Cathy Glass - Damaged, A Babys Cry and The Night the Angels Came 3-in-1 Collection

T he phone rang. It was Jill, my link worker from the fostering agency.

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

Good heavens. I was astonished. And shes only eight? That must have taken some doing. Whats she been up to?

Im not sure yet. But Social Services want a pre-placement meeting, to be certain she doesnt have another move. Are you still interested?

I dont know enough not to be. When?

Tomorrow at ten.

All right, see you there. Whats her name?

Jodie. Thanks, Cathy. If you cant do it, no one can.

I warmed to the flattery; it was nice to be appreciated after all this time. Jill and I had been working together now 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 social workers dealing with a particular case. She coordinated the needs of the Social Services with the foster carers, and provided support and help as it was needed. An inexperienced foster carer often needed a lot of back-up and explanations of the system from their link worker. As Jill and I had been working together for some time, and I was an experienced foster carer, we were used to each other 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. Usually the children just arrived, with a brief introduction if theyd come from another carer, or with only the clothes they stood in if theyd come from home. Id had plenty of experience of both, but none at all of a pre-placement meeting. Usually there was a meeting between everyone involved in the case as soon as the child had been placed in foster care, but Id 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, quiet routine of everyone getting up and dressed and having breakfast, and then the children made their way off to school. I had two children of my own, Adrian who was seventeen, and Paula, the youngest at thirteen. Lucy, who had 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 and Paula. She was a success story: she had come to me hurt and angry and had, over time, learned to trust again, and eventually settled down to a normal existence where she had only the usual teenage angst to fret about, instead of the 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 any child needs to flourish.

As I saw the children off to school that morning, I felt a twinge of apprehension. The child I was going to learn about today would most certainly need all those things in abundance, and if I took her on I would have to be prepared to say goodbye to my relatively peaceful, steady routine for a while, until she learned to trust me and settled down, just as Lucy had. But that was the point of fostering it wasnt easy by any means, but the rewards were so enormous. Besides, I had fostered almost continuously for over twenty years now and wasnt sure I could really remember what life before it had been like.

Once the children had left, I went upstairs and quickly changed from my joggers into a pair of smart navy trousers and a jumper, and headed for the Social Services offices. Id been going there for years now, and the journey there was as familiar as the one to my own house. I also knew the drab grey dcor, fluorescent lighting and air of busy activity and only-just-contained chaos very well indeed.

Cathy, hello.

As I entered the reception area, Jill came forward to meet me. Shed been waiting for my arrival, and walked up to me with a welcoming smile.

Hi, Jill. How are you?

Oh, fine, thanks. Youre looking well.

Yes life is good at the moment. The children are doing well, completely wrapped up in their lives and in their schools. Time for another challenge, I suppose. I smiled at her.

Wed better get along to this meeting. I think theyre ready for us. Jill led me along the corridor to the meeting room. As we entered the room, it was obvious at once that this was a big case: there were already about a dozen people sitting round the enormous oblong mahogany table. What did it mean? From what Jill had told me, I could tell that this was not a run-of-the-mill fostering situation not many children get through five carers in four months but then, no child was ever run-of-the-mill. They were always unique and their troubles distinctly their own. Removing a child from its parents was never going to be a humdrum, everyday event; it was always traumatic, emotional and difficult.