Authors: Cathy Glass
Goodbyes are important, although painful, and saying goodbye to Zeena was particularly painful, because her story wasn’t going to have a happy ending. When we usually said goodbye to the children we fostered they were returning home after their parent(s) had got over their problems and were making a fresh start, or they were going to an adoptive home where we knew they would be loved and cared for, but this wasn’t true for Zeena. She was leaving us to go to an unknown and temporary destination where she would have no family or friends to support her, and with the stress of the court case looming. It was difficult to stay positive.
At 8.30 a.m. Paula stood in the hall saying goodbye to Zeena.
‘I’m going to miss you,’ she said.
‘I’ll miss you too,’ Zeena said, and threw her arms around her. ‘Thank you for listening. I don’t know what I’d have done without you. I wish I didn’t have to leave.’
It was heartbreaking and I swallowed hard. ‘We’ll all text and phone,’ I reassured them both.
‘Yes, we will,’ Paula said, her voice catching.
‘It’s not the same as having you there,’ Zeena said, and her tears began to fall.
‘Come on, one last hug,’ I said gently. ‘And then Paula has to go to school.’
‘Bye,’ Paula said. ‘Look after yourself.’
‘And you,’ Zeena managed to say.
‘We’ll text,’ Paula said, finally moving towards the front door.
‘We will,’ Zeena said.
‘Bye, love,’ I called as Paula went out. ‘See you later.’
‘Bye,’ she said, but didn’t look back.
Zeena stood beside me as Paula went down the front garden path and then disappeared onto the pavement. I closed the front door and held Zeena until she’d stopped crying and felt a bit better.
We hadn’t had breakfast, so I took her into the kitchen and persuaded her to have a little something – yoghurt and cereal. Unsurprisingly, she wasn’t hungry, but very quiet and subdued. I was in no mood to make light conversation either, so I put the radio on in the background. I explained the arrangements to Zeena as Norma had asked me to, so she knew that Ursula would be collecting her at noon. Adrian got up, and after he’d showered and dressed he came down for breakfast. I told him Zeena was leaving at twelve.
‘Oh, that quickly,’ he said.
Like many boys, Adrian had never been one to show his feelings and tended to internalize them, and of course Zeena had been closer to Lucy and Paula, but he was clearly moved by her words: ‘I wish I had an older brother like you,’ she said. ‘Someone to look out for me, like you do for Lucy and Paula. They’re very lucky. Thanks for being here for me.’
It was a simple, heartfelt message and Adrian concentrated hard on pouring his tea as he said, ‘Thank you, Zeena. That was kind of you. I hope it all works out for you.’
It was now after nine o’clock and we hadn’t started packing, so, leaving Adrian to his breakfast, Zeena and I went upstairs.
‘I’ve got so much stuff now,’ she said. ‘How will I take it all with me?’
‘I have some large folding holdalls,’ I said. I always kept some for when a foster child had to move. I fetched them from on top of my wardrobe and carried them into Zeena’s room where I placed them on the floor.
With her bedroom window open onto another fine day, Zeena and I took a holdall each and worked side by side, folding her clothes and packing them with her other belongings. She certainly had lots more possessions now than when she’d first arrived: clothes bought by me, and other things from her allowance.
At ten o’clock Adrian knocked on her door and then poked his head round. ‘I’m off to work now,’ he said, ‘so I’ll say goodbye. Take care, Zeena.’
‘And you,’ she said. Standing, she went over and gave him a quick hug. He smiled and ruffled her hair, as he did sometimes to Lucy and Paula.
‘Bye, then,’ he said to us both.
‘Bye, love. Have a good day,’ I said.
Zeena and I returned to the packing and just after eleven o’clock we’d finished. Then she remembered her wash things in the bathroom. While she fetched these I checked around her room to make sure we hadn’t missed anything. Then we carried her bags downstairs and stacked them in the hall. I could feel the emotion between us heighten as the time of her leaving approached. I hadn’t had a chance to buy her a leaving gift, as I usually did when a child left, so I gave her £40 to buy something.
‘There’s no need for that,’ she said, trying to give the money back to me. ‘You’ve done enough for me already.’
‘Take it,’ I said. ‘Spend it on credit for your mobile if there’s nothing else you want.’ I persuaded her to accept it.
We went through to the living room and sat on the sofa to wait, and I asked Zeena if she’d like to telephone my parents to say goodbye.
‘Yes, I would,’ she said. ‘They’ve been so kind to me.’
I dialled my parents’ number and Mum answered. I explained why I was phoning and she was surprised that Zeena was moving so quickly. I passed the phone to Zeena and she said a very sweet goodbye, thanking my mother for making her feel welcome. Mum then passed the phone to Dad.
‘Thank you for showing me your garden and teaching me about plants and fish,’ Zeena said. ‘I’ll always remember you and your garden. I wish I had grandparents like you.’ Which I knew would choke up my father, as it did me.
Dad said it had been his pleasure and wished her well for the future, and then Zeena returned the phone to me to say goodbye.
It was now 11.45, fifteen minutes before Zeena had to leave. Seated together on the sofa, we gazed out through the patio windows to the garden beyond.
‘I enjoyed last night,’ she said reflectively.
‘Yes, so did I. I’ll give you a copy of the photographs as soon as I’ve had them printed. I’ll also include a group one with Adrian in it.’
‘Thank you. I’ll think of you all when I look at them.’ And unable to hold back her tears, she began to cry again.
I slipped my arm around her and held her close. ‘I know how difficult this is, love, but it is to keep you safe. And remember, you can phone and text as often as you like. I can always send you more phone credit if you run out. Norma said you’d be well looked after, and I’m sure you’ll soon make new friends.’ There wasn’t much more I could say. Zeena had to leave for her own safety; there wasn’t any choice.
I was almost relieved when the agony of her impending departure came to an end at 11.55 when the doorbell rang.
‘That’ll be Ursula,’ I said.
Zeena came with me down the hall and I checked in the security spy-hole before I opened the door. I didn’t have to ask Ursula for her ID as she was already showing me the wallet containing her identity card.
‘I’m Ursula,’ she said, with a cheery smile. ‘Norma sent me.’
‘Hello, I’m Cathy, and this is Zeena.’
Zeena stood beside me and managed a small nod.
‘All packed and ready for your journey?’ Ursula asked her.
‘Yes,’ she said, and her bottom lip trembled.
‘Great. Let’s get going, then,’ she said.
‘Would you like a coffee before you set off?’ I offered as she came into the hall to help with the bags.
‘That’s kind of you, but I’d rather we got going. We can always have a tea stop on the way. I’ll phone you once we’re there.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
The three of us loaded the car – it didn’t take long; what wouldn’t fit in the boot went on the back seat. I carried the last bag out and stayed on the pavement, ready to say goodbye. Ursula climbed into the driver’s seat but didn’t start the engine. I didn’t want to upset Zeena further by a very emotional goodbye, so I gave her a big hug and then drew back.
‘Take care, love,’ I said. ‘We’ll speak soon.’
Ursula opened the passenger door from inside and Zeena got in.
‘Bye love,’ I said as I closed the door. She looked so sad I wanted to wrap her in my arms and never let her go.
Ursula started the engine and with a little wave she pulled away. Zeena didn’t wave – I don’t think she could. She looked at me through the window and her face crumpled again into tears. I felt utterly wretched. It was heartbreaking, and the worst ending ever.
I went indoors, but only briefly. I needed to keep occupied. It would be another two hours at least before Zeena arrived at the refuge. I hadn’t left the house since Tara and Norma’s visit on Friday, so I needed to do some grocery shopping. I unhooked my handbag from the hall stand and then drove to the hypermarket on the edge of town. It was very busy as usual, and I took some comfort in the hustle and bustle around me as I pushed the trolley up and down the aisles, all the while listening out for my mobile, which was in my handbag with the volume on high. It didn’t go off but when I returned home there was a message on the landline answerphone from Ursula: ‘Just to let you know we had a good journey and I’ve left Zeena to settle in.’ The message was timed at 3.30 p.m. It was now four o’clock. Paula arrived home and I told her Zeena was at the refuge and settling in, but she went very quiet. It would take time for her and the rest of us to adjust to Zeena’s absence. We’d all feel a bit better once Zeena had been in touch.
Contact between a foster carer and a child after the child has left has to be carefully gauged; enough that the child knows they are still thought of and cared about, but not too much that they are unsettled by constant reminders of the life they’ve left behind. This contact is often included when planning the child’s move to permanency, but that hadn’t happened with Zeena and, at her age, unless the social worker told me to the contrary, it was largely what the young person wanted and felt comfortable with.
‘Do you think it would be OK if I texted Zeena to ask how she’s doing?’ Paula asked a while later.
‘Yes. I think she’d appreciate that,’ I said. ‘What will you say?’
She showed me the text before she sent it:
Hi. How’s it going? Luv Paula xx.
‘That’s fine,’ I said.
An hour passed but there was no reply from Zeena, so I texted:
Hi love, hope all is going well. Cathy x.
Again, there was no reply.
When Lucy came in shortly after six o’clock she said, ‘Has anyone heard from Zeena? I texted her twice but she hasn’t replied.’
‘No,’ I said. I told her about the answerphone message from Ursula and that Paula and I had both texted. ‘So I think we need to leave it for now and wait until Zeena is ready to get in touch,’ I said. Which the girls agreed to do.
We didn’t hear anything from Zeena for the rest of that day, or the next – Thursday. However, Paula received a letter advising her that she had been successful in the job interview and was being offered work for the summer. We were all very pleased. On Friday morning Adrian packed a bag for his weekend away with Kirsty and when she arrived, as promised Adrian introduced her to me. She was a lovely girl who was training to be a teacher. I wished them a nice weekend and waved them off at the door.
Half an hour later Tara telephoned. I was relieved to hear from her but my relief was short-lived. She didn’t go into detail but said she’d spoken to Gwen, the manager of the women’s refuge, and also to Zeena, whom she described as ‘struggling’. Tara said she thought that Zeena would feel more settled once she started school and could make friends her own age. She also said that Zeena had asked her to tell me that she hadn’t replied to our texts, or phoned, because she would find it too upsetting at present, but she sent her love. Tara thanked me for all we’d done for Zeena and we said goodbye. Officially, this was the end of my involvement with Zeena, and I wasn’t expecting to hear from Tara again.
Being aware that Zeena was too upset to speak to us and was ‘struggling’ did nothing to help my fears for her wellbeing, but worse was to come. On Friday afternoon the landline rang and when I answered it I heard Zeena sobbing uncontrollably.
‘Oh, Cathy. I’m so unhappy. Can you come and collect me, please? I can’t stay here. Please come and collect me. I want to come home.’
It was one of the most upsetting calls I’d ever taken from a foster child.
‘I can’t bring you home, love,’ I said gently. ‘It wouldn’t be safe for you here, you know that. Try to calm down and we can talk. Where are you now?’
‘In my room,’ she said, her breath catching as she sobbed. ‘I stay in my room. I feel so lonely. All the others here are older than me. Oh, Cathy, what can I do?’
It was pitiful and being so far away I was impotent to help.
‘Have you tried talking to some of the other women there?’ I asked. ‘They might be feeling lonely too.’
‘No. I can’t. I want to come back to you, even if it’s unsafe. I miss you all, and my little brothers and sisters.’
‘I know, love. And hopefully we’ll all see each other again soon.’
‘Do you know where this refuge is?’ she asked between sobs.
‘Not exactly, no.’
‘Why didn’t they tell you?’
‘Because it’s a safe house and its location has to be kept secret.’
‘I don’t know where I am either,’ she said, and sobbed louder. ‘I’m so unhappy. I wish I’d never been born.’
‘Oh, love, don’t say that, please,’ I said. ‘Once you start school you’ll make friends,’ I added, repeating what Tara had said.
But Zeena cried all the more.
‘Have you spoken to Gwen, the lady who runs the refuge?’ I now asked, trying to think of a positive suggestion.
‘A bit, when I first arrived,’ she said. ‘She showed me my room. But she’s always busy with the other women’s problems. It’s not like when I was with you. You always had time to listen and talk to me.’ And her crying continued.
I thought that at her age Zeena needed a foster family, not an institution, however caring and well intentioned it was, but there hadn’t been a suitable foster home available.
‘Have you told Gwen or Tara how you feel?’ I asked.
‘I told Tara when she phoned yesterday,’ Zeena said. ‘But she told me I had to give myself time, and that she was looking for a foster family around here. But I don’t want to stay here, Cathy. I want to come back. They can’t make me stay, can they?’
The simple answer was no, but I didn’t want Zeena thinking that she could remove herself from the refuge. She was there for a good reason – her safety.