Cruel to Be Kind

Chapter Three

Amazed

I saw Adrian do a double take as Max entered the living room, but to his credit he quickly recovered and said a welcoming, ‘Hi, I’m Adrian.’

Max nodded and lumbered over to the sofa where he heaved himself onto the seat and sat back. Jo sat beside him as Jill took one of the easy chairs. ‘What would you like to drink?’ I asked Max.

‘Cola,’ he said in a husky voice.

‘I’m afraid I haven’t got any of that,’ I said. Like many parents and carers, aware of how bad sweet fizzy drinks were for children’s teeth I limited them to special occasions. ‘You could have water, fruit juice, milk or squash,’ I offered.

‘Juice,’ he said.

‘Jo, what would you like?’ I asked.

‘A black coffee, please.’

Paula came with me to make the drinks and was clearly worried. As soon as we were out of earshot she said quietly to me, ‘What’s the matter with Max?’

‘He got a bit out of breath. He’ll be all right soon when he’s sat quietly and had a drink.’ But I knew that wasn’t the only reason for Paula’s question. It was impossible even for a young child (who are generally very accepting of differences) not to notice Max’s size.

‘Will he be able to play with us?’ she asked as I made Jo’s coffee.

‘Yes, of course, love.’

‘How will he ride the bike we got out for him?’

‘We’ll find some games he can play,’ I said positively. ‘Now, come on, stop worrying. We’ll take him his drink.’

I poured Max’s juice and carried it with Jo’s coffee into the living room where Jo and Jill were chatting lightly to Max, trying to put him at ease. Adrian was on the floor by the toy box, stroking Toscha. Paula went over and joined him. I gave Jo and Max their drinks and sat in another easy chair. Then a horrendous thought occurred to me. I looked at Jo. ‘Animal fur doesn’t affect Max’s breathing, does it?’ It is for reasons like this that any medical condition should be discussed with the foster carer at the time of the referral, not once the child has arrived. Children with allergies to animal fur generally have to be placed in foster families where there are no pets.

‘Not as far as I know,’ Jo said, taking a grateful sip of her coffee. ‘But I wasn’t aware he had asthma or was using an inhaler until today. I’ll ask his mother when I see her this evening.’ Then, looking at Max: ‘You have a cat at home, don’t you?’

‘Two,’ Max said. ‘Tiger and Smokey.’

‘Those are nice names,’ I said, relieved.

‘And they don’t make your breathing bad?’ Jill asked him.

‘No,’ Max said.

‘Best keep an eye on it, though,’ Jill said. Then to Jo: ‘Will he be having a medical?’

‘That’s something else I’ll need to discuss with his mother,’ she replied, setting her cup in its saucer. When a child first comes into care they usually have a medical. If the child is in care under a Section 20 then the parent’s permission is sought. ‘Caz told me he’d had some teeth out earlier this year,’ she added, ‘but I don’t know of any other medical conditions.’

Max had already finished his drink, having swallowed it straight down. ‘Would you like another drink?’ I asked him, as he was clearly thirsty. He nodded. ‘What would you like?’

‘Juice.’

I took his glass and went into the kitchen where I poured another glass of juice, aware that even pure juice has a high calorie content from the fructose sugar. Not a good idea for a child who is already badly overweight. Returning to the living room I passed the glass to Max and he drank down half of it in one go and then sat with the glass resting on his stomach.

‘Here’s the paperwork you need,’ Jo said, handing me the essential information and placement forms.

‘Thank you.’

‘Could you send a copy to the agency too,’ Jill said. ‘So we have it on file.’ This was normal practice.

‘Yes, of course,’ Jo said. ‘Sorry, I should have realized. It’s been a busy day.’ She took a notepad from her bag and made a note.

‘It’s a nice house, isn’t it?’ Jill said encouragingly to Max. He nodded.

‘I’ll show you around later,’ I said.

‘I’m hoping to send some of his belongings over tomorrow,’ Jo now said. ‘One of his sisters might be able to drop them off. She passes by the end of your road most days on her way to college.’

I looked at Jill. ‘I think we’ll need to discuss that,’ Jill said, nodding pointedly towards Max. For clearly discussing any issue in respect of Max’s family was going to be difficult in front of him. There was an awkward silence.

‘Now Max has recovered, perhaps he’d like to go in the garden with Adrian and Paula?’ I suggested. ‘There are some toys out there and a bench in the shade of the tree,’ I said to him.

‘That sounds nice,’ Jo said, appreciating my suggestion. ‘Let’s take a look, shall we?’ She set her cup and saucer on the coffee table and stood. Max, who’d been leaning right back into the sofa, began struggling to get off, shuffling forward but finding it difficult. Jo instinctively offered her hand and helped him off, as one would an elderly person. It was pathetically sad and another indication of just how being badly overweight was blighting his life. Most children would have leapt off the sofa and been down the garden in an instant.

I looked at Max as he waddled towards the patio doors. Of average height for a six-year-old, he had short brown hair, a pleasant face, round and open, and seemed quite placid in nature. I wondered how he coped with the inevitable name-calling in the school playground. My heart went out to him. Children can be cruel and anyone who deviates from the norm can easily become the object of bullying.

Just outside my patio doors there is one small step that leads onto the patio. It’s not high and is easily navigated by even small children, but Max now held onto the edge of the door to support himself as if worried he might lose his balance and topple. He carefully turned sideways and tentatively lowered one foot and then the other, as a toddler might. Outside, we all crossed the patio and went onto the lawn where the toys were.

‘What would you like to play?’ Adrian asked sensitively. ‘It’s a bit hot for football.’ Indeed, Max was perspiring again, although the sun was starting to lose its strength.

‘I’ll watch while you play,’ Max said quietly. ‘Like I do at school.’ I could have wept. The thought of the poor child having to sit and watch while his friends played instead of joining in touched me. Whether his non-participation was from not being able to run and keep up, discomfort if he tried or a fear of being laughed at I didn’t know – possibly a little of each – but it was desperately sad.

Adrian and Paula were looking a little awkward, not sure what to do for the best. ‘You can play,’ I said to them. ‘Max can join in if he wishes or sit on the bench. It’s up to him.’

‘I’ll sit,’ he said, and lumbered towards the bench in the shade. Toscha had followed us out of the house and strolled over to join him.

‘I’ll sit with you,’ Paula said to Max, suddenly losing her shyness. I think she felt sorry for him.

‘So will I,’ Adrian said. I saw Jill smile.

Max heaved himself onto the bench and Adrian sat on one side and Paula the other. Toscha sprawled at their feet.

‘I’ll leave the patio door open so you can come in when you want,’ I said for Max’s benefit. Jo, Jill and I then returned to the living room.

I was now expecting Jo to start talking about Max’s obesity, including details of the diet he must surely be following and any appointments at the health clinic. But, draining the last of her coffee, she opened her notepad and said to Jill, ‘What was the issue with Max’s sister bringing his clothes here?’

‘Cathy received a rather unpleasant telephone call from Max’s mother earlier this afternoon,’ Jill said evenly. ‘She wasn’t aware her contact details had been given to the family. We usually ask our carers first.’

Jo raised her eyebrows. ‘His mother wanted the phone number of where Max would be staying and I didn’t see a problem in giving it to her. He is in care voluntarily.’ It sounded as though it was me who had the problem.

‘It was quite a threatening call,’ I said. ‘Caz told me to give Max whatever he wanted or I’d have his father to answer to.’

Jo nodded dispassionately and made a note. ‘I’ll mention it to her when I see her later.’

‘Does the family have Cathy’s address too?’ Jill asked.

‘I’m not sure. I might have mentioned it but I think I just told her the area. She was quite insistent on a number of points before she agreed to Max going into care.’

‘Given the nature of the phone call this afternoon, if she doesn’t already have the address perhaps we could withhold it for now?’ Jill suggested diplomatically. ‘We can always review that later.’

‘All right,’ Jo said, and made another note.

I was grateful for Jill’s support. I felt that Jo, like many social workers, didn’t fully appreciate how worrying it could be for a carer to have an irate parent phoning or turning up on their doorstep. Social workers don’t have this worry, as the families they deal with don’t know their home address. While it’s often appropriate for the parents of a child in care to have the foster carer’s contact details, it didn’t hurt to err on the side of caution to keep everyone safe.

Jill took a pad and pen from her bag. ‘What are the contact arrangements?’ she now asked.

‘Caz wants to see Max every evening while she’s in hospital, as she has been doing. His sisters have been taking him, but I assume Cathy will be taking him now?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Perhaps his sisters could take his bag to the hospital and Cathy could collect it from there?’ Jill suggested.

‘That would be good,’ I added.

‘I’ll mention it tonight,’ Jo said, making another note. ‘Hopefully they can arrange it for tomorrow. It’s too late this evening. They’ll be on their way to the hospital now – they use the bus.’

‘How long will Max see his mother for each evening?’ Jill asked.

I picked up my fostering folder and pen so I had them ready to write down the contact arrangements. I start a new folder for each child.

‘Caz said they have been visiting between five-thirty and seven, so I think keep to that.’

‘Is that all right with you?’ Jill asked me.

‘I’ll have to give the children their dinner before we go or it will be late by the time we get home,’ I said, thinking aloud.

‘OK,’ Jill said. ‘See how it goes. Max may be tired after an hour. It’s a long time for a child to be on a ward. Do you want Cathy to stay on the ward with Max? She’ll have Adrian and Paula with her, so it would be better if they could go and wait in the play area by the café.’ A good support social worker is invaluable in clarifying arrangements and making sure they are practical for the carer.

‘That should be all right,’ Jo said. ‘It’s not supervised contact. But please be on hand in case Max wants to leave early.’

I wrote the times of contact on a sheet of paper in my folder. ‘Will this start tomorrow?’ I asked, mindful of the time. ‘It’s already five-thirty now.’

Jo glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Caz was expecting him this evening, but I take your point. I’m not going to be finished here for a while.’

‘Perhaps Max could phone and speak to his mother this evening?’ Jill suggested.

Jo nodded. ‘I’ll speak to Caz once I get there.’

‘Will Max be seeing his mother at the weekend too?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ Jo said, as if it was taken as read. All very well, but that would mean any of our outings at the weekend, including visits to my parents, would need to be curtailed so we were back in time to take Max to the hospital. However, I knew this wasn’t negotiable, as contact arrangements take priority over the carer’s arrangements. Foster carers get used to fitting in.

‘Will you be applying for a Full Care Order?’ Jill now asked.

‘Not at this stage,’ Jo said. ‘As long as I have Caz’s cooperation, there shouldn’t be any need to. She’s cooperated in the past.’

‘What have been the concerns?’ Jill asked, meaning why were the social services already involved with Max’s family.

‘They’ve been mainly around the girls. They weren’t going to school and two of them have been in trouble with the police. Caz was finding it a struggle to cope. She has various health issues, including type 2 diabetes and a heart condition, so we put in some support.’

‘Is Max’s weight due to a medical condition?’ Jill asked.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Jo said lightly. ‘His mother and sisters are all a bit chubby like Max. They like their food.’

I looked at her, amazed.

Chapter Four

A Healthy Appetite?

In my view, there is a big difference between being ‘a bit chubby’ or carrying a few extra pounds and being clinically obese. Jo carried a few extra pounds, as did Jill and I, and many other adults of our age. Aware of this and the need not to add more extra pounds, and hoping to lose a few, I limited the amount of sweet foods I ate, as I know Jill did too. I was astounded that Jo could dismiss Max’s size as ‘chubby’ and liking his food. Most of us like our food, but with so many enticing choices and food so easily available, we often have to moderate our intake for the sake of our health. However, it didn’t seem appropriate to raise the issue now, as Jo had dismissed it, so other than asking her if Max was following a diet – he wasn’t – I didn’t say anything further on the matter at this stage. There was a lot to get through and Jo was going to the hospital after she left us.

‘I’m anticipating Max will remain in care while his mother is in hospital,’ Jo continued, ‘and possibly for a while after she returns home, until she is able to cope again. But she’s not being discharged yet. She had toes amputated two weeks ago and her foot isn’t healing as it should. She can’t manage on crutches yet. When I saw her yesterday her blood pressure was up, so she won’t be discharged until that is under control again.’

Jill and I both nodded. ‘Is the children’s father living at home?’ Jill now asked.

‘Yes, although he doesn’t have much involvement in the day-to-day running of the home or looking after the children. That falls to Caz. Max’s sisters are older and reasonably self-sufficient, but obviously he needs looking after at his age.’

‘Does Max have any allergies?’ Jill asked, going through a mental checklist of issues that the carer needs to know.

‘Not as far as I’m aware, but I’ll check with Caz this evening,’ Jo said, and made a note.

‘Is Max up to date with his dental and optician check-ups?’ Jill asked. Again, another standard question. If the child isn’t up to date with these check-ups then the carer will usually book the necessary appointments and take the child to them.

‘Dentist, I would think so,’ Jo said, ‘as Max had some teeth out not so long ago, but I’ll ask Caz about the opticians.’ She made another note. ‘Now, school,’ she said, moving on. ‘The details are on the essential information form. His school is about a ten-minute drive from here. Max usually goes to breakfast club and Caz wants that to continue. She says he has a bowl of cereal before he leaves in the morning and then has a proper breakfast at school. It’s already paid for, as are his school dinners, as the family are in receipt of benefits. Max has been staying at after-school club until around four-fifteen, but that’s flexible. One of his sisters has been taking him to school and collecting him, but I’m assuming you’ll do that now?’

‘Yes,’ I said. That Max went to breakfast club and after-school club would help me enormously, for it meant I could take him to school first and then go on with Adrian and Paula. Then, at the end of the day, I’d do the reverse. The logistics of the school run are sometimes very difficult and I could find myself having to be in two places at the same time.

‘His sisters went to the same school as Max,’ Jo continued. ‘Although there’s a big age gap, some of the staff taught the girls so they know the family. Max is doing well at school and likes to read. His teacher, Mrs Marshall, is very nice and was a big help earlier when I had to tell Max he wouldn’t be going home.’

‘I’ll introduce myself tomorrow,’ I said.

Jo then went quickly through the essential information forms to see if there was anything she’d missed. I followed in my copy; I’d look at it again later in more detail. The box for information on cultural and religious needs showed that Max was British and nominally Church of England, and in the box for details of any challenging behaviour the word None had been written. Coming to the end of the form, Jo told Jill she’d make sure she was sent a copy and then passed me the placement agreement form to sign. This contained the consent I needed to legally look after the child and required my signature to say I would foster the child in accordance with the foster-carer agreement and fostering regulations.

‘I’ll put copies of this in the post to you both,’ Jo said as I handed it back. ‘I think that’s everything.’ She looked again at the clock. ‘Let’s show Max around and then I’ll be off.’ It’s usual for the social worker to see the foster carer’s home when the child is placed, and specifically the child’s bedroom.

I went into the garden and to the children. Max and Adrian were still sitting on the bench beneath the tree, talking quietly. Paula was now on the grass, stroking Toscha. ‘All right, love?’ I said to Max. ‘Jo is going soon so we’ll show you around the house before she leaves. You two can stay here if you want, as you know what the house looks like.’ Adrian obliged me with a smile.

Max heaved himself off the bench and plodded towards me. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said.

‘We’ll have dinner just as soon as Jo has gone, all right, love?’

He nodded. ‘Paula said we could have an ice cream.’

‘Yes, after dinner.’ It was a bit close to dinner now to have it before, I thought.

‘I like ice cream,’ Max said.

‘So do Adrian and Paula.’ I offered him my hand, as I would any young child, for comfort and reassurance, and he took it. Because of Max’s size it was easy to forget he was only six. Rotund, he looked more like a portly little gentleman – Dickens’s Mr Pickwick – rather than a small child. I could picture him in a waistcoat with a pocket watch.

Max also used my hand for a degree of support. I felt his weight, a pull, as we trod over the lawn towards the patio, then even more so as he hauled himself up the step. Taking hold of the edge of the patio door with one hand, he kept a grip on me with the other and levered himself into the living room with a small sigh, then dropped my hand.

‘How are you doing?’ Jo asked him.

‘OK,’ he said.

‘It’s a nice big garden, isn’t it?’ Jill said brightly.

Max nodded dispassionately, for of course the appeal of a garden to a child is that they can run and play in it, but Max’s running and playing was so severely compromised that the garden would probably be just another hurdle to overcome, rather than a means of having fun.

‘Cathy is going to show us around the house now, and then I’m going to see your mother at the hospital,’ Jo said. ‘As it’s getting late I’ll suggest to your mum she speaks to you on the phone tonight, rather than you visiting her. Is that OK?’

I was expecting a reaction – ‘I want to see my mummy’ or similar – as was Jill from the way she was looking at Max. But he just nodded stoically, apparently as accepting of this as he appeared to be of most things.

Jo and Jill now stood and I began the tour. ‘This is the living room,’ I said, addressing Max. ‘We use this room the most and often sit in here in the evenings to play games or watch some television.’ He nodded and I led the way out of the living room and into the kitchen-cum-diner, where I explained that this was where we usually ate.

‘Something smells good,’ Jill said, sniffing the air.

‘Dinner, I hope,’ I said. ‘It’s a chicken casserole. Do you like casserole?’ I asked Max.

His eyes lit up, and with the most enthusiasm I’d seen since he’d arrived, he said, ‘I love casserole.’

‘Good.’ I smiled at him. I showed them out of the kitchen, down the hall and into the front room. ‘This is a sort of quiet room,’ I said. ‘If you want to sit quietly to read or think, or just be by yourself.’ It contained a table and chairs, the computer, sound system, bookshelves and a small cabinet with a lockable drawer, where I kept important paperwork.

There wasn’t much more to say about this room, so I led the way upstairs to Max’s room – clean and fresh but sparse, without any personal belongings. ‘It will look better once you have some of your things in here,’ I said encouragingly to him.

He looked at me, puzzled. ‘How will I get my things?’ he asked sensibly.

‘I’m going to ask your sisters to pack a bag for you and take it to the hospital tomorrow evening,’ Jo explained. ‘Is there anything in particular you want from home?’

Max looked thoughtful.

‘Like your favourite teddy bear or toy?’ Jill suggested.

‘Buzz Lightyear,’ Max said, referring to the toy from the movie Toy Story. ‘He’s on my bed.’

‘I’ll tell them,’ Jo said.

‘And my clothes. I haven’t got any pyjamas.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Jo said.

‘I’ve got pyjamas you can wear tonight,’ I reassured him, although I knew the ones I’d taken out, which now sat neatly folded at the foot of his bed, would be far too small. I’d quietly change them later without a fuss.

Jo glanced out of the bedroom window and admired the view. This bedroom overlooked the rear garden, as did Adrian’s room next door. I then pointed out the wardrobe and drawers to Max, where he would keep his belongings, and the pinboard on the wall for his drawings. He appeared to be a sensible child, so this would be the type of thing he might be wondering. There were already some posters on the walls and I told him we could change them or add to them. ‘Perhaps some pictures of Toy Story?’ I suggested.

He managed a small, brave smile, bless him. I appreciated there was so much for him to take in – a new home with everything different from what he was used to, and new people with different ways of doing things.

I showed them around the rest of the upstairs: Adrian’s room, the toilet, Paula’s room, the bathroom and finally my bedroom. ‘This is where I sleep,’ I told Max. ‘If you wake in the night and want me, just call out and I’ll be straight round. All right?’

He nodded, and we returned downstairs. Jo went briefly into the living room to fetch her bag and then joined us in the hall to say goodbye. ‘His inhaler is in his school bag,’ she reminded me. Then to Jill and me, ‘I’ll phone about the issues we discussed.’

‘Thanks,’ Jill said.

Jo said goodbye to Max and left. Jill, Max and I returned down the hall and Jill went into the garden to say goodbye to Adrian and Paula, while Max flopped onto the sofa. ‘I’m hungry,’ he said again, this time with a little groan.