events and any disclosures the child may make about their past. As well as charting the child’s progress, it can act as an aide-mémoire. When the child leaves this record is placed on file at the social services. Opening my folder, I took a fresh sheet of paper and headed it with the date. I wrote a short objective account of Molly and Kit’s arrival and their evening with us. I was just finishing when I heard a bang come from Molly and Kit’s room. I shot upstairs. Paula had heard it too and had come out of her room and was on the landing. ‘Whatever was that?’ she asked, concerned.
We went into the children’s bedroom. By the dimmed light we could see they were both still asleep and nothing seemed out of place, but I noticed that Kit had turned over.
‘I think it might have been his plaster cast banging against the cot slats,’ I whispered to Paula. I couldn’t see any other explanation.
We stood for a moment, looking at them. ‘They’re such sweet kids,’ Paula whispered. I nodded. They were indeed, and generally appeared to have been well looked after, apart from the injuries to Kit’s face and arm. They hadn’t arrived filthy, in rags and with their hair full of nits. Yet all those visits to the doctor and hospital told a very different story, one that I hoped would become clearer in time.
By 10.30 p.m. we were all in our bedrooms either getting ready for bed or in bed (none of us stays up late during the working week). When I said goodnight to Adrian, Lucy and Paula, I told them that if they heard the children in the night to turn over and go back to sleep, as I would settle them. I was expecting a broken night, and I wasn’t disappointed. Just as I was dropping off to sleep, around 11 p.m., Molly woke and began to cry out hysterically, ‘Mummy, Mummy, where are you? Mummy!’
I was straight out of bed and, throwing on my dressing gown, I hurried round the landing, hoping her cries hadn’t woken Kit.
‘Ssh, quiet, love,’ I said as I went into their room. She was standing by her bed. ‘Do you want the toilet?’ I asked her quietly. She shook her head.
‘I want my mummy!’ she cried.
‘I know, love. You’re safe. Let’s get you into bed.’ I persuaded her in and had just got her to lie down when Kit woke with a start behind me and, crying, stood up in his cot.
‘Mummy!’ he sobbed.
Leaving Molly, I turned to him.
‘Come on, love, lie down. It’s OK.’ I laid him on his side. It was awkward with the plaster cast. As I settled him, Molly started crying again.
‘I want my mummy,’ she wept, sitting up in bed.
‘Ssh, love. It’s OK,’ I said, going to her. Kit immediately stood up and sobbed loudly.
Lucy appeared in her pyjamas. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been woken,’ I said.
‘I wasn’t asleep.’
She went to Kit and began talking to him gently, laying him down each time he stood and rubbing his back as I soothed Molly. It was so much easier with two and after about fifteen minutes the children were asleep again and we crept out. I thanked Lucy and we returned to our bedrooms. About an hour later I heard Molly crying again. I wasn’t asleep and managed to get to her before she woke Kit or anyone else. I stayed with her until she was asleep again and then returned to my own bed. I didn’t immediately go back to sleep but lay in the dark, listening out for them. I heard Kit’s plaster cast bang on the side of the cot as he turned over, then I must have dropped off, for I woke with a start at 2 a.m. Kit and Molly were both crying.
Light-headed from lack of sleep and getting out of bed too quickly, I rushed round the landing and into their bedroom. Molly was standing in the middle of the room. ‘I need a wee-wee,’ she wept.
‘This way, love,’ I said, and quickly guided her to the toilet. We got there just in time. Kit was still crying loudly and I heard Lucy’s bedroom door open.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said to her as I steered Molly back to her bed. Lucy was kneeling beside Kit’s cot with her hand between the slats, gently rubbing his back. She looked as shattered as I felt.
‘It’s OK, Mum,’ she said, yawning. ‘It’s their first night. They’re bound to be upset. I’m sure they’ll be better tomorrow.’ Which was the reassurance I needed and I was grateful.
It took about twenty minutes for us to settle the children again and then Lucy and I returned to our beds. The next time Molly woke I got to her in time (I don’t think I was properly asleep) and managed to resettle her before she woke Kit. I was starting to wonder if having them together was a good idea or whether I should move Kit’s cot into my bedroom. Foster carers are allowed to have babies and toddlers in their bedroom (but not their beds) up to the age of two. I’d find out from the children’s parents tomorrow if they were used to sleeping together. It’s information like this and the child’s routine that is invaluable to foster carers when helping a child to settle.
Both children woke around 5 a.m. and I managed to settle them by myself. I think they were so tired they didn’t put up much resistance. Ten minutes later I was in my bed again but I couldn’t sleep. I lay in the dark with my thoughts buzzing and at 6 a.m. I showered and dressed so I was ready to meet the day. Adrian, Lucy and Paula took turns in the bathroom from seven o’clock, which was usual on a week day. When I asked Paula if she’d heard the children in the night, she said she had but, aware that Lucy was helping, she had turned over and gone back to sleep. ‘We can take it in turns, Mum,’ she offered. ‘I’ll get up tonight.’
‘That’s kind of you. I’m hoping they’ll sleep a bit better tonight.’
‘But if not, I can help.’
‘Thanks, love.’
Incredibly, when I asked Adrian if he’d been woken by Molly and Kit, he hadn’t, although he slept in the room next to theirs.
‘Typical guy,’ Lucy teased him. ‘Only hears what he wants to.’
The children didn’t wake again until just before 8 a.m. I heard Molly talking to Kit and went straight to their bedroom. ‘Good morning,’ I said brightly, smiling. Molly was standing by Kit’s cot holding his hand through the slats. Although they weren’t crying, they were clearly sad and confused.
‘Where’s my mummy?’ Molly asked straight away, turning to me and dropping Kit’s hand.
‘She’s at home, love. You’ll see her before too long.’ I couldn’t give firm details until Tess told me the arrangements for contact.
‘Can I go home now?’ Molly asked imploringly. ‘I promise to be good.’ I could have wept.
‘You are good, love,’ I said, giving her a hug. ‘That’s not the reason you’re staying with me. Your mummy and daddy need a bit of help, so I’m looking after you for a while.’
She stared at me wide-eyed and uncomprehending. I thought it best to keep her occupied and concentrated on something else. ‘Can you show me what a big girl you are and dress yourself while I see to your brother?’ I asked her. ‘Here are your clothes.’ I pointed to them on the bed and then lifted Kit out of his cot.
‘I need to do a wee-wee,’ she said.
‘Good girl for telling me.’
I took Kit with us as I helped Molly in the toilet and then we returned to their bedroom. With a bit of encouragement, Molly began to dress herself and I dressed Kit. Paula, Lucy and Adrian either looked in to say goodbye or called from the hall as they left.
Many toddlers of Kit’s age are like wriggly worms when you try to change their nappies and dress them, seeing it as a game. Kit just lay there on the changing mat, unresponsive and staring at me, clearly wondering where his mummy and daddy were, what he was doing here and who the hell I was. I smiled at him and spoke gently as I worked, so hopefully he could see I was friendly and would do him no