style="font-size:15px;"> ‘Yes.’
More silence. ‘I’m going to work now.’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell Mummy about school,’ I prompted Oskar.
‘I went to school,’ he said uninspiringly.
‘I know. I’ll speak to you tomorrow. Be good. Bye.’
‘Bye.’
The line went dead and Oskar passed the phone back to me. It was probably the shortest, saddest telephone conversation I’d ever heard between a mother and her son. There was so much they could have said. Clearly it wasn’t only Roksana who’d had difficulty in talking; Oskar had been equally inhibited. However, as the parent, Roksana bore the responsibility for trying to engage with him, if she knew how, which I was doubting. Most parents, even those who have neglected or abused their children, can talk to them on the phone. In the past I’d often had to wind up a conversation or it would have gone on all night. I hoped that the next telephone contact – on Friday – would be better.
It was no different. Then, on Saturday evening, Oskar refused to speak to his mother at all and went to his bedroom. I explained to Roksana as tactfully as I could that Oskar didn’t feel able to talk to her right now, and I didn’t think it wise to insist.
‘It’s OK,’ she said, far too accepting.
‘We’ll try again tomorrow. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not your fault. He can be like that sometimes.’ Most parents would have blamed me.
That night, I tried talking to Oskar about his mother and the phone calls, his life at home with her and whether there was anything worrying him, but I got no further than I had all the other times. Nods, shrugs and silence.
Chapter Eleven
On a positive note, during the weekend we managed to get Oskar playing some games. Weekends were easier, as we had more time, so he painted pictures, modelled in dough and built castles out of Lego, quietly and with the same self-contained approach he applied to most tasks. He hadn’t asked for his toys from home, and I was hoping that his mother would bring them to contact at some point.
On Sunday we went to visit my mother – just Paula and Oskar came with me, as Adrian was seeing Kirsty and Lucy, Darren. Lucy had seen Darren on Friday and Saturday evening as well as at work during the week. In between, her phone frequently buzzed with text messages from him. I knew they were from him because she couldn’t help but smile as she read each message and then immediately replied. I assumed everything was going well and hoped to meet him when she felt the time was right.
Oskar was a little more relaxed at Mum’s on Sunday, possibly because it was his second visit. He managed to reply when she spoke to him and moved away from my side long enough to play with some of the toys in her toy box. But towards the end of the afternoon my brother popped in and I saw Oskar go on full alert. He jumped up from where he’d been sitting by the toy box and came to me. My brother was his usual chatty and friendly self, but Oskar shrank back whenever he spoke to him, and just nodded or shook his head in reply. I made the excuse that he hadn’t been with us for long and was still shy, but it was the same reaction I’d seen in Oskar when he was around Adrian and Andrew – a wariness of men.
I was driving back from Mum’s between five and six o’clock, so it was just after six when I telephoned Roksana. Oskar had promised me he would talk to her, but before I passed the phone to him I apologized to Roksana for phoning late and explained that we’d been to my mother’s, which was an hour’s drive away.
‘It’s OK,’ Roksana said easily. ‘I don’t work on Sunday evenings. It’s my one evening off.’
‘You do work long hours,’ I said.
‘Yes. All day and most nights. I have to support Oskar and Luka.’
While I admired her work ethic, again I wondered what impact this had had on Oskar and how it would affect the social services’ parenting assessment of her. In reality, she spent very little time with Oskar.
I’d already suggested to Oskar some things he could talk to his mother about – for example, what he’d been doing during the weekend – and it began well.
‘I’ve been out for the day,’ he said.
‘So have I,’ Roksana replied. ‘I’ve been to work and now I’m on my way home.’
‘I’m home now,’ Oskar said, and was about to say more when she interrupted.
‘No, you’re not,’ she said sharply. ‘You’re at your foster carer’s house. Your home is with me. Don’t forget that, Oskar.’
He looked crestfallen and after that all he would say was yes or no, and then, before long, goodbye. Their relationship appeared to be so fragile, it didn’t take much for either of them to recoil, and I wondered how much good telephone contact was doing. However, it had been agreed between Roksana and Andrew, so until he told me otherwise I would continue to make the phone calls on the evenings they didn’t see each other and hoped they improved.
When I collected Oskar from school on Monday afternoon I told him that Tamara, the Guardian, was visiting us and explained her role: a social worker who wanted to talk to him so she could tell the judge what was best for him long-term. Oskar was only six, but it was important he had some understanding of the court process and what it meant for him.
Tamara arrived promptly at four o’clock, shook my hand and smiled warmly at Oskar, who had come to the door with me. He managed a small hello.
Of average height and build, Tamara was in her fifties, smartly dressed in navy trousers, jacket and blouse. I knew from working with her before that she had a quiet, confident manner and was used to talking to children and eliciting a response. She accepted my offer of coffee and we sat in the living room, where she tried to engage Oskar in conversation but had no more success than Andrew had. She asked him about school and how that was going. ‘Good. I like school,’ he said. She asked him about seeing his mother and how that was. ‘Yes,’ he replied. She asked him if he liked living with me and he gave a small nod.
‘Excellent,’ Tamara replied, smiling at me.
She asked him if he had everything he needed from home. He didn’t reply so I said, ‘He has some of his clothes and I’ve bought what he needs. Roksana is going to let me have some more of his belongings, including some toys.’
‘I’ll remind her when I see her,’ Tamara said, making a note. Then to Oskar, ‘Do you understand why you are in care and living with Cathy?’
He nodded.
‘Can you tell me?’ He shook his head. ‘Has your social worker told you?’ He shrugged. ‘It’s because we want to make sure you are safe and well looked after.’ He stared back at her.
‘I’m seeing your mother next week,’ Tamara continued. ‘She has arranged to take an afternoon off work.’ The fact that she’d mentioned Roksana taking time off work suggested
