Settling In

Our first night seemed to go extremely smoothly.

Tayo asked me if it was all right if he stayed in his bedroom to watch the portable television until dinner was ready.

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘That’s your room – you can come and go as you please. You won’t be disturbed there. And by the same token, Tayo, you must respect other people’s privacy when they’re in their rooms. We don’t go into each other’s bedrooms without being asked. OK?’

Tayo nodded and said, ‘Yes, Cathy’, before disappearing upstairs.

I wouldn’t normally have left a child unattended in their room for an hour on the first night but Tayo was different. It was obvious he had a maturity well beyond his age and, with no sign of any behavioural difficulties, there was no reason why he shouldn’t relax in his bedroom, as the girls were doing in theirs.

Adrian returned just after six o’clock and I served dinner at six-thirty. I showed Tayo his place at the table and as Paula and Adrian arrived, he stood and shook their hands. I saw Tayo instantly warm to Adrian, another male in the house, and I thought it was a pity for Tayo that Adrian would be going back to university in two weeks.

As I could have predicted, Tayo’s manners were impeccable at the meal table. He shook out his paper napkin and laid it across his lap, sat upright, used his knife and fork properly, and never once spoke with his mouth full, which was a glowing example to everyone. His gratitude at what for us was a routine and rather mundane meal of roast chicken, boiled potatoes and peas, knew no bounds. When I produced the dessert of a shop-bought apple crumble and instant custard, I thought he was going to hug me. He was the perfect guest, polite and grateful.

‘Tayo,’ I said, as a thought struck me, ‘have you often had meals at other people’s houses?’

He nodded. ‘Mum had some good friends and they were very kind to me.’

‘And you spent Christmas with some of her friends?’

‘Yes. I …’ He stopped and returned to his pudding, and I knew that was as far as any talk about Mum and home was going at this point.

At the end of the meal, Tayo helped clear the table without being asked, and then hovered, and asked if I needed help with the washing up, which again was a fine example to the others, although unfortunately there was no one around to witness it. The girls had gone to watch television and Adrian was getting ready to go out.

‘That’s very kind of you, but don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I have a dishwasher, I’ll load it.’

He still hovered, almost as if he liked the domestic feel of being in the kitchen and watching me go about my chores.

‘Have you lived in the house a long time, Cathy?’ he said after a while.

‘Yes, over twenty-two years.’

‘That’s nice. So your children have never had to move?’

‘No, darling, they haven’t.’

He was looking thoughtful and slightly sombre and I thought this was another opportunity to find out a little more.

‘Have you had lots of moves, Tayo? It can be very unsettling if you never get to stay anywhere for long.’

His eyes met mine. ‘Yes. I don’t like it. I lose my things and some of the people are nice but not all.’ He thought and then said, ‘Will I have to move from here?’

‘Not until everything is sorted out. Did Brian explain to you about the court process?’

‘Yes, he said he thought it would take nearly a year.’

‘That’s right. I know it sounds a long time but it goes very quickly. The judge will want to make sure your next move is the last one and that you’re looked after properly until you are an adult. He’ll also ask what you want to do so that he can bear it in mind when he makes his decision. Did Brian mention the Guardian Ad Litum?’

Tayo nodded. ‘He said that was the person appointed by the court to watch out especially for me.’

‘Yes. Well, that person will talk to you and then tell the judge your wishes. At your age you won’t have to go to court. It all takes time and during that time you’ll stay with us, go to school, and try not to worry. If you like sport, we could enrol you in some clubs.’ I was mindful that a child of Tayo’s age and intelligence could well spend a year of his life fretting. Younger children and those with learning difficulties were in some ways protected by their limited understanding.

‘Thank you, Cathy,’ he said. ‘But I know what I want right now.’

‘Do you?’ I asked, and I expected him to say, ‘Yes, I want to stay with my mother.’

He nodded. ‘I want to live in Nigeria.’

I stopped what I was doing and looked at him. ‘I see,’ I said slowly. ‘Is that where you used to live?’

He gave a small nod, then his gaze slid away and I knew that he would say no more at present. ‘I’ll watch the television now, if that’s all right?’ he said.

‘Yes, of course, love. See you later.’

He smiled as he turned, and with a little hop, jogged off down the hall and upstairs, with the ease of someone who had been with us for years rather than a couple of hours.

Nigeria? Nigeria had not been mentioned before or Brian would have said. This must be a new piece of information, and could be the first bit of the jigsaw of Tayo’s past that would, I hoped, slowly be pieced together over the months ahead.

When I’d finished clearing away, I went through to the front room to start a file on Tayo. It was something I had to do for all the children I fostered. Once the child had left me and the file was complete, I had to lock it away in a filing cabinet in my room; these files are highly confidential and have to be kept for twenty years. They could be wanted by a judge in a court case in years to come, and are available for scrutiny by the Social Services or the child at any time now or in the future. The five-drawer metal filing cabinet was already pretty full.

I hole-punched the forms Brian had given to me and hooked them into the folder, then took a fresh record sheet from my desk drawer and headed it with today’s date and the time Tayo arrived. I noted how Tayo was on arrival, and included what he’d said about where he’d been at Christmas, and his comments about Nigeria. We used to keep the daily record in a large diary but, like many things, this had changed and we were now required to use the pre-printed forms. Details of his first night, I would add in the morning. I placed it in the folder, closed the file and locked it in my desk.

It was after eight o’clock already, and with Tayo going to school the next day, I needed to start a bedtime routine. I went upstairs, found a pair of pyjamas and toothbrush from my emergency hoard, then took a towel from the airing cupboard and knocked on Tayo’s door.

‘Come in,’ he called.

I pushed the door open. He was sprawled on the bed, holding the remote, and leisurely flicking through the channels. As I entered, he immediately switched off the television and jumped off the bed, almost standing to attention.

‘You can have your shower now,’ I smiled. ‘These pyjamas will do for tonight, they should fit. We’ll buy some more tomorrow.’

He thanked me, then followed, as I led the way along the landing and to the bathroom. I showed him where the shower gel was, how to work the shower, and placed his toothbrush in the mug with ours and left him to it. Fifteen minutes later I heard the bathroom door open, and his footsteps along the landing. I went up to say goodnight and to make sure the television was off.

He’d left his bedroom door slightly open, but I knocked all the same before I went in. He was comfortably settled under the duvet, and the television was off. I noticed his towel was neatly folded at the foot of his bed with his toothbrush on top. To the right was a pile of his dirty clothes, also folded with incredible precision. It reminded me of a young army cadet’s bed, ready for inspection.

‘Are the pyjamas OK?’ I asked.

He grinned. ‘Yes, thank you.’

‘I’ll wash and dry your clothes so you can have them for the morning.’ I went to the end of the bed and removed the pile of clothes. ‘Shall I put your towel and toothbrush with ours in the bathroom?’

His face registered concern. ‘Can I keep them here?’

‘Yes, if you prefer.’ I guessed that Tayo had lost his things many times as he moved about and, as a result, felt anxious about letting things out of his sight. Many children I’d fostered had been through similar experiences and felt safer keeping their possessions close to them. I’d once looked after an eight-year-old girl who’d slept with the new shoes I’d bought her under her pillow every night for a month. In the past, anything of hers that was half-decent had been taken by her older siblings, and she wasn’t going to risk having her first pair of new shoes disappear.

I drew Tayo’s bedroom curtains. ‘I’ll wake you at seven-fifteen tomorrow. That should give us plenty of time to get ready and be at school for eight forty-five.’

‘School starts at eight-fifty,’ he emphasized. ‘I mustn’t be late again.’

‘No. You won’t be,’ I reassured him. ‘No one is ever late with me.’

I watched him relax. I was used to this too – children who have had to devise and oversee their own routines often find it a great relief to know they can relinquish some of the responsibility.

‘Goodnight then, love,’ I said. ‘It’s bound to be a bit strange sleeping in a different bed for the first night. You know where I am if you need me.’ He looked quite relaxed and comfortable, though, snuggled under the duvet with only his head showing. ‘Shall I close your door so you’re not disturbed when Adrian and Lucy come up later?’

‘Yes. And Cathy?’

‘Yes, love?’

‘Can I have a goodnight kiss?’

‘Of course.’ I bent down and kissed his forehead. He smiled, and suddenly all the maturity that had seen him through goodness knows what, vanished, and he was a little boy again, vulnerable and in need of a mother’s goodnight kiss. ‘Night, love. Sleep tight.’

‘And don’t let the bed bugs bite,’ he added.

‘Is that what your mother used to say?’

‘No, my gran. When I was little in Nigeria.’ He closed his eyes and I gave his forehead a little stroke, then I came out and closed the door behind me.

I never sleep well on the first night of having a new child or children in the house. I listen for any sound that might suggest they are unsettled, upset, or even out of bed. Often I’m up and down like a yo yo, particularly with very young children who don’t understand what’s happening. In fact, I have been known to abandon my bed altogether and doze in a chair on the landing, resettling the new arrival as soon as they cry, shout or come out of their bedroom. My insomnia on this occasion, however, was none of Tayo’s doing; there wasn’t a sound from his room all night.

Nevertheless I tossed and turned into the early hours, trying to fathom out what had brought him here. It was both puzzling and perplexing. Most children fit a type, a kind of mould formed by what has happened in their lives; abuse and neglect can make them angry, withdrawn, obsessive, anxious, or just plain naughty. But not so with Tayo. He may have been neglected but he was one of the most well adjusted children I had ever met, in or out of care. And while it was obviously early days yet and things could change, I failed to see how his self-possession could all be an act.

No – at some point in this boy’s past, someone had done some good parenting, which was a hopeful sign. It meant that his mother might well be able to have him back. If Tayo’s mother was prepared to work with the Social Services and willing to rectify whatever had gone wrong, then it was quite possible that Tayo would eventually be able to return to live with her, either here or in Nigeria.

With this optimism, I managed two hours’ sleep before the alarm rang.