Copyright

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

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First published by HarperElement 2021

FIRST EDITION

© Cathy Glass 2021

Cover design Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers 2021

Cover photograph © Kelly Sillaste/Trevillion Images (posed by a model)

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

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

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Source ISBN: 9780008436612

Ebook Edition © February 2021 ISBN: 9780008436629

Version: 2021-01-19

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Acknowledgements

A big thank you to my family; my editors, Kelly and Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; my UK publisher 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.

Epigraph

‘For life and death are one,

even as the river and the sea are one.’

Kahlil Gibran

Contents

1  Cover

2  Title Page

3  Copyright

4  Note to Readers

5  Acknowledgements

6  Epigraph

7  Contents

8  Chapter One: A Difficult Start

9  Chapter Two: Tragic

10  Chapter Three: Jackson

11  Chapter Four: Get Into Trouble

12  Chapter Five: A New Day

13  Chapter Six: A Mixed Weekend

14  Chapter Seven: Challenging Behaviour

15  Chapter Eight: On Tenterhooks

16  Chapter Nine: Hard Work

17  Chapter Ten: Another Difficult Evening

18  Chapter Eleven: The Blink of an Eye

19  Chapter Twelve: Abused

20  Chapter Thirteen: Evil

21  Chapter Fourteen: Confused and Upset

22  Chapter Fifteen: Say Goodbye to Mummy

23  Chapter Sixteen: A Long Day

24  Chapter Seventeen: Back at Square One

25  Chapter Eighteen: Decision

26  Chapter Nineteen: Are We Going to Prison?

27  Chapter Twenty: A Worrying Wait

28  Chapter Twenty-One: The Reason I Foster

29  Chapter Twenty-Two: Life After

30  Chapter Twenty-Three: Two Children, Different Needs

31  Chapter Twenty-Four: Because I Didn’t Tell …

32  Chapter Twenty-Five: Another Hurdle Overcome

33  Chapter Twenty-Six: Incident

34  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Connor

35  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Going Home

36  Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Life Lost

37  Suggested topics for reading-group discussion

38  Cathy Glass

39  Moving Memoirs

40  Praise for Cathy Glass

41  About the Publisher

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Chapter One

A Difficult Start

I knew it was going to be difficult, so I waited until my family had left the house that morning before I began to clear out Lucy’s room. Armed with cardboard boxes, bags, wrapping paper, sticky tape and a good dose of courage, I went upstairs and into her bedroom. Or rather, I should say, what had been her bedroom. Lucy, aged twenty-five, the elder of my two daughters, had moved out and was now living with her partner, Darren, and their baby, Emma. Of course, that’s the natural cycle of life. Children grow up, leave home and start families of their own. Fine in theory, but I wasn’t finding it so easy to accept in practice, even though I saw Lucy often.

She had come to me as a foster child many years before and stayed permanently to become my adopted daughter. We’d been through a lot over the years and now, at very short notice, I was having to clear out the last of her belongings to make room for Jackson, a ten-year-old boy I’d been asked to foster. Lucy had already taken what she needed, so her shelves, drawers and wardrobe contained only those items she didn’t require at present or had grown out of. She’d said a few times she’d come over and sort out her belongings, but she was busy with her baby and I’d told her there was no rush. There hadn’t been a rush until Joy, my supervising social worker (SSW), had told me the day before that they needed to move Jackson from his home very quickly and had asked me to look after him.

My first reaction had been to say no, but as a foster carer that’s very difficult when you’re aware a family is in crisis and a child needs a home quickly. So I’d asked Lucy, my son Adrian, my other daughter Paula and Tilly, the young lady I was already fostering, what they thought about having Jackson stay with us. Lucy had said she was fine about him having her old room, as her home was with Darren now. Adrian, aged twenty-seven, had concerns I might be taking on too much, which I’d secretly thought too. While Paula, aged twenty-three, wasn’t overjoyed we’d be fostering another child with behavioural issues, as we’d had plenty of experience of that before and knew it wasn’t easy. (Jackson’s behaviour was the main reason his mother was putting him into care.) Tilly said yes and offered to help look after him. That was very kind of her, although I doubted she knew what it was like to live with a child who was continually kicking off and challenging you.

So, with no one in my family really objecting, and aware that there was always a shortage of foster carers, I said I would take Jackson. Lucy’s was the only free room, so I now needed to get a move on and clear it, for, if all went according to plan, he would be with us later today.

It was strange, the little nostalgic reminders that brought a tear to my eye. It wasn’t the rest of Lucy’s clothes that made me well up as I cleared them from her wardrobe, although I could smell her perfume on them. Or the soft toys and ornaments she’d lovingly collected as a child that I removed from her bookshelves and carefully packed. Or the boy-band memorabilia from when she’d had a crush on the lead singer. No, it was a couple of old hair braids that sent a tear down my cheek as I remembered plaiting her hair for school and then teaching her to plait it herself.

And the birthday and Christmas cards we’d given to her over the years. All of them, wrapped in tissue paper in a drawer. I also found a partially composed note from her, handwritten one time before she’d decided to apologize in person. It was from her teenage years and I remembered the incident that had led to it. One of a number when she’d been testing the boundaries and had wanted to stay out very late. The letter began:

Dear Mum, I’m sorry I shouted at you. I know you make the rules to keep me safe, but …

Then she had come to me to say sorry. I remembered those cross words and the hugs and kisses that followed as we made up. ‘Never go to sleep on an argument’ was my mother’s philosophy, and my family and I very rarely did. Now, my darling daughter was a mother herself, and in years to come would probably face similar situations with her own daughter, Emma. My heart swelled with pride, love and admiration for everything Lucy and my other children had achieved.

Having paused for trips down memory lane, it took me over two hours to clear out the rest of Lucy’s room, then I thoroughly vacuumed and dusted it, and put fresh linen on the bed. I stacked the boxes and bags on the landing to store in the loft later, where they could stay until Lucy was ready to sort them out. Now the room was clear it had lost its personal touch and I returned downstairs rather melancholy and deep in thought.

But if this had been upsetting, it was about to get a whole lot worse. Shortly, I would be meeting Jackson, whose father and older brother had recently died – the reason given for his anger. Or was there more to it? So often in fostering a child arrives with one story and then gradually you discover another. Time would tell, but for now I needed to get through what was going to be a very upsetting meeting with his mother.

Chapter Two

Tragic

Whatever can you say to a woman whose husband has died and whose teenage son has committed suicide? I didn’t know if the two tragedies were connected; Joy, my SSW, who’d given me the details, wasn’t sure. I was now driving to the council offices where the meeting was being held with thoughts of the family going through my head.

I knew from the placement information forms that Jackson’s mother, Kayla, was thirty-nine and had been widowed two years ago. A year after she’d lost her husband from cancer, her eldest son, Connor, aged seventeen, had hanged himself. Yet somehow, she’d managed to carry on and I admired her courage. I supposed she felt she had to for the sake of Jackson and her two daughters, Jenna, aged seven, and Grace, five. My heart went out to them. What they had all been through was unbelievably sad; truly the stuff of nightmares and devastating for the whole family. I understood that concerns about Jackson’s behaviour had been raised by his school the previous term, then during the summer holidays Kayla had reached breaking point and had gone to her doctor, who had contacted the social services. Kayla had admitted she was unable to cope with Jackson’s behaviour any longer and had agreed to him going into care. How long he would be with me I didn’t know.

I parked the car in a side road close to the council offices and, summoning my courage, got out. Tragedies like this one reminded me how lucky I was. My children were all healthy. I’d lost my father a few years before, but he’d been in his eighties when he’d died. Thankfully my mother was still doing well. It seemed to me Jackson’s family had been given an unfair share of life’s misery.

Going into the council offices, I registered at reception and, with my ID pass looped around my neck, went upstairs to the room where the meeting was to be held. I’d brought a small photograph album with me to show Kayla so she had some idea of where her son would be living. Because she had placed Jackson in care voluntarily under what’s known as a Section 20 (of the Children Act), and there were no safeguarding issues, she would probably be given my contact details. If a child is brought into care as a result of abuse and is the subject of a court order then generally the parents aren’t told where they are, although some find out.

I knocked on the door of the meeting room and went in. Seated at the table were two women and a young lad who I took to be Jackson. I was slightly surprised to see him there, as Joy had said this meeting was just for Kayla to meet me.

‘Cathy, I’m Frankie, the family’s social worker,’ said one of the women, greeting me. ‘This is Kayla and her son Jackson.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ I said, joining them at the table. ‘I am so sorry for your loss.’

‘Thank you,’ Kayla said in a small voice, while Jackson glared at me.

Although he was sitting down, I could see he was tall for his age but willowy and slightly built. He had dark hair and beige skin, the same as his mother. But whereas her eyes showed deep sadness, Jackson’s shouted anger and confrontation. Having thrown me a disparaging look, he concentrated on the mobile phone he held in his lap. It might surprise you to know that nearly half of all children aged five to ten have a mobile phone. I hoped his mother had put parental controls on it.

‘We thought it best if Jackson joined the meeting,’ Frankie said to me. ‘Kayla’s daughters are being looked after by a neighbour.’

I nodded. The schools didn’t return from the summer vacation until the following week, so Kayla would have had to make childcare arrangements to attend this meeting. I hadn’t met Frankie before but she had a calm, confident manner.

‘How are you, Jackson?’ I asked, trying to engage him.

He shrugged and continued to tap the keypad on his phone. His mother looked at me, slightly embarrassed, and I threw her a reassuring smile.

‘Kayla asked to meet you,’ Frankie said to me. ‘She thought it might help. Perhaps you could tell us a bit about yourself, your home and family.’

‘Yes, of course. I’ve brought some photographs with me.’

I placed the album on the table in front of Kayla and Jackson. As Kayla began to turn the pages, I said a few words about each photo. The first was a group photo of us standing at our front door as if welcoming in our new arrival. I told them the names and ages of my children, including Tilly, aged fourteen, who I was fostering, and said that Lucy now lived with her partner and their baby not far away. The rest of the photos were of the house – downstairs, upstairs and then the back garden. The very last was another group photo, taken in our back garden with a selfie stick and including our cat, Sammy. ‘Do you like cats?’ Frankie asked Jackson as I finished.

He shrugged dismissively and stared at his phone.

I hadn’t had time to include a photo of Jackson’s bedroom because until now it had been Lucy’s room, so I showed them the photo I’d taken on my phone before I’d left the house. Jackson kept his gaze down. Kayla thanked me and handed back the album. I then talked a bit about my family, our routine and what we liked to do in our spare time, which was expected at these introductory meetings.

‘How long has Tilly been with you?’ Kayla asked.

‘Eight months.’

‘Is she staying for good?’

‘I don’t know,’ I replied truthfully.

‘Why is she living with you?’ Kayla asked.

‘I’m afraid I can’t really go into details,’ I said awkwardly, glancing at Frankie. ‘It’s confidential. She can’t live at home, so she is staying with us for the time being. She’s settled in very well.’ (I tell Tilly’s story in A Terrible Secret.)

‘Thank you, Cathy,’ Frankie said, then to Jackson: ‘I expect you have lots of questions. Is there anything you would like to ask Cathy now?’

He shook his head and tapped his phone.

‘Jackson, can you please put down that phone!’ his mother exclaimed, desperation in her voice. ‘People are talking to you. It’s rude to ignore them.’

‘So?’ he snarled aggressively. ‘You can’t tell me what to do.’

‘You would never have spoken to me like that if your father had been here,’ Kayla said, tears springing to her eyes.

‘And we both know why he’s not here!’ Jackson retaliated.

There was a second’s pause before he suddenly jumped up, sending his chair clattering across the room, and stormed out, kicking the door shut behind him.

‘I’ll go after him,’ Frankie said, and left the room.

Kayla took a tissue from her bag and pressed it to her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what to do with him any more. He’s so angry. He blames me for his father’s death.’

‘But why is he blaming you?’ I asked. ‘I thought your husband died of cancer.’

‘He did, but Jackson says I should have made him go to the doctor sooner. He’d been complaining of stomach pains after he’d eaten, but I thought it was just indigestion. We’re not a family that’s always running to the doctor. By the time they found the cancer it was too late. It had spread all over his body. He was dead three months after diagnosis – two years ago now.’

‘I am so sorry,’ I said, and felt my own eyes fill. ‘What a dreadful loss. But it wasn’t your fault.’

‘He was a good man. I loved him so much. Jackson wasn’t able to talk about his father or what he was feeling, and would storm off if he was mentioned. Then a year later Connor, my eldest son, took his own life, and Jackson fell apart. He blames me for his death too.’

Words failed me. Sometimes a person’s loss is so great that it’s impossible to find the words to express meaningful sympathy. ‘I am sorry,’ I said again quietly.

We were silent for a few moments and then I asked: ‘Has Jackson had any bereavement counselling? I know it can sometimes help.’

‘No. Our doctor suggested it, but he won’t go. He’s closed in on himself. The only way he expresses his loss is through anger. It builds up and then he explodes. My daughters are different. They talk about their dad and brother and say how much they miss them. They come with me to the cemetery, but Jackson won’t.’

‘I expect Frankie will suggest counselling. It’s usually with CAMHS – Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services.’

‘Yes, she’s mentioned it.’

‘I’ll do my best to get Jackson there.’

‘He needs something,’ Kayla said, dabbing her eyes. ‘I’m petrified he might do something silly and follow Connor.’

‘Has he told you he’s contemplated suicide?’ I asked, very concerned.

‘No, but I’ve lost one son that way – I know it’s possible – and Jackson was close to his brother, despite him being seven years older.’

‘You’ve told Frankie all of this?’

‘Yes.’

The door opened and Frankie returned. ‘Jackson is being looked after by a colleague,’ she said, and sat at the table. ‘I suggest we give him time to calm down, and then, when we’ve finished, he can go straight home with Cathy.’

Clearly arrangements had changed.

‘I haven’t brought any of his things with me,’ Kayla said. ‘I thought I’d have time to go home first.’ Then to me she said: ‘Jackson was supposed to be with my daughters, but he kicked off so badly I had to bring him with me.’

‘As Jackson is finding this all very difficult, I think it’s better he goes with Cathy now,’ Frankie said. ‘I can take you home so you can gather together what he needs for the next few days, then I’ll drop it off at Cathy’s later. Is that OK?’

Kayla nodded.

‘I’ve got spare clothes that will fit him,’ I said, ‘but obviously it’s better if Jackson can have his own. What’s happening about contact?’

‘I’d like to see him for a while every day,’ Kayla said.

I doubted this would be practical. ‘School returns next week,’ I pointed out, and I looked at Frankie.

‘Jackson will need time to settle in at Cathy’s,’ she said gently to Kayla. ‘And he’ll have school work to do. I suggest, to begin with, you see him for an hour after school on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and two hours at the weekend. Then we can review arrangements in a month or so.’

‘All right,’ Kayla said quietly. I made a note of the days.

‘Where is Jackson seeing his family?’ I asked.

‘At his home,’ Frankie said. ‘You will be able to take and collect him?’

‘Yes.’ The foster carer usually takes the child to and from contact as well as doing the school run. Carers who don’t drive use public transport or cabs. In exceptional circumstances the social services provide transport.

‘Will he be going to see his family straight after school?’ I asked. This was what usually happened.

‘Does that suit you?’ Frankie asked Kayla.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m guessing we’ll arrive around four o’clock,’ I said. Jackson’s home address and that of his school were on the placement information forms, so I knew the travelling time involved. ‘I’ll return to collect him at five?’ I clarified.

‘Yes, please,’ Frankie said.

‘And contact at the weekend?’ I asked. ‘Which day?’

‘Saturday, please,’ Kayla said. ‘He can come for lunch, but he can stay as long as he likes.’ I thought Kayla was now feeling guilty for placing her son in care.

‘I think we need to firm up a time for the weekend visit,’ Frankie sensibly said, ‘so Cathy knows when to collect him. Shall we say twelve till two?’

Kayla agreed. ‘But he can phone me any time,’ she said. ‘I’ve put credit on his phone.’

‘Perhaps you could phone on those days you’re not seeing each other?’ Frankie suggested. Although in practice, once a child has a mobile phone, this type of contact is virtually impossible to control. It’s not such a worry in cases like this where there are no safeguarding concerns (as far as we knew), but I knew of instances where a child was removed from home as a result of parental abuse and the parents continued to threaten the child over the phone, until the foster carer found out and reported it to the social worker and took away the phone.

‘Is there a parental control app on his phone?’ I now asked.

‘Yes,’ Kayla replied. ‘Connor set it up not long before he died. Connor always looked out for his young brother. He felt Jackson was too young to have a phone, as he’d had to wait until he was twelve.’ She smiled reflectively and I saw her eyes well up again.

With nothing further to discuss, Frankie suggested we go to collect Jackson; Kayla would then say goodbye and he would come home with me. I wasn’t expecting it to go smoothly and I was right.

Chapter Three

Jackson

Frankie led the way into a small room where a colleague of hers was sitting, talking to Jackson. ‘Thanks, Aaron,’ she said.

Aaron nodded, said goodbye and good luck to Jackson, then left.

Frankie sat in the chair Aaron had vacated. The room was just big enough to take a small desk, two office chairs and a filing cabinet. Kayla and I stood to one side. The room was on the third floor and looked out over the car park below.

‘Jackson, I know this is difficult for you,’ Frankie began gently. ‘How are you feeling now? A little less upset?’

Jackson shrugged despondently. He wasn’t holding his phone, so I guessed it was in his pocket.

‘I’ve talked to you about why you’re staying at Cathy’s for a while,’ Frankie continued. ‘Do you have any questions?’ Jackson shook his head. ‘OK. We think it’s best if you go straight to Cathy’s now and then I’ll bring some of your belongings later. Is there anything you would particularly like me to bring today?’

Jackson kept his head down and didn’t reply.

‘I’ll make sure I put in your phone charger,’ his mother said.

Jackson said nothing.

‘You’ll be able to collect some more of your belongings another day,’ Frankie said. ‘And obviously you’ll want to see your mother and sisters regularly. So we thought tomorrow and then Monday, Wednesday and Friday after school. You and your mother can also phone on the days you don’t see each other. How does that sound?’

‘Not fussed,’ Jackson said with another shrug, head down.

But of course he was ‘fussed’. He was hiding behind a couldn’t-care-less attitude to protect himself from further hurt. He’d be feeling rejected – most children coming into care do, even though the reasons for the move have been explained to them.

‘I want to see you,’ Kayla said touchingly.

‘What if I refuse to go with her?’ Jackson asked, raising his head and glaring at me. ‘You can’t make me go. None of you can.’

‘We think it’s best for you at present,’ Frankie replied sensitively. ‘It will be a bit strange to begin with, but it will allow you some space. You will be able to attend the same school, so you’ll see your friends.’

‘You could have some friends back at the weekend,’ I suggested, thinking this might help.

There was a moment’s pause, then Jackson jumped up and, barging between his mother and me, left the room.

We all went after him. Aaron was in the main office and, seeing Jackson run off angrily, gave chase. He went ahead, trying to catch up with him, as Frankie, Kayla and I followed. We went through some double doors and down a flight of stairs. Aaron and Jackson weren’t in view. I was even more anxious now. If Jackson felt he could behave like this with all of us present and in front of an open-plan office full of social workers, what chance did I have of controlling his behaviour when it was just him and me? I shuddered at the thought. Sometimes a child’s behaviour is so challenging that they can’t live in a foster home and have to go to a therapeutic children’s home to receive the help they need.

We went down a second flight of stairs and arrived in reception. Aaron and the security guard had Jackson standing between them. We went over.

‘Thank you,’ Frankie said to the guard and Aaron.

But at that moment the main doors automatically opened as someone came in and Jackson seized the opportunity and shot out. Kayla let out a small cry. Aaron went after him, followed by Frankie, Kayla and me. There was a busy main road not far away, but thankfully Aaron managed to stop Jackson before he got there. Lightly holding his arm, he began to talk to him, trying to calm him down.

‘Aaron is one of our outreach workers,’ Frankie told me and Kayla.

We waited a little way off as Aaron continued to talk to Jackson and slowly he seemed to calm down. Aaron took his hand from Jackson’s arm and continued talking to him in a low, even tone. Kayla’s phone bleeped with a text.

‘I need to go,’ she said anxiously as she read the message. ‘I promised my neighbour I’d be back by four-thirty to collect my daughters. I’ll catch the bus.’

‘I’ll wait until Jackson is on his way to Cathy’s,’ Frankie said. ‘Then I’ll come to see you later.’

Kayla went over to say goodbye to Jackson, but he turned his back. The poor woman – I felt so sorry for her. I instinctively wanted to tell Jackson not to be so rude to his mother, but he’d only just calmed down and I knew it would do more harm than good. Kayla seemed used to his rudeness and went on her way to catch the bus.

‘Where is your car?’ Frankie asked me.

‘Parked in a side road about a five-minute walk away.’

‘Could you bring it here? It might be easier to get Jackson in.’

I could see why Frankie thought that would work better than walking him to where my car was parked. There is a drop-off/collection bay at the front of the council building that takes one car at a time.

But as I went to fetch my car, I again wondered how I was going to manage Jackson when it was just him and me. I was already stressed; my heart was pounding. It’s always a bit nerve-racking meeting a child and their parents for the first time, but this was far worse than usual. Not because of Kayla – she was lovely. It was Jackson. I’d looked after children before with challenging behaviour, but his habit of bolting when he was angry or upset was very unsafe for him and difficult to control.

Arriving at my car, I engaged the child-locks on the rear doors so they could only be opened from the outside, just in case Jackson had any plans to make a dash for it if I stopped at traffic lights. I drove to the council offices, wondering if I was taking on more than I could manage, but then I chided myself. Jackson was only ten. He was angry and upset because his father and brother had died. I needed to concentrate on helping him through the grieving process so that hopefully he would eventually come to terms with his sad loss.

As I pulled into the collection bay at the front of the council offices, Frankie and Aaron came forward with Jackson between them. Setting my face to an encouraging smile, I got out.

‘OK, love?’ I said to Jackson, opening the rear door. ‘It’s about a twenty-minute journey to my house.’

He hesitated, glanced around, but then got in. I breathed a sigh of relief, as I’m sure Frankie and Aaron did.

‘Look after yourself,’ Aaron said.

‘I’ll see you later,’ Frankie told Jackson. But he was already concentrating on his phone.

I closed the rear door and got into the driving seat as Frankie and Aaron returned to the council offices.

‘Can you put on your seatbelt, please?’ I said to Jackson, fastening my own. He ignored me so I turned in my seat to face him and said more firmly, ‘Jackson, you need to put on your seatbelt, love.’

He ignored me for a while longer and then, annoyed, did as I’d asked, ramming the metal tongue into the buckle.

‘Well done,’ I said. Before pulling away I quickly texted Paula and Tilly, who were at home, to say we were on our way.

As I drove, I periodically glanced in my rear-view mirror at Jackson, checking he was all right. I talked to him, trying to put him at ease, and asked him about his school and friends. He didn’t reply, look up or make eye contact in the mirror, but kept his head down, concentrating on his phone. It was only when I pulled onto the drive at my house that he finally spoke.

‘I’m not staying here,’ he said. ‘I’ll run away.’ He tugged hard on his door handle. ‘You’ve locked me in!’

‘I keep it locked for when I transport younger children,’ I said, bending the truth slightly. ‘Stay there and I’ll open it for you.’

I got out and went round. At the same time our front door opened and Tilly and Paula appeared.

‘Hello,’ I said with a brightness I didn’t feel, and opened Jackson’s door. ‘Come and meet Paula and Tilly.’

As Jackson got out, I saw his gaze flicker up and down the street. Our small driveway was open plan, so there was nothing to stop him running off.

‘Come on, this way,’ I said feigning confidence.

‘Hi, Jackson,’ Tilly called enthusiastically from the front door.

He ignored her but did come with me into the house. I quickly closed the front door.

‘This is Tilly, who is also staying with us, and my daughter Paula,’ I said.

‘Hi, how are you, Jackson?’ Tilly asked. Then she looked hurt when he ignored her. Paula, on the other hand, having grown up with fostering, appreciated that our new arrivals often needed time to settle in and adjust.

‘Would you like a drink and a snack?’ I asked him. ‘Or to see your bedroom first?’

He shrugged.

‘I can show you your room,’ Tilly offered.

‘No. I’ll see it myself,’ he replied grumpily, and began upstairs.

‘It’s on the right,’ I said, going after him.

As we went into his room, I heard Tilly say to Paula, ‘He’s so rude.’

I guessed Paula would explain and I would have a chat with Tilly too, later.

‘The room is a bit bare, but it will look better once you have some of your belongings in it,’ I said to Jackson. ‘Frankie is going to collect them and bring them here later.’

He went over to the window, glanced out, then sat on the bed and concentrated on his phone.

‘Are you playing a game?’ I asked him, trying to establish some communication. I’d caught glimpses of the screen and thought that might be so, although I doubted Jackson was getting much pleasure from the game. It seemed more like mindless tapping as a displacement for what he was really thinking and feeling.

He didn’t reply so, going over, I said, ‘I know it’s difficult, love. You’ve suffered a great loss and now you’re having to live in a strange house with people you don’t know. It will get easier, I promise, and I am here to help you.’

‘I don’t need your help,’ he said resentfully.

‘I think we all need help sometimes. Do you have any questions you would like to ask me now?’

He shook his head, although I knew he must have plenty.

‘Would you like to see the rest of the house?’ I asked. I usually show the child around early on as it helps them settle and feel at home. Jackson shook his head again. ‘Maybe later then. What would you like to do now?’

He ignored me.

‘I was thinking of making a lasagne for dinner. Do you like that?’

‘Not fussed.’

‘OK, but I don’t want you sitting up here by yourself.’

‘Can if I want,’ he replied.

Despite his bravado, I felt sorry for him. He looked so lost and alone, sitting there on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped forward, pretending he didn’t care. I’d seen children before trying to put on a brave face when they were scared and hurting inside. His mother had said he wouldn’t talk to her about his feelings, but not opening up was only prolonging the agony for him. I was about to suggest he come down and sit in the living room when his phone rang.

‘It’s Mum,’ he said, his face brightening a little. But instead of answering, he rejected the call.

‘Why did you do that?’

‘I don’t want to talk to her.’

‘Couldn’t you just say hello and let her know you’re all right?’ I suggested.

He didn’t reply.

‘I’ll give her a ring then,’ I said. ‘She’ll be worried about you.’

‘No, she won’t,’ he retaliated.

‘Jackson, I know you’re feeling rejected. But your mother loves you and will be missing you a lot. You all need some time and space to get through this, but she has feelings too. She’s grieving like you and your sisters are, but she’s having to hold your family together as well.’

‘We’re not a family any more!’ Jackson snapped, and I could hear the pain in his voice.

‘You are a family, love, just a different one. I know this isn’t exactly the same – my husband didn’t die, but he left us many years ago when Adrian and Paula were little. We all had to adjust to life without him, difficult though it was, so we could see a way forward. In time and with counselling, you will be able to see a future too.’ I had no idea if I was saying the right thing, as I’d never experienced the devastating bereavement Jackson had, so I was relying on common sense.

Jackson didn’t say anything, but he must have heard what I’d said. Hopefully he would think about it and know I was there for him, just as his mother was.

A knock sounded on his bedroom door – I’d left it ajar – and Tilly appeared. ‘Hi, I’m in care too,’ she said to Jackson. She was bright and sparkly and wanting to help, but the timing was wrong.

‘So?’ Jackson said under his breath.

‘I’m just saying. I thought it would help.’

I threw her a reassuring smile. Jackson’s phone rang again and this time he accepted the call. ‘What do you want, Mum?’ he asked, his voice flat. But at least he’d answered.

‘Come on,’ I said quietly to Tilly. ‘We’ll leave Jackson to talk to his mother.’

We went out and I drew the door to but didn’t completely close it. I went with Tilly into her room. ‘He’s very moody,’ Tilly said.

‘Don’t take it personally. He’s had a lot to cope with.’ I’d already told her and the rest of my family what they needed to know about Jackson’s loss.

‘Can Abby come round this evening?’ Tilly asked. Abby was her best friend and they saw a lot of each other.

‘Yes, if her parents can collect her. I can’t leave Jackson with Paula at present.’ My daughter Paula was one of my nominated sitters – police checked and approved by the social services – but I’d never leave a new arrival with her. They needed to have settled in first.

‘They should be able to,’ Tilly said. ‘Can Abby stay for dinner?’

‘Yes, it’s going to be lasagne.’

‘Great.’

Although this would mean another new person for Jackson to meet, I’d found in the past that it helped the child to relax if everyone continued with their plans as usual.

‘I’ll phone her now,’ Tilly said. Then she paused and looked at me seriously. ‘Jackson’s very young to have a mobile phone, when you think what happened to me.’

‘I know, love, but I understand there is a parental control app on it. I’ll check it when I have the chance and make sure it’s up to date and doing its job.’

Tilly had learnt the hard way that while having a mobile phone had many advantages, it was also open to abuse. The poor girl had been to hell and back and as a result of what had happened still wasn’t talking to her mother.

Leaving Tilly to call Abby, and Jackson on the phone to his mother – listening rather than talking – I went downstairs. Paula was in the front room using the printer. We all had our own laptops but shared the printer. Having graduated in the summer, like many young people she was finding it difficult to get a permanent job and was temping in the meantime. We chatted for a few moments and then I said I was going to start dinner and asked her to let me know if she heard Jackson moving around. From his room to the front door was a straight run down the stairs, and I wouldn’t have put it past him to try to leave. Foster carers can’t lock children in the house, even if it is for their own good, so I put the safety chain on the front door, which would at least slow him down a bit.

I was right to be cautious, for five minutes later I heard footsteps on the stairs and then Paula ask, ‘Are you OK, Jackson?’

I went quickly into the hall in time to see him at the front door.

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