by Cathy Glass
‘As I’ve done my homework, can I stay out until eleven?’ Joss said, trying to push the boundaries as always.
‘No. Ten-thirty is late enough. How are you getting home? Shall I come and meet you?’
‘No. I’ll get a lift back.’
Which I had to accept. ‘Well done for doing your school work,’ I added. ‘I’m pleased.’
She shrugged and sauntered away to change as though she didn’t care, but I knew she probably did. Everyone likes to receive praise and hear good things about themselves; it gives us a warm glow and increases our self-esteem, although we may not show it.
Joss ate her dinner quickly and as soon as we’d all finished she went out, wearing tight jeans and a not-too-skimpy top, which I was pleased about. While she was out I wrote up my log notes, including the details of the appointment I’d had with Miss Pryce and the concerns she’d raised about Joss’s school work and behaviour, and the fact that she’d been seen getting into a car with two men, one of whom Joss had told me was Chelsea’s uncle. I would also telephone Amelia on Monday and make sure she was aware of this latest worry. Miss Pryce had said the social services had been informed but that she hadn’t heard anything further. Perhaps it was innocent, but I had concerns and I felt it needed to be followed up.
As 10.30 p.m. approached I went up to my bedroom, which is at the front of the house, and watched out for Joss’s return. If Joss was brought home by car I’d make a note of the registration number and model, so that if she went missing again I would have more information to give the police to help find her. Although it was dark outside, the street lamps were on and with my bedroom light off I could see a good way up the street. The road on which I live is reasonably quiet, and the few cars that passed continued along without stopping. Then, at 10.40 p.m., I saw Joss walking down the street, alone; if she had been given a lift then she must have been dropped off out of sight at the end of the road. She made a sorrowful figure: small, by herself in the dark, and without her usual armour of couldn’t-care-less bravado. I thought she looked sad too, so when I opened the door I said, ‘Hello, love. Is everything all right?’
‘I guess.’ She stepped in.
‘Are you sure? You seem a bit low.’
‘No more than usual,’ she said.
I looked at her and my heart clenched. ‘Oh, Joss, I wish you could talk to me, love. I’m sure it would help.’
‘And tell you what?’ she said, her defences going up.
‘About what’s making you so unhappy.’
‘That’s easy,’ she said, turning to go upstairs. ‘My dad hanged himself and my mum married a creep. Goodnight – I’m going to bed.’
‘Joss,’ I called after her, but she continued upstairs.
I tried to talk to her again when I said goodnight, but she didn’t want to know.
She had another nightmare in the early hours, and as usual I was out of bed as soon as I heard her first scream. By the glow of the dimmed light in her room I could see she was sitting up in bed clutching the duvet to her chest. ‘Don’t touch me! Get away!’ she said. For a moment I thought she was talking to me, but her eyes were closed and it seemed she was still asleep and this was part of her nightmare.
‘Joss, it’s all right,’ I soothed, going over. ‘You’re safe. There’s nothing to worry about. It was just a bad dream.’
‘Bad dream,’ she repeated groggily in her sleep.
‘Yes, you’re safe now. Snuggle down and get some rest.’
I eased her down onto the bed and she curled onto her side. I waited until she was in a deep sleep again before I came out and returned to my bed. Although Joss always went back to sleep quite quickly after a nightmare, it took me much longer. That night I lay in the darkness, my thoughts wrestling with Joss’s pain and trying to work out what on earth I could do to help her. The last time I looked at the bedside clock it was nearly 3.30 a.m. and when I woke it was 8.15. Thankfully, it was Saturday, so I didn’t have to be up early.
When I’m fostering younger children I’m always up, showered and dressed before them, even at weekends, but with Joss and my family being that much older and all of them liking a lie-in, it was nearly nine o’clock before I went downstairs. I fed Toscha and made a cup of tea, which I took into the living room. It was another lovely morning, so I opened the patio doors and then sat on the sofa, sipping my tea with birdsong and the early morning air drifting in. Five minutes later the telephone rang. I reached out and picked up the handset from the corner table. ‘Hello?’
‘Cathy, it’s Linda, Joss’s mum. I hope I haven’t woken you – I waited until nine o’clock.’ I was surprised to hear from her. Although we had each other’s telephone numbers, we hadn’t used them before.
‘I’m up,’ I said. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘No. Eric said I should phone you. I’ve received a letter from the police. Joss is in trouble again and it happened after she came to you.’ My heart sank. ‘Joss has been warned before about underage drinking, and this time she swore at a police officer. It says this is her final warning. Next time she’ll be prosecuted in court.’ Linda’s voice shook.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, immediately feeling responsible. ‘When did this happen?’
‘The letter says Saturday, 5 June, at approximately 8.45 p.m. at Maple Park. She must have given the police this address.’
‘Linda, can you hold on a moment, please? I want to check my diary to see where Joss was supposed to be that evening.’
‘Yes, go ahead. I’m so upset, and angry that she’s allowed out so much.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. ‘Just a minute.’
I set down the phone and my cup of tea and went into the front room where I kept my fostering folder and other important documents in a locked drawer. I took out my log and turned to the date Linda had given. My heart sank further as I realized it was the Saturday I’d taken Joss to the cinema to meet Chelsea (then known as Chloe).
I returned the folder to the drawer and went back into the living room where I picked up the handset. ‘Linda, Joss was supposed to have been in the cinema that evening with a friend. I took her there myself, and collected her after.’
‘They couldn’t have gone in,’ Linda said. ‘The park where they were found drinking isn’t far from the cinema. Joss is a very silly girl. She won’t be given another chance. She’s had so many warnings. I really thought she might change when she came to you.’
I shared Linda’s depressing disappointment. ‘I’ll talk to her,’ I said.
‘Yes, as soon as she is awake, please. And also, can you tell her that Eric is out this morning until one o’clock, so she can come and see Kevin and me if she wants to.’
‘I will. Linda, I’m sorry this has happened, but hopefully I can talk some sense into Joss. The letter from the police may give her the shock she needs.’
‘It may,’ Linda said without any conviction.
I didn’t wait for Joss to wake up. Leaving my tea half drunk, I went upstairs to Joss’s bedroom where I gave a loud knock on her door and went in.
‘What time is it?’ Joss groaned, turning over.
‘Time you woke up,’ I said. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘Can’t it wait? I’m tired.’ She pulled the duvet over her head.
‘No, it can’t wait.’ I sat on the chair a little way from her bed. ‘Your mother has just telephoned me. She’s very upset, understandably.’
Joss groaned. ‘What now?’
‘She’s received a letter from the police, a final warning. Can you think what it might be about?’
‘No,’ came the muffled reply from beneath the duvet.
‘Maple Park on Saturday, 5 June,’ I said, ‘when you were supposed to be at the cinema with Chelsea. Joss, you must have known you’d be found out!’
Another groan. ‘Don’t care,’ she said.
‘Well, I do. Pull the duvet down and look at me when I’m talking to you, please.’
I waited
. There was no movement at first, but then she gradually lowered the duvet, although she didn’t look at me.
‘Apart from the fact that you lied to me – you didn’t go into the cinema at all – you were drinking alcohol in a public place and then swore at a police officer! How stupid was that? Your mother will show you the letter when you go home this morning, but it’s your final warning, Joss. Make no mistake. You’ve run out of chances. Any further instances and you will be prosecuted in a court of law and very likely sent to a young offenders’ institution. Then you certainly won’t be drinking in the park or joyriding in a car with young men. In fact, you won’t be allowed out at all without an escort.’ My voice had risen with the passion of what I was saying. How could she have been so stupid? Joss knew I was annoyed.
‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘Joss, you’ve said sorry many times before, but you haven’t changed your behaviour! Perhaps you think it’s funny, a joke, to behave like this, but I guarantee you won’t be laughing when you’re in court and then locked up. How do you buy alcohol, anyway? You don’t look eighteen.’ It is illegal in the UK to sell alcohol to anyone under eighteen and shopkeepers are obliged by law to ask for ID if there is any doubt.
‘I don’t buy it,’ Joss said. ‘My friends do.’
‘What friends? The men in the car? Chelsea’s uncle?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What a good influence they are!’ I said caustically. ‘Do they give you cigarettes too?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
‘And drugs?’
‘No.’
‘Do they take drugs?’
‘Dunno.’
I sighed. ‘Can’t you find some better friends, Joss? You’re worth more than this.’
‘I like them,’ she said defensively. ‘We have a laugh. I won’t get into trouble again, I promise.’
What more could I say? ‘I just hope you’ve taken on board what I’ve said this time, Joss, I really do. Because you won’t get another chance.’
‘I know. I’ll stay out of trouble; really, I will.’
‘I hope so. Now, your mother also said that Eric is going out this morning, so you can go home and see her and your brother. But I want you to come straight back here afterwards. You’ve homework to do this afternoon. I’ll be stopping your pocket money for the incident in the park.’
‘But that’s not fair!’ Joss cried indignantly, sitting up in bed. ‘That happened weeks ago. You can’t stop my pocket money for that now.’
What wonderful logic, I thought. ‘I am stopping it, Joss. Your mother and I have only just found out about it. But you can earn it back as usual.’ I would have liked to have stopped Joss from going out that night too, but that wasn’t an option. ‘Now get dressed so you can go and see your mother and brother. You’d better apologize to your mum, and tell her it won’t ever happen again. I feel sorry for your mother, I really do. She doesn’t need all this worry.’ Neither do I, I thought.
I left Joss to wash and dress, and when she came downstairs for breakfast she was subdued. She apologized again and promised she would do her best to behave in future, and also find some better friends who were more her age. Ever optimistic, I began to allow myself to hope that maybe she meant what she said this time and her behaviour would improve in future.
Linda had said that Eric would be out of the house until one o’clock, so I assumed Joss would leave when he arrived. Allowing time for her to walk to the bus stop plus the thirty-minute journey home, I was expecting her to return to me by two o’clock. When she hadn’t arrived by three o’clock, I telephoned Linda.
‘Joss left two hours ago,’ Linda said. ‘As soon as Eric walked in. She said she was going to see Chelsea. I asked her if that was all right with you and she told me you’d said it was, as long as she was back by ten-thirty tonight.’
‘What!’ I cried. ‘That isn’t what I said at all. Just the opposite, in fact. I told her she had to come straight home after she’d seen you. She knows she has homework to do.’
‘Sorry,’ Linda said. ‘I should have checked with you first.’
‘It’s not your fault. I should have collected her in the car. I didn’t think it would be necessary. She promised me she’d mend her ways.’
‘She always does,’ Linda said despondently. ‘I don’t think she can help herself. Do you know Chelsea?’
‘I’ve met her once, although I do know where she lives.’
‘I got the impression Joss was going to her place. She said they had to keep off the streets and not get into more trouble with the police.’
‘At least she listened to that part of my lecture,’ I said. ‘Pity she didn’t listen to the rest. I think I might go to Chelsea’s flat and bring Joss home. She needs to understand she can’t do whatever she wants whenever she pleases.’
‘That’s good of you,’ Linda said. Then I heard a man’s voice in the background and, lowering her voice, Linda said, ‘Eric says Joss needs a damn good smack. But I’ve never hit my children. Steven and I were against it.’
‘So am I,’ I said. ‘There are better ways to discipline a child. And foster carers aren’t allowed to smack children. I’ll go now and see if Joss is at Chelsea’s flat. Shall I phone you when I return?’
‘Yes, please. I am grateful. Thank you so much, Cathy.’
I felt there was little to thank me for.
Chapter Eight
Out of Patience
Adrian and Lucy were both out that Saturday afternoon; Adrian was playing tennis and Lucy was shopping with some friends. I explained to Paula that I was going out to try to find Joss. I asked her if she wanted to come with me and wait in the car or stay at home. She said she’d stay at home, so I left her sitting on the bench in the garden reading a book with Toscha curled up beside her.
I knew where Chelsea’s flat was from when I’d given her a lift home from the cinema – assuming she and Joss had told me the truth as to where Chelsea lived. To be honest, Joss had told me so many lies I now doubted much of what she said, and I thought that as they’d given me a false name for Chelsea, perhaps they’d also given me a false address. But I would try it. Joss needed to see I was serious about the boundaries I was putting in place and that when I said something, I meant it. The worse that could happen was that Chelsea didn’t live in the flat, in which case I’d apologize to the occupants for disturbing them, and then perhaps I’d drive around some of Joss’s favourite haunts – Maple Park and outside the shopping centre, for example – and see if I could spot her.
I pulled in to the kerb and parked where there was a space a little way from the parade of shops. The night I’d dropped off Chelsea I hadn’t seen a front entrance to the flat, but Joss had told me it was at the rear, up a fire escape. I got out of the car, walked round the end of the building and immediately saw the flight of stairs she meant. Taking the handrail, I made my way up, my shoes echoing on the metal steps. At the top of the stairs there was a landing, which ran the length of the seven flats. The landing was south facing and a few old dining chairs were outside for residents to sit in the sun, although they were unoccupied now. There was also washing hanging on a makeshift line strewn between the railings, drying in the sun. The newsagents below was the third shop in, so I went to the third door. It was number 79. A small window was open in a room overhead and from it I could hear a television.
Now that I’d arrived I was apprehensive, and I felt my heart step up a beat. The plan I’d hatched for bringing Joss home seemed flawed. Even if Joss was here, supposing she made a big scene and refused to come with me – what could I do? Not a lot, and my credibility as a foster carer in her eyes would suffer even more. But I was here so, taking a deep breath and summoning my courage, I lifted the small rusty knocker and gave the door a sharp tap. I waited. No one answered and the television above continued. I knocked again, harder this time, and waited some more.
I was about to knock a third time when a noise came from the other side of the door – a lock b
eing turned – and then the door slowly opened. Chelsea looked at me, astonished.
‘Hi, love,’ I said non-confrontationally, throwing her a smile. ‘Nice to see you again. Is Joss here?’
She gave a small, anxious nod.
‘Good. I’ve come to give her a lift home.’
There was no sign of Joss, but Chelsea looked at me, very worried, clearly not knowing what to do.
‘Could you tell her I’m here, please, or perhaps I could come in?’
I took a step forward and Chelsea opened the door wider to let me in. I found myself in a kitchen, cluttered and dirty. The sink and draining board were overflowing with used pans, dishes and cutlery, and a Formica table was littered with empty takeaway boxes, beer cans, drink bottles and anything else the occupants couldn’t be bothered to take out to the rubbish bins. The place reeked of stale food and smoke. I followed Chelsea from the kitchen into the main room.
‘Joss, your foster carer is here,’ Chelsea said as we entered.
The air was thick with cannabis smoke. I blinked as my gaze went to an old sofa up against one wall where Joss was scrabbling to straighten her clothes and move away from the man she was with. More empty beer cans and spirit bottles were strewn around and grey net curtains hung at the window that overlooked the street. On the floor up against the other wall was a mattress, and the guy lying on it looked me up and down.
‘Yeah? What do you want?’ he said rudely.
‘I’ve come to give Joss a lift home,’ I said evenly. I turned to Joss, who had the decency to look embarrassed. Both guys laughed. I guessed they were in their early twenties and both wore jeans and short-sleeved T-shirts that showed heavily tattooed arms.
‘Hi, I’m Zach, nice to meet you,’ the guy who’d been with Joss said sarcastically.
I nodded. ‘Are you ready?’ I asked Joss, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible.
She glanced anxiously at Zach.
‘Go home with your carer,’ he said mockingly. ‘But give us a kiss first.’