Finding Stevie, page 7
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.’
‘He can always use the computer in the front room,’ I said. ‘I’ve shown him where it is.’
‘Yes, but we like all our looked-after young people to have their own laptops,’ Verity said. ‘I’ll have a chat with his mentor tomorrow and see what he’s been like in school. I think if he is quieter than usual it’s because he’s adjusting to living here, plus the issues surrounding his gender. Was there anything else you wanted to raise?’
‘Not really.’
‘I’ve said goodbye to Stevie so I won’t disturb him again,’ Verity said, and collected her bag from the living room. I saw her out.
Verity obviously knew Stevie better than I did, as she’d been working with the family for a while, so I was relieved she felt it was just a matter of him settling in with us, and I assumed Carolyn would phone me if there was a problem at school. Hopefully, Stevie would return to his bright and bubbly self before long. However, it was a hope that was short-lived.
Chapter Eight
Error of Judgement
After Verity had left I finished preparing the evening meal and then once Adrian and Lucy were home I called everyone for dinner. Stevie didn’t appear, so I called him again, served dinner and then, leaving mine untouched, went upstairs. His bedroom door was closed and I assumed he had his earbuds in and hadn’t heard me calling him. ‘Stevie,’ I said, knocking on his door. ‘Dinner’s ready.’ There was no reply. ‘Stevie,’ I said, knocking more firmly this time. ‘Dinner.’ Nothing. ‘Stevie!’ I knocked again and then slowly opened the door. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, not with his earbuds in, but bent forward, with his head in his hands. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked, going further in.
He shook his head and looked up. His cheeks were stained with tears; his face crumpled. ‘Whatever is the matter?’ I asked, going to him. He shook his head in despair, as if the problem was too big to share.
I’m always moved when I see someone crying, especially if it is a child, as I’m sure most people are, but there was something particularly upsetting in seeing Stevie, aged fourteen, and outwardly mature for his age, crying like a baby. I sat beside him on the edge of the bed, with the door open.
‘What is it, love? What’s upset you so much?’ I asked him gently.
He shook his head again. ‘I can’t tell you,’ he murmured.
‘Please try,’ I said, and wondered what could possibly have reduced him to this state. ‘Are you being bullied at school?’ I asked. It seemed the most likely reason.
‘No,’ he said, his voice breaking.
‘Well, what is it, love? I’ve had a feeling something is worrying you.’ As old as he was, he was clearly in need of some TLC and I placed my hand on his arm and lightly rubbed it. ‘I’m sure I can help if you’ll let me.’
‘You can’t,’ he said. Fresh tears formed and I passed him a tissue from the box open on his bed. He wiped his eyes.
‘Mum!’ Paula called from the foot of the stairs. ‘What are you doing? Your dinner is getting cold.’
‘I’m with Stevie,’ I returned. ‘I’ll have it later, thanks.’
‘You go,’ Stevie said. ‘I’ll be OK.’
‘No, I’m not leaving you like this.’ I slipped my arm around his shoulders and gave him a hug. ‘Can you please try to tell me what is upsetting you?’ I asked after a moment.
Taking a deep breath, as if summoning the courage, he said, ‘I’ve been dumped.’
I must admit I found some relief in this, although I appreciated just how painful breaking up with a loved one can be, especially at his age.
‘I am sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.’
‘Boyfriend,’ he corrected.
‘Sorry,’ I said again, and thought, Come on, Cathy, get up to speed! ‘Was it someone you met at school?’ I asked, feeling it would help if he could talk about it.
‘No. Online,’ he said.
‘Oh, I see, so you met online. Does he live locally then?’
‘No, over a hundred miles away, which is why we never met. We were going to meet, then he dumped me.’
‘I understand,’ I sympathised.
‘No reason, he just dumped me,’ Stevie repeated. ‘He won’t answer my calls or reply to my messages. He said he loved me, and I loved him. I’m gutted. I’ll never trust anyone again.’ He took another tissue from the box.
To anyone who has never tried online dating, Stevie’s distress must seem out of all proportion; he’d never even met the guy! But he was fourteen and this was probably his first love, and I was aware of just how much information was swapped online during the build-up to actually meeting – like a courtship. I’d tried online dating once. Having been alone for many years and finding it difficult to meet single, like-minded people of my age, I joined an online dating website for a couple of months. That had been enough for me. In my opinion, all the emails, texts and instant messages are no substitute for getting to know someone in person over a coffee. But that wouldn’t help Stevie.
‘How old was he?’ I asked.
‘Fifteen.’
‘Had you known him for long?’
Stevie nodded. ‘Four months.’
‘Which website was it?’ For I knew that most dating websites have a minimum age of eighteen to register, but of course it’s easy to lie.
‘It was on one for young people like me,’ Stevie said.
‘So not a dating website?’
‘No. Just somewhere to meet, chat and hangout. He was on Facebook too.’
‘What’s his name?’ I asked after a moment. ‘Do you want to tell me?’
‘Joey. We got on so well. He was easy to talk to and we had everything in common. He lives with his grandparents and has a younger brother and sister just like me. We shared everything.’
It was no good telling Stevie he would get over it and that his broken heart would heal. What he needed now was a sympathetic ear; one that would appreciate his suffering.
‘I feel betrayed,’ he said. ‘He seemed so nice and understood me. He was very good-looking too.’
‘Do you have a photo?’ I asked.
‘Yes, loads.’ He reached under his pillow for his phone. As he touched the screen it sprang into life with a photo, so I guessed he’d been looking at Joey’s photo before I’d come in, torturing himself with what might have been. ‘That’s his profile picture,’ he said, tilting the phone towards me so I could see.
I looked at the head-and-shoulders photograph of a young man with fashionable styled hair like Stevie’s and dark, warm, smiling eyes, who was indeed good-looking. He looked older than fifteen, but then so did Stevie.
‘I am sorry,’ I said. ‘You must be feeling very rejected.’
He nodded. ‘I feel violated.’ Which I thought was a bit strong for an online relationship when they’d never even met. ‘We told each other so much and we swapped photos. I wish I hadn’t now. I don’t like the thought of him having all those photos of me. He betrayed me.’
‘I can appreciate that,’ I said, and I did. When my husband had run off with a younger woman it had taken some time for me to get over the betrayal and to trust again.
‘Cathy,’ Stevie said awkwardly after moment, putting the phone on the bed, ‘I’m really worried because some of the photos I sent him were private photos.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘You know, I took selfies, some without my clothes on.’
‘I see.’ As a foster carer and parent, I knew that if a child or young person began to disclose, it was important to remain calm and not throw up my arms in horror. It will have taken a lot of courage and they’ll be looking for reassurance. ‘How revealing were the photographs?’ I asked, my voice steady.
