Cathy Glass - Cruel to Be Kind

Paula, having finished in the bathroom, was ready for a bedtime story and I went with her to her bedroom, where she chose a book from her bookshelf before climbing into bed with a yawn. I lay beside her, my arm around her shoulders and my head propped on the headboard as I read the story she’d chosen. When I’d finished she snuggled down beside me, ready for our usual cuddle and chat – part of her bedtime routine – before she went to sleep. Unsurprisingly, tonight she wanted to talk about Max.

‘How long will Max stay with us?’ she asked, kissing my cheek.

‘I don’t know yet, love. Until his mother is well enough to look after him again.’

‘Does he miss his mummy?’

‘I should think so, but he’ll see her tomorrow at the hospital.’

‘He’s not crying like some children do.’

‘No, he’s been very brave, but I expect he’s thinking lots about her and his family.’

‘I’d cry if I couldn’t live with you,’ Paula said, snuggling closer.

‘But that’s not going to happen, is it?’ I reminded her. ‘If I had to go into hospital, Nana and Grandpa would come and look after you and Adrian. You know that.’ Since my husband had left, comments and questions like this came up from time to time – from Paula and Adrian. Understandably they both felt a degree of insecurity with just one parent at home, and I always reassured them as best I could.

‘Do you think Max eats too much?’ Paula now asked with the candidness of a young child.

‘Possibly.’

‘He’s very big, isn’t he? I don’t mean tall like big boys – his body is very round.’

‘I know, but you wouldn’t ever say that to him, would you?’ I hoped that Adrian at his age had developed the necessary self-regulatory skills to stop him saying hurtful truths, but at Paula’s age children are still highly impulsive and simply say what comes into their head without considering the consequences. Paula shook her head.

‘Good. Because I’m sure Max knows he’s overweight and he’d be very upset if you said anything.’

‘Are you going to stop him eating so much?’ she now asked.

‘I might, we’ll see how it goes.’

‘I hope you do, then he can ride the bike.’

‘OK, love,’ I said, drawing the conversation to a close. ‘We’ll see. But in the meantime you can play other games with Max. Try to look beyond his size to the person within. I think he’s a lovely boy, kind and gentle.’

‘Yes, so do I,’ Paula agreed. ‘I promise I won’t look at his big tummy but inside him.’

‘Good girl.’

I kissed her goodnight and came out of her room, leaving her bedroom door slightly open so that I could hear her if she called out. Downstairs, both boys were still on the sofa, now talking about football and with their books open on their laps. I wasn’t sure if they’d done much reading, but it didn’t matter. They were getting along well and Max seemed relaxed. I was also pleased he hadn’t needed his inhaler since he’d first arrived and his voice sounded far less husky. I hadn’t heard from Jo about phoning his mother that evening, and as it was now getting late I rather assumed she wouldn’t be in touch, as Caz was seeing him the following evening.

‘Max, I think it’s time for you to go to bed,’ I said. ‘What time do you normally go to bed at home?’

He shrugged. ‘Any time, really. I go to my room and lie on my bed and read. Sometimes I fall asleep with my clothes on.’ This didn’t sound like a very good bedtime routine.

‘When do you have your bath or shower?’ I asked.

He shrugged again. ‘When the bathroom is free. Sometimes I have a bath at the weekend.’

‘So the last time you had a bath was last weekend?’ It was Wednesday now.

‘Maybe, or the weekend before. I can’t remember.’

‘OK. Don’t worry. Would you like a quick bath now?’

He nodded.

I always encourage the children I foster to bath or shower every day, as good personal hygiene is obviously important, especially in the warm weather when we all sweat more. However, I’d never insist on it on their first night after the trauma of coming into care. Arriving at a stranger’s house and having to take off all their clothes for a bath or shower could seem like another form of abuse for an already abused child, and so often carers don’t know all the child’s history. Max was happy to have a bath though, and I went upstairs with him to run it. I asked him if he usually had help with his bathing and he said he didn’t, so I said I’d wait just outside the bathroom door while he had his bath and he should call if he needed me. I’d never leave a six-year-old completely unattended in the bath (or shower) in case they slipped and fell, but I always try to give the child age-appropriate privacy. I heard the water splash as he washed himself and after a few minutes I called out, ‘Are you OK, Max?’

‘Yes,’ he returned. Then, a few moments later, ‘I’ve finished.’ It was a quick bath, but it would do for tonight.

‘Good boy. Can you get out now and dry yourself?’ I asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Then put the towel around you. I’ve put pyjamas in your bedroom for you to try on.’

A few minutes later he appeared cloaked in the towel and we went to his bedroom, where I told him to choose the pyjamas that fitted best while I put his school clothes in the wash so they were ready for tomorrow. Leaving him in his room trying on the pyjamas, I returned to the bathroom, gathered up his clothes and took them downstairs, where I set them to wash and dry in the machine. I looked in on Adrian in the living room, who was now reading, and I then returned upstairs. Max was still in his bedroom and I knocked on the partially open door. ‘Have you got some pyjamas on?’

‘Yes, but they’re very long.’

The door opened and Max stood in front of me looking slightly comical with his hands and feet enveloped by the pyjamas. However, while the sleeves and legs were far too long, the set he’d chosen fitted around his middle. They were the largest pair, age 12–13 years, and another indication of just how overweight Max was. Clothes designed for a child twice his age fitted.

‘Let’s roll up the sleeves and legs for tonight,’ I said, going into his room. ‘I’ll take them up properly tomorrow.’

‘Mum cuts them off,’ he said. He held out one arm for me to roll up and then the other. I did the same with his pyjama legs.

I could imagine it must be virtually impossible to buy clothes off the rail that would fit him, and his mother would doubtless have to adapt all his clothes. I returned to the bathroom with Max so he could brush his teeth, then I called down to Adrian that the bathroom was free. I would try to establish a better routine tomorrow that allowed time for the boys to do any homework they might have. However, I thought Adrian might have to take his with us to the hospital to do there, as we were going to be very short of time on school days. Thankfully this evening, apart from reading, which most school-age children are expected to do every day, neither Adrian nor Max had any homework.

On the first night I always ask the child I’m looking after how they like to sleep: if they like the curtains open or closed, their light on or off, and the bedroom door open or shut. These small details, which we do automatically for ourselves and our children, help the child to settle in a strange room. Max wanted his curtains slightly parted as many children do. He was happy to sleep with the light off and said he had his door closed at home so he didn’t get woken by the noise his sisters made.

‘It’s quiet at night in our house,’ I reassured him. ‘Adrian and Paula will be asleep too, and when I come up to bed I’m very quiet, so I won’t wake you.’