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‘Daw’ bye,’ he said; then he crumpled his face to look like mine. I couldn’t help but smile.

‘Dawn’s going, and we will be sad,’ I said. ‘So we need to be brave and say goodbye to Dawn.’

‘Bye Daw’,’ Adrian said, and taking my tissue he wiped away the last of my tears. I kissed him and gave him a big hug.

Rallying myself I heaved the suitcase and all the bags downstairs, one at a time, opening and closing the stair gate each time so that Adrian couldn’t follow me downstairs. By the time I had finished and they were all stacked in the hall, it was just after twelve. I brought Adrian down and took him through to the lounge, where I phoned John at work and told him Dawn was going.

‘That’s quick,’ he said, shocked. ‘I won’t have a chance to say goodbye.’

‘I know. I’ll have to say goodbye for you.’

‘And give her my love and say we’ll visit as soon as we are allowed to.’

‘I will.’

At exactly 12.30 p.m. the door bell rang and, steeling myself, I took hold of Adrian’s hand, and led him down the hall.

Dawn was on the doorstep, with Barbara and Ruth standing just behind.

‘Come on in,’ I said, welcoming her. ‘You’re looking so much better, Dawn.’ She had some colour to her face, and I thought her expression had lost some of its quiet, reflective sadness, which I had seen so often in the past. It was as if she had decided, at last, to accept help and was relieved to have made that decision.

She smiled, and the three of them came into the hall.

‘I’ve got everything ready,’ I said, nodding at the cases. ‘Would you like a drink before you set off?’

‘No thanks,’ Ruth said. ‘We’ve got a long journey and I’d like to get on the road.’

I nodded, and I looked at Dawn and Barbara as we stood awkwardly in the hall, not knowing what to say or do.

‘I’ll put Dawn’s bags in the car,’ Ruth said, ‘while you two say goodbye.’

Dawn, Barbara and I moved down the hall a little, so that Ruth could get to Dawn’s luggage. Adrian wrapped his arms tightly round Dawn’s legs to stop her from going, and buried his face in them. She bent down to pick him up, but as she tried to lift him she grimaced and touched her wrists, as if the stitches had pulled. She knelt down to cuddle him instead.

‘All the best,’ I said to Barbara, as Dawn hugged Adrian. ‘Take care and have a safe journey. You will let me know how Dawn is doing, and when we can visit?’

‘Of course, Cathy. And thanks for everything. I know you will always hold a special place in Dawn’s heart, and I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.’ She put her arms around me and we hugged, as Ruth returned to the hall for more of Dawn’s bags.

‘Goodbye, then, little man,’ Dawn said, finally straightening. ‘I’m going to miss you.’ She turned to me. ‘Goodbye, Cathy.’

We looked at each other for a moment and then she fell into my arms and, burying her head in my shoulder, sobbed. ‘I’m going to miss you, Cathy, and Adrian, and John. You will forgive me, won’t you? I didn’t mean any of it.’

‘There’s nothing to forgive, love,’ I said, holding her and stroking her hair. ‘Please stop blaming yourself. You’re a good girl, and I know everything will work out fine. John sends his love; he’s sorry he can’t be here to say goodbye.’ I glanced over Dawn’s shoulder to Barbara, who was fighting back tears.

‘All done,’ Ruth said, returning to the hall.

I gave Dawn another big hug, and then gently eased her away. I looked into her eyes, wet with tears. ‘Dawn, love, I want you to remember that none of this is your fault. And in time you will come to see that. We’re going to miss you and we’ll be thinking of you.’

She nodded and I wiped her wet cheeks with my hand. ‘Now come on, I want to see you smile before you go. I don’t want to remember you in tears.’

She sniffed, and then managed to raise a smile.

‘Bye, then, Cathy,’ Ruth called.

‘Goodbye, love,’ I said to Dawn; then, picking up Adrian, I followed Barbara and Dawn to the door. ‘Take care both of you,’ I called.

‘And you,’ Barbara said.

I watched as they went down the path to Ruth’s car. Barbara got in the passenger seat and, fastening her belt, gave a wave through the window. Dawn was in the back, behind her mother, and looked directly at me as Ruth started the engine. ‘Love you,’ she mouthed, wiping her cheek again.

‘Love you too,’ I mouthed back.

As the car pulled from the kerb, Dawn managed a little smile. I smiled back as Adrian waved.

And that was the last time I saw Dawn, her face framed in the window of the car, fighting back the tears and making a brave attempt to smile. Goodbye, Dawn, love. Take care, and God bless you. I returned inside and closed the door.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Proved Right

S
ix weeks after Dawn had left Barbara phoned me and said that Dawn had settled into her new home. Barbara said she still wasn’t allowed to visit Dawn, but they were speaking on the phone twice a week. Dawn had told her mother that she liked the staff and had made friends with some of the other residents, and that she had begun therapy – meeting a psychiatrist three times a week. Dawn also told her mother that when she had lived in Ireland with her mother’s aunt and uncle she had been repeatedly raped by their two sons, then aged sixteen and fourteen. Barbara was in tears on the phone as she told me, blaming herself for sending Dawn to live with them and allowing her to stay. I was shocked, but not altogether surprised that something so dreadful had happened to Dawn during her time in Ireland, for clearly something had caused her to become so distressed and disturbed.

Barbara said Dawn was obviously struggling to come to terms with what had been locked away in her subconscious for so many years, and was now being released in therapy. The psychiatrist had told her it would be some time before he felt it advisable for Dawn to have visitors. As Barbara spoke, apart from her shock and self-blame for what had happened, I also detected a warmth for and understanding of Dawn that hadn’t been there before – a wish to make amends and to do what was best for her daughter, which I knew would lead to them having a better relationship in the future. I asked Barbara to give Dawn my love, and to phone again and let me know when we could visit.

After Dawn had left us, John and I did some careful thinking about fostering, and whether we should continue. For while we had come to love Dawn, and we recognised she wasn’t responsible for her behaviour, caring for her had caused us much worry and upset. This had been made worse by our not being given crucial background information, which had left us ill-equipped to understand and deal with Dawn’s behaviour, as well as placing us all in danger. We needed to make sure the same thing didn’t happen again. We wanted to continue fostering because we still felt we had much to offer, and could help a child towards a better future, but understandably were cautious. After much thought and discussion, we decided we would tell the social services that we would prefer to look after younger children, who hopefully wouldn’t have the history and therefore the dreadful problems Dawn had had. Two months later a five-year-old boy came to stay with us, but that is another story.

I had expected Barbara to phone again after that first call, but the months passed and I didn’t hear anything further. I tried phoning her, but she was never in. When the phone was eventually answered, ten months after Dawn had left us, it was by a man. He said Barbara had moved, and he didn’t have a contact number. I never saw or heard again from Barbara, or Ruth, so I had no way of knowing how Dawn was progressing. And while John and I were sad to lose contact with Dawn, we recognised that the part we had played in her life was probably over, and assumed Barbara was now taking responsibility for Dawn and trying to be a better mother. Ultimately it was up to Barbara and Dawn whether they kept in touch and included us in their lives.

Adrian grew into a healthy, loving and inquisitive child who was into everything. When he was four, to our delight I found I was pregnant again, and I had a baby girl, Paula. Our family was complete, and with the fostering I was always very busy – happily so. I thought about Dawn often, and tried to picture what she was doing and where she was living. I prayed she was happy, and that life was good for her, for no one deserved a fresh start more than Dawn. As each of her birthdays came around on 6 January and she was a year older I tried to imagine what she looked like – how tall she was, how she did her hair – and wondered if I would recognise her if I passed her in the street.

Then one dismal November morning, five years after Dawn had left, the phone rang and, when I answered it, my heart skipped a beat and the grey November skies lifted. I’ll always remember that morning. Adrian was at school, and I was in the lounge playing with Paula, who was then two, and Mary-Jane, a little girl of three I was fostering while her mother was in hospital. I moved away from the girls, who were playing with building bricks, to answer the phone on the corner table. I gave our number and waited. No one spoke.

‘Hello?’ I said. ‘Can I help you?’

There was another pause. Then a voice asked, ‘Cathy? Is that you?’ And while the voice was older and more mature, I recognised it immediately.

‘Dawn?’ I cried in disbelief. ‘Is that you?’

‘Yes. I wondered if you would remember me.’

‘Of course! Oh my! I can’t believe it. How are you, Dawn? What are you doing? You’re nineteen now!’

‘I am,’ she said with a little laugh. ‘And I’m fine. I’m sorry I haven’t phoned before. I nearly did a few times. But when I thought back to all the trouble I caused you and John I wasn’t sure I should.’

‘Oh, Dawn, you didn’t cause us trouble – well, actually you did,’ I said, laughing. ‘But we understood and forgave you everything. Oh, Dawn, I’m so pleased you’ve phoned.’

She laughed again, easily and lightly. ‘How are John and Adrian?’ she said. ‘I’ve still got a photograph of you all. Adrian will be a lot bigger now.’

‘He is, and he’s at school. And John’s fine – he’s at work.’ I paused. I had so many questions I wanted to ask her, but time had passed and I recognised that Dawn wasn’t the disturbed teenager who had left me but a self-possessed young lady. ‘So what are you up to?’ I said. ‘Are you working?’

‘No, I’m in my first year at college. I’m studying to be a teacher. I want to teach primary school children.’

‘How wonderful! You must have done very well at school.’

‘My grades were good,’ she said, quietly and unassumingly.

‘Well done. I thought you could do well.’ Again I hesitated, wanting to know more but not sure I should ask. ‘And what about your mum? Is she all right?’

‘Yes. She’s remarried, but not to that dope Mike. He’s called Andy, and I like him very much. He has two grown-up children, and his son, Robert, my step-brother, is married and has two kids. It’s great at Christmas when we all get together. We’re a big family. And I still see my own dad sometimes.’

‘That’s fantastic, Dawn. Send my love to your mother, won’t you?’

‘I will, and say hi to Adrian and John for me. I’m pleased you are all OK. I’ve been wondering how you’ve been.’

‘We’re all fine, Dawn,’ I said, ‘and I’ve had another child – Paula. She’s two now.’

‘That’s lovely. You’re a good mum.’

‘Thanks, love. That’s nice of you to say so.’ I paused again. ‘Did everything work out for you at that home you went to? I’ve often wondered. Your mum phoned me at the beginning and said you were settling in.’

‘Yes. I was there for over two years. I made some good friends and I’m still in touch with one girl. I left when I was nearly seventeen.’

‘And where do you live now?’

‘With Mum and Andy,’ she said, slightly surprised that I hadn’t realised.

‘That’s terrific. You’re doing so well, Dawn, but I knew you would.’

‘Did you?’ she asked, her voice suddenly serious.

‘Yes. I knew you had a lot of problems, but I always thought that with the right help you would come to terms with everything and get your life back. There was something about you, an inner strength. You just needed someone who you could talk to, someone who could guide and help you.’

‘You were right, Cathy. And I probably should have talked to you, but at that time I couldn’t talk to anyone. I couldn’t even remember. It was frightening not remembering most of my childhood.’

‘And do you now?’ I asked tentatively.

‘Yes. And it wasn’t a good childhood. I had to face a lot of stuff, and still have to now. The things that happened in Ireland were so painful to remember. But now I know how to deal with them. And I know it wasn’t my fault. Which is what you told me when I left.’

‘I did!’ I said surprised. ‘You remember that.’

‘Cathy, I can remember nearly everything you said to me, and did for me. And I want you to know I’m truly grateful.’

My eyes immediately filled with tears. ‘That’s sweet of you, Dawn. Thank you so much. It means a lot to me. We had some good times, didn’t we? Times I still remember and will treasure. I’m pleased you remember them too.’

‘I do, Cathy, and I always will.’ She paused. ‘Well, I’d better be going now. I’ve got a lecture soon, on the developmental stages of cognitive learning. Whatever that is!’ She gave another small laugh; Dawn laughed easily and often. ‘I just wanted to say hi, and thank you. I will never forget you, Cathy.’

‘Thank
you
for phoning, Dawn. I won’t forget you either. And if you ever want to visit, we’d be very pleased to see you. It’s the same address.’

‘I’ll remember that. Bye, Cathy.’

‘Bye, Dawn. Thanks again, and take care.’

I sat for a moment on the sofa, overwhelmed by Dawn’s call. How lovely that she should phone after all this time, and what a success story! Dawn had completely turned her life around and was now studying to be a teacher! I had to smile. Who would have thought it, given her previous attitude to school? It just goes to show, I mused, that given the right help, determination and courage, what could be achieved. And if, in some small way, I had helped Dawn, if only by being there for her, then my feeling of reward was immeasurable.

I couldn’t wait until John came home from work to tell him of Dawn’s call, so I phoned him at the office. He was as surprised and delighted as I was.

‘Well, well,’ he said, bemused. ‘I have to admit I had my doubts about her achieving anything.’

‘Did you?’ I asked. ‘I didn’t.’

‘No, but then you always think the best of people, and fortunately now you have been proved right.’