by Cathy Glass
Many toddlers of Kit’s age are like wriggly worms when you try to change their nappies and dress them, seeing it as a game. Kit just lay there on the changing mat, unresponsive and staring at me, clearly wondering where his mummy and daddy were, what he was doing here and who the hell I was. I smiled at him and spoke gently as I worked, so hopefully he could see I was friendly and would do him no harm. At his age it would be impossible to give him any understanding of the situation. Molly would have some understanding and might start talking about the abuse in time, but Kit was unlikely to ever be able to verbalize what he’d seen and heard. Babies and toddlers intuit, feeling rather than reasoning – sensations, impressions and random images that might fade with time. Neither child spoke or made any noise as Molly dressed herself and I dressed Kit. I found their silence as upsetting as their crying.
Once they were ready, I took hold of their hands and we went carefully downstairs. Included in the equipment I’d brought down from the loft was a stair gate and I’d put it in place once Kit started exploring. There was no sign of him doing that yet. He was staying close and clinging to either Molly or me.
In the kitchen-diner I asked Molly what she and Kit usually had for breakfast and she said yoghurt.
‘What about some cereal and toast as well?’ I asked. I opened the cupboard door where the packets of cereals were kept to show her and she pointed to the hot oat cereal – a smooth porridge.
‘Good girl.’ I took it out. ‘Does Kit have this too?’ She nodded. ‘What about toast?’ She shook her head. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Juice,’ she replied. ‘Where’s my mummy?’
‘At home, love. I expect she’s having her breakfast too.’
Kit was standing where I’d put him by my leg and I now lifted him up and carried him to the table where I strapped him into the booster seat, then gave him his trainer cup. Molly slipped into the chair beside him. ‘Good girl. Can you watch your brother while I make your porridge?’ I said, although I could see them both from the kitchen.
I warmed the porridge in the microwave, took the yoghurt from the fridge and joined them at the table. I’d had my breakfast earlier. Molly fed herself and I fed Kit. He tried to pick up his spoon, but the plaster cast clunked heavily against the bowl, making it impossible to dip in the spoon. They ate most of the porridge and a little yoghurt, and drank their juice, so I was happy with that and praised them.
‘We’ve got a busy day,’ I said, lifting Kit out of the seat. ‘First, we’ll go into the living room where the toys are and you can play while I make a phone call.’ I needed to speak to Edith.
I took them by the hand and they came with me into the living room, silent and obedient, where I settled them with some toys on the floor. It was now just after 9 a.m. and I was hoping Edith would be at her desk. Taking the handset from the corner unit, I keyed in her number and she answered.
‘Hello. How are you?’ she asked.
‘OK. Molly and Kit were placed yesterday late afternoon.’
‘Yes, Preeta left a message.’
‘I need some cover. Tess has arranged a meeting at one o’clock with the children’s parents, but I haven’t got anyone to look after the children.’
‘Who are your nominated support carers?’ she asked.
‘Lucy and Paula, but they are at work and college and it’s too short notice for them to take half a day off.’
‘Don’t the children go to nursery?’ she asked.
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘I don’t think we have anyone free. Can’t you take them with you?’
‘No.’ I kept my patience. ‘Can I suggest you try another foster carer – Maggie Taylor? We’ve helped each other out in the past.’
‘I can try, but if she can’t do it, can you change the day of the meeting?’
‘I doubt it. You’d have to ask Tess.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said with a small sigh. She clearly didn’t need this first thing on a Friday morning and neither did I, but part of her role was to support foster carers.
I then had a nail-biting wait. Foster carers are expected to provide their own support, and usually I did, but sometimes we need help and we shouldn’t have to jump through hoops or be made to feel guilty for asking. I’d found before that Edith wasn’t the most proactive of supervising social workers compared to Jill, who’d been my supervising social worker at Homefinders, the independent agency I used to foster for. She was a gem, but when their local office had closed and Jill had left, I’d transferred to the local authority. It didn’t make any difference to the children I fostered, but it was at times like this I missed the high level of support and understanding the agency gave its carers twenty-four hours a day, every day of the year.
Thankfully when Edith returned my call an hour later she said Maggie could help and she’d phone me to arrange the details. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Chapter Four
Good Mother
Maggie telephoned ten minutes after Edith, bright and bubbly, and very willing to help. ‘I hear you’ve got two little ones. That’ll make a nice change,’ she said.
‘Yes, although they’re missing their parents dreadfully and we’ve been up all night.’
‘Join the club. Anyway, happy to help. As the children have only just been placed with you, I suggest I come to you to look after them, rather than you bringing them here, so they don’t have another change of house.’
‘Yes, please. That would be perfect.’ I had thought similar myself.
‘I’ll have to bring Keelie with me,’ Maggie said. ‘She’s been excluded from school again. But she’s good with kids and can help me. What time do you want us?’
‘The meeting is at one o’clock so twelve-thirty would be good.’
‘Fine. We’ll see you then.’
‘Thank you so much.’
‘You’re welcome.’
I knew Keelie. She was thirteen and Maggie and her husband had been fostering her for four years. She’d always shown some challenging behaviour, as it’s called, but since she’d hit puberty it had got a lot worse – staying out at night, drinking, smoking and generally getting into trouble at home, school and with the police. I guessed she was the reason Maggie had been up all night. Thankfully she and her husband were highly experienced foster carers and were taking it in their stride. Keelie was with them long term so was a permanent member of their family.
I explained to Molly and Kit what was going to happen – that my friend, Maggie, and a ‘big girl’ called Keelie were coming to look after them while I went to a meeting, and I would come back later. I didn’t tell them I was going to meet their parents, as it would have been confusing and upsetting for them. Both children just looked at me. I didn’t expect Kit to understand, but Molly should have some understanding of what I’d said.
The morning disappeared. I stayed in the living room for most of it, trying to engage the children in play. I had some success, although I wouldn’t call it playing. They looked at and held the toys, games and puzzles as I showed them, but didn’t actually play. Sammy came to investigate and to begin with was as nervous of them as they were of him. I showed them how to stroke his fur smoothly – running their hands down from his head to his tail. Neither of the children had shown any signs of a fur allergy, and coupled with their father telling Tess he didn’t think they had any allergies I was reasonably confident they weren’t allergic to cat fur at least.
At twelve noon I made us a sandwich lunch, followed by fruit, which they ate. Some children won’t eat fruit and vegetables when they first come into care, as these foods have never been part of their diet. But Molly and Kit ate the sliced banana, tangerine segments and halved grapes I arranged in little pots. Because the fruit could be eaten using fingers, Kit fed himself. They ate slowly and unenthusiastically, but at least they ate. I smiled and pr
aised them. ‘Do you have food like this at home?’ I asked without thinking, and I could have kicked myself.
‘I want to go home,’ Molly said, rubbing her eyes as if about to cry at the reminder of home. ‘I want my mummy.’
‘Mummy, Mummy,’ Kit said, his bottom lip trembling.
‘It’s OK. You’ll see her soon.’ I gave them a hug and took out some more toys to distract them.
Maggie and Keelie arrived just before 12.30 and the children came with me to the front door.
‘Hello, baby!’ Keelie squealed excitedly as soon as she saw Kit. She rushed in and picked him up.
‘Steady,’ Maggie warned her. ‘He’s already got one broken arm, he doesn’t want another one.’
I smiled while Keelie scowled at her, and Kit just looked bemused.
‘How are you, Keelie?’ I asked her as we went through to the living room. I hadn’t seen her for a few months.
‘Excluded,’ she said as if this was her sole purpose in life and her claim to fame. ‘Suits me. I don’t like school and I get a lie-in.’
Maggie threw me a knowing look. Many schools have stopped the practice of excluding pupils for bad behaviour for this reason. It’s counter-productive. Why should a young person who’s got into trouble be rewarded with time off while their hard-working classmates are busy at school? Also having them unoccupied for large periods of time is likely to lead to more trouble.
‘She’s going back to school on Monday,’ Maggie said. Keelie was exploring the toy box with more enthusiasm than the children.
‘In your dreams,’ she retorted. But I knew she would be in school on Monday. Maggie and her husband would make sure of it, just as they had all the other times she’d been excluded. They knew when to be firm.
‘Help yourself to whatever you want,’ I told Maggie. ‘You know where the tea, coffee and biscuits are. Clean nappies and wipes are in their bedroom if you need them. I should be back around two-thirty. I’ve tried to explain to Molly and Kit what is happening,’ I said, glancing at then, ‘but not who I’m meeting.’
She nodded. ‘I understand. Don’t worry. They’ll be fine.’
‘Do they talk?’ Keelie asked. The children were standing in silence, watching her as she continued to explore the toys and games.
‘Molly does a little,’ I said. ‘It’s likely Kit will have some language at his age. But they only arrived yesterday, so they are both shy.’
‘Was I shy?’ Keelie asked Maggie, glancing up at her.
‘No, love, shyness wasn’t really your thing. You showed your upset in other ways.’
‘I bet I was a right pain in the arse.’ Keelie grinned.
‘Not as much as you are now,’ Maggie replied affectionately, and they both laughed. Despite their banter, I knew how close they were and that Maggie and her husband had worked wonders with Keelie and loved her, as I was sure Keelie loved them.
I said goodbye and drove to the council offices, where I parked in a side road. It was a bright, sunny day and the early-September sun still had some strength in it. I signed in at the reception desk, completing the boxes that asked the reason for my visit and my time of arrival.
‘Which room is the meeting in?’ I asked the receptionist as I hung the security pass around my neck.
‘Room six on the second floor.’
I thanked her and began up the staircase. I’d been here before. Most of the social services meetings were in rooms on the second floor. I was anxious at meeting the children’s parents, Aneta and Filip, for the first time, but I reassured myself I’d met countless parents during my fostering career, and that they were likely to be as anxious as me. When I’d fostered for Homefinders Jill had accompanied me to most meetings, but Edith didn’t. It wasn’t part of the supervising social worker’s role at the local authority. I thought it probably should be, especially for new carers who must find some of these meetings quite daunting.
I was a few minutes early as I arrived outside room six, knocked on the door and went in. A man and a woman I took to be Molly and Kit’s parents sat at the table with their backs to me. At right angles to them and at the end of the table was Tess. Preeta sat opposite the couple. As I entered they fell silent and everyone looked at me. The faces of the parents were the epitome of grief and worry.
‘Hello, I’m Cathy,’ I said as I sat opposite them and next to Preeta. ‘I hope I’m not late.’
‘No. We were early,’ Tess said. Then to the parents, ‘Cathy is the foster carer.’
I threw them a small smile. Aneta just stared at me a bit like the children did, while her husband gave a short nod and looked away. I knew him to be older than his wife, but clearly the worry had aged them both. They had dark circles around their eyes, their foreheads were furrowed in permanent lines, and Aneta had a tissue pressed to her cheek from where she’d been crying. I could see the familial likeness, especially in Filip. Kit was the image of him. Both parents were dressed smart casual, in jeans and jerseys.
‘OK, let’s begin,’ Tess said, drawing herself upright in her chair. ‘This is a short informal meeting so you can all meet. I won’t be taking minutes, but Preeta will make a few notes.’ Aneta sniffed and I could see she wasn’t far from tears. ‘I appreciate this is a very emotional time for you,’ Tess said, looking at the parents, ‘so we’ll keep this meeting short, then you can see Molly and Kit.’
‘When can I see them?’ Aneta asked. I took my pen and notepad from my bag.
‘I’ve arranged contact at the Family Centre for four o’clock this afternoon,’ Tess said. Then to me, ‘That will give you time to go home, collect the children, and take them there.’
‘Yes,’ I said as I wrote: 4 p.m., Family Centre.
‘After today we can probably make contact earlier when the Family Centre is less busy, but I’ll let you know. Cathy, can you tell us how Molly and Kit are settling in, please?’
I looked at the parents. It was heart-breaking to see their anguish. Aneta was wiping away fresh tears. How parents cope with losing their children I’ll never know. Whatever had happened, they didn’t set out to lose their children.
‘Molly and Kit are lovely children,’ I began. ‘They are a credit to you. They’re obviously missing you, but they’re eating well and –’
‘What have you given them to eat?’ Aneta interrupted anxiously.
I thought back. ‘For dinner last night we had cottage pie,’ I said. ‘For breakfast they had hot oat cereal, which Molly chose, and then some yoghurt. For lunch today they had a cheese sandwich and some fruit.’
Filip nodded, but Aneta was looking even more worried and I wondered if there was something wrong in what I’d said. ‘Will the person looking after them now give them anything to eat?’ she asked, so I guessed Tess or Preeta had told them of the child-minding arrangements.
‘Possibly a drink and a biscuit,’ I replied. ‘Why? Is there a problem?’
‘You have to be very careful what you give them to eat and drink,’ Aneta said intensely. ‘My children have a lot of allergies and can easily fall sick.’
‘Can you tell me what the allergies are?’ I asked, my pen ready. ‘So I know which foods to avoid. I understood they didn’t have any allergies.’ Preeta was ready to write too.
‘Lots of things make them sick,’ Aneta said defensively. ‘I can’t tell you them all, and they change. I’m always at the doctor’s or hospital with my children. Not even the doctors can find out what’s wrong with them.’
‘I see,’ I said. Of course, Tess had told me the doctor’s view was that they didn’t have any allergies. ‘Can you narrow down the allergy to a group of foods? For example, is it dairy produce?’
‘Can you narrow it down at all?’ Tess asked, and I thought she looked sceptical.
Aneta shook her head. ‘No, and it’s not always food,’ she said vehemently. ‘Sometimes it can be the stuff
I wash clothes in, or they brush past something or it’s in the air. You mustn’t use bubble bath.’
‘No, I don’t anyway. Young skin is delicate so I keep bathing simple – just a bit of baby shampoo for their hair.’
‘That can cause an allergic reaction too,’ she said with anxious satisfaction. I noticed she was becoming more agitated as she spoke, while Filip sat with his eyes down, concentrating on the table, apparently completely out of his depth.
‘How do these allergic reactions manifest themselves?’ Preeta asked. I’d written allergies on my notepad ready to list them, but so far I’d just put bubble bath, which I didn’t use anyway.
‘My children get a temperature and start vomiting,’ Aneta said animatedly. ‘I have to get an emergency appointment at the doctor’s or call an ambulance. But it stops as suddenly as it starts.’
‘Do they have a rash?’ I asked.
‘Sometimes, but usually they vomit.’ Her face crumpled and her tears fell again. ‘You should never have taken my children away,’ she said to Tess. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m innocent. I love my children and they need me. I’m the only one who can look after them.’
Filip placed a reassuring hand on his wife’s arm but didn’t look at her or speak. I thought he was barely coping too.
‘I love my children,’ Aneta wept. ‘I’m a good mother. My only crime was to take them to the doctor’s if they were ill, or if they fell and hurt themselves. They bruise easily. I’m being punished for looking after them properly. It’s not right.’ So upset and sincere, it again flashed across my mind that I hoped the social services had got it right in bringing the children into care.
‘So to be clear,’ Tess said. ‘There is nothing specific you can tell Cathy about which foods trigger an allergic reaction in either of your children?’
‘No,’ Aneta said, wiping her eyes.
‘Have you ever kept a food diary?’ Tess asked. ‘It’s often recommended by doctors as a way of finding out what a child is allergic to. You keep a record of what they have eaten and any symptoms they have experienced.’