Manners Maketh Man

It must be distressing for any child to be taken into care, whatever their home circumstances but, as I waited for Tayo, I considered how much worse it must be for him. Here he was in a foreign country and his mother was obviously considered unable to look after him. She must have drowned her sorrows before arriving at court and by turning up drunk, she would have lost any chance of persuading the judge to let her take Tayo back home. No doubt Tayo had seen himself off to school that morning – it was probably the one place he felt safe. And then the police and a social worker had arrived without any warning while he sat in the library and whisked him away from everything that was comfortable and familiar. I felt for him, I really did.

The last telephone call from Brian had come just before one-thirty. The school was a twenty-minute drive away, so I guessed they’d be with me soon after two.

While I prepared myself to meet my mysterious new charge, Lucy left to go into town and Adrian came down, grabbed a bite to eat and wandered out to meet some friends. The phone rang again, but this time it was an old friend calling to wish me a happy New Year, and by the time we’d finished, it was three o’clock. There was still no sign of Tayo.

Jill phoned fifteen minutes later. ‘Is he with you?’

‘No. He was due here at two. I can’t think what the delay is. They’re only coming from Meadway.’

‘I’ll try and find out what’s going on.’

But as soon as we’d hung up, the phone rang again.

‘Hi, Cathy. It’s Brian. We’ve stopped by the office for the paperwork. We’ll be with you in half an hour.’

‘OK, Brian.’ I didn’t really mind but it was a little irritating. If Brian had told me he was coming via the office, I could have put the time to good use instead of waiting anxiously for the doorbell to ring.

Lucy got back from the shops and we both agreed we were feeling jittery. Despite over twenty years of fostering, I still found that the build-up to the arrival of a new child was nerve wracking. Lucy went up to her bedroom to listen to music. Paula returned from school and quickly disappeared up to her room, while I tried to pass the time plumping cushions and tidying everything within an inch of its life.

At just after four o’clock, the doorbell finally rang and I shot down the hall, my heart pounding.

‘Hello – Cathy?’ said the man I took to be Brian.

‘Yes, hello.’

‘This is Tayo.’

I was already looking at the boy standing confidently beside him. With pleasant open features, large dark smiling eyes, light brown skin and short black hair, he really was a very handsome little chap. Except he wasn’t little – at just under five feet, he was nearly as tall as me. He gave me a broad smile and offered his hand for shaking. I shook it and smiled back.

‘Hello Tayo. It’s lovely to meet you. Come in, both of you.’

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Tayo said.

Did I hear him right? I thought, astonished. In all my years of fostering, I’d never been addressed as ma’am. I don’t think most of my foster children would ever have heard the word. I exchanged a glance with Brian, who stood aside to let the boy come in first. Tayo stepped in and walked past me, confident and assured, but not brash.

‘Straight down the hall,’ I called to Tayo, who was already heading that way. ‘The lounge is directly in front.’ As Brian and I followed, I said quietly, ‘Is everything all right?’

He nodded. I wondered if Brian was new at the offices, as I hadn’t met him before. He looked like he’d been through the wringer today.

‘Would you like tea, or a coffee?’ I asked him as we entered the lounge.

‘Coffee please, milk and no sugar. Thanks.’

‘And what about you, Tayo? Would you like a drink?’

‘Yes, please, ma’am. Black tea with no sugar.’

I was slightly taken aback, not only with the continued use of ma’am but with the request of black tea, not a drink I was used to children asking for. I smiled. ‘OK, but please call me Cathy.’

He nodded. I went through to the kitchen, wondering where on earth the boy had acquired such impeccable, if slightly old fashioned, good manners. And his English was faultless with no trace of an accent. It didn’t add up.

I made the drinks, arranged the biscuits on a plate, and carried the tray back through to the lounge.

Tayo stood as I entered, and Brian and I exchanged another pointed glance.

‘Good boy,’ I said to Tayo, and passed him his drink and offered him the plate of biscuits.

‘Thank you,’ Tayo said, and was about to say ma’am again but stopped himself in time. I watched him as he sat upright on the sofa and sipped his tea, then, setting the mug on the coaster (which not even Brian had managed to do), he began eating his biscuit, cupping his free hand under it to avoid dropping the crumbs. Perhaps I should have used the best china cups and saucers, I thought. I noticed that Tayo’s shoulders and chest were quite broad and muscular under his fleece, and his neck thick and firm.

‘Do you like sport, Tayo?’ I asked curiously. He seemed to have an athletic physique.

‘Very much so …’ He hesitated, reluctant to use my name.

‘What do you play?’

‘Everything from table tennis to rugby, when I get the chance. Recently I’ve been doing more skate-boarding and roller-skating.’

His English was indeed perfect, and his accent was almost a public school one. With his confidence and good manners, he was nothing like the child I’d been expecting, nor like any child I’d ever fostered or known to have come into care.

I assumed Brian would now throw some light on Tayo’s background with the documents he’d collected from the office. He had finished his coffee and was delving into his briefcase. I smiled at Tayo. ‘This is the boring bit, I’m afraid, Tayo. There’s always lots of paperwork when someone comes to stay with me. But we’ll try not to take too long and once we’ve finished, I’ll show you your room.’

He smiled. ‘Thank you for having me. You’re very kind. Is all your family white?’

I glanced at Brian, surprised by the directness of Tayo’s question. ‘Yes. Well, my adopted daughter Lucy is part Thai. I’ve looked after children from many different ethnic backgrounds, though,’ I said quickly, to reassure him. ‘Why do you ask, Tayo?’

‘Mum was worried I’d be placed with black carers. But I’m not black – I’m white.’

I didn’t know what to say. Tayo was quite clearly mixed race, or of dual heritage as we’re now supposed to say – one of his parents or grandparents was obviously Afro-Caribbean. It was very concerning that he saw himself as white, and that it was an issue he had raised almost at once. A child’s cultural identity is of paramount importance if a positive self-image is to be cultivated. Why was he so vehemently opposed to the black part of him? What circumstances had made him that way? It sounded as though his mother might have had something to do with it, but now was not the time to question him.

‘Here we go – the dreaded paperwork. Placement Agreement and Essential Information Part One,’ Brian said, passing me two wads of stapled papers.

I reached over and took them just as his mobile went off. He answered: ‘Speaking. I’m here now.’ He listened, then looked at me. ‘It’s Jill, your support worker. She’s been called to an emergency and wants to know if you’re OK to continue alone?’

I nodded. Normally Jill, variously referred to as a link worker, support or supervising social worker, would be with me when a child was placed, but it was only really essential for new carers. By now I knew which forms to sign and what questions to ask.

‘She’ll phone you this evening,’ Brian said, closing his phone and returning it to his pocket.

‘Fine.’ I smiled again at Tayo. He had finished his drink and biscuit, and was now sitting patiently, his back upright, and hands folded in his lap. ‘Help yourself to another biscuit,’ I said.

‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he said, before he could stop himself. ‘Whoops, sorry, I mean, Cathy.’

‘It’s OK. Whatever you feel comfortable with.’

I began flicking through the ten pages of the Placement Agreement, which was in a different format to the one I’d had for the twins the previous year. The administration department did have a habit of changing them, usually for the worse. I noticed the boxes for the information, which were normally hand-written by the social worker at the time of placement, were now already computer printed, and not very successfully.

‘We’ve just gone over to the new computer system,’ Brain explained, seeing my expression.

‘Another one?’ There always seemed to be some new system being implemented.

‘’Fraid so. It’s not without its teething problems, as you can see.’

‘No,’ I agreed. The first page contained the child’s full name, sex, and date of birth, which was shown as 12–12–1996 – or would have if it hadn’t collided with the heading.

‘So you’ve had a birthday recently?’ I asked Tayo, and he nodded. ‘Did you get anything nice?’

‘This jumper.’ He pulled at the bobbled and stained nylon sweatshirt he was wearing that appeared to be a cheap imitation of Nike and looked as though it had been worn every day since his birthday on 12th December.

‘Do you wear it for school?’ I asked. It didn’t look to me like a Meadway uniform.

He nodded, and suddenly looked downcast.

‘Oh, yes. I meant to say. He’ll need a full school uniform,’ Brian put in. ‘I’ll authorize the allowance, of course.’

‘Fine.’ Carers are given an extra payment towards the cost if a child needs a whole new uniform. ‘Is Tayo going to school tomorrow?’

‘Yes,’ Brian said.

I looked at Tayo. ‘We’ll go in early and I’ll introduce myself to the Head, then we’ll get you sorted out with some uniform.’

His expression lifted. ‘I’ve been wearing these trainers for school. I’m not supposed to.’

I looked at the badly worn grey plastic trainers. They were in a dreadful state. ‘If you can make do for one more day, we’ll go to the town after school tomorrow and buy school shoes. I’ll need you with me if I’m going to buy shoes so you’ll have to wear those until we can go shopping. Don’t worry, another day won’t hurt and I’ll explain to the Head why you’re still in them. Do you have any clothes at home?’

‘I did,’ he said, ‘but they got lost in the last move.’

‘OK, no problem,’ I said. Last move. That suggested there may have been others. ‘We’ll get you what you need tomorrow.’

I returned to the Placement Agreement and checked that my name and contact details were entered correctly, which they were, albeit at an odd angle, then looked down the page. Child’s legal status: Interim care order, I read. That was normal. I turned over the page to the set questions and their answers.

Is the child on the Child Protection Register? Yes. Have the carers been given a copy of the Care Plan? Yes – it was part of the form I held. Other significant information was blank. Mother’s name: Minty. The surname was blank, so too were her contact details, apart from a mobile phone number. Child’s health concerns: Mild asthma? Below that, Behavioural difficulties was answered with a blank space. Then the boxes containing the social worker’s contact details were filled in, except that the computer had missed the box and overprinted the line above.

‘Can I write down your extension number, Brian?’ I said. ‘It’s not come out on the form.’

‘Of course, but I don’t know how much use it will be to you. I’m only placing Tayo. Another team member will be taking over the case tomorrow.’

‘Do you know who?’ I asked, aware this was normal procedure.

‘Not yet. I’ll make a note on the file for them to call you first thing in the morning.’

I nodded and looked down again. The penultimate page was the actual contract of the placement, which the social worker and I would have to sign and date. The social worker would be signing to say all the information was correct to the best of his knowledge, and that he agreed to carry out duties specified in Section 11 of Foster Placement Requirements 1991. I would be signing to agree to look after the child under the same 1991 schedule, and also ‘to cooperate with all arrangements made by the local authority’, or in other words, the social workers. As if I wouldn’t!

I signed and passed it to Brian. ‘Is that my copy or yours?’ I asked helpfully, as he put his signature in the appropriate box.

He tutted. ‘Oh dear. I only brought one copy. That’s annoying – I’ll have to get it photocopied and put it in the post first thing tomorrow.’

‘Don’t worry, that’s fine,’ I said. ‘But I’d be grateful if you could make sure you do – you know that without it I don’t have any legal right to look after Tayo. And I’ve just noticed that the medical consent form isn’t signed either.’

This form gave me permission to seek any medical treatment that might be necessary and it was supposed to be signed by the parents, but in practice it rarely was when the child had been removed on an Interim Care Order. The parents were often angry and uncooperative and not in the mood for agreeing to anything. Without it, though, I couldn’t give Tayo so much as a spoonful of Calpol, the mild analgesic designed for young children. ‘Obviously I’ll need that too, so could you also ask whoever is taking over the case to send the medical consent form, please?’

‘Will do.’ Brian made a note.

I glanced at Tayo who was still sitting patiently, then down at the information form. ‘It says here you have mild asthma. Do you have an inhaler?’

‘No. I don’t need one now, only when I have a cold. Last year I borrowed a friend’s.’

Struth, I thought, shocked. A child borrowing medication! No one should use anything prescribed for someone else and certainly not a child, especially when an inhaler would be free. ‘Have you been to see the doctor about it?’

Tayo looked at me cautiously and seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. ‘Not since I’ve been in this country, no.’

‘And how long is that?’

He looked down and shrugged. ‘I don’t know, four or five years, maybe.’

I hid my shock at this and turned to Brian, saying quietly, ‘Is that right? Tayo’s been here for five years and has never seen a doctor?’

‘We don’t know. I’ll have a word with you later.’ He gave me a meaningful look, which clearly meant we’d discuss it out of Tayo’s earshot. ‘But could you take him for a check-up at the doctors as soon as possible please?’

‘Yes, of course.’ I smiled at Tayo. ‘It’s important to have your own medicine if you need it, not to borrow a friend’s. Everyone’s needs are different, and if you have asthma it should be monitored. OK?’

He smiled back but didn’t look wholly convinced.

I returned to the second set of forms: Essential Information Part 1. This was supposed to tell the carer everything they needed to know about the foster child. To quote from the guidance notes at the top of the form: ‘All questions must be answered before any child/young person can be left in a placement.’ Well, that’s the theory!

The form started well, with the correct name, date of birth, and Tayo’s gender. Below that were several blank boxes for dates and contact details, then the address and telephone number of the Social Services offices, which I was already very familiar with.

There was no home address but the principal carer was given as Minty, his mother. Ethnic origin was given as British/African, followed by a question mark, while the boxes for the ethnic origin of the birth mother and the father were blank. What culture does the child/young person identify with? was answered with White UK? From then on, box after box was blank. According to the form, he had no religion, spoke English, suffered from mild asthma and went to Meadway School. Minty’s mobile phone number was also included. There was nothing about Tayo’s father, or any siblings, or any extended family he might need to keep in touch with.

So, at the end of ten pages of official forms, all I had was what I knew to start with, and for once I didn’t think it was entirely the fault of Social Services.

I glanced up at Brian, resisting the temptation to quip something about it being a bit sparse.

‘Can we go somewhere to talk?’ he asked, his face sombre.

I glanced at Tayo. I didn’t want to leave him alone, all too aware we were discussing him. With a child of his obvious intelligence and understanding, it seemed downright rude and marginalizing.

‘Tayo,’ I said, ‘you’ve been great, sitting there through all of this. How about if I introduce you to my daughter, Lucy, and the two of you can have a game of cards or something, while Brian and I finish off?’

Although Paula was closer to Tayo’s age, I volunteered Lucy, not just because she’d been relaxing while Paula had been at school all day, but also because she had a gift for bonding with children I fostered, always being the first to connect with the new arrival. Perhaps it was because she had been fostered herself once, and knew what it felt like.

‘Lucy is with her sister, Paula, upstairs listening to music,’ I said, standing up. ‘I’ll just get her.’

I went upstairs, knocked on Lucy’s door and went in. She was sitting on her bed listening to her MP3 player but when she saw me, she took her earphones out. ‘Hi, Mum. What’s up?’

‘Tayo’s here. Could you do me a favour and keep him occupied while I have a chat to the social worker?’

‘Sure.’ She switched off the music and jumped off the bed. She was used to lending a hand when a child first arrived. ‘Is he hyperactive then?’

‘No. Not at all, he’s fine. It’s just that the social worker wants a word in private.’

She followed me back downstairs. As we went in, Tayo stood up politely and offered his hand for Lucy to shake.

‘Lucy, this is Tayo,’ I said, as a surprised Lucy shook the proffered hand.

‘Hi, Tayo,’ she said brightly. ‘Do you fancy a game of Uno?’

‘Very nice to meet you, Lucy. And yes, please, I would like to play Uno. I know that game.’

‘Great, I’ll get the cards.’

Brian and I left the two of them dealing a hand in the lounge and went through to the front room.

‘So I take it you’re still very much in the dark about Tayo’s past,’ I said, as I closed the door.

Brian nodded. ‘We still haven’t come up with anything. Other than what you have on the forms, there’s nothing. No doctors’ records, no benefit records, no immigration records – not on the names they’ve given us, anyway. There’s just Tayo and his mother. No family, no history, nothing.’

‘I see,’ I said, thoughtfully. It certainly made a change from the usual thick case files of my foster children. ‘And what about the school? They must know something. How long has he been there?’

Brian sat down. ‘One term. Tayo appeared at the end of September. The school was one of the parties that raised concerns. The Head contacted us in December.’

‘One? There were others?’

‘Yes. There was also a taxi driver, who picked up Tayo’s mum a few times from home and thought there might be a child left alone, and an anonymous caller. We tried to see Tayo at school before Christmas but he vanished, then reappeared today. It’s their first day back.’

‘So you don’t know where he was over Christmas?’

‘No. He says he stayed with friends. And I gather he didn’t see Mum from when school broke up last year until yesterday.’

‘What? He wasn’t with her over Christmas?’

‘It seems not.’

‘Didn’t that make him anxious? Frightened?’

Brian shrugged. ‘Apparently not.’

This little boy was becoming more of a mystery. It was hard to imagine a child who didn’t seem to mind being apart from his mother over Christmas. I frowned. ‘And he’s been in the country for possibly five years?’ I asked.

‘That was the first I’d heard of it just now,’ Brian said. ‘Mum’s not saying anything. Perhaps Tayo will open up to you.’

‘Well, let’s hope so but it won’t happen overnight. He’s got to trust me first, and that takes time. How was Tayo when you collected him from school? He seems very relaxed now.’

‘It all went very smoothly, actually. He was playing chess with a friend in the library, and when we told him what was happening, he just put down his chess piece and said, “We’ll have to continue this tomorrow” and happily came with us.’

‘I see.’ I’d never heard of such a calm and collected response to being taken into care.

‘Whoever takes over the case will arrange the placement meeting,’ continued Brian. ‘They’ll invite Mum, but I’m not hopeful of her coming, even if we can contact her. There’s only her mobile and that’s not often switched on.’

‘And does she know our address?’

‘We’re not giving it yet. There are too many unknowns. Further down the line maybe, if you haven’t any objections.’

‘None that I can think of.’

‘Good.’ Brian smiled. ‘Well, that’s everything for now, Cathy. I’ll just say goodbye to Tayo.’

We went back to the lounge where Tayo and Lucy were finishing a second game of Uno and Tayo was about to win again, much to his obvious delight.

‘I’m going now,’ Brian said to Tayo as he picked up his briefcase.

Tayo stood to shake Brian’s hand. ‘Thank you, sir, for everything.’

Lucy raised her eyebrows and shot me a glance. I motioned for her not to say anything, although I doubted she would. We were well used to different, unusual, even bizarre behaviour in the children we fostered, although extreme politeness wasn’t something we usually had to contend with. If that’s as bad as it gets, I thought, we can certainly count our blessings.

After Brian left, I offered to show Tayo round the house before dinner. He was immediately on his feet, more relaxed now the social worker had left. I gave him my usual guided tour of the downstairs first, then upstairs to his bedroom.

‘Hopefully, we’ll be able to get some of your bits and pieces from Mum,’ I said. ‘It’ll make you feel more at home.’

‘This is fine, Cathy,’ he said, at last managing to use my name comfortably. ‘I don’t know where my things are.’ He abruptly stopped, and I knew he was saying nothing further.

I marvelled again at his self-possession. It was completely outside my experience. How long, I wondered, would it take a child like this to open up, and begin to reveal the truth about himself and his past?