dressed up ready to go out with my eye glitter on that he blew his top. He said if I went out looking like that I needn’t come back. So I didn’t. I just went home this morning for some of my things.’
‘So you were missing from New Year’s Eve?’
‘Yes,’ he said almost proudly. ‘Gran kept leaving messages on my voicemail. The last one said the police were out looking for me.’ His eyes lit up at the drama of it all.
‘I would think they were worried sick. Where were you all that time?’
‘After the club closed I went back to a friend’s pad to crash.’
‘If you are going to live with me, there will be rules and boundaries.’ Best say it now, I thought, for I was concerned by his attitude.
‘Not too many rules, I hope,’ he said, flicking back his fringe again.
‘No, just enough to keep you and everyone here safe. What did your grandfather say when you returned this morning?’
‘He wasn’t there, just Gran. He’d taken Liam and Kiri to the park with their bikes. They both had new bikes for Christmas.’
I nodded. ‘And what did you get for Christmas?’
‘Money for clothes. Can I see my room now?’
‘In a minute. I’ll phone Verity first and make sure you can stay. She may have other plans for you.’
‘I’m not going back home,’ he said, his face setting. ‘She can’t make me.’
‘Let’s see what she has to say.’ I picked up the handset from the corner unit and pressed the social services’ number.
Verity was now at her desk. ‘I was about to phone you,’ she said. ‘Has Stevie arrived?’
‘Yes. About ten minutes ago.’
‘He can stay, but I’ll need to place him. I’m in a meeting soon so I’ll come over later, around three. Can you keep him in until I arrive?’
‘Yes.’
We said goodbye. ‘She said you can stay,’ I said to Stevie. ‘I’ll show you around the house.’
‘Thank you so much,’ he said, and came over and kissed my cheek.
Usually when a new child arrives it is with their social worker, so I show them around the house together, as the social worker needs to see where the child is living, but Stevie was keen to look now, so I’d show Verity around later when she arrived. I began with the room we were in, pointing out the television, and explained how we tended to relax in here in the evenings and weekends.
‘Do you have wi-fi?’ Stevie asked, taking his phone from the pocket of his jeans.
‘Yes.’
‘Can I have the password?’
‘I don’t know the code off by heart, it’ll be on the router in the front room. I’ll give it to you in a moment when we go in there.’
‘You know about the internet and stuff?’ he asked.
‘A reasonable amount, yes,’ I said.
‘Gran and Grandpa don’t. I had to use my phone credit to get online cos he kept switching off the router at night. He thought it would catch fire.’ He raised his eyebrows in exasperation.
‘We all have different ways of doing things,’ I said, and led the way into our kitchen-diner. To a younger person who’d grown up with computers, routers and mobile phones, switching off the wi-fi at night would seem ludicrous, but not to someone of Fred and Peggy’s generation.
While we were in the kitchen I took the opportunity to ask Stevie if he had any special dietary needs or was allergic to anything. It’s something the social worker would tell me in respect of a younger child.
‘No, I eat most things,’ he said easily.
‘Excellent,’ I smiled.
We left the kitchen-diner and went down the hall and into the front room. ‘I call it a quiet room,’ I said. ‘You can read and do your homework in here or in your room, whatever you prefer. The computer and printer are here too,’ I said, pointing. These were now considered essential items in a foster carer’s home.
‘And there’s the router,’ Stevie said, spotting the hub on the bookshelf. I didn’t have to read out the passcode, as he beat me to it. Going over, he entered the code and began tapping away at the keypad on his phone as if his life depended on it. I watched him for a while as his fingers flew over the letters. Completely absorbed, I think he almost forgot I was there.
‘Stevie, what do you do on the internet?’ I asked.
He looked up. ‘Chat to friends, you know, the usual stuff,’ he said, and returned his attention to the screen.
At his age, of course, he would need internet access; teenagers are all computer savvy and online now. But whereas a younger child would use my computer, which had parental-control software to protect them while online by limiting the websites they could access and filtering out inappropriate content, I guessed his phone did not. Internet safety is part of foster-carer training now and foster carers are expected to include it in their safer-caring policy. The older the child, the more difficult it becomes to monitor their activity on the internet.
‘You are careful who you talk to online, aren’t you?’ I asked. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t give out your personal details to a stranger.’
He looked slightly startled. ‘No. Why do you ask?’
‘There are some nasty people out there who can hide behind the anonymity of the internet. They can be very devious in getting what they want. I’m not trying to frighten you, but you do need to be aware.’
He nodded and continued with whatever he was doing on his phone. I’d talk to him more about internet safety another time, just as I had with Adrian, Lucy and Paula. They were of an age now to appreciate the dangers, but Stevie wasn’t. Despite the image he liked to portray, he was a vulnerable young person who was undecided about his gender identity – just the sort of person who could be preyed upon. ‘Come on, I’ll show you upstairs,’ I said. ‘Bring your bag with you.’
Still tapping his phone with one hand, he collected his bag from the hall with the other, and we went upstairs and into his room. He dropped his bag on the floor and looked up from his phone long enough to glance around and say, ‘Cool.’ He followed me out and as we continued round the landing Paula came out of her room.
‘Oh my!’ Stevie cried, clapping his hand to his chest. ‘You gave me such a fright. I didn’t know anyone else was in.’
‘Sorry, I should have told you,’ I said. ‘This is Paula, my youngest daughter. Adrian and Lucy are at work.’
‘Hello, Paula, lovely to meet you,’ he gushed. ‘But don’t go jumping out on me like that again, will you? You scared me half to death.’
