Catriona came to us in a flurry.
It could have been a disaster, but my oldest trick came through.
Normally there's a measured process about a child arriving at your home for fostering.
For carers with an agency such as Blue Sky the process usually begins with a daytime phone call asking if you might be willing to take a child who needs to be fostered.
The phone call gives a pen picture of the child and her circumstances, and, if there are no obvious problems Blue Sky put you down as a possible. They ping your details to the Local Authority which has ultimate responsibility for the child, to see if you fit the bill. Blue Sky send you everything they have that's known about the child, so you can consolidate your willingness.
I can't tell you how exhilarating this episode is! The prospect of a child arriving into your care, becoming part of your home, enjoying your parenting - whatever they've endured - it's heady stuff.
Catriona arrived by a slightly different route.
The phone call came late one night.
Blue Sky had been contacted by a Local Authority which had suddenly taken a child into care.
See, generally a child is taken into care after a process of investigation into the home life of the child by Local Authority social workers. They trawl through the situations in the home and evaluate if the child/children are at risk of safeguarding issues.
If the social workers decide there are sufficient concerns they trigger a high level pow-wow review of the child's vulnerablity, which then decides if the child is to be taken into care.
All very measured.
However, not so with Catriona.
My phone pinged. The time was just after midnight. Blue Sky calling. I was on their list as a potential emergency carer.
The question I was asked was; would I be willing to take a child who police had found wandering the streets in a dubious part of town. The child said her name was Catriona, but blanked other questions such as "Where do you live?", "Who are your mummy or daddy?", "Why are you out of the house at this late hour?"
The officers contacted the Local Authority's 24 hour service, and they put the word out that a bed was needed for a child, and fast.
I said "Yes" and literally ten minutes later a squad car was on its way.
See, the alternative accomodation for Catriona was a police cell, and no-one wants that.
I dressed myself, did a quick zizz of the spare bedroom and boiled a kettle.
Catriona arrived with two officers, a female and a male. Their care for the child made my heart glow.
It was agreed that all necessary paperwork could wait until the morning, they made a couple of phone calls, jotted some notes, and departed.
Catriona was well presented, smart even. It turned out that her good appearance was her own doing, her family didn't give a tinker's cuss about her.
She was totally tight-lipped. I asked about how she was, she shrugged. I asked if she needed the bathroon, she didn't even shrug, just stared down at the kitchen table .
So I fell back on my cheapest trick. I went to the freezer and said "Well as it's late I'm going to have a bowl of ice cream. Not sure whether to have chocolate or strawberry…"
I saw her perk up a little, so I added "How about you? Chocolate or strawberry?'
I watched her litttle face as she wrestled with the problem. The REAL problem.
The real problem wasn't chocolate or strawberry. The real problem was whether to relax and engage with a stranger of an adult.
Catriona gave in;
"Chocolate…please."
Cue engagement.
Ok, we didn't talk way into the night, but ice cream had broken the ice.
She absolutley savoured every spoonfull.
Catriona wasn't with us very long, a more permanent foster home was secured a better distance from her chaotic home.
But I'll never forget her licking the spoon.
Or, even better, her smile when I asked:
"D'you want a drop more?"