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 respond.
‘That’s OK, he’ll get used to us.’ She threw him another reassuring smile.
At that point Sammy, our rescue cat, strutted into the hall to see who had invaded his territory. He’d been a bit feral when we’d first had him but could now be relied upon not to eat the children.
‘Your cat,’ Oskar said, staring at the cat.
‘Yes, he’s called Sammy,’ I said. ‘Would you like to stroke him?’
He was showing the same reluctance to greet Sammy as Sammy was to him. Paula picked up the cat and presented him to Oskar. He tentatively stroked him.
‘Sammy likes you,’ Paula said, and finally Oskar’s expression gave way to a tiny smile. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Oskar stroked Sammy a few more times and then our cat, a little short on patience, jumped from Paula’s arms and disappeared down the hall. Oskar looked after him but didn’t try to follow him as another child might.
‘Let’s take off your shoes,’ I said, undoing the Velcro. I helped him out of his shoes and left them with ours in the hall. His shoes, like his clothes, were in poor condition, as were those of many of the children I’d fostered.
Before I’d left home to collect Oskar from school, I’d set out some toy boxes in the living room ready for our return. I’d found that playing can often distract a child from their worries and help them to feel at home and start to relax.
‘Let’s go and find some toys,’ I said
