please. Hopefully there is a change of clothes in the case in the hall.’
‘I’ll take the case upstairs with me.’
‘Thanks, love.’
Having seen his sister disappear, Kit began to cry more loudly and point towards the door. ‘Best go with them,’ I told Paula. She carried Kit out of the living room and joined Lucy and Molly in the hall as I continued to clean the carpet.
At the same time I heard the front door open and my son, Adrian, call, ‘Hi, Mum!’
Then Paula’s voice, ‘Hi, how are you, Kirsty?’
Oh no, I thought. We were hardly prepared for visitors. Kirsty was Adrian’s long-term girlfriend and I really liked her, but she’d walked into chaos. He usually let me know when he was bringing her home for dinner. ‘Hi, Mum. Kirsty’s here. Did you get my text?’ he called from the hall.
‘I expect so,’ I said, still on my knees. ‘I haven’t had a chance to check my phone. Come through.’
He appeared in the living room with Kirsty just behind him. ‘A little accident,’ I said, glancing up and smiling grimly. ‘Nearly done. Nice to see you, Kirsty. How was school?’ She was a teacher.
‘They had to switch off the water to repair a burst pipe so we were given the afternoon off.’
‘Very nice,’ I said. I patted the patch dry and stood. The crying upstairs had stopped.
‘Kirsty and I can eat out, Mum,’ Adrian offered.
‘No, It’s fine. I’ve done plenty. We’ll eat soon. As you saw we’ve got two little ones come to stay.’
‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ Kirsty kindly offered.
‘No. Make yourselves a drink. I’ll check on Kit and Molly and then we’ll have dinner.’
Adrian took the bucket into the kitchen to tip away the water and put the cloths in the washing machine, while I went upstairs to see how Lucy and Paula were getting on. My daughters were my nominated carers. Foster carers are encouraged to nominate one or two family members or close friends to help them out and babysit when necessary. They are assessed by the carer’s supervising social worker for suitability, and police-checked (now called a DBS check – Disclosure and Barring Service). Lucy had the added advantage of being a nursery nurse and the experience of being in care herself. She’d come to me as a foster child, stayed, and I’d adopted her. It was as if she’d always been my daughter.
‘How’s it going?’ I asked as I went into Kit and Molly’s bedroom. It was cramped now with Lucy, Paula, Kit and Molly all in there and the case open on the floor. The girls had found a dress for Molly, and Lucy was now helping her out of her wet clothes. There appeared to be a change of clothes in there for Kit too, pyjamas, some socks and a soft toy each, but nothing much else. The soft toys would be useful. Kit had spotted his and was now trying to get to it.
I smiled and took the toy from the case and gave it to him. He snuggled his face against its soft velvety fabric. I took out the other soft toy, which I assumed was Molly’s, and placed it on her bed. Similarly styled, it had big loving eyes and soft fur. Hopefully, having these would bring comfort to the children when they had to sleep in a strange room tonight.
‘We’re doing OK here, Mum,’ Lucy said as she changed Molly’s clothes.
‘Thanks. I’ll go and see to dinner. Come down when you’re ready, please.’
I gathered up Molly’s wet clothes and went downstairs, where I put them in the washing machine with her other soiled clothes and the floor cloths, and set it on a wash-and-dry program. Kirsty came into the kitchen. ‘Adrian’s gone to change out of his suit. Can I help you?’
‘You could lay the table, love. You know where everything is. There’s a child’s cutlery set for Molly in that drawer, and a toddler spoon for Kit. I don’t know if he can feed himself, but he’ll struggle anyway with the plaster on his arm.’
‘I didn’t know they were coming,’ Kirsty said as she opened the cutlery draw. ‘Are you sure it’s OK for me to stay?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I smiled. ‘I didn’t know they were coming either until this morning. It’s an emergency placement.’
‘What happened to Kit’s arm? And he’s got bruises on his face.’
‘He took a tumble down the stairs,’ I said.
‘Oh dear.’ She knew I couldn’t say much more because of confidentiality.
As she laid the table she told me about a boy in her class whose family was having help from the social services. While Kirsty and I would never break confidentiality by divulging names or discussing the details of cases like this, as a young teacher she sometimes shared her worries with me. If a child kept arriving at school dirty, late and hungry, or had unexplained injuries, she sometimes mentioned it as well as informing her head teacher. Teaching is now so much more than simply imparting knowledge; it involves a large pastoral role too.
Adrian, Paula, Lucy and the little ones all came down together with Adrian now carrying Kit. As Adrian sat Kit in his seat at the table and fastened the belt, I had the briefest glimpse of what a good father he’d make when the time came. I think Kirsty did too, judging from the look in her eyes. We settled around the table and I served dinner. I’d just sat down to eat when the house phone rang.
‘I’ll take it in the living room,’ I said, standing. ‘It’s probably their social worker.’
It was. ‘I’ve spoken to Filip,’ Tess said. ‘He doesn’t think the children have any allergies, although Aneta worries about them a lot. He’ll tell you more tomorrow. I’ve set up a meeting for one o’clock at the council offices so the parents can meet you. If you have any questions, you will be able to ask them then.’
‘OK. I take it I’m not to bring Molly and Kit to the meeting?’
‘No. I’ll be arranging supervised contact at the Family Centre for the children to see their parents.’
‘All right, thank you. I’ll have to get some cover for Molly and Kit.’
‘How are they?’ Tess asked.
‘Having a bit of dinner.’
‘Good. See you tomorrow then.’
I scribbled 1 p.m. in my diary for the following day. I would need to find someone to look after Kit and Molly at very short notice. Lucy would be at work and Paula at college, and I didn’t feel I could ask them to take time off. I knew other foster carers who could help me out as I had helped them in the past, but that would need to be arranged through Edith, my supervising social worker. I couldn’t just do it by myself. I made another note in my diary to call Edith at 9 a.m. the next morning, and then returned to the dinner table.
Chapter Three
Molly
