Copyright

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

HarperElement

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First published by HarperElement 2019

FIRST EDITION

Text © Cathy Glass 2019

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

Cover photograph © Voisin/Phanie/Getty Images (stock photo posed by models)

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

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

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Source ISBN: 9780008341985

Ebook Edition © September 2019 ISBN: 9780008353711

Version: 2019-06-03

Contents

1  Cover

2  Title Page

3  Copyright

4  Contents

5  Acknowledgements

6  Chapter One: Traumatized

7 Chapter Two: Chaos

8 Chapter Three: Disturbed Night

9  Chapter Four: Good Mother

10  Chapter Five: Distressing

11  Chapter Six: I Want Mummy

12  Chapter Seven: Sick

13  Chapter Eight: Need to Know?

14  Chapter Nine: Sick Again

15  Chapter Ten: Bonding

16  Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

17  About the Publisher

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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

Traumatized

Thank goodness I didn’t have to witness their anguish and upset, I thought. I was sure I wouldn’t have coped. It was bad enough knowing it was happening – two young children about to be taken from their parents and brought into care. During the twenty-five years I’d been fostering I’d seen a lot of changes, but the raw grief of a family torn apart didn’t get any easier. I could imagine the children screaming and crying and clinging to their distraught parents as they tried to say goodbye. My heart ached for them. I also had sympathy for the social worker who was doing a very difficult job. No one wants to take children from their parents, but sometimes there is no alternative if they are to be safe.

It was now nearly two o’clock in the afternoon and I was standing in what would shortly be the children’s bedroom. I could have put the cot in my room, but I was sure Kit, only eighteen months old, would be happier sleeping with his sister Molly, who was three and a half. Doubtless she too would find comfort in having her younger brother close. Fostering guidelines on bedroom sharing vary slightly from one local authority to another, but generally siblings of the opposite sex can share a bedroom up to the age of five.

Molly and Kit were coming to me as an emergency placement. Stevie, fifteen (whose story I told in Finding Stevie), had left at the end of August and now, a few days later, at the start of September, I was preparing myself and the house for the arrival of these two little ones, who were certainly going to be distraught. Sometimes taking children into care can be done with the cooperation of their parents, voluntarily, which is known as ‘accommodated’ or a Section 20. It’s usually considered the better option, as the parents retain legal responsibility for their children and the process is less distressing for all involved. But that couldn’t happen here, so the social services had gone to court that morning to ask the judge for a care order to remove the children from home and bring them to me.

Edith, my supervising social worker, had telephoned at 11 a.m. to tell me to expect the children if the care order was granted. The reason for the social services’ application was that one of the children (she didn’t know which one) had suffered what was thought to be a non-accidental injury. That meant that someone – presumably one or both of the parents – had harmed the child. Apart from this and their ages, Edith didn’t have any more details. I would learn more when their social worker brought the children to me later today.

As soon as I’d finished speaking to Edith I’d gone into the loft and brought down all the early-years equipment I’d stored away there, including a cot, pushchair, car seats and boxes full of toys, all of which I’d wrapped in polythene to keep them clean after the last time I’d used them many years before. I’d struggled to get them down and to assemble the cot on my own, but my family were all out and I didn’t dare leave it until they returned in the evening. Adrian, aged twenty-four, and Lucy, twenty-two, were at work, and Paula, twenty, was at college. I was a single parent, my husband having run off with a younger work colleague when the children were little. Very upsetting at the time but history now.

Having made up the bed and cot with fresh linen, I set a toy box at the far end of the room and came out. Hopefully Molly and Kit’s parents would feel up to packing some of their children’s clothes and toys, as it would help them settle with me to have familiar things around them when everything else in their lives had changed.

Downstairs, I quickly made a sandwich lunch, which I ate at the table with my mobile phone beside me. I was expecting Edith or the children’s social worker to phone at any moment – as soon as the care order had been granted and they’d left court. Of course, there was a chance the order wouldn’t be granted. If so, then preparing the room would have all been for nothing. It had happened to me in the past – I’d been put on standby to receive a child or children, and plans had changed at the last minute, which is why foster carers have to be flexible. It’s unusual for a care order not to be granted, but what happens more often is that a relative steps in at the last minute to look after the children so they don’t have to go to a foster carer they don’t know.

I’d just finished eating my sandwich when my mobile rang.

‘Cathy Glass?’ a female voice asked.

‘Yes, speaking.’ I could hear traffic noise in the background.

‘It’s Tess Baldwin, social worker for Molly and Kit. I believe Edith spoke to you this morning and you’re expecting Kit and Molly.’

‘Yes, that’s right. Their room is ready.’

‘Good. We’re on our way to collect them. We should be with you by five o’clock. The children have never been away from home before so are likely to be very upset.’

‘Poor dears.’ My heart clenched. ‘I don’t have any information about them other than their ages.’

‘I’ll explain more when I see you. The family only came to the notice of the social services on Monday. The decision to remove the children was made by us yesterday afternoon.’ It was only Thursday now, which showed just how urgent they considered it to be to bring the children to a place of safety.

I had a couple of hours before Molly and Kit arrived. I texted Adrian, Lucy and Paula to let them know the children were coming so it wouldn’t be a complete surprise. I then went quickly into the High Street where I bought a trainer cup, nappies and baby wipes for Kit (I assumed he was still in nappies), and some snack food that might tempt them both if they were too upset to eat – for example, corn and carrot sticks, little packets of dried fruit and fromage frais in brightly decorated pots. If the children didn’t come with their own clothes, I’d be back here tomorrow to buy them what they needed. We’d get by tonight with the spares I kept in the ottoman in my bedroom. I had most sizes, from newborn to teens, all washed and pressed and ready for emergency use.

An hour later I was home again and, having unpacked the shopping, I began to make a cottage pie for dinner later. There wouldn’t be much time once the social worker arrived with Kit and Molly, and most children enjoy cottage pie. I didn’t know yet if Kit and Molly had any special dietary requirements, allergies or special needs, and it would be something I’d ask Tess when they arrived. If this had been a planned move, I would normally have received background information like this in advance of the children arriving, but this was an emergency, so everything was happening quickly.

Shortly after four o’clock my phone rang and it was Tess, the children’s social worker. ‘We’re in the car with the children,’ she said. ‘We should be with you in about twenty minutes. Molly will need a change of clothes, she’s just wet herself.’

‘I’ll have some ready,’ I said. ‘Tell her not to worry.’ I knew how children fretted if they had an accident. It wasn’t surprising she’d wet herself, given the trauma of being taken from home.

‘See you shortly,’ Tess said, and ended the call.

I went straight upstairs to my bedroom where I searched through the ottoman until I found a new packet of pants marked ‘Age 3–4 Years’, and a pair of jogging bottoms and matching top that should fit Molly. I took them into the children’s bedroom and returned downstairs, my heart thumping loudly from nervous anticipation.

Waiting for a new child or children to arrive is always nerve-racking for the foster carer, regardless of how many times they’ve done it before. We worry if the children will like and trust us enough to help them, if we can meet their needs and work with their family – very important. Now I had the added challenge of fostering not one child but two, who were both very young. I hadn’t fostered little ones in a long while. As a specialist foster carer with lots of experience, I was usually asked to look after older children with challenging behaviour, who, to be honest, I felt more confident in dealing with. Would I remember what to do with two little ones?

My crisis of confidence continued until the doorbell rang, when common sense and instinct kicked in. I answered it with a bright smile. ‘Hello, I’m Cathy. Come in.’

Two female social workers stood before me, each carrying a child.

‘I’m Tess, and this is Molly,’ Tess said, introducing the child she was holding. ‘And this is my colleague Preeta, with Kit.’

‘Hello,’ Preeta said as they came in.

I smiled at both children. They looked petrified – large eyes stared out from pale faces and they clung desperately to their social workers. Kit had a plaster cast on his left arm, his cheeks were bruised and there was a red bump on his forehead. ‘Hello, love,’ I said to him, and swallowed hard.

He drew back from me further into Preeta’s shoulder.

‘I’ve put some toys in the living room,’ I said, and led the way down the hall, although I guessed it would be a long time before either child felt like playing. Their little sombre faces suggested they were very close to tears.

In the living room, Preeta sat on the sofa with Kit on her lap, still clinging desperately to her. Tess put Molly down. The child grabbed her hand for comfort. ‘It might be a good idea if you changed her now,’ Tess said to me. ‘She’s sopping wet, and can I use your bathroom to wash my hands?’

‘Yes, of course. This way.’ I could smell stale urine.

Leaving Preeta with Kit, we went upstairs to the bathroom, with Molly still clutching her social worker’s hand.

‘Help yourself to whatever you need,’ I said to Tess, referring to the soap, towel and antibacterial hand wash. ‘I’ll change Molly in her bedroom.’

‘Thanks. I don’t suppose you have a change of clothes for me too?’ Tess joked, sniffing the sleeve of her blouse.

‘I’m sure I could find you a top,’ I offered.

‘No, it’s fine,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ve had worse than a bit of pee on me.’

I bent down to talk to Molly. ‘I’ve got some nice dry clothes for you ready in your bedroom,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and get you changed.’ She stared back at me, bewildered. I gently took her hand and, leaving Tess washing her hands and forearms, I led Molly, silent and expressionless, around the landing and into her and Kit’s bedroom.

I spoke brightly and positively as I pointed out the toy box, her bed and Kit’s cot close by, trying to put her at ease. I held up the clothes I’d put out ready. ‘You can wear these for now,’ I said. She stared at the clothes. ‘Can you change yourself or shall I help you?’ Most children of Molly’s age can make a good attempt at dressing and undressing themselves, although they still need help with fiddly things like buttons and zips. Molly just stood there, looking lost and staring at the clothes.

‘I’ll help you,’ I said.

I began taking off her damp clothes. She was like a doll and only moved to raise her arms as I took off her dress and vest over her head. I then helped her out of her pants and socks. They were all wet and smelt of urine and I put them to one side to go in the washing machine. I wiped her skin with baby wipes. Her body was very pale like her face, as though she hadn’t seen much sun, but thankfully I couldn’t see any bruises or other marks on her as there were on Kit. ‘That will do for now,’ I said, throwing the wipes in the bin. ‘You can have a bath tonight.’ I dressed her in the clean clothes.

Tess appeared. ‘Anything I should be aware of?’ she asked, meaning injuries.

‘No, I can’t see anything. I’ll give them both a bath this evening, though.’

‘I’ll arrange medicals for both children,’ Tess said. This was usual when children came into care.

Molly still hadn’t said a word, but while she looked very sad, she wasn’t crying; indeed, I hadn’t heard a sound from her since she’d arrived. ‘Does she have communication difficulties?’ I asked Tess. I knew so little about the children it was possible she had a hearing and speech impairment.

‘No. She was talking to her parents at home,’ Tess said. Then to Molly, ‘You can hear me, can’t you?’

She gave a small nod. It therefore seemed it must be the trauma of coming into care that was responsible, and possibly what had been going on at home. I’d seen it before in abused children – sometimes it was days before they were able to speak.

‘Let’s go downstairs and I’ll tell you what I know,’ Tess said to me. ‘I haven’t got the Essential Information Form, it’s being completed now. I’ll email it to you, and the placement agreement form.’ In a planned move, this paperwork arrived with the social worker when the child was placed and gave their background information and the reasons they were in care.

We returned downstairs to the living room where Kit was as we’d left him, sitting on Preeta’s lap. She had taken a toy fire engine with flashing lights and a siren from the toy box and was trying to interest him in it, but he wasn’t even touching it – another indication of how traumatized the children were. Molly sat on the sofa beside Preeta and Kit and put her hand on his arm. Tess sat next to her. I asked both social workers if they would like a drink, and they wanted coffee. I also asked Molly and Kit if they’d like a drink, but they just looked at me. ‘I’ll get you some water and you can have it if you want,’ I told the children with a reassuring smile.

In the kitchen I made two coffees and filled the trainer cup with water for Kit and a child’s plastic beaker for Molly. I put some biscuits on a plate and then carried everything on a tray into the living room where I set it on the occasional table. As Tess and Preeta took their coffees – keeping the hot liquid away from the children – I offered Molly and Kit their drinks, but they didn’t want them. ‘OK, maybe later,’ I said. ‘Would you like a biscuit?’ I showed them the plate but got the same response.

At that moment I heard a key go in the front door and the door open. Molly started. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘That will be my youngest daughter, Paula, returning from college.’

‘Who else lives here?’ Tess asked. Setting down her coffee, she took a pen and notepad from her bag. I guessed in all the rush she had as little information about me as I did about the children.

‘As well as Paula, there is Adrian, my son, and Lucy, my other daughter. And Sammy the cat,’ I added, smiling at Molly. ‘He must be in the garden. You’ll meet him later.’

‘And your children’s ages?’ Tess asked. I told her.

‘Do you like cats?’ Preeta asked Molly, but she didn’t reply.

‘They don’t have any animals at home,’ Tess said as she wrote.

Paula appeared at the living-room door and smiled a little self-consciously. ‘Oh they’re sweet,’ she said. The children shifted their gaze to her.

‘This is Molly and Kit,’ I said. ‘Can you join us? I think it might help them.’ So often, looked-after children take to the carer’s children before they feel relaxed enough to begin to form a relationship with the carer.

‘Sure,’ Paula said, coming further into the room. ‘Shall I play with them?’

‘Yes, please.’ I took some of the toys out of the box as Paula sat on the floor beside them.

‘Do you want to play with these farm animals?’ she asked the children. Molly stared at her, but Kit scrambled down from Preeta’s lap and sat near Paula.

‘Well done,’ I said to her.

‘You’ve hurt your arm,’ she said to Kit, referring to the plaster. Molly, wanting to stay close to her brother, now left the sofa and sat beside him.

I smiled, relieved. It was a start.

‘I’ll give you some background information, then perhaps we can go into another room for the rest?’ Tess suggested, so I knew that some of what she had to tell me she didn’t want the children to hear. While Kit at eighteen months would have a limited understanding of what he heard, Molly at three and a half would probably understand most of it. Bad enough to have witnessed whatever had happened at home without having to hear it discussed.

‘The parents are called Aneta and Filip,’ Tess began. ‘Filip is forty and fifteen years older than his wife. They have been married five years and these are their only children. They live in Eastwood.’ It was a new housing estate on the edge of town. ‘Aneta is a full-time mother and homemaker, and Filip is a warehouse manager who works very long hours. The family hadn’t come to the attention of the social services before the start of this week. Aneta took Kit to the hospital in a lot of pain, and he was found to have a fractured arm. The mother is claiming he fell down the stairs, but the doctor had doubts.’

I saw Molly look over. Tess and Preeta saw it too. ‘Why don’t I go somewhere private now to talk to Cathy,’ Tess suggested to Preeta, ‘while you stay here with the children?’

‘Yes, I think that’s best,’ Preeta replied.

‘Are you OK to stay here too?’ I asked Paula, aware that she would have college work to do.

‘Yes.’

‘We’ll be in the front room,’ I said.

Preeta joined Paula and the little ones on the floor with the toys as Tess quickly finished the last of her coffee and stood. I showed her into the front room where she closed the door so we couldn’t be overheard. Away from the little ones, her professional reserve and composure dropped and she sank into one of the armchairs. ‘Who’d be a social worker?’ she said with a heartfelt sigh. ‘It doesn’t get much worse than this.’

Chapter Two

Chaos

‘The children’s mother, Aneta, was hysterical,’ Tess continued as we sat in the front room. ‘It was dreadful. She was clinging to the children, screaming and crying, trying to fight us off and stop us from taking them. The father – Filip – had to restrain her so we could leave with the children. Only he was in court; she stayed at home with the children. I’ve told him to call their doctor. I’ll phone him after we’ve left here. He managed to pack a case with a few things for the children. Aneta couldn’t. It’s in my car – don’t let me drive off with it.’

My heart ached from the scene Tess had just described. ‘So the parents had no idea the children would be coming into care?’ I asked.

‘They knew we were going to court this morning. We advised them to get legal representation, but they didn’t think it would be necessary. They will contact a solicitor now,’ Tess said, and I nodded. ‘Aneta insists Kit fell downstairs. Filip was at work and is standing by his wife and maintains she would never harm the children, that she loves them too much.’ She paused to check her phone, which was on silent. I knew there must be more to it than this, as the judge would never allow the social services to remove the children because of one accident. ‘That visit to the hospital’, Tess continued, returning the phone to her pocket, ‘was the sixtieth time she’d been with Kit.’

‘What?’ I gasped. ‘He’s only eighteen months old. That makes a visit nearly every week!’

Tess nodded sombrely. ‘Questions will be asked as to why the social services weren’t involved sooner. True, many of the previous visits were for ailments and minor injuries, but even so. Aneta was turning up regularly, saying the child had tripped and fallen, was sick, had ingested something they shouldn’t, had a cough, rash or high temperature. She was clearly anxious about her children’s health, but it was only on Monday when it was found that Kit had a broken arm that the history of her visits was thoroughly reviewed and the alarm raised. Now it seems similar had been going on at their doctor’s. I’m applying for the children’s medical records, but the doctor I spoke to said that Aneta was there most weeks – first with Molly and then with Kit. Her visits with Molly were initially put down to new-mother anxiety. It’s not unusual for first-time mothers to be anxious about their baby’s health and to keep seeking medical advice about minor ailments. But it continued with Kit and then the term “accident prone” started to be used. However, the children always appeared clean and Aneta was very attentive towards them. They were quiet while in the doctor’s and well behaved.’ She let out another heart-felt sigh. ‘Kit’s injury on Monday, plus the record of accidents for both children, crossed the threshold, so we felt they were at risk of significant harm and applied for the care order.’

‘And it’s a hundred per cent certain the injuries the children sustained were non-accidental?’ I asked.

‘You can never be a hundred per cent sure, but it is the most likely explanation and the judge agreed with us.’

I gave a small nod and sincerely hoped they were right, for the alternative – that the parents had been wrongly accused and had lost their children – was too awful to bear. ‘And contact?’ I asked. ‘Kit and Molly will be seeing their parents?’

‘Yes. I’ll set up supervised contact, probably three times a week to begin with.’

‘And the long-term care plan?’

‘A full care order. I can’t see them returning home.’

When Tess had finished telling me what she knew about the family we returned to the living room where Paula, Preeta and the children were still on the floor by the toy box. Kit now had a toy shaker in his hand, but neither child was playing. Molly had her thumb in her mouth and was snuggled close to her brother. The room was unnaturally quiet considering two children were there, but at least they weren’t crying.

‘We’ll just have a look around and go,’ Tess said to Preeta. Then to me, ‘Do you have everything you need for tonight?’ She crossed to the patio window and looked out.

‘Yes, I think so,’ I said.

‘Nice garden,’ she remarked, then went over to Molly and Kit. ‘We’re going to look at the other rooms now. Would you like to come and see where you are going to sleep?’

Kit kept his eyes on Paula, carefully watching her to see what she was going to do, while Molly had her head down, quiet, withdrawn and expressionless.

‘Would you like to come with us to see your bedroom?’ I tried, offering my hand to Molly. She shook her head, which was at least some response. ‘OK, stay here, you’ll see it later,’ I said positively. While it was usual for the children to look around the house with their social worker when they first arrived – or before, if it was a planned move and they had a chance to visit – it wasn’t essential, as it was for the social worker.

‘I’ll stay with them while you go,’ Preeta said to Tess.

Tess nodded.

‘This is the living room,’ I said to everyone. ‘It’s where we spend most of our time in the evenings and weekends.’ Tess then came with me into the kitchen-diner where I’d already put the children’s seats ready at the table. ‘Do you know if either of the children has any special dietary requirements?’ I asked her as she looked around.

‘No, I don’t. I’ll ask their father when I speak to him later and phone you.’

‘Can you also ask him if they have any allergies?’ It was worrying how little I still knew about the children, and I was responsible for them now.

‘Will do,’ Tess said. ‘Apparently their mother often told the doctor she thought the children were suffering from allergies, but they changed on each visit, so if the child had a slight rash, upset tummy or cough, Aneta put it down to an allergy.’

‘The doctor didn’t agree?’

‘I don’t think so, but I’ll check with the father.’

‘I’ve made a cottage pie for dinner. I hope that’s all right,’ I said. ‘I assume Kit is on solid food?’

‘I would think so at his age,’ Tess said. She sniffed the air. ‘I thought I could smell something good. I’ll ask about food when I phone Filip. He wasn’t in any state to talk about that this afternoon.’

‘Please also ask him about any likes and dislikes the children may have, and their routine,’ I added. While Molly was old enough to tell me what she liked or didn’t like – when she finally began to talk – Kit wasn’t, so it was important Tess found out as much as she could from the parents. I couldn’t do anything about the children actually being in care, but I could at least make their lives as comfortable as possible while they were with me.

‘Do you want to see down the garden?’ I asked Tess. She was looking through the window at the far end of the kitchen, which overlooked the back garden.

‘No, I can see it from here. Let’s have a quick look at the children’s bedrooms and then we’ll need to get going.’

I looked at her, concerned. ‘Bedroom,’ I said. ‘I hope Edith told you I only have one spare room. I’ve put a cot in there so the children will be sleeping together.’

‘Yes, that’ll be fine,’ she said, and we headed out of the kitchen-diner and down the hall. It was still very quiet in the living room. No sound of the children talking or playing. I didn’t show Tess the front room as we’d just been there, so we went upstairs to the children’s bedroom. ‘There’s not much space, but they can play downstairs,’ she said, voicing her thoughts. ‘It’s nice and light. How long have you been fostering?’

‘Twenty-five years.’

She nodded and headed out. I quickly showed her the other bedrooms and bathroom. ‘You’ll need to cover Kit’s plaster to keep it dry when you bath him,’ she said.

‘Yes, is there a follow-up appointment at the hospital?’

‘I would think so. I’ll ask Filip.’

We returned downstairs. Sammy, our cat, must have let himself in through the cat flap, for he was now sitting in the hall, trying to decide if it was advisable to go into the living room with strangers there.

‘Hopefully, the children aren’t allergic to cat fur,’ Tess remarked as we passed him.

‘I hope so too!’ For if they were, there was little I could do beyond what I did already: keep Sammy out of the bedrooms, comb him each day and regularly hoover. I couldn’t make him disappear.

‘You’ve got a nice bedroom,’ Tess told Molly and Kit as we entered the living room.

Molly looked at her, worried and confused. Suddenly she jumped up from where she was sitting on the floor and cried, ‘I need a wee!’ But it was too late. A puddle formed at her feet. She burst into tears.

‘It’s OK, don’t worry,’ I said, immediately going to her. ‘I’ll mop it up and we’ll find you some more clean clothes.’

‘We’ll leave you to it,’ Tess said. ‘I’ll phone you as soon as I’ve spoken to their father.’

She and Preeta said goodbye to the children and headed out.

‘Don’t forget the suitcase in your car!’ I called after them.

‘I’ll leave it in the hall,’ Tess replied.

Seeing his sister upset, Kit now began to cry loudly. They both needed comforting, Molly needed changing again, and I had to mop up the wet before it soaked into the carpet. I heard Tess and Preeta open the front door and then my daughter Lucy’s voice. She must have been about to let herself in. ‘Hi,’ she said, surprised. Then, ‘What a noise!’

‘In here, Lucy, please!’ I called. ‘We could do with your help.’

She came into the living room and, surveying the chaotic scene, threw her jacket onto a chair. ‘And I thought I’d left work!’ she exclaimed with a smile. She was a qualified nursery nurse.

‘Meet Molly and Kit,’ I said over their cries. ‘Can you help Paula calm them down while I get a bucket and cloth?’

‘Come on, it’s OK,’ she said, taking Molly’s hand. Paula was holding Kit. I went quickly into the kitchen where I ran hot water into a bucket and added disinfectant. I took a cleaning cloth from the cupboard under the kitchen sink and returned to the living room.

‘I’m leaving the case here!’ Tess called from the hall. ‘Everything OK?’

‘Yes,’ I replied. I knew they needed to go. The front door closed behind them.

I knelt down and set to work on the carpet. ‘Shall I change Molly?’ Lucy offered.

‘Yes, please. Hopefully there is a change of clothes in the case in the hall.’

‘I’ll take the case upstairs with me.’

‘Thanks, love.’

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

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.

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