Another Forgotten Child. Cathy Glass

for Aimee not being brought into care sooner, as she’d only taken over the case recently. Doubtless, prior to her there had been many other social workers, all of whom had done their best and then, for any number of reasons, moved on. Frequent changes of social worker is not unusual but can be one of many reasons why children fall through the safety net of care.

      ‘Aimee has been spending time at both her parents’ flats,’ Kristen continued. ‘We believe that both flats have been used for drug dealing. The last time the police raided her mother’s flat they found used syringes close to where Aimee was sleeping on a mattress on the floor, but no drugs. Both flats are dirty and poorly furnished. When Susan can’t cope with Aimee she leaves her with anyone who will have her. Aimee can’t wash or dress herself, she wets the bed, and will only eat biscuits – she demands them. She can’t read or write – unsurprisingly, as she hardly ever goes to school. And a word of warning.’

      ‘Yes?’ I asked, wondering what else there could possibly be.

      ‘Aimee’s mother makes allegations against foster carers and she’s good at it, so practise your safer caring.’

      ‘I will,’ I said, as I realized this was going to be something else I’d have to contend with on top of looking after Aimee and trying to change her appalling behaviour.

      ‘Now, on Thursday,’ Kristen continued, ‘assuming we are granted the care order, we’ll take Aimee from school and bring her straight to you. She’ll just have the clothes she’s wearing. I’ll try to get her things another day when her mother is less angry, but don’t count on it. Her clothes are in shreds anyway. I assume you’ll have some emergency clothes to put her in?’

      ‘I should think so,’ I said. ‘What size is she?’

      ‘I don’t know. I don’t have kids.’

      ‘Is she of average build and height for an eight-year-old?’

      ‘I guess so, although she’s a bit overweight.’

      ‘OK. I’ll find something for her to wear, and then I’ll take her shopping on Friday for new clothes.’

      ‘We want her in school on Friday,’ Kristen said, ‘to keep some continuity going. Aimee hasn’t been at school much but she says she likes her teacher. It will be reassuring for Aimee to see her on Friday after all the trauma of Thursday.’

      ‘Which school does she attend?’

      ‘Hayward Primary School. It’s on the opposite side of the town to you. Do you know it?’

      ‘No, but I’ll find it.’

      ‘Well, I think that’s all for now,’ Kristen said. ‘I’m sure your support worker told you that you will need to set firm boundaries and a routine for Aimee. She’s had neither.’

      ‘I understand.’

      ‘Roll on next Thursday,’ Kristen sighed, as we wound up the conversation. ‘I’ll be pleased to get rid of this case. The mother is impossible to work with.’

      ‘You’re leaving, then?’ I asked, surprised.

      ‘No, but once Aimee is in care, the case will go from the children in need team to the children in care team.’ Which, although I knew to be current practice, would mean another change of social worker. It used to be that the social worker who had worked with the family stayed as the child’s social worker after the child was brought into care, but that changed some years ago with restructuring, resulting in further discontinuity.

      With my thoughts even darker now after hearing more about Aimee’s neglect and her parents’ drug-fuelled background, Kristen and I said goodbye and I replaced the handset. I went upstairs. Paula should have had enough time to cool off now, and I tentatively knocked on her bedroom door. There was no reply, so I knocked again, and then slowly opened the door.

      ‘Can I come in?’ I asked, poking my head round the door. Paula was sitting on her bed, facing away from me and towards the window.

      ‘Don’t mind,’ she said with a small shrug, which I knew meant yes.

      I continued into her room and sat on the edge of the bed next to her. She was looking down at her lap and fiddling with her hands, looking very glum.

      ‘I love you,’ I said, which I find is always a good icebreaker and can’t be said too often.

      ‘Love you too,’ she said quietly but without looking at me.

      Now I knew she was receptive and willing to hear what I had to say, I was ready with my explanation as to why I’d agreed to look after Aimee. I would also reassure Paula that I’d do all I could to minimize the disruption that Aimee staying with us would cause. I took a breath, ready to speak, but before I had a chance Paula said quietly: ‘It’s OK, Mum. I understand about Aimee coming.’

      ‘Do you? I’m not sure I do,’ I said with a small nervous laugh. ‘I think I’m too impulsive sometimes and I make decisions before I’ve properly thought them through.’

      ‘Only when it comes to fostering,’ Paula said. ‘You let your heart rule your head. The rest of the time you’re quite sane.’

      I gave another small laugh and Paula managed to raise a smile too. ‘Look, love,’ I said, taking her hand in mine. ‘I know you have an important six months coming up with your A-level exams and I promise you I’ll keep things as calm as I can here. Also I want you to feel comfortable bringing your friends home, and I’ll make sure Aimee doesn’t interfere. You work hard and need to relax sometimes. I’ll keep Aimee amused.’ It sounded as though I was ostracizing Aimee, but we’d looked after children before with complex needs and I knew, as Paula did, just how demanding such children can be.

      ‘There’s no need to worry,’ Paula said, with another small shrug. ‘I’ll be fine.’

      ‘Good.’ I patted her hand. ‘Your feelings are very important to me,’ I said. ‘I hope you know I would never knowingly do anything I thought would upset you. I wouldn’t have agreed to look after Aimee if I thought you, Adrian or Lucy were really opposed to it.’ Fostering is always a balancing act between the needs of the foster child and those of the carer’s own children.

      ‘I’m not opposed to it,’ Paula said. Then she slipped her arms around my waist and laid her head on my shoulder, ready for a cuddle and to make up. I put my arms around her and we held each other for some time before she said, ‘You know, Mum, Aimee sounds a bit like Jodie.’

      I looked at her, surprised that she too had made the connection. ‘I hope not,’ I said. ‘But if she is, then at least I’ll be better prepared to deal with her problems this time. I learnt a lot from looking after Jodie and I won’t make the same mistakes again.’ Although in truth I doubted I could have done much more to help Jodie, so deep was the damage that had been done to her. She needed specialist help.

      Paula and I hugged each other for a while longer and once I was satisfied she’d recovered I left her to relax and listen to her music before she began her homework, while I went downstairs to make the dinner. I was grateful my children were so understanding and I was pleased that although we had disagreements – like any family – no one sulked and the air soon cleared.

      At 5.30 p.m. Lucy, my adopted daughter, arrived home from her work as a nursery assistant.

      ‘Hi!’ I called from the kitchen as she let herself in the front door.

      ‘Hi, what’s for dinner?’ she returned from the hall.

      ‘Chicken and pasta bake.’

      ‘Great.’

      I smiled to myself, for when Lucy had first arrived as a foster child seven years previously, she’d been borderline anorectic: she had been very thin and had hardly eaten anything. Now she was a healthy weight and enjoyed her food, as we all did. I’d adopted Lucy five years ago, so she was a permanent and much-loved member of my family.

      Having