Another Forgotten Child (13 page)

‘Are you all right, Mum?’ Paula asked.

I sighed. ‘I guess so.’

‘Shall I talk to Aimee?’ Lucy offered. ‘Point out the error of her ways.’ She smiled.

‘No, don’t worry yourself. It’s early days yet. She’s got a lot to cope with. She’s angry. Things will improve, I’m sure.’

Both girls came over and gave me a big hug – we call it a group hug, where we hug in a small circle. Adrian used to join in when he was younger and lived at home, and most foster children join in eventually. I felt the warmth of their embrace and it was just what I needed to get me back on track and ready to face Aimee again. Tomorrow was another day.

Chapter Twelve

Craig

Sunday evening’s phone contact was no better than Saturday’s. Despite the fact that Aimee had had a good day, which had included a visit to our local park, where she’d fed the ducks (a new experience for her), followed by a hot chocolate in the park’s café, which she liked even more than feeding the ducks, Aimee couldn’t find a single positive thing to tell her mother and made up more complaints. Susan reacted as she had done the previous evening by over-reacting, and reassuring Aimee she would be reporting me to the social services, her solicitor, Aimee’s father and I suspected anyone else who would listen. The only positive element in the phone call was that, having spoken to her mother on the phone the previous evening for over thirty minutes, once Aimee had reassured her mother that she’d been bored all day, had been forced to have a wash and had been force-fed ‘muck’, while being denied biscuits and television, she ran out of things to say. Susan told Aimee that Hatchet had bitten her that afternoon but that he hadn’t meant to as he’d only been playing. Aimee agreed Hatchet wasn’t to blame and remembered all the times he’d bitten her and how they’d made sure the social worker didn’t know. Susan seemed to finish the conversation quickly then; I guessed she was concerned at what else Aimee might remember and I would hear and pass on to the social worker. Susan told Aimee she’d see her the following evening at contact and they said goodbye.

As soon as I’d pressed ‘hands-free’ to sever the call Aimee clapped her hands over her ears so that she couldn’t hear the lecture about lying she thought I would give her. She needn’t have bothered, for I didn’t intend repeating myself by saying what I’d already said the previous evening, although I was sad Aimee had told her mother more untruths. I consoled myself that fortunately Aimee’s complaints were so ludicrous that if Susan did report me as she’d threatened, no one would take her seriously – or so I thought.

The following day after I’d taken Aimee to school I went straight home, with the intention of phoning Jill and advising her of the disclosures Aimee had made on Friday about Craig abusing her and being responsible for the bruises. Jill would then phone Kristen, who would contact the police.

It was 9.30 when I arrived home and, grabbing a coffee, I went through to the sitting room. I took my fostering folder from the shelf and, opening it, sat on the sofa with my coffee within reach, ready to make the call. But before I had a chance to key in the numbers the phone rang. It was Jill.

‘I was just about to phone you,’ I said.

‘I’m not surprised, after what Aimee has told her mother,’ Jill said, her voice serious. ‘It’s just as well you’re an experienced carer and we know you well or we would have been forced to remove the child.’

‘You’re not serious?’ I gasped, my mouth going dry and my heart starting to pound. ‘You’re never taking Susan’s complaints seriously?’

‘The complaints are coming from Aimee, through her mother, so we need to investigate. I know how that makes you feel, Cathy, but Susan has had kids in care for twenty-five years and she knows how the system works. She knows her rights and she knows which buttons to press to cause maximum trouble. She was on the phone to Kristen first thing this morning and Kristen’s manager has asked for some explanations.’

I was shocked and hurt. I’d assumed that Aimee’s/Susan’s complaints would be dismissed for what they were: an angry and upset mother and child making a desperate bid to be reunited. Now I was having to defend myself.

‘Let’s deal with the television first,’ Jill continued evenly. ‘Aimee has told her mother that you do not allow her to watch any of her favourite television programmes. Why?’

‘Jill!’ I said, my voice rising. ‘Her favourite programmes aren’t children’s programmes. They’re adult programmes which are shown late at night and not at all suitable for a child of eight.’ I then reeled off a list of programmes that Aimee had told me she’d regularly watched with her mother and were her favourites, all of which were unsuitable.

‘OK, slow down. I’m writing this,’ Jill said.

‘And Susan allowed Aimee to watch adult DVDs,’ I added, without pausing. ‘Bloody horror movies and ones portraying sado-masochistic sex!’

‘Susan didn’t mention DVDs.’

‘No, but I am.’

‘All right, calm down. I’ll make a note.’ Jill wrote while I took a deep breath and tried to control my anger. Not only were my honesty and integrity being called into account but so were my parenting and fostering skills. Of course Aimee could watch television, but only what was age appropriate. Young minds can so easily be damaged by watching cruel and violent images.

‘Now the food?’ Jill continued. ‘What’s causing Aimee so many problems?’

I took another deep breath. ‘Jill, as you know when Aimee was at home with her mother her diet consisted of dry toast and biscuits. She appears to be addicted to sweet things, especially biscuits, and demands them continuously. She’s used to eating a packet of biscuits at one sitting instead of a meal. I’m rationing her intake of sweet things and she has one or two biscuits after her meal.’ I stopped while Jill wrote.

‘And the meals you’re providing?’ Jill queried. ‘Aimee told her mother she doesn’t like the food and you’re forcing her to eat it.’

‘Jill! For goodness sake!’ I exclaimed. ‘You surely know me better than that. I’m giving Aimee the same meals I cook for the rest of us. I encourage her to eat them but I don’t force her!’ But to Aimee, who’d done exactly as she’d wanted to before coming into care and had never been asked to sit at a table and eat a meal, it could have seemed as though I was ‘forcing’ her.

‘Cathy, I’m sorry,’ Jill said, ‘but Aimee has made the complaint, so I have to ask the questions. Tell me exactly what you’ve given her to eat and then I can tell Kristen, who can reassure Susan.’

Silently fuming, I thought back and recalled what I’d given Aimee to eat since she’d arrived, and I told Jill. I also said that I’d told Aimee she could have a biscuit once she’d eaten her meal, and that although Aimee had moaned about the food on her plate, once she’d tried it she’d found she liked it and she hardly left anything.

‘Thanks,’ Jill said. She then went on to the next complaint, which was about washing – that I was forcing Aimee to get into the bath against her will.

‘I help her in,’ I said, ‘because she’s not used to a bath, having never had one at home.’ I then explained in detail how I ran the bath to the right temperature and helped Aimee climb in while Jill, on the other end of the phone, made notes. After that Jill moved on to the next complaint, which was that I was putting Aimee to bed very early, in the afternoon, and so the list continued. As patiently as I could I answered each allegation, explaining and justifying what I was doing to help Aimee. In all the years I’d worked with Jill it was the only time I’d been annoyed with her, and it crossed my mind that Susan had already succeeded in setting the professionals involved in her case against each other.

Some twenty minutes later Jill finally came to the end of her list. ‘Thank you, Cathy. I think that’s it,’ she said.

‘Fantastic,’ I said, not bothering to hide my sarcasm. ‘Can I now tell you why I was going to phone you?’

‘Sure, go ahead,’ Jill said lightly.

‘Aimee has been abused by her mother’s boyfriend, Craig. The bruises she has all over her body were caused by him.’

‘What!’ Jill exclaimed. ‘You should have said sooner.’

‘You didn’t give me a chance. You were too busy with Susan’s complaints.’

‘Point taken,’ she said. ‘So what exactly has Aimee told you?’

I looked down at the fostering folder in my lap and, opening it, was finally able to tell Jill of Aimee’s disclosures. I began by setting the scene, saying that Aimee had told me in the car after contact on Friday. I explained we’d been talking about Christmas when Aimee had said last Christmas hadn’t been nice for her. Using Aimee’s words, which I’d written down, I said that Aimee had told me she and her mother had stayed at Craig’s over Christmas and Craig had given her corned beef for dinner. When Aimee had said she didn’t like the food Craig had shouted at her, called her a rude bitch, then grabbed her by the throat and ‘belted me all over with his fist’. I continued with Aimee’s account of how Craig had killed kittens in front of her by breaking their necks.

I heard Jill gasp. ‘Susan said Aimee did that.’

‘I know.’

I then brought Aimee’s disclosures of abuse up to date by telling Jill that Aimee had said Craig had made all the bruises she now had by pinching her flesh between his thumb and forefinger.’

‘Bastard,’ Jill said. ‘The poor kid.’

‘When I first saw the bruises I thought there was something odd about them,’ I said. ‘Aimee said they were from falling over but they’re all the same size and shape. Now I know they were his thumb- and fingerprints and couldn’t possibly have been made by falling over. Aimee was scared of him, but now she knows she’s safe she felt able to tell me.’ My anger and upset about all the complaints Susan had made had gone now that I was focusing on Aimee and my concern for her.

‘But who is this Craig?’ Jill asked. ‘There was no mention of him in the referral, and I’m sure Kristen didn’t mention him, did she?’

‘No, not to me. Yet according to Aimee he’s been part of her and her mother’s life for up to two years – she remembers two Christmases with him.’

‘So why weren’t the social workers aware of him?’ Jill asked, thinking aloud. ‘They certainly should have been. Aimee was on the child protection register. She and her mother would have been monitored and regularly visited by social workers.’

‘I know,’ I said.

‘And Susan was aware he was abusing Aimee?’

‘Yes. She was present, for some of it at least.’

Jill fell silent before she said, ‘I’ll phone Kristen now. She’ll want to talk to you later. It will be a police matter. Can you email me a copy of your log notes and I’ll forward them to Kristen. I think all Susan’s complaining could be a “smokescreen” to cover up what’s really been going on.’

‘Pity Kristen’s manager didn’t think that,’ I said cynically.

‘Sorry, but we do have to investigate all complaints.’

‘I know.’

Jill and I said goodbye and I drank my now cold coffee, and then took my fostering folder through to the front room, where I switched on the computer. I was still annoyed and upset that Susan had been allowed to cause so much trouble, but I concentrated on typing up my log notes as Jill had asked. I was halfway through when the phone rang and, answering it, I recognized the female voice as Kristen’s.

‘I’m just typing up the log notes now,’ I said. ‘I should be finished in about ten minutes.’

‘Thank you. Jill’s just phoned and told me what Aimee said. But I’m sure Aimee is wrong. We’ve never heard of a Craig. I think Aimee is confusing Craig with her father, Shane. She’s made allegations about Shane in the past, although they were never substantiated.’

Now I was confused. ‘But the name Craig sounds nothing like Shane,’ I said. ‘And Aimee always refers to her father as Dad.’

‘I didn’t mean that Aimee is confusing the names,’ Kristen said, a little tersely. ‘I meant that she’s getting the incidents mixed up. She thinks it was Craig, who we’ve never heard of, who assaulted her, while it was really her father.’

‘Oh,’ I said, no less confused. ‘But Aimee was quite adamant that it was Craig. Why would she make him up?’

‘To protect her father? Or maybe her mother has put her up to it?’

It was possible, although I wasn’t convinced. Aimee had been very clear who her abuser had been. But I knew Kristen would want more than my belief in Aimee: she would want evidence. ‘Shall I talk to Aimee tonight after school and find out some more details?’ I asked.

‘Yes please. See if you can get a description of Craig, and ask her if she knows his surname and address. She says she stayed with him, so she might know his address or at least the area in which he lives. I’m not going to alert CP’ – the police child protection unit – ‘until I hear back from you.’

‘All right. I’ll speak to Aimee tonight, but I’d be very surprised if she is confusing Craig’s actions with her father’s,’ I persisted.

‘Cathy, she’s an eight-year-old girl who’s just come into care; it’s understandable if she is confused.’ I thought that Kristen was rather hoping this would be the case, for it would look very bad on the social services if Aimee had been abused by a man the social services weren’t aware of, while she’d been on the child protection register and being monitored by social workers who were supposed to keep her safe.

Kristen and I said goodbye and I returned to typing up my log notes, although my concentration kept wavering to the possibility that Aimee had made up Craig, in which case it would be difficult to know what to believe in future. Once I’d finished typing I emailed the document to Jill, who would keep a copy for her agency’s records and forward a copy to Kristen. With a bit of time to spare I stayed at the computer and put the finishing touches to a presentation I was giving the following week for prospective carers at an introduction to fostering evening. Since my own children had grown up and were largely self-sufficient I’d broadened my role in fostering. I sat on various committees connected with fostering and adoption; gave presentations to prospective carers; ran training courses for carers; and participated in a mentoring scheme that gave support and advice to other foster carers. I enjoyed all aspects of my role, although I was always a little nervous before going into a room and having to address a new group.