Innocent

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Having seen his sister disappear, Kit began to cry more loudly and point towards the door. ‘Best go with them,’ I told Paula. She carried Kit out of the living room and joined Lucy and Molly in the hall as I continued to clean the carpet.

At the same time I heard the front door open and my son, Adrian, call, ‘Hi, Mum!’

Then Paula’s voice, ‘Hi, how are you, Kirsty?’

Oh no, I thought. We were hardly prepared for visitors. Kirsty was Adrian’s long-term girlfriend and I really liked her, but she’d walked into chaos. He usually let me know when he was bringing her home for dinner. ‘Hi, Mum. Kirsty’s here. Did you get my text?’ he called from the hall.

‘I expect so,’ I said, still on my knees. ‘I haven’t had a chance to check my phone. Come through.’

He appeared in the living room with Kirsty just behind him. ‘A little accident,’ I said, glancing up and smiling grimly. ‘Nearly done. Nice to see you, Kirsty. How was school?’ She was a teacher.

‘They had to switch off the water to repair a burst pipe so we were given the afternoon off.’

‘Very nice,’ I said. I patted the patch dry and stood. The crying upstairs had stopped.

‘Kirsty and I can eat out, Mum,’ Adrian offered.

‘No, It’s fine. I’ve done plenty. We’ll eat soon. As you saw we’ve got two little ones come to stay.’

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Kirsty kindly offered.

‘No. Make yourselves a drink. I’ll check on Kit and Molly and then we’ll have dinner.’

Adrian took the bucket into the kitchen to tip away the water and put the cloths in the washing machine, while I went upstairs to see how Lucy and Paula were getting on. My daughters were my nominated carers. Foster carers are encouraged to nominate one or two family members or close friends to help them out and babysit when necessary. They are assessed by the carer’s supervising social worker for suitability, and police-checked (now called a DBS check – Disclosure and Barring Service). Lucy had the added advantage of being a nursery nurse and the experience of being in care herself. She’d come to me as a foster child, stayed, and I’d adopted her. It was as if she’d always been my daughter.

‘How’s it going?’ I asked as I went into Kit and Molly’s bedroom. It was cramped now with Lucy, Paula, Kit and Molly all in there and the case open on the floor. The girls had found a dress for Molly, and Lucy was now helping her out of her wet clothes. There appeared to be a change of clothes in there for Kit too, pyjamas, some socks and a soft toy each, but nothing much else. The soft toys would be useful. Kit had spotted his and was now trying to get to it.

I smiled and took the toy from the case and gave it to him. He snuggled his face against its soft velvety fabric. I took out the other soft toy, which I assumed was Molly’s, and placed it on her bed. Similarly styled, it had big loving eyes and soft fur. Hopefully, having these would bring comfort to the children when they had to sleep in a strange room tonight.

‘We’re doing OK here, Mum,’ Lucy said as she changed Molly’s clothes.

‘Thanks. I’ll go and see to dinner. Come down when you’re ready, please.’

I gathered up Molly’s wet clothes and went downstairs, where I put them in the washing machine with her other soiled clothes and the floor cloths, and set it on a wash-and-dry program. Kirsty came into the kitchen. ‘Adrian’s gone to change out of his suit. Can I help you?’

‘You could lay the table, love. You know where everything is. There’s a child’s cutlery set for Molly in that drawer, and a toddler spoon for Kit. I don’t know if he can feed himself, but he’ll struggle anyway with the plaster on his arm.’

‘I didn’t know they were coming,’ Kirsty said as she opened the cutlery draw. ‘Are you sure it’s OK for me to stay?’

‘Yes, of course.’ I smiled. ‘I didn’t know they were coming either until this morning. It’s an emergency placement.’

‘What happened to Kit’s arm? And he’s got bruises on his face.’

‘He took a tumble down the stairs,’ I said.

‘Oh dear.’ She knew I couldn’t say much more because of confidentiality.

As she laid the table she told me about a boy in her class whose family was having help from the social services. While Kirsty and I would never break confidentiality by divulging names or discussing the details of cases like this, as a young teacher she sometimes shared her worries with me. If a child kept arriving at school dirty, late and hungry, or had unexplained injuries, she sometimes mentioned it as well as informing her head teacher. Teaching is now so much more than simply imparting knowledge; it involves a large pastoral role too.

Adrian, Paula, Lucy and the little ones all came down together with Adrian now carrying Kit. As Adrian sat Kit in his seat at the table and fastened the belt, I had the briefest glimpse of what a good father he’d make when the time came. I think Kirsty did too, judging from the look in her eyes. We settled around the table and I served dinner. I’d just sat down to eat when the house phone rang.

‘I’ll take it in the living room,’ I said, standing. ‘It’s probably their social worker.’

It was. ‘I’ve spoken to Filip,’ Tess said. ‘He doesn’t think the children have any allergies, although Aneta worries about them a lot. He’ll tell you more tomorrow. I’ve set up a meeting for one o’clock at the council offices so the parents can meet you. If you have any questions, you will be able to ask them then.’

‘OK. I take it I’m not to bring Molly and Kit to the meeting?’

‘No. I’ll be arranging supervised contact at the Family Centre for the children to see their parents.’

‘All right, thank you. I’ll have to get some cover for Molly and Kit.’

‘How are they?’ Tess asked.

‘Having a bit of dinner.’

‘Good. See you tomorrow then.’

I scribbled 1 p.m. in my diary for the following day. I would need to find someone to look after Kit and Molly at very short notice. Lucy would be at work and Paula at college, and I didn’t feel I could ask them to take time off. I knew other foster carers who could help me out as I had helped them in the past, but that would need to be arranged through Edith, my supervising social worker. I couldn’t just do it by myself. I made another note in my diary to call Edith at 9 a.m. the next morning, and then returned to the dinner table.

Chapter Three

Disturbed Night (#u11de52c0-bfc6-5b1a-bd19-36717b92a086)

Molly and Kit were quiet and subdued throughout dinner. They looked very sad and showed none of the natural exuberance you’d expect from children of their age, which was hardly surprising. Their world – the one they’d always known – had just come to an abrupt and traumatic end. They’d been taken from their hysterical mother in tears and had lost the only family they’d known and everything they held dear. Only in the worst cases of abuse had I ever seen a child happy to be in foster care, to begin with at least. It would take time, love, care, patience and lots of reassurance before they began to relax and were able to trust and smile again.

With encouragement from Lucy and me, Molly fed herself, while Paula and I – we had Kit sitting between us – popped spoonfuls into his mouth. Both children ate a little of the main course but didn’t want any apple crumble and custard for dessert. I didn’t know if Kit could feed himself. Apart from being hampered by the plaster cast, he was clearly too overwhelmed to make any attempt, and it didn’t matter. If the children were staying with us long term, as Tess seemed to think, there’d be plenty of time to teach him to feed himself. That was the least of my concerns at present. It was eight o’clock by the time we’d finished and I needed to bath the children and get them into bed.

Paula apologized and said she had college work to do. I thanked her for her help, and she went upstairs to her bedroom. Lucy offered to help bath Kit and Molly, and Adrian and Kirsty said they’d clear away the dishes and wash up. I was grateful for their help. I was already worrying about how I was going to manage alone tomorrow when everyone was out. You’ve done it before and you can do it again, I told myself as another crisis of confidence loomed.

I thought it would be easier to bath the children separately to avoid Kit’s plaster becoming wet. However, it was clear that Molly didn’t want to be separated from her brother, so she came with Lucy, Kit and me into the bathroom. Lucy and I talked brightly to both children, trying to put them at ease, as we explained the bedtime routine and what we were doing. Kit just stood there as I undressed him, then put a plastic bag over his plaster cast and secured it at the end. Most toddlers would have shown some interest, perhaps laughed or tried to pull off the bag, but he stared at me, wide-eyed and lost. It broke my heart.

I carefully lifted him into the bath. He was heavy with the weight of the plaster cast. ‘Sit down, love, but try to keep your arm out of the water,’ I told him. ‘We need to keep it dry.’

Neither child spoke. Molly was holding Lucy’s hand and watched in silence as I gently wiped Kit’s bruised face with a facecloth, and then sponged his little body. His skin was pale and he had some bruises on his shins and one on his other forearm, but I couldn’t see any other marks – scars, cuts or cigarette burns, as I’d seen before on children I’d fostered. I’d let Tess know, although of course the bruises could have been from playing. Toddlers are always tripping, falling and bumping into things as they explore their surroundings with little sense of danger.

Once washed, I lifted Kit out of the bath and into the towel Lucy held out ready. I took the plastic bag from his arm and Lucy dried him as I bathed Molly. Children of her age can usually wash themselves a little, so I gave her the sponge and she drew it across her chest and legs. I washed her back. Her skin was pale too and she had one small bruise on her shin, which I’d noticed before when I’d changed her and was likely to be the result of a fall while playing. Thankfully there were no other signs of injury. I helped her out of the bath, wrapped her in a towel and then dressed her in the pyjamas I’d taken from their case. Lucy had dressed Kit and put a nappy on him. Both children had clean hair, so hair-washing could wait until another night when they felt more at ease.

We hadn’t found any toothbrushes in their case, so I was using some from my spares. I always kept a supply of new children’s toothbrushes, face flannels, pants and so on. Kit opened his mouth to allow Lucy to brush his teeth – he had his front teeth, top and bottom, and some molars coming through at the back. Clearly from the way he cooperated he was used to having his teeth brushed – a sign that the children had received some good parenting. Once Lucy had finished brushing Kit’s teeth, I put a little toothpaste on Molly’s toothbrush and passed her the brush.

‘Can you give your teeth a little brush?’ I asked her.

She took the brush and made a small attempt to clean her teeth, then burst into tears. ‘I want my mummy!’ she cried. ‘Mummy, Mummy, where are you? I want you.’

It was heart-breaking and I felt my own eyes fill.

‘Oh, love,’ I said, taking the toothbrush and putting it to one side. ‘You’ll see Mummy soon.’ I held her.

‘I want my mummy,’ she wept inconsolably. ‘Where is she?’

‘She’s at home, love.’

‘I want to go home.’

I wasn’t surprised she was distraught now. She’d been bottling it up since she’d arrived and, now she was tired, it was all coming out. Kit, seeing his sister in tears, began to cry too. Lucy cuddled him as I cuddled Molly. We sat on the bathroom floor, gently rocking them and telling them it would be OK and trying to console them. Not for the first time since I’d begun fostering, I wished I had a magic wand I could wave that would undo the past and make everything bad that had happened go away.

Eventually the children’s crying eased. ‘Come on, let’s get you both into bed,’ I said, and stood. ‘You’ll feel better after a night’s sleep.’ It was a reassurance in which I had little faith. It would take many nights before they began to feel better. Lucy held Kit’s hand and I held Molly’s and we went round the landing to their bedroom.

As soon as we entered the room Molly became upset again. ‘I want my mummy,’ she cried, her tears flowing.

‘I know you do, love,’ I said. ‘You’ll see Mummy soon.’ I helped her into bed, wiped her face, and then sat on the edge of the bed.

‘I want Mummy now,’ she said again and again, grief-stricken.

‘Mummy, Mummy,’ Kit said from his cot as Lucy tried to settle him.

‘Would you like a bedtime story?’ I asked Molly, trying to distract her. She shook her head and just sat in bed, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Come on, love, lie down and try to get some sleep.’ I wiped her cheeks again.

She laid her head on the pillow, Kit lay down too, then, as Molly pressed her face into her cuddly toy, Kit did the same. His cot was adjacent to Molly’s bed – against the opposite wall – so he could see her through the slats. ‘Does your cuddly have a name?’ I asked her.

‘I want Mummy.’

‘Mummy,’ Kit repeated.

I began stroking Molly’s forehead, trying to soothe her off to sleep. Lucy was leaning over the cot and gently rubbing Kit’s back.

‘Lucy, you go, love, if you want to,’ I told her after a few minutes. ‘I’ll stay with them.’ I was mindful that she had come in straight from work and hadn’t had a minute to herself.

‘It’s OK, Mum. I’ll stay until they’re asleep.’

‘Thanks, love, I am grateful.’

For the next half an hour Lucy and I stayed with the children, Lucy by Kit’s cot and me with Molly, soothing them, until eventually, exhausted, their eyes gradually closed. We waited another few minutes to check they were asleep and then crept from the room. With older children I usually ask them on their first night how they like to sleep – the curtains open or closed, the light on or off, the bedroom door open or shut, as it’s little details like this that help a child settle in a strange room. But for now we left the curtains slightly parted, the light on low and the door open so I could hear them if they woke.

I thanked Lucy again for her help and she went to her bedroom. I cleared up the bathroom and took Kit’s nappy downstairs to dispose of it. Adrian was in the kitchen, making himself a drink. ‘Kirsty has gone home as we both have to be up for work in the morning,’ he said. The kitchen was spotless.

‘Thanks for your help,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to Kirsty.’

‘She understands. She said to say good luck.’

‘I think I’m going to need it.’

Adrian made me a cup of tea and I took it with a couple of biscuits into the living room to write up my log notes, while he went up to shower. All foster carers in the UK are required to keep a daily record of the child or children they are looking after. It includes appointments, the child’s health and wellbeing, education, significant events and any disclosures the child may make about their past. As well as charting the child’s progress, it can act as an aide-mémoire. When the child leaves this record is placed on file at the social services. Opening my folder, I took a fresh sheet of paper and headed it with the date. I wrote a short objective account of Molly and Kit’s arrival and their evening with us. I was just finishing when I heard a bang come from Molly and Kit’s room. I shot upstairs. Paula had heard it too and had come out of her room and was on the landing. ‘Whatever was that?’ she asked, concerned.

We went into the children’s bedroom. By the dimmed light we could see they were both still asleep and nothing seemed out of place, but I noticed that Kit had turned over.

‘I think it might have been his plaster cast banging against the cot slats,’ I whispered to Paula. I couldn’t see any other explanation.

We stood for a moment, looking at them. ‘They’re such sweet kids,’ Paula whispered. I nodded. They were indeed, and generally appeared to have been well looked after, apart from the injuries to Kit’s face and arm. They hadn’t arrived filthy, in rags and with their hair full of nits. Yet all those visits to the doctor and hospital told a very different story, one that I hoped would become clearer in time.

By 10.30 p.m. we were all in our bedrooms either getting ready for bed or in bed (none of us stays up late during the working week). When I said goodnight to Adrian, Lucy and Paula, I told them that if they heard the children in the night to turn over and go back to sleep, as I would settle them. I was expecting a broken night, and I wasn’t disappointed. Just as I was dropping off to sleep, around 11 p.m., Molly woke and began to cry out hysterically, ‘Mummy, Mummy, where are you? Mummy!’

I was straight out of bed and, throwing on my dressing gown, I hurried round the landing, hoping her cries hadn’t woken Kit.

‘Ssh, quiet, love,’ I said as I went into their room. She was standing by her bed. ‘Do you want the toilet?’ I asked her quietly. She shook her head.

‘I want my mummy!’ she cried.

‘I know, love. You’re safe. Let’s get you into bed.’ I persuaded her in and had just got her to lie down when Kit woke with a start behind me and, crying, stood up in his cot.

‘Mummy!’ he sobbed.

Leaving Molly, I turned to him.

‘Come on, love, lie down. It’s OK.’ I laid him on his side. It was awkward with the plaster cast. As I settled him, Molly started crying again.

‘I want my mummy,’ she wept, sitting up in bed.

‘Ssh, love. It’s OK,’ I said, going to her. Kit immediately stood up and sobbed loudly.

Lucy appeared in her pyjamas. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been woken,’ I said.

‘I wasn’t asleep.’

She went to Kit and began talking to him gently, laying him down each time he stood and rubbing his back as I soothed Molly. It was so much easier with two and after about fifteen minutes the children were asleep again and we crept out. I thanked Lucy and we returned to our bedrooms. About an hour later I heard Molly crying again. I wasn’t asleep and managed to get to her before she woke Kit or anyone else. I stayed with her until she was asleep again and then returned to my own bed. I didn’t immediately go back to sleep but lay in the dark, listening out for them. I heard Kit’s plaster cast bang on the side of the cot as he turned over, then I must have dropped off, for I woke with a start at 2 a.m. Kit and Molly were both crying.

Light-headed from lack of sleep and getting out of bed too quickly, I rushed round the landing and into their bedroom. Molly was standing in the middle of the room. ‘I need a wee-wee,’ she wept.

‘This way, love,’ I said, and quickly guided her to the toilet. We got there just in time. Kit was still crying loudly and I heard Lucy’s bedroom door open.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said to her as I steered Molly back to her bed. Lucy was kneeling beside Kit’s cot with her hand between the slats, gently rubbing his back. She looked as shattered as I felt.

‘It’s OK, Mum,’ she said, yawning. ‘It’s their first night. They’re bound to be upset. I’m sure they’ll be better tomorrow.’ Which was the reassurance I needed and I was grateful.

It took about twenty minutes for us to settle the children again and then Lucy and I returned to our beds. The next time Molly woke I got to her in time (I don’t think I was properly asleep) and managed to resettle her before she woke Kit. I was starting to wonder if having them together was a good idea or whether I should move Kit’s cot into my bedroom. Foster carers are allowed to have babies and toddlers in their bedroom (but not their beds) up to the age of two. I’d find out from the children’s parents tomorrow if they were used to sleeping together. It’s information like this and the child’s routine that is invaluable to foster carers when helping a child to settle.

Both children woke around 5 a.m. and I managed to settle them by myself. I think they were so tired they didn’t put up much resistance. Ten minutes later I was in my bed again but I couldn’t sleep. I lay in the dark with my thoughts buzzing and at 6 a.m. I showered and dressed so I was ready to meet the day. Adrian, Lucy and Paula took turns in the bathroom from seven o’clock, which was usual on a week day. When I asked Paula if she’d heard the children in the night, she said she had but, aware that Lucy was helping, she had turned over and gone back to sleep. ‘We can take it in turns, Mum,’ she offered. ‘I’ll get up tonight.’

‘That’s kind of you. I’m hoping they’ll sleep a bit better tonight.’

‘But if not, I can help.’

‘Thanks, love.’

Incredibly, when I asked Adrian if he’d been woken by Molly and Kit, he hadn’t, although he slept in the room next to theirs.

‘Typical guy,’ Lucy teased him. ‘Only hears what he wants to.’

The children didn’t wake again until just before 8 a.m. I heard Molly talking to Kit and went straight to their bedroom. ‘Good morning,’ I said brightly, smiling. Molly was standing by Kit’s cot holding his hand through the slats. Although they weren’t crying, they were clearly sad and confused.