Copyright

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

HarperElement

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperElement 2019

FIRST EDITION

Text © Cathy Glass 2019

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019

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

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

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

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

Find out about HarperCollins and the environment at

www.harpercollins.co.uk/green

Source ISBN: 9780008324292

Ebook Edition © February 2019 ISBN: 9780008324339

Version: 2019-01-09

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

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

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

About the Publisher

Chapter Eleven

Missing

The following day Stevie’s laptop was delivered and he was very pleased. Adrian, Lucy and Paula had their own laptops, and there was the PC with a printer in the front room for us all to use. As Stevie disappeared upstairs clutching his new laptop, it crossed my mind that he hadn’t ever responded to my Facebook friendship request, but I didn’t read anything into it. The need to see who he was in touch with online had lessened since he’d confessed about Joey, and his behaviour had settled down.

February arrived and we woke up one Sunday morning to find a thick blanket of snow, and everyone became a child again. Because it was Sunday we were all at home and could make the most of it. Adrian had arranged to see Kirsty, but they cancelled as the roads hadn’t been cleared and were unsafe to drive on. Big as my family were, when I suggested we got the toboggan out of the shed and took it to our local park, there were cheers of delight. Stevie said he’d been tobogganing when he’d lived with his grandparents and would have liked to have played in the snow with Liam and Kiri, but he understood that I couldn’t take him there in my car because of the snow and there weren’t any buses running.

The park is only a short walk from our house and is known in the area for the hill that makes a good toboggan run in the snow. It was late morning when we arrived and we saw some of our friends and neighbours there. Stevie saw a boy from his class and they chatted for a few minutes, then we dragged our toboggan to the top of the hill and took turns coming down. It was great fun and the air was alive with laughter and screams as children of all ages, and adults, hurtled down the slope on toboggans, trays, sheets of plastic and cardboard – anything that would slide. We were there for a couple of hours and then, with our cheeks glowing from the cold, we returned home for hot drinks and lunch.

While I love summer, I think winter has a special quality in bringing families closer together. With the curtains closed against a cold night sky, no one is in any rush to go out and everyone is more content to spend time with each other in the warmth of the house. Winter seems to cocoon the family and strengthen family bonds, although perhaps that’s just me being sentimental. At the weekends we group around board games – Scrabble, Monopoly, Cluedo and so on – and play with a real competitive spirit. Stevie said nostalgically that he used to play board games with just him and his grandparents when Kiri and Liam had been little. ‘That’s a nice memory,’ I said. ‘Why not suggest playing next time you’re there? Kiri and Liam are old enough to join in now.’ I thought again what a good job of parenting Peggy and Fred had done and how committed they’d been to raising Stevie and then later Kiri and Liam. They’d had no retirement in which they could slow the pace and take things easy, and I hoped Stevie appreciated that.

The whole of February was bitterly cold, although we didn’t get any more snow. Then March arrived and the first green buds of spring started to appear. Stevie had been with us for two months and I felt everything was going well. I’d had a chat with Verity and she’d confirmed the way I was fostering Stevie was fine, and she’d spoken to Fred and Peggy about this. Stevie was attending school, seeing his grandparents and Liam and Kiri a couple of times a week, and getting along with my family. Indeed, it was difficult to remember a time before he’d arrived, although of course I’d never forget the other children I’d fostered.

Then suddenly and dramatically, almost overnight, Stevie changed. He became withdrawn, moody and snapped if anyone asked him what was the matter. It was difficult to get him to shower and he spent most of the time in his room. He wanted his meals there too, although I insisted he come down to eat with us, as I thought the last thing he needed was to spend more time alone. When I asked him what was worrying him – which I did often – he said, ‘Nothing.’ If I pressed him, he just got annoyed.

Stevie’s behaviour continued for a week. I noted the change in my log and also telephoned Verity. She said she’d talk to Stevie to see if he would tell her what was wrong, but it wouldn’t be for a few days, as she was in court on another case for most of the week. She added that Stevie should really see a therapist at CAMHS and she’d suggest it to him again.

Stevie had stopped visiting his grandparents and when I asked him why he said sulkily, ‘Don’t want to go.’

‘Have you and your grandfather been arguing?’ I asked.

‘No more than usual,’ came his terse response.

Peggy naturally telephoned to find out why Stevie hadn’t been to see them. I said he seemed down again and anxious, and that I’d informed Verity. While Peggy was concerned, she said, ‘Probably best Stevie doesn’t come here while he’s like that. Fred doesn’t have time for the sulks.’ Which I could imagine.

I hadn’t telephoned the school, as I hoped Stevie’s behaviour wasn’t impacting there but was confined to home. I assumed if there was anything wrong Carolyn would phone me. She did, the following Tuesday. She said that during the last lesson Stevie had been caught in class checking his phone, which should have been switched off and in his bag. In keeping with school policy, the teacher had asked him to hand over his phone, as it would be confiscated until the end of the school day. Stevie had refused, then shouted at her to fuck off and had stormed out of school. I wasn’t wholly surprised. I’d guessed something had been building inside Stevie, I just wished he could have told me what. I apologised for Stevie’s behaviour, told Carolyn I’d speak to him as soon as he came home and admitted that his behaviour with me had been giving me some cause for concern, although he’d been quiet rather than aggressive. Carolyn said Stevie could return to school the following morning, but he would need to see the Head first and apologise to the teacher before he was allowed to rejoin his class. I thanked her and said again I would talk to Stevie as soon as he came home.

But he didn’t come home. Four-thirty came and went, and when it got to five o’clock I called his mobile. It went through to voicemail. I left a message and also texted him: Can you text or phone me, please. I’m worried about you. Carolyn phoned. You’re not suspended but we need to talk. It was possible he’d gone to his grandparents, but I hesitated in calling them because if he wasn’t there it would worry them, perhaps unnecessarily. However, foster carers have to follow a set procedure for reporting a child or young person missing, and I knew I’d have to call the duty social worker before long, then the police. They’d want to know I’d checked all the possible places he might be. I tried Stevie’s phone again and it went through to voicemail, so at 5.45, with the daylight failing and no word from Stevie, I called his grandparents. A child answered.

‘Hello. Is that Liam?’ I guessed it was him rather than his younger sister.

‘Yes.’

‘Can I speak to your gran or grandpa, please?’

‘Grandpa is here.’

‘Thank you.’ I would rather have spoken to Peggy, but I couldn’t really say that.

Fred came on the line with a gruff ‘Hello?’

‘Fred, it’s Cathy, Stevie’s carer. Is Stevie with you?’

‘So he’s up to his old tricks again. No. Haven’t seen him for over a week.’

‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, but there was a bit of an incident at school this afternoon and he hasn’t come home yet. I’ve tried phoning him, but it goes through to voicemail.’

‘Just like what happened to us,’ he said with a certain satisfaction.

‘Can you think of anywhere he might have gone?’

‘He’s probably with one of his nancy friends.’

Ignoring his derogatory terminology, I said, ‘As far as I know, the only friend Stevie used to see out of school has gone to live abroad.’

‘Wouldn’t know about that,’ Fred said, which of course was part of the problem. Fred had been so dismissive of Stevie’s friendships and lifestyle choices that he had no idea who his grandson had been associating with or what he’d been doing.

‘So you can’t think of anywhere he might be?’ I asked. ‘The police are sure to ask me.’

‘Police? Why are you telling them? It’s only six o’clock.’

‘Yes, but Stevie should have been here at four-thirty, he’s not been in touch, so technically he’s been missing for an hour and a half. As his foster carer I have a duty to contact the social services and then report him missing to the police.’

‘And then he’ll breeze in, pleased with himself and enjoying all the attention,’ Fred said.

‘Possibly, but better that than the alternative – that something dreadful has happened to him.’ I didn’t want to alarm Fred, but his blasé attitude was not only annoying me, it was dangerous. Young people, especially those struggling with issues such as Stevie, are vulnerable and need protecting. All Fred saw was a stroppy teenager hell bent on antagonising him. ‘If he gets in touch or arrives there, will you let me know, please?’

‘Yes,’ he said bluntly. ‘But I doubt he’ll come here if he’s in trouble.’ Which, sadly, was probably true.

I tried Stevie’s mobile phone again, but it went through to voicemail. I told Adrian, Lucy and Paula to help themselves to dinner – there was a casserole in the oven – and I’d join them when I’d phoned the social services. They knew Stevie hadn’t come home and were aware of the procedure I had to follow, as I’d had to report other young people I’d fostered missing. At this point they weren’t unduly worried, more concerned – as I was – but as the evening wore on that would change.

Following procedure, I telephoned the call operator at the social services and briefly explained why I needed to speak to the emergency duty social worker. She took my details and said the emergency duty social worker would return my call as soon as possible and certainly within an hour. That was standard; had it been an emergency I would have phoned the emergency services directly – fire brigade, police or ambulance. I quickly went through to the kitchen, where I gobbled down some dinner and plated up some for Stevie. While part of me thought that Stevie was just cooling off somewhere after the incident at school and would come home soon, there was always the chance that something bad had happened – something connected to whatever had been worrying him for the past week.

The landline rang just as I’d finished eating. It was Peggy, wanting to know if I’d heard from Stevie. I said I hadn’t, and that I was waiting to hear back from the duty social worker and would phone her as soon as I had any news.

Twenty minutes later the duty social worker returned my call. The duty social worker doesn’t usually know the child, so I had to give him Stevie’s background information, which he noted, including Stevie’s date of birth, the reason he was in care, the type of care order and the circumstances leading up to him going missing. I explained what had happened at school and that he hadn’t been in touch since – either with me or with his grandparents. He advised me to leave another message on Stevie’s mobile saying that I had spoken to him, and that if he didn’t return home or contact me by 7 p.m. then I would have to report him missing to the police. The mention of the police sometimes prompted the young person to get in touch, then, with the barrier they’d erected around themselves lowered, it usually became easier to open the line of communication and for them to return home. He said I should telephone him to let him know the outcome.

Increasingly concerned for Stevie, I followed the duty social worker’s instructions and called Stevie’s mobile again. It went through to voicemail, so I left a message: ‘Stevie, it’s Cathy. I’m worried about you, love. Can you phone or text me, please, to say you’re OK? Whatever the problem is, I am sure we can sort it out. I’ve just called the duty social worker and he told me that if you haven’t got in touch by seven o’clock I should report you missing to the police. Come home, love, please, we miss you.’ I ended the call. It was dark outside now and bitterly cold, and I was worried Stevie was out there somewhere alone and, for whatever reason, too scared to come home.

Adrian came downstairs. ‘Shall we go out and look for him, Mum?’ he asked.

I was touched. ‘That’s nice of you, but I wouldn’t know where to start looking.’ I’d done similar before when a young person had gone missing, but then I’d had an idea of where they might be as I knew who they associated with and what their favourite haunts were (for example, Joss in Girl Alone). Now I had no idea where Stevie might be, and neither did his grandparents.

Adrian nodded. ‘Try not to worry. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.’

I smiled weakly, for, as Adrian knew, with every passing minute our concerns would grow.

At seven o’clock, with no word from Stevie and following the duty social worker’s advice, I telephoned the police – not 999 (the emergency services number) as I would have done if a small child had gone missing, but our local police station. Once connected, I explained to the officer that Stevie, aged fourteen, was a looked-after child, that I was his foster carer and the circumstances surrounding him going missing. Of course he wanted to know if he’d gone missing before and I explained that he had when he’d lived with his grandparents, but not since he’d been with me. He asked for a description and what Stevie was wearing – his school uniform – if he had any health issues or if he was depressed or suicidal. I said he’d been quiet the previous week, which had made me think something was worrying him, but I didn’t think he was suicidal, although of course you can never be sure. The officer wanted the name and contact details of Stevie’s social worker and his grandparents. I had them ready. He said he’d send an officer to my house as soon as one became available, and in the meantime Stevie’s details would be circulated through the police computer. He told me to have a recent photograph of Stevie ready to give to the police, which I also knew. I always made sure I had at least one good photo of the child I was fostering for official use, in addition to family photographs of the child’s time with us, a copy of which the child kept to remember us by.

I thanked the officer and felt some relief that the police were now looking for Stevie.

A few minutes later Adrian came into the living room with his coat on. ‘I’m going to walk around the block and up to the High Street to make sure Stevie’s not in the area and worried about coming back.’

‘Thanks, love, that is kind of you.’

‘It’s better than doing nothing,’ he said.

Then Lucy and Paula appeared, slipping on their coats. ‘We’re going too.’

Tears sprung to my eyes; I was so moved by their thoughtfulness. ‘Thank you. Don’t be too long, though. I don’t want you getting cold.’ Although it was early March, the temperature at night was dropping to freezing. ‘I’ll wait here for the police to arrive. I’ll call you if Stevie comes home.’

Yet while I appreciated their concern, the fact that they were going out to look for Stevie seemed to heighten the seriousness of what was unfolding. I still hoped that Stevie would breeze in shortly as Fred said he’d done when he’d gone missing before, but as time passed I thought it less and less likely.

By 8.30 I was starting to worry where my three children were, and was about to phone one of their mobiles when Adrian texted to say they’d got delayed and were now on their way back, although they hadn’t seen Stevie. As soon as I heard the front door open I was in the hall to meet them.

‘You must be freezing,’ I said. ‘You’ve been gone ages.’ They looked cold.

‘We helped a guy in the High Street,’ Adrian explained as they took off their coats.

‘Mum, did you know there’s a man sleeping rough in the High Street?’ Paula asked, shocked.

‘No, I didn’t.’ Although I was aware the number of rough sleepers in the country was increasing.

‘He’s in a doorway in an old sleeping bag,’ Paula said. ‘We bought him sausage and chips and a cup of tea.’

‘That was kind of you.’

‘He wasn’t very old,’ Lucy added. ‘I’d guess mid-twenties. I asked him why he was there and not with his family, but he wouldn’t talk to us.’

‘I’m sure he appreciated the food and drink,’ I said.

I feel it’s a disgrace and a dreadful indictment of our society that anyone has to sleep rough. It’s a sad fact that a sizeable proportion of those sleeping rough are care leavers. Looked-after children leave care at eighteen and then receive some support until they are twenty-one (longer if they are in education or training). During the transition to independence they are usually put in a hostel, lodgings or a small council flat, then they are on their own. With little or no family support, they often struggle to pay their bills. They fall behind with their rent and are eventually evicted. One recent study showed that 25 per cent of homeless people in the UK have been in care, and 20 per cent of care leavers become homeless within five years of leaving care. Shocking statistics.

Peggy telephoned and I told her I’d reported Stevie missing and was waiting for the police to arrive, and that Adrian, Lucy and Paula had checked the local area. She thanked me and began to tell me all about what had happened when Stevie had been living with them and gone missing, reliving it, when the front doorbell rang – two firm rings.

‘Peggy, I have to go,’ I said, interrupting her. ‘I think the police have arrived.’

‘Tell them if they want to search my home they need to wait until morning – the kids are in bed. Last time they woke them.’

Saying a quick goodbye, I went into the hall just as Adrian was opening the front door.

Chapter Twelve

Something Much Worse

Adrian and I showed the two male police officers into the living room and we all sat down. Lucy joined us, but Paula stayed in her room. The lead officer asked me questions as the other officer took notes: about his background, the reasons for him coming into care, how long he’d been living with us, the events leading up to his disappearance and so forth, much as I’d already given when I’d reported Stevie missing. I appreciated Adrian and Lucy being present. When they were young, as a single-parent foster carer I’d had to face situations like this alone. Now they were older it was reassuring to have them by my side for moral support and also to supplement details I might have missed. I told the officers what steps we’d taken to find Stevie, including leaving messages on his mobile, contacting his grandparents and that Adrian, Lucy and Paula had looked for him in the area.

‘Do the police know there’s a man sleeping rough in the High Street?’ Lucy asked the officers.

‘Yes, he should be on his way to a hostel now,’ the lead officer said. ‘We spotted him on our way here. They make room at the hostel in really cold weather, even though they’re full.’

‘Good,’ said Lucy. Although I remained concerned that anyone should be sleeping on the streets in the first place.

The officers asked if Stevie kept a diary or had left a note and I said I didn’t think so. They asked if he took drugs or drank alcohol, and I said I was sure he didn’t because he’d seen what they’d done to his mother. They asked about his usual hangouts, and if he had a laptop or tablet, and I confirmed that he had a laptop but had taken it to school that day. A call came through on the second officer’s phone and they both paused to listen to it. It was in respect of another young person who’d gone missing but had just been found at the home of her boyfriend. ‘We usually find runaways within twenty-four hours,’ the lead officer said, which was reassuring.

‘But what if they’re not found?’ Lucy asked, worried.

‘Then we keep looking until they are,’ he said with a positive smile.

As I expected, they wanted to search the house. As well as confirming that Stevie wasn’t here, they’d be looking for any clues that might suggest where he could be. I showed them into our kitchen-diner first and they had a look around, opened and closed a few cupboard doors and looked out the back door. As we returned into the hall we passed the walk-in cupboard under the stairs and the lead officer paused and asked, ‘What’s in there?’

‘A mess,’ Lucy quipped. I opened the door so they could see in. It held the vacuum cleaner, broom, dustpan and brush, a no-longer-used gerbil cage, shopping bags, bric-à-brac and anything we didn’t use but didn’t want to throw out.

Satisfied, the officers followed us into the front room.

‘Does Stevie use that computer?’ the second officer asked, referring to the PC.

‘He hasn’t done,’ I said.

They looked around and then Adrian headed our little procession upstairs to Stevie’s room. ‘It’s very tidy for a fourteen-year-old lad,’ the lead officer commented as we went in.

‘Yes, Stevie keeps his room neat,’ I agreed.

They gave this room a more thorough search and looked under the bed, pulled back the duvet, checked inside the pillowcase, drew back the curtains, and opened and closed the drawers. Stevie’s make-up, nail varnish and floral cosmetics bag were in the top drawer, but they didn’t comment. Only when they opened the wardrobe door did their expressions change and I saw them do a double-take. ‘They’re bright,’ the lead officer said, glancing at me. ‘Does Stevie wear these?’

‘Yes, sometimes,’ I said.

‘And the make-up in the drawer?’

‘Yes, but not for school. He’s in his school uniform.’ I felt Stevie’s privacy was being invaded, but then again, if he hadn’t gone missing the police wouldn’t be here rummaging through his private belongings. Until now I hadn’t mentioned gender, as it hadn’t seemed necessary, but as they examined his clothes and checked the pockets I thought I should say something. Lucy got in first.

‘Stevie is gender-fluid,’ she said proudly. ‘That means he doesn’t have a fixed gender and likes to dress femininely sometimes. I’ve helped him with his make-up.’

‘He’s gay?’ the lead officer asked me.

‘No, he’s undecided,’ I said. ‘Although he did go to an LGBT nightclub before he came to live with us.’

‘At fourteen?’

‘Yes.’

He tutted. ‘Do you know which one?’

‘No, sorry. I don’t.’

They checked down the side of his wardrobe, looked in a carrier bag hanging on the back of the door and the pockets of his dressing gown, then, with a final glance around, the second officer said, ‘There’s nothing in here.’

We all came out and I showed them round the landing to our bedrooms. When we came to Paula’s room I knocked on her door and stuck my head round. She was propped up on her bed, reading. ‘The police need to have a look in here,’ I said. She got off her bed and stood beside it, clearly embarrassed, as both officers came in and looked around. Although it was necessary, it was an imposition. They thanked her on their way out and I showed them my bedroom and finally the bathroom.

‘There’s nowhere he can hide in there,’ Lucy said pointedly.

The junior officer smiled at her. ‘You can never be sure.’

Downstairs again, we stood in the hall as the officers prepared to leave. They confirmed that Stevie’s details had already been circulated, and we should contact them if he got in touch or returned home, which they felt sure he would do before long. They said they would visit his grandparents; I didn’t tell them what Peggy had said about not going there until morning. It seemed rude and I doubted that waking Kiri and Liam would be a factor in timetabling their visit, with their busy work schedule.

It was after 10.30 by the time the officers had left. Sammy came out from his hiding place behind the sofa and curled up in his basket, and by eleven o’clock we were all upstairs getting ready for bed. I left my mobile phone switched on and within reach on my bedside cabinet in case Stevie phoned, then lay in the dark running through the day’s events and wondering where on earth he could be. Suddenly I was startled by the landline ringing. I quickly grabbed the handset. ‘Cathy?’ It was Peggy wanting to know what had happened when the police had visited. I told her, said I’d phone her when there was any news and wound up the conversation. I think she would have liked to talk for longer, but it was nearly midnight and I was shattered.

I lay in the dark again with my thoughts buzzing like trapped flies, and tried to imagine where Stevie might be. My bedside clock clicked away the time: 12.30, 1.07, 1.43. Then I must have dropped off, for suddenly I was awake again, and aware my mobile was ringing.

‘Yes?’ I said immediately, answering it.

‘Is that Cathy Glass, Stevie’s foster carer?’ a male voice asked.

‘Yes.’ My heart began thumping wildly as I sat bolt upright and switched on the bedside lamp.

‘It’s one of the officers who visited you earlier. We’ve found Stevie. He’s in the car with us.’

‘Thank goodness.’ I breathed a huge sigh of relief. ‘Is he all right?’

‘Just a bit cold. But there is a problem.’ My stomach churned.

‘What?’

‘He doesn’t want to come back to you.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s not saying. He just says he can’t.’

‘I don’t understand. Can I speak to him?’

‘No, he doesn’t want to talk to you.’

Not only was I hurt, but it seemed to reflect badly on me as a foster carer that Stevie didn’t want to come home or even talk to me.

‘Has he given you any idea why he ran away?’ I asked.

‘No. We’re going to contact the social services now. They’ll have to find him a bed for the night.’

‘What about his grandparents? Can’t he stay there for tonight?’

‘He says he doesn’t want to go there either.’

‘You’ve spoken to them?’

‘Yes. They know he’s safe.’

‘Where did you find Stevie?’ I asked.

‘At the bus terminus.’

‘Was he going to catch a bus?’

‘No, it was just somewhere to shelter. But the heating goes off in the waiting room at midnight when the last bus leaves, so it was cold. I need to phone the social services now, but at least you know he’s safe,’ the officer said.

‘Yes, thank you. Please tell Stevie I would like him to come home. He’s not in any trouble.’

‘Will do.’

I dropped my phone beside me on the bed and leant back on the headboard with a very heavy heart. I’d failed Stevie. What had started off so positively, with him quickly settling in, being able to work with his grandparents and the likelihood of him staying with us for at least three years, was ending in failure, and for reasons I didn’t know. I wasn’t being dramatic: a young person running away and then refusing to return to their foster carer was a failure; it couldn’t be looked upon any other way. I was the adult, Stevie was the minor, so it was my responsibility to make it work. That Stevie had refused to go to his grandparents didn’t lessen my feelings of failure; indeed, I had even more concerns now. Stevie would be placed with an emergency foster carer for the night and then be moved to a more suitable placement within the next couple of days. That would mean he would have had four homes and three foster carers in the last three months. And there was no guarantee he would settle with the next carers, resulting in yet another move. I thought I’d established a bond with Stevie, as had Paula, Lucy and Adrian, so why didn’t he feel he could come home? I was upset and bitterly disappointed, as I knew my children would be. It was one of the worst endings imaginable for a foster family.

With my thoughts in turmoil, I wondered if I should telephone Peggy but decided against it. It was 2.30 a.m. She’d been told Stevie was safe and would have probably gone back to sleep now. I needed to try to get some sleep too so that I was in a better frame of mind to deal with whatever tomorrow brought. I’d phone Peggy in the morning. However, fifteen minutes later, when I was still wide awake, torturing myself with what more I could have done to help Stevie, the landline rang. It was Peggy. ‘Well, at least he’s been found safe,’ she said. ‘Strange that he doesn’t want to return to you, though. That makes two of us.’ I heard the self-exoneration in her voice, because I had failed as she had done.

‘Yes,’ I said wearily.

‘What about all his belongings at your place? How will he get them?’ she asked.

‘His social worker will make arrangements to collect them. Don’t worry, he’ll get them.’

‘You’ll take them?’ she asked. I really didn’t need this conversation now.

‘I don’t know yet,’ I said.

‘Fred said that the social worker will have to get it sorted.’

‘Yes, she will.’ Peggy seemed to see me as a kindred spirit, a confidante, and I think she would have talked all night. ‘Peggy, I’ll phone you tomorrow when I know more, OK?’ I wound up the conversation and replaced the handset.

I lay on my back, staring at the bedroom ceiling. The shade of my bedside lamp was casting a round shadow on the ceiling, infilled with irregular patterns that seemed to resemble a map of the world. A big lonely world if you didn’t have anyone, I thought. Why was Stevie cutting himself off from the only homes he knew – mine and his grandparents’? What had been going through his mind as he’d sat alone in that cold and draughty waiting room at the bus terminus, and then in the back of the police car, telling them he didn’t want to return to me or his grandparents? I thought I’d understood Stevie and what he needed, but apparently I’d got it just as wrong as his grandparents, only in a different way. It’s at times like this that foster carers doubt themselves and wonder if it’s time to quit.

Gazing up at the ceiling, my eyes gradually grew heavy and finally closed. I was woken again by my mobile ringing. The lamp was still on and my clock showed 3.21 a.m.

‘Yes?’ I asked groggily, answering.

‘Cathy Glass?’

‘Speaking.’

‘It’s the duty social worker. We spoke earlier.’

‘Yes.’

‘The police have been in touch, but we’ve nowhere suitable to place Stevie, so he’s agreed to come back to you for tonight rather than be placed out of the area. He’s at — police station. Can you collect him from there?’

‘Now?’ I asked, struggling upright in the bed and trying to clear my thoughts.

‘Yes, as soon as possible.’

‘I’ll have to get dressed first.’

I’ll tell them you’re on your way. How long do you think you’ll be?’

‘Half an hour.’

‘I’ll let them know, and please don’t tell Stevie off. Wait until his social worker sees him to discuss his absence.’

‘Of course, I’m an experienced foster carer,’ I retorted. I was tired, stressed and now expected to get out of bed on a cold night to collect a teenager who thought staying with me for a night was the lesser of two evils. I didn’t need the duty social worker telling me how to behave. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ I confirmed.

He didn’t even say thank you.

But once out of bed and on the move, my ill-humour evaporated, the adrenaline kicked in and I became more positive. That Stevie had agreed to come back to me even for one night gave me some hope. Tomorrow we would talk and try to get to the bottom of what had been worrying him so much to make him run away, and what I could do to help.

I threw on my clothes, splashed cold water on my face, and was about to leave a note for Adrian, Lucy and Paula to say where I was in case they woke to find me gone when Adrian’s bedroom door opened. ‘I heard you on the phone,’ he said, coming round the landing. ‘Have they found Stevie?’

‘Yes, I’ve got to collect him from the police station.’

‘I’ll come with you.’

‘No, you have work tomorrow.’

‘I’m coming, Mum. I won’t sleep,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll get dressed and de-ice the car.’

‘Thanks, love. I’ll leave a note for Lucy and Paula.’

I took a sheet of writing paper from a drawer downstairs and wrote in black marker pen: Adrian and Mum have gone to collect Stevie xx. I propped it on the landing where the girls would see it if they came out of their rooms. They were sure to text or phone if they did.

Adrian appeared from his room, having thrown on jeans and a jumper, and was smoothing his hair flat. Downstairs we put on our coats and braced ourselves for the cold night air. We made as little noise as possible as we scraped the frost from the windows of the car, trying not to disturb the neighbours. Once the windscreen was clear, I started the engine and drove quietly from the house. The police station where Stevie had been taken was about a ten-minute drive away. The roads were virtually empty and as I drove I told Adrian where Stevie had been found and that to begin with he hadn’t wanted to return to us, but the only other option had been to go to a carer out of the county.

‘So what have we done wrong?’ Adrian asked in a deadpan voice.

‘No idea, love. But I’m sure it will come out in time.’ When a placement ends abruptly like this was going to, there is usually a placement disruption meeting to try to see if any lessons can be learnt. Sometimes carers feel it’s a witch-hunt, with the carer being targeted.

‘Perhaps it’s not us,’ Adrian said presently. ‘Perhaps Stevie’s got a guilty conscience, like he had before with those photographs.’ Stevie had told Adrian, Paula and Lucy what had happened with Joey.

‘It crossed my mind,’ I said, ‘but I would have hoped he could have told me as he did before.’

‘Unless it’s something much worse.’

I shivered, but not from the cold. ‘Like what?’ I asked, glancing at him. ‘Stevie never goes out apart from going to school and seeing his grandparents. And I’m sure he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice online.’

Adrian shrugged. ‘Unless it was something he did before he came to us and he’s only just been found out.’

How true those words would turn out to be.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.