Cathy Glass - Hidden: Betrayed, exploited and forgotten. How one boy overcame the odds

Cathy Glass

Betrayed, exploited and forgotten How one boy overcame the odds

To my parents with love

T here are 11.8 million children known to be living in the UK. But it is thought there could be as many as one million other children living here who are unregistered and therefore unknown. Some have been trafficked into the country to work in the sex industry, or as cheap labour in our sweatshops. Others have been smuggled in, or sent from Third World countries by desperate parents to be privately fostered in the hope of saving them from the abject poverty at home.

Some will have come in on forged passports, or under visitors visas that have since expired. Others may have been born here to parents who are not themselves registered. No one really knows the true picture, but these children live isolated and perilous lives. They are outside our society, unprotected and vulnerable. They only come to our attention when something goes dreadfully wrong.

This is the story of one such child who came into my care. Certain details, including names, places and dates have been changed to protect that child.

Chapter One

T he call came at eleven oclock on the morning of Friday 2nd January.

My daughter Lucy was expecting her boyfriend to ring her, so she rushed into the hall to answer the telephone. Then, with disappointment in her voice, she called through to the lounge. Mum, its for you! Its Jill.

I was surprised. This was really the first working day since Christmas Eve, as many people had tagged another days leave on to the winter break, giving them a full week off between Christmas and New Year. I hadnt expected a call from Jill, my contact at the fostering agency, quite so soon. I picked up the extension in the lounge.

Hi Jill. Did you have a good Christmas?

Lovely, thanks. And you?

Quiet. Unnaturally so, if Im honest, I said. Its taking a bit of getting used to. Im almost missing all the chaos.

Jill laughed. My previous foster placement of twin seven-year-old girls had ended on 14th December when they had returned to live with their mother, and for the first time since I couldnt remember when, we hadnt had a foster child with us for Christmas. I wasnt sure whether Id liked the quiet or not.

Thank everyone for the present and card, I added. Every year, the agency gave all their foster carers a large tin of chocolate biscuits and a Christmas card signed by the staff.

I will, when theyre back, Jill said. Theres only me in today. I think I drew the short straw. She paused it was the pause Id come to recognize as heralding a possible new foster placement. I wasnt wrong. Cathy, Ive just had a phone call from the councils duty social worker the placement teams still away. It concerns a twelve-year-old boy. She stopped.

Yes? I prompted.

Thats it.

It was my turn to laugh. What? Thats all?

Hes twelve, she repeated, and theyre going to court for an ICO I knew that was shorthand for an Interim Care Order on Monday morning. Theyll need to show the judge they have somewhere to take him. Yes, they will, I said. So you must be looking for a home for him. Has this young man got a name?

The duty officer doesnt know it.

So where is the child now?

I dont know.

I raised my eyebrows. I was used to things often being rushed and confused in the world of fostering but even I was surprised by the lack of information. Jill went on.

Sorry, Cathy, I think the duty officer is just responding to a note left by a social worker from the Children and Families team between Christmas and the New Year. Ill speak to the team leader first thing on Monday morning for more details.

My twenty or so years of fostering had taught me that stopping to think didnt gain me anything. I had to be prepared to take anyone who needed a home. Yes, OK, Jill, put my name forward. Possibly it wont come to anything, especially if its a minor family crisis thats flared up over Christmas.

Thats my feeling too. The chances are it will all be forgotten. Thanks Cathy. And Happy New Year.

And you, Jill.

I returned to my book, Italian Cooking At Its Best , a Christmas present from my other daughter, Paula. We had spent a week in Italy the previous October and we had all loved the local cooking, feasting on delicious pasta, grilled meat, seafood and fantastic vegetables. The children had been badgering me ever since our return to have a go at making some of the dishes theyd enjoyed so much, but my Italian repertoire comprised lasagne, spag bol and not much else. Now there was no excuse. Paula had obviously bought me this cookery book to give me some inspiration and a bit of a prod to try my hand at something a bit more exciting, and no doubt Lucy and Adrian were hoping that theyd reap the benefits as well.

I turned the pages of colourful pictures showing fresh pasta in all shapes and sizes glistening with homemade sauces, risottos studded with peas or chicken and covered in shavings of Parmesan cheese, salads of wonderful fresh vegetables in lashings of olive oil. It all looked beautiful and mouth-wateringly delicious. But where would I find the ingredients for these lovely recipes? Would I be able to find artichoke hearts, truffle oil and yellow pimentos in Sainsburys in the middle of winter?

My thoughts were interrupted by Lucy poking her head around the lounge door. What did Jill want? To wish us a happy New Year?

I winked. She did actually, and a possible referral. A twelve-year-old boy. But Ive got a feeling that it wont come to anything.

She shrugged. All my children were remarkably sanguine about the little strangers who turned up on our doorstep. Some stayed for a short time, and some for months or even years. In Lucys case, shed become a permanent member of the family when Id eventually adopted her. I was proud of the way all my children were happy to open their home to others who needed a port in a storm, and theyd certainly been tested by some of the more difficult and challenging of my foster placements, but theyd always come through. Lucy said casually, Is it all right if I go out later?

Yes, of course, love. Anywhere nice?

Cinema, maybe, with Helen.

Not David?

She shook her head. If he cant be bothered to phone when he said, hell find Ive gone out.

I smiled. Lucys no-nonsense approach to life was obviously going apply to what was her first proper relationship. Poor David. I felt a bit sorry for him. Although he was seventeen, the same age as Lucy, he seemed much younger than she was, and I guessed his first foray into dating was going to prove quite a sharp learning curve. OK, but dont be too hard on him, I said. Many boys his age sleep until lunchtime. I mean, have you seen Adrian yet this morning?

No.

Exactly, and hes nineteen. Actually, Lucy, if youre going back upstairs, could you knock on his door and wake him? He wants to go shopping for some things he needs for uni.

OK, Mum. And if David phones, tell him Im in the bath.

I turned the page of my Italian cookbook, found a recipe that looked reasonably straightforward and jotted down the ingredients on a scrap of paper. I was thrilled that the family still had fond memories of our week in Italy. We had taken the twins, and although Id worried about how they would fare with a foreign holiday, especially one without a beach, theyd enjoyed themselves as much as we had. By then they were six months into the placement, well settled, and Paula and Lucy were still enamoured enough of the novelty of twins to keep the little girls amused. That meant I could have a real break and had also given me a chance to spend some time catching up with Adrian after his first few weeks away at uni. Fortuitously hed had a weeks study leave which had coincided with half term, so he had been able to come away with us. I had been reassured to learn from him that he did know how to open a can and work a washing machine, although judging from the amount of drinking that appeared to have gone on, I think the cans he opened were mainly cans of lager.