lost and bewildered.
‘Mr Nowak, the man who came to collect Oskar, says he is able to contact Oskar’s mother,’ Andrew said to me and Miss Jordan. ‘He’s going to call her and ask her to phone me. Once I’ve spoken to her, I’ll have a better understanding of what the situation is at home.’
‘Will Oskar be seeing his uncles?’ I asked. I needed to know in case one of them approached me at the school gates.
‘Not until I’ve spoken to his mother and got a clearer picture of the set-up at home,’ Andrew said. ‘As far as I can tell, none of the “uncles” is related to Oskar and no one – apart from his mother – is responsible for him.’
That in itself was worrying and was news to Miss Jordan. ‘I had assumed they were real uncles,’ she said, obviously concerned. ‘I’m sure that’s what his mother said when she first registered him.’
Andrew gave a non-committal nod, then said to me, ‘I’ll try to get some of Oskar’s clothes, but at present he’s just got what he’s wearing.’ This isn’t unusual. More often than not, if it’s an emergency placement, the child arrives with what they have on.
‘I’ve got plenty of spares,’ I said.
‘His coat is here,’ Miss Jordan said, and she crossed the classroom to fetch it from a peg.
‘Am I going now?’ Oskar asked in a small voice.
‘Yes, shortly,’ Andrew said. Then to me, ‘I’ll let you have the placement forms as soon as they’re ready.’ These usually came ahead of the child or with them if the placement was planned in advance, but as this was an emergency there hadn’t been time. ‘As far as Mr Nowak is aware, Oskar hasn’t got any allergies and there are no special dietary or cultural needs,’ he added. This type of information would have been included in the placement forms. ‘Hopefully I’ll know more once I’ve spoken to Oskar’s mother.’
‘All right,’ I said. Having so little information wasn’t unheard of, but it was worrying, as I could easily miss something vital while looking after Oskar. ‘He’s not on any medication? Inhalers for asthma?’ I asked.
‘Not as far as we know,’ Andrew replied.
‘None has been brought into school,’ Miss Jordan confirmed as she helped Oskar into his coat.
‘Are you my mummy now?’ Oskar asked his teacher, his bottom lip trembling. Immediately she teared up.
‘Miss Jordan is your teacher,’ I said gently. ‘I’m your foster carer. I’m going to look after you for a while in my house. It’s a short ride in my car. You’ll have your own bedroom and my grown-up children will help you too. We also have a cat. Do you like cats?’
He gave a small nod.
‘Great. I know he’s going to like you.’
‘I’ll phone you tomorrow,’ Andrew said to me.
I said goodbye to him and Miss Jordan, and Oskar and I left the classroom. I was still holding his hand and kept talking to him positively as we made our way out of the school. Bless him – six years old, and only in the country a few months, and he was now coming to live with me in a ‘strange house’, as Miss Jordan had put it. I felt his hand tighten in mine. Although I was doing my best to comfort and reassure him, I knew how lost and alone he must feel.
It was now 4.30 p.m. and, in April, still light outside. We continued along the pavement towards my car. Other vehicles were parked along the kerb and as we approached my car Oskar suddenly stopped and looked across the road. I followed his line of vision and saw a black car parked directly opposite mine. I could see two men sitting in the front and both appeared to be watching us. ‘Do you know those men?’ I asked as I unlocked my car.
He didn’t reply but was still frozen to the spot, staring at the car and looking worried. ‘Oskar, get in the car, love,’ I said, opening the rear door.
In silence, he did as I asked. I leant in and fastened his seatbelt. He was craning his neck to look at the black car. I closed his car door, then went round and got into the driver’s seat. As I did, I glanced over again. Now they were studying me.
‘Do you know those men?’ I asked Oskar again, turning in my seat to look at him.
‘No,’ he said, but I could tell from his expression that he did and also that he was worried, if not scared, by their presence.
‘You’re safe with me,’ I said, but before I started the engine I pressed the central locking system, so none of the doors could be opened from the outside. I wasn’t being paranoid; I had no idea who those men were, why they were taking such an interest in us or why Oskar should be frightened of them. Had he come from a large extended family, I might have thought they were part of his family and wanted to see where he was being taken. It had happened to me before, just as it’s happened to other carers: a child is placed, the carer’s address is purposely withheld and then a family member follows the foster carer home on the school run. However, as far as I knew at that point, Oskar only had his mother, and she wasn’t in the country. Perhaps they were some of Oskar’s ‘uncles’, but then why had he denied knowing them? I couldn’t begin to guess who they were.
As I pulled away the car remained where it was. Even so, I glanced in my rear-view mirror every so often just to check we weren’t being followed home. There was no sign of the car.
I talked to Oskar as I drove, telling him about my family and reassuring him there was nothing to worry about. He sat very quiet and still, mainly gazing out of his side window. It was impossible to know what he was thinking or feeling. From the few words he’d spoken, his English seemed to be very good – surprisingly good, considering he’d only been in the country a few months. We arrived home just before 5.00 p.m. and as I parked outside my house I asked him one more time: ‘Do you have any idea who those men were?’
‘No.’
So I let the matter drop. What I didn’t know at the time was that I was going to have to return to the subject very soon.
Chapter Two
Only my youngest daughter Paula, twenty-one, was at home when I arrived with Oskar. She was studying for a business degree at a local college and was often in ahead of my other two children – Adrian, twenty-five, and Lucy, twenty-three – who both worked. As soon as Paula heard my key in the front door, she was in the hall ready to greet us.
‘I got your text, Mum. Hi, Oskar,’ she said brightly. We had a family WhatsApp group so my children and I could message each other collectively. It had largely replaced leaving notes. I’d texted our group earlier to let them know Oskar was coming to stay with us. Having grown up with fostering, my family were used to children and young people suddenly arriving.
‘This is my daughter, Paula,’ I told Oskar as I helped him out of his coat. He looked at Paula with the same mixture of angst and bewilderment as he had when looking at me.
‘Nice to meet you, Oskar,’ Paula said, smiling at him.
‘He’s a little quiet at present,’ I told her when he didn’t
