Cruel to Be Kind. Cathy Glass

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СКАЧАТЬ I asked.

      He shrugged again. ‘When the bathroom is free. Sometimes I have a bath at the weekend.’

      ‘So the last time you had a bath was last weekend?’ It was Wednesday now.

      ‘Maybe, or the weekend before. I can’t remember.’

      ‘OK. Don’t worry. Would you like a quick bath now?’

      He nodded.

      I always encourage the children I foster to bath or shower every day, as good personal hygiene is obviously important, especially in the warm weather when we all sweat more. However, I’d never insist on it on their first night after the trauma of coming into care. Arriving at a stranger’s house and having to take off all their clothes for a bath or shower could seem like another form of abuse for an already abused child, and so often carers don’t know all the child’s history. Max was happy to have a bath though, and I went upstairs with him to run it. I asked him if he usually had help with his bathing and he said he didn’t, so I said I’d wait just outside the bathroom door while he had his bath and he should call if he needed me. I’d never leave a six-year-old completely unattended in the bath (or shower) in case they slipped and fell, but I always try to give the child age-appropriate privacy. I heard the water splash as he washed himself and after a few minutes I called out, ‘Are you OK, Max?’

      ‘Yes,’ he returned. Then, a few moments later, ‘I’ve finished.’ It was a quick bath, but it would do for tonight.

      ‘Good boy. Can you get out now and dry yourself?’ I asked.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Then put the towel around you. I’ve put pyjamas in your bedroom for you to try on.’

      A few minutes later he appeared cloaked in the towel and we went to his bedroom, where I told him to choose the pyjamas that fitted best while I put his school clothes in the wash so they were ready for tomorrow. Leaving him in his room trying on the pyjamas, I returned to the bathroom, gathered up his clothes and took them downstairs, where I set them to wash and dry in the machine. I looked in on Adrian in the living room, who was now reading, and I then returned upstairs. Max was still in his bedroom and I knocked on the partially open door. ‘Have you got some pyjamas on?’

      ‘Yes, but they’re very long.’

      The door opened and Max stood in front of me looking slightly comical with his hands and feet enveloped by the pyjamas. However, while the sleeves and legs were far too long, the set he’d chosen fitted around his middle. They were the largest pair, age 12–13 years, and another indication of just how overweight Max was. Clothes designed for a child twice his age fitted.

      ‘Let’s roll up the sleeves and legs for tonight,’ I said, going into his room. ‘I’ll take them up properly tomorrow.’

      ‘Mum cuts them off,’ he said. He held out one arm for me to roll up and then the other. I did the same with his pyjama legs.

      I could imagine it must be virtually impossible to buy clothes off the rail that would fit him, and his mother would doubtless have to adapt all his clothes. I returned to the bathroom with Max so he could brush his teeth, then I called down to Adrian that the bathroom was free. I would try to establish a better routine tomorrow that allowed time for the boys to do any homework they might have. However, I thought Adrian might have to take his with us to the hospital to do there, as we were going to be very short of time on school days. Thankfully this evening, apart from reading, which most school-age children are expected to do every day, neither Adrian nor Max had any homework.

      On the first night I always ask the child I’m looking after how they like to sleep: if they like the curtains open or closed, their light on or off, and the bedroom door open or shut. These small details, which we do automatically for ourselves and our children, help the child to settle in a strange room. Max wanted his curtains slightly parted as many children do. He was happy to sleep with the light off and said he had his door closed at home so he didn’t get woken by the noise his sisters made.

      ‘It’s quiet at night in our house,’ I reassured him. ‘Adrian and Paula will be asleep too, and when I come up to bed I’m very quiet, so I won’t wake you.’

      ‘I wish I had Buzz,’ Max said as he climbed into bed, referring to his favourite toy.

      ‘Jo is going to ask your sisters to pack it, so you should have it tomorrow night,’ I reminded him. Then I had a thought. ‘Just a moment. Stay there.’

      I left his room and went round the landing and knocked on the bathroom door. ‘Adrian, could Max borrow your Buzz Lightyear? Just for tonight.’ Like many children, he had a collection of Toy Story toys.

      ‘Yes,’ he called. ‘It’s in the cupboard in my room.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      I went into Adrian’s room and to the small built-in cupboard, which contained many of his toys. Buzz sat next to Woody on one of the shelves and I carefully lifted him down. I carried him into Max’s room and his eyes lit up. ‘Buzz!’

      ‘Adrian said you can borrow his for tonight. Where would you like him to sit?’

      ‘Just here,’ Max said, patting a place on the bed beside him.

      I positioned the toy as Max wanted and then asked him if he needed anything else. He shook his head.

      ‘Goodnight then, love. Sleep well. Would you like a goodnight kiss?’ I always ask the child – for while a kiss is a sign of affection, it’s also an invasion of their personal space and can make them feel uncomfortable – apart from babies and toddlers, whom I kiss and cuddle spontaneously and often.

      ‘Don’t mind,’ Max said.

      ‘Does your mum kiss you goodnight?’ I asked.

      ‘No. She watches television when I’m in bed.’

      ‘OK. Night, love.’ I kissed his forehead, and reminding him again to call me if he needed me in the night, I came out, drawing his door to behind me.

      Adrian had finished in the bathroom now and was in bed, waiting for me to say goodnight. I lay beside him and we had our usual hug and chat, which tonight was mainly about school and the long summer holidays that would start at the end of the month. A quarter of an hour later I kissed him goodnight and left him to go to sleep. I checked on Max and Paula, who were both fast asleep, and went downstairs where I tidied up. Then, with a cup of tea and my fostering folder, I sat on the sofa in the living room and began writing up my log notes. Foster carers are required to keep a daily record of the child or children they are looking after, which includes appointments, the child’s health and wellbeing, education, significant events and any disclosures the child may make about their past. When the child leaves this record is placed on file at the social services. As I worked the phone suddenly rang and I quickly snatched it up, hoping it hadn’t woken the children. It was nine forty-five, rather late for a friend to be phoning for a chat, as most of my friends had young children.

      ‘It’s Caz, Max’s mother,’ she said, clearly annoyed. ‘I thought Max was supposed to phone me.’

      ‘I’m sorry. I was under the impression Jo was going to phone me with the arrangements after she’d spoken to you.’

      ‘And СКАЧАТЬ