Finding Stevie

Chapter Four

Straight Talking

Verity arrived as planned shortly after three o’clock. ‘Is Stevie still here?’ she asked, as if he might not be.

‘Yes. He’s in his room. Shall I fetch him?’

‘Please.’

‘The living room is through there,’ I said, pointing, and went upstairs to fetch Stevie. ‘Verity is here,’ I said, knocking on his door.

‘I’ll be down later,’ he returned.

‘No, now, please. She needs to see you.’

No response. ‘Can I come in?’ I knocked again and gently eased open the door. He had taken some of his clothes from his bag and dumped them on the bed. I could see what looked like a school uniform, which I thought was hopeful.

‘Gran packed this,’ he said, scowling. ‘She’s left out most of my good stuff.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll sort it out later. Come down now, Verity is here.’ I’ve found before that children of all ages sometimes need things repeating, and often.

Clearly not happy with the clothes his gran had packed – image appeared to be very important to Stevie, more so than the average teenager – he came with me downstairs and into the living room. ‘Hello, how are you settling in?’ Verity asked him brightly, taking a wad of paperwork from her bag-style briefcase.

Stevie shrugged and flopped into one of the easy chairs. ‘I have to go out later, but Cathy won’t let me,’ he said.

‘I’ve asked him to stay in tonight,’ I explained. ‘I think that going out, and coming-home times, is something we need to discuss.’

‘Let’s deal with that first then, shall we?’ Verity said positively and, taking a pen from her bag, she opened a notepad on her lap.

‘At my gran’s I went out whenever I wanted,’ Stevie said ruefully.

‘But that didn’t work, love, did it?’ I said to him.

Stevie and I both looked at Verity for her view, but she didn’t immediately reply. I’ve found before that social workers are sometimes reluctant to talk straight to the teenagers in their care in case it jeopardises their relationship. I didn’t have the same reservations, for ultimately the young person I was fostering was my responsibility and I needed to keep them safe.

‘What do you suggest?’ Verity asked me after a moment.

‘I think it’s reasonable that Stevie sees his friends at the weekends. If he wants to go out then I suggest Friday and/or Saturday evening.’ Stevie was glaring at me, but I continued anyway. ‘During the week he’ll have homework to do, and I am assuming he’ll want to see his grandparents and brother and sister.’

‘That won’t work,’ Stevie said. ‘I need to be able to go out when I want, not when she says.’

I was now seeing a different side to him. Gone was his previous charm and charisma, and here was a belligerent teenager, which, to be honest, I found more natural and quite reassuring.

Verity was waiting for my response. ‘Why won’t it work?’ I asked Stevie. ‘I’m sure your friends have similar arrangements at their homes. We’ll also need to set the time you are to be back, and I’ll need to know where you are going and how you will get home.’

‘That’s fucking ridiculous!’ Stevie stormed. ‘I’m not a kid!’

‘No, but you are still a minor,’ I said.

‘Cathy and I have a duty to protect you and keep you safe,’ Verity added.

‘Bollocks!’ Stevie fumed. ‘You’re like my bleeding grandparents,’ he said to me, and I don’t think he meant it as a compliment.

‘OK,’ Verity said, drawing a breath and addressing Stevie. ‘What if we say you can go out Friday and Saturday, plus one day in the week. Does that help?’

‘A bit,’ he conceded.

‘Good.’

This was far more than Adrian, Lucy and Paula had ever been allowed out at his age, but then going out hadn’t been an issue for them as the boundaries had been in place from the start. It’s far more difficult to change behaviour once it’s set. Stevie, like many teenagers who come into care because of behavioural issues, had been used to his freedom and didn’t want to relinquish it. I had to be realistic and accept a compromise. ‘OK. Coming-home times,’ I said, moving on. ‘I would like Stevie to be back by nine o’clock at the latest on a weekday and nine-thirty at the weekend. I will also need to know where he is and how he will get home.’

‘I won’t know what time I’ll be back,’ he said disparagingly.

‘You will,’ I said, ‘by leaving wherever you are on time.’

‘But what if I can’t? I might not be able to leave and come home when you say.’ Which seemed an odd thing to say, but he was looking worried and that wasn’t my intention at all.

‘You’ll have your phone with you,’ I said. ‘So on the rare occasion you can’t help being late, you can phone or text me. Remember, this isn’t about me wanting to stop you having fun, but about keeping you safe.’

‘Like Gran,’ he said, with less hostility.

So I thought that maybe he was starting to realise his grandparents’ boundaries were not so unreasonable after all.

‘We’ll say nine o’clock on a weekday and ten at the weekend,’ Verity said, making a note. ‘And you’ll let Cathy know where you are and how you are going to get home?’

Stevie shrugged and took his phone from his pocket to check it.

‘Do you have credit on your phone?’ Verity asked him.

‘No,’ he said, without looking up.

‘Can you top it up?’ she said to me.

‘Yes. How much a month?’ The guidelines change in line with inflation and telephone call charges.

‘How much phone credit was your gran giving you?’ Verity asked him.

‘Twenty pounds a month.’

‘We’ll keep to that then,’ Verity said.

I made a note. Stevie nodded and continued scrolling down his phone. This seemed a good time to say what I wanted to in respect of his phone.

‘I understand it is now possible to restrict internet access on mobile phones,’ I said to Verity. She nodded. ‘I was wondering if Stevie’s grandparents had done that when they bought his phone?’

‘No,’ Stevie sneered, ‘of course they didn’t. They wouldn’t know how. But I’m not downloading porn if that’s what you think.’

‘It’s not,’ I said. ‘It just seems a sensible precaution.’ But I knew there was no use in pursuing this. Had the internet access been restricted on his phone from the start he would have accepted it, but not now at his age. Looking after teenagers is give-and-take and this was something I had to let go, like the number of times he was allowed out in the evening, and hope he was sensible. ‘While we’re talking about mobiles,’ I continued, ‘I have a couple of small house rules.’ Stevie sighed. ‘I like all mobiles switched off at night so everyone gets a good night’s sleep, and I ask that no mobiles are used at the dinner table.’

‘That seems reasonable,’ Verity said. Stevie didn’t object, but whether he would comply or not remained to be seen. ‘School,’ Verity said as she finished writing, moving on.

‘Cathy says I have to go tomorrow,’ Stevie said moodily.

‘I’m not sure that will happen,’ Verity said to me. ‘His mentor wants to see him first. She arranged a meeting last week with his grandparents, but Stevie didn’t show.’

‘I wasn’t well,’ he said, looking at his phone.

‘Oh dear, but you’re better now,’ I said. ‘If Stevie and I could meet with his mentor tomorrow perhaps he could be in school the following day?’ I suggested to Verity.

‘I don’t see why not,’ she replied. ‘The mentor’s contact details are on the Essential Information form. I’ll leave a copy for you. Have you got your school uniform here with you?’ she now asked Stevie.

He nodded glumly without taking his eyes from his phone. ‘It’s my other stuff I haven’t got.’

‘Casual clothes?’ Verity asked.

‘Yes.’

‘You can collect what you need from your grandparents, but give them a ring before you go to make sure someone is in.’

‘I’ve got a key,’ Stevie said.

‘Yes, but your grandparents would still like to know when you’re going, which brings me to contact.’

‘What is contact?’ Stevie asked, finally looking up from his phone.

‘It’s when you see your family – your grandparents, Liam and Kiri.’

‘I can go and see them any time,’ he said with attitude. ‘My gran said I could.’

‘Yes, so when are you thinking of going?’ Verity asked.

‘I dunno, when I want to. After school maybe, or at the weekend.’ He shrugged.

‘OK, but phone Gran first and tell her. Also let Cathy know, otherwise she will be expecting you home here.’

I would have liked some more precise contact arrangements – days and times – but Stevie was in care under a Section 20 so there was no court order setting out specifics, and teenagers in care are notorious for popping home when the mood takes them.

‘Perhaps you could liaise with Mr and Mrs Jones?’ Verity suggested to me. ‘They have your details, and theirs are on the Essential Information sheet.’ All of which was quite normal under a Section 20.

‘Can I go now?’ Stevie said, tucking his phone into his pocket.

‘Is there anything else you want to talk to me about?’ Verity asked.

‘No.’

‘OK, I’ll say goodbye to you when I leave.’ Stevie nodded and left the room. Verity wasn’t just being polite; as Stevie’s social worker she would want to see his bedroom as well as the rest of the house.

I waited until he was out of earshot before I said, ‘I am worried about Stevie’s safety. Did you know he’s been going to nightclubs?’

‘I didn’t until his grandparents told me,’ Verity said. ‘The boundaries have been a bit lax at home, but you can understand why. At their age it’s been a struggle bringing up three grandchildren.’

‘They’ve done well.’

‘It started going pear-shaped with Stevie about a year ago. Puberty, and not feeling comfortable in his body. His grandparents haven’t been able to support him with his gender identity. It might help him to have a referral to a clinic that offers a gender-identity development service for young people. They can prescribe hormone treatment if necessary.’

‘Really? Isn’t he a bit young for that?’

‘They’re not the hormones taken by a person who is transitioning – wanting to change sex – but they stop puberty to give the young person a chance to think about their gender identity.’

‘I see, I’ve got a lot to learn,’ I said.

‘So did I, but more young people are questioning their gender, so the social services, schools, health care and society in general is having to catch up. I’m not saying the treatment is necessarily right for Stevie, but it could be an option. It would need his grandparents’ consent, as they are his legal guardians, so we’ll have to see.’

Verity then ran through the Essential Information Form, which included brief details of Stevie’s family, ethnicity, religion, education, health, any behavioural problems and other basic information I would need to look after him. This came with the Placement Agreement Form that I had to sign. Verity gave me a copy of both sets of forms, which I clipped into my fostering folder. I started a new folder for each child. I then showed Verity around the downstairs of the house first and then upstairs, ending with Stevie’s room. ‘Verity is here,’ I said, tapping on his door. ‘Can she come in?’ Privacy is so important to young people.

‘Yes,’ came his reply.

I left Verity with Stevie. It’s usual for the social worker to spend some time alone with the child or young person in case there are any issues they want to discuss that they might find uncomfortable with the foster carer present. I looked in on Paula, who was still in her room. ‘Verity is going soon,’ I said. ‘She’s just saying goodbye to Stevie.’

‘OK, I’ll come down when she’s gone.’

Paula knew she could go downstairs any time, although it wasn’t appropriate for her to sit in on some of the meetings that took place in our living room, including Verity placing Stevie. Fostering is intrusive and disruptive to the foster family and it’s often this that puts off prospective carers. Foster carers have regular visits from the child’s social worker and the carer’s supervising social worker – both of whom look around the house at each visit. There are also visits from many other professions involved in the case, including the educational psychologist, the Guardian ad Litem and the child’s solicitor if the case is going to court, the health visitor, LAC nurse and sometimes the child’s family. In addition, the child’s reviews are often held in the carer’s home. It can seem like a never-ending procession of visitors, and of course it’s disruptive for the child in care as well, who just wants to be loved and to lead a normal family life.

Verity was with Stevie for about ten minutes and then I saw her out. Paula came down for a snack and drink to see her through to dinnertime, and I persuaded Stevie to come down too. He and Paula sat at the table in the kitchen-diner while I was in the kitchen. I could see and hear them from where I worked and Stevie was talking really nicely to Paula, asking her about college, what she wanted to do when she left and whether she minded fostering. Although aged fourteen, Stevie could pass for much older. He was tall and there was a sophistication about him, which Paula didn’t have.

‘You’ll meet my brother Adrian and my sister Lucy later,’ I heard Paula tell him.

‘Do all the family have dinner together?’ he asked. ‘We did at Gran’s.’

‘Yes, if everyone is in.’

‘I’d better get ready then,’ he said. Having finished his snack, he stood.

‘Stevie,’ I said, going into the dining area, ‘we usually have dinner around six o’clock, and you’re fine as you are.’ For I didn’t really know what he meant by ‘get ready’.

‘Oh no, I need to look my best for when I meet Adrian and Lucy – first impressions and all that.’ With a flick of his wrist he left. Clearly, looking after Stevie was going to be a whole new experience for us all.

Chapter Five

Secrets

Stevie stayed in his room until I called everyone for dinner. Adrian, Lucy and Paula were already seated at the table when Stevie (having been called twice) arrived. I think he’d waited until everyone was there so he could stage an entrance. Although he was wearing the same clothes – blue jeans and a yellow sweater – he now had a light blue silk scarf tied loosely around his neck, had painted his nails bright red and was wearing a lot more make-up.

‘This is Adrian,’ I said, introducing him to Stevie.

Adrian had never experienced any doubts about his gender and had a long-standing girlfriend, Kirsty. He could also be a bit conservative, which was no bad thing, but to his credit he just said, ‘Hello, Stevie, nice to meet you.’

‘And you.’ Stevie smiled charmingly.

Lucy on the other hand didn’t have the same reservations as Adrian, and sometimes there was no filter on her thoughts. ‘You’re never called Stevie!’ she cried, horrified, staring at him.

His face fell. Clearly he had wanted to be noticed, but in a positive way, and it was clear from his expression this wasn’t the reaction he’d anticipated. I must say I’d expected better from Lucy. I’ve tried to bring up my children to be non-judgemental and accepting of differences whether they are race, religion, physical or – as with Stevie – gender related.

I threw her a warning glance, which she either didn’t see or ignored.

‘You’re not really called Stevie, are you?’ Lucy persisted dramatically. ‘Please tell me it’s not true!’

The poor lad looked mortified and I was about to tell Lucy off when I realised what she meant. ‘Oh, Lucy. Stop it. Shall I tell him or will you?’

‘You can.’ She laughed.

Stevie was looking at me, worried and confused, as well he might. ‘Many years ago Lucy came to me as a foster child and stayed,’ I explained to him. ‘I wanted to adopt her, but her social worker at that time was against it. She felt she should live with a family that reflected her ethnicity.’ (Lucy has dual heritage, and I tell her story in Will You Love Me?). ‘Thankfully we had a change of social worker and the adoption went ahead. That first social worker was called Stevie. I had forgotten. It’s no criticism of you – Lucy just didn’t get on with her.’

Stevie gasped with relief and managed a smile. ‘My grandparents call me Steven, but I prefer Stevie.’

‘That’s fine,’ I said.

‘Can we eat now, Mum?’ Adrian asked patiently. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Yes, of course.’

I served dinner and everyone tucked in so all that could be heard for some minutes was the chink of cutlery on china. Lucy was sitting directly opposite Stevie and I saw her keep looking up at him. I had a good idea what she was thinking even before she said it.

‘Stevie, why are you wearing all that make-up?’ she asked at length, not rudely, but it was a forthright question, and probably one he’d heard before.

He didn’t take offence but, setting down his cutlery, he said, ‘It’s a statement about who I am. I see myself as gender-fluid, which means I haven’t got a fixed gender. That’s not to say I’m gay, although it’s possible, I haven’t decided yet. I’m trying to find out if I want to live my life as male or female, so at present I’m gender-fluid.’ I thought that, for a fourteen-year-old, he was very articulate in matters that deeply affected him.

‘So you’re making up your mind, right?’ Lucy asked him.

‘Yes, although I could stay gender-fluid all my life and not identify with either sex. Some days I feel more female than male, then it can change. Sometimes it can change during a day depending on who I’m with and what I’m doing.’

‘That must be confusing,’ Adrian remarked.

Stevie shrugged. ‘It would be more confusing for me if I pretended to be male all the time, like my grandparents want me to.’

‘Do you get bullied at school?’ Paula asked sensitively.

‘I used to,’ Stevie said, picking up his knife and fork again, ‘so I stopped going.’

I looked at him carefully. ‘Stevie, is that the reason you haven’t been attending school – because you were being bullied?’

‘Sort of,’ he admitted.

‘Did you tell anyone you were being bullied?’

‘My grandparents, but Grandpa said I needed to man up, and if I stopped behaving like a pansy I wouldn’t attract the bullies.’

Having met Fred, I could hear him say that – a flippant, simplistic solution – but his intolerance and lack of sensitivity obviously hadn’t helped Stevie, who was looking for support.

‘Did you tell your social worker you were being bullied?’ I asked.

‘No. I thought she would side with Grandpa and say I had to go to school.’

‘I’ll explain to Verity, and when we see your mentor tomorrow we’ll talk to her about what the school can do to help, all right?’

He shrugged and continued eating while I thought, Well done, Paula, for spotting that. Bullying was such an obvious reason for a child or young person refusing to go to school, especially for someone who stood out as being different, like Stevie. Bullying can make a child’s life a misery and all schools in the UK have an anti-bullying policy. But of course for it to be effective the school needs to be aware the bullying is taking place, and children often don’t want to admit they’re being bullied, feeling it is their fault. Unfortunately, Fred’s bigoted remarks had compounded that, but I was pleased that Stevie had been able to share it with us so I could help him.

‘OK,’ Lucy said, ‘I understand what you’re saying about the gender stuff, but why are you wearing so much make-up?’ Let it go, Lucy, I thought, you’ve made your point. ‘I mean, it’s too much,’ she continued. ‘It’s like you think that’s how girls should look. Most of us don’t. It’s so stereotypical, and as Mum tells us – when it comes to make-up, less is more.’

So she had been listening to me, I thought! I waited tentatively for Stevie’s reaction. I hoped he didn’t feel Lucy was getting at him, although what she’d said was true.

‘So you think I’m wearing too much make-up?’ he asked, as though it was a revelation.

‘Yes, I do, far too much. Don’t you think so, Paula?’

‘A little,’ she said diplomatically.

‘What about you, Adrian?’

‘I don’t know the first thing about make-up,’ he replied.

‘But Kirsty doesn’t wear a lot of slap, does she?’ Lucy persisted.

‘No,’ Adrian conceded.

Lucy returned her attention to Stevie. ‘If you like, I’ll show you how to apply make-up,’ Lucy offered. ‘I wanted to be a beautician once.’

‘Really? That would be wonderful!’ Stevie cried passionately.

‘I wouldn’t wear it for school, though,’ Adrian said.

‘No,’ Paula agreed. ‘Girls aren’t allowed to wear make-up in school, so that rule should apply to everyone.’

I felt rather proud of my family. Here they were, discussing this sensitive and unusual topic constructively and being supportive of Stevie. None of us had faced the challenges he had, so it was a learning curve for us all. The conversation now changed to other things, and once we’d finished eating everyone helped clear the table. Then Stevie asked Lucy, ‘Can you come up to my room now to show me how do my make-up?’

‘Yep, I can give you half an hour, then I have to watch EastEnders,’ she said.

‘I love that programme,’ Stevie enthused, clasping his hands together.

‘Stevie, can you bring your make-up down here and do it at the table?’ I said. Lucy knew why. It’s part of our safer-caring policy that young people aren’t alone in one of the bedrooms. Not because I didn’t trust them or imagined they’d get up to anything inappropriate, but safer caring is about avoiding situations that could be misinterpreted so that all family members feel safe and secure.

Stevie fetched his make-up, which he kept in a silky floral patterned cosmetic bag, and sat at the table with a mirror in front of him while Lucy gave him a lesson in applying make-up. Paula and Adrian had gone up to their rooms and I was in the kitchen clearing up. Lucy and Stevie had quite a laugh, but by the time Lucy had finished, Stevie’s make-up looked much better – subtle. She also got him to take off the bright red nail varnish, ready for school. They then went up to their respective rooms, which left Sammy and me in the living room.

I took the opportunity to go through the Essential Information Form and then wrote up my log notes. 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 wellbeing, education, significant events and any disclosures they may make about their past. When the child leaves this record is placed on file at the social services. I’d begun my log for Stevie when I’d attended the pre-placement meeting, and now I wrote a short paragraph detailing his arrival, what he’d disclosed about being bullied and how he was settling in.