Finding Stevie, page 22
I stayed in the living room with my mobile on the sofa beside me, willing it to spring into life with a call or text from Stevie. At various times over the next half an hour or so, Lucy, Paula and Adrian came into the living room to find out if there was any news. I told them that Stevie hadn’t been in touch and wasn’t at his grandparents’, so I’d reported him missing and was waiting for the police to arrive. While they were sympathetic and worried, it was only natural that, like me, they were a bit put out at the anxiety and disruption Stevie was causing everyone.
At 9.15, about forty minutes after I’d reported Stevie missing, the front doorbell rang and I assumed it was the police. I was pleased they had arrived so quickly. The sun had just set so it was dark outside, which seemed to make Stevie being missing even more worrying. Flicking on the hall and porch lights, I answered the front door and was surprised and relieved to find Stevie. ‘Good, you’re home,’ I said.
‘Hello, Cathy. I’ve come back,’ he slurred. His eyes were glazed, he was unsteady on his feet and I could smell alcohol on his breath.
‘Oh Stevie.’ I helped him over the doorstep and he flopped into the chair by the telephone table. Bending forward, he tried to take off his shoes but couldn’t quite coordinate the movement. Adrian, having heard the door, appeared on the landing, saw the state Stevie was in and came down to help.
‘You’re not going to be sick, are you?’ he asked him.
‘Don’t think so,’ Stevie slurred.
‘I’ll get a bucket anyway,’ Adrian said.
‘What have you had to drink?’ I asked Stevie, helping him take off his shoes. Knowing what he’d drunk and how much would be important in deciding what I should do next. Young people can become intoxicated quite quickly, but if he’d had a lot to drink, especially spirits, I’d take him to the hospital, or call an ambulance if he passed out.
‘Beer,’ he said, and hiccupped. ‘Pardon me.’ He pressed his fingers to his lips and grinned.
‘How much beer?’
‘Four bottles, but I gave most of the last one to a guy sleeping rough.’
‘And that’s it?’ He nodded. ‘Have you taken any pills?’
‘No. I’m a good boy.’
‘Where have you been?’ I asked, removing his second shoe.
‘In the park.’
‘Our local park?’ I asked. Adrian returned with the bucket and placed it beside Stevie.
‘No, the big park near my gran’s. It’s where I used to take Liam and Kiri. I sat on the bench and drank, then got talking to a guy sleeping rough.’
Stevie was able to answer my questions and, although he was intoxicated, he hadn’t had a huge amount to drink and hadn’t taken any drugs, so I didn’t think it necessary to take him to the hospital or call an ambulance, but I would monitor him.
‘How did you buy the alcohol?’ Adrian asked. ‘Didn’t they ask for your ID?’
‘I have fake ID,’ Stevie said, and hiccupped again.
I nodded. Stevie had told me shortly after he’d arrived that he’d used fake ID he’d bought from the internet to get into nightclubs.
‘Let’s get you up to bed so you can sleep it off,’ I said to him.
‘Good idea, Cathy,’ he replied, grinning inanely.
Adrian sighed and helped him off the chair and then upstairs, while I followed a couple of steps behind, carrying the bucket. Stevie was tall but slightly built, whereas Adrian was tall and more sturdily built, so he was easily able to give Stevie the support he needed to get him safely upstairs and into his bedroom. I placed the bucket beside his bed.
‘Get changed and into bed,’ I told Stevie. ‘I’ll check on you in a few minutes.’
‘Thanks, guys,’ he said affably. We came out and left him to it. Alcohol affects people in different ways: some become loud and aggressive when they’ve had too much to drink, while others, like Stevie, just go soppy. Although, of course, at his age he shouldn’t have been drinking at all.
Lucy and Paula, having heard Stevie, had come out of their bedrooms and were now on the landing. ‘Stevie is drunk,’ I said, ‘but at least he’s back safely. I need to phone the police and social services and tell them.’
I left the girls talking to Adrian and went into my bedroom, where I used the handset there to make the calls. Ten minutes later, when I’d finished, I checked on Stevie. He was lying flat on his back on top of the duvet, with only his underpants and socks on, and snoring like an old drunk. I’m sure he would have been acutely embarrassed had he seen himself like that. I know some parents teach their teenagers a lesson by taking photos of them when they’re the worse for drink and showing them afterwards, but as a foster carer that wouldn’t have been appropriate or professional, even though shaming Stevie might have stopped him from doing it again.
I called to Adrian to help me and together we put Stevie on his side in the recovery position in case he was sick in his sleep. I didn’t think he would be; it was a precautionary measure. I drew the duvet over him, dimmed his bedroom light and, leaving the bucket by his bed and the door open, we came out. I thanked Adrian for his help and went downstairs. I knew I should phone Peggy and Fred to let them know Stevie was back, for, despite Fred’s harsh words, he and Peggy loved Stevie and were sure to be worrying about him.
In the living room I dialled their landline number, but it went to answerphone so I left a message. ‘It’s Cathy. Stevie has returned safely. He’s had a few drinks but is OK, and is now in bed sleeping it off.’ I paused, trying to think of something encouraging to say about Liam and Kiri being in care, but all the platitudes – like ‘try not to worry’ and ‘they are being well looked after’ – seemed inadequate, so I just hung up. I doubted any words of mine could ease the pain they must be feeling at having lost all their grandchildren into care.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Prosecute
I checked on Stevie before I went to bed and again in the early hours. He was still on his side, but no longer snoring, and in a more natural sleep. The following morning it took a while to wake him and he told me to go away and he wasn’t going to school. I said he was and that he’d feel better once he was up and showered. I then gave him a glass of ice-cold water to drink, which did help his hangover. Now wasn’t the time to lecture him about the dangers of storming off angrily and drinking to excess. I’d talk to him this evening.
Once showered and dressed, he came downstairs. He looked pale but otherwise all right. He didn’t want anything to eat but, craving something sweet, he had two glasses of orange juice.
As usual on a weekday everyone was busy getting ready to leave the house. When Adrian saw Stevie he asked him how he was and Stevie had the decency to look embarrassed and replied, ‘OK, thanks for asking.’
Paula said, ‘Hi,’ when she saw him.
But when Lucy passed him in the hall on her way out she said, ‘It ain’t big and it ain’t clever, Stevie. You need to grow up.’
I didn’t say anything, but that night I’d remind her that Stevie was only just fifteen and had a lot to cope with. I thought that going off like that and getting drunk was probably a one-off and a reaction to Liam and Kiri going into care, and that once I’d had a good chat with him he’d settle down again. However, I didn’t get the chance to talk to him that afternoon or evening as he didn’t come home from school.
‘Not again!’ Paula sighed when she came home from college to find me on the phone to the duty social worker – not the same one as the night before.
I nodded and continued giving the details leading up to Stevie’s disappearance: that he’d been upset the day before because his younger siblings had been taken into care and had stormed off; that I’d reported him missing but he’d returned home drunk at 9.15. I said he’d gone to school this morning but hadn’t returned. I’d phoned and texted his mobile, but there’d been no reply. The duty social worker asked if I’d checked with the school to make sure he had arrived and I said yes, he had been to school, and that I’d called his grandparents to see if he was there, but their answerphone was on so I’d left a message. He asked if there was anywhere else Stevie could be and I said the only other place I knew was the park he’d gone to yesterday. He told me to check the park first, and if Stevie wasn’t there and still wasn’t answering my calls to report him missing to the police. Although it was only 5.30, he was supposed to be home from school between 4 and 4.30, so he’d been missing an hour.
I knew the park Stevie had referred to near where his grandparents lived, and I told Paula that I was going there now. She said she’d come with me, and I was grateful for her company. As I drove she asked, ‘Do you ever think about giving up fostering, Mum?’
I glanced at her. ‘At moments like this, yes,’ I said truthfully. ‘It’s a lovely evening and I’d rather be in our garden than chasing around after Stevie. But then again, fostering is very rewarding. What made you ask? Do you think we should stop?’
‘Sometimes,’ she replied honestly. ‘I worry about you.’
‘Why?’
‘The stress it puts you under. I know we’ve been doing it a long time – forever, really – but you’re not as young as you used to be.’
‘Thanks, love!’ I laughed.
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I do.’ I smiled at her, touched by her thoughtfulness.
‘Not having a father makes you even more special to me.’
‘You have a father, he just doesn’t live with us,’ I said as I’d said before.
‘He never has,’ she replied reproachfully.
‘Yes, he did, but he left when you were very young.’
‘I know, and I used to worry who’d take care of us if anything happened to you.’
‘And I always told you that Nana and Grandpa would. You are all young adults now and I’m not going anywhere for a long time, I’ve too much to do. But if something unexpected did happen, I’m assuming you’d all look after each other, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Good, but what brought this up? The worry Stevie is causing us?’
‘Partly,’ Paula admitted. ‘Also, a girl I’m friends with at college lost her mum to cancer at Christmas. She talks to me about her sometimes, and how much she misses her.’
‘Poor girl. She must miss her a lot.’
‘She does. She lives with her older brother and his partner.’
‘How is that working out?’ I asked, glancing at her and pleased we’d found the chance to have this chat.
‘She gets on well with them both. She couldn’t afford to stay in the house where she lived with her mother.’
‘No, and to be honest she would probably have been lonely. It’s better she is with family if they are all getting along. She lost her mother young and it does happen. But I’m fit and well, and if ever I feel that fostering is causing me too much stress, I’ll stop.’
‘I believe you,’ she said with a smile.
‘But Paula, do you want to continue fostering?’ It was a question I’d asked all three of them before, although not recently. Fostering affects the whole family and while one parent may be the main care-giver, all family members need to be committed for it to work.
‘Yes,’ Paula said. ‘Mostly it’s fine.’
‘What about Adrian and Lucy?’
‘I think they’re happy with it too, but we haven’t talked about it in a long while.’
‘OK, I’ll ask them later. And please don’t worry about me. I’m made of strong stuff.’
She smiled again. It was the reassurance she needed to hear.
We arrived at the park and I pulled in to a side road, cut the engine and gave her a big kiss on her cheek. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you too.’
We got out, entered the park and, arm in arm, did a complete circuit, checking benches, the children’s play area, the tennis courts, pavilion and the old bandstand where some children were roller skating, but there was no sign of Stevie. It was a warm evening and parents had brought their children here after school to play – ball and Frisbee, or riding their bikes. I could picture Stevie with Liam and Kiri playing here in happier times. As Paula and I made our way back towards the park entrance we passed two girls who looked about thirteen, furtively smoking behind a tree. ‘It’s not big and it’s not clever,’ I said, using Lucy’s phrase, much to Paula’s embarrassment.
‘Mum!’ she said, drawing me on, while the girls looked surprised.
‘It’s stupid to start smoking,’ I said loud enough for them to hear.
‘Mum,’ Paula hissed again, ‘you’re so embarrassing.’
‘Sorry, love.’
But maybe the girls would heed my words and think twice about lighting up next time. Smoking is a killer and, as an ex-smoker, I knew how difficult it was to quit, so it makes sense never to start in the first place. Lecture over.
Once in the car I tried Stevie’s mobile again. It went through to voicemail, so I left a message saying I was about to report him missing to the police. Paula, having forgiven me for embarrassing her in the park, began talking about her college work and our summer holiday, which I had yet to book.
As soon as we were home I put the dinner in the oven, checked my mobile, then reluctantly telephoned the police and reported Stevie missing again. Adrian and Lucy arrived home in time for dinner and as we sat at the table to eat I told them Stevie hadn’t returned from school and to expect another visit from the police.
‘It’s so disruptive,’ Lucy said vehemently, while Adrian nodded.
It was Friday and Lucy and Adrian said they were going out later, but before they left, and while it was on my mind, I asked them separately if they were happy to continue fostering. ‘Yes, of course,’ Lucy said, ‘but I need to get ready, Mum.’
Adrian said, ‘Yes, for as long as you want to. It’s something Kirsty and I have talked about doing in the future once we’re settled in our own place and have our own family.’
‘That sounds promising,’ I said, smiling. Kirsty and Adrian had been seeing each other for some years, and while I’d always thought they would end up together, it hadn’t been stated so clearly. I was also pleased he and Lucy wanted to continue fostering.
Two police officers arrived shortly after Adrian and Lucy had left. One of them had attended the last time I’d reported Stevie missing and I apologised that they’d had to come here again. ‘We’re just doing our job,’ he said. They took a few details, said they had a photo of Stevie on file and gave the house a perfunctory search. I apologised again as I saw them out and then added, ‘As Stevie’s foster carer I have to report him missing each time he doesn’t come home when he is supposed to.’ They hadn’t said as much, but I could tell they thought this was a waste of police time, as I was starting to.
At eight o’clock Paula joined me in the living room to watch a television series we were both enjoying, but my mind wasn’t on it. I was listening for the doorbell – willing it to ring – and wondering what Stevie was doing. An hour later, when the episode had finished, Paula said she was going to shower and get ready for bed. ‘Where do you think Stevie is?’ she asked, worried.
‘I’ve no idea, but hopefully he’ll be back soon.’
She kissed me goodnight and I told her not to worry and said again I was sure he’d be back before long. Indeed, I was half expecting him to return drunk at any moment as he had before. I made a cup of tea and then sat in the living room with the television on low, my mobile phone on the sofa beside me, and deep in thought. Lucy arrived home from seeing her friend at around ten-thirty and Adrian an hour later. He was surprised to see me still up as I was usually in bed when he got home from seeing Kirsty. ‘Is Stevie back?’ he asked.
‘No. I’ll wait up a bit longer, don’t worry.’
‘Wake me if you need any help,’ he said thoughtfully.
Tired, anxious and increasingly annoyed with Stevie for causing me all this worry, as the minutes ticked by I began to imagine all sorts of dreadful scenarios: Stevie lying somewhere drunk and unconscious, hurt and in hospital, or alone and depressed and thinking of taking his life. Like many young people who go missing, he would have little idea of the upset he was causing his family. I’m sure Peggy would have told him how worried she and Fred had been when he’d been living with them and had gone missing, but I don’t think young people appreciate the extent of our anguish. The protective love of a parent or carer knows no bounds and can send you to hell and back when something like this happens.
At midnight I made another cup of tea and wondered if I should try to get some sleep on the sofa or go to bed. If I went to bed then it would take me longer to get dressed if Stevie phoned and I had to collect him as I’d done before with other missing teenagers I’d fostered. Sammy, his routine disrupted, put himself to bed, while I drank my tea in the living room. Then I dimmed the lights and lay on the sofa, my mobile at my side. I dozed a little but couldn’t sleep as I tried to think where on earth Stevie could be. As far as I knew, he hadn’t taken a change of clothes with him – it was something the police had asked – so he would still be in his school uniform and therefore unlikely to have got into a bar or club using his fake ID.
At 3 a.m., with no word from Stevie, I knew I needed to try to get some sleep if I was going to function the next day, so I went upstairs, undressed and got into bed, leaving the volume turned up on my mobile. I’d just dropped off when it rang, startlingly loud in the stillness of the night. The illuminated screen showed it was 4.05 a.m. and the call was from a private number. Normally I wouldn’t have answered a private number as they were often nuisance calls, but Stevie was missing so I immediately accepted the call.
