Another Forgotten Child (17 page)

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a hug and kiss goodnight?’ I asked, going back into the room.

‘Quite sure,’ she said. ‘But keep asking and one day I will.’ She smiled and her face lit up, just as an eight-year-old’s should.

‘Good. And when that day comes I’ll give you the biggest hug and kiss ever, and I’ll be so happy.’

‘Me too,’ Aimee said dreamily. ‘’Night, Cathy.’

‘Goodnight, love.’

Chapter Fifteen

Quiet and Withdrawn

Jill phoned on Friday afternoon and asked if I’d heard yet from Aimee’s new social worker. I said I hadn’t heard anything, so Jill said she’d phone the social services on Monday, speak to someone in the children in care team and find out who was taking over. She then asked if Aimee had given me any feedback on the interview she’d had with DC Nicki Davies the day before. I said she hadn’t, other than telling me she’d seen Kristen and a ‘strange lady’ who had asked her questions she didn’t know the answers to. Jill laughed at the ‘strange lady’ but, like me, was concerned the interview might not have been very productive. She then said she’d spoken to Kristen before the interview and told her what Aimee had said about visiting drug dens with her mother, and that it was possible Susan could have been under the influence of drugs while at contact. Kristen had said she wouldn’t have time to look into it now as she was leaving the case after the child protection interview, but she would leave a note on the file for the next social worker.

‘And did you have a chance to ask Kristen to speak to Susan about trying to control her anger towards me?’ I asked.

‘I did,’ Jill said. ‘And Kristen said she’d try to raise it with Susan before she passed on the case.’

‘Fantastic,’ I said. ‘Because I think another complaint from Susan will soon be on its way. We couldn’t get through for phone contact last night, despite trying four times.’

‘Oh dear,’ Jill said, sighing. ‘Fingers crossed Susan takes on board what Kristen tells her.’ But I could hear the scepticism in Jill’s voice.

As usual I didn’t see Susan at the start of contact that Friday afternoon, as she was already in the contact room, but at the end of contact she came out with Aimee and the contact supervisor, and as usual she was furious. Not only because we hadn’t phoned – ‘She won’t let my daughter speak to me!’ – but also because I was ‘forcing’ Aimee to wash, brush her teeth and hair, being ‘horrible to her’ and making up lies about Susan to the police. I was slightly surprised by this last reference – to the police – but I suspected it was in some way connected to the interview Aimee had had with DC Nicki Davies, but I didn’t know how or what I was supposed to have said. I hadn’t been at the interview and hadn’t spoken to Nicki Davies or any other police officer. Perhaps Susan was referring to the fact that I’d reported Aimee’s disclosures about Craig abusing her in the first place. Susan didn’t elaborate on this point and continued with her diatribe of largely illogical complaints, so that again I was forced to stand in reception at the family centre and listen to a torrent of abuse, while the contact supervisor stood by watching. Sometimes contact supervisors intervene if a foster carer is facing a difficult parent and try to calm the parent, thereby offering some support to the foster carer, but more often, wanting to stay on the good side of the parent, whom they have to see regularly at contact, they say nothing. There was no sign of the centre’s manager who had intervened before and there was no sign of Susan relenting. I thought this could go on all night.

Eventually I’d had as much as I could take and said to the contact supervisor: ‘We need to go,’ Then to Aimee: ‘Say goodbye to your mother, please. Good girl, then we can go home.’

‘No! Shan’t!’ said Aimee rudely.

I looked at the contact supervisor. ‘I think it’s best if I wait outside in my car and you bring Aimee out to me,’ I said.

‘You can’t do that,’ the contact supervisor said. ‘You’re supposed to collect the child from inside the centre.’

‘So tell me how I can do that?’ I asked, not bothering to hide my irritation.

The contact supervisor looked very uncomfortable and then looked at Susan. ‘Do you think we might –’ she began, but didn’t get any further.

‘Don’t you start!’ Susan said, rounding on her. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing writing down that I was on drugs at contact?’ Which I thought was interesting. This wasn’t the same supervisor who’d supervised the contact on Wednesday, when Susan appeared to be withdrawing from drugs, so it appeared there’d been another occasion when this supervisor had spotted signs of drugs in Susan.

The contact supervisor looked more uncomfortable, but said nothing.

‘Aimee, say goodbye to your mother,’ I tried one last time.

‘No,’ Aimee said defiantly.

‘I’ll be waiting in the car,’ I said to the supervisor, and turning, I left the centre.

I went down the path and to my car, where I got in and closed the door. My heart was racing and my breath was coming fast and shallow; I was stressed and upset. I’d never given up on a child before but I couldn’t put up with this three times a week, every week for a year. Susan had played a game of having her older children repeatedly moved from foster carer to foster carer and I could see how it had happened. I was someone who avoided confrontation and I prided myself on usually being able to establish a good working relationship with the parent(s) of the child I was fostering, but Susan was impossible to deal with. Unless I got some support from the contact supervisors I could see a point coming in the not too distant future where I would have had enough.

Thirty minutes later, after the family centre had officially closed for the day, the contact supervisor finally appeared with Aimee. Susan wasn’t in sight. I got out of the car and opened the rear door so that Aimee could get in. She didn’t look at me but I could see that her eyes were red from crying. I didn’t know if there was a specific reason for her crying or if she was just upset, and the contact supervisor didn’t tell me. Indeed the supervisor treated me very coolly. Having brought Aimee to the car she turned and went back into the centre without even saying goodbye. Perhaps she blamed me for leaving her to Susan’s rage, but she had her manager and the other centre staff to look out for her while I just had me.

‘Are you OK?’ I now asked Aimee as I leant in and checked her seatbelt.

She nodded and sniffed. I put my hand lightly on her shoulder to comfort her but she pulled away. Closing her car door, I went round and climbed in the driver’s seat, and began the drive home. Aimee didn’t speak during the journey and every so often I glanced in the rear-view mirror and asked her if she was all right, to which she gave a small nod. But as I pulled up outside our house she broke her silence and said: ‘I don’t want dinner. I’ve got tummy ache.’

I guessed it was a result of the upset at contact. I knew how she felt; my stomach was still in a tight knot.

‘I want to go to bed,’ she added plaintively.

Cutting the engine, I turned in my seat to look at her. She looked very sad and withdrawn, almost depressed. ‘Aimee,’ I said with a reassuring smile. ‘When children first come into care it’s always very difficult for everyone, but it does get better, I promise you. Very soon you and your mum will be in the routine of seeing each other at contact and having a nice time and then saying goodbye. Your mum will be less angry and it will get easier for both of you, and me. I’ve looked after many children and know this always happens.’ This was true, although I did wonder if this would happen with Susan.

‘So please try not to worry,’ I continued, trying to give Aimee the reassurance she so badly needed. ‘Enjoy the time you spend with your mum at contact and then enjoy your time at home with me. It’s Saturday tomorrow and I’m planning on taking you to the cinema. Have you ever been to the cinema before?’

Aimee shook her head. ‘No.’

‘You’ll love it. A film called
Madagascar
is showing. It’s a lovely cartoon film about animals who run away from a zoo and have lots of adventures. We’ll have some sweets and popcorn too.’

Aimee’s face finally lost its downcast expression and lit up, although I suspected it was more because of the promise of sweets and popcorn than anything else I’d said.

‘Cor,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve heard the kids at school say they’ve been to the cinema and had sweets and popcorn. Now I’ll be able to say I have too.’

I smiled. ‘Yes, you will. You’ll be able to join in.’ Here was another sad indication of the life Aimee had lived: that she’d reached the age of eight without ever going to the cinema. True, it wasn’t life-threatening neglect or abuse but in a developed society it’s reasonable for a child to benefit from what society has to offer and share similar experiences to those of their peer group.

‘We’ll have a great time,’ I said.

‘Yes, we will,’ Aimee agreed, brightening. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

* * *

That evening Aimee was exhausted; it was the end of the week and I also suspected she was emotionally exhausted from the ups and downs of seeing her mother. She did eat dinner, and with virtually no complaints, and was too tired to object to having a wash and brushing her teeth, which made the bedtime routine a lot easier. Once she was in her pyjamas I saw her into bed, and I said she could sleep in the following morning, as we didn’t have to get up early for school.

‘Good,’ she sighed, snuggling beneath the duvet. ‘I’ll have a long, long sleep. I like my bed here. It’s nice and warm and comfortable. Not like that smelly mattress at home.’

I smiled and tucked her in. ‘I’m pleased you like your bed,’ I said. ‘Would you like a goodnight kiss and a hug?’

Her face wrinkled to a cheeky grin. ‘No thank you, but keep asking.’

‘I will.’

That evening, as usual, once I’d finished clearing up I wrote up my log notes, including the scene that had taken place at contact. As I wrote I felt the heaviness of what had happened descend on me again – Susan’s anger and Aimee’s upset. Goodness knew what thoughts went through Aimee’s head when she was alone in bed at night and ran through the day’s events. Because of the distance she was keeping between us she didn’t share her fears and worries with me, as other children I’d fostered had, and as far as I knew she didn’t share them with anyone else, so they were ‘bottled up’. Aimee didn’t have face-to-face contact over the weekend, but she did have phone contact, and I dearly hoped Susan wouldn’t use it as a vehicle for making more trouble. I was looking forward to a pleasant and relaxing weekend.

The following morning we all had a lie-in and then once up I cooked a full English breakfast, which was a weekend tradition in our house: eggs, bacon, sausage, tomatoes and fried bread. Adrian, my son who was away at university, telephoned during the morning and said he was up in the Lake District with a couple of his friends for the weekend. Their return journey, the following day, would take them within a few miles of our house and he was thinking of stopping by to see us – was that OK?

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘We’ll look forward to it. Do you all want dinner?’

‘Yes please. It’ll give me a chance to meet Aimee too.’

‘Yes,’ I said, hesitantly. ‘It will. But you’d better explain to your friends that Aimee hasn’t been with us long and is still settling in.’

Adrian gave a small laugh. ‘OK, Mum, but don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll be on her best behaviour.’

‘Hopefully,’ I said.

As soon as Adrian and I had finished talking on the phone and having said goodbye, I went through to the kitchen to make sure there was enough food in the fridge for the weekend. Three big lads would need feeding well and I took a large joint of meat out of the freezer to defrost. I then told Lucy and Paula that Adrian would be stopping by with a couple of friends for Sunday dinner and they were pleased. I also told them I was planning to take Aimee to the cinema that afternoon for the five o’clock performance of
Madagascar
and, never too old for animated cartoons, they both wanted to come too.

When I told Aimee that Adrian and two of his friends were coming on Sunday she said, ‘Oh goody. Lots of men, just like at my mum’s.’

‘I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing.’ She shook her head and refused to say any more.

I also told Aimee that Lucy and Paula were coming with us to the cinema. ‘Are Adrian and his friends coming too?’ Aimee asked with no conception of time.

‘No, they are coming tomorrow – Sunday. Today is Saturday, and we are going to the cinema.’ As I’d done previously with Aimee (and also other children I’d fostered who’d struggled to understand time and the days of the week) I pointed to the large colourful children’s calendar pinned to the wall in the kitchen.

‘Here is today,’ I said, pointing to Saturday on the calendar. ‘And here is tomorrow, Sunday. Sunday is after one sleep. We are going to the cinema today, and tomorrow, after one sleep, Adrian and his friends are coming.’

‘And how many sleeps to school again?’ Aimee sensibly asked.

‘Two – tonight and tomorrow.’

She nodded and I think she understood.

Aimee was thrilled to have Lucy and Paula accompany us to the cinema and wanted to sit between them to watch the film, which was fine with them. I’d already explained to Aimee what would happen in the cinema – how we’d sit in a row of chairs with other people and the lights would go down and then the film would come on a very big screen, much bigger than the television. But when the lights dimmed and the cinema darkened Aimee squealed and grabbed the girls’ arms, which sent popcorn everywhere. ‘Don’t worry,’ I laughed. ‘It’s an occupational hazard at the cinema. You’ve got plenty more.’

The four of us had a nice afternoon and we all enjoyed the film (and the sweets and popcorn); the only downside for me was the thought of the phone call I had to make when we got home. We’d be phoning Susan a bit later than usual – I estimated we’d be home from the cinema at about seven o’clock, and we’d phone straightaway. We usually phoned between six and 6.30, so it wasn’t much later than normal and I (naively) hoped Susan wouldn’t object, as her daughter had benefited from going to the cinema.