short while later a key went in the front door and Lucy, my twenty-one-year-old daughter, let herself in. She’d been visiting a friend. ‘Hi!’ she called from the hall, kicking off her shoes.
‘We’re in here!’ I returned.
Sammy, our (rescue) cat, raised his head at the sound of her voice and then returned to sleep.
‘You’re never watching daytime television, surely!’ Lucy exclaimed with a laugh as she came into the living room. I didn’t normally watch daytime television and discouraged others from doing so, feeling they could be engaged in a more productive activity, but it was the Christmas holidays.
‘It’s catch-up,’ Paula said.
‘Are you going to join us?’ I asked Lucy.
‘No. I’ve got a few things to sort out ready for work tomorrow.’
‘All right, love. Edith phoned while you were out about a fourteen-year-old lad who will very likely be coming to stay,’ I told her. ‘She’s planning on bringing him for a visit tomorrow and then moving him the day after.’
‘OK, cool. See you guys later then.’ Lucy disappeared off to her room.
Lucy had come to me as a foster child nearly ten years before and I’d adopted her. She couldn’t be more loved and cherished, and was as easy with fostering as Paula and my son Adrian were. Lucy had studied child care and was now working in a local nursery, while Adrian, twenty-three, had returned home to live after completing his degree. He was now working at his temporary job in a supermarket until he found a trainee position in a firm of accountants. As a single parent (my husband had left when the children were little), juggling fostering and part-time clerical work (mainly from home), I was kept busy – pleasantly so – and I felt very happy with the life I’d been given.
Paula and I had just finished the episode in the series we were watching when the phone rang again. She pressed pause and I picked up the handset in the living room.
‘Cathy, it’s Verity, getting back to you.’
‘Hello.’
‘Slight change of plan. I’ve spoken to Stevie’s gran and she’s asked me to explain to him why he has to move. She’s worried he might kick off and blame her if she tells him. So I’ll visit them tomorrow morning and then bring Stevie to you straight after for a short visit. We should arrive around one o’clock. I’ve set up a meeting at eleven o’clock for the following morning when you will be able to meet his grandparents. It’s here at the council offices. Stevie will be coming, and a friend of the gran’s will be looking after the younger two siblings. If all goes to plan, Stevie will go home with his grandparents after the meeting and then I’ll move him to you that afternoon. We should arrive around three o’clock, but I’ll phone you before we set off.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, scribbling the dates and times on a notepad by the phone. ‘That works for me.’
‘See you tomorrow then.’
‘Yes. Goodbye.’
I told Paula and then Lucy the arrangements, and Adrian when he came home, so we were all prepared. Fostering involves the whole family, so it’s important everyone knows what is going on. I should have realised from twenty-five years of fostering that situations in social care can and do change quickly. The following afternoon Stevie didn’t arrive.
Chapter Two
The house was tidy, Stevie’s room was ready, so all we needed was Stevie and his social worker, Verity. Adrian and Lucy were both at work, so there was just Paula, me and Sammy, our cat, at home. I hadn’t been expecting Verity to arrive with Stevie at exactly 1 p.m., but when it got to 1.30 I started to feel something might be amiss. I’d kept the afternoon free, so it wasn’t as though I had an appointment to go to, but it was unsettling just waiting. Even after years of fostering, I’m still a little anxious before meeting a new child, especially if they are older, hoping they will like me and that I will be able to help them. I didn’t have Verity’s mobile number so at 1.45, when there was still no sign of her and Stevie, I telephoned her office.
‘She’s out seeing a client,’ a colleague told me.
‘Yes, that would be Stevie Jones,’ I said. ‘She was going to bring him to me for a pre-placement visit at one o’clock. I’m Cathy Glass, the foster carer he’s going to be living with.’
‘Oh, OK. She must have got held up.’
‘Would it be possible for you to phone her and ask what time she’ll be coming, please?’ I knew she wouldn’t give out a social worker’s telephone number without her permission.
‘Yes, I can, but if she’s with a client her phone will be on voicemail. I’ll leave a message asking her to phone you.’
‘Thank you.’
Half an hour later the landline rang and it was Verity. ‘Stevie is missing and hasn’t been since ten o’clock this morning.’
‘Oh dear, I see.’
‘There was an incident at home,’ Verity explained. ‘Stevie was planning on going out for the day and his gran asked him to stay in, as I was coming to see him. He got angry and said he didn’t want to see his effing social worker and stormed off out. Gran hasn’t seen him since.’
‘That’s worrying.’
‘Yes. Gran thinks he’ll be back before long – when he’s hungry – but I can’t wait here indefinitely. I’ve told her I’ll give it another fifteen minutes and then we’ll have to reschedule.’
‘All right, you’ll let me know?’
‘Yes, of course.’
While I was concerned that Stevie had disappeared, he wasn’t my responsibility yet, and his gran seemed to think he’d return soon. If a young person regularly runs away, as Stevie had been doing, there often isn’t the same sense of urgency as there would be if a child or young person with no history of running away suddenly went missing. Complacency can be dangerous, as it might be the one time they need help. Foster carers follow a set procedure if a child or young person in their care goes missing, which includes informing the social services and the police.
By three o’clock when I’d heard nothing further from Verity I guessed they wouldn’t be coming, and Paula and I continued our day as normal. Just after four o’clock Edith phoned asking how Stevie’s visit had gone. I explained what had happened and that I was waiting to hear from Verity with the new arrangements. She wished me luck and we said goodbye. Edith had been my supervising social worker (SSW) for nearly a year and was different from my previous SSW, Jill, whom I’d worked with for many years. She’d retired when the Independent Fostering Agency (IFA) she worked for had closed its local office, so I’d begun fostering for the local authority (LA). Jill was always very well informed and would offer hands-on support if necessary, whereas Edith tended to concentrate on the administrative side of her role, but we jogged along together OK.
