Christine Bolton was our supervising social worker. Her job was to oversee the work of all the foster carers on her books, to make sure we were reviewed regularly, kept up to date with any new policies and training courses, and to ensure we were all okay in our day-to-day duties. If we needed anything, or even just wanted someone to rant at, Christine was our port of call. We had worked together for a couple of years now, so she knew us quite well and would always try to match the right children with us. That, at least, was how things were supposed to work. In reality, because of the often urgent need of children placed with the local authority, this kind of matching wasn’t always possible. It was more often a case of saying yes first and then learning more about the child as you went along, especially with such a chronic shortage of carers. This then – this scenario of me actually asking her for a placement – was a rare one.
‘So, you’re bored of the leisurely life already, Casey?’ she asked, laughing, when I told her. ‘I wondered how long it would be. And is Mike itching to get stuck back in too?’
It was early evening, tea done, Annie and Oscar reunited with their parents, and Christine, as ever, was working late at the office. Though her soft Liverpudlian accent held no hint of the pressure I knew she’d undoubtedly be under right now. Christmas and New Year were inevitably busy times, not all Christmases being as magical and glitter-strewn as Christmas cards tended to suggest. And as the last time we’d spoken, we’d agreed to touch base at the end of January, she would, I knew, be glad to hear from me sooner.
‘He is,’ I assured her, even though that wasn’t strictly true. ‘Mostly because he knows I’m kicking my heels,’ I admitted. ‘Riley and David are in the Canaries, Kieron and Lauren are back at work, and now Tyler’s working full-time, he’s hardly ever here. And I’m bored stiff,’ I finished. ‘In need of a New Year challenge. And before you ask, I’m definitely not taking up yoga.’
Christine laughed again. ‘Oh, Casey, you do crease me up,’ she said. ‘Oh, and namaste, by the way.’
‘Namas-what?’
‘Namaste. It’s a traditional Hindu greeting. And the reason I know it is because I have taken up yoga. You should try it. It’s done wonders for my back – and more importantly, my mental health. Which has been a godsend, believe me. It’s not been the easiest of Christmases this year.’
I’d expected that. The last time we’d chatted had been just before the festivities – in her case overshadowed by her father-in-law’s significant deterioration. He had dementia, and she and her husband were facing some tough decisions about his care.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I said. ‘Must be hard on you all.’
She surprised me then by chuckling. ‘Don’t judge me,’ she said, ‘but let’s just say there’s a lot to be said for working late at the office right now. No, seriously. We’re doing okay. It just is what it is, isn’t it? Millions of others in the same boat. Anyway, enough about me,’ she hurried on. ‘I’m more interested in you. And it’s great to hear you’re back in the game. I’ll obviously put you into the mix. Get word out. See if there’s anything –’
‘You mean you don’t have anything right now?’ I asked, surprised. ‘I thought you’d be biting my hand off.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I will be. This isn’t a state of affairs I expect to last, trust me. You know what it’s like at this time of year – just the eye of the storm.’
‘Oh,’ I said, deflated now. ‘Well, at least you have a bit of a breathing space.’
‘I wish,’ she said. ‘I’m actually tearing my hair out as we speak. A placement that’s proving – hmm – what’s the word? Vexatious. That’s the one. Extremely vexatious.’
‘So, can we help?’
‘I wish,’ she said again, more vehemently this time. ‘But it isn’t one for you and Mike. Trust me, if it was, you’d have been the first couple I would have thought of – even if you were on a break.’
Isn’t one for you and Mike. Like a red rag to a bull, that. ‘Why?’ I asked, since I couldn’t imagine why any kind of placement wouldn’t be. We were supposed to be ‘last-chance saloon’ specialists, after all. No, not ‘supposed to be’. Were. ‘What’s the issue?’ I asked her, assuming, in that moment, that the reason she hadn’t even thought of us must mean it was something straightforward. Something cultural or geographical. Something practical. Then she floored me. ‘It just needs a younger couple, that’s all. Which is not to say you’re old,’ she added, as if she’d climbed inside my brain while I wasn’t looking. ‘But it’s a toughie, this one. Demanding.’
‘In what way demanding?’
‘In every way,’ she said. ‘At least, that’s what I anticipate. And even with the best will in the world –’
‘How? How is it going to be demanding? Come on, spill.’
‘Genuinely, Casey. I don’t think this one’s for you.’
‘So tell me why,’ I said, intrigued, and not a little piqued now. ‘Give me all the ins and outs. You’ve got me going now!’
‘I’m not so sure you’ll be feeling quite so excited when you hear what it entails,’ she said. ‘It’s one of the most unusual requests I’ve ever had to put to a carer, to be honest. To several, actually. I’m fast approaching the end of my list.’
‘And your tether, I imagine,’ I said. ‘So go on, try me. At least tell me.’
So she did.
And she was right. The long and the short of it was that a nineteen-year-old mother, Jenna, had been sentenced to four months in jail, for drugs-related offences. As a consequence, her four-year-old son, Seth, had gone to live with his maternal grandparents until the release date, and they were apparently struggling to cope. Jenna was expected to serve half of her sentence – eight weeks in total – but with the added complication that she had been heavily pregnant when incarcerated, and had now given birth to another baby boy. ‘This one’s called Tommy,’ Christine explained. ‘Born just under a week back. And Jenna still has four weeks of her sentence left to serve.’
So far, I thought, so straightforward. With not long to go, Mother and Baby would presumably spend the remaining time on the prison maternity wing. Not an ideal start in life, but definitely not as bad a start as some I’d encountered. At least Mum and Baby would be clean, fed and cared for. So what was the deal here? To look after the four-year-old till she was released?
My thoughts went immediately to the little ones we’d said goodbye to only hours earlier. ‘So I’m guessing you need someone to foster the four-year-old until she gets out?’
‘Not exactly,’ Christine said. ‘I mean, yes, we obviously do need someone to take Seth. But they also need to take the baby. As in the five-day-old baby. Which is why –’
‘Oh no,’ I said, my heart sinking. ‘You mean she doesn’t want to keep him?’
‘No. She does. Desperately so. That’s why it’s all so complex.’
‘How so? Surely she can stay with him in prison?’
‘Not in this case. And when she’s out, we need her taken on – well, in – as well. Which effectively means that, come her release, it’ll change from a placement to a mother and baby assessment.’
‘Assessment? Are social services planning to permanently remove the children from her then?’
‘Again, it’s complicated,’ Christine said.
And she was right on that, too. There had apparently been lots of activity around the case, the grandparents’ inability to care for the four-year-old being the least of it. Yes, that much was true, because they both had long-term and apparently debilitating health issues. But the original plan – to obtain a permanent care order for both the four-year-old and newborn, who were both deemed at risk with their ‘off the rails’ mother – was sent off track by the determination of the young mum herself. Despite a background that flagged her as highly unlikely to be able to care for them she had insisted she wanted the opportunity to prove otherwise, and had a solicitor speak for her, to plead her case to the presiding judge.
‘Unusually – no one expected it, of course – something must have chimed with the judge,’ Christine continued, ‘because she insisted if there was a way to help then we should give her that chance. Hence a mother and baby placement upon her release. As for the newborn, well, you’re right, Jenna really could have kept him with her, but she’s been withdrawing from some quite powerful antidepressants, and despite her best efforts, according to the medical team at the prison, she’s really struggling. Weepy, not sleeping, tired and drained through the day. Not the best combination for looking after a new baby. She also maintains that she wants the best possible start for him, and I think the feeling is that her self-sacrifice in entrusting him to whoever cares for her older son till her release counts in her favour.’
‘Wow,’ I said, trying to let all the information sink in. ‘That poor girl! She must feel like she’s got the weight of the world on her shoulders. I’m guessing there isn’t a father in the picture?’
‘No,’ Christine said. ‘She’s no longer with the older boy’s father – surprise, surprise, he’s in prison, drugs again – and she’s admitted that she’s not sure in the case of the baby, and has no interest in, ahem, the candidates, either. But listen, Casey, seriously. This is a lot to take on. Just the newborn, on his own, is a lot to take on. And a newborn and a four-year-old is a huge amount to take on. And from what I’ve heard the four-year-old is going to be challenging on his own. Then there’s Mum, and the fact that the role is going to change. Honestly, this is going to be a twenty-four-seven placement. Which is why I didn’t even think of you, let alone run it by you in case you fancied coming back sooner. And it’s fine. If we need to, we’re going to open it out to other agencies. In fact, I was about to do just that when you called.’
‘But if I want to? If we want to?’
‘Casey, seriously now. Really? I mean, think. Really think. Something like this … well, it’ll take over your life. Is that really what you want? At your time of life?’
She didn’t mean anything. I knew that. She was just being sensible. But I did want to think about it. Wanted to be considered for it, seriously. What I didn’t want to be considered was too old to cope.
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘But I would at least like to talk it over with Mike. See what he thinks. Can I do that and call you back?’
‘I suppose …’ Christine said. ‘It’s not like you have much competition right now. Just remember what we’re talking about. This is a complex situation. If you take them on – take her on – you’ll have a huge responsibility. You won’t just be caring for her and her children – you’ll also be the one who determines her future. The one who needs to decide if she gets to keep her boys or not. If you think about one thing, think about that aspect the most. Think hard. Because it will be hard. There is no shame in saying no to something like this.’
She was right, there really wasn’t. Or wouldn’t be, if I did. And a lot of sense in doing so, as well. Because could I? Could we, as a family, do this? Mike was currently picking Tyler up from his shift at the local leisure centre, and I knew the first thing they’d urge on their return was extreme caution. But I also knew that, if I wanted to, I could always talk him round. Which made me cautious in itself. Because, really, was it fair? This wouldn’t be taking on a child. It would be taking on a family. A whole family, and a fragile one, all under our roof. And it wasn’t just the responsibility of caring for them, either. It would be the greater responsibility of playing God, or as good as. Of watching over them all constantly, giving guidance and advice, and, ultimately, agreeing to be part of a process that already had no faith in them – that was, no bones about it, probably expecting them to fail and just going through the motions, despite the judge’s determination that she be given a chance to prove them wrong. They’d wanted a full permanent care order, after all. And the biggest role of all was the one no carer wanted. I’d have to also trade the role of carer and advocate to that, if it came to it, of both judge and executioner. If my reports made it clear that I didn’t think she was up to it, they would use them as evidence that she couldn’t keep her kids.
No one knew me as well as I knew myself, and although I often acted first and thought things through afterwards, I was reflective enough to know my own weakness in that regard. Could I do that? If it came to it? Knowing myself as I did? Knowing my blind, often too blind, capacity to love those who others had not loved, who thought they were unlovable, who’d been on the wrong side of the track all their lives. It was almost as instinctive as breathing. Could I genuinely be detached enough – at least from the young mother – to do what might be necessary, for the good of the children, to be done?
Forget being young enough, or fit enough. I just needed to be strong enough to make that call. That was the real challenge.
Was I? I awaited Mike’s return, deep in thought.