Finding Stevie, page 9
‘You’re fine like that,’ I called after him, but he’d gone.
Verity arrived at 4.20 and I told her Stevie was already here.
‘Excellent,’ she said.
I made her a cup of coffee and took it together with a plate of biscuits into the living room. Next to arrive was the IRO (Independent Reviewing Officer), and I recognised him, although I couldn’t remember his name.
‘You look familiar,’ I said as he came in.
‘Yes, I thought I recognised your name. I was the IRO at Zeena’s review – Richard,’ he said, shaking my hand.
‘Yes, of course. Nice to meet you again.’ It wasn’t appropriate for us to start discussing another child now; that was confidential, and this review was about Stevie. (I tell Zeena’s story in The Child Bride.)
I showed him through to the living room and then went into the kitchen to pour him a coffee. Edith arrived, followed shortly by Carolyn and, having shown them into the living room and made them a drink, I went up to Stevie’s room. ‘Can you come down now?’ I called through his bedroom door.
‘Are my grandparents here?’ he asked.
‘Not yet.’
‘I’ll come down when they are,’ he said. I assumed he wasn’t as unfazed by the review as he had appeared and was waiting for his grandparents before coming down for support.
Peggy and Fred arrived five minutes later, rather flustered and blaming each other for having got lost. ‘I told you to turn right,’ Peggy said.
‘But which right!’ Fred wisecracked.
‘At least you’re here now,’ I said. I took their coats and showed them through to the living room where the IRO, Carolyn, Verity and Edith sat with notepads and files on their laps.
‘Where’s Steven?’ Peggy asked, glancing around the room.
‘Upstairs. I’ll call him down now,’ I said. ‘Would you like a drink?’
Fred didn’t want anything and Peggy asked for a cup of tea. Before I made her tea I went halfway up the stairs so Stevie could hear me and called, ‘Your grandparents are here now, Stevie. Come down, please.’
I took Peggy’s tea into the living room and then sat on one of the dining chairs I’d brought in. I wasn’t sure how many were coming to the review – it can vary depending on the number of professionals involved – so I’d brought in some extra chairs.
‘Who are you?’ Fred bluntly asked Richard.
‘I’m the Independent Reviewing Officer, but we’ll do introductions once Stevie is with us.’
‘Are you a social worker?’ Fred asked, a little suspiciously I thought.
‘I am a qualified social worker, yes, with extra training. But I’m independent and unconnected with the social services for this review.’
‘Why are you here then?’ Fred persisted. Peggy looked a bit uncomfortable by his forthrightness.
‘To make sure the care plan is in Stevie’s best interest and the review goes as it should. All looked-after children reviews have an Independent Reviewing Officer to chair and minute the meeting.’
We heard a bedroom door open and then footsteps coming downstairs. ‘That’ll be Stevie,’ I said.
‘Late as usual! He’s too slow to catch a cold, that one,’ Fred chortled.
Verity smiled politely while the rest of us looked away. I hoped Fred found something positive to say about Stevie at his review.
When Stevie came into the room I knew exactly why he’d spent so long getting ready and why he’d waited until his grandparents had arrived: not for support, but to stage an entrance. He was now dressed in purple trousers and a lilac shirt, had painted his nails purple and was wearing light blue eyeshadow and black mascara.
‘What the fuck!’ Fred exclaimed, sitting forward with a jerk. For a moment I thought he was going to get up and confront Stevie.
‘Ssh,’ Peggy told him. Stevie sat on the dining chair adjacent to me and facing them.
‘No, I won’t ssh,’ Fred said. ‘Look at the state of him!’ Then he turned to me. ‘You want to be ashamed of yourself, allowing him to dress like that. I bet you don’t let your own kids go around looking like the dog’s dinner.’
‘Fred!’ Peggy said, embarrassed. ‘Be quiet.’
‘No, it’s time someone said it. He’s supposed to be getting help in care, getting himself sorted out, but he’s worse now than he was with us. She’, he said, glaring at me, ‘is pandering to his silly ways, encouraging him!’ I felt my heart start to race. Fred was so agitated and wound up. Meanwhile Stevie, I’m sorry to say, was looking quite pleased with himself. He’d calmly crossed one leg over the over and lightly cupped his hands over his knee.
‘Well?’ Fred demanded, looking at the others. ‘Am I the only one who feels this way?’
There was an awkward silence. I could see Carolyn and Edith looking at Stevie. They were aware of his gender-identity issues, but this was the first time Edith had met Stevie, and presumably Carolyn had only ever seen him in school uniform before. I wondered again why Stevie took such delight in winding up his grandfather. He could have easily stayed in his school uniform. Perhaps it was just teenage rebellion and he was using his gender to wind up Fred. It was the perfect tool.
‘Mr Jones, perhaps this is something you’d like to bring up during the review?’ Verity suggested diplomatically. ‘Or another time.’
Fred huffed and the IRO took control. ‘Are we expecting anyone else? If not, I’ll open the meeting.’
‘We’re all here,’ Verity confirmed.
‘Welcome everyone to Stevie’s first review,’ Richard said evenly. I’m sure he’d witnessed worse outbursts than Fred’s during reviews. ‘Let’s start by introducing ourselves.’
Fred whispered something to Peggy and she said, ‘I’m not staying by myself.’ So I guessed Fred was threatening to leave. I felt bad that the review had got off to such a poor start and Fred was blaming me for not helping Stevie as he thought he should be helped.
‘Are we good to begin the introductions then?’ Richard asked Fred and Peggy. She nodded while Fred, beside her on the sofa and red in the face, looked fit to burst.
The IRO began the introductions by stating his name and position, and then passed to Verity on his left, and so we went around the room, stating our names and roles – Cathy Glass, Stevie’s foster carer, and so on. When it got to Fred and Peggy, she spoke for them both. ‘I’m Mrs Peggy Jones and this is my husband, Fred Jones. We are Steven’s grandparents and his legal guardians. We have brought him up.’
‘Thank you,’ the IRO said, making a note of those present.
‘And we didn’t bring him up to look like that,’ Fred said, glaring at me.
‘You’ll have your turn to speak shortly,’ the IRO said in a conciliatory tone, then he looked at Stevie. ‘This is your review, it is about you, and I’m pleased you felt able to attend. I’ve read your review form, thank you for returning it. Would you like to start and tell us a bit about yourself, and how you feel you are doing, living here with Cathy?’
Placed on the spot, like many young people, Stevie’s confidence vanished. Uncrossing his legs, he pushed himself back into his chair as though trying to get away. ‘I’m good,’ he said self-consciously.
‘You’re healthy?’ the IRO asked, trying to draw him out.
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re settling in with Cathy and her family?’
‘Yes.’
‘How are you getting along with the other young people who live here?’ The IRO would have been given the basic details of the placement prior to the review.
‘Fine. I like them,’ Stevie said.
‘How old are they?’ the IRO asked.
Stevie wasn’t sure and looked at me. ‘Twenty-three, twenty-one and nineteen. A boy and two girls,’ I said.
‘Thank you.’ The IRO wrote and then looked again at Stevie. ‘And you’re attending the same school. How is that going?’
‘Fine,’ Stevie said with a nervous shrug.
‘What are your favourite subjects?’
‘Not sure.’
The IRO smiled encouragingly. ‘I’m sure you are doing well. Do you have friends at school?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you see them out of school?’
‘No.’
The IRO glanced at me for further explanation.
‘Stevie tells me he has two good friends in his class and I’ve suggested he might like to invite them here for dinner.’
‘Good,’ the IRO said, making a note. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Fred and Peggy. Fred was still agitated and perched on the edge of the sofa like a vulture waiting to swoop.
‘I believe there was a problem with bullying?’ the IRO said to Stevie.
‘Little wonder, dressed like that!’ Fred put in.
‘I wear my school uniform for school,’ Stevie returned curtly.
‘The bully was spoken to,’ Carolyn said. ‘There haven’t been any further incidents, have there, Stevie?’
He shook his head.
‘Good. You know who to tell if there is?’ the IRO asked him.
‘Yes,’ Stevie said, and nodded towards Carolyn.
‘You could also tell Verity and Cathy,’ the IRO said. ‘And the problem with the online friend, where are we with that?’ he asked. Stevie shrugged.
‘It’s been reported and I’m waiting to hear if any action will be taken,’ Verity clarified.
The IRO thanked her, made a note and then asked Stevie, ‘How is contact going with your grandparents and siblings?’
‘OK, I guess,’ he said, then, keeping his gaze down and away from his grandparents, he added pointedly, ‘I like seeing Liam and Kiri.’
‘Good. And hobbies? What do you like doing in your spare time?’ The IRO was going through a checklist; the questions were similar at most reviews.
‘Watching television, listening to music and doing my homework,’ Stevie said.
‘Any out-of-school activities like football or rugby?’ he asked.
Fred scoffed. ‘You must be joking with him looking like that!’
Peggy nudged him, while Stevie shook his head.
‘And you’re receiving your allowance from Cathy?’ the IRO asked. It was another standard question.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Is there anything else you’d like to tell this review? Any complaints? Or anything we can help you with?’
‘No, I’m good,’ Stevie said, and he visibly relaxed.
‘Thank you. Cathy, perhaps you’d like to go next? Then we’ll pass to you,’ he said to Fred and Peggy.
‘I’ve got plenty to say, if anyone is listening,’ Fred snapped at me.
Chapter Ten
Controlling
I tried to ignore the hostility flying at me from Fred as I glanced at my notes and began to talk about Stevie, but it wasn’t easy. I concentrated on the IRO, Verity, Carolyn and Peggy, aware that Fred was sitting to my right looking daggers at me.
‘Stevie is a very likeable and sociable young person,’ I said, ‘who gets on with all my family, including my elderly mother, whom he met recently. He has settled in well, seems relaxed here, and is going to school and coming home on time by bus. If he is going to be late, he texts me. I met Carolyn, his mentor at school, when Stevie first arrived. He wasn’t in school then, largely due to being bullied. The school dealt with it straight away. I was pleased Stevie felt he could tell me about the bullying and also the trouble he was having online. I think that incident has reinforced for Stevie just how important it is to be aware and stay safe while using social media. He is healthy and I have registered him at our doctor’s.’
‘Why?’ Peggy asked. ‘He sees our doctor.’
‘It’s usual to register a child in care with a doctor in the area where the carer lives,’ the IRO said. Peggy nodded and I continued.
‘Stevie tells me he is up to date with his dental check-ups,’ I said. ‘But he can’t remember when his last check-up was. He doesn’t wear glasses, but I understand he did have his eyes tested last year.’ The review would expect to be told this. Fred huffed impatiently, and I nearly didn’t say what I was about to, but it was important – a part of who Stevie was, and this review was about him. ‘Stevie sees himself as gender-fluid,’ I continued, ‘and I am trying to give him the space here to allow him to explore this and be himself.’
‘Is that what you call it!’ Fred snapped.
‘Thank you, Cathy,’ the IRO said. ‘So, no behavioural issues?’ He glanced at Stevie.
‘No,’ I said. ‘He’s doing very well.’
‘And no accidents or injuries?’ It was a standard question, also asked on the review form.
‘No,’ I confirmed.
‘Thank you,’ the IRO said as he wrote.
When I foster younger children I say more and speak on their behalf, but Stevie could speak for himself, so this was a résumé of how I saw his progress so far.
‘Mr Jones,’ the IRO said, turning to Fred, ‘would you like to go next? Perhaps you could start by telling us when Stevie had his last dental check-up for our records?’ The question took Fred by surprise and he opened and closed his mouth like a fish.
‘I don’t know, you’d have to ask her that,’ he said, referring to Peggy.
‘Half-term holiday, October last year,’ Peggy said. ‘I take all three children to the dentist regularly.’ I wondered just how much Fred really knew about his grandson. All he seemed to see was a rebellious teenager who flouted his rules and expectations, not the sensitive, vulnerable young person beneath who was struggling to come to terms with, and feel comfortable in, his rapidly changing body.
The IRO looked to Fred to continue, and he was more than ready to vent his anger and frustration. ‘That’s typical of you lot!’ he seethed. ‘Sitting in a meeting, talking about his teeth, while he’s poncing around looking like a twat. I’m a laughing stock at my local pub and she –’ he said, pointing at me, ‘– is making him worse.’
‘Mr Jones,’ the IRO said, ‘I won’t tolerate homophobic language in this review.’
‘Homophobic? What the hell are you talking about? He’s my grandson! A few years in the army would sort him out.’
‘Even the armed forces are looking at ways to accommodate LGBT recruits,’ Verity said calmly. I knew Fred wouldn’t know what LGBT stood for.
‘What the hell is that?’ he asked.
‘It’s short for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender,’ Stevie said quietly.
Peggy lay a restraining hand on Fred’s arm, trying to calm him down.
‘I appreciate this may be difficult for you,’ the IRO said placatingly to Fred. ‘But this review is about Stevie and looking at ways in which we can help and support him in the decisions he is facing.’
‘Dress him proper; get all that make-up and nail polish off!’ Fred said, seething. ‘That’s what you can do to help him, instead of pandering to him.’ He glared at me accusingly.
‘When you say help him, what sort of help?’ Peggy asked Verity quietly.
‘We could make a referral to CAMHS,’ she said. ‘That’s the NHS Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service. They offer support and therapy for young people. We could also look at starting a referral to a clinic that specialises in gender-identity development. If necessary, they can prescribe hormone treatment to stop puberty. I’m not saying we should, but it’s an option.’
I knew that wouldn’t go down well with Fred.
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this!’ he stormed incredulously. ‘Hormone treatment to turn him into a girl! Come on, we’re going. I’ve heard enough.’ He tugged at Peggy’s arm. ‘I’m not listening to this nonsense any more.’
‘It’s not nonsense,’ Stevie said plaintively. ‘And the treatment doesn’t turn you into a girl, it just stops puberty.’ So I guessed he’d given this some thought.
‘I think it would be better if you could stay,’ the IRO said to his grandparents.
Peggy hesitated and looked at Stevie. I saw the pain and confusion in her eyes – torn between staying for Stevie’s sake or leaving and remaining loyal to her husband.
‘Are you coming or what?’ Fred said to her and, standing, he began towards the door.
‘Bye, love,’ Peggy said to Stevie and, also standing, she followed Fred.
‘I’d better see them out,’ I said. Placing my notes and fostering folder on the floor, I went into the hall. Fred had grabbed both their coats from the hall stand and was opening the front door.
‘Sorry,’ Peggy said to me. ‘Tell Stevie we love him.’
‘I will. Take care.’ I tried to raise a reassuring smile.
She turned and followed Fred down the front path.
Disappointed that they hadn’t stayed, I closed the door and returned to the living room. Stevie had lost the smugness he’d had earlier and was now looking quite remorseful. The IRO was talking to him, saying it wasn’t his fault.
‘Your grandfather is finding this very difficult,’ Verity added. ‘I’ll phone him tomorrow when he’s calmed down. Don’t take it personally.’
Stevie gave a half-hearted nod and the review continued – uneventfully. Verity spoke next and at some length, covering the matter of the indecent photographs Stevie had taken and she’d reported to the police – she was waiting to hear the outcome. She went over the care plan: Stevie would remain in care under a Section 20 until he was eighteen when (technically an adult) he would leave care. I was asked if he could stay with me for the duration and I said he could. Verity then said she had asked Stevie if he wanted to see a counsellor at CAMHS. He didn’t at present but knew if he changed his mind he should tell her and she’d arrange a referral. She also said she’d spoken to Stevie about the possibility of referring him to a gender-identity clinic and he was thinking about it. However, as there weren’t many clinics offering this service and there was a waiting list, she felt it was worth starting a referral now in case he wanted an appointment in the future, and he’d agreed. She added that it wasn’t a foregone conclusion he would be prescribed hormone treatment, as there would be an assessment first with other options like talking therapy.
I thought it was a pity that Stevie’s grandparents hadn’t stayed to hear all of this; they might have learnt something and perhaps been reassured. Although you have to be open and receptive in order to learn and change your view, and I didn’t think Fred was ready yet, though Peggy might have been.
Verity arrived at 4.20 and I told her Stevie was already here.
‘Excellent,’ she said.
I made her a cup of coffee and took it together with a plate of biscuits into the living room. Next to arrive was the IRO (Independent Reviewing Officer), and I recognised him, although I couldn’t remember his name.
‘You look familiar,’ I said as he came in.
‘Yes, I thought I recognised your name. I was the IRO at Zeena’s review – Richard,’ he said, shaking my hand.
‘Yes, of course. Nice to meet you again.’ It wasn’t appropriate for us to start discussing another child now; that was confidential, and this review was about Stevie. (I tell Zeena’s story in The Child Bride.)
I showed him through to the living room and then went into the kitchen to pour him a coffee. Edith arrived, followed shortly by Carolyn and, having shown them into the living room and made them a drink, I went up to Stevie’s room. ‘Can you come down now?’ I called through his bedroom door.
‘Are my grandparents here?’ he asked.
‘Not yet.’
‘I’ll come down when they are,’ he said. I assumed he wasn’t as unfazed by the review as he had appeared and was waiting for his grandparents before coming down for support.
Peggy and Fred arrived five minutes later, rather flustered and blaming each other for having got lost. ‘I told you to turn right,’ Peggy said.
‘But which right!’ Fred wisecracked.
‘At least you’re here now,’ I said. I took their coats and showed them through to the living room where the IRO, Carolyn, Verity and Edith sat with notepads and files on their laps.
‘Where’s Steven?’ Peggy asked, glancing around the room.
‘Upstairs. I’ll call him down now,’ I said. ‘Would you like a drink?’
Fred didn’t want anything and Peggy asked for a cup of tea. Before I made her tea I went halfway up the stairs so Stevie could hear me and called, ‘Your grandparents are here now, Stevie. Come down, please.’
I took Peggy’s tea into the living room and then sat on one of the dining chairs I’d brought in. I wasn’t sure how many were coming to the review – it can vary depending on the number of professionals involved – so I’d brought in some extra chairs.
‘Who are you?’ Fred bluntly asked Richard.
‘I’m the Independent Reviewing Officer, but we’ll do introductions once Stevie is with us.’
‘Are you a social worker?’ Fred asked, a little suspiciously I thought.
‘I am a qualified social worker, yes, with extra training. But I’m independent and unconnected with the social services for this review.’
‘Why are you here then?’ Fred persisted. Peggy looked a bit uncomfortable by his forthrightness.
‘To make sure the care plan is in Stevie’s best interest and the review goes as it should. All looked-after children reviews have an Independent Reviewing Officer to chair and minute the meeting.’
We heard a bedroom door open and then footsteps coming downstairs. ‘That’ll be Stevie,’ I said.
‘Late as usual! He’s too slow to catch a cold, that one,’ Fred chortled.
Verity smiled politely while the rest of us looked away. I hoped Fred found something positive to say about Stevie at his review.
When Stevie came into the room I knew exactly why he’d spent so long getting ready and why he’d waited until his grandparents had arrived: not for support, but to stage an entrance. He was now dressed in purple trousers and a lilac shirt, had painted his nails purple and was wearing light blue eyeshadow and black mascara.
‘What the fuck!’ Fred exclaimed, sitting forward with a jerk. For a moment I thought he was going to get up and confront Stevie.
‘Ssh,’ Peggy told him. Stevie sat on the dining chair adjacent to me and facing them.
‘No, I won’t ssh,’ Fred said. ‘Look at the state of him!’ Then he turned to me. ‘You want to be ashamed of yourself, allowing him to dress like that. I bet you don’t let your own kids go around looking like the dog’s dinner.’
‘Fred!’ Peggy said, embarrassed. ‘Be quiet.’
‘No, it’s time someone said it. He’s supposed to be getting help in care, getting himself sorted out, but he’s worse now than he was with us. She’, he said, glaring at me, ‘is pandering to his silly ways, encouraging him!’ I felt my heart start to race. Fred was so agitated and wound up. Meanwhile Stevie, I’m sorry to say, was looking quite pleased with himself. He’d calmly crossed one leg over the over and lightly cupped his hands over his knee.
‘Well?’ Fred demanded, looking at the others. ‘Am I the only one who feels this way?’
There was an awkward silence. I could see Carolyn and Edith looking at Stevie. They were aware of his gender-identity issues, but this was the first time Edith had met Stevie, and presumably Carolyn had only ever seen him in school uniform before. I wondered again why Stevie took such delight in winding up his grandfather. He could have easily stayed in his school uniform. Perhaps it was just teenage rebellion and he was using his gender to wind up Fred. It was the perfect tool.
‘Mr Jones, perhaps this is something you’d like to bring up during the review?’ Verity suggested diplomatically. ‘Or another time.’
Fred huffed and the IRO took control. ‘Are we expecting anyone else? If not, I’ll open the meeting.’
‘We’re all here,’ Verity confirmed.
‘Welcome everyone to Stevie’s first review,’ Richard said evenly. I’m sure he’d witnessed worse outbursts than Fred’s during reviews. ‘Let’s start by introducing ourselves.’
Fred whispered something to Peggy and she said, ‘I’m not staying by myself.’ So I guessed Fred was threatening to leave. I felt bad that the review had got off to such a poor start and Fred was blaming me for not helping Stevie as he thought he should be helped.
‘Are we good to begin the introductions then?’ Richard asked Fred and Peggy. She nodded while Fred, beside her on the sofa and red in the face, looked fit to burst.
The IRO began the introductions by stating his name and position, and then passed to Verity on his left, and so we went around the room, stating our names and roles – Cathy Glass, Stevie’s foster carer, and so on. When it got to Fred and Peggy, she spoke for them both. ‘I’m Mrs Peggy Jones and this is my husband, Fred Jones. We are Steven’s grandparents and his legal guardians. We have brought him up.’
‘Thank you,’ the IRO said, making a note of those present.
‘And we didn’t bring him up to look like that,’ Fred said, glaring at me.
‘You’ll have your turn to speak shortly,’ the IRO said in a conciliatory tone, then he looked at Stevie. ‘This is your review, it is about you, and I’m pleased you felt able to attend. I’ve read your review form, thank you for returning it. Would you like to start and tell us a bit about yourself, and how you feel you are doing, living here with Cathy?’
Placed on the spot, like many young people, Stevie’s confidence vanished. Uncrossing his legs, he pushed himself back into his chair as though trying to get away. ‘I’m good,’ he said self-consciously.
‘You’re healthy?’ the IRO asked, trying to draw him out.
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re settling in with Cathy and her family?’
‘Yes.’
‘How are you getting along with the other young people who live here?’ The IRO would have been given the basic details of the placement prior to the review.
‘Fine. I like them,’ Stevie said.
‘How old are they?’ the IRO asked.
Stevie wasn’t sure and looked at me. ‘Twenty-three, twenty-one and nineteen. A boy and two girls,’ I said.
‘Thank you.’ The IRO wrote and then looked again at Stevie. ‘And you’re attending the same school. How is that going?’
‘Fine,’ Stevie said with a nervous shrug.
‘What are your favourite subjects?’
‘Not sure.’
The IRO smiled encouragingly. ‘I’m sure you are doing well. Do you have friends at school?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you see them out of school?’
‘No.’
The IRO glanced at me for further explanation.
‘Stevie tells me he has two good friends in his class and I’ve suggested he might like to invite them here for dinner.’
‘Good,’ the IRO said, making a note. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Fred and Peggy. Fred was still agitated and perched on the edge of the sofa like a vulture waiting to swoop.
‘I believe there was a problem with bullying?’ the IRO said to Stevie.
‘Little wonder, dressed like that!’ Fred put in.
‘I wear my school uniform for school,’ Stevie returned curtly.
‘The bully was spoken to,’ Carolyn said. ‘There haven’t been any further incidents, have there, Stevie?’
He shook his head.
‘Good. You know who to tell if there is?’ the IRO asked him.
‘Yes,’ Stevie said, and nodded towards Carolyn.
‘You could also tell Verity and Cathy,’ the IRO said. ‘And the problem with the online friend, where are we with that?’ he asked. Stevie shrugged.
‘It’s been reported and I’m waiting to hear if any action will be taken,’ Verity clarified.
The IRO thanked her, made a note and then asked Stevie, ‘How is contact going with your grandparents and siblings?’
‘OK, I guess,’ he said, then, keeping his gaze down and away from his grandparents, he added pointedly, ‘I like seeing Liam and Kiri.’
‘Good. And hobbies? What do you like doing in your spare time?’ The IRO was going through a checklist; the questions were similar at most reviews.
‘Watching television, listening to music and doing my homework,’ Stevie said.
‘Any out-of-school activities like football or rugby?’ he asked.
Fred scoffed. ‘You must be joking with him looking like that!’
Peggy nudged him, while Stevie shook his head.
‘And you’re receiving your allowance from Cathy?’ the IRO asked. It was another standard question.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Is there anything else you’d like to tell this review? Any complaints? Or anything we can help you with?’
‘No, I’m good,’ Stevie said, and he visibly relaxed.
‘Thank you. Cathy, perhaps you’d like to go next? Then we’ll pass to you,’ he said to Fred and Peggy.
‘I’ve got plenty to say, if anyone is listening,’ Fred snapped at me.
Chapter Ten
Controlling
I tried to ignore the hostility flying at me from Fred as I glanced at my notes and began to talk about Stevie, but it wasn’t easy. I concentrated on the IRO, Verity, Carolyn and Peggy, aware that Fred was sitting to my right looking daggers at me.
‘Stevie is a very likeable and sociable young person,’ I said, ‘who gets on with all my family, including my elderly mother, whom he met recently. He has settled in well, seems relaxed here, and is going to school and coming home on time by bus. If he is going to be late, he texts me. I met Carolyn, his mentor at school, when Stevie first arrived. He wasn’t in school then, largely due to being bullied. The school dealt with it straight away. I was pleased Stevie felt he could tell me about the bullying and also the trouble he was having online. I think that incident has reinforced for Stevie just how important it is to be aware and stay safe while using social media. He is healthy and I have registered him at our doctor’s.’
‘Why?’ Peggy asked. ‘He sees our doctor.’
‘It’s usual to register a child in care with a doctor in the area where the carer lives,’ the IRO said. Peggy nodded and I continued.
‘Stevie tells me he is up to date with his dental check-ups,’ I said. ‘But he can’t remember when his last check-up was. He doesn’t wear glasses, but I understand he did have his eyes tested last year.’ The review would expect to be told this. Fred huffed impatiently, and I nearly didn’t say what I was about to, but it was important – a part of who Stevie was, and this review was about him. ‘Stevie sees himself as gender-fluid,’ I continued, ‘and I am trying to give him the space here to allow him to explore this and be himself.’
‘Is that what you call it!’ Fred snapped.
‘Thank you, Cathy,’ the IRO said. ‘So, no behavioural issues?’ He glanced at Stevie.
‘No,’ I said. ‘He’s doing very well.’
‘And no accidents or injuries?’ It was a standard question, also asked on the review form.
‘No,’ I confirmed.
‘Thank you,’ the IRO said as he wrote.
When I foster younger children I say more and speak on their behalf, but Stevie could speak for himself, so this was a résumé of how I saw his progress so far.
‘Mr Jones,’ the IRO said, turning to Fred, ‘would you like to go next? Perhaps you could start by telling us when Stevie had his last dental check-up for our records?’ The question took Fred by surprise and he opened and closed his mouth like a fish.
‘I don’t know, you’d have to ask her that,’ he said, referring to Peggy.
‘Half-term holiday, October last year,’ Peggy said. ‘I take all three children to the dentist regularly.’ I wondered just how much Fred really knew about his grandson. All he seemed to see was a rebellious teenager who flouted his rules and expectations, not the sensitive, vulnerable young person beneath who was struggling to come to terms with, and feel comfortable in, his rapidly changing body.
The IRO looked to Fred to continue, and he was more than ready to vent his anger and frustration. ‘That’s typical of you lot!’ he seethed. ‘Sitting in a meeting, talking about his teeth, while he’s poncing around looking like a twat. I’m a laughing stock at my local pub and she –’ he said, pointing at me, ‘– is making him worse.’
‘Mr Jones,’ the IRO said, ‘I won’t tolerate homophobic language in this review.’
‘Homophobic? What the hell are you talking about? He’s my grandson! A few years in the army would sort him out.’
‘Even the armed forces are looking at ways to accommodate LGBT recruits,’ Verity said calmly. I knew Fred wouldn’t know what LGBT stood for.
‘What the hell is that?’ he asked.
‘It’s short for lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender,’ Stevie said quietly.
Peggy lay a restraining hand on Fred’s arm, trying to calm him down.
‘I appreciate this may be difficult for you,’ the IRO said placatingly to Fred. ‘But this review is about Stevie and looking at ways in which we can help and support him in the decisions he is facing.’
‘Dress him proper; get all that make-up and nail polish off!’ Fred said, seething. ‘That’s what you can do to help him, instead of pandering to him.’ He glared at me accusingly.
‘When you say help him, what sort of help?’ Peggy asked Verity quietly.
‘We could make a referral to CAMHS,’ she said. ‘That’s the NHS Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service. They offer support and therapy for young people. We could also look at starting a referral to a clinic that specialises in gender-identity development. If necessary, they can prescribe hormone treatment to stop puberty. I’m not saying we should, but it’s an option.’
I knew that wouldn’t go down well with Fred.
‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this!’ he stormed incredulously. ‘Hormone treatment to turn him into a girl! Come on, we’re going. I’ve heard enough.’ He tugged at Peggy’s arm. ‘I’m not listening to this nonsense any more.’
‘It’s not nonsense,’ Stevie said plaintively. ‘And the treatment doesn’t turn you into a girl, it just stops puberty.’ So I guessed he’d given this some thought.
‘I think it would be better if you could stay,’ the IRO said to his grandparents.
Peggy hesitated and looked at Stevie. I saw the pain and confusion in her eyes – torn between staying for Stevie’s sake or leaving and remaining loyal to her husband.
‘Are you coming or what?’ Fred said to her and, standing, he began towards the door.
‘Bye, love,’ Peggy said to Stevie and, also standing, she followed Fred.
‘I’d better see them out,’ I said. Placing my notes and fostering folder on the floor, I went into the hall. Fred had grabbed both their coats from the hall stand and was opening the front door.
‘Sorry,’ Peggy said to me. ‘Tell Stevie we love him.’
‘I will. Take care.’ I tried to raise a reassuring smile.
She turned and followed Fred down the front path.
Disappointed that they hadn’t stayed, I closed the door and returned to the living room. Stevie had lost the smugness he’d had earlier and was now looking quite remorseful. The IRO was talking to him, saying it wasn’t his fault.
‘Your grandfather is finding this very difficult,’ Verity added. ‘I’ll phone him tomorrow when he’s calmed down. Don’t take it personally.’
Stevie gave a half-hearted nod and the review continued – uneventfully. Verity spoke next and at some length, covering the matter of the indecent photographs Stevie had taken and she’d reported to the police – she was waiting to hear the outcome. She went over the care plan: Stevie would remain in care under a Section 20 until he was eighteen when (technically an adult) he would leave care. I was asked if he could stay with me for the duration and I said he could. Verity then said she had asked Stevie if he wanted to see a counsellor at CAMHS. He didn’t at present but knew if he changed his mind he should tell her and she’d arrange a referral. She also said she’d spoken to Stevie about the possibility of referring him to a gender-identity clinic and he was thinking about it. However, as there weren’t many clinics offering this service and there was a waiting list, she felt it was worth starting a referral now in case he wanted an appointment in the future, and he’d agreed. She added that it wasn’t a foregone conclusion he would be prescribed hormone treatment, as there would be an assessment first with other options like talking therapy.
I thought it was a pity that Stevie’s grandparents hadn’t stayed to hear all of this; they might have learnt something and perhaps been reassured. Although you have to be open and receptive in order to learn and change your view, and I didn’t think Fred was ready yet, though Peggy might have been.
