Another Forgotten Child (2 page)

‘Aimee’s parents won’t be told your contact details,’ Kristen continued. ‘Susan is opposed to her daughter coming into care and is angry. She’s also been working on Aimee and poisoning her mind against the move, and now Aimee is determined she won’t be taken away from her mother. Removing Aimee on Thursday is going to be fraught and I’ve notified the police. Aimee is likely to arrive at your place very upset and angry. She’ll need a bath – she’s filthy – and she has a bad infestation of head lice, which will need treating straightaway. She wouldn’t let her mother treat her hair and kicked her if she tried to comb it. But you’re a very experienced foster carer, so I’m sure you’ll find a way round this.’ Kristen stopped, expecting confirmation.

‘I expect I will,’ I said. ‘But why is Aimee so angry with her mother and behaving so badly? There’s always a reason why children behave as they do.’

‘I agree,’ Kristen said. ‘There’s a lot we don’t know in this case. I only took it over two months ago and I couldn’t understand why Aimee had been left at home for so long.’ Hearing a social worker admit that a case should have been handled differently – better – wasn’t unique; neither was shifting culpability. But Kristen wasn’t wholly to blame for Aimee not being brought into care sooner, as she’d only taken over the case recently. Doubtless, prior to her there had been many other social workers, all of whom had done their best and then, for any number of reasons, moved on. Frequent changes of social worker is not unusual but can be one of many reasons why children fall through the safety net of care.

‘Aimee has been spending time at both her parents’ flats,’ Kristen continued. ‘We believe that both flats have been used for drug dealing. The last time the police raided her mother’s flat they found used syringes close to where Aimee was sleeping on a mattress on the floor, but no drugs. Both flats are dirty and poorly furnished. When Susan can’t cope with Aimee she leaves her with anyone who will have her. Aimee can’t wash or dress herself, she wets the bed, and will only eat biscuits – she demands them. She can’t read or write – unsurprisingly, as she hardly ever goes to school. And a word of warning.’

‘Yes?’ I asked, wondering what else there could possibly be.

‘Aimee’s mother makes allegations against foster carers and she’s good at it, so practise your safer caring.’

‘I will,’ I said, as I realized this was going to be something else I’d have to contend with on top of looking after Aimee and trying to change her appalling behaviour.

‘Now, on Thursday,’ Kristen continued, ‘assuming we are granted the care order, we’ll take Aimee from school and bring her straight to you. She’ll just have the clothes she’s wearing. I’ll try to get her things another day when her mother is less angry, but don’t count on it. Her clothes are in shreds anyway. I assume you’ll have some emergency clothes to put her in?’

‘I should think so,’ I said. ‘What size is she?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t have kids.’

‘Is she of average build and height for an eight-year-old?’

‘I guess so, although she’s a bit overweight.’

‘OK. I’ll find something for her to wear, and then I’ll take her shopping on Friday for new clothes.’

‘We want her in school on Friday,’ Kristen said, ‘to keep some continuity going. Aimee hasn’t been at school much but she says she likes her teacher. It will be reassuring for Aimee to see her on Friday after all the trauma of Thursday.’

‘Which school does she attend?’

‘Hayward Primary School. It’s on the opposite side of the town to you. Do you know it?’

‘No, but I’ll find it.’

‘Well, I think that’s all for now,’ Kristen said. ‘I’m sure your support worker told you that you will need to set firm boundaries and a routine for Aimee. She’s had neither.’

‘I understand.’

‘Roll on next Thursday,’ Kristen sighed, as we wound up the conversation. ‘I’ll be pleased to get rid of this case. The mother is impossible to work with.’

‘You’re leaving, then?’ I asked, surprised.

‘No, but once Aimee is in care, the case will go from the children in need team to the children in care team.’ Which, although I knew to be current practice, would mean another change of social worker. It used to be that the social worker who had worked with the family stayed as the child’s social worker after the child was brought into care, but that changed some years ago with restructuring, resulting in further discontinuity.

With my thoughts even darker now after hearing more about Aimee’s neglect and her parents’ drug-fuelled background, Kristen and I said goodbye and I replaced the handset. I went upstairs. Paula should have had enough time to cool off now, and I tentatively knocked on her bedroom door. There was no reply, so I knocked again, and then slowly opened the door.

‘Can I come in?’ I asked, poking my head round the door. Paula was sitting on her bed, facing away from me and towards the window.

‘Don’t mind,’ she said with a small shrug, which I knew meant yes.

I continued into her room and sat on the edge of the bed next to her. She was looking down at her lap and fiddling with her hands, looking very glum.

‘I love you,’ I said, which I find is always a good icebreaker and can’t be said too often.

‘Love you too,’ she said quietly but without looking at me.

Now I knew she was receptive and willing to hear what I had to say, I was ready with my explanation as to why I’d agreed to look after Aimee. I would also reassure Paula that I’d do all I could to minimize the disruption that Aimee staying with us would cause. I took a breath, ready to speak, but before I had a chance Paula said quietly: ‘It’s OK, Mum. I understand about Aimee coming.’

‘Do you? I’m not sure I do,’ I said with a small nervous laugh. ‘I think I’m too impulsive sometimes and I make decisions before I’ve properly thought them through.’

‘Only when it comes to fostering,’ Paula said. ‘You let your heart rule your head. The rest of the time you’re quite sane.’

I gave another small laugh and Paula managed to raise a smile too. ‘Look, love,’ I said, taking her hand in mine. ‘I know you have an important six months coming up with your A-level exams and I promise you I’ll keep things as calm as I can here. Also I want you to feel comfortable bringing your friends home, and I’ll make sure Aimee doesn’t interfere. You work hard and need to relax sometimes. I’ll keep Aimee amused.’ It sounded as though I was ostracizing Aimee, but we’d looked after children before with complex needs and I knew, as Paula did, just how demanding such children can be.

‘There’s no need to worry,’ Paula said, with another small shrug. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Good.’ I patted her hand. ‘Your feelings are very important to me,’ I said. ‘I hope you know I would never knowingly do anything I thought would upset you. I wouldn’t have agreed to look after Aimee if I thought you, Adrian or Lucy were really opposed to it.’ Fostering is always a balancing act between the needs of the foster child and those of the carer’s own children.

‘I’m not opposed to it,’ Paula said. Then she slipped her arms around my waist and laid her head on my shoulder, ready for a cuddle and to make up. I put my arms around her and we held each other for some time before she said, ‘You know, Mum, Aimee sounds a bit like Jodie.’

I looked at her, surprised that she too had made the connection. ‘I hope not,’ I said. ‘But if she is, then at least I’ll be better prepared to deal with her problems this time. I learnt a lot from looking after Jodie and I won’t make the same mistakes again.’ Although in truth I doubted I could have done much more to help Jodie, so deep was the damage that had been done to her. She needed specialist help.

Paula and I hugged each other for a while longer and once I was satisfied she’d recovered I left her to relax and listen to her music before she began her homework, while I went downstairs to make the dinner. I was grateful my children were so understanding and I was pleased that although we had disagreements – like any family – no one sulked and the air soon cleared.

At 5.30 p.m. Lucy, my adopted daughter, arrived home from her work as a nursery assistant.

‘Hi!’ I called from the kitchen as she let herself in the front door.

‘Hi, what’s for dinner?’ she returned from the hall.

‘Chicken and pasta bake.’

‘Great.’

I smiled to myself, for when Lucy had first arrived as a foster child seven years previously, she’d been borderline anorectic: she had been very thin and had hardly eaten anything. Now she was a healthy weight and enjoyed her food, as we all did. I’d adopted Lucy five years ago, so she was a permanent and much-loved member of my family.

Having taken off her coat in the hall Lucy came into the kitchen and as usual greeted me with a big kiss on the cheek.

‘Have you had a good day?’ I asked, as I always did when my children came home.

‘Yes, although the four-year-olds were over-excited after their visit to the fire station. So was my manager – by the firemen.’

I laughed, and decided I’d better tell Lucy straightaway about Aimee. ‘It’s possible we might be having an eight-year-old girl coming to stay on Thursday,’ I said.

‘Cool,’ Lucy said, helping herself to a biscuit.

‘She’s been badly neglected and has behavioural problems,’ I clarified.

‘OK. What’s her name?’

‘Aimee.’

‘That’s nice. Have I got time for a shower before dinner? I’m going to the cinema later.’

‘Yes, a quick one. Dinner will be fifteen minutes.’

‘Cool,’ Lucy said again, and planting another kiss on my cheek hurried off for a shower. Older than Paula, with a more robust constitution from her own experiences before coming into care, and with a life outside our home, Lucy had taken Aimee’s proposed arrival in her stride.

We ate at six o’clock and Aimee wasn’t mentioned again, and the evening progressed as usual, with Lucy out socializing and Paula doing her homework in between MSNing and texting her friends.

I didn’t hear anything further from either Jill or Kristen until Thursday morning, by which time Aimee’s room was prepared, even if I wasn’t. I’d already given the bedroom a good clean after Reece (the little boy whose story I told in
Mummy Told Me Not to Tell
) had left the month before. Now I changed the Batman duvet cover for one with pictures of butterflies, which I hoped would appeal to Aimee, and I arranged some cuddly toys on the bed. As well as the bedroom furniture there was a toy box in the room with some games and puzzles; the rest of the toys were kept in cupboards downstairs. I’d sort out some clothes for Aimee once she arrived, when I’d have a better idea of her size. I kept an emergency supply of clothes (for both sexes and in most sizes) in the ottoman in my bedroom.

At lunchtime Jill telephoned and asked if I’d heard anything from Kristen. I hadn’t, so we assumed the case was still in court. An hour later Kristen phoned and said she’d just come out of court and the judge had granted the care order, which was clearly a relief. Kristen said she and her colleague, Laura, were on their way to Hayward school to collect Aimee. ‘Susan, Aimee’s mother, was very upset in court,’ Kristen said. ‘And her barrister was good, so I had to agree to let Susan see Aimee for half an hour at the end of school to say goodbye.’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘See you later.’ I put down the phone and thought of Susan going to school to say goodbye to her daughter.

I felt sorry for her, as I did for many of the parents whose children I fostered, for none of them started life bad with the intention of failing and then losing their children. I guessed life had been cruel to Susan, just as it had to Aimee.

Chapter Three

A Challenge

Despite all the years I’d been fostering I still felt nervous when anticipating the arrival of a new child. Will the child like me? Will I be able to help the child come to terms with their suffering and separation from home? Will I be able to cope with the child’s needs? Or will this be the one child I can’t help? Once the child arrives there is so much to do that there isn’t time for worrying, and I simply get on with it. But on that Thursday afternoon while I waited for Aimee to arrive, which I calculated would be between 4.30 and 5.00 p.m., my stomach churned, and all manner of thoughts plagued me so that I couldn’t settle to anything. Jill had phoned to say she’d been called to an emergency so wouldn’t be able to be with me for moral support when Aimee was placed. I’d reassured her I’d be all right.

Paula arrived home from school at four o’clock and, having had a drink and a snack, went to her room to unwind before starting her homework; Lucy wouldn’t be home until about 5.30. My anxieties increased until at 4.40 the doorbell rang. With a mixture of trepidation and relief that Aimee had finally arrived, I went to answer it.

‘Hello,’ I said brightly, with a big smile that belied my nerves. ‘Good to see you.’ There were two social workers, whom I took to be Kristen and her colleague Laura, and they stood either side of Aimee, who carried a plastic carrier bag. ‘I’m Cathy. Do come in.’ I smiled.

It was clear who thought she was in charge, for, elbowing the social workers out of the way, Aimee stepped confidently into the hall and then stood looking at me expectantly.

The social workers followed. ‘Hello, Cathy,’ they said and introduced themselves.

‘Shall we leave our shoes here?’ Kristen said thoughtfully, slipping off her shoes, having seen ours paired in the hall.

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And I’ll hang your coats on the hall stand.’

As Kristen and Laura took off their shoes and coats I looked at Aimee, who was doing neither. ‘Shall we leave your shoes and coat here?’ I said encouragingly.

‘No. Not taking ’em off,’ Aimee said, jutting out her chin in defiance. ‘And you can’t make me.’ My fault, I thought, for giving her a choice. What I should have said was: ‘Would you like to take off your coat first or your shoes?’ It’s a technique called ‘the closed choice’ and would have resulted in action rather than refusal.

‘No problem,’ I said easily. ‘You can do it later.’

‘Not taking ’em off at all,’ Aimee said challengingly. The two social workers looked at me and then raised their eyes.