Cathy Glass - Cruel to Be Kind - Saying no can save a child’s life

‘OK, see you later,’ she said.

I began a quick tidy-up of the living room and also took food from the freezer for dinner later. I knew from experience that when a child first arrived with their social worker there was a lot to get through, and also Jo was expecting me to take Max to visit his mother in hospital, so time would be short.

Adrian, my seven-year-old son, would be pleased to have another boy staying with us, I mused as I worked, although in truth he and my three-year-old daughter, Paula, usually got along with any child we looked after. They’d grown up with fostering, so having someone else living with us was the norm. Also the norm, although it saddens me to say so, was that I was now a single parent, as my husband, John, had left us eighteen months before. I’d taken a short break immediately after he’d gone and then a few months later, with the children’s agreement, I’d resumed fostering. I enjoyed fostering – caring for and helping the children while they were with me. It gave another dimension to my life and the small payment I received, together with the part-time work I did from home, paid the bills. At present Adrian was at school and Paula was playing at a friend’s house. I would collect her on the way to meet Adrian from school.

I’m always a bit anxious just before a new child arrives, wondering how they will settle and if they will like my family and me, but once they’re here I’m so busy that there isn’t time to worry. I just concentrate on looking after them and meeting their needs to the best of my ability. This afternoon, however, ten minutes before I was due to leave to collect Adrian and Paula, my anxiety level rose to a new height. The phone rang and I answered it in the hall, expecting Jill or Jo with some more news about Max or a last-minute change of plan, which happens a lot in fostering. However, a rather gruff woman’s voice I didn’t recognize demanded, ‘Is that Cathy Glass?’

‘Yes,’ I said tentatively. ‘Who’s calling?’

‘Max’s mum, Caz. I’m warning you, lay one finger on my boy and you’ll be sorry. Do you understand? I might be in hospital but his dad isn’t, and he don’t stand any nonsense.’

Chapter Two

My heart began to race and my mouth had gone dry. ‘Of course I’ll take good care of Max,’ I reassured his mother, ignoring her slight, and trying to keep my voice even. I appreciated that parents who’ve just had their children taken into care are often angry and upset, but threatening me before I’d even met the child was a first. However, as worrying as this was, of more concern was how his mother, Caz, had got my number. ‘Who gave you my telephone number?’ I asked.

‘His social worker. Our solicitor told her she had to give it to us, as he’s in care voluntarily, or I wouldn’t have agreed to him going.’ Sometimes the parents of children in care under a Section 20 are given the contact details of the carer, but usually the carer is asked first, and it’s in cases where there is no animosity and the parents are working with the social workers and the foster carer in the best interests of the child. I didn’t dare ask if she had my address too.

‘Make sure you give Max what he wants to eat,’ she continued in the same confrontational tone. ‘I’ll be asking him when I see him what he’s had, so it better be good. No cheap rubbish.’

‘I always give the children good food, and a balanced diet,’ I said. ‘When they first arrive I ask them what they like and dislike.’

‘Max likes everything and plenty of it, so give him whatever he wants. I’ve told Jo, the social worker, I’ll want to see him every evening. You gonna be bringing him?’

‘I expect it will be me,’ I said. ‘I’m seeing Jo later when she brings Max to me, so she’ll tell me about the contact arrangements then.’ For even when a child is in care voluntarily it’s usual to have a timetable of contact.

‘I’ve told her,’ she said. Then, ‘You haven’t got any dogs, have you? Max don’t like dogs. He’s been scared of ’em since he got bit.’

‘No, we just have a cat, Toscha.’

‘That don’t bite, does it?’

‘No, she’s very placid.’ And long-suffering, I thought but didn’t say.

‘Make sure you look after him proper. Understand? When I see him I’ll ask him how you’ve been treating him.’

‘He’ll be well cared for,’ I said evenly. ‘Now I’m going to have to go to collect my children. Thank you for phoning.’

‘If those stupid girls had done what they were supposed to, none of this would have happened. Silly bitches,’ she fumed.

I assumed she meant her teenage daughters. I didn’t comment but rounded off the conversation as politely as I could. ‘I hope you feel better soon.’

‘What do you care?’ she snapped, and the phone went dead.

I left the house to collect Paula and Adrian, agitated, worried, and annoyed with Jo for giving Max’s mother my telephone number without mentioning it to me or advising her on when to use it. Telephone contact between the child and their family is often part of the contact arrangements, but it has to be regulated or it can become a nuisance for the foster family, and upsetting for the child when they are trying to settle in. It’s certainly not supposed to be used to harass and threaten the carer. I’d raise it with Jill and Jo when I saw them later, out of earshot of Max. The poor child, I thought. It’s so important for any child coming into care to see their parents getting along with the foster carer and working together with them – it helps the child come to terms with what has happened.

This certainly wasn’t the best start. There is so much more to fostering than just looking after the child, which is often the easiest and most pleasant part. However, I consoled myself that Caz was angry that her child was coming into care, and hopefully things would settle and improve as time went on. I had no idea how long Max would be staying with me, but that’s often the case in fostering. Perhaps it would just be for the time his mother was in hospital, although the social services would need to be certain he would be well cared for and safe before they returned him home.

Half an hour later I’d collected Paula from her friend’s house and Adrian from school, and as we walked home I was telling them about Max. It was the beginning of July and the day had turned very warm, so I was carrying their jerseys as well as Adrian’s school bag; he had his games kit to carry.

‘Max is a nice name,’ Paula said, giving a little skip and already excited at the prospect of a new playmate.

‘Yes, it is,’ I agreed.

‘Can we play in the garden when Max arrives while you and the social worker talk?’ Adrian asked, aware that the adults did a lot of talking when a child was first placed.

‘Yes, if Max wants to,’ I said. ‘But remember, he might be shy and uncertain to begin with. He’ll be missing his family and everything will be new and strange to him.’ However, if Max did want to go into the garden to play with Adrian and Paula while the social worker and I talked, it would make discussing his situation considerably easier. She would need to share information about Max, his family and home life with me and it’s not usually appropriate to do so in front of the child, so if Max could be entertained in the garden, so much the better.

‘He could have an ice cream if he’s upset,’ Adrian suggested cannily.

‘And me,’ Paula said. ‘It’s not fair if just Max has an ice cream. Adrian and me should have one too.’

‘I think that’s what Adrian meant, isn’t it?’ I said, throwing him a knowing smile.

‘Doh!’ he said to Paula. ‘As if Mum would just give Max an ice cream and leave us out.’ There was ice cream and similar sweet desserts in the freezer, but generally I liked the children to have dinner first.