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

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Source ISBN: 9780008324292

Ebook Edition © February 2019 ISBN: 9780008324308

Version: 2019-07-11

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Chapter Seven: Quiet and Withdrawn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.

Chapter Three

Trouble

It was midday on 2 January. Lucy and Adrian were at work and Paula was in her room reading in preparation for returning to college the following day. I hadn’t heard anything further from Verity, and I assumed Edith would phone before long with details of another child in need of a foster home. There was never much of a gap between one child leaving and the next arriving. I’d spent the morning taking down the Christmas decorations while I had the time and was thinking of making Paula and me some lunch when the front doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but sometimes a friend or neighbour dropped by, and we also had regular deliveries as we all shopped online.

But it wasn’t a parcel, friend or neighbour. To my utter amazement, as I opened the front door I saw Stevie standing there, a large holdall at his side.

‘Sorry to turn up like this,’ he said, seeing my expression of surprise. ‘But I will be staying with you after all.’

‘Oh, I see. I’m afraid it’s not that simple, but come in,’ I flustered, trying to clear my thoughts. ‘What’s happened? Does anyone know you’re here? How did you know where I live?’

‘I found your address on some papers Gran had,’ he said, stepping into the hall.

‘Does your gran know you are here?’

‘Yes.’ If she hadn’t, I would have phoned her straight away to let her know Stevie was safe.

Paula was still upstairs in her room and must have heard the doorbell and our voices but decided to stay put for now.

‘Shall I slip off my shoes and leave them here with yours?’ he asked, referring to the place beneath the coat stand where our outdoor shoes were.

‘Yes, please,’ I said absently.

‘And hang my coat here?’

‘Yes.’ I usually told my new arrivals where to leave their shoes and coat, but I was still recovering from the shock of finding Stevie on my doorstep.

I waited while he paired his shoes precisely next to ours, then hung his tweed coat on the hall stand, a multitude of questions running through my head. He was well dressed again, but the colour scheme had been toned down a little from the meeting and he was now wearing blue jeans with a yellow sweater.

‘Come through to the living room so we can have a chat,’ I said, leading the way down the hall.

‘It’s just like in your photographs,’ he said, looking around as we went. ‘Very nice.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Oh! You’ve got a cat, how delightful!’ he cried as we entered the living room. Sammy, who was still nervous of strangers, shot off the sofa and out of the room. ‘Oh, he’s gone.’ Stevie looked hurt.

‘Don’t worry. He’ll be back. Sit down.’

He settled on the sofa while I took one of the easy chairs.

‘Does Verity know you’re here?’

‘Gran phoned her,’ he said, flicking back his fringe and crossing one leg over the other. He didn’t appear particularly anxious; in fact, he looked quite at home on the sofa.

‘OK, I’ll need to talk to Verity. If she doesn’t phone soon, I’ll call her. Do you want anything to eat or drink?’ I always ask new arrivals this, as some of them haven’t eaten properly for days if they’ve come from homes where they’ve been neglected.

‘I’m good, thanks,’ he said. ‘Gran cooked me breakfast before I left. I can stay here, can’t I? I mean, for now.’

‘I don’t see why not, the room is free, but it’s not my decision. Verity will need to decide. It’s a foster placement. It’s not like a hotel where you can check in and out.’

‘She’ll be fine with it,’ he said confidently, smoothing his jeans.

‘So what happened at home? I thought you and your grandparents were going to give it another go.’

‘We did.’ He sighed theatrically. ‘It was cool for a day, everyone was on their best behaviour, until I got ready to go out on New Year’s Eve. Well, I mean, you get dressed up to go clubbing, don’t you?’ He pursed his lips indignantly.

‘Clubbing! A nightclub?’ I asked, shocked.

‘Yes. I’ve been before,’ he said defensively.

‘But you’re only fourteen. You’re not allowed into nightclubs.’

‘Nearly fifteen,’ he corrected. ‘I look older.’ Which was true.

‘Don’t the clubs ask for proof of age?’

He smiled. ‘Of course. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve got a fake ID off the internet.’ I should have guessed – I’d heard this before. But I would be telling his social worker. It was unsafe behaviour for a boy of fourteen to be in a nightclub, and if I was going to be his foster carer I had a duty to pass this on, but I’d explain all that later.

‘It’s a straight and gay club where I can be myself,’ he added, and watched me for my reaction.

‘That’s irrelevant,’ I said. ‘A lad of your age shouldn’t be in a nightclub at all, which I’m guessing is what your grandparents said.’

‘I didn’t tell them where I was going. It was when Grandpa saw me all dressed up ready to go out with my eye glitter on that he blew his top. He said if I went out looking like that I needn’t come back. So I didn’t. I just went home this morning for some of my things.’

‘So you were missing from New Year’s Eve?’

‘Yes,’ he said almost proudly. ‘Gran kept leaving messages on my voicemail. The last one said the police were out looking for me.’ His eyes lit up at the drama of it all.

‘I would think they were worried sick. Where were you all that time?’

‘After the club closed I went back to a friend’s pad to crash.’

‘If you are going to live with me, there will be rules and boundaries.’ Best say it now, I thought, for I was concerned by his attitude.

‘Not too many rules, I hope,’ he said, flicking back his fringe again.

‘No, just enough to keep you and everyone here safe. What did your grandfather say when you returned this morning?’

‘He wasn’t there, just Gran. He’d taken Liam and Kiri to the park with their bikes. They both had new bikes for Christmas.’

I nodded. ‘And what did you get for Christmas?’

‘Money for clothes. Can I see my room now?’

‘In a minute. I’ll phone Verity first and make sure you can stay. She may have other plans for you.’

‘I’m not going back home,’ he said, his face setting. ‘She can’t make me.’

‘Let’s see what she has to say.’ I picked up the handset from the corner unit and pressed the social services’ number.

Verity was now at her desk. ‘I was about to phone you,’ she said. ‘Has Stevie arrived?’

‘Yes. About ten minutes ago.’

‘He can stay, but I’ll need to place him. I’m in a meeting soon so I’ll come over later, around three. Can you keep him in until I arrive?’

‘Yes.’

We said goodbye. ‘She said you can stay,’ I said to Stevie. ‘I’ll show you around the house.’

‘Thank you so much,’ he said, and came over and kissed my cheek.

Usually when a new child arrives it is with their social worker, so I show them around the house together, as the social worker needs to see where the child is living, but Stevie was keen to look now, so I’d show Verity around later when she arrived. I began with the room we were in, pointing out the television, and explained how we tended to relax in here in the evenings and weekends.

‘Do you have wi-fi?’ Stevie asked, taking his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

‘Yes.’

‘Can I have the password?’

‘I don’t know the code off by heart, it’ll be on the router in the front room. I’ll give it to you in a moment when we go in there.’

‘You know about the internet and stuff?’ he asked.

‘A reasonable amount, yes,’ I said.

‘Gran and Grandpa don’t. I had to use my phone credit to get online cos he kept switching off the router at night. He thought it would catch fire.’ He raised his eyebrows in exasperation.

‘We all have different ways of doing things,’ I said, and led the way into our kitchen-diner. To a younger person who’d grown up with computers, routers and mobile phones, switching off the wi-fi at night would seem ludicrous, but not to someone of Fred and Peggy’s generation.

While we were in the kitchen I took the opportunity to ask Stevie if he had any special dietary needs or was allergic to anything. It’s something the social worker would tell me in respect of a younger child.

‘No, I eat most things,’ he said easily.

‘Excellent,’ I smiled.

We left the kitchen-diner and went down the hall and into the front room. ‘I call it a quiet room,’ I said. ‘You can read and do your homework in here or in your room, whatever you prefer. The computer and printer are here too,’ I said, pointing. These were now considered essential items in a foster carer’s home.

‘And there’s the router,’ Stevie said, spotting the hub on the bookshelf. I didn’t have to read out the passcode, as he beat me to it. Going over, he entered the code and began tapping away at the keypad on his phone as if his life depended on it. I watched him for a while as his fingers flew over the letters. Completely absorbed, I think he almost forgot I was there.

‘Stevie, what do you do on the internet?’ I asked.

He looked up. ‘Chat to friends, you know, the usual stuff,’ he said, and returned his attention to the screen.

At his age, of course, he would need internet access; teenagers are all computer savvy and online now. But whereas a younger child would use my computer, which had parental-control software to protect them while online by limiting the websites they could access and filtering out inappropriate content, I guessed his phone did not. Internet safety is part of foster-carer training now and foster carers are expected to include it in their safer-caring policy. The older the child, the more difficult it becomes to monitor their activity on the internet.

‘You are careful who you talk to online, aren’t you?’ I asked. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t give out your personal details to a stranger.’

He looked slightly startled. ‘No. Why do you ask?’

‘There are some nasty people out there who can hide behind the anonymity of the internet. They can be very devious in getting what they want. I’m not trying to frighten you, but you do need to be aware.’

He nodded and continued with whatever he was doing on his phone. I’d talk to him more about internet safety another time, just as I had with Adrian, Lucy and Paula. They were of an age now to appreciate the dangers, but Stevie wasn’t. Despite the image he liked to portray, he was a vulnerable young person who was undecided about his gender identity – just the sort of person who could be preyed upon. ‘Come on, I’ll show you upstairs,’ I said. ‘Bring your bag with you.’

Still tapping his phone with one hand, he collected his bag from the hall with the other, and we went upstairs and into his room. He dropped his bag on the floor and looked up from his phone long enough to glance around and say, ‘Cool.’ He followed me out and as we continued round the landing Paula came out of her room.

‘Oh my!’ Stevie cried, clapping his hand to his chest. ‘You gave me such a fright. I didn’t know anyone else was in.’

‘Sorry, I should have told you,’ I said. ‘This is Paula, my youngest daughter. Adrian and Lucy are at work.’

‘Hello, Paula, lovely to meet you,’ he gushed. ‘But don’t go jumping out on me like that again, will you? You scared me half to death.’ His manner was effusive, over the top and completely unnecessary. It was as if he was acting a part.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Paula said, ignoring his theatricals.

I threw her an appreciative smile and then showed Stevie where the bathroom was as Paula disappeared back into her room. I didn’t take Stevie into our bedrooms, I just pointed them out and explained that all of them, including his, were private and we didn’t go into each other’s. ‘If you want Adrian, Lucy or Paula, you knock on their door and wait until they answer,’ I said. ‘They will do the same to you. OK?’

‘OK,’ he said absently, concentrating on his phone. ‘I’ll go to my room now.’

‘If that’s what you want to do,’ I said. ‘Unpack your bag and you will feel more at home. Do you need any help with your unpacking?’ He shook his head. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink and a snack to see you through till dinner?’

But, lost in his phone, he was already on his way to his room, and I heard the door close. I looked in on Paula, who was reading, and then went downstairs. I tidied away the work I’d been doing before Stevie had arrived, and then texted Adrian and Lucy to let them know that he was here so they didn’t just come back to find a stranger in their home.

Half an hour later I went up to check if Stevie was all right. Despite his age and apparent confident manner, he was away from his family and in an unfamiliar house. His door was closed so I knocked. ‘It’s Cathy,’ I called.

It was a few moments before he replied. ‘Yes?’

‘Is everything OK?’

Silence, so I knocked again. ‘Are you all right?’ More silence. ‘Can I come in?’

Giving another knock, I slowly opened the door and poked my head round. He was sitting on his bed, completely engrossed in his phone, the bag, not yet unpacked, on the floor. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he said, but some of his charisma had gone and he seemed worried.

‘Sure?’ I asked. He nodded. ‘OK, but don’t sit up here by yourself. Unpack your bag and come down if you want some company.’

He nodded again and I left him with his phone. Little wonder his grandfather had turned off the wi-fi, I thought. But I had some house rules about mobile phones, which I would explain later when his social worker was present.

I checked on Stevie again half an hour later: his bag still hadn’t been unpacked, his phone was on charge and he was gazing out of his bedroom window. His room was at the rear of the house and overlooked the garden, although there wasn’t much to see in winter.

‘Gran phoned me,’ he said quietly, turning from the window. ‘I told her I was OK.’

‘Good. And are you?’

‘What?’

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yeah, I guess.’ He shrugged.

‘You don’t seem very sure,’ I said gently, taking another step into his room. ‘You know if there’s anything worrying you, you can talk to me.’

‘I doubt it,’ he said under his breath.

‘Stevie, I have three adult children of my own and have fostered a lot of young people. I’m pretty good at listening and I won’t make judgements or be shocked by anything you have to tell me.’

He looked at me, his face serious. There was no sign of the flamboyant lad I’d seen previously. Indeed, he looked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

‘Well?’ I asked. ‘Is there something you’d like to share? It often helps to talk.’

He hesitated as if he might be considering this, then said, ‘No.’

‘All right, but if you change your mind, you know where I am. If I’m busy, or with Adrian, Lucy or Paula, just say, “Cathy, can I talk to you?” and we’ll find somewhere quiet to go for a chat.’ I didn’t want to labour the point, but I knew from fostering and bringing up my own children just how much young people can bottle up their problems so that they escalate and get out of all proportion. The teenage years can be challenging and confusing for children living at home with loving parents, even more so for a young person in care.

‘There is something,’ Stevie said as I was about to leave his room.

‘Yes?’ I stopped and turned.

‘Can I have my pocket money? I have to go out later,’ he said anxiously.

‘Where to?’

‘Just out.’

‘I usually give pocket money on a Saturday,’ I said, ‘but you can have yours early this week. However, I don’t want you going out tonight. Verity is coming soon and then I want you to meet Adrian and Lucy, settle in and get ready for tomorrow.’

‘Why? What’s happening tomorrow?’ he asked.

‘I’m hoping you will be going to school. And one of the things I want to discuss with Verity is when you will be going out. Of course you will want to see your friends, but it won’t be every night. We can decide on days and the times you have to be back when we see your social worker.’

‘But I have to go out today,’ he said, growing more anxious.

‘Why?’ He couldn’t meet my gaze. ‘Stevie, are you in some sort of trouble?’

‘No,’ he said far too quickly. I knew then he was, but he wouldn’t be telling me yet.

Chapter Four

Straight Talking

Verity arrived as planned shortly after three o’clock. ‘Is Stevie still here?’ she asked, as if he might not be.

‘Yes. He’s in his room. Shall I fetch him?’

‘Please.’

‘The living room is through there,’ I said, pointing, and went upstairs to fetch Stevie. ‘Verity is here,’ I said, knocking on his door.

‘I’ll be down later,’ he returned.

‘No, now, please. She needs to see you.’

No response. ‘Can I come in?’ I knocked again and gently eased open the door. He had taken some of his clothes from his bag and dumped them on the bed. I could see what looked like a school uniform, which I thought was hopeful.

‘Gran packed this,’ he said, scowling. ‘She’s left out most of my good stuff.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll sort it out later. Come down now, Verity is here.’ I’ve found before that children of all ages sometimes need things repeating, and often.

Clearly not happy with the clothes his gran had packed – image appeared to be very important to Stevie, more so than the average teenager – he came with me downstairs and into the living room. ‘Hello, how are you settling in?’ Verity asked him brightly, taking a wad of paperwork from her bag-style briefcase.

Stevie shrugged and flopped into one of the easy chairs. ‘I have to go out later, but Cathy won’t let me,’ he said.

‘I’ve asked him to stay in tonight,’ I explained. ‘I think that going out, and coming-home times, is something we need to discuss.’

‘Let’s deal with that first then, shall we?’ Verity said positively and, taking a pen from her bag, she opened a notepad on her lap.

‘At my gran’s I went out whenever I wanted,’ Stevie said ruefully.

‘But that didn’t work, love, did it?’ I said to him.

Stevie and I both looked at Verity for her view, but she didn’t immediately reply. I’ve found before that social workers are sometimes reluctant to talk straight to the teenagers in their care in case it jeopardises their relationship. I didn’t have the same reservations, for ultimately the young person I was fostering was my responsibility and I needed to keep them safe.

‘What do you suggest?’ Verity asked me after a moment.

‘I think it’s reasonable that Stevie sees his friends at the weekends. If he wants to go out then I suggest Friday and/or Saturday evening.’ Stevie was glaring at me, but I continued anyway. ‘During the week he’ll have homework to do, and I am assuming he’ll want to see his grandparents and brother and sister.’

‘That won’t work,’ Stevie said. ‘I need to be able to go out when I want, not when she says.’

I was now seeing a different side to him. Gone was his previous charm and charisma, and here was a belligerent teenager, which, to be honest, I found more natural and quite reassuring.

Verity was waiting for my response. ‘Why won’t it work?’ I asked Stevie. ‘I’m sure your friends have similar arrangements at their homes. We’ll also need to set the time you are to be back, and I’ll need to know where you are going and how you will get home.’

‘That’s fucking ridiculous!’ Stevie stormed. ‘I’m not a kid!’

‘No, but you are still a minor,’ I said.

‘Cathy and I have a duty to protect you and keep you safe,’ Verity added.

‘Bollocks!’ Stevie fumed. ‘You’re like my bleeding grandparents,’ he said to me, and I don’t think he meant it as a compliment.

‘OK,’ Verity said, drawing a breath and addressing Stevie. ‘What if we say you can go out Friday and Saturday, plus one day in the week. Does that help?’

‘A bit,’ he conceded.

‘Good.’

This was far more than Adrian, Lucy and Paula had ever been allowed out at his age, but then going out hadn’t been an issue for them as the boundaries had been in place from the start. It’s far more difficult to change behaviour once it’s set. Stevie, like many teenagers who come into care because of behavioural issues, had been used to his freedom and didn’t want to relinquish it. I had to be realistic and accept a compromise. ‘OK. Coming-home times,’ I said, moving on. ‘I would like Stevie to be back by nine o’clock at the latest on a weekday and nine-thirty at the weekend. I will also need to know where he is and how he will get home.’

‘I won’t know what time I’ll be back,’ he said disparagingly.

‘You will,’ I said, ‘by leaving wherever you are on time.’

‘But what if I can’t? I might not be able to leave and come home when you say.’ Which seemed an odd thing to say, but he was looking worried and that wasn’t my intention at all.

‘You’ll have your phone with you,’ I said. ‘So on the rare occasion you can’t help being late, you can phone or text me. Remember, this isn’t about me wanting to stop you having fun, but about keeping you safe.’

‘Like Gran,’ he said, with less hostility.

So I thought that maybe he was starting to realise his grandparents’ boundaries were not so unreasonable after all.

‘We’ll say nine o’clock on a weekday and ten at the weekend,’ Verity said, making a note. ‘And you’ll let Cathy know where you are and how you are going to get home?’

Stevie shrugged and took his phone from his pocket to check it.

‘Do you have credit on your phone?’ Verity asked him.

‘No,’ he said, without looking up.

‘Can you top it up?’ she said to me.

‘Yes. How much a month?’ The guidelines change in line with inflation and telephone call charges.

‘How much phone credit was your gran giving you?’ Verity asked him.

‘Twenty pounds a month.’

‘We’ll keep to that then,’ Verity said.

I made a note. Stevie nodded and continued scrolling down his phone. This seemed a good time to say what I wanted to in respect of his phone.

‘I understand it is now possible to restrict internet access on mobile phones,’ I said to Verity. She nodded. ‘I was wondering if Stevie’s grandparents had done that when they bought his phone?’

‘No,’ Stevie sneered, ‘of course they didn’t. They wouldn’t know how. But I’m not downloading porn if that’s what you think.’

‘It’s not,’ I said. ‘It just seems a sensible precaution.’ But I knew there was no use in pursuing this. Had the internet access been restricted on his phone from the start he would have accepted it, but not now at his age. Looking after teenagers is give-and-take and this was something I had to let go, like the number of times he was allowed out in the evening, and hope he was sensible. ‘While we’re talking about mobiles,’ I continued, ‘I have a couple of small house rules.’ Stevie sighed. ‘I like all mobiles switched off at night so everyone gets a good night’s sleep, and I ask that no mobiles are used at the dinner table.’

‘That seems reasonable,’ Verity said. Stevie didn’t object, but whether he would comply or not remained to be seen. ‘School,’ Verity said as she finished writing, moving on.

‘Cathy says I have to go tomorrow,’ Stevie said moodily.

‘I’m not sure that will happen,’ Verity said to me. ‘His mentor wants to see him first. She arranged a meeting last week with his grandparents, but Stevie didn’t show.’

‘I wasn’t well,’ he said, looking at his phone.

‘Oh dear, but you’re better now,’ I said. ‘If Stevie and I could meet with his mentor tomorrow perhaps he could be in school the following day?’ I suggested to Verity.

‘I don’t see why not,’ she replied. ‘The mentor’s contact details are on the Essential Information form. I’ll leave a copy for you. Have you got your school uniform here with you?’ she now asked Stevie.

He nodded glumly without taking his eyes from his phone. ‘It’s my other stuff I haven’t got.’

‘Casual clothes?’ Verity asked.

‘Yes.’

‘You can collect what you need from your grandparents, but give them a ring before you go to make sure someone is in.’

‘I’ve got a key,’ Stevie said.

‘Yes, but your grandparents would still like to know when you’re going, which brings me to contact.’

‘What is contact?’ Stevie asked, finally looking up from his phone.

‘It’s when you see your family – your grandparents, Liam and Kiri.’

‘I can go and see them any time,’ he said with attitude. ‘My gran said I could.’

‘Yes, so when are you thinking of going?’ Verity asked.

‘I dunno, when I want to. After school maybe, or at the weekend.’ He shrugged.

‘OK, but phone Gran first and tell her. Also let Cathy know, otherwise she will be expecting you home here.’

I would have liked some more precise contact arrangements – days and times – but Stevie was in care under a Section 20 so there was no court order setting out specifics, and teenagers in care are notorious for popping home when the mood takes them.

‘Perhaps you could liaise with Mr and Mrs Jones?’ Verity suggested to me. ‘They have your details, and theirs are on the Essential Information sheet.’ All of which was quite normal under a Section 20.

‘Can I go now?’ Stevie said, tucking his phone into his pocket.

‘Is there anything else you want to talk to me about?’ Verity asked.

‘No.’

‘OK, I’ll say goodbye to you when I leave.’ Stevie nodded and left the room. Verity wasn’t just being polite; as Stevie’s social worker she would want to see his bedroom as well as the rest of the house.

I waited until he was out of earshot before I said, ‘I am worried about Stevie’s safety. Did you know he’s been going to nightclubs?’

‘I didn’t until his grandparents told me,’ Verity said. ‘The boundaries have been a bit lax at home, but you can understand why. At their age it’s been a struggle bringing up three grandchildren.’

‘They’ve done well.’

‘It started going pear-shaped with Stevie about a year ago. Puberty, and not feeling comfortable in his body. His grandparents haven’t been able to support him with his gender identity. It might help him to have a referral to a clinic that offers a gender-identity development service for young people. They can prescribe hormone treatment if necessary.’

‘Really? Isn’t he a bit young for that?’

‘They’re not the hormones taken by a person who is transitioning – wanting to change sex – but they stop puberty to give the young person a chance to think about their gender identity.’

‘I see, I’ve got a lot to learn,’ I said.

‘So did I, but more young people are questioning their gender, so the social services, schools, health care and society in general is having to catch up. I’m not saying the treatment is necessarily right for Stevie, but it could be an option. It would need his grandparents’ consent, as they are his legal guardians, so we’ll have to see.’

Verity then ran through the Essential Information Form, which included brief details of Stevie’s family, ethnicity, religion, education, health, any behavioural problems and other basic information I would need to look after him. This came with the Placement Agreement Form that I had to sign. Verity gave me a copy of both sets of forms, which I clipped into my fostering folder. I started a new folder for each child. I then showed Verity around the downstairs of the house first and then upstairs, ending with Stevie’s room. ‘Verity is here,’ I said, tapping on his door. ‘Can she come in?’ Privacy is so important to young people.

‘Yes,’ came his reply.

I left Verity with Stevie. It’s usual for the social worker to spend some time alone with the child or young person in case there are any issues they want to discuss that they might find uncomfortable with the foster carer present. I looked in on Paula, who was still in her room. ‘Verity is going soon,’ I said. ‘She’s just saying goodbye to Stevie.’

‘OK, I’ll come down when she’s gone.’

Paula knew she could go downstairs any time, although it wasn’t appropriate for her to sit in on some of the meetings that took place in our living room, including Verity placing Stevie. Fostering is intrusive and disruptive to the foster family and it’s often this that puts off prospective carers. Foster carers have regular visits from the child’s social worker and the carer’s supervising social worker – both of whom look around the house at each visit. There are also visits from many other professions involved in the case, including the educational psychologist, the Guardian ad Litem and the child’s solicitor if the case is going to court, the health visitor, LAC nurse and sometimes the child’s family. In addition, the child’s reviews are often held in the carer’s home. It can seem like a never-ending procession of visitors, and of course it’s disruptive for the child in care as well, who just wants to be loved and to lead a normal family life.

Verity was with Stevie for about ten minutes and then I saw her out. Paula came down for a snack and drink to see her through to dinnertime, and I persuaded Stevie to come down too. He and Paula sat at the table in the kitchen-diner while I was in the kitchen. I could see and hear them from where I worked and Stevie was talking really nicely to Paula, asking her about college, what she wanted to do when she left and whether she minded fostering. Although aged fourteen, Stevie could pass for much older. He was tall and there was a sophistication about him, which Paula didn’t have.

‘You’ll meet my brother Adrian and my sister Lucy later,’ I heard Paula tell him.

‘Do all the family have dinner together?’ he asked. ‘We did at Gran’s.’

‘Yes, if everyone is in.’

‘I’d better get ready then,’ he said. Having finished his snack, he stood.

‘Stevie,’ I said, going into the dining area, ‘we usually have dinner around six o’clock, and you’re fine as you are.’ For I didn’t really know what he meant by ‘get ready’.

‘Oh no, I need to look my best for when I meet Adrian and Lucy – first impressions and all that.’ With a flick of his wrist he left. Clearly, looking after Stevie was going to be a whole new experience for us all.

Chapter Five

Secrets

Stevie stayed in his room until I called everyone for dinner. Adrian, Lucy and Paula were already seated at the table when Stevie (having been called twice) arrived. I think he’d waited until everyone was there so he could stage an entrance. Although he was wearing the same clothes – blue jeans and a yellow sweater – he now had a light blue silk scarf tied loosely around his neck, had painted his nails bright red and was wearing a lot more make-up.

‘This is Adrian,’ I said, introducing him to Stevie.

Adrian had never experienced any doubts about his gender and had a long-standing girlfriend, Kirsty. He could also be a bit conservative, which was no bad thing, but to his credit he just said, ‘Hello, Stevie, nice to meet you.’

‘And you.’ Stevie smiled charmingly.

Lucy on the other hand didn’t have the same reservations as Adrian, and sometimes there was no filter on her thoughts. ‘You’re never called Stevie!’ she cried, horrified, staring at him.

His face fell. Clearly he had wanted to be noticed, but in a positive way, and it was clear from his expression this wasn’t the reaction he’d anticipated. I must say I’d expected better from Lucy. I’ve tried to bring up my children to be non-judgemental and accepting of differences whether they are race, religion, physical or – as with Stevie – gender related.

I threw her a warning glance, which she either didn’t see or ignored.

‘You’re not really called Stevie, are you?’ Lucy persisted dramatically. ‘Please tell me it’s not true!’

The poor lad looked mortified and I was about to tell Lucy off when I realised what she meant. ‘Oh, Lucy. Stop it. Shall I tell him or will you?’

‘You can.’ She laughed.

Stevie was looking at me, worried and confused, as well he might. ‘Many years ago Lucy came to me as a foster child and stayed,’ I explained to him. ‘I wanted to adopt her, but her social worker at that time was against it. She felt she should live with a family that reflected her ethnicity.’ (Lucy has dual heritage, and I tell her story in Will You Love Me?). ‘Thankfully we had a change of social worker and the adoption went ahead. That first social worker was called Stevie. I had forgotten. It’s no criticism of you – Lucy just didn’t get on with her.’

Stevie gasped with relief and managed a smile. ‘My grandparents call me Steven, but I prefer Stevie.’

‘That’s fine,’ I said.

‘Can we eat now, Mum?’ Adrian asked patiently. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Yes, of course.’

I served dinner and everyone tucked in so all that could be heard for some minutes was the chink of cutlery on china. Lucy was sitting directly opposite Stevie and I saw her keep looking up at him. I had a good idea what she was thinking even before she said it.

‘Stevie, why are you wearing all that make-up?’ she asked at length, not rudely, but it was a forthright question, and probably one he’d heard before.

He didn’t take offence but, setting down his cutlery, he said, ‘It’s a statement about who I am. I see myself as gender-fluid, which means I haven’t got a fixed gender. That’s not to say I’m gay, although it’s possible, I haven’t decided yet. I’m trying to find out if I want to live my life as male or female, so at present I’m gender-fluid.’ I thought that, for a fourteen-year-old, he was very articulate in matters that deeply affected him.

‘So you’re making up your mind, right?’ Lucy asked him.

‘Yes, although I could stay gender-fluid all my life and not identify with either sex. Some days I feel more female than male, then it can change. Sometimes it can change during a day depending on who I’m with and what I’m doing.’

‘That must be confusing,’ Adrian remarked.

Stevie shrugged. ‘It would be more confusing for me if I pretended to be male all the time, like my grandparents want me to.’

‘Do you get bullied at school?’ Paula asked sensitively.

‘I used to,’ Stevie said, picking up his knife and fork again, ‘so I stopped going.’

I looked at him carefully. ‘Stevie, is that the reason you haven’t been attending school – because you were being bullied?’

‘Sort of,’ he admitted.

‘Did you tell anyone you were being bullied?’

‘My grandparents, but Grandpa said I needed to man up, and if I stopped behaving like a pansy I wouldn’t attract the bullies.’

Having met Fred, I could hear him say that – a flippant, simplistic solution – but his intolerance and lack of sensitivity obviously hadn’t helped Stevie, who was looking for support.

‘Did you tell your social worker you were being bullied?’ I asked.

‘No. I thought she would side with Grandpa and say I had to go to school.’

‘I’ll explain to Verity, and when we see your mentor tomorrow we’ll talk to her about what the school can do to help, all right?’

He shrugged and continued eating while I thought, Well done, Paula, for spotting that. Bullying was such an obvious reason for a child or young person refusing to go to school, especially for someone who stood out as being different, like Stevie. Bullying can make a child’s life a misery and all schools in the UK have an anti-bullying policy. But of course for it to be effective the school needs to be aware the bullying is taking place, and children often don’t want to admit they’re being bullied, feeling it is their fault. Unfortunately, Fred’s bigoted remarks had compounded that, but I was pleased that Stevie had been able to share it with us so I could help him.

‘OK,’ Lucy said, ‘I understand what you’re saying about the gender stuff, but why are you wearing so much make-up?’ Let it go, Lucy, I thought, you’ve made your point. ‘I mean, it’s too much,’ she continued. ‘It’s like you think that’s how girls should look. Most of us don’t. It’s so stereotypical, and as Mum tells us – when it comes to make-up, less is more.’

So she had been listening to me, I thought! I waited tentatively for Stevie’s reaction. I hoped he didn’t feel Lucy was getting at him, although what she’d said was true.

‘So you think I’m wearing too much make-up?’ he asked, as though it was a revelation.

‘Yes, I do, far too much. Don’t you think so, Paula?’

‘A little,’ she said diplomatically.

‘What about you, Adrian?’

‘I don’t know the first thing about make-up,’ he replied.

‘But Kirsty doesn’t wear a lot of slap, does she?’ Lucy persisted.

‘No,’ Adrian conceded.

Lucy returned her attention to Stevie. ‘If you like, I’ll show you how to apply make-up,’ Lucy offered. ‘I wanted to be a beautician once.’

‘Really? That would be wonderful!’ Stevie cried passionately.

‘I wouldn’t wear it for school, though,’ Adrian said.

‘No,’ Paula agreed. ‘Girls aren’t allowed to wear make-up in school, so that rule should apply to everyone.’

I felt rather proud of my family. Here they were, discussing this sensitive and unusual topic constructively and being supportive of Stevie. None of us had faced the challenges he had, so it was a learning curve for us all. The conversation now changed to other things, and once we’d finished eating everyone helped clear the table. Then Stevie asked Lucy, ‘Can you come up to my room now to show me how do my make-up?’

‘Yep, I can give you half an hour, then I have to watch EastEnders,’ she said.

‘I love that programme,’ Stevie enthused, clasping his hands together.

‘Stevie, can you bring your make-up down here and do it at the table?’ I said. Lucy knew why. It’s part of our safer-caring policy that young people aren’t alone in one of the bedrooms. Not because I didn’t trust them or imagined they’d get up to anything inappropriate, but safer caring is about avoiding situations that could be misinterpreted so that all family members feel safe and secure.

Stevie fetched his make-up, which he kept in a silky floral patterned cosmetic bag, and sat at the table with a mirror in front of him while Lucy gave him a lesson in applying make-up. Paula and Adrian had gone up to their rooms and I was in the kitchen clearing up. Lucy and Stevie had quite a laugh, but by the time Lucy had finished, Stevie’s make-up looked much better – subtle. She also got him to take off the bright red nail varnish, ready for school. They then went up to their respective rooms, which left Sammy and me in the living room.

I took the opportunity to go through the Essential Information Form and then wrote up my log notes. All foster carers in the UK are required to keep a daily record of the child or children they are looking after. This includes appointments, the child’s health and wellbeing, education, significant events and any disclosures they may make about their past. When the child leaves this record is placed on file at the social services. I’d begun my log for Stevie when I’d attended the pre-placement meeting, and now I wrote a short paragraph detailing his arrival, what he’d disclosed about being bullied and how he was settling in.

Adrian, Paula, Lucy and I are not night owls during the week, as we all have to be up in the morning for work or college. I needed to get Stevie into the same routine, so at nine o’clock I asked him if he wanted a hot drink and a snack before he went to bed. ‘Can I have an Ovaltine, please?’ he asked. ‘My gran always makes me one.’ It’s little details like this that help a child or young person to settle and feel at home.

I didn’t have any Ovaltine so I said I’d buy some the next day and he had a hot chocolate instead. I then gave him a set of towels and checked he had everything he needed for the night; his gran had packed his nightclothes and a wash bag with a toothbrush and so on. I suggested he had his shower first, as we all had to use the bathroom. I expect all the children I foster as well as my own to have a daily shower or bath. Some children who have come from neglected homes aren’t used to this, but Stevie was – it was part of his grandparents’ routine.

By ten o’clock we were all upstairs in bed or getting ready for bed. Before I went to bed I looked in on Stevie to say goodnight and remind him to switch off his phone. ‘You know where I am if you need anything in the night?’ I said. Despite his age, he was in a strange house, and had been used to sharing a bedroom with his younger brother.

‘What time do I have to get up?’ he asked.

‘Nine tomorrow, but it will be earlier when you are back in school.’

I never sleep particularly well when there is a new child or young person in the house. I worry about them and listen out in case they wake with a start, upset and not knowing where they are, when I go round and reassure them. It didn’t matter that Stevie was nearly fifteen; I still listened out for him. As it was, he seemed to sleep well and only surfaced when he heard the rest of us getting up in the morning.

I find it takes a few days for a new arrival to fit into the family. At the start everyone is a little self-conscious as my family adapts their routine to include another family member and they adapt to fit in with us. Then usually we all chug along without too much trouble. We all need to use the bathroom in the morning and sometimes a queue forms, although this morning Stevie didn’t have to be out the door at any set time. I made him breakfast – cereal and toast as his gran did – and saw Adrian, Paula and Lucy off at the door. Just after nine o’clock I telephoned Stevie’s school and asked to speak to his mentor, Carolyn. It took a few minutes before she came to the phone and was confused when I introduced myself – ‘Cathy Glass, Stevie Jones’s foster carer.’

‘I didn’t know Stevie had gone into care,’ she said. ‘Although there was some talk about it at the end of last term.’

I explained it had all happened quickly the day before and said Stevie was fine and settling in, and that his social worker was aware I was phoning her to arrange a meeting to get Stevie back into school as quickly as possible.

‘Yes, of course. Could you make one o’clock today?’ she asked.

‘Perfect.’

‘Will Stevie’s grandparents be coming too?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘OK. When you arrive, come in the main entrance and give your name at the office and the school secretary will buzz me.’

‘Thank you.’

I said goodbye and then wondered if Stevie’s grandparents would want to attend the meeting as they had before. Stevie was in care voluntarily and there were no child-protection issues to prevent them from attending. It’s always better for the child to see their family working with the foster carer, although in many cases it’s very difficult, even impossible, if the parents are angry that their child has been taken from them as a result of abuse or neglect. But that wasn’t so with Stevie’s grandparents. The problem I could foresee was that Fred could easily do more harm than good with an outspoken, thoughtless comment. Even so, I felt I should mention the meeting to them. I had their contact details on the Essential Information Form, and sometimes it’s the way a question is phrased that directs the outcome.

‘Peggy, it’s Cathy Glass. Stevie is fine,’ I said straight away to reassure her. ‘But I wanted to ask you something?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’ve just spoken to Stevie’s mentor, Carolyn, and I’m going to see her at one o’clock today. Are you happy for me to take Stevie? I’m guessing you’re very busy with Liam and Kiri.’

‘You can say that again!’ Peggy said. ‘They’ve been playing me up a treat with all Steven’s comings and goings. I was relieved that school started again today. Fred has taken them. I’m exhausted. Yes, you go to the meeting with Steven, if it does any good.’

‘OK.’ I wasn’t going to mention at this point that Stevie had disclosed he was being bullied, as it could have made Peggy feel bad for not acting on it.

‘Verity said that Steven wants more of his clothes,’ Peggy said. ‘He can come and get them later if he likes. It’s only a short bus ride from school.’

I didn’t really want Stevie jumping on a bus and going back to his grandparents by himself until he was more settled with us and in the routine of school. So many young people are placed with a foster carer one day and then leg it home the next, then go back and forth between their home and the carers like a yo-yo, which is unsettling for everyone involved.

‘I could bring him in the car after we’ve seen Carolyn,’ I suggested. ‘It will give me a chance to tell you how the meeting went, and he can bring as much of his stuff with him as he wants.’

‘That would be good,’ Peggy said. ‘Liam and Kiri won’t be here, but Steven can see them another time.’ She paused. ‘Cathy, has Steven said anything to you about a secret?’

‘No, why?’

‘It’s probably nothing, but when he was missing over the New Year Liam and Kiri kept messing around and saying, “We’ve got a secret and we’re not going to tell you.” It’s not my birthday, so I thought it was just one of their pranks and they would tell me in time. Those two are always up to mischief. Then yesterday after Steven had gone off they went very serious and Liam said, “We still can’t tell you our secret, Stevie said we mustn’t, not ever.” So I’m wondering what exactly they’ve done this time. Last year the pair of them hid Fred’s false teeth.’

‘Oh no!’

‘They were missing for three days and they wouldn’t tell where they were. Eventually I spotted them in the goldfish bowl among the weeds.’

I laughed as Peggy was doing.

‘I’ll ask Stevie if he knows what they have been up to,’ I said.

‘Thank you. See you later then, and good luck with the meeting.’

I was still smiling at the image of Fred’s false teeth in the goldfish bowl as I went upstairs to find Stevie. He was just on his way out of his room. I told him about the appointment with Carolyn at one o’clock and that I’d spoken to his gran and would take him home after the meeting for some more clothes. Then I said, ‘Your gran has asked me to find out if you know what Kiri and Liam have been up to?’

‘What do you mean?’ Stevie asked, suddenly growing serious.

‘Don’t look so worried. She thinks they might have played another joke like they did with your grandpa’s false teeth. They keep telling her they have a secret and you’ve told them not to tell.’

‘Is that all they said?’ he asked, really concerned.

‘Yes, as far as I know.’ I looked at him. ‘Stevie, is there something your grandparents need to know? If so, I think you should tell me now.’

There was a moment’s hesitation before he said, ‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’ He nodded, and I was almost certain he was lying – a sixth sense from years of raising children.

Chapter Six

Inappropriate

The morning was free, so I suggested to Stevie we went into town shopping and had some lunch out. I had to get a few things and I didn’t want to leave him alone in the house just yet. Also, I find that a trip out, whether it is shopping or visiting a place of interest, is a good way of bonding with a young person. Stevie liked the idea of shopping and I gave him his clothing allowance for the month, credit for his phone and his pocket money. I also asked him not to wear make-up, as we would go straight to the meeting with his mentor, Carolyn, at school once we’d finished shopping. He accepted my wishes about make-up as easily as he had accepted Lucy’s. I thought now as I had then that what he needed was guidance on matters associated with gender identity, rather than someone ignoring or dismissing them – as Fred was doing.

I parked in the multi-storey car park in the shopping centre and went with Stevie to the stores he liked. Once we had his clothes from home I would have a better idea of what he needed and could advise him on what to buy, otherwise teenagers often end up with a wardrobe full of jeans and no socks or winter coat. But for now I let him spend his money as he wished, and within half an hour he’d spent most of his clothing allowance on a pair of light grey jeans he said he’d been wanting for ages. They were tasteful and fitted him well. Most clothes would. Tall and slender, he had a model’s physique and I saw young people – male and female – glance at him admiringly as they passed.

While we shopped we talked, and I learnt that his gran used to buy his clothes – what she and Fred thought he should wear – but it had obviously caused arguments, so for the last year he’d been buying what he wanted, and then the arguments had taken place when he’d worn the clothes and they’d seen them for the first time. He also told me he had been given clothes for Christmas and birthday presents, but he’d chosen them. He liked his clothes and he liked to shop. I learnt that he had two good friends at school, a lad of the same age who thought he might be gay, and a girl in his class whom he said was just a friend but was kind and understanding. Most of the other lads in his class had little to do with him, he said, and some teased and bullied him. I reassured him that we’d address that when we saw Carolyn later, and I suggested he might like to invite his friends home for dinner one time. He’d said he’d think about it. He wasn’t sure he’d tell them he was in care, which is true for many children and young people. They prefer to say the person waiting for them in the playground is a friend of their mother’s or an aunty, rather than admit it’s their foster carer. Although of course at Stevie’s age he wouldn’t even have to say that, as I wouldn’t be in the playground at the start and end of school as I was with younger children.

Stevie only checked his phone a couple of times while we were shopping, but once we sat down with our lunch, chosen from a hot buffet, he suddenly cried, ‘Shit!’ And pulled his phone from his pocket as if his life depended on it.

‘Is everything all right?’ I asked him a few moments later, as, food untouched, he was still staring at the screen.

He nodded absently.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’ But I wasn’t convinced, and it crossed my mind that perhaps he was being bullied online too. There was a time when bullying stopped at the school gates, but now it can follow the victim home through text messages, social networking websites, photos and video clips. It’s vicious, insidious, relentless and has in extreme cases caused a young person to commit suicide. Also, I remembered Verity had mentioned that Stevie might be in contact with his mother online and I wondered if this was causing a problem.

‘Are you on Facebook?’ I asked him casually as he finally picked up a chip and began eating.

‘Yes.’

‘So am I. I could send you a friendship request.’ If he accepted it then I should be able to see quite a lot of his online activity on that website and who he was in contact with. It’s for this reason it’s a good idea for parents and foster carers to have social networking accounts; it allows them to keep an eye on their young person as well as keeping them up to speed with technology. A friend of mine only discovered that her daughter had traced her father (my friend’s long-time ex) through social media. She was then able to broach the subject with her daughter and reassure her that she didn’t mind. Adrian, Lucy and Paula had Facebook accounts, although only Lucy used hers regularly.

Stevie hadn’t responded to my suggestion, but I’d send the friendship request anyway. He could accept or decline it, it was his choice.

‘Do you chat to your parents at all online?’ I asked. Many young people do without their carer’s or guardian’s knowledge.

‘Sometimes Mum, when she’s not in prison. They don’t have the internet in prison.’

So I guessed that wasn’t the reason he was often anxiously checking his phone.

‘The kids at school who bully you, do they target you online? Or message you at all?’ I asked outright. It was no good hedging the matter and then regretting it later.

‘No. They haven’t got my phone number,’ he said. ‘Only my friends have.’

‘Good.’

It was the school’s lunch break when Stevie and I arrived and there were students milling around outside, some standing in small groups, others sitting on benches, coats on and huddled over phones as they ate from lunch boxes and packets of crisps.

‘What’s the school’s policy on mobile phones?’ I asked Stevie as we made our way to the main entrance.

‘They have to be switched off while on school premises,’ he replied.

‘Is yours off?’

‘I’ll turn it off now.’

We went to the reception desk, separated from the school office by a low counter, and the secretary recognised Stevie and knew we were expected. ‘I’ll give Carolyn a ring and let her know you’re here,’ she said. ‘Please sign in the visitors’ book and then take a seat.’

I thanked her and, having signed in, we sat in the chairs arranged on the far side of the reception area, and Stevie powered off his phone. I looked around. The walls were adorned with framed photographs of school achievements – winning sports teams, successful examination results, students who’d become distinguished in a particular field, dignitaries and famous people who’d visited the school, and so on, much as you’d find in many secondary schools.

Stevie was clearly anxious and, with no phone to occupy him, was tapping his foot nervously.

‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ I told him. ‘You know Carolyn, and she and I want to help you get back into school.’

He gave a curt nod, but his foot kept tapping. I felt as though we were waiting to see the dentist rather than his mentor.

‘There she is,’ he said as a young woman entered reception.

We both stood. ‘Hello, Stevie,’ Carolyn said, then, ‘Nice to meet you, Cathy.’

‘And you,’ I replied. Carolyn was fashionably dressed in black leggings and a long, baggy top. In her mid to late twenties, she didn’t look much older than Stevie or many of the other senior pupils.

‘I have a small office at the top of the building,’ she said brightly. ‘This way.’

We followed her out of reception and up two flights of stairs, passing students coming down. None of them seemed to know Stevie. ‘My classroom is at the other end of the building,’ he told me, so I guessed that’s where most of his classmates gathered.

Carolyn showed us into her office, just big enough to hold a small desk, a filing cabinet and three steel-framed chairs. She pulled her chair out from behind the desk, so we sat in a small circle.

‘This is where I see students if they want to talk in private,’ she explained to me. ‘Some of my job is counselling, and I spend time in the classroom supporting those who need extra help.’

‘Thank you for seeing us at such short notice,’ I said. ‘Do you have my contact details?’ She didn’t. I gave them to her and she said she’d advise the secretary, so she could update the school’s records.

‘So, Stevie,’ she said, smiling reassuringly at him, ‘a lot of change for you. How do you like it at Cathy’s?’

‘It’s all right,’ he said with a shrug. You could hardly expect him to be jumping for joy given he’d had to leave home the day before.

‘It must be strange,’ Carolyn commiserated. ‘Are you seeing your grandparents and your brother and sister?’

‘Yes,’ Stevie replied tightly.

‘Good. You’re a bright student, but you have missed a lot of school. The last time I saw you, you told me you didn’t feel you fitted in and school seemed irrelevant. We talked about ways I could help you. How do you feel now about school?’

He shrugged.

‘There is another reason Stevie hasn’t been in school,’ I said. ‘Apparently he’s being bullied.’

‘Not all the time,’ he put in, embarrassed. ‘Just some days.’

‘You shouldn’t be bullied at all,’ I said.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Carolyn asked, concerned. ‘We talked about how you were getting on with other students. Didn’t you feel able to tell me?’

He shrugged again and looked uncomfortable.

‘Is it one person who’s doing the bullying or a group?’ Carolyn asked.

‘One mainly, and the others follow.’

‘What have they been doing?’ she asked, leaning in to invite confidence. ‘Can you tell me? You know we have a firm anti-bullying policy here in school.’

My heart went out to him, he looked so self-conscious. ‘They call me names and push me in the corridor,’ he admitted. ‘Sometimes they put things in my bag and follow me into the toilet, that type of stuff.’ I guessed this was probably only part of it – the bit he felt able to tell.

‘What is the name of the ringleader?’ Carolyn asked.

‘What will you do?’ Stevie replied, clearly worried about reprisals.

‘The headmaster and I will talk to the person and make it clear his or her behaviour is unacceptable and if it doesn’t stop they will be suspended.’

‘It’s —,’ he said, and gave a boy’s name.

‘I know who you mean,’ Carolyn said seriously. ‘We’ll speak to him this afternoon so you can return to school tomorrow morning. But in future, Stevie, please come and see me if you have any problems.’

He gave a half-hearted nod, and Carolyn then went on to talk about his school work. He was behind in most subjects, partly from missing school, but also because he hadn’t been handing in his homework.

‘I haven’t got anywhere quiet to study at my gran’s,’ he said, which may have been true.

‘That won’t be a problem now,’ I said. ‘You have your own bedroom, which has bookshelves and a small table for studying. Also, I showed you the front room you can use, which has a computer.’ So there won’t be any excuses, I could have added but didn’t.

Carolyn told Stevie – I guessed not for the first time – that it was an important year for him academically, as they had started the syllabi for examinations the following year. Stevie promised to do better in future, and Carolyn then talked easily and at length about gender identity. She said that schools were having to address how best to accommodate LGBT+ – lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and other – students. In line with other schools they were considering installing gender-neutral toilets and changing rooms for PE. She said there was no provision for this at present and asked Stevie if he had any particular concerns about using the boys’ toilets and changing rooms. If so, she’d look into what other arrangements could be made.

‘No, I’m OK with that,’ he said, a little embarrassed.

Carolyn added that at present Stevie would be expected to wear the boys’ school uniform, which wasn’t so different from the girls’ (although they had a choice of trousers or a skirt), but that could change in the future.

I thought that the school was being very sensitive and proactive in addressing the issues surrounding LGBT+ students. To be honest, I hadn’t given it much thought until Stevie had been placed with me.

Carolyn finished by asking Stevie if there was anything else he wanted to discuss or that she could help him with, and he said there wasn’t.

‘See you tomorrow in school then,’ she said positively as we stood.

I thanked her again, and she saw us down to reception where we signed out.

As soon as we were outside Stevie took his phone from his pocket, and it instantly sprang into life.

‘That wasn’t switched off,’ I said. ‘It was on silent.’

‘I’ll switch it off properly when I’m in school.’

‘You must. Don’t start tomorrow by breaking one of the rules,’ I said. He shrugged. ‘Anyway, it will be a nice short week. Friday tomorrow and then the weekend.’

‘Yes, and I can go out.’

‘If you want to.’

Stevie was quiet in the car as I drove to his grandparents’. He checked his phone every so often, but otherwise just stared out of his side window. I sensed he was worrying about something, but it could have been any number of things: returning to school, facing his grandparents, wishing he was still living with them and hadn’t stormed off, or something completely different. The teenage years are difficult with all the changes in the body and mind; problems that might not affect adults can play havoc with a young person.

‘A penny for your thoughts,’ I said, glancing at him as I drove. He looked at me, puzzled. ‘It’s an expression my father used to use,’ I explained. ‘It means you seem deep in thought.’

‘Oh, right, yeah,’ he said, but that was all.

A few moments later I said, ‘Stevie, I know I’ve told you this before, but you can talk to me if there is something bothering you. It’s not a good idea to keep worries to yourself. If you’ve got a problem, I’m sure we can sort it out.’

He threw me a cursory nod and continued to gaze through his side window.

Five minutes later I pulled in to the housing estate where his grandparents lived and Stevie directed me to their house. It was a 1960s semi-detached with an integral garage and small open-plan front garden similar to the other houses in the street.

‘I’ve forgotten my keys,’ Stevie said as we got out.

‘It doesn’t matter. Your gran will be in. She’s expecting us.’

We went up to their front door and he pressed the doorbell. The door was opened by his grandfather with a rather gruff, ‘Oh, it’s you. Come in, but don’t make a noise. Your gran isn’t so good.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, hesitating on the doorstep. ‘Shall we come back another time?’

‘No, you’re here now. He can get his clothes.’

Stevie went past him and disappeared upstairs as Fred closed the front door.

‘I’m here,’ Peggy said, appearing in the hall. ‘I’ve just got a migraine. It came on all of a sudden. I’ve taken some tablets. Come through while Steven gets his things.’

I went with Peggy into their sitting room as Fred went upstairs. The room was at the back of the house and cosy with floral carpet and curtains, three armchairs and lots of china ornaments on display shelves. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ Peggy asked, sinking into a chair.

‘No, thank you. I’m fine.’ She looked pale and drawn. While I’ve never suffered from migraine headaches, I have a friend who does and I appreciated what sufferers go through. When migraines strike they are debilitating until the medication takes effect. ‘We’ve just come from seeing Carolyn,’ I said. ‘Steven’s going to school tomorrow.’

‘Good. What did Carolyn say?’

I told Peggy more or less what we’d discussed with Carolyn, leaving out Stevie’s excuse of not having anywhere quiet to study as the reason he hadn’t been doing his homework. She didn’t need to know that with a headache.

‘I didn’t realise the bullying was that bad,’ she said wearily.

‘No. In my experience teenagers try to deal with it themselves first. It slipped out when he was talking to my children.’

Peggy nodded thoughtfully and her face clouded. ‘You know, Cathy, I feel so bad about him going into care.’ Her eyes filled.

‘Don’t upset yourself,’ I said, touching her arm. ‘I’m sure you did the right thing. It will give you all a chance to have a breather, and you’ll be seeing him regularly.’

She took a tissue from the sleeve of her cardigan and dabbed her eyes. My heart went out to her. She looked defeated – as if she’d tried her best and failed. ‘I would have him back now and make it work,’ she said. ‘It’s Fred. He’s told Steven he needs to sort himself out first. You know, all that stuff about if he’s a girl or a boy. I can’t stand any more arguments, not with looking after the younger two as well. I’m worn out.’

‘I think you’ve done a fantastic job,’ I said. ‘I really do. Three young children is a lot to cope with.’ I hope I didn’t sound patronising, but I meant it.

‘Fred thinks Steven is doing this on purpose to wind us up and get attention.’

This was difficult. ‘I think Stevie is confused about his gender identity,’ I said carefully. ‘I know it’s difficult for us to understand; we’ve never been in that position. But I think he is genuinely struggling to sort out how he sees himself.’

‘Do you?’ she asked. ‘You never heard of that sort of thing when I was young. You were either male or female. Some people were homosexual, but they knew that. There was never any of this “I might be a girl or I might be a boy or maybe I’m both”.’ She looked sad, confused and out of her depth. ‘Is it something I’ve done wrong?’

‘No, Peggy, of course not. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve done a good job of bringing him up. He’s a nice lad. You can be proud of him.’

‘He should be living here with me,’ she said mournfully. ‘Not with a foster carer. I don’t mean to be rude, but that’s how I feel.’ She’d obviously been thinking about this a lot.

‘I understand,’ I said. ‘Try to look upon it as me helping you out for now. We all need help sometimes, don’t we?’ I was about to say more when Fred came in.

‘Is he wearing your knickers yet?’ he quipped, sitting in the largest armchair, which I took to be his.

He was joking, but it was an entirely inappropriate comment. I thought it was probably his way of coping with a situation he didn’t understand and perhaps found embarrassing. Maybe he felt his masculinity was under threat, or maybe he recognised something in Stevie he didn’t want to acknowledge in himself. Who knows? But making Stevie the butt of his jokes wasn’t going to help – quite the opposite. Since I’d first been told I would be fostering Stevie, I’d researched gender online and I’d come to realise that it isn’t always clear cut, but a spectrum, with male and female either end and degrees of gender in between. Fred needed to be more aware, to stop teasing his grandson and help him if there was any chance of healing their damaged relationship. I thought Fred was a man who would appreciate straight talking.

‘Fred, do you ever use the internet?’ I asked him.

‘What would I want with that?’ he scorned.

‘There’s a lot of information on the internet, like all the books, newspapers and magazines in the world put together. I go online if I need to know something. Have a look on the internet for the term “gender-fluid”. I think you may be surprised by what you find. There are other families facing the same issues you are, and online support groups have been set up. The library has computers you can use for free.’

‘You mean there’s others like him!’ he jeered.

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you, Cathy,’ Peggy said quietly. ‘I’ve seen the computers in the library, but I don’t know how to use them.’

‘An assistant should be able to show you,’ I said. ‘Otherwise give me a ring and I’ll meet you there. Once you know how to use the internet, it’s easy.’

She managed a small smile and tucked away her tissue. ‘Steven is going to school tomorrow,’ she told Fred positively.

‘About bloody time too!’ he snapped. I was sure Fred loved Stevie as he did Liam and Kiri, but he could be abrupt and scathing, which children don’t need. It undermines their self-confidence if they’re put down when they speak. It’s not good for adults either.

Peggy changed the conversation and began talking about the weather, and we continued making polite conversation until Stevie appeared at the door carrying bin liners full of his belongings. ‘I’m ready to go,’ he said, apparently not wanting to come into the living room and spend time with his grandparents.

Peggy and I stood, I said goodbye to Fred and Peggy saw us to the front door. ‘Bye, Gran,’ Stevie said, kissing her cheek. ‘See you soon.’

‘Yes, you take care.’ Her eyes filled again.

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