I Miss Mummy (12 page)

C
aring for Alice was an absolute delight, and I knew the children and I were growing very attached to her. Apart from looking like an angel with her large innocent eyes, delicate features and silky hair, she had such a gentle and loving disposition you felt you just wanted to pick her up and hug her forever. Foster carers always form attachments to some degree to the children they look after – it’s natural, and we’re always sorry to say goodbye to the child, even when he or she is returning home or going to a loving adoptive family – but I knew we were all going to be heartbroken when the time came for us to say goodbye to Alice. Lucy and Paula had asked me more than once if Alice could stay with us permanently, while appreciating it wasn’t possible, as she was going to live with her father and Sharon. And while Adrian didn’t say much I knew he too would miss Alice dreadfully, for he had become like an older brother to her. Often Alice would seek out Adrian in preference to the girls or me, and the first thing she always asked me when she came home from
nursery or contact was: ‘Is Adrian home?’ If he was she would scamper off to find him.

However, we didn’t have to worry about saying goodbye to Alice yet, for without a social worker, Alice wasn’t going anywhere. Two months rolled into three and while Alice was as happy as we could make her, she still bitterly missed her mother and grandparents, and pined for them daily. She often shared her many happy memories of their time together – helping Nana bake a cake, going swimming with Mummy, her last birthday, Christmas, etc. Alice still never mentioned her father and I naturally assumed the reason she had no fond memories of him was that she hadn’t see him until Sharon had come into his life and Alice had come into care.

I began a Life Story book for Alice, as I do for all the children I foster for longer than a couple of weeks. It is a record of the child’s time with us and includes photographs and memorabilia – for example, cinema tickets, the child’s drawings and merit certificates from school. A Life Story book is a tangible aide-mémoire which the child takes with them when they leave to supplement their memories of their time with us.

Each evening when Alice was in bed I wrote up my log notes, although there wasn’t much new to report, and a lot of repetition: ‘Alice had a good day at nursery. Alice asked when she could see her mum and said she misses her lots. Alice told me about the time her mum took her to the fair. Alice was subdued after seeing her grandparents; she would like to see them more often’ and so on.

Then one day Alice suddenly stopped talking about her mother. When I went into her bedroom I found the photograph of her mother had joined that of her father and Sharon at the back of the shelf. The first time it happened I assumed Alice must have moved the photograph by accident, for it was always at the front of the shelf. I returned it to its usual position – looking out over the room. The next day when I found it again facing the wall, I realized it probably wasn’t an accident and Alice was making a statement: that she was feeling very rejected by her mother and was now rejecting her.

‘Why isn’t Mummy watching over you?’ I asked Alice, glancing at the shelf, as I tucked her into bed that night.

Alice shrugged and pulled a face but didn’t say anything.

‘Alice,’ I said, perching on the bed. ‘Even though you are not seeing your mummy, she still loves you.’

‘Does she?’ Alice asked woefully. ‘How do you know? You don’t know she still loves me. I don’t think she does. Otherwise she would get better quickly so I can live with her.’ Her bottom lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears.

‘Oh, Alice, love,’ I said, taking her in my arms. ‘I know Mummy loves you. I know she is trying her hardest to get better so she can see you. But sometimes things go wrong with us that take a long time to heal. Look at James in your class. He broke his leg weeks ago and it’s still in plaster. It will get better eventually but it is taking a long time.’

‘But James can still come to school with his bad leg,’ Alice said with a sob. ‘He can still see his friends, but I
can’t see my mummy while she is ill.’ I knew I had chosen the wrong illustration.

‘Alice, pet, sometimes when we are ill it can stop us doing the things we want to do – the things we would like to do when we are well. Some illnesses affect our bodies, like when you have a cold in winter, while others affect the way we think and feel, and sometimes the way we behave.’ It was so difficult trying to explain mental health problems to a small child.

‘Was it Mummy’s illness that made her take me to the quarry to sleep?’ Alice asked after a moment.

‘Yes, love, that’s right. She was very worried – what we call anxious. I think she’s been like that for a while, which is why you were staying with your nana and grandpa. Mummy thought she was doing the right thing when she took you to the quarry, but it wasn’t the right thing really. Her illness made it difficult for her to know what to do for the best.’ Alice gave a little nod. ‘Alice, I know Mummy loves you and I know you are probably angry with her for being ill, and not being able to see you, but try not to blame her. I’m sure she wants to be well so she can see you again. Don’t be angry with her any longer, love.’

Alice gave a little nod, and then looked up at me from my arms. ‘I’m not
very
angry with her,’ she said. ‘Just a little bit. I’ll try and remember what you said.’

‘Good girl.’ I tucked her into bed and kissed her goodnight. Before I came out I rearranged the photographs in a line on the shelf so that they were all looking out over her bedroom and she could see them from her bed. The photographs of her mother and grandparents
stayed in place at the front of the shelf but the photo of her father and Sharon soon found its way to the back again. I knew that once Alice had a social worker, and the timetable of Alice’s move to her father had been drawn up, I would need to spend a lot of time talking to Alice, preparing her for going to live with her father and Sharon, for without it I could see there were going to be huge problems, with Alice rejecting Sharon, and Sharon feeling affronted and then rejecting Alice. The social worker would also talk to Alice and prepare her for the move.

It was early June, and Alice had been with me for three months when Jill phoned to tell me that I had finally been cleared of the complaint the duty social worker had made against me on the day Alice had arrived. Jill said that the complaint had been investigated and the department was satisfied I had acted correctly and responsibly, which was a great relief. Jill also said that on behalf of the fostering agency she had put in a complaint to the social services that Alice had been with me for twelve weeks, largely without a social worker, which was completely unacceptable. However, June was to turn into a month of complaints, for having just been cleared of one, I soon found myself faced with another!

Two days after Jill phoned to say I was in the clear, she phoned again to say that Sharon had complained to the Guardian ad Litem about me and the Guardian had phoned Jill. According to Sharon, I was undermining the relationship she had with Alice, sabotaging her
efforts to be a mother and ‘stealing her daughter’. Ludicrous as the allegations appeared to me (and Jill), I still had to disprove them, for if I had been intentionally undermining Sharon’s role as stepmother, for whatever reason, it would have been viewed most seriously. As a foster carer I am expected to remain neutral and work with all parties in a case, in line with the care plan, sometimes having to put my own opinions and feelings to one side, which I hoped I had been doing.

Not for the first time I was pleased I’d kept detailed log notes. I went through my file and highlighted the many instances when I’d positively reinforced to Alice Sharon’s role as stepmother, as well as the negative comments Sharon had made to me, suggesting she had problems with my role: ‘She [Alice] likes you more than me. Why does she go to you? She keeps taking about you. I’ve told Alice to stop talking about you while she’s with Chris and me,’ and so on. It was a pity Sharon was so insecure in her role as stepmother that she viewed me, the foster carer, as a threat, instead of another professional who was working in Alice’s best interest. Jill gave a verbal explanation to the Guardian substantiating what I’d said, and I didn’t hear any more. However, I was very wary in my future dealings with Sharon, and maintained very detailed log notes of any conversation I had with her that could be misinterpreted or used against me. Sometimes, as with Alice, looking after the child was the easy bit; it was some of the adults connected with the child who caused the problems and hard work.

Whether it was Jill’s complaint to the social services that Alice had been without a social worker for three months, or whether the position would have been filled anyway, I didn’t know. But that same week, on Wednesday morning, when I answered the phone there was a female voice on the other end, introducing herself as Alice’s new social worker.

‘Good gracious!’ I exclaimed. ‘Really? I’m very pleased to hear from you.’

She gave a little laugh, then said her name was Kitty and apologized for Alice having been left for so long without a social worker, which I thought was a good start.

‘It’s not your fault,’ I said.

‘No, but I feel responsible. When I accepted this post I told the authority I wouldn’t be able to take up position for three months. They should have brought in an agency social worker to fill the gap.’ She was right, although I guessed the cost of providing an agency social worker from the authority’s hard-strapped budget had convinced them they could get by without. ‘I’ve familiarized myself with Alice’s file,’ Kitty continued. ‘I see there are a number of appointments outstanding. It seems Alice hasn’t had her medical yet.’

‘No, she hasn’t,’ I said. ‘Or a dental check-up.’ All children brought into care have these check-ups, but they have to be initiated by a social worker.

‘If you could arrange these appointments, I’ll prepare the form for the medical.’ This had to be signed by the social worker. ‘And Alice’s three-month review is due now,’ Kitty continued. I was impressed: Kitty had been
in the post for only twenty-four hours and was already abreast of Alice’s case. The review Kitty referred to was a meeting where all parties connected with the child come together to make sure everything is being done as it should for the child’s benefit and assess what needs to be done. ‘I want to set up the review straightaway,’ Kitty said. ‘Are you able to attend tomorrow? I have found a room free here we can use, and a chairperson. I’ve booked them for ten o’clock.’

‘Yes,’ I said, even more impressed. ‘I’ll be there.’

‘And I’ll need to see Alice before the review. Can I come this evening at five? I know she sees her grandparents this afternoon, and I appreciate it’s rather short notice, but I need some understanding of Alice before I go into the review.’

‘Yes, that’s fine with me, although Alice may be a bit tired.’

‘I understand. I’ll keep it short on this occasion and see her for longer next time. I’d appreciate it if you could update me, now please, from the time Alice came into care.’

I then spent twenty minutes bringing Kitty up to date: Alice’s routine, nursery, her general disposition, her likes and dislikes, the love she felt towards her mother and grandparents, how difficult she was finding it to bond with her father and Sharon, and that Alice’s greatest wish was to return home – to her mother or grandparents.

Kitty thanked me and asked if there was anything I needed. ‘A copy of the care plan and the essential information form,’ I said.

‘You haven’t been given them yet?’ she asked, amazed.

‘No, there’s been no one there to send them. Everything was put on hold until you arrived.’

Kitty tutted. ‘I’ll chase it up A.S.A.P.’

‘Thank you.’ I hesitated, unsure if I should voice my opinion, but decided to go ahead anyway. I would be working closely with Alice’s social worker and I thought she should know how I felt, although how much credence she gave my views was obviously up to her. ‘Alice’s grandparents are heartbroken at losing Alice,’ I said. ‘Mrs Jones often speaks to me on the phone after she has spoken to Alice and offloads. I appreciate what she tells me is likely to be prejudiced in favour of her daughter, Leah, but I do have concerns as to why Alice is in foster care instead of remaining with her grandparents, and also about the plans for Alice’s future. Alice hasn’t been abused, I’m sure of it; on the contrary, she was very well looked after. And if half of what Mr and Mrs Jones are saying about Alice’s father is true, then there is real cause for concern.’

Without any hesitation Kitty said, ‘From my understanding of the case so far, I have concerns too. There are huge discrepancies in what the parties are saying and further investigation needs to be carried out. At present I’m not sure who is telling the truth, but if at all possible I shall find out.’

Kitty didn’t say what exactly the discrepancies were, or what exactly needed to be investigated – I assumed it was confidential and not relevant to my looking after Alice – but I was considerably relieved. For three months I’d worried and angsted over Alice, feeling
there was something badly wrong and that her case wasn’t as clear cut as the social services believed. Now, with the arrival of Kitty, I felt I had something of an ally, and that Kitty would re-examine Alice’s case and delve deeper into what members of Alice’s family were saying.

Kitty finished our conversation as she had begun it, by apologizing for Alice not having a social worker for so long, then said she’d see us at 5.00 p.m., and would I tell Alice she was coming.

I told Alice in the car when I’d collected her from nursery and was taking her to see her nana and grandpa at the family centre. ‘You’ve got a new social worker,’ I said. ‘She phoned me this morning and she sounds very nice. She’s coming to see us later and she’s called Kitty.’

Alice laughed. ‘Kitty?’ she chirped from the back seat. ‘That’s a funny name. Paula calls the cat Kitty sometimes.’

I smiled. ‘Yes, but you’d better not tell your new social worker that. She might not be impressed.’