Kitabı oku: «Finding Stevie», sayfa 4

Chapter Seven

Quiet and Withdrawn

Once home I asked Stevie to unpack the bags he’d brought from his gran’s and get out his school uniform, so he was ready for school the next day. Paula returned home from college – her first day back after the Christmas break. She was studying business studies, which she hoped would allow her a career in a company, though exactly what type of company she wasn’t sure yet. She was quieter than Lucy and tended to give matters a lot of thought, sometimes overthinking. But she could be assertive and stand up for herself if necessary. She and Adrian saw their father every six weeks or so, and made their own arrangements now they were older. Lucy saw her birth mother once or twice a year.

Adrian was working a late shift, so I plated up his dinner for when he came home, and called Lucy, Stevie and Paula to the table. Stevie arrived wearing make-up – but not too much – and had changed clothes and was now wearing dusty pink skinny trousers and matching shirt.

‘Wow!’ Lucy said admiringly. ‘You look good.’

‘You like it?’ Stevie asked, pleased and doing a turn.

‘Yes, it suits you.’

It did. Although I could see how his grandparents might struggle with their grandson in pink when it was a colour traditionally associated with girls. An outfit like this would also draw attention to him, possibly unwanted attention, I thought protectively. But you can’t keep young people wrapped up in cotton wool; sometimes they have to learn for themselves.

Stevie took his place at the table and we all began eating.

‘How did you get into all this tranny stuff?’ Lucy asked after a moment.

‘Online, I guess,’ Stevie replied with a shrug. ‘Although it’s not really tranny. I googled how I was feeling and up came all these websites. I couldn’t believe it – young people discussing exactly how I felt! It was such a relief.’

I nodded. I could imagine the comfort he’d found in discovering other like-minded people. Although there is a dark side to the internet, there are many positives too: easy access to information and learning, shopping, up-to-the-minute news and the ability to connect people all over the world for business and socialising, support and reassurance, to name a few.

‘I’ve made a lot of friends online,’ Stevie added. ‘I can share stuff with them that I can’t with others because they understand. They know how I feel.’

‘That’s good,’ I said, ‘but just remember that online friends aren’t the same as those you know in person – at school or in the area. The only thing you know for sure about the person you are talking to online is that they can type.’

Stevie looked at me for a moment, puzzled, then said, ‘Oh yes, I see what you mean.’

‘Mum says that a lot when she lectures us about staying safe online,’ Lucy said.

Stevie had paused from eating and appeared deep in thought.

‘Are you going to school tomorrow?’ Paula asked him presently.

‘Yes,’ he replied, and continued eating.

The conversation ran on as we ate, with talk about school and college. I offered to take Stevie to school in the car the following morning for his first day back, but he didn’t want me to, saying he would use the bus. He knew the bus stop was a short walk away at the top of our road and that the bus would take him right to his school.

‘I will go,’ he said to me, as if the reason I’d offered him a lift was because I doubted he’d get there.

‘I know, I trust you,’ I said. ‘I just thought you might prefer a lift on your first day back. A bit of support.’

I did trust him. I always trust people until they give me a reason not to. At Stevie’s age, of course, he should be allowed to go to school and come home by bus. I told him what time he’d need to be up in the morning to leave the house on time. ‘And I’ll expect you home by four-thirty,’ I said. ‘Text me if you’re going to be late.’

One of the first things I do when I’m fostering a young person is to exchange mobile phone numbers, so I can get in touch with them and they with me. My number was now in Stevie’s phone and his was in mine.

That evening, while everyone was occupied in their rooms, I wrote up my log notes, then went online and found Stevie’s Facebook page. His security was set to high strength so none of his details or photographs were public; only ‘friends’ could see them. I clicked on the box to send him a friendship request.

Stevie slept well again, very well, and it took a bit of persuading to get him up the following morning so he had time for breakfast. I gave him money for his school dinner and checked he had his bus pass with him, then saw him off at the door. ‘Good luck. Text me if you want a lift home, otherwise I’ll see you at four-thirty,’ I said.

He nodded and, slipping in the earbuds he’d brought from home, went up the front path. He looked very smart in his school uniform, although I noticed his trousers were a fraction too short. At his age he would be having growth spurts and continually need new clothes. But of course he’d spent all his clothing allowance for the month on a new pair of jeans, so I would buy what he needed. Foster carers receive an allowance, but it rarely covers everything a young person needs and they dig into their own pockets as they would for their own children.

Lucy had already left for work, and Paula left for college soon after Stevie. Adrian, having worked a late shift the night before, was just getting up as he didn’t have to be in until ten. I cooked him breakfast, cleared up, said goodbye to him as he left and then the day slipped by. Housework, laundry, I phoned Verity and left a message with her colleague to say Stevie was in school today, did some clerical work, phoned my mother for a chat, and before long it was time to start thinking about what to give everyone for dinner.

Four-thirty came and went and there was no sign of Stevie. At five o’clock, when he still wasn’t home and hadn’t texted, I began to worry. I didn’t want him to think I didn’t trust him or to appear overprotective, but when it got to five-thirty I was really worried and texted. Are you OK? Had expected you home by now. Cathy x

Paula was now home from college and was trying to talk to me about her day, but I was only half listening. Having texted Stevie, I gave her my full attention for all of two minutes until my phone bleeped with an incoming text. It was from Stevie and I immediately read it. On the bus now. Went to see Kiri and Liam. Which was fine, but he should have told me before that he was going to see his sister and brother, not after the event. I’d remind him when he got home. ‘Sorry, love,’ I said to Paula. ‘Thanks for your patience. Let’s go and sit in the living room and have a chat.’ Which we did. It’s so important to make time for your own children when you foster.

Stevie arrived home twenty minutes later, just after Paula and I had finished our chat. As I let him in I asked him how Liam (aged eight) and Kiri (aged six) were. He said they were ‘fine, same as usual’. He took off his shoes and coat and I asked him how his day had been at school, and he said, ‘Fine.’ Then he added that he’d seen Carolyn and she and the Head had spoken to the boy who’d been leading the bullying and he’d been made to apologise.

‘Did that help?’ I asked.

‘I think so,’ Stevie said.

‘Good.’ I then reminded him to text me if he wasn’t coming straight home from school. ‘And the same applies for tonight,’ I said. ‘You said you wanted to go out, so I’ll expect you home by nine-thirty. I’d like to know where you’re going and how you are getting home.’

‘I’m not going out now,’ he said.

‘Oh, OK.’

He went up to his room and stayed there until dinner was ready. I assumed he was changing out of his school uniform, but when he came down he was still in his school jersey and trousers, and seemed subdued. ‘Everything OK?’ I asked him. He nodded and joined us at the table.

It was just Paula, Stevie and me for dinner, as Adrian and Lucy were both still working – Adrian until eight o’clock and Lucy on the late shift at the nursery, which finished at seven. As we ate I tried to make conversation, but only Paula responded. Stevie was clearly preoccupied and, once finished, he stood, took his plate and cutlery to the kitchen and went upstairs. Usually I like us all to stay at the table until everyone has finished eating (as he had the previous night) – it’s polite – but it was only a small matter and he obviously had things on his mind. Stevie remained in his room all evening, despite me going up a couple of times and suggesting he come down. I wasn’t unduly worried; many young people like to spend time in their rooms, and he’d had a pretty emotional week and been to school that day.

I try to see my mother every two weeks, usually at the weekend, when we all go if possible. She lives about an hour’s drive away. However, Mum understood I wouldn’t be going this weekend, as I wanted Stevie settled in first. I’d phone her again over the weekend and my brother would visit. On Saturday morning, when Stevie surfaced, I asked him if he had any plans for the weekend. He said he didn’t and wouldn’t be going out that night even though it was Saturday. I knew young people’s plans often changed and didn’t read anything untoward into it. I suggested he might like to see his grandparents and Liam and Kiri, as there was more time at the weekend, rather than after school. But he didn’t want to do that either; he said he’d seen them the day before.

Adrian was working Saturday, and Lucy and Paula were thinking of going shopping after lunch, and they asked Stevie if he wanted to join them. I was expecting him to jump at the chance, given his enthusiasm for shopping when I’d taken him, but he said he wasn’t in the mood for shopping and was going to chill in his room. That afternoon there was just him and me in the house and I suggested he might like to come down rather than sit in his room, where he’d been all day.

‘I’m good here,’ he said. He was propped up on his bed, texting.

‘OK. Have you got any homework to do?’

‘Yes, I’ll do it later.’

I assumed that, having shared a bedroom with his younger brother, he was enjoying having his own space. In respect of his homework, it was reasonable that he should take responsibility for it at his age, although I would remind him again to make sure it was done. With younger children I often sat with them downstairs while they did their homework, giving them help as and when necessary. Of course I would help Stevie too, if he asked. He remained in his room for the whole afternoon and only came down for dinner when Adrian, Lucy and Paula were back. There was no trace of make-up and he was still subdued. I asked him if he was OK and he said he was, but he didn’t join in any of our conversation at all.

Sunday was bitterly cold, but having not been out the day before I felt in need of a breath of fresh air. I asked if anyone would like to join me for a walk, but there weren’t any takers, so I went alone. I wouldn’t have left a teenager alone in the house when they’d only recently arrived, but Adrian, Paula and Lucy were in. Paula and Lucy were my nominated carers. Foster carers can nominate family members or close friends to help out and babysit when necessary. They are assessed by the carer’s supervising social worker for suitability, and sometimes police checked (now called a DBS check – Disclosure and Barring Service). Lucy had qualifications in childcare, experience of being fostered and of course lived with the looked-after child, so knew them well. I would never have them solely responsible for a lad of fourteen in case he kicked off, but with Adrian there too I felt comfortable going for a short walk. I was home again in under half an hour.

Adrian went out shortly after I returned and was spending the rest of the day with Kirsty. After lunch, Lucy, Paula and I were in the living room, reading: Paula on her laptop for college, Lucy a true story on her Kindle and I was reading a paperback thriller. I asked Stevie if he would join us, but he said he hadn’t finished his homework yet. He finally joined us for dinner and then in the evening came to watch a television programme, but only for fifteen minutes and was very quiet. After he’d left the room Lucy said exactly what I’d been thinking: ‘What’s the matter with him?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I keep asking if there is anything wrong, but he says there isn’t. If he says anything to you, please let me know.’

‘Yes, of course.’

I’ve found before that children and young people sometimes confide in one of my children before they tell me. It used to happen when my family were little too, and they knew they had to tell me so I could help sort out the problem. Obviously we hadn’t known Stevie long and it was possible he often had mood swings as his grandparents claimed – flamboyant and extrovert one day and quiet and introspective the next – but I had the feeling it was more than that.

On Monday morning we all fell into the routine of the working week. Stevie left for school on time, assuring me he had done his homework and he would see me at 4.30. By 9 a.m. the house was empty save for me and Sammy, who was curled in front of the radiator in the living room. Verity telephoned just after nine and asked how Stevie had been over the weekend. I said he had spent most of it in his bedroom with his phone, and when he had joined us he had been very quiet. I said that I’d asked him a number of times if anything was worrying him and he’d said there wasn’t. ‘OK, I’ll speak to him,’ Verity said. ‘I need to see him this week. I’m thinking of Wednesday after school. What time does he get in?’

‘Four-thirty.’

‘Please tell Stevie I’ll see him then, but he knows he can phone me before if he needs to.’

‘Yes, will do.’

Social workers are obliged to visit a child placed with foster carers within the first week, then every six weeks after that – more if necessary. I wrote Verity’s visit in my diary, and when Stevie arrived home (on time) I told him, and asked him if he’d had a good day. He nodded and disappeared upstairs. Apart from coming down for dinner he spent the rest of the evening in his room, saying he had homework to do.

That night I was late going to bed and it was nearly midnight before I went up. I saw a light coming from under Stevie’s bedroom door; everyone else had been asleep for some time. I gently tapped on the door. ‘Stevie, are you awake?’ I asked quietly. There was no reply. I tapped again and then slowly opened the door. He was propped up in bed, earbuds in and with his phone in his hand. He started when he saw me and quickly pulled out his earbuds. ‘I’m switching my phone off now,’ he said.

‘Yes, please. It’s very late. You need to get to sleep. Is everything all right?’

He nodded and lay down, his back to me.

‘Goodnight,’ I said, but there was no reply.

I came out and quietly closed his bedroom door. The guilt on his face when I’d opened his door had been out of all proportion to being caught using his phone when he should have been asleep. I started to think that whatever was worrying Stevie could be the result of something he’d done, and it might be serious. But until he wanted to share it, there was nothing I could do to help.

On Tuesday Stevie decided to visit his gran after school and remembered to text me to tell me he’d be late. He was home in time for dinner, ate with us, hardly said a word, and then spent the rest of the evening in his room – ‘doing homework’, he said. I thought at this rate he was going to be top of his class! However, the following morning, after everyone had left, Peggy telephoned me. ‘Is Stevie all right?’ she asked. ‘He’s not sickening for something? He was very quiet yesterday.’

I said he didn’t appear to be unwell and wasn’t off his food but agreed that he was very quiet and had been all weekend. I told her that when I asked him if anything was worrying him he said there wasn’t. ‘I’ve told Verity and she is coming to see him this evening,’ I said. ‘What did Stevie do while he was with you yesterday?’

‘He kept out of Fred’s way,’ Peggy said with a humourless laugh. ‘He spent most of his time with Kiri and Liam. I think that’s why he came – to see them.’

‘Have they said any more about their secret?’

‘No, and nothing seems to be missing. Fred’s still got his teeth.’

I smiled. ‘OK, I’ll let you know what Verity says.’

‘It’s probably just teenage angst,’ Peggy said. ‘Stevie seems to get a lot of that.’

Quite possibly she was right, although I wasn’t convinced.

That Peggy was able to phone me so we could discuss our concerns allowed us to work together in Stevie’s best interest. Sometimes parents or guardians are so angry that their child is in care that the foster carer’s contact details are withheld to protect the carer, and sometimes they are withheld to protect the children if the parents have been abusing them. But now my relationship with Peggy was textbook good and I hoped it would continue.

I messaged Stevie at 3.30 to remind him that he had to come straight home as Verity was coming to see him at 4.30. He’d see the message when he switched on his phone at the end of school. Apart from once when he’d first arrived, he’d been getting home on time, and hadn’t wanted to go out, so I’d seen very little of the behaviour his grandparents had struggled with when he’d disappeared off and stayed out all night. However, it was early days yet and we were in what foster carers often refer to as the honeymoon period. The child is on their best behaviour to begin with, then they start to relax and test the boundaries. Boundaries are a sign of caring and the child or young person tests the boundaries to see if the carer loves them enough to forgive them – anything. But foster carers are only human and sometimes the child’s behaviour is so extreme that the carer has to ask for the placement to end and the child to be moved. As well as making the carer feel guilty, this rejection compounds the child’s feelings of being unwanted, and their challenging behaviour escalates, when a bit of extra support for the carer might have been able to save the placement and keep the child where they were.

Stevie arrived with Verity. She’d seen him walking down the road and had given him a lift in her car. Having taken off their coats and shoes, they went into the living room while I made Verity a coffee and poured Stevie the glass of juice he wanted.

‘Shall I leave you to it?’ I asked Verity as I set the drinks on the table within their reach.

‘Yes, please,’ Verity said. ‘I’ll see you before I go.’

I came out, closing the door behind me, and went into the kitchen to start preparing dinner. Paula, Lucy and Adrian knew that Verity was coming, and Paula arrived home first. She came into the kitchen and we chatted for a while about her day, then she took a drink up to her room. Just after five o’clock I heard the living-room door open and then Verity called, ‘Stevie is going to show me his room.’

‘OK,’ I returned.

Five minutes later she came down into the kitchen to find me. I stopped what I was doing to talk to her. ‘Stevie’s staying in his room,’ she said. ‘He likes having his own room but misses his brother and sister.’ I nodded. ‘I asked him if there was anything in particular worrying him and he said there wasn’t. He says he’s not depressed. Actually, he was quite talkative – as much as any young person his age talks to their social worker.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘I’ve told him I’ll apply for a laptop for him, as he hasn’t got one at present.’