Chapter Eight:
‘School’

The improvement in Reece’s behaviour temporarily disappeared and in the following days returned to what it had been when he’d first arrived. I suspected this was a result of being with his mother and having his ‘old’ behaviour reinforced. He woke at five o’clock in the morning and it took me a long time to resettle him. Then he spent most of the day charging around the house banging into things, throwing things, making loud noises, swearing and telling us to ‘fuck off’ if anyone tried to stop him. He would only become calmer if either Lucy or I sat with him and read a story. Paula was still keeping her distance after the incident of Reece touching her sexually. She talked to him, obviously, but wasn’t playing with him, as this would have put her in close physical proximity to him.

Apart from Reece’s aggression and hyperactivity we also had a number of instances of him trying to head-butt Lucy and me, and two of him biting, one of which had resulted in teeth marks in Lucy’s hand. I told Reece off and stopped some of his television time, which produced a full-scale tantrum. He kicked everything within reach and screamed at the top of his voice that he ‘fucking hated’ me, so he lost more television time.

I wasn’t surprised Reece had taken a step backwards after contact. Apart from having his ‘old’ behaviour reinforced, there was the reminder of the home he had left. All children become a bit unsettled after contact and if the child already has behavioural problems then they tend to escalate as he or she expresses their feelings of confusion in the only way they know how. I knew Reece would settle again and continue with the progress he had already started, until the next contact, when he would take another step back. Eventually, as the weeks passed, and he got used to the routine of contact and adapted to the change, the ‘fallout’ afterwards would, I hoped, be less. However, there would always be some reaction afterwards as he struggled to bring the two halves of his life together and come to terms with everything that had happened.

Current social work policy dictates that children should see their natural parents in all but a very few exceptional circumstances. Many foster carers would challenge how much good ongoing contact is for the child if there is no hope of them ever returning home. But as in many areas of fostering, we have to do as we are told and just pick up the pieces afterwards by giving the child lots of hugs and reassurance.

By Monday Reece was settling down again and as he wasn’t going to school, I decided the days ahead, until he was found a school, needed some structure. I would ask Jill and the social services what was happening about Reece’s schooling when we next spoke, but I knew from experience it could take weeks, sometimes months, to find a school willing to take a child who had been excluded. So after breakfast I explained to Reece we would do some reading and writing for a little while — pretend he was at school — and then have a break with a drink and a snack; then we would do a little bit of maths work. The rest of the day would be play. He liked the idea of ‘playing schools’. We would also be going out for a while each day, for apart from the practical issues of my having to shop etc., Reece needed the release of energy that a trip to the park or even a walk would, I hoped, effect.

I’d no idea what stage Reece was at with his learning, so I got out a selection of early learning books from the cupboard, which included first- and second-level reading books, and some work sheets. I’d photocopied the work sheets from those of a tutor who’d visited another child I’d fostered who hadn’t been in school. The books and work sheets began at the most basic reception school level and were very appealing, designed to capture the child’s interest, with big words and pictures for the child to colour in.

But before I started I needed a better idea of where to begin, for if I pitched the work too low Reece might see it as ‘babyish’ and reject learning out of hand. A copy of his statement of special educational needs would have been helpful and would have detailed the level he was at, his progress and his difficulties, but I hadn’t received this statement yet. So to gauge his level I decided to show him some ‘key word’ cards, which I had also photocopied from the tutor’s work sheets, and then mounted on brightly coloured cards. Each card contained a simple word beginning with the words a child would learn first, such as ‘he’, ‘she’, ‘the’, ‘we’, ‘so’, ‘cat’, ‘dog’ and ‘go’, gradually going on to more difficult words like ‘where’ and ‘because’.

I began showing Reece the very basic words, passing the card to him and asking him if he knew what is was.

‘Mmm, not sure,’ he said to each, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

‘OK, so we’ll put them in this pile,’ I said, placing the cards on the table. ‘These are the words we will learn first.’

By the end of the first twenty very basic words, I stopped. Reece had recognized only one word — ‘a’. He was seven and a half and appeared to have a sight vocabulary of one word, which was a single letter. The average child of the same age would have had a sight vocabulary of about 150 words; brighter children would have been reading Harry Potter.

‘Can I do me reading now?’ Reece asked eagerly.

I opened the most basic of the books and began. It was from a structured reading scheme I had bought years before to help a child who had just started school and was struggling. Each page contained a large picture with a single word describing the picture printed underneath — for example, dog, cat. Of course with Reece having no sight vocabulary, I had to tell him each word, which he then happily repeated. We went through the first book twice.

I then opened the second book in the series, which repeated the words in the first book and was supposed to consolidate what the child had learned. But because the pictures had changed in the second book, although the words were the same Reece couldn’t recognize them: he had memorized the sound of the word with the picture, and not the sight of the word, which is what reading is. I returned to the first book and, covering up the pictures, went through the words again. Then I did the same with the second book, repeating the word over and over again.

Although this was very repetitive for Reece and he had some difficulty sitting still in his chair, he was very happy with what we were doing and appeared to want to learn. After about fifteen minutes of this word recognition I put away the reading books and said we would do a little bit of writing, and then have a break. I gave him a pencil and paper and asked if he could write his name.

‘Yeah,’ he yelled excitedly. ‘Of course I can. I ain’t stupid!’

‘No, you’re not. You are doing very well.’ I smiled and he planted a big kiss on my cheek.

‘I like it here,’ he said. ‘I like you.’

‘That’s nice,’ I said. ‘I am pleased. We like having you here.’

He looked surprised. ‘Do you?’

‘Yes. Very much, Reece. I’m pleased you have come to stay with us.’

He beamed from ear to ear. ‘Good, ‘cos I ain’t bein’ moved again. It’s a bleeding disgrace.’

I had to smile, for although Reece had learning difficulties he had remembered word perfect what his mother had said in the car park the previous Wednesday. There was certainly nothing wrong with his hearing!

Reece could only write his first name, and the letters he formed were large and poorly drawn, equating to the average child’s first use of a pencil at about the age of three and a half. I wrote Reece’s surname in large letters, and then made a series of little dots in the shape of the letters, which he joined together to form his name. I did the same with some other basic ‘key words’, and he enjoyed doing this very much.

‘I’m writing!’ he screamed with excitement right in my ear.

‘Yes, you are, but try to talk a bit more quietly, Reece,’ I encouraged, as the girls and I did constantly. But I knew only too well where all the shouting had come from, and seven years of shouting to be heard at home wasn’t going to be altered in weeks or even months.

We had a short break after the writing, when Reece had a banana and a glass of milk and I had a cup of coffee. Then we completed the morning’s ‘school work’ with some very basic number work, using more photocopied activity sheets. After that we went out, via the park, to the shops. I bought the bread, fruit and vegetables we needed, and then we headed back, Reece helping me carry the shopping.

When we got into the hall I saw that the answerphone was flashing with a message. I pressed play: ‘It’s Mary Smith, Jamey’s team manager. I’m in the office until two. Could you call me back please on this number …’

Eureka, I thought. At last! The team manager would have more information and be able to answer my questions. Aware that I might be talking to her for some time, and it was already lunchtime, I quickly made Reece a sandwich, let him choose a packet of crisps and left him eating while I used the phone in the hall so that I couldn’t be overheard. I dialled the number Mary had given and she answered immediately.

‘It’s Cathy Glass, Reece’s carer,’ I said.

‘Good. Thank you for calling back. How are you?’ I could tell from the urgency in her voice she had a lot to say and wanted to get on with it.

‘We’re doing all right,’ I said.

‘Contact,’ she began. ‘I understand it was a fiasco last week, so I have decided to split it. Have you got a pen handy?’

‘Yes.’ I reached for the pen and paper I keep beside each phone. Mary sounded very efficient and I was relieved.

‘I’ve read the contact supervisor’s reports,’ she continued, ‘and I don’t want a repeat of last Wednesday. I shouldn’t think you do either.’

‘No,’ I said with a light laugh. ‘It took quite a while to resettle Reece.’

‘I can imagine. I’ve heard from the other carers as well, so I’m separating contact. Reece will be seeing his parents on Tuesday and Friday, same time and place. Will you be able to take and collect?’

‘Yes,’ I said as I wrote. ‘So he will be seeing his father as well?’

‘Yes. We couldn’t have Scott there last Wednesday because of Susie being there. There’s a police investigation in respect of Scott’s alleged sexual abuse of Susie. But Tracey insisted she wanted to see all her kids together. She knows her rights, as you probably found out when you saw her, but it’s Reece’s rights I’m thinking of here, and he has a right to see his father.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Absolutely.’

‘I’m arranging for the other siblings to see Tracey on another evening, because they are not Scott’s children. Scott is only the father of Reece.’

‘Yes,’ I said again.

‘Reece has no relationship with any of his half-brothers or sisters, apart from Susie. He hadn’t seen any of them for years before last week’s meeting. We’re in court again next week, so I’ll be able to tell the judge that we tried to bring them all together, but that it isn’t in any of the children’s interests to repeat it regularly. I anticipate bringing all the siblings together once a year, but I would like Reece to see Susie regularly. He does have a relationship with her.’

‘Yes, he does,’ I agreed.

‘So I was wondering, Cathy, if I give you Susie’s carer’s telephone number, could you arrange between yourselves to meet up every so often, so that Reece and Susie can spend some time together?’

‘Yes, of course. How often would you like?’

‘Every three weeks?’

‘Yes, that would be nice for them. I’ll arrange it.’

‘Good. Susie’s carer is Marie. I think you met her briefly on Wednesday in the car park.’

‘I saw her but that was all. There was too much going on for us to speak.’

‘So I understand. Sorry about that. It shouldn’t happen again. If there are any problems with the contact when there is just Reece and his parents, we will have to rethink the arrangements for taking and collecting him and maybe use an escort.’

‘Fine,’ I said, impressed. Clearly this team manager was on the ball. I wrote down Marie’s telephone number, which Mary now gave me, and read it back.

‘So how is Reece settling in?’ Mary asked.

I told her of the progress he was making — that I thought he was calmer and was accepting the boundaries I had put in place for controlling his behaviour. ‘But it would help,’ I said, ‘if I had some more background information. We’ve had one incident of sexualized behaviour, and I’ve very little to go on. Also I haven’t heard anything about his schooling. What’s happening with that?’

I thought I heard a little sigh before Mary said, ‘I know. Tracey has been in this morning. I’ve promised to look into his education, when I get a minute. The position is this, Cathy. James has taken over the case but is away at present. I haven’t got access to his files — I think he might have taken them home or away with him. His computer is password protected, so I don’t really know what stage he’s at with this. I do know that the education department has been informed that Reece is with you and I understand they are looking for a school in your area. Can I ask you to be patient until Jamey gets back? It’s only ten days now, and I’ll ask him to get in touch with you as soon as he returns. He’ll be able to give you a clear picture and also get things moving with education.’

‘OK,’ I said, aware that ideally things needed to be moving now, but my carping on wasn’t going to help. ‘Do you know what happened at Reece’s last school?’ I asked, ‘and how long he has been out of school? Tracey seems to think it is months.’

‘I think she could be right. Reece was a poor school attender when he was with her. Despite the emphasis she now places on educating her kids she didn’t take him to school regularly, I know he was excluded from two schools. Jamey will be able to fill you in when he returns. Also he’ll be the best person to give you more background information. But I do know that sexualized behaviour was an issue at one of the previous carers, and also at school. So I should practise your safer caring policy.’

‘We do,’ I said.

‘Was there anything else?’ Mary asked.

‘Jamey will be in touch as soon as he’s back?’ I confirmed.

‘Yes, and thanks for all you are doing, Cathy.’

We said goodbye and I hung up.

While I could have hoped for more information, I appreciated that without access to the files the team manager was not easily going to be able to supply it, and ten days weren’t going to make much difference. Individual social workers carry a huge workload, with fifteen or more families to look after, all requiring home visits, meetings, court appearances and paperwork. How much greater was the team manager’s workload, as they oversaw all the cases of all the social workers in their department?

I was pleased that Mary had taken on board one of the most pressing concerns — that of contact. For if Wednesday’s ‘fiasco’, as she had put it, had continued twice a week indefinitely, not only would it have undermined Reece’s chances of settling, but I doubted my own nerves would have stood it. Reece seeing his parents by himself seemed a much better solution all round. He would get the benefit of one to one with his mum and dad, and doubtless the beginning and end of contact would be much less fraught, or so I thought. My only real concern about contact now was meeting Reece’s father, Scott. For while I didn’t have all the details, knowing that Scott was under investigation for a sexual assault on his stepdaughter, Susie, who was only ten, I baulked at the thought of having to meet him, although it was a situation I had been in before. I reminded myself that Scott was only under investigation and that he hadn’t been found guilty yet.

I checked on Reece, who was still eating his lunch, and took the opportunity to phone Marie, Susie’s carer. She was expecting my call, the team manager having phoned her earlier with the details of her new contact arrangements. Susie was attending school, so we decided the best time for us to meet would be a Sunday. Marie was busy the next Sunday, so we made an arrangement for the following one, which was the last Sunday in February. Marie lived in a neighbouring county about 20 miles away, so a children’s park halfway between us seemed like a good idea. We said we would phone nearer the day to confirm which park and what time, and said our goodbyes. I made a note in my diary with a reminder to phone Marie to confirm arrangements. When Reece had finished his lunch I explained about the new contact arrangements, both the ones with his parents and with Susie. He liked the idea of the outing with Susie very much.

Normally when a child first arrives in care, the carer makes appointments for the child to see a dentist, an optician, and the doctor for a medical. With so little information, and the files not being available, I didn’t know if this had happened or not at his previous carers’. I asked Reece if he had been to the dentist recently or had his eyes tested but he couldn’t remember. I would have to leave it until the return of the social worker, who would also issue the consent form for the medical if Reece hadn’t had one.

Reece didn’t mention seeing his parents again until he was getting ready to go to contact the following day, Tuesday. I had made dinner early and given Reece his at five o’clock, leaving the girls’ dinner plated up. This would become part of our contact routine; foster carers’ households revolve around contact.

‘Am I seeing me dad?’ Reece asked as we stood in his bedroom and I passed him clean jogging bottoms.

‘Yes,’ I confirmed. ‘It will just be your mum and dad this time.’

‘I like my dad,’ he said.

‘Good. I expect you will have a nice time then.’ He had one leg in his joggers and was now hopping around trying to get the other leg in. ‘Try sitting down to do it,’ I suggested.

He didn’t, but managed to get his leg in anyway. ‘I like me dad more than me mum,’ he said.

‘Do you?’ I asked lightly. ‘Why is that?’

‘Don’t know,’ he said; then after a thoughtful pause: ‘I think it’s ‘cos he’s nicer.’

‘I see,’ I said. ‘Nicer in what sort of way?’ He was struggling into his vest and I helped him get his head in the neck hole rather than the armhole.

‘Don’t know,’ he said again. ‘I don’t like vests.’

‘No, but your mum wants you to wear one because she’s worried about you catching cold.’

‘OK, but I ain’t wearing it on the other days. Only Tuesday and Friday for contact.’

‘All right’ I smiled, impressed, for again Reece had shown, despite all his learning difficulties, that he had remembered not only when contact was but also how to placate his mother. I was beginning to find that when Reece wasn’t consumed by hyperactivity, with his brain randomly firing all over the place, it was surprising what he could remember, having heard it only once. I would build on this as much as was possible. Perhaps he found it easier to remember things when he heard them rather than saw them. Children learn in many different ways and it was a matter of finding out which way best suited Reece.

Drawing into the dark council offices’ car park at 5.50 p.m., I parked as close to the lamp as I could and switched off the car’s engine. There were more cars here than on Wednesday, presumably because more council employees were working late, and as I glanced up at the building I saw that many of the offices were still lit. I pressed my mobile to call the duty social worker.

A different male voice answered: ‘I’ll tell the supervising social worker you’re here,’ he said. ‘She will collect Reece from the car.’

‘Thanks,’ I said. Then I turned to Reece in the back. ‘They won’t be long,’ I said. ‘A social worker will be down to collect you soon.’ He was looking out of the side windows, obviously looking to see if his parents were in the car park. Apparently they weren’t, and five minutes later one of the social workers who had been supervising contact on Friday appeared. Smiling, she came over. I got out and opened Reece’s door.

‘Hi, Reece, Cathy,’ she said. ‘Mum and dad are waiting inside.’

It all seemed a lot better planned and organized than last week. I was able to say goodbye to Reece and wish him a nice time in a calm atmosphere. I waved until he entered the building and then got into the car and returned home, where I ate my dinner and drank a mug of tea, before returning to collect Reece at 7.30. I was hoping that perhaps Reece would say goodbye to his parents inside the building, which is what happens at the contact centres. The child says a calm goodbye in the controlled atmosphere of the supervised contact and then leaves with the carer, quiet and less fraught. But there was to be no such luck here.

At 7.40 I heard Tracey’s voice shouting something unintelligible some while before she appeared in reception. Then she came through the revolving doors. Reece was behind her, with a tall thin man whom I took to be his father. They came out play-fighting with their fists up, lightly boxing each other on the arm. Every so often Scott picked up Reece by his legs and, turning him upside down, shook him for some moments before setting him down again. Reece’s screams of fright and delight reverberated around the car park and doubtless beyond. Behind Reece and his father came the two supervising social workers and the security guard. I got out of my car and waited as first Tracey, and then Reece and his father, made their way across the car park towards me, the social workers and security guard following.

Tracey came straight over to me and I knew by her manner even before she spoke that she was angry and was going to complain. But I knew it couldn’t be about Reece’s vest because he was wearing one.

‘When ya gonna cut ‘is bleeding ‘air?’ she demanded. ‘I told ya last week to cut it.’ It was still only stubble but I knew that wasn’t the answer.

‘We’ve been rather busy,’ I said. ‘I could get it cut tomorrow if you like.’ In truth I had been so occupied dealing with Reece’s behaviour that I had forgotten all about having his hair cut.

‘Yeah. And that top he’s got on,’ she continued, moving swiftly on to the next complaint, ‘it stinks, and it’s filthy. I want me kids in clean clothes. I’ll report ya if ya don’t.’

‘Tracey, the sweater was clean on before we left,’ I said, feeling hurt after I had gone to so much trouble to make sure Reece looked smart.

‘Well, it ain’t now. It’s got Coke all down it.’ I failed to see the logic in this, as the Coke must have come from her, but I wasn’t going to argue. I was more concerned to hear that Reece had been given Coke to drink; I hoped, but doubted, it was the caffeine-free variety.

The two social workers had now joined us and were standing a little to one side, watching and listening, and I trusted ready to intervene if it became necessary. Reece was now involved in an amateur wrestling match with his father in the centre of the car park and was shrieking every so often as his father turned him upside down. Although I would rather they had engaged in a calmer activity, I could see, as could the social workers, that this was obviously how father and son related to each other. I knew the social workers wouldn’t stop it unless it got out of hand and became dangerous.

‘You been hitting Sharky?’ Tracey suddenly demanded, jabbing her finger at me.

‘Of course not! I—’

‘How did he get that bruise on ‘is leg then? It’s a thumbprint! You must have done it!’ The social workers were now looking at me, and while Tracey’s accusation was so preposterous as not to merit a response I felt under pressure to defend myself.

‘I would certainly never hit any child, Tracey,’ I said firmly. ‘And I resent your suggestion.’ I looked her straight in the eyes and could have said a lot more, but stopped myself. I wasn’t even aware Reece had a bruise, and if he had it was probably from playing in the park. It couldn’t be very big because I would have noticed it when he’d changed his joggers just before we had left.

‘Just you watch out in future,’ she barked in the same threatening manner. ‘I’ll be checking him all over, like I did tonight. If I find anyfing I’ll report you to the police. I ‘ope you’re not like those other bleeding carers. They was ‘itting ‘im as well.’

The woman was impossible. ‘Tracey, I would never hit any child,’ I repeated, ‘and I doubt the other carers did either.’ I stopped and looked towards the social workers. ‘I think it’s time we left,’ I said.

They nodded and called to Reece. ‘Time to go home, Reece.’ Reece and his father took no notice. They were still dancing round each other, now aiming punches at each other’s arms. ‘Time to go home!’ they tried again.

‘And what about Sharky’s school?’ Tracey now demanded. ‘What ya bleedin’ playing at? I told you I wanted him in school but he ain’t!’

‘I really don’t know, Tracey,’ I said, exasperated, although of course Tracey had a valid point. ‘You’ll have to speak to the team manager and ask her.’

‘I will, don’t you worry! I’ll be down ‘ere and ‘ave her first thing tomorrow. Stuck up little tart.’ Which I assumed referred to Mary.

‘Reece,’ I called, but he didn’t answer. ‘Reece!’ Having had more than enough, and not wanting a repetition of last week when Reece was wound up to the point of hysteria, I left Tracey and went over to Reece and his father.

‘Hello, Mr Williams,’ I said, offering my hand for shaking. ‘I’m Cathy, Reece’s carer. It’s nice to meet you.’ He stopped the play-fighting and shook my hand. I smiled. ‘Do you think you could bring Reece to my car now, please? It’s nearly his bedtime.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ he said, amicably. ‘Reece, lad, come on, time to go.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. Not only was I relieved to have Scott’s cooperation but I was also pleased he hadn’t called Reece ‘Sharky’.

He led Reece past Tracey and to my car. I opened the rear door and Reece got in. ‘Thank you,’ I said again to Scott. ‘Reece has obviously had a nice time.’

‘Yeah,’ Scott said. ‘So have I.’ I thought whatever the truth of the allegation in connection with Susie, Scott clearly had feelings for his son, and seemed far more level-headed than Tracey. I found Tracey’s illogical aggression very difficult to deal with. What also struck me about Scott, now he was standing in the light of the lamp, was that Reece didn’t look anything like him: he had inherited none of Scott’s characteristics at all. Reece was short and stocky with pale skin, brown hair and eyes and the unusual front teeth, like the other siblings I had met, and like Tracey. Scott, on the other hand, was tall, very thin, with fair hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones and a sharp chiselled face, and perfectly normal front teeth. Had you asked me if they were father and son, I would have said no.

I fastened Reece’s seatbelt while Scott stood to one side, and Tracey went over to have a go at the social workers.

‘Say goodbye,’ I said to Reece.

‘Dad! Dad!’ he yelled. Scott put his head into the car. ‘Can I have a kiss?’

Scott kissed his cheek. ‘Bye, son. See you Friday. I’ll try and remember your Nintendo.’ I assumed Tracey had forgotten it. Scott lightly cuffed Reece’s shoulder. ‘Be good,’ he said, and stood back. I hesitated. Reece was ready to go now, but he hadn’t said goodbye to his mother. I looked over to where Tracey was. She was still shouting at the social workers about Susie’s care, or what she perceived as lack of it, so I closed the car door.

‘Bye,’ I said to Scott. ‘See you Friday.’ I got in and started the engine. I then drove from the car park with Reece waving to his mum who was oblivious and embroiled in her battle of words.

Although Reece wasn’t as hysterical as he had been on Wednesday, he was still pretty hyped up. Some of it was from the excitement of seeing his dad, and some of it was just general hyperactivity, with him making lots of loud and unrelated noises.

But my thoughts were elsewhere as I drove; I was occupied with Tracey’s accusation that I had hit Reece. I was really hurt that she could even begin to think that I would harm him when I was investing so much in looking after her son and trying to improve his future. And apart from my hurt feelings, her accusation could have far-reaching implications. The social workers would be noting it in their report and it was possible that Jamey Hogg, when he returned, or Mary, the team manager, might feel it needed further investigation. At least 40 per cent of foster carers have accusations made against them at some point in their career, and an investigation into such a claim is a lengthy and in-depth process. If it is felt there is cause for concern, then the foster child is removed from the carer until the investigation is complete. Very very rarely does the investigation find actual abuse by a foster carer towards the child, but the investigation has to run its course. And while I was aware that such an investigation was necessary to ensure the safety of the child, I was also aware that in the vast majority of cases, as tonight, there were no grounds for the accusation, which was that of a distraught mother trying to get her own back on the ‘system’ she felt was against her.

By the time we arrived home Reece was a little calmer, but it still took me a long while to get him ready for bed. As he changed into his pyjamas I stole a look at his legs and could see no sign of a bruise or anything that resembled one. Being light skinned, he had quite a few freckles but that was all.

Reece was finally asleep at 9.30. I went downstairs to the living room and wrote up my log notes, including details of Tracey’s accusation, and that I had found no sign of any bruise. Presumably the supervising social workers hadn’t either when Tracey had examined him.

As there was nothing I could do until the social worker returned from leave, we continued as we had been doing. The weekday routine I had started remained more or less the same, with Reece and I spending part of each day ‘playing schools’ and then going out to the park or shops, for a walk and occasionally for a special treat like the cinema and ice-skating.

We met up with Marie and Susie on the last Sunday in February, and the two children spent an hour, well wrapped up from the cold, playing in the park before we all adjourned to the park’s café for hot drinks and a light lunch. Marie was lovely and very good company. She was younger than me and had been fostering for five years. She had no children of her own and told me that she had decided to foster because she herself had been in care as a teenager when her father had been killed in a road accident and her mother had suffered a nervous breakdown as a result. Like me, she was waiting for Jamey Hogg to return, for although Susie was attending school, there were a lot of other issues which Marie wanted to raise with Jamey as soon as possible, including what Susie was now telling her about her stepfather. Marie didn’t go into the details; she knew, as I did, that such details were confidential and were not discussed even between foster carers.

However, we did mention contact, for like me she was having to contend with Tracey’s endless complaints, aggression and accusations. Susie was seeing her mum with the other siblings — Sean, Brad and Sharon — on Monday and Thursday evenings, and Marie had felt so intimidated by Tracey that Marie’s husband had started going with her to collect Susie at the end of contact. Marie also mentioned the likeness in all the siblings, and that unfortunately they all appeared to have learning difficulties, although Susie didn’t have Reece’s hyperactivity and behavioural problems. Jamey Hogg was due back in the office the following day, Monday, and Marie and I agreed we were looking forward to hearing from him asap. We said goodbye, with an arrangement to meet again in three weeks. The children waved through their car windows as Marie and I drove out of the park and then went in separate directions, home.

‘I’ve had a nice time,’ Reece said in the car, and his gleeful expression and endless chatter confirmed this.

‘Good,’ I said. ‘I am pleased. I enjoyed chatting with Marie.’

‘Thank you for taking me, Cathy,’ he said. And my day was complete.