Nobody’s Son by Cathy Glass
As it turned out Miss Cork, Alex’s very perceptive and sensitive teacher, was one step ahead of me and came to the rescue. When we arrived at breakfast club that Monday she was on duty and watching out for us. She came over straight away, said a cheerful good morning to Alex and then as he hung up his coat she said to me, ‘The Head is going to see Alex at the start of school while I have a word with the class. We think it’s best if we explain to the children a little of what has happened, so Alex isn’t faced with a barrage of difficult questions.’
‘Thank you so much. That’s fantastic,’ I said, relieved. I could have hugged her. ‘I’m sure that will help enormously.’
‘When the Head sees Alex she will tell him that if he has any worries to see her or me. We’re obviously all very sorry this has happened, but we’ll do our best to help him while he’s here in school, and obviously we’ll stay in close contact with you. Let us know if there is anything else we can do.’
I thanked her again, said goodbye to her and Alex and then left to take Adrian to school and Paula to nursery. Schools can play an important role in helping looked-after children through difficult times, but they don’t always appreciate this and assume that once the child is in care they’ll be fine.
When I returned home that morning I set about doing some housework. It was while I was in Alex’s room returning his clean clothes to his drawers that I noticed a torn greetings card poking out of his waste paper basket. I could see the words ‘Good Luck’ printed on the front. Setting down his clothes, I took the two halves of the card out of the bin and opened them. As I’d thought it might be, the card was from Rosemary and family – the leaving card Debbie had mentioned. Beneath the printed message inside, Rosemary, Edward and James had signed their names. No kisses or extra words, just their names. Clearly it was Alex’s decision whether he kept the card or not – he’d kept the ones from his previous foster carers – but I could appreciate why he didn’t want any reminders of his time with Rosemary, Edward and James. I returned the card to the bin. There was no sign of the twenty-pound note that Debbie had said had been in the card, so I hoped Alex had had the good sense to keep it.
Jill telephoned during the morning to see how Alex’s move had gone and I updated her, saying that while Alex wasn’t visibly distraught or angry, he remained very quiet. Like me, she thought this was only to be expected and that hopefully it would pass in time, but added that Alex was probably very confused right now and his anger might come out later. Her words proved to be highly prophetic, although not straight away.
That afternoon, when Paula and I collected Alex from school, Miss Cork came over to me in the playground and said that Alex had had a good day but had been very quiet. I thanked her for letting me know and for keeping an eye on him. As we walked to the car I asked Alex (as I always asked Adrian and any other children I fostered at the end of school) if he’d had a good day. Alex said a small, ‘OK,’ then added, ‘Miss talked to my class and told them I was living with you again.’
‘Was that all right?’
‘I guess so,’ he said, with a shrug.
‘Don’t worry, love, by tomorrow they’ll have forgotten you ever left me.’ In my experience children have an amazing capacity to accept news like this and move on.
Jill visited us on Tuesday after school as arranged and Alex was still very quiet. He was with us at the start, but then Jill said he could go and play if he wished and he went up to his room. It’s good practice for a support social worker to see the child at their monthly visit. Once he’d left the room Jill and I discussed how best I could help him and any foster-carer training that might help (ongoing training is part of fostering now), then she read and signed my log notes. Before she left we arranged her next visit for four weeks’ time, although I’d speak to her before then as and when necessary. She called goodbye to the children as I saw her to the door.
The evening continued as most school nights do with dinner, homework, some television, a bedtime story and then a bath and bed. Once in his room Alex took a long while choosing a soft toy and I wondered if he was delaying going to bed. But then he looked at me and asked, ‘Am I too old to have a cuddly now?’
‘No, love, of course not.’
‘James said I was. He laughed at me.’
‘You’re never too old for a cuddly. Adrian has a favourite teddy bear that sits on his bed. I have a fluffy cat on mine that Adrian and Paula gave to me as a Christmas present.’
I think this helped a little, as Alex didn’t hesitate any longer but quickly chose a soft toy and climbed into bed. I didn’t blame James, although he could have been a bit more sensitive, but siblings do make unkind comments and laugh at each other sometimes; it’s part of having a brother or sister. And in the context of a loving and strong sibling bond unkind words and laughter are soon forgotten. But of course that bond had never been established between James and Alex, and Alex was still struggling with everything that had happened and was dwelling on it and taking it personally. All I could do was reassure him and help him move on.
On Wednesday afternoon when I collected Alex from school I reminded him that Debbie was coming to visit us. ‘We’re very popular this week with social workers,’ I quipped lightly. ‘Jill yesterday and Debbie today.’ But he wasn’t amused. Some children have a negative view of their social worker, holding them responsible for taking them away from their family, but all that had happened to Alex a long while ago, and from what I’d seen so far he had a good relationship with her – up until now.
‘Do I have to see her?’ he asked me in the car.
‘Well, yes, you do really. Why? What’s the matter?’
‘I don’t like her any more.’
‘Because of what happened with Rosemary and Edward?’
He gave a small nod.
‘It wasn’t really her fault,’ I said. Although of course to some extent it was. ‘I know she’s very sorry it all went so wrong. She’ll just want to have a chat with you to make sure you’re OK and then you’ll be able to go off and play, like you did with Jill.’ He didn’t reply and was silent for the rest of the journey home.
Debbie arrived five minutes after we were home, very smart in a navy suit, having come straight from court. Alex followed her resignedly into the living room and I made us all a drink. I settled Adrian and Paula with their drinks and some activities at the table in the kitchen-cum-diner, and then took Alex’s and Debbie’s drinks into the living room, where I set them on the coffee table. Alex was sitting beside Debbie on the sofa and she was talking quietly to him in a reassuring voice. I didn’t hear what she was saying. I asked her if she wanted time alone now with Alex and she said that would be good and I should join them later – after they’d had a chat. The child’s social worker always spends time alone with the child during their visit in case there are any issues the child doesn’t feel comfortable mentioning in front of the carer. I left the room and joined Adrian and Paula at the table, but a few minutes later we started as we heard Alex shout at the top of his voice: ‘I hate you! I hate you all!’ We’d never heard Alex shout before and Adrian and Paula looked at me anxiously. Then a moment later the living room door burst open and Alex ran upstairs and into his bedroom. The door slammed shut. ‘Stay here and I’ll see what the matter is,’ I told them.
I went into the hall where Debbie was coming out of the living room. ‘Sorry, he’s thrown the drinks everywhere.’
‘I’ll fetch a cloth,’ I said. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘I was talking to him about leaving Rosemary and Edward and what would happen now, and he seemed OK. But then he suddenly jumped up from the sofa and shouted and threw the drinks. I’ve never seen him like that before.’
‘No, neither have I,’ I said. ‘I’ll give him a few minutes and then go up.’ It was quiet upstairs now. If a child is screaming, crying, shouting or throwing things I go up immediately to calm them, but otherwise most children benefit from a little cooling-off period.
‘I’ll go and see how he is,’ Debbie said, setting down her notepad.
She went upstairs as I returned the cloth to the kitchen, reassuring Adrian and Paula that Alex would be all right. Ten minutes later Debbie came down. ‘He won’t talk to me,’ she said. ‘I’ll try again later before I go.’
‘But he’s not distressed?’ I asked. I would have gone up straight away if he had been.
‘No. Just refusing to talk to me.’
We returned to the living room, where she sat on the sofa and then handed me the placement form I needed to foster Alex.
‘I wasn’t ever given much background information on Alex before,’ I said.
‘I’ll see what I can send you.’ She made a note. ‘How has Alex been generally since he came back?’
‘Until now, very quiet. Withdrawn. He’s been the same at school.’ She wrote as I spoke. ‘He obviously feels very rejected. I know by the little he has said. He’s got a lot to come to terms with – all that hype of being found a permanent family and now this.’
Debbie paused from writing to look at me. ‘Do you think a referral to CAMHS would help?’ CAMHS stands for Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services, which offers assessment and treatment for children and young people with emotional, behavioural or mental health difficulties.
‘It might,’ I said.
‘I’ll make a referral,’ Debbie said, again writing on her notepad. ‘There’s a long waiting list.’ Then, ‘Remind me who lives in this house with you?’
‘Just my children, Adrian, aged seven, and Paula, three.’
‘So Adrian is the same age as Alex?’
‘Yes.’
‘And the boys got on all right? I know Alex wasn’t here for long.’
‘Yes.’ I could guess at the comparison she was making. ‘But Adrian is used to having children in our home. He and Paula have grown up with fostering – sharing their toys and me. James was an only child all his life, then Alex suddenly appeared and changed everything. To be honest I’m not surprised James was upset, but I don’t think Rosemary and Edward were prepared for it.’
‘They attended the adoption preparation course,’ Debbie said defensively. I didn’t comment. She knew as well as I did that theory and practice can be very different. ‘Given what happened between Alex and James,’ she continued, ‘when we look for a long-term foster family for Alex the ages of any other children in the family will need to be taken into account. We can’t risk another disrupted placement.’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘Alex has had more than enough moves. Is that the care plan for Alex then – a long-term foster placement?’
‘Very likely.’ And I knew from her comments about Adrian and Alex being the same age that I’d be ruled out for keeping Alex long term, which would mean another move for him. And how many more after that? Long-term foster placements do break down, although they are supposed to be permanent.
‘I’ll need to arrange a LAC [looked-after children] review soon,’ Debbie said, moving on. ‘Can we hold it here?’
‘Yes.’ This was normal. It’s usually held in the foster carer’s home. The social worker, teacher, foster carer, the foster carer’s support social worker and any other adults closely connected with the child meet to ensure that everything is being done to help the child, and that the care plan (drawn up by the social services) is up to date. ‘It’s half term next week, I’ll see if I can arrange the review for then,’ Debbie said. ‘Alex should be present. Otherwise one day after school the following week.’ This was normal too. Very young children don’t usually attend their reviews, while older children are expected to, as it is about them. ‘I’ll send you an invitation once I’ve set the date.’ I nodded. ‘I think that’s everything. Do you have any questions?’
‘No. I don’t think so.’
‘Well, thanks for taking Alex back. You can never tell how adoptions of older children will work out.’ Which comment grated with me as I thought it rather too easily exonerated anyone of responsibility. Debbie returned her notepad to her bag and placed it beside her. ‘I’ll go and see if Alex is prepared to talk to me now.’
We both stood. Debbie went upstairs to Alex and I went to Adrian and Paula. Two minutes later Debbie returned downstairs. ‘He’s under the duvet and won’t talk to me, so I’ll leave it for now,’ she said.
‘I’ll go up and see him shortly,’ I said.
She fetched her bag from the living room and I saw her out, then I went straight up to Alex’s room. The door was pulled to but not shut. I gave a small tap and went in. Alex was no longer under the duvet but sitting on the edge of his bed, holding a soft toy. ‘Are you all right, love?’ I asked, going over.
He nodded.
‘Debbie has gone now. She said to say goodbye. Do you want to talk to me about what made you angry?’ He shook his head. ‘Sure?’ He gave a small nod. He’d recovered now, so I didn’t pursue it. ‘OK. Come downstairs then. I don’t want you sitting up here alone.’
He obediently stood, set the soft toy with the others at the end of the bed, and with his face expressionless came over and slipped his hand into mine. I gave it a reassuring squeeze and we went downstairs and into the living room, where Adrian, Paula and he watched some television while I made dinner. Although Alex’s anger had subsided as quickly as it had erupted, I had little doubt it would surface again as he struggled to come to terms with everything that had happened to him. The brain is like a pressure cooker and it can only take so much before it blows.
Chapter Fourteen
Nobody’s Son
The following afternoon, when Paula and I collected Alex from school, Miss Cork came to see me in the playground. I knew from her expression and the way Alex was walking beside her, head down and subdued, that it might not be good news.
‘We’ve had a couple of incidents today,’ she said, glancing at Alex, intending him to hear. He kept his head down. ‘This morning in the classroom I asked Alex a question about the lesson and he became very angry and ran out of the classroom. Then at lunchtime in the playground another boy accidentally bumped into him and Alex thumped him.’
‘Alex!’ I said, shocked. Miss Cork threw me a look that said she, too, was surprised.
‘It’s all right, we dealt with the incidents,’ she said. ‘I’ve talked to Alex about ways he can manage his anger, and he apologized to the boy, but I thought you should know.’
‘Yes, thank you,’ I said.
‘He hasn’t done much work today,’ Miss Cork added. ‘He seems to find it difficult to concentrate.’ I could see she didn’t think this was surprising either. ‘Perhaps he could finish the work at home so he doesn’t get behind. It’s in his school bag.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘It’s the half-term holiday next week, which should give him a chance to recover.’
I nodded, although of course I’d been hoping that school with its familiarity and friendships would help Alex recover from his upset, but that clearly wasn’t happening.
Miss Cork wished us a pleasant evening and we said goodbye.
‘Do you want to talk to me about anything?’ I asked Alex as we walked to the car. He shook his head. ‘Sure?’ He nodded. ‘Whenever you do, you know I’m here.’ He shrugged.
He was quiet in the car on the way to collect Adrian from school, despite Paula talking to him, and he remained quiet and also compliant for the whole evening, obediently doing his homework and coming straight to the table when I called him for dinner. I looked at him as we ate. I was worried. He’d been with us for nearly a week now and there’d been no improvement in the way he was interacting with any of us. Indeed, he wasn’t interacting with us – not as he had done
That evening the children came downstairs in their dressing gowns to play for a while before I began taking them up to bed. I was sitting on the sofa with Paula beside me, reading her a bedtime story. Alex and Adrian were sitting cross-legged on the floor and moving toy cars along the road on the play mat. They were playing independently of each other, not together. Suddenly, Alex jumped up and, throwing down the car he’d been holding, fled the room in tears.
‘I only moved one of his cars so mine could get by,’ Adrian said, worried. ‘He didn’t used to mind.’
‘It’s all right. It’s not your fault. Alex is a bit sensitive at present.’