by Cathy Glass
Oskar shook his head and looked worried. ‘It’s fine, you don’t have to have a kiss. I’ll just say goodnight and see you in the morning. Call out if you need me.’ I tucked him in and went to the door. ‘Would you like your door left open, closed or a little open?’ I asked him again.
‘Closed,’ he said.
‘OK.’
Leaving the light on low, I came out convinced there was far more going on for Oskar than anyone knew.
Downstairs, I put his clothes in the washer-dryer and then checked his school’s website for its start and finish times. After that, I set about writing up my log notes while I had the chance. All foster carers in the UK are required to keep a daily record of the child or children they are looking after. This includes appointments, the child’s health and well-being, education, significant events and any disclosures the child may make about their past. As well as charting the child’s progress, it can act as an aide-mémoire. When the child leaves, this record is placed on file at the social services. Some carers type these, but I’m not alone in preferring to keep a written record and then emailing a résumé as part of my monthly report to the child’s social worker and my supervising social worker.
As I wrote, I included collecting Oskar from school, that he’d eaten a good meal, how he appeared to be coping with being in care and his comments where appropriate. The account has to be objective, so I didn’t include that I thought there was far more going on in Oskar’s life than anyone knew about. This was conjecture at present and time would tell if I was right or not. Once I’d completed my notes for the day, I stored the folder in a locked drawer in the front room with other important paperwork.
I went upstairs and quietly checked on Oskar. He was fast asleep. I then spent some time talking to Adrian, Paula and Lucy, who thought Oskar was a lovely boy but looked very troubled – ‘as though he has the weight of the world on his shoulders’, Paula said. This wasn’t altogether surprising considering he’d just come into care, regardless of whatever else might have happened in his past. I said I hoped that in time he would start to relax and look a bit happier, as other children we’d fostered had. Generally, children have amazing resilience and adapt to change – in my opinion, they are all little heroes.
Aware that Oskar would probably have an unsettled first night, I went to bed shortly after ten o’clock. I never sleep well when there is a new child in the house. I’m half listening out in case they wake frightened, not knowing where they are and in need of reassurance. I checked on Oskar around 2.00 a.m., and when I woke at 6.00 he was still asleep. Indeed, he slept through until 7.00, when I gently woke him to get ready for school.
‘Where am I?’ he asked, sitting bolt upright in bed.
‘You’re staying with me, Cathy,’ I said quietly.
‘Oh yes, I remember.’ He rubbed his eyes.
I now expected him to ask me when he would see his mummy, as most children would. He’d hardly mentioned her the evening before and he didn’t now. He simply got out of bed, used the toilet, and then I left him to change into his school uniform that I’d laundered the night before. I’d buy another school uniform today, as we couldn’t get by on one and I didn’t know if or when his clothes would be sent from home. Sometimes parents send their child’s belongings once they are less upset and angry about their child going into care, others don’t, in which case I replace the lot.
I waited on the landing while Oskar dressed and then took him downstairs for breakfast, talking to him and reassuring him. Although he wasn’t saying much, he still looked anxious. Adrian and Lucy were already at the table having their breakfasts and said hi to Oskar. He looked at them warily. Paula didn’t have to leave as early as they did and would come down shortly. On a weekday my family usually fix their own breakfasts and then at the weekend, when there is more time, I often make a cooked breakfast.
At dinner the evening before, Oskar had sat next to Adrian where I’d laid his place, but this morning he seemed to purposely go around him to the other side of the table. He sat next to Lucy, as far away from Adrian as possible. ‘I’m honoured,’ Lucy said with a smile, having also noticed Oskar’s decision. It was where Paula usually sat at the table, but she wouldn’t mind.
‘What would you like for breakfast?’ I asked Oskar. ‘Cereal, toast, yoghurt, fruit?’
He looked confused. ‘Would you like to come and see what we have?’ I suggested.
‘You can choose what you want,’ Lucy prompted when he didn’t move.
‘Within reason,’ I added. I wasn’t about to let him have a chocolate bar and fizzy drink for breakfast, as some children I’d fostered were used to. Foster carers are expected to provide healthy, nutritious meals for their family and the children they look after.
Oskar slid quietly from his chair and came into the kitchen, where I opened the cupboard doors and the fridge to show him the choices. He didn’t seem to spot anything he might like. I opened the bread bin. ‘Or toast?’ I asked him.
‘I have rolls, a bit like those,’ he said, pointing, clearly used to something different.
I took out the bag of wholemeal rolls. ‘Would you like these for now and then after school we can go to the supermarket and you can show me what you like to eat?’
He nodded.
‘How many rolls?’
‘One,’ he said.
‘What would you like in it?’
I showed him what we had and he chose ham and a slice of cheese as a filling, and a drink of orange juice. By the time he sat down at the table to eat, Adrian and Lucy were leaving to get ready for work. I took my coffee and sat with Oskar as he ate. It wasn’t long before the smell of ham brought Sammy in, nose twitching. I gave him a stroke and then kept an eye on him, making sure he didn’t jump up and steal some ham, as he tried to do sometimes.
‘Do you like the cat?’ Oskar asked me as he ate.
‘Yes.’ I smiled. ‘He’s like one of the family. Do you have a pet?’
‘At my house …’ he began, and stopped.
‘Yes, love?’
But he continued eating, clearly having decided not to say any more on that topic. Then he asked, ‘Can we go to school now?’
‘When you’ve finished your breakfast. There’s no rush.’
Paula appeared and said hi to us both before getting herself some breakfast. She sat next to me and we talked a little about her college as Oskar finished his roll and then drank the juice.
‘Can we go to school now?’ he asked again the moment he’d finished.
‘Yes, but there’s plenty of time. We won’t be late.’ Given that he’d often been late for school in the past, I guessed it was worrying him.
‘Have a good day,’ Paula said as Oskar and I left the table.
‘And you, love,’ I replied.
I took Oskar upstairs to wash his face and hands and brush his teeth, and then downstairs again we put on our jackets and shoes. He appeared to be very self-sufficient and didn’t need much help from me.
‘Are we going to school now?’ he asked as we got into the car.
‘Yes, but don’t worry, you won’t be late.’
He asked me again as I drove and I said, ‘We’re going to school, but it’s a different route to the one you’re used to, as I live in a different part of town.’
‘I like school,’ he said.
‘Good, I’m pleased.’
‘I like school,’ he said again a minute later. ‘I wish I could stay there.’
I glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. He was looking out of his side window, frowning, deep in thought as he often seemed to be.
‘Why do you prefer school to home?’ I asked gently. Many children like school, but preferring it to home was unusual and also worrying. I’d had children before disclose abuse while I’d been driving. I think it helps, not being able to see the person’s face when saying s
omething painful, similar to writing it down or confiding in a diary.
Oskar hadn’t replied, but he was still frowning and continued to gaze out of his side window.
‘Why is school better than your home?’ I asked again lightly, keeping my eyes on the road ahead. ‘Can you think of a reason?’
‘My teacher is nice,’ he offered.
‘Yes. She is nice,’ I agreed. Although that alone wouldn’t normally be enough for a child to prefer school to home.
‘Are the people in your house nice?’ I asked.
He didn’t reply, but as I looked again in the rear-view mirror I saw him imperceptibly shake his head and his frown deepen.
‘Oskar, love, is there anything about your home life that is worrying you and you can tell me? I know you were able to tell Miss Jordan some things yesterday and that was very brave of you. Is there anything else you want to say?’ He didn’t reply. ‘If you do think of anything, you know you can tell me or Miss Jordan. We are both here to help you.’
But he changed the subject. ‘There’s a cat like Sammy,’ he said, pointing through the window.
‘Yes, he is,’ I agreed.
I parked outside Oskar’s school and he couldn’t get out of the car fast enough, his face losing some of its angst. As soon as we entered the playground, Miss Jordan appeared. I think she must have been looking out for us. She came straight over.
‘My teacher!’ Oskar cried, delighted.
‘How are you, Oskar?’ she asked emotionally. I know teachers aren’t supposed to encourage physical contact with their pupils, but she allowed him a hug.
‘He’s doing fine,’ I told her. ‘He had a good night’s sleep and is eating well.’
‘That’s a relief. I had a sleepless night worrying about him.’ I knew how she felt! ‘I’m sure he’s looking better already, less tired,’ she said. I had thought so too – the dark rings under his eyes were fading. ‘Can you come into reception?’ she asked me. ‘The secretary needs you to fill in a form with your contact details. There wasn’t time yesterday.’
‘Yes. I also need to buy Oskar another school uniform,’ I said.
‘You might not have to. Oskar’s uncle, Mr Nowak, has just brought in a big bag of Oskar’s belongings.’
‘Really? That was quick.’ I was surprised, but pleased Oskar was going to be reunited with some of his possessions.
We followed Miss Jordan into reception where she introduced me to the school secretary, then she waited, talking to Oskar, while I filled in the necessary form. I asked the secretary if Oskar’s school dinners had been paid for. When a child comes into care this becomes the carer’s responsibility and often the bill hasn’t been settled, so I pay it straight away. The secretary checked on her computer and said Oskar’s school meals had been paid for until half-term, so nothing was outstanding.
Miss Jordan then went into the office and brought out a large laundry-style bag that Mr Nowak had dropped off. ‘Will you be able to manage it?’ she asked, setting the bag on the floor beside me.
‘Yes, I should think so,’ I said, testing it. ‘I’ve got my car outside.’ It was bulky rather than very heavy.
Oskar was looking at the bag. ‘I’ll take this home and put your things in your bedroom,’ I said to him.
He didn’t reply.
‘Oskar’s PE kit and book bag are in the classroom,’ Miss Jordan said. ‘I didn’t bother you with them yesterday.’ I nodded. ‘We like the PE kit to be taken home and washed once a week, and the book bag goes home with the child every afternoon so they can read a little.’ This was usual for a primary school.
‘Where should I wait for Oskar at the end of school?’ I asked.
‘In the front playground, where you came in,’ Miss Jordan replied. ‘The teachers bring out their classes. In the morning the children come in from the same place.’ Again, this wasn’t dissimilar to other schools. ‘As there is only five minutes before the start of school, Oskar can come with me for now and wait in my classroom,’ Miss Jordan offered.
‘Thank you.’
I said goodbye to Oskar and told him I would meet him at the end of school in the playground.
‘Am I going home with you again?’ he asked. I was reminded of just how confusing it is for a child to come into foster care.
‘Yes, love. You will be staying with me for a while. Have a good day and I’ll see you when school finishes.’
Oskar went with Miss Jordan, while I picked up the bag and left the building. I would see what clothes had been sent for Oskar before I bought a new school uniform or casual clothes. It’s preferable for the child if they can wear what they are used to, as it’s familiar and comforting.
With only five minutes to go before the start of school, the playground had filled with parents, carers and their children. As I made my way towards the main gate with the cumbersome laundry bag bumping against my leg, I heard a shout of, ‘Cathy!’
I turned and there was Angela, another foster carer I knew from attending foster-carer training and support groups. I set down the bag and we hugged and then had a chat. She was fostering a brother and sister who attended the school and who she said should be going home to their mother before too long, which was good. It wasn’t a huge coincidence that I’d bumped into a fellow foster carer. Having been fostering for over twenty-five years in the same area, I knew many foster carers and I had, at one time or another, stood in most school playgrounds in the county. It’s always nice to see a familiar face.
When the klaxon sounded for the start of school, we said goodbye and I picked up the bag and continued out of the school gates. As I did, my gaze fell on a car parked on the opposite side of the road. I was sure it was the same black car with two men in it that I’d seen the afternoon before. Whether it had been there when Oskar and I had come into school I didn’t know; I’d been looking in the opposite direction, towards the school. They were both looking at me. I continued to my car and, once in, I pressed the central locking system. I doubted they were parents, as they would have been in the playground seeing in their children. Perhaps one of them was Mr Nowak, who had dropped off Oskar’s belongings.
I started the car and pulled away, and the black car headed off in the opposite direction. If they were there again this afternoon, I would ask Miss Jordan or the school secretary if they knew who they were. Children in care are sometimes snatched by a family member from outside their school, and foster carers are advised not to put up a struggle and risk being hurt, but to let the child go and immediately call the social services and the police. Thankfully it doesn’t happen often, and it had never happened to me. But, of course, there is always a first time, so I needed to stay alert to protect Oskar.
Chapter Four
Stressed and Tense
I arrived home still slightly unsettled from seeing the men waiting outside school. Had Oskar not recognized them the day before and then denied knowing them it probably wouldn’t have played on my mind, but he had recognized them – I was sure of it. However, aware I was likely to have a busy day, I thought it wise to unpack Oskar’s bag straight away. The first few days after a new child arrives are usually very busy and I was expecting to be spending a lot of time on the phone. I heaved the bag upstairs, along the landing and into Oskar’s bedroom. It was a fine spring day outside and the sun streamed through his bedroom window. I opened it a little and then unzipped the bag and began sorting through it.
It looked to me as though whoever had packed the bag had just grabbed whatever clothes of Oskar’s had come to hand. Some of them needed washing and I put those to one side, others had been washed but not ironed. There was a pair of pyjamas that looked too small for Oskar, a pair of grey school trousers, well-worn blue joggers, various socks (which I paired), some underpants, a vest, a zip-up jacket, new trainers and an old bath towel. There were also four small plastic toy cars. All in all, it was a meagre a
nd rather sad selection, but I set about putting the clean clothes in his drawers and the toy cars on a shelf in his room. There is a great temptation as a foster carer – wanting the best for the child – to discard old possessions and replace them all with new. I would be buying Oskar plenty of new clothes (and toys), but I wouldn’t be getting rid of his old things. These would be a poignant reminder of – and link to – home, and also legally they belonged to his mother.
Having put away the clean clothes and the bag they came in, I scooped up the items that needed washing and took them downstairs, where I put them in the washer-dryer with the rest of the laundry. Not a moment too soon, for as the machine began its cycle the landline rang. I answered it in the kitchen and it was Andrew, Oskar’s social worker.
‘Good morning. What sort of night did Oskar have?’ he asked.
‘Good. No tears. He slept well. Although it appears he’s used to sleeping with his mother and some other women. I don’t know who they are. He gave me some names but said they weren’t his sisters, cousins or friends.’
‘How many women?’
‘He mentioned three. I wrote their names in my log; shall I fetch it?’
‘Not now. I’ll know more when I’ve spoken to his mother, but from what Mr Nowak told me yesterday it seems they live in a multiple-occupancy house and share childcare.’
‘That would make sense,’ I said. ‘Although Oskar was very vague about them. He didn’t say much. I got the feeling they weren’t close. But he had a good dinner and breakfast,’ I continued. ‘And is now in school.’
‘Yes, I’ve just spoken to the Head. I understand Mr Nowak brought in some of Oskar’s belongings.’ Schools and social services work closely together in matters of child protection.
‘Yes, I’ve unpacked them,’ I said. ‘There are some clothes and a few toy cars, but I’ll need to buy more and also another school uniform.’
‘OK.’ I assumed Andrew was making some notes. ‘Any behaviour issues?’ he asked.