Nobody’s Son: All Alex ever wanted was a family of his own. Cathy Glass

bags and bin liners.

      Once the boys had packed away Alex said goodnight to Adrian and I took him upstairs, firstly to his bedroom to fetch his pyjamas. He liked the way I’d arranged his soft toys on his bed and shelf and the toys in the toy box.

      ‘Can I take that toy box with me as well?’ he asked.

      ‘Yes.’

      He was pleased. Plastic toy boxes aren’t expensive but the children love having their own, and of course they help to keep the rooms tidy. I showed him where I’d put his pyjamas and dressing gown and he carried them round to the bathroom, where I ran his bath to the right temperature. I pointed out the laundry basket where he could put his dirty clothes and then, to give him some privacy, I waited on the landing while he washed and dried himself. Once he was in his pyjamas I waited while he cleaned his teeth. I wouldn’t leave a child of his age to just get on with it, especially on their first night, although his self-care skills were very good. We returned round the landing to his bedroom, where I asked him, as I always do when a child first arrives, if he liked to sleep with his curtains open or closed. He said closed. Similarly I asked him if he slept with the light on or off. He said off, and with his bedroom door left open a little. Small details, but their familiarity and the comfort they give to the child help them settle in a strange room. I told Alex that I always left a night light on the landing so he could see where he was going if he needed the toilet, but to call out to me if he woke in the night, as I didn’t want him wandering around by himself. Before climbing into bed he chose one of his soft toys to sleep with – Simba from the Walt Disney film The Lion King. I asked him if that was his favourite, but he said he didn’t have a favourite and just chose a different one each night. Once he was snuggled beneath the duvet with Simba beside him, I said goodnight and then asked him if he’d like a kiss and a hug. He shook his head shyly.

      ‘It’s OK. You don’t have to,’ I said with a smile. I always ask the child, otherwise it’s an invasion of their personal space to suddenly be kissed or hugged by an adult if they’re not comfortable with it. Some children are very tactile and want hugs and kisses as soon as they arrive, while others wait until they know me better.

      ‘Sandy used to kiss me goodnight,’ Alex said quietly. ‘But I’ll wait for my proper mummy to do it.’ Which was very revealing. Alex had been close to his previous carers and felt their rejection. He wasn’t going to risk making an emotional investment in me straight away; he was saving it for his adoptive parents, whom he could rely on. ‘When will I meet her?’ he asked.

      ‘I’m not sure yet. I’ll know more when I’ve spoken to your social worker tomorrow.’

      He smiled wistfully, his little face peeping over the duvet. ‘I hope it’s soon.’

      ‘It shouldn’t be long.’ My heart went out to him. He was so looking forward to having a family of his own forever, which, of course, most of us take for granted.

      Having said goodnight I came out, leaving the door slightly open, and checked on Paula. She was fast asleep, on her side and cuddled up to her soft toy rabbit. I called Adrian up for his bath, and once he was in bed I lay propped beside him on the pillow and we had our usual bedtime chat before we hugged and kissed goodnight. I came out, closing his door as he preferred, and went downstairs. I took the folder Graham had given me from the front room, made a cup of tea and then settled on the sofa in the living room next to Toscha.

      With my tea within reach I opened the folder, which contained the information Graham and Sandy – as Alex’s carers – had received on Alex. On top was a handwritten note: ‘The planning meeting on Wednesday is at 11 a.m. at the council offices. Good luck. Sandy.’ I immediately fetched my diary and wrote in the time and venue. I’d have to ask a friend to collect Paula from nursery, as she finished at twelve. I knew the meeting would last at least an hour and then I had the twenty-minute or so drive from the council offices to the nursery. Setting my diary to one side, I began going through Alex’s paperwork. The most recent was on top: the minutes of Alex’s last review. Children in care have regular reviews to make sure that everything is being done as it should to help the child, and that their care plan is up to date. I glanced through the pages. They were more or less what I would have expected, just an update on his previous review three months before. Sandy had been present at his last review, together with her support social worker, Alex’s social worker, his teacher and the independent reviewing officer who chaired and minuted the meeting. Alex’s care plan at the time had been to remain with Graham and Sandy until he moved to his adoptive parents’, but it had all changed since then, culminating in him being placed temporarily with me. I wondered if there’d be a review while Alex was with me; it’s usual when a child moves.

      I turned the pages and scanned down the copy of Alex’s school report – he was making good progress – then the medical and health checks, a copy of the court order that had brought him into care and miscellaneous paper work. Going further back I found a copy of the minutes of the previous review, from which I learned that Alex had had supervised contact once a week with his mother at the contact centre, but it had been stopped (three months ago) in preparation for Alex being adopted. While this was usual practice for a child who was going to be adopted – to sever any existing bond with his birth family before introducing him to his adoptive parents – it stung my heart as it always did. I could picture that traumatic and distressing scene as Alex’s mother said goodbye to her son for the very last time and then had to watch him walk away, never to see him again. While I appreciated that everything would have been done to try to enable his mother to keep Alex, and that the judge would not have made the order without very good reason, it was nevertheless still heartbreaking. How any mother ever comes to terms with losing her child or children I’ll never know. Possibly many don’t and are never able to rebuild their lives and move on. It made me go cold just thinking about it. Losing a child for any reason is truly the stuff of nightmares.

      I continued turning the pages – more reviews and school reports. Alex had been in care a long time, so there was a lot of paperwork. Then nearer the back I found the essential information form, which included a résumé of Alex’s early life and the circumstances that had brought him into care. I read that he had been badly neglected as a baby. His mother had mental-health problems and was drug dependent. Alex had never known his father – little wonder he was so looking forward to meeting his adoptive father, I thought. Alex had been in and out of care for the first three years of his life and had remained in care since then, but that wasn’t the end of his unsettled life, for since being in care permanently he’d had to move home a number of times. I couldn’t find the exact number or the reasons for the moves, but the foster carers’ names on the minutes of the reviews kept changing, and reference was made at the review to the most recent move. Sometimes children in care have to move and it’s unavoidable – for example, a child with very challenging behaviour may be placed with inexperienced carers who simply can’t cope – but Alex didn’t have challenging behaviour as far as I knew.

      Since publishing my fostering memoirs I’ve received many emails from young adults who were in care and had repeated moves. Some have lost count of the number of different foster homes they lived in, and are now trying to deal with the fallout of such an unsettled childhood: insecurity, anger, panic attacks, depression, irrational fears, lack of confidence and low self-worth are a few of the issues. True, some care leavers email me to say their experience in care was a very good one and they’re grateful to their carers who loved and looked after them as their own, but not all. In a developed society like ours, which prides itself on being caring, we tend to think that if a child can’t live with their natural parents then our social-care system will step in and look after them, giving them the love, care and security that their parents failed to, but sadly sometimes they are failed by the care system too. And to make matters worse for little Alex, I now read that he’d been born in prison and had spent the first six months of his life there while his mother completed her sentence. It didn’t say what crime she had committed. It was all so very sad.

      Chapter Three

       Alex’s Parents