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  ‘Yes, yes,’ sighed Paula as she came to see me out. ‘Don’t fuss. We know what to do. It’ll be fine.’

  I grinned. Fussing was second nature to me – or at least, being alert to any possible problems and dangers. It was part of my job, after all.

  ‘Now off you go and have a good time,’ she said, for all the world as if she was the mother and I was the teenager heading off for a night out.

  By nine o’clock, I was sitting with Peter in a warm, comfortable pub, enjoying a drink and a chat about all the news of the previous week. As we talked, I realized what a lot had happened since I’d last seen him. I couldn’t tell Peter much about Tayo, as it was confidential but what I did say about fostering in general left him amazed. Like many people I knew, he was in awe of my work, and sometimes appeared to be in danger of seeing me as some kind of martyred saint.

  ‘I don’t know how you do it, Cathy. You’re incredible,’ he said, shaking his head.

  ‘I know it sounds demanding, and it is sometimes, but I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to,’ I said. ‘There’s no great sacrifice or altruistic motive. I love doing it and the rewards are endless. If I can make a small difference to a child so there’s a chance they might have a better future, then not a single day has been wasted. I don’t ever remember feeling like that when I worked in the civil service.’

  ‘No. OK. But I still think you’re wonderful,’ he said with a warm smile.

  ‘Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.’

  If Peter was able to understand fostering and feel the same way I did about it, then perhaps there was a chance that we could have a future together. But all that was a long way off, and there was lots of work to do before then.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A Hectic Week

  Tayo had forgotten all about my going out by the following morning when I woke him and told him it was time to get dressed. Only when I dropped him off at school did he remember. ‘Did you have a good evening, Cathy?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, thank you, nice of you to ask.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he said with one of his cheeky grins, then jogged off towards the school gates.

  Well, he hasn’t been too traumatized, I thought as I watched him go. I’m glad I didn’t cancel.

  Within fifteen minutes of returning home, I was on the phone to Sandra. She’d received my email detailing what Tayo had said about his scar and the factory, and had called at once, genuinely shocked.

  ‘The poor kid has really been through it,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe how he’s coped. It must be such a relief for him to be looked after now, and share all this with you.’

  ‘Yes, and he has coped very well. Too well in my opinion. He’s so calm and controlled. You know, even when he described how the machine cut his arm, he was very removed, almost emotionless.’

  ‘I suppose he’s had to be in control of his feelings with Minty being as she is. There’s no way he could ever rely on her. He’s the one who has been in charge and had to remain calm.’

  ‘Yes. Which reminds me, Minty was pretty incoherent and angry on the phone on Saturday.’ I told her about Minty’s tirade and that she was going to report me.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it if she phones. She still hasn’t given me her address, and her mobile was off all last week.’

  ‘It took three attempts for me to get through on Saturday,’ I confirmed. I paused. ‘Sandra, do you think Minty would really have put her eight-year-old son to work in a factory?’

  ‘It’s a possibility,’ Sandra replied grimly. ‘If she’s in the grip of addictions and needs to fund them … well, it’s by no means out of the question.’

  ‘But have you ever previously come across a child who has been forced to work in one of these sweatshops?’

  ‘I haven’t dealt with one personally but a colleague of mine had a case a few years back where a twelve-year-old girl ended up in one. It made the national press because she’d been brought into the country illegally then kept prisoner in a house somewhere in South London and forced into prostitution. The owner of the house had sold her on to work in a sweatshop when he could no longer pass her off as a virgin. She was fourteen when she escaped from the factory.’

  ‘God! How terrible! That poor girl. Did they get those responsible?’

  ‘I believe the police arrested the owner of the sweatshop and the owner of the brothel. It was part of an international people-smuggling ring. Apparently her parents in Pakistan had been told she was going to be given good lodgings and educated in England in return for some light housework. They’d handed over all their life savings, believing their daughter was going to have a better life here. They traced her parents and she was repatriated to them. The feeling was that her case was only the tip of the iceberg.’ She paused. ‘Tayo hasn’t said anything about being put to work sexually, has he?’

  ‘Struth! I hope not. He’s only ten.’ I felt a shiver of fear; I knew only too well that children much younger than that were abused. ‘Although from what Tayo said, it sounds like Minty was giving sexual favours to the factory owner, Mr Azzi.’

  ‘Yes, but she’s an adult,’ Sandra said bluntly, ‘and I haven’t got an awful lot of sympathy with her right now. Cathy, I’ll inform the police of what Tayo’s said. The name of this owner might help. I’ll also approach the Nigerian Embassy again about his father. I’m going to get back to the Home Office as well. It’s occurred to me that if Mum is going to attend contact, they might like to interview her there about her immigration status.’

  We talked a little about what had happened over the weekend, and about the disappearance of the money and Tayo’s pocket money being stopped.

  ‘If he thieved for Mum, he’ll have learned that behaviour from her,’ remarked Sandra. ‘Thanks, Cathy. I’ll phone you later in the week.’

  I was really impressed with Sandra; she was so thorough that she made it appear as though Tayo’s case was the only one she had to deal with, whereas in fact she’d be working on fifteen or more. All of them would require home visits, meetings, court appearances, telephone calls, emails, and endless paperwork and form filling, not to mention dealing with the emotional and often difficult parents. Social workers have said to me in the past that they couldn’t do my job, but I certainly couldn’t do theirs.

  The week continued to disappear in a hive of activity. Apart from the school run, housework and a day’s training, I had Tayo’s various appointments. The beginning of a placement is always hectic, particularly when a child first comes into care.

  After school on Monday, Tayo had his dental check-up; the dentist said his teeth were fine, very strong and healthy, and needed no fillings. On Tuesday I drove him straight from school to Headline contact centre. Minty was late so I left him with Aisha who was supervising and was also going to bring him home. I came away concerned that Minty hadn’t turned up on time: it’s such a disappointment for the child if their parents are late or miss contact – they see it as another rejection.

  When Aisha returned Tayo at six o’clock she said Minty had been nearly an hour late, which meant that they’d seen each other for only thirty minutes. Tayo, true to form, shrugged off his disappointment and, without being asked, set about his homework.

  On Wednesday Lucy returned to college and needed a big prompt to get her out of bed and back into the routine. After school I took Tayo for his optician appointment and his eyesight was fine. At six that evening I had to make the contact phone call to Minty again. With Tayo seated beside me on the sofa, ready to speak to his mother, I keyed in Minty’s mobile. Once, twice, three times; on the fourth I passed the phone to Tayo so he could leave a message on her voicemail.

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ he said sombrely. ‘It’s Tayo. Where are you?’

  That was all he said and I felt his disappointment and rejection. Why on earth couldn’t she be ready with her mobile switched on? It was almost as if she had set him up for being let down, as she was the one who’d requested phone contac
t in the first place.

  ‘Perhaps she’s working,’ I said.

  Tayo shrugged despondently.

  ‘What exactly does Mum do?’

  ‘She works in a bar. That’s all I know.’

  ‘OK. I just wondered.’

  We said no more about it.

  On Thursday Tayo had his Looked-After Children medical, which had been fast-tracked as he hadn’t seen a doctor for so long. All children have a medical when they first came into care but sometimes the paperwork takes months to arrange. Sandra, with her usual efficiency, had made it a priority.

  Tayo, unused to doctors, was pretty worried about the whole business, although I’d explained that morning what to expect and that there was nothing to worry about. We arrived for our five-thirty appointment and were asked to sit in the waiting room until a doctor, Dr Page, was ready to see us.

  Tayo kept shuffling uncomfortably as we waited. ‘Why are those people here?’ he whispered, glancing at the man and woman seated opposite.

  ‘They’re waiting to see a doctor too,’ I said, feeling that I was stating the obvious.

  ‘Will they still be here when I have to take my clothes off?’

  I looked at him puzzled. ‘I’m not sure I understand …?’

  He tutted. ‘When I have my medical, you said the doctor will examine me.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So will they still be here watching?’

  Then I twigged and I didn’t laugh. ‘Tayo, this is the waiting room. When it’s our turn, we’ll be called through to Dr Page’s surgery down that corridor. You don’t have your medical here!’

  He nodded, relieved. Tayo had never been in a doctor’s surgery, so he wasn’t to know. Five minutes later the receptionist called us through, and Tayo had his medical. For a LAC medical, the doctor receives a ten-page booklet form from the Social Services, which has to be completed. Sandra had attached a note to the form explaining that Tayo had no medical history as it was thought he hadn’t been registered with a doctor before.

  ‘And Tayo’s been here for five years?’ Dr Page asked, unable to believe what he’d read.

  ‘As far as we know, yes.’

  ‘And you’ve never seen a doctor?’ he asked Tayo.

  ‘Once at the hospital when I fell off my bike and banged my head.’

  The doctor made a note and then had to write ‘unknown’ across vast tracts of the form relating to medical history. ‘What about immunizations?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing in the last five years,’ I said. ‘And before that no one knows.’

  ‘I’ll recommend that Tayo starts the childhood immunization programme straightaway.’

  I nodded. It was a sensible idea. If Tayo was totally unprotected against all the childhood diseases he was very vulnerable. ‘We’ll need to get a consent form signed by Tayo’s social worker or his mother. He’s on an interim care order, so I can’t sign it,’ I said.

  Dr Page nodded and made a note.

  Tayo’s heart, lungs, ears and eyes were fine, as was his height and weight. I mentioned the possible asthma and the doctor said Tayo’s chest was clear but if I had any concerns, particularly if he caught a cold which could trigger an asthma attack, to come back straightaway. The doctor saw the scar on Tayo’s underarm and I briefly explained that Tayo had caught it in a machine about a year ago and hadn’t been to the hospital.

  ‘What sort of machine?’ Dr Page asked as he lifted Tayo’s arm.

  ‘One for stitching bags,’ I said.

  ‘Whatever was he doing near one of those?’ He glanced at me.

  ‘Working.’ I gave him a significant look that warned him not say anything further while Tayo was with us.

  He shook his head with a sad expression, then ran his finger lightly over the scar tissue. Tayo winced. ‘Does that hurt?’

  ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘It’s just a bit sensitive.’

  ‘It would be. It’s healed but the skin is very thin. Does it cause you a problem?’

  Tayo shook his head. Dr Page returned to his desk and wrote on the form, then looked at Tayo. ‘When you’re older you can have cosmetic surgery on it if you wish, although I understand scars are considered quite macho now.’

  Tayo grinned.

  Then to me Dr Page said, ‘It’s obviously tender but it shouldn’t open up unless he injures it again. If he does, they’ll close it properly at the hospital.’ He looked back at Tayo. ‘Why didn’t you go to the hospital at the time?’ he asked.

  Tayo shrugged.

  The last part of the medical was to examine Tayo’s genitals to make sure his testicles had descended and he was developing normally. The doctor asked Tayo to lie on the couch, which was behind a screen to my right.

  ‘I’ll wait here,’ I said to the doctor. ‘As a female carer with a male child, I have to be careful not to compromise myself or embarrass the child.’

  He understood. ‘That’s not a problem as long as I have someone in the room with me.’

  It’s a sad reflection on our society, I thought, that even a doctor needs a chaperone now.

  The rest of the examination was fine and everything was normal. All that was left then was for Tayo to give a urine sample, so we went off towards the toilets, thanking the doctor as we left. Tayo was a tiny bit embarrassed at having to fill the little sample pot but when I explained to him about the laboratory where it would be sent for examination, he grew quite interested.

  ‘I want to be a scientist when I grow up,’ he declared as we handed in the sample at reception.

  ‘Well, you’re certainly clever enough. All you have to do is work hard, and you can do anything you want. Come on. You’ve been very good. Let’s go home.’

  It was Friday already. I was in the car taking Tayo to school that morning and I congratulated him on having had a really good week. ‘Football tomorrow,’ I said, ‘and pocket-money day. Are you going to save or spend it?’

  ‘Save it,’ Tayo said, without hesitation. ‘For a plane ticket to Nigeria.’

  I glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘Would you really like to live in Nigeria?’ I asked. ‘Or is it because your life in this country has been so bad?’

  ‘I want to go there and live with Dad and Gran like I did before,’ he said.

  ‘Do you actually remember living with them, Tayo?’ I asked, hoping he might reveal some more details that would help us trace these people.

  ‘Yes. I can just remember it. And I remember I was happy then.’

  I glanced at him again in the mirror. ‘Can you remember anything else that might help Sandra to trace your dad and gran? Do you know Gran’s name? Is she your dad’s mother?’

  ‘Yes. I only have one gran. I used to call her Gran – I don’t suppose that helps?’

  I smiled sadly. ‘Not really, sweet. And she never wrote to you in this country? Or phoned?’

  ‘No. She didn’t know where I was. Mum took me away when I was at school one day and I never saw Dad or Gran again. I had to leave behind all my things, and that’s what’s happened ever since. I don’t think Dad knew I was being taken away or he would have helped me.’ He stared miserably out of the window.

  My heart went out to him. His story had the ring of truth, but how much of his sad tale was what Tayo really remembered, I couldn’t know for sure.

  Sandra phoned later that Friday morning and I told her what Tayo had said in the car about leaving Nigeria.

  ‘It sounds as though Minty might have snatched him,’ I concluded.

  ‘It certainly does,’ Sandra agreed. ‘But I’m not sure it’s going to help. The Nigerian Embassy assured me they have no record of Minty, Tayo, or his dad, whose surname may or may not be Mezer. Not only is Mezer a common name like Brown or Jones here, but people can and do change their surnames. Mezer can also be used as a first name, and you can alternate your first and second names if you want. It’s not like here, where everything is well documented and you keep the same surname, unless you marry or change it by deed poll. It
’s similar in my country – my surname is my grandmother’s, not my parents’.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, appreciating the explanation, but realizing it was going to be virtually impossible to trace Tayo’s family; I felt hugely disappointed on his behalf.

  ‘The Home Office showed even less enthusiasm,’ Sandra continued. I could tell she was coming to the end of a particularly difficult and frustrating week. ‘They weren’t interested in interviewing Minty, even when I said she would be at the Headline Family Centre on Tuesday and Friday. I find their attitude a bit strange given all the recent figures on illegal immigration.’ She paused. ‘Now, I’ve also been in touch with the police with Tayo’s account of the sweatshop. I was told that they are aware of such places existing, they’ve even raided some of them in the past, but unless Tayo knows the exact address they can’t even start active surveillance. Do you think there’s a chance he might remember the address?’

  ‘He says he never knew it. He might recognize the building if he was taken to the area. It was only a year or so ago, and he’s very good at memorizing places and streets, or he has been round here.’

  Sandra paused. ‘Hmm. Well, it’s a thought. I’ll run it past my manager and see what she thinks. Would you take Tayo into London if we went ahead?’

  ‘Yes, we could have a day out.’

  ‘OK. Leave it with me. I’ll get back to you. Have a good weekend.’

  ‘And you.’

  That evening when I took Tayo to contact after school, Minty was already there waiting in Yellow Room.

  ‘Hello,’ I said brightly as I went in with Tayo and Aisha. ‘How are you, Minty?’

  She was sprawled along the sofa, feet up, head resting back, looking absolutely knackered. Her full cleavage and stomach were exposed and she was wearing a flimsy cotton top and short skirt, another outfit completely inappropriate for contact, let alone the cold weather. Again, in dress and attitude Minty wasn’t doing herself any favours. She heaved her feet down with a sigh to make room for Tayo on the sofa. He bounded to her side and picked up the remote for the television.