Just a Boy (6 page)

‘Which she might well do at the moment, mightn’t she?’ asked Mike.

John nodded. ‘Fair point. But I’m not really the one to tell you
how
it might become a problem. Apparently, social services are going to arrange for you both to have a quick tutorial with her doctor and her specialist nurse.’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘That sounds sensible. Better to know what we’re doing than not. But how is she generally? Sounds like she’s been to hell and back, from what you say.’

‘I don’t know, to be truthful,’ John answered. ‘There really isn’t a great deal more on her file.’

Where have I heard that line before, I thought ruefully. It had become almost a catch phrase when we’d taken on Justin. John caught my expression and looked apologetic. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just that she hasn’t been in care that long, and when they are fostered with other family members, they never seem to be as strict with the record keeping. I’ll see what else I can find, obviously, but, in the meantime, how are you placed for taking her next Wednesday?’

‘That’s quick,’ said Mike. ‘How will we manage to fit in an initial visit? I’m sure neither she nor we would want to commit until we’ve met each other.’

‘I know,’ John said, the hope in his face clear as day. ‘But I was hoping we could do that on Monday. Jean goes into hospital on Wednesday, you see, for tests, so it would get complicated if …’

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Monday is fine. The poor thing. But one thing, John.’

He nodded. ‘Yes?’

‘Why us? Why me and Mike? It sounds to me that this is a pretty mainstream and also very short-term placement. Why have you picked us and not a general foster carer? Is it the illness?’

He shook his head. ‘Well, okay, partly,’ he agreed. ‘But mainly because her behaviour apparently
can
be a little challenging. Nothing major – and you’ll know from experience that I don’t use the word lightly. She’s just a little undisciplined, it seems. And the feeling is – and this is strictly between you and me, okay? – that there’s been a general lack of discipline in her life since she’s been with Jean, and what with the complication of the Addison’s – well, you can see how easily a child with that sort of issue can become manipulative if allowed to.’

‘I get it,’ I said. ‘She needs some boundaries, then?’

‘I think that’s about the size of it. So it’s right up your street. No points, as I say, as this really is just temporary, but just do what the two of you do so well. And don’t let your heads swell, because I shouldn’t tell you this, but it was my boss who suggested we place her with you. He said, “If anyone can turn her around, the Watson family can. After all, look how well they did with Justin.”’

‘That’s nice,’ said Mike, though I could tell by his voice that he knew he was being sweet-talked.

‘And just as well I cracked on and got the room ready, then,’ I added. ‘Why don’t you take John up to see it, love, while I put the kettle on again.’

My head was whirring while they went up to admire my creative efforts. The poor child. How tragic. To lose her mum – to lose all she had in the world – and to have to cope with what sounded like such a debilitating condition on her own. I wondered if she ever got to see her mother in hospital at all, and when John and Mike came back downstairs I asked.

‘Yes, she does,’ John said. ‘Every six weeks or so, for an hour. Not that she gets anything out of it. She apparently gets really upset after each visit, which is why she doesn’t go there more often.’

‘Poor kid,’ I said. ‘It must be awful.’

‘The world we live in, I’m afraid, Casey,’ he said. ‘Hey, but a great job on the bedroom. Fit for a princess! Oh, and be prepared, because it’ll seem like she really
is
a little princess. She has quite an entourage, this one, in terms of a team. So you’ll need plenty of cups at the ready …’

When John had gone, Mike and I retreated to the living room, where we sat and talked about what was to come. A pointless exercise really, though one which we’d go on to repeat many times. You could never second-guess the future, particularly in our line of work.

‘See, though,’ I said. ‘It was worth me getting all that decorating done, wasn’t it? I’m like a walking girl guide motto. Be prepared!’

I said it in jest, but little did I know. Those prickles of mine didn’t happen for nothing. Because
nothing
could have prepared us for Sophia.

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My husband, Mike, always bagged the window seat on planes, so I had to lean across him to watch ours land. He ruffled my hair.

‘Hey, look at you, eager beaver!’ he said. ‘Can’t wait to get home again, can you?’

We were returning from a glorious week in Corfu. Just the two of us. A rare break, and one we really needed. We’d just said goodbye to our most recent foster child, Sophia, and the impromptu holiday had been a real tonic. Sophia’s had been a two-week emergency stay that had stretched to almost a year. It had also been a pretty bumpy ride.

I snuggled up as far as my seat belt would let me, anxious to reassure him that that wasn’t the case. Well, not quite. ‘Oh, love,’ I said. ‘It’s been a
fantastic
holiday,
really
. But you know what I’m like. I’m missing the kids now. Especially baby Levi.’

Levi was our little grandson and one of the joys in our lives. ‘I know,’ Mike said, squeezing over so I could see out. ‘Me too, if I’m honest. But we’ll be home in next to no time … ah, here we go. Let’s see how he lands it.’

We both watched as the plane seemed to float towards the runway. No bumps today. The pilot touched down perfectly.

Looking after Sophia, who was now 13, and in temporary residential care, while they tackled her mental health problems, had been an experience we wouldn’t forget in a hurry. The outlook was positive, and we were still seeing her regularly, but what we’d been through when she was with us had taken its toll. Not just on the poor child but on us as a family, and now we were safely back on terra firma I realised just how much I needed to see my own children. Riley, my eldest, and mother to my gorgeous Levi, had given us the news, just the evening before we’d left, that she was now pregnant with our second grandchild. We’d been so thrilled, and now I was itching to get back to her and give her another hug.

I also couldn’t wait to see Kieron, our son, who I knew wouldn’t relax till he had us safely home again. He has Asperger’s syndrome and one of its features is that changes in routine made him anxious. Though he’d been away himself for a few days’ holiday with his girlfriend Lauren and her family, I knew it wouldn’t stop him fretting about whether we were okay.

And now we’d touched down, I couldn’t wait to actually get home and see them, so getting away from Manchester Airport couldn’t happen soon enough. I hate airports, especially in the middle of the day, when they’re at their busiest, and today wasn’t going to be an exception. We were herded along blindly down endless white corridors, then, due to all the extra security procedures, stood in one interminable queue after another. I sometimes wondered if we wouldn’t be better off going by boat. Finally, we emerged into the baggage reclaim area, but typically, there was no baggage yet in sight.

Sod this, I thought. I hadn’t had a cigarette in ages. ‘Mike,’ I said, making a familiar gesture. ‘D’you mind waiting for the cases, love, and I’ll see you outside?’

He smiled indulgently, bless him. ‘Go on, then,’ he said. Which was kind of him – as a non-smoker, I knew how much he wished I’d give up. Which I would, very soon. But not today. Giving him a quick peck, I headed off towards the arrivals hall and outside, rummaging in my handbag for my cigarettes as I went.

As I did so, I also pulled out my mobile. Time to switch it back on and catch up with everyone. I was particularly keen to speak to Riley, of course, just to check all was well with the new pregnancy. Plus I knew she might be anxious to speak to me too. We were close, and she knew just how much looking after Sophia had taken out of me. I knew she’d would want to catch up.

My thoughts were confirmed within seconds of turning my phone on. A series of bleeps, as text after text began appearing – though the texts, I could see, were all from voicemail. Hmm, I thought. Someone’s keen to welcome me back. The much-needed cigarette shelved for the moment, I dialled voicemail, put my ear to the phone and listened.

It hadn’t been Riley, but they were all from the same person. John Fulshaw, the link worker at the fostering agency Mike and I worked for. They’d all been made today, and were all pretty much identical.
‘Casey, can you please call me as soon as you get this?’

I was immediately alert. This could only mean one thing. That he must have another child in mind for us.

Mike appeared then, dragging both our cases behind him. They’d obviously not taken as long as we’d expected. I waved my mobile at him. ‘Hey, guess what?’ I said to him, my grin widening at the prospect. ‘John’s been on the phone, leaving messages!’

‘Bloody hell, Case!’ he said. ‘We’ve only just touched down! What messages? What does he want?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know yet. But I’m hoping it’s another kid.’

Mike rolled his eyes at me. ‘Already?’ Then he grinned. ‘Go on, then. Ring him. Might as well do it now.’

My excitement mounting, I dialled the now familiar number. Over the past couple of years, we’d grown very close to John. These days he was more of a friend than a boss, and I felt I was becoming used to all his little ways. He was a born worrier and he sounded worried now.

‘Oh, thank God, Casey!’ he said. ‘I was beginning to think I had my dates wrong. You are back in the UK now, are you? You’re not still on hols?’

‘No, we’re here,’ I said. ‘What’s up? You sounded slightly panicked on voicemail.’

‘“Slightly” is putting it mildly,’ he answered. ‘We’ve been landed with a real emergency situation, and, to be frank, I have nowhere else to turn.’

‘Go on,’ I said, even more intrigued now. I couldn’t help it. For all the lows of my job, this bit was one of the highs. This part when you had no idea what was just around the corner. What the child would be like, what their problems might be, what grim circumstances they’d come from and why.

I heard him take a breath. ‘Look, I hate to put this on you, Casey. And you can say no if you want, you know that, don’t you? But well, it’s a sibling placement. Two children …’

‘Two kids. Oh, my!’

‘Yes,’ he confirmed. ‘Young ones. Older boy, younger girl. And it’s a desperate situation – they have to be moved as soon as possible. They’ve both been grossly neglected and are – or so I’m told – in a terrible state. And that’s both mentally and physically.’

‘Physically? Have they been hurt?’

‘No, it’s nothing like that. Well, as far as we know, it isn’t. More neglect. Serious neglect. They’ve been living a bit like animals. It’ll be a challenge, Casey, I’m not going to lie to you. They have some issues. Their behaviour will need managing. The only thing I
can
say is that it’s going to be an extremely short placement. Just interim. Two weeks, three at the most.’

‘Well,’ I said, gesturing to Mike, who was watching intently. ‘You know what I’m like – always up for a new challenge. And the two of them … what ages?’

‘Erm, six and nine, I think. Or thereabouts.’

Little ones, then. In comparison with my last child, for sure. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’m obviously going to have to run this by Mike first.’ Mike’s eyebrows rose. ‘Make sure he’s happy with it, okay? Can I call you back?”

‘’Course you can.’

I chose my words carefully as I relayed all this to Mike. I wasn’t sure if I was hoping he’d say no to it or not. On the one hand, it was an exciting new challenge – albeit a brief one. But two badly neglected young children. That was completely new territory. I was used to having one difficult-to-place child at a time. Two of them together, and so young – that was something to think about. It had always been teenagers who were my natural forte. Challenging teenagers, yes. But not little ones!

There was also the question of it being short term again, though this wasn’t entirely unexpected. It
was
a bit annoying – after all, Mike and I had trained as specialist carers, employed to work to an innovative behaviour modification model – but along with others like us, we’d already been warned that due to government cutbacks we had to be flexible, and that we might be required to undertake
any
kind of fostering, in order to meet the council’s needs. I supposed it was sensible – better to be utilised than sit around waiting for a child who met our model’s criteria.

But even so, it felt a shame not to be able to do what we’d trained for – we’d done it with our first placement, Justin, and had really seen the benefits. But, hey ho. Such was life in the public sector. And the words ‘badly neglected’ triggered something maternal inside me. Poor mites. What grim story would they have to tell?

Mike was looking at me, considering, as he took in what I’d told him. ‘Two little ones,’ he said. ‘And one of them only six? That’s going to take it out of you, love. You have thought of that, have you?’

Which, of course, sent me straight into overdrive. Finally lighting my cigarette, I fell into step with him as we made our way to the long-stay car park. Stuff and nonsense, I told him. I was in my early forties, not my dotage! Plus I’d already been reminded how tiring little ones could be. Now we had Levi in our lives, it had all come right back. And I pooh-poohed his comment that Levi didn’t actually
live
with us. I was fired up now.
Of course
we’d be able to manage, I told him. How difficult could they be? Anyway, I pointed out, it was the summer holidays, wasn’t it? So no school stress to fret about. And I could take them out, keep them occupied. To the park. To the swimming pool, to the cinema and so on. And Riley would help. Little Levi would love it. And it wouldn’t be for long, I reminded him.

But his face, when I was done, still had doubt etched across it. ‘Look love,’ he said. ‘It’s you I’m thinking of here. I’ll be at work. It’s you that’ll have to deal with them.’ We’d reached the car park by now and he turned as we passed the barrier. ‘But if you think you can do it, go on, call John back. Say yes. I have a feeling you’re not going to take no for an answer, anyway, so we might as well put him out of his misery.’

I leaned across and kissed him. ‘We can do it, love. “We” being the operative word here …’

‘Hey,’ he said. ‘I can still change my mind, you know!’

But he didn’t. He wouldn’t. He knew what I was like. I gleefully grabbed my mobile and began dialling.

Twenty-four hours later, and the house was a hive of activity. I’d been thrilled by the children’s response to the news; after Sophia, whose problems had caused the whole family a lot of heartache, I had expected them to be a lot more reticent. Instead, Kieron was already enthusing about how he and Lauren could take them bowling, and even Riley, though more reserved, and also quick to point out how much hard work young kids were – just like her father! – was happy to pitch in.

We had a four-bed house, one bedroom housing Mike and I, and one housing Kieron, and the third bedroom was currently a confection of pink butterflies and fairy princesses, the way we’d decorated when Sophia had come to live with us. Given the little ones wouldn’t be with us for long, it made sense not to go overboard changing things. The pink room would happily house the little girl who was coming, and her brother could go in the fourth bedroom, the spare room, which was currently home to Kieron and his college friend’s DJing equipment – all the mixers, amps and decks essential to the making of new tracks. It really just needed a good clear-out and clean up, and all the contents transferring to the garden shed.

We’d had some more info by now, from an extremely grateful John, who, had he been able to crawl along the phone line and hug me, would, I could tell, have probably done so. As it was, he just had to content himself with thanking me profusely and letting me know we’d have everyone’s full support. The children now had names at least; the nine-year-old boy was called Ashton, and his six-year-old sister was Olivia.

I’d get more in the afternoon, he said, when the social worker called me, but in the meantime he wanted to let me know that a new bed was already on its way. Happily, Mike, who was a warehouse manager and very busy with his own job, had taken two days off to get the rooms straight, so I could at least be sure the children would both have somewhere nice and welcoming to sleep.

By lunchtime, I was happy that we were getting things organised, so, leaving Mike and Kieron painting – they’d found a big tin of blue emulsion, left over from when we’d decorated for our first foster child, Justin – Riley and I made a trip into town for some bits. I knew it wasn’t really necessary, but the word ‘neglect’ kept jumping out at me, so even if they would be with us only a short while I was determined these poor little ones would find the experience a positive one. It would take no time at all to grab some bits from all the local charity shops: books to read, toys and jigsaws, soft toys and dolls – just some kiddie paraphernalia to help make them feel at home.

Riley and I were just staggering back in through the front door with our haul when the phone rang. As promised, it was the children’s social worker.

‘I’m Anna,’ she told me. She sounded young and very professional. ‘And I can’t tell you how grateful we are that you’ve agreed to help us out. John’s told us so much about you and Mike, and we really don’t know what we’d have done without you. And I have to tell you …’ I mentally braced, because the tone of her voice had now changed markedly, ‘… that the situation’s become somewhat more urgent.’

I wasn’t sure what she meant. In the world in which we worked we were used to pretty much everything being urgent. Well, if
they
needed something, anyway – it didn’t necessarily work in reverse. ‘More urgent?’

‘In that we’ve had to give the parents notice. That we’re going to be removing the children in the morning …’

‘The morning? You mean tomorrow morning?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ she answered. ‘We would have moved them today, but of course it was only fair to give you notice …’

‘But what about the pre-placement meeting? We know absolutely nothing about them.’

I should have expected this, I thought ruefully as I waited for her answer. In theory, before a child is placed with a foster family, there is a defined process – a formal meeting, in which all concerned parties are present, so that social services can give the new carers some background and so that a plan of action for the child or children’s future can be put in place. But in practice … Hmm, I thought, we’d been here before, hadn’t we?