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Within half an hour I had signed several copies of the Placement Planning Agreement. Most of the form was blank since so little was known about Phoebe but the basic facts were there, along with her parents’ details. Their address caught my attention – Rosewood Drive, a rather prestigious road several miles from us, with manicured lawns and substantial houses. So, the family must be fairly well-to-do, I thought to myself, which tied in with her well-spoken accent. Most of the children I had cared for in the past were from impoverished backgrounds.

Every family has its problems, I mused. ‘Is she on any medication to control her …?’ But Lenke zipped up her bag, then stood, tying her belt around her coat. I guess that’s a no then, I thought. She began drifting from the room, her relief palpable.

‘Well, that is all I know for now. I’ll leave you to it, Rosie. Bye bye, Phoebe.’

Phoebe barked in response.

‘Good luck, Rosie,’ Lenke called out over her shoulder as I stood on the doorstep, waving her off. ‘Ah, I forgot to mention one more thing: the school says that Phoebe has the condition called pica so you need to be careful about leaving her unsupervised.’ I stared at her agog but she scuttled down the path without a backward glance. She may as well have shouted, ‘See you, wouldn’t want to be you!’ Not for the first time since I received the initial call about Phoebe, I was filled with a growing trepidation.

I remembered from our initial training that children with pica were inclined to eat inedible objects. I had no personal experience of the condition but guessed it meant that Phoebe would have to be treated like a toddler: any object could be a potential choking hazard. I was beginning to understand how difficult it must have been for her parents to cope with her.

It was as I closed the door that a strange groaning noise from the dining room drew me back. Emily called out, ‘Mum, I think maybe you should come here …’

Rushing back into the room I noticed the look of concern on Emily’s face as she watched Phoebe standing on the table with her legs spread wide, loudly remonstrating with thin air. Her arms flailed wildly as she spewed words out in no meaningful order – ‘You get that off, pens so useless, rip it out, bitch!’