Cathy Glass - Mummy Told Me Not to Tell - The true story of a troubled boy with a dark secret

Daisy didn’t return from school. I was worried, but not as worried as I would have been with another child, for I knew from Jill that Daisy had a history of disappearing and usually turned up at her boyfriend’s. However, I still had to follow the usual guidelines for children who didn’t arrive home when they were supposed to and I telephoned the fostering agency at 5.00 p.m. to say Daisy was late. Jill said to give her another hour and then phone again. I phoned at 6.00 to say she still hadn’t returned. By that time Jill had contacted Daisy’s social worker, who said even though Daisy usually turned up at her boyfriend’s I should still report her missing to the police. With Lucy and Paula taking care of dinner, I phoned our local police station and went through the (lengthy) process of completing a ‘missing persons’, all the while feeling I was probably wasting police time. I was.

Five minutes after I’d finished on the phone and had just sat down to dinner, Jill phoned to say Daisy had phoned her social worker and said she was with her boyfriend at his parents’ flat. The social worker had said it was all right for her to stay there. I could hear from Jill’s tone that she didn’t approve, but it wasn’t her decision. I didn’t know enough of Daisy’s situation to know if it was the right decision or not, but I was disappointed Daisy didn’t feel able to stay with us, and regretted the waste of police time.

Daisy popped in after two days to take some clothes from the suitcase that was still unpacked in her bedroom, and accepted a hot chocolate, but she didn’t want to talk. Two days after that she reappeared for another change of clothes and a bath; apparently her boyfriend’s parents’ shower was broken.

‘There is only a week before Kriss comes back,’ I said, catching her en route from the bathroom to what should have been her bedroom. ‘I think it would be really nice if you stayed with us for the week.’

Daisy shrugged, and then asked for the hairdryer and a drink of hot chocolate, which I gave her in the hope it might tempt her to stay. It didn’t, and I guessed Daisy had decided from the outset she wouldn’t be staying with us. She popped in twice the following week for a change of clothes, a bath and, of course, a hot chocolate but didn’t stay long.

I kept daily log notes on Daisy’s comings and goings and phoned Jill with regular updates. I have to keep log notes and regularly update Jill with all the children I foster. Jill kept Daisy’s social worker informed, and she wasn’t unduly concerned for Daisy. Jill and I had to accept that, rightly or wrongly, the social services considered it appropriate for Daisy, aged fifteen, to stay with her boyfriend and his parents. I felt frustrated that I hadn’t been able to do my job properly and look after her.

When Kriss arrived to collect Daisy at the end of the two weeks, she wasn’t surprised to find that Daisy wasn’t with us. Kriss said she would take Daisy’s case and then collect her from her boyfriend’s parents’. Kriss said she’d been fostering Daisy for two years and because Daisy was ‘quite a handful’ she took regular breaks, while making sure Daisy also had holidays. She thanked me for my trouble and apologized for Daisy’s behaviour, which I assured her wasn’t necessary. She added that Daisy often spent the whole weekend at her boyfriend’s parents’, and after numerous meetings and discussions with Daisy’s social worker it had been felt that this was the best arrangement that could be achieved and that at least Daisy had a roof over her head and was safe. The fact that she was sleeping with her boyfriend and presumably having under-age (and illegal) sex had been dealt with by putting Daisy on the pill. Sometimes expectations have to be radically adjusted with teenagers, and a practical working arrangement (with their cooperation) is seen as the better option than trying to impose unrealistic and unworkable goals.

As I helped Kriss load Daisy’s suitcase in the car, feeling that I hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye to Daisy, who should appear strolling down the street, hand in hand with her boyfriend, but the young lady herself! When she saw Kriss she dropped her boyfriend’s hand and flew into Kriss’s arms, really pleased to see her.

‘Missed you,’ she cried.

‘I missed you too,’ Kriss said.

I smiled and asked Daisy how she was.

‘Good,’ Daisy said.

‘Yeah, good,’ her boyfriend agreed.

Kriss threw me a stoical smile and then opened the rear door of the car for them to get in. I stood on the pavement and saw them off, waving goodbye to the foster child I had never fostered.

After Daisy I had a six-year-old boy, Sam, placed with me for a week. It wasn’t respite but an emergency, as his mother, a single parent with no immediate family, had gone into hospital to give birth to her second child. After Sam left, I redecorated the bathroom and then began Christmas shopping in earnest. I knew I wouldn’t have any more children for respite care this side of Christmas, as everyone would be involved in their own Christmas preparations, not going on holiday, although I could possibly have an emergency placement. I collected Adrian from university and the four of us put up the decorations, and also took the opportunity to go to our local rep theatre one evening for a musical production of Scrooge.

On 22 December, three days before Christmas, Jill phoned and it wasn’t just to wish us a Merry Christmas: ‘Cathy, we’ve had a referral for a seven-year-old boy called Reece,’ she said. ‘He first came into care just over a month ago but hasn’t settled. He’s been with his present carers a week and they have been persuaded to keep him over Christmas as long as there is an end in sight. Will you take him in the New Year?’

Ho ho, I thought, and not the Christmas variety. A week and he’s having to be moved again! ‘Thanks, Jill,’ I said. ‘Merry Christmas to you too.’

She laughed. ‘I’m sure he’s not as bad as they say, just a bit on the lively side. I’ll get back to you with more details and an exact moving date as soon as I have them.’

‘OK. Have a good Christmas.’

‘And you.’

I wasn’t sure I needed more details, for ‘hasn’t settled’ and ‘persuaded to keep him as long as there is an end in sight’ clearly meant that Reece was causing havoc.

W hen Jodie (whose story I wrote about in Damaged ) had come to live with me, three years before, she had set something of a record in respect of the number of foster carers she’d gone through — I was her fifth in four months. Children who have been badly emotionally damaged by abuse are either terribly withdrawn or, and more usually, angry, defiant, violent and aggressive, lashing out at everyone and everything around them in a bid to vent their pain on a cruel and confusing world. Not only is this type of behaviour very difficult for the foster carer to deal with, but it is also frightening and upsetting to watch, and emotionally draining for the whole foster family. Foster carers want to do their best for the child they are looking after and hope to see some improvement in the child’s behaviour, as well as keeping everyone in the family safe. Sometimes the situation becomes impossible to manage, if the child’s behaviour is extreme and completely out of control, so the foster carer has to admit they can no longer look after the child. This is called a placement breakdown. While everything is done to avoid such breakdowns, sometimes there is no alternative and the foster child has to be moved to another carer.