Cathy Glass - Nobody’s Son - All Alex ever wanted was a family of his own

Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.

HarperElement

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First published by HarperElement 2017

FIRST EDITION

© Cathy Glass 2017

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2017

Cover photograph © Deborah Pendell/Arcangel Images (boy, posed by model); Shutterstock.com (background)

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780008187569

Ebook Edition © February 2017 ISBN: 9780008187576

Version: 2017-03-02

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Chapter One: A New Year, a New Child

Chapter Two: Unsettled Early Life

Chapter Three: Alex’s Parents

Chapter Four: A Joyful Meeting

Chapter Five: A Positive Start

Chapter Six: Alex Meets His Parents

Chapter Seven: Meeting James

Chapter Eight: Plans for the Future

Chapter Nine: Unwelcome News

Chapter Ten: Another Matter Entirely

Chapter Eleven: Rejection

Chapter Twelve: Why Did They Stop Loving Me?

Chapter Thirteen: Angry Outbursts

Chapter Fourteen: Nobody’s Son

Chapter Fifteen: An Eerie Noise Outside

Chapter Sixteen: Say Something Positive

Chapter Seventeen: Not to Blame

Chapter Eighteen: Labelled

Chapter Nineteen: Conflicting Emotions

Chapter Twenty: Not Mum and Dad

Chapter Twenty-One: The Family

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Line Went Dead

Chapter Twenty-Three: Before It’s Too Late

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Hug

Suggested topics for reading-group discussion

Cathy Glass

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About the Publisher

A big thank you to my family; my editors, Carolyn and Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; my UK publishers, HarperCollins, and my overseas publishers, who are now too numerous to list by name. Last, but definitely not least, a big thank you to my readers for your unfailing support and kind words.

We immediately fell silent as the noise sounded again. The children stared at me anxiously before our eyes went towards the curtains drawn across the patio doors. It was cold and dark outside, but something was out there scratching and trying to get in. Not our cat; she was asleep by the warm radiator, and it didn’t sound like a cat anyway. I stood and gingerly crossed the room, my heart pounding and my senses on full alert. There were just the children and me in the house, and I tried to hide my fear from them as I eased one curtain aside and peered into the dark. Nothing. Whatever it was had vanished again like a phantom into the night.

I’d taken six months off from fostering after my husband had left me. There, I said it – my husband left me. It had been a difficult time, adjusting, supporting my children and reassuring them that it wasn’t their fault and their father still loved them. But the fact that I was now able to say out loud that my husband had left me meant I was coming to terms with it and moving on, just as my counsellor had said I would. I only saw her four times and she was also the vicar of our local church. Not that we’d been regular church-goers – Christmas, Easter, Mothering Sunday and the occasional family service – but I knew she was approachable, down to earth and offered counselling. She wouldn’t ask me to pray for my husband’s salvation or even forgive him, which I couldn’t do yet. Get over his cheating and lies and the rejection, yes, but not forgive him, not for making my children fatherless. She’d listened sympathetically, but more importantly she’d told me it was time to acknowledge that my marriage was at an end, that I’d done my best to salvage it and that I should now move on with my life.

In the six months I’d been away from fostering many changes had taken place, developments in procedure and practice that remain part of fostering today. I now had a link worker, Jill, also known as a support or supervising social worker, whose role, as her title suggested, was to support and monitor my fostering to make sure it was to a good standard, to check my log notes were up to date and that my training needs were met. Ongoing training and report writing were now part of fostering for carers and I had to keep a daily record of the child I was looking after, which included appointments the child had, their health and wellbeing, education, significant events and any disclosures the child made about their past. There were also regular reviews for the child and an annual review for the foster carer, and fostering was provided through agencies. I worked for Homefinders, an independent fostering agency with charity status. But of course the heart, the essence of fostering, remained the same. The foster family looked after a child or children, short or long term, who, for any number of reasons, couldn’t be looked after by their own parents, and their stories and past experiences were still heart-rending and varied. One change I didn’t like was that the children now had to call me their foster carer rather than their foster mum, as it was felt it might be confusing for them. It seemed a bit cold to me, but I had to abide by this as I did all the other fostering practices and regulations.

When I asked my son Adrian, then aged seven, if he thought we were ready to start fostering again, he replied with a resounding, ‘Yes.’ Then added, ‘It’s time we got back to normal.’ An old head on young shoulders. I didn’t point out that we’d never get completely ‘back to normal’ because his father wouldn’t be there, but I knew what he meant. It was time to pick up the threads of our old life. My three-year-old daughter Paula was at an age when she agreed with her older brother, so she was happy to resume fostering too. They’d both grown up with fostering, so having another ‘brother’ or ‘sister’ living with them was the norm. Adrian was especially pleased when I told him that we would be looking after a boy, Alex, almost the same age as him, for while he obviously loved his sister their play was at different stages, and nothing beats having a playmate of your own age.

I’d warmed to Jill, my support worker, as soon as I’d met her. She was straight-talking, with lots of social-worker experience, kind and empathetic too. So when she told me a little about Alex and that he wouldn’t give me any trouble and was just what we needed to ease us back into fostering, I believed her.