by Cathy Glass
‘E1 is through the swing doors, then turn right, down the corridor, up the staircase on your left, and Miss Connor’s room is on your left,’ the receptionist said.
I thanked her. ‘Did you get all that?’ I joked to Paula, as we went through the swing doors.
Paula grinned and pulled a face. But finding Miss Connor’s classroom wasn’t as complicated as it had sounded, and a couple of minutes later we were at the top of the stairs, standing outside classroom E1. Through the glass in the door I could see Lucy sitting at one of the tables near the front of the room, but there was no sign of her teacher. I knocked on the door and we went in.
Lucy looked up and smiled. ‘That’s my teacher, over there,’ she said, pointing to the young woman working on the wall display at the rear of the classroom.
Miss Connor stopped what she was doing and came over. ‘Lovely to meet you,’ she said pleasantly.
‘And you,’ I said, shaking her hand.
‘I thought the girls could wait in here while we have a chat,’ Miss Connor said. ‘We can use the English office next door.’
‘You’ll be all right in here, won’t you?’ I said to Paula. ‘I’ll be in the room next door.’
Paula nodded and, dropping my hand, went over and sat beside Lucy.
‘Come and fetch us if you need us,’ Miss Connor said to the girls, as we left.
‘Yes, Miss,’ Lucy said respectfully.
The door to the next room was labelled English Office, E2. ‘We call it “The Cupboard”,’ Miss Connor said, as she opened the door and we went in. I could see why.
It was a small room that clearly doubled as the English department’s stock cupboard as well as their office, and it was full. A small steel-framed table and three matching chairs stood in the centre of the room and the walls were lined with cupboards and shelves full of sets of English books. There was just enough room to draw out a chair either side of the table.
‘I’m Lucy’s English teacher as well as her form teacher,’ Miss Connor explained as we sat down.
‘Thank you for seeing me so quickly,’ I said. ‘I know Lucy’s behind with her learning and I want to help her all I can.’
‘That’s great. Why did she have to move?’ Miss Connor asked.
It was a question I’d been expecting and I explained that living with Pat and Terry had only been a temporary arrangement.
‘She’s had so many moves,’ Miss Connor said. ‘Will she be staying with you permanently now?’
It was another question I’d been expecting. ‘Lucy will live with me until the final court hearing,’ I said. ‘Then the judge will make a decision on where she should live permanently. The whole process usually takes about a year.’
‘But it’s not likely Lucy will return to live with her mother, is it?’ Miss Connor asked, concerned. ‘I didn’t think she ever saw her mother.’ As her teacher, she would have some knowledge of Lucy’s background from the school’s records.
‘Lucy doesn’t see her mother often,’ I said. ‘And she’d have to complete a successful parenting assessment to convince the authorities that she is capable of looking after Lucy.’
‘And if the judge decides Lucy shouldn’t go to live with her mother, she’ll stay with you?’
For those who don’t know the workings of the social-care system, a child staying with their present foster carer often seems the most obvious solution.
‘If the judge decides Lucy can’t live with her mother, then the social services will try to find a relative to look after her,’ I explained. ‘That’s always considered the next best option. If there is no suitable relative then the social services will find Lucy a long-term foster family to match her cultural needs. As you know, she’s dual heritage – her father is Thai.’
There was a pause when Miss Connor looked concerned. ‘And Lucy knows all this?’
‘Yes. I’ve explained it to her and so has her social worker.’
‘Poor kid. How very unsettling. It makes you grateful for your own family.’
‘It does,’ I said. Then steering Miss Connor back on track, I said, ‘But while Lucy’s with me I want to do my very best for her, and I hope to make a big difference in a year.’
‘Yes, of course. Absolutely. We must do our best for Lucy. I’ll start by telling you where she is with her learning.’
Chapter Fourteen
Control
Half an hour later I was driving home, mulling over everything Miss Connor had told me while the girls chatted in the rear of the car. I’d told Lucy that Miss Connor was pleased with her progress, although she still had some catching up to do, so Miss Connor and I would help her do that. I’d reassured Lucy that this wasn’t her fault, but the result of all the times she’d been absent from primary schools. What I hadn’t told Lucy was that Miss Connor was more concerned with Lucy’s lack of friends than with her education, which she felt she could catch up on. ‘Isolated’, ‘solitary’, ‘lacking in self-confidence’, ‘low self-esteem’ and ‘doesn’t trust people’ were some of the words and phrases Mrs Connor had used about Lucy. And while I knew, as Miss Connor did, the reasons why Lucy was like this, it was difficult to know what to do about it. Certainly telling Lucy she needed to make friends wouldn’t help. I could support Lucy in her learning, help build her self-esteem through praise, but I couldn’t make friends for her.
‘Lucy, you know you can always invite friends home for tea,’ I said, glancing at her in the interior mirror. ‘I would take them home in the car afterwards,’ I added, for Lucy’s classmates lived in the catchment area of the school – about a twenty-minute drive from us.
‘Thanks,’ Lucy said, and continued chatting to Paula.
I didn’t know what else to say, but I was worried, as Miss Connor was, for social isolation can so easily lead to depression – in children as well as adults.
Adrian was already back when we arrived home. I set about making the dinner while the children unwound from their day at school. Once we’d eaten (with Lucy eating very little again), I explained to her that I liked everyone to do their homework before they watched any television.
‘I haven’t got much homework,’ Lucy said.
‘Nevertheless, I’d like you to do it first,’ I said. I had to start as I meant to carry on.
A little reluctantly, Lucy fetched her school bag and brought it to the table, while Adrian, used to our routine, had already disappeared into the front room to research a piece of homework on the computer. He knew the sooner he completed his homework the sooner he could watch some television. Paula was playing, and I knew that on Mondays she just had reading homework to do, so I would hear her read once I’d seen to Lucy.
‘We’ve got maths and science homework,’ Lucy said with a sigh. ‘I’m in the bottom group for maths.’
‘Well, let’s see if I can help you change that,’ I said. ‘Although maths was never my strong point at school.’
With another sigh, Lucy opened her maths exercise book where a worksheet had been stapled in. ‘Fractions,’ she said, and propped her head on her hand despondently.
I scanned the page and felt confident I could help her, for the sums were quite simple, although I could see that in the previous exercise she’d got quite a few wrong. ‘Do you understand what a fraction is?’ I asked, going back to basics.
‘A part of a whole,’ Lucy said.
‘That’s right. Well done. The number under the line is the whole number and the number above is the number of parts. So if you cut a cake in two and eat half, you are eating one part of two parts.’
‘And the number below the line in a fraction is called the denominator,’ Lucy said. ‘And the number at the top is the numerator.’
‘Excellent,’ I said.
‘I understand that,’ Lucy said gloomily. ‘It’s when you have to add and take them away that I don’t get it.’
‘OK, let me talk you through the stages for adding and taking away one step at a time.’ Starting with the first qu
estion, I went through the stages for adding fractions while Lucy did the maths involved. Although I was helping her, it was important she did the calculations herself so she would gain confidence and learn. I did the same with the second fraction, which was a subtraction, and she completed the third by herself, with me beside her to give help if necessary.
‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘See, you can do it.’
She smiled, pleased with herself. ‘You like helping kids, don’t you?’ she said, glancing at me before starting the next question.
‘Yes, I suppose I do,’ I said.
‘Why?’
I was slightly taken aback. It seemed a strange question, and wasn’t one I’d been asked before. I was surprised by the candidness of my reply. ‘Well, we all feel better about ourselves when we do something right. I found some of my school work difficult. Not like some kids, who got everything right. I remember sitting in class and keeping my head down, hoping the teacher wouldn’t ask me a question. I can also remember how relieved I was when my parents helped me with my homework and showed me what to do. Like you, I just needed it explained again, so I do the same for my children.’
‘And while I’m here I’m one of your children?’ she asked.
‘Yes, of course, love.’
And I knew from Lucy’s smile just how much that reassurance meant to her, and my heart ached.
As Lucy tackled the next question, I checked on Adrian to see if he needed any help, but he didn’t. Then, telling Lucy to call me if she needed me, I went through to the living room to hear Paula read.
‘Is Lucy’s homework hard like Adrian’s?’ Paula asked.
‘Yes,’ I said, aware that Lucy could hear me. ‘And she’s doing very well.’
Lucy didn’t need my assistance while I was hearing Paula read, so once we’d finished I went through to see how she was getting on.
‘I’ve nearly finished,’ she said. ‘Can you check them?’
‘Yes, of course, love.’
I looked down her answers and saw a couple of errors. ‘Have another look at those two,’ I said, pointing.
‘They’re wrong, aren’t they?’ she said, immediately losing confidence and becoming annoyed with herself.
‘You’ve made a couple of small errors, that’s all. The rest are fine.’
I waited while Lucy corrected them, and then she did the last sum.
‘Well done,’ I said. ‘What’s next?’
‘Science,’ she said with a groan.
She put away her maths book and took out her science book together with a rough notebook. ‘We have to write up a science experiment,’ she said, opening both books.
The previous piece of work in her science book was covered in the teacher’s pencil corrections, and the notes Lucy had made in her rough notebook about the last experiment were littered with spelling mistakes and very poor grammar; I couldn’t see a single full stop. Without making an issue of it, I picked up Lucy’s pencil and began going through the rough draft of the experiment, correcting the spelling and grammar and explaining what was wrong.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
I left Lucy to copy the science experiment into her book under the various headings of ‘Aim’, ‘Apparatus’, ‘Method’ and ‘Conclusion’, while I played a game with Paula and then saw her up to bed. When I returned downstairs Lucy had finished her science homework and was packing away her books.
‘All done?’ I asked.
She nodded. ‘Thanks for your help.’
I then mentioned to Lucy that Jill was coming to see us after school the following day. ‘And Stevie is coming on Friday,’ I said. ‘I expect you’re used to social workers visiting from living with your other foster carers.’
Lucy stopped what she was doing and her face set. ‘You can talk to them, but I’m not. I hate fucking social workers!’ Throwing her school bag on the floor, she stormed out of the room and upstairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.
I was shocked by the sudden change in Lucy’s behaviour and the vehemence of her outburst. I’d looked after children before who swore, sometimes at me – many children in care are angry because of the way they have been treated. But a second before Lucy had been sweetly thanking me for helping her with her homework, and now she’d just blown up, and over something quite small.
I gave her a few moments to calm down, but not very long. Not as long as I would have given a child I’d been fostering for many months and therefore knew well and that they could be safely left alone. I was aware that Lucy had locked herself in the bathroom for hours at Pat and Terry’s, and while she couldn’t lock herself in any of the rooms in my house, as all the doors were fitted with safety locks that could be opened from the outside, I was worried she might do some something desperate – possibly barricade herself into her room or even harm herself in anger. As an experienced foster carer I’d dealt with all types of behaviour before and my instinct now told me that Lucy shouldn’t be left alone for long and that I should go up to her.
At the top of the stairs I quickly looked into Paula’s bedroom to see if she had been woken by Lucy’s shouting, but she hadn’t. I then knocked on Adrian’s door, poked my head round and said, ‘You OK?’
‘What’s the matter with Lucy?’ he asked.
‘She’s upset. I’m going to her now. Don’t worry.’
He nodded and, partly reassured, returned to the book he was reading.
Closing his door, I went to Lucy’s room. It was quiet. ‘Lucy?’ I said, giving a small knock on the door. ‘Can I come in?’
More silence, so giving another knock I slowly opened the door. The room was in darkness and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust after the brightness of the landing light. Lucy was lying face down on her bed with her face buried in the crook of her arm.
‘Are you all right, love?’ I asked gently, taking a couple of steps into her room.
‘Go away,’ she said, without raising her head. ‘Leave me alone.’ I could tell from her voice that she was crying.
I stayed where I was, a little way from her bed. ‘I can’t leave you alone while you’re upset, love,’ I said gently. I heard her sob. ‘Can you try talking to me and telling me what’s the matter?’
‘I hate social workers,’ she said. ‘And I’m not seeing them.’
‘All right. I won’t force you to see them if you really don’t want to. But they only want to help you. As you know, they have to visit regularly. Jill, to make sure I’m looking after you properly, and Stevie to make sure you’re OK.’
‘She doesn’t care!’ Lucy blurted from beneath her arm. ‘No one does.’
Taking the couple of steps to her bed, I sat on the edge. ‘I care,’ I said.
‘No, you don’t,’ she said vehemently. ‘Fostering is a job to you.’
‘It’s far more than a job,’ I said. ‘Fostering is my life. I love looking after children and it hurts me when I see them upset.’
‘Don’t care,’ Lucy said.
‘I think you do care, or you wouldn’t be crying.’ I placed my hand gently on her shoulder. ‘I know it’s difficult, love. You’ve been through so much, but don’t shut all the hurt inside you. It’ll make it worse. Can you try and tell me what’s really upsetting you? I’d like to help if I can.’ For I felt sure this was more than just the visit of two social workers.
‘No. You won’t understand,’ Lucy said, face down into her arm. ‘You can’t understand unless you’ve been there.’
‘You could try and help me understand,’ I said, my hand still lightly resting on her shoulder. ‘I know you’ve had a lot of changes in your life. I know that some of the people who were supposed to look after you, didn’t. I’m sure there’s a lot more you can tell me.’
There was a long pause when I thought she might be summoning the courage to tell me, but then she said, ‘Not now.’
‘Sure? There’s no rush. I can sit here all night if it helps.’
‘No,’ she said, and shook her head. I kne
w I shouldn’t pursue it, as she clearly wasn’t ready.
‘All right, another time then,’ I said. ‘Now, let’s dry those tears and get you into bed. Worries are always worse if you’re tired, and you’ve got school again tomorrow.’
Lucy finally raised her head and, sitting up in bed, turned to face me. I wiped her cheeks with a tissue. ‘There, that’s better,’ I said. ‘You’ve got such a lovely face; I don’t like to see you looking sad.’
She gave me the faintest of smiles, her anger gone now. ‘Can I have a hug?’ she asked, as she had the first night.
‘Of course, love. I’m always ready for a hug.’
She slid her arms around me and buried her head in my neck. I held her close. ‘Remember, love, when you’re ready to share your worries with me, I’ll be here ready to listen. It doesn’t matter how busy I am; you say, “Cathy, I have something to tell you and I need to talk.” And I’ll listen. OK?’
‘I’ll remember that,’ she said, and hugged me tighter.
‘So the honeymoon period is well and truly over,’ Jill said, with a knowing laugh, as I finished updating her the following day. ‘That was quick.’
As Lucy had threatened, she’d refused to see Jill and had stormed up to her room when she’d arrived, shouting as she went that she wouldn’t come down until Jill had gone.
‘You could say that,’ I said, returning Jill’s smile. ‘Lucy’s anger is very fierce but short-lived. She recovers quickly, although I think there’s plenty more to come out.’
‘Absolutely,’ Jill agreed. ‘And the longer Lucy’s here, the more secure she’ll feel, so the easier it will be for her anger to come out.’
‘Thanks, Jill,’ I said. ‘But on the positive side, she is sleeping well; she’s made friends with Paula and Adrian, she’s talking to us and I’ve seen her teacher and we’re giving her some extra help to catch up. Lucy was happy for me to help her with her homework.’