‘No, just a minute!’ I cried, going over. ‘Don’t open it yet. What’s in there?’
‘It’s his pet bug,’ Adrian said, grinning.
‘What sort of bug?’
‘A bed bug,’ Samson declared. ‘Don’t tell Gran. I’ve saved him from being exterminated. He’s called Bruce.’
‘Bruce Lee, martial arts fighter,’ Adrian qualified.
My first impulse was to grab the matchbox and throw Bruce as far as I could down the garden, or stamp on it, but that would have upset Samson. I needed a more subtle approach.
‘Samson,’ I said, eyeing the closed box carefully. ‘It was kind of you to save the bug.’
‘Bruce,’ he corrected.
‘It was kind of you to save Bruce, but do you know what would happen if he escaped into the house? Very soon there would be hundreds and thousands of bed bugs sucking our blood and making us itch, just like they do at your home.’
Having heard this, Adrian lost some of his enthusiasm and shifted away from Samson.
‘But Bruce is my friend,’ Samson said.
‘In that case, the kindest thing to do would be to let him go in the garden.’
‘What if I make sure he doesn’t escape?’ he asked, unwilling to give him up.
‘It’s not fair to keep him in that tiny box,’ I said. ‘He’ll die without air or water. I think we should find a new home for him in the garden. I know just the spot! Come with me and I’ll show you. It’s a special place only a few of us know about.’
My enthusiasm combined with the hint of secrecy captured Samson’s interest, as I thought it would. Clutching the box carefully in one hand he slid off the sofa. ‘Come on then, where is this place?’ he asked.
‘We’ll need to put on our shoes first – it’s at the very end of the garden,’ I said, lowering my voice to maintain the air of mystery. The boys followed me down the hall to where our shoes were paired and we carried them to the back door and put them on. Paula was asleep upstairs, but we wouldn’t be long.
It was still light outside and I led the way across the patio, down the lawn and to the shed at the bottom of the garden, like an explorer on an adventure. Just behind the shed, standing on a brick, was an upside-down plant pot, under which I kept the key to the shed. Not for security but so I could find it. ‘This is the secret place,’ I said, crouching down. They crouched down too, and I carefully lifted up the pot. A few ants scurried away.
‘This will be his new home,’ I said. ‘He’ll be safe here, and he’s got the whole garden to play in rather than that little box.’
‘I’ll leave the box under the pot,’ Samson said. ‘That can be his bed.’
‘Excellent,’ I said. I moved the key to one side to make room for the matchbox and Samson carefully placed it beside the key and then slid it open to reveal Bruce, a large bed bug, reddish-brown from previously gorging on someone’s blood. I resisted the urge to shudder. ‘He’ll be safe here,’ I said, and carefully lowered the pot.
‘Night, Bruce,’ Samson said.
‘Night,’ Adrian and I chorused, and we returned indoors. Crisis averted, although I would check Samson’s school bag and jacket to make sure he didn’t have any other ‘pets’ concealed in matchboxes.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Going Home
The following morning Samson wanted to check on Bruce, so I said that after breakfast, once everyone was ready for school, we could have a look. I guessed the bug would be long gone, so I told Samson I thought he would be playing in the garden.
‘Bugs don’t play,’ he scoffed. ‘They suck people’s blood.’
But of course when we looked the matchbox was empty.
‘Mum was right,’ Adrian said, impressed. ‘Bruce is playing in the garden.’
And just for a moment Samson looked as though he might believe him, and perhaps he did.
The talk from Samson that morning in the car as I drove him to school was about exterminating, and not just bed bugs. Samson had watched far too many gruesome films about people being exterminated – by axe-wielding psychopaths, out-of-control robots, flesh-eating aliens and an array of other evil forces. I hoped that while Samson’s gran was upping the level of care she provided for him she would also begin censoring what he was allowed to watch. His head was full of macabre nonsense and scenes of violence, so much so that he was becoming desensitized to horrors that would normally shock or deeply affect a child (or adult), which would be no good for his psychological or emotional development, now or in the future.
I took Adrian and Paula with me into Samson’s school to see him to breakfast club. He gave his overnight bag to a member of staff for safe keeping and we said goodbye and that we hoped to see him again.
‘Look after Bruce!’ he called as he went to collect his breakfast.
‘We will!’ Adrian and I replied.
We returned to the car and I took Adrian to his school. By the time I returned home I’d been out of the house on the school run for an hour and a half. It was a sample of what it would be like if Samson came to live with us, although I knew other carers who spent even longer in their cars doing the school run. It’s generally considered better for a child when they go into care, less unsettling, if they stay at the school they are familiar with and where their friends are, but it can mean long journeys.
That morning Samson’s social worker telephoned to see how his overnight stay had gone and I was able to tell her lots of positives. She was pleased and made some notes, but laughed when I told her about Bruce the bug. I didn’t know if or when we’d see Samson again, as it would depend on when he needed respite and if I was looking after another child and had room to take him.
As it was a pleasant September day I was planning on making the most of the last of the good weather before autumn set in and taking Paula to the park that afternoon. However, all that changed when the telephone rang again. It was a different social worker and she needed an emergency placement for a small child.
‘Hayley is three,’ she said hurriedly. ‘She’s at the police station. Her mother was arrested this morning at the shopping centre, drunk. Can you collect Hayley as soon as possible? The police are holding the mother and will release her when she is sober.’ It’s an offence to be drunk while in charge of a small child.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ll leave straight away. Will she be staying with me overnight?’
‘Not sure yet. It will depend when the police think the mother is fit to go.’
‘Do we know anything about the child?’ I asked. ‘Does she have any allergies?’
‘I don’t know. The family has never come to the attention of the social services before. I’ll ask the police to ask the mother about allergies. They can tell you when you arrive.’
‘Thank you.’ This was important information that would have been included on the placement forms, along with other essential information, if the move had been planned.
As soon as I’d replaced the handset I began helping Paula into her jacket and shoes, and then put on mine. ‘We’re going in the car to the police station,’ I told her as we left the house. ‘To collect a little girl.’
‘Baby?’ she asked.
‘No, she’s three. She’s coming to play with you for a while.’
The police station was about a ten-minute drive from my house. I parked in a side road close to the main entrance. Holding Paula’s hand, I walked with her round to the front of the building and up the steps where I pressed the bell to be admitted. My pulse had stepped up a beat with anxiety and concern for the child. Inside I showed the duty officer behind the desk my ID and I said I was a foster carer. I didn’t have to say any more.
‘Yes. The social worker said you were on your way,’ he said. ‘Hayley is being looked after by one of our WPCs [woman police officer]. I’ll take you through.’
We followed him down a short corridor and into an office where the WPC was sitting with Hayley on her lap, drawing pictures to keep her amused.
> ‘This is Cathy, the foster carer,’ the officer said, introducing us before returning to the front desk.
‘Time for you to go now, poppet,’ the WPC said gently to Hayley, lifting her from her lap. ‘I have to do some work. Cathy’s going to look after you.’
‘Where’s Mummy?’ the poor child asked, looking very frightened.
‘She’s staying with us for a while,’ the WPC said kindly. ‘We’ll look after her until she can come and collect you.’
‘Do we know when that will be?’ I asked.
‘Once she’s sober,’ the WPC replied a little brusquely, clearly not impressed by the mother’s behaviour. Then looking at me, ‘I asked her mum if Hayley had any allergies and she said she didn’t.’
‘Good.’
She brought Hayley over to me and I took her hand. She was a pretty child with long fair hair, petite features and blue eyes – which were now wide with fear. ‘This is Paula,’ I said, hoping this would help put her at ease.
‘I want my mummy,’ she said, rubbing her eyes and close to tears.
‘I know, love. You’ll see her later,’ I reassured her.
I felt her hand clench mine and hold it very tightly as though she feared I, too, might leave her. With Hayley on one side of me and Paula on the other, I followed the WPC into reception where she saw us out.
‘We’re going in the car to my house,’ I told Hayley as we began towards my car. ‘You’ll be able to play with Paula.’
‘Where’s Mummy?’ she asked again, her little brow creasing.
‘You’ll see her later.’
‘I want Mummy.’
‘I know you do, love.’
I opened the rear door of the car and strapped Paula into her seat and then Hayley into Adrian’s, adjusting the straps so that they fitted her correctly.
‘All right, love, try not to worry,’ I said, seeing the fear in her eyes. But clearly that was asking a lot of a small child who’d gone shopping with her mother, had been taken away by the police and was now having to come home with a stranger. ‘You’ll see Mummy again soon,’ I said, hoping I was right, and I closed the car door.
Hayley didn’t say a word on the way home but stared wide-eyed through her side window, mute with fear. I kept glancing at her in the mirror and offering her words of reassurance, but without success. Paula was looking at her anxiously too. Once home, I parked on the drive and helped both girls out of the car. ‘Is Mummy here?’ Hayley asked as we approached the front door.
‘No, love. You’ll see her later. This is my house.’ It was all I could say.
Indoors, I asked her if she wanted to go to the toilet and she shook her head. I told her that when she did she should tell me and I would take her. I showed the girls into the living room and got out plenty of toys that I thought would interest Hayley, but she put her thumb in her mouth and just sat on the floor looking at them, despite my encouragement to play. Ten minutes later she wet herself – not surprising given the stress she must have been under. I reassured her, changed her into dry clothes from my spares and put her own clothes in the washing machine. I tried again to engage her in play, as did Paula, but she had no interest in any toy or activity we showed her, and she didn’t want a hug. It was pitiful to see her so unhappy, and when it was time for me to make lunch I took both girls with me into the kitchen. Hayley managed two mouthfuls of lunch and then wet herself again. I reassured her and changed her into more spares. The only words she spoke all afternoon were ‘Mummy?’ ‘Where’s Mummy?’ or ‘I want my mummy.’ It was heartbreaking.
I finally gave up trying to engage her in play and sat both girls on the sofa where, with an arm around each of them, I read stories until it was time to collect Adrian from school. I explained to Hayley where we were going. ‘Mummy?’ she asked again hopefully.
‘Not yet, love.’ I wondered if her mother had any idea of the distress her irresponsible behaviour was causing her daughter.
We walked to school and Adrian wasn’t completely surprised to see me in the playground with another child, as it had happened before with an emergency placement. I introduced Hayley, but despite Adrian saying a very friendly, ‘Hi, how are you?’ she just looked at him, lost and bewildered. Laura saw us and waved, but stayed behind in the playground talking to Fran.
Hayley held my hand very tightly all the way home, and once there she wouldn’t let me out of her sight. She came with me into the kitchen while I made dinner and then wet herself again. I changed her into her own clothes, which were now dry. I think she was toilet trained, for she was old enough and hadn’t come in a nappy, but acute stress can cause loss of bladder and bowel control. It was an indication of just how traumatized she was by the day’s events. If she had to stay overnight I knew I would be up most of the night settling her. With no idea what time her mother would be released from police custody, or indeed if she would be released that evening, I continued with our usual routine as much as possible while looking after Hayley. At 5.30, just as I was about to serve dinner, the telephone rang and I answered it in the kitchen. I don’t think I’ve ever been so pleased to hear from a social worker in my life.
‘Cathy, the police are going to release the mother in an hour,’ she said. ‘Is it all right if I give her your address so she can come straight to you and collect Hayley?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said.
‘I’ll let them know now, thank you. The mother is called Catherine.’
It wasn’t for me to ask what had led to the mother’s heavy drinking, but the social services must have been satisfied that Hayley wouldn’t be in danger if she returned home or they would have asked me to keep her longer while they investigated.
‘Mummy coming?’ Hayley asked hopefully as I replaced the handset.
‘Yes, love.’
‘Mummy coming?’ she asked again, unable to believe that her nightmare was finally coming to an end.
‘Yes. She’s coming here to collect you after we’ve had dinner.’ I settled her at the table, called Adrian and Paula, and served dinner, of which Hayley ate a very small amount.
It’s always difficult meeting a foster child’s parent(s) for the first time, as I’m sure it is for the parents to meet the foster carer. I try not to form preconceptions, but I’ll admit they can creep in. However, any idea I had about Hayley’s mother vanished at seven o’clock when I opened the front door. Slightly built, late thirties, quietly spoken and well dressed, she was close to tears.
‘Cathy?’ she asked, her face creasing just as Hayley’s had.
‘Yes. Catherine?’ She nodded. ‘Come in. Hayley will be so pleased to see you. She’s with my son and daughter in the living room.’
I didn’t have to show her through, as Hayley, having heard her mother’s voice, had run into the hall. ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ she cried. With a mixture of absolute relief and excitement, she rushed to her mother.
Catherine dropped to her knees so that she was at her daughter’s height and, encircling her in her arms, held her close. The tears she’d been holding back fell. ‘Oh, love, my precious, I’m so sorry. I’ve been so stupid. How can you ever forgive me?’
They clung to each other and cried openly. Adrian and Paula, worried by what they could hear, came into the hall. ‘It’s OK,’ I reassured them. ‘You go and play. Hayley will be all right soon.’ Adrian took hold of Paula’s hand and led her back into the living room.
I gently touched Catherine’s shoulder. ‘Would you like to come and sit down and I’ll get you a drink.’
‘Thank you.’ I helped her to her feet. Hayley still had her arms wrapped around her mother’s neck and her legs tightly around her waist.
I took them through to the kitchen-cum-diner and drew out a chair at the table for Catherine to sit down. Hayley was on her lap. I placed a box of tissues within reach. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Water, please.’
I poured a glass of water and placed it on the table, then pulling out a chair I sat beside them
. Hayley was still clinging to her mother for all she was worth. ‘Has she had a drink?’ Catherine asked, taking a tissue from the box.
‘Yes, and a little bit of lunch and dinner. But not much.’
‘Thank you for looking after her,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘I feel so ashamed. Now I’m sober I can’t believe what I’ve done.’ Fresh tears fell.
‘We all make mistakes,’ I said, touching her arm.
She shook her head in despair and couldn’t speak for emotion, but now Hayley was with her mother she was starting to look a bit better and her confidence was returning. ‘Don’t cry, Mummy,’ she said, wiping the tears from her mother’s cheeks. Which of course made Catherine cry even more.
I waited until she was able to speak. ‘Thank goodness I didn’t have to stay at the police station overnight,’ she said.
‘I would have looked after Hayley,’ I reassured her.
‘I know, that’s what the police lady said. Thank you.’ She wiped her eyes again and looked at me. ‘I want you to know I don’t normally behave like that. It was completely out of character. I can’t justify what I did, but I did have a good reason.’ I looked at her and waited while she composed herself again. ‘Last night my husband left me,’ she said. ‘Just like that. After ten years of marriage, he told me he’d fallen in love with his secretary. I mean, what a cliché! He said they couldn’t help it, but it had just happened, like it wasn’t his fault and he wasn’t responsible. He said it was best for everyone if he left. Best for him, more like it!’ Catherine’s voice had risen and I could see that Hayley was looking at her anxiously.
‘Perhaps Hayley would like to go and play with Adrian and Paula while we talk,’ I suggested. But she snuggled closer to her mother, not wanting to be parted from her.
‘It’s all right. I won’t go into all the details,’ Catherine said. ‘I just want you to know I’m not a bad mother. I love my daughter more than anything and would never harm her. But what he said was such a shock. I was up all night and I began drinking. I don’t know how but I got through nearly two bottles of wine and by this morning I’d hatched a plan to shame him and his secretary. I went down to the shopping mall with Hayley. He’s the manager of the department store there. He wouldn’t see me, so I started shouting and causing a fuss, telling everyone what he’d done. The store security called the police, and the rest you know.’ I nodded sympathetically as she held Hayley close and kissed the top of her head. ‘This is going to take a lot of getting over,’ she said more calmly. ‘But at least we’ve got each other.’