even mentioned the possibility of adoption for Laurel. So when her social worker came round one day, I asked her what was happening about it.
‘Yes, we’ve been hoping to put Laurel up for adoption,’ she said. ‘But the fact she has no legal parents or relatives makes it much harder to process the paperwork. I
believe a child can only be put up for adoption if his or her parents or closest relatives sign their consent to it. In Laurel’s case, she has no known relatives, so I think we first have to
make her a ward of court and then go through the court to gain consent for each stage of the adoption process, if Social Services decide to go that way. I’m sure they would if they could,
because that way they wouldn’t have to pay towards her keep.’
‘Wasn’t she made a ward of court when she was found?’ I asked.
‘Apparently not. Probably because of the police investigations to try and find her mother or any relatives. They went on for quite some time, so it wouldn’t be possible to go for
Ward of Court until the police signed off her case.’
‘But I thought they’d done that by now?’
‘To be honest, Trisha, I don’t know. They don’t tell me things like that. I’m just Laurel’s social worker, after all.’ I detected a hint of irony in her
answer,
‘And I’m only her foster mother,’ I added. We both smiled.
‘I’ll see what I can find out,’ she said. ‘I’ll let you know.’
Daisy and Paul had been with us for four years and we loved them to bits. Most of our foster children were now at school, so that gave me a bit of respite during the day, with
only three little ones at home, although that was sometimes more time-consuming, without the older ones to keep them entertained. I did miss Lizzie, but she’d gone off to university now, as I
knew she might. However, she came home quite often and always loved to help when I needed her most, during the school holidays.
Daisy loved school and did have a few friends there, but she was never invited round to tea or to play with any of them. Nor did she ever bring anyone back home. If I suggested it she went
quiet. I suppose she was inclined to keep herself to herself, finding her own space, which was difficult in our house. But now she could read anything and loved reading longer books, when she
wasn’t drawing or knitting. Somebody gave her a Spirograph for her birthday, and she loved making patterns with it, which she coloured in beautifully.
Based on their characters and likes, it was hard to think of Daisy and Paul as siblings. He was always the action man, in the thick of things, cheeky and mischievous, sometimes a bit pushy. He
was occasionally invited somewhere for tea . . . but never a second time. The trouble was, he grew very sturdy and didn’t realise the impact of his own strength.
At about this time, we had a succession of emergency and short-stay placements. Most of them hardly stayed long enough for us to get to know them.
Then after a lull of a few weeks, there was another call from Social Services.
‘Can you take a little one?’ asked the woman on the phone.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I told you I couldn’t have any more young babies.’
‘Yes, I know, Mrs Merry, but Mandy is not a baby. She is nearly two years old and her family live nearby. Her father is particularly keen to have her near enough to visit regularly, so
please, do you think you could reconsider? It would be a perfect placement for this child.’
So I agreed and, as I put the phone down, I wondered about Mandy’s mother. Why had she not been mentioned in the same sentence as her father? Maybe something had gone wrong there?
So Mandy came to join us. She was a lovely-looking child with dark wavy hair and rich brown eyes, but quite stubborn, and even at not quite two I could see she was a bright little button –
I could almost hear her thinking. It looked like this child was going to be challenging in her own way, but I’ve always relished
‘Yes, we’ve been hoping to put Laurel up for adoption,’ she said. ‘But the fact she has no legal parents or relatives makes it much harder to process the paperwork. I
believe a child can only be put up for adoption if his or her parents or closest relatives sign their consent to it. In Laurel’s case, she has no known relatives, so I think we first have to
make her a ward of court and then go through the court to gain consent for each stage of the adoption process, if Social Services decide to go that way. I’m sure they would if they could,
because that way they wouldn’t have to pay towards her keep.’
‘Wasn’t she made a ward of court when she was found?’ I asked.
‘Apparently not. Probably because of the police investigations to try and find her mother or any relatives. They went on for quite some time, so it wouldn’t be possible to go for
Ward of Court until the police signed off her case.’
‘But I thought they’d done that by now?’
‘To be honest, Trisha, I don’t know. They don’t tell me things like that. I’m just Laurel’s social worker, after all.’ I detected a hint of irony in her
answer,
‘And I’m only her foster mother,’ I added. We both smiled.
‘I’ll see what I can find out,’ she said. ‘I’ll let you know.’
Daisy and Paul had been with us for four years and we loved them to bits. Most of our foster children were now at school, so that gave me a bit of respite during the day, with
only three little ones at home, although that was sometimes more time-consuming, without the older ones to keep them entertained. I did miss Lizzie, but she’d gone off to university now, as I
knew she might. However, she came home quite often and always loved to help when I needed her most, during the school holidays.
Daisy loved school and did have a few friends there, but she was never invited round to tea or to play with any of them. Nor did she ever bring anyone back home. If I suggested it she went
quiet. I suppose she was inclined to keep herself to herself, finding her own space, which was difficult in our house. But now she could read anything and loved reading longer books, when she
wasn’t drawing or knitting. Somebody gave her a Spirograph for her birthday, and she loved making patterns with it, which she coloured in beautifully.
Based on their characters and likes, it was hard to think of Daisy and Paul as siblings. He was always the action man, in the thick of things, cheeky and mischievous, sometimes a bit pushy. He
was occasionally invited somewhere for tea . . . but never a second time. The trouble was, he grew very sturdy and didn’t realise the impact of his own strength.
At about this time, we had a succession of emergency and short-stay placements. Most of them hardly stayed long enough for us to get to know them.
Then after a lull of a few weeks, there was another call from Social Services.
‘Can you take a little one?’ asked the woman on the phone.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I told you I couldn’t have any more young babies.’
‘Yes, I know, Mrs Merry, but Mandy is not a baby. She is nearly two years old and her family live nearby. Her father is particularly keen to have her near enough to visit regularly, so
please, do you think you could reconsider? It would be a perfect placement for this child.’
So I agreed and, as I put the phone down, I wondered about Mandy’s mother. Why had she not been mentioned in the same sentence as her father? Maybe something had gone wrong there?
So Mandy came to join us. She was a lovely-looking child with dark wavy hair and rich brown eyes, but quite stubborn, and even at not quite two I could see she was a bright little button –
I could almost hear her thinking. It looked like this child was going to be challenging in her own way, but I’ve always relished
Similar Books
