Copyright

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

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First published by HarperElement 2019

FIRST EDITION

Text © Cathy Glass 2019

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Cover photograph © Mark Owen/Trevillion Images (posed by a model)

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: 9780008324292

Ebook Edition © February 2019 ISBN: 9780008324308

Version: 2019-01-09

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Chapter One: Struggling to Cope

Chapter Two: Difficult Meeting

Chapter Three: Trouble

Chapter Four: Straight Talking

Chapter Five: Secrets

Chapter Six: Inappropriate

Chapter Seven: Quiet and Withdrawn

Chapter Eight: Error of Judgement

Chapter Nine: First Review

Chapter Ten: Controlling

Chapter Eleven: Missing

Chapter Twelve: Something Much Worse

Chapter Thirteen: Confession

Chapter Fourteen: Disclosure

Chapter Fifteen: Excluded

Chapter Sixteen: Another Police Search

Chapter Seventeen: Disappointing News

Chapter Eighteen: Dejected and Moody

Chapter Nineteen: Messed Up

Chapter Twenty: A Dreadful Mistake

Chapter Twenty-One: Waiting for News

Chapter Twenty-Two: Angry and Upset

Chapter Twenty-Three: Prosecute

Chapter Twenty-Four: Lost

Chapter Twenty-Five: Life’s Not Worth Living

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Letter

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Moving On

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Proud

Suggested topics for reading-group discussion

Cathy Glass

If you loved this book …

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

Praise for Cathy Glass

About the Publisher

Acknowledgements

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

Struggling to Cope

‘… and he’s gender-fluid,’ Edith continued. ‘So together with all his behavioural problems his grandparents don’t feel they can look after him any longer.’

‘No, quite, I can see that’s rather a lot to cope with,’ I sympathised. ‘His grandparents must be stretched to the limit, looking after his younger brother and sister too.’

‘So you’ll take him?’ Edith asked. She was my supervising social worker, employed by the local authority to supervise and support their foster carers, of which I was one. She’d just been telling me about Steven, who liked to be known as Stevie. Aged fourteen, he needed a foster home as – according to his grandparents – he was confrontational, moody, withdrawn, stayed out late, didn’t do as they told him, wasn’t going to school and was generally making their lives a complete misery.

‘So I’ll tell his social worker you’ll take him,’ Edith said, slightly impatient at my hesitation.

‘Yes, but I have a question.’

‘Go on.’

‘What does gender-fluid mean?’ I asked reluctantly, not wanting to appear ignorant and make a fool of myself. ‘Is he gay?’

‘Not sure,’ she said. ‘I think it’s mainly to do with whether he is male or female, but his social worker will be able to tell you more. It’s not a problem for you, is it?’

‘No.’

‘Good. I’ll tell his social worker to phone you. They want to move Stevie as quickly as possible.’

‘How quickly?’

‘Within the next few days.’

‘All right.’

‘And you had a good Christmas?’ Edith asked. It was 27 December and the first day back at work for many.

‘Yes, thank you, and you?’

‘Busy.’

We said goodbye and I replaced the handset on its base in the hall. Our Christmas had been a good one, although it was the first since my father had passed away and, as anyone who has lost a loved one knows, the first Christmas and their birthday can be rather emotional. But my family and I had enjoyed ourselves for Dad’s sake; a child at heart, he always loved Christmas.

‘Was that Edith?’ Paula, my youngest daughter, aged nineteen, asked as I returned to the living room. I’d left the room to take the call in the hall so I wouldn’t disturb her. We’d been watching a box set of a detective series, although she’d paused it anyway.

‘Yes, it was,’ I said, returning to sit next to her on the sofa. ‘The social services are bringing a fourteen-year-old boy into care as soon as they can and would like him to come here.’ She nodded. ‘Paula, do you know what gender-fluid means?’ At her age and attending college, I thought she might.

She shrugged. ‘Not really. I’ve heard of it, but I don’t really know exactly what it means.’

‘Me neither. You continue watching the programme while I check online.’

‘It’s OK, I’ll wait for you,’ she said, and kept the programme on pause.

I picked up my mobile phone and entered gender-fluid into the search engine. As a foster carer I attended regular training, but so far the training on sexual matters had centred around keeping children in care safe – paedophiles, STDs (sexually transmitted diseases), birth control and so on. Gender-fluidity hadn’t been covered, but I knew how important it was to keep abreast of such matters, as well as acquiring the correct terminology. In the twenty-five years I’d been fostering, children in care had variously been known as FC (foster child), CiC (child in care), LAC (looked-after child), and the foster parents as Mum and Dad, foster mum and dad, and foster carers. This was the tip of the iceberg; beneath that lay a mass of acronyms ready to catch out any unsuspecting foster carer: SSW (supervising social worker), CPP (child-protection plan), CIN (child in need) and IEP (individual education plan), to name a few.

‘Gender-fluid’, I read out from my phone, ‘is someone who does not see themselves as having a fixed gender – that is, male or female.’

‘Oh,’ said Paula.

I read on: ‘It’s not about the sex they were born, but about how they see themselves. A gender-fluid person may identify as male or female or a combination of both. Their gender can vary with their circumstance. Gender-fluid people may be known as multigender, non-binary or transgender.’ See what I mean about terminology! ‘They may also be known as genderqueer.’

‘That doesn’t sound a very nice term,’ Paula said, and I agreed. But at least I now had an understanding of what gender-fluid meant, which was just as well, for as Paula pressed play for us to continue watching the television series the landline phone rang again. Paula sighed and pressed pause as I reached over to answer the handset in the living room.

‘Is that Cathy Glass?’ a female voice asked.

‘Yes, speaking.’

‘I’m Verity Meldrew, Stevie’s social worker. I believe Edith has spoken to you about Stevie and you’ve agreed to take him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I’ll give you some background information then.’

‘That would be helpful.’

‘The social services have been involved with the family since Steven – or rather Stevie – was born. His mother has a long history of alcohol and drug dependency and has been diagnosed with alcohol psychosis, resulting in her having hallucinations and delusions. She has spent time in a psychiatric unit, but at present is in prison. She has no face-to-face contact with Stevie, although in the past they may have been in contact through social media. As far as we are aware Stevie has no contact with his father. Stevie’s maternal grandparents have brought him up and are working with us, so he will be coming into care under a Section 20.’ This is also known as ‘accommodated’ and means that no court order is required, as the parents or guardians of the child (in this case the grandparents) have agreed to the child going into care voluntarily.

‘Stevie’s grandparents have guardianship of the two younger siblings,’ Verity continued. ‘There are no issues with their care, so they will be staying with them. However, the grandparents have been under huge pressure and have reached the point where they feel they can no longer cope with Stevie’s challenging behaviour. It came to a head when they received notice threatening court action in respect of Stevie not attending school.’

‘I see. Do we know why he hasn’t been going to school?’ I asked.

‘He says it’s not relevant to him. He’s a nice kid but is struggling with a number of issues. He’s got into trouble at school, although the school has been supportive, especially in respect of his gender identity. He sees himself as gender-fluid – you know what that means?’

‘Yes,’ I was able to say.

‘Good. His grandparents can’t deal with it and feel he is a bad influence on his younger siblings.’

‘How old are they?’

‘Six and eight. I think Stevie’s been winding up his grandparents, but I’m sure he’ll settle once he’s in care.’ How often had I heard that? I thought. ‘I’d like to bring him for a pre-placement visit, and his grandparents would like to meet you before the move too, but they will need to arrange child care for the younger two.’

‘OK. When were you thinking of?’

‘I’ll bring Stevie for a pre-placement visit tomorrow, the twenty-eighth, then set up a meeting with the grandparents for the following morning, the twenty-ninth, and move him in the afternoon.’

‘That’s fine with me,’ I said, making a mental note of the arrangements.

‘I’ll be in touch with the times and to confirm the dates.’

‘Thank you.’ We said goodbye and Paula and I continued watching the detective series. However, my thoughts were not on the programme but with Stevie. Many young people his age are moody, withdrawn and confrontational at times – it’s part of the teenage years – but what was worrying was that he wasn’t attending school. Not only because he was missing out on an important part of his education, but school offers socialisation – a place to meet and make friends. Children who are not in school can become very isolated. It also leaves them unoccupied for large parts of the day. I’d fostered young people before who weren’t in school and had found there were only so many activities I could provide at home before they grew bored and went off, hanging around the streets with the potential for getting up to all sorts of mischief. School gives structure to the day. Edith had said that Stevie’s school was being supportive, so I hoped it wouldn’t be long before I had him attending school again. Although I sympathised with his grandparents, as I knew from experience just how difficult it was to persuade a fourteen-year-old out of bed and into school.

A short while later a key went in the front door and Lucy, my twenty-one-year-old daughter, let herself in. She’d been visiting a friend. ‘Hi!’ she called from the hall, kicking off her shoes.

‘We’re in here!’ I returned.

Sammy, our (rescue) cat, raised his head at the sound of her voice and then returned to sleep.

‘You’re never watching daytime television, surely!’ Lucy exclaimed with a laugh as she came into the living room. I didn’t normally watch daytime television and discouraged others from doing so, feeling they could be engaged in a more productive activity, but it was the Christmas holidays.

‘It’s catch-up,’ Paula said.

‘Are you going to join us?’ I asked Lucy.

‘No. I’ve got a few things to sort out ready for work tomorrow.’

‘All right, love. Edith phoned while you were out about a fourteen-year-old lad who will very likely be coming to stay,’ I told her. ‘She’s planning on bringing him for a visit tomorrow and then moving him the day after.’

‘OK, cool. See you guys later then.’ Lucy disappeared off to her room.

Lucy had come to me as a foster child nearly ten years before and I’d adopted her. She couldn’t be more loved and cherished, and was as easy with fostering as Paula and my son Adrian were. Lucy had studied child care and was now working in a local nursery, while Adrian, twenty-three, had returned home to live after completing his degree. He was now working at his temporary job in a supermarket until he found a trainee position in a firm of accountants. As a single parent (my husband had left when the children were little), juggling fostering and part-time clerical work (mainly from home), I was kept busy – pleasantly so – and I felt very happy with the life I’d been given.

Paula and I had just finished the episode in the series we were watching when the phone rang again. She pressed pause and I picked up the handset in the living room.

‘Cathy, it’s Verity, getting back to you.’

‘Hello.’

‘Slight change of plan. I’ve spoken to Stevie’s gran and she’s asked me to explain to him why he has to move. She’s worried he might kick off and blame her if she tells him. So I’ll visit them tomorrow morning and then bring Stevie to you straight after for a short visit. We should arrive around one o’clock. I’ve set up a meeting at eleven o’clock for the following morning when you will be able to meet his grandparents. It’s here at the council offices. Stevie will be coming, and a friend of the gran’s will be looking after the younger two siblings. If all goes to plan, Stevie will go home with his grandparents after the meeting and then I’ll move him to you that afternoon. We should arrive around three o’clock, but I’ll phone you before we set off.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, scribbling the dates and times on a notepad by the phone. ‘That works for me.’

‘See you tomorrow then.’

‘Yes. Goodbye.’

I told Paula and then Lucy the arrangements, and Adrian when he came home, so we were all prepared. Fostering involves the whole family, so it’s important everyone knows what is going on. I should have realised from twenty-five years of fostering that situations in social care can and do change quickly. The following afternoon Stevie didn’t arrive.

Chapter Two

Difficult Meeting

The house was tidy, Stevie’s room was ready, so all we needed was Stevie and his social worker, Verity. Adrian and Lucy were both at work, so there was just Paula, me and Sammy, our cat, at home. I hadn’t been expecting Verity to arrive with Stevie at exactly 1 p.m., but when it got to 1.30 I started to feel something might be amiss. I’d kept the afternoon free, so it wasn’t as though I had an appointment to go to, but it was unsettling just waiting. Even after years of fostering, I’m still a little anxious before meeting a new child, especially if they are older, hoping they will like me and that I will be able to help them. I didn’t have Verity’s mobile number so at 1.45, when there was still no sign of her and Stevie, I telephoned her office.

‘She’s out seeing a client,’ a colleague told me.

‘Yes, that would be Stevie Jones,’ I said. ‘She was going to bring him to me for a pre-placement visit at one o’clock. I’m Cathy Glass, the foster carer he’s going to be living with.’

‘Oh, OK. She must have got held up.’

‘Would it be possible for you to phone her and ask what time she’ll be coming, please?’ I knew she wouldn’t give out a social worker’s telephone number without her permission.

‘Yes, I can, but if she’s with a client her phone will be on voicemail. I’ll leave a message asking her to phone you.’

‘Thank you.’

Half an hour later the landline rang and it was Verity. ‘Stevie is missing and hasn’t been since ten o’clock this morning.’

‘Oh dear, I see.’

‘There was an incident at home,’ Verity explained. ‘Stevie was planning on going out for the day and his gran asked him to stay in, as I was coming to see him. He got angry and said he didn’t want to see his effing social worker and stormed off out. Gran hasn’t seen him since.’

‘That’s worrying.’

‘Yes. Gran thinks he’ll be back before long – when he’s hungry – but I can’t wait here indefinitely. I’ve told her I’ll give it another fifteen minutes and then we’ll have to reschedule.’

‘All right, you’ll let me know?’

‘Yes, of course.’

While I was concerned that Stevie had disappeared, he wasn’t my responsibility yet, and his gran seemed to think he’d return soon. If a young person regularly runs away, as Stevie had been doing, there often isn’t the same sense of urgency as there would be if a child or young person with no history of running away suddenly went missing. Complacency can be dangerous, as it might be the one time they need help. Foster carers follow a set procedure if a child or young person in their care goes missing, which includes informing the social services and the police.

By three o’clock when I’d heard nothing further from Verity I guessed they wouldn’t be coming, and Paula and I continued our day as normal. Just after four o’clock Edith phoned asking how Stevie’s visit had gone. I explained what had happened and that I was waiting to hear from Verity with the new arrangements. She wished me luck and we said goodbye. Edith had been my supervising social worker (SSW) for nearly a year and was different from my previous SSW, Jill, whom I’d worked with for many years. She’d retired when the Independent Fostering Agency (IFA) she worked for had closed its local office, so I’d begun fostering for the local authority (LA). Jill was always very well informed and would offer hands-on support if necessary, whereas Edith tended to concentrate on the administrative side of her role, but we jogged along together OK.

Adrian and Lucy came home from work expecting to hear how Stevie’s visit had gone, and I explained over dinner that he hadn’t arrived and why, then listened to their news. ‘I hope you haven’t been watching television all day,’ Lucy teased me.

‘As if!’

I went to bed that night assuming the meeting the following morning at 11 a.m., when I was to meet Stevie and his grandparents, wouldn’t be going ahead. However, just after 9 a.m. Verity phoned and said that Stevie had returned home late the previous evening and she’d see me at the meeting as planned at the council offices.

‘OK,’ I said, gulping down the last of my coffee. ‘What about the pre-placement visit?’

‘We’ll have to skip that, there isn’t time. After the meeting I’ll go back with Stevie and his grandparents and then bring Stevie to you. I’ve asked his gran to pack a bag ready for him.’

‘So Stevie knows he’s coming to live with us?’

‘Yes. When he finally returned home late last night his grandfather, Fred, was angry he’d caused them so much worry and blurted it out. It wasn’t the best way to tell him, but at least he knows.’

‘And Stevie’s OK with it?’

‘Apparently. His gran told him he’ll get more pocket money with you and he can visit them whenever he likes, but we’ll have to look at contact arrangements.’

‘Thank you.’ Verity knew as I did that while it was important Stevie had regular contact with his grandparents and siblings, it would stop him from settling with me if he felt he could pop home whenever he wished. It would also be difficult to keep an eye on him and know where he was.

Although I had showered, I was dressed casually, and I quickly changed into a smarter outfit – navy trousers and pale blue jersey. I was going to meet Stevie, his grandparents and Verity for the first time, so I wanted to create a good impression. As a foster carer I viewed myself as a professional and felt it was appropriate to dress smartly for all meetings. I also put a notepad and pen into my bag together with a small photograph album that showed pictures of my house, my family and me, which I would show to Stevie and his grandparents. It would mean that it wasn’t all strange for Stevie when he arrived and would hopefully reassure his grandparents.

Paula was up but in her dressing gown, as college didn’t start again until the following week, so I told her where I was going and that I’d see her later.

I arrived at the council offices with ten minutes to spare and parked in a side road. I signed in at reception, hung the security pass around my neck and made my way up to the room where the meeting was to be held. I wasn’t expecting to see Edith at the meeting. When I’d worked for Homefinders – the IFA I’d fostered for – Jill had attended most meetings with me, but the local authority’s supervising social workers didn’t.

The room was empty and I sat in one of the chairs arranged around the table in the centre, and took out my notepad, pen and photograph album, hoping I’d been given the right room number. It was exactly eleven o’clock. I’d wait five minutes, then go down to reception and check. The time ticked by and I could hear movement in the corridor outside. Presently a woman came in carrying a large file and a mobile phone. ‘Cathy Glass, the foster carer?’ she asked.

‘Yes, that’s me.’ I smiled.

‘I’m Verity Meldrew, Stevie’s social worker. Nice to meet you.’

‘You too.’ She sat opposite me.

‘Stevie and his grandparents are on their way,’ she said.

‘Good.’

Of average height and build, I guessed Verity was in her late thirties. Her manner came across as confident but approachable. ‘How are you? All set to go?’ she asked.

‘Yes, indeed. My family and I are looking forward to meeting Stevie.’ Although in truth I was feeling anxious again and the delay wasn’t helping.

‘Sorry about yesterday,’ she said.

‘At least Stevie returned home. Does he run off like that often?’

‘He has been doing recently,’ she said, and was about to add more when her mobile phone started ringing. ‘Sorry, I need to take this call.’ She stood and left the room.

I was left gazing around and twiddling my pen as her muted voice floated in from outside. A few minutes later it stopped and the door opened. Verity came in followed by an elderly couple and a young lad I took to be Stevie. Tall for his age, slim, with styled blond hair flopping over his forehead, he was clearly dressed to impress. Straight-legged, pink-sheen jeans, with a white jersey under a zip-up black leather jacket. I stood and went over to greet them.

‘This is the foster carer, Cathy Glass,’ Verity said, introducing me.

Stevie threw me a small nod and rearranged his fringe, while his grandmother said hello and his grandfather shook my hand. First meetings between the child’s family and the foster carer are always a little difficult and I sensed their reservations. Although I had the best intentions, I was, after all, usurping their role by looking after their grandchild.

‘Mr and Mrs Jones,’ Verity added.

‘Peggy and Fred,’ his grandfather said, and I smiled.

We settled around the table. Verity moved to the end so the three of them could sit together, opposite me, but Stevie sat at the far end of the table, putting as much space as possible between him and his grandparents. Despite this and his flamboyant clothes suggesting confidence, I could see he was nervous. ‘It’s good to meet you,’ I said to him.

He gave a small smile and flicked back his fringe. I saw then he was wearing eye make-up – not a lot, just mascara and eyeliner.

‘So,’ Verity began, ‘this is a short meeting to give us a chance to get to know each other. I’ll make a few notes as we go, but I won’t produce minutes. Let’s start by introducing ourselves.’ Fred sighed, but all social services meetings start with the formality of introductions, even if those present know each other. ‘I’m Verity Meldrew, Stevie’s social worker,’ she said, then looked to Peggy sitting on her left.

‘I’m Peggy Jones, Steven’s grandma, and I apologise for the state he’s in. I told him to change his clothes and take off that make-up, but he refused.’ Stevie responded with a dismissive, overstated shrug.

‘Cheeky bugger!’ his grandfather fumed. It was instantly clear how easily Stevie could wind up his grandparents.

Verity threw me a glance, then said, ‘Let’s continue with the introductions. Mr Jones, you’re next.’

He huffed and said, ‘Fred Jones. And unlike my wife I’m not apologising for the state of him. We brought him up proper, as best we could, and at our age it hasn’t been easy.’

‘Thank you,’ Verity said, then looked to Stevie to introduce himself. My heart went out to him; although it was his choice to sit at the far end of the table, he now looked very alone. I felt I wanted to reach out and give him a hug, as big as he was.

‘Stevie Jones,’ he said, emphasising ‘Stevie’ as he wanted to be known, rather than Steven as his grandmother had called him. ‘It’s not my fault. They won’t accept me for who I am.’

Verity smiled at him reassuringly and then looked to me to introduce myself.

‘Cathy Glass, foster carer,’ I said.

‘Thank you,’ Verity said, making a note of those present. ‘Cathy, would you like to start by telling Stevie and his grandparents a bit about you and your family?’

‘Certainly.’ I’d done this many times before; it’s standard at meetings like this. Looking at Stevie and his grandparents as I spoke, I told them I was a single parent and had been fostering for twenty-five years; that I had three adult children at home. I said Adrian and Lucy worked, while Paula was at a local college. I described an average day and what we liked to do in our leisure time in the evenings and at weekends. I finished by passing them the photograph album to look at. I’d written a caption beneath each picture, so they were self-explanatory. Verity thanked me and we were silent as first Peggy and Fred looked at the album and then passed it to Stevie. I couldn’t tell from his expression what he thought.

‘What do you think?’ Verity asked him as he closed the album and pushed it across the table to me.

‘I’ll have my own room then?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Verity confirmed.

‘There’s a photo in here,’ I said, opening the album. ‘I’ve written your room beneath it.’ I showed him.

He nodded and seemed pleased.

‘He has to share with Liam, his younger brother, at home,’ Peggy said. ‘Kiri, his sister, needs her own room.’

‘I have a question,’ Fred said. ‘Are you going to stop him dressing like a tart? It’s embarrassing.’

So was his comment, although of course Peggy and Fred were of a different generation and probably didn’t realise that such comments were unacceptable. The short answer was no, I wouldn’t be stopping him from dressing as he wished in the evenings and weekends. I looked at Stevie and said, ‘I assume you wear your school uniform for school?’

‘He doesn’t go to school,’ Peggy said.

‘Cathy will be liaising with the school to help Stevie return,’ Verity said.

‘I’ll give you a bloody medal if you succeed!’ Fred said. ‘We’ve both tried and got nowhere.’

‘He has a mentor,’ Peggy said. ‘That’s who we see.’

‘And a fat lot of good she is!’ Fred said. ‘Lots of talk, but is she willing to come round and get him out of bed? No!’

I looked at Stevie, who’d lost some of his previous nervousness and was now looking rather smug at having antagonised his grandfather. ‘Is there a reason you haven’t been going to school?’ I asked him.

Tilting his head to one side, he gave an exaggerated shrug. ‘It doesn’t suit me,’ he said.

‘Doesn’t suit you!’ Fred thundered. ‘You cheeky bugger! It didn’t suit us to bring up you lot after we’d brought up our own kids, but we got on with it so you’d all have a proper home.’

‘And you’ve done a good job,’ Verity said pacifyingly.

Fred scoffed, while Stevie provokingly took a small compact from his jacket pocket and checked his face in the mirror.

‘Look at him!’ Fred fumed.

Clearly Stevie knew exactly which buttons to press to annoy his grandparents perfectly!

The only positive part of the meeting, I thought as I drove home, was the photograph album. Stevie and his grandparents had asked to look through it a second time, and his gran said she was less worried now she knew he would be living in a nice house and had met me, as she’d heard some bad things about foster carers not treating kids right. Verity reassured her that I was well thought of and gave the children I looked after a high standard of care. Stevie didn’t say much other than asking how much pocket money he would be getting.

‘You won’t get any if you don’t go to school,’ Fred had seethed. They’d stopped his pocket money when he’d refused to attend school, but as a foster carer I had to give the child or young person their allowance regardless of their behaviour, which of course limited the options available to sanction negative behaviour. Many parents withhold their children’s pocket money if they misbehave and some children are expected to do household chores to earn the money. Young people in care receive an above-average pocket money allowance for their age, plus an amount set aside in a savings account and a clothing allowance, which, at Stevie’s age, he would expect to have in his hand. He would also very likely have a pay-as-you-go mobile phone, which I would be expected to top up, but I didn’t explain all this at the time to Peggy and Fred, and neither did Verity.

It was one o’clock when I arrived home. Paula had left a note saying she’d gone shopping with a friend and would be back around 4 p.m. I had a sandwich lunch and then did some clerical work while I waited for Verity to arrive with Stevie – at around three o’clock. However, just before three the landline went and when I heard Verity’s voice I knew something had changed or gone wrong.

‘Cathy, I’ve just left Mr and Mrs Jones. Stevie won’t be coming to you this afternoon. His grandparents want to give him another chance. They felt bad after the meeting and they think the threat of going into care might give him the shock he needs. I’ll be monitoring the situation and we’ll have to see how it goes.’

‘OK. Thanks for letting me know,’ I said.

While I wasn’t happy at being seen as a ‘threat’, I hoped it all worked out for them. Obviously it’s better for a child or young person if they are able to live with their family, although something told me (from years of fostering) that wasn’t going to happen here, and I was right.

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