Finding Stevie: A teenager in crisis

Chapter One

‘… and he’s gender-fluid,’ Edith continued. ‘So together with all his behavioural problems his grandparents don’t feel they can look after him any longer.’

‘No, quite, I can see that’s rather a lot to cope with,’ I sympathised. ‘His grandparents must be stretched to the limit, looking after his younger brother and sister too.’

‘So you’ll take him?’ Edith asked. She was my supervising social worker, employed by the local authority to supervise and support their foster carers, of which I was one. She’d just been telling me about Steven, who liked to be known as Stevie. Aged fourteen, he needed a foster home as – according to his grandparents – he was confrontational, moody, withdrawn, stayed out late, didn’t do as they told him, wasn’t going to school and was generally making their lives a complete misery.

‘So I’ll tell his social worker you’ll take him,’ Edith said, slightly impatient at my hesitation.

‘Yes, but I have a question.’

‘Go on.’

‘What does gender-fluid mean?’ I asked reluctantly, not wanting to appear ignorant and make a fool of myself. ‘Is he gay?’

‘Not sure,’ she said. ‘I think it’s mainly to do with whether he is male or female, but his social worker will be able to tell you more. It’s not a problem for you, is it?’

‘No.’

‘Good. I’ll tell his social worker to phone you. They want to move Stevie as quickly as possible.’

‘How quickly?’

‘Within the next few days.’

‘All right.’

‘And you had a good Christmas?’ Edith asked. It was 27 December and the first day back at work for many.

‘Yes, thank you, and you?’

‘Busy.’

We said goodbye and I replaced the handset on its base in the hall. Our Christmas had been a good one, although it was the first since my father had passed away and, as anyone who has lost a loved one knows, the first Christmas and their birthday can be rather emotional. But my family and I had enjoyed ourselves for Dad’s sake; a child at heart, he always loved Christmas.

‘Was that Edith?’ Paula, my youngest daughter, aged nineteen, asked as I returned to the living room. I’d left the room to take the call in the hall so I wouldn’t disturb her. We’d been watching a box set of a detective series, although she’d paused it anyway.

‘Yes, it was,’ I said, returning to sit next to her on the sofa. ‘The social services are bringing a fourteen-year-old boy into care as soon as they can and would like him to come here.’ She nodded. ‘Paula, do you know what gender-fluid means?’ At her age and attending college, I thought she might.