by Cathy Glass
It was now 11.20 a.m. and I wondered about taking Alice to the park. It was only fifteen minutes’ walk away, and if Martha wasn’t coming until 4.00 p.m. there would be plenty of time. But, aware Martha had been vague about the exact time of her visit and not wishing to risk being out again when a social worker called, I decided to leave the park for another day. I exchanged one box of toys for another and sat with Alice while she played. She seemed a very self-possessed child: although she liked it when I joined in her games she didn’t continually seek my attention but was happy to play alone, preferably in the same room as me. As she played she made little comments about the toys, which were obviously all new to her, and mentioned the toys she had at home with her mum and also at her nana’s house. I told her I hoped we would be getting some of her own toys and clothes soon, as Martha was going to see Nana.
‘I hope she doesn’t make my nana cry again,’ Alice said.
‘No, she won’t,’ I reassured her, but I thought that when her grandmother learned of the very limited contact arrangements cry was exactly what she was likely to do.
Jill phoned to say she’d spoken to Martha and as Martha wasn’t sure what time she’d be with us, Jill would have to leave visiting us until another day. ‘You know to check and sign the forms,’ she reminded me. ‘Although if their computer is still down Martha won’t have the placement forms.’
At 1.00 p.m. I asked Alice what she would like for lunch. ‘A cheese and chutney sandwich, please,’ Alice said, ‘like my nana makes.’ I thought I would be setting myself up for failure if I tried to replicate Nana’s sandwich alone, so I suggested to Alice that she help me and she could show me how her nana made the sandwich.
Alice stood on a stool beside me in the kitchen and gave instructions on how thick to cut the bread, how thin to grate the cheese, how much chutney to put in and, once the sandwich was closed, how to cut it diagonally into four triangles.
‘It’s nearly right,’ Alice said as we sat at the table and she took her first bite. ‘I think Nana might use different chutney.’
I smiled. ‘When I meet your nana, I’ll ask her what type of chutney she uses and I’ll buy some the same.’ I dearly hoped it wasn’t home-made, which would have been right out of my league. ‘You’re going to nursery tomorrow,’ I said as we ate. ‘Do you like nursery?’
Alice nodded. ‘Is Nana taking me?’
‘No, love, I’ll be taking you. Did your nana used to take you?’
‘Yes, and sometimes my mummy and sometimes Grandpa, and sometimes they all took me, and I had lots of people.’ She gave a little smile, happy at the recollection. ‘Why can’t they take me to nursery now?’ she suddenly asked, her face serious.
‘Alice, you remember we talked about how I shall be doing “mummy things” for you while you’re living with me – those things Mummy, Nana and Grandpa did for you?’ Alice nodded. ‘Well, taking you to nursery is one of those things, as well as making your meals, and helping you to clean your teeth and have a bath.’
‘Mummy used to give me a bath,’ Alice said. ‘And sometimes Nana did. But Grandpa didn’t. He said it was because I was a young lady.’
I smiled at this image of a pleasant, normal, loving family, and wondered again how it had all gone so badly wrong. I obviously knew nothing about Alice’s grandparents, but from the memories Alice had shared with me they seemed lovely people who had clearly been an important part of Alice’s childhood and doted on her. They must be devastated, I thought, at having their grandchild brought into care. It all seemed so very, very sad, and if I was honest it didn’t make much sense.
‘I shall be collecting you early from nursery tomorrow and I’ll take you to the family centre to see your dad and Sharon,’ I explained. ‘I think you have seen them there before.’ Alice continued eating, her expression blank, as though these arrangements were of little interest to her. ‘Is that OK, then?’ I asked.
‘Don’t mind,’ Alice said and changed the subject. I felt a stab of unease. Usually when a child first comes into care, they can’t wait to see their parents, but then from what Alice had said so far it was her mother and grandparents to whom she’d been close and for whom she now pined, not her father and his new wife, Sharon.
Four o’clock is not the best time for a social worker to visit, as it is the time when children arrive home from school, badly in need of a drink and snack, and all talking at once with their day’s news. I could only say a brief hi to Adrian, Paula and Lucy as they came home, and had to let them get on with it while I showed Martha through to the sitting room, where Alice was watching some children’s television. ‘We’d better switch that off for now,’ I said gently to Alice. ‘I think Martha would like to talk to us.’
Alice didn’t complain at having her viewing interrupted, but gave a small stoical nod. I switched off the television and hovered. Aware that social workers usually spend some time alone with the child – to discuss any issues the child might not feel comfortable talking about in front of the carer – I said to Martha, ‘Shall I leave you two alone now or later?’
I was expecting Martha to say later, as it would have been reassuring for Alice to see the social worker and me chatting and getting along before I disappeared, but she said, ‘Yes, now, please. Oh, and remind me before I go that I’ve got some of Alice’s things in the car.’ Then turning to Alice: ‘I’ve been to see your nana.’
Before I left the room I caught a glimpse of Alice’s face at the mention of her nana and my heart went out to her. Her little face brightened for a moment and then saddened as she asked: ‘Is my Nana still crying?’
‘No,’ Martha said. ‘She’s fine and sends her love. You’ll see her next week, and you can phone her on Saturday.’ I dearly hoped Alice didn’t know the days of the week, for she’d just been told it would be five days before she could speak to her nana and seven until she saw her – an eternity in a young child’s life.
Chapter Nine
Pass the Parcel!
I busied myself in the kitchen with the preparations for dinner until I heard the sitting-room door open and Martha call me. She and Alice had been in the sitting room for thirty minutes, and I’d no idea what they’d been talking about. When I went in, Martha asked if Alice could go and play somewhere else while she spoke to me. I called upstairs to Lucy and Paula, and they appeared on the landing from their bedrooms, guessing what I wanted. Alice scampered up the stairs and I returned to the sitting room.
‘Alice is too young to know her own mind,’ Martha said as I closed the sitting-room door so we couldn’t be overheard. ‘I asked her who she wanted to live with but she didn’t answer.’
‘I think she’s completely overwhelmed with everything that’s happened,’ I said, sitting on the sofa. ‘Has Alice got a choice where she lives, then?’
‘No, but it’s always nice to hear the child’s views.’ So I thought that asking Alice who she wanted to live with had been rather a pointless exercise.
‘Alice has been talking a lot about her mother and her grandparents,’ I offered. ‘She’s very close to them. And they seem to have done a very good job parenting Alice in the past. She’s a delightful child – intelligent, well mannered and very engaging.’
Martha looked at me, mildly surprised. ‘Mum abused Alice,’ she said, as though I should have known.
‘Really? It wasn’t mentioned on the referral and Alice’s memories of her mother are all very positive.’
Martha shrugged. ‘The neighbours reported hearing Leah shouting and screaming when Alice was in the house. Coupled with Leah’s mental health problems and drug habit, there’s no chance of Alice returning to her mother, although I understand Leah says she’s kicked the drug habit now.’
‘I see,’ I said slowly. ‘And where is Leah now?’
‘Don’t know. Leah’s boyfriend took Alice to the police station. Leah is wanted by the police for abducting Alice. She’s been given forty-eight hours to hand herself in. She can’t hide forever.’
‘Leah isn’t stable enough,’ Martha said. ‘The department has tried to set up a meeting with her but she won’t engage. She screams down the phone, completely out of control, and won’t listen to reason. We’re concentrating all our efforts on getting Alice settled with her father and his new wife as soon as possible.’
‘I see,’ I said again, but I was reluctant to let go of the subject of Alice’s mother. ‘And Leah isn’t on any medication to help her? I know that many people with mental health problems function very well with medication.’
‘I’ve no idea what’s she’s taking, prescribed or otherwise,’ Martha said tartly. Then she changed the subject: ‘Now, Alice’s father, Chris, and his wife, Sharon, are being assessed with a view to parenting Alice. So far the assessment has been very positive. As soon as the assessment is complete we’ll move Alice to them. They’re a nice couple and unfortunately Sharon can’t have children of her own. Alice will make them a lovely daughter. We’re in the process of re-homing them; they’re in bed and breakfast at present.’
‘Does Alice’s mother have a home?’ I asked.
‘A flat. We won’t be giving her your address, although there is no reason why Chris and Sharon shouldn’t have it, assuming you have no objection?’
‘No, that’s fine.’ Parents of a child in foster care are usually told where their child is staying unless there are concerns for the child’s safety. ‘But you’re not telling Mum where Alice is?’ I queried.
‘No, nor the grandparents, in case they pass it to Mum. There is a risk that Leah could snatch Alice again.’
I nodded. ‘Does Alice have a relationship with her father and Sharon?’ I was trying to glean as much information as I could while I had the chance. ‘She hasn’t spoken of them so far, although she chats about her mother and grandparents.’
‘From what I know, Dad didn’t have much involvement in Alice’s life before all this,’ Martha said, ‘so it’s fortunate for Alice that he wants her now. Contact with Dad and Sharon will be Tuesday and Thursday, and with the grandparents on alternate Wednesdays. Alice can also have phone contact with her grandparents on Saturdays, but I want you to monitor it. Do you have a speaker phone?’
‘Yes,’ I said, surprised she felt it was necessary. ‘I can put that phone on speaker.’ I pointed to the phone on the table in the corner of the sitting room.
‘Good. I’ve told the grandparents what they can and can’t say to Alice, and that you will stop the call if you’re not happy with anything you hear. You’re experienced enough to know what is acceptable.’
‘Yes,’ I said. While I’d monitored many phone conversations in the past it had always been in cases where a child might be frightened or intimidated by abusing parents. In all my experience as a foster carer I’d never before had to monitor the phone conversation between a child and what appeared to be loving grandparents.
‘Is there a suggestion the grandparents have abused Alice?’ I asked.
‘No, not at all, but they’re in cahoots with Leah, and we need to know what they’re saying. The grandparents haven’t been entirely honest with us, so we’re not taking any chances.’ Martha didn’t elaborate and it wasn’t for me to press for more details. She then passed me a handwritten sheet of paper with the contact arrangements: the address of the family centre where Alice would be seeing her dad and grandparents, and the grandparents’ telephone number.
‘Have you been able to print off the placement agreement form?’ I asked.
Martha shook her head. ‘The computer is still down. I’ll leave a note on the file that you haven’t received the placement form or the essential information form. I’m off the case now.’
‘Oh, are you? That’s a pity. Alice will have to get to know a new social worker. Do you know who it will be?’
‘No, but whoever it is will print out the forms you need when the system is up and running again. I think that’s everything.’ She made a move to go.
‘Have you told Alice she won’t be seeing her mother?’ I asked.
‘I’ve told her it’s not possible at present, but that she’ll be seeing lots more of her dad and Sharon to make up for it.’
‘And what did Alice say?’
‘Nothing. She just looked at me with those amazingly large eyes. She’s a very attractive child, but far too young to understand.’
I went with Martha to her car, where we lifted two large suitcases from the boot – Alice’s possessions from her grandparents. We took them into the hall and then Martha called ‘Goodbye, Alice,’ up the stairs. There was no response.
‘She’s playing with Lucy and Paula,’ I said. ‘Shall I fetch her so she can say goodbye? I don’t expect she’ll see you again if you’re off the case.’
‘No, there’s no need. She hasn’t known me very long. Just say I said good luck.’
I saw Martha out and closed the front door. Then I went upstairs to check everyone was all right. Far from playing with Lucy and Paula, as I’d assumed, and far from ‘being too young to understand’, as Martha had assumed, Alice had understood that she wouldn’t be seeing her mother and was completely distraught. I found her sitting on the bed in her room, sobbing quietly, with Lucy and Paula either side, trying to comfort her.
‘She wants her mummy,’ Paula said as soon as I entered. She looked close to tears herself.
‘That old bag told her she couldn’t see her mum,’ Lucy said bitterly, referring to the social worker.
‘Lucy,’ I cautioned. ‘That won’t help. Let me try to explain to Alice.’
I sat on her bed and took Alice on to my lap, with the girls either side of me, and held her until she was calm enough to hear what I was saying. Although I couldn’t give Alice false hope, I could at least try to explain and also focus on the positive. I explained that Mummy wasn’t well enough to see her at present but that she was being looked after, so there was nothing for her to worry about. I emphasized that she would be seeing and phoning her grandparents, and she would also be seeing lots more of her dad and Sharon.
‘I don’t want my dad and Sharon,’ Alice said fretfully. ‘I want my mummy and Nana.’
‘There! Told you!’ Lucy put in.
‘Why can’t she see her mum?’ Paula asked.
‘Alice’s mother is unwell,’ I said, looking pointedly at Paula and Lucy. ‘She isn’t up to it at present. But Alice will be seeing her grandparents and I’m sure they’ll tell Alice how her mummy is.’
Lucy snorted. ‘Oh yeah. Right. In supervised contact?’ she said cynically, having experienced supervised contact. ‘As soon as her gran mentions her mum she’ll be stopped from saying anything. You’re not allowed to talk about other people at contact, especially those connected with the case.’ While there was an element of truth in this, Lucy was exaggerating the situation and her attitude wasn’t helping Alice, who was now crying again.
‘It will be fine for your nana to tell you that Mummy is OK,’ I reassured Alice. ‘And when I next speak to your social worker I’ll ask if we can have a photograph of Mummy, and I’ll frame it, and we’ll put it on that shelf.’ I pointed to the bookshelf in the recess by her bed.
Alice brightened a little. ‘And can I have a photograph of Nana and Grandpa?’
‘Yes. And they can all watch over you while you sleep.’ Alice finally wiped her eyes. I always try to obtain photographs of the child’s parents (or main carers) as soon as possible after a child arrives. It is surprising just how much comfort having these photographs gives a child, and the child often kisses the photograph goodnight.
‘Why don’t you phone the social worker now and ask her to get them?’ Paula asked.
‘Martha is leaving the case, so as soon as we have a new social worker I’ll ask.’
‘All change!’ Lucy said disparagingly, referring to Alice’s change of social worker and all the changes of social workers
she’d experienced. ‘Pass the parcel!’
‘Enough!’ I said to Lucy. She was in rather an antagonistic mood and while I appreciated why, she needed to stop it, as it wasn’t helping Alice. I’d noticed before that when a new child arrived it had an adverse effect on Lucy for the first few days. Although Lucy went out of her way to help settle in the new arrival, as did Paula, it reminded Lucy of her own unsettled past and painful memories resurfaced. I knew she would be fine in a day or so.
I decided to leave unpacking Alice’s suitcases until after dinner and, with everyone helping, we sat down to eat thirty minutes later. But unlike at breakfast, when Lucy had set a good example and had encouraged Alice to eat, Lucy now toyed with her food and ate virtually nothing. Alice seemed to be copying her and I found myself having to encourage them both to eat, my own eating interspersed with sideways glances and ‘Come on, eat up.’ Out of the two it was Lucy I was most concerned about, for I knew Alice had had a reasonable lunch – sandwich, yogurt and fruit – but I’d no idea what, if anything, Lucy had eaten. I also knew that if I asked her she’d become evasive and it would turn into an issue.
Eventually I began collecting together the plates. ‘Are you sure you’ve had enough?’ I asked Lucy and Alice. They both nodded. Apart from being concerned that Lucy wasn’t getting enough for her body’s requirements, I was also concerned that Paula might copy her example. Adrian had always been a good eater and he was that much older, but Paula was at an impressionable age and looked up to Lucy. In all other respects Lucy had settled in very well, was coming to terms with her past and was growing very close to Paula, Adrian and me. It was a shame there was still the issue of her eating.
Chapter Ten
Brian the Bear
Before I ran Alice’s bath, Adrian took the two suitcases upstairs and into Alice’s bedroom. I lay one flat on the floor and opened it, leaving the other standing by the wall. Opening a child’s bag or case is always a poignant moment: a bittersweet reminder of the life the child has left behind. Sometimes the bag contains no more than a handful of ragged dirty clothes which aren’t of any use, and I make do with clothes from my emergency supply and then go shopping at the earliest opportunity to buy new. But as I opened the first of Alice’s two cases my heart ached: rows and rows of her little clothes, washed and neatly pressed, and smelling of a fabric conditioner which, while unfamiliar to me, would be very familiar to Alice. I looked through the case and found skirts, jumpers, dresses, pyjamas, dressing-gown, slippers, little jogging outfits, coat, gloves and scarf, and shoes wrapped in a plastic bag. It was like a suitcase packed for a holiday where, unsure of the weather, all eventualities had been catered for. I knew how much love and care had gone into that packing; Alice’s nana had wanted to make sure Alice would be comfortable and have everything she needed. I also knew the pain it must have caused her nana to pack her cherished granddaughter’s belongings for a holiday from which she would never return.