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Innocent
Cathy Glass
Innocent is the shocking true story of little Molly and Kit, siblings, aged 3 years and 18 months, who are brought into care as an emergency after suffering non-accidental injuries.Aneta and Filip, the children’s parents, are distraught when their children are taken into care. Aneta maintains she is innocent of harming them, while Filip appears bewildered and out of his depth. It’s true the family has never come to the attention of the social services before and little Kit and Molly appear to have been well looked after, but Kit has a broken arm and bruises on his face. Could it be they were a result of a genuine accident as Aneta is claiming? Both children become sick with a mysterious illness while, experienced foster carer, Cathy, is looking after them. Very worried, she asks for more hospital tests to be done. They’ve already had a lot. When Cathy’s daughter, Lucy, becomes ill too she believes she has found the cause of Kit and Molly’s illness and the parents aren’t to blame. However, nothing could be further from the truth and what comes to light is far more sinister and shocking.
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Copyright (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.
HarperElement
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First published by HarperElement 2019
FIRST EDITION
Text © Cathy Glass 2019
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover photograph © Voisin/Phanie/Getty Images (stock photo posed by models)
A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
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Source ISBN: 9780008341985
Ebook Edition © September 2019 ISBN: 9780008341992
Version: 2019-06-03
Contents
1 Cover (#u661540c8-b510-5f3a-bfe4-e3f9a37aeb48)
2 Title Page
3 Copyright
4 Contents (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
5 Acknowledgements
6 Chapter One: Traumatized
7 Chapter Two: Chaos
8 Chapter Three: Disturbed Night
9 Chapter Four: Good Mother
10 Chapter Five: Distressing
11 Chapter Six: I Want Mummy
12 Chapter Seven: Sick
13 Chapter Eight: Need to Know?
14 Chapter Nine: Sick Again
15 Chapter Ten: Bonding
16 Chapter Eleven: Exasperated and Worried
17 Chapter Twelve: Play Nicely
18 Chapter Thirteen: Not Responsible
19 Chapter Fourteen: Hospital
20 Chapter Fifteen: A Breakthrough?
21 Chapter Sixteen: My Fault
22 Chapter Seventeen: Accused
23 Chapter Eighteen: Leaving
24 Chapter Nineteen: Shocking
25 Chapter Twenty: Beyond Belief
26 Chapter Twenty-One: No Contact
27 Chapter Twenty-Two: Love the Children
28 Chapter Twenty-Three: Disclosure
29 Chapter Twenty-Four: The Wonder of Christmas
30 Chapter Twenty-Five: Aneta
31 Chapter Twenty-Six: Permanent?
32 Chapter Twenty-Seven: Judge’s Decision
33 Chapter Twenty-Eight: Saying Goodbye
34 Afterword
35 Suggested topics for reading-group discussion
36 Cathy Glass
37 If you loved this book …
38 Moving Memoirs eNewsletter (#litres_trial_promo)
39 Praise for Cathy Glass
40 About the Publisher
LandmarksCover (#u661540c8-b510-5f3a-bfe4-e3f9a37aeb48)FrontmatterStart of ContentBackmatter
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Acknowledgements (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
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.
Chapter One
Traumatized (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)
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.
Molly and Kit were coming to me as an emergency placement. Stevie, fifteen (whose story I told in Finding Stevie), had left at the end of August and now, a few days later, at the start of September, I was preparing myself and the house for the arrival of these two little ones, who were certainly going to be distraught. Sometimes taking children into care can be done with the cooperation of their parents, voluntarily, which is known as ‘accommodated’ or a Section 20. It’s usually considered the better option, as the parents retain legal responsibility for their children and the process is less distressing for all involved. But that couldn’t happen here, so the social services had gone to court that morning to ask the judge for a care order to remove the children from home and bring them to me.
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.
As soon as I’d finished speaking to Edith I’d gone into the loft and brought down all the early-years equipment I’d stored away there, including a cot, pushchair, car seats and boxes full of toys, all of which I’d wrapped in polythene to keep them clean after the last time I’d used them many years before. I’d struggled to get them down and to assemble the cot on my own, but my family were all out and I didn’t dare leave it until they returned in the evening. Adrian, aged twenty-four, and Lucy, twenty-two, were at work, and Paula, twenty, was at college. I was a single parent, my husband having run off with a younger work colleague when the children were little. Very upsetting at the time but history now.
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.’
‘Poor dears.’ My heart clenched. ‘I don’t have any information about them other than their ages.’
‘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.
Shortly after four o’clock my phone rang and it was Tess, the children’s social worker. ‘We’re in the car with the children,’ she said. ‘We should be with you in about twenty minutes. Molly will need a change of clothes, she’s just wet herself.’
‘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 needs and work with their family – very important. Now I had the added challenge of fostering not one child but two, who were both very young. I hadn’t fostered little ones in a long while. As a specialist foster carer with lots of experience, I was usually asked to look after older children with challenging 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?’
