Another Forgotten Child. Cathy Glass
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the four-year-olds were over-excited after their visit to the fire station. So was my manager – by the firemen.’
I laughed, and decided I’d better tell Lucy straightaway about Aimee. ‘It’s possible we might be having an eight-year-old girl coming to stay on Thursday,’ I said.
‘Cool,’ Lucy said, helping herself to a biscuit.
‘She’s been badly neglected and has behavioural problems,’ I clarified.
‘OK. What’s her name?’
‘Aimee.’
‘That’s nice. Have I got time for a shower before dinner? I’m going to the cinema later.’
‘Yes, a quick one. Dinner will be fifteen minutes.’
‘Cool,’ Lucy said again, and planting another kiss on my cheek hurried off for a shower. Older than Paula, with a more robust constitution from her own experiences before coming into care, and with a life outside our home, Lucy had taken Aimee’s proposed arrival in her stride.
We ate at six o’clock and Aimee wasn’t mentioned again, and the evening progressed as usual, with Lucy out socializing and Paula doing her homework in between MSNing and texting her friends.
I didn’t hear anything further from either Jill or Kristen until Thursday morning, by which time Aimee’s room was prepared, even if I wasn’t. I’d already given the bedroom a good clean after Reece (the little boy whose story I told in Mummy Told Me Not to Tell) had left the month before. Now I changed the Batman duvet cover for one with pictures of butterflies, which I hoped would appeal to Aimee, and I arranged some cuddly toys on the bed. As well as the bedroom furniture there was a toy box in the room with some games and puzzles; the rest of the toys were kept in cupboards downstairs. I’d sort out some clothes for Aimee once she arrived, when I’d have a better idea of her size. I kept an emergency supply of clothes (for both sexes and in most sizes) in the ottoman in my bedroom.
At lunchtime Jill telephoned and asked if I’d heard anything from Kristen. I hadn’t, so we assumed the case was still in court. An hour later Kristen phoned and said she’d just come out of court and the judge had granted the care order, which was clearly a relief. Kristen said she and her colleague, Laura, were on their way to Hayward school to collect Aimee. ‘Susan, Aimee’s mother, was very upset in court,’ Kristen said. ‘And her barrister was good, so I had to agree to let Susan see Aimee for half an hour at the end of school to say goodbye.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘See you later.’ I put down the phone and thought of Susan going to school to say goodbye to her daughter.
I felt sorry for her, as I did for many of the parents whose children I fostered, for none of them started life bad with the intention of failing and then losing their children. I guessed life had been cruel to Susan, just as it had to Aimee.
Despite all the years I’d been fostering I still felt nervous when anticipating the arrival of a new child. Will the child like me? Will I be able to help the child come to terms with their suffering and separation from home? Will I be able to cope with the child’s needs? Or will this be the one child I can’t help? Once the child arrives there is so much to do that there isn’t time for worrying, and I simply get on with it. But on that Thursday afternoon while I waited for Aimee to arrive, which I calculated would be between 4.30 and 5.00 p.m., my stomach churned, and all manner of thoughts plagued me so that I couldn’t settle to anything. Jill had phoned to say she’d been called to an emergency so wouldn’t be able to be with me for moral support when Aimee was placed. I’d reassured her I’d be all right.
Paula arrived home from school at four o’clock and, having had a drink and a snack, went to her room to unwind before starting her homework; Lucy wouldn’t be home until about 5.30. My anxieties increased until at 4.40 the doorbell rang. With a mixture of trepidation and relief that Aimee had finally arrived, I went to answer it.
‘Hello,’ I said brightly, with a big smile that belied my nerves. ‘Good to see you.’ There were two social workers, whom I took to be Kristen and her colleague Laura, and they stood either side of Aimee, who carried a plastic carrier bag. ‘I’m Cathy. Do come in.’ I smiled.
It was clear who thought she was in charge, for, elbowing the social workers out of the way, Aimee stepped confidently into the hall and then stood looking at me expectantly.
The social workers followed. ‘Hello, Cathy,’ they said and introduced themselves.
‘Shall we leave our shoes here?’ Kristen said thoughtfully, slipping off her shoes, having seen ours paired in the hall.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And I’ll hang your coats on the hall stand.’
As Kristen and Laura took off their shoes and coats I looked at Aimee, who was doing neither. ‘Shall we leave your shoes and coat here?’ I said encouragingly.
‘No. Not taking ’em off,’ Aimee said, jutting out her chin in defiance. ‘And you can’t make me.’ My fault, I thought, for giving her a choice. What I should have said was: ‘Would you like to take off your coat first or your shoes?’ It’s a technique called ‘the closed choice’ and would have resulted in action rather than refusal.
‘No problem,’ I said easily. ‘You can do it later.’
‘Not taking ’em off at all,’ Aimee said challengingly. The two social workers looked at me and then raised their eyes.
‘You can keep your shoes and coat on for now,’ I said, aware I needed to be seen to be in charge. ‘And we’ll take them off later. Come on through.’ Before Aimee could give me another refusal I turned and led the way down the hall and into the sitting room. My thoughts went again to Jodie. Although Aimee was the same age as Jodie, with similar blonde hair and grey-blue eyes, she wasn’t so badly overweight and also seemed more astute. I knew I would need my wits about me in order to gain her cooperation.
In the sitting room Aimee plonked herself in the middle of the sofa, which left the two social workers to squeeze themselves in either side of her. ‘This is nice,’ Aimee said, running her eyes around the room. ‘It ain’t like this at my house. My ’ouse is a pigsty.’ I smiled sadly at her heartfelt and innocent comparison – she was simply stating it as she saw it.
‘No,’ Kristen agreed, seizing the chance to demonstrate what an improvement coming into care was. ‘Cathy’s house is clean and warm and has lots of nice furniture. You’ll have your own room here – we’ll see it soon. And there’ll always be plenty of food and hot water.’ All of which I assumed had been missing from Aimee’s house.
‘It’s nice, but it ain’t me home,’ Aimee said.
‘It will be for now,’ Laura put in.
‘No it won’t,’ Aimee said, louder, turning to Laura and jutting out her chin. ‘Me home’s with me mother and neither you nor your bleeding lawyers can change that.’
Kristen and Laura both looked at me. ‘I can guess where that’s come from,’ Kristen said. I nodded. It was a phrase an adult would have used, not an eight-year-old child, so I assumed Aimee was repeating something her mother had said.
‘Cathy will be taking you to school and collecting you,’ Kristen continued, unperturbed. ‘And tomorrow you’ll be able to see your mother after school.’ Then, looking at me, Kristen said: ‘I’ll speak to you later about contact arrangements.’
‘OK,’ I said. Then I offered them a drink, as I hadn’t done so before.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ Kristen said. ‘We’ll settle Aimee and then get back to the office.’ Laura agreed.
‘What about you, Aimee?’ I said. ‘Would