Innocent
Innocent
Cathy Glass
Innocent is the shocking true story of little Molly and Kit, siblings, aged 3 years and 18 months, who are brought into care as an emergency after suffering non-accidental injuries.Aneta and Filip, the children’s parents, are distraught when their children are taken into care. Aneta maintains she is innocent of harming them, while Filip appears bewildered and out of his depth. It’s true the family has never come to the attention of the social services before and little Kit and Molly appear to have been well looked after, but Kit has a broken arm and bruises on his face. Could it be they were a result of a genuine accident as Aneta is claiming? Both children become sick with a mysterious illness while, experienced foster carer, Cathy, is looking after them. Very worried, she asks for more hospital tests to be done. They’ve already had a lot. When Cathy’s daughter, Lucy, becomes ill too she believes she has found the cause of Kit and Molly’s illness and the parents aren’t to blame. However, nothing could be further from the truth and what comes to light is far more sinister and shocking.
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Copyright (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.
HarperElement
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First published by HarperElement 2019
FIRST EDITION
Text © Cathy Glass 2019
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover photograph © Voisin/Phanie/Getty Images (stock photo posed by models)
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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Source ISBN: 9780008341985
Ebook Edition © September 2019 ISBN: 9780008341992
Version: 2019-06-03
Contents
1 Cover (#u661540c8-b510-5f3a-bfe4-e3f9a37aeb48)
2 Title Page
3 Copyright
4 Contents (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
5 Acknowledgements
6 Chapter One: Traumatized
7 Chapter Two: Chaos
8 Chapter Three: Disturbed Night
9 Chapter Four: Good Mother
10 Chapter Five: Distressing
11 Chapter Six: I Want Mummy
12 Chapter Seven: Sick
13 Chapter Eight: Need to Know?
14 Chapter Nine: Sick Again
15 Chapter Ten: Bonding
16 Chapter Eleven: Exasperated and Worried
17 Chapter Twelve: Play Nicely
18 Chapter Thirteen: Not Responsible
19 Chapter Fourteen: Hospital
20 Chapter Fifteen: A Breakthrough?
21 Chapter Sixteen: My Fault
22 Chapter Seventeen: Accused
23 Chapter Eighteen: Leaving
24 Chapter Nineteen: Shocking
25 Chapter Twenty: Beyond Belief
26 Chapter Twenty-One: No Contact
27 Chapter Twenty-Two: Love the Children
28 Chapter Twenty-Three: Disclosure
29 Chapter Twenty-Four: The Wonder of Christmas
30 Chapter Twenty-Five: Aneta
31 Chapter Twenty-Six: Permanent?
32 Chapter Twenty-Seven: Judge’s Decision
33 Chapter Twenty-Eight: Saying Goodbye
34 Afterword
35 Suggested topics for reading-group discussion
36 Cathy Glass
37 If you loved this book …
38 Moving Memoirs eNewsletter (#litres_trial_promo)
39 Praise for Cathy Glass
40 About the Publisher
LandmarksCover (#u661540c8-b510-5f3a-bfe4-e3f9a37aeb48)FrontmatterStart of ContentBackmatter
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Acknowledgements (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
A big thank you to my family; my editors, Carolyn and Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; my UK publishers HarperCollins, and my overseas publishers who are now too numerous to list by name. Last, but definitely not least, a big thank you to my readers for your unfailing support and kind words. They are much appreciated.
Chapter One
Traumatized (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
Thank goodness I didn’t have to witness their anguish and upset, I thought. I was sure I wouldn’t have coped. It was bad enough knowing it was happening – two young children about to be taken from their parents and brought into care. During the twenty-five years I’d been fostering I’d seen a lot of changes, but the raw grief of a family torn apart didn’t get any easier. I could imagine the children screaming and crying and clinging to their distraught parents as they tried to say goodbye. My heart ached for them. I also had sympathy for the social worker who was doing a very difficult job. No one wants to take children from their parents, but sometimes there is no alternative if they are to be safe.
It was now nearly two o’clock in the afternoon and I was standing in what would shortly be the children’s bedroom. I could have put the cot in my room, but I was sure Kit, only eighteen months old, would be happier sleeping with his sister Molly, who was three and a half. Doubtless she too would find comfort in having her younger brother close. Fostering guidelines on bedroom sharing vary slightly from one local authority to another, but generally siblings of the opposite sex can share a bedroom up to the age of five.
Molly and Kit were coming to me as an emergency placement. Stevie, fifteen (whose story I told in Finding Stevie), had left at the end of August and now, a few days later, at the start of September, I was preparing myself and the house for the arrival of these two little ones, who were certainly going to be distraught. Sometimes taking children into care can be done with the cooperation of their parents, voluntarily, which is known as ‘accommodated’ or a Section 20. It’s usually considered the better option, as the parents retain legal responsibility for their children and the process is less distressing for all involved. But that couldn’t happen here, so the social services had gone to court that morning to ask the judge for a care order to remove the children from home and bring them to me.
Edith, my supervising social worker, had telephoned at 11 a.m. to tell me to expect the children if the care order was granted. The reason for the social services’ application was that one of the children (she didn’t know which one) had suffered what was thought to be a non-accidental injury. That meant that someone – presumably one or both of the parents – had harmed the child. Apart from this and their ages, Edith didn’t have any more details. I would learn more when their social worker brought the children to me later today.
As soon as I’d finished speaking to Edith I’d gone into the loft and brought down all the early-years equipment I’d stored away there, including a cot, pushchair, car seats and boxes full of toys, all of which I’d wrapped in polythene to keep them clean after the last time I’d used them many years before. I’d struggled to get them down and to assemble the cot on my own, but my family were all out and I didn’t dare leave it until they returned in the evening. Adrian, aged twenty-four, and Lucy, twenty-two, were at work, and Paula, twenty, was at college. I was a single parent, my husband having run off with a younger work colleague when the children were little. Very upsetting at the time but history now.
Having made up the bed and cot with fresh linen, I set a toy box at the far end of the room and came out. Hopefully Molly and Kit’s parents would feel up to packing some of their children’s clothes and toys, as it would help them settle with me to have familiar things around them when everything else in their lives had changed.
Downstairs, I quickly made a sandwich lunch, which I ate at the table with my mobile phone beside me. I was expecting Edith or the children’s social worker to phone at any moment – as soon as the care order had been granted and they’d left court. Of course, there was a chance the order wouldn’t be granted. If so, then preparing the room would have all been for nothing. It had happened to me in the past – I’d been put on standby to receive a child or children, and plans had changed at the last minute, which is why foster carers have to be flexible. It’s unusual for a care order not to be granted, but what happens more often is that a relative steps in at the last minute to look after the children so they don’t have to go to a foster carer they don’t know.
I’d just finished eating my sandwich when my mobile rang.
‘Cathy Glass?’ a female voice asked.
‘Yes, speaking.’ I could hear traffic noise in the background.
‘It’s Tess Baldwin, social worker for Molly and Kit. I believe Edith spoke to you this morning and you’re expecting Kit and Molly.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Their room is ready.’
‘Good. We’re on our way to collect them. We should be with you by five o’clock. The children have never been away from home before so are likely to be very upset.’
‘Poor dears.’ My heart clenched. ‘I don’t have any information about them other than their ages.’
‘I’ll explain more when I see you. The family only came to the notice of the social services on Monday. The decision to remove the children was made by us yesterday afternoon.’ It was only Thursday now, which showed just how urgent they considered it to be to bring the children to a place of safety.
I had a couple of hours before Molly and Kit arrived. I texted Adrian, Lucy and Paula to let them know the children were coming so it wouldn’t be a complete surprise. I then went quickly into the High Street where I bought a trainer cup, nappies and baby wipes for Kit (I assumed he was still in nappies), and some snack food that might tempt them both if they were too upset to eat – for example, corn and carrot sticks, little packets of dried fruit and fromage frais in brightly decorated pots. If the children didn’t come with their own clothes, I’d be back here tomorrow to buy them what they needed. We’d get by tonight with the spares I kept in the ottoman in my bedroom. I had most sizes, from newborn to teens, all washed and pressed and ready for emergency use.
An hour later I was home again and, having unpacked the shopping, I began to make a cottage pie for dinner later. There wouldn’t be much time once the social worker arrived with Kit and Molly, and most children enjoy cottage pie. I didn’t know yet if Kit and Molly had any special dietary requirements, allergies or special needs, and it would be something I’d ask Tess when they arrived. If this had been a planned move, I would normally have received background information like this in advance of the children arriving, but this was an emergency, so everything was happening quickly.
Shortly after four o’clock my phone rang and it was Tess, the children’s social worker. ‘We’re in the car with the children,’ she said. ‘We should be with you in about twenty minutes. Molly will need a change of clothes, she’s just wet herself.’
‘I’ll have some ready,’ I said. ‘Tell her not to worry.’ I knew how children fretted if they had an accident. It wasn’t surprising she’d wet herself, given the trauma of being taken from home.
‘See you shortly,’ Tess said, and ended the call.
I went straight upstairs to my bedroom where I searched through the ottoman until I found a new packet of pants marked ‘Age 3–4 Years’, and a pair of jogging bottoms and matching top that should fit Molly. I took them into the children’s bedroom and returned downstairs, my heart thumping loudly from nervous anticipation.
Waiting for a new child or children to arrive is always nerve-racking for the foster carer, regardless of how many times they’ve done it before. We worry if the children will like and trust us enough to help them, if we can meet their needs and work with their family – very important. Now I had the added challenge of fostering not one child but two, who were both very young. I hadn’t fostered little ones in a long while. As a specialist foster carer with lots of experience, I was usually asked to look after older children with challenging behaviour, who, to be honest, I felt more confident in dealing with. Would I remember what to do with two little ones?
My crisis of confidence continued until the doorbell rang, when common sense and instinct kicked in. I answered it with a bright smile. ‘Hello, I’m Cathy. Come in.’
Two female social workers stood before me, each carrying a child.
‘I’m Tess, and this is Molly,’ Tess said, introducing the child she was holding. ‘And this is my colleague Preeta, with Kit.’
‘Hello,’ Preeta said as they came in.
I smiled at both children. They looked petrified – large eyes stared out from pale faces and they clung desperately to their social workers. Kit had a plaster cast on his left arm, his cheeks were bruised and there was a red bump on his forehead. ‘Hello, love,’ I said to him, and swallowed hard.
He drew back from me further into Preeta’s shoulder.
‘I’ve put some toys in the living room,’ I said, and led the way down the hall, although I guessed it would be a long time before either child felt like playing. Their little sombre faces suggested they were very close to tears.
In the living room, Preeta sat on the sofa with Kit on her lap, still clinging desperately to her. Tess put Molly down. The child grabbed her hand for comfort. ‘It might be a good idea if you changed her now,’ Tess said to me. ‘She’s sopping wet, and can I use your bathroom to wash my hands?’
‘Yes, of course. This way.’ I could smell stale urine.
Leaving Preeta with Kit, we went upstairs to the bathroom, with Molly still clutching her social worker’s hand.
‘Help yourself to whatever you need,’ I said to Tess, referring to the soap, towel and antibacterial hand wash. ‘I’ll change Molly in her bedroom.’
‘Thanks. I don’t suppose you have a change of clothes for me too?’ Tess joked, sniffing the sleeve of her blouse.
‘I’m sure I could find you a top,’ I offered.
‘No, it’s fine,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ve had worse than a bit of pee on me.’
I bent down to talk to Molly. ‘I’ve got some nice dry clothes for you ready in your bedroom,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and get you changed.’ She stared back at me, bewildered. I gently took her hand and, leaving Tess washing her hands and forearms, I led Molly, silent and expressionless, around the landing and into her and Kit’s bedroom.
I spoke brightly and positively as I pointed out the toy box, her bed and Kit’s cot close by, trying to put her at ease. I held up the clothes I’d put out ready. ‘You can wear these for now,’ I said. She stared at the clothes. ‘Can you change yourself or shall I help you?’ Most children of Molly’s age can make a good attempt at dressing and undressing themselves, although they still need help with fiddly things like buttons and zips. Molly just stood there, looking lost and staring at the clothes.
‘I’ll help you,’ I said.
I began taking off her damp clothes. She was like a doll and only moved to raise her arms as I took off her dress and vest over her head. I then helped her out of her pants and socks. They were all wet and smelt of urine and I put them to one side to go in the washing machine. I wiped her skin with baby wipes. Her body was very pale like her face, as though she hadn’t seen much sun, but thankfully I couldn’t see any bruises or other marks on her as there were on Kit. ‘That will do for now,’ I said, throwing the wipes in the bin. ‘You can have a bath tonight.’ I dressed her in the clean clothes.
Tess appeared. ‘Anything I should be aware of?’ she asked, meaning injuries.
‘No, I can’t see anything. I’ll give them both a bath this evening, though.’
‘I’ll arrange medicals for both children,’ Tess said. This was usual when children came into care.
Molly still hadn’t said a word, but while she looked very sad, she wasn’t crying; indeed, I hadn’t heard a sound from her since she’d arrived. ‘Does she have communication difficulties?’ I asked Tess. I knew so little about the children it was possible she had a hearing and speech impairment.
‘No. She was talking to her parents at home,’ Tess said. Then to Molly, ‘You can hear me, can’t you?’
She gave a small nod. It therefore seemed it must be the trauma of coming into care that was responsible, and possibly what had been going on at home. I’d seen it before in abused children – sometimes it was days before they were able to speak.
‘Let’s go downstairs and I’ll tell you what I know,’ Tess said to me. ‘I haven’t got the Essential Information Form, it’s being completed now. I’ll email it to you, and the placement agreement form.’ In a planned move, this paperwork arrived with the social worker when the child was placed and gave their background information and the reasons they were in care.
We returned downstairs to the living room where Kit was as we’d left him, sitting on Preeta’s lap. She had taken a toy fire engine with flashing lights and a siren from the toy box and was trying to interest him in it, but he wasn’t even touching it – another indication of how traumatized the children were. Molly sat on the sofa beside Preeta and Kit and put her hand on his arm. Tess sat next to her. I asked both social workers if they would like a drink, and they wanted coffee. I also asked Molly and Kit if they’d like a drink, but they just looked at me. ‘I’ll get you some water and you can have it if you want,’ I told the children with a reassuring smile.
In the kitchen I made two coffees and filled the trainer cup with water for Kit and a child’s plastic beaker for Molly. I put some biscuits on a plate and then carried everything on a tray into the living room where I set it on the occasional table. As Tess and Preeta took their coffees – keeping the hot liquid away from the children – I offered Molly and Kit their drinks, but they didn’t want them. ‘OK, maybe later,’ I said. ‘Would you like a biscuit?’ I showed them the plate but got the same response.
At that moment I heard a key go in the front door and the door open. Molly started. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘That will be my youngest daughter, Paula, returning from college.’
‘Who else lives here?’ Tess asked. Setting down her coffee, she took a pen and notepad from her bag. I guessed in all the rush she had as little information about me as I did about the children.
‘As well as Paula, there is Adrian, my son, and Lucy, my other daughter. And Sammy the cat,’ I added, smiling at Molly. ‘He must be in the garden. You’ll meet him later.’
‘And your children’s ages?’ Tess asked. I told her.
‘Do you like cats?’ Preeta asked Molly, but she didn’t reply.
‘They don’t have any animals at home,’ Tess said as she wrote.
Paula appeared at the living-room door and smiled a little self-consciously. ‘Oh they’re sweet,’ she said. The children shifted their gaze to her.
‘This is Molly and Kit,’ I said. ‘Can you join us? I think it might help them.’ So often, looked-after children take to the carer’s children before they feel relaxed enough to begin to form a relationship with the carer.
‘Sure,’ Paula said, coming further into the room. ‘Shall I play with them?’
‘Yes, please.’ I took some of the toys out of the box as Paula sat on the floor beside them.
‘Do you want to play with these farm animals?’ she asked the children. Molly stared at her, but Kit scrambled down from Preeta’s lap and sat near Paula.
‘Well done,’ I said to her.
‘You’ve hurt your arm,’ she said to Kit, referring to the plaster. Molly, wanting to stay close to her brother, now left the sofa and sat beside him.
I smiled, relieved. It was a start.
‘I’ll give you some background information, then perhaps we can go into another room for the rest?’ Tess suggested, so I knew that some of what she had to tell me she didn’t want the children to hear. While Kit at eighteen months would have a limited understanding of what he heard, Molly at three and a half would probably understand most of it. Bad enough to have witnessed whatever had happened at home without having to hear it discussed.
‘The parents are called Aneta and Filip,’ Tess began. ‘Filip is forty and fifteen years older than his wife. They have been married five years and these are their only children. They live in Eastwood.’ It was a new housing estate on the edge of town. ‘Aneta is a full-time mother and homemaker, and Filip is a warehouse manager who works very long hours. The family hadn’t come to the attention of the social services before the start of this week. Aneta took Kit to the hospital in a lot of pain, and he was found to have a fractured arm. The mother is claiming he fell down the stairs, but the doctor had doubts.’
I saw Molly look over. Tess and Preeta saw it too. ‘Why don’t I go somewhere private now to talk to Cathy,’ Tess suggested to Preeta, ‘while you stay here with the children?’
‘Yes, I think that’s best,’ Preeta replied.
‘Are you OK to stay here too?’ I asked Paula, aware that she would have college work to do.
‘Yes.’
‘We’ll be in the front room,’ I said.
Preeta joined Paula and the little ones on the floor with the toys as Tess quickly finished the last of her coffee and stood. I showed her into the front room where she closed the door so we couldn’t be overheard. Away from the little ones, her professional reserve and composure dropped and she sank into one of the armchairs. ‘Who’d be a social worker?’ she said with a heartfelt sigh. ‘It doesn’t get much worse than this.’
Chapter Two
Chaos (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
‘The children’s mother, Aneta, was hysterical,’ Tess continued as we sat in the front room. ‘It was dreadful. She was clinging to the children, screaming and crying, trying to fight us off and stop us from taking them. The father – Filip – had to restrain her so we could leave with the children. Only he was in court; she stayed at home with the children. I’ve told him to call their doctor. I’ll phone him after we’ve left here. He managed to pack a case with a few things for the children. Aneta couldn’t. It’s in my car – don’t let me drive off with it.’
My heart ached from the scene Tess had just described. ‘So the parents had no idea the children would be coming into care?’ I asked.
‘They knew we were going to court this morning. We advised them to get legal representation, but they didn’t think it would be necessary. They will contact a solicitor now,’ Tess said, and I nodded. ‘Aneta insists Kit fell downstairs. Filip was at work and is standing by his wife and maintains she would never harm the children, that she loves them too much.’ She paused to check her phone, which was on silent. I knew there must be more to it than this, as the judge would never allow the social services to remove the children because of one accident. ‘That visit to the hospital’, Tess continued, returning the phone to her pocket, ‘was the sixtieth time she’d been with Kit.’
‘What?’ I gasped. ‘He’s only eighteen months old. That makes a visit nearly every week!’
Tess nodded sombrely. ‘Questions will be asked as to why the social services weren’t involved sooner. True, many of the previous visits were for ailments and minor injuries, but even so. Aneta was turning up regularly, saying the child had tripped and fallen, was sick, had ingested something they shouldn’t, had a cough, rash or high temperature. She was clearly anxious about her children’s health, but it was only on Monday when it was found that Kit had a broken arm that the history of her visits was thoroughly reviewed and the alarm raised. Now it seems similar had been going on at their doctor’s. I’m applying for the children’s medical records, but the doctor I spoke to said that Aneta was there most weeks – first with Molly and then with Kit. Her visits with Molly were initially put down to new-mother anxiety. It’s not unusual for first-time mothers to be anxious about their baby’s health and to keep seeking medical advice about minor ailments. But it continued with Kit and then the term “accident prone” started to be used. However, the children always appeared clean and Aneta was very attentive towards them. They were quiet while in the doctor’s and well behaved.’ She let out another heart-felt sigh. ‘Kit’s injury on Monday, plus the record of accidents for both children, crossed the threshold, so we felt they were at risk of significant harm and applied for the care order.’
‘And it’s a hundred per cent certain the injuries the children sustained were non-accidental?’ I asked.
‘You can never be a hundred per cent sure, but it is the most likely explanation and the judge agreed with us.’
I gave a small nod and sincerely hoped they were right, for the alternative – that the parents had been wrongly accused and had lost their children – was too awful to bear. ‘And contact?’ I asked. ‘Kit and Molly will be seeing their parents?’
‘Yes. I’ll set up supervised contact, probably three times a week to begin with.’
‘And the long-term care plan?’
‘A full care order. I can’t see them returning home.’
When Tess had finished telling me what she knew about the family we returned to the living room where Paula, Preeta and the children were still on the floor by the toy box. Kit now had a toy shaker in his hand, but neither child was playing. Molly had her thumb in her mouth and was snuggled close to her brother. The room was unnaturally quiet considering two children were there, but at least they weren’t crying.
‘We’ll just have a look around and go,’ Tess said to Preeta. Then to me, ‘Do you have everything you need for tonight?’ She crossed to the patio window and looked out.
‘Yes, I think so,’ I said.
‘Nice garden,’ she remarked, then went over to Molly and Kit. ‘We’re going to look at the other rooms now. Would you like to come and see where you are going to sleep?’
Kit kept his eyes on Paula, carefully watching her to see what she was going to do, while Molly had her head down, quiet, withdrawn and expressionless.
‘Would you like to come with us to see your bedroom?’ I tried, offering my hand to Molly. She shook her head, which was at least some response. ‘OK, stay here, you’ll see it later,’ I said positively. While it was usual for the children to look around the house with their social worker when they first arrived – or before, if it was a planned move and they had a chance to visit – it wasn’t essential, as it was for the social worker.
‘I’ll stay with them while you go,’ Preeta said to Tess.
Tess nodded.
‘This is the living room,’ I said to everyone. ‘It’s where we spend most of our time in the evenings and weekends.’ Tess then came with me into the kitchen-diner where I’d already put the children’s seats ready at the table. ‘Do you know if either of the children has any special dietary requirements?’ I asked her as she looked around.
‘No, I don’t. I’ll ask their father when I speak to him later and phone you.’
‘Can you also ask him if they have any allergies?’ It was worrying how little I still knew about the children, and I was responsible for them now.
‘Will do,’ Tess said. ‘Apparently their mother often told the doctor she thought the children were suffering from allergies, but they changed on each visit, so if the child had a slight rash, upset tummy or cough, Aneta put it down to an allergy.’
‘The doctor didn’t agree?’
‘I don’t think so, but I’ll check with the father.’
‘I’ve made a cottage pie for dinner. I hope that’s all right,’ I said. ‘I assume Kit is on solid food?’
‘I would think so at his age,’ Tess said. She sniffed the air. ‘I thought I could smell something good. I’ll ask about food when I phone Filip. He wasn’t in any state to talk about that this afternoon.’
‘Please also ask him about any likes and dislikes the children may have, and their routine,’ I added. While Molly was old enough to tell me what she liked or didn’t like – when she finally began to talk – Kit wasn’t, so it was important Tess found out as much as she could from the parents. I couldn’t do anything about the children actually being in care, but I could at least make their lives as comfortable as possible while they were with me.
‘Do you want to see down the garden?’ I asked Tess. She was looking through the window at the far end of the kitchen, which overlooked the back garden.
‘No, I can see it from here. Let’s have a quick look at the children’s bedrooms and then we’ll need to get going.’
I looked at her, concerned. ‘Bedroom,’ I said. ‘I hope Edith told you I only have one spare room. I’ve put a cot in there so the children will be sleeping together.’
‘Yes, that’ll be fine,’ she said, and we headed out of the kitchen-diner and down the hall. It was still very quiet in the living room. No sound of the children talking or playing. I didn’t show Tess the front room as we’d just been there, so we went upstairs to the children’s bedroom. ‘There’s not much space, but they can play downstairs,’ she said, voicing her thoughts. ‘It’s nice and light. How long have you been fostering?’
‘Twenty-five years.’
She nodded and headed out. I quickly showed her the other bedrooms and bathroom. ‘You’ll need to cover Kit’s plaster to keep it dry when you bath him,’ she said.
‘Yes, is there a follow-up appointment at the hospital?’
‘I would think so. I’ll ask Filip.’
We returned downstairs. Sammy, our cat, must have let himself in through the cat flap, for he was now sitting in the hall, trying to decide if it was advisable to go into the living room with strangers there.
‘Hopefully, the children aren’t allergic to cat fur,’ Tess remarked as we passed him.
‘I hope so too!’ For if they were, there was little I could do beyond what I did already: keep Sammy out of the bedrooms, comb him each day and regularly hoover. I couldn’t make him disappear.
‘You’ve got a nice bedroom,’ Tess told Molly and Kit as we entered the living room.
Molly looked at her, worried and confused. Suddenly she jumped up from where she was sitting on the floor and cried, ‘I need a wee!’ But it was too late. A puddle formed at her feet. She burst into tears.
‘It’s OK, don’t worry,’ I said, immediately going to her. ‘I’ll mop it up and we’ll find you some more clean clothes.’
‘We’ll leave you to it,’ Tess said. ‘I’ll phone you as soon as I’ve spoken to their father.’
She and Preeta said goodbye to the children and headed out.
‘Don’t forget the suitcase in your car!’ I called after them.
‘I’ll leave it in the hall,’ Tess replied.
Seeing his sister upset, Kit now began to cry loudly. They both needed comforting, Molly needed changing again, and I had to mop up the wet before it soaked into the carpet. I heard Tess and Preeta open the front door and then my daughter Lucy’s voice. She must have been about to let herself in. ‘Hi,’ she said, surprised. Then, ‘What a noise!’
‘In here, Lucy, please!’ I called. ‘We could do with your help.’
She came into the living room and, surveying the chaotic scene, threw her jacket onto a chair. ‘And I thought I’d left work!’ she exclaimed with a smile. She was a qualified nursery nurse.
‘Meet Molly and Kit,’ I said over their cries. ‘Can you help Paula calm them down while I get a bucket and cloth?’
‘Come on, it’s OK,’ she said, taking Molly’s hand. Paula was holding Kit. I went quickly into the kitchen where I ran hot water into a bucket and added disinfectant. I took a cleaning cloth from the cupboard under the kitchen sink and returned to the living room.
‘I’m leaving the case here!’ Tess called from the hall. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Yes,’ I replied. I knew they needed to go. The front door closed behind them.
I knelt down and set to work on the carpet. ‘Shall I change Molly?’ Lucy offered.
‘Yes, please. Hopefully there is a change of clothes in the case in the hall.’
‘I’ll take the case upstairs with me.’
‘Thanks, love.’
Having seen his sister disappear, Kit began to cry more loudly and point towards the door. ‘Best go with them,’ I told Paula. She carried Kit out of the living room and joined Lucy and Molly in the hall as I continued to clean the carpet.
At the same time I heard the front door open and my son, Adrian, call, ‘Hi, Mum!’
Then Paula’s voice, ‘Hi, how are you, Kirsty?’
Oh no, I thought. We were hardly prepared for visitors. Kirsty was Adrian’s long-term girlfriend and I really liked her, but she’d walked into chaos. He usually let me know when he was bringing her home for dinner. ‘Hi, Mum. Kirsty’s here. Did you get my text?’ he called from the hall.
‘I expect so,’ I said, still on my knees. ‘I haven’t had a chance to check my phone. Come through.’
He appeared in the living room with Kirsty just behind him. ‘A little accident,’ I said, glancing up and smiling grimly. ‘Nearly done. Nice to see you, Kirsty. How was school?’ She was a teacher.
‘They had to switch off the water to repair a burst pipe so we were given the afternoon off.’
‘Very nice,’ I said. I patted the patch dry and stood. The crying upstairs had stopped.
‘Kirsty and I can eat out, Mum,’ Adrian offered.
‘No, It’s fine. I’ve done plenty. We’ll eat soon. As you saw we’ve got two little ones come to stay.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Kirsty kindly offered.
‘No. Make yourselves a drink. I’ll check on Kit and Molly and then we’ll have dinner.’
Adrian took the bucket into the kitchen to tip away the water and put the cloths in the washing machine, while I went upstairs to see how Lucy and Paula were getting on. My daughters were my nominated carers. Foster carers are encouraged to nominate one or two family members or close friends to help them out and babysit when necessary. They are assessed by the carer’s supervising social worker for suitability, and police-checked (now called a DBS check – Disclosure and Barring Service). Lucy had the added advantage of being a nursery nurse and the experience of being in care herself. She’d come to me as a foster child, stayed, and I’d adopted her. It was as if she’d always been my daughter.
‘How’s it going?’ I asked as I went into Kit and Molly’s bedroom. It was cramped now with Lucy, Paula, Kit and Molly all in there and the case open on the floor. The girls had found a dress for Molly, and Lucy was now helping her out of her wet clothes. There appeared to be a change of clothes in there for Kit too, pyjamas, some socks and a soft toy each, but nothing much else. The soft toys would be useful. Kit had spotted his and was now trying to get to it.
I smiled and took the toy from the case and gave it to him. He snuggled his face against its soft velvety fabric. I took out the other soft toy, which I assumed was Molly’s, and placed it on her bed. Similarly styled, it had big loving eyes and soft fur. Hopefully, having these would bring comfort to the children when they had to sleep in a strange room tonight.
‘We’re doing OK here, Mum,’ Lucy said as she changed Molly’s clothes.
‘Thanks. I’ll go and see to dinner. Come down when you’re ready, please.’
I gathered up Molly’s wet clothes and went downstairs, where I put them in the washing machine with her other soiled clothes and the floor cloths, and set it on a wash-and-dry program. Kirsty came into the kitchen. ‘Adrian’s gone to change out of his suit. Can I help you?’
‘You could lay the table, love. You know where everything is. There’s a child’s cutlery set for Molly in that drawer, and a toddler spoon for Kit. I don’t know if he can feed himself, but he’ll struggle anyway with the plaster on his arm.’
‘I didn’t know they were coming,’ Kirsty said as she opened the cutlery draw. ‘Are you sure it’s OK for me to stay?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I smiled. ‘I didn’t know they were coming either until this morning. It’s an emergency placement.’
‘What happened to Kit’s arm? And he’s got bruises on his face.’
‘He took a tumble down the stairs,’ I said.
‘Oh dear.’ She knew I couldn’t say much more because of confidentiality.
As she laid the table she told me about a boy in her class whose family was having help from the social services. While Kirsty and I would never break confidentiality by divulging names or discussing the details of cases like this, as a young teacher she sometimes shared her worries with me. If a child kept arriving at school dirty, late and hungry, or had unexplained injuries, she sometimes mentioned it as well as informing her head teacher. Teaching is now so much more than simply imparting knowledge; it involves a large pastoral role too.
Adrian, Paula, Lucy and the little ones all came down together with Adrian now carrying Kit. As Adrian sat Kit in his seat at the table and fastened the belt, I had the briefest glimpse of what a good father he’d make when the time came. I think Kirsty did too, judging from the look in her eyes. We settled around the table and I served dinner. I’d just sat down to eat when the house phone rang.
‘I’ll take it in the living room,’ I said, standing. ‘It’s probably their social worker.’
It was. ‘I’ve spoken to Filip,’ Tess said. ‘He doesn’t think the children have any allergies, although Aneta worries about them a lot. He’ll tell you more tomorrow. I’ve set up a meeting for one o’clock at the council offices so the parents can meet you. If you have any questions, you will be able to ask them then.’
‘OK. I take it I’m not to bring Molly and Kit to the meeting?’
‘No. I’ll be arranging supervised contact at the Family Centre for the children to see their parents.’
‘All right, thank you. I’ll have to get some cover for Molly and Kit.’
‘How are they?’ Tess asked.
‘Having a bit of dinner.’
‘Good. See you tomorrow then.’
I scribbled 1 p.m. in my diary for the following day. I would need to find someone to look after Kit and Molly at very short notice. Lucy would be at work and Paula at college, and I didn’t feel I could ask them to take time off. I knew other foster carers who could help me out as I had helped them in the past, but that would need to be arranged through Edith, my supervising social worker. I couldn’t just do it by myself. I made another note in my diary to call Edith at 9 a.m. the next morning, and then returned to the dinner table.
Chapter Three
Disturbed Night (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
Molly and Kit were quiet and subdued throughout dinner. They looked very sad and showed none of the natural exuberance you’d expect from children of their age, which was hardly surprising. Their world – the one they’d always known – had just come to an abrupt and traumatic end. They’d been taken from their hysterical mother in tears and had lost the only family they’d known and everything they held dear. Only in the worst cases of abuse had I ever seen a child happy to be in foster care, to begin with at least. It would take time, love, care, patience and lots of reassurance before they began to relax and were able to trust and smile again.
With encouragement from Lucy and me, Molly fed herself, while Paula and I – we had Kit sitting between us – popped spoonfuls into his mouth. Both children ate a little of the main course but didn’t want any apple crumble and custard for dessert. I didn’t know if Kit could feed himself. Apart from being hampered by the plaster cast, he was clearly too overwhelmed to make any attempt, and it didn’t matter. If the children were staying with us long term, as Tess seemed to think, there’d be plenty of time to teach him to feed himself. That was the least of my concerns at present. It was eight o’clock by the time we’d finished and I needed to bath the children and get them into bed.
Paula apologized and said she had college work to do. I thanked her for her help, and she went upstairs to her bedroom. Lucy offered to help bath Kit and Molly, and Adrian and Kirsty said they’d clear away the dishes and wash up. I was grateful for their help. I was already worrying about how I was going to manage alone tomorrow when everyone was out. You’ve done it before and you can do it again, I told myself as another crisis of confidence loomed.
I thought it would be easier to bath the children separately to avoid Kit’s plaster becoming wet. However, it was clear that Molly didn’t want to be separated from her brother, so she came with Lucy, Kit and me into the bathroom. Lucy and I talked brightly to both children, trying to put them at ease, as we explained the bedtime routine and what we were doing. Kit just stood there as I undressed him, then put a plastic bag over his plaster cast and secured it at the end. Most toddlers would have shown some interest, perhaps laughed or tried to pull off the bag, but he stared at me, wide-eyed and lost. It broke my heart.
I carefully lifted him into the bath. He was heavy with the weight of the plaster cast. ‘Sit down, love, but try to keep your arm out of the water,’ I told him. ‘We need to keep it dry.’
Neither child spoke. Molly was holding Lucy’s hand and watched in silence as I gently wiped Kit’s bruised face with a facecloth, and then sponged his little body. His skin was pale and he had some bruises on his shins and one on his other forearm, but I couldn’t see any other marks – scars, cuts or cigarette burns, as I’d seen before on children I’d fostered. I’d let Tess know, although of course the bruises could have been from playing. Toddlers are always tripping, falling and bumping into things as they explore their surroundings with little sense of danger.
Once washed, I lifted Kit out of the bath and into the towel Lucy held out ready. I took the plastic bag from his arm and Lucy dried him as I bathed Molly. Children of her age can usually wash themselves a little, so I gave her the sponge and she drew it across her chest and legs. I washed her back. Her skin was pale too and she had one small bruise on her shin, which I’d noticed before when I’d changed her and was likely to be the result of a fall while playing. Thankfully there were no other signs of injury. I helped her out of the bath, wrapped her in a towel and then dressed her in the pyjamas I’d taken from their case. Lucy had dressed Kit and put a nappy on him. Both children had clean hair, so hair-washing could wait until another night when they felt more at ease.
We hadn’t found any toothbrushes in their case, so I was using some from my spares. I always kept a supply of new children’s toothbrushes, face flannels, pants and so on. Kit opened his mouth to allow Lucy to brush his teeth – he had his front teeth, top and bottom, and some molars coming through at the back. Clearly from the way he cooperated he was used to having his teeth brushed – a sign that the children had received some good parenting. Once Lucy had finished brushing Kit’s teeth, I put a little toothpaste on Molly’s toothbrush and passed her the brush.
‘Can you give your teeth a little brush?’ I asked her.
She took the brush and made a small attempt to clean her teeth, then burst into tears. ‘I want my mummy!’ she cried. ‘Mummy, Mummy, where are you? I want you.’
It was heart-breaking and I felt my own eyes fill.
‘Oh, love,’ I said, taking the toothbrush and putting it to one side. ‘You’ll see Mummy soon.’ I held her.
‘I want my mummy,’ she wept inconsolably. ‘Where is she?’
‘She’s at home, love.’
‘I want to go home.’
I wasn’t surprised she was distraught now. She’d been bottling it up since she’d arrived and, now she was tired, it was all coming out. Kit, seeing his sister in tears, began to cry too. Lucy cuddled him as I cuddled Molly. We sat on the bathroom floor, gently rocking them and telling them it would be OK and trying to console them. Not for the first time since I’d begun fostering, I wished I had a magic wand I could wave that would undo the past and make everything bad that had happened go away.
Eventually the children’s crying eased. ‘Come on, let’s get you both into bed,’ I said, and stood. ‘You’ll feel better after a night’s sleep.’ It was a reassurance in which I had little faith. It would take many nights before they began to feel better. Lucy held Kit’s hand and I held Molly’s and we went round the landing to their bedroom.
As soon as we entered the room Molly became upset again. ‘I want my mummy,’ she cried, her tears flowing.
‘I know you do, love,’ I said. ‘You’ll see Mummy soon.’ I helped her into bed, wiped her face, and then sat on the edge of the bed.
‘I want Mummy now,’ she said again and again, grief-stricken.
‘Mummy, Mummy,’ Kit said from his cot as Lucy tried to settle him.
‘Would you like a bedtime story?’ I asked Molly, trying to distract her. She shook her head and just sat in bed, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Come on, love, lie down and try to get some sleep.’ I wiped her cheeks again.
She laid her head on the pillow, Kit lay down too, then, as Molly pressed her face into her cuddly toy, Kit did the same. His cot was adjacent to Molly’s bed – against the opposite wall – so he could see her through the slats. ‘Does your cuddly have a name?’ I asked her.
‘I want Mummy.’
‘Mummy,’ Kit repeated.
I began stroking Molly’s forehead, trying to soothe her off to sleep. Lucy was leaning over the cot and gently rubbing Kit’s back.
‘Lucy, you go, love, if you want to,’ I told her after a few minutes. ‘I’ll stay with them.’ I was mindful that she had come in straight from work and hadn’t had a minute to herself.
‘It’s OK, Mum. I’ll stay until they’re asleep.’
‘Thanks, love, I am grateful.’
For the next half an hour Lucy and I stayed with the children, Lucy by Kit’s cot and me with Molly, soothing them, until eventually, exhausted, their eyes gradually closed. We waited another few minutes to check they were asleep and then crept from the room. With older children I usually ask them on their first night how they like to sleep – the curtains open or closed, the light on or off, the bedroom door open or shut, as it’s little details like this that help a child settle in a strange room. But for now we left the curtains slightly parted, the light on low and the door open so I could hear them if they woke.
I thanked Lucy again for her help and she went to her bedroom. I cleared up the bathroom and took Kit’s nappy downstairs to dispose of it. Adrian was in the kitchen, making himself a drink. ‘Kirsty has gone home as we both have to be up for work in the morning,’ he said. The kitchen was spotless.
‘Thanks for your help,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to Kirsty.’
‘She understands. She said to say good luck.’
‘I think I’m going to need it.’
Adrian made me a cup of tea and I took it with a couple of biscuits into the living room to write up my log notes, while he went up to shower. All foster carers in the UK are required to keep a daily record of the child or children they are looking after. It includes appointments, the child’s health and wellbeing, education, significant events and any disclosures the child may make about their past. As well as charting the child’s progress, it can act as an aide-mémoire. When the child leaves this record is placed on file at the social services. Opening my folder, I took a fresh sheet of paper and headed it with the date. I wrote a short objective account of Molly and Kit’s arrival and their evening with us. I was just finishing when I heard a bang come from Molly and Kit’s room. I shot upstairs. Paula had heard it too and had come out of her room and was on the landing. ‘Whatever was that?’ she asked, concerned.
We went into the children’s bedroom. By the dimmed light we could see they were both still asleep and nothing seemed out of place, but I noticed that Kit had turned over.
‘I think it might have been his plaster cast banging against the cot slats,’ I whispered to Paula. I couldn’t see any other explanation.
We stood for a moment, looking at them. ‘They’re such sweet kids,’ Paula whispered. I nodded. They were indeed, and generally appeared to have been well looked after, apart from the injuries to Kit’s face and arm. They hadn’t arrived filthy, in rags and with their hair full of nits. Yet all those visits to the doctor and hospital told a very different story, one that I hoped would become clearer in time.
By 10.30 p.m. we were all in our bedrooms either getting ready for bed or in bed (none of us stays up late during the working week). When I said goodnight to Adrian, Lucy and Paula, I told them that if they heard the children in the night to turn over and go back to sleep, as I would settle them. I was expecting a broken night, and I wasn’t disappointed. Just as I was dropping off to sleep, around 11 p.m., Molly woke and began to cry out hysterically, ‘Mummy, Mummy, where are you? Mummy!’
I was straight out of bed and, throwing on my dressing gown, I hurried round the landing, hoping her cries hadn’t woken Kit.
‘Ssh, quiet, love,’ I said as I went into their room. She was standing by her bed. ‘Do you want the toilet?’ I asked her quietly. She shook her head.
‘I want my mummy!’ she cried.
‘I know, love. You’re safe. Let’s get you into bed.’ I persuaded her in and had just got her to lie down when Kit woke with a start behind me and, crying, stood up in his cot.
‘Mummy!’ he sobbed.
Leaving Molly, I turned to him.
‘Come on, love, lie down. It’s OK.’ I laid him on his side. It was awkward with the plaster cast. As I settled him, Molly started crying again.
‘I want my mummy,’ she wept, sitting up in bed.
‘Ssh, love. It’s OK,’ I said, going to her. Kit immediately stood up and sobbed loudly.
Lucy appeared in her pyjamas. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been woken,’ I said.
‘I wasn’t asleep.’
She went to Kit and began talking to him gently, laying him down each time he stood and rubbing his back as I soothed Molly. It was so much easier with two and after about fifteen minutes the children were asleep again and we crept out. I thanked Lucy and we returned to our bedrooms. About an hour later I heard Molly crying again. I wasn’t asleep and managed to get to her before she woke Kit or anyone else. I stayed with her until she was asleep again and then returned to my own bed. I didn’t immediately go back to sleep but lay in the dark, listening out for them. I heard Kit’s plaster cast bang on the side of the cot as he turned over, then I must have dropped off, for I woke with a start at 2 a.m. Kit and Molly were both crying.
Light-headed from lack of sleep and getting out of bed too quickly, I rushed round the landing and into their bedroom. Molly was standing in the middle of the room. ‘I need a wee-wee,’ she wept.
‘This way, love,’ I said, and quickly guided her to the toilet. We got there just in time. Kit was still crying loudly and I heard Lucy’s bedroom door open.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said to her as I steered Molly back to her bed. Lucy was kneeling beside Kit’s cot with her hand between the slats, gently rubbing his back. She looked as shattered as I felt.
‘It’s OK, Mum,’ she said, yawning. ‘It’s their first night. They’re bound to be upset. I’m sure they’ll be better tomorrow.’ Which was the reassurance I needed and I was grateful.
It took about twenty minutes for us to settle the children again and then Lucy and I returned to our beds. The next time Molly woke I got to her in time (I don’t think I was properly asleep) and managed to resettle her before she woke Kit. I was starting to wonder if having them together was a good idea or whether I should move Kit’s cot into my bedroom. Foster carers are allowed to have babies and toddlers in their bedroom (but not their beds) up to the age of two. I’d find out from the children’s parents tomorrow if they were used to sleeping together. It’s information like this and the child’s routine that is invaluable to foster carers when helping a child to settle.
Both children woke around 5 a.m. and I managed to settle them by myself. I think they were so tired they didn’t put up much resistance. Ten minutes later I was in my bed again but I couldn’t sleep. I lay in the dark with my thoughts buzzing and at 6 a.m. I showered and dressed so I was ready to meet the day. Adrian, Lucy and Paula took turns in the bathroom from seven o’clock, which was usual on a week day. When I asked Paula if she’d heard the children in the night, she said she had but, aware that Lucy was helping, she had turned over and gone back to sleep. ‘We can take it in turns, Mum,’ she offered. ‘I’ll get up tonight.’
‘That’s kind of you. I’m hoping they’ll sleep a bit better tonight.’
‘But if not, I can help.’
‘Thanks, love.’
Incredibly, when I asked Adrian if he’d been woken by Molly and Kit, he hadn’t, although he slept in the room next to theirs.
‘Typical guy,’ Lucy teased him. ‘Only hears what he wants to.’
The children didn’t wake again until just before 8 a.m. I heard Molly talking to Kit and went straight to their bedroom. ‘Good morning,’ I said brightly, smiling. Molly was standing by Kit’s cot holding his hand through the slats. Although they weren’t crying, they were clearly sad and confused.
‘Where’s my mummy?’ Molly asked straight away, turning to me and dropping Kit’s hand.
‘She’s at home, love. You’ll see her before too long.’ I couldn’t give firm details until Tess told me the arrangements for contact.
‘Can I go home now?’ Molly asked imploringly. ‘I promise to be good.’ I could have wept.
‘You are good, love,’ I said, giving her a hug. ‘That’s not the reason you’re staying with me. Your mummy and daddy need a bit of help, so I’m looking after you for a while.’
She stared at me wide-eyed and uncomprehending. I thought it best to keep her occupied and concentrated on something else. ‘Can you show me what a big girl you are and dress yourself while I see to your brother?’ I asked her. ‘Here are your clothes.’ I pointed to them on the bed and then lifted Kit out of his cot.
‘I need to do a wee-wee,’ she said.
‘Good girl for telling me.’
I took Kit with us as I helped Molly in the toilet and then we returned to their bedroom. With a bit of encouragement, Molly began to dress herself and I dressed Kit. Paula, Lucy and Adrian either looked in to say goodbye or called from the hall as they left.
Many toddlers of Kit’s age are like wriggly worms when you try to change their nappies and dress them, seeing it as a game. Kit just lay there on the changing mat, unresponsive and staring at me, clearly wondering where his mummy and daddy were, what he was doing here and who the hell I was. I smiled at him and spoke gently as I worked, so hopefully he could see I was friendly and would do him no harm. At his age it would be impossible to give him any understanding of the situation. Molly would have some understanding and might start talking about the abuse in time, but Kit was unlikely to ever be able to verbalize what he’d seen and heard. Babies and toddlers intuit, feeling rather than reasoning – sensations, impressions and random images that might fade with time. Neither child spoke or made any noise as Molly dressed herself and I dressed Kit. I found their silence as upsetting as their crying.
Once they were ready, I took hold of their hands and we went carefully downstairs. Included in the equipment I’d brought down from the loft was a stair gate and I’d put it in place once Kit started exploring. There was no sign of him doing that yet. He was staying close and clinging to either Molly or me.
In the kitchen-diner I asked Molly what she and Kit usually had for breakfast and she said yoghurt.
‘What about some cereal and toast as well?’ I asked. I opened the cupboard door where the packets of cereals were kept to show her and she pointed to the hot oat cereal – a smooth porridge.
‘Good girl.’ I took it out. ‘Does Kit have this too?’ She nodded. ‘What about toast?’ She shook her head. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Juice,’ she replied. ‘Where’s my mummy?’
‘At home, love. I expect she’s having her breakfast too.’
Kit was standing where I’d put him by my leg and I now lifted him up and carried him to the table where I strapped him into the booster seat, then gave him his trainer cup. Molly slipped into the chair beside him. ‘Good girl. Can you watch your brother while I make your porridge?’ I said, although I could see them both from the kitchen.
I warmed the porridge in the microwave, took the yoghurt from the fridge and joined them at the table. I’d had my breakfast earlier. Molly fed herself and I fed Kit. He tried to pick up his spoon, but the plaster cast clunked heavily against the bowl, making it impossible to dip in the spoon. They ate most of the porridge and a little yoghurt, and drank their juice, so I was happy with that and praised them.
‘We’ve got a busy day,’ I said, lifting Kit out of the seat. ‘First, we’ll go into the living room where the toys are and you can play while I make a phone call.’ I needed to speak to Edith.
I took them by the hand and they came with me into the living room, silent and obedient, where I settled them with some toys on the floor. It was now just after 9 a.m. and I was hoping Edith would be at her desk. Taking the handset from the corner unit, I keyed in her number and she answered.
‘Hello. How are you?’ she asked.
‘OK. Molly and Kit were placed yesterday late afternoon.’
‘Yes, Preeta left a message.’
‘I need some cover. Tess has arranged a meeting at one o’clock with the children’s parents, but I haven’t got anyone to look after the children.’
‘Who are your nominated support carers?’ she asked.
‘Lucy and Paula, but they are at work and college and it’s too short notice for them to take half a day off.’
‘Don’t the children go to nursery?’ she asked.
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘I don’t think we have anyone free. Can’t you take them with you?’
‘No.’ I kept my patience. ‘Can I suggest you try another foster carer – Maggie Taylor? We’ve helped each other out in the past.’
‘I can try, but if she can’t do it, can you change the day of the meeting?’
‘I doubt it. You’d have to ask Tess.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said with a small sigh. She clearly didn’t need this first thing on a Friday morning and neither did I, but part of her role was to support foster carers.
I then had a nail-biting wait. Foster carers are expected to provide their own support, and usually I did, but sometimes we need help and we shouldn’t have to jump through hoops or be made to feel guilty for asking. I’d found before that Edith wasn’t the most proactive of supervising social workers compared to Jill, who’d been my supervising social worker at Homefinders, the independent agency I used to foster for. She was a gem, but when their local office had closed and Jill had left, I’d transferred to the local authority. It didn’t make any difference to the children I fostered, but it was at times like this I missed the high level of support and understanding the agency gave its carers twenty-four hours a day, every day of the year.
Thankfully when Edith returned my call an hour later she said Maggie could help and she’d phone me to arrange the details. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Chapter Four
Good Mother (#litres_trial_promo)
Maggie telephoned ten minutes after Edith, bright and bubbly, and very willing to help. ‘I hear you’ve got two little ones. That’ll make a nice change,’ she said.
‘Yes, although they’re missing their parents dreadfully and we’ve been up all night.’
‘Join the club. Anyway, happy to help. As the children have only just been placed with you, I suggest I come to you to look after them, rather than you bringing them here, so they don’t have another change of house.’
‘Yes, please. That would be perfect.’ I had thought similar myself.
‘I’ll have to bring Keelie with me,’ Maggie said. ‘She’s been excluded from school again. But she’s good with kids and can help me. What time do you want us?’
‘The meeting is at one o’clock so twelve-thirty would be good.’
‘Fine. We’ll see you then.’
‘Thank you so much.’
‘You’re welcome.’
I knew Keelie. She was thirteen and Maggie and her husband had been fostering her for four years. She’d always shown some challenging behaviour, as it’s called, but since she’d hit puberty it had got a lot worse – staying out at night, drinking, smoking and generally getting into trouble at home, school and with the police. I guessed she was the reason Maggie had been up all night. Thankfully she and her husband were highly experienced foster carers and were taking it in their stride. Keelie was with them long term so was a permanent member of their family.
I explained to Molly and Kit what was going to happen – that my friend, Maggie, and a ‘big girl’ called Keelie were coming to look after them while I went to a meeting, and I would come back later. I didn’t tell them I was going to meet their parents, as it would have been confusing and upsetting for them. Both children just looked at me. I didn’t expect Kit to understand, but Molly should have some understanding of what I’d said.
The morning disappeared. I stayed in the living room for most of it, trying to engage the children in play. I had some success, although I wouldn’t call it playing. They looked at and held the toys, games and puzzles as I showed them, but didn’t actually play. Sammy came to investigate and to begin with was as nervous of them as they were of him. I showed them how to stroke his fur smoothly – running their hands down from his head to his tail. Neither of the children had shown any signs of a fur allergy, and coupled with their father telling Tess he didn’t think they had any allergies I was reasonably confident they weren’t allergic to cat fur at least.
At twelve noon I made us a sandwich lunch, followed by fruit, which they ate. Some children won’t eat fruit and vegetables when they first come into care, as these foods have never been part of their diet. But Molly and Kit ate the sliced banana, tangerine segments and halved grapes I arranged in little pots. Because the fruit could be eaten using fingers, Kit fed himself. They ate slowly and unenthusiastically, but at least they ate. I smiled and praised them. ‘Do you have food like this at home?’ I asked without thinking, and I could have kicked myself.
‘I want to go home,’ Molly said, rubbing her eyes as if about to cry at the reminder of home. ‘I want my mummy.’
‘Mummy, Mummy,’ Kit said, his bottom lip trembling.
‘It’s OK. You’ll see her soon.’ I gave them a hug and took out some more toys to distract them.
Maggie and Keelie arrived just before 12.30 and the children came with me to the front door.
‘Hello, baby!’ Keelie squealed excitedly as soon as she saw Kit. She rushed in and picked him up.
‘Steady,’ Maggie warned her. ‘He’s already got one broken arm, he doesn’t want another one.’
I smiled while Keelie scowled at her, and Kit just looked bemused.
‘How are you, Keelie?’ I asked her as we went through to the living room. I hadn’t seen her for a few months.
‘Excluded,’ she said as if this was her sole purpose in life and her claim to fame. ‘Suits me. I don’t like school and I get a lie-in.’
Maggie threw me a knowing look. Many schools have stopped the practice of excluding pupils for bad behaviour for this reason. It’s counter-productive. Why should a young person who’s got into trouble be rewarded with time off while their hard-working classmates are busy at school? Also having them unoccupied for large periods of time is likely to lead to more trouble.
‘She’s going back to school on Monday,’ Maggie said. Keelie was exploring the toy box with more enthusiasm than the children.
‘In your dreams,’ she retorted. But I knew she would be in school on Monday. Maggie and her husband would make sure of it, just as they had all the other times she’d been excluded. They knew when to be firm.
‘Help yourself to whatever you want,’ I told Maggie. ‘You know where the tea, coffee and biscuits are. Clean nappies and wipes are in their bedroom if you need them. I should be back around two-thirty. I’ve tried to explain to Molly and Kit what is happening,’ I said, glancing at then, ‘but not who I’m meeting.’
She nodded. ‘I understand. Don’t worry. They’ll be fine.’
‘Do they talk?’ Keelie asked. The children were standing in silence, watching her as she continued to explore the toys and games.
‘Molly does a little,’ I said. ‘It’s likely Kit will have some language at his age. But they only arrived yesterday, so they are both shy.’
‘Was I shy?’ Keelie asked Maggie, glancing up at her.
‘No, love, shyness wasn’t really your thing. You showed your upset in other ways.’
‘I bet I was a right pain in the arse.’ Keelie grinned.
‘Not as much as you are now,’ Maggie replied affectionately, and they both laughed. Despite their banter, I knew how close they were and that Maggie and her husband had worked wonders with Keelie and loved her, as I was sure Keelie loved them.
I said goodbye and drove to the council offices, where I parked in a side road. It was a bright, sunny day and the early-September sun still had some strength in it. I signed in at the reception desk, completing the boxes that asked the reason for my visit and my time of arrival.
‘Which room is the meeting in?’ I asked the receptionist as I hung the security pass around my neck.
‘Room six on the second floor.’
I thanked her and began up the staircase. I’d been here before. Most of the social services meetings were in rooms on the second floor. I was anxious at meeting the children’s parents, Aneta and Filip, for the first time, but I reassured myself I’d met countless parents during my fostering career, and that they were likely to be as anxious as me. When I’d fostered for Homefinders Jill had accompanied me to most meetings, but Edith didn’t. It wasn’t part of the supervising social worker’s role at the local authority. I thought it probably should be, especially for new carers who must find some of these meetings quite daunting.
I was a few minutes early as I arrived outside room six, knocked on the door and went in. A man and a woman I took to be Molly and Kit’s parents sat at the table with their backs to me. At right angles to them and at the end of the table was Tess. Preeta sat opposite the couple. As I entered they fell silent and everyone looked at me. The faces of the parents were the epitome of grief and worry.
‘Hello, I’m Cathy,’ I said as I sat opposite them and next to Preeta. ‘I hope I’m not late.’
‘No. We were early,’ Tess said. Then to the parents, ‘Cathy is the foster carer.’
I threw them a small smile. Aneta just stared at me a bit like the children did, while her husband gave a short nod and looked away. I knew him to be older than his wife, but clearly the worry had aged them both. They had dark circles around their eyes, their foreheads were furrowed in permanent lines, and Aneta had a tissue pressed to her cheek from where she’d been crying. I could see the familial likeness, especially in Filip. Kit was the image of him. Both parents were dressed smart casual, in jeans and jerseys.
‘OK, let’s begin,’ Tess said, drawing herself upright in her chair. ‘This is a short informal meeting so you can all meet. I won’t be taking minutes, but Preeta will make a few notes.’ Aneta sniffed and I could see she wasn’t far from tears. ‘I appreciate this is a very emotional time for you,’ Tess said, looking at the parents, ‘so we’ll keep this meeting short, then you can see Molly and Kit.’
‘When can I see them?’ Aneta asked. I took my pen and notepad from my bag.
‘I’ve arranged contact at the Family Centre for four o’clock this afternoon,’ Tess said. Then to me, ‘That will give you time to go home, collect the children, and take them there.’
‘Yes,’ I said as I wrote: 4 p.m., Family Centre.
‘After today we can probably make contact earlier when the Family Centre is less busy, but I’ll let you know. Cathy, can you tell us how Molly and Kit are settling in, please?’
I looked at the parents. It was heart-breaking to see their anguish. Aneta was wiping away fresh tears. How parents cope with losing their children I’ll never know. Whatever had happened, they didn’t set out to lose their children.
‘Molly and Kit are lovely children,’ I began. ‘They are a credit to you. They’re obviously missing you, but they’re eating well and –’
‘What have you given them to eat?’ Aneta interrupted anxiously.
I thought back. ‘For dinner last night we had cottage pie,’ I said. ‘For breakfast they had hot oat cereal, which Molly chose, and then some yoghurt. For lunch today they had a cheese sandwich and some fruit.’
Filip nodded, but Aneta was looking even more worried and I wondered if there was something wrong in what I’d said. ‘Will the person looking after them now give them anything to eat?’ she asked, so I guessed Tess or Preeta had told them of the child-minding arrangements.
‘Possibly a drink and a biscuit,’ I replied. ‘Why? Is there a problem?’
‘You have to be very careful what you give them to eat and drink,’ Aneta said intensely. ‘My children have a lot of allergies and can easily fall sick.’
‘Can you tell me what the allergies are?’ I asked, my pen ready. ‘So I know which foods to avoid. I understood they didn’t have any allergies.’ Preeta was ready to write too.
‘Lots of things make them sick,’ Aneta said defensively. ‘I can’t tell you them all, and they change. I’m always at the doctor’s or hospital with my children. Not even the doctors can find out what’s wrong with them.’
‘I see,’ I said. Of course, Tess had told me the doctor’s view was that they didn’t have any allergies. ‘Can you narrow down the allergy to a group of foods? For example, is it dairy produce?’
‘Can you narrow it down at all?’ Tess asked, and I thought she looked sceptical.
Aneta shook her head. ‘No, and it’s not always food,’ she said vehemently. ‘Sometimes it can be the stuff I wash clothes in, or they brush past something or it’s in the air. You mustn’t use bubble bath.’
‘No, I don’t anyway. Young skin is delicate so I keep bathing simple – just a bit of baby shampoo for their hair.’
‘That can cause an allergic reaction too,’ she said with anxious satisfaction. I noticed she was becoming more agitated as she spoke, while Filip sat with his eyes down, concentrating on the table, apparently completely out of his depth.
‘How do these allergic reactions manifest themselves?’ Preeta asked. I’d written allergies on my notepad ready to list them, but so far I’d just put bubble bath, which I didn’t use anyway.
‘My children get a temperature and start vomiting,’ Aneta said animatedly. ‘I have to get an emergency appointment at the doctor’s or call an ambulance. But it stops as suddenly as it starts.’
‘Do they have a rash?’ I asked.
‘Sometimes, but usually they vomit.’ Her face crumpled and her tears fell again. ‘You should never have taken my children away,’ she said to Tess. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m innocent. I love my children and they need me. I’m the only one who can look after them.’
Filip placed a reassuring hand on his wife’s arm but didn’t look at her or speak. I thought he was barely coping too.
‘I love my children,’ Aneta wept. ‘I’m a good mother. My only crime was to take them to the doctor’s if they were ill, or if they fell and hurt themselves. They bruise easily. I’m being punished for looking after them properly. It’s not right.’ So upset and sincere, it again flashed across my mind that I hoped the social services had got it right in bringing the children into care.
‘So to be clear,’ Tess said. ‘There is nothing specific you can tell Cathy about which foods trigger an allergic reaction in either of your children?’
‘No,’ Aneta said, wiping her eyes.
‘Have you ever kept a food diary?’ Tess asked. ‘It’s often recommended by doctors as a way of finding out what a child is allergic to. You keep a record of what they have eaten and any symptoms they have experienced.’
‘No,’ Aneta said, ‘because it’s not just food. It’s lots of things, not even the doctors know.’
‘Cathy,’ Tess said, turning to me, ‘can you start a food diary, please? Note everything the children eat and drink, and obviously seek medical help if necessary.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said, and wrote food diary on my notepad. ‘I assume a peanut allergy has been ruled out?’ I asked. ‘The children have never suffered from anaphylactic shock and have auto-injectors?’ I thought something as serious as this would have been mentioned by now, but the children had been placed with me so quickly I decided it was best to ask.
‘No, they don’t,’ Aneta said.
There was a short silence and I wondered if Tess was expecting me to continue talking about how the children had settled in, but instead she said, ‘Cathy, is there anything else you want to ask Aneta and Filip that would help in the care of the children? I’m mindful of the time.’
‘Knowing the children’s routine would be useful,’ I said. ‘I’ll keep to it as much as possible. Also, I’m assuming there is a follow-up appointment at the fracture clinic?’
‘It’s on Monday morning,’ Aneta said, wiping her eyes. ‘I’ve got an appointment card at home, and a fact sheet about the care of the plaster cast the nurse gave to me.’
‘Could you bring them to contact today, please?’ I asked.
‘I’ll bring the sheet, but you won’t need the appointment card. I’ll take Kit to the hospital,’ Aneta said. ‘They know me there.’
I left it to Tess to explain. ‘While the children are in care, Cathy will take them to any medical appointments.’
‘But I want to go!’ Aneta exclaimed.
‘That wouldn’t be appropriate,’ Tess said gently but firmly. ‘You’ll be seeing the children regularly at the Family Centre. It would be confusing and upsetting for them if you just appeared.’
‘But they’re my children. It’s not right. You won’t even tell me where they are staying. I should be with them when they’re ill.’ Aneta was crying again and I felt so sorry for her. Of course a mother would want to be with her children when they were poorly, but Molly and Kit were in care because of possible abuse, so she couldn’t be alone with them at all. Contact at the Family Centre would be supervised.
‘I’ll take good care of them, I promise you,’ I said to her.
‘But it’s not right. I always go with them to the hospital,’ Aneta persisted. ‘I know the staff and they know me.’
Filip now spoke for the first time. ‘Leave it, Aneta,’ he said firmly. ‘We have to do what they say now.’ There was an edge of recrimination in his voice and I assumed he was blaming Aneta for the children being taken into care.
‘Can you tell Cathy something about the children’s routine?’ Tess prompted.
Aneta shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘What time they go to bed. What they like doing during the day. When they have their meals. That sort of thing,’ Tess said.
‘I can’t remember, I can’t think straight,’ Aneta said. ‘I’m too upset.’
‘It’s OK,’ I said, my heart going out to her. ‘It’s not essential.’
‘Do you know the children’s routine?’ Tess asked Filip.
‘No, I’m at work. I don’t know what they do all day. Aneta gets them up after I’ve left in the morning and they’re in bed by the time I get home. I work a lot of overtime to make ends meet.’
‘Weekends?’ Tess asked.
‘I work most weekends too,’ he said. So it appeared he had very little input in his children’s lives.
‘What sort of things do the children like to do?’ I asked.
Aneta shrugged.
‘Do they go to nursery or a pre-school play group?’ Preeta asked.
‘No,’ Aneta said. ‘I took Molly once when she was little, but she didn’t like it. All those children. She got pushed over and hurt her knee. I had to take her to the hospital. I worry about germs. They get ill so easily.’
I nodded and made a note, then asked, ‘Would it be possible for the children to have some more of their clothes and toys? I can buy new ones, but it’s nicer for them if they have what is familiar.’
Aneta was in tears again, but Filip said, ‘I’ll see to it.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Can you take them with you to contact tonight?’ Tess asked Filip. He nodded. ‘Is there anything either of you want to ask?’
Aneta didn’t reply, but Filip said, ‘How long will my children be in care?’
‘We don’t know at present,’ Tess replied. ‘If you stay behind at the end of this meeting we can have another chat.’ I was sure she would have explained the procedure to them already, but doubtless with the worry of it all Filip had forgotten. ‘Anything else?’ Tess asked, glancing around the table. ‘OK, in that case, I’ll see you at contact at four o’clock.’
I stood to leave as the others remained seated, but as I did Aneta suddenly asked me, ‘Do my children miss me?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said.
A small smile crossed her face. ‘Good. I wondered if they’d be pleased to be away from me.’
I was surprised by her comment but thought she was probably feeling sorry for herself and looking for some reassurance. Tess, however, said quite pointedly, ‘Why would you think that, Aneta?’
She shrugged and looked away, and just for a moment I thought she looked guilty. I said goodbye and left.
Chapter Five
Distressing (#litres_trial_promo)
Why would Aneta doubt her children’s love for her and think they would be pleased to be away from her? I wondered as I drove home. Could it be guilt? It would make sense. If she had been abusing them then she had reason to believe they would be better off without her. The edge to Tess’s voice when she’d asked her had suggested she thought so too. Yet Molly and Kit did miss their mother dreadfully, and she was clearly beside herself with grief at being parted from them. However, most parents are distraught if their children are taken into care whether they have been abusing them or not. In my experience, anger and grief are not indicators of the level of care children have been receiving at home. Aneta had been very upset but not angry. She appeared overprotective – not taking her children to pre-school for fear of accidents and germs. As for Filip, I wasn’t sure what to make of him. He looked shattered and overwhelmed, but seemed to have had little contact with his children because of the hours he worked. Did he know what had been going on at home?
It was 2.30 when I arrived home. As I let myself in I could hear Keelie’s highly excitable voice trilling from the living room. I think most of the street could hear her. ‘Beep. Beep. Beep. Brumm-brumm. Nnneeaoowww!’ she screeched. ‘Chuff-chuff, choo-choo!’ Then what sounded like her imitating the loud wail of a siren. Strewth! I thought. Whatever was she doing?
I went through to the living room. Maggie was sitting on the sofa, watching the children play. ‘Everything OK?’ I asked, my gaze sweeping the room, which was now covered with toys, games and puzzles.
‘Nnneeaoowww!’ Keelie cried again, bringing the toy aeroplane she was holding low over the scene below.
‘Keelie found some more toy boxes in the cupboard,’ Maggie said. ‘Hope that was all right. She’s been keeping Molly and Kit very well amused.’
‘Yes, of course, thank you,’ I said.
There wasn’t space to move for the toys covering the floor, and Molly and Kit, while not actually playing, were clearly mesmerized by Keelie. The playmat that showed a busy street scene was in the centre of the room and crammed full of toy vehicles, farmyard and zoo animals, play people and buildings constructed from Lego. It wasn’t so much a busy street scene as a giant metropolis, where police cars, fire engines, lorries, tankers, ambulances, boats and cars fought for space on the roads and pavements with dinosaurs, people and tower blocks. Every so often Kellie picked up a fighter jet, space rocket, flying saucer or pterodactyl and dropped miniature barrels of hay on those below. They landed with a loud ‘Bang!’ or ‘Whoosh!’ I thought how conservative and timid my play must have seemed to Molly and Kit compared with this.
‘Very imaginative,’ I said.
‘Bang! Boom! Gotcha!’ Keelie cried, as a brontosaurus landed on a boat on the duck pond. ‘I wanted to put water in it, but Maggie wouldn’t let me,’ Keelie lamented, pulling a face.
‘You can thank me later,’ Maggie said, and I smiled.
While Molly and Kit weren’t joining in, they were clearly enthralled and couldn’t take their eyes off Keelie. As Maggie had said, she had clearly kept them very well amused.
‘How did your meeting go?’ Maggie asked.
‘OK, thanks. We’ve got contact at four o’clock.’
‘We’ll be off then. Time to pack away,’ she told Keelie.
‘Oh, do I have to?’ Keelie bemoaned like a young child might.
‘Yes,’ Maggie said. ‘If you put away the toys nicely perhaps Cathy will invite you to another play date.’
Keelie stuck her tongue out good humouredly, and Maggie and I smiled.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it later,’ I said.
‘No, you won’t,’ Maggie replied. ‘We will all help.’
Maggie and I joined Keelie on the floor and began packing away as Molly and Kit continued to watch Keelie, probably having never seen a teenager playing so enthusiastically before.
‘I’ve got to start a food diary to try to identify if the children are allergic to anything,’ I told Maggie as we tidied away. ‘Have Molly and Kit had anything to eat and drink this afternoon? I’ll make a note.’
‘Just apple juice. They didn’t want a snack.’
‘OK, thanks.’
Before long most of the toys were in their boxes, although I left some out for Molly and Kit to play with while I saw Maggie and Keelie out. I gave Maggie a box of chocolates as a thank-you gift.
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ she said.
‘Yes, she should,’ Keelie said, taking them from her. ‘If you don’t want them, I’ll have them – I did all the work.’
‘You can have a couple and we’ll save the rest for later,’ Maggie told her, and Keelie pulled a face. Opening the front door, she began down the path eating the chocolates as she went. Maggie turned to me thoughtfully. ‘Molly and Kit were fine, they didn’t cry, but there’s something about them, isn’t there?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘I know they’ve just come into care so they’re bound to be quiet, but they wouldn’t talk, not even to Keelie, and there’s a haunted look in their eyes. I’m sure they’ve got secrets. Anyway, let me know if you need any help again.’
‘Yes, I will, thank you.’
I watched her go and then slowly closed the door. A haunted look … yes, that summed up Molly and Kit perfectly, I thought. Even when they weren’t upset there was something in their eyes, a burden they carried, which at their age they found impossible to understand or communicate. If they couldn’t verbalize their suffering, it might come out in play, but not yet. They were where I’d left them in the living room, sitting on the floor by the toy box, and Molly had her arm around Kit.
‘Did you have a nice time with Keelie?’ I asked.
Both children stared at me, and then Molly managed a small nod.
‘Good. You’re going to see your mummy and daddy soon, so let’s get you ready.’
‘Mummy?’ Molly asked.
‘Yes, we are going in my car so you can see Mummy and Daddy at what’s called a Family Centre.’
Holding a hand each, I took the children upstairs where I washed their hands and faces and then changed Kit’s top and nappy. Molly’s clothes were still clean. I always liked the children I cared for to look smart for contact, as it helped to reassure the parents and gave their meeting a sense of occasion, although of course Molly and Kit were too young to appreciate that.
‘Mummy?’ Molly asked again as we returned downstairs.
‘Yes, you’re going to see Mummy and Daddy very soon.’
‘At my home?’
‘No, love, at the Family Centre. It’s like a home, with toys, books, games and chairs to sit on. You will see them for an hour or so and then I’ll bring you back here.’ I wasn’t sure how long contact would be, as Tess hadn’t told me, but it’s usually an hour and a half, sometimes two.
Before I left the house, I sent a message to Paula, Lucy and Adrian on our WhatsApp group to let them know I was taking Molly and Kit to contact and wasn’t sure what time I’d be back.
I was glad I’d already fixed the car seats in place the day before, because I’d forgotten how long it took to leave the house with two little ones. I’d also packed a bag with nappies, wipes and a drink of water for both children. The clothes the children were wearing were suitable for early September, but if no warmer clothes arrived from home then I’d buy winter clothes soon before the weather turned cold.
‘Where’s Mummy?’ Molly asked from the back seat as I drove.
‘At the Family Centre. You’re going to see Mummy and Daddy there soon.’ The children only ever asked for Mummy, not Daddy, which made more sense now I knew Filip worked very long hours. Aneta had been the children’s main care-giver, so it was natural that they would ask for her.
I’d taken many children I’d fostered in the past to the Family Centre to see their parents, and I knew that to begin with it could be difficult for everyone. Feelings run high, the children are upset, and the parents are angry that their children are in care and the only way they can see them is in supervised contact at the Family Centre for a few hours a week. Children usually adapt more quickly than their parents. The Family Centre has six contact rooms, which are attractively decorated and furnished to look like living rooms, all well stocked with games and toys. There’s a communal kitchen, bathroom and separate WCs, but the parents are continually observed with their children by a contact supervisor who also takes notes. The parents are aware that their report will go to the social worker who will incorporate it into their report to the judge, so ultimately what the contact supervisor writes will form part of the judge’s decision on whether the child is allowed home. The supervisor’s report includes comments on the parents’ relationship with their child – positive and negative. I think it’s an awful position for a parent to be in, but there is little alternative if contact needs to be supervised.
‘Is Mummy here?’ Molly asked as I parked outside the Family Centre.
‘Yes, Mummy and Daddy should be waiting inside,’ I replied. Molly was looking out of her side window at the building, while Kit was cautiously watching me. I met his gaze and smiled. The poor child looked scared and confused. I hoped that seeing their parents would reassure the children.
I undid their harnesses and helped them out of their car seats. Taking them by the hand, I walked with them slowly up the path to the security-locked main door where I pressed the buzzer. The closed-circuit television camera above us was monitored in the office, and a few moments later the door clicked open and we went in. Tess was waiting in reception. ‘Hello,’ she said brightly to us all.
Sometimes the social worker is present at the first contact, then after that they observe contact every few months, although they are sent the supervisor’s reports after each session. The parents would have been shown around the building and had the house rules explained to them. They would also have signed a written agreement that outlined the arrangements and expectations for contact.
‘The parents are in Blue Room,’ Tess said. Each of the rooms is known by the colour it is decorated. ‘I’ll take the children through. Filip has brought in some more of the children’s belongings.’ She nodded to a suitcase standing to one side. ‘He said he’s put the appointment card for the fracture clinic in there with the notes they were given on the care of the plaster.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Also, I’ve arranged a medical for the children on Monday afternoon,’ Tess continued as the children stood quietly beside me. ‘I’ve emailed the details to you.’
‘OK, thanks. I haven’t had a chance to check my emails yet. I’ll have a look this evening. What time is contact finishing today?’
‘Five-thirty, when the centre closes. The details of future contacts are in the email.’
‘All right.’
‘Come on, then, let’s see Mummy and Daddy,’ Tess said to the children.
‘Have a good time,’ I said, but the children just looked at me with sad, wary eyes.
Tess took them by the hand and, with a few words of reassurance, led them down the corridor in the direction of Blue Room. I picked up the suitcase, smiled at the receptionist, who I knew a little from my previous visits, and left.
There was just enough time to make it worth my while going home. I wanted to unpack the case so the children had their own belongings in their bedroom. I doubted there’d be much time when we got back. The drive from the Family Centre to my house is usually between fifteen and thirty minutes, depending on the traffic, and I arrived home just before four-thirty. I was the only one in, apart from Sammy, and he watched me heave the case upstairs and into Molly and Kit’s bedroom. I opened it and found the hospital appointment card and the printout on plaster-cast care at the top. I put them to one side and quickly unpacked the rest of the case. There were no toys, which was a pity, but I appreciated how difficult it was for parents to send their children’s belongings to the foster carer. Although it helps the children to settle, parents can feel as though they are collaborating in sending their children away. Still, I had plenty of toys, and Molly and Kit now had more of their own clothes, and the soft toys they’d arrived with.
With the case empty, I took it and their other bag downstairs to return them to the parents at contact. It was five o’clock now and I had to leave to collect the children. I put the appointment card and printout with some other paperwork to one side to deal with later and opened the front door. Paula was just coming in, having returned from college. We exchanged a few words and I said we’d catch up later.
When children first come into care the end of contact is often distressing for all the family. In the past I’d had to carry a child screaming and crying from the room, as there’d been no other way. Gradually the parents and children adapt to the arrangements and it becomes less fraught, although saying goodbye at the end is always very emotional. I was therefore expecting Kit and Molly to be upset when they had to say goodbye, but nothing could have prepared me for what actually happened.
I parked outside the Family Centre, took the empty cases from the car and went up to the door, where I buzzed to be let in. It’s usual procedure for foster carers to collect the child or children from the room at the end of contact. ‘It’s five-thirty, so go down,’ the receptionist told me.
I signed the Visitors’ Book and continued to Blue Room. The centre closed shortly, so other families were saying goodbye and leaving. I passed a young lad aged about eight leaving with a man I knew to be his foster carer and we said hello.
The door to Blue Room was closed. Painted royal blue, it’s imaginatively decorated with pictures of blue objects – cars, flowers, butterflies, a hat, the sky, the sea, blueberries and so on. Indeed, the whole centre is decorated appealingly to make it child-friendly. I knocked on the door, pushed it open and took a few steps in. I was immediately struck by how quiet and tidy the room was. Usually when I collect a child at the end of contact – even the first one – they are still playing, so there is a last-minute scramble to clear up, as the room has to be left clean and tidy.
‘Hello,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ve brought these back.’ I placed the cases to one side, out of the way.
Aneta and Filip were sitting on the sofa with the children between them. They had some picture books open on their laps, but I didn’t get the impression they’d been reading to the children, perhaps just looking at the pictures. The contact supervisor was still sitting at the table making notes on a large pad. Everyone looked at me, Aneta hostile, Filip and the children bewildered. I knew my arrival was unwelcome, as it signalled the end of contact. Tess wasn’t there, so I assumed she’d gone.
Eventually Filip realized why I was there. ‘It’s time for you to go,’ he said in a deadpan voice, putting the books to one side. He was a big man with broad shoulders, now slumped under the crushing weight of losing his children.
‘No. I’m not letting them go again!’ Aneta suddenly shrieked, and clasped both children to her. She took Kit on her lap and had her other arm tightly around Molly. Indeed, she was holding them so tightly I thought they must be uncomfortable, but they didn’t squirm or try to pull away. ‘I’m not letting them go!’ Aneta cried again, her face contorted in panic and fear. She clung desperately to her children. It was pitiful and I knew it would be upsetting for Molly and Kit. The sooner we left the better, but it wasn’t for me to take the initiative. I looked at the supervisor.
‘It’s after five-thirty,’ she said, glancing up from writing. Perhaps she was inexperienced – some of them are – for I would have thought her priority ought to have been to end contact as positively as possible, and then finish writing her notes after.
‘Go away! You’re not having my children!’ Aneta shrieked hysterically, jerking the children closer. They both began to cry.
‘I think they have to go,’ Filip said ineffectually.
‘No, never! You’ll have to tear them off me.’ I’m sure Aneta didn’t appreciate that her behaviour was upsetting the children. Most parents don’t want to say goodbye at the end of contact, but they put on a brave face for the sake of their children. Sometimes I’ve looked back as I’ve left contact and seen parents crying, having waited until their children couldn’t see them. But Aneta appeared to be so wound up in her own grief that she was blind to the effect it was having on Molly and Kit, who were now sobbing uncontrollably.
‘Tell her to go away!’ she cried, meaning me. I could see my presence was antagonizing her.
‘Shall I wait outside?’ I asked the contact supervisor.
She just looked at me, not sure what to do for the best. ‘It’s the end of contact,’ she said to Aneta and Filip.
‘Don’t care!’ Aneta cried. ‘She’s not having my children!’
‘I’ll wait outside,’ I said, and, going out, I closed the door behind me. I could hear Aneta shouting and crying and the children sobbing – so could others in the building. It was very disturbing.
A few minutes later the door opened and the contact supervisor came out, flustered. ‘I’m going to get the manager,’ she said, and closed the door behind her, effectively leaving the children with their parents unsupervised.
As I waited, other children leaving with their carers looked over, worried and able to identify with this family’s distress. It was upsetting for everyone. Aneta’s hysterical shouting and crying continued, but I couldn’t hear Filip say anything. Presently the contact supervisor returned with the manager. Both looked anxious and disappeared into the room without comment, closing the door behind them.
I waited. I could hear the low tone of the manger’s voice as she talked steadily and calmly to Aneta. The centre emptied and gradually Aneta’s hysteria eased. The children stopped crying too. Fifteen minutes or so later the door opened and the contact supervisor appeared with Molly and Kit. ‘Take them now and leave,’ she said, urgency in her voice. I could see past her to where Aneta was sitting on the sofa, Filip on one side and the manager on the other, leaning into her.
‘This is for you,’ the contact supervisor said, handing me a carrier bag. ‘It’s the children’s medicines. In case they’re ill. There’s a lot.’
‘Oh,’ I said, surprised. ‘Does anything have to be taken now?’ It hadn’t been mentioned.
‘I don’t think so. Aneta said to follow the instructions on the packet.’
I hung the bag over my arm and took the children by the hand. At that moment Aneta seemed to realize what was happening and with a shriek of sheer distress like a wounded animal she made a dash for the door. Filip shot after her and grabbed her. The last image the children had of their parents was of their mother, her face twisted in anguish, being restrained by their father. It was an image that would stay with them for a very long time.
Chapter Six
I Want Mummy (#litres_trial_promo)
I hurried out of the Family Centre with the children and to the car, the carrier bag of medicines weighing heavily on my arm. ‘I feel sick,’ Molly said, and, leaning forward, she vomited onto the pavement.
‘It’s OK, love,’ I soothed gently. ‘Don’t worry. You’re just upset.’ I assumed that was the reason, and smoothed her hair back as she vomited again. ‘Take a few deep breaths,’ I told her. She did, and then slowly straightened. ‘Do you feel a bit better?’
She nodded. ‘Good girl.’ I took a wipe from the bag and cleaned her face and hands. I had one eye on the door to the Family Centre, hoping the parents wouldn’t leave until the children were safely in the car. Kit was looking very anxious too.
‘It’s all right, love,’ I reassured him. ‘Molly’s better now.’
‘I am better,’ she told him.
‘Big girl,’ I praised her. She was being so brave; most children her age would panic if they were sick, but she seemed to be coping very well.
‘Can I have some water?’ she asked.
‘Yes, of course.’ I took the water bottle from the bag and handed it to her.
She took a few sips and passed it back. ‘Mummy gives me water when I’m sick.’
‘Do you feel well enough to get in the car now?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ came her small reply.
I helped them both into their seats and fastened their harnesses. ‘OK?’ I asked her again.
‘Yes.’ She managed a small smile. It was the first time I’d seen her smile and I kissed her cheek.
‘It’s like being at home,’ she said. I guessed she meant my kiss.
‘Does Mummy kiss your cheek?’
‘Yes. After I’ve been sick she gives me lots of kisses.’
‘To make you feel better.’ I smiled. ‘Are you often sick?’
She nodded. ‘Lots.’
‘Don’t worry. We’re going to try to find out what’s making you sick and stop it.’ I kissed them both and then closed their car door and got into the driver’s seat. Just in time, for as I pulled away Filip and Aneta came out of the Family Centre, heads down and looking dejected. I felt sorry for them, I really did, but if they were all going to enjoy contact Aneta would need to make a big effort to contain her emotions – as Filip had done – for the sake of their children. Making a child leave contact so distraught that she had vomited was unkind and couldn’t be repeated. It was of course possible that it wasn’t distress that had caused Molly to be sick, but at that point it seemed the most likely cause. She wasn’t showing any signs of an allergic reaction and the sickness had passed quickly. She’d wet herself twice yesterday from distress and now she’d been sick. Young children can’t verbalize or deal with their distress in the same way adults can, so it comes out in physical ways or through challenging behaviour. When I got home I’d enter everything I’d given the children to eat and drink in the food diary, although I was pretty sure that Molly vomiting now was from upset.
As I drove, I kept glancing at the children in the rear-view mirror. The colour had returned to Molly’s face and, while not laughing, they had both calmed down. They were pale-skinned anyway, but Molly had gone as white as a sheet earlier when she’d been sick. About five minutes from home they both fell sleep – exhausted from a disturbed night and the distress at contact. I felt bad waking them, but they needed dinner before they went to bed, so, once parked on the drive, I gently woke them, then helped them out of the car. I let us in to the welcoming smell of spaghetti bolognese. Lucy and Paula appeared in the hall. ‘Dinner’s ready,’ Paula said.
‘Thank you so much.’
Both girls took over and I was so pleased to have their help. They slipped off the children’s jackets and shoes and carried them to their chairs at the dining table. Five minutes later we were all eating. A large plate of spag bol was in front of me, topped with parmesan and garnished with salad, together with a mug of tea. I was truly grateful.
‘Thank you so much,’ I said again.
When we fostered older children or teenagers there was a limit to how much help my children could give, but now, with two little ones, they came into their own. Lucy fed Kit and Paula helped Molly, who seemed none the worse for her ordeal and ate.
‘This is delicious,’ I said, and made a mental note to include the ingredients in the children’s food diary.
‘I’m collecting a car tomorrow,’ Adrian announced as we ate.
‘Are you?’ I knew he’d been saving for a car for a while, but I didn’t know he’d been looking for one. The old banger he’d had at university had given up some time ago.
‘It belongs to a guy at work,’ he said. ‘It was his elderly mother’s, but she died and he wants to get rid of it quickly. It’s only done a few miles. It’s a bargain.’
‘Sounds good,’ I said.
‘As long as her ghost doesn’t haunt it,’ Lucy put in.
Adrian paused from eating to look at her. ‘How does a ghost stay safe in a car?’ he asked. I’d heard this joke before but couldn’t remember the punchline. Neither apparently could Lucy or Paula.
‘Go on, tell us,’ Lucy said.
‘Puts on its sheet belt!’ Adrian said. We all laughed.
‘What’s a ghost’s favourite dessert?’ Paula asked.
‘I scream,’ Adrian replied. ‘What kind of roads do ghosts haunt?’
There was silence as we thought. ‘Dead ends,’ he said, and we groaned.
‘What did the polite ghost say to her child?’ Lucy asked.
I knew this one. ‘Don’t spook until your spooken to!’ I said. We laughed again and little Kit chuckled. He obviously didn’t know what he was laughing at as he was too young to understand the jokes, but it was lovely to hear him chuckle and see his little face light up. However, when I looked at Molly I saw she was anxious. ‘Are you all right, love?’ I asked, wondering if she was feeling ill again.
‘We’re not allowed to laugh when we eat,’ she said seriously. ‘Mummy says it makes us sick.’
‘That’s sensible,’ I said. Although it seemed a bit harsh to me – never laughing at the meal table. I guessed Aneta worried more than the average mother about her children because they’d been ill so often. When I’d fostered a child with severe asthma, I was very watchful and overprotective. It was only natural as a parent or carer.
The children looked exhausted, so once we’d finished eating I said it was time for their bath and bed. Lucy and Paula were keen to help and came upstairs with me, while Adrian said he’d see to the dishes and was going out later. In the bathroom it soon became clear that I was superfluous, as Lucy and Paula took over. I hung around as they bathed the children, dressed them in their pyjamas and brushed their teeth. Once in their bedroom, Paula sat on Molly’s bed to read her a story while Lucy settled Kit in his cot.
‘You go down and get on with what you need to do,’ Lucy said. ‘We’re OK here.’
‘Yes, go on, Mum,’ Paula encouraged. ‘We can manage. We’ll call you if we need you.’
‘OK, thanks.’ I kissed Molly and Kit goodnight and came out, leaving their bedroom door open. I had a long list of things I needed to do so was grateful for the opportunity.
Downstairs, Adrian was in the hall about to go out and I thanked him for his help.
‘See you tomorrow,’ he said, kissing my cheek. ‘I expect you’ll be in bed before I’m back.’ It was Friday and he and Kirsty usually went out somewhere.
I wished him a good evening and told him to say hi to Kirsty for me, and then I went into the kitchen. First, I wanted to sort through the bag of medicines I’d been given for Molly and Kit. The contact supervisor had said she didn’t think any of it was needed now, so I’d put the bag on a top shelf in a kitchen cupboard while we’d had dinner. I now took it down and began to go through the contents, taking them out one at a time, reading the labels and placing them on the work surface. It soon looked like a mini pharmacy with all the bottles, screw-top jars, packets and so on. There was antihistamine syrup to control allergic reactions, antihistamine cream in a tube, medicine to control sickness, Calpol for reducing fevers and high temperature, cough syrup, vitamin drops, eye drops, ear drops, nasal spray, laxatives, antiseptic cream, medicine for colic, stomach upsets, diarrhoea, sachets to rehydrate after sickness or diarrhoea, and so on. There was also an inhaler for asthma, although asthma hadn’t been mentioned. I counted forty-five items.
All the medicine was relatively recent and in date, some had been used while other bottles and packets remained unopened. A few items had been prescribed by a doctor or the hospital, but most of it had been bought over the counter. There was also a syringe for giving liquid medicine to very young children. None of it was needed now; they were used to treat symptoms as and when they appeared. There was nothing wrong with Molly and Kit as far as I knew – Molly was over her sickness and hadn’t developed any other symptoms – so they didn’t need them. I couldn’t fit all these items in my lockable medicine cabinet, and I thought they should all be kept together in one place, so, repacking the bag, I labelled it Molly and Kit’s medicine and returned it to the top shelf of the cupboard. Was this amount of medicine excessive? Yes, I thought so, although the children had been ill an awful lot, so I guessed Aneta liked to be prepared.
On my list of things to do was to start a food diary. I opened an exercise book, divided the page into two, then wrote Molly’s and Kit’s names at the top of each column and listed everything they’d had to eat and drink since they’d arrived yesterday. I also noted beside Molly’s entry that after contact she’d been sick and wrote, Due to upset? I would also note this in my log when I wrote it up later, and mention it to Tess when I spoke to her. Having brought the food diary up to date with this evening’s meal I left it in the kitchen where it could be seen as a reminder to fill it in.
I went into the front room and switched on the computer to read my emails. I prefer the large screen of the desktop computer to my phone and it was where I stored important files. As it sprung to life Paula and Lucy crept downstairs and into the front room. ‘They’re both fast asleep,’ Lucy whispered. ‘They were exhausted.’
‘Thank you so much. Was Molly all right? She’s not feeling sick again?’ I asked.
‘No, she seems fine,’ Paula said. ‘She said she missed her mummy, but I told her she’d see her soon.’
‘Thank you both,’ I said again. ‘Now you can chill.’ It was their Friday evening and they disappeared into the living room to stream a film, as I concentrated on the computer screen.
Tess’s email came through with the Essential Information Form attached. The social services, like many organizations, were trying to go paperless and I now had a folder on my computer for files relating to the children I was fostering as well as a physical folder. I was still keeping my log notes in a book; most foster carers were, simply because it’s easier to pick up to add to during the day, although many forms were now completed and stored online.
I read Tess’s email first. She’d arranged a medical for Kit and Molly for 1 p.m. on Monday and contact for 3–5 p.m. that afternoon. Then contact would be every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Fetching my diary, I entered all of this and then picked up the appointment card for the fracture clinic. It was for 10 a.m. on Monday. With the hospital appointment, the medical and contact, Monday was full. I now read the printout from the hospital on the care of a plaster cast. The main points were that the cast should be kept dry, the patient’s fingers exercised by wriggling, and to contact A&E if extreme pain or numbness were experienced or if the fingers became blue, swollen or began to discharge. I’d keep an eye on Kit’s hand, but so far it looked good. I now opened the Essential Information Form that Tess had sent, which should give me some background information on the children to help me care for them.
It was a standard form and began with the children’s and parents’ full names, home address and dates of birth. In the box about other family members it showed that Aneta had a mother and sister living abroad but they weren’t in contact. Filip had no close family members. Ethnicity was given as British, language as English and beside religion it said none. The children’s legal status was an interim care order, and beside school or nursery was written none. Next was the contact arrangements – which I’d already taken from the email – followed by special health concerns: The mother claims that both children suffer from multiple and undiagnosed allergies, which can result in vomiting, diarrhoea, rashes, bruising, difficulty in breathing (so I guessed that was why an inhaler was in their bag of medicines) and seizures – that hadn’t been mentioned before either. I paused, very concerned. I’d need to ask Tess for more details about the seizures, how often they occurred and how long they lasted. I’d also have to let the rest of the family know and check they knew what to do if Kit or Molly did fit. I had a first-aid certificate – all foster carers do – and Lucy had one because she worked in a nursery. However, I knew from experience how frightening it can be to see someone fit, so I needed to have a chat with my family to make sure Paula and Adrian knew what to do too.
I returned to the form and the entry about the children’s health: Kit sustained a broken arm and has bruising and swelling to his face – which I obviously knew. The next point and those following were more relevant to older children: Behaviour problems? Did the young person drink, smoke or take drugs? No had been entered by each one. Apart from the section on health, the Essential Information Form hadn’t really told me much more than I already knew, largely, I thought, because the social services hadn’t been involved with the family until the start of the week.
My gaze returned to the comments in respect of the children’s health, particularly about the undiagnosed allergies. These applied to both children. Aneta wouldn’t make all this up, so I wondered if the children could be suffering from a rare genetic condition that hadn’t yet been identified. I knew nothing about the testing that had been done to try to establish what triggered the reactions, only that the cause was ‘undiagnosed’. I then did what many of us do now and consulted to Dr Google. I typed allergic reaction resulting in vomiting, diarrhoea, rashes, bruising, seizures, difficulty in breathing into the search engine. Pages of websites came up. I began reading and soon discovered that there were over eighty allergic reactions that could produce symptoms of fever, nausea, vomiting and skin rashes – indeed, these were the most common reactions to allergens. But I also found that a purple-blue rash like a bruise could appear in a few bad allergic reactions and they were genetic. However, these severe rashes lasted four to six weeks, which wasn’t what Aneta had described at all. She’d said the symptoms came and went quickly. I was about to continue my research when I heard Kit’s plaster cast bang against the cot side, followed by his startled cry. I went straight upstairs. Kit was standing up in his cot, his little face puckered into tears.
‘It’s all right, love,’ I said, picking him up and holding him close. ‘There, there,’ I soothed. Molly slept on in her bed close by. It occurred to me that cot bumpers would have cushioned the blow when Kit’s plaster hit the sides, but they were now deemed unsafe as some infants had tragically become entangled in them and suffocated.
Eventually Kit began to relax against me and his eyes grew heavy and closed. I lay him on his side in the cot and gently rubbed his back. I also had a closer look at his arm in the plaster cast. I could see by the dimmed light that his hand and fingers were a healthy colour and weren’t swollen so I didn’t think it was causing him a problem, apart from being uncomfortable and hitting the cot when he turned over. After about ten minutes of rubbing his back, he appeared to be fully asleep and I crept from the room. I’d just got outside when I heard his startled cry again and went straight back. Not quickly enough. He’d woken Molly. ‘I want my mummy!’ she cried, sitting bolt upright in bed.
‘It’s OK, love, you’ll see her soon,’ I said. ‘Lie down and go back to sleep.’
Molly lay down but didn’t go back to sleep. ‘I want my mummy!’ she cried over and over again.
I picked up Kit and held him on my lap as I sat on the edge of Molly’s bed and calmed her too. If a child who has been with me for some time wakes at night I go into their room, resettle them and come out, and repeat until they’re asleep. But this was only Kit and Molly’s second night in a strange room and Molly had been sick earlier, so I stayed with them. ‘Do you feel all right?’ I asked her.
‘No, I want my mummy,’ she said plaintively.
‘I know you do, love, and you’ll see Mummy and Daddy soon. But now I want you to get some sleep.’ I tucked her soft toy in beside her and stayed sitting on the bed, soothing Molly and gently rocking Kit back to sleep.
Time passed and eventually they both appeared to be asleep. I carefully stood and returned Kit to his cot. He licked his lips, murmured something and turned over but didn’t wake. I waited a few more minutes to make sure neither of them woke, and then crept out. It was now 10.30 p.m.
Downstairs, I shut down the computer, then stayed in the front room and wrote up my log notes. Ten minutes later Lucy and Paula finished watching their film and came into the front room on their way upstairs to bed. I reminded them to be quiet as Molly and Kit’s bedroom door was open. Telling me I should wake them if I needed help in the night, they kissed me goodnight and went up. I finished writing my log notes, put Sammy to bed, then went upstairs too. I checked on Molly and Kit and they were both fast asleep. I then lay in my bed listening out for them. Around midnight I heard Adrian quietly let himself in and then nothing more until 2 a.m., when Molly and Kit woke. I managed to settle them reasonably quickly without waking the rest of the house and they then slept until 7 a.m. – a huge improvement on the night before. However, as soon as Molly woke she was in tears. ‘I want my mummy,’ she sobbed. ‘When can I see Mummy? I want to go home.’ Seeing his sister so upset made Kit cry. ‘Mummy, Mummy,’ he wailed. So at 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning I had two children on my lap, crying their hearts out for their mother. I felt like a wicked witch.
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Cathy Glass
Innocent is the shocking true story of little Molly and Kit, siblings, aged 3 years and 18 months, who are brought into care as an emergency after suffering non-accidental injuries.Aneta and Filip, the children’s parents, are distraught when their children are taken into care. Aneta maintains she is innocent of harming them, while Filip appears bewildered and out of his depth. It’s true the family has never come to the attention of the social services before and little Kit and Molly appear to have been well looked after, but Kit has a broken arm and bruises on his face. Could it be they were a result of a genuine accident as Aneta is claiming? Both children become sick with a mysterious illness while, experienced foster carer, Cathy, is looking after them. Very worried, she asks for more hospital tests to be done. They’ve already had a lot. When Cathy’s daughter, Lucy, becomes ill too she believes she has found the cause of Kit and Molly’s illness and the parents aren’t to blame. However, nothing could be further from the truth and what comes to light is far more sinister and shocking.
(#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
Copyright (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.
HarperElement
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
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First published by HarperElement 2019
FIRST EDITION
Text © Cathy Glass 2019
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover photograph © Voisin/Phanie/Getty Images (stock photo posed by models)
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Source ISBN: 9780008341985
Ebook Edition © September 2019 ISBN: 9780008341992
Version: 2019-06-03
Contents
1 Cover (#u661540c8-b510-5f3a-bfe4-e3f9a37aeb48)
2 Title Page
3 Copyright
4 Contents (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
5 Acknowledgements
6 Chapter One: Traumatized
7 Chapter Two: Chaos
8 Chapter Three: Disturbed Night
9 Chapter Four: Good Mother
10 Chapter Five: Distressing
11 Chapter Six: I Want Mummy
12 Chapter Seven: Sick
13 Chapter Eight: Need to Know?
14 Chapter Nine: Sick Again
15 Chapter Ten: Bonding
16 Chapter Eleven: Exasperated and Worried
17 Chapter Twelve: Play Nicely
18 Chapter Thirteen: Not Responsible
19 Chapter Fourteen: Hospital
20 Chapter Fifteen: A Breakthrough?
21 Chapter Sixteen: My Fault
22 Chapter Seventeen: Accused
23 Chapter Eighteen: Leaving
24 Chapter Nineteen: Shocking
25 Chapter Twenty: Beyond Belief
26 Chapter Twenty-One: No Contact
27 Chapter Twenty-Two: Love the Children
28 Chapter Twenty-Three: Disclosure
29 Chapter Twenty-Four: The Wonder of Christmas
30 Chapter Twenty-Five: Aneta
31 Chapter Twenty-Six: Permanent?
32 Chapter Twenty-Seven: Judge’s Decision
33 Chapter Twenty-Eight: Saying Goodbye
34 Afterword
35 Suggested topics for reading-group discussion
36 Cathy Glass
37 If you loved this book …
38 Moving Memoirs eNewsletter (#litres_trial_promo)
39 Praise for Cathy Glass
40 About the Publisher
LandmarksCover (#u661540c8-b510-5f3a-bfe4-e3f9a37aeb48)FrontmatterStart of ContentBackmatter
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Acknowledgements (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
A big thank you to my family; my editors, Carolyn and Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; my UK publishers HarperCollins, and my overseas publishers who are now too numerous to list by name. Last, but definitely not least, a big thank you to my readers for your unfailing support and kind words. They are much appreciated.
Chapter One
Traumatized (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
Thank goodness I didn’t have to witness their anguish and upset, I thought. I was sure I wouldn’t have coped. It was bad enough knowing it was happening – two young children about to be taken from their parents and brought into care. During the twenty-five years I’d been fostering I’d seen a lot of changes, but the raw grief of a family torn apart didn’t get any easier. I could imagine the children screaming and crying and clinging to their distraught parents as they tried to say goodbye. My heart ached for them. I also had sympathy for the social worker who was doing a very difficult job. No one wants to take children from their parents, but sometimes there is no alternative if they are to be safe.
It was now nearly two o’clock in the afternoon and I was standing in what would shortly be the children’s bedroom. I could have put the cot in my room, but I was sure Kit, only eighteen months old, would be happier sleeping with his sister Molly, who was three and a half. Doubtless she too would find comfort in having her younger brother close. Fostering guidelines on bedroom sharing vary slightly from one local authority to another, but generally siblings of the opposite sex can share a bedroom up to the age of five.
Molly and Kit were coming to me as an emergency placement. Stevie, fifteen (whose story I told in Finding Stevie), had left at the end of August and now, a few days later, at the start of September, I was preparing myself and the house for the arrival of these two little ones, who were certainly going to be distraught. Sometimes taking children into care can be done with the cooperation of their parents, voluntarily, which is known as ‘accommodated’ or a Section 20. It’s usually considered the better option, as the parents retain legal responsibility for their children and the process is less distressing for all involved. But that couldn’t happen here, so the social services had gone to court that morning to ask the judge for a care order to remove the children from home and bring them to me.
Edith, my supervising social worker, had telephoned at 11 a.m. to tell me to expect the children if the care order was granted. The reason for the social services’ application was that one of the children (she didn’t know which one) had suffered what was thought to be a non-accidental injury. That meant that someone – presumably one or both of the parents – had harmed the child. Apart from this and their ages, Edith didn’t have any more details. I would learn more when their social worker brought the children to me later today.
As soon as I’d finished speaking to Edith I’d gone into the loft and brought down all the early-years equipment I’d stored away there, including a cot, pushchair, car seats and boxes full of toys, all of which I’d wrapped in polythene to keep them clean after the last time I’d used them many years before. I’d struggled to get them down and to assemble the cot on my own, but my family were all out and I didn’t dare leave it until they returned in the evening. Adrian, aged twenty-four, and Lucy, twenty-two, were at work, and Paula, twenty, was at college. I was a single parent, my husband having run off with a younger work colleague when the children were little. Very upsetting at the time but history now.
Having made up the bed and cot with fresh linen, I set a toy box at the far end of the room and came out. Hopefully Molly and Kit’s parents would feel up to packing some of their children’s clothes and toys, as it would help them settle with me to have familiar things around them when everything else in their lives had changed.
Downstairs, I quickly made a sandwich lunch, which I ate at the table with my mobile phone beside me. I was expecting Edith or the children’s social worker to phone at any moment – as soon as the care order had been granted and they’d left court. Of course, there was a chance the order wouldn’t be granted. If so, then preparing the room would have all been for nothing. It had happened to me in the past – I’d been put on standby to receive a child or children, and plans had changed at the last minute, which is why foster carers have to be flexible. It’s unusual for a care order not to be granted, but what happens more often is that a relative steps in at the last minute to look after the children so they don’t have to go to a foster carer they don’t know.
I’d just finished eating my sandwich when my mobile rang.
‘Cathy Glass?’ a female voice asked.
‘Yes, speaking.’ I could hear traffic noise in the background.
‘It’s Tess Baldwin, social worker for Molly and Kit. I believe Edith spoke to you this morning and you’re expecting Kit and Molly.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Their room is ready.’
‘Good. We’re on our way to collect them. We should be with you by five o’clock. The children have never been away from home before so are likely to be very upset.’
‘Poor dears.’ My heart clenched. ‘I don’t have any information about them other than their ages.’
‘I’ll explain more when I see you. The family only came to the notice of the social services on Monday. The decision to remove the children was made by us yesterday afternoon.’ It was only Thursday now, which showed just how urgent they considered it to be to bring the children to a place of safety.
I had a couple of hours before Molly and Kit arrived. I texted Adrian, Lucy and Paula to let them know the children were coming so it wouldn’t be a complete surprise. I then went quickly into the High Street where I bought a trainer cup, nappies and baby wipes for Kit (I assumed he was still in nappies), and some snack food that might tempt them both if they were too upset to eat – for example, corn and carrot sticks, little packets of dried fruit and fromage frais in brightly decorated pots. If the children didn’t come with their own clothes, I’d be back here tomorrow to buy them what they needed. We’d get by tonight with the spares I kept in the ottoman in my bedroom. I had most sizes, from newborn to teens, all washed and pressed and ready for emergency use.
An hour later I was home again and, having unpacked the shopping, I began to make a cottage pie for dinner later. There wouldn’t be much time once the social worker arrived with Kit and Molly, and most children enjoy cottage pie. I didn’t know yet if Kit and Molly had any special dietary requirements, allergies or special needs, and it would be something I’d ask Tess when they arrived. If this had been a planned move, I would normally have received background information like this in advance of the children arriving, but this was an emergency, so everything was happening quickly.
Shortly after four o’clock my phone rang and it was Tess, the children’s social worker. ‘We’re in the car with the children,’ she said. ‘We should be with you in about twenty minutes. Molly will need a change of clothes, she’s just wet herself.’
‘I’ll have some ready,’ I said. ‘Tell her not to worry.’ I knew how children fretted if they had an accident. It wasn’t surprising she’d wet herself, given the trauma of being taken from home.
‘See you shortly,’ Tess said, and ended the call.
I went straight upstairs to my bedroom where I searched through the ottoman until I found a new packet of pants marked ‘Age 3–4 Years’, and a pair of jogging bottoms and matching top that should fit Molly. I took them into the children’s bedroom and returned downstairs, my heart thumping loudly from nervous anticipation.
Waiting for a new child or children to arrive is always nerve-racking for the foster carer, regardless of how many times they’ve done it before. We worry if the children will like and trust us enough to help them, if we can meet their needs and work with their family – very important. Now I had the added challenge of fostering not one child but two, who were both very young. I hadn’t fostered little ones in a long while. As a specialist foster carer with lots of experience, I was usually asked to look after older children with challenging behaviour, who, to be honest, I felt more confident in dealing with. Would I remember what to do with two little ones?
My crisis of confidence continued until the doorbell rang, when common sense and instinct kicked in. I answered it with a bright smile. ‘Hello, I’m Cathy. Come in.’
Two female social workers stood before me, each carrying a child.
‘I’m Tess, and this is Molly,’ Tess said, introducing the child she was holding. ‘And this is my colleague Preeta, with Kit.’
‘Hello,’ Preeta said as they came in.
I smiled at both children. They looked petrified – large eyes stared out from pale faces and they clung desperately to their social workers. Kit had a plaster cast on his left arm, his cheeks were bruised and there was a red bump on his forehead. ‘Hello, love,’ I said to him, and swallowed hard.
He drew back from me further into Preeta’s shoulder.
‘I’ve put some toys in the living room,’ I said, and led the way down the hall, although I guessed it would be a long time before either child felt like playing. Their little sombre faces suggested they were very close to tears.
In the living room, Preeta sat on the sofa with Kit on her lap, still clinging desperately to her. Tess put Molly down. The child grabbed her hand for comfort. ‘It might be a good idea if you changed her now,’ Tess said to me. ‘She’s sopping wet, and can I use your bathroom to wash my hands?’
‘Yes, of course. This way.’ I could smell stale urine.
Leaving Preeta with Kit, we went upstairs to the bathroom, with Molly still clutching her social worker’s hand.
‘Help yourself to whatever you need,’ I said to Tess, referring to the soap, towel and antibacterial hand wash. ‘I’ll change Molly in her bedroom.’
‘Thanks. I don’t suppose you have a change of clothes for me too?’ Tess joked, sniffing the sleeve of her blouse.
‘I’m sure I could find you a top,’ I offered.
‘No, it’s fine,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ve had worse than a bit of pee on me.’
I bent down to talk to Molly. ‘I’ve got some nice dry clothes for you ready in your bedroom,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and get you changed.’ She stared back at me, bewildered. I gently took her hand and, leaving Tess washing her hands and forearms, I led Molly, silent and expressionless, around the landing and into her and Kit’s bedroom.
I spoke brightly and positively as I pointed out the toy box, her bed and Kit’s cot close by, trying to put her at ease. I held up the clothes I’d put out ready. ‘You can wear these for now,’ I said. She stared at the clothes. ‘Can you change yourself or shall I help you?’ Most children of Molly’s age can make a good attempt at dressing and undressing themselves, although they still need help with fiddly things like buttons and zips. Molly just stood there, looking lost and staring at the clothes.
‘I’ll help you,’ I said.
I began taking off her damp clothes. She was like a doll and only moved to raise her arms as I took off her dress and vest over her head. I then helped her out of her pants and socks. They were all wet and smelt of urine and I put them to one side to go in the washing machine. I wiped her skin with baby wipes. Her body was very pale like her face, as though she hadn’t seen much sun, but thankfully I couldn’t see any bruises or other marks on her as there were on Kit. ‘That will do for now,’ I said, throwing the wipes in the bin. ‘You can have a bath tonight.’ I dressed her in the clean clothes.
Tess appeared. ‘Anything I should be aware of?’ she asked, meaning injuries.
‘No, I can’t see anything. I’ll give them both a bath this evening, though.’
‘I’ll arrange medicals for both children,’ Tess said. This was usual when children came into care.
Molly still hadn’t said a word, but while she looked very sad, she wasn’t crying; indeed, I hadn’t heard a sound from her since she’d arrived. ‘Does she have communication difficulties?’ I asked Tess. I knew so little about the children it was possible she had a hearing and speech impairment.
‘No. She was talking to her parents at home,’ Tess said. Then to Molly, ‘You can hear me, can’t you?’
She gave a small nod. It therefore seemed it must be the trauma of coming into care that was responsible, and possibly what had been going on at home. I’d seen it before in abused children – sometimes it was days before they were able to speak.
‘Let’s go downstairs and I’ll tell you what I know,’ Tess said to me. ‘I haven’t got the Essential Information Form, it’s being completed now. I’ll email it to you, and the placement agreement form.’ In a planned move, this paperwork arrived with the social worker when the child was placed and gave their background information and the reasons they were in care.
We returned downstairs to the living room where Kit was as we’d left him, sitting on Preeta’s lap. She had taken a toy fire engine with flashing lights and a siren from the toy box and was trying to interest him in it, but he wasn’t even touching it – another indication of how traumatized the children were. Molly sat on the sofa beside Preeta and Kit and put her hand on his arm. Tess sat next to her. I asked both social workers if they would like a drink, and they wanted coffee. I also asked Molly and Kit if they’d like a drink, but they just looked at me. ‘I’ll get you some water and you can have it if you want,’ I told the children with a reassuring smile.
In the kitchen I made two coffees and filled the trainer cup with water for Kit and a child’s plastic beaker for Molly. I put some biscuits on a plate and then carried everything on a tray into the living room where I set it on the occasional table. As Tess and Preeta took their coffees – keeping the hot liquid away from the children – I offered Molly and Kit their drinks, but they didn’t want them. ‘OK, maybe later,’ I said. ‘Would you like a biscuit?’ I showed them the plate but got the same response.
At that moment I heard a key go in the front door and the door open. Molly started. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘That will be my youngest daughter, Paula, returning from college.’
‘Who else lives here?’ Tess asked. Setting down her coffee, she took a pen and notepad from her bag. I guessed in all the rush she had as little information about me as I did about the children.
‘As well as Paula, there is Adrian, my son, and Lucy, my other daughter. And Sammy the cat,’ I added, smiling at Molly. ‘He must be in the garden. You’ll meet him later.’
‘And your children’s ages?’ Tess asked. I told her.
‘Do you like cats?’ Preeta asked Molly, but she didn’t reply.
‘They don’t have any animals at home,’ Tess said as she wrote.
Paula appeared at the living-room door and smiled a little self-consciously. ‘Oh they’re sweet,’ she said. The children shifted their gaze to her.
‘This is Molly and Kit,’ I said. ‘Can you join us? I think it might help them.’ So often, looked-after children take to the carer’s children before they feel relaxed enough to begin to form a relationship with the carer.
‘Sure,’ Paula said, coming further into the room. ‘Shall I play with them?’
‘Yes, please.’ I took some of the toys out of the box as Paula sat on the floor beside them.
‘Do you want to play with these farm animals?’ she asked the children. Molly stared at her, but Kit scrambled down from Preeta’s lap and sat near Paula.
‘Well done,’ I said to her.
‘You’ve hurt your arm,’ she said to Kit, referring to the plaster. Molly, wanting to stay close to her brother, now left the sofa and sat beside him.
I smiled, relieved. It was a start.
‘I’ll give you some background information, then perhaps we can go into another room for the rest?’ Tess suggested, so I knew that some of what she had to tell me she didn’t want the children to hear. While Kit at eighteen months would have a limited understanding of what he heard, Molly at three and a half would probably understand most of it. Bad enough to have witnessed whatever had happened at home without having to hear it discussed.
‘The parents are called Aneta and Filip,’ Tess began. ‘Filip is forty and fifteen years older than his wife. They have been married five years and these are their only children. They live in Eastwood.’ It was a new housing estate on the edge of town. ‘Aneta is a full-time mother and homemaker, and Filip is a warehouse manager who works very long hours. The family hadn’t come to the attention of the social services before the start of this week. Aneta took Kit to the hospital in a lot of pain, and he was found to have a fractured arm. The mother is claiming he fell down the stairs, but the doctor had doubts.’
I saw Molly look over. Tess and Preeta saw it too. ‘Why don’t I go somewhere private now to talk to Cathy,’ Tess suggested to Preeta, ‘while you stay here with the children?’
‘Yes, I think that’s best,’ Preeta replied.
‘Are you OK to stay here too?’ I asked Paula, aware that she would have college work to do.
‘Yes.’
‘We’ll be in the front room,’ I said.
Preeta joined Paula and the little ones on the floor with the toys as Tess quickly finished the last of her coffee and stood. I showed her into the front room where she closed the door so we couldn’t be overheard. Away from the little ones, her professional reserve and composure dropped and she sank into one of the armchairs. ‘Who’d be a social worker?’ she said with a heartfelt sigh. ‘It doesn’t get much worse than this.’
Chapter Two
Chaos (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
‘The children’s mother, Aneta, was hysterical,’ Tess continued as we sat in the front room. ‘It was dreadful. She was clinging to the children, screaming and crying, trying to fight us off and stop us from taking them. The father – Filip – had to restrain her so we could leave with the children. Only he was in court; she stayed at home with the children. I’ve told him to call their doctor. I’ll phone him after we’ve left here. He managed to pack a case with a few things for the children. Aneta couldn’t. It’s in my car – don’t let me drive off with it.’
My heart ached from the scene Tess had just described. ‘So the parents had no idea the children would be coming into care?’ I asked.
‘They knew we were going to court this morning. We advised them to get legal representation, but they didn’t think it would be necessary. They will contact a solicitor now,’ Tess said, and I nodded. ‘Aneta insists Kit fell downstairs. Filip was at work and is standing by his wife and maintains she would never harm the children, that she loves them too much.’ She paused to check her phone, which was on silent. I knew there must be more to it than this, as the judge would never allow the social services to remove the children because of one accident. ‘That visit to the hospital’, Tess continued, returning the phone to her pocket, ‘was the sixtieth time she’d been with Kit.’
‘What?’ I gasped. ‘He’s only eighteen months old. That makes a visit nearly every week!’
Tess nodded sombrely. ‘Questions will be asked as to why the social services weren’t involved sooner. True, many of the previous visits were for ailments and minor injuries, but even so. Aneta was turning up regularly, saying the child had tripped and fallen, was sick, had ingested something they shouldn’t, had a cough, rash or high temperature. She was clearly anxious about her children’s health, but it was only on Monday when it was found that Kit had a broken arm that the history of her visits was thoroughly reviewed and the alarm raised. Now it seems similar had been going on at their doctor’s. I’m applying for the children’s medical records, but the doctor I spoke to said that Aneta was there most weeks – first with Molly and then with Kit. Her visits with Molly were initially put down to new-mother anxiety. It’s not unusual for first-time mothers to be anxious about their baby’s health and to keep seeking medical advice about minor ailments. But it continued with Kit and then the term “accident prone” started to be used. However, the children always appeared clean and Aneta was very attentive towards them. They were quiet while in the doctor’s and well behaved.’ She let out another heart-felt sigh. ‘Kit’s injury on Monday, plus the record of accidents for both children, crossed the threshold, so we felt they were at risk of significant harm and applied for the care order.’
‘And it’s a hundred per cent certain the injuries the children sustained were non-accidental?’ I asked.
‘You can never be a hundred per cent sure, but it is the most likely explanation and the judge agreed with us.’
I gave a small nod and sincerely hoped they were right, for the alternative – that the parents had been wrongly accused and had lost their children – was too awful to bear. ‘And contact?’ I asked. ‘Kit and Molly will be seeing their parents?’
‘Yes. I’ll set up supervised contact, probably three times a week to begin with.’
‘And the long-term care plan?’
‘A full care order. I can’t see them returning home.’
When Tess had finished telling me what she knew about the family we returned to the living room where Paula, Preeta and the children were still on the floor by the toy box. Kit now had a toy shaker in his hand, but neither child was playing. Molly had her thumb in her mouth and was snuggled close to her brother. The room was unnaturally quiet considering two children were there, but at least they weren’t crying.
‘We’ll just have a look around and go,’ Tess said to Preeta. Then to me, ‘Do you have everything you need for tonight?’ She crossed to the patio window and looked out.
‘Yes, I think so,’ I said.
‘Nice garden,’ she remarked, then went over to Molly and Kit. ‘We’re going to look at the other rooms now. Would you like to come and see where you are going to sleep?’
Kit kept his eyes on Paula, carefully watching her to see what she was going to do, while Molly had her head down, quiet, withdrawn and expressionless.
‘Would you like to come with us to see your bedroom?’ I tried, offering my hand to Molly. She shook her head, which was at least some response. ‘OK, stay here, you’ll see it later,’ I said positively. While it was usual for the children to look around the house with their social worker when they first arrived – or before, if it was a planned move and they had a chance to visit – it wasn’t essential, as it was for the social worker.
‘I’ll stay with them while you go,’ Preeta said to Tess.
Tess nodded.
‘This is the living room,’ I said to everyone. ‘It’s where we spend most of our time in the evenings and weekends.’ Tess then came with me into the kitchen-diner where I’d already put the children’s seats ready at the table. ‘Do you know if either of the children has any special dietary requirements?’ I asked her as she looked around.
‘No, I don’t. I’ll ask their father when I speak to him later and phone you.’
‘Can you also ask him if they have any allergies?’ It was worrying how little I still knew about the children, and I was responsible for them now.
‘Will do,’ Tess said. ‘Apparently their mother often told the doctor she thought the children were suffering from allergies, but they changed on each visit, so if the child had a slight rash, upset tummy or cough, Aneta put it down to an allergy.’
‘The doctor didn’t agree?’
‘I don’t think so, but I’ll check with the father.’
‘I’ve made a cottage pie for dinner. I hope that’s all right,’ I said. ‘I assume Kit is on solid food?’
‘I would think so at his age,’ Tess said. She sniffed the air. ‘I thought I could smell something good. I’ll ask about food when I phone Filip. He wasn’t in any state to talk about that this afternoon.’
‘Please also ask him about any likes and dislikes the children may have, and their routine,’ I added. While Molly was old enough to tell me what she liked or didn’t like – when she finally began to talk – Kit wasn’t, so it was important Tess found out as much as she could from the parents. I couldn’t do anything about the children actually being in care, but I could at least make their lives as comfortable as possible while they were with me.
‘Do you want to see down the garden?’ I asked Tess. She was looking through the window at the far end of the kitchen, which overlooked the back garden.
‘No, I can see it from here. Let’s have a quick look at the children’s bedrooms and then we’ll need to get going.’
I looked at her, concerned. ‘Bedroom,’ I said. ‘I hope Edith told you I only have one spare room. I’ve put a cot in there so the children will be sleeping together.’
‘Yes, that’ll be fine,’ she said, and we headed out of the kitchen-diner and down the hall. It was still very quiet in the living room. No sound of the children talking or playing. I didn’t show Tess the front room as we’d just been there, so we went upstairs to the children’s bedroom. ‘There’s not much space, but they can play downstairs,’ she said, voicing her thoughts. ‘It’s nice and light. How long have you been fostering?’
‘Twenty-five years.’
She nodded and headed out. I quickly showed her the other bedrooms and bathroom. ‘You’ll need to cover Kit’s plaster to keep it dry when you bath him,’ she said.
‘Yes, is there a follow-up appointment at the hospital?’
‘I would think so. I’ll ask Filip.’
We returned downstairs. Sammy, our cat, must have let himself in through the cat flap, for he was now sitting in the hall, trying to decide if it was advisable to go into the living room with strangers there.
‘Hopefully, the children aren’t allergic to cat fur,’ Tess remarked as we passed him.
‘I hope so too!’ For if they were, there was little I could do beyond what I did already: keep Sammy out of the bedrooms, comb him each day and regularly hoover. I couldn’t make him disappear.
‘You’ve got a nice bedroom,’ Tess told Molly and Kit as we entered the living room.
Molly looked at her, worried and confused. Suddenly she jumped up from where she was sitting on the floor and cried, ‘I need a wee!’ But it was too late. A puddle formed at her feet. She burst into tears.
‘It’s OK, don’t worry,’ I said, immediately going to her. ‘I’ll mop it up and we’ll find you some more clean clothes.’
‘We’ll leave you to it,’ Tess said. ‘I’ll phone you as soon as I’ve spoken to their father.’
She and Preeta said goodbye to the children and headed out.
‘Don’t forget the suitcase in your car!’ I called after them.
‘I’ll leave it in the hall,’ Tess replied.
Seeing his sister upset, Kit now began to cry loudly. They both needed comforting, Molly needed changing again, and I had to mop up the wet before it soaked into the carpet. I heard Tess and Preeta open the front door and then my daughter Lucy’s voice. She must have been about to let herself in. ‘Hi,’ she said, surprised. Then, ‘What a noise!’
‘In here, Lucy, please!’ I called. ‘We could do with your help.’
She came into the living room and, surveying the chaotic scene, threw her jacket onto a chair. ‘And I thought I’d left work!’ she exclaimed with a smile. She was a qualified nursery nurse.
‘Meet Molly and Kit,’ I said over their cries. ‘Can you help Paula calm them down while I get a bucket and cloth?’
‘Come on, it’s OK,’ she said, taking Molly’s hand. Paula was holding Kit. I went quickly into the kitchen where I ran hot water into a bucket and added disinfectant. I took a cleaning cloth from the cupboard under the kitchen sink and returned to the living room.
‘I’m leaving the case here!’ Tess called from the hall. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Yes,’ I replied. I knew they needed to go. The front door closed behind them.
I knelt down and set to work on the carpet. ‘Shall I change Molly?’ Lucy offered.
‘Yes, please. Hopefully there is a change of clothes in the case in the hall.’
‘I’ll take the case upstairs with me.’
‘Thanks, love.’
Having seen his sister disappear, Kit began to cry more loudly and point towards the door. ‘Best go with them,’ I told Paula. She carried Kit out of the living room and joined Lucy and Molly in the hall as I continued to clean the carpet.
At the same time I heard the front door open and my son, Adrian, call, ‘Hi, Mum!’
Then Paula’s voice, ‘Hi, how are you, Kirsty?’
Oh no, I thought. We were hardly prepared for visitors. Kirsty was Adrian’s long-term girlfriend and I really liked her, but she’d walked into chaos. He usually let me know when he was bringing her home for dinner. ‘Hi, Mum. Kirsty’s here. Did you get my text?’ he called from the hall.
‘I expect so,’ I said, still on my knees. ‘I haven’t had a chance to check my phone. Come through.’
He appeared in the living room with Kirsty just behind him. ‘A little accident,’ I said, glancing up and smiling grimly. ‘Nearly done. Nice to see you, Kirsty. How was school?’ She was a teacher.
‘They had to switch off the water to repair a burst pipe so we were given the afternoon off.’
‘Very nice,’ I said. I patted the patch dry and stood. The crying upstairs had stopped.
‘Kirsty and I can eat out, Mum,’ Adrian offered.
‘No, It’s fine. I’ve done plenty. We’ll eat soon. As you saw we’ve got two little ones come to stay.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Kirsty kindly offered.
‘No. Make yourselves a drink. I’ll check on Kit and Molly and then we’ll have dinner.’
Adrian took the bucket into the kitchen to tip away the water and put the cloths in the washing machine, while I went upstairs to see how Lucy and Paula were getting on. My daughters were my nominated carers. Foster carers are encouraged to nominate one or two family members or close friends to help them out and babysit when necessary. They are assessed by the carer’s supervising social worker for suitability, and police-checked (now called a DBS check – Disclosure and Barring Service). Lucy had the added advantage of being a nursery nurse and the experience of being in care herself. She’d come to me as a foster child, stayed, and I’d adopted her. It was as if she’d always been my daughter.
‘How’s it going?’ I asked as I went into Kit and Molly’s bedroom. It was cramped now with Lucy, Paula, Kit and Molly all in there and the case open on the floor. The girls had found a dress for Molly, and Lucy was now helping her out of her wet clothes. There appeared to be a change of clothes in there for Kit too, pyjamas, some socks and a soft toy each, but nothing much else. The soft toys would be useful. Kit had spotted his and was now trying to get to it.
I smiled and took the toy from the case and gave it to him. He snuggled his face against its soft velvety fabric. I took out the other soft toy, which I assumed was Molly’s, and placed it on her bed. Similarly styled, it had big loving eyes and soft fur. Hopefully, having these would bring comfort to the children when they had to sleep in a strange room tonight.
‘We’re doing OK here, Mum,’ Lucy said as she changed Molly’s clothes.
‘Thanks. I’ll go and see to dinner. Come down when you’re ready, please.’
I gathered up Molly’s wet clothes and went downstairs, where I put them in the washing machine with her other soiled clothes and the floor cloths, and set it on a wash-and-dry program. Kirsty came into the kitchen. ‘Adrian’s gone to change out of his suit. Can I help you?’
‘You could lay the table, love. You know where everything is. There’s a child’s cutlery set for Molly in that drawer, and a toddler spoon for Kit. I don’t know if he can feed himself, but he’ll struggle anyway with the plaster on his arm.’
‘I didn’t know they were coming,’ Kirsty said as she opened the cutlery draw. ‘Are you sure it’s OK for me to stay?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I smiled. ‘I didn’t know they were coming either until this morning. It’s an emergency placement.’
‘What happened to Kit’s arm? And he’s got bruises on his face.’
‘He took a tumble down the stairs,’ I said.
‘Oh dear.’ She knew I couldn’t say much more because of confidentiality.
As she laid the table she told me about a boy in her class whose family was having help from the social services. While Kirsty and I would never break confidentiality by divulging names or discussing the details of cases like this, as a young teacher she sometimes shared her worries with me. If a child kept arriving at school dirty, late and hungry, or had unexplained injuries, she sometimes mentioned it as well as informing her head teacher. Teaching is now so much more than simply imparting knowledge; it involves a large pastoral role too.
Adrian, Paula, Lucy and the little ones all came down together with Adrian now carrying Kit. As Adrian sat Kit in his seat at the table and fastened the belt, I had the briefest glimpse of what a good father he’d make when the time came. I think Kirsty did too, judging from the look in her eyes. We settled around the table and I served dinner. I’d just sat down to eat when the house phone rang.
‘I’ll take it in the living room,’ I said, standing. ‘It’s probably their social worker.’
It was. ‘I’ve spoken to Filip,’ Tess said. ‘He doesn’t think the children have any allergies, although Aneta worries about them a lot. He’ll tell you more tomorrow. I’ve set up a meeting for one o’clock at the council offices so the parents can meet you. If you have any questions, you will be able to ask them then.’
‘OK. I take it I’m not to bring Molly and Kit to the meeting?’
‘No. I’ll be arranging supervised contact at the Family Centre for the children to see their parents.’
‘All right, thank you. I’ll have to get some cover for Molly and Kit.’
‘How are they?’ Tess asked.
‘Having a bit of dinner.’
‘Good. See you tomorrow then.’
I scribbled 1 p.m. in my diary for the following day. I would need to find someone to look after Kit and Molly at very short notice. Lucy would be at work and Paula at college, and I didn’t feel I could ask them to take time off. I knew other foster carers who could help me out as I had helped them in the past, but that would need to be arranged through Edith, my supervising social worker. I couldn’t just do it by myself. I made another note in my diary to call Edith at 9 a.m. the next morning, and then returned to the dinner table.
Chapter Three
Disturbed Night (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
Molly and Kit were quiet and subdued throughout dinner. They looked very sad and showed none of the natural exuberance you’d expect from children of their age, which was hardly surprising. Their world – the one they’d always known – had just come to an abrupt and traumatic end. They’d been taken from their hysterical mother in tears and had lost the only family they’d known and everything they held dear. Only in the worst cases of abuse had I ever seen a child happy to be in foster care, to begin with at least. It would take time, love, care, patience and lots of reassurance before they began to relax and were able to trust and smile again.
With encouragement from Lucy and me, Molly fed herself, while Paula and I – we had Kit sitting between us – popped spoonfuls into his mouth. Both children ate a little of the main course but didn’t want any apple crumble and custard for dessert. I didn’t know if Kit could feed himself. Apart from being hampered by the plaster cast, he was clearly too overwhelmed to make any attempt, and it didn’t matter. If the children were staying with us long term, as Tess seemed to think, there’d be plenty of time to teach him to feed himself. That was the least of my concerns at present. It was eight o’clock by the time we’d finished and I needed to bath the children and get them into bed.
Paula apologized and said she had college work to do. I thanked her for her help, and she went upstairs to her bedroom. Lucy offered to help bath Kit and Molly, and Adrian and Kirsty said they’d clear away the dishes and wash up. I was grateful for their help. I was already worrying about how I was going to manage alone tomorrow when everyone was out. You’ve done it before and you can do it again, I told myself as another crisis of confidence loomed.
I thought it would be easier to bath the children separately to avoid Kit’s plaster becoming wet. However, it was clear that Molly didn’t want to be separated from her brother, so she came with Lucy, Kit and me into the bathroom. Lucy and I talked brightly to both children, trying to put them at ease, as we explained the bedtime routine and what we were doing. Kit just stood there as I undressed him, then put a plastic bag over his plaster cast and secured it at the end. Most toddlers would have shown some interest, perhaps laughed or tried to pull off the bag, but he stared at me, wide-eyed and lost. It broke my heart.
I carefully lifted him into the bath. He was heavy with the weight of the plaster cast. ‘Sit down, love, but try to keep your arm out of the water,’ I told him. ‘We need to keep it dry.’
Neither child spoke. Molly was holding Lucy’s hand and watched in silence as I gently wiped Kit’s bruised face with a facecloth, and then sponged his little body. His skin was pale and he had some bruises on his shins and one on his other forearm, but I couldn’t see any other marks – scars, cuts or cigarette burns, as I’d seen before on children I’d fostered. I’d let Tess know, although of course the bruises could have been from playing. Toddlers are always tripping, falling and bumping into things as they explore their surroundings with little sense of danger.
Once washed, I lifted Kit out of the bath and into the towel Lucy held out ready. I took the plastic bag from his arm and Lucy dried him as I bathed Molly. Children of her age can usually wash themselves a little, so I gave her the sponge and she drew it across her chest and legs. I washed her back. Her skin was pale too and she had one small bruise on her shin, which I’d noticed before when I’d changed her and was likely to be the result of a fall while playing. Thankfully there were no other signs of injury. I helped her out of the bath, wrapped her in a towel and then dressed her in the pyjamas I’d taken from their case. Lucy had dressed Kit and put a nappy on him. Both children had clean hair, so hair-washing could wait until another night when they felt more at ease.
We hadn’t found any toothbrushes in their case, so I was using some from my spares. I always kept a supply of new children’s toothbrushes, face flannels, pants and so on. Kit opened his mouth to allow Lucy to brush his teeth – he had his front teeth, top and bottom, and some molars coming through at the back. Clearly from the way he cooperated he was used to having his teeth brushed – a sign that the children had received some good parenting. Once Lucy had finished brushing Kit’s teeth, I put a little toothpaste on Molly’s toothbrush and passed her the brush.
‘Can you give your teeth a little brush?’ I asked her.
She took the brush and made a small attempt to clean her teeth, then burst into tears. ‘I want my mummy!’ she cried. ‘Mummy, Mummy, where are you? I want you.’
It was heart-breaking and I felt my own eyes fill.
‘Oh, love,’ I said, taking the toothbrush and putting it to one side. ‘You’ll see Mummy soon.’ I held her.
‘I want my mummy,’ she wept inconsolably. ‘Where is she?’
‘She’s at home, love.’
‘I want to go home.’
I wasn’t surprised she was distraught now. She’d been bottling it up since she’d arrived and, now she was tired, it was all coming out. Kit, seeing his sister in tears, began to cry too. Lucy cuddled him as I cuddled Molly. We sat on the bathroom floor, gently rocking them and telling them it would be OK and trying to console them. Not for the first time since I’d begun fostering, I wished I had a magic wand I could wave that would undo the past and make everything bad that had happened go away.
Eventually the children’s crying eased. ‘Come on, let’s get you both into bed,’ I said, and stood. ‘You’ll feel better after a night’s sleep.’ It was a reassurance in which I had little faith. It would take many nights before they began to feel better. Lucy held Kit’s hand and I held Molly’s and we went round the landing to their bedroom.
As soon as we entered the room Molly became upset again. ‘I want my mummy,’ she cried, her tears flowing.
‘I know you do, love,’ I said. ‘You’ll see Mummy soon.’ I helped her into bed, wiped her face, and then sat on the edge of the bed.
‘I want Mummy now,’ she said again and again, grief-stricken.
‘Mummy, Mummy,’ Kit said from his cot as Lucy tried to settle him.
‘Would you like a bedtime story?’ I asked Molly, trying to distract her. She shook her head and just sat in bed, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Come on, love, lie down and try to get some sleep.’ I wiped her cheeks again.
She laid her head on the pillow, Kit lay down too, then, as Molly pressed her face into her cuddly toy, Kit did the same. His cot was adjacent to Molly’s bed – against the opposite wall – so he could see her through the slats. ‘Does your cuddly have a name?’ I asked her.
‘I want Mummy.’
‘Mummy,’ Kit repeated.
I began stroking Molly’s forehead, trying to soothe her off to sleep. Lucy was leaning over the cot and gently rubbing Kit’s back.
‘Lucy, you go, love, if you want to,’ I told her after a few minutes. ‘I’ll stay with them.’ I was mindful that she had come in straight from work and hadn’t had a minute to herself.
‘It’s OK, Mum. I’ll stay until they’re asleep.’
‘Thanks, love, I am grateful.’
For the next half an hour Lucy and I stayed with the children, Lucy by Kit’s cot and me with Molly, soothing them, until eventually, exhausted, their eyes gradually closed. We waited another few minutes to check they were asleep and then crept from the room. With older children I usually ask them on their first night how they like to sleep – the curtains open or closed, the light on or off, the bedroom door open or shut, as it’s little details like this that help a child settle in a strange room. But for now we left the curtains slightly parted, the light on low and the door open so I could hear them if they woke.
I thanked Lucy again for her help and she went to her bedroom. I cleared up the bathroom and took Kit’s nappy downstairs to dispose of it. Adrian was in the kitchen, making himself a drink. ‘Kirsty has gone home as we both have to be up for work in the morning,’ he said. The kitchen was spotless.
‘Thanks for your help,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to Kirsty.’
‘She understands. She said to say good luck.’
‘I think I’m going to need it.’
Adrian made me a cup of tea and I took it with a couple of biscuits into the living room to write up my log notes, while he went up to shower. All foster carers in the UK are required to keep a daily record of the child or children they are looking after. It includes appointments, the child’s health and wellbeing, education, significant events and any disclosures the child may make about their past. As well as charting the child’s progress, it can act as an aide-mémoire. When the child leaves this record is placed on file at the social services. Opening my folder, I took a fresh sheet of paper and headed it with the date. I wrote a short objective account of Molly and Kit’s arrival and their evening with us. I was just finishing when I heard a bang come from Molly and Kit’s room. I shot upstairs. Paula had heard it too and had come out of her room and was on the landing. ‘Whatever was that?’ she asked, concerned.
We went into the children’s bedroom. By the dimmed light we could see they were both still asleep and nothing seemed out of place, but I noticed that Kit had turned over.
‘I think it might have been his plaster cast banging against the cot slats,’ I whispered to Paula. I couldn’t see any other explanation.
We stood for a moment, looking at them. ‘They’re such sweet kids,’ Paula whispered. I nodded. They were indeed, and generally appeared to have been well looked after, apart from the injuries to Kit’s face and arm. They hadn’t arrived filthy, in rags and with their hair full of nits. Yet all those visits to the doctor and hospital told a very different story, one that I hoped would become clearer in time.
By 10.30 p.m. we were all in our bedrooms either getting ready for bed or in bed (none of us stays up late during the working week). When I said goodnight to Adrian, Lucy and Paula, I told them that if they heard the children in the night to turn over and go back to sleep, as I would settle them. I was expecting a broken night, and I wasn’t disappointed. Just as I was dropping off to sleep, around 11 p.m., Molly woke and began to cry out hysterically, ‘Mummy, Mummy, where are you? Mummy!’
I was straight out of bed and, throwing on my dressing gown, I hurried round the landing, hoping her cries hadn’t woken Kit.
‘Ssh, quiet, love,’ I said as I went into their room. She was standing by her bed. ‘Do you want the toilet?’ I asked her quietly. She shook her head.
‘I want my mummy!’ she cried.
‘I know, love. You’re safe. Let’s get you into bed.’ I persuaded her in and had just got her to lie down when Kit woke with a start behind me and, crying, stood up in his cot.
‘Mummy!’ he sobbed.
Leaving Molly, I turned to him.
‘Come on, love, lie down. It’s OK.’ I laid him on his side. It was awkward with the plaster cast. As I settled him, Molly started crying again.
‘I want my mummy,’ she wept, sitting up in bed.
‘Ssh, love. It’s OK,’ I said, going to her. Kit immediately stood up and sobbed loudly.
Lucy appeared in her pyjamas. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been woken,’ I said.
‘I wasn’t asleep.’
She went to Kit and began talking to him gently, laying him down each time he stood and rubbing his back as I soothed Molly. It was so much easier with two and after about fifteen minutes the children were asleep again and we crept out. I thanked Lucy and we returned to our bedrooms. About an hour later I heard Molly crying again. I wasn’t asleep and managed to get to her before she woke Kit or anyone else. I stayed with her until she was asleep again and then returned to my own bed. I didn’t immediately go back to sleep but lay in the dark, listening out for them. I heard Kit’s plaster cast bang on the side of the cot as he turned over, then I must have dropped off, for I woke with a start at 2 a.m. Kit and Molly were both crying.
Light-headed from lack of sleep and getting out of bed too quickly, I rushed round the landing and into their bedroom. Molly was standing in the middle of the room. ‘I need a wee-wee,’ she wept.
‘This way, love,’ I said, and quickly guided her to the toilet. We got there just in time. Kit was still crying loudly and I heard Lucy’s bedroom door open.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said to her as I steered Molly back to her bed. Lucy was kneeling beside Kit’s cot with her hand between the slats, gently rubbing his back. She looked as shattered as I felt.
‘It’s OK, Mum,’ she said, yawning. ‘It’s their first night. They’re bound to be upset. I’m sure they’ll be better tomorrow.’ Which was the reassurance I needed and I was grateful.
It took about twenty minutes for us to settle the children again and then Lucy and I returned to our beds. The next time Molly woke I got to her in time (I don’t think I was properly asleep) and managed to resettle her before she woke Kit. I was starting to wonder if having them together was a good idea or whether I should move Kit’s cot into my bedroom. Foster carers are allowed to have babies and toddlers in their bedroom (but not their beds) up to the age of two. I’d find out from the children’s parents tomorrow if they were used to sleeping together. It’s information like this and the child’s routine that is invaluable to foster carers when helping a child to settle.
Both children woke around 5 a.m. and I managed to settle them by myself. I think they were so tired they didn’t put up much resistance. Ten minutes later I was in my bed again but I couldn’t sleep. I lay in the dark with my thoughts buzzing and at 6 a.m. I showered and dressed so I was ready to meet the day. Adrian, Lucy and Paula took turns in the bathroom from seven o’clock, which was usual on a week day. When I asked Paula if she’d heard the children in the night, she said she had but, aware that Lucy was helping, she had turned over and gone back to sleep. ‘We can take it in turns, Mum,’ she offered. ‘I’ll get up tonight.’
‘That’s kind of you. I’m hoping they’ll sleep a bit better tonight.’
‘But if not, I can help.’
‘Thanks, love.’
Incredibly, when I asked Adrian if he’d been woken by Molly and Kit, he hadn’t, although he slept in the room next to theirs.
‘Typical guy,’ Lucy teased him. ‘Only hears what he wants to.’
The children didn’t wake again until just before 8 a.m. I heard Molly talking to Kit and went straight to their bedroom. ‘Good morning,’ I said brightly, smiling. Molly was standing by Kit’s cot holding his hand through the slats. Although they weren’t crying, they were clearly sad and confused.
‘Where’s my mummy?’ Molly asked straight away, turning to me and dropping Kit’s hand.
‘She’s at home, love. You’ll see her before too long.’ I couldn’t give firm details until Tess told me the arrangements for contact.
‘Can I go home now?’ Molly asked imploringly. ‘I promise to be good.’ I could have wept.
‘You are good, love,’ I said, giving her a hug. ‘That’s not the reason you’re staying with me. Your mummy and daddy need a bit of help, so I’m looking after you for a while.’
She stared at me wide-eyed and uncomprehending. I thought it best to keep her occupied and concentrated on something else. ‘Can you show me what a big girl you are and dress yourself while I see to your brother?’ I asked her. ‘Here are your clothes.’ I pointed to them on the bed and then lifted Kit out of his cot.
‘I need to do a wee-wee,’ she said.
‘Good girl for telling me.’
I took Kit with us as I helped Molly in the toilet and then we returned to their bedroom. With a bit of encouragement, Molly began to dress herself and I dressed Kit. Paula, Lucy and Adrian either looked in to say goodbye or called from the hall as they left.
Many toddlers of Kit’s age are like wriggly worms when you try to change their nappies and dress them, seeing it as a game. Kit just lay there on the changing mat, unresponsive and staring at me, clearly wondering where his mummy and daddy were, what he was doing here and who the hell I was. I smiled at him and spoke gently as I worked, so hopefully he could see I was friendly and would do him no harm. At his age it would be impossible to give him any understanding of the situation. Molly would have some understanding and might start talking about the abuse in time, but Kit was unlikely to ever be able to verbalize what he’d seen and heard. Babies and toddlers intuit, feeling rather than reasoning – sensations, impressions and random images that might fade with time. Neither child spoke or made any noise as Molly dressed herself and I dressed Kit. I found their silence as upsetting as their crying.
Once they were ready, I took hold of their hands and we went carefully downstairs. Included in the equipment I’d brought down from the loft was a stair gate and I’d put it in place once Kit started exploring. There was no sign of him doing that yet. He was staying close and clinging to either Molly or me.
In the kitchen-diner I asked Molly what she and Kit usually had for breakfast and she said yoghurt.
‘What about some cereal and toast as well?’ I asked. I opened the cupboard door where the packets of cereals were kept to show her and she pointed to the hot oat cereal – a smooth porridge.
‘Good girl.’ I took it out. ‘Does Kit have this too?’ She nodded. ‘What about toast?’ She shook her head. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Juice,’ she replied. ‘Where’s my mummy?’
‘At home, love. I expect she’s having her breakfast too.’
Kit was standing where I’d put him by my leg and I now lifted him up and carried him to the table where I strapped him into the booster seat, then gave him his trainer cup. Molly slipped into the chair beside him. ‘Good girl. Can you watch your brother while I make your porridge?’ I said, although I could see them both from the kitchen.
I warmed the porridge in the microwave, took the yoghurt from the fridge and joined them at the table. I’d had my breakfast earlier. Molly fed herself and I fed Kit. He tried to pick up his spoon, but the plaster cast clunked heavily against the bowl, making it impossible to dip in the spoon. They ate most of the porridge and a little yoghurt, and drank their juice, so I was happy with that and praised them.
‘We’ve got a busy day,’ I said, lifting Kit out of the seat. ‘First, we’ll go into the living room where the toys are and you can play while I make a phone call.’ I needed to speak to Edith.
I took them by the hand and they came with me into the living room, silent and obedient, where I settled them with some toys on the floor. It was now just after 9 a.m. and I was hoping Edith would be at her desk. Taking the handset from the corner unit, I keyed in her number and she answered.
‘Hello. How are you?’ she asked.
‘OK. Molly and Kit were placed yesterday late afternoon.’
‘Yes, Preeta left a message.’
‘I need some cover. Tess has arranged a meeting at one o’clock with the children’s parents, but I haven’t got anyone to look after the children.’
‘Who are your nominated support carers?’ she asked.
‘Lucy and Paula, but they are at work and college and it’s too short notice for them to take half a day off.’
‘Don’t the children go to nursery?’ she asked.
‘Not as far as I know.’
‘I don’t think we have anyone free. Can’t you take them with you?’
‘No.’ I kept my patience. ‘Can I suggest you try another foster carer – Maggie Taylor? We’ve helped each other out in the past.’
‘I can try, but if she can’t do it, can you change the day of the meeting?’
‘I doubt it. You’d have to ask Tess.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said with a small sigh. She clearly didn’t need this first thing on a Friday morning and neither did I, but part of her role was to support foster carers.
I then had a nail-biting wait. Foster carers are expected to provide their own support, and usually I did, but sometimes we need help and we shouldn’t have to jump through hoops or be made to feel guilty for asking. I’d found before that Edith wasn’t the most proactive of supervising social workers compared to Jill, who’d been my supervising social worker at Homefinders, the independent agency I used to foster for. She was a gem, but when their local office had closed and Jill had left, I’d transferred to the local authority. It didn’t make any difference to the children I fostered, but it was at times like this I missed the high level of support and understanding the agency gave its carers twenty-four hours a day, every day of the year.
Thankfully when Edith returned my call an hour later she said Maggie could help and she’d phone me to arrange the details. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Chapter Four
Good Mother (#litres_trial_promo)
Maggie telephoned ten minutes after Edith, bright and bubbly, and very willing to help. ‘I hear you’ve got two little ones. That’ll make a nice change,’ she said.
‘Yes, although they’re missing their parents dreadfully and we’ve been up all night.’
‘Join the club. Anyway, happy to help. As the children have only just been placed with you, I suggest I come to you to look after them, rather than you bringing them here, so they don’t have another change of house.’
‘Yes, please. That would be perfect.’ I had thought similar myself.
‘I’ll have to bring Keelie with me,’ Maggie said. ‘She’s been excluded from school again. But she’s good with kids and can help me. What time do you want us?’
‘The meeting is at one o’clock so twelve-thirty would be good.’
‘Fine. We’ll see you then.’
‘Thank you so much.’
‘You’re welcome.’
I knew Keelie. She was thirteen and Maggie and her husband had been fostering her for four years. She’d always shown some challenging behaviour, as it’s called, but since she’d hit puberty it had got a lot worse – staying out at night, drinking, smoking and generally getting into trouble at home, school and with the police. I guessed she was the reason Maggie had been up all night. Thankfully she and her husband were highly experienced foster carers and were taking it in their stride. Keelie was with them long term so was a permanent member of their family.
I explained to Molly and Kit what was going to happen – that my friend, Maggie, and a ‘big girl’ called Keelie were coming to look after them while I went to a meeting, and I would come back later. I didn’t tell them I was going to meet their parents, as it would have been confusing and upsetting for them. Both children just looked at me. I didn’t expect Kit to understand, but Molly should have some understanding of what I’d said.
The morning disappeared. I stayed in the living room for most of it, trying to engage the children in play. I had some success, although I wouldn’t call it playing. They looked at and held the toys, games and puzzles as I showed them, but didn’t actually play. Sammy came to investigate and to begin with was as nervous of them as they were of him. I showed them how to stroke his fur smoothly – running their hands down from his head to his tail. Neither of the children had shown any signs of a fur allergy, and coupled with their father telling Tess he didn’t think they had any allergies I was reasonably confident they weren’t allergic to cat fur at least.
At twelve noon I made us a sandwich lunch, followed by fruit, which they ate. Some children won’t eat fruit and vegetables when they first come into care, as these foods have never been part of their diet. But Molly and Kit ate the sliced banana, tangerine segments and halved grapes I arranged in little pots. Because the fruit could be eaten using fingers, Kit fed himself. They ate slowly and unenthusiastically, but at least they ate. I smiled and praised them. ‘Do you have food like this at home?’ I asked without thinking, and I could have kicked myself.
‘I want to go home,’ Molly said, rubbing her eyes as if about to cry at the reminder of home. ‘I want my mummy.’
‘Mummy, Mummy,’ Kit said, his bottom lip trembling.
‘It’s OK. You’ll see her soon.’ I gave them a hug and took out some more toys to distract them.
Maggie and Keelie arrived just before 12.30 and the children came with me to the front door.
‘Hello, baby!’ Keelie squealed excitedly as soon as she saw Kit. She rushed in and picked him up.
‘Steady,’ Maggie warned her. ‘He’s already got one broken arm, he doesn’t want another one.’
I smiled while Keelie scowled at her, and Kit just looked bemused.
‘How are you, Keelie?’ I asked her as we went through to the living room. I hadn’t seen her for a few months.
‘Excluded,’ she said as if this was her sole purpose in life and her claim to fame. ‘Suits me. I don’t like school and I get a lie-in.’
Maggie threw me a knowing look. Many schools have stopped the practice of excluding pupils for bad behaviour for this reason. It’s counter-productive. Why should a young person who’s got into trouble be rewarded with time off while their hard-working classmates are busy at school? Also having them unoccupied for large periods of time is likely to lead to more trouble.
‘She’s going back to school on Monday,’ Maggie said. Keelie was exploring the toy box with more enthusiasm than the children.
‘In your dreams,’ she retorted. But I knew she would be in school on Monday. Maggie and her husband would make sure of it, just as they had all the other times she’d been excluded. They knew when to be firm.
‘Help yourself to whatever you want,’ I told Maggie. ‘You know where the tea, coffee and biscuits are. Clean nappies and wipes are in their bedroom if you need them. I should be back around two-thirty. I’ve tried to explain to Molly and Kit what is happening,’ I said, glancing at then, ‘but not who I’m meeting.’
She nodded. ‘I understand. Don’t worry. They’ll be fine.’
‘Do they talk?’ Keelie asked. The children were standing in silence, watching her as she continued to explore the toys and games.
‘Molly does a little,’ I said. ‘It’s likely Kit will have some language at his age. But they only arrived yesterday, so they are both shy.’
‘Was I shy?’ Keelie asked Maggie, glancing up at her.
‘No, love, shyness wasn’t really your thing. You showed your upset in other ways.’
‘I bet I was a right pain in the arse.’ Keelie grinned.
‘Not as much as you are now,’ Maggie replied affectionately, and they both laughed. Despite their banter, I knew how close they were and that Maggie and her husband had worked wonders with Keelie and loved her, as I was sure Keelie loved them.
I said goodbye and drove to the council offices, where I parked in a side road. It was a bright, sunny day and the early-September sun still had some strength in it. I signed in at the reception desk, completing the boxes that asked the reason for my visit and my time of arrival.
‘Which room is the meeting in?’ I asked the receptionist as I hung the security pass around my neck.
‘Room six on the second floor.’
I thanked her and began up the staircase. I’d been here before. Most of the social services meetings were in rooms on the second floor. I was anxious at meeting the children’s parents, Aneta and Filip, for the first time, but I reassured myself I’d met countless parents during my fostering career, and that they were likely to be as anxious as me. When I’d fostered for Homefinders Jill had accompanied me to most meetings, but Edith didn’t. It wasn’t part of the supervising social worker’s role at the local authority. I thought it probably should be, especially for new carers who must find some of these meetings quite daunting.
I was a few minutes early as I arrived outside room six, knocked on the door and went in. A man and a woman I took to be Molly and Kit’s parents sat at the table with their backs to me. At right angles to them and at the end of the table was Tess. Preeta sat opposite the couple. As I entered they fell silent and everyone looked at me. The faces of the parents were the epitome of grief and worry.
‘Hello, I’m Cathy,’ I said as I sat opposite them and next to Preeta. ‘I hope I’m not late.’
‘No. We were early,’ Tess said. Then to the parents, ‘Cathy is the foster carer.’
I threw them a small smile. Aneta just stared at me a bit like the children did, while her husband gave a short nod and looked away. I knew him to be older than his wife, but clearly the worry had aged them both. They had dark circles around their eyes, their foreheads were furrowed in permanent lines, and Aneta had a tissue pressed to her cheek from where she’d been crying. I could see the familial likeness, especially in Filip. Kit was the image of him. Both parents were dressed smart casual, in jeans and jerseys.
‘OK, let’s begin,’ Tess said, drawing herself upright in her chair. ‘This is a short informal meeting so you can all meet. I won’t be taking minutes, but Preeta will make a few notes.’ Aneta sniffed and I could see she wasn’t far from tears. ‘I appreciate this is a very emotional time for you,’ Tess said, looking at the parents, ‘so we’ll keep this meeting short, then you can see Molly and Kit.’
‘When can I see them?’ Aneta asked. I took my pen and notepad from my bag.
‘I’ve arranged contact at the Family Centre for four o’clock this afternoon,’ Tess said. Then to me, ‘That will give you time to go home, collect the children, and take them there.’
‘Yes,’ I said as I wrote: 4 p.m., Family Centre.
‘After today we can probably make contact earlier when the Family Centre is less busy, but I’ll let you know. Cathy, can you tell us how Molly and Kit are settling in, please?’
I looked at the parents. It was heart-breaking to see their anguish. Aneta was wiping away fresh tears. How parents cope with losing their children I’ll never know. Whatever had happened, they didn’t set out to lose their children.
‘Molly and Kit are lovely children,’ I began. ‘They are a credit to you. They’re obviously missing you, but they’re eating well and –’
‘What have you given them to eat?’ Aneta interrupted anxiously.
I thought back. ‘For dinner last night we had cottage pie,’ I said. ‘For breakfast they had hot oat cereal, which Molly chose, and then some yoghurt. For lunch today they had a cheese sandwich and some fruit.’
Filip nodded, but Aneta was looking even more worried and I wondered if there was something wrong in what I’d said. ‘Will the person looking after them now give them anything to eat?’ she asked, so I guessed Tess or Preeta had told them of the child-minding arrangements.
‘Possibly a drink and a biscuit,’ I replied. ‘Why? Is there a problem?’
‘You have to be very careful what you give them to eat and drink,’ Aneta said intensely. ‘My children have a lot of allergies and can easily fall sick.’
‘Can you tell me what the allergies are?’ I asked, my pen ready. ‘So I know which foods to avoid. I understood they didn’t have any allergies.’ Preeta was ready to write too.
‘Lots of things make them sick,’ Aneta said defensively. ‘I can’t tell you them all, and they change. I’m always at the doctor’s or hospital with my children. Not even the doctors can find out what’s wrong with them.’
‘I see,’ I said. Of course, Tess had told me the doctor’s view was that they didn’t have any allergies. ‘Can you narrow down the allergy to a group of foods? For example, is it dairy produce?’
‘Can you narrow it down at all?’ Tess asked, and I thought she looked sceptical.
Aneta shook her head. ‘No, and it’s not always food,’ she said vehemently. ‘Sometimes it can be the stuff I wash clothes in, or they brush past something or it’s in the air. You mustn’t use bubble bath.’
‘No, I don’t anyway. Young skin is delicate so I keep bathing simple – just a bit of baby shampoo for their hair.’
‘That can cause an allergic reaction too,’ she said with anxious satisfaction. I noticed she was becoming more agitated as she spoke, while Filip sat with his eyes down, concentrating on the table, apparently completely out of his depth.
‘How do these allergic reactions manifest themselves?’ Preeta asked. I’d written allergies on my notepad ready to list them, but so far I’d just put bubble bath, which I didn’t use anyway.
‘My children get a temperature and start vomiting,’ Aneta said animatedly. ‘I have to get an emergency appointment at the doctor’s or call an ambulance. But it stops as suddenly as it starts.’
‘Do they have a rash?’ I asked.
‘Sometimes, but usually they vomit.’ Her face crumpled and her tears fell again. ‘You should never have taken my children away,’ she said to Tess. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m innocent. I love my children and they need me. I’m the only one who can look after them.’
Filip placed a reassuring hand on his wife’s arm but didn’t look at her or speak. I thought he was barely coping too.
‘I love my children,’ Aneta wept. ‘I’m a good mother. My only crime was to take them to the doctor’s if they were ill, or if they fell and hurt themselves. They bruise easily. I’m being punished for looking after them properly. It’s not right.’ So upset and sincere, it again flashed across my mind that I hoped the social services had got it right in bringing the children into care.
‘So to be clear,’ Tess said. ‘There is nothing specific you can tell Cathy about which foods trigger an allergic reaction in either of your children?’
‘No,’ Aneta said, wiping her eyes.
‘Have you ever kept a food diary?’ Tess asked. ‘It’s often recommended by doctors as a way of finding out what a child is allergic to. You keep a record of what they have eaten and any symptoms they have experienced.’
‘No,’ Aneta said, ‘because it’s not just food. It’s lots of things, not even the doctors know.’
‘Cathy,’ Tess said, turning to me, ‘can you start a food diary, please? Note everything the children eat and drink, and obviously seek medical help if necessary.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said, and wrote food diary on my notepad. ‘I assume a peanut allergy has been ruled out?’ I asked. ‘The children have never suffered from anaphylactic shock and have auto-injectors?’ I thought something as serious as this would have been mentioned by now, but the children had been placed with me so quickly I decided it was best to ask.
‘No, they don’t,’ Aneta said.
There was a short silence and I wondered if Tess was expecting me to continue talking about how the children had settled in, but instead she said, ‘Cathy, is there anything else you want to ask Aneta and Filip that would help in the care of the children? I’m mindful of the time.’
‘Knowing the children’s routine would be useful,’ I said. ‘I’ll keep to it as much as possible. Also, I’m assuming there is a follow-up appointment at the fracture clinic?’
‘It’s on Monday morning,’ Aneta said, wiping her eyes. ‘I’ve got an appointment card at home, and a fact sheet about the care of the plaster cast the nurse gave to me.’
‘Could you bring them to contact today, please?’ I asked.
‘I’ll bring the sheet, but you won’t need the appointment card. I’ll take Kit to the hospital,’ Aneta said. ‘They know me there.’
I left it to Tess to explain. ‘While the children are in care, Cathy will take them to any medical appointments.’
‘But I want to go!’ Aneta exclaimed.
‘That wouldn’t be appropriate,’ Tess said gently but firmly. ‘You’ll be seeing the children regularly at the Family Centre. It would be confusing and upsetting for them if you just appeared.’
‘But they’re my children. It’s not right. You won’t even tell me where they are staying. I should be with them when they’re ill.’ Aneta was crying again and I felt so sorry for her. Of course a mother would want to be with her children when they were poorly, but Molly and Kit were in care because of possible abuse, so she couldn’t be alone with them at all. Contact at the Family Centre would be supervised.
‘I’ll take good care of them, I promise you,’ I said to her.
‘But it’s not right. I always go with them to the hospital,’ Aneta persisted. ‘I know the staff and they know me.’
Filip now spoke for the first time. ‘Leave it, Aneta,’ he said firmly. ‘We have to do what they say now.’ There was an edge of recrimination in his voice and I assumed he was blaming Aneta for the children being taken into care.
‘Can you tell Cathy something about the children’s routine?’ Tess prompted.
Aneta shook her head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘What time they go to bed. What they like doing during the day. When they have their meals. That sort of thing,’ Tess said.
‘I can’t remember, I can’t think straight,’ Aneta said. ‘I’m too upset.’
‘It’s OK,’ I said, my heart going out to her. ‘It’s not essential.’
‘Do you know the children’s routine?’ Tess asked Filip.
‘No, I’m at work. I don’t know what they do all day. Aneta gets them up after I’ve left in the morning and they’re in bed by the time I get home. I work a lot of overtime to make ends meet.’
‘Weekends?’ Tess asked.
‘I work most weekends too,’ he said. So it appeared he had very little input in his children’s lives.
‘What sort of things do the children like to do?’ I asked.
Aneta shrugged.
‘Do they go to nursery or a pre-school play group?’ Preeta asked.
‘No,’ Aneta said. ‘I took Molly once when she was little, but she didn’t like it. All those children. She got pushed over and hurt her knee. I had to take her to the hospital. I worry about germs. They get ill so easily.’
I nodded and made a note, then asked, ‘Would it be possible for the children to have some more of their clothes and toys? I can buy new ones, but it’s nicer for them if they have what is familiar.’
Aneta was in tears again, but Filip said, ‘I’ll see to it.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Can you take them with you to contact tonight?’ Tess asked Filip. He nodded. ‘Is there anything either of you want to ask?’
Aneta didn’t reply, but Filip said, ‘How long will my children be in care?’
‘We don’t know at present,’ Tess replied. ‘If you stay behind at the end of this meeting we can have another chat.’ I was sure she would have explained the procedure to them already, but doubtless with the worry of it all Filip had forgotten. ‘Anything else?’ Tess asked, glancing around the table. ‘OK, in that case, I’ll see you at contact at four o’clock.’
I stood to leave as the others remained seated, but as I did Aneta suddenly asked me, ‘Do my children miss me?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said.
A small smile crossed her face. ‘Good. I wondered if they’d be pleased to be away from me.’
I was surprised by her comment but thought she was probably feeling sorry for herself and looking for some reassurance. Tess, however, said quite pointedly, ‘Why would you think that, Aneta?’
She shrugged and looked away, and just for a moment I thought she looked guilty. I said goodbye and left.
Chapter Five
Distressing (#litres_trial_promo)
Why would Aneta doubt her children’s love for her and think they would be pleased to be away from her? I wondered as I drove home. Could it be guilt? It would make sense. If she had been abusing them then she had reason to believe they would be better off without her. The edge to Tess’s voice when she’d asked her had suggested she thought so too. Yet Molly and Kit did miss their mother dreadfully, and she was clearly beside herself with grief at being parted from them. However, most parents are distraught if their children are taken into care whether they have been abusing them or not. In my experience, anger and grief are not indicators of the level of care children have been receiving at home. Aneta had been very upset but not angry. She appeared overprotective – not taking her children to pre-school for fear of accidents and germs. As for Filip, I wasn’t sure what to make of him. He looked shattered and overwhelmed, but seemed to have had little contact with his children because of the hours he worked. Did he know what had been going on at home?
It was 2.30 when I arrived home. As I let myself in I could hear Keelie’s highly excitable voice trilling from the living room. I think most of the street could hear her. ‘Beep. Beep. Beep. Brumm-brumm. Nnneeaoowww!’ she screeched. ‘Chuff-chuff, choo-choo!’ Then what sounded like her imitating the loud wail of a siren. Strewth! I thought. Whatever was she doing?
I went through to the living room. Maggie was sitting on the sofa, watching the children play. ‘Everything OK?’ I asked, my gaze sweeping the room, which was now covered with toys, games and puzzles.
‘Nnneeaoowww!’ Keelie cried again, bringing the toy aeroplane she was holding low over the scene below.
‘Keelie found some more toy boxes in the cupboard,’ Maggie said. ‘Hope that was all right. She’s been keeping Molly and Kit very well amused.’
‘Yes, of course, thank you,’ I said.
There wasn’t space to move for the toys covering the floor, and Molly and Kit, while not actually playing, were clearly mesmerized by Keelie. The playmat that showed a busy street scene was in the centre of the room and crammed full of toy vehicles, farmyard and zoo animals, play people and buildings constructed from Lego. It wasn’t so much a busy street scene as a giant metropolis, where police cars, fire engines, lorries, tankers, ambulances, boats and cars fought for space on the roads and pavements with dinosaurs, people and tower blocks. Every so often Kellie picked up a fighter jet, space rocket, flying saucer or pterodactyl and dropped miniature barrels of hay on those below. They landed with a loud ‘Bang!’ or ‘Whoosh!’ I thought how conservative and timid my play must have seemed to Molly and Kit compared with this.
‘Very imaginative,’ I said.
‘Bang! Boom! Gotcha!’ Keelie cried, as a brontosaurus landed on a boat on the duck pond. ‘I wanted to put water in it, but Maggie wouldn’t let me,’ Keelie lamented, pulling a face.
‘You can thank me later,’ Maggie said, and I smiled.
While Molly and Kit weren’t joining in, they were clearly enthralled and couldn’t take their eyes off Keelie. As Maggie had said, she had clearly kept them very well amused.
‘How did your meeting go?’ Maggie asked.
‘OK, thanks. We’ve got contact at four o’clock.’
‘We’ll be off then. Time to pack away,’ she told Keelie.
‘Oh, do I have to?’ Keelie bemoaned like a young child might.
‘Yes,’ Maggie said. ‘If you put away the toys nicely perhaps Cathy will invite you to another play date.’
Keelie stuck her tongue out good humouredly, and Maggie and I smiled.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll do it later,’ I said.
‘No, you won’t,’ Maggie replied. ‘We will all help.’
Maggie and I joined Keelie on the floor and began packing away as Molly and Kit continued to watch Keelie, probably having never seen a teenager playing so enthusiastically before.
‘I’ve got to start a food diary to try to identify if the children are allergic to anything,’ I told Maggie as we tidied away. ‘Have Molly and Kit had anything to eat and drink this afternoon? I’ll make a note.’
‘Just apple juice. They didn’t want a snack.’
‘OK, thanks.’
Before long most of the toys were in their boxes, although I left some out for Molly and Kit to play with while I saw Maggie and Keelie out. I gave Maggie a box of chocolates as a thank-you gift.
‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ she said.
‘Yes, she should,’ Keelie said, taking them from her. ‘If you don’t want them, I’ll have them – I did all the work.’
‘You can have a couple and we’ll save the rest for later,’ Maggie told her, and Keelie pulled a face. Opening the front door, she began down the path eating the chocolates as she went. Maggie turned to me thoughtfully. ‘Molly and Kit were fine, they didn’t cry, but there’s something about them, isn’t there?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘I know they’ve just come into care so they’re bound to be quiet, but they wouldn’t talk, not even to Keelie, and there’s a haunted look in their eyes. I’m sure they’ve got secrets. Anyway, let me know if you need any help again.’
‘Yes, I will, thank you.’
I watched her go and then slowly closed the door. A haunted look … yes, that summed up Molly and Kit perfectly, I thought. Even when they weren’t upset there was something in their eyes, a burden they carried, which at their age they found impossible to understand or communicate. If they couldn’t verbalize their suffering, it might come out in play, but not yet. They were where I’d left them in the living room, sitting on the floor by the toy box, and Molly had her arm around Kit.
‘Did you have a nice time with Keelie?’ I asked.
Both children stared at me, and then Molly managed a small nod.
‘Good. You’re going to see your mummy and daddy soon, so let’s get you ready.’
‘Mummy?’ Molly asked.
‘Yes, we are going in my car so you can see Mummy and Daddy at what’s called a Family Centre.’
Holding a hand each, I took the children upstairs where I washed their hands and faces and then changed Kit’s top and nappy. Molly’s clothes were still clean. I always liked the children I cared for to look smart for contact, as it helped to reassure the parents and gave their meeting a sense of occasion, although of course Molly and Kit were too young to appreciate that.
‘Mummy?’ Molly asked again as we returned downstairs.
‘Yes, you’re going to see Mummy and Daddy very soon.’
‘At my home?’
‘No, love, at the Family Centre. It’s like a home, with toys, books, games and chairs to sit on. You will see them for an hour or so and then I’ll bring you back here.’ I wasn’t sure how long contact would be, as Tess hadn’t told me, but it’s usually an hour and a half, sometimes two.
Before I left the house, I sent a message to Paula, Lucy and Adrian on our WhatsApp group to let them know I was taking Molly and Kit to contact and wasn’t sure what time I’d be back.
I was glad I’d already fixed the car seats in place the day before, because I’d forgotten how long it took to leave the house with two little ones. I’d also packed a bag with nappies, wipes and a drink of water for both children. The clothes the children were wearing were suitable for early September, but if no warmer clothes arrived from home then I’d buy winter clothes soon before the weather turned cold.
‘Where’s Mummy?’ Molly asked from the back seat as I drove.
‘At the Family Centre. You’re going to see Mummy and Daddy there soon.’ The children only ever asked for Mummy, not Daddy, which made more sense now I knew Filip worked very long hours. Aneta had been the children’s main care-giver, so it was natural that they would ask for her.
I’d taken many children I’d fostered in the past to the Family Centre to see their parents, and I knew that to begin with it could be difficult for everyone. Feelings run high, the children are upset, and the parents are angry that their children are in care and the only way they can see them is in supervised contact at the Family Centre for a few hours a week. Children usually adapt more quickly than their parents. The Family Centre has six contact rooms, which are attractively decorated and furnished to look like living rooms, all well stocked with games and toys. There’s a communal kitchen, bathroom and separate WCs, but the parents are continually observed with their children by a contact supervisor who also takes notes. The parents are aware that their report will go to the social worker who will incorporate it into their report to the judge, so ultimately what the contact supervisor writes will form part of the judge’s decision on whether the child is allowed home. The supervisor’s report includes comments on the parents’ relationship with their child – positive and negative. I think it’s an awful position for a parent to be in, but there is little alternative if contact needs to be supervised.
‘Is Mummy here?’ Molly asked as I parked outside the Family Centre.
‘Yes, Mummy and Daddy should be waiting inside,’ I replied. Molly was looking out of her side window at the building, while Kit was cautiously watching me. I met his gaze and smiled. The poor child looked scared and confused. I hoped that seeing their parents would reassure the children.
I undid their harnesses and helped them out of their car seats. Taking them by the hand, I walked with them slowly up the path to the security-locked main door where I pressed the buzzer. The closed-circuit television camera above us was monitored in the office, and a few moments later the door clicked open and we went in. Tess was waiting in reception. ‘Hello,’ she said brightly to us all.
Sometimes the social worker is present at the first contact, then after that they observe contact every few months, although they are sent the supervisor’s reports after each session. The parents would have been shown around the building and had the house rules explained to them. They would also have signed a written agreement that outlined the arrangements and expectations for contact.
‘The parents are in Blue Room,’ Tess said. Each of the rooms is known by the colour it is decorated. ‘I’ll take the children through. Filip has brought in some more of the children’s belongings.’ She nodded to a suitcase standing to one side. ‘He said he’s put the appointment card for the fracture clinic in there with the notes they were given on the care of the plaster.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Also, I’ve arranged a medical for the children on Monday afternoon,’ Tess continued as the children stood quietly beside me. ‘I’ve emailed the details to you.’
‘OK, thanks. I haven’t had a chance to check my emails yet. I’ll have a look this evening. What time is contact finishing today?’
‘Five-thirty, when the centre closes. The details of future contacts are in the email.’
‘All right.’
‘Come on, then, let’s see Mummy and Daddy,’ Tess said to the children.
‘Have a good time,’ I said, but the children just looked at me with sad, wary eyes.
Tess took them by the hand and, with a few words of reassurance, led them down the corridor in the direction of Blue Room. I picked up the suitcase, smiled at the receptionist, who I knew a little from my previous visits, and left.
There was just enough time to make it worth my while going home. I wanted to unpack the case so the children had their own belongings in their bedroom. I doubted there’d be much time when we got back. The drive from the Family Centre to my house is usually between fifteen and thirty minutes, depending on the traffic, and I arrived home just before four-thirty. I was the only one in, apart from Sammy, and he watched me heave the case upstairs and into Molly and Kit’s bedroom. I opened it and found the hospital appointment card and the printout on plaster-cast care at the top. I put them to one side and quickly unpacked the rest of the case. There were no toys, which was a pity, but I appreciated how difficult it was for parents to send their children’s belongings to the foster carer. Although it helps the children to settle, parents can feel as though they are collaborating in sending their children away. Still, I had plenty of toys, and Molly and Kit now had more of their own clothes, and the soft toys they’d arrived with.
With the case empty, I took it and their other bag downstairs to return them to the parents at contact. It was five o’clock now and I had to leave to collect the children. I put the appointment card and printout with some other paperwork to one side to deal with later and opened the front door. Paula was just coming in, having returned from college. We exchanged a few words and I said we’d catch up later.
When children first come into care the end of contact is often distressing for all the family. In the past I’d had to carry a child screaming and crying from the room, as there’d been no other way. Gradually the parents and children adapt to the arrangements and it becomes less fraught, although saying goodbye at the end is always very emotional. I was therefore expecting Kit and Molly to be upset when they had to say goodbye, but nothing could have prepared me for what actually happened.
I parked outside the Family Centre, took the empty cases from the car and went up to the door, where I buzzed to be let in. It’s usual procedure for foster carers to collect the child or children from the room at the end of contact. ‘It’s five-thirty, so go down,’ the receptionist told me.
I signed the Visitors’ Book and continued to Blue Room. The centre closed shortly, so other families were saying goodbye and leaving. I passed a young lad aged about eight leaving with a man I knew to be his foster carer and we said hello.
The door to Blue Room was closed. Painted royal blue, it’s imaginatively decorated with pictures of blue objects – cars, flowers, butterflies, a hat, the sky, the sea, blueberries and so on. Indeed, the whole centre is decorated appealingly to make it child-friendly. I knocked on the door, pushed it open and took a few steps in. I was immediately struck by how quiet and tidy the room was. Usually when I collect a child at the end of contact – even the first one – they are still playing, so there is a last-minute scramble to clear up, as the room has to be left clean and tidy.
‘Hello,’ I said quietly. ‘I’ve brought these back.’ I placed the cases to one side, out of the way.
Aneta and Filip were sitting on the sofa with the children between them. They had some picture books open on their laps, but I didn’t get the impression they’d been reading to the children, perhaps just looking at the pictures. The contact supervisor was still sitting at the table making notes on a large pad. Everyone looked at me, Aneta hostile, Filip and the children bewildered. I knew my arrival was unwelcome, as it signalled the end of contact. Tess wasn’t there, so I assumed she’d gone.
Eventually Filip realized why I was there. ‘It’s time for you to go,’ he said in a deadpan voice, putting the books to one side. He was a big man with broad shoulders, now slumped under the crushing weight of losing his children.
‘No. I’m not letting them go again!’ Aneta suddenly shrieked, and clasped both children to her. She took Kit on her lap and had her other arm tightly around Molly. Indeed, she was holding them so tightly I thought they must be uncomfortable, but they didn’t squirm or try to pull away. ‘I’m not letting them go!’ Aneta cried again, her face contorted in panic and fear. She clung desperately to her children. It was pitiful and I knew it would be upsetting for Molly and Kit. The sooner we left the better, but it wasn’t for me to take the initiative. I looked at the supervisor.
‘It’s after five-thirty,’ she said, glancing up from writing. Perhaps she was inexperienced – some of them are – for I would have thought her priority ought to have been to end contact as positively as possible, and then finish writing her notes after.
‘Go away! You’re not having my children!’ Aneta shrieked hysterically, jerking the children closer. They both began to cry.
‘I think they have to go,’ Filip said ineffectually.
‘No, never! You’ll have to tear them off me.’ I’m sure Aneta didn’t appreciate that her behaviour was upsetting the children. Most parents don’t want to say goodbye at the end of contact, but they put on a brave face for the sake of their children. Sometimes I’ve looked back as I’ve left contact and seen parents crying, having waited until their children couldn’t see them. But Aneta appeared to be so wound up in her own grief that she was blind to the effect it was having on Molly and Kit, who were now sobbing uncontrollably.
‘Tell her to go away!’ she cried, meaning me. I could see my presence was antagonizing her.
‘Shall I wait outside?’ I asked the contact supervisor.
She just looked at me, not sure what to do for the best. ‘It’s the end of contact,’ she said to Aneta and Filip.
‘Don’t care!’ Aneta cried. ‘She’s not having my children!’
‘I’ll wait outside,’ I said, and, going out, I closed the door behind me. I could hear Aneta shouting and crying and the children sobbing – so could others in the building. It was very disturbing.
A few minutes later the door opened and the contact supervisor came out, flustered. ‘I’m going to get the manager,’ she said, and closed the door behind her, effectively leaving the children with their parents unsupervised.
As I waited, other children leaving with their carers looked over, worried and able to identify with this family’s distress. It was upsetting for everyone. Aneta’s hysterical shouting and crying continued, but I couldn’t hear Filip say anything. Presently the contact supervisor returned with the manager. Both looked anxious and disappeared into the room without comment, closing the door behind them.
I waited. I could hear the low tone of the manger’s voice as she talked steadily and calmly to Aneta. The centre emptied and gradually Aneta’s hysteria eased. The children stopped crying too. Fifteen minutes or so later the door opened and the contact supervisor appeared with Molly and Kit. ‘Take them now and leave,’ she said, urgency in her voice. I could see past her to where Aneta was sitting on the sofa, Filip on one side and the manager on the other, leaning into her.
‘This is for you,’ the contact supervisor said, handing me a carrier bag. ‘It’s the children’s medicines. In case they’re ill. There’s a lot.’
‘Oh,’ I said, surprised. ‘Does anything have to be taken now?’ It hadn’t been mentioned.
‘I don’t think so. Aneta said to follow the instructions on the packet.’
I hung the bag over my arm and took the children by the hand. At that moment Aneta seemed to realize what was happening and with a shriek of sheer distress like a wounded animal she made a dash for the door. Filip shot after her and grabbed her. The last image the children had of their parents was of their mother, her face twisted in anguish, being restrained by their father. It was an image that would stay with them for a very long time.
Chapter Six
I Want Mummy (#litres_trial_promo)
I hurried out of the Family Centre with the children and to the car, the carrier bag of medicines weighing heavily on my arm. ‘I feel sick,’ Molly said, and, leaning forward, she vomited onto the pavement.
‘It’s OK, love,’ I soothed gently. ‘Don’t worry. You’re just upset.’ I assumed that was the reason, and smoothed her hair back as she vomited again. ‘Take a few deep breaths,’ I told her. She did, and then slowly straightened. ‘Do you feel a bit better?’
She nodded. ‘Good girl.’ I took a wipe from the bag and cleaned her face and hands. I had one eye on the door to the Family Centre, hoping the parents wouldn’t leave until the children were safely in the car. Kit was looking very anxious too.
‘It’s all right, love,’ I reassured him. ‘Molly’s better now.’
‘I am better,’ she told him.
‘Big girl,’ I praised her. She was being so brave; most children her age would panic if they were sick, but she seemed to be coping very well.
‘Can I have some water?’ she asked.
‘Yes, of course.’ I took the water bottle from the bag and handed it to her.
She took a few sips and passed it back. ‘Mummy gives me water when I’m sick.’
‘Do you feel well enough to get in the car now?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ came her small reply.
I helped them both into their seats and fastened their harnesses. ‘OK?’ I asked her again.
‘Yes.’ She managed a small smile. It was the first time I’d seen her smile and I kissed her cheek.
‘It’s like being at home,’ she said. I guessed she meant my kiss.
‘Does Mummy kiss your cheek?’
‘Yes. After I’ve been sick she gives me lots of kisses.’
‘To make you feel better.’ I smiled. ‘Are you often sick?’
She nodded. ‘Lots.’
‘Don’t worry. We’re going to try to find out what’s making you sick and stop it.’ I kissed them both and then closed their car door and got into the driver’s seat. Just in time, for as I pulled away Filip and Aneta came out of the Family Centre, heads down and looking dejected. I felt sorry for them, I really did, but if they were all going to enjoy contact Aneta would need to make a big effort to contain her emotions – as Filip had done – for the sake of their children. Making a child leave contact so distraught that she had vomited was unkind and couldn’t be repeated. It was of course possible that it wasn’t distress that had caused Molly to be sick, but at that point it seemed the most likely cause. She wasn’t showing any signs of an allergic reaction and the sickness had passed quickly. She’d wet herself twice yesterday from distress and now she’d been sick. Young children can’t verbalize or deal with their distress in the same way adults can, so it comes out in physical ways or through challenging behaviour. When I got home I’d enter everything I’d given the children to eat and drink in the food diary, although I was pretty sure that Molly vomiting now was from upset.
As I drove, I kept glancing at the children in the rear-view mirror. The colour had returned to Molly’s face and, while not laughing, they had both calmed down. They were pale-skinned anyway, but Molly had gone as white as a sheet earlier when she’d been sick. About five minutes from home they both fell sleep – exhausted from a disturbed night and the distress at contact. I felt bad waking them, but they needed dinner before they went to bed, so, once parked on the drive, I gently woke them, then helped them out of the car. I let us in to the welcoming smell of spaghetti bolognese. Lucy and Paula appeared in the hall. ‘Dinner’s ready,’ Paula said.
‘Thank you so much.’
Both girls took over and I was so pleased to have their help. They slipped off the children’s jackets and shoes and carried them to their chairs at the dining table. Five minutes later we were all eating. A large plate of spag bol was in front of me, topped with parmesan and garnished with salad, together with a mug of tea. I was truly grateful.
‘Thank you so much,’ I said again.
When we fostered older children or teenagers there was a limit to how much help my children could give, but now, with two little ones, they came into their own. Lucy fed Kit and Paula helped Molly, who seemed none the worse for her ordeal and ate.
‘This is delicious,’ I said, and made a mental note to include the ingredients in the children’s food diary.
‘I’m collecting a car tomorrow,’ Adrian announced as we ate.
‘Are you?’ I knew he’d been saving for a car for a while, but I didn’t know he’d been looking for one. The old banger he’d had at university had given up some time ago.
‘It belongs to a guy at work,’ he said. ‘It was his elderly mother’s, but she died and he wants to get rid of it quickly. It’s only done a few miles. It’s a bargain.’
‘Sounds good,’ I said.
‘As long as her ghost doesn’t haunt it,’ Lucy put in.
Adrian paused from eating to look at her. ‘How does a ghost stay safe in a car?’ he asked. I’d heard this joke before but couldn’t remember the punchline. Neither apparently could Lucy or Paula.
‘Go on, tell us,’ Lucy said.
‘Puts on its sheet belt!’ Adrian said. We all laughed.
‘What’s a ghost’s favourite dessert?’ Paula asked.
‘I scream,’ Adrian replied. ‘What kind of roads do ghosts haunt?’
There was silence as we thought. ‘Dead ends,’ he said, and we groaned.
‘What did the polite ghost say to her child?’ Lucy asked.
I knew this one. ‘Don’t spook until your spooken to!’ I said. We laughed again and little Kit chuckled. He obviously didn’t know what he was laughing at as he was too young to understand the jokes, but it was lovely to hear him chuckle and see his little face light up. However, when I looked at Molly I saw she was anxious. ‘Are you all right, love?’ I asked, wondering if she was feeling ill again.
‘We’re not allowed to laugh when we eat,’ she said seriously. ‘Mummy says it makes us sick.’
‘That’s sensible,’ I said. Although it seemed a bit harsh to me – never laughing at the meal table. I guessed Aneta worried more than the average mother about her children because they’d been ill so often. When I’d fostered a child with severe asthma, I was very watchful and overprotective. It was only natural as a parent or carer.
The children looked exhausted, so once we’d finished eating I said it was time for their bath and bed. Lucy and Paula were keen to help and came upstairs with me, while Adrian said he’d see to the dishes and was going out later. In the bathroom it soon became clear that I was superfluous, as Lucy and Paula took over. I hung around as they bathed the children, dressed them in their pyjamas and brushed their teeth. Once in their bedroom, Paula sat on Molly’s bed to read her a story while Lucy settled Kit in his cot.
‘You go down and get on with what you need to do,’ Lucy said. ‘We’re OK here.’
‘Yes, go on, Mum,’ Paula encouraged. ‘We can manage. We’ll call you if we need you.’
‘OK, thanks.’ I kissed Molly and Kit goodnight and came out, leaving their bedroom door open. I had a long list of things I needed to do so was grateful for the opportunity.
Downstairs, Adrian was in the hall about to go out and I thanked him for his help.
‘See you tomorrow,’ he said, kissing my cheek. ‘I expect you’ll be in bed before I’m back.’ It was Friday and he and Kirsty usually went out somewhere.
I wished him a good evening and told him to say hi to Kirsty for me, and then I went into the kitchen. First, I wanted to sort through the bag of medicines I’d been given for Molly and Kit. The contact supervisor had said she didn’t think any of it was needed now, so I’d put the bag on a top shelf in a kitchen cupboard while we’d had dinner. I now took it down and began to go through the contents, taking them out one at a time, reading the labels and placing them on the work surface. It soon looked like a mini pharmacy with all the bottles, screw-top jars, packets and so on. There was antihistamine syrup to control allergic reactions, antihistamine cream in a tube, medicine to control sickness, Calpol for reducing fevers and high temperature, cough syrup, vitamin drops, eye drops, ear drops, nasal spray, laxatives, antiseptic cream, medicine for colic, stomach upsets, diarrhoea, sachets to rehydrate after sickness or diarrhoea, and so on. There was also an inhaler for asthma, although asthma hadn’t been mentioned. I counted forty-five items.
All the medicine was relatively recent and in date, some had been used while other bottles and packets remained unopened. A few items had been prescribed by a doctor or the hospital, but most of it had been bought over the counter. There was also a syringe for giving liquid medicine to very young children. None of it was needed now; they were used to treat symptoms as and when they appeared. There was nothing wrong with Molly and Kit as far as I knew – Molly was over her sickness and hadn’t developed any other symptoms – so they didn’t need them. I couldn’t fit all these items in my lockable medicine cabinet, and I thought they should all be kept together in one place, so, repacking the bag, I labelled it Molly and Kit’s medicine and returned it to the top shelf of the cupboard. Was this amount of medicine excessive? Yes, I thought so, although the children had been ill an awful lot, so I guessed Aneta liked to be prepared.
On my list of things to do was to start a food diary. I opened an exercise book, divided the page into two, then wrote Molly’s and Kit’s names at the top of each column and listed everything they’d had to eat and drink since they’d arrived yesterday. I also noted beside Molly’s entry that after contact she’d been sick and wrote, Due to upset? I would also note this in my log when I wrote it up later, and mention it to Tess when I spoke to her. Having brought the food diary up to date with this evening’s meal I left it in the kitchen where it could be seen as a reminder to fill it in.
I went into the front room and switched on the computer to read my emails. I prefer the large screen of the desktop computer to my phone and it was where I stored important files. As it sprung to life Paula and Lucy crept downstairs and into the front room. ‘They’re both fast asleep,’ Lucy whispered. ‘They were exhausted.’
‘Thank you so much. Was Molly all right? She’s not feeling sick again?’ I asked.
‘No, she seems fine,’ Paula said. ‘She said she missed her mummy, but I told her she’d see her soon.’
‘Thank you both,’ I said again. ‘Now you can chill.’ It was their Friday evening and they disappeared into the living room to stream a film, as I concentrated on the computer screen.
Tess’s email came through with the Essential Information Form attached. The social services, like many organizations, were trying to go paperless and I now had a folder on my computer for files relating to the children I was fostering as well as a physical folder. I was still keeping my log notes in a book; most foster carers were, simply because it’s easier to pick up to add to during the day, although many forms were now completed and stored online.
I read Tess’s email first. She’d arranged a medical for Kit and Molly for 1 p.m. on Monday and contact for 3–5 p.m. that afternoon. Then contact would be every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Fetching my diary, I entered all of this and then picked up the appointment card for the fracture clinic. It was for 10 a.m. on Monday. With the hospital appointment, the medical and contact, Monday was full. I now read the printout from the hospital on the care of a plaster cast. The main points were that the cast should be kept dry, the patient’s fingers exercised by wriggling, and to contact A&E if extreme pain or numbness were experienced or if the fingers became blue, swollen or began to discharge. I’d keep an eye on Kit’s hand, but so far it looked good. I now opened the Essential Information Form that Tess had sent, which should give me some background information on the children to help me care for them.
It was a standard form and began with the children’s and parents’ full names, home address and dates of birth. In the box about other family members it showed that Aneta had a mother and sister living abroad but they weren’t in contact. Filip had no close family members. Ethnicity was given as British, language as English and beside religion it said none. The children’s legal status was an interim care order, and beside school or nursery was written none. Next was the contact arrangements – which I’d already taken from the email – followed by special health concerns: The mother claims that both children suffer from multiple and undiagnosed allergies, which can result in vomiting, diarrhoea, rashes, bruising, difficulty in breathing (so I guessed that was why an inhaler was in their bag of medicines) and seizures – that hadn’t been mentioned before either. I paused, very concerned. I’d need to ask Tess for more details about the seizures, how often they occurred and how long they lasted. I’d also have to let the rest of the family know and check they knew what to do if Kit or Molly did fit. I had a first-aid certificate – all foster carers do – and Lucy had one because she worked in a nursery. However, I knew from experience how frightening it can be to see someone fit, so I needed to have a chat with my family to make sure Paula and Adrian knew what to do too.
I returned to the form and the entry about the children’s health: Kit sustained a broken arm and has bruising and swelling to his face – which I obviously knew. The next point and those following were more relevant to older children: Behaviour problems? Did the young person drink, smoke or take drugs? No had been entered by each one. Apart from the section on health, the Essential Information Form hadn’t really told me much more than I already knew, largely, I thought, because the social services hadn’t been involved with the family until the start of the week.
My gaze returned to the comments in respect of the children’s health, particularly about the undiagnosed allergies. These applied to both children. Aneta wouldn’t make all this up, so I wondered if the children could be suffering from a rare genetic condition that hadn’t yet been identified. I knew nothing about the testing that had been done to try to establish what triggered the reactions, only that the cause was ‘undiagnosed’. I then did what many of us do now and consulted to Dr Google. I typed allergic reaction resulting in vomiting, diarrhoea, rashes, bruising, seizures, difficulty in breathing into the search engine. Pages of websites came up. I began reading and soon discovered that there were over eighty allergic reactions that could produce symptoms of fever, nausea, vomiting and skin rashes – indeed, these were the most common reactions to allergens. But I also found that a purple-blue rash like a bruise could appear in a few bad allergic reactions and they were genetic. However, these severe rashes lasted four to six weeks, which wasn’t what Aneta had described at all. She’d said the symptoms came and went quickly. I was about to continue my research when I heard Kit’s plaster cast bang against the cot side, followed by his startled cry. I went straight upstairs. Kit was standing up in his cot, his little face puckered into tears.
‘It’s all right, love,’ I said, picking him up and holding him close. ‘There, there,’ I soothed. Molly slept on in her bed close by. It occurred to me that cot bumpers would have cushioned the blow when Kit’s plaster hit the sides, but they were now deemed unsafe as some infants had tragically become entangled in them and suffocated.
Eventually Kit began to relax against me and his eyes grew heavy and closed. I lay him on his side in the cot and gently rubbed his back. I also had a closer look at his arm in the plaster cast. I could see by the dimmed light that his hand and fingers were a healthy colour and weren’t swollen so I didn’t think it was causing him a problem, apart from being uncomfortable and hitting the cot when he turned over. After about ten minutes of rubbing his back, he appeared to be fully asleep and I crept from the room. I’d just got outside when I heard his startled cry again and went straight back. Not quickly enough. He’d woken Molly. ‘I want my mummy!’ she cried, sitting bolt upright in bed.
‘It’s OK, love, you’ll see her soon,’ I said. ‘Lie down and go back to sleep.’
Molly lay down but didn’t go back to sleep. ‘I want my mummy!’ she cried over and over again.
I picked up Kit and held him on my lap as I sat on the edge of Molly’s bed and calmed her too. If a child who has been with me for some time wakes at night I go into their room, resettle them and come out, and repeat until they’re asleep. But this was only Kit and Molly’s second night in a strange room and Molly had been sick earlier, so I stayed with them. ‘Do you feel all right?’ I asked her.
‘No, I want my mummy,’ she said plaintively.
‘I know you do, love, and you’ll see Mummy and Daddy soon. But now I want you to get some sleep.’ I tucked her soft toy in beside her and stayed sitting on the bed, soothing Molly and gently rocking Kit back to sleep.
Time passed and eventually they both appeared to be asleep. I carefully stood and returned Kit to his cot. He licked his lips, murmured something and turned over but didn’t wake. I waited a few more minutes to make sure neither of them woke, and then crept out. It was now 10.30 p.m.
Downstairs, I shut down the computer, then stayed in the front room and wrote up my log notes. Ten minutes later Lucy and Paula finished watching their film and came into the front room on their way upstairs to bed. I reminded them to be quiet as Molly and Kit’s bedroom door was open. Telling me I should wake them if I needed help in the night, they kissed me goodnight and went up. I finished writing my log notes, put Sammy to bed, then went upstairs too. I checked on Molly and Kit and they were both fast asleep. I then lay in my bed listening out for them. Around midnight I heard Adrian quietly let himself in and then nothing more until 2 a.m., when Molly and Kit woke. I managed to settle them reasonably quickly without waking the rest of the house and they then slept until 7 a.m. – a huge improvement on the night before. However, as soon as Molly woke she was in tears. ‘I want my mummy,’ she sobbed. ‘When can I see Mummy? I want to go home.’ Seeing his sister so upset made Kit cry. ‘Mummy, Mummy,’ he wailed. So at 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning I had two children on my lap, crying their hearts out for their mother. I felt like a wicked witch.
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Cathy Glass
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Социология
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Innocent is the shocking true story of little Molly and Kit, siblings, aged 3 years and 18 months, who are brought into care as an emergency after suffering non-accidental injuries.Aneta and Filip, the children’s parents, are distraught when their children are taken into care. Aneta maintains she is innocent of harming them, while Filip appears bewildered and out of his depth. It’s true the family has never come to the attention of the social services before and little Kit and Molly appear to have been well looked after, but Kit has a broken arm and bruises on his face. Could it be they were a result of a genuine accident as Aneta is claiming? Both children become sick with a mysterious illness while, experienced foster carer, Cathy, is looking after them. Very worried, she asks for more hospital tests to be done. They’ve already had a lot. When Cathy’s daughter, Lucy, becomes ill too she believes she has found the cause of Kit and Molly’s illness and the parents aren’t to blame. However, nothing could be further from the truth and what comes to light is far more sinister and shocking.