not on,’ she said. ‘I’ll raise it with Jo. She should have asked you or me first before she gave out your details. She’ll need to speak to his mother and explain that’s not acceptable. Are you all right taking Max to the hospital to visit her?’ Foster carers are expected to transport the child or children they look after to and from contact.
‘Yes, although I’ll have to take Adrian and Paula with me. I can’t leave them with a sitter every time. Do we know how long Max will be seeing his mother for each evening? Visiting is two till eight.’
‘I don’t know yet. We’ll raise it with Jo, and also find out if you have to stay on the ward with him. There’s a café in the hospital with a children’s play area. It would be better if you could wait there.’
‘Yes, thanks. That would be useful. I doubt if there’d be time for me to come home.’
I handed her the glass of water and we went into the living room and settled on the sofa and chair. Jill asked Adrian and Paula how they were.
‘Very well, thank you,’ Adrian said politely. Paula went into shy mode and came over and sat on my lap, even though she knew Jill from previous visits.
‘Are you looking forward to meeting Max?’ Jill asked, making conversation and trying to put them at ease.
Paula managed a small nod, while Adrian said a rather formal, ‘Yes, thank you.’
Jill smiled. ‘It’s a lovely day,’ she said, glancing towards the garden.
‘They’re hoping Max will want to play outside,’ I said. The patio doors were slightly open and through them came the warm air and the sounds of summer.
‘I’m sure he will,’ Jill said. ‘You’ve got a nice big garden to run and play in.’
A few minutes later the doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be Jo with Max,’ I said, lifting Paula from my lap and standing. Toscha also looked up.
Paula slipped her hand into mine and came with me, while Adrian stayed with Jill. I opened the front door with a warm, welcoming smile. ‘Hello, I’m Cathy.’
‘Hello, Cathy, I’m Jo, and this is Max.’
My gaze went to the child standing beside Jo and I had to hide my shock. Dressed in a light blue shirt and navy trousers from his school uniform, he was sweating profusely. Beads of sweat stood on his forehead and ran down his face. His hair glistened and his shirt was wringing wet. He had one hand resting on the wall to support himself, as an elderly person might, and he was struggling to catch his breath. Yes, it was a warm day, but that didn’t account for Max’s obvious distress. What was responsible – and what no one had thought to mention – was that Max was dreadfully overweight.
‘He needs to sit down,’ Jo said, coming in. ‘He’s got an inhaler in here somewhere.’ She began undoing the school bag she was holding as Max took hold of the doorframe and heaved himself over the doorstep into the hall.
‘Sit down here, love, until you get your breath,’ I said, directing him to the chair we kept in the hall by the telephone.
He dropped into it as Jo took his inhaler from his school bag, shook it and passed it to him. ‘Do you know how to use it?’ she asked.
Max nodded, gave it another shake, put it to his mouth, took a deep breath, held it and then exhaled. Jo looked as worried as I was.
‘I didn’t know he had an inhaler,’ I said to her. The foster carer should be told of any medical conditions during the first phone call about the child.
‘I didn’t know either until I collected him,’ Jo said, clearly stressed. Max took a second breath from his pump.
‘Has he got asthma then?’ I asked. Clearly I needed to know so I could be prepared.
‘I’m assuming so. I’ll find out when I see Caz later.’
Max had administered the second pump and now returned the inhaler to Jo. ‘It’s just two pumps?’ she asked him.
‘Yes,’ he said, his voice husky.
Jill appeared at the end of the hall. ‘Is everything all right?’ I could tell from the look on her face that she hadn’t been informed of Max’s asthma or obesity either. Paula had taken a few steps back and was looking at Max from a short distance, very concerned. In addition to the drama of him needing his asthma pump and Jo’s and my concern, this clearly wasn’t the child Paula had been expecting. He wasn’t simply chubby or what one would describe as a bit overweight; my guess was that he was at least twice the size he should have been, overfed to the point where it was obviously affecting his health and quality of life.
‘Shall we go into the living room?’ I suggested to Max now his breathing had settled. ‘I’ll fetch you a drink.’
The poor child heaved himself off the chair and not so much walked as waddled down the hall towards Jill. I always try not to judge, but seeing him in so much obvious discomfort, I thought that, assuming he didn’t have a medical condition, whoever had allowed him to get into this state, presumably his mother, was as guilty of child abuse as if he’d been beaten. This hadn’t happened overnight; it had taken years of over-eating – probably all his life – for him to get like this.
Chapter Three
I saw Adrian do a double take as Max entered the living room, but to his credit he quickly recovered and said a welcoming, ‘Hi, I’m Adrian.’
Max nodded and lumbered over to the sofa where he heaved himself onto the seat and sat back. Jo sat beside him as Jill took one of the easy chairs. ‘What would you like to drink?’ I asked Max.
‘Cola,’ he said in a husky voice.
‘I’m afraid I haven’t got any of that,’ I said. Like many parents and carers, aware of how bad sweet fizzy drinks were for children’s teeth I limited them to special occasions. ‘You could have water, fruit juice, milk or squash,’ I offered.
‘Juice,’ he said.
‘Jo, what would you like?’ I asked.
‘A black coffee, please.’
Paula came with me to make the drinks and was clearly worried. As soon as we were out of earshot she said quietly to me, ‘What’s the matter with Max?’
‘He got a bit out of breath. He’ll be all right soon when he’s sat quietly and had a drink.’ But I knew that wasn’t the only reason for Paula’s question. It was impossible even for a young child (who are generally very accepting of differences) not to notice Max’s size.
‘Will he be able to play with us?’ she asked as I made Jo’s coffee.
‘Yes, of course, love.’
‘How will he ride the bike we got out for him?’
‘We’ll find some games he can play,’ I said positively. ‘Now, come on, stop worrying. We’ll take him his drink.’
I poured Max’s juice and carried it with Jo’s coffee into the living room where Jo and Jill were chatting lightly to Max, trying to put him at ease. Adrian was on the floor by the toy box, stroking Toscha. Paula went over and joined him. I gave Jo and Max their drinks and sat in another easy chair. Then a horrendous thought occurred to me. I looked at Jo. ‘Animal fur doesn’t affect Max’s breathing, does it?’ It is for reasons like this that any medical condition should be discussed with the foster carer at the time of the referral, not once the child has arrived. Children with allergies to animal fur generally have to be placed in foster families where there are no pets.
‘Not as far as I know,’ Jo said,