went to bed that night assuming the meeting the following morning at 11 a.m., when I was to meet Stevie and his grandparents, wouldn’t be going ahead. However, just after 9 a.m. Verity phoned and said that Stevie had returned home late the previous evening and she’d see me at the meeting as planned at the council offices.
‘OK,’ I said, gulping down the last of my coffee. ‘What about the pre-placement visit?’
‘We’ll have to skip that, there isn’t time. After the meeting I’ll go back with Stevie and his grandparents and then bring Stevie to you. I’ve asked his gran to pack a bag ready for him.’
‘So Stevie knows he’s coming to live with us?’
‘Yes. When he finally returned home late last night his grandfather, Fred, was angry he’d caused them so much worry and blurted it out. It wasn’t the best way to tell him, but at least he knows.’
‘And Stevie’s OK with it?’
‘Apparently. His gran told him he’ll get more pocket money with you and he can visit them whenever he likes, but we’ll have to look at contact arrangements.’
‘Thank you.’ Verity knew as I did that while it was important Stevie had regular contact with his grandparents and siblings, it would stop him from settling with me if he felt he could pop home whenever he wished. It would also be difficult to keep an eye on him and know where he was.
Although I had showered, I was dressed casually, and I quickly changed into a smarter outfit – navy trousers and pale blue jersey. I was going to meet Stevie, his grandparents and Verity for the first time, so I wanted to create a good impression. As a foster carer I viewed myself as a professional and felt it was appropriate to dress smartly for all meetings. I also put a notepad and pen into my bag together with a small photograph album that showed pictures of my house, my family and me, which I would show to Stevie and his grandparents. It would mean that it wasn’t all strange for Stevie when he arrived and would hopefully reassure his grandparents.
Paula was up but in her dressing gown, as college didn’t start again until the following week, so I told her where I was going and that I’d see her later.
I arrived at the council offices with ten minutes to spare and parked in a side road. I signed in at reception, hung the security pass around my neck and made my way up to the room where the meeting was to be held. I wasn’t expecting to see Edith at the meeting. When I’d worked for Homefinders – the IFA I’d fostered for – Jill had attended most meetings with me, but the local authority’s supervising social workers didn’t.
The room was empty and I sat in one of the chairs arranged around the table in the centre, and took out my notepad, pen and photograph album, hoping I’d been given the right room number. It was exactly eleven o’clock. I’d wait five minutes, then go down to reception and check. The time ticked by and I could hear movement in the corridor outside. Presently a woman came in carrying a large file and a mobile phone. ‘Cathy Glass, the foster carer?’ she asked.
‘Yes, that’s me.’ I smiled.
‘I’m Verity Meldrew, Stevie’s social worker. Nice to meet you.’
‘You too.’ She sat opposite me.
‘Stevie and his grandparents are on their way,’ she said.
‘Good.’
Of average height and build, I guessed Verity was in her late thirties. Her manner came across as confident but approachable. ‘How are you? All set to go?’ she asked.
‘Yes, indeed. My family and I are looking forward to meeting Stevie.’ Although in truth I was feeling anxious again and the delay wasn’t helping.
‘Sorry about yesterday,’ she said.
‘At least Stevie returned home. Does he run off like that often?’
‘He has been doing recently,’ she said, and was about to add more when her mobile phone started ringing. ‘Sorry, I need to take this call.’ She stood and left the room.
I was left gazing around and twiddling my pen as her muted voice floated in from outside. A few minutes later it stopped and the door opened. Verity came in followed by an elderly couple and a young lad I took to be Stevie. Tall for his age, slim, with styled blond hair flopping over his forehead, he was clearly dressed to impress. Straight-legged, pink-sheen jeans, with a white jersey under a zip-up black leather jacket. I stood and went over to greet them.
‘This is the foster carer, Cathy Glass,’ Verity said, introducing me.
Stevie threw me a small nod and rearranged his fringe, while his grandmother said hello and his grandfather shook my hand. First meetings between the child’s family and the foster carer are always a little difficult and I sensed their reservations. Although I had the best intentions, I was, after all, usurping their role by looking after their grandchild.
‘Mr and Mrs Jones,’ Verity added.
‘Peggy and Fred,’ his grandfather said, and I smiled.
We settled around the table. Verity moved to the end so the three of them could sit together, opposite me, but Stevie sat at the far end of the table, putting as much space as possible between him and his grandparents. Despite this and his flamboyant clothes suggesting confidence, I could see he was nervous. ‘It’s good to meet you,’ I said to him.
He gave a small smile and flicked back his fringe. I saw then he was wearing eye make-up – not a lot, just mascara and eyeliner.
‘So,’ Verity began, ‘this is a short meeting to give us a chance to get to know each other. I’ll make a few notes as we go, but I won’t produce minutes. Let’s start by introducing ourselves.’ Fred sighed, but all social services meetings start with the formality of introductions, even if those present know each other. ‘I’m Verity Meldrew, Stevie’s social worker,’ she said, then looked to Peggy sitting on her left.
‘I’m Peggy Jones, Steven’s grandma, and I apologise for the state he’s in. I told him to change his clothes and take off that make-up, but he refused.’ Stevie responded with a dismissive, overstated shrug.
‘Cheeky bugger!’ his grandfather fumed. It was instantly clear how easily Stevie could wind up his grandparents.
Verity threw me a glance, then said, ‘Let’s continue with the introductions. Mr Jones, you’re next.’
He huffed and said, ‘Fred Jones. And unlike my wife I’m not apologising for the state of him. We brought him up proper, as best we could, and at our age it hasn’t been easy.’
‘Thank you,’ Verity said, then looked to Stevie to introduce himself. My heart went out to him; although it was his choice to sit at the far end of the table, he now looked very alone. I felt I wanted to reach out and give him a hug, as big as he was.
‘Stevie Jones,’ he said, emphasising ‘Stevie’ as he wanted to be known, rather than Steven as his grandmother had called him. ‘It’s not my fault. They won’t accept me for who I am.’
Verity smiled at him reassuringly and then looked to me to introduce myself.
‘Cathy
