of her bank so we could go shopping for food and pay the bills. Also she had some friends who gave her money.’
‘Did you meet any of her friends?’
She shook her head.
‘Were they women friends, do you know, or men?’
‘Men. She always said “he”.’
‘Did she ever bring her friends home to your flat?’
‘No. She always went out to meet them. She wasn’t gone long and I had to stay in the room with the door locked. On the way home she bought me a chocolate bar if she remembered. Most of our money went to the man who owned the places we lived in. Mum said we were ripped off.’
‘I understand. So Mummy never brought her men friends back to the places you lived in?’
‘No.’ Which was a relief.
‘Do you know about the private parts of our body?’ I asked, taking the opportunity to raise the matter. ‘Did your mummy ever tell you?’
‘No, but I saw it on television. In the morning there are programmes on for schools and I learnt about how babies are made, and our private parts that only we can touch.’
‘Good,’ I said. ‘So what would you do if someone tried to touch your private parts? Do you know?’
‘Scream and run away and tell an adult I trust straight away. That’s what they tell the kids at school. It was in a programme called Staying Safe.’
‘Excellent. And no one has tried to touch your private parts?’
‘No! I’d kick him in the balls if he tried.’
I nodded, although I was pretty sure that hadn’t been the exact wording used in a programme for school children! I was relieved that Melody didn’t appear to have been sexually abused, and I would let Neave know. However, Melody should never have been left repeatedly alone in a flat while Amanda met her clients – she had placed them both in danger: Melody, a young child all by herself, and Amanda working the streets. The majority of prostitutes who work the streets alone do so to fund a drug habit, and they are regularly found abused and beaten.
Once Melody was asleep I spent time with Paula, Lucy and Adrian and then I wrote up my log notes, including the conversation I’d had with Melody. After that I printed Melody’s name and class in indelible ink in all her school uniform items as the school requested, and at eleven o’clock I fell into bed. I slept well, as did Melody, and the following morning we continued the routine that would see us through the school weeks for however long Melody was with us. I woke everyone, made breakfast for Melody, Paula and myself while Adrian and Lucy – that much older – prepared whatever they fancied. Then, once ready, Melody and I left first, calling goodbye as we went.
When I returned home after taking Melody to school I telephoned Jill to update her. As my supervising social worker she was my first point of contact and we were on the phone for nearly an hour. I told her about the complaints Amanda had made about me at contact and she agreed they were irrational and felt they wouldn’t go any further. I told her what Melody had said about her mother being very forgetful and gave her examples of how she relied heavily on Melody. I said that according to Melody her mother had never brought her clients home and it seemed she hadn’t been sexually abused. Jill said she’d pass all this on to Neave. I said Melody was eating and sleeping well, was in a full school uniform (which is considered important) and was generally settling in well, apart from worrying about her mother.
‘That’s only to be expected,’ Jill said.
‘Yes, except having now met Amanda I can see why Melody is so anxious. Amanda is very needy and appears to have relied on Melody far more than I’ve seen in a parent before. She’s very forgetful and I noticed a vagueness about her, like she zones out.’
‘Drugs?’
‘I don’t know. Melody says she’s stopped using, but perhaps she’s started again.’
‘I’ll tell Neave. She can run a drugs test if necessary,’ Jill said, and winding up the conversation, we said goodbye.
I made a coffee and then returned to the phone and made appointments for Melody to have a check-up at the dentist and optician. I knew from experience that when a child first comes into care this was required. Neave would arrange for Melody to have a medical too.
At the end of school I met Miss May, the teaching assistant who was helping Melody. She accompanied Melody into the playground and to begin with she couldn’t get a word in. Melody had so much to tell me. ‘We did PE and I wore my new PE kit like everyone else,’ Melody enthused excitedly. ‘I’m good at PE, Miss May said. This is Miss May who helps me. She sits with me and the other two boys and we’ve done lots of good work today.’
Miss May laughed. ‘We have indeed. Hello, you must be Cathy.’
‘Yes, nice to meet you. Thank you for all you’re doing to help Melody.’
‘You’re welcome. She’s a delight to work with and works hard, although she has been worrying an awful lot about her mother.’
‘I know, her social worker is aware, and I’ve tried to reassure Melody that her mother can look after herself.’
‘Did you speak to my social worker?’ Melody now asked, her previous excitement replaced by concern.
‘I spoke to Jill and she’s going to talk to Neave, so don’t you worry.’
‘It’s such a shame,’ Miss May said. ‘It’s difficult for me to know what to tell her for the best.’
‘I think time will help. I’ve found before that once a child sees their parents doing all right, they let go of some of the responsibility they feel for them. Also, her social worker will talk to her mother about what she can do to reassure Melody at contact.’
‘That’s good.’ She smiled at Melody. ‘You see? There’s no need for you to keep worrying about Mummy.’
Melody gave a small nod.
I usually work closely with the teaching assistant (TA) of the child I’m fostering. Not only do TAs help the child to learn, but they often give a level of pastoral support, and help the child develop their self-confidence and self-esteem. If a child is struggling at school it can have a knock-on effect on other aspects of their life. I’d taken an immediate liking to Miss May. Short, a little chubby, with a round, open, smiling face, you felt you wanted to hug her. I guessed she was approaching retirement age, but I doubted she would retire. She clearly loved her job, just as the children clearly loved her. As we stood talking I lost count of the number of children who’d gone out of their way to call and wave to her – ‘Goodbye, Miss May!’ ‘See you tomorrow, Miss May!’ and so forth.
As Melody and I went to the car she said, ‘Don’t tell anyone, but Miss May likes sweets. She keeps a packet in her handbag. She gave me one, and the boys she helps, but no one else in the class.’
‘Lucky you,’ I said. I was pleased Melody was starting to enjoy school – some children don’t.
That evening passed as most school nights
