by Cathy Glass
Jill and I were both quiet for a moment and then I said: ‘I wonder if Lucy would talk to me on the phone? It would be better than nothing. Is it worth a try?’
‘Yes, it’s a possibility, I suppose. I’ll phone Lucy’s social worker and see what she thinks, and then I’ll get back to you. If you did phone it would have to be this evening – they’re still planning on moving her tomorrow, although I’m not sure how.’
‘I’m in all evening,’ I confirmed. ‘Speak later.’
We said goodbye and hung up. Jill had been my support social worker for the last six of the thirteen years I’d been fostering. We had a close working relationship and I respected her decisions and opinions. But as I walked away from the phone, visions of a screaming, struggling eleven-year-old girl being forcibly brought to my door flashed through my mind. I’d experienced younger children being taken from their parents and handed to me in a very distressed state. I’d sat and cuddled them for as long as it took to calm them and until their sobbing eased. Rarely does a child willingly leave their parents – usually only in the worst cases of sexual abuse. But Lucy wasn’t little and couldn’t just be left in my arms. And also, she wasn’t coming to me from her parents, but from a temporary foster placement. I thought it was an indication of all she’d been through that she’d become hysterical at having to move from a family she’d only been with for three months.
It was now 5.00 p.m., and a cold winter evening in February. My two children – Adrian, aged thirteen, and Paula, nine – were watching television while I was making the evening meal. Having grown up with fostering, they’d seen many children come and go, of all ages, of both sexes and from different ethnic backgrounds. They took any new addition to our family in their stride, and when I’d told them a couple of days ago that Lucy would be coming to stay for a while, Paula had predictably said, ‘Oh good, a big girl to play with,’ while Adrian, preferring a boy his own age for company, had pulled a face and sighed: ‘Not another girl in the house!’ Although, in truth, we all welcomed as family any child who came into our home.
Jill, efficient as usual, phoned back fifteen minutes later. ‘The social worker was busy so I telephoned Pat, the foster carer,’ she said. ‘Lucy’s still refusing to talk to her and she’s certain she won’t talk to you either, but Pat said she’s happy for you to try. Also, and more worryingly, Lucy is refusing to eat – she hasn’t eaten since all this blew up the day before yesterday. I’ll give you Pat’s number. I told her you’d phone at about seven o’clock. Is that all right?’
‘Yes,’ I said, now even more worried for Lucy. Picking up the pen I kept with the notepad by the phone, I wrote down the carer’s telephone number and then read it back to check I had it right.
‘Good luck,’ Jill said. ‘Pat and her husband were going to move Lucy tomorrow – Saturday – but if she’s still not cooperating then they’ll have to wait until Monday, when the social worker is back in the office and can sort it out.’
‘And what will she do?’ I asked.
‘No idea. There doesn’t appear to be a plan B,’ Jill said, trying to lighten an otherwise dire situation.
‘The whole thing is so tragic,’ I said, my heart going out to Lucy.
‘Yes, and the most tragic aspect of Lucy’s case is that it needn’t have happened,’ Jill said. ‘Lucy’s life could have been so different if someone had made the decision to remove her early on. She could have been adopted. It’s too late now. She’s too old. The damage has been done.’
Adrian and Paula had been expecting to meet Lucy that Friday evening, just as I had, so once I’d finished speaking to Jill on the phone and before I served dinner, I returned to the living room and explained to Adrian and Paula that Lucy wouldn’t be coming for a visit as she was too upset, but that I would phone her carer later and try to talk to Lucy.
‘Why doesn’t Lucy want to come?’ Paula asked. ‘Doesn’t she like us?’
‘She doesn’t even know us,’ Adrian put in quickly, always ready to correct his younger sister.
‘I think she’s just had all she can take,’ I said. ‘She’s never had a proper home and she’s been treated very badly.’
‘Tell her it’s OK for her to come here. We won’t treat her badly. We’ll be kind to her,’ Paula said.
I smiled. ‘That’s nice, love.’ If only it was that simple, I thought.
Once we’d eaten and I’d cleared away the dishes, and before I began Paula’s bedtime routine, I left Adrian and Paula playing a board game in the living room while I went down the hall to phone Lucy’s carers. I needed quiet in order to think what I would say to Lucy if I got the chance, and also I was nervous. Even after many years of fostering, I still get an attack of nerves just before the arrival of a new child, and it’s always worse if the move doesn’t go smoothly. But then, I thought, how much worse must Lucy be feeling, rejected and having to move in yet again with strangers?
‘Is that Pat?’ I asked, as the call connected and a woman’s voice answered.
‘Yes. Speaking.’
‘It’s Cathy Glass.’
‘Oh, yes, Lucy’s new carer. Hello.’ I could hear relief in her voice. ‘Jill said you’d phone.’
‘So, how is Lucy now?’ I asked.
‘Still shut in her room and refusing to come out or speak to us. I don’t know what to do. I feel awful, so does my husband. Lucy’s blaming us for her having to move, but we’re only approved to look after babies. To be honest, Cathy, I regret ever having agreed to take Lucy in the first place. It’s so upsetting and we feel very guilty.’
‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘It’s not your fault. The social services were desperate to place Lucy in the area after her mother complained, and you were the only carer available. It’s not good practice, but it happens when the system is stretched to the limit. Have you been able to tell Lucy that I would be phoning?’
‘Sort of. I called through her bedroom door and told her. She didn’t answer, but I think she heard me.’
‘How long ago was that?’ I asked.
‘About two hours.’
‘All right. Could you go up now please and tell her I’m on the phone. I assume her bedroom door isn’t locked?’
‘No. We never put locks on the bedroom doors. We’re not allowed to.’ Pat was referring to the ‘safer caring’ recommendations for foster carers, which advise against locks being fitted to the child’s bedroom door, as it could prevent the carer from entering in an emergency or if the child is distressed.
‘Good,’ I said. ‘This is what I’d like you to do. Go up now, knock on Lucy’s bedroom door and then poke your head round and say lightly: “There’s a phone call for you. It’s Cathy, your new carer. She’s hoping she can have a little chat with you.”’
‘You think I should open her door and go in?’ Pat asked, concerned. ‘I thought she wanted to be alone.’
Not used to fostering older children, Pat had thought she was respecting Lucy’s privacy in leaving her alone, but as an experienced carer of older children I knew that, once a child had had time to cool off, they usually wanted you to go to them and give them a cuddle. I would never have left a child alone in their room for any more than fifteen minutes if they were as upset as Lucy was.
‘Yes, Pat. Open her bedroom door and go in a little,’ I confirmed.
‘All right, I’ll do as you say.’
I heard the phone being set down and then Pat’s footsteps receding upstairs. As I waited I could feel my heart thumping loudly in my chest. Adrian and Paula’s distant voices floated through from the living room. I heard Pat knock on Lucy’s bedroom door, then a slight creak as the door opened, followed by: ‘Your new carer, Cathy, is on the phone for you. Can you come and talk to her?’
There was more silence and then I heard the bedroom door close. A few moments later Pat’s voice came on the phone again. ‘I told her, but she’s still refusing to even look at me. She’s just sitting there on the bed staring into space.’
My worries
for Lucy rose.
‘What should I do now?’ Pat asked, anxiously. ‘Shall I ask my husband to try to talk to her?’
‘Does Lucy have a better relationship with him?’ I asked.
‘No, not really,’ Pat said. ‘She won’t speak to him, either. Jill said that we might have to leave her until Monday, when her social worker is back at work.’
‘Then Lucy has the whole weekend to brood over this,’ I said. ‘It will be worse. Let’s try again to get her to the phone. I’m sure it will help if she hears I’m not an ogre.’
Pat gave a little snort of laughter. ‘Jill said you were very good with older children.’
‘That was sweet of her,’ I said. ‘Now, is your phone fixed or cordless?’
‘Cordless.’
‘Excellent. Take the handset up with you, knock on Lucy’s bedroom door, go in and tell her again I would like to talk to her. But this time, leave the phone on her bed facing up so she can hear me, and then come out. I might end up talking to myself, but I’m used to that.’
Pat gave another snort of nervous laughter. ‘Fingers crossed,’ she said.
I heard Pat’s footsteps going up the stairs again, followed by the knock on Lucy’s bedroom door and the slight creak as it opened. Pat’s voice trembled a little as she said: ‘Cathy’s still on the phone and she’d like to talk to you.’
There was a little muffled sound, presumably as Pat put the phone on Lucy’s bed, and then I heard the bedroom door close. I was alone with Lucy. This was my chance to talk to her, to try and connect with her and reassure her. Maybe my only chance.
I took a deep breath and said gently: ‘Hello, love. It’s Cathy. Can you hear me, pet?’
I paused. Although I wasn’t expecting a reply straight away, I wanted to give her the chance. I pictured the handset on the bed, presumably near enough for Lucy to hear. I wondered if she’d looked at the phone as my voice had come through.
‘I know how dreadful this is for you,’ I began, my voice gentle but hopefully loud enough for her to hear. ‘I know how you must be feeling at having to move again. You’ve had so many moves, Lucy. I think you’ve coped remarkably well. I don’t think I would have coped as well as you have.’
I paused again and listened for any response, but there was none, not even a sigh or a sob. For all I knew she might have stuffed the phone under her pillow so she didn’t have to listen to me, but at least she hadn’t severed the call; the line was still open.
‘I’d like to tell you a bit about myself and my home,’ I continued. ‘So it won’t seem so strange to you when you arrive. I live in a house about a twenty-minute drive from where you are now, so you’ll be able to go to the same secondary school, which is good. You don’t want to change schools again. I have two children: Adrian, who is thirteen, and Paula, who is nine. They are both looking forward to meeting you and having you stay. Paula is planning lots of games for you to play with her. There’s just the three of us, as I’m divorced, so they’ll be four of us in the family when you arrive. Five including our cat.’ I paused again, but there was nothing.
‘I’ve got your room ready,’ I said. ‘But I’m sure you’ll want to change things around to suit you, which is fine. You’ll be able to put posters and pictures on your bedroom walls to make it look nice. Just as you want it. As well as the bed, there’s a wardrobe and drawers for your clothes, plenty of shelf space for your cuddlies and a toy box. There’s also a small table, which you can work at if you need quiet for your homework, or you can do your homework downstairs if you wish. I’ll always help you with your school work if you want me to, just like I help Adrian and Paula. We have quite a big garden with some swings. We like to go out in the garden when the weather is fine. We also like playing games. Adrian and Paula are playing a board game now. Do you like playing games, love?’
I stopped and waited, hoping for a reply, but none came. Was Lucy listening? Had I caught her attention? Or was she still in denial, refusing to acknowledge me, and perhaps sitting with her hands pressed to her ears not having heard a word I’d said. I waited a moment longer and then continued.
‘So, Lucy, I’m wondering what else I can tell you? I’m sure you’ve got lots of questions. Our cat is called Toscha. You’ll like her. She’s very gentle and loves being stroked. The only time she ever scratched anyone was years ago when Adrian was little and he pulled her tail. Cats don’t like having their tails pulled and Adrian learnt his lesson. He never did it again. Paula sometimes puts a doll’s bonnet on Toscha and pushes her around the garden in her doll’s pram. She does look funny.’
I stopped. I thought I’d heard a faint sound, possibly a movement. I waited, not daring to breathe, my pulse throbbing. Then I heard another noise and I stood perfectly still. I had the feeling Lucy had picked up the phone; I thought I heard the faintest sound of breathing. I waited a moment longer to see if she would speak, then, lowering my voice, I said softly: ‘Hello, Lucy.’
A pause, and then an almost inaudible: ‘Hello.’
Relief flooded through me. I could have wept. Her little voice sounded so very sad. ‘Well done, love,’ I said. ‘You’re being very brave. I know how difficult this is for you. Pat does, too. How are you feeling?’
Another pause, and then a very slight: ‘OK, I guess.’
I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. I wished I could reach out and hug her.
‘We’re all looking forward to meeting you,’ I said. ‘Adrian, Paula, me and Toscha. Can you think of any questions you’d liked to ask?’
Silence; then her small voice again: ‘What’s the name of the game Adrian and Paula are playing?’ So she had been listening.
‘It’s called draughts, love. Do you know the game?’
A very quiet: ‘I think so.’
‘You play it on a board with round pieces, and you take the other person’s pieces by hopping over them. It’s easy to play and good fun.’
‘I don’t know many games,’ Lucy said quietly.
‘We’ll teach you. We have a cupboard full of games. When you arrive I’ll show you where everything is and you can choose a game to play. Adrian and Paula are always playing games when they’re not at school.’
‘Do they watch television, too?’ Lucy asked quietly.
‘Oh yes, too much sometimes. Do you have a favourite television programme?’
A small pause, then a tiny: ‘Not really. I watch what everyone else watches.’
‘So, what do you like to eat?’ I now asked. ‘And I’ll make sure I’ve got some of your favourite foods in ready for tomorrow.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Lucy said, in the same small, self-effacing voice that made me want to cry. ‘I don’t really have any favourite food. I don’t like eating much.’
Although I was pleased that Lucy was now talking to me, she seemed so sad and far too compliant – probably a result of having to continually fit in with other families. I was also concerned about her last comment in respect of not liking to eat, for the referral had said she was underweight and had raised the possibility of an eating disorder.
‘What else can I tell you about us?’ I now asked.
There was a pause, and then Lucy asked the one question I’d been dreading. ‘If I come to you, will I have to move again?’
I took a breath. ‘What did your social worker tell you?’ I asked.
‘She said my mum would have to go to court if she wanted me back, as there was a court order now.’
‘That’s right. You’re in care now under what’s called an Interim Care Order. Did your social worker explain what that was?’
‘I think so, but I didn’t really understand.’
‘I know, love. There was too much going on. I’ll try and explain. Until recently, when you were in care it was under what’s called a Section 20, which is an agreement between your mum and the social services. It meant that your mum could take you out of care whenever she wanted to, which is one of the reasons you’ve had so many moves. That can’t happe
n now there is a court order. The social services will be applying for a Full Care Order, when the judge will make the decision on where you should live permanently: if you can live with your mother or if you would be better off in foster care permanently. But we won’t know the judge’s decision for many months, possibly a year, as they have to read lots of reports to make sure it’s the right decision.’ I stopped. ‘Does that make any sense to you, love?’
There was a long pause, which was hardly surprising; the workings of the care system are difficult enough for adults to grasp, let alone an eleven-year-old child.
When Lucy spoke again it brought tears to my eyes. ‘I don’t want to live with my mum,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want to have to keep moving. Other kids have proper homes and families who love them. I just want a family of my own.’
Chapter Eleven
Lucy
I couldn’t lie to Lucy. I couldn’t tell her she would never have to move again, but I could tell her that eventually she would be found a permanent family of her own.
‘Lucy, from what I know of your history I think it’s highly unlikely the judge will decide you should live with your mother. So the social services will see if you have a relative who can look after you, and if not then they will find you a long-term foster family to suit you.’ I didn’t say ‘one that will match your cultural heritage’, although I knew that would be part of the criteria. Lucy was dual heritage, as her father was Thai, so the social services would want to find her a family that reflected this.
‘But all that will take many months,’ I said, ‘maybe up to a year, and you won’t have to move again during that time.’ It was the best I could offer to reassure Lucy and, bless her, it was enough.
‘So I won’t have to move again for a whole year?’ she said, her voice lightening a little.
‘That’s right, love. Only once the judge has made his or her decision will you move, and that will be to your forever family.’