by Cathy Glass
Alice had arrived with only the clothes she had on and I’d already sorted out a tracksuit and underwear from my emergency supply, which I kept in an ottoman in my bedroom. But now, seeing Alice properly for the first time, I realized that the tracksuit I’d selected was far too big. Although Alice was four she was so dainty I guessed she was probably wearing three-year-old clothes. ‘Just wait here a moment, love,’ I said, standing, ‘and I’ll find you something to wear until we can get your own clothes.’
She looked up at me, wide eyed and incredulous, and, not for the first time since I’d begun fostering, I wondered how on earth these children coped with all the turmoil and upheaval in their short lives; I doubt I would have coped so well. Before I left the room I took one of the cuddly toys I’d arranged on the chair in Alice’s bedroom and tucked it beside her on the bed. ‘Ben will keep you company,’ I said. ‘I won’t be a minute.’ Alice slowly blinked, her long black eyelashes fluttering gracefully; she really was a beautiful chid, and despite everything that had happened to her she seemed to have a natural inner peace.
Going round the landing en route to my bedroom to change the clothes for Alice, I knocked on each of the children’s bedroom doors and then poked my head round. ‘It’s seven o’clock, time to wake up,’ I called, adding, ‘Alice is awake,’ which I hoped might provide the incentive for them to leap out of bed.
In my bedroom, I rummaged in the large ottoman, where I found another tracksuit, pale blue, which looked more like Alice’s size. I also took out some smaller-sized socks and pants. Closing the lid, I returned round the landing, again poking my head into the children’s bedrooms. ‘It’s seven o’clock,’ I repeated. ‘Time to get up. Alice is awake.’ And whereas before I’d been met with silence, I now heard murmurs and groans suggesting they were awake and might even get up.
Alice was exactly as I’d left her, sitting up in bed and staring at her surroundings, with the cuddly toy at her side. ‘All right, love,’ I said, ‘let’s get you dressed. You can have a bath later, tonight.’ Had she arrived dirty, as some children do, I would have bathed her straightaway, but Alice looked clean and it was preferable she got to know me a little before I started bathing her. ‘You can wear these today,’ I said, showing her the tracksuit. ‘I’ll wash the clothes you have on and you can wear them again tomorrow.’ For in the new and unfamiliar world in which Alice now found herself, she might have thought I was taking away her own clothes for good.
Alice remained sitting up in the bed, just looking at me, and I gently eased back the duvet. ‘If you get out of bed, I’ll show you where the toilet is,’ I said. ‘I expect you want to go.’
She continued to look at me in wonder but didn’t move. I gently eased her legs out of bed and helped her to stand. ‘This way,’ I said cheerily, taking her hand. ‘The toilet is round here.’ I led her from the bedroom and round the landing to the toilet, where I opened the door.
She stood looking in, making no attempt to use the toilet. ‘Can you manage by yourself?’ I asked. ‘Or do you need some help?’ At her age she should have been able to manage the toilet alone, although I’d looked after many children who couldn’t. ‘Do you want some help?’ I asked again.
Alice slowly shook her head and began to raise her dress. I held the door to, giving her some privacy, and waited for her to finish. Hearing it flush, I went in, ran some water in the sink and helped her to wash her hands. I guessed Alice probably had these self-care skills but was so overwhelmed at present she needed help. I dried her hands on the towel and then led her back along the landing towards her room.
Paula appeared from her room. ‘Hi, Alice,’ she called, smiling and giving a little wave.
Alice started, unblinking and overawed.
‘This is Paula, my daughter,’ I reminded her. ‘You remember you saw her last night?’ A little smile crossed Alice’s face. ‘She remembers,’ I said to Paula. ‘She’s just very shy at present.’
‘See you at breakfast,’ Paula said. ‘I’m going to shower and dress.’
She gave another little wave and Alice very cautiously raised one hand and gave a little wave back.
At the age of four a child should normally be able to dress him or herself, apart from tricky bits like doing up buttons and shoelaces. But as Alice had come into care with so little information, I’d no idea what she was capable of doing. And given that she was clearly overwhelmed, if not traumatized, I told her I would help her dress. She cooperated by raising her hands so that I could easily draw her dress up and over her head. As I changed her into the clean clothes I also, unfortunately, had to keep a lookout for any marks or bruises which might have suggested she’d been physically abused, and which I’d have to tell the social worker about as soon as their offices opened. Alice, like all children coming into care, would have a medical but it might not be arranged for another two to three weeks.
I’ll never forget the time, in my early years of fostering, when I stripped an eighteen-month-old toddler ready for his bath only find his torso covered in angry bruises and red weals, which turned out to be cigarette burns. It was late in the evening on the day he’d arrived and I was completely shocked. I quickly wrapped him in his clothes again and, leaving the bath, fled to Accident and Emergency at our local hospital. They examined and X-rayed him and kept him in overnight (I stayed with him). The paediatrician’s report showed that the toddler had eighteen recent bruises, thirteen cigarette burns and two (old) fractures to his ribs. I’d been so shocked and horrified that anyone, let alone a parent, could inflict such cruelty on a small child that the memory of that night had stayed vivid. But as I now changed Alice thankfully there were no marks of any description and she looked very clean and well cared for.
Once I’d helped her into the new tracksuit I sat her on the bed and, kneeling at her feet, began putting the socks on her. As I worked I could feel her large eyes looking at me, probably wondering who on earth this strange woman was, who was nothing like her nana. I could hear the rest of the family getting ready: Lucy’s music was on, Paula had finished in the bathroom and was now in her bedroom getting dressed, and Adrian was in the shower.
‘OK, love,’ I said. ‘Ready.’ I lifted Alice off the bed. ‘Let’s go downstairs for some breakfast and you can tell me what you’d like to eat. We’ve got lots of different cereals, or you can have toast, or egg, or whatever you like.’ (Within reason, I thought.)
Alice looked up at me, her little mouth slightly open in wonder; then she slipped her hand into mine. I smiled, and we went out of her bedroom and towards the top of the stairs. Before we began downstairs she drew me to a halt, and I looked down into her big brown eyes.
‘Cathy?’ she asked quietly, and innocently. ‘Are you going to be my mummy now?’
I could have wept. ‘Oh, love,’ I said, bending down so I was at her height. ‘I’m not your mummy, but I will be doing mummy things for you. While you are with me I’ll look after you – make your meals, take you to nursery, play with you and take you to the park. Is that OK?’
Alice considered this for a moment and then said, ‘Is that what mummies do?’
‘Yes, love, usually, or perhaps it was your nana and grandpa who did those things for you?’
She gave a small nod. ‘Yes, my nana and grandpa did mummy things, while my mummy was ill. I miss my nana and grandpa. Can I see them soon?’
‘Yes, I hope so, love.’ And again I wondered why Alice hadn’t been allowed to stay with her grandparents, who seemed to have done a good job of looking after her and were obviously much loved.
Chapter Six
Sleeping with Wolves
Alice was very quiet at breakfast, which was hardly surprising, given the unfamiliarity of everyone and everything around her. Between the children and me we’d managed to coax from her that she’d like cornflakes for breakfast, ‘Like I have at my nana’s,’ she said. Relieved that I could give her some continuity, even if it was only breakfast, I’d tipped cornflakes into a child’s chi
na bowl decorated with Beatrix Potter characters, added milk and a sprinkling of sugar, and joined the rest of the family at the table. I’d had to rummage in the cupboard under the stairs for the child booster seat which Alice now sat on so she could reach the table – it was some time since we’d fostered a child as young as Alice. Now she sat at the table at the right height with her spoon resting in the untouched bowl of cornflakes and stared at us in amazement.
I was sitting next to Alice and as I ate my breakfast I encouraged Alice to eat hers. I filled the spoon with cornflakes and left it on the edge of the bowl for her to put it into her mouth – she was too old to be fed as a baby or toddler. But invariably the spoon never left the bowl; or if it did it stopped en route to her mouth; or when she did manage a mouthful, she chewed for so long she almost forgot what she was doing. Alice, bless her, was mesmerized by us, overwhelmed and in a complete daze. She hardly took her eyes from Adrian, who was sitting diagonally opposite her. He had eaten three wheat biscuits, and was now on his second slice of toast and jam.
‘Perhaps you could encourage Alice to eat?’ I said quietly to him across the table.
Adrian looked at Alice and smiled kindly. ‘Come on Alice, eat up. You want to be a big strong girl, don’t you?’
Alice’s eyes characteristically widened and she continued to stare at Adrian, mesmerized, the spoon still resting on the bowl. ‘Come on, eat up,’ he tried again. ‘I’m winning.’
Alice grinned at Adrian, which I supposed was something, but her spoon lay untouched. Presently I filled it and then, with her holding the end of the spoon, I guided it to her lips. I was sure, as I had been previously about Alice knowing how to dress herself, that she had these skills but was simply overawed. Breakfast was therefore very slow and piecemeal. Adrian and Paula finished and left the table to get ready for school, which left Lucy sitting opposite Alice, and me at Alice’s side. Ironically, it was Lucy, whose eating I had grave concerns about, who finally persuaded Alice to eat her cornflakes.
‘Let’s eat our cereal together,’ Lucy said gently, smiling at Alice from across the table. ‘Do what I do, and copy me. Dip your spoon into your bowl, like this,’ she said, showing her. ‘Now scoop up the biggest spoonful ever, and pop it in!’
Alice laughed, and then to my great relief she followed Lucy’s example with a spoonful of her own. Five minutes later both bowls were empty.
I thanked Lucy as we left the table. ‘Well done, love. That was a great idea.’ But I thought I should also have thanked Alice, for it was the first time since Lucy had arrived that she’d eaten all her breakfast!
Alice and I waved Adrian, Lucy and Paula off to school at the door; then I told Alice we would go upstairs and I would help her have a wash and brush her teeth. I’d already found a new child’s toothbrush, face flannel and towel in my emergency supply and had placed them in the bathroom, ready; but as at breakfast Alice was too mesmerized by her new surroundings to do anything other than stand and gaze at everything in the bathroom, including me. I washed her face and hands, brushed her teeth and then brushed her hair, which was chin length and very clean and shiny. All the time I talked to Alice, explaining what I was doing and reassuring her: ‘This is your towel; I’ll hang it on the rail next to mine. We’ll put your toothbrush in the glass here. Now we’ll go downstairs…’ and so on.
Although Alice didn’t say much I could tell she was taking it all in. Her gaze alighted on everything I pointed out or mentioned, and after a while I began to sense she was feeling more comfortable with me. Her little hand, which she’d tucked into mine, relaxed and she seemed to be less tense. Downstairs, I left the clearing up from breakfast for later and steered Alice into the sitting room. ‘Would you like a story?’ I asked. She nodded. I showed her to the bookshelves, where the children’s books are kept on the lower shelves within reach. ‘Choose some books,’ I encouraged.
Alice spent a few minutes squatted down, going through the books, before selecting three – The Very Hungry Caterpillar and two books about teddy bears. We sat on the sofa and Alice immediately snuggled into my side, ready for the story. I put my arm around her and felt her head gently pressing against me, completely relaxed.
‘Did Nana and Grandpa read you stories?’ I asked, as I opened the first book.
Alice nodded. ‘I like stories.’
I smiled. ‘Good, because I like reading stories too. So do Adrian, Paula and Lucy.’
I read the first book about bears with Alice sitting very still and quiet, apparently engrossed in the story as I turned the pages, but as I finished and closed the book she said, ‘Can I see my nana soon?’ So I wasn’t sure what she’d been thinking about.
‘I hope so, love,’ I said. ‘Your social worker should phone me today and tell me when you are seeing them. Do you know Martha, your social worker?’
Alice nodded. ‘Not that man last night?’
‘No, he brought you to me because it was very late and Martha wasn’t at work. I’m sure it will be Martha who phones us later.’
‘I don’t like Martha,’ Alice said quietly.
‘Oh?’ I looked at her. ‘Why?’
‘She made my nana cry. She told her I’d have to go into care and my nana was very upset.’ Although Alice spoke quietly, now that she was talking more I could hear just how good her diction was. She pronounced her words clearly, as a much older child would, and was fluent, suggesting someone had spent a lot of time talking to her.
‘Well, you’re in care now,’ I said gently, ‘and it’s not so bad, although I understand why your nana was upset. I should be meeting Nana soon, so I’ll be able to reassure her and tell her you are fine; then she won’t be upset.’ I assumed I would be meeting Alice’s grandparents – either at contact or at the placement meeting (the meeting held within five days of a child coming into care). It is usual for a foster carer to meet the child’s family or main carer and I was expecting Martha to phone later with the details.
‘I love Nana and Grandpa,’ Alice said, reluctant to let go of the subject and listen to another story.
‘I know, pet, and they love you, lots. It’s just that the social worker felt it was better for you to come into foster care for now.’ And I thought for goodness’ sake don’t ask me why, because I’ve no idea.
‘I wanted to stay with Nana and Grandpa,’ Alice said. ‘I was upset when Mummy took me away, but I love her too.’
I hugged her. Then I thought that, as Alice had touched on the subject of her mother taking her from her grandparents, and was now clearly more at ease talking to me, I could ask her what I knew the social worker and all the other professionals connected with the Alice’s case would eventually want to know.
‘Alice, love,’ I said, ‘you remember when Mummy took you from Nana’s a few days ago, before you came here?’ She nodded. ‘Where did Mummy take you? Do you remember?’
Alice snuggled closer into my side and tucked her arms under mine, as though seeking reassurance. ‘To McDonald’s and the shops,’ she said, ‘then to Mummy’s friend.’
‘And where did you sleep at night?’
‘With the wolves,’ she said, and shivered. ‘I was very frightened. It was dark and I didn’t want to see the wolves. They made a horrible noise at night.’
Now, whereas I usually believe what children tell me until it is proved differently, and while I knew Alice was trying to tell me something, I also knew she hadn’t slept with wolves. We don’t normally have wolves roaming the UK and the nearest zoo – over an hour drive away – didn’t have wolves, and even if it had I was sure they wouldn’t have just let them loose.
‘Wolves?’ I asked gently. ‘Can you tell me what they looked like?’
‘I didn’t see them. I heard them bark. Mummy said they weren’t dogs but like wolves. She told me what they were called but I forgot.’
‘Alice,’ I said, looking at her. ‘Did your mummy call them foxes?’
‘Yes. That was the name. It was so dark and I could hear them bar
k. I was very scared.’
‘I’m sure you were, love.’ I felt my heart start to race as I realized what Alice could be trying to tell me. ‘Alice, when you heard the foxes at night, were you in a house or outside in the open?’
‘Outside,’ she said. ‘It was very dark and I’m frightened of the dark.’
Dear God, I thought, surely not? ‘Alice, did you sleep outside at night?’
She nodded. ‘I was tired and it was cold. I couldn’t sleep, I was so frightened.’
I hid my shock as Alice snuggled even closer into my side at the recollection. ‘Do you know how many nights you were outside?’
‘Three,’ she said without hesitation.
‘How do you know it was three?’ I asked, for I would have thought that at her age, and with the trauma of it all, she wouldn’t have known precisely.
‘Mummy cried and said we had slept outside for three nights and she couldn’t do it any more. It wasn’t fair on me. She said she would take me back.’
‘And that’s what happened?’
Alice gave a little nod. ‘Mummy phoned Mike and he came and got us in his car and I fell asleep in the back.’
‘Who’s Mike?’
‘Uncle Mike is Mummy’s friend.’
‘I understand. So what happened after that? When you woke up? Do you remember?’
Alice gave a little nod and her face clouded. ‘When I woke up Mummy and Uncle Mike had gone and I was with the policemen.’ Which fitted in with what I knew of Alice being taken to the police station late on Sunday evening.