Innocent. Cathy Glass

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Innocent - Cathy Glass


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Acknowledgements

      A big thank you to my family; my editors, Carolyn and Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; my UK publishers HarperCollins, and my overseas publishers who are now too numerous to list by name. Last, but definitely not least, a big thank you to my readers for your unfailing support and kind words. They are much appreciated.

       Traumatized

      Thank goodness I didn’t have to witness their anguish and upset, I thought. I was sure I wouldn’t have coped. It was bad enough knowing it was happening – two young children about to be taken from their parents and brought into care. During the twenty-five years I’d been fostering I’d seen a lot of changes, but the raw grief of a family torn apart didn’t get any easier. I could imagine the children screaming and crying and clinging to their distraught parents as they tried to say goodbye. My heart ached for them. I also had sympathy for the social worker who was doing a very difficult job. No one wants to take children from their parents, but sometimes there is no alternative if they are to be safe.

      It was now nearly two o’clock in the afternoon and I was standing in what would shortly be the children’s bedroom. I could have put the cot in my room, but I was sure Kit, only eighteen months old, would be happier sleeping with his sister Molly, who was three and a half. Doubtless she too would find comfort in having her younger brother close. Fostering guidelines on bedroom sharing vary slightly from one local authority to another, but generally siblings of the opposite sex can share a bedroom up to the age of five.

      Edith, my supervising social worker, had telephoned at 11 a.m. to tell me to expect the children if the care order was granted. The reason for the social services’ application was that one of the children (she didn’t know which one) had suffered what was thought to be a non-accidental injury. That meant that someone – presumably one or both of the parents – had harmed the child. Apart from this and their ages, Edith didn’t have any more details. I would learn more when their social worker brought the children to me later today.

      Having made up the bed and cot with fresh linen, I set a toy box at the far end of the room and came out. Hopefully Molly and Kit’s parents would feel up to packing some of their children’s clothes and toys, as it would help them settle with me to have familiar things around them when everything else in their lives had changed.

      Downstairs, I quickly made a sandwich lunch, which I ate at the table with my mobile phone beside me. I was expecting Edith or the children’s social worker to phone at any moment – as soon as the care order had been granted and they’d left court. Of course, there was a chance the order wouldn’t be granted. If so, then preparing the room would have all been for nothing. It had happened to me in the past – I’d been put on standby to receive a child or children, and plans had changed at the last minute, which is why foster carers have to be flexible. It’s unusual for a care order not to be granted, but what happens more often is that a relative steps in at the last minute to look after the children so they don’t have to go to a foster carer they don’t know.

      I’d just finished eating my sandwich when my mobile rang.

      ‘Cathy Glass?’ a female voice asked.

      ‘Yes, speaking.’ I could hear traffic noise in the background.

      ‘It’s Tess Baldwin, social worker for Molly and Kit. I believe Edith spoke to you this morning and you’re expecting Kit and Molly.’

      ‘Yes, that’s right. Their room is ready.’

      ‘Good. We’re on our way to collect them. We should be with you by five o’clock. The children have never been away from home before so are likely to be very upset.’

      ‘I’ll explain more when I see you. The family only came to the notice of the social services on Monday. The decision to remove the children was made by us yesterday afternoon.’ It was only Thursday now, which showed just how urgent they considered it to be to bring the children to a place of safety.

      I had a couple of hours before Molly and Kit arrived. I texted Adrian, Lucy and Paula to let them know the children were coming so it wouldn’t be a complete surprise. I then went quickly into the High Street where I bought a trainer cup, nappies and baby wipes for Kit (I assumed he was still in nappies), and some snack food that might tempt them both if they were too upset to eat – for example, corn and carrot sticks, little packets of dried fruit and fromage frais in brightly decorated pots. If the children didn’t come with their own clothes, I’d be back here tomorrow to buy them what they needed. We’d get by tonight with the spares I kept in the ottoman in my bedroom. I had most sizes, from newborn to teens, all washed and pressed and ready for emergency use.

      An hour later I was home again and, having unpacked the shopping, I began to make a cottage pie for dinner later. There wouldn’t be much time once the social worker arrived with Kit and Molly, and most children enjoy cottage pie. I didn’t know yet if Kit and Molly had any special dietary requirements, allergies or special needs, and it would be something I’d ask Tess when they arrived. If this had been a planned move, I would normally have received background information like this in advance of the children arriving, but this was an emergency, so everything was happening quickly.

      ‘I’ll have some ready,’ I said. ‘Tell her not to worry.’ I knew how children fretted if they had an accident. It wasn’t surprising she’d wet herself, given the trauma of being taken from home.

      ‘See you shortly,’ Tess said, and ended the call.

      I went straight upstairs to my bedroom where I searched through the ottoman until I found a new packet of pants marked ‘Age 3–4 Years’, and a pair of jogging bottoms and matching top that should fit Molly. I took them into the children’s bedroom and returned downstairs, my heart thumping loudly from nervous anticipation.

      Waiting for a new child or children to arrive is always nerve-racking for the foster carer, regardless of how many times they’ve done it before. We worry if the children will like and trust us enough to help them, if we can meet their


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