Copyright

Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.

HarperElement

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperElement 2020

FIRST EDITION

Text © Cathy Glass 2020

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2020

Cover photograph © Johner Images/Getty Images (posed by a model)

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

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Source ISBN: 9780008380380

Ebook Edition © February 2020 ISBN: 9780008380397

Version: 2020-06-09

Acknowledgements

A big thank-you to my family; my editors, Carolyn and Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; my UK publishers HarperCollins, and my overseas publishers, who are now too numerous to list by name. Last, but definitely not least, a big thank-you to my readers for your unfailing support and kind words. They are much appreciated.

Epigraph

A third of children who have

been sexually abused never tell.

Contents

1  Cover

2  Title Page

3  Copyright

4  Acknowledgements

5  Epigraph

6  Contents

7  Chapter One: Being Watched

8 Chapter Two: Anxious

9  Chapter Three: Protecting Oskar

10  Chapter Four: Stressed and Tense

11  Chapter Five: You Know Those Men?

12  Chapter Six: Wary

13  Chapter Seven: Very Concerned

14  Chapter Eight: Preoccupied

15  Chapter Nine: A Strange Reunion

16  Chapter Ten: Contact

17  Chapter Eleven: Not Safe

18  Chapter Twelve: Mr Nowak

19  Chapter Thirteen: Review

20  Chapter Fourteen: Distraught

21  Chapter Fifteen: They Made Me

22  Chapter Sixteen: Questioned by the Police

23  Chapter Seventeen: Sickening

24  Chapter Eighteen: Family

25  Chapter Nineteen: Therapy

26  Chapter Twenty: Family

27  Chapter Twenty-One: Good and Bad News

28  Chapter Twenty-Two: Adoption

29  Chapter Twenty-Three: Photographs

30  Chapter Twenty-Four: Break My Heart

31  Chapter Twenty-Five: Unsettled

32  Chapter Twenty-Six: Court Case

33  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Retiring?

34  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Leaving

35  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Unexpected News

36  Suggested topics for reading-group discussion

37  Cathy Glass

38  Moving Memoirs

39  Praise for Cathy Glass

40  About the Publisher

LandmarksCoverFrontmatterStart of ContentBackmatter

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Chapter One

Being Watched

‘I feel dreadful,’ the young teacher wept. ‘His uncle is angry with me, Oskar is sobbing, and now he has to live with a strange family.’

‘It might not be for long,’ I said. ‘Just until his mother gets back. And we’re not that strange,’ I added, trying to lighten her mood.

‘No, I didn’t mean that,’ she said, forcing a small smile through her tears. ‘I’m sure you’re very nice, but it’s not Oskar’s home, is it?’

‘I’ll do my best to make it home while he is with me,’ I said, touching her arm reassuringly. Erica Jordan, Oskar’s teacher, was blaming herself for Oskar coming into foster care. ‘It wasn’t your decision to bring Oskar into care,’ I pointed out.

‘No, but I logged everything he told me and reported it to my Headmistress.’

‘Which was right,’ I said. ‘That was the correct procedure. If you hadn’t reported your concerns and something dreadful had happened to Oskar, how would you have felt then?’

‘I’d never have forgiven myself. I’m sorry,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘I’m only in my second year of teaching and I’ve never dealt with anything like this before.’

‘I understand, and believe me, it doesn’t matter how experienced you are, it’s still upsetting. No one wants to see a child removed from their home, but sometimes it’s necessary to keep them safe.’

‘I don’t think Oskar has much of a home from what he’s told me,’ she admitted.

‘No, but the social services will thoroughly investigate. I’ve been a foster carer for a long time, and a child who regularly arrives at school unkempt and so hungry that he has to steal food – as Oskar has – suggests they are not being looked after at home. It doesn’t mean he’ll remain in care for good, just until the social services are satisfied that if he goes home he’ll be properly cared for.’

Being hungry and unkempt weren’t the only reasons Oskar, aged six, was being brought into care. He was pale, withdrawn and so tired he kept falling asleep in class, and sometimes he arrived at school with unexplained bruises on his arms and legs. He had first come to the school in January, so four months previously, and the concerns had been there right from the start, which Miss Jordan had been correctly reporting to the Headmistress. Although Oskar’s mother had first registered him at the school, a series of ‘uncles’ had been bringing and collecting him, sometimes arriving very late. Originally from Eastern Europe, Oskar and his mother had good English, but the uncles claimed to have none.

Miss Jordan had also told me that the school had set up a number of meetings with his family to try to discuss their concerns, but no one had ever turned up. Now, on the second day back at school after the Easter holidays, Oskar had arrived very late, hungry, in tears and with an angry red mark on his face. The man who had dropped him off at the entrance to the school had gone straight away, when those arriving late were expected to bring the child into the school and sign them in. Now even more concerned for the boy’s welfare, the Headmistress had asked Miss Jordan, who had established a relationship with Oskar, to talk to him privately, one to one, to try to find out as much as possible, while she contacted the social services again. Reluctant at first to say anything about his home, Oskar finally told her his mother had been away for most of the two-week holiday and his uncles had been left in charge of him. He said the mark on his cheek was from one of his uncles, who had slapped him that morning for not doing as he was told. The social services had tried to contact his mother without success, so, not wanting Oskar to return home, they had applied to the court for an emergency protection order to bring him into care temporarily. At the same time, I’d received a phone call from my supervising social worker, Edith, putting me on standby to receive Oskar if the court order was granted. Edith had phoned again at midday to say the order had been granted and I should go to Oskar’s school at three o’clock to collect him.

It was now nearly 4.15 p.m. and most of the other children had gone home. I was with Miss Jordan in her classroom while Oskar, his social worker, the Headmistress and the uncle who’d arrived to collect him were in another room. Also with them was a teaching assistant who worked at the school and was now acting as an impromptu translator for the uncle. It was pure luck she spoke his language, having come to the UK from the same country many years before. I’d said goodbye to my previous foster children, Molly and Kit, in very unhappy circumstances a few days before. (I tell their story in Innocent.) Aware that foster carers are in short supply and my spare room never stayed empty for long, I’d given it a thorough clean and prepared it for the next child virtually straight away.

It’s a strange feeling when a child or children you’ve loved and cared for leave, like a mini bereavement. But as a foster carer you have to be brave and stoical and remind yourself you have done your best and that the children are now able to return home or go to a loving adoptive family so they can move on with their lives. While each child comes with a different story, one thing they all have in common is that they need loads of love, understanding, kindness and reassurance. The last of which Miss Jordan needed too.

She seemed a bit happier now I’d told her that Oskar’s social worker was sure to arrange contact so he could see his mother. As we talked, waiting for his social worker to finish the meeting in the room next door, my mobile rang. It was Edith, my supervising social worker. ‘I’d better take this,’ I said to Miss Jordan.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Have you got Oskar yet?’ Edith asked.

‘I’m at his school now. His social worker is with him. Shall I call you once I’m home?’

‘Yes. Leave a voicemail message if I don’t pick up and I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’

‘OK.’ Sometimes Edith updated me, but more often I updated her. As a supervising social worker (SSW) her role was to monitor, support, advise and guide the foster carers she was responsible for in all aspects of fostering.

Just as I ended the call and returned my phone to my bag, the classroom door opened and a tallish man in his thirties with fair hair came in with a small boy beside him.

‘Oskar, love,’ Miss Jordan said, immediately standing and going to him.

I went over too.

‘I’m Andrew Holmes, Oskar’s social worker,’ the man said to me. He must have already met Erica Jordan.

‘Cathy Glass, foster carer,’ I said, smiling at Oskar.

‘This is the lady I told you about,’ Andrew explained to him.

‘Hello, Oskar,’ I said gently, my heart going out to him. He was pale, slightly built, small for his age and his eyes were red from crying. He looked at me, petrified. The bruise on his cheek was even more pronounced against his pallid skin.

‘Are you OK, Oskar?’ Miss Jordan asked, squatting down in front of him so she was at his height. He gave a small nod, wide-eyed and anxious.

‘Cathy is going to look after you for a few days until your mummy gets back,’ she said, which wasn’t strictly true and made it sound as though he would automatically be returned to his mother when she reappeared. I knew Miss Jordan was trying her best to comfort him, but I’d learnt from years of fostering that we have to be careful what we tell children and not give them false hope.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said to him, straightening.

‘Will Oskar be coming to school tomorrow?’ I checked with his social worker. It was usual for a child to go to school the day after coming into care, as it offered some routine and familiarity.

‘Yes. I don’t see why not,’ Andrew replied.

‘You’ll see your teacher in the morning,’ I told Oskar, with another reassuring smile. He stared back at me, lost and bewildered.

‘Mr Nowak, the man who came to collect Oskar, says he is able to contact Oskar’s mother,’ Andrew said to me and Miss Jordan. ‘He’s going to call her and ask her to phone me. Once I’ve spoken to her, I’ll have a better understanding of what the situation is at home.’

‘Will Oskar be seeing his uncles?’ I asked. I needed to know in case one of them approached me at the school gates.

‘Not until I’ve spoken to his mother and got a clearer picture of the set-up at home,’ Andrew said. ‘As far as I can tell, none of the “uncles” is related to Oskar and no one – apart from his mother – is responsible for him.’

That in itself was worrying and was news to Miss Jordan. ‘I had assumed they were real uncles,’ she said, obviously concerned. ‘I’m sure that’s what his mother said when she first registered him.’

Andrew gave a non-committal nod, then said to me, ‘I’ll try to get some of Oskar’s clothes, but at present he’s just got what he’s wearing.’ This isn’t unusual. More often than not, if it’s an emergency placement, the child arrives with what they have on.

‘I’ve got plenty of spares,’ I said.

‘His coat is here,’ Miss Jordan said, and she crossed the classroom to fetch it from a peg.

‘Am I going now?’ Oskar asked in a small voice.

‘Yes, shortly,’ Andrew said. Then to me, ‘I’ll let you have the placement forms as soon as they’re ready.’ These usually came ahead of the child or with them if the placement was planned in advance, but as this was an emergency there hadn’t been time. ‘As far as Mr Nowak is aware, Oskar hasn’t got any allergies and there are no special dietary or cultural needs,’ he added. This type of information would have been included in the placement forms. ‘Hopefully I’ll know more once I’ve spoken to Oskar’s mother.’

‘All right,’ I said. Having so little information wasn’t unheard of, but it was worrying, as I could easily miss something vital while looking after Oskar. ‘He’s not on any medication? Inhalers for asthma?’ I asked.

‘Not as far as we know,’ Andrew replied.

‘None has been brought into school,’ Miss Jordan confirmed as she helped Oskar into his coat.

‘Are you my mummy now?’ Oskar asked his teacher, his bottom lip trembling. Immediately she teared up.

‘Miss Jordan is your teacher,’ I said gently. ‘I’m your foster carer. I’m going to look after you for a while in my house. It’s a short ride in my car. You’ll have your own bedroom and my grown-up children will help you too. We also have a cat. Do you like cats?’

He gave a small nod.

‘Great. I know he’s going to like you.’

‘I’ll phone you tomorrow,’ Andrew said to me.

I said goodbye to him and Miss Jordan, and Oskar and I left the classroom. I was still holding his hand and kept talking to him positively as we made our way out of the school. Bless him – six years old, and only in the country a few months, and he was now coming to live with me in a ‘strange house’, as Miss Jordan had put it. I felt his hand tighten in mine. Although I was doing my best to comfort and reassure him, I knew how lost and alone he must feel.

It was now 4.30 p.m. and, in April, still light outside. We continued along the pavement towards my car. Other vehicles were parked along the kerb and as we approached my car Oskar suddenly stopped and looked across the road. I followed his line of vision and saw a black car parked directly opposite mine. I could see two men sitting in the front and both appeared to be watching us. ‘Do you know those men?’ I asked as I unlocked my car.

He didn’t reply but was still frozen to the spot, staring at the car and looking worried. ‘Oskar, get in the car, love,’ I said, opening the rear door.

In silence, he did as I asked. I leant in and fastened his seatbelt. He was craning his neck to look at the black car. I closed his car door, then went round and got into the driver’s seat. As I did, I glanced over again. Now they were studying me.

‘Do you know those men?’ I asked Oskar again, turning in my seat to look at him.

‘No,’ he said, but I could tell from his expression that he did and also that he was worried, if not scared, by their presence.

‘You’re safe with me,’ I said, but before I started the engine I pressed the central locking system, so none of the doors could be opened from the outside. I wasn’t being paranoid; I had no idea who those men were, why they were taking such an interest in us or why Oskar should be frightened of them. Had he come from a large extended family, I might have thought they were part of his family and wanted to see where he was being taken. It had happened to me before, just as it’s happened to other carers: a child is placed, the carer’s address is purposely withheld and then a family member follows the foster carer home on the school run. However, as far as I knew at that point, Oskar only had his mother, and she wasn’t in the country. Perhaps they were some of Oskar’s ‘uncles’, but then why had he denied knowing them? I couldn’t begin to guess who they were.

As I pulled away the car remained where it was. Even so, I glanced in my rear-view mirror every so often just to check we weren’t being followed home. There was no sign of the car.

I talked to Oskar as I drove, telling him about my family and reassuring him there was nothing to worry about. He sat very quiet and still, mainly gazing out of his side window. It was impossible to know what he was thinking or feeling. From the few words he’d spoken, his English seemed to be very good – surprisingly good, considering he’d only been in the country a few months. We arrived home just before 5.00 p.m. and as I parked outside my house I asked him one more time: ‘Do you have any idea who those men were?’

‘No.’

So I let the matter drop. What I didn’t know at the time was that I was going to have to return to the subject very soon.

Chapter Two

Anxious

Only my youngest daughter Paula, twenty-one, was at home when I arrived with Oskar. She was studying for a business degree at a local college and was often in ahead of my other two children – Adrian, twenty-five, and Lucy, twenty-three – who both worked. As soon as Paula heard my key in the front door, she was in the hall ready to greet us.

‘I got your text, Mum. Hi, Oskar,’ she said brightly. We had a family WhatsApp group so my children and I could message each other collectively. It had largely replaced leaving notes. I’d texted our group earlier to let them know Oskar was coming to stay with us. Having grown up with fostering, my family were used to children and young people suddenly arriving.

‘This is my daughter, Paula,’ I told Oskar as I helped him out of his coat. He looked at Paula with the same mixture of angst and bewilderment as he had when looking at me.

‘Nice to meet you, Oskar,’ Paula said, smiling at him.

‘He’s a little quiet at present,’ I told her when he didn’t respond.

‘That’s OK, he’ll get used to us.’ She threw him another reassuring smile.

At that point Sammy, our rescue cat, strutted into the hall to see who had invaded his territory. He’d been a bit feral when we’d first had him but could now be relied upon not to eat the children.

‘Your cat,’ Oskar said, staring at the cat.

‘Yes, he’s called Sammy,’ I said. ‘Would you like to stroke him?’

He was showing the same reluctance to greet Sammy as Sammy was to him. Paula picked up the cat and presented him to Oskar. He tentatively stroked him.

‘Sammy likes you,’ Paula said, and finally Oskar’s expression gave way to a tiny smile. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Oskar stroked Sammy a few more times and then our cat, a little short on patience, jumped from Paula’s arms and disappeared down the hall. Oskar looked after him but didn’t try to follow him as another child might.

‘Let’s take off your shoes,’ I said, undoing the Velcro. I helped him out of his shoes and left them with ours in the hall. His shoes, like his clothes, were in poor condition, as were those of many of the children I’d fostered.

Before I’d left home to collect Oskar from school, I’d set out some toy boxes in the living room ready for our return. I’d found that playing can often distract a child from their worries and help them to feel at home and start to relax.

‘Let’s go and find some toys,’ I said enthusiastically. ‘Would you like a snack first to see you through till dinner?’

He shook his head, so taking his hand we went into the living room. It’s at the back of the house with large glass patio doors that overlook the garden.

‘Would you like to play?’ Paula asked encouragingly, going over to the toy boxes.

Oskar looked at them and then at me. ‘Where do I have to sleep?’ he asked anxiously.

‘You have your own bedroom upstairs,’ I said. ‘It’s not bedtime yet, but would you like to see your room now?’

He nodded.

‘That’s fine,’ I said. ‘This way.’ It was slightly unusual for a child of his age to be more interested in their bedroom than toys. Teenagers can’t wait to chill out in their own rooms, but not so with younger children.

‘Shall I put dinner on?’ Paula asked. ‘I’m hungry.’

‘Yes, please. There’s a casserole in the fridge that just needs popping in the oven.’

While Paula went to the kitchen, I took Oskar upstairs. Children react differently to the stress of coming into care: some are very loud and display challenging behaviour, while others, like Oskar, are quiet and withdrawn. The latter is more worrying, as it suggests the child is internalizing their pain, rather than letting it out.

‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ I told him as we followed the landing round to his bedroom. He was holding my hand – in fact, gripping it quite tightly. ‘Do you have your own bedroom at home?’ I asked him as his gaze travelled warily around his room. He looked at me, confused. ‘Or do you share a bedroom?’ Information like this would usually have been available on the placement forms, had the move been planned in advance. It would have helped me build up a picture of Oskar’s home life before coming into care so I could better meet his needs; for example, if a child is used to sharing a bedroom with siblings, they might need a lot of reassurance on their first few nights of sleeping alone.

‘I sleep with Mummy,’ Oskar said.

‘OK.’ Although I wouldn’t have expected a child of Oskar’s age to be sleeping with a parent.

‘And Maria, Elana and Alina,’ he added.

‘Who are they?’ I asked, puzzled.

He shrugged.

‘Are they your sisters?’

He shook his head.

‘Cousins? Friends?’

He shrugged again and began to look very worried, so I didn’t pursue it. Perhaps he was just confused by all the changes, but I’d have to tell his social worker. He would be checking Oskar’s home and seeing the sleeping arrangements for himself before he returned Oskar to his mother’s care.

‘We’ve got a nice big garden,’ I said, drawing him to the window. His room was at the rear of the house and overlooked the garden. He was just tall enough to see over the windowsill. ‘You can play out there when the weather is nice, and we also have a park nearby.’

Oskar turned from the window to survey the room. ‘Do you like your bedroom?’ I asked. He didn’t reply. ‘Once we have some of your belongings from home in here it will feel more comfortable.’ Still no response. ‘Would you like to see the rest of the upstairs?’

He gave a small nod.

He slipped his hand into mine again and I showed him the toilet first, and at the same time asked him if he needed to use it, but he didn’t. ‘This is Adrian’s room,’ I said, moving to the next door along the landing. ‘He’s grown up now, but you’ll meet him later when he gets in from work.’ I opened Adrian’s bedroom door just so Oskar could see inside. ‘All our bedrooms are private,’ I said. ‘Just for us.’ I closed Adrian’s door and went along the landing, opening and closing the girls’ bedroom doors, the bathroom and finally my bedroom.

‘There is where I sleep,’ I said.

He looked in. ‘Do I sleep in here?’

‘No, love, in your own bedroom, the one we went in first. If you need me in the night, just call out and I’ll come to you.’

He looked puzzled and then asked, ‘Do you sleep by yourself?’

‘Yes. I’m divorced. Do you know what that means?’

He nodded. ‘Mummy is.’

‘OK. Come on, let’s find something to do,’ I said, and closed my bedroom door.

‘Shall I go to bed?’ he asked.

‘It’s a bit early yet. Come downstairs with me and you can play, then we’ll have dinner, and later you can go to bed.’

Oskar did as I asked, and once we were downstairs he came with me into the kitchen-diner where Paula was laying the table ready for dinner later. ‘Thanks, love,’ I said to her.

‘I need to get on with some college work now,’ she said.

‘Yes, you go. Thanks for your help.’

‘I’ll see you at dinner,’ she told Oskar and, with a smile, left.

The casserole was cooking in the oven and wouldn’t be ready for half an hour, so I suggested to Oskar that we go into the living room and play with some toys. He came with me, obedient and compliant but not enthusiastic. We sat on the floor by the toy boxes and I began taking out some of the toys, games and puzzles, trying to capture his interest. He watched me but didn’t join in. I wasn’t wholly surprised. It might take days, if not weeks, before he relaxed enough to play. Children vary.

‘Do you understand why you are in care and staying with me for now?’ I asked him. Although his social worker would have explained this and I had talked to Oskar about it in the car, there was so much to take in that, when stressed and anxious, it’s easy to forget.

He didn’t reply, so I said, ‘I’m a foster carer and I live here with my family. We are going to look after you, as your mummy can’t at present.’

I would have expected a child of his age to understand the concept phrased this way. Miss Jordan, his teacher, had said Oskar had a good grasp of English and his learning was above average. But Oskar looked at me blankly and then asked, ‘Does Mummy look after me?’

‘Yes, I think so. Usually.’ That was the impression I’d been given and what his social worker and teacher believed. But Oskar was looking bewildered, and given we knew so little about him, I thought I should try to clarify this. ‘Did your mummy look after you before she went away?’ I asked.

‘Looked after?’ he repeated questioningly.

‘Yes, made your meals, washed your clothes, played with you.’

‘No. Maybe. Sometimes,’ he said, confused.

‘Who else looked after you?’ I asked.

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know all their names.’

‘The uncles who took you to school?’

‘Sometimes.’

The set-up at Oskar’s home seemed even more complex than his social worker or school had realized. Most children who come into care have a bond with and are loyal to their main care-giver, usually a parent or relative, even if they’ve been neglected or abused. They often try to portray them in a more positive light than they deserve out of loyalty, but not so with Oskar. He seemed to be struggling with the idea of being looked after at all.

‘When Mummy is at home, does she make your meals and spend time with you?’ I asked lightly, picking up a toy and approaching the matter from a different angle.

‘She works,’ he said, watching me.

‘OK, but when she doesn’t work, is she the one who takes care of you?’

He shrugged and began to look anxious, so again I let the subject drop. Once he was feeling more at ease, hopefully he’d begin to talk.

‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and see how the casserole is doing.’ I offered him my hand and we went into the kitchen, where Oskar waited a safe distance from the hot oven as I opened the door and gave the casserole a stir.

‘Hmm, that smells nice,’ he said.

‘Good. Another fifteen minutes and it will be ready to eat. What would you like to drink with your meal?’

‘Water, please.’

I poured a tumbler of water and set it at his place on the table. We tend to keep the same places at the meal table, as many families do. I showed Oskar his place. I was expecting Adrian and Lucy to arrive home at any moment and I’d just begun telling him a little bit about them when I heard Lucy let herself in the front door. ‘Hi, Mum!’ she shouted, making Oskar start.

‘Quietly, Lucy,’ I called. She bounced into the kitchen.

‘Hi, Oskar,’ she cried, delighted to see him. She was a qualified nursery assistant and I knew that sometimes she’d been asked to quell her exuberance at work, but I was pleased she was so outgoing and happy. It had been very different when she’d first come to me as a foster child, withdrawn and with an eating disorder. (I tell Lucy’s story in Will You Love Me?) She’d done amazingly well and was now a permanent member of my family. I’d adopted her and loved her as much as I did my birth children – Adrian and Paula.

Having said a few words to Oskar, Lucy went upstairs to change out of her work clothes. Five minutes later Adrian arrived home, making a slightly more reserved entrance. He came in, said hello to Oskar, kissed my cheek, asked if I’d had a good day and then went upstairs to change. I gave him and Lucy a few minutes and then called everyone to dinner. I dished up and we settled around the table to eat.

I always anticipate that our new arrival may feel uncomfortable for the first few days, surrounded by new people and customs, especially at the meal table when we are all in close proximity and the noise level rises as we talk about our day. Lucy entertained us with a funny story about a child at nursery, and Adrian said a little about his day at work as a trainee accountant. Paula talked of her day at college, and I of fostering and the part-time clerical work I did mainly from home.

As we chatted and ate, I watched Oskar but he didn’t seem to mind all the talking or being surrounded by new people. He ate well and had seconds, and a pudding. It was later, after dinner, when I began his bedtime routine, that his anxiety set in again. I’d read him a story in the living room and at seven o’clock I said it was time for bed.

‘Do I have to sleep upstairs?’ he asked.

‘Yes, love, that’s where the beds are.’

‘Can I sleep on the floor downstairs?’

‘No, that would be very uncomfortable,’ I said. ‘Do you sleep in a bed at your home?’ I’d fostered children before who’d had to sleep on the sofa or a mattress on the floor because there wasn’t money for a bed.

He didn’t reply but came with me to the bathroom, where I’d set out a fresh towel, toothbrush, soap, sponge, clean pyjamas and so forth from my spares.

‘I don’t want a bath,’ he said as soon as we went in.

‘Would you like a shower instead?’ I asked.

‘No.’ He began to look worried again.

‘OK, just have a good wash tonight. I expect you’re tired. You can have a bath tomorrow.’ I never usually insist a child has a bath or shower on their first night; I wait until they feel more comfortable with me.

I ran water for him in the washbasin and then waited while he washed his face, going carefully over his cheek where the bruise was. ‘That looks sore,’ I said.

He shrugged. I thought Miss Jordan had done well to get Oskar talking about how he got the mark on his face, as he was saying so little to me. But she’d had a term – four months – to gain his trust, while I’d only had a few hours. I hoped in time he’d start to trust me and open up. He washed his hands and brushed his teeth, then I handed him his pyjamas.

‘Do you need help changing into your pyjamas or shall I wait outside?’ I asked him, respecting his privacy.

‘I want to sleep in my clothes,’ he said, immediately growing anxious. ‘Please let me sleep in my clothes.’ His eyes filled.

An icy chill ran up my spine. I hoped I was wrong, but a child not wanting to undress can be a sign that they’ve been sexually abused.

Chapter Three

Protecting Oskar

Preoccupied with Oskar’s reaction to changing into his night clothes, I picked up his pyjamas and we went round the landing to his bedroom. I certainly wouldn’t be forcing him to change, but I hoped to be able to persuade him, and also to find out the reason for his reluctance to undress. There might be a perfectly innocent explanation, although as a very experienced foster carer I had my doubts.

It was still light outside and I asked Oskar if he liked to sleep with his curtains closed, open or open a little. On their first night I always ask a child this and other questions regarding how they like their bedroom. It’s small details like this that help them settle in a strange room. He replied, ‘I think they’re closed.’

‘OK.’

‘Do you like to sleep with your bedroom light on or off? Or I can dim it a little if you wish.’ I thought if I made his room as he was used to then he’d start to feel more secure.

He didn’t reply so I showed him what I meant by switching the light on and off and then dimming it. ‘On or off?’ I asked again. ‘Or dimmed?’

‘It goes on and off a lot,’ he said. ‘It wakes me up.’

‘You mean the light flashes?’ I asked, slightly baffled. I wondered if he lived in a built-up area where car headlights caught his bedroom window, or possibly a neon shop sign flashed on and off late at night.

‘They keep switching it on,’ Oskar said.

‘Who do?’ I asked.

‘The people in the house.’

‘Oh. What people are they, love?’

He clammed up again. So often in fostering the child is reluctant to confide to begin with and foster carers (and social workers) have to become detectives, gently easing the information from them. We also have to be receptive if a child starts to tell us something, as what they are really trying to say may not be obvious.

‘This room is your bedroom and only you sleep here,’ I emphasized, hoping to make him feel safe. ‘I won’t come into your room and switch on the light unless you want me to. You can have your door open or closed, just as you wish. When it is time to get up for school, I will knock on your door to wake you and then you can call out, “Come in.”’

‘Knock on my door,’ he repeated, as though he hadn’t a clue what I was talking about.

‘Yes, like this.’ I stepped outside, drew the door to, knocked on it and said, ‘It’s Cathy, can I come in? Then you say, “Yes, come in.”’

I demonstrated again and on the second try he called out, ‘Yes, come in.’

‘Great,’ I said. ‘Well done. Remember, it’s your room. You’re in charge of it. OK?’

He nodded, and at that point I think he began to accept that he was going to be safe, for his face lost some of its unease and he started looking around the room. There wasn’t really much to see without his possessions: furniture, posters on the walls, and I’d put in a toy box and some soft toys. Now he was more relaxed I thought I’d ask him to change. I really needed him to change into night clothes so I could wash his school uniform, and I didn’t want him to start a habit of sleeping every night in his day clothes.

‘Oskar, I’m going to wait outside while you change into your pyjamas and get into bed. Then, once you are ready, you can call out “come in”.’ Without waiting for a refusal, I stepped outside the door, drew it to and waited. A few minutes later his little voice rang out. ‘I’m in bed. You can come in.’ I smiled.

Even so, I knocked on the door before I went in. ‘Well done,’ I said, and scooped up his day clothes. ‘I’ll wash these ready for school tomorrow.’

‘Will you take me to school?’ he asked, his little face peeping over the duvet.

‘Yes, and collect you. Now I want you to try to get some sleep. You’ve had a very tiring day. Would you like a goodnight kiss?’ I always check, otherwise it can be an uncomfortable invasion of the child’s personal space and terrifying for those who have been abused.

Oskar shook his head and looked worried. ‘It’s fine, you don’t have to have a kiss. I’ll just say goodnight and see you in the morning. Call out if you need me.’ I tucked him in and went to the door. ‘Would you like your door left open, closed or a little open?’ I asked him again.

‘Closed,’ he said.

‘OK.’

Leaving the light on low, I came out convinced there was far more going on for Oskar than anyone knew.

Downstairs, I put his clothes in the washer-dryer and then checked his school’s website for its start and finish times. After that, I set about writing up my log notes while I had the chance. All foster carers in the UK are required to keep a daily record of the child or children they are looking after. This includes appointments, the child’s health and well-being, education, significant events and any disclosures the child may make about their past. As well as charting the child’s progress, it can act as an aide-mémoire. When the child leaves, this record is placed on file at the social services. Some carers type these, but I’m not alone in preferring to keep a written record and then emailing a résumé as part of my monthly report to the child’s social worker and my supervising social worker.

As I wrote, I included collecting Oskar from school, that he’d eaten a good meal, how he appeared to be coping with being in care and his comments where appropriate. The account has to be objective, so I didn’t include that I thought there was far more going on in Oskar’s life than anyone knew about. This was conjecture at present and time would tell if I was right or not. Once I’d completed my notes for the day, I stored the folder in a locked drawer in the front room with other important paperwork.

I went upstairs and quietly checked on Oskar. He was fast asleep. I then spent some time talking to Adrian, Paula and Lucy, who thought Oskar was a lovely boy but looked very troubled – ‘as though he has the weight of the world on his shoulders’, Paula said. This wasn’t altogether surprising considering he’d just come into care, regardless of whatever else might have happened in his past. I said I hoped that in time he would start to relax and look a bit happier, as other children we’d fostered had. Generally, children have amazing resilience and adapt to change – in my opinion, they are all little heroes.

Aware that Oskar would probably have an unsettled first night, I went to bed shortly after ten o’clock. I never sleep well when there is a new child in the house. I’m half listening out in case they wake frightened, not knowing where they are and in need of reassurance. I checked on Oskar around 2.00 a.m., and when I woke at 6.00 he was still asleep. Indeed, he slept through until 7.00, when I gently woke him to get ready for school.

‘Where am I?’ he asked, sitting bolt upright in bed.

‘You’re staying with me, Cathy,’ I said quietly.

‘Oh yes, I remember.’ He rubbed his eyes.

I now expected him to ask me when he would see his mummy, as most children would. He’d hardly mentioned her the evening before and he didn’t now. He simply got out of bed, used the toilet, and then I left him to change into his school uniform that I’d laundered the night before. I’d buy another school uniform today, as we couldn’t get by on one and I didn’t know if or when his clothes would be sent from home. Sometimes parents send their child’s belongings once they are less upset and angry about their child going into care, others don’t, in which case I replace the lot.

I waited on the landing while Oskar dressed and then took him downstairs for breakfast, talking to him and reassuring him. Although he wasn’t saying much, he still looked anxious. Adrian and Lucy were already at the table having their breakfasts and said hi to Oskar. He looked at them warily. Paula didn’t have to leave as early as they did and would come down shortly. On a weekday my family usually fix their own breakfasts and then at the weekend, when there is more time, I often make a cooked breakfast.

At dinner the evening before, Oskar had sat next to Adrian where I’d laid his place, but this morning he seemed to purposely go around him to the other side of the table. He sat next to Lucy, as far away from Adrian as possible. ‘I’m honoured,’ Lucy said with a smile, having also noticed Oskar’s decision. It was where Paula usually sat at the table, but she wouldn’t mind.

‘What would you like for breakfast?’ I asked Oskar. ‘Cereal, toast, yoghurt, fruit?’

He looked confused. ‘Would you like to come and see what we have?’ I suggested.

‘You can choose what you want,’ Lucy prompted when he didn’t move.

‘Within reason,’ I added. I wasn’t about to let him have a chocolate bar and fizzy drink for breakfast, as some children I’d fostered were used to. Foster carers are expected to provide healthy, nutritious meals for their family and the children they look after.

Oskar slid quietly from his chair and came into the kitchen, where I opened the cupboard doors and the fridge to show him the choices. He didn’t seem to spot anything he might like. I opened the bread bin. ‘Or toast?’ I asked him.

‘I have rolls, a bit like those,’ he said, pointing, clearly used to something different.

I took out the bag of wholemeal rolls. ‘Would you like these for now and then after school we can go to the supermarket and you can show me what you like to eat?’

He nodded.

‘How many rolls?’

‘One,’ he said.

‘What would you like in it?’

I showed him what we had and he chose ham and a slice of cheese as a filling, and a drink of orange juice. By the time he sat down at the table to eat, Adrian and Lucy were leaving to get ready for work. I took my coffee and sat with Oskar as he ate. It wasn’t long before the smell of ham brought Sammy in, nose twitching. I gave him a stroke and then kept an eye on him, making sure he didn’t jump up and steal some ham, as he tried to do sometimes.

‘Do you like the cat?’ Oskar asked me as he ate.

‘Yes.’ I smiled. ‘He’s like one of the family. Do you have a pet?’

‘At my house …’ he began, and stopped.

‘Yes, love?’

But he continued eating, clearly having decided not to say any more on that topic. Then he asked, ‘Can we go to school now?’

‘When you’ve finished your breakfast. There’s no rush.’

Paula appeared and said hi to us both before getting herself some breakfast. She sat next to me and we talked a little about her college as Oskar finished his roll and then drank the juice.

‘Can we go to school now?’ he asked again the moment he’d finished.

‘Yes, but there’s plenty of time. We won’t be late.’ Given that he’d often been late for school in the past, I guessed it was worrying him.

‘Have a good day,’ Paula said as Oskar and I left the table.

‘And you, love,’ I replied.

I took Oskar upstairs to wash his face and hands and brush his teeth, and then downstairs again we put on our jackets and shoes. He appeared to be very self-sufficient and didn’t need much help from me.

‘Are we going to school now?’ he asked as we got into the car.

‘Yes, but don’t worry, you won’t be late.’

He asked me again as I drove and I said, ‘We’re going to school, but it’s a different route to the one you’re used to, as I live in a different part of town.’

‘I like school,’ he said.

‘Good, I’m pleased.’

‘I like school,’ he said again a minute later. ‘I wish I could stay there.’

I glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. He was looking out of his side window, frowning, deep in thought as he often seemed to be.

‘Why do you prefer school to home?’ I asked gently. Many children like school, but preferring it to home was unusual and also worrying. I’d had children before disclose abuse while I’d been driving. I think it helps, not being able to see the person’s face when saying something painful, similar to writing it down or confiding in a diary.

Oskar hadn’t replied, but he was still frowning and continued to gaze out of his side window.

‘Why is school better than your home?’ I asked again lightly, keeping my eyes on the road ahead. ‘Can you think of a reason?’

‘My teacher is nice,’ he offered.

‘Yes. She is nice,’ I agreed. Although that alone wouldn’t normally be enough for a child to prefer school to home.

‘Are the people in your house nice?’ I asked.

He didn’t reply, but as I looked again in the rear-view mirror I saw him imperceptibly shake his head and his frown deepen.

‘Oskar, love, is there anything about your home life that is worrying you and you can tell me? I know you were able to tell Miss Jordan some things yesterday and that was very brave of you. Is there anything else you want to say?’ He didn’t reply. ‘If you do think of anything, you know you can tell me or Miss Jordan. We are both here to help you.’

But he changed the subject. ‘There’s a cat like Sammy,’ he said, pointing through the window.

‘Yes, he is,’ I agreed.

I parked outside Oskar’s school and he couldn’t get out of the car fast enough, his face losing some of its angst. As soon as we entered the playground, Miss Jordan appeared. I think she must have been looking out for us. She came straight over.

‘My teacher!’ Oskar cried, delighted.

‘How are you, Oskar?’ she asked emotionally. I know teachers aren’t supposed to encourage physical contact with their pupils, but she allowed him a hug.

‘He’s doing fine,’ I told her. ‘He had a good night’s sleep and is eating well.’

‘That’s a relief. I had a sleepless night worrying about him.’ I knew how she felt! ‘I’m sure he’s looking better already, less tired,’ she said. I had thought so too – the dark rings under his eyes were fading. ‘Can you come into reception?’ she asked me. ‘The secretary needs you to fill in a form with your contact details. There wasn’t time yesterday.’

‘Yes. I also need to buy Oskar another school uniform,’ I said.

‘You might not have to. Oskar’s uncle, Mr Nowak, has just brought in a big bag of Oskar’s belongings.’

‘Really? That was quick.’ I was surprised, but pleased Oskar was going to be reunited with some of his possessions.

We followed Miss Jordan into reception where she introduced me to the school secretary, then she waited, talking to Oskar, while I filled in the necessary form. I asked the secretary if Oskar’s school dinners had been paid for. When a child comes into care this becomes the carer’s responsibility and often the bill hasn’t been settled, so I pay it straight away. The secretary checked on her computer and said Oskar’s school meals had been paid for until half-term, so nothing was outstanding.

Miss Jordan then went into the office and brought out a large laundry-style bag that Mr Nowak had dropped off. ‘Will you be able to manage it?’ she asked, setting the bag on the floor beside me.

‘Yes, I should think so,’ I said, testing it. ‘I’ve got my car outside.’ It was bulky rather than very heavy.

Oskar was looking at the bag. ‘I’ll take this home and put your things in your bedroom,’ I said to him.

He didn’t reply.

‘Oskar’s PE kit and book bag are in the classroom,’ Miss Jordan said. ‘I didn’t bother you with them yesterday.’ I nodded. ‘We like the PE kit to be taken home and washed once a week, and the book bag goes home with the child every afternoon so they can read a little.’ This was usual for a primary school.

‘Where should I wait for Oskar at the end of school?’ I asked.

‘In the front playground, where you came in,’ Miss Jordan replied. ‘The teachers bring out their classes. In the morning the children come in from the same place.’ Again, this wasn’t dissimilar to other schools. ‘As there is only five minutes before the start of school, Oskar can come with me for now and wait in my classroom,’ Miss Jordan offered.

‘Thank you.’

I said goodbye to Oskar and told him I would meet him at the end of school in the playground.

‘Am I going home with you again?’ he asked. I was reminded of just how confusing it is for a child to come into foster care.

‘Yes, love. You will be staying with me for a while. Have a good day and I’ll see you when school finishes.’

Oskar went with Miss Jordan, while I picked up the bag and left the building. I would see what clothes had been sent for Oskar before I bought a new school uniform or casual clothes. It’s preferable for the child if they can wear what they are used to, as it’s familiar and comforting.

With only five minutes to go before the start of school, the playground had filled with parents, carers and their children. As I made my way towards the main gate with the cumbersome laundry bag bumping against my leg, I heard a shout of, ‘Cathy!’

I turned and there was Angela, another foster carer I knew from attending foster-carer training and support groups. I set down the bag and we hugged and then had a chat. She was fostering a brother and sister who attended the school and who she said should be going home to their mother before too long, which was good. It wasn’t a huge coincidence that I’d bumped into a fellow foster carer. Having been fostering for over twenty-five years in the same area, I knew many foster carers and I had, at one time or another, stood in most school playgrounds in the county. It’s always nice to see a familiar face.

When the klaxon sounded for the start of school, we said goodbye and I picked up the bag and continued out of the school gates. As I did, my gaze fell on a car parked on the opposite side of the road. I was sure it was the same black car with two men in it that I’d seen the afternoon before. Whether it had been there when Oskar and I had come into school I didn’t know; I’d been looking in the opposite direction, towards the school. They were both looking at me. I continued to my car and, once in, I pressed the central locking system. I doubted they were parents, as they would have been in the playground seeing in their children. Perhaps one of them was Mr Nowak, who had dropped off Oskar’s belongings.

I started the car and pulled away, and the black car headed off in the opposite direction. If they were there again this afternoon, I would ask Miss Jordan or the school secretary if they knew who they were. Children in care are sometimes snatched by a family member from outside their school, and foster carers are advised not to put up a struggle and risk being hurt, but to let the child go and immediately call the social services and the police. Thankfully it doesn’t happen often, and it had never happened to me. But, of course, there is always a first time, so I needed to stay alert to protect Oskar.

Chapter Four

Stressed and Tense

I arrived home still slightly unsettled from seeing the men waiting outside school. Had Oskar not recognized them the day before and then denied knowing them it probably wouldn’t have played on my mind, but he had recognized them – I was sure of it. However, aware I was likely to have a busy day, I thought it wise to unpack Oskar’s bag straight away. The first few days after a new child arrives are usually very busy and I was expecting to be spending a lot of time on the phone. I heaved the bag upstairs, along the landing and into Oskar’s bedroom. It was a fine spring day outside and the sun streamed through his bedroom window. I opened it a little and then unzipped the bag and began sorting through it.

It looked to me as though whoever had packed the bag had just grabbed whatever clothes of Oskar’s had come to hand. Some of them needed washing and I put those to one side, others had been washed but not ironed. There was a pair of pyjamas that looked too small for Oskar, a pair of grey school trousers, well-worn blue joggers, various socks (which I paired), some underpants, a vest, a zip-up jacket, new trainers and an old bath towel. There were also four small plastic toy cars. All in all, it was a meagre and rather sad selection, but I set about putting the clean clothes in his drawers and the toy cars on a shelf in his room. There is a great temptation as a foster carer – wanting the best for the child – to discard old possessions and replace them all with new. I would be buying Oskar plenty of new clothes (and toys), but I wouldn’t be getting rid of his old things. These would be a poignant reminder of – and link to – home, and also legally they belonged to his mother.

Having put away the clean clothes and the bag they came in, I scooped up the items that needed washing and took them downstairs, where I put them in the washer-dryer with the rest of the laundry. Not a moment too soon, for as the machine began its cycle the landline rang. I answered it in the kitchen and it was Andrew, Oskar’s social worker.

‘Good morning. What sort of night did Oskar have?’ he asked.

‘Good. No tears. He slept well. Although it appears he’s used to sleeping with his mother and some other women. I don’t know who they are. He gave me some names but said they weren’t his sisters, cousins or friends.’

‘How many women?’

‘He mentioned three. I wrote their names in my log; shall I fetch it?’

‘Not now. I’ll know more when I’ve spoken to his mother, but from what Mr Nowak told me yesterday it seems they live in a multiple-occupancy house and share childcare.’

‘That would make sense,’ I said. ‘Although Oskar was very vague about them. He didn’t say much. I got the feeling they weren’t close. But he had a good dinner and breakfast,’ I continued. ‘And is now in school.’

‘Yes, I’ve just spoken to the Head. I understand Mr Nowak brought in some of Oskar’s belongings.’ Schools and social services work closely together in matters of child protection.

‘Yes, I’ve unpacked them,’ I said. ‘There are some clothes and a few toy cars, but I’ll need to buy more and also another school uniform.’

‘OK.’ I assumed Andrew was making some notes. ‘Any behaviour issues?’ he asked.

‘Not so far, although it’s early days. Oskar is very quiet and withdrawn at present, but not upset. He didn’t want a bath or shower last night, and I didn’t insist.’ This point wasn’t just about hygiene; it meant I hadn’t had a chance to check Oskar to see if he had any injuries apart from the bruise on his cheek.

‘I’m going to arrange a medical for him, hopefully for later today,’ Andrew said. It’s usual for a child to have a medical when they first come into care, but it can sometimes take a few days to organize. ‘Oskar’s mother is still abroad, but I’ve left a message on her voicemail to phone me. Has Oskar said any more about how he got the bruise on his cheek?’

‘No.’

‘Are there any other injuries you can see?’

‘No. But I haven’t seen him undressed. He wanted to sleep in his clothes to begin with. I persuaded him to change, but I had to wait outside his bedroom door while he did so.’

‘I see. I’ll sort out a medical. That should pick up anything else. You’re keeping a note of all this?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thanks. I’ll be in touch about the medical and also I’ll need to visit Oskar and you later in the week.’ When a child is placed in care the social worker is duty-bound to visit the child within the first week and then at least every six weeks for the first year.

We said goodbye, and I thought while I had the phone in my hand I should phone my supervising social worker, Edith, and update her. My call went through to her voicemail, so I left a message saying that Oskar had had a good night, was now in school and I’d updated his social worker. If she needed to know more, she’d phone me.

Now I’d gone through Oskar’s bag of belongings from home I had a better idea of what I needed to buy for him, so I made a list, downed a quick coffee and then drove into town. I’d just parked when my mobile rang. It was Andrew again. ‘I’ve arranged for Oskar to have a medical at the Health Centre this afternoon at two-thirty,’ he said. ‘I’m emailing the form to the clinic now. I’ll inform his school that you will be collecting Oskar early today. How much time will you need?’

‘Half an hour to be on the safe side, so I’ll have to collect him at two o’clock.’ I’d taken children to the Health Centre before, so I knew where it was.

‘I’ll tell them,’ Andrew said.

‘Any news from Oskar’s mother yet?’ I asked.

‘No.’

Having said goodbye, I headed for the shops, list in hand, where I quickly set about buying Oskar the items he needed. I could tell by looking at the clothes if they would fit him; I’m a reasonable judge after years of looking after children, as most parents and carers are. I bought him two sets of pyjamas patterned with pictures of dinosaurs, a dressing gown, slippers, casual clothes, socks, underwear and grey school trousers. The T-shirts and jerseys showing the school’s emblem could only be bought from his school. I was hoping I’d have time to buy those later when I collected Oskar for his medical. Andrew had arranged the medical very quickly and I assumed it was because Oskar had suffered at least one suspected non-accidental injury – the bruise to his face – and might have more, so it was prudent to have him examined as soon as possible. Had he had more serious injuries, he would have been taken to hospital to be treated and examined.

On the way out of the shopping centre I stopped off at the department store where I knew they had a good selection of cute, cuddly soft toys. I think all children need at least one cuddly toy they can hold close, take to bed if they wish and draw comfort from. Oskar might already have one at home, but it hadn’t been packed. After some deliberation – I could have bought the lot – I chose a traditional teddy bear with very soft brown fur. When my children were young and I had to re-equip a child we were fostering with virtually everything, I used to buy them a little gift to redress the balance, otherwise it could have seemed like favouritism. They didn’t expect it, and appreciated that they had plenty of clothes and belongings while the fostered child often had very little, but I felt better for doing it. Now they were older they often bought the child small gifts too, which was nice of them. It doesn’t take much to bring a smile to a child’s face. But of course, the best gift of all is to be shown kindness, attention and respect.

Once home, I made a sandwich lunch, which I ate as I put together a pasta bake for dinner later, then it was time to set off to Oskar’s school. I arrived outside at 1.45 p.m., buzzed the security-locked outer gate and a few seconds later it released. I crossed the empty playground and buzzed the entry system on the main door.

‘You’re early,’ the school secretary said a little curtly as I entered. ‘I was told to expect you at two o’clock.’ She was in the open-plan office to the right and was clearly very busy.

‘I was hoping I could buy Oskar some school T-shirts and jerseys,’ I said. ‘He only has one with him.’

‘We sell them at the end of school,’ she said, concentrating on her computer screen.

‘Shall I wait until tomorrow afternoon?’ I asked. ‘I won’t be returning to school today.’

There was a moment’s silence when I thought I might have heard a tut, and then she stood and asked, ‘What size and how many?’

‘Two of each, please. Aged six.’

She disappeared out the back of the office while I waited in reception. A few minutes later she reappeared with the garments in plastic bags. I thanked her and paid. ‘You can go up and collect him now if you like,’ she said. ‘It’s nearly two o’clock. Sign in the Visitors’ Book first.’

I thanked her again, signed the book and made my way to Oskar’s classroom, feeling like a chastised child. Much has changed since I was at school, but it doesn’t take much for me to be transported back to my own school days. The sounds, smells, classrooms, assembly hall, terse comments – they all form poignant reminders, good and bad.

I looked through the glass panel in the door of Oskar’s classroom and saw Miss Jordan moving between the tables as the children worked. She saw me and nodded, then brought Oskar to me. ‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘See you tomorrow,’ she smiled, and returned to her class.

‘Where are we going?’ Oskar asked, worried, as we went along the corridor.

I was sure Miss Jordan would have told him, but I explained. ‘To the Health Centre so a doctor can check you over and make sure you are healthy. There is nothing for you to worry about.’

We entered reception and I signed out of the Visitors’ Book as the school secretary watched from the office, then I pressed the button to release the main door.

‘Have you ever seen a doctor before?’ I asked Oskar as we crossed the playground.

‘Yes, I had a cough, but I’m not ill now.’

‘I know. This is to make sure you stay well. The doctor will weigh and measure you, listen to your chest, check your eyes and ears and probably feel your tummy. It’s nothing for you to worry about,’ I said again, for Oskar was still looking very serious. ‘I bought you some new clothes today,’ I said, changing the subject. ‘And a little present.’

Most children would have asked what the present was, but Oskar didn’t. He got silently into the car and remained quiet as I drove. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked him after a while.

‘Yes,’ he said, but in a way that didn’t reassure me at all.

‘You know you can tell me if there is something worrying you,’ I said, as I had said previously, and would say again.

‘Yes,’ he said quietly.

‘Did you have a good morning at school?’

He didn’t reply but gazed out of his side window, deep in thought.

‘What’s your favourite subject?’ I asked, trying to engage him.

‘Science,’ he said in a deadpan voice.

I continued talking to him and then I fed a CD of popular children’s songs into the player. Oskar was quiet all the way to the Health Centre and then held my hand as we crossed the car park. I gave his name to the receptionist and said we were there for his medical. She told us to take a seat in the waiting area. The centre ran various clinics for children and adults, including immunizations, well-woman check-ups, blood tests and dentistry. Some of the children were playing with the toys provided, but Oskar just wanted to sit beside me. I picked up one of the children’s story books, but he was too preoccupied to take an interest. I tried talking to him, but he was locked in thought. I reassured him again that the medical was nothing to worry about. Another few minutes passed and then Oskar’s name flashed on the digital display screen together with a recorded voice giving his name and telling us to go to Consulting Room 2. He started and looked at me, petrified. ‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘It’s telling us it’s our turn.’

I took his hand and we went down a short corridor until we came to a door marked Consulting Room 2.

I knocked and a female voice called, ‘Come in.’

As we entered, a young woman doctor seated at a desk swivelled her chair round to greet us. ‘Hello, I’m Doctor Yazdi, and you must be Oskar.’ She smiled pleasantly.

‘Yes,’ I replied on Oskar’s behalf, as he’d said nothing.

‘And you’re Cathy Glass, his foster carer,’ she said, glancing at her computer screen.

‘That’s right.’

‘Take a seat, please.’

We sat in the two chairs at right angles to her desk. She was very nice, but Oskar was frowning harder than ever now and his legs were jumping up and down agitatedly. ‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ I told him.

The doctor smiled. ‘And you’re six?’ she said to him.

He managed a small nod.

‘When did he come to you?’ she asked me.

‘Yesterday.’

‘Does he have bruises anywhere else apart from his cheek?’ she asked, glancing up. I assumed it was mentioned in the online form Andrew had sent for her to complete.

‘Not as far as I know, but I haven’t seen him undressed.’

‘OK. Good boy. Let’s start by having a look in your ears,’ she said to Oskar with a smile. ‘Can you hear all right?’

He gave a small nod. She took an otoscope from a drawer in her desk and looked in both of Oskar’s ears. He didn’t seem to mind, although I know it can feel a bit unpleasant. ‘They’re fine,’ she said, then typed in the result. She returned the otoscope to the drawer and took a wooden tongue depressor from a sealed packet and then asked Oskar to open his mouth so she could examine his mouth and throat. He did as she asked.

‘That’s all fine,’ she said, throwing the depressor in the bin. ‘And his teeth are in good condition.’ I threw Oskar a reassuring smile.

She then checked his eyes. ‘Do you wear glasses?’ she asked.

Oskar shook his head.

‘Can you read the letters on that chart?’ She pointed to the Snellen eye chart on the wall.

Oskar stared at her.

‘Does he know his letters?’ she asked me.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He’s learning to read.’

‘Read the top line for me, please,’ she told him.

Finally, he did. Slowly, in a small, plaintive voice, he began reading from the top, enough to confirm he could see all right.

‘Good boy,’ Dr Yazdi said with another cheerful smile. ‘His immunization programme is up to date,’ she said to me, glancing at the screen.

‘Is it? I didn’t know.’

‘According to our records it is, although the immunizations weren’t done in this clinic. Now, let’s weigh and measure you,’ she said to Oskar. ‘Can you stand on these scales for me?’

He didn’t move, so I took his hand and helped him onto the scales by the doctor’s desk. ‘His weight is at the lower end of average,’ she said. ‘Does he have a good appetite?’

‘From what I’ve seen, yes, but I understand he used to sometimes arrive at school hungry, which was one of the concerns.’

‘He could do with putting on a few pounds,’ she said, making a note. ‘Let’s see how tall you are,’ she said to Oskar, and drew him to the height bar. ‘Again, it’s the lower end of average,’ she said. ‘But nothing to worry about. He’ll probably have a growth spurt.’

I threw Oskar another reassuring smile and he looked back at me, expressionless.

‘Now I’d like you to come and sit on the couch so I can listen to your chest,’ Dr Yazdi said.

Oskar didn’t move, so I took his hand and led him to the couch.

‘Can you climb up onto it?’ she asked, pulling out a step stool from beneath.

Oskar shook his head.

‘I’m sure you can, a big boy like you,’ Dr Yazdi encouraged.

It wasn’t high and could be managed by the average two-year-old, but Oskar stood still, head down, staring at the floor.

‘Up you get,’ she said, ‘and sit on the couch for me.’

I touched his shoulder and reluctantly Oskar did as she asked. Her stethoscope was already looped around her neck. As she went to raise Oskar’s jersey at the front so she could listen to his chest he grabbed it and pulled it back down again.

‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, concerned.

He shook his head and clutched his jersey so tightly to him his knuckles were white.

‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ I reassured him.

‘I just want to listen to your chest, Oskar,’ Dr Yazdi said. ‘Look, like this.’ She slipped the chestpiece into the front of her blouse and put in the earpieces. ‘I can hear my heart beating. Would you like a listen?’

A trained paediatrician, she was so patient. She allowed him a listen and then gradually Oskar released his jersey and let her lift it up so she could listen to his chest and then his back. This also gave her the opportunity to check his skin for any more bruising or suspicious marks. I couldn’t see any.

‘His heart and lungs are fine,’ she said to me. Then to Oskar, ‘Good boy. Now I want you to lie down so I can feel your tummy. And I’ll have a look at your arms and legs too. Have you been to the toilet today?’

Oskar didn’t reply, so I said, ‘Yes, he went this morning.’

‘Good, and he takes care of his own hygiene?’

‘Yes,’ I confirmed.

‘Lie flat on your back then,’ she told Oskar, who hadn’t moved. ‘It’s not going to hurt.’ He still didn’t move.

‘Lie down, love,’ I said. ‘It’s part of the medical. I’ll hold your hand if you like.’

He gave me his hand and gradually I eased him down, but I could feel how tense he was.

‘He’s very anxious,’ Dr Yazdi commented. ‘Is he always like this?’

‘He’s been very quiet since he arrived, but he hasn’t been this tense.’

‘Don’t you like doctors?’ she asked him with a smile.

Oskar stared back, petrified.

‘It won’t take long,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a look at your arms and legs first then.’ She began by easing up his trouser legs as far as they would go to the knees and examining his legs. ‘They’re fine,’ she said. Then she looked at his arms and moved up his jersey. With a flat hand she began lightly pressing his stomach. Oskar shut his eyes, held his breath and grimaced.

‘I’m not hurting you, am I?’ the doctor asked, pausing, concerned.

He didn’t reply but kept his eyes screwed tightly shut. She glanced at me and then moved her hand to his lower abdomen. Oskar went rigid. He was so still and tense that for a moment I thought he was going to fit.

‘OK, that’s enough,’ the doctor said. ‘You can get off the couch.’ I helped him down. ‘From what I can see he appears healthy, but he’s very anxious. I’ll send my report to his social worker. He may want a follow-up medical in a few months when Oskar is more relaxed.’

I thanked her and helped Oskar into his jacket, then I took his hand as we left the consulting room. I wasn’t reassured by hearing the doctor pronounce Oskar healthy, not at all. The only other child I’d seen so stressed at having a medical and who hadn’t wanted to remove their clothes had been sexually abused. Alarm bells were ringing again, although of course it was still only a suspicion. There was no proof, and I sincerely hoped I was wrong.

Chapter Five

You Know Those Men?

Oskar was just as quiet in the car on the way home from the Health Centre as he had been on the way there. I asked him a couple of times if he was all right, without much response, and then I said I was going to stop off at the supermarket so he could choose some food he liked. He didn’t reply but I went anyway, as I needed to top up on general food items like bread, milk, fruit and so forth.

‘Would you like to push the trolley?’ I asked Oskar. Most children love being in charge of a supermarket trolley, sometimes to the detriment of other shoppers! Oskar shook his head, but he was content to walk beside me as we went up and down the aisles.

‘Tell me if you see anything you fancy,’ I said. It’s not an invitation I would offer to some children, as we would end up with a trolley full of crisps, sweets, biscuits and Pot Noodles. Oskar didn’t make any suggestions at all.

The supermarket, like many, had plenty of counters displaying food from other countries and I pointed these out to Oskar and lingered by them, hoping he would spot something he liked, but he didn’t. He wasn’t interested and remained thoughtful. When we got to the bread counter, I asked him if he could see any of the rolls he had for breakfast at home. Without any enthusiasm, he took a bag of sourdough bread rolls with seeds on and passed them to me. ‘Good. What would you like to go in them?’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t mind.’

I thought that once his social worker had spoken to his mother, I’d have a better idea of Oskar’s likes and dislikes. All I knew at present was what Oskar’s uncle had told Andrew: that Oskar didn’t have any food allergies or special dietary requirements. But all children have food preferences, which I try to accommodate within reason. For now, however, I bought the rolls and some more ham and cheese filling, as well as the other items we needed. Oskar remained quiet and pensive as we completed the shop, and afterwards, when we were in the car going home, I asked him if there was anything wrong, but he shook his head. Then, as I drove, he suddenly asked, ‘Will I have to have another medical?’

‘Possibly in the future. Most children do, but it’s nothing to worry about.’

‘I don’t like taking off my clothes,’ he said.

‘I know.’ I glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘Why?’

Silence. He was staring out of his window and frowning.

‘Is there any reason you don’t like undressing?’ I asked him. ‘We all have to undress sometimes, to shower, go swimming or when we see a doctor.’

There was a long silence and then he said again, ‘I don’t like taking off my clothes.’

‘I know, you said. Is there a reason?’ There was no reply and so the matter was dropped.

Oskar and I were the only ones in when we arrived home, apart from Sammy, who, hearing us, had shot in through the cat flap in the kitchen, startling Oskar. I was unpacking the shopping and Oskar had been standing to one side, watching me. I noticed he didn’t let me far out of his sight. Sammy began meowing loudly for his dinner. ‘Would you like to feed him?’ I asked Oskar.

He nodded.

I broke off from unpacking the groceries, took the bag of dry cat food from the cupboard and gave the scoop to Oskar. ‘Just one scoop,’ I said. ‘Place it in his food bowl.’

Oskar fed Sammy and then watched him eat, while I finished unpacking the shopping.

‘I bought you some new clothes, and there’s a present for you on your bed,’ I said to Oskar.

I was expecting some form of positive reaction, but to my astonishment he said, ‘I don’t want it.’

‘But you haven’t seen what it is yet,’ I said, smiling.

He looked at me, wide-eyed and wary, as he often was.

‘Do you want to go up and see what it is?’

He shook his head.

‘OK, shall I bring it down?’ Some children don’t like going upstairs by themselves, and the house was still strange to him.

He didn’t reply, so I went upstairs and brought down the teddy bear, which was still in the store bag. ‘I hope you like it,’ I said, handing it to him.

I might have been giving him hot coals for all the trepidation he showed in opening the bag. He gingerly parted the top, peered inside and looked at me.

‘It won’t bite. It’s a cuddly teddy bear,’ I said, stating the obvious. ‘With lovely soft fur. We could sit him at your place at the table,’ I suggested.

He handed me the bag, so I assumed he was in agreement, and I sat the bear in the chair next to Adrian’s. He watched me warily but didn’t say anything. ‘You’ll have to think of a name for him,’ I suggested.

‘Luka,’ he said.

‘That’s a nice name.’

‘It’s my brother’s.’

‘Brother?’ I asked, astonished. There had been no mention of a brother.

‘Where does he live?’ I wondered if Andrew knew of the existence of Oskar’s brother, which could raise further child-protection issues.

Oskar just looked at me.

‘Does your brother live with you?’ I asked.

He shook his head.

‘Where is he?’

‘With my aunt.’

‘Where?’

He shrugged.

‘How old is Luka? Do you know?’

‘Twelve.’

‘Do you have any other brothers or sisters?’

He shook his head again.

‘OK, just sit at the table for a minute and do a puzzle,’ I said. ‘I have to make a phone call. I won’t be long. I’ll be in the hall.’ I took some puzzles from the toy cupboard and placed them on the table. I needed to tell Oskar’s social worker what he’d said, for I felt sure Andrew would have told me if he was aware Oskar had a brother. It was important he knew as soon as possible, as it’s generally felt that if one child in a family is at risk of harm then other siblings could be too, so normally it’s investigated as a matter of urgency.

Andrew answered straight away. ‘It’s Cathy Glass, Oskar’s carer.’

‘Hello, I was going to phone you to arrange to see you tomorrow. Is everything all right?’

‘Yes, Oskar had his medical. But I thought you should know, he’s just told me he has a brother, Luka, aged twelve, apparently living with an aunt, I’m not sure where.’

‘Yes, I’ve only just found out. I managed to speak to his mother this afternoon and she is with Luka now in —’ He named the country they originally came from. ‘Sorry, I’m in a hurry now, I’ve got to place a child with carers. Can I visit you and Oskar tomorrow after school? I’ll explain then.’

‘Yes, we’ll be home by four o’clock.’

‘Thank you.’

He said a quick goodbye and I returned to the kitchen-diner to find Oskar at the table doing the puzzle, but he had moved seats, so he was now sitting next to where Lucy sat at meal times, rather than Adrian. I didn’t say anything; it didn’t matter. I praised him for doing the puzzle nicely, then set about making dinner for when everyone came home. I could see Oskar seated at the table from where I worked in the kitchen, and every so often he glanced at me, then he asked in a small voice, ‘Can I sit here?’

‘Yes, if you want to. Don’t you want to sit next to Adrian?’ Most boys we fostered thought it was a huge privilege to sit next to Adrian and spend time with him. Often, they bonded with him first. Adrian was tall like his father, but gentle, sensitive, patient and a good role model for boys. His long-term girlfriend Kirsty was lovely too and worked as a primary school teacher.

Oskar hadn’t replied, so I continued to prepare dinner and then laid the table. Paula was in first and I explained to her that Oskar would prefer to sit in her place next to Lucy, and of course she didn’t mind and was happy to sit anywhere. We all had dinner together shortly after six o’clock and Oskar enjoyed the spaghetti bolognaise, although I noticed him occasionally stealing glances at Adrian as we ate. Once we’d finished, I listened to Oskar read his school book – his teacher expected him to read each evening – while Adrian, Lucy and Paula did their own thing. After he’d read, I asked him if he wanted to play a board game, but he didn’t, so I read him some stories and then began his bath and bedtime routine.

Oskar was still very quiet, but I hoped that as the days passed and he got to know us better he would become more confident and assertive. Upstairs, I ran his bath and told him that I would wait outside the door while he washed and to call me if he needed any help. Most children his age aren’t self-conscious about being naked and I often help them in the bath by washing their necks and backs, which tend to get forgotten. Oskar clearly needed his privacy for whatever reason – and that might simply have been from living in a multiple-occupancy house where, doubtless, it was at a premium.

Oskar pushed the bathroom door right to before he undressed. I heard the water stir as he climbed into the bath and began washing himself.

‘Are you OK?’ I asked after a couple of minutes.

‘Yes, don’t come in,’ was his reply.

‘I won’t.’

I heard more water splash and, a few minutes later, the sound of him getting out. When he opened the door, he was in his new dinosaur pyjamas.

‘Very smart,’ I said. I waited while he brushed his teeth and then we went round the landing to his bedroom. ‘Do you want Luka, your teddy bear?’ I asked him. He’d left it downstairs.

‘Yes,’ he said. While he used the toilet, I went downstairs and fetched the bear, and he snuggled into bed with it beside him on the pillow.

I said goodnight and came out.

Who knew what memories that bear brought back now it was named after his brother? There was so much I didn’t know about Oskar and his family situation. I had many questions that needed answering, and I hoped to learn more the following afternoon when Andrew visited. So often in fostering, a child arrives and then their backstory gradually follows, unfolding piecemeal over weeks and months, until eventually a clearer picture emerges, and it’s often heart-breaking. Many of these children have had to cope with so much before they come into care.

Oskar slept well, and in the morning, when I woke him and told him it was time to get ready for school, I thought he seemed marginally more relaxed. I laid out his clean school clothes and waited outside his bedroom door while he dressed, then we went downstairs together. He sat in the place he had chosen next to Lucy and wanted one of the sourdough rolls we’d bought, with a cheese and ham filling and a glass of juice. Afterwards, he went up to the bathroom by himself to wash his face and clean his teeth.

I was feeling quite optimistic as I drove to Oskar’s school. The sun was out, Oskar seemed slightly more relaxed, we were establishing a routine and Oskar’s social worker was vising us this afternoon with the background information that should help me better meet Oskar’s needs. While not talkative in the car, Oskar did tell me he liked going to school, liked his teacher and science lessons. ‘Excellent,’ I said.

I parked where there was a space a little way from the school and opened Oskar’s car door, which was child-locked. He slipped his hand into mine and we walked along the pavement towards the school gates. Suddenly I felt his hand grip mine and I followed his gaze. The black car was pulling up and parking on the opposite side of the road. There was no mistake. It was the same car with the two men in the front.

‘You know those men, don’t you?’ I asked Oskar. He had quickened his pace towards the school gates, pulling me along, but didn’t reply. ‘Who are they? Can you tell me? You’re obviously worried.’

He continued, without answering, into the playground where others were waiting for the start of school. Oskar kept his back to the road and faced the school, while I turned to look at the car. It was too far away to clearly make out the features of the men, but I could see they were both staring in our direction.

‘Is it nearly time to go in?’ Oskar asked me anxiously.

I glanced at my watch. ‘Just a few minutes more. Do you ever see that car parked outside the school during playtime?’ I asked him. At morning break and after lunch the children played out here in the playground.

He didn’t reply, but his face was pinched and white.

I hesitated and then, taking Oskar’s hand, I said, ‘We’ll go into school now. I want to try to speak to your teacher.’ He didn’t ask why.

I took him to the main door, where I pressed the buzzer and waited to be admitted. I thought Miss Jordan might know who the men were, and if she didn’t, I would alert her to my concerns.

The door released and we went in. A smartly dressed middle-aged woman was in reception, apparently having been talking to the secretary. She smiled at Oskar. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked me.

‘I was hoping to see Miss Jordan,’ I said. ‘I’m Cathy Glass, Oskar’s foster carer.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said, offering her hand for shaking. ‘I’m Elaine Summer, the Head Teacher here. We didn’t have a chance to meet when you collected Oskar on Tuesday. How is he?’

‘Quiet, but gradually settling in,’ I said.

‘Miss Jordan is with a parent right now. Can I help you?’

I glanced at Oskar, wondering if I should say what I had to in front of him, but decided it might actually help to reassure him. ‘There’s a black car parked opposite the school,’ I said. ‘It was there on Tuesday and yesterday morning. There are two men in it, and they seem to be watching us. Oskar appears worried by their presence and I was wondering if Miss Jordan perhaps knew who they were.’

‘Let me take a look,’ the Head said decisively, and she crossed to the window that looked out over the playground. ‘Yes, I can see the car you mean.’

‘I’ve seen it there this week too,’ the school secretary said. Her office overlooked the playground and road.

‘It might be nothing, but as a foster carer I can’t be too careful,’ I said.

‘No, quite,’ the Head agreed. ‘As a school we have to be vigilant. I’ll go and talk to them and see what they want.’

I felt Oskar’s hand tighten in mine and I wondered if it was wise for the Head to approach the men alone, but she was already out of the door and crossing the playground. The secretary was watching her progress too as Elaine Summer went through the main gate, crossed the road, then went up to the car and tapped on the driver’s window. It lowered and as we watched we saw her talking to the men for some minutes. Then she turned and headed back, and the car pulled away. The school secretary returned to her work and the Head came in. She wasn’t at all flustered.

‘They’re saying they are family friends and know Oskar,’ she said. Then to him, ‘Do you know those men?’

He gave a small nod.

‘Do they live in the same house as you?’

Another small nod.

‘They were just making sure you were all right,’ she told him, then addressing me, ‘I’ve asked them not to wait outside the school, as it could be unsettling for Oskar. I’ve had to deal with similar situations with other children in care and those whose parents are divorcing. They wait outside, hoping to see their child or talk to them. That should be an end to it now, but if you do see them again, let me know.’ She threw Oskar a reassuring smile, but he still looked worried.

The klaxon sounded for the start of school and the Head told Oskar, ‘There’s no need for you to return to the playground, you can go straight up to your classroom.’

I said goodbye to him and that I would meet him in the playground at the end of school and wished him a good day. He went off to his classroom and I let myself out of the building. I was not wholly reassured by the Head’s words, no more than Oskar appeared to have been. If the two men were simply family friends wanting to make sure he was all right, why had he been so scared? It didn’t make sense.

Chapter Six

Wary

The rest of the day flew by with housework, my part-time clerical work and then preparing dinner for later, which I tried to do well in advance if there was a social worker visiting us after school. They often stayed for a number of hours, especially when a child was first placed, as there was always a lot to get through. I made a casserole, so it just needed popping in the oven half an hour before we wanted to eat. I messaged our Glass WhatsApp group to remind Adrian, Paula and Lucy that Oskar’s social worker was likely to still be here when they arrived home. Although they were used to finding strangers in our living room, I liked to forewarn them when possible, out of courtesy, really – it was their home, after all. Also, it minimized the chance of Lucy embarrassing herself with expletives if she returned home from a trying day at work. She loved working with the children at the nursery, but she didn’t always see eye to eye with the management and tended to let off steam when she first arrived home.

That afternoon as I drove to Oskar’s school, it crossed my mind that the men in the black car could be there again despite the Head Teacher speaking to them. But as I parked in my usual place a little way from the school and made my way towards the main gate there was no sign of them. Hopefully that was the end of it, although I was still puzzled and unsettled by their interest in Oskar.

The playground slowly filled with parents and carers waiting to meet their children from school. Miss Jordan had told me that Oskar had one good friend in school, and once he was more settled with us I would ask him if he would like to invite his friend home on a play date and to stay for tea. But for now, he was still adjusting to his new life with us.

The klaxon sounded from inside, signalling the end of school, and the classes began to exit the building with their form teachers. I saw Oskar straight away, standing beside Miss Jordan, and they appeared to be looking for me in the sea of faces. I gave a little wave. Miss Jordan spotted me, said something to Oskar and they came over.

‘Hello,’ she said with a smile. ‘Elaine told me about the car and she asked me to check everything is OK.’ She looked past me to the road outside. Oskar was looking too.

‘It’s not here,’ I confirmed. ‘Thank you for your help and thanks to the Head too.’

‘You’re welcome. I’m sure it’s dealt with, but let us know straight away if you are worried at all. I’ve told Oskar that he is safe in school and he must tell me if he sees the car again.’

‘Thank you,’ I said again. She was so caring and pleasant, as was the Head.

We said goodbye and Oskar slipped his hand into mine as we left the playground. Despite my assurance that the car wasn’t there, I saw him looking up and down the road as we walked. ‘It’s not here,’ I told him. ‘I’ve checked.’

He didn’t reply, but again I wondered why he was so worried if they were really friends of the family watching out for him. I would mention it to his social worker.

‘Andrew is coming to see us after school today,’ I told him as I opened the rear car door for him to get in. Oskar accepted this as he accepted most things – resolutely and in silence. ‘He will want to spend some time talking to you to make sure you’re all right,’ I continued as I started the car and pulled away. ‘Then you will probably be able to go off and play while he talks to me.’ This was the usual format of these visits, although so far Oskar hadn’t really shown much interest in ‘playing’. He’d done a jigsaw while I’d been talking on the telephone, but that was all. ‘Do you watch television at home?’ I asked him as I drove.

‘Sometimes,’ he said.

‘If you tell me what your favourite programmes are, I can stream them so you can watch them on the television or my tablet.’ He didn’t reply, so I asked, ‘What do you usually do in the evenings and at weekends?’

He thought for a moment and then said, ‘Get in my sleeping bag.’

I glanced at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘You mean like a camping sleeping bag?’

Silence and then, ‘I think so.’

‘Do you sleep in the sleeping bag at night or just use it during the day?’ Perhaps it was a game he played?

Another pause and then he said, ‘Both. I sleep in it.’

‘So you don’t sleep under a duvet like you do at my house?’ I asked.

I saw him shake his head and start to look worried. However, before I let the matter drop, I had one last question.

‘Oskar, do you sleep in a bed at your house?’

‘No. On the floor with the others.’

‘What others?’

But he’d withdrawn into his shell again and I made a mental note to mention this to his social worker too.

Once home, I fixed Oskar a drink and a snack to see him through till dinner. He wanted a bread roll and a banana with a glass of water. While he sat at the table eating, I set some toys in the living room together with my fostering folder, which contained my log notes, so I was ready for when Andrew arrived. I joined Oskar at the table with a mug of tea. Andrew knew we would be home by four o’clock and it was 4.30 now, so I was expecting him any time.

Oskar had just finished his snack when the doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be your social worker,’ I said, standing.

He scrambled from his chair and, taking my hand, came with me to answer the front door.

‘Hello,’ Andrew said with a smile. ‘How are you both?’

‘Very well, thank you,’ I replied.

‘Shall I take off my shoes?’ he asked, coming in and seeing ours paired in the hall.

‘Yes, please, if you don’t mind.’ For hygiene and comfort we always take off our shoes when coming into the house, as do my extended family and friends, but some professionals don’t, they march straight in, effectively using our carpets as a doormat. I find it disrespectful, although I rarely say anything.

‘Would you like a drink?’ I asked Andrew.

‘Coffee, please.’

I showed him into the living room. Oskar was still holding my hand, so I gently eased it free and directed him to sit on the sofa. ‘You can talk to Andrew while I make him a coffee,’ I said. It was important Oskar got to know his social worker. ‘Milk and sugar?’ I asked Andrew.

‘Just milk, please.’

I left the two of them sitting on the sofa while I went into the kitchen. Sammy came in through the cat flap, ignored me and went into the living room to see who was there. I heard him meow and then Andrew asked Oskar what the cat was called. ‘Sammy,’ Oskar replied. ‘I’m allowed to feed him sometimes.’

I returned to the living room with Andrew’s coffee, set it on the table within his reach and asked him if he wanted to speak to Oskar alone. It’s usual for the social worker to spend some time alone with the child in case the child wants to raise something they don’t feel comfortable saying in front of the foster carer. It’s a strange feeling, being shut out in your own home, aware you are probably being talked about, but it’s something foster carers have to get used to.

‘You can stay for now,’ Andrew said. ‘Then I’ll see Oskar alone later.’ He took a sip of his coffee and I sat in one of the easy chairs opposite them, my fostering folder beside me, although many of the issues I needed to raise wouldn’t be in front of Oskar.

‘How are you settling in?’ Andrew asked Oskar. Setting down his cup, he took a notepad and pen from his briefcase.

‘OK,’ Oskar said with his characteristic small shrug.

‘Do you like having your own room?’ Andrew asked, turning slightly so he could see him better.

‘Yes,’ Oskar said in a slight voice.

‘I’ll have a look at your bedroom before I leave,’ Andrew said. ‘Do you sleep well?’

Oskar shrugged.

‘Surprisingly well so far,’ I said.

‘Good.’ He made a note. ‘What time does he go to bed?’

‘We start his bath and bedtime routine at around seven o’clock, so he is usually asleep by eight. I wake him at seven to get ready for school.’ Andrew was making notes. The social worker usually wanted to know the child’s routine.

‘And what about meals?’ he asked Oskar. ‘Do you have meals with the family?’

Oskar looked a bit unsure, so I said, ‘We all have dinner together in the evening.’

‘Are you having what you like to eat?’ Andrew now asked him.

Oskar gave a small nod.

‘He’s eating well,’ I said. ‘He chose some rolls yesterday that he liked and he’s been having those for breakfast. It would be useful to know what he eats at home with his mother and his likes and dislikes.’

Andrew wrote as he said, ‘When his mother returns, I’ll ask her.’

Oskar was now staring at his social worker at the mention of his mother, and Andrew saw this. ‘I’ve spoken to your mother on the telephone,’ he told him. ‘She will see you when she comes back. She’s with Luka now, but I think you know that, don’t you?’

Oskar nodded.

‘I’ve told your mother you are in foster care and are being well looked after. She is hoping to fly back this weekend if she can get a cheap flight. I’ll arrange for you to see her next week and tell Cathy the details, all right?’

Oskar gave another small nod and Andrew took a sip from his coffee. Oskar’s reaction to being told he would be seeing his mother next week was completely underwhelming and was very unusual for a child in care. Most children separated from their parent are ecstatic at the prospect of seeing them again.

‘Do you have any questions?’ Andrew asked him.

‘How is Luka?’ Oskar said.

‘He’s getting better and is back home with his aunt now.’ Andrew then looked at me. ‘Luka has cerebral palsy and is cared for by an aunt and her family. Oskar’s mother, Roksana, works here and sends money to the aunt to look after Luka. He’s been ill and had to go into hospital. Roksana wanted to see Luka and also had a money matter she needed to sort out.’

‘I see,’ I said. ‘What a worry for her. Does Oskar see his brother?’

‘Roksana said she takes him once a year at Christmas.’ Oskar was nodding. ‘Roksana can’t afford to go home any more frequently, but as this was an emergency she scraped together the airfare for her to go and left Oskar at home with friends he calls aunts and uncles. The childcare arrangements are a bit complicated and it’s something I’ll be discussing with Roksana when she returns.’

‘I see,’ I said, and wondered if I might have done the two men waiting outside the school a disservice.

‘Do you have any more questions?’ Andrew asked Oskar.

He shook his head.

‘Do you have everything you need to look after Oskar?’ Andrew now asked me. It was a standard question asked by the child’s social worker and my supervising social worker.

‘Yes, although some more background information would be useful.’

‘That reminds me,’ he said, dipping his hand into his briefcase. ‘I’ve got your copy of the placement forms.’ He took them out and passed them to me. I tucked them into my fostering folder to read later.

‘Your adult children live here too?’ he asked me, glancing at the framed photographs of them on the walls.

‘Yes. Adrian, Lucy and Paula. They’ll be back shortly.’

Andrew made a note. ‘And Oskar has age-appropriate self-care skills and is dry at night?’

‘Yes.’ It was another standard question; this type of information was needed for the report Andrew would write on his visit. He would also be observing Oskar in the placement and watching how he was settling in and relating to us – his foster family.

‘If Oskar could have more of his toys from home that would be good,’ I said.

‘Yes, of course,’ Andrew agreed as he wrote. ‘I’ll ask Roksana when she returns. But I can see you’ve got plenty of toys here in the meantime.’

I smiled. ‘Yes, I’ve been fostering a long time.’

‘What do you like playing?’ Andrew now asked Oskar.

He shrugged.

‘You did a jigsaw puzzle,’ I prompted, but Oskar didn’t add anything. ‘I’m still trying to find out what interests him,’ I told Andrew. ‘He likes a bedtime story, but he’s still wary of us all.’

It was only as I said this that I fully acknowledged just how true it was. Oskar was very wary around all of us, especially Adrian, more so than I would have expected or had experienced, and for reasons I couldn’t identify.

‘You like living here with Cathy and her family?’ Andrew asked Oskar, who was still sitting impassively on the sofa beside him.

‘Yes,’ he said in the same small voice.

Andrew looked at him. ‘What don’t you like?’

Oskar didn’t reply.

‘Is this a good time for you to have a chat with him alone?’ I asked Andrew.

‘Probably,’ Andrew said. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’m going to see to dinner,’ I told Oskar as I stood.

He immediately looked anxious and was going to leave the sofa and come with me.

‘You stay with Andrew,’ I said. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen.’

‘Just five minutes,’ Andrew told him.

Oskar didn’t look very reassured but stayed with Andrew as I left the room. It occurred to me that the only person Oskar seemed really comfortable with was his teacher, Miss Jordan. What, I wondered, or rather who, had made him so suspicious of adults by the age of six?

Drawing the living-room door closed behind me so Andrew and Oskar could talk in private, I went into the kitchen, put the casserole in the oven and then went into the front room and sat at my computer. Andrew had said five minutes, but once they got talking it would likely be longer and I tended to make the most of any free time I had. I opened the file I’d been working on, but no sooner had I done so than a key went in the front door as Paula let herself in.

‘Hello, love,’ I said. ‘Oskar and his social worker are in the living room. Have you had a good day?’

‘Yes,’ she said. Slipping off her shoes and hanging her jacket on the hall stand, she came into the front room. I saved the file I was working on so we could talk.

A few minutes later the living-room door opened. ‘Cathy?’ Andrew called.

I went into the hall, and so too did Paula. Andrew and Oskar were standing at the far end.

‘Oskar is a bit anxious and wants to know where you are,’ Andrew said. Oskar actually smiled at Paula and looked pleased to see her, which was a first and positive.

‘This is my youngest daughter, Paula,’ I said, introducing her to Andrew.

‘Hello. Pleased to meet you. Perhaps you can look after Oskar while I talk to your mother,’ Andrew suggested.

‘Yes, if he’ll stay with me,’ Paula said.

I went to Oskar. ‘You can choose some games and puzzles from the toy cupboard and Paula will play with you while Andrew and I talk,’ I told him. Apparently, Oskar preferred this option to having to stay with his social worker, and he went with Paula into our kitchen-diner where the toy cupboards are as Andrew and I returned to the living room. I now hoped to learn more about Oskar and have some of my questions answered.

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