bedding, vacuum and thoroughly clean the room, so even if Samson had brought any with him they should have been disposed of in the cleaning. Lastly, I checked behind the curtains, the drawers and wardrobe, and they were clear too, but just to be perfectly sure I’d vacuum the room again tomorrow when I had time. As I refolded the bedding I looked around the room. I’d invested so much time in preparing and customizing it for Samson’s arrival. It seemed a sad place now, lonely and empty, as though in losing its purpose it had lost its soul. But even well-laid plans can and do change abruptly, and accepting this, adjusting and moving on is all part of fostering.
My name was on the whiteboard again at the social services as being free to foster, so it was possible I could have a child placed with me over the weekend as an emergency. The following morning, as soon as Adrian and Paula were up, I thoroughly cleaned the spare room again. I didn’t know the age or sex of the child I might be asked to foster, so for the time being I left up all the posters and remade the bed with the superhero duvet cover I’d put on fresh for Samson.
As it turned out my prepa
rations didn’t go to waste this time. Although I didn’t receive a call to take a child as an emergency over the weekend, on Monday morning I was surprised to receive a phone call from Samson’s social worker.
‘Hello again,’ she said, sounding more upbeat than she had on Friday. ‘Did you have a good weekend?’
‘Yes, thank you. Did you?’
‘Wonderful. I slept for most of it.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘The reason I’m phoning is that Samson’s flat is being fumigated tomorrow, Tuesday, and while it’s OK for them to go back into the flat once the chemical has dried, Gran has asked if Samson can be looked after for the night, just to be safe.’
‘Yes, sure,’ I said. ‘His room is still ready from Friday.’
‘That’s great. Thank you. I’ll tell Gran to pack an overnight bag for him to take to school with him tomorrow morning. Then you can collect him from after-school club at five o’clock and take him straight home with you.’
‘Yes, that’s fine.’
‘On Wednesday morning take him to breakfast club with his bag, and he’ll go home at the end of the day as normal.’
‘That works well for me,’ I said.
‘Good.’ She gave me the name and address of the school, which I wrote down. ‘Thanks, Cathy.’
I was pleased to be looking after Samson again, even if it was only for one night, although I’d be checking his bag to make sure he hadn’t brought any bed bugs with him. I knew from an article I’d read previously just how quickly an infestation can occur and how difficult it was to get rid of.
When I saw Laura in the playground that afternoon she asked why I hadn’t got another child with me, as I’d told her I was expecting a child to arrive on Friday. I said only that the judge hadn’t granted the social services the Care Order, and she was surprised. ‘So they don’t get it automatically?’ she asked.
‘No. They have to prove their case.’ She looked puzzled. ‘If there are concerns about a child,’ I explained, ‘and the parents don’t agree to placing the child in care voluntarily, the social services have to apply to court for a Care Order. They can’t just take a child away.’
‘I see,’ she said. ‘Well, that is reassuring. I assumed the social services had complete authority. I didn’t realize a judge could overrule them.’
‘I think a lot of people believe that,’ I said. ‘I’ve heard similar said before, but the social services have to prove to the judge that there are sufficient grounds to remove a child. If there aren’t then the child remains at home and the social services usually continue to monitor the family.’
‘I see,’ she said again. Then as we walked home together Laura said, ‘I think that child’s family will try harder in the future, now they’ve had the shock of nearly losing him.’
‘It does happen,’ I said. ‘A wake-up call. Although you have to remember that not everyone has the support of a loving family, as you and I do. It can be very difficult for some families to get their lives back on track. You’d be shocked at just how alone some people are. And some people haven’t had good role models when they were growing up, or were treated badly. These factors can have a huge impact on the way a person treats their own children.’
Laura nodded. I didn’t know how much of this was relevant to Samson’s situation, but it was true generally. Although there were a lot of members in Samson’s extended family, they appeared to let his gran get on with raising Samson without helping or supporting her. And Gran herself sometimes seemed cold and uncaring.
‘Well, I hope that child’s family can change,’ Laura said. ‘I know I would do anything to keep my kids.’
That evening I explained to Adrian (and Paula) that Samson would be coming to stay for one night and outlined the arrangements for collecting him from school the following day and returning him on Wednesday morning.
‘Why don’t I go to breakfast club?’ Adrian asked.
‘There is no need. I don’t have to leave the house early to go out to work.’
‘Does Samson’s gran work?’ he asked. He knew something of Samson’s family from what Samson had told him and from what he’d picked up by going to his flat.
‘No, she doesn’t,’ I said. ‘But it helps her if he has breakfast at school, and I think he likes it.’
‘Is that why he has to stay for after-school club as well?’ Adrian asked. ‘To help her?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Samson said it was to get him out from under her feet.’
‘I guess that is helping her then,’ I said with a smile.
The following day the arrangements worked perfectly. With Samson staying late at after-school club, I had plenty of time to collect Adrian and then drive to Samson’s school where I parked in a side road and we waited until it was time to go in and collect him. A noticeboard outside the school gate said that the after-school club was held in the main hall, so we followed the other parents in. The children were ready with their jackets on, waiting to be collected.
‘That’s her!’ Samson yelled as we entered the hall, making everyone turn to look. He ran over with his school bag on one shoulder and a large holdall on the other.
‘Hi, Samson, good to see you again,’ I said. He high-fived Adrian and then Paula. I showed the person in charge my foster-carer ID and we left.
‘We’ve got bed bugs,’ Samson announced proudly.
‘Really?’ Adrian said, impressed, not knowing what these were.
Samson told him. ‘They live in your bed and while you’re asleep they crawl all over you and suck your blood.’
‘Not your blood,’ I reassured Adrian, who was looking worried. ‘We haven’t got bed bugs.’
‘We have!’ Samson declared, as though it was an achievement. ‘Gran told the judge and showed him where they’d eaten her alive and sucked out all her blood like a vampire.’ I thought Samson had been watching too many horror films again, but it was interesting that his gran had told him she’d been to court. I wondered what else she’d told him.
‘Bed bugs are only very small,’ I reassured Adrian. ‘They take a tiny bit of blood, like a mosquito. But they’re nasty and make you itch. They have to be got rid of.’
‘We’re having them exterminated,’ Samson said as we walked to the car. ‘Like the daleks. Exterminate! Exterminate!’ Raising his arm, he fired at us in a dalek-like extermination and Adrian and then Paula fired back. It was good to see him again, and in a way I felt sad that he wouldn’t be staying for long.
Once home, I settled the children with some toys in the living room while I took Samson’s holdall outside, onto the patio. I opened it and, one item at a time, shook out his clothes, watching for any sign of wildlife. I was impressed by the amount he’d brought with him this time. It was far in excess of the contents of the backpacks he usually brought. Now he’d remembered pyjamas, a dressing gown, wash bag containing a face flannel, toothbrush and paste, a towel, clean underwear, a set of casual clothes and a change of school uniform for the morning, all neatly folded and packed. Having shaken out all the contents of the holdall, I turned the bag over and gave that a good shake too. Relieved that nothing ran out, I quickly repacked the bag and returned indoors, placing it at the foot of the stairs ready to be taken up on my next trip. I returned to the living room where the children were still playing nicely. I thought Samson seemed a lot calmer tonight.
‘Who packed your bag?’ I asked him casually.
‘Gran,’ he said. ‘She said she had to do it to make sure I had everything I needed.’
‘Excellent,’ I said. So perhaps Laura was right and the shock of nearly losing him had given her a wake-up call.
When we were having dinner and his behaviour continued to impress me I praised him. ‘Good boy. You’re doing very well,’ I said.
‘Thanks,’ he said with his impish smile. ‘Gran says I have to behave or the social worker will come and take me away forever. I’m not allowed out on the estate at night any more since I got in trouble with the police. And I
’ve got to stop cheeking the teachers at school, but that ain’t easy. It gives me a headache trying to be good all the time, but I don’t want to be taken away.’
While I wasn’t sure I agreed with threatening a child with being taken away if they didn’t behave, if it worked for his gran, who was I to criticize?
After dinner I heard both boys read from their school books and then I left them playing while I took Paula up to bed. I couldn’t have done that when Samson had first come to us on respite; I’d had to watch him the whole time. Once Paula was settled I returned downstairs to the living room where the boys were now sitting side by side on the sofa. Was it my imagination or were they looking a little guilty, as though they had a secret?
‘What’s going on?’ I asked lightly.
They giggled, nudged each other and then Adrian said, ‘Samson’s got a pet. Can you guess what it is?’
‘That’s easy,’ I said. ‘I’ve met Bruno. He’s a big dog.’
Both boys laughed raucously. ‘No!’ Adrian said. ‘He’s got another pet. A new one. Guess what it is.’
I thought the last thing Gran needed was another mouth to feed, for even small pets need a lot of care and looking after.
‘Is it a cat?’ I asked.
‘Noooo!’ they chorused together and laughed conspiratorially.
‘A rabbit?’
‘Noooo!’
‘A gerbil?’ I suggested.
‘Noooo!’
‘A snake, spider, alligator, elephant, giraffe?’ I said in a rush, also laughing.
‘Noooo!’ they yelled.
Then Adrian turned to Samson. ‘Go on, show her. She won’t mind.’
I felt a stab of anxiety and misgiving as Samson dug his hand into his trouser pocket, took out a matchbox and began to open it.