Damaged

HarperCollins Publishers

Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Emotional Blackmail

The phone rang. It was Jill, my link worker from thefostering agency.

'Cathy, it's not two carers, but five,' she said. 'Five,since coming into care four months ago.'

'Good heavens.' I was astonished. 'And she's onlyeight? That must have taken some doing. What's shebeen up to?'

'I'm not sure yet. But Social Services want apre-placement meeting, to be certain she doesn't haveanother move. Are you still interested?'

'I don't know enough not to be. When?'

'Tomorrow at ten.'

'All right, see you there. What's her name?'

'Jodie. Thanks, Cathy. If you can't do it, no one can.'

I warmed to the flattery; it was nice to be appreciatedafter all this time. Jill and I had been working togethernow for four years and had established a good relationship.As a link worker for Homefinders Fostering Agency,Jill was the bridge between the foster carers and socialworkers dealing with a particular case. She coordinatedthe needs of the Social Services with the foster carers,and provided support and help as it was needed. Aninexperienced foster carer often needed a lot of back-up andexplanations of the system from their link worker. As Jilland I had been working together for some time, and Iwas an experienced foster carer, we were used to eachother and got on well. If Jill thought I was up to the task,then I was sure she meant it.

But a pre-placement meeting? It had to be bad. Usuallythe children just arrived, with a brief introduction if they'dcome from another carer, or with only the clothes theystood in if they'd come from home. I'd had plenty of experienceof both, but none at all of a pre-placement meeting.

Usually there was a meeting between everyone involved inthe case as soon as the child had been placed in foster care,but I'd never been to one held beforehand.

It was my first inkling of how unusual this case was.The following morning, we went about our normal, quietroutine of everyone getting up and dressed and havingbreakfast, and then the children made their way off toschool. I had two children of my own, Adrian who wasseventeen, and Paula, the youngest at thirteen. Lucy, whohad joined the family as a foster placement two years ago,was fifteen and now a permanent member of our family,just like a daughter to me and a sister to Adrian andPaula. She was a success story: she had come to me hurtand angry and had, over time, learned to trust again, andeventually settled down to a normal existence where shehad only the usual teenage angst to fret about, instead ofthe turmoil she had known as a child. I was proud of her,and she was testament to my belief that love, kindness,attention and firm boundaries are the basis of what anychild needs to flourish.

As I saw the children off to school that morning, I felt atwinge of apprehension. The child I was going to learnabout today would most certainly need all those things inabundance, and if I took her on I would have to be preparedto say goodbye to my relatively peaceful, steady routine fora while, until she learned to trust me and settled down, justas Lucy had. But that was the point of fostering – it wasn'teasy by any means, but the rewards were so enormous.Besides, I had fostered almost continuously for over twentyyears now and wasn't sure I could really remember whatlife before it had been like.

Once the children had left, I went upstairs and quicklychanged from my joggers into a pair of smart navytrousers and a jumper, and headed for the Social Servicesoffices. I'd been going there for years now, and the journeythere was as familiar as the one to my own house.

I also knew the drab grey décor, fluorescent lighting andair of busy activity and only-just-contained chaos verywell indeed.

'Cathy, hello.'

As I entered the reception area, Jill came forward tomeet me. She'd been waiting for my arrival, and walkedup to me with a welcoming smile.

'Hi, Jill. How are you?'

'Oh, fine, thanks. You're looking well.'

'Yes – life is good at the moment. The children aredoing well, completely wrapped up in their lives and intheir schools. Time for another challenge, I suppose.' Ismiled at her.

'We'd better get along to this meeting. I think they'reready for us.' Jill led me along the corridor to the meetingroom. As we entered the room, it was obvious at oncethat this was a big case: there were already about a dozenpeople sitting round the enormous oblong mahoganytable. What did it mean? From what Jill had told me, Icould tell that this was not a run-of-the-mill fosteringsituation – not many children get through five carers infour months – but then, no child was ever run-of-the-mill.They were always unique and their troublesdistinctly their own. Removing a child from its parentswas never going to be a humdrum, everyday event; it wasalways traumatic, emotional and difficult.

Nevertheless, something told me that this was farmore complex than anything I'd yet encountered. I feltanother stab of apprehension, like I had when Jill firsttold me about the case the day before, but I was alsointerested. What could this child be like, to warrant somuch involvement from so many people?

Jill and I took the two vacant chairs at the far end, andI felt every eye was on me, assessing my suitability.The chairman was Dave Mumby, the Social Servicesteam leader, and he began the round of introductions.On his left was Sally, the 'guardian ad litum': she wasappointed by the courts to represent Jodie's interests.The lady next to her introduced herself as Nicola, Jodie'shome tutor.

Home tutor? Why isn't the child in school? I wondered.Next was Gary, Jodie's current social worker. Heexplained that he was about to leave the case, and handJodie over to Eileen, who was sitting next to him. I lookedat Eileen carefully – if I was going to take Jodie, thenEileen and I would have to work closely together. At firstglance she was nondescript: a woman in her forties with anunruffled and calm air about her. So far, so good.

I wasn't surprised that I was already witnessing achange of social worker. It happened all the time – it wasthe nature of the job that people had to move on – but itwas unfortunate for the children and families involved,who were always having to learn new faces, build trustand forge fresh relationships with endless strangers.

Although I knew it was something that couldn't bealtered and was just part of the system, with all its flaws,nonetheless I felt for Jodie. Changing social workerwould mean yet more disruption for her, and I wonderedhow many social workers she'd been through already.Next, Deirdre introduced herself. She was the agencylink worker for Jodie's current foster carers. Then it wasmy turn, and the eyes of everyone around the tableturned to me.

I looked around the table, meeting the various gazes.'I'm Cathy Glass,' I said, as clearly and confidently as Icould. 'I'm a foster carer from Homefinders FosteringAgency.' There wasn't much more I could add at thisstage, when I knew so little about what was going on, soI passed on to Jill.

After Jill came someone from the accounts department,followed by a member of the local authority's placementteam. As they spoke, I looked over at Gary, Jodie's currentsocial worker. He was young, and could only have been inhis mid-twenties. How successful had he been at forging arelationship with Jodie? I wondered. Perhaps Eileen, as awoman, would fare better at empathizing with the littlegirl, so the change of social worker might be for the betterin this case. I hoped so.

Once the introductions were complete, Dave thankedus for coming, and gave a brief outline of what had beenhappening, or to use the correct terminology: the casehistory to date. I warmed to Dave immediately. He wasgently spoken but forthright, and looked directly at meas he spoke. I made a mental note of the salient points:Jodie had been on the 'at-risk' register since birth,which meant that Social Services had been monitoringthe family for eight years. Although there had beensuspicions of emotional and physical abuse by Jodie'sparents, no steps had been taken to remove her or heryounger brother Ben and sister Chelsea. Then, fourmonths ago, Jodie had started a house fire by settinglight to her pet dog – I shivered at this, struck by thepeculiar cruelty of such an act – and that had been thecatalyst for Social Services to take her and her siblingsinto care. Ben and Chelsea had both been placed withfoster carers and were doing well. But Jodie exhibited'very challenging behaviour'. I heard Dave deliver thiseuphemism and raised my eyebrows. All foster carersknew what that really stood for. It meant 'completelyout of control'.

'I think it would be useful,' said Dave, looking at me,'for you to hear from her social worker now. Gary's beenon the case for two years. Feel free to ask any questions.'Despite his youth, Gary was confident and methodicalas he gave me an overview of Jodie and her family.

'I'm afraid that the general picture isn't good, as you'dexpect. There's severe disruption inside the family. Jodie'smother is an intravenous drug user and her father is analcoholic. In recent years, Jodie's suffered a number ofinjuries while at home, including burns, scalds, cuts,bruises and a broken finger. All of these were recorded athospital, and although it was suspected that some of theinjuries were non-accidental, it was impossible to provethat this was the case.'

Gary went on with his tale of neglect and miserywhile I concentrated on absorbing the facts. It was anappalling case history but I'd heard similar stories manytimes before. Nevertheless, it never ceased to amaze andhorrify me that people could treat their children withsuch cruelty and indifference, and I was already feelingfor this poor little girl. How could any child grow and benormal in such circumstances, and with such parents asher role models?

Gary continued, 'Jodie's no longer in school because ofthe recent moves, which is why she's been assigned ahome tutor. She has learning difficulties and a statementof special needs.'

That was straightforward enough – I was used tolooking after children with developmental delays andlearning difficulties. I suspected that Gary was giving methe censored version of Jodie's case history. In all myyears of fostering, I'd never heard of a child goingthrough five carers in four months. When he paused andlooked at me, I seized my opportunity.

'It would be helpful if you could tell me the make-up ofthe families of the previous carers,' I said, hoping todiscover clues to explain why Jodie had gone through somany, so fast. 'How many children did they have, andwere they older or younger? Had the carers had experiencewith this type of child before?'

Gary coughed and looked a little shifty. 'The previousplacement breakdowns were purely circumstantial,' hesaid. 'One of the couples were first-time carers andJodie should never have been placed with them – thatwas an error on our part and it's no surprise that itdidn't work out.'

That was fair enough, but as he went through theother placements, he sounded unconvincing to my ears:the others had all been experienced professionals, and yetone couple had lasted only three days. Gary's explanationthat circumstances were to blame was clearly a damagelimitation exercise for Jodie's sake, so that I didn't getfrightened off.

Deirdre, who was the link worker representing Jodie'spresent foster carers, felt obliged to speak up in theirdefense. After all, if Jodie was as harmless as Gary wasmaking out, it didn't exactly reflect very well on theirability to cope.

'Jodie has delayed development,' she said. 'In mostrespects, she acts like a three or four-year-old ratherthan an eight-year-old. She throws terrible tantrums andis consistently aggressive and uncooperative. Her behavioris violent, abusive and destructive. Even thoughshe's only been with Hilary and Dave a short time, she'salready broken a number of objects, including a solidwooden door.'

I raised my eyebrows. Quite a feat for an eight-year-old.But Deirdre wasn't finished yet, and she went on withher litany of Jodie's faults and shortcomings. Jodie'scarers had described her as 'cold, calculating, manipulative,very rude and totally unlikeable'.

Harsh words to pin on a little girl.

Surely, I thought, someone could say something niceabout her, even if it was only that she liked her food.Children in care tend to eat ravenously, because in the pastmany of them haven't known when the next meal wouldarrive. But no, not so much as 'she does like her chocolate'.

It appeared that Jodie did not have a single endearingfeature. Instead, there was just a list of transgressions,with a footnote that her present carers had found herphysically frightening: Jodie was a big girl, and she hadthreatened them.

I looked at Jill and we exchanged glances. Threatenedthem? I thought to myself. But she's only eight years old!How dangerous can she be? I began to feel as though Iwas on Jodie's side. What must it be like, having everyoneone dislike you so vehemently? No wonder she wasn'table to settle anywhere.
(Continues...)Excerpted from Damaged by Cathy Glas. Copyright © 2007 by Cathy Glas. Excerpted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers.
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