Finding Stevie, page 3
‘It’s a straight and gay club where I can be myself,’ he added, and watched me for my reaction.
‘That’s irrelevant,’ I said. ‘A lad of your age shouldn’t be in a nightclub at all, which I’m guessing is what your grandparents said.’
‘I didn’t tell them where I was going. It was when Grandpa saw me all dressed up ready to go out with my eye glitter on that he blew his top. He said if I went out looking like that I needn’t come back. So I didn’t. I just went home this morning for some of my things.’
‘So you were missing from New Year’s Eve?’
‘Yes,’ he said almost proudly. ‘Gran kept leaving messages on my voicemail. The last one said the police were out looking for me.’ His eyes lit up at the drama of it all.
‘I would think they were worried sick. Where were you all that time?’
‘After the club closed I went back to a friend’s pad to crash.’
‘If you are going to live with me, there will be rules and boundaries.’ Best say it now, I thought, for I was concerned by his attitude.
‘Not too many rules, I hope,’ he said, flicking back his fringe again.
‘No, just enough to keep you and everyone here safe. What did your grandfather say when you returned this morning?’
‘He wasn’t there, just Gran. He’d taken Liam and Kiri to the park with their bikes. They both had new bikes for Christmas.’
I nodded. ‘And what did you get for Christmas?’
‘Money for clothes. Can I see my room now?’
‘In a minute. I’ll phone Verity first and make sure you can stay. She may have other plans for you.’
‘I’m not going back home,’ he said, his face setting. ‘She can’t make me.’
‘Let’s see what she has to say.’ I picked up the handset from the corner unit and pressed the social services’ number.
Verity was now at her desk. ‘I was about to phone you,’ she said. ‘Has Stevie arrived?’
‘Yes. About ten minutes ago.’
‘He can stay, but I’ll need to place him. I’m in a meeting soon so I’ll come over later, around three. Can you keep him in until I arrive?’
‘Yes.’
We said goodbye. ‘She said you can stay,’ I said to Stevie. ‘I’ll show you around the house.’
‘Thank you so much,’ he said, and came over and kissed my cheek.
Usually when a new child arrives it is with their social worker, so I show them around the house together, as the social worker needs to see where the child is living, but Stevie was keen to look now, so I’d show Verity around later when she arrived. I began with the room we were in, pointing out the television, and explained how we tended to relax in here in the evenings and weekends.
‘Do you have wi-fi?’ Stevie asked, taking his phone from the pocket of his jeans.
‘Yes.’
‘Can I have the password?’
‘I don’t know the code off by heart, it’ll be on the router in the front room. I’ll give it to you in a moment when we go in there.’
‘You know about the internet and stuff?’ he asked.
‘A reasonable amount, yes,’ I said.
‘Gran and Grandpa don’t. I had to use my phone credit to get online cos he kept switching off the router at night. He thought it would catch fire.’ He raised his eyebrows in exasperation.
‘We all have different ways of doing things,’ I said, and led the way into our kitchen-diner. To a younger person who’d grown up with computers, routers and mobile phones, switching off the wi-fi at night would seem ludicrous, but not to someone of Fred and Peggy’s generation.
While we were in the kitchen I took the opportunity to ask Stevie if he had any special dietary needs or was allergic to anything. It’s something the social worker would tell me in respect of a younger child.
‘No, I eat most things,’ he said easily.
‘Excellent,’ I smiled.
We left the kitchen-diner and went down the hall and into the front room. ‘I call it a quiet room,’ I said. ‘You can read and do your homework in here or in your room, whatever you prefer. The computer and printer are here too,’ I said, pointing. These were now considered essential items in a foster carer’s home.
‘And there’s the router,’ Stevie said, spotting the hub on the bookshelf. I didn’t have to read out the passcode, as he beat me to it. Going over, he entered the code and began tapping away at the keypad on his phone as if his life depended on it. I watched him for a while as his fingers flew over the letters. Completely absorbed, I think he almost forgot I was there.
‘Stevie, what do you do on the internet?’ I asked.
He looked up. ‘Chat to friends, you know, the usual stuff,’ he said, and returned his attention to the screen.
At his age, of course, he would need internet access; teenagers are all computer savvy and online now. But whereas a younger child would use my computer, which had parental-control software to protect them while online by limiting the websites they could access and filtering out inappropriate content, I guessed his phone did not. Internet safety is part of foster-carer training now and foster carers are expected to include it in their safer-caring policy. The older the child, the more difficult it becomes to monitor their activity on the internet.
‘You are careful who you talk to online, aren’t you?’ I asked. ‘I mean, you wouldn’t give out your personal details to a stranger.’
He looked slightly startled. ‘No. Why do you ask?’
‘There are some nasty people out there who can hide behind the anonymity of the internet. They can be very devious in getting what they want. I’m not trying to frighten you, but you do need to be aware.’
He nodded and continued with whatever he was doing on his phone. I’d talk to him more about internet safety another time, just as I had with Adrian, Lucy and Paula. They were of an age now to appreciate the dangers, but Stevie wasn’t. Despite the image he liked to portray, he was a vulnerable young person who was undecided about his gender identity – just the sort of person who could be preyed upon. ‘Come on, I’ll show you upstairs,’ I said. ‘Bring your bag with you.’
Still tapping his phone with one hand, he collected his bag from the hall with the other, and we went upstairs and into his room. He dropped his bag on the floor and looked up from his phone long enough to glance around and say, ‘Cool.’ He followed me out and as we continued round the landing Paula came out of her room.
‘Oh my!’ Stevie cried, clapping his hand to his chest. ‘You gave me such a fright. I didn’t know anyone else was in.’
‘Sorry, I should have told you,’ I said. ‘This is Paula, my youngest daughter. Adrian and Lucy are at work.’
‘Hello, Paula, lovely to meet you,’ he gushed. ‘But don’t go jumping out on me like that again, will you? You scared me half to death.’ His manner was effusive, over the top and completely unnecessary. It was as if he was acting a part.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Paula said, ignoring his theatricals.
I threw her an appreciative smile and then showed Stevie where the bathroom was as Paula disappeared back into her room. I didn’t take Stevie into our bedrooms, I just pointed them out and explained that all of them, including his, were private and we didn’t go into each other’s. ‘If you want Adrian, Lucy or Paula, you knock on their door and wait until they answer,’ I said. ‘They will do the same to you. OK?’
‘OK,’ he said absently, concentrating on his phone. ‘I’ll go to my room now.’
‘If that’s what you want to do,’ I said. ‘Unpack your bag and you will feel more at home. Do you need any help with your unpacking?’ He shook his head. ‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink and a snack to see you through till dinner?’
But, lost in his phone, he was already on his way to his room, and I heard the door close. I looked in on Paula, who was reading, and then went downstairs. I tidied away the work I’d been doing before Stevie had arrived, and then texted Adrian and Lucy to let them know that he was here so they didn’t just come back to find a stranger in their home.
Half an hour later I went up to check if Stevie was all right. Despite his age and apparent confident manner, he was away from his family and in an unfamiliar house. His door was closed so I knocked. ‘It’s Cathy,’ I called.
It was a few moments before he replied. ‘Yes?’
‘Is everything OK?’
Silence, so I knocked again. ‘Are you all right?’ More silence. ‘Can I come in?’
Giving another knock, I slowly opened the door and poked my head round. He was sitting on his bed, completely engrossed in his phone, the bag, not yet unpacked, on the floor. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he said, but some of his charisma had gone and he seemed worried.
‘Sure?’ I asked. He nodded. ‘OK, but don’t sit up here by yourself. Unpack your bag and come down if you want some company.’
He nodded again and I left him with his phone. Little wonder his grandfather had turned off the wi-fi, I thought. But I had some house rules about mobile phones, which I would explain later when his social worker was present.
I checked on Stevie again half an hour later: his bag still hadn’t been unpacked, his phone was on charge and he was gazing out of his bedroom window. His room was at the rear of the house and overlooked the garden, although there wasn’t much to see in winter.
‘Gran phoned me,’ he said quietly, turning from the window. ‘I told her I was OK.’
‘Good. And are you?’
‘What?’
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’ He shrugged.
‘You don’t seem very sure,’ I said gently, taking another step into his room. ‘You know if there’s anything worrying you, you can talk to me.’
‘I doubt it,’ he said under his breath.
‘Stevie, I have three adult children of my own and have fostered a lot of young people. I’m pretty good at listening and I won’t make judgements or be shocked by anything you have to tell me.’
He looked at me, his face serious. There was no sign of the flamboyant lad I’d seen previously. Indeed, he looked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
‘Well?’ I asked. ‘Is there something you’d like to share? It often helps to talk.’
He hesitated as if he might be considering this, then said, ‘No.’
‘All right, but if you change your mind, you know where I am. If I’m busy, or with Adrian, Lucy or Paula, just say, “Cathy, can I talk to you?” and we’ll find somewhere quiet to go for a chat.’ I didn’t want to labour the point, but I knew from fostering and bringing up my own children just how much young people can bottle up their problems so that they escalate and get out of all proportion. The teenage years can be challenging and confusing for children living at home with loving parents, even more so for a young person in care.
‘There is something,’ Stevie said as I was about to leave his room.
‘Yes?’ I stopped and turned.
‘Can I have my pocket money? I have to go out later,’ he said anxiously.
‘Where to?’
‘Just out.’
‘I usually give pocket money on a Saturday,’ I said, ‘but you can have yours early this week. However, I don’t want you going out tonight. Verity is coming soon and then I want you to meet Adrian and Lucy, settle in and get ready for tomorrow.’
‘Why? What’s happening tomorrow?’ he asked.
‘I’m hoping you will be going to school. And one of the things I want to discuss with Verity is when you will be going out. Of course you will want to see your friends, but it won’t be every night. We can decide on days and the times you have to be back when we see your social worker.’
‘But I have to go out today,’ he said, growing more anxious.
‘Why?’ He couldn’t meet my gaze. ‘Stevie, are you in some sort of trouble?’
‘No,’ he said far too quickly. I knew then he was, but he wouldn’t be telling me yet.
Chapter Four
Straight Talking
Verity arrived as planned shortly after three o’clock. ‘Is Stevie still here?’ she asked, as if he might not be.
‘Yes. He’s in his room. Shall I fetch him?’
‘Please.’
‘The living room is through there,’ I said, pointing, and went upstairs to fetch Stevie. ‘Verity is here,’ I said, knocking on his door.
‘I’ll be down later,’ he returned.
‘No, now, please. She needs to see you.’
No response. ‘Can I come in?’ I knocked again and gently eased open the door. He had taken some of his clothes from his bag and dumped them on the bed. I could see what looked like a school uniform, which I thought was hopeful.
‘Gran packed this,’ he said, scowling. ‘She’s left out most of my good stuff.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll sort it out later. Come down now, Verity is here.’ I’ve found before that children of all ages sometimes need things repeating, and often.
Clearly not happy with the clothes his gran had packed – image appeared to be very important to Stevie, more so than the average teenager – he came with me downstairs and into the living room. ‘Hello, how are you settling in?’ Verity asked him brightly, taking a wad of paperwork from her bag-style briefcase.
Stevie shrugged and flopped into one of the easy chairs. ‘I have to go out later, but Cathy won’t let me,’ he said.
‘I’ve asked him to stay in tonight,’ I explained. ‘I think that going out, and coming-home times, is something we need to discuss.’
‘Let’s deal with that first then, shall we?’ Verity said positively and, taking a pen from her bag, she opened a notepad on her lap.
‘At my gran’s I went out whenever I wanted,’ Stevie said ruefully.
‘But that didn’t work, love, did it?’ I said to him.
Stevie and I both looked at Verity for her view, but she didn’t immediately reply. I’ve found before that social workers are sometimes reluctant to talk straight to the teenagers in their care in case it jeopardises their relationship. I didn’t have the same reservations, for ultimately the young person I was fostering was my responsibility and I needed to keep them safe.
‘What do you suggest?’ Verity asked me after a moment.
‘I think it’s reasonable that Stevie sees his friends at the weekends. If he wants to go out then I suggest Friday and/or Saturday evening.’ Stevie was glaring at me, but I continued anyway. ‘During the week he’ll have homework to do, and I am assuming he’ll want to see his grandparents and brother and sister.’
‘That won’t work,’ Stevie said. ‘I need to be able to go out when I want, not when she says.’
I was now seeing a different side to him. Gone was his previous charm and charisma, and here was a belligerent teenager, which, to be honest, I found more natural and quite reassuring.
Verity was waiting for my response. ‘Why won’t it work?’ I asked Stevie. ‘I’m sure your friends have similar arrangements at their homes. We’ll also need to set the time you are to be back, and I’ll need to know where you are going and how you will get home.’
‘That’s fucking ridiculous!’ Stevie stormed. ‘I’m not a kid!’
‘No, but you are still a minor,’ I said.
‘Cathy and I have a duty to protect you and keep you safe,’ Verity added.
‘Bollocks!’ Stevie fumed. ‘You’re like my bleeding grandparents,’ he said to me, and I don’t think he meant it as a compliment.
‘OK,’ Verity said, drawing a breath and addressing Stevie. ‘What if we say you can go out Friday and Saturday, plus one day in the week. Does that help?’
‘A bit,’ he conceded.
‘Good.’
This was far more than Adrian, Lucy and Paula had ever been allowed out at his age, but then going out hadn’t been an issue for them as the boundaries had been in place from the start. It’s far more difficult to change behaviour once it’s set. Stevie, like many teenagers who come into care because of behavioural issues, had been used to his freedom and didn’t want to relinquish it. I had to be realistic and accept a compromise. ‘OK. Coming-home times,’ I said, moving on. ‘I would like Stevie to be back by nine o’clock at the latest on a weekday and nine-thirty at the weekend. I will also need to know where he is and how he will get home.’
‘I won’t know what time I’ll be back,’ he said disparagingly.
‘You will,’ I said, ‘by leaving wherever you are on time.’
‘But what if I can’t? I might not be able to leave and come home when you say.’ Which seemed an odd thing to say, but he was looking worried and that wasn’t my intention at all.
‘You’ll have your phone with you,’ I said. ‘So on the rare occasion you can’t help being late, you can phone or text me. Remember, this isn’t about me wanting to stop you having fun, but about keeping you safe.’
‘Like Gran,’ he said, with less hostility.
So I thought that maybe he was starting to realise his grandparents’ boundaries were not so unreasonable after all.
‘We’ll say nine o’clock on a weekday and ten at the weekend,’ Verity said, making a note. ‘And you’ll let Cathy know where you are and how you are going to get home?’
Stevie shrugged and took his phone from his pocket to check it.
‘Do you have credit on your phone?’ Verity asked him.
‘No,’ he said, without looking up.
‘Can you top it up?’ she said to me.
‘Yes. How much a month?’ The guidelines change in line with inflation and telephone call charges.
‘How much phone credit was your gran giving you?’ Verity asked him.
‘Twenty pounds a month.’
‘We’ll keep to that then,’ Verity said.
I made a note. Stevie nodded and continued scrolling down his phone. This seemed a good time to say what I wanted to in respect of his phone.
