Kitabı oku: «Finding Stevie», sayfa 2
The only positive part of the meeting, I thought as I drove home, was the photograph album. Stevie and his grandparents had asked to look through it a second time, and his gran said she was less worried now she knew he would be living in a nice house and had met me, as she’d heard some bad things about foster carers not treating kids right. Verity reassured her that I was well thought of and gave the children I looked after a high standard of care. Stevie didn’t say much other than asking how much pocket money he would be getting.
‘You won’t get any if you don’t go to school,’ Fred had seethed. They’d stopped his pocket money when he’d refused to attend school, but as a foster carer I had to give the child or young person their allowance regardless of their behaviour, which of course limited the options available to sanction negative behaviour. Many parents withhold their children’s pocket money if they misbehave and some children are expected to do household chores to earn the money. Young people in care receive an above-average pocket money allowance for their age, plus an amount set aside in a savings account and a clothing allowance, which, at Stevie’s age, he would expect to have in his hand. He would also very likely have a pay-as-you-go mobile phone, which I would be expected to top up, but I didn’t explain all this at the time to Peggy and Fred, and neither did Verity.
It was one o’clock when I arrived home. Paula had left a note saying she’d gone shopping with a friend and would be back around 4 p.m. I had a sandwich lunch and then did some clerical work while I waited for Verity to arrive with Stevie – at around three o’clock. However, just before three the landline went and when I heard Verity’s voice I knew something had changed or gone wrong.
‘Cathy, I’ve just left Mr and Mrs Jones. Stevie won’t be coming to you this afternoon. His grandparents want to give him another chance. They felt bad after the meeting and they think the threat of going into care might give him the shock he needs. I’ll be monitoring the situation and we’ll have to see how it goes.’
‘OK. Thanks for letting me know,’ I said.
While I wasn’t happy at being seen as a ‘threat’, I hoped it all worked out for them. Obviously it’s better for a child or young person if they are able to live with their family, although something told me (from years of fostering) that wasn’t going to happen here, and I was right.
Chapter Three
Trouble
It was midday on 2 January. Lucy and Adrian were at work and Paula was in her room reading in preparation for returning to college the following day. I hadn’t heard anything further from Verity, and I assumed Edith would phone before long with details of another child in need of a foster home. There was never much of a gap between one child leaving and the next arriving. I’d spent the morning taking down the Christmas decorations while I had the time and was thinking of making Paula and me some lunch when the front doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but sometimes a friend or neighbour dropped by, and we also had regular deliveries as we all shopped online.
But it wasn’t a parcel, friend or neighbour. To my utter amazement, as I opened the front door I saw Stevie standing there, a large holdall at his side.
‘Sorry to turn up like this,’ he said, seeing my expression of surprise. ‘But I will be staying with you after all.’
‘Oh, I see. I’m afraid it’s not that simple, but come in,’ I flustered, trying to clear my thoughts. ‘What’s happened? Does anyone know you’re here? How did you know where I live?’
‘I found your address on some papers Gran had,’ he said, stepping into the hall.
‘Does your gran know you are here?’
‘Yes.’ If she hadn’t, I would have phoned her straight away to let her know Stevie was safe.
Paula was still upstairs in her room and must have heard the doorbell and our voices but decided to stay put for now.
‘Shall I slip off my shoes and leave them here with yours?’ he asked, referring to the place beneath the coat stand where our outdoor shoes were.
‘Yes, please,’ I said absently.
‘And hang my coat here?’
‘Yes.’ I usually told my new arrivals where to leave their shoes and coat, but I was still recovering from the shock of finding Stevie on my doorstep.
I waited while he paired his shoes precisely next to ours, then hung his tweed coat on the hall stand, a multitude of questions running through my head. He was well dressed again, but the colour scheme had been toned down a little from the meeting and he was now wearing blue jeans with a yellow sweater.
‘Come through to the living room so we can have a chat,’ I said, leading the way down the hall.
‘It’s just like in your photographs,’ he said, looking around as we went. ‘Very nice.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Oh! You’ve got a cat, how delightful!’ he cried as we entered the living room. Sammy, who was still nervous of strangers, shot off the sofa and out of the room. ‘Oh, he’s gone.’ Stevie looked hurt.
‘Don’t worry. He’ll be back. Sit down.’
He settled on the sofa while I took one of the easy chairs.
‘Does Verity know you’re here?’
‘Gran phoned her,’ he said, flicking back his fringe and crossing one leg over the other. He didn’t appear particularly anxious; in fact, he looked quite at home on the sofa.
‘OK, I’ll need to talk to Verity. If she doesn’t phone soon, I’ll call her. Do you want anything to eat or drink?’ I always ask new arrivals this, as some of them haven’t eaten properly for days if they’ve come from homes where they’ve been neglected.
‘I’m good, thanks,’ he said. ‘Gran cooked me breakfast before I left. I can stay here, can’t I? I mean, for now.’
‘I don’t see why not, the room is free, but it’s not my decision. Verity will need to decide. It’s a foster placement. It’s not like a hotel where you can check in and out.’
‘She’ll be fine with it,’ he said confidently, smoothing his jeans.
‘So what happened at home? I thought you and your grandparents were going to give it another go.’
‘We did.’ He sighed theatrically. ‘It was cool for a day, everyone was on their best behaviour, until I got ready to go out on New Year’s Eve. Well, I mean, you get dressed up to go clubbing, don’t you?’ He pursed his lips indignantly.
‘Clubbing! A nightclub?’ I asked, shocked.
‘Yes. I’ve been before,’ he said defensively.
‘But you’re only fourteen. You’re not allowed into nightclubs.’
‘Nearly fifteen,’ he corrected. ‘I look older.’ Which was true.
‘Don’t the clubs ask for proof of age?’
He smiled. ‘Of course. Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve got a fake ID off the internet.’ I should have guessed – I’d heard this before. But I would be telling his social worker. It was unsafe behaviour for a boy of fourteen to be in a nightclub, and if I was going to be his foster carer I had a duty to pass this on, but I’d explain all that later.
‘It’s a straight and gay club where I can be myself,’ he added, and watched me for my reaction.
‘That’s irrelevant,’ I said. ‘A lad of your age shouldn’t be in a nightclub at all, which I’m guessing is what your grandparents said.’
‘I didn’t tell them where I was going. It was when Grandpa saw me all dressed up ready to go out with my eye glitter on that he blew his top. He said if I went out looking like that I needn’t come back. So I didn’t. I just went home this morning for some of my things.’
‘So you were missing from New Year’s Eve?’
‘Yes,’ he said almost proudly. ‘Gran kept leaving messages on my voicemail. The last one said the police were out looking for me.’ His eyes lit up at the drama of it all.
‘I would think they were worried sick. Where were you all that time?’
‘After the club closed I went back to a friend’s pad to crash.’
‘If you are going to live with me, there will be rules and boundaries.’ Best say it now, I thought, for I was concerned by his attitude.
‘Not too many rules, I hope,’ he said, flicking back his fringe again.
‘No, just enough to keep you and everyone here safe. What did your grandfather say when you returned this morning?’
‘He wasn’t there, just Gran. He’d taken Liam and Kiri to the park with their bikes. They both had new bikes for Christmas.’
I nodded. ‘And what did you get for Christmas?’
‘Money for clothes. Can I see my room now?’
‘In a minute. I’ll phone Verity first and make sure you can stay. She may have other plans for you.’
‘I’m not going back home,’ he said, his face setting. ‘She can’t make me.’
‘Let’s see what she has to say.’ I picked up the handset from the corner unit and pressed the social services’ number.
Verity was now at her desk. ‘I was about to phone you,’ she said. ‘Has Stevie arrived?’
‘Yes. About ten minutes ago.’
‘He can stay, but I’ll need to place him. I’m in a meeting soon so I’ll come over later, around three. Can you keep him in until I arrive?’
‘Yes.’
We said goodbye. ‘She said you can stay,’ I said to Stevie. ‘I’ll show you around the house.’
‘Thank you so much,’ he said, and came over and kissed my cheek.
Usually when a new child arrives it is with their social worker, so I show them around the house together, as the social worker needs to see where the child is living, but Stevie was keen to look now, so I’d show Verity around later when she arrived. I began with the room we were in, pointing out the television, and explained how we tended to relax in here in the evenings and weekends.
‘Do you have wi-fi?’ Stevie asked, taking his phone from the pocket of his jeans.
‘Yes.’
‘Can I have the password?’
‘I don’t know the code off by heart, it’ll be on the router in the front room. I’ll give it to you in a moment when we go in there.’
‘You know about the internet and stuff?’ he asked.
‘A reasonable amount, yes,’ I said.
‘Gran and Grandpa don’t. I had to use my phone credit to get online cos he kept switching off the router at night. He thought it would catch fire.’ He raised his eyebrows in exasperation.
‘We all have different ways of doing things,’ I said, and led the way into our kitchen-diner. To a younger person who’d grown up with computers, routers and mobile phones, switching off the wi-fi at night would seem ludicrous, but not to someone of Fred and Peggy’s generation.
While we were in the kitchen I took the opportunity to ask Stevie if he had any special dietary needs or was allergic to anything. It’s something the social worker would tell me in respect of a younger child.
‘No, I eat most things,’ he said easily.
‘Excellent,’ I smiled.
We left the kitchen-diner and went down the hall and into the front room. ‘I call it a quiet room,’ I said. ‘You can read and do your homework in here or in your room, whatever you prefer. The computer and printer are here too,’ I said, pointing. These were now considered essential items in a foster carer’s home.
‘And there’s the router,’ Stevie said, spotting the hub on the bookshelf. I didn’t have to read out the passcode, as he beat me to it. Going over, he entered the code and began tapping away at the keypad on his phone as if his life depended on it. I watched him for a while as his fingers flew over the letters. Completely absorbed, I think he almost forgot I was there.
‘Stevie, what do you do on the internet?’ I asked.
He looked up. ‘Chat to friends, you know, the usual stuff,’ he said, and returned his attention to the screen.
At his age, of course, he would need internet access; teenagers are all computer savvy and online now. But whereas a younger child would use my computer, which had parental-control software to protect them while online by limiting the websites they could access and filtering out inappropriate content, I guessed his phone did not. Internet safety is part of foster-carer training now and foster carers are expected to include it in their safer-caring policy. The older the child, the more difficult it becomes to monitor their activity on the internet.
‘You are careful who you talk to online, aren’t you?’ I asked. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t give out your personal details to a stranger.’
He looked slightly startled. ‘No. Why do you ask?’
‘There are some nasty people out there who can hide behind the anonymity of the internet. They can be very devious in getting what they want. I’m not trying to frighten you, but you do need to be aware.’
He nodded and continued with whatever he was doing on his phone. I’d talk to him more about internet safety another time, just as I had with Adrian, Lucy and Paula. They were of an age now to appreciate the dangers, but Stevie wasn’t. Despite the image he liked to portray, he was a vulnerable young person who was undecided about his gender identity – just the sort of person who could be preyed upon. ‘Come on, I’ll show you upstairs,’ I said. ‘Bring your bag with you.’
Still tapping his phone with one hand, he collected his bag from the hall with the other, and we went upstairs and into his room. He dropped his bag on the floor and looked up from his phone long enough to glance around and say, ‘Cool.’ He followed me out and as we continued round the landing Paula came out of her room.
‘Oh my!’ Stevie cried, clapping his hand to his chest. ‘You gave me such a fright. I didn’t know anyone else was in.’
‘Sorry, I should have told you,’ I said. ‘This is Paula, my youngest daughter. Adrian and Lucy are at work.’
‘Hello, Paula, lovely to meet you,’ he gushed. ‘But don’t go jumping out on me like that again, will you? You scared me half to death.’ His manner was effusive, over the top and completely unnecessary. It was as if he was acting a part.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Paula said, ignoring his theatricals.
I threw her an appreciative smile and then showed Stevie where the bathroom was as Paula disappeared back into her room. I didn’t take Stevie into our bedrooms, I just pointed them out and explained that all of them, including his, were private and we didn’t go into each other’s. ‘If you want Adrian, Lucy or Paula, you knock on their door and wait until they answer,’ I said. ‘They will do the same to you. OK?’
‘OK,’ he said absently, concentrating on his phone. ‘I’ll go to my room now.’
‘If that’s what you want to do,’ I said. ‘Unpack your bag and you will feel more at home. Do you need any help with your unpacking?’ He shook his head. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink and a snack to see you through till dinner?’
But, lost in his phone, he was already on his way to his room, and I heard the door close. I looked in on Paula, who was reading, and then went downstairs. I tidied away the work I’d been doing before Stevie had arrived, and then texted Adrian and Lucy to let them know that he was here so they didn’t just come back to find a stranger in their home.
Half an hour later I went up to check if Stevie was all right. Despite his age and apparent confident manner, he was away from his family and in an unfamiliar house. His door was closed so I knocked. ‘It’s Cathy,’ I called.
It was a few moments before he replied. ‘Yes?’
‘Is everything OK?’
Silence, so I knocked again. ‘Are you all right?’ More silence. ‘Can I come in?’
Giving another knock, I slowly opened the door and poked my head round. He was sitting on his bed, completely engrossed in his phone, the bag, not yet unpacked, on the floor. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he said, but some of his charisma had gone and he seemed worried.
‘Sure?’ I asked. He nodded. ‘OK, but don’t sit up here by yourself. Unpack your bag and come down if you want some company.’
He nodded again and I left him with his phone. Little wonder his grandfather had turned off the wi-fi, I thought. But I had some house rules about mobile phones, which I would explain later when his social worker was present.
I checked on Stevie again half an hour later: his bag still hadn’t been unpacked, his phone was on charge and he was gazing out of his bedroom window. His room was at the rear of the house and overlooked the garden, although there wasn’t much to see in winter.
‘Gran phoned me,’ he said quietly, turning from the window. ‘I told her I was OK.’
‘Good. And are you?’
‘What?’
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’ He shrugged.
‘You don’t seem very sure,’ I said gently, taking another step into his room. ‘You know if there’s anything worrying you, you can talk to me.’
‘I doubt it,’ he said under his breath.
‘Stevie, I have three adult children of my own and have fostered a lot of young people. I’m pretty good at listening and I won’t make judgements or be shocked by anything you have to tell me.’
He looked at me, his face serious. There was no sign of the flamboyant lad I’d seen previously. Indeed, he looked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
‘Well?’ I asked. ‘Is there something you’d like to share? It often helps to talk.’
He hesitated as if he might be considering this, then said, ‘No.’
‘All right, but if you change your mind, you know where I am. If I’m busy, or with Adrian, Lucy or Paula, just say, “Cathy, can I talk to you?” and we’ll find somewhere quiet to go for a chat.’ I didn’t want to labour the point, but I knew from fostering and bringing up my own children just how much young people can bottle up their problems so that they escalate and get out of all proportion. The teenage years can be challenging and confusing for children living at home with loving parents, even more so for a young person in care.
‘There is something,’ Stevie said as I was about to leave his room.
‘Yes?’ I stopped and turned.
‘Can I have my pocket money? I have to go out later,’ he said anxiously.
‘Where to?’
‘Just out.’
‘I usually give pocket money on a Saturday,’ I said, ‘but you can have yours early this week. However, I don’t want you going out tonight. Verity is coming soon and then I want you to meet Adrian and Lucy, settle in and get ready for tomorrow.’
‘Why? What’s happening tomorrow?’ he asked.
‘I’m hoping you will be going to school. And one of the things I want to discuss with Verity is when you will be going out. Of course you will want to see your friends, but it won’t be every night. We can decide on days and the times you have to be back when we see your social worker.’
‘But I have to go out today,’ he said, growing more anxious.
‘Why?’ He couldn’t meet my gaze. ‘Stevie, are you in some sort of trouble?’
‘No,’ he said far too quickly. I knew then he was, but he wouldn’t be telling me yet.
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.
