Nobody’s Son: Part 3 of 3: All Alex ever wanted was a family of his own. Cathy Glass
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‘We’re all worried about you,’ I said to Alex. ‘Adrian, Paula, me and Debbie.’
‘I’m not going to my review,’ he said through his tears.
‘If you really don’t want to, you don’t have to. You can tell me what you want to say.’ But I knew this wasn’t the only reason for his anger.
He sniffed and drew his hand across his eyes. I reached for a tissue. ‘You can tell them I don’t want to be adopted again,’ he said tightly.
‘OK. But I think Debbie has already told you that she’s looking for a special foster family for you where you will be the youngest or only child.’
‘Because of what happened with James?’ he asked astutely. I wiped his eyes. ‘I tried to get on with him, honest I did.’
‘I know, love. It wasn’t your fault. You need to believe that.’
‘They lie at my reviews,’ Alex said bitterly. ‘At my last one they promised I’d have a forever family. I’m not going to any more reviews because they lie.’
‘I understand it must look that way. But no one knew this would happen. We all thought it would be good for you.’ His little face was so sad and pitiful. I dearly wished I could take his pain away. It was difficult to know what else I could say. We were quiet for a moment. ‘Alex, I know what happened seems dreadful now, and of course you are feeling upset and angry, but I have found in life that often things happen for a reason. Even things that go wrong and seem very bad at the time can turn out for the best in the end. Does that make any sense?’
He shook his head. ‘I wanted a family, but they didn’t want me.’
‘Perhaps that wasn’t the right family for you,’ I suggested.
‘But you all said it was.’
‘I know. We thought so. They seemed right, but perhaps if you’d stayed there you would have been unhappy. We won’t ever know. But what I’m saying is that possibly in the future you may think that what happened was for the best.’ Unlikely though this seemed at present, I had to give him some hope.
Alex didn’t say anything further, and very likely my philosophy was too much for a seven-year-old. We sat together for a while longer, Alex cuddling Simba and me with my arm around him. I was aware that Adrian and Paula were alone downstairs and worried. ‘Do you feel you could come down now?’ I asked. ‘Adrian and Paula will be wondering where you are.’
He nodded, tucked Simba into bed and then we stood, stepping over the thrown toys as we left his room. Downstairs Alex joined Adrian and Paula in the living room and, squatting on the floor, he continued with the puzzle he’d been doing previously. Adrian and Paula glanced at him and then at me. I nodded and they resumed what they were doing. I knew they wouldn’t say anything to Alex about his outburst, for they appreciated that all children get angry and upset sometimes, and no one wants a reminder once they’re over it. Alex would be helping me clear up his room later though, which should make him less likely to throw things in anger again in the future.
If I’m honest the half-term holiday grew more and more fraught, despite the activities I’d arranged. Alex’s behaviour steadily deteriorated. He exploded into anger at the smallest provocation, although he was never cruel or unkind to Adrian and Paula. He was also running away whenever we were out, despite my watching him very carefully. His running off not only caused me a lot of worry but also embarrassment. Losing a child once is forgivable, but losing them regularly isn’t. On Tuesday Alex disappeared while we were at the indoor activity centre, and after a frantic search by me and the staff he was found hiding in the men’s toilets. I told him off and cut half an hour of his television time. Then on Wednesday morning, while we were shopping for some new school trousers for him, I turned to the hangers to select another size and he was gone. Adrian and Paula didn’t see in which direction he’d vanished, and we began calling his name and hunting around the rails of clothes. With no sight of him I became increasingly anxious, and I reported him missing to one of the assistants, who put out a call over the Tannoy system. After another very anxious fifteen minutes he was found – the security guard had stopped him as he was about to leave the store. Reunited, I thanked the guard profusely, told Alex off and warned him of the dangers of running away. I also said that if he didn’t stop running off I wouldn’t be able to take him out again. The thought of what could have happened to him had he left the store tormented me for the rest of the day. That evening I heard Adrian say to Alex, ‘You must stop running away. It makes us all worried and Mum upset.’
‘She’s not my mum,’ Alex replied tellingly.
And of course producing a reaction in us was most likely the reason Alex was running off – if we were worried and upset then it proved we cared. I told him often that we cared, but for a child like Alex who’d been badly let down and was convinced that no one loved him, seeing our concern was far more effective than me telling him: actions speak louder than words. Did he believe I cared? I didn’t know, but on Thursday morning I cut short our trip to the swimming pool, as Alex kept leaving the water and running off into the changing rooms, male and female. I couldn’t leave Adrian and Paula unsupervised in the water, so I had to keep getting everyone out of the pool to go and find him. It was very stressful, so after about thirty minutes of this I apologized to Adrian and Paula and said it was best if we all left.
‘It’s OK, Mum,’ Adrian said amicably. ‘I’ve had a nice swim.’ I knew he would have liked to have stayed longer, so I was touched and grateful that he was being so understanding.
The questionnaires for Alex’s review had arrived in the post on Tuesday morning. One for me and one for him. They were only short – ten or so questions, printed on a form for the carer and a child-friendly booklet for the child. The questions for the carer were around how the child was doing in the placement, while the booklet for the child asked how they felt about being in care and what life was like with their carer. I’d completed my form on Tuesday evening – it had taken about fifteen minutes – but I’d put off giving Alex his as I knew that there were at least two questions he would find upsetting: ‘What has gone well for you since your last review?’ ‘What hasn’t gone well?’
I usually sat with the child while they completed their booklet to help with any questions they couldn’t read or didn’t understand. Both forms would be handed to the independent reviewing officer (IRO) at the start of the review. As the foster carer I was expected to encourage the child to complete the booklet, so after dinner on Thursday, with the review the following morning, I knew I couldn’t put it off any longer. Once Adrian and Paula were occupied in the living room, I took Alex aside and, handing him the booklet, said we needed to fill it in now and that I’d help him if he wished. He knew what was involved from the reviews he’d attended before.
‘I’m not writing in that,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m not going to my review.’ He passed the booklet back.
‘I think we should try to answer a few questions,’ I said, opening the booklet to show him. The first one is easy: ‘Do you know why you’re in care?’
‘I’m not answering any,’ he said, and turned away.
‘What about if I do the writing and you tell me what to write?’ Which is what I’d done previously with some of the children I’d fostered, especially those with learning difficulties who couldn’t read or write.
‘No. I’m not telling you what to write,’ he said, and his face set. ‘They lie. They don’t care.’
‘They do care and they’d like to know what you think. But if you really don’t want to fill it in, OK.’ I wasn’t going to make an issue of it and I closed the booklet.
‘Can I go now?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
He looked slightly surprised, perhaps thinking I was going to lecture him or stop his television, but managing a child’s behaviour is as much about what you can reasonably let go as what they have to do. So while it was crucial that Alex stopped running