Too Scared to Tell: Part 2 of 3. Cathy Glass
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remained sitting on the sofa.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t today,’ I said. ‘I’ll need Andrew’s permission and he won’t be in the office now. We can ask him tomorrow and perhaps I can help you out next time.’
She tutted, picked up her handbag and threw it over her shoulder, clearly stressed at being late for work.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. ‘I’ll ask Andrew, although if you explain the problem to him he may be able to alter the times of contact to fit around your work.’
‘I have to rush,’ she said and, throwing a kiss at the top of Oskar’s head, called goodbye as she ran out the door. Oskar stayed where he was on the sofa.
I would have liked to help her, but if she and Oskar were in my car it would have constituted a form of contact, so I needed Andrew’s permission. I knew that Roksana worked as a cleaner in various offices, and if they were on my way and Andrew agreed then I’d been happy to drop her off next time. Alternatively, as I’d suggested to her, contact arrangements might be adjusted to fit around her work, although the centre was only open from 9.00 a.m. to 5.30 p.m., Monday to Friday. I appreciated it was difficult for parents who worked full-time, but seeing their children was usually a priority.
Oskar stood, picked up his jacket and came to me, tucking his hand into mine. I gave it a reassuring squeeze said goodbye to the contact supervisor, and we left. ‘Did you have a nice time?’ I asked Oskar as we walked down the corridor.
He shrugged.
‘Did you play some games with your mother?’ I tried.
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ I signed out of the Visitors’ Book. ‘What did you play?’
‘The games you got from the shelf.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I can’t remember. What’s for dinner?’
‘Fish pie and green beans.’
Usually when I collected a child from contact they were brimming over with excitement, wanting to tell me what a fantastic time they’d had with their parents and then counting off the days until their next contact. Oskar didn’t mention seeing his mother all evening, and his reaction was worrying. I hoped I would be given some feedback from the contact. My experience in the past was that this was sporadic. Sometimes the social worker passed on feedback and other times they didn’t. It’s very useful if the foster carer is given a brief résumé of what happened in contact so we are better able to deal with any issues that may arise from it or questions the child might ask.
After dinner, when there was just Oskar and me in the living room, I asked him, ‘Were you happy to see your mother?’ For I really didn’t know.
‘Yes,’ he said, but his face was expressionless, as it often was.
‘Are you happy to see her again?’ I asked. It wouldn’t be his decision, but it was important we knew his feelings.
‘Yes, but she has to work,’ he replied, his voice flat.
‘I know, but she and Andrew can make some arrangements that suit her. It’s important you see each other, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ he asked.
I hid my shock. Most children would know how important it was to see their parents.
‘I think so. She loves you, and you love her, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but she has to work,’ he said again. ‘Can I go to bed? I’m tired.’ Which was Oskar’s way of telling me he didn’t want to talk about his mother any more. But then he never wanted to talk about her.
I read him a bedtime story and took him up for his bath. That night I asked him – as I had been doing every night – if he wanted a goodnight kiss. To my surprise, he gave a small nod. ‘Here, like Mummy did,’ he said, pointing to the top of his head. I knew then how much that fleeting goodbye kiss from his mother had meant to him.
‘Does your mother kiss you goodnight?’ I asked.
‘No, she’s at work.’
‘What about your aunts and uncles?’
He shook his head.
‘So who sees you into bed?’
‘No one. I have a wash and get into my sleeping bag.’
A lump rose to my throat at the image of little Oskar, so young and vulnerable, taking himself off to his sleeping bag every night without a loving goodnight kiss or hug. ‘Do you want a hug as well?’ I asked as he snuggled down, but he shook his head shyly. I kissed the top of his head and, saying goodnight, came out and closed the door. It would be another month before he wanted a hug.
The following morning, the Guardian ad Litem (or Guardian as they are often referred to in child-care proceedings) telephoned me. Tamara Hastings had also been the Guardian for the two children I’d looked after just before Oskar and whose story I tell in Innocent.
‘I thought I recognized your name,’ she said. ‘How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you, and you?’
‘Yes, good. How is Oskar settling in?’
I told her more or less what I’d told Andrew, so she was up to date. We didn’t discuss the previous case as it wouldn’t have been appropriate. The Guardian is usually a qualified social worker and is appointed by the court in child-care proceedings for the duration of the case. They are independent of the social services but have access to all the files. They see all parties involved in the case, including the children, their parents and social services, and report to the judge on what is in the best interests of the child. The judge usually follows their recommendation.
Once I’d finished updating her, she made an appointment to visit us after school the following Monday. I noted it in my diary.
Andrew telephoned that afternoon and asked how Oskar had been after contact. He said he had stayed for half an hour and had also spoken to the contact supervisor this morning. I said Oskar had been quiet but that wasn’t unusual, and when I asked him what he and his mother had done he said they’d played with some board games. I then paraphrased the rest of what Oskar had said, including his comments about his mother working.
‘It appears that Roksana has always worked very long hours,’ Andrew said. ‘It may have impacted on their relationship. I appreciate that supervised contact isn’t a natural environment, but Roksana struggled to relate to her son and he to her. The contact supervisor said that Roksana was very worried about being late for work and mentioned this a few times, which worried Oskar.’
‘Yes, he told me that. I think Roksana is going to ask you about changing the times of contact.’
‘I haven’t spoken to her yet today, but I’m proposing contact will be three times a week, four to five-thirty. I’ve left a message on her voicemail to phone me. I think she’s seeing her solicitor this afternoon. If you don’t hear from me, assume the next contact will be on Friday at four o’clock.’
I made a note. ‘Roksana asked me if I could give her a lift to work after contact. I told her she’d need to speak to you first.’
‘OK, I’ll talk to her and let you know. Has Oskar said anything about his uncle hitting him?’
‘No.’
‘The contact supervisor said Roksana told Oskar not to say bad things about his uncles.’
‘I see. No, he hasn’t said anything to me.’
‘OK. Thank you.’
Roksana should have known better than to say that at contact. One of the reasons contact is supervised when there has been an allegation