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  I hole-punched the forms Brian had given to me and hooked them into the folder, then took a fresh record sheet from my desk drawer and headed it with today’s date and the time Tayo arrived. I noted how Tayo was on arrival, and included what he’d said about where he’d been at Christmas, and his comments about Nigeria. We used to keep the daily record in a large diary but, like many things, this had changed and we were now required to use the pre-printed forms. Details of his first night, I would add in the morning. I placed it in the folder, closed the file and locked it in my desk.

  It was after eight o’clock already, and with Tayo going to school the next day, I needed to start a bedtime routine. I went upstairs, found a pair of pyjamas and toothbrush from my emergency hoard, then took a towel from the airing cupboard and knocked on Tayo’s door.

  ‘Come in,’ he called.

  I pushed the door open. He was sprawled on the bed, holding the remote, and leisurely flicking through the channels. As I entered, he immediately switched off the television and jumped off the bed, almost standing to attention.

  ‘You can have your shower now,’ I smiled. ‘These pyjamas will do for tonight, they should fit. We’ll buy some more tomorrow.’

  He thanked me, then followed, as I led the way along the landing and to the bathroom. I showed him where the shower gel was, how to work the shower, and placed his toothbrush in the mug with ours and left him to it. Fifteen minutes later I heard the bathroom door open, and his footsteps along the landing. I went up to say goodnight and to make sure the television was off.

  He’d left his bedroom door slightly open, but I knocked all the same before I went in. He was comfortably settled under the duvet, and the television was off. I noticed his towel was neatly folded at the foot of his bed with his toothbrush on top. To the right was a pile of his dirty clothes, also folded with incredible precision. It reminded me of a young army cadet’s bed, ready for inspection.

  ‘Are the pyjamas OK?’ I asked.

  He grinned. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘I’ll wash and dry your clothes so you can have them for the morning.’ I went to the end of the bed and removed the pile of clothes. ‘Shall I put your towel and toothbrush with ours in the bathroom?’

  His face registered concern. ‘Can I keep them here?’

  ‘Yes, if you prefer.’ I guessed that Tayo had lost his things many times as he moved about and, as a result, felt anxious about letting things out of his sight. Many children I’d fostered had been through similar experiences and felt safer keeping their possessions close to them. I’d once looked after an eight-year-old girl who’d slept with the new shoes I’d bought her under her pillow every night for a month. In the past, anything of hers that was half-decent had been taken by her older siblings, and she wasn’t going to risk having her first pair of new shoes disappear.

  I drew Tayo’s bedroom curtains. ‘I’ll wake you at seven-fifteen tomorrow. That should give us plenty of time to get ready and be at school for eight forty-five.’

  ‘School starts at eight-fifty,’ he emphasized. ‘I mustn’t be late again.’

  ‘No. You won’t be,’ I reassured him. ‘No one is ever late with me.’

  I watched him relax. I was used to this too – children who have had to devise and oversee their own routines often find it a great relief to know they can relinquish some of the responsibility.

  ‘Goodnight then, love,’ I said. ‘It’s bound to be a bit strange sleeping in a different bed for the first night. You know where I am if you need me.’ He looked quite relaxed and comfortable, though, snuggled under the duvet with only his head showing. ‘Shall I close your door so you’re not disturbed when Adrian and Lucy come up later?’

  ‘Yes. And Cathy?’

  ‘Yes, love?’

  ‘Can I have a goodnight kiss?’

  ‘Of course.’ I bent down and kissed his forehead. He smiled, and suddenly all the maturity that had seen him through goodness knows what, vanished, and he was a little boy again, vulnerable and in need of a mother’s goodnight kiss. ‘Night, love. Sleep tight.’

  ‘And don’t let the bed bugs bite,’ he added.

  ‘Is that what your mother used to say?’

  ‘No, my gran. When I was little in Nigeria.’ He closed his eyes and I gave his forehead a little stroke, then I came out and closed the door behind me.

  I never sleep well on the first night of having a new child or children in the house. I listen for any sound that might suggest they are unsettled, upset, or even out of bed. Often I’m up and down like a yo yo, particularly with very young children who don’t understand what’s happening. In fact, I have been known to abandon my bed altogether and doze in a chair on the landing, resettling the new arrival as soon as they cry, shout or come out of their bedroom. My insomnia on this occasion, however, was none of Tayo’s doing; there wasn’t a sound from his room all night.

  Nevertheless I tossed and turned into the early hours, trying to fathom out what had brought him here. It was both puzzling and perplexing. Most children fit a type, a kind of mould formed by what has happened in their lives; abuse and neglect can make them angry, withdrawn, obsessive, anxious, or just plain naughty. But not so with Tayo. He may have been neglected but he was one of the most well adjusted children I had ever met, in or out of care. And while it was obviously early days yet and things could change, I failed to see how his self-possession could all be an act.

  No – at some point in this boy’s past, someone had done some good parenting, which was a hopeful sign. It meant that his mother might well be able to have him back. If Tayo’s mother was prepared to work with the Social Services and willing to rectify whatever had gone wrong, then it was quite possible that Tayo would eventually be able to return to live with her, either here or in Nigeria.

  With this optimism, I managed two hours’ sleep before the alarm rang.

  Chapter Five

  A Promising Start

  The following morning I was up, showered and dressed by six-thirty, as usual, then I woke Paula at seven, and Tayo at seven-fifteen.

  When I went into his bedroom and presented him with his pile of washed and ironed clothes, he looked at me with such admiration that you would have thought I had performed a miracle. It was just a pity no one else in the house viewed my domestic achievements in the same celestial light.

  He got up straight away, washed and dressed, then made his bed (without being asked), before coming down to breakfast. He chose cereal from the selection in the cupboard, then followed it with two slices of toast and marmalade, and black tea with one sugar.

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer fruit juice?’ I asked.

  ‘No, this is fine, thank you. And it’s so nice not to have to eat in my room.’

  Paula, who had just joined him at the table, felt duty bound to set Tayo straight on this point. ‘You can’t eat in your bedroom here, not unless you’ve been away to uni. Then when you come back you can do anything.’

  She shot me a look but I said nothing, while Tayo lowered his eyes diplomatically and concentrated on his toast. Adrian had brought some student habits back with him, snacking in his room being one. Paula knew that age brought certain privileges but that didn’t stop her moaning occasionally when she felt things were unfair.

  ‘Come on, Tayo,’ I said. ‘Let’s get going.’

  Tayo hadn’t brought any school things with him so there was nothing to remember other than himself. He told me he had been having school dinners, so I didn’t make him a packed lunch. As I unlocked the car he asked if he could sit in the front passenger seat but I explained it was safer in the back, and that was where all children under twelve had to sit, which he accepted. It also had the hidden advantage of the child security lock, which meant that the door couldn’t be opened from the inside.

  I watched him in the rear-view mirror as we started the twenty-minute journey to school. He was quiet but seemed to be taking everything in, with more than a passing interest in the scenery ou
tside. His head flicked back and forth as though he was noting the route and the road signs we passed. It crossed my mind that he might be planning an escape – he wouldn’t be the first child to try and find his way back to his mum.

  ‘Do you know this part of town?’ I asked after a while.

  ‘Yes. I used to live down there.’

  I glanced back at the road we had just driven past and made a mental note of Gresham Gardens. ‘With your mum?’

  ‘No, with friends.’

  A couple of minutes later as we slowed for traffic lights, Tayo was craning his neck back again. ‘Do you know Salisbury Road?’ I asked casually.

  ‘Yes, I lived there.’

  ‘What? Recently?’

  ‘A few months ago, I think.’

  ‘With Mum?’

  ‘No, with friends.’

  Another hundred yards and it happened again, and then again. During the remaining ten minutes of the journey, Tayo pointed out another six roads where he had lived or stayed ‘with friends’ in the last few months. I began to doubt it. Time and location can be very confusing to children, particularly when they have been moved, and I thought he had more than likely visited the houses, perhaps to play or possibly stay for a meal, rather than actually living there. Even so, he appeared to know the area very well, and it was something else I should mention to the social worker who took over the case when they phoned later.

  It was eight-forty as I parked in a side street a short way from Meadway School.

  ‘Can I go straight into the playground with my mates?’ Tayo asked.

  ‘I’d like you to come with me into reception first to sort out your uniform. Then, while I see the Head, if there’s time, I’m sure you can go in the playground.’ For the first time, I saw something like dissension cross Tayo’s face, and I thought I heard the quietest of groans. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t embarrass you,’ I added. ‘As soon as we’ve got your uniform, you’re free to go.’

  He smiled and I knew I had hit the right note. It can be very embarrassing for a child to appear in the playground with a new carer – it sparks curiosity and questions from friends and also their parents. Sometimes I arrange to meet foster children, particularly the older ones, just outside the school gates so I’m not so visible.

  As I climbed out of the car and then opened Tayo’s door, a boy of about the same age, in Meadway uniform and laden down with a schoolbag, walked by the car.

  ‘Hi, Sam!’ Tayo called unselfconsciously as he climbed out.

  The boy stopped, smiled at Tayo, and then predictably looked at me.

  ‘This is Cathy, my carer,’ Tayo said, with only a small dismissive shrug. So having a carer wasn’t a problem for Tayo, it was more just having an adult with him.

  I smiled. ‘Hello, Sam. Nice to meet you.’

  Tayo walked on ahead beside his friend while I followed a few steps behind. As we approached the main entrance, Sam went off to the left to go into the playground and Tayo returned to my side. ‘He seemed very nice,’ I said.

  ‘Yes,’ Tayo said casually. ‘I lived with him once.’

  I pressed the security buzzer, gave my name and added that I was Tayo Mezer’s carer. The door was unlocked and Tayo pushed it open, then stood aside to let me in first.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Now, you lead on and show me the way. We’ll go to the secretary’s office.’

  Pleased to be given this authority, Tayo proudly went ahead. We made a right turn and saw a woman approaching us along the corridor.

  ‘Hello, Mrs de la Haye,’ Tayo said.

  ‘Hello, there, Tayo.’ She smiled at him, then at me. ‘Roberta de la Haye, I’m the deputy head,’ she said. ‘I’m also the designated person for looked-after children.’ We shook hands. ‘Shall we go into my office? It’s more private.’

  Tayo and I followed her a little way down the corridor and into an office on the left.

  ‘Do sit down,’ she said, closing the door.

  The three of us sat in a small semi-circle. Roberta de la Haye had a comfortable but businesslike manner. She addressed Tayo first. ‘So, how are you, young man? It was quite a day yesterday.’

  ‘Good,’ he grinned. ‘I’ve got my own room with a television, and it’s a nice house. I’ve had dinner and breakfast, and I won’t have to move again.’

  Roberta de la Haye nodded. ‘Excellent.’ She looked at me. ‘Tayo’s been rather unsettled in school recently and has fallen behind with his work. I’m sure it will all change now.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘I’m sure he’ll soon catch up. Do you have my contact details?’

  ‘No. Not even your name.’

  ‘It’s Cathy Glass. I’ll give you the other details later.’ I threw a glance in Tayo’s direction, hoping she understood that he shouldn’t be party to the information in case he passed it to his mother, though given his level of understanding it was likely he would soon know his address if he didn’t already.

  Roberta nodded.

  ‘I need to buy Tayo a school uniform,’ I added. ‘He’s only got what he’s wearing.’

  ‘We can do that now. I’ll take you to the office and Mrs Saunders, our welfare lady, will sort you out. Then I think it would be helpful if we had a chat.’ It was her turn to glance in Tayo’s direction and I knew she meant out of earshot.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Come on then, Tayo,’ she said, standing. ‘A whole new uniform. That sounds good.’

  We followed her back along the corridor and into the school secretary’s office. She introduced me to Mrs Saunders, explained what we wanted, then left us, saying she’d be back in ten minutes.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know Tayo’s size yet,’ I said, as Mrs Saunders opened a very tall cupboard with shelves full of school uniform.

  ‘No problem. I’ve had a lot of experience in fitting out children.’ She looked Tayo up and down, then started taking down polythene bags containing blue sweatshirts and jumpers emblazoned with the school’s logo, grey trousers and PE kit.

  ‘I’d like three of everything,’ I said.

  Tayo’s eyes grew wide with excitement at the growing pile of new clothes. This was evidently a novel experience for him. ‘And can I have the school bag for the PE kit?’ he asked, spying it in the cupboard.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ I opened the packets of PE kit containing shorts and sweatshirt, again bearing the school’s emblem, and held it up against him. ‘It looks a perfect fit.’

  ‘I need to hang the bag on my peg,’ he said.

  ‘OK.’ I placed the PE kit in the bag and closed the drawstring. ‘Is there somewhere he can go to change into the uniform?’ I asked Mrs Saunders.

  ‘Go in the stockroom, Tayo. Over there.’

  While he went off to change I wrote a cheque for £137, seventy of which I would recover from the additional payment Brian had mentioned.

  Mrs Saunders placed the other sets of uniform in a carrier bag and we waited for Tayo to reappear. ‘He’s such a nice kid,’ she said. ‘God knows what’s been going on.’

  ‘No,’ I agreed, but I wasn’t about to enter into a discussion. The deputy head would inform the staff of what they needed to know, and the rest was confidential. Then something else occurred to me. ‘Tayo’s having school dinners. Has the bill been paid for this term?’

  ‘No,’ Mrs Saunders said. ‘Nor for last.’

  ‘I’ll pay for this term but I’m not responsible for last. Tayo wasn’t in my care then. I’m afraid you’ll have to try and recover it from Social Services. How much is it for this term?’

  ‘It’s £1.75 a day or £122.50 for the whole term.’

  I wrote out another cheque as Tayo reappeared, his old clothes stuffed in a ball under his arm.

  ‘You look smart!’ Mrs Saunders and I chimed together.

  ‘Thanks, Cathy.’ Grinning proudly, Tayo came over, gave me his old clothes, then shook my hand in gratitude.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I said with a smile. His happiness was infect
ious. ‘I’ll put your name in your things tonight, so be careful you don’t lose them today.’

  ‘I won’t,’ he said fervently, and I knew for certain he wouldn’t; they were obviously his first new clothes since goodness knew when.

  Roberta de la Haye came into the office, echoing our praise for Tayo’s smart new things. I explained that Tayo would have to wear his trainers until we bought school shoes in the evening. ‘That’s fine,’ she said, then told him to join his classmates, who were lining up ready to come in for registration.

  ‘Where shall I meet you after school?’ I asked Tayo.

  ‘In the playground, over by the gates, please,’ he said, eager to be off. I guessed this was his way of saying, ‘I want you there, but not too obvious.’

  ‘Have a good day, and see you later,’ I said.

  He turned and, with a massive smile, loped off.

  ‘One satisfied client,’ I said to Roberta.

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded. ‘He really is a nice kid. Shall we go back to my office?’

  I followed her again down the corridor and into her office. I liked Roberta de la Haye already, and guessed that her kind but efficient manner would make my future dealings with the school run smoothly. Having a designated person in school specifically to monitor looked-after children is a fairly recent development, and not all schools have a well-trained and responsible staff member to take the role on. I often have a lot of explaining to do about social work and court procedure but not this time. Roberta was obviously on the ball.

  ‘I suggested an Interim Care Order well before Christmas,’ she said as we entered her office. ‘We raised concerns at the beginning of November. Heaven only knows what took Social Services so long – unless it was that they couldn’t find his mother.’

  ‘It might have been,’ I replied. ‘The social worker yesterday said she was difficult to contact.’