Where Has Mummy Gone?. Cathy Glass

more kids?’ Melody asked, head over the bath as I continued to rinse her hair.

      ‘No, that’s it. Just the four of you.’

      ‘I’m not your kid,’ came her sharp retort.

      ‘OK, but while you’re living with me I’ll look after you as if you are.’ There was no reply.

      With her hair thoroughly washed, rinsed and nit-free, I towel dried it and then brushed out the knots. She complained throughout that I was pulling, although I was as gentle as I could be. I then dried it with the hair dryer and it shone. It looked quite a few shades lighter now all the grease and grime had been removed. I don’t think it could have been washed for many months.

      ‘Can I go into Lucy’s room?’ Melody asked as soon as I’d finished.

      ‘Yes, but don’t forget to knock on her door first.’

      She dashed around the landing and banged hard on Lucy’s door – not so much a knock, more a hammering.

      ‘Hell! Open the door. Don’t break it down!’ Lucy’s voice came from inside.

      ‘Can I come in?’ Melody yelled.

      ‘Yes! If you’ve had your hair washed.’

      ‘I have!’

      She disappeared into Lucy’s room and that was the last I saw of her until I called everyone for dinner. Lucy knew that while Melody was with her she should leave her bedroom door open as part of our safer-caring policy, and to call me if there was a problem. All foster carers have a safer-caring policy and follow similar guidelines to keep all family members feeling safe. One of them is not to leave a foster child in a room with someone with the door closed. Leaving the door open means I and others can hear what is going on, and the child can come out easily whenever they want. There’s no knowing what a closed door might mean to an abused child, and Adrian knew that any girl we fostered wasn’t to go into his room at all, for his own protection. Sadly, many foster families have unfounded allegations made against them and they are very difficult to disprove.

      Once dinner was ready I called everyone to the table and showed Melody where to sit. For us, it was a lively, chatty occasion as usual, when we shared our news as we ate. It’s often the only time we all sit down together during the week and it’s a pleasant focal point for us. Indeed, foster carers are expected to eat at least one meal a day together, as it bonds the family. At weekends we sometimes had breakfast together too. But Melody stared at us overawed as she ate.

      Like many children who come from disadvantaged backgrounds, she wasn’t used to sitting at a table or using a knife and fork, having relied largely on snacks. She struggled to use the cutlery I’d set, so I quietly slipped her a dessertspoon to help with the casserole. She ate ravenously, all the while keeping a watchful eye on us. I’d seen the same vigilant awareness – a heightened state of alert – before in children I’d fostered who’d had to fend for themselves. They constantly watch those around them for any sign of danger. Children who’ve been nurtured and protected don’t do this, as experience has taught them that those they know can be trusted. It would take time for Melody to trust us.

      I served rice pudding for dessert. It was a winter favourite of ours and despite Melody’s initial reluctance to try it, saying it looked like sick, she ate it all, and then asked for seconds. ‘Can I take some for my mum?’ she said as she finished the second bowl. ‘I think she’d like it.’ My heart went out to her.

      ‘Yes, I’ll put some in a plastic box and we can take it to contact tomorrow.’

      ‘Will it be cold?’ she asked.

      ‘Yes, but she can warm it up at the Family Centre. There’s a kitchen there with a cooker and a microwave.’

      ‘I’ll take her some of that casserole too,’ Melody added.

      ‘I’m afraid that’s all gone. Next time I make it I’ll do extra so she can have some. But please don’t worry about your mum. I’m sure she’ll have something to eat.’

      Melody looked at me as if she was about to say something but changed her mind. Hopefully when she saw her mother she’d be reassured that she was managing without her.

      After dinner, which I thought had gone well, Adrian, Paula and Lucy helped me clear the table, then disappeared off to do their homework. I was assuming that once Melody started going to school regularly she too would have some homework, but there wasn’t even a school bag tonight. I suggested we play a game together and I opened the toy cupboard in the kitchen-diner, but she said she wanted to watch television like she did at home with her mother. In the living room I switched the television channel to one with an age-appropriate programme, told her I’d be in the kitchen if she needed me and, taking the remote with me (so she couldn’t change channels to something less appropriate), set about doing the washing up. If my children have homework then they are excused from washing the dinner things.

      First nights can be very difficult for a new child. Apart from suddenly finding themselves in a strange home and living with people they’ve only just met, the carer’s routine is likely to be very different from any the child has been used to. At 7.30, when the television programme Melody was watching had ended, I told her it was bedtime, which didn’t go down well. ‘What’s the time?’ she demanded, unable to read the time for herself.

      ‘Half past seven. Plenty late enough. You have school tomorrow.’ Indeed, it was only because she’d already had her bath and hair wash that she’d stayed up this late. Tomorrow she’d be going up around seven o’clock so that she was in bed and hopefully settled by eight o’clock. Children of her age need nine to eleven hours sleep a night.

      ‘At home I stay up with my mum. We go to sleep together. Sometimes she’s asleep before me.’

      ‘Is she?’ I asked lightly. ‘What do you do when she’s asleep?’ Clearly Melody wouldn’t be supervised if her mother was asleep.

      ‘Watch television. You can see the television from our mattress on the floor.’ She stopped, having realized she’d probably said too much. ‘Don’t tell the social worker I told you that.’

      ‘I think she already knows,’ I said. ‘Now, come on up to bed.’ I stood and began towards the living-room door. ‘You can say goodnight to Lucy, Adrian and Paula. They’re in their bedrooms.’

      This seemed to clinch it and without further protest Melody came upstairs with me. I took her to the bathroom first, where I supervised her brushing her teeth with the new toothbrush and paste I’d provided. Like all foster carers, I keep spares of essential items. We went along the landing where Melody knocked first on Lucy’s bedroom door. ‘I’m going to bed!’ she called.

      Lucy came out to say goodnight and gave Melody a big hug, which was nice. Then we went to Paula’s room. She too came out and said, ‘Goodnight. See you tomorrow.’ Then Adrian came to his door. ‘Goodnight. I hope you’ll be happy here,’ he said. Melody hadn’t seen much of him, only at dinner. He had exams in the spring, so it was important he studied. She’d see more of him at the weekend.

      She used the toilet, then we went into her bedroom. I’d found a new teddy bear that Adrian had won at a fair and didn’t want, so I’d propped it on her bed. I asked her if she wanted her curtains open or closed at night and she said a little open. It’s details like this that help a child settle in a strange room, so I drew the curtains, leaving a gap in the middle. As I turned I saw she was about to climb into bed with her clothes on.

      ‘Melody, there are some pyjamas for you, love.’ I picked them up from where I’d left them on her bed. ‘You can wear these until we have time to buy you some new ones. They’re clean.’ I’d taken them from my selection of spares and was pretty sure they were the right size, as she was average build for an eight-year-old.

      She paused and looked a bit confused. ‘I keep my clothes on at night at home because it’s so bleeding cold.’

      ‘Well,