Innocent. Cathy Glass
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behaviour, who, to be honest, I felt more confident in dealing with. Would I remember what to do with two little ones?
My crisis of confidence continued until the doorbell rang, when common sense and instinct kicked in. I answered it with a bright smile. ‘Hello, I’m Cathy. Come in.’
Two female social workers stood before me, each carrying a child.
‘I’m Tess, and this is Molly,’ Tess said, introducing the child she was holding. ‘And this is my colleague Preeta, with Kit.’
‘Hello,’ Preeta said as they came in.
I smiled at both children. They looked petrified – large eyes stared out from pale faces and they clung desperately to their social workers. Kit had a plaster cast on his left arm, his cheeks were bruised and there was a red bump on his forehead. ‘Hello, love,’ I said to him, and swallowed hard.
He drew back from me further into Preeta’s shoulder.
‘I’ve put some toys in the living room,’ I said, and led the way down the hall, although I guessed it would be a long time before either child felt like playing. Their little sombre faces suggested they were very close to tears.
In the living room, Preeta sat on the sofa with Kit on her lap, still clinging desperately to her. Tess put Molly down. The child grabbed her hand for comfort. ‘It might be a good idea if you changed her now,’ Tess said to me. ‘She’s sopping wet, and can I use your bathroom to wash my hands?’
‘Yes, of course. This way.’ I could smell stale urine.
Leaving Preeta with Kit, we went upstairs to the bathroom, with Molly still clutching her social worker’s hand.
‘Help yourself to whatever you need,’ I said to Tess, referring to the soap, towel and antibacterial hand wash. ‘I’ll change Molly in her bedroom.’
‘Thanks. I don’t suppose you have a change of clothes for me too?’ Tess joked, sniffing the sleeve of her blouse.
‘I’m sure I could find you a top,’ I offered.
‘No, it’s fine,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ve had worse than a bit of pee on me.’
I bent down to talk to Molly. ‘I’ve got some nice dry clothes for you ready in your bedroom,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and get you changed.’ She stared back at me, bewildered. I gently took her hand and, leaving Tess washing her hands and forearms, I led Molly, silent and expressionless, around the landing and into her and Kit’s bedroom.
I spoke brightly and positively as I pointed out the toy box, her bed and Kit’s cot close by, trying to put her at ease. I held up the clothes I’d put out ready. ‘You can wear these for now,’ I said. She stared at the clothes. ‘Can you change yourself or shall I help you?’ Most children of Molly’s age can make a good attempt at dressing and undressing themselves, although they still need help with fiddly things like buttons and zips. Molly just stood there, looking lost and staring at the clothes.
‘I’ll help you,’ I said.
I began taking off her damp clothes. She was like a doll and only moved to raise her arms as I took off her dress and vest over her head. I then helped her out of her pants and socks. They were all wet and smelt of urine and I put them to one side to go in the washing machine. I wiped her skin with baby wipes. Her body was very pale like her face, as though she hadn’t seen much sun, but thankfully I couldn’t see any bruises or other marks on her as there were on Kit. ‘That will do for now,’ I said, throwing the wipes in the bin. ‘You can have a bath tonight.’ I dressed her in the clean clothes.
Tess appeared. ‘Anything I should be aware of?’ she asked, meaning injuries.
‘No, I can’t see anything. I’ll give them both a bath this evening, though.’
‘I’ll arrange medicals for both children,’ Tess said. This was usual when children came into care.
Molly still hadn’t said a word, but while she looked very sad, she wasn’t crying; indeed, I hadn’t heard a sound from her since she’d arrived. ‘Does she have communication difficulties?’ I asked Tess. I knew so little about the children it was possible she had a hearing and speech impairment.
‘No. She was talking to her parents at home,’ Tess said. Then to Molly, ‘You can hear me, can’t you?’
She gave a small nod. It therefore seemed it must be the trauma of coming into care that was responsible, and possibly what had been going on at home. I’d seen it before in abused children – sometimes it was days before they were able to speak.
‘Let’s go downstairs and I’ll tell you what I know,’ Tess said to me. ‘I haven’t got the Essential Information Form, it’s being completed now. I’ll email it to you, and the placement agreement form.’ In a planned move, this paperwork arrived with the social worker when the child was placed and gave their background information and the reasons they were in care.
We returned downstairs to the living room where Kit was as we’d left him, sitting on Preeta’s lap. She had taken a toy fire engine with flashing lights and a siren from the toy box and was trying to interest him in it, but he wasn’t even touching it – another indication of how traumatized the children were. Molly sat on the sofa beside Preeta and Kit and put her hand on his arm. Tess sat next to her. I asked both social workers if they would like a drink, and they wanted coffee. I also asked Molly and Kit if they’d like a drink, but they just looked at me. ‘I’ll get you some water and you can have it if you want,’ I told the children with a reassuring smile.
In the kitchen I made two coffees and filled the trainer cup with water for Kit and a child’s plastic beaker for Molly. I put some biscuits on a plate and then carried everything on a tray into the living room where I set it on the occasional table. As Tess and Preeta took their coffees – keeping the hot liquid away from the children – I offered Molly and Kit their drinks, but they didn’t want them. ‘OK, maybe later,’ I said. ‘Would you like a biscuit?’ I showed them the plate but got the same response.
At that moment I heard a key go in the front door and the door open. Molly started. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘That will be my youngest daughter, Paula, returning from college.’
‘Who else lives here?’ Tess asked. Setting down her coffee, she took a pen and notepad from her bag. I guessed in all the rush she had as little information about me as I did about the children.
‘As well as Paula, there is Adrian, my son, and Lucy, my other daughter. And Sammy the cat,’ I added, smiling at Molly. ‘He must be in the garden. You’ll meet him later.’
‘And your children’s ages?’ Tess asked. I told her.
‘Do you like cats?’ Preeta asked Molly, but she didn’t reply.
‘They don’t have any animals at home,’ Tess said as she wrote.
Paula appeared at the living-room door and smiled a little self-consciously. ‘Oh they’re sweet,’ she said. The children shifted their gaze to her.
‘This is Molly and Kit,’ I said. ‘Can you join us? I think it might help them.’ So often, looked-after children take to the carer’s children before they feel relaxed enough to begin to form a relationship with the carer.
‘Sure,’ Paula said, coming further into the room. ‘Shall I play with them?’
‘Yes, please.’ I took some of the toys out of the box as Paula sat on the floor beside them.
‘Do you want to play with these farm animals?’ she asked the children. Molly stared at her, but Kit scrambled down from Preeta’s lap and sat near Paula.
‘Well done,’ I said to her.
‘You’ve hurt your arm,’ she said to Kit, referring to the plaster. Molly, wanting