A Terrible Secret

Chapter One

Angry and Upset

Lucy was pregnant. It was all I could think about.

As an experienced foster carer, I am used to dealing with other people’s problems. Indeed, I pride myself on being rather good at it. However, now faced with a problem of my own, I found I was not as good as I thought. Lucy, my twenty-four-year-old daughter, had arrived home unexpectedly on 14 December, when she should have been at work, and announced she was pregnant. Two weeks later she and her boyfriend still hadn’t decided what they were going to do about it, and I was worried sick.

In addition to this worry, I was now waiting for Tilly Watkins to arrive with her social worker. Tilly, aged fourteen, was upset and angry. Before Christmas she’d gone to the social services’ offices and asked to be taken into foster care, claiming that her parents’ continuous fighting was making her depressed and she couldn’t stand it any longer. I had been told to expect her, but then she’d changed her mind and had decided to stay at home over Christmas, feeling that the festive season might help sort out their differences.

It didn’t.

Far from helping, it had caused the situation to quickly deteriorate, and this morning – 28 December – her neighbours had called the police after hearing an hour of shouting, china smashing, and Tilly and her mother crying. When the police arrived, Tilly had a graze on her cheek and had demanded she be taken into foster care. Her social worker, Isa Neave, had telephoned me half an hour ago to say they were now on their way, so Tilly would be living with me for the foreseeable future.

My son Adrian, twenty-six, was at work, as was Lucy. Adrian worked for a firm of accountants and Lucy in a nursery. My youngest daughter, Paula, twenty-two, attended a local college but the new term didn’t resume until the following week. She was out shopping at the sales with a friend, so there was just our cat, Sammy, and me at home. I was divorced, my ex having run off with a work colleague many years before – painful at the time, but history now. Sammy and I were in the living room, which is at the rear of my house. I was sitting on the sofa, gazing though the patio windows to the garden beyond, bare in the heart of winter. Sammy was in his usual spot curled up asleep by the radiator and blissfully unaware of the turmoil I was going through. How lovely to be a cat! I thought.

Even though I’m a very experienced foster carer, I still get anxious when I’m waiting for a new child or young person to arrive, hoping they will take to me and settle, and wondering how best I can help them. Now my thoughts and worries remained with Lucy, as indeed they were every waking moment, and often during the night. No one else in my family knew Lucy was pregnant apart from me. She’d didn’t want anyone to know while she made the difficult decision – to terminate the pregnancy or keep the baby. She’d already discounted the other option of having the baby and putting it up for adoption. ‘I couldn’t bear to go through all that and give it up,’ she’d said tearfully.

I’d nodded understandingly and listened.

The father of her baby, Darren, was aware of the situation and apparently also thinking what to do for the best. He was the same age as Lucy and a colleague of hers at the nursery where she worked. I’d met him briefly a couple of times and he seemed nice enough, but they’d only been dating a few months. Lucy told me nothing had been further from their minds than starting a family. They both had careers and she’d admitted to me she didn’t think she was mature enough to parent a child yet, and in some ways I agreed. Although as most parents know, you mature very quickly once you’re responsible for a baby. Lucy and I had had a few long conversations before Christmas and I’d said I’d support her whatever she and Darren decided, but it had to be their decision.

How we managed to get through Christmas I’m not sure, but we did and had a nice time. ‘I’m not going to ruin everyone’s Christmas,’ Lucy told me. ‘I’ll make the decision in the New Year, on the first of January.’ Which seemed a bit dramatic, but then Lucy can be dramatic sometimes. She knew she couldn’t leave the decision any longer, for she would be ten weeks pregnant by then and if she was going to have a termination, it needed to be done as soon as possible.

Lucy hadn’t had the best start in life. She’d come to me as a foster child, unsettled, unloved, with an eating disorder, and nowhere to call home. She’d done incredibly well to move on from her past and I’d adopted her, so she was a permanent member of my family. I loved her as much as I did my birth children – Adrian and Paula – and she loved us. She was usually lively, vibrant and outgoing, and could sometimes be impulsive and hot-headed, but that’s just who she is. I tell Lucy’s story in Will You Love Me?

Still gazing through the patio windows, I was suddenly jolted from my thoughts by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Sammy’s ears pricked up. I immediately stood. It would be Tilly with her social worker, and they deserved my full attention.

Putting aside my own worries, I went along the hall and raised a smile as I opened the front door. ‘Hello, love, nice to meet you. Come in,’ I welcomed. ‘I’m Cathy.’

The first thing I noticed about Tilly was the red graze on her cheek, the second was how scared she looked. I guessed that now she was here reality had set in as she realized she’d left home and put herself in care. She stepped quietly into the hall.

‘I’m Isa Neave,’ Tilly’s social worker said, following her in, and shook my hand.

I took their coats and hung them on the hall stand. Tilly was slender, delicate-looking, about five feet six inches tall, with shoulder-length dark hair and a sallow complexion.

‘I haven’t got any of my things with me,’ she said, clearly worried.

‘I’ll collect what you need later today. Once I’ve got you settled here,’ Isa said to her, then to me, ‘The police brought Tilly straight to the social services’ offices so I’ll need to speak to her mother and arrange to collect some of her belongings.’

I smiled reassuringly at Tilly and then led the way back down the hall to the living room where I offered them both a drink. Neither of them wanted one.

‘Nice house,’ Isa said, glancing around the living room as she sat on the sofa.

‘Thank you.’ Isa had short-cropped hair and wore a bright blue jumper over black leggings. I guessed she was in her mid to late twenties so was probably a newly qualified social worker. She had the alacrity and zeal of a young social worker just embarking on their career, before they became exhausted from dealing with child abuse day after day.

Tilly sat beside Isa on the sofa and I took an easy chair opposite them.

‘I think Tilly is going to fit in well here,’ Isa said positively. ‘It will be nice for her to have the company of other young people.’ So I guessed she’d read the form containing my details, which would have been sent to her.

‘Yes, good,’ I agreed.

‘Tilly’s the only child living at home, so it can be a bit intense.’

I nodded and smiled at Tilly, who was looking self-conscious.

‘As I mentioned on the phone,’ Isa continued, ‘the situation at home with Tilly’s parents has become very difficult.’

‘He’s not my parent,’ Tilly said forcefully.

‘Sorry, stepfather,’ Isa corrected. Then to me, ‘Tilly lives with her mother and stepfather. She has an older stepbrother and stepsister, but they don’t live at home.’

‘And neither will I, ever again!’ Tilly replied, looking at me. ‘My mother has chosen him over me. If she wants to ruin her life that’s up to her, but he’s not going to ruin mine.’

‘I think everyone needs a cooling-off period,’ Isa said. Taking a form from her briefcase-style bag, she handed it to me. ‘The placement forms.’

‘Thank you.’ I put them to one side to read later. These forms would contain the basic information I needed for looking after Tilly – her full name, date of birth, address, parents, religion, school, any special needs, dietary requirements and allergies, etc.

I saw Tilly gingerly touch her sore cheek. ‘Is that hurting you?’ I asked.

‘It’s a little sore,’ she admitted.

‘Nothing appears to be broken,’ Isa said. ‘But if it doesn’t heal or gets worse in the next few days please take her to a doctor.’

‘I will. When did it happen?’ I asked.

‘Last night,’ Isa replied.

‘Dave threw a plate at my mother,’ Tilly said. ‘It hit me instead.’

‘And Dave is your stepfather?’ I asked.

‘Was. They’re always arguing.’ Which I knew from Isa. ‘Mum won’t stand up to him and he treats her like dirt. I can’t bear to watch it any more.’ Her face clouded and she looked close to tears.

Domestic violence often plays a significant part in many child-care cases. Even if the child themselves hasn’t been abused, for them to have to watch one parent repeatedly assault, threaten, humiliate and control the other is deeply damaging for the child. Also, there is the possibility that the abuser could turn their anger on them.

‘How long has it been like that at home?’ I asked Tilly.

‘Years, although it’s got worse recently.’

‘It must be very distressing for you,’ I said gently.

Tilly nodded sadly. ‘I gave them one last chance over Christmas but nothing has changed, and Mum won’t leave him. I don’t want to be in foster care, but I’ve got nowhere else to go.’ Her eyes filled.

‘You’ve done the right thing,’ Isa said, touching her arm reassuringly.

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘I know it’s difficult coming into a stranger’s house, but I’ll look after you, and my family and I will help you settle in. Try not to worry.’

‘Thank you,’ she said with a little sniff. ‘You’re so kind.’

I passed her the box of tissues. My heart went out to her. Like so many children and young people I’d fostered, all she wanted was a safe place to call home.

Isa went through some formalities, including the placement agreement form, which I had to sign. She checked I knew how much pocket money to give Tilly, asked about the bus she would need to catch to school, where she could do her homework and what time she would have to be in if she went out in the evening. Coming-home times can be an issue with teenagers. Although Tilly didn’t appear to be in the mood for partying now, once she’d settled in and was happier, she might be, so it was worth setting the ground rules from the start.

‘You have your phone with you?’ Isa checked with Tilly.

‘Yes, it’s in my coat pocket. But it’s on Dave’s contract. He pays for it, so he’s bound to cancel it.’

‘If he stops paying then let Cathy know and she’ll sort out a new contract,’ Isa told her. This was usual and there was an amount included in the fostering allowance that carers receive to cover expenses like this. I would also be saving a set amount each week for Tilly, which she would take with her when she left. If she didn’t leave I’d give it to her when she became an adult at eighteen.

‘I need my laptop for schoolwork,’ Tilly said. ‘We’ve got an assignment to do for next term.’

‘I’ll collect it with your other things this afternoon,’ Isa replied. ‘Can you make a list of everything you need so I can ask your mother to pack them?’

‘She won’t know where anything is in my room,’ Tilly said. ‘It’s better if I phone her.’

‘All right. If you’re happy to do that.’

Tilly nodded.

‘What’s happening about contact?’ I asked. When young children come into care, contact with their parents is usually arranged by the social worker and is often supervised, but it can be different for older children.

‘Tilly wants to see her mother, but not her stepfather,’ Isa told me.

‘I can go home when he is at work,’ Tilly said.

Isa looked unsure. ‘As long as you’re not placing yourself in danger.’

‘I’ll leave before he gets home,’ Tilly said.

‘How often will you go?’ I asked.

‘Not sure,’ Tilly shrugged.

‘Tell Cathy when you are planning to go,’ Isa said. ‘And if you go there after school, make sure Cathy knows, otherwise she will expect you to come straight home.’

I would have preferred some firmer contact arrangements, but it was Isa’s decision.

‘I’ll give you my mobile and landline numbers to put in your phone,’ I told Tilly. ‘And I’ll put your number in my phone so you can let me know if you’re going to be late back.’

‘OK,’ Tilly said amicably.

Isa then asked to look around the house before she left, which is usual when a child is placed. We stood and I led the way into our kitchen-diner and then to the front room and upstairs. Tilly didn’t say much and I knew she was finding it difficult. Even though her house hadn’t been a happy one, it was still her home. ‘Your room will look much better once you have your belongings in it,’ I said as we went in.

‘It’s nice and bright and looks out over the garden,’ Isa said encouragingly, looking through the window. Tilly nodded and I continued to show them the rest of the upstairs.

Once we’d finished and were downstairs again, Tilly took her phone from her coat pocket and went into the living room to call her mother to tell her where her belongings were while I saw Isa out. My first impression of Tilly was that she wasn’t the angry young person I’d been told to expect. However, that changed the moment her phone connected and she began talking to her mother.

Chapter Two

No Going Back

‘I’m not coming home! I’ve told you!’ Tilly shouted into her phone. ‘I need my things, so just stop thinking about yourself for once and do as I ask! The social worker is going to collect them.’ There was a pause as Tilly listened to what her mother was saying. I remained in the hall. ‘You’re as bad as him!’ Tilly cried. ‘It’s your fault, not mine.’ Another pause and then she burst into tears. I went in.

She was sitting on the sofa, phone to her ear, tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked up at me helplessly, a child in need of help. ‘Let me speak to her,’ I said. I held out my hand for the phone and she passed it to me.

Her mother was still talking, believing Tilly was listening, and clearly emotional. ‘What’s your mother’s name?’ I asked Tilly quietly.

‘Heather.’

I nodded.

‘Heather,’ I said into the phone, ‘it’s Cathy Glass, Tilly’s foster carer.’ The talking stopped.

‘Who? What did you say?’ she asked.

‘Cathy Glass, I’m Tilly’s foster carer. She is very upset.’

‘So am I.’

‘I know it’s difficult for you both, but Tilly needs some of her belongings. She was going to tell you where her things are so her social worker, Isa, can collect them later. If I put Tilly back on could you make a list?’

There was a pause, then, ‘I’m not sure I can,’ she said timidly.

‘Sorry, why is that?’

‘Her father wouldn’t like it. He thinks she should stop all this nonsense and come home.’

‘Is that her stepfather, Dave?’ I checked.

‘Yes.’

‘Going home isn’t really an option for Tilly at present,’ I said as gently as I could. ‘She is in care. I think Isa will have explained the situation to you.’ Tilly was in care voluntarily so in theory she could return home at any time, but if she did and the social services felt she was in danger they could apply for a court order to bring her back into care.

Heather had gone quiet. ‘Will it be OK if Tilly tells you what she needs so you can have it ready for when Isa arrives?’ I asked her. ‘She only has what she is wearing.’

‘She has her phone with her,’ Heather said tersely. ‘I bet she didn’t tell you her father pays for that. He’s good to her. I don’t know why she’s trying to break up our family.’

‘The social worker thinks a cooling-off period may be helpful,’ I said diplomatically.

‘Tilly and her father are both hotheads. I get caught in the middle,’ Heather said, as if she bore no responsibility. I didn’t point out that as a parent she had a duty to protect her fourteen-year-old daughter.

‘If I put Tilly on, can she tell you what she needs and where to find it?’ I said, trying to advance the conversation.

‘I suppose so, but don’t tell her father.’

‘Thank you. Do you have a pen and paper handy or shall I ask Tilly to text the list to you?’ Which I thought might be preferable, as they were both emotional right now.

‘I don’t have a mobile phone,’ Heather said. ‘Wait a minute and I’ll get a pen and some paper.’

The line went quiet. ‘It’s all right,’ I told Tilly, who was watching me. ‘Your mother is going to write a list. She is upset too.’

‘I know, but what can I do? She won’t help herself.’

I nodded. Heather came back on the phone. ‘Go ahead, put her on,’ she said.

I returned Tilly’s phone to her and sat in one of the armchairs, on hand to help if needed. Although Tilly was fourteen, she was very vulnerable at present and part of my role as a foster carer was to protect her from further upset. She began telling her mother what she needed and where the items were in a quiet, dispassionate voice. The list wasn’t as long as it might have been for a young woman who had arrived with nothing – school uniform, some casual clothes and toiletries. I could guess why. Apart from any objection Dave might have, packing one’s belongings is a defining moment for a child or young person going into care. It’s a landmark, an acknowledgement that their life so far has failed miserably and that they are having to leave home, possibly for good. Often belongings are moved from home piecemeal, a few at a time, as it’s less painful.

Once Tilly had finished, she said a sombre, ‘Goodbye, Mum, I’ll see you soon.’ Her mother must have asked when, for Tilly replied, ‘I don’t know, in a day or so.’ As she ended the call she looked close to tears. I went over and sat beside her on the sofa.