I can see my mummy?’ Melody asked as we went.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘when she visits us on Friday after school.’
‘That’s good then, isn’t it?’ Miss May said brightly. ‘No need for you to worry about that any more.’
Once we’d collected Melody’s belongings from the now-empty classroom, I took the opportunity to thank Miss May for all she was doing for Melody, then we said goodbye and Melody and I left the school. As I drove us home I casually asked Melody if she’d ever had to help her mother wash and dress when she was living with her.
‘I can’t remember,’ she said, unable to meet my gaze in the rear-view mirror. I let the matter go. Possibly Melody really couldn’t remember with all the other responsibilities she had at home, or maybe she remembered all too well, and wanted to forget. Or maybe she felt that admitting the extent to which she had helped her mother would be disloyal. It was feelings like this that she would be helped to address in therapy. So many children in care are burdened with guilt, shame and remorse.
Chapter Twelve
Social workers and supervising social workers usually visit the child in the foster carer’s home approximately every four to six weeks. Jill arrived as arranged after school on Thursday and spent time talking to Melody with me in the room before she went off to play. As well as updating Jill, her visit was to check that I was fostering to the required standard, to give support and advice as necessary, to discuss my training needs and finally to sign off my log notes. We spent some time talking about how I would prepare Melody for when she saw her mother in hospital – the details of which I should learn the following day when Neave visited us. ‘I just hope it goes ahead,’ I said. ‘Melody does need to see her mother.’
‘I know she does,’ Jill agreed.
On Friday Neave was late arriving and Melody’s anxiety grew. ‘If she doesn’t come I won’t know about seeing my mummy!’ she worried.
‘I’m sure Neave will be here soon,’ I said. ‘If not, I’ll phone her and find out what’s going on.’
‘That man at my review promised I’d see my mummy!’ Melody said.
‘I know, love.’
Neave finally arrived half an hour later and apologized – a previous meeting had overrun and then she’d got stuck in traffic. Social workers’ schedules are always stretched to the limit. I offered her a drink and she gratefully accepted a coffee.
‘I’ll talk to Melody while you’re making it,’ she said, hanging up her coat on the hall stand. It’s usual for the child’s social worker to spend some time alone with the child in case there is anything the child wants to raise that they don’t feel comfortable talking about in front of the carer. ‘Oh yes, and here’s the permission slip for the dental work Melody needs,’ she said, taking it from her bag.
‘Thank you. I’ll book the appointment for after school.’
She went into the living room with Melody while I made the coffee and set some biscuits on a plate. From the kitchen I could hear their voices but not what they were saying. However, when I went into the living room with Neave’s coffee, Melody said excitedly, ‘I’m seeing my mummy on Monday!’
‘That’s fantastic,’ I said. ‘In hospital?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
I looked at Neave. ‘Do you want some more time alone?’
‘No, stay, then I won’t have to say everything twice.’
I settled in one of the easy chairs. Neave and Melody were sitting on the sofa, and my children had made themselves scarce and were in their bedrooms. Neave drank some of her coffee and then set the cup and saucer on the occasional table. ‘I’ve explained to Melody that I’ve spoken to the doctor who’s looking after her mother and he has told me that her mummy is well enough to have visitors, but she will need to stay in hospital for the foreseeable future. Melody can visit on Monday – I’ll give you the details. I suggest you go there straight from school so it’s not too late for her.’
‘Yes, that’s fine,’ I said, then to Melody, ‘That is good news.’
She nodded but then asked, ‘What’s foreseeable?’
I left Neave to answer, as she’d used the term. ‘It means as far as we can see, possibly for good. Some people live in a type of hospital called a care home permanently if they can’t look after themselves.’
Melody thought about this. ‘So won’t Mummy ever be going home?’
‘The doctor doesn’t think she is well enough,’ Neave said.
‘When will she be well enough?’ Obviously, long-term care was a difficult concept for a child of eight to grasp.
‘It’s likely your mummy may never be well enough to go home,’ Neave said, letting her down as gently as she could. ‘So the care home staff will look after her and that will become her home.’
Again, Melody thought about this and then made a connection. ‘But if Mummy doesn’t go home then I can’t.’
‘No, but you are being well looked after by Cathy. You said on your review form you liked living here and were happy.’
I watched Melody’s face as she took it all in. ‘I’d rather be with my mummy at our home,’ she said. ‘Even if it was cold and there was nothing to eat.’
‘I know it’s difficult,’ Neave said. ‘But I think it will become easier for you when you start seeing your mummy regularly.’
I thought she was probably right. Once children in care settle into a routine of seeing their parent(s) at contact, it allows them to concentrate on other aspects of their life.
‘How often will I see my mummy?’ Melody asked.
‘We think once a week to begin with.’
‘Then will it be more? I could see her three times a week before.’
‘The situation is a bit different now,’ Neave said. ‘We’ll review it as time goes by. Cathy will be with you to answer any questions you may have.’
‘Will that lady be there too – the contact supervisor?’
‘No, just Cathy.’
‘Will Cathy stay with me and Mummy the whole time?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why? She didn’t at the Family Centre.’
‘No, but it’s different now with your mother being in hospital.’
‘How long will I see her for? It used to be four to five-thirty. I know because Cathy and Miss
