Another Forgotten Child (23 page)

Aimee responded to Dr Patel’s forthright but friendly manner by immediately standing, leaving the toy box, and coming to her side. The doctor took an otoscope from her pocket and first looked in Aimee’s ears. Then she shone a penlight in her eyes, and looked in her mouth. ‘Good girl,’ she said to Aimee. Then to me, ‘She’s seeing a dentist?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Let’s check your vision now, Aimee.’

The doctor positioned Aimee to stand some distance away from the Snellen eye chart that was fixed to the wall. She then asked Aimee to read the letters, which decreased in size, starting with the top line.

‘Aimee doesn’t know all her letters yet,’ I said, realizing that not recognizing the letter shapes could be mistaken for Aimee not being able to see them.

‘Don’t worry,’ Dr Patel said to Aimee. ‘Start at the top line and read as many as you can.’

Aimee read what she could from each row and recognized a sufficient number of letters for the doctor to be able to confirm her eyesight was good.

‘Excellent,’ Dr Patel said, making a note on the forms. ‘Now I want you to pop up on to the couch so I can examine you.’

Aimee did as she was asked and clambered on to the couch as the doctor took a stethoscope from her desk drawer. She then crossed to the couch, where Aimee lay flat on her back, and began by checking Aimee’s reflexes on her legs. Then she looked at the skin on her legs and her arms and finally lifted Aimee’s jumper and listened to her chest. ‘Good girl,’ she said. ‘Now let’s sit you up so I can listen to your back.’

Aimee sat forward and the doctor put the stethoscope on various places on Aimee’s back. ‘All fine,’ she said. ‘Lie flat again, please, and I’ll have a feel of your tummy.’

Aimee obligingly lay down and, using the palm of her hands, Dr Patel felt all over her abdomen. Aimee was very good throughout the process and lay still and watched the doctor.

‘Good girl, you can get down now,’ Dr Patel said, helping Aimee to sit up and then climb off the couch.

Aimee grinned. ‘Was I good?’

‘You were,’ the doctor and I said.

Aimee returned to the toy box as the doctor once again sat at her desk. ‘Everything is fine,’ she said to me, filling in the medical form. ‘There aren’t any obvious signs of vitamin deficiency, although Aimee is overweight for a child of her age and height. Keep doing what you have been doing and I am sure that will sort itself out.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, reassured. Then to Aimee, who I knew had been listening: ‘That’s good news, isn’t it?’

‘Does that mean I can have more sweets?’ Aimee asked, seizing the opportunity.

‘No,’ Dr Patel said firmly. ‘You’ve had too many sweets in the past. Do as Cathy says and you’ll stay healthy.’

It was 11.20 when Aimee and I left the clinic; we’d been inside for nearly two hours. ‘You’ll arrive at school just in time for your lunch,’ I said to Aimee as we got into the car.

‘Good. I’m hungry,’ Aimee said.

As I drove to school my thoughts returned to Dr Patel’s comments about the possibility of Susan and therefore Aimee carrying the HIV virus. Susan was dreadfully thin and I’d often thought she looked ill; in fact if I was honest she looked as though she could actually have AIDS. I would ask the social services if Aimee or her mother had been tested for HIV as Dr Patel had advised, but whatever the outcome I would still look after Aimee. What Dr Patel perhaps didn’t realize was that over half the children coming into care came from backgrounds where one or both parents had been drug users, so most children could be considered ‘high risk’. The social services often didn’t know if the parents or the child had had an HIV test, and if they did know they rarely told the foster carer. Informing foster carers of these test results remains a contentious issue and is usually avoided by the social services, so the foster carer just gets on with looking after the child and tries to remember to practise safer caring.

I took Aimee into school and returned to my car with the intention of stopping off at the social services’ offices on the way home to deliver in person the consent form I needed signing for Aimee’s dental treatment. The social services’ offices were only five minutes out of my way and if I hand-delivered the form it would be signed sooner than if I sent it through the post. Aimee needed to have the fillings as soon as possible. I’d put the form in an envelope before I’d left home and it was in my handbag.

I pulled into the council office car park and parked in one of the visitor bays at the front of the building. I cut the engine and was about to open my car door and get out when I heard a loud bark which sent a shiver down my spine. Was I being paranoid or had I heard something familiar in the bark? I looked through the windscreen, over to where the bark had come from, and saw Susan coming out of the main entrance of the building and go to the cycle rack, where Hatchet was tethered. The dog barked loudly, pleased to see her, but not half as pleased as I was that I was still in the car and hadn’t met her or the dog on the way in. I stayed in my car until she and Hatchet had left the area and were out of sight before I went inside. I assumed Susan had had some business with one of the departments in the council building – the social services or housing, for example.

At the reception desk I showed the receptionist my foster carer ID badge and explained that I wanted to leave a letter for the social worker of the child I was fostering. ‘Her name is Beth,’ I said, showing her the envelope on which I’d written ‘Beth’. ‘But I don’t know her surname,’ I said. ‘She’s an agency social worker.’

The receptionist checked on a printed list beside her keyboard. ‘Beth Ridgeway,’ she said.

‘Thank you.’ Using the pen on the desk, I wrote ‘Ridgeway’ on the envelope after ‘Beth’, and passed the envelope to the receptionist.

‘I’ll make sure she gets it,’ the receptionist said.

‘Thank you.’

I came out and returned to my car.

The reason Susan had been in the council officers was about to become clear, for as I climbed into my car my mobile rang and it was Beth phoning from inside the building. ‘Susan has just been in to see me,’ Beth said, sounding stressed, and not aware I was outside. ‘She’s very upset that you didn’t let Aimee phone her last night. She’s told her solicitor and she’s threatening court action.’

Ridiculous! I thought but didn’t say. ‘I didn’t stop Aimee from phoning,’ I said. ‘I forgot. We’d been to the dentist and then Aimee disclosed sexual abuse. There was such a lot going on I forgot.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Beth said as though she had believed I’d intentionally not let Aimee phone her mother. ‘I’ll tell Susan it was an oversight on your part, but can you try not to forget to phone her in future?’ Which was clearly a daft request, for I hadn’t intentionally forgotten.

‘I won’t forget again,’ I said, giving Beth the reassurance she needed to hear. ‘I’ve just come out of your building. I’m in the car park. I’ve left the consent form for Aimee’s dental treatment at reception. Could you sign it now and I’ll come back in and collect it?’

There was a pause. ‘I think I need to ask Susan first if she would like to sign it.’ Which I knew was considered good social work practice but would cause delay.

‘The sooner Aimee has the treatment the better,’ I said. ‘The fillings she needs are in her second teeth, so they don’t want to decay any longer.’

‘I understand,’ Beth said. ‘I received your email in respect of what Aimee said about the man who supposedly sexually abused her. I told Susan when she came in and she denies it ever happened. She says Aimee is lying.’

‘Well, she would, wouldn’t she? I mean, it’s not going to help her case if Aimee was abused while she was asleep on the sofa.’ I thought that perhaps Beth was new to social work and therefore inexperienced, and perhaps a little naive.

‘I’ll have to talk to my manager,’ Beth said. ‘It can be very traumatic for a child to be interviewed by the police.’

‘I could help prepare Aimee,’ I said. ‘And she knows Nicki Davies from when she was interviewed before.’

‘Who?’ Beth asked. ‘What interview?’ So I guessed that, like most temporary agency social workers, Beth hadn’t familiarized herself with her cases.

‘DC Nicki Davies is the child protection police officer who has interviewed Aimee before – twice to my knowledge.’

‘I’ll speak to my manager,’ Beth said again. And was about to wind up the conversation.

‘Before you go,’ I said, ‘there is one more thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Aimee had her medical this morning and the paediatrician asked me if Aimee or her parents had ever had a test for HIV. I said I didn’t know. Do you know?’

‘No.’

‘Would you look on the file and tell me if a test has been done and the result?’

‘It’s usually considered confidential information, but I’ll ask my manager.’

‘Thank you.’

At least I’d raised the matter.

That evening Aimee had contact after school and as usual I took her into the centre at the start of contact; then the new arrangements were to apply at the end of contact, when I was to wait in the car for the supervisor to bring Aimee out. But when I returned to the centre to collect Aimee, to my surprise a dog that looked remarkably like Hatchet was tethered to the railings outside. If it was Hatchet I thought that two sightings in one day was too much of a coincidence and I wondered how he had got there. Hatchet hadn’t been there at the start of contact, and that he was tethered suggested someone had put him there, after contact had begun, for I doubted he could have tied himself to the railings.

The dog’s identity was confirmed when Aimee appeared from the centre with the contact supervisor and without Susan. Recognizing Aimee, Hatchet barked and jumped up. Aimee went over and stroked him before the supervisor brought her to my car.

‘How did Hatchet get here?’ I asked Aimee once she was in the car.

‘Craig brought him,’ Aimee said, pulling a face at the mention of Craig’s name. ‘So Mum didn’t have to walk home alone in the dark.’ Which seemed a thoughtful gesture but one that didn’t quite fit the picture I had of Craig.

‘Did you see Craig?’ I asked as I drove.

‘Ugh, no! I don’t want to see him. He’s horrible. A lady at the centre came into the room and told Mum Craig had left Hatchet outside.’

‘I see,’ I said.

Then a few minutes later Aimee said: ‘I don’t like Craig using my dog to scare people.’

‘Who does he scare?’ I asked.

‘People who haven’t paid him for drugs. Mum always lets him use Hatchet but I’ve told her not to.’

‘Hatchet bites, then?’

‘Only when Craig winds him up. Craig trained Hatchet to bite when he tells him to. But he doesn’t bite me.’

‘Good. But why was Hatchet at the family centre tonight?’ I asked, puzzled.

‘To scare you, I guess,’ Aimee said easily.

‘Why does Craig want to scare me?’ I asked, glancing at Aimee in the rear-view mirror.

‘When I was at home, Craig told Mum if I was taken into care he’d set the dog on the social worker and the foster carer.’

I returned my attention to the front and tried to concentrate on driving home.

The following day Beth phoned to say she’d signed the medical consent form for Aimee’s dental treatment, so I could go ahead and book the appointment. ‘Shall I put the form in the post or do you want to collect it?’ she asked.

I was impressed by her efficiency. ‘I’ll collect it,’ I said. ‘Thank you for dealing with it so quickly.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Beth said. ‘Susan refused to sign the form, so I asked my manager what I should do and he told me to sign it.’

‘Why did Susan refuse to sign it?’ I asked. ‘The treatment is for Aimee’s good.’

‘She said fillings would hurt Aimee and Aimee would blame her. I tried to explain that as parents we sometimes have to make difficult decisions for the benefit of our children, but she just didn’t get it. I guess she never did, which is why Aimee is in care.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed reflectively. ‘It’s not always easy being a parent.’

On Friday morning the Guardian ad Litem, or Guardian, as such people are referred to, was due to visit at 11.30. The Guardian is a qualified social worker who is appointed by the court in childcare proceedings for the duration of the case. He or she is independent of the social services and, with access to all the files, would be able to answer my questions, the first being why hadn’t Aimee been brought into care sooner?

The Guardian’s name was Eva and she arrived exactly on time and accepted my offer of coffee. Middle-aged, she had a warm but efficient manner, as most Guardians have. Eva thanked me for seeing her, admired my house, and then chatted lightly about the weather while I made the coffee. Once we were settled in the sitting room with coffee and biscuits, I asked the question: ‘Why was Aimee left at home for so long?’

‘I don’t know,’ Eva said. ‘I was going to ask you the same question. I was shocked when I read the referral. It seems Aimee was forgotten.’

Chapter Twenty

‘Father Christmas Didn’t Come to My House’

‘I haven’t seen all the social services files yet,’ Eva explained. ‘I’ve requested them but they are with a manager. I hope to have them soon. When I’ve read the files I’ll let you know the reason why Aimee wasn’t brought into care sooner, if there is one.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘It’s a question everyone is asking. Even Kristen, the social worker who was responsible for bringing Aimee into care, couldn’t understand why Aimee had been left at home for so long. Especially when she was on the child protection register at birth. Why didn’t someone notice what was going on?’

‘I agree, it’s shocking – more so when you consider the older children were all taken into care years ago. Obviously no one wants to see a family split up but there comes a point when the parents have been given sufficient chances to put their lives right and you have to say enough is enough and put the children first. Early intervention can and does save lives. It can give children a fresh start, but from what I’ve read so far Susan had a very bad start in life too. Did you know that?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ I said.

Eva nodded. ‘She was badly abused, sexually abused, from the age of five, through to her teenage years. She finally ran away from home at the age of fourteen and ended up living on the streets, where she was picked up by a pimp. He introduced her to drugs, as they do, got her hooked, and set her to work as a prostitute in exchange for the drugs she quickly got addicted to. I dread to think what life she led with him, which of course scarred her for life.’