Innocent. Cathy Glass

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Innocent - Cathy Glass


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them on the work surface. It soon looked like a mini pharmacy with all the bottles, screw-top jars, packets and so on. There was antihistamine syrup to control allergic reactions, antihistamine cream in a tube, medicine to control sickness, Calpol for reducing fevers and high temperature, cough syrup, vitamin drops, eye drops, ear drops, nasal spray, laxatives, antiseptic cream, medicine for colic, stomach upsets, diarrhoea, sachets to rehydrate after sickness or diarrhoea, and so on. There was also an inhaler for asthma, although asthma hadn’t been mentioned. I counted forty-five items.

      All the medicine was relatively recent and in date, some had been used while other bottles and packets remained unopened. A few items had been prescribed by a doctor or the hospital, but most of it had been bought over the counter. There was also a syringe for giving liquid medicine to very young children. None of it was needed now; they were used to treat symptoms as and when they appeared. There was nothing wrong with Molly and Kit as far as I knew – Molly was over her sickness and hadn’t developed any other symptoms – so they didn’t need them. I couldn’t fit all these items in my lockable medicine cabinet, and I thought they should all be kept together in one place, so, repacking the bag, I labelled it Molly and Kit’s medicine and returned it to the top shelf of the cupboard. Was this amount of medicine excessive? Yes, I thought so, although the children had been ill an awful lot, so I guessed Aneta liked to be prepared.

      I went into the front room and switched on the computer to read my emails. I prefer the large screen of the desktop computer to my phone and it was where I stored important files. As it sprung to life Paula and Lucy crept downstairs and into the front room. ‘They’re both fast asleep,’ Lucy whispered. ‘They were exhausted.’

      ‘Thank you so much. Was Molly all right? She’s not feeling sick again?’ I asked.

      ‘No, she seems fine,’ Paula said. ‘She said she missed her mummy, but I told her she’d see her soon.’

      ‘Thank you both,’ I said again. ‘Now you can chill.’ It was their Friday evening and they disappeared into the living room to stream a film, as I concentrated on the computer screen.

      Tess’s email came through with the Essential Information Form attached. The social services, like many organizations, were trying to go paperless and I now had a folder on my computer for files relating to the children I was fostering as well as a physical folder. I was still keeping my log notes in a book; most foster carers were, simply because it’s easier to pick up to add to during the day, although many forms were now completed and stored online.

      It was a standard form and began with the children’s and parents’ full names, home address and dates of birth. In the box about other family members it showed that Aneta had a mother and sister living abroad but they weren’t in contact. Filip had no close family members. Ethnicity was given as British, language as English and beside religion it said none. The children’s legal status was an interim care order, and beside school or nursery was written none. Next was the contact arrangements – which I’d already taken from the email – followed by special health concerns: The mother claims that both children suffer from multiple and undiagnosed allergies, which can result in vomiting, diarrhoea, rashes, bruising, difficulty in breathing (so I guessed that was why an inhaler was in their bag of medicines) and seizures – that hadn’t been mentioned before either. I paused, very concerned. I’d need to ask Tess for more details about the seizures, how often they occurred and how long they lasted. I’d also have to let the rest of the family know and check they knew what to do if Kit or Molly did fit. I had a first-aid certificate – all foster carers do – and Lucy had one because she worked in a nursery. However, I knew from experience how frightening it can be to see someone fit, so I needed to have a chat with my family to make sure Paula and Adrian knew what to do too.

      ‘It’s all right, love,’ I said, picking him up and holding him close. ‘There, there,’ I soothed. Molly slept on in her bed close by. It occurred to me that cot bumpers would have cushioned the blow when Kit’s plaster hit the sides, but they were now deemed unsafe as some infants had tragically become entangled in them and suffocated.

      Eventually Kit began to relax against me and his eyes grew heavy and closed. I lay him on his side in the cot and gently rubbed his back. I also had a closer look at his arm in the plaster cast. I could see by the dimmed light that his hand and fingers were a healthy colour and weren’t swollen so I didn’t think it was causing him a problem, apart from being uncomfortable and hitting the cot when he turned over. After about ten minutes of rubbing his back, he appeared to be fully asleep and I crept from the room. I’d just got outside when I heard his startled cry again and went straight back. Not quickly enough. He’d woken Molly. ‘I want my mummy!’ she cried, sitting bolt upright in bed.

      ‘It’s OK, love, you’ll see her soon,’ I said. ‘Lie down and go back to sleep.’

      Molly lay down but didn’t go back to sleep. ‘I want my mummy!’ she cried over and over again.

      I picked up Kit and held him on my lap as I sat on the edge


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