I Miss Mummy (4 page)

A
lice was very quiet at breakfast, which was hardly surprising, given the unfamiliarity of everyone and everything around her. Between the children and me we’d managed to coax from her that she’d like cornflakes for breakfast, ‘Like I have at my nana’s,’ she said. Relieved that I could give her some continuity, even if it was only breakfast, I’d tipped cornflakes into a child’s china bowl decorated with Beatrix Potter characters, added milk and a sprinkling of sugar, and joined the rest of the family at the table. I’d had to rummage in the cupboard under the stairs for the child booster seat which Alice now sat on so she could reach the table – it was some time since we’d fostered a child as young as Alice. Now she sat at the table at the right height with her spoon resting in the untouched bowl of cornflakes and stared at us in amazement.

I was sitting next to Alice and as I ate my breakfast I encouraged Alice to eat hers. I filled the spoon with cornflakes and left it on the edge of the bowl for her to put it into her mouth – she was too old to be fed as a
baby or toddler. But invariably the spoon never left the bowl; or if it did it stopped en route to her mouth; or when she did manage a mouthful, she chewed for so long she almost forgot what she was doing. Alice, bless her, was mesmerized by us, overwhelmed and in a complete daze. She hardly took her eyes from Adrian, who was sitting diagonally opposite her. He had eaten three wheat biscuits, and was now on his second slice of toast and jam.

‘Perhaps you could encourage Alice to eat?’ I said quietly to him across the table.

Adrian looked at Alice and smiled kindly. ‘Come on Alice, eat up. You want to be a big strong girl, don’t you?’

Alice’s eyes characteristically widened and she continued to stare at Adrian, mesmerized, the spoon still resting on the bowl. ‘Come on, eat up,’ he tried again. ‘I’m winning.’

Alice grinned at Adrian, which I supposed was something, but her spoon lay untouched. Presently I filled it and then, with her holding the end of the spoon, I guided it to her lips. I was sure, as I had been previously about Alice knowing how to dress herself, that she had these skills but was simply overawed. Breakfast was therefore very slow and piecemeal. Adrian and Paula finished and left the table to get ready for school, which left Lucy sitting opposite Alice, and me at Alice’s side. Ironically, it was Lucy, whose eating I had grave concerns about, who finally persuaded Alice to eat her cornflakes.

‘Let’s eat our cereal together,’ Lucy said gently, smiling at Alice from across the table. ‘Do what I do, and copy
me. Dip your spoon into your bowl, like this,’ she said, showing her. ‘Now scoop up the biggest spoonful ever, and pop it in!’

Alice laughed, and then to my great relief she followed Lucy’s example with a spoonful of her own. Five minutes later both bowls were empty.

I thanked Lucy as we left the table. ‘Well done, love. That was a great idea.’ But I thought I should also have thanked Alice, for it was the first time since Lucy had arrived that she’d eaten all her breakfast!

Alice and I waved Adrian, Lucy and Paula off to school at the door; then I told Alice we would go upstairs and I would help her have a wash and brush her teeth. I’d already found a new child’s toothbrush, face flannel and towel in my emergency supply and had placed them in the bathroom, ready; but as at breakfast Alice was too mesmerized by her new surroundings to do anything other than stand and gaze at everything in the bathroom, including me. I washed her face and hands, brushed her teeth and then brushed her hair, which was chin length and very clean and shiny. All the time I talked to Alice, explaining what I was doing and reassuring her: ‘This is your towel; I’ll hang it on the rail next to mine. We’ll put your toothbrush in the glass here. Now we’ll go downstairs…’ and so on.

Although Alice didn’t say much I could tell she was taking it all in. Her gaze alighted on everything I pointed out or mentioned, and after a while I began to sense she was feeling more comfortable with me. Her little hand, which she’d tucked into mine, relaxed and
she seemed to be less tense. Downstairs, I left the clearing up from breakfast for later and steered Alice into the sitting room. ‘Would you like a story?’ I asked. She nodded. I showed her to the bookshelves, where the children’s books are kept on the lower shelves within reach. ‘Choose some books,’ I encouraged.

Alice spent a few minutes squatted down, going through the books, before selecting three –
The Very Hungry Caterpillar
and two books about teddy bears. We sat on the sofa and Alice immediately snuggled into my side, ready for the story. I put my arm around her and felt her head gently pressing against me, completely relaxed.

‘Did Nana and Grandpa read you stories?’ I asked, as I opened the first book.

Alice nodded. ‘I like stories.’

I smiled. ‘Good, because I like reading stories too. So do Adrian, Paula and Lucy.’

I read the first book about bears with Alice sitting very still and quiet, apparently engrossed in the story as I turned the pages, but as I finished and closed the book she said, ‘Can I see my nana soon?’ So I wasn’t sure what she’d been thinking about.

‘I hope so, love,’ I said. ‘Your social worker should phone me today and tell me when you are seeing them. Do you know Martha, your social worker?’

Alice nodded. ‘Not that man last night?’

‘No, he brought you to me because it was very late and Martha wasn’t at work. I’m sure it will be Martha who phones us later.’

‘I don’t like Martha,’ Alice said quietly.

‘Oh?’ I looked at her. ‘Why?’

‘She made my nana cry. She told her I’d have to go into care and my nana was very upset.’ Although Alice spoke quietly, now that she was talking more I could hear just how good her diction was. She pronounced her words clearly, as a much older child would, and was fluent, suggesting someone had spent a lot of time talking to her.

‘Well, you’re in care now,’ I said gently, ‘and it’s not so bad, although I understand why your nana was upset. I should be meeting Nana soon, so I’ll be able to reassure her and tell her you are fine; then she won’t be upset.’ I assumed I would be meeting Alice’s grandparents – either at contact or at the placement meeting (the meeting held within five days of a child coming into care). It is usual for a foster carer to meet the child’s family or main carer and I was expecting Martha to phone later with the details.

‘I love Nana and Grandpa,’ Alice said, reluctant to let go of the subject and listen to another story.

‘I know, pet, and they love you, lots. It’s just that the social worker felt it was better for you to come into foster care for now.’ And I thought for goodness’ sake don’t ask me why, because I’ve no idea.

‘I wanted to stay with Nana and Grandpa,’ Alice said. ‘I was upset when Mummy took me away, but I love her too.’

I hugged her. Then I thought that, as Alice had touched on the subject of her mother taking her from her grandparents, and was now clearly more at ease talking to me, I could ask her what I knew the social
worker and all the other professionals connected with the Alice’s case would eventually want to know.

‘Alice, love,’ I said, ‘you remember when Mummy took you from Nana’s a few days ago, before you came here?’ She nodded. ‘Where did Mummy take you? Do you remember?’

Alice snuggled closer into my side and tucked her arms under mine, as though seeking reassurance. ‘To McDonald’s and the shops,’ she said, ‘then to Mummy’s friend.’

‘And where did you sleep at night?’

‘With the wolves,’ she said, and shivered. ‘I was very frightened. It was dark and I didn’t want to see the wolves. They made a horrible noise at night.’

Now, whereas I usually believe what children tell me until it is proved differently, and while I knew Alice was trying to tell me something, I also knew she hadn’t slept with wolves. We don’t normally have wolves roaming the UK and the nearest zoo – over an hour drive away – didn’t have wolves, and even if it had I was sure they wouldn’t have just let them loose.

‘Wolves?’ I asked gently. ‘Can you tell me what they looked like?’

‘I didn’t see them. I heard them bark. Mummy said they weren’t dogs but like wolves. She told me what they were called but I forgot.’

‘Alice,’ I said, looking at her. ‘Did your mummy call them foxes?’

‘Yes. That was the name. It was so dark and I could hear them bark. I was very scared.’

‘I’m sure you were, love.’ I felt my heart start to race as I realized what Alice could be trying to tell me. ‘Alice,
when you heard the foxes at night, were you in a house or outside in the open?’

‘Outside,’ she said. ‘It was very dark and I’m frightened of the dark.’

Dear God, I thought, surely not? ‘Alice, did you sleep outside at night?’

She nodded. ‘I was tired and it was cold. I couldn’t sleep, I was so frightened.’

I hid my shock as Alice snuggled even closer into my side at the recollection. ‘Do you know how many nights you were outside?’

‘Three,’ she said without hesitation.

‘How do you know it was three?’ I asked, for I would have thought that at her age, and with the trauma of it all, she wouldn’t have known precisely.

‘Mummy cried and said we had slept outside for three nights and she couldn’t do it any more. It wasn’t fair on me. She said she would take me back.’

‘And that’s what happened?’

Alice gave a little nod. ‘Mummy phoned Mike and he came and got us in his car and I fell asleep in the back.’

‘Who’s Mike?’

‘Uncle Mike is Mummy’s friend.’

‘I understand. So what happened after that? When you woke up? Do you remember?’

Alice gave a little nod and her face clouded. ‘When I woke up Mummy and Uncle Mike had gone and I was with the policemen.’ Which fitted in with what I knew of Alice being taken to the police station late on Sunday evening.

‘It’s all right, love.’ I held her close.

Alice’s account had a nasty ring of truth and I was almost convinced she was telling me the truth,. Almost, for I couldn’t believe a mother would sleep out in the open for three nights when the temperature had been down to two degrees centigrade, as it had for the last few nights. Was it possible Alice had seen something similar on television? Or maybe someone had put her up to saying this, although I couldn’t imagine who or why.

‘You must have been very brave,’ I said. ‘It’s not right for a child to stay out all night.’

‘I had my coat on and Mummy cuddled me,’ Alice said, almost defending her mother. I remembered the dried mud I’d seen on Alice’s otherwise new, clean coat.

‘Still, it’s not right and you won’t ever be sleeping outside again,’ I reassured her, as this was not necessarily obvious to Alice if she’d done so for three nights. ‘Alice, do you know where it was you slept for those nights?’ I was guessing she wouldn’t know, but she nodded.

‘In the hide at the quarry,’ she said clearly.

I felt my heart lurch. I knew exactly where she meant. A couple of miles away there is a disused quarry which, some years before, had been filled with water and turned into a nature reserve. Anglers, with a permit, were allowed to fish in it during the day, and part of the surrounding land had been made into a bird sanctuary with a hide for watching the birds. The hide was no more than a wooden shack with small openings in one side, through which you could observe the birds. While it had a roof on it, the cold wind ripped through the
observation slits and there was no door. I’d taken the children up there one bright spring morning the year before to watch the birds nesting and it had been cold even then. However, while all this was true – there was a quarry with a hide – I also knew that since vandals had got in and terrorized the nesting birds the area had been patrolled by security at night.

I looked at Alice and wondered: could she have made it all up? Would a mother really take her child up to that cold, remote spot to sleep for three nights? I supposed she might if she was unstable, or desperate, or both. Then, as though hearing my doubts, Alice looked up at me and said, ‘We lay on the benches in the hide, but I couldn’t sleep. The benches were too hard. And when the man came with his torch, we had to lie on the floor, under the benches, and keep very still until he went away.’ At that point I knew Alice was telling the truth, for there was no other way she could have known and described in such detail the night security patrol unless she’d been there at night.

‘
S
natched from her nana! On the run for four days, and three nights sleeping at the quarry! It’s a wonder she’s not more traumatized than she is,’ I said. ‘Alice is quiet, but not obviously disturbed.’

‘It might come out later,’ Jill warned. ‘The poor child must have been petrified. But you say she’s been well cared for?’

‘She appears to have been. She hasn’t got any of her own possessions with her, but what she was wearing was new and clean. Her hair has been well looked after and she seems very bright, although naturally she’s still wary of us. When Alice talks she has a wide vocabulary and she’s very polite. The grandparents’ influence, I expect.’ It was 9.45 a.m. on Monday and Jill, my link worker from the fostering agency, had phoned for an update. I’d been doing most of the talking.

‘Martha should be in touch soon,’ Jill said. ‘I haven’t had any more information. Have you?’

‘No. The duty social worker who placed Alice didn’t have the paperwork. I guess Martha will bring the essential information forms when she visits.’

‘I’ll phone her when we’ve finished and remind her. If possible I’d like to be there when Martha visits to check and sign the placement forms.’ Jill paused. ‘Cathy, the duty social worker who placed Alice?’

‘Yes?’

‘Was there a problem?’

‘What do you mean, “problem?” He was a bit rude on the phone. I think he was stressed. He said he was the only one on duty on Sunday night for the whole of the area.’

Jill paused again, as though uneasy about what she had to say. ‘Unfortunately, Cathy, he’s put in a complaint about you.’

‘What?’

‘I’m sorry, but apparently the police were concerned that Alice was left at the police station for so long before she was collected. They complained to the social services manager, who contacted the duty social worker through his agency. He said the delay was because you refused to take Alice straightaway.’

‘What!’ I exclaimed again. ‘You must be joking! That’s not true. I even offered to collect Alice from the police station.’ Alice, who was sitting at the coffee table a little way in front of me doing a jigsaw, looked up on hearing her name. ‘It’s all right, love,’ I reassured her; then I lowered my voice as I spoke again to Jill on the phone. ‘He was the one who delayed collecting her, not me.’

‘I’m sorry, Cathy, but I’m going to have to ask you for some details. The manager wants a full report. I’ve already told him you are one of our longest-serving
foster carers and that you’ve never had a complaint made against you before.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, tightly, glancing at Alice again. Little wonder there was a shortage of foster carers, I thought, with an annual drop-out rate of over 10 per cent, if we were treated like this!

‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ Jill said. ‘Go slowly, because I’m taking notes. I understand you were out when the duty social worker first phoned?’

‘Yes. I’d been waiting for Alice to arrive since Thursday evening and hadn’t heard a thing,’ I said, forcing myself to speak slowly. ‘So on Sunday afternoon we all went to a friend’s birthday party. I had my mobile with me but no one phoned.’ I paused to allow Jill to write. ‘When we got home, it was about half past nine and there were four messages on the answerphone from the duty social worker. I remember the first was left at eight thirty and I think the last was about nine fifteen, and he was quite rude. I phoned him back straightaway and asked why he hadn’t phoned my mobile.’

‘Hold on a minute,’ Jill said. I waited as she wrote. Alice looked at me again, and I raised a smile. I wasn’t happy going through all this in front of her, but I couldn’t do anything else. Jill needed this information now and Alice wasn’t confident enough yet to be left in a room by herself. ‘Right,’ Jill said after a few moments. ‘What happened then? Why didn’t he phone your mobile?’

‘He said he didn’t have my number.’

‘That’s not true,’ Jill said. ‘It was included in your details, sent to his agency.’

‘Yes, he found it when he looked further, but said it wasn’t obvious.’

Jill tutted. ‘I’ll check, but I’m sure it is included on the front page. Then what happened?’

‘He told me Alice had been found, and was at the police station. He said he’d collect her as soon as he could but it wouldn’t be straightaway as he was the only one on duty. He was obviously stretched to the limit, so I offered to collect Alice myself, but he said it needed to be a social worker. He was pretty short tempered on the phone, but by the time he arrived with Alice he seemed to have calmed down and was just a bit terse.’

‘And what time was that?’

‘About half past ten.’

Jill paused again and I heard her sigh. ‘I can see why the police were concerned. Alice was taken to the police station just before eight. The police informed the duty social worker at eight fifteen, but Alice wasn’t collected until ten. The poor child was at the station for over two hours.’

‘Jill, if I’d had any idea Alice had been found I’d have left the party immediately and gone straight home. Of course I wouldn’t leave a child sitting at the police station, but I’m not clairvoyant. If the duty social worker had phoned my mobile when he first knew Alice had been found at eight fifteen, I could have been home by the time he’d collected her from the station; we were only twenty minutes away.’ I felt hot and shaky – a mixture of anger and upset. Alice shouldn’t have been left all that time at the police station, and although
I was angry that the duty social worker was blaming me, I was also thinking I shouldn’t have gone to the party, for it was my absence that had caused all this.

‘It’s not your fault,’ Jill said. ‘You acted properly. You had your mobile with you and switched on. Even though you were on standby to receive Alice it didn’t mean you had to stay in the whole time; you just had to be contactable and within easy reach, which you were. I think the duty social worker is trying to cover up for his mistake. He didn’t see your mobile number and now he is blaming you.’ I didn’t say anything. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll put what you have told me in my report,’ Jill said. ‘I’m sure it will be fine.’

I mumbled my agreement, but I was far from reassured. Jill apologized again for having to question me, and said that as soon as she’d spoken to the social services manager, she’d phone Martha and find out when she was planning to visit.

We said goodbye and, replacing the receiver, I remained on the sofa for some moments, deep in thought. I loved fostering, even with all the meetings, training and paperwork, but I really didn’t need the worry of being investigated. I knew how long these investigations could take, and how ‘mud could stick’ once thrown. And while the allegation levelled against me was comparatively minor, and I knew it was in Jill’s capable hands, I still felt pretty bad. It had undermined my professionalism as a foster carer, which I take very seriously, as well as bringing into doubt my own personal integrity.

But I also knew that what I was being accused of, while hurtful and damaging to my reputation, was minor
compared to the allegations made against some carers. During their careers approximately 35 per cent of foster carers will be accused of some misdemeanour, and if a child is angry, or a parent is angry that their child is in care, they can make up the most appalling allegations, which can sometimes result in a police investigation.

Leaving the sofa, I joined Alice at the coffee table and, putting aside my own worries, praised her. She had just completed a complicated jigsaw, aimed at ages five to eight, without any help whatsoever.

‘Who taught you to do jigsaw puzzles?’ I asked, impressed.

‘My mummy and grandpa,’ she said. ‘They played with me lots. And my nana. Will you let me see them soon, please?’

‘Oh, love,’ I said, taking one of her little hands in mine. ‘It’s not my decision when you see your family. Let me try to explain.’ Although I had touched on my role when Alice had first arrived, I thought that now she was more relaxed it might be easier for her to understand. ‘I am a foster carer,’ I said, gently. ‘I look after children when they can’t live with their own mummies, daddies or grandparents. I look after children but I don’t make the decisions about where they live or when they can see their families. The social worker and judge make those decisions and I am sure they will say you can see your family soon.’ I smiled. ‘Do you know what a judge is?’

Surprisingly, Alice nodded. ‘The judge tells people what to do,’ she said, ‘and he made my nana cry. I didn’t see him, not like the social worker – I saw her. But the
judge and social worker made my nana cry because they said I had to leave Nana and come here.’

I nodded thoughtfully. Alice’s explanation might not be politically correct but it was honest – a child’s-eye view of being brought into care.

‘Why did they do that, Cathy?’ Alice asked, her eyes widening in disbelief. ‘Why did the judge and Martha make me go away from my nana and grandpa? Why are they being horrid to my mummy?’

I looked at her and my heart twisted. This was going to be difficult to explain. ‘They aren’t being horrid, darling,’ I said, gently rubbing her hand between mine, ‘although it might seem like it. The judge and social worker are doing what they think is best for you at present. And they think it is best for you to come and stay with me for a while.’ Had Alice been abused or neglected it would have been easier to explain: I would have had concrete examples as to why she’d been brought into care, and indeed some children who have suffered badly at home are relieved to be in care. As it was, all I had was the original referral, which said Alice’s mother, Leah, had mental health problems exacerbated by using illegal substances, and Alice’s grandparents had been looking after Alice. There was no suggestion that her mother or (heaven forbid) her grandparents had abused Alice.

‘I’ll find out more when I speak to your social worker today,’ I said, trying to reassure Alice as best I could. ‘You’re being very brave.’ I patted her hand and then gave her a hug. ‘Would you like to do another puzzle or play something different?’

‘Another jigsaw, please,’ she said. ‘I like jigsaw puzzles. Mummy used to play with me lots.’ I fetched another couple of puzzles from the toy cupboard and sat with Alice while she completed them. As she worked she talked easily of her mummy, nana and grandpa, mainly describing happy memories of their time together but also expressing anxious thoughts as to where they were now, and if they were upset. I continued to reassure her as best I could, telling her that Nana, Grandpa and Mummy would all be looking after each other. I noticed Alice hadn’t mentioned her dad. The referral contained the name, but no other details, of Alice’s father, Chris, so I assumed Alice had been brought up by her mother and maternal grandparents. Alice didn’t say any more about the four days and three nights she had been missing with her mother and I didn’t ask her. She would tell me in time, as she felt more relaxed.

As I played with Alice I was waiting, hoping, for the social worker to phone with, among other things, the arrangements for Alice to see her family. When a child first comes into care, contact is usually set up immediately – often the same day or certainly the next day, so that the bond between the child and the parents (or whoever the main carer has been) doesn’t suffer. But when Martha phoned an hour later, I was shocked, and at a complete loss to understand the reasoning behind what she told me.

‘There will be no contact with mum,’ she said. ‘And none is planned for the future. Contact with the grandparents will be for one hour every two weeks, supervised
at the family centre. Contact with Alice’s father will be twice a week, increasing to include overnights, until Alice goes to live with him next month.’