‘You know what?’ Mike said to me the following evening, as the pair of us tackled the mound of Sunday dinner washing-up. ‘I really think we have to do something about these kids, love. I mean, look at Ashton’s behaviour. Remember Justin?’
I nodded as I passed him the roasting tin to dry. And laughed ruefully. ‘How could I forget?’
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘And that was the first thing I thought about when he kicked off on Saturday. That this is not just ADHD. The poor kid has serious issues going on. Which nobody seems to be taking remotely bloody seriously!’
This wasn’t strictly true. There would be help forthcoming eventually. But since CAMHS wouldn’t get involved until the kids were placed permanently, the net result was the same as if the situation wasn’t being taken seriously. Nothing was being done now, and nor would it be. Mike was right in what he said, and the party had been a catalyst. Every day that went by was another day wasted. So if no-one else was prepared to step in and do something, then perhaps I should do it myself.
I called Dr Shackleton first thing on the Monday and, as ever, he was incredibly helpful. He’d been our GP for years, since long before we started fostering, and now we were, he couldn’t have been more supportive.
‘So they’re getting nothing in the way of counselling at present?’ he wanted to know.
‘Nothing,’ I confirmed. ‘They’re just on medication for the ADHD, as you know, but they’re all in such a mess, in one way or another – particularly Ashton – and getting a settled place, and so some support from CAMHS, might take months yet. And the longer this goes on, the worse I think they’ll get. It just all feels so wrong to be doing nothing.’
‘Leave it with me,’ he said. ‘I come up against this sort of thing all the time. Red tape’s all well and good, eh? But sometimes it needs cutting. Let me see if I can get the ball rolling for you.’
I felt much better having spoken to Dr Shackleton. When he said he’d make things happen, he generally did. And I felt even better when I then called John Fulshaw and learned that he completely supported my decision. ‘Mind you,’ he said, ‘brace yourself, because Anna won’t like it. Protocols and all that. Proper CAMHS procedure. She’ll be cross you didn’t talk this all through with her first.’
‘But if I did that she’d just tell me not to. You know that.’
‘Yes I do, and between you and me, I agree with you. You and Mike are the ones at the front-line in all this. If they expect you to care for these children properly, it’s faintly ridiculous not to give you a degree of autonomy. No, you did the right thing, Casey, and I’m one hundred per cent behind you. Let me know how it goes. Keep me posted.’
John turned out to be right. Anna was definitely sniffy. The next day, no less, I received a curt email informing me that while it was perfectly okay for me to organise routine doctor’s appointments (which was kind of her) I must ‘in future inform a member of the team before making decisions of this nature’.
Suitably chastised, though not in the least repentant, I composed an appropriately apologetic email in reply, ensuring her I had definitely taken all her advice on board, and would of course do as she asked ‘in the future’. It was easy to press ‘send’, I thought, smiling, as I did so, because I’d already done what I’d set out to.
But I was soon to find out that the politics of the care system were more complex and frustrating than even I had thought. The following week, I took a call from Julia Styles, the special needs co-ordinator at the children’s primary school. I knew Julia quite well because our paths had crossed for years. She’d recently transferred to the primary from our local secondary school, which was not only the school our first foster child, Justin, had attended, but was also the place where I’d worked for several years, before Mike and I had trained as foster carers.
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ she said, because of course that’s what I’d done. I’d not long dropped the children and automatically assumed there had been some sort of problem with one of them.
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ I said, relieved.
She laughed. ‘It’s just admin, in the main. It’s just that we’ve finally received the records from the children’s old school, and it’s left me with something of a conundrum, to be honest. Because they don’t seem to bear any real relation to the reality of the kids themselves, you know?’
‘You’ve only just got them?’ I mentally calculated. ‘But it’s been almost four months!’
‘They’ve certainly not hurried themselves, that’s for sure,’ she said. ‘And now I’ve got them, I’m a little confused. Honestly, Casey, if you read them you’d hardly think they described the same children!’
‘In what way?’
‘Well, it’s obviously not for me to make assumptions, but according to these records, the children, when transferred, seemed to be down as having no significant problems.’
‘But we both know that’s not true.’
‘Exactly. In fact my recommendation, having now reviewed this first half-term, is that they both have some degree of learning disability, so they should be spending time in our learning support unit. They need a proper assessment to see if they need statementing, obviously, which I’d bet my bottom dollar they all do. And it needs doing as a matter of priority, in my view. Not only so we can get the extra funding we need to support them, but also because this has been overlooked for far too long already.’
‘You’re telling me!’ I said.
‘Anyway, as you know, they have their LAC review next week, so I just thought I’d let you know my recommendations. I’ll obviously be bringing all this up then.’
I felt really happy after speaking to Julia. At last, I thought, at long last things were starting to happen. And not a moment too soon for these poor little ones. People think it’s just a cliché to talk of children ‘languishing’ in care, but, to my mind, if they weren’t getting the psychological and educational support they needed, that was exactly what kids like these two were doing. So what if Anna got her knickers in a twist about protocols? I didn’t care. I’d come into fostering to do my bit to stop that. And that’s what I intended to do.
A Looked After Children (LAC) review is a periodic meeting, held to discuss the situation and progress of a child (or sibling group) who is placed in the care system. It is run by an independent reviewer, and its purpose is to review the situation as it stands and to put in any plans for the future. Everyone involved with the child is invited, from foster carers, link workers and social workers, to the child or children’s teachers and nurses, and, if family contact is a part of the arrangement, the parents as well.
The next scheduled meeting for Ashton and Olivia was to be held at their school the following Wednesday. And, in the meantime, as was the requirement, I had been busy writing our report. As foster carers, we were asked to update everyone else at the meeting, about both the progress that had been made since the last LAC review, as well as any ongoing concerns we wanted to raise.
‘Got your list?’ Mike asked, as we parked the car in the school car park. He’d booked a half-day’s leave from work to attend with me. I didn’t know then what a big thing this would be – he didn’t always – I was just glad to have him with me so we could present a united front. And I was feeling pretty positive about things anyway.
‘Sure have,’ I said, waving it across the roof of the car as I climbed out. I had made a point of dressing smartly (as had Mike) – power dressing, if you like – as I wanted to impress upon the people that were present that we were professionals, and that our views needed hearing. ‘And you know what?’ I continued. ‘Now I’ve written it all down, it’s really made me focus on how much progress they’ve made. I really feel quite proud of them, to be honest.’
‘And so you should be,’ Mike said, squeezing my shoulder as we set off across the car park and into school. ‘I mean, I know we’re still battling with some pee and poo problems, but when you compare how they are now to how they were when they first came to us … I almost wish we’d taken photos – you know – before and after. Easy to forget that they were practically feral! So you have every right to be proud, love.’
‘And you too,’ I reminded him, as we entered.
I don’t know if it was a case of pride coming before a fall, but I did go into that meeting feeling we’d been doing a good job. The fact that there was so much still to do didn’t matter. I had a spring in my step and I expected it to stay there. And now we had Dr Shackleton and Julia Styles on board too, I even thought it might get a little springier.
But that was before the meeting started.
Barbara, the school receptionist, who I’d known a long time, was the one to greet us. ‘Coffee and biscuits right there,’ she said, pointing. ‘Then just head on in. Everyone’s in there.’
We did as requested and entered a room full of people. I’d been to lots of LAC reviews and this one was a biggie, and as we took the seats John Fulshaw had reserved for the two of us, I scanned the room, seeing some unfamiliar faces. There were the expected ones, John and Anna, of course, and a quartet of school officers I recognised – the head of school, the school nurse, the family support worker and nurture room teacher – but also three people that I didn’t. It was the first of these, Emma, the reviewing officer, who introduced the others, who turned out to be the head of the children’s previous primary school, and a young woman who, we were told, was a teaching assistant there. They’d been asked along, Emma told us, because as the children’s previous teachers, it was felt that their input and insights might be valuable.
Introductions over, Emma then went around the group, soliciting input, which Mike and I kicked off, outlining where the children had made improvements, but also reiterating how important we continued to feel it was that they get some sort of counselling as a matter of urgency. I also added that, having spoken to Julia the previous week, I was pleased to see that the school were like-minded in this regard, in terms of urgent assessment of their special educational needs, probable statementing (the process of formally giving children a statement of special educational needs) and resultant extra support, so they could be placed within the right learning environment.
So far, I thought, once I’d said my piece, so good. With Julia behind me – she had nodded and murmured approval throughout – I felt we might finally see a bit more action. And so far the rest of the attendees had listened passively. It was only when the staff at the current school began relating their update that I felt the first stirrings of an atmosphere developing.
It seemed there was a theme developing, too, as, one by one, all the staff had their say, all expressing concern about the hindrance to progress as a result of the fact that the kids’ ‘very obvious’ difficulties had not been picked up on before.
‘Olivia’s use of language and slightly strange ways, for example,’ Julia said.
‘Can you elaborate?’ Emma wanted to know.
Julia could. ‘She uses some strange language,’ she said. ‘And has a slightly odd manner and general demeanour. Then there are the bouts of hyperactivity, and the bouts of arm flapping that often accompany it. These are clearly longstanding behaviours that have become reinforced over time and need addressing as a priority. I also wonder if she needs her medication reassessed, as the ADHD is clearly still a factor.’
Next up was the school nurse, who expressed her agreement, but was able to add a positive about both children’s weight gain, which had, since they’d been with us, come along nicely, with both of them being now within the correct boundaries for their age.
Emma duly noted all this down, together with Anna’s testimony that the council were doing all they could to find permanent placements, as well as outlining their decision to split Ashton from Olivia, and why. This still upset me, of course, even though I understood the reasoning, and I had by now come to accept, however sadly, that the truth was that we didn’t live in a utopia.
But the sadness was suppressed by a warm glow of positivity as John rounded up that part of the meeting.
‘I think we can all agree,’ he said, smiling in Mike and my direction, ‘that the Watsons – who, I might add, were only supposed to have these two very short term – have been doing an exemplary job. And that’s without the support they could have done with,’ he added. ‘As you all know, as temporary carers, they have no input from CAMHS, so apart from the support of the school, which has been excellent, they really have been going it alone.’
Was it that, I wondered afterwards, that so rankled with the other teachers? All I knew was that from that point on things became unpleasant. We moved straight on, then, to looking at an action plan for the immediate future, and it was at this point that the two of them were asked to contribute, to add their insight into the root of the children’s problems. But we were all in for something of a shock.
I’d spoken briefly to Julia, of course, about the lack of documentation she’d been sent, but it seemed that was the tip of the iceberg.
The children’s previous headmaster, Mr Moore, cleared his throat noisily, and proceeded to make something of a speech. ‘I’m very pleased we’ve been asked to come here today,’ he began. ‘Because the extended family have been known to our school for a long time, and this latest pair did and do mean a lot to us. We taught both of them, right from reception class on and, as I say, knew the family extremely well. Educationally,’ and here he paused and scanned the faces around the table, ‘I must say I am surprised by what I’ve heard here today. According to our records, and from what I remember of the children personally, both children were perfectly capable at school. We never had problems with them.’
You could have heard a pin drop at that point, which I felt sure was what he intended, such was the tone of his words. I glanced at Julia, whose expression of shock mirrored mine. ‘Really?’ she said, her professional hackles up now. ‘I have to say, I am somewhat surprised at that. We have conducted a lot of tests and are a hundred per cent certain that both children have a degree of learning disability. We will, of course, bring in the educational psychologist to re-affirm this, but they definitely require learning support.’
Had a pin dropped now, it would still make a clatter in the ensuing silence, as Mr Moore turned to his assistant. ‘Well, Ann here,’ he said, gesturing to the now nervous-looking woman sitting beside him, ‘is the teaching assistant attached to the classes of both Ashton and Olivia and she assures me –’ he smiled and she bobbed her head slightly – ‘that there was never a problem with the children. They were always hard-working, quiet and friendly. There was nothing to suggest they needed extra support. The only worry we did have, was for Olivia and her rather “quaint” ways.’
‘Which wasn’t documented,’ Julia shot back immediately.
‘If you’ll let me finish,’ Mr Moore said. ‘I was going to say that we were about to bring in a therapist when the children were removed from the school. But apart from that, we saw no evidence to concern us.’
‘That’s right,’ added Ann, who appeared to have found her voice now. ‘They were always adequately presented, and –’
It was at this point that perhaps she wished she hadn’t.
‘Adequately presented?!’ This was Mike, who, up to now, had been silent, but his voice was as explosive as it was sudden. I could see he was aghast. ‘Adequately presented? Are we talking about the same family here? These are kids that were brought to us without any clothing to speak of, filthy dirty, heads ridden with lice! They the ones? Oh, and covered in scabies, too. The same kids, right?’
I placed my hand over Mike’s on the table. He was livid – that was clear – and I could understand why. These people who professed to know these children so well didn’t seem to know them at all. Could they even bring them to mind now? I seriously doubted it. I decided to speak before my husband blew a gasket.
‘Mike’s right,’ I said, trying to keep my voice level. ‘And, actually, our records indicate that the school – your school –’ I looked pointedly at Mr Moore here – ‘had sent a report to social services, saying pretty much the same. That they were unkempt most of the time, and hungry as well. And that they’d been caught stealing food from other children’s lunch boxes, and the school rubbish bins, too, as I recall. Also, as far as their learning capacity goes, we all believe –’ I glanced at Julia here, and she nodded – ‘that they are at least a couple of years behind their peers. At least.’
Ann, the teaching assistant, smiled at me sweetly. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs Watson,’ she said softly. ‘I didn’t realise you were a teacher.’
I hated that it happened, but I felt my cheeks redden, as the sarcasm in her voice reached my ears.
‘Actually, Ms Phelps,’ I said, glancing at her name on the agenda, my heart beginning to thump against my ribcage, ‘I do have a teaching degree, if that’s any of your business. But that’s irrelevant to what I’m telling you about these children. You don’t need a teaching qualification to back up what I’m saying, which is that these children clearly have problems which have been manifest for years.’
I was fuming. I had no idea why this woman so had it in for me. I’d never met her, never slighted her. What was going on here? Was it just because the children had been removed from their school? Was that it?
‘I’m sorry,’ said Mr Moore again, filling the space his assistant’s shocked silence had created. ‘But I, um, we, have to disagree with your evaluation. And I’d like it to be noted that, as a school, we feel that if the children have now deteriorated, then maybe … well, maybe the current carers have let that side of things slide somewhat.’
Mike slammed his hands down on the table so hard that I almost jumped out of my skin. ‘How DARE you!’ he railed at the head teacher. ‘How dare you! How dare you insinuate that we don’t know our job! I tell you what, mate, if you had done your job properly, these kids might have been spared one hell of a lot of suffering and grief! In my opinion, you have contributed to that, you hear me?’ He turned to me then. ‘Are you okay, love?’ His face was grey.
I was on the verge of tears now. So stunned by what had happened that I couldn’t speak. Had the man actually said that? That we had made the children deteriorate? It was as ridiculous a suggestion as I’d heard in my life, but, even so, I felt cornered. Judged. In the headlights. How could he even suggest such a thing?
John stood up. He looked every bit as shocked as I felt. ‘Emma,’ he said. ‘Would you mind if we called a halt? Ten minutes, okay? I’d like to have a word with Mike and Casey.’
She nodded, looking relieved, and the three of us trooped out.
Out in the corridor, Mike was as angry as ever. ‘Honestly, Case, I could go right back in there and … God! I can’t believe what they’re trying to insinuate!’
John nodded his agreement. ‘Mike, I’m as gobsmacked as you are. But you know how these things can get – emotions run high. Everyone’s under pressure. Things get heated … You okay, Casey?’
I nodded. ‘I’m fine. I’m just furious! How could he? And that woman! And after everything we’ve done for the kids! What the hell is her agenda? She sat right through the bloody meeting! She heard what was said. How can she come out with that? Honestly, John, I felt like slapping her one!’
‘I could see that,’ said Mike, making a concerted effort to calm down. He managed a thin smile. ‘Which is why I thought I’d better step in for you.’
Seeing Mike regaining his temper reminded me I should do likewise. There was nothing to be gained by getting so het up. I took a deep breath and let it stream out through my nostrils.
‘I’m okay now,’ I said. ‘I’m just fine.’
‘Well, I’m not!’ said John. ‘Look, you just say the word, Casey, and I’ll go right on back in there, this very minute, and tell them that’s that. Placement over. I won’t have any member of my team spoken to in that fashion! Just say the word and I’ll go back and tell the whole bloody lot of them that that’s it. That you’ve had enough. That you won’t be spoken to like that. That they’ll have to find an emergency placement elsewhere. Today!’
‘John, come on. It wasn’t really Anna’s fault –’ I began.
He shook his head. ‘Makes no difference. She should have spoken up for you. I should have spoken up for you.’
Mike put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Come on. You hardly had a chance, John.’
‘Even so, I should have. Honestly, both of you, just say the word. If you’ve had enough, just say. I’ll go and tell them.”
I looked at Mike. Mike looked back. We didn’t need to say anything. I had no idea how such a bizarre conversation had come about. But one thing was for sure. On the strength of what had clearly come before, these kids needed people like us in their corner. ‘No way,’ I said firmly. ‘No way.’