by Cathy Glass
‘How are you?’ I asked. ‘Did you have a good summer?’ Oskar was standing beside us.
‘Yes, but I haven’t heard anything,’ she replied seriously, and I wondered what she meant. ‘What we talked about after his review,’ she reminded me, glancing at Oskar.
‘Oh yes.’
‘I telephoned Andrew like you told me to,’ she continued. ‘He said he’d need to discuss whether it was a possibility with his manager and probably someone from the permanency team, then get back to me, but he hasn’t.’
‘Andrew’s on holiday,’ I said.
‘Oh, that explains it,’ she said, relieved.
‘I’m sure he’ll be in touch once he has any news.’
‘Yes. I’ll tell Mum. She was getting anxious too and thought it was a bad sign.’
She thanked me and went off to talk to another parent, but I wondered if she appreciated just what was involved in any enquiry to adopt, assuming Oskar would be freed for adoption – which, as far as I was aware, was a big assumption.
By the end of the first week of the new term we were firmly back in the old routine and our holiday was just a distant happy memory. Gym club and art therapy resumed, Oskar continued to see his mother at the Family Centre two days a week and phoned her on the other evenings. Sometimes she didn’t pick up and he left a message on her voicemail. We called Dol again on Saturday and Oskar spoke to everyone, including Ivan, who told him about the construction site he worked on. I made a short note of all the phone contact in my log as I was supposed to.
The following week swimming lessons began at school and Oskar was a bit apprehensive, as Paula and I wouldn’t be there to help him in the water.
‘Don’t worry, you won’t be made to do anything you don’t want to,’ I reassured him. ‘And there will be children there who can’t swim at all.’ I knew from experience that there was a huge spectrum in children’s ability in most subjects and activities at this age, depending on their maturity, the opportunities they’d had and their confidence in tackling new things.
At the end of school Oskar came out with his swimming bag slung over his shoulder, just as Adrian used to. ‘So how did it go?’ I asked him.
‘I’m in the middle group,’ he told me proudly. ‘Some kids can swim all by themselves, but others are scared of the water and didn’t want to go in.’
‘You did well then,’ I said. We began across the playground.
‘Leo wasn’t as good as me,’ Oskar whispered.
‘I’m sure he’s good at other things,’ I replied.
He thought for a moment and then said, ‘Yes, he can run faster than me.’
‘There you go then. We can’t all be good at everything.’
‘Ramesh is,’ Oskar replied. ‘He’s in the top group for swimming, maths and literacy. He has a tutor, and he’s learning to play the piano and violin.’
‘Would you like to learn a musical instrument?’ I asked him.
‘Nah. He has to practise two hours a day. An hour in the morning before he comes to school and an hour in the evening. He’s not allowed to play outside until he’s done his practice.’
The following Monday Paula returned to college and the September air had a chill in it, warning us that autumn wasn’t far away. On Tuesday morning Andrew telephoned and I asked him if he’d had a good holiday. He said he had and then asked for an update on Oskar. ‘I believe Erica Jordan has been in touch with you,’ I concluded.
‘Yes, I need to call her,’ he replied, but didn’t elaborate. ‘Does Oskar talk about his brother, Luka?’ he asked.
‘Yes, he does now we’re phoning regularly.’
‘What about Roksana? Does Oskar miss his mother?’
Difficult one, I thought. ‘Not as much as some children do. I think Oskar has accepted that she works long hours so he can’t see her much.’
‘How’s contact going?’
‘The face-to-face contact seems fine. Oskar doesn’t really talk about it, but I assume it’s going well. They separate easily at the end.’
‘And phone contact?’ Andrew asked.
‘Not good. They struggle to find something to say and Roksana is always in a rush. The phone contact with Oskar’s aunt is better.’ I felt disloyal to Roksana for saying this, but Andrew had asked for feedback.
He paused. At this point I thought his questions were regarding the possibility of adoption; that because Oskar didn’t have a strong bond with his mother, adoption might be appropriate after all and that Miss Jordan would be considered. But then Andrew said, ‘Roksana’s sister, Dol, and her husband, Ivan, have put in a formal request to look after Oskar permanently.’
‘Oh, I see,’ I said, taken aback.
‘When she asked before, Roksana was fiercely opposed to Oskar leaving this country, but I’ve asked her to reconsider. They will need to be assessed and I am concerned that Oskar has only been seeing them once a year, even though they speak on the phone.’
‘There is a bond there,’ I said. ‘Oskar looks forward to speaking to them. From what I’ve heard they seem a very caring family, and of course Dol has been bringing up Luka. What’s the alternative? That Oskar remains in long-term care?’
‘Or adoption. But I’m not sure that is suitable in Oskar’s case, especially as there are relatives coming forward.’ A caring relative is generally considered to be the next best option for a child if their parents can’t look after them. ‘I’ve asked Roksana to think about it and I’ll see her at the end of the week. We have the final court hearing in a month, so I’ll need to put any changes before the judge quickly. I want to speak to Oskar too and hear his views. I’ll visit tomorrow, after school, and please don’t discuss it with him before.’
‘No. But Oskar goes to CAMHS on Wednesday afternoons,’ I reminded him. ‘We’ll be home by four.’
‘OK, I’ll come just after four.’
‘Will you speak to Erica Jordan? She saw me in the playground. She and her mother are anxiously waiting for news.’
‘Yes, it’s on my to-do list. I’ll see you and Oskar tomorrow then.’
We said goodbye.
So there were now three options for Oskar’s long-term care: stay in foster care (hopefully with me); adoption (possibly by Miss Jordan); or going to live with his aunt and uncle permanently. Putting aside my own selfish reasons for wanting Oskar to stay in care and therefore with me, my instinct was that he should go to live with Dol, who from what I could tell was already doing an excellent job looking after Luka, and they were family. However, at present all avenues were open.
When I collected Oskar from school that afternoon Miss Jordan came to see me again in the playground and looked a lot happier. ‘Andrew phoned during my lunch hour,’ she said quietly, hoping Oskar couldn’t hear. ‘He said if adoption is considered then I could apply.’ I nodded. ‘It’s the most he can say at present and he’ll know more in a week or so.’
As it was Tuesday, I drove straight to the Family Centre. Roksana was early for contact and was already in the room, sitting on the sofa and nervously chewing her bottom lip. She stood when she saw us. ‘Has Andrew telephoned you?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said anxiously. ‘Can I phone you this evening after my shift?’
‘Yes, of course. What time?’
‘Nine.’
‘OK.’
I could see how worried she was and my heart went out to her, although I hoped she’d put on a brave face for Oskar’s sake.
It was raining outside, the steady drizzle of a cool, late September day, so while contact took place I sat in my car with the radio on low. My thoughts went to Roksana. What a dreadful position she was in. To be asked to agree to her child being brought up in another country when she would only see him once a year, or object, lose the court battle and have him sent away anyway or rema
in in care when she would probably see him three or four times a year. If the social services won their case in October – which I was certain they would – where Oskar lived permanently would be their decision, not Roksana’s, although it’s preferable to have the parent’s agreement.
I felt Roksana was in a no-win situation, but this was about Oskar and what was in his long-term best interests, and to keep him safe and protect him from further abuse. Roksana’s neglect had left him vulnerable and resulted in him being sexually abused. Nothing in her lifestyle had changed, so I was certain returning Oskar to her wasn’t an option. Tamara, the Guardian, had said at Oskar’s review that Roksana now acknowledged Oskar was receiving better care than she had provided. Would that sway her view? It was all so sad. Had Roksana changed her lifestyle by cutting her hours, moving from a multiple-occupancy house to a small flat and putting in place proper child-care arrangements for when she had to work then she would have stood a chance of winning Oskar back.
When I returned to collect Oskar the mood in the room was sombre. The contact supervisor was writing, and Roksana and Oskar were sitting on the sofa in silence; whatever they’d been playing had been packed away. They both stood as I entered, and I thought they looked relieved I was there. Roksana gave Oskar a quick kiss goodbye, then took out her phone to make a call as we left the room.
‘Mummy’s not happy,’ Oskar told me as we returned to my car.
‘Oh dear. Did she say why?’
‘No. She said she had a lot to worry about and would tell me next time she saw me.’
I was very apprehensive about Roksana phoning me. Of course, I needn’t have agreed. There was nothing in the foster carer handbook that said I had to take a late-evening call from a parent when they weren’t supposed to have my contact details, and we weren’t working towards her child being returned to her. But to refuse would have been heartless.
At 9.00 p.m. I was in the living room with the door closed, waiting expectantly, my phone on the sofa beside me and Sammy on the other side, although he wasn’t supposed to go on the chairs. The daylight outside had faded. It was going earlier now we were halfway through September. I had the main light on, although the curtains were still open. The contents of the room were reflected in the glass of the patio doors. Oskar was in bed, fast asleep, Lucy was out, and Adrian and Paula were in their rooms. The house was quiet and I could feel my apprehension increase as the minutes ticked by. At 9.15, I wondered if Roksana had changed her mind and decided not to call after all, but five minutes later I was jolted to by my phone ringing. Roksana’s number showed on the display screen and I answered it.
‘Sorry, I’ve only just left work,’ she said, flustered.
‘Would you rather talk another time?’
‘No. I’m waiting for the bus. There’s no one else here.’ She paused and took a deep breath. ‘You know my sister, Dol, and Ivan want to look after Oskar permanently?’ she asked. ‘They’ve put in a formal application.’
‘Yes, Andrew told me.’
‘I don’t know what to do.’ She paused and gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘I can’t sleep for all the worry. My friend Anna says I should continue to fight the case and get Oskar returned to me so we can both stay here. But she doesn’t understand. It’s not that simple. My solicitor says that the likelihood is Oskar will remain in foster care unless I agree to him going to Dol and Ivan. They have always said they will look after him. I have to work to get out of debt and pay for my sons’ upbringing. I brought Oskar here for a better life and I still think he could have that.’
‘You mean if he stays in foster care?’ I asked.
‘Yes. I know I wouldn’t see him much, but he will be safe, and have a good education, and access to health care. He will have opportunities that I never had. I know you will look after him.’
‘Roksana,’ I said, concerned, ‘there is no guarantee Oskar would stay with me if he remained in care. I mean, I would be happy to continue to look after him, but he’s only six and all my children are young adults. The social services might feel he should be in a family with younger children, or even be adopted. I’m not saying they would, but it’s something you should bear in mind. Once they have the Full Care Order, it’s unlikely you will have control over where Oskar lives.’
‘And all because I left him to visit Luka in hospital!’ she said.
This wasn’t strictly true, but I didn’t point out that Oskar was being neglected and possibly abused for many months before she left him on that occasion.
‘If Oskar goes to live with Dol and Ivan, I’ll only see him at Christmas like I do Luka. I can’t afford to go more often.’ I heard her voice catch.
‘You wouldn’t consider returning home to live if both your sons were there?’ I asked.
‘I can’t. I owe a lot of money because of my ex-husband and they won’t leave me alone until I’ve repaid it all.’
‘I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say for the best.’
‘What would you do if Oskar was your son and you were in my position?’ I was hoping she wouldn’t ask me that, although I had thought about it.
‘It’s difficult,’ I said carefully. ‘I don’t know all the details, but as you have to work very long hours to repay the debt, and Dol and Ivan are already looking after Luka, I think I would agree to Oskar going home to them. Although it would break my heart.’
There was a small silence and then a sob before she said, ‘It will break my heart too, and I’m not sure I can do it.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
Unsettled
The following day, Wednesday, Oskar went to play in his bedroom when we arrived home from art therapy, which meant I could tell Andrew about Roksana’s phone call. Andrew said he would be talking to her tomorrow, and also that he’d spoken to the police to ascertain what their position would be in respect of Oskar’s evidence if he did go abroad to live. They were reasonably satisfied that the video evidence they already had would be sufficient to use in court, so Oskar wouldn’t have to return to give more evidence, which would have been another upheaval and traumatic. Once Andrew and I had finished talking, I fetched Oskar and then asked Andrew if I should leave the room while they spoke.
‘No, you can stay,’ he said.
Oskar immediately sensed that this was more than his social worker’s normal visit and sat beside me on the sofa, watchful and alert.
‘How are you, Oskar? Still enjoying swimming and gym?’ Andrew asked, trying to put him at ease.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Oskar replied stiffly.
‘And play therapy is going well?’
He nodded.
‘What about seeing your mother? I understand you read your school books sometimes in contact.’ I assumed this had come from the contact supervisor’s report sent to Andrew after each session.
‘Yes, if Mummy is busy on her phone or too tired to play.’
‘And you’re phoning your aunt and uncle regularly again now. How is that going?’
Oskar’s face brightened. ‘I like talking to Luka, and Saby and Tamy. We have fun.’
‘Yes, Cathy tells me you always do a lot of laughing. That’s good. And you like talking to your Aunty Dol and Uncle Ivan too?’
‘Yes.’
‘They’ve looked after Luka a long time,’ Andrew said.
‘Because he can’t walk and do things for himself,’ Oskar replied.
‘That’s right, and so your mother can work.’
Oskar nodded again.
‘I need to ask you something,’ Andrew continued in the same engaging and sensitive manner. ‘There is no right or wrong answer. I just want to hear what you think, OK?’
‘Yes,’ Oskar said, but he suddenly looked serious.
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ I reassured him.
Andrew smiled. ‘How would you feel about going to live with Luka, your
aunt and uncle and cousins?’ he asked. ‘Is that something you’d like or not?’
It took a moment for Oskar to appreciate the enormity of the question he was being asked. ‘You mean forever?’ he said.
‘While you are a child, yes. Once you are an adult you can decide where you want to live.’
‘I’d like to live with Luka, but Mummy says we have to stay here,’ Oskar replied seriously.
‘Supposing your mummy stayed here and you went to live with your Aunty Dol and her family? How would you feel about that?’
‘Like Luka does?’ Oskar clarified.
‘Yes.’
‘But I’d only see Mummy at Christmas or if I was ill.’
‘That might be so,’ Andrew replied gently.
Oskar’s face fell and his lips moved in anguish as he tried to find a reply. ‘I love Luka and Aunty Dol and Uncle Ivan, but I love Mummy too,’ he said. My heart went out to him. ‘Does Mummy want me to go?’ he asked, rejection in his voice.
‘She is going to think about it,’ Andrew said. ‘Think carefully about what is best for you in the future.’
I could see – as Andrew could – that Oskar was becoming increasingly anxious; he was digging his nails into the palms of his hands.
‘It’s OK,’ I told Oskar, touching his arm reassuringly.
‘It’s not your decision,’ Andrew said. ‘Your mummy and I are talking about what is best for you, but I wanted to hear what you thought.’
‘Does Aunty Dol want me to live with her?’ Oskar asked, his voice slight.
‘Yes, if that’s what all the adults think is best.’
‘And I’d only see Mummy at Christmas?’
‘Possibly, but you could talk to her on the phone like you do now.’
‘Mummy’s not very good at talking,’ Oskar admitted perceptively. ‘She’s always busy and worried about lots of things. Perhaps she would be better if she didn’t have to worry about me.’ I felt a lump rise in my throat.