Finding Stevie, page 12
‘At the bus terminus.’
‘Was he going to catch a bus?’
‘No, it was just somewhere to shelter. But the heating goes off in the waiting room at midnight when the last bus leaves, so it was cold. I need to phone the social services now, but at least you know he’s safe,’ the officer said.
‘Yes, thank you. Please tell Stevie I would like him to come home. He’s not in any trouble.’
‘Will do.’
I dropped my phone beside me on the bed and leant back on the headboard with a very heavy heart. I’d failed Stevie. What had started off so positively, with him quickly settling in, being able to work with his grandparents and the likelihood of him staying with us for at least three years, was ending in failure, and for reasons I didn’t know. I wasn’t being dramatic: a young person running away and then refusing to return to their foster carer was a failure; it couldn’t be looked upon any other way. I was the adult, Stevie was the minor, so it was my responsibility to make it work. That Stevie had refused to go to his grandparents didn’t lessen my feelings of failure; indeed, I had even more concerns now. Stevie would be placed with an emergency foster carer for the night and then be moved to a more suitable placement within the next couple of days. That would mean he would have had four homes and three foster carers in the last three months. And there was no guarantee he would settle with the next carers, resulting in yet another move. I thought I’d established a bond with Stevie, as had Paula, Lucy and Adrian, so why didn’t he feel he could come home? I was upset and bitterly disappointed, as I knew my children would be. It was one of the worst endings imaginable for a foster family.
With my thoughts in turmoil, I wondered if I should telephone Peggy but decided against it. It was 2.30 a.m. She’d been told Stevie was safe and would have probably gone back to sleep now. I needed to try to get some sleep too so that I was in a better frame of mind to deal with whatever tomorrow brought. I’d phone Peggy in the morning. However, fifteen minutes later, when I was still wide awake, torturing myself with what more I could have done to help Stevie, the landline rang. It was Peggy. ‘Well, at least he’s been found safe,’ she said. ‘Strange that he doesn’t want to return to you, though. That makes two of us.’ I heard the self-exoneration in her voice, because I had failed as she had done.
‘Yes,’ I said wearily.
‘What about all his belongings at your place? How will he get them?’ she asked.
‘His social worker will make arrangements to collect them. Don’t worry, he’ll get them.’
‘You’ll take them?’ she asked. I really didn’t need this conversation now.
‘I don’t know yet,’ I said.
‘Fred said that the social worker will have to get it sorted.’
‘Yes, she will.’ Peggy seemed to see me as a kindred spirit, a confidante, and I think she would have talked all night. ‘Peggy, I’ll phone you tomorrow when I know more, OK?’ I wound up the conversation and replaced the handset.
I lay on my back, staring at the bedroom ceiling. The shade of my bedside lamp was casting a round shadow on the ceiling, infilled with irregular patterns that seemed to resemble a map of the world. A big lonely world if you didn’t have anyone, I thought. Why was Stevie cutting himself off from the only homes he knew – mine and his grandparents’? What had been going through his mind as he’d sat alone in that cold and draughty waiting room at the bus terminus, and then in the back of the police car, telling them he didn’t want to return to me or his grandparents? I thought I’d understood Stevie and what he needed, but apparently I’d got it just as wrong as his grandparents, only in a different way. It’s at times like this that foster carers doubt themselves and wonder if it’s time to quit.
Gazing up at the ceiling, my eyes gradually grew heavy and finally closed. I was woken again by my mobile ringing. The lamp was still on and my clock showed 3.21 a.m.
‘Yes?’ I asked groggily, answering.
‘Cathy Glass?’
‘Speaking.’
‘It’s the duty social worker. We spoke earlier.’
‘Yes.’
‘The police have been in touch, but we’ve nowhere suitable to place Stevie, so he’s agreed to come back to you for tonight rather than be placed out of the area. He’s at — police station. Can you collect him from there?’
‘Now?’ I asked, struggling upright in the bed and trying to clear my thoughts.
‘Yes, as soon as possible.’
‘I’ll have to get dressed first.’
I’ll tell them you’re on your way. How long do you think you’ll be?’
‘Half an hour.’
‘I’ll let them know, and please don’t tell Stevie off. Wait until his social worker sees him to discuss his absence.’
‘Of course, I’m an experienced foster carer,’ I retorted. I was tired, stressed and now expected to get out of bed on a cold night to collect a teenager who thought staying with me for a night was the lesser of two evils. I didn’t need the duty social worker telling me how to behave. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ I confirmed.
He didn’t even say thank you.
But once out of bed and on the move, my ill-humour evaporated, the adrenaline kicked in and I became more positive. That Stevie had agreed to come back to me even for one night gave me some hope. Tomorrow we would talk and try to get to the bottom of what had been worrying him so much to make him run away, and what I could do to help.
I threw on my clothes, splashed cold water on my face, and was about to leave a note for Adrian, Lucy and Paula to say where I was in case they woke to find me gone when Adrian’s bedroom door opened. ‘I heard you on the phone,’ he said, coming round the landing. ‘Have they found Stevie?’
‘Yes, I’ve got to collect him from the police station.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘No, you have work tomorrow.’
‘I’m coming, Mum. I won’t sleep,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ll get dressed and de-ice the car.’
‘Thanks, love. I’ll leave a note for Lucy and Paula.’
I took a sheet of writing paper from a drawer downstairs and wrote in black marker pen: Adrian and Mum have gone to collect Stevie xx. I propped it on the landing where the girls would see it if they came out of their rooms. They were sure to text or phone if they did.
Adrian appeared from his room, having thrown on jeans and a jumper, and was smoothing his hair flat. Downstairs we put on our coats and braced ourselves for the cold night air. We made as little noise as possible as we scraped the frost from the windows of the car, trying not to disturb the neighbours. Once the windscreen was clear, I started the engine and drove quietly from the house. The police station where Stevie had been taken was about a ten-minute drive away. The roads were virtually empty and as I drove I told Adrian where Stevie had been found and that to begin with he hadn’t wanted to return to us, but the only other option had been to go to a carer out of the county.
‘So what have we done wrong?’ Adrian asked in a deadpan voice.
‘No idea, love. But I’m sure it will come out in time.’ When a placement ends abruptly like this was going to, there is usually a placement disruption meeting to try to see if any lessons can be learnt. Sometimes carers feel it’s a witch-hunt, with the carer being targeted.
‘Perhaps it’s not us,’ Adrian said presently. ‘Perhaps Stevie’s got a guilty conscience, like he had before with those photographs.’ Stevie had told Adrian, Paula and Lucy what had happened with Joey.
‘It crossed my mind,’ I said, ‘but I would have hoped he could have told me as he did before.’
‘Unless it’s something much worse.’
I shivered, but not from the cold. ‘Like what?’ I asked, glancing at him. ‘Stevie never goes out apart from going to school and seeing his grandparents. And I’m sure he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice online.’
Adrian shrugged. ‘Unless it was something he did before he came to us and he’s only just been found out.’
How true those words would turn out to be.
Chapter Thirteen
Confession
The police station I had to collect Stevie from was open twenty-four hours, and even at 4 a.m. there were two people in the waiting area. Adrian and I went up to the counter where the duty officer was standing behind a computer screen. Adrian gave our names and said we were here to collect Stevie.
‘I’m his foster carer and this is my son,’ I added.
The duty officer tapped the keyboard of his computer and then told us to take a seat and that an officer would bring Stevie to us. The other two waiting looked as though they’d been there a while, but we’d only just sat down when a door opened and Stevie appeared with a female police officer. Dressed in his school uniform and with his head hung low, he looked guilty and remorseful. Adrian and I stood and went over.
‘Cathy Glass?’ the officer asked.
‘Yes.’
She confirmed my address and then said, ‘I’ve had a chat with Stevie and either I or another officer will visit you both during the next couple of days to check all is well.’
I thanked her. She said ‘Good luck’ to Stevie, and we left.
‘You OK?’ Adrian asked as he pressed the button to release the outer doors.
Stevie gave a small nod. Shoulders sagging, he looked dejected and was clearly tired, as were we. He walked beside Adrian to the car and I opened the rear door for him to get in.
‘You’ll be ready for bed,’ I said lightly to Stevie as I started the engine. He didn’t reply. As I drove I occasionally glanced at him in the rear-view mirror and saw his eyes gradually close as he began to nod off, only opening when I had to suddenly brake to avoid a cat that had shot across my path. ‘Sorry,’ I said.
A few minutes later I was parking outside our house, relieved that Stevie was safely back with us. Whatever had happened would wait until tomorrow. What we all needed now was sleep. Adrian used his key to let us in and Stevie went straight upstairs.
‘Do you want anything to eat or drink?’ I called after him.
‘A glass of water, please,’ he said quietly.
‘I’ll bring it up.’
Adrian poured himself a glass of water too, and I thanked him for his help. He said he’d set his alarm for the morning as he was on an early shift, and would try not to wake me when he left. He’d only get two hours’ sleep at the most. I took Stevie’s glass of water up and saw that my note on the landing to Paula and Lucy hadn’t been moved. Given neither of them had phoned or texted, I assumed they’d slept through our absence.
Stevie had left his bedroom door ajar, so I knocked on it and went in. He was sitting on his bed, still in his school clothes and looking sad. ‘Do I have to go to school tomorrow?’ he asked as I handed him the glass of water.
‘Probably not. Get some sleep. I’m guessing Verity will want to see you tomorrow. And if you are leaving, we will have to pack your things.’
He took a sip of water and I left him to change and get into bed. Did I hope he could be persuaded to stay? Yes. But that would depend on a number of issues, including what Stevie wanted and what the social services considered best for him. Without any real idea of what had made Stevie run away and then refuse to return to us, I couldn’t really say how Verity would view this placement, although it is generally considered better for the child or young person to be kept with the same foster carer if possible.
I climbed into bed and, utterly exhausted, slept. I was woken by my alarm at 7 a.m. Adrian had already left for work and I could hear the girls on the move. Music was coming from Lucy’s room and Paula was downstairs playing with Sammy and hopefully getting herself some breakfast. I slipped on my dressing gown and went round the landing where I knocked lightly on Lucy’s door. ‘Can you keep the music down?’ I said, opening it slightly. ‘Stevie’s in bed. I collected him in the early hours.’
She turned down her music and continued getting ready for work. Downstairs I found Paula in the kitchen and I told her what had happened during the night.
‘I’m glad Stevie’s safe,’ she said, and carried her breakfast to the table. I made a cup of coffee and took it upstairs to drink while I showered and dressed. I guessed Stevie would sleep for some time, but I needed to be up and ready for whatever the day had in store.
It was only when I went downstairs again that I found Stevie’s dinner from the night before plated up and in the stone-cold oven. I scraped it into the bin, saw the girls off at the door and then poured myself another coffee, which I took with my fostering folder into the living room. Social services, police and fostering practices have changed over time, but based on my experience I was expecting Verity and the police to call at some point today and probably visit. I brought my log notes up to date and then at 9 a.m. I telephoned Stevie’s school and told the secretary that Stevie had been found safe but wouldn’t be in school today. I asked her to tell Carolyn. I assumed the police had contacted the school as his class teacher had been the last one to see him before he went missing. Just as I returned the phone to its base, Peggy rang.
‘Sorry I couldn’t talk last night,’ I said straight away. ‘I was shattered.’ On reflection, I felt I’d been a bit curt with her.
‘Join the club,’ she said wearily. ‘We were up too. So what’s Stevie been saying about why he ran off?’
‘Nothing at present. He’s still in bed. I didn’t press him last night. I’ll talk to him today once he’s up.’
‘Hold on a minute. Fred’s just let himself in from taking the kids to school.’ I waited while Peggy relayed what I’d said to Fred. She came back on the line. ‘Fred says Steven needs a good talking to, not his beauty sleep.’
I sighed. ‘Please reassure Fred that I will be talking to Stevie once he’s awake.’
‘Don’t you ever get angry with him?’ she asked.
‘More frustrated,’ I admitted. ‘Peggy, do you have any idea what could be worrying him now?’
‘No, we haven’t seen him for over a week and he didn’t return my call.’
‘All right. I’ll talk to him and try to find out. I’m expecting Verity to speak to him too, so I’ll phone you when I have any news.’
‘Thanks.’ She paused. ‘We do love him, you know. But we can’t cope when he’s like this, what with Kiri and Liam as well. We’re not young and it’s very stressful. Fred was so wound up again last night. I worry who would look after Kiri and Liam if anything happened to us.’ I sympathised. Even though Stevie wasn’t living with them, they were still suffering the fallout from his behaviour.
‘I’ll give Stevie your love and tell him to phone you once he’s up,’ I said.
‘Thank you.’
Having said goodbye to Peggy, I telephoned Verity. It went through to her voicemail so I left a message saying that Stevie had been found safe and well, and was with me, but hadn’t gone to school today. The duty social worker should have updated her, but I thought it best to make sure.
With the house quiet and warm, I rested my head back on the sofa, and despite the caffeine from two coffees I began to doze. I was awoken by the sound of the landline ringing, and automatically reached out to take it from my bedside cabinet before I realised I was in the living room. I took the handset from the corner unit. ‘Hello?’ The clock on the mantelpiece showed it was 9.45 a.m.
‘Cathy, it’s Verity. I got your message. How is Stevie?’
I shook off the sleep and tried to gather my thoughts. ‘He seems unharmed, just quiet. He’s still in bed. I’ve told the school he won’t be in today.’ I then went over the details of him being found at the bus terminus and collecting him from the police station.
‘Did Stevie say where he’d been, or why he’d run away?’
‘No. There was an incident at school yesterday in last lesson. He was caught using his mobile phone and the teacher wanted to confiscate it until the end of the day. He swore at her and ran off. But I’m sure there’s more to it. He’s been quiet and withdrawn all week and hasn’t seen or spoken to his grandparents or Liam or Kiri.’
‘I’ll need to talk to him, but it won’t be until after one o’clock.’
‘We’ll be here,’ I said.
I replaced the handset and stared, unseeing, into space – that zoned-out feeling that comes from lack of sleep. Five minutes later the front doorbell rang, startling Sammy who shot behind the sofa. I answered it to find the woman police officer I’d seen earlier at the police station. ‘I was passing so I thought I’d pay Stevie a quick visit now so we can sign him off,’ she said. ‘Is he in?’
‘Yes, but he’s still in bed. Shall I get him up?’
‘Yes, please.’
I showed her through to the living room, then went upstairs to fetch Stevie. He took some waking and I had to tell him three times that a police officer was here and needed to see him. ‘Why?’ he mumbled.
‘To make sure you’re OK. It’s standard when a young person goes missing.’
‘But I’m still tired.’
‘So am I, love. Put on your dressing gown and come down. You can come back to bed once she’s seen you.’
Groaning and still half asleep, he did as I said and staggered down in his dressing gown, his hair all over the place. Usually immaculate, if he hadn’t been so tired he’d never have been seen like that.
‘Don’t worry, I won’t keep you long,’ the police officer said, smiling, when she saw him. ‘How are you?’
He flopped onto the sofa and yawned. ‘Tired.’
‘Yes, I can imagine,’ she said. ‘We had a good chat yesterday at the police station while we were waiting so I’m not going over all that again. You understand why it’s dangerous to run away? As well as causing your foster carer and grandparents a lot of worry?’ He nodded. ‘Is he allowed to stay here permanently then?’ she asked me as Stevie yawned again.
‘I’m not sure yet. His social worker will be seeing us later.’
‘And you’re happy to stay here?’ she asked Stevie, not fully understanding how the fostering system worked.
