Please Don’t Take My Baby

Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.

HarperElement

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2013

Copyright © Cathy Glass 2013

Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015

Cover images © James Jordan Photography/Getty Images (posed by models); Shutterstock.com (background)

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

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Source ISBN: 9780007514915

Ebook Edition © April 2013 ISBN: 9780007514922

Version 2016-08-15

Also by Cathy Glass

Damaged

Hidden

Cut

The Saddest Girl in the World

Happy Kids

The Girl in the Mirror

I Miss Mummy

Mummy Told Me Not to Tell

My Dad’s a Policeman (a Quick Reads novel)

Run, Mummy, Run

The Night the Angels Came

Happy Adults

A Baby’s Cry

Happy Mealtimes for Kids

Another Forgotten Child

Please Don’t Take My Baby

Will You Love Me?

About Writing and How to Publish

Daddy’s Little Princess

The Child Bride

Saving Danny

Girl Alone

The Silent Cry

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Also by Cathy Glass

Author’s Note

1. Stranger at the Door

2. New Arrival

3. Awkward

4. First Evening

5. Jade’s Story

6. Jackie

7. Testing Boundaries

8. Silly, Silly Girl

9. Hurt by Dishonesty

10. ‘Like You See on the Telly’

11. ‘Smelly Baby’

12. Worth It

13. Assessment

14. Error of Judgement

15. Not an Ogre

16. A Police Matter

17. Shaken to the Core

18. Too Late

19. ‘Please Don’t Take My Baby’

20. Prolonging the Agony

21. Tuesday

22. Last Chance

23. Broken Rules and Promises

24. Moving On

Epilogue

Suggested Topics for Reading-Group Discussion

Acknowledgements

Sample Chapter

Cathy Glass

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

About the Publisher

Author’s Note

England has one of the highest teenage pregnancy rates in the developed world. Last year nearly 40,000 teenage girls gave birth and nearly 60,000 terminated a pregnancy. These figures are truly shocking. And while some of the girls’ stories have happy endings, many do not.

Chapter One

Stranger at the Door

We’d just sat down to our evening meal when the doorbell rang. I sighed. Why did salespeople always manage to time their calls with dinner? Double glazing, cavity-wall insulation, religion, new driveway, landscape the garden or fresh fish from Grimsby: whatever they were selling, 6.00 p.m. seemed to be the time they called, I supposed because most people are home from work by then and it isn’t so late that people won’t answer their front doors.

‘Aren’t you going to see who it is, Mum?’ Paula, my eight-year-old daughter, asked, as I didn’t immediately leave the table.

‘Yes,’ I said as the bell rang for a second time.

Standing, I swallowed my mouthful of cottage pie and went down the hall to the front door, ready to despatch the salesperson as quickly as possible.

‘And don’t be rude!’ Adrian called after me.

As if I would! Although it was true I usually sent away cold callers efficiently and effectively, which to Adrian, aged twelve, could be seen as rude and certainly embarrassing.

‘Don’t be cheeky,’ I returned, as I arrived at the front door.

It was dark outside at six o’clock in January and, as usual, before answering the door at night, I checked the security spyhole, which allowed me to see who was in the porch. The porch was illuminated by a carriage lamp and gave enough light for me to see a lady in her early thirties, dressed smartly in a light-grey winter coat, and whom I vaguely recognized from seeing in the street. I guessed she was collecting either money for a charity or signatures for a petition on a local issue: traffic calming, crossing patrol, noisy pub in the high road, etc.

‘Hello,’ I said with a smile as I opened the door. The cold night air rushed in.

‘I’m sorry to trouble you,’ she began. ‘You’re Cathy Glass, aren’t you?’ I saw she wasn’t carrying a charity-collection tin or a clipboard with a petition to sign.

‘Yes,’ I said, surprised she knew my name. I certainly didn’t know hers.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you. My name’s Meryl Dennis. I work at Beachcroft School. I’m the games mistress – I teach PE. I expect you’ve seen me around? I live at number 122.’

‘Oh yes,’ I said. Number 122 was at the very bottom of the street.

I smiled politely and wondered why she was telling me who she was and about her school, which was on the other side of the county. Adrian, who’d started secondary school the previous September, attended a local school and Paula was still at our local primary school. I smiled again and waited, aware that the cold air was chilling the house and my half-eaten dinner was on the table going cold.

‘You foster, don’t you?’ Meryl asked a little nervously.

‘Yes. Although I don’t have a child at present.’

‘I thought not. I pass your house in my car on the way to work and I used to see you setting off on your school run. I thought your routine had changed.’

I smiled again and nodded, and continued to look at Meryl, still with no inkling as to why she was here or why she’d taken such an interest in my routine. Donna, the girl whose story I told in The Saddest Girl in the World, had left us in November and I’d taken Christmas off and was now waiting for another foster child to arrive. I didn’t yet know who it would be. But what any of that had to do with Meryl I had no idea.

‘Is it possible for me to come in for a few moments?’ Meryl asked. ‘What I have to say is confidential. I’m so sorry to trouble you like this.’

‘Well, yes,’ I said, slightly taken aback but intrigued. ‘Come in.’

Grateful to be able to close the door against the cold night air, I led the way down the hall.

‘Who is it?’ Paula called from the dining table, having heard our footsteps.

‘A lady who lives down our road,’ I said. ‘Finish your dinner, please.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Meryl said. ‘I’ve interrupted your meal.’

‘Don’t worry. It will save. Let’s go through here to talk.’ I showed her into the sitting room and pushed the door to. Adrian and Paula knew where I was if they needed me.

Meryl had the authoritative air of a teacher. She sat on the sofa, unbuttoned her coat and, slipping it off, folded it on to the sofa next to her. ‘I’m sorry to barge in on you like this,’ she apologized again. ‘But I need to ask you a favour – to help me out.’

It was then I thought she was probably looking for a childminder – hence her comments about me not having a child; possibly someone to look after her child or children before or after school. I’d been approached before by neighbours who knew I fostered and asked if I could mind their children. If this was why Meryl was here I’d have to politely refuse, for as a foster carer I’m not allowed to childmind as well, although I am allowed to help out a friend, for example, by looking after their child for a couple of hours while they go to the dentist or similar.

Meryl now looked at me very seriously as she spoke. ‘As well as teaching PE at Beachcroft I’m mentor for the girls in years twelve and thirteen. You know, what used to be known as the sixth form.’ I nodded. ‘The girls come to me with their problems, usually about studying and exams; or they have boyfriend problems, or they’re not getting on with their parents. I listen to them and do what I can to help. However, I have one girl in year twelve who is pregnant. She telephoned me half an hour ago to say her mother has thrown her out. She’s at a friend’s now but can’t stay there tonight. Can she come here?’

I was completely taken aback by the directness of the question, although the answer was simple: no. But I could see how passionate Meryl was in her desire to help the girl, so I thought she deserved a fuller explanation.

‘I can’t, I’m afraid. Although I’m a foster carer I can’t take any child I choose. The way the system works is that when a social worker at the local authority decides to bring a child into care they first check their lists to see if they have a suitable foster carer free; if they haven’t, they send a referral to the independent fostering agencies in the area to see if they have anyone suitable. The agency I foster for, Homefinders, receives the referral together with other agencies and if they think I’m suitable they contact me. Different foster carers have different expertise and specialities. I don’t foster pregnant teenage girls, but some foster carers do. The social services will be able to find somewhere for this girl. Have you contacted them?’

‘Jade doesn’t want them involved,’ Meryl said.

I paused and thought. ‘I think they need to be involved,’ I said.

‘I think they know about Jade,’ Meryl said. ‘I understand there’s a social worker already working with Jade’s mother on other issues. Jade has younger brothers and sisters. But Jade told the social worker she didn’t want her help – or words to that effect.’ Meryl shrugged.

‘I see. Well, I’m sorry but as a foster carer I can’t take a child unless the referral has come through the proper channels, and they won’t place Jade with me. I take younger children and often those with special needs or challenging behaviour.’

‘Couldn’t we have a private fostering arrangement?’ Meryl asked, clearly having done some research into the matter. ‘It’s not as though Jade is a small child. She can look after herself.’

‘I can’t become involved in a private fostering arrangement,’ I said. ‘Not while I work for a fostering agency. Also the law is clear: if someone who is not a relative of a child looks after a child who is under the age of sixteen for more than twenty-eight days, then they have to be assessed and become a registered foster carer. It’s for the child’s good. Foster carers are trained and regularly monitored.’

‘Jade’s just seventeen.’

‘I’m sorry, it doesn’t make any difference. I still can’t take her. I suggest you telephone the duty social worker now and explain the situation and that Jade has just become homeless. The social services will find her a bed for the night. At seventeen she’s still a minor, so the social services have a legal duty of care towards her. They’ll place her with a teen carer who can best take care of her needs.’

Meryl sighed and looked downcast. I felt sorry for her. She clearly wanted to help Jade and I think she really believed I could offer Jade a home, or at least a bed for the night. But it wasn’t that simple. Even if I’d been registered as a teen carer and had a spare bedroom, the referral would still have had to go through the social services who, if necessary, would pass it on to the independent fostering agencies (which are charitable trusts that came about as a result of the local authorities never having enough foster carers). As I looked at Meryl I thought how nice it was of her to be so conscientious and caring in her role as the girls’ mentor.

‘Do you know anyone else with a spare bedroom who could put Jade up for a few nights?’ Meryl asked. ‘Just until I get something else sorted out?’

‘No. I’m sorry, I don’t,’ I said. Although I knew some of my neighbours had spare bedrooms, I wasn’t going to get them involved in what could have been a difficult and embarrassing situation. I didn’t know Jade and I didn’t know those neighbours that well either. ‘All I can suggest is that you call the duty social worker,’ I said again.

‘Or perhaps I’ll give Jade my bed for tonight,’ Meryl said.

I looked at her, surprised. Clearly it was her decision to take Jade in but I wasn’t sure it was the right one professionally. Meryl was, after all, a teacher at Jade’s school and I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to blur the boundaries between teacher and pupil for either of their sakes.

‘I know I’m becoming too involved,’ Meryl suddenly said, as though reading my thoughts. ‘But you see, I can identify with Jade. I didn’t have the best start in life and when I was Jade’s age I went completely off the rails. It was a teacher at my school who helped me get my life back on track. I’ll always be grateful to her for going that extra mile for me and I’d like to do the same for Jade.’ Which explained a lot.

‘Will she keep the baby?’ I asked, mindful of the huge responsibility she’d be undertaking if she did.

‘She wants to. And I’m trying to help her keep her studies going, although she won’t be attending school for much longer.’

‘Hopefully her parents will give her some support when they get over the shock,’ I offered.

‘Maybe, but I’m not counting on it. Jade’s mother has problems of her own, and her other kids to look after. And as far as I’m aware Jade’s father isn’t around much. Anyway, I’ve taken up enough of your time,’ Meryl said, now standing and putting on her coat. ‘Thanks, and sorry to interrupt your dinner.’

‘That’s all right. I’m just sorry I couldn’t help you.’

I went with Meryl down the hall, wishing I could have done more, but as I’d explained to Meryl I couldn’t just take in any child, apart from which there were reasons I didn’t foster teenagers: they were very hard work. They often went missing and required a great deal of emotional support. I felt I had enough responsibility looking after Adrian, Paula and a foster child, as well as coming to terms with being newly divorced, and I didn’t feel I could offer support to a teenager at present.

Chapter Two

New Arrival

‘Hi. How are you? Have you enjoyed your rest?’ Jill, my support social worker from Homefinders, asked the following day.

It was mid-morning and I’d just returned from taking Adrian and Paula to school, having stopped off at the shops on my way home. I’d answered the telephone in the hall. ‘I’m fine, thanks, Jill,’ I said. ‘Very rested. Donna telephoned at the weekend and she’s doing well.’

‘Good. I’m pleased. She’s a nice kid. So you’re ready for your next placement? Raring to go?’

I smiled. ‘Yes, I am.’ For although I enjoyed a short break between fostering placements, I was always ready to welcome the next child. I foster because I want to; it’s what I do and love.

‘Great,’ Jill said. ‘How would you like a teenager who is seven months pregnant?’

I fell silent. I didn’t know how far into her pregnancy Jade was – Meryl hadn’t said – but surely this was too much of a coincidence? ‘She wouldn’t be called Jade, would she?’ I asked.

‘That’s right. The very same. I understand a teacher from her school has taken Jade under her wing and visited you last night.’

‘Yes, Meryl. I told her I couldn’t help her and she should telephone the duty social worker.’

‘She did. First thing this morning. Jade’s family is already known to the social services, and Meryl asked the family’s social worker if Jade could stay with you. She thinks you’ll take good care of her, and living in the same street she feels she’ll be able to offer some support, which may be a help or a hindrance. I’ve told the social worker that although you’re approved to foster teenagers you don’t normally do so – you’ve enough to cope with, and you certainly wouldn’t want a mother-and-baby placement.’ Jill, as always, was forthright in her manner and, as my support social worker, could be relied upon to have my best interest at heart.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘However,’ Jill continued, ‘Jade’s social worker is asking if you can look after Jade until they find a mother-and-baby placement: four weeks at the most. She’ll be moved before she has the baby. Jade won’t be going to school any more but they’re hoping to arrange some home tutoring. I said I’d ask you, but clearly it’s your decision, Cathy. Feel free to say no.’

‘I see,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘Just for a month?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I think about it?’

‘Unfortunately no. They need a decision straightaway. Jade’s mother has thrown her out and Jade spent last night in Meryl’s bed while Meryl slept on the sofa. But Meryl’s husband is back tonight from a business trip and they don’t have a spare bedroom.’

‘I see,’ I said again. I felt sorry for Jade: it was bad enough to be pregnant at seventeen but to have no family support must be devastating. ‘And the social services will have found her a mother-and-baby carer before the baby is born?’

‘Yes. Absolutely.’

‘All right then, Jill,’ I said with a small flush of relief. ‘I’ll do what I can to help her. I’ll be pleased to.’

‘Great. I’ll tell Rachel, her social worker.’

‘I thought Meryl said Jade wasn’t having anything to do with the social services?’ I queried.

‘To be honest, Jade hasn’t got much choice,’ Jill said. ‘Rachel is already involved with the family and although Jade is adamant she wants to keep the baby, she’s going to have to prove she can look after it properly. Otherwise it will be taken into care.’

While this seemed harsh, it was in the best interest of the baby; babies are fragile, vulnerable little beings and if parenting goes badly wrong there is often no second chance.

‘Jade needs to start cooperating with the social services,’ Jill added. ‘She also needs their help. I think she’s starting to realize that.’

‘Good. So when do I meet Jade?’

‘I’ll phone Rachel now and tell her you’ve agreed to look after her, and then I’ll get back to you with more details. I think we’ll probably move Jade in late this afternoon or early evening. I want to be there and obviously Rachel will need to be there too. Are you in today, apart from the school run?’

‘Yes. I can be.’

‘I’ll phone you as soon as I’ve spoken to Rachel, then. Thanks, Cathy.’

‘You’re welcome.’

We said goodbye and as I replaced the receiver I felt a frisson of excitement: a new child and a new challenge. Although Jade wasn’t exactly a child, and she would only be staying with me for a short while, I would do all I could to help her. I felt sure she would benefit from some stability in her life and my TLC (tender loving care), which I prided myself on offering to all the children I looked after, and wouldn’t go amiss even with a teenager. A wiser, more experienced teen carer might have asked some appropriate questions – for example, about Jade’s boyfriend, the father of her unborn baby, and what involvement, if any, he would be having in Jade’s life. But for me at that moment, elated by the prospect of doing all I could to help Jade, such questions never crossed my mind.

Leaving the hall, I jogged up the stairs and to the spare bedroom to make some last-minute changes so that it was suitable for when Jade arrived and she felt comfortable. I didn’t think she’d mind the soft toys dotted around the room, but I removed the toy box. Then I changed the duvet cover and pillowcase, replacing the pictures of Batman with plain pale yellow. Satisfied the room was clean and welcoming, I returned downstairs. As a foster carer and an individual I try not to be judgemental, and if I thought Jade was far too young to be having a baby and that she should have been more careful I didn’t dwell on it. Who knew what past experience had brought Jade to this point in her life and self-righteous recrimination is never helpful. My role was to look after Jade and her unborn baby, which I intended to do to the best of my ability, and if she left me feeling less alone and better able to face the world then I would be delighted.

Jill telephoned again two hours later, by which time I had vacuumed the carpets, dusted the shelves, tidied the house and begun the preparation of the spaghetti bolognese for dinner. Although it was only lunchtime, I knew from experience that when a new child arrives time evaporates; I’d been caught out before by suddenly finding it was seven o’clock and no dinner was ready. Now, having been fostering for eleven years, I was better prepared. However, the only news Jill had was that she didn’t know when Jade would be arriving, as Rachel hadn’t been able to contact her. Apparently Jade wasn’t in school and Meryl didn’t know where she was.

‘I’ll phone as soon as I know more,’ Jill said.

Such uncertainty isn’t unusual in fostering, so I wasn’t fazed. Plans change and I knew enough about teenagers to know that their timekeeping was fluid and their appointment keeping variable.

As the afternoon was cold but bright I put the washing on the line to dry, and then with some time to spare I began a new fostering folder in preparation for Jade’s arrival. In this would go the forms the social worker would bring with her, as well as the daily record all foster carers have to keep of the child they are looking after. This includes medical, education and social-care appointments, any significant events, details of contact and the child’s general disposition. This record keeping allows the child’s progress to be monitored so that additional help can be accessed if necessary. The notes are confidential and when the child leaves the foster carer they are placed on the child’s file at the social services. Even though Jade would be with me for only a short while I had to start a file, although I couldn’t include much at present other than her name, age and today’s date. More information would follow with the social worker when she placed Jade.