disability. Many aspects seemed similar – for example, the care and support I would give her – but as an adult Faye had a right to make her own decisions as much as possible, which would help maintain and develop her self-confidence and independence. Yet, while I’d had plenty of experience fostering children and teenagers, and the benefit of ongoing training, Faye was my first adult placement. Edith must have been thinking the same, because shortly after I returned home from shopping she telephoned.
‘Cathy, I’ve been looking to see if there is any training that you might find useful, but we don’t seem to offer an awful lot specifically for fostering adults. There’s a two-day introductory course, but the next session isn’t for another eight weeks, which is going to be a bit late to help you. There is some information on the internet, though. I’ve sent you some links, and if you have any questions or concerns, you can always telephone Becky. She’s highly experienced in adult social care.’
‘Thank you, I will.’
So that evening I went online and, using Edith’s links and a search engine, I learnt quite a bit about foster care provision for adults. At present there are over 10,000 adult fostering placements in England; half of those are living in permanent placements. The ages of the adults fostered ranged from eighteen to over sixty, with three-quarters of the adults having a learning disability, and the others a physical disability or mental health problems. Schemes for fostering adults appeared to vary widely in different parts of the country, with some areas offering far more than others. The big advantage for the care receiver was that they could live with and be part of a family rather than in a care home. I learnt that the process for applying to foster adults was very similar to that of fostering children, with an assessment carried out by a social worker, references, a police check (now known as Disclosure and Barring Service), a health check and introductory training. Once the person was with the foster carer, their social worker visited regularly to monitor and support the placement, which was reassuring. While all this was very interesting, there was virtually no practical advice on fostering adults beyond it requiring patience, understanding and a wish to work with vulnerable adults.
Adrian, Lucy and Paula came with me on Saturday to visit Mum. She lived about an hour’s drive away. They were very quiet in the car, gazing out of their side windows rather than listening to music or chatting. I guessed that they, like me, were finding it difficult going to the house again; our first visit after the funeral, the house that for all their lives had been Nana and Papa’s home but was now just Nana’s. Although we’d already been quite a few times since Dad had passed, it wasn’t getting much easier. Arriving and leaving were the worst, with just Mum greeting us at the door and seeing us off, when it had always been the two of them. Once we were inside it became a little easier and today we all found jobs to do. Adrian cut the grass and then washed the car – my brother was selling it for Mum, as she didn’t drive – while the girls and I helped Mum prepare lunch and lay the table. It was the first time we’d all sat at the dining table since Dad had died; previously, when we’d been there to organize the funeral, we’d had sandwiches and snacks on our laps. Dad always sat in the same place at the head of the table, and ridiculously I left his place empty, which of course emphasized his absence. As we sat down Mum quietly moved her chair into the space.
‘That’s better,’ she said, and we all relaxed.
After lunch I asked Mum if she would like some help clearing out Dad’s clothes, which is a daunting and heartbreaking task. But she said she would do it in her own time and had already made a start. She then produced a gift for each of the children, a memento of their grandpa. His favourite cufflinks for Adrian, an inlaid wooden trinket box for Lucy and his paperweight for Paula, which she’d always admired. Even if they never used the items, they would be treasured as touching personal reminders of Grandpa. I could see the emotion in their faces as they thanked their nana and then kissed and hugged her.
As usual we were reluctant to leave Mum alone and took a long time parting. Eventually Mum said it would be time for her bath soon and shooed us towards the front door. ‘Phone me to let me know you’re home safely,’ she said as she always did. ‘I hope tomorrow goes well. I’ll look forward to meeting Faye.’
We got into the car and waved goodbye, each of us trying to adjust to seeing one lone figure in the porch.
On our return home Sammy was very pleased to see us and shot in through the cat flap as soon as he heard our voices in the hall. He was a short-haired cat of mixed breed with distinctive black-and-white markings and a haughty air about him, despite his past. He’d been living on the streets, presumably since birth, until someone took him to a cat rescue centre. We’d hesitated about having another cat for many years after Toscha had died, feeling that she was irreplaceable, but we were all pleased we’d gone ahead, as I hoped Sammy was too. He’d been quite feral to begin with and hadn’t wanted much to do with us, but now he was gradually accepting our affection, allowing us to stroke him and occasionally sitting on our laps. Although I thought he would always be his own person, and we respected that.
Before I went to bed that night I checked through the placement information forms Becky had sent me to make sure I hadn’t missed anything important. As we lived in the same National Health Service area as Faye, after the move she would be able to continue going to the same clinic and hospital she’d already been attending. I made a note to remember to make sure she brought her maternity folder with her, otherwise I’d have to go back for it, as it had to be taken to all her antenatal appointments. I also made a note to remember Snuggles, although I thought Faye wasn’t likely to forget him. I knew from what Becky had told me that Faye had lived with her grandparents since the age of two when her mother had died from liver failure, assumed to be a result of alcoholism. The problems that had led to Faye’s mother drinking herself to death weren’t known, and Faye’s father had never been named. Faye had an uncle (Wilma and Stan’s son) and two adult cousins, but they seldom saw them. The son had done well for himself and had moved out of the area. Satisfied I knew what I needed to, I closed the folder and went to bed.
The following morning Adrian was up before the rest of us, as he was going out for the day with Kirsty. We had breakfast together and I saw him off at the door in my dressing gown, then the girls and I had a leisurely morning. After lunch, at 1.30, we left in the car to collect Faye. Although Faye knew what my family looked like from the photographs, my family had no idea what she looked like, which is often the case when a move is planned and the child has seen the photograph album. As I drove I tried to describe Faye to Paula and Lucy. ‘She’s about five feet two inches tall, softly spoken, with a pleasant, round face and straight hair. She looks and acts much younger than her age, but she appears gentle and kind.’ They already knew Faye had learning difficulties and lived with her grandparents. ‘She might want to hug you,’ I said. ‘She likes hugging.’
It was just as well I’d said this, for Faye answered the door, took one look at me and threw her arms around me in a big hug. ‘I’m coming to stay with you like a holiday,’ she said. She appeared excited by the prospect and I was pleased. She could easily have been upset at having to leave her grandparents.
‘Yes, you are!’ I said, mirroring her excitement. ‘We’re looking forward to having you stay with us. This is Lucy and Paula, my daughters. You remember you saw their photographs? You’ll meet my son Adrian later.’
‘Hello,’ she said, now a little shy. ‘Are you going to be my sisters while I live with you?’
‘Yes, we are,’ Lucy said.
Faye smiled broadly and then threw her arms around Lucy, hugging her, and then Paula. They looked slightly embarrassed, but I could see they were touched by Faye’s easy and open display of affection, and her lack of adult inhibition made their first meeting much easier.
‘Are you packed and ready?’ I asked as we went in. I closed the door.
‘Yes.’
