As soon as we were in the car, Jenna started rootling in her bag, eventually pulling out a pair of oversized sunglasses, which she clamped on her face before resting her head against the window and groaning. They seemed an unlikely thing to carry about on such a dark February day, but, given that she was one of the Instagram generation, I didn’t pass comment – I reasoned they were probably integral props for various selfies.
Their deployment was also indicative of her hangover kicking in, and – more to the point – that she probably wasn’t up for any weighty discussions. Something confirmed when I gently enquired if she was okay, to get the three-word response, ‘No. I’m dying.’
Which was a shame, in-car conversations being one of my tried-and-tested strategies for discussing things kids couldn’t quite say face to face. But there was nothing to be done about it but make the journey home in silence, my only company, since Tommy had fallen straight back to sleep, the soft tones of my golden oldies radio station.
Which wasn’t on loud enough to drown out my thoughts, specifically about what her father had said to me. ‘You’ll learn,’ he’d said. Well, he was right about that. Mine was the kind of job that involved a lot of learning, and the last half an hour had gifted me plenty to study, including the comment about ‘Jake’, and the questions that sprung from it, something I’d run by Christine as soon as I had the opportunity. Not that Jenna didn’t have a right to text – or see – anyone she chose to, apparently out-of-jail ex-partners included. And it wasn’t appropriate to make a call on the relative merits, or otherwise, of such a situation. He had presumably done his time, and might have turned over the proverbial new leaf. Who knew, after all? Perhaps he wanted to play a part in Seth’s future.
And what about Tommy? Who we already knew was effectively fatherless? Something that, tragic though it was, didn’t exactly surprise me. Not given that heavy substance abuse was involved.
I supposed only time would tell. But, in the meantime, the most enlightening aspect of this morning’s adventure had been that unedifying glimpse into Jenna’s upbringing. That had been sobering in itself. Was it any wonder she was where she was, given the circumstances? I didn’t know how long her parents had been living the way they did, and knew nothing about their disabilities either. What were they? Since her father hadn’t moved from his armchair, perhaps he couldn’t walk? And I’d definitely spotted a couple of inches of heavily swollen, mottled skin between his trouser and his sock. Though there was no evidence that I could recall that he had walking aids. And if they were both on disability, which was what I’d been told, what did they consist of in Jenna’s mum’s case? At some appropriate point, if I could, I’d ask Jenna.
Though, in reality, did it make an iota of difference? They clearly had no time for her, for all her mother’s drunken fussing over Tommy, and I doubted they’d be any support to her going forwards – no, if she got to keep her kids, she’d be on her own.
My thoughts turned to Seth. He’d lived a month with those two people. In that environment. In that squalor. Which I’d known about, obviously, but now I’d seen it for myself, it really brought me up short. No wonder he had the behavioural issues he did. Incredible that he didn’t have even more.
We returned home to find that the boy in question had, for the most part, behaved well, only kicking off once, over the number of biscuits he’d been allowed (a shitty two?) when Mike let him have a snack just after I’d left.
And despite his indifference earlier, he seemed genuinely pleased to see Jenna, running straight up to her, throwing his arms around her legs, and starting to tell her all about the game he’d been playing with Tyler.
To my huge dismay, though, she pushed him away.
‘I’m not well, babes,’ she told him, and, with the sunglasses still in place, looking for all the world like a trumped-up reality show diva. ‘Mummy’s hungover, yeah? I need my bed, so just leave me to sleep for a bit, yeah?’
Still holding the baby, as I was, I was quick off the blocks. Quicker even than Seth.
‘Um, I don’t think so, Jenna,’ I said. ‘I have work to do, then I also have a roast dinner to prepare. And don’t look to Mike and Tyler,’ I added, as I saw her gaze snaking past me. ‘They’ve done more than their fair share of childcare already. I’m afraid you’re going to have to entertain your children, love, hungover or not. Take some painkillers, drink a pint of water and splash your face. As mums, we make choices, good or bad, just like kids do, and, again, just like kids do, we have to deal with the consequences.’
I was writing up my report in my head as I was speaking. Jenna understood the consequences and, despite being hungover, she rose to the challenge …
Though not without first making it known that I was the witch bitch from hell, taking Tommy from his baby seat and dragging herself off into the conservatory without speaking a single word of thanks to me, Seth following forlornly in her wake.
I watched him go, thinking how much nicer it would have been if he could instead go out into the garage and potter in there with Mike, but I couldn’t have that, no matter how natural it felt. As one of the children we were fostering, those were the sort of things Seth would have otherwise thrived on; being part of a normal family, doing normal family stuff, however seemingly everyday and mundane. But I couldn’t allow it. These were Jenna’s children and this was one of those days when the hard lessons about the realities of being a parent were really learned. And it felt doubly important, given what I’d seen of her own parents this morning. This girl would have no one to support her. And even if they’d wanted to, they would not be considered fit to. Which made the tragedy of it all feel even more acute.
Sadly, once I sat down to update my report, I knew I must not give my emotions free rein. So I kept it concise, reflection-free and to the point. I reported that I’d agreed to have the children while Jenna went out with a friend, but that I had assumed she would be home that night. I then ran through the sequence of events from when she’d asked her friend to ring me right through to her anxieties about whether it was worth continuing with the placement, because she’d already decided there was little or no hope and that I’d managed to convince her that it was. I also noted, in summary, the environment I’d found at her parents’ and what they had said about her not being welcome there anyway.
What I did leave out was her inability to function properly due to her hangover, because I struggled with my feelings about that. I imagined that a lot of mums have had a bit of blow-out once in a while and felt just as rough as Jenna the next day. And just as they had to, I’d made sure she had done exactly that, even if it did mean that the whole little family had had a very lazy day, mostly spent curled up on Jenna’s bed, watching movies. She’d learn.
Mike had been in and out of the kitchen, where I was working on my laptop, throughout. ‘You really going to let her get away with this?’ he asked as he came in to grab his umpteenth wodge of kitchen roll. ‘Only I remember the odd times when Riley would wake up in a mess after a night partying with friends, and there’s no way you would have stood for her spending the whole day in bed. You losing your touch, Case?’
‘No, I am not!’ I said, jabbing him in the backside with my ballpoint. ‘And get out of here with your oily hands – look, you’ve got it all over the cupboard handles now! If you must know, I’m taking a different approach, that’s all. Playing a longer game. Jenna is a completely different kid to our Riley. If I were to carry on with her today, nothing would sink in. All she would take from it is that I’m just like every other adult in her life. Someone to be afraid of, someone she can’t trust.’
‘So, she gets a free pass then?’ Mike asked, stepping away from the point. ‘Sulks and locks herself away and then avoids any discussion or explanation?’
‘Not at all,’ I said. ‘Now go and finish whatever you’re doing on the van, love, and trust me. As far as Jenna goes, tomorrow is another day.’
In the meantime, the rest of that day was particularly peaceful. And I realised that there was a model for doing this kind of placement that could make life a bit easier all round – at least on my own stress levels. I could simply step back a bit, and treat Jenna and her children a little more like lodgers, after all. They had their own space, and I’d provided all the basics, so it wouldn’t be a huge leap to let them function more independently, and for me to let Jenna manage Seth more on her own. After all, my most important job was to help her live independently, in readiness for the day when the children were formally removed from our care, and Jenna would be allowed (and I refused to accept this wasn’t still a possibility) to have them back and do exactly that.
But that wasn’t me at all. As dogged as it sounds, in order for me to help both Jenna and little Seth, I had to purposely push buttons, expose their triggers and then deal with the aftermath in a way that might, hopefully, leave an impression, and add to her so far meagre stock of parenting strategies. It was hard, and would mean continuing to operate at extremely high stress levels, but in order to understand the chaos of their lives (not to mention the mystery of Jenna’s past life), I had to be right in there with them, in every moment. Because it was there, in the eye of the storm, that I could see more clearly, not least in terms of Seth’s behaviour, which was still as puzzling as it was challenging, something that became apparent a day and a half later – on Tuesday, his first morning at nursery.
Monday, as it turned out, had been cheeringly positive. With nursery in the offing, I’d decided to take our little troop to the big supermarket out on the edge of town, so we could buy Seth a few bits and bobs – a little backpack, some new trainers, as he was almost out of his current ones – and a couple of new outfits to wear. I also wanted to get a couple of things for Baby Tommy too. Like any other baby, he was fast growing, and growing out of his baby grows and, though I had a huge stash – all sizes, all ages – I had an allowance for such things and intended to spend it, as both babies and four-year-olds went through clothing like biscuits and, as things were right now, the washing machine was on twice a day.
Jenna, who I kept forgetting was unaware how fostering worked, seemed embarrassed and a little guilty that it should be this way. It was also a question of pride, I realised, about providing for her little ones, which I felt was very much to her credit.
‘I’ve got money,’ she assured me, as we wandered along the clothing aisles.
Which was true, she was currently on Universal Credit, but I also knew that as I was obviously fostering Seth and Tommy, she’d be on the single-person payment, which was probably only £80 a week. And if she got the boys back, she’d need every penny she could get.
‘It’s fine,’ I insisted. ‘While the children are being fostered the council are responsible for feeding them and clothing them, so please don’t stress, love. Keep your money – try and save up, if you can. Build a rainy-day fund up. I’ve got this.’
‘But I need to contribute,’ she’d argued, showing a maturity that impressed me. ‘I want to contribute. I should.’
She’d then surprised me, having accepted that I was paying the supermarket bill, by dashing back in, while I was putting the shopping in the boot.
‘I need some tampons,’ she’d said. ‘You okay for a minute?’ But had then re-emerged, not with tampons, but with some daffodils and tulips. For me. ‘They weren’t expensive,’ she promised as she thrust the bunches at me. ‘So, I wasn’t being extravagant. I just wanted to get you something.’
It had been all I could do not to burst into tears.
But ying being ying and yang being yang, Tuesday morning began as Monday’s polar opposite.
It began, true to form, with the usual meltdown. Which started up just as I was waving Mike off to work.
‘What the hell is going on in there?’ he asked, wincing at the racket coming from the conservatory. ‘God, the neighbours are going to love us,’ he added, hurrying out of the door.
He was right. It was twenty to eight, the dawn only just broken. And the neighbours to our left had only recently retired, and were enjoying – so they’d told me only a month or so ago (ouch) – not having to get up and commute any more.
‘You fucking are going to school, you little shit!’ Jenna was shouting. ‘And I’m going to tell ’em what a bad boy you are when we get there!’
‘Fuck off, slag!’ Seth screamed back at her. ‘I’ll tell the teacher all about you, you bitch, I’ll run away! I’ll fucking kick you till you bleed, an’ I’ll spit at all the kids!’
Tommy’s cries entered the mix then, and hostilities abated, while Jenna was presumably changing his nappy or feeding him, and/or Seth had been distracted with the TV or something. Or biscuits. The rate they’d been disappearing lately, I didn’t doubt she had a supply squirrelled away.
I waved Mike off and, hearing the sound of Tyler in the shower, went into the kitchen to lay out some breakfast. Perhaps I should think about laying the table the night before, I decided. With four adults needing to get up, washed and dressed now, getting organised was going to be a military operation, with Jenna and I getting ready, of necessity, in shifts. At least today we had the luxury of an extra bit of time (the school had suggested we arrive fifteen minutes after everyone else so that the teacher, Mrs Sykes, could help Seth to settle in), but from tomorrow we would need to up our game. But could Jenna rise to the challenge? I knew she’d struggled to get Seth to nursery when it was still just the two of them. But rise to it she must, because if things went her way, she’d have to do this, along with Tommy, on her own, every day – and hopefully without all the shouting and swearing.
Table laid, and a row of bread slices ready in the toaster, I went and put my head round the conservatory door, only to find Seth licking out the inside of a chocolate wrapper (was that why he’d stopped kicking off?), the baby on the floor without his nappy on, looking chilly, and Jenna sitting on the bed, straightening her hair.
‘What?’ she said, when I pointedly looked at my watch. ‘There’s loads of time before we have to leave. Chill.’
‘We have to be there –’ I checked my watch again – ‘in less than an hour. Which isn’t a lot of time to get everyone washed and dressed and ready. Plus, we both still need to shower.’
She waved the hair straighteners at me. ‘Nah, you’re alright,’ she said. ‘You go ahead.’
‘Aren’t you going to?’ I asked.
‘Durr, no,’ she responded. ‘I might shower later. I showered last night already. And Seth doesn’t need washing. He’s fine as he is.’
Judging by the state of his face, that was questionable. ‘But he does need to dress. And he does need some breakfast,’ I pointed out.
‘Don’t want none,’ he said.
‘He’s alright,’ Jenna added. ‘You go and have your shower. We’re cool.’
At which point, a depressing vision of their future ‘school mornings’ pin-sharp in my mind’s eye, I did as instructed and went up to get myself ready. As with every aspect of parenting once one child becomes two, she would, of necessity, learn.
In the meantime, it was me who got the pram out, me who wrestled Tommy into his snuggler, me who found and insisted upon hat and gloves for Seth, me who did his coat up and me who found a spare pair of mittens for Jenna – it being me, and only me, who had thought to check the weather, and establish that it was only five degrees above freezing.
It was around a fifteen-minute walk to the local primary school and nursery, and I was keen that we walk rather than me drive them down there as I felt the fresh air and exercise would be good for all concerned, and not least because when the time came for Jenna to have the boys back, she would not have the luxury of a door-to-door chauffeur, and managing her time to factor this in would be essential, even if the nursery Seth ended up at, assuming Jenna got them back, was only a short walk down the road from her. Which, in reality, it probably wouldn’t be.
And perhaps because he was nervous, or just because he wanted to wind up his mother, Seth complained bitterly the whole way.
‘I’ll run away, I swear to God I will,’ he grumbled, almost to himself. ‘I hate school. I hate teachers. I hate stupid nursery. Nosey bastards like the social, they are.’
‘Where on earth does he get all this stuff from?’ I asked Jenna, as he stomped long ahead of us. ‘He can’t possibly just think those sorts of things up himself.’
Jenna shrugged, shrinking her head even further into the collar of her coat. ‘Where do you think?’ she replied. Which kind of answered my question.
‘Well, I hope he tones it down when we get there,’ I said. ‘I’d be mortified if he came out with any of that in nursery.’
But it seemed Seth had other ideas. Or at least had decided that since he was being made to go anyway, he might as well make it easier on himself. Because as soon as we arrived at the gates, a total transformation happened – his whole body language seemed to change before my eyes. I don’t know what prompted it – perhaps the sight of the school buildings in front of him? – but as soon as he saw them, it was as if the Seth we knew had been spirited away by aliens, and a completely different child substituted in his place. His stomp slowed to a saunter, his shoulders relaxed and a genuine-looking smile slowly spread across his face.
I’d seen this with him before, of course, but it was still something to witness. Had he made a decision to be the good boy he’d talked about?
‘Good morning!’ he called out to a passing adult. ‘I’m the new boy!’
I glanced at Jenna, assuming she’d be as encouraged by this as I was, but was irritated to see that she was otherwise engaged. Still holding the pram, yes, but with her head bent towards her phone, as she was busy sending a one-handed text. Seth saw it too, and for a moment I saw his expression change. But then he smiled even more widely and held out a hand for me to hold.
He went up on tiptoes and cupped his hand around his mouth. ‘Casey,’ he whispered, ‘can I tell everyone you’re my mum?’
I could have wept, as well as cursed, but I wasn’t sure Jenna had even heard. ‘Oh, sweetie, that’s nice,’ I said, ‘but seeing as you already have a mummy, how about you just tell them I’m Aunty Casey?’
‘Aunty Casey,’ he said, nodding. ‘Oh, okay.’
‘Anyway,’ I hurried on, ‘shall we take you to meet your teacher? The entrance to the nursery is just over there, see? By the windows with all the different coloured balloons painted on them.’ Then, pausing only to dig Jenna in the ribs with my elbow, I led our little party across the playground.
The teacher I’d been told to meet, Mrs Sykes, was already standing in the doorway – at least I assumed it must be her because she waved as we approached. She was in her forties, I judged, and looked warm but also matronly – as in I imagined being matron to a crowd of teenage boys wouldn’t faze her any more than the tots in her charge.
‘Mrs Watson?’ she asked me when we reached her. I smiled and nodded. ‘And you must be Seth,’ she added, squatting down to say hello to him. ‘Welcome, welcome. Would you like to come in and say hello to everyone? We’ve all been dying to meet you.’
I felt Seth’s grip tighten round my hand, but the smile remained fixed. ‘You’re coming in with me, aren’t you?’ he whispered, as Mrs Sykes stood up again.
‘Yes, of course,’ I reassured him. ‘And Mum, of course,’ I added. ‘This is Jenna,’ I added to Mrs Sykes, ‘Seth’s mum.’
She’d hung back a little and I realised she was still bloody texting! But all eyes on her now, she stuffed her phone into the pocket of her coat. She was nervous, I realised, her cheeks now staining with a blush. She seemed to struggle, too, to meet the teacher’s eye.
‘Well, it’s lovely to meet you too, Jenna,’ Mrs Sykes added warmly. ‘Come on in out of the cold a minute, while we show Seth where his peg is. And I’d love to take a peek at his little brother. Can I?’
So in we trooped, Mrs Sykes helping Jenna to get the pram over the door sill, and Seth immediately tugging at my hand. ‘Wow,’ he said in wonderment, ‘it smells like Christmas in here!’ causing me to wonder just how much time he had actually spent in his previous nursery. It was as if we’d brought him into a magical cave of wonders, and I felt sad to think he’d almost certainly only be here for a short while. I knew Jenna’s flat was too far away for him to come here, and if she didn’t get them back (though I didn’t want to dwell on that option), he might even end up being fostered out of the area.
Still, he was here now, and good things could come out of this new routine; it would add some structure, social skills and education.
The baby inspected in short order, by both Mrs Sykes and a young woman called Chloe, who was apparently her teaching assistant, Mrs Sykes turned her attention back to Seth. ‘So, young man,’ she said, ‘shall we take a quick tour of the classroom while everyone else, as you can see, is sitting nicely on the mat? Then we’ll do all the introductions. That sound okay?’
I smiled to myself at that ‘as you can see’. I had a happy hunch that Mrs Sykes was the sort of nursery teacher who’d deal with poor mat-sitting etiquette in short order.
Seth nodded. ‘Can Aunty Casey come too?’
‘How about Mummy?’ I suggested. ‘I imagine she’d love to have a look around, don’t you?’
Seth shrugged. ‘If she wants.’ And I felt my heart sink again, not least because as Mrs Sykes led our little group all around her classroom, the multiple pairs of eyes that were following our progress seemed to make Jenna shrink even further inside her coat. Ask something, I thought. Show some interest. Engage. But while I oohed and aahed and pointed out all the fun things to her excited son, she shuffled round as if the proverbial cat had got her tongue. And when Mrs Sykes asked her if she’d started any reading with Seth, she mumbled something about not being near a library and turned beetroot.
‘What was all that about?’ I asked her when, Seth having been left – and apparently happy for us to go – we headed back out through the gate into the street again.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘You, love. I do wish you’d taken a little more interest. Are you okay?’ I added, turning to look at her properly. ‘You looked very ill at ease back there. Were you? I know it can be a little intimidating, going into a new school, meeting new people, but –’
She glared at me. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
I was shocked by her vehemence. ‘I don’t get what you mean, love.’
‘Wouldn’t you be embarrassed walking into that place, knowing they all know you’ve just come out of prison? That you’re a complete fuck-up. That you’re not even allowed to look after your own kids and have to trail around behind their foster mother like you’re a child too?’
Caught on the hop, I didn’t know how to answer. Because, of course, she was right. Mrs Sykes almost certainly did know. That particular fact, along with the reason they were living with me currently, would have been front and centre in the school’s discussions with Christine. Would have been the reason, more to the point, that they’d given Seth that much sought-after place.
Her eyes had filled with tears now, as well. So, as she was pushing the pram, I rummaged in my bag for a tissue, though she was already furiously wiping them away with a gloved hand.
I gathered my thoughts. ‘Yes, love, they do know.’ I outlined the reasons why. ‘But you must stop thinking you’re an EFF-up, because you’re not. Not at all. You’ve just been through an extremely hard time. But you’ve come through it. That’s what matters. And you are looking after your own kids. At least you were last time I looked. And sweetheart,’ I added, as she stopped to blow her nose, ‘please don’t for a minute think anyone in that school is judging you, because they’re not. They want the same thing as I do. As we all do. For this all to work out for you. We all –’
‘But they do. Everyone does. I’m not stupid. I know exactly what people think of me.’
Exactly what your horrible parents have drummed into you that they think of you, I thought, but couldn’t quite bring myself to say. At least not yet. These were her mum and dad – the only ones she had. Though, judging from my own impressions of them, perhaps that day would – and should – come, however painful it might be for her. ‘Well, you’re wrong,’ I said instead. ‘And if people do judge you, well, the best defence against that is to simply prove them wrong.’ I started walking again, before we all froze to the spot. ‘Jenna, you can do this. Look at you – you’re young, fit and healthy. If you want to keep your children then you can keep your children. You’ve just got to believe in yourself a bit more, then roll your sleeves up and get on with it – it’s not rocket science, honestly! – so the courts see the evidence that you can. It’s just a question of doing it, putting the hours in, putting them first, and –’
‘But how can I?’ she said. ‘Even my own son doesn’t want anyone to know I’m his mother!’
I could have wept as well then. So she had heard.