by Cathy Glass
‘Yes,’ Roksana said. ‘They are easy to store and if we have to move quickly or go home, we can pack them easily.’
I nodded. I could see the logic in this, and it confirmed what Oskar had told me, but whether this sleeping arrangement would meet the approval of the social services was another matter. If there was any chance of Oskar eventually returning home, the social services would need to be satisfied he wasn’t in any danger and his needs were being met. The parenting didn’t have to be perfect, just ‘good enough’. It is a recognized term in child-care proceedings that requires the child’s health and developmental needs are always put first by providing a routine and consistent care.
‘My friends have been looking after Oskar,’ Roksana now said. ‘There was no need for you to take him to the doctor.’ I assumed she was referring to the medical.
Andrew answered. ‘Most children have a medical when they first come into care,’ which I guessed he’d already told her.
‘And the doctor said he was healthy?’ she asked me.
‘Yes, although she thought he was quiet, as he has been with me.’
‘Oskar is always quiet. He is a good boy,’ she said defensively. ‘He never gives me any trouble. I have brought him up to do as he is told. So if the doctor says he is well, he can come home?’ she asked Andrew, clearly not understanding the process.
‘Not yet. We have assessments to make,’ Andrew replied. ‘Your solicitor will explain. Is there anything else you would like to ask Cathy? I’m mindful of the time.’
‘You have a house just for you and your family?’ she asked me.
‘Yes.’
She frowned and looked at Andrew. ‘But I can’t afford to rent a house for me and Oskar. After I have paid for Luka’s care, I have nothing left. I have to share a house.’
‘You don’t need a house,’ Andrew confirmed. ‘Perhaps we could talk about this after? Is there anything else you want to ask Cathy?’
Roksana shook her head, a little like Oskar did.
‘Cathy, anything you want to add?’ Andrew asked me.
I looked at Roksana. ‘I was wondering if you have a photograph of you and Luka that Oskar could have in his bedroom while he is with me. Children find it comforting to have a photo of their family.’
She frowned, puzzled. ‘I have one of Luka on my phone, as I don’t see him often. But I see Oskar, and soon he will be living with me again.’
My heart went out to her. She had very little understanding of the care system and what lay ahead. I didn’t think it was Andrew’s fault for not explaining. Like many parents whose children are suddenly taken into care without any warning she’d gone into panic mode and wasn’t understanding or listening to what she was being told. Probably blotting it out in a bid to cope. ‘My lawyer will make it OK,’ she added quietly.
With the meeting at an end, I told Roksana that I would see her at the Family Centre at four o’clock for contact and that I had to go now to collect Oskar from school. ‘I’ll come with you,’ she said. ‘It’s a long way for me on the bus.’
I knew Andrew wouldn’t consider that appropriate at this stage in the proceedings. ‘I’ll take you to the Family Centre in my car today,’ he offered. ‘Then in future you can catch a bus or take a cab.’
‘I haven’t the money for a cab,’ she replied anxiously.
‘The department should be able to give you some help with that,’ he said.
I said goodbye and left Andrew reassuring Roksana that help could be given with transport so she could see Oskar.
‘Am I seeing Mummy?’ Oskar asked as soon as he came out of school.
‘Yes, we’re going there now.’
However, instead of being pleased, he immediately became sullen.
‘You’ll have a nice time,’ I said as we left the playground. There was no response.
As I drove, I made light conversation by asking him about his day at school, as I usually did.
‘Have you had a good day?’
‘OK,’ he replied.
‘What subjects did you have?’
‘Science.’
‘You like science. What did you learn?’
He shrugged.
‘What else did you do?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Did you have a nice lunch?’ I asked, glancing at him in the rear-view mirror. I saw him shrug again. ‘Oskar, is everything all right?’
Silence.
‘Are you worrying about seeing your mother?’
‘No.’
‘Has that car been outside your school again?’
‘No.’
‘Please tell me if anything is worrying you and I will do my best to help.’
I drew up and parked outside the Family Centre and opened Oskar’s car door. He clambered out and slipped his hand into mine as we went up the path to the security-locked main door, where I pressed the buzzer. The closed-circuit television camera overhead allowed anyone in the office to see who was at the door. After a moment, the door clicked open and we went in. I said hello to the receptionist who was sitting at her computer behind a low security screen to our right, and then I signed the Visitors’ Book. I knew the procedure from bringing children here before to see their families.
‘Has Roksana arrived yet?’ I asked the receptionist.
‘Yes. The social worker is here too. They are in Green Room.’
I thanked her, and with Oskar holding my hand again we went through the double doors and along the corridor towards Green Room. The six rooms in the centre are referred to by the colour they are decorated. The door to Green Room was slightly open, so I knocked and we went in. Andrew was standing with Roksana in the centre of the room, and he was the one who greeted us. ‘Hello, Oskar, Cathy. I’ll be staying for a little while.’ It wasn’t unusual for the social worker to stay at the first contact, and then they usually observed it from time to time.
The contact supervisor was already sitting at the table with a large notebook open in front of her. Roksana would have had her role explained when she was shown around the Family Centre, so she should have been aware she was taking notes. Whether Roksana knew her report would be sent to Andrew, who would incorporate it in his final report to the judge, was a different matter. Ultimately, what the contact supervisor wrote would be taken into consideration when the judge made their decision on whether Oskar was allowed home. I feel for parents in this position, being continually observed, but there is little alternative if contact needs to be supervised because of safeguarding issues.
I was now expecting Roksana and Oskar to fall into each other’s arms, hugging, kissing and probably crying with joy at seeing each other again after so long, as I’d witnessed so many families do in the past. They hadn’t seen each other for three weeks and their emotions must be running high. Roksana had been very upset at our meeting earlier and I was anticipating that Oskar, who’d been keeping a tight lid on his emotions, would finally let his guard drop and run to his mother.
It didn’t happen.
Roksana remained where she was and Oskar continued to stand by my side, holding my hand and looking warily at his mother from across the room. She looked back, equally warily. ‘Hello, Oskar,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘How are you?’
I looked at him, expecting him to drop my hand and go to her, but again, neither of them moved. Andrew was watching this strange interaction too, as was the contact supervisor, who would doubtless note it.
Normally, once I’ve seen a child into the contact room, I leave, as it is their time with their parent(s), but it was clear mother and son needed some help.
‘Come on, let’s find some games for you and your mother to play,’ I said to Oskar. I drew him to the shelves and cupboards where all the toys were. Roksana was still watching him, as were Andrew and the contact supervisor.
‘Look, her
e are some jigsaw puzzles. You like doing those,’ I said. I slid some boxes from the shelves and placed them on the coffee table in front of the sofa. I thought that once they got playing they would feel less awkward. Neither of them moved. ‘I’ll see you at five-thirty then,’ I said.
Andrew was the only one who replied. ‘Yes.’
I said goodbye and left. The silence followed me out. It was the strangest, eeriest, coldest reunion I had witnessed in all my years of fostering.
Chapter Ten
Contact
Whatever had happened between Roksana and Oskar to make them so cautious of each other? I wondered as I drove home from the Family Centre. It wasn’t normal. Having been separated for three weeks, neither of them had anything to say to each other and apparently felt nothing on being reunited. Or possibly they had felt plenty, but for whatever reason weren’t able to show their emotions, with neither willing to make the first move. Hopefully they were getting along better now.
I had just enough time to go home for half an hour before I had to leave to return to the Family Centre to collect Oskar. Paula arrived home while I was there and I left her instructions on when to put the fish pie I’d made earlier into the oven so it would be ready for dinner.
I arrived at the Family Centre five minutes early, signed the Visitors’ Book and then waited in the corridor. I knew that every minute was precious to families who are separated, so I never interrupted before their time was up. As I waited, I could hear children’s voices coming from other contact rooms and a baby crying. At exactly 5.30 p.m. I continued along the corridor to Green Room. The door was closed, so I knocked and went in. The silence hit me.
Andrew had gone, the contact supervisor was at the table, writing, and Oskar and his mother were sitting side by side on the sofa, close but not touching. I assumed that whatever they’d been playing with had been packed away, for clearly they hadn’t just been sitting there for one and a half hours.
As soon as Roksana saw me she stood and began putting on her coat. ‘Good, you’re here,’ she said intensely. ‘Can you give me a lift to work? I’m going to be late.’ Oskar remained sitting on the sofa.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t today,’ I said. ‘I’ll need Andrew’s permission and he won’t be in the office now. We can ask him tomorrow and perhaps I can help you out next time.’
She tutted, picked up her handbag and threw it over her shoulder, clearly stressed at being late for work.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. ‘I’ll ask Andrew, although if you explain the problem to him he may be able to alter the times of contact to fit around your work.’
‘I have to rush,’ she said and, throwing a kiss at the top of Oskar’s head, called goodbye as she ran out the door. Oskar stayed where he was on the sofa.
I would have liked to help her, but if she and Oskar were in my car it would have constituted a form of contact, so I needed Andrew’s permission. I knew that Roksana worked as a cleaner in various offices, and if they were on my way and Andrew agreed then I’d been happy to drop her off next time. Alternatively, as I’d suggested to her, contact arrangements might be adjusted to fit around her work, although the centre was only open from 9.00 a.m. to 5.30 p.m., Monday to Friday. I appreciated it was difficult for parents who worked full-time, but seeing their children was usually a priority.
Oskar stood, picked up his jacket and came to me, tucking his hand into mine. I gave it a reassuring squeeze said goodbye to the contact supervisor, and we left. ‘Did you have a nice time?’ I asked Oskar as we walked down the corridor.
He shrugged.
‘Did you play some games with your mother?’ I tried.
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ I signed out of the Visitors’ Book. ‘What did you play?’
‘The games you got from the shelf.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I can’t remember. What’s for dinner?’
‘Fish pie and green beans.’
Usually when I collected a child from contact they were brimming over with excitement, wanting to tell me what a fantastic time they’d had with their parents and then counting off the days until their next contact. Oskar didn’t mention seeing his mother all evening, and his reaction was worrying. I hoped I would be given some feedback from the contact. My experience in the past was that this was sporadic. Sometimes the social worker passed on feedback and other times they didn’t. It’s very useful if the foster carer is given a brief résumé of what happened in contact so we are better able to deal with any issues that may arise from it or questions the child might ask.
After dinner, when there was just Oskar and me in the living room, I asked him, ‘Were you happy to see your mother?’ For I really didn’t know.
‘Yes,’ he said, but his face was expressionless, as it often was.
‘Are you happy to see her again?’ I asked. It wouldn’t be his decision, but it was important we knew his feelings.
‘Yes, but she has to work,’ he replied, his voice flat.
‘I know, but she and Andrew can make some arrangements that suit her. It’s important you see each other, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ he asked.
I hid my shock. Most children would know how important it was to see their parents.
‘I think so. She loves you, and you love her, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but she has to work,’ he said again. ‘Can I go to bed? I’m tired.’ Which was Oskar’s way of telling me he didn’t want to talk about his mother any more. But then he never wanted to talk about her.
I read him a bedtime story and took him up for his bath. That night I asked him – as I had been doing every night – if he wanted a goodnight kiss. To my surprise, he gave a small nod. ‘Here, like Mummy did,’ he said, pointing to the top of his head. I knew then how much that fleeting goodbye kiss from his mother had meant to him.
‘Does your mother kiss you goodnight?’ I asked.
‘No, she’s at work.’
‘What about your aunts and uncles?’
He shook his head.
‘So who sees you into bed?’
‘No one. I have a wash and get into my sleeping bag.’
A lump rose to my throat at the image of little Oskar, so young and vulnerable, taking himself off to his sleeping bag every night without a loving goodnight kiss or hug. ‘Do you want a hug as well?’ I asked as he snuggled down, but he shook his head shyly. I kissed the top of his head and, saying goodnight, came out and closed the door. It would be another month before he wanted a hug.
The following morning, the Guardian ad Litem (or Guardian as they are often referred to in child-care proceedings) telephoned me. Tamara Hastings had also been the Guardian for the two children I’d looked after just before Oskar and whose story I tell in Innocent.
‘I thought I recognized your name,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you, and you?’
‘Yes, good. How is Oskar settling in?’
I told her more or less what I’d told Andrew, so she was up to date. We didn’t discuss the previous case as it wouldn’t have been appropriate. The Guardian is usually a qualified social worker and is appointed by the court in child-care proceedings for the duration of the case. They are independent of the social services but have access to all the files. They see all parties involved in the case, including the children, their parents and social services, and report to the judge on what is in the best interests of the child. The judge usually follows their recommendation.
Once I’d finished updating her, she made an appointment to visit us after school the following Monday. I noted it in my diary.
Andrew telephoned that afternoon and asked how Oskar had been after contact. He said he had stayed for half an hour and had also spoken to the contact supervisor this morning. I said Oskar had been quiet but that wasn’t unusual, and when I a
sked him what he and his mother had done he said they’d played with some board games. I then paraphrased the rest of what Oskar had said, including his comments about his mother working.
‘It appears that Roksana has always worked very long hours,’ Andrew said. ‘It may have impacted on their relationship. I appreciate that supervised contact isn’t a natural environment, but Roksana struggled to relate to her son and he to her. The contact supervisor said that Roksana was very worried about being late for work and mentioned this a few times, which worried Oskar.’
‘Yes, he told me that. I think Roksana is going to ask you about changing the times of contact.’
‘I haven’t spoken to her yet today, but I’m proposing contact will be three times a week, four to five-thirty. I’ve left a message on her voicemail to phone me. I think she’s seeing her solicitor this afternoon. If you don’t hear from me, assume the next contact will be on Friday at four o’clock.’
I made a note. ‘Roksana asked me if I could give her a lift to work after contact. I told her she’d need to speak to you first.’
‘OK, I’ll talk to her and let you know. Has Oskar said anything about his uncle hitting him?’
‘No.’
‘The contact supervisor said Roksana told Oskar not to say bad things about his uncles.’
‘I see. No, he hasn’t said anything to me.’
‘OK. Thank you.’
Roksana should have known better than to say that at contact. One of the reasons contact is supervised when there has been an allegation of abuse and care proceedings are current is to stop a parent threatening or coercing their child into withdrawing an allegation. Roksana wasn’t doing herself any favours.
An hour later Andrew telephoned again. I was now in the playground, waiting for the end of school. I moved away from the others so I couldn’t be overheard.
‘I’ve spoken to Roksana,’ Andrew said. ‘Because of her work commitments she can only see Oskar on Tuesday and Thursday for an hour – from four to five. Then she has to start the evening shift. I’ve checked with the Family Centre and there is a room free then. She has asked for phone contact on the other days, which I have agreed to, but I would like you to supervise it, so put your phone on speaker.’