I Miss Mummy (20 page)

By the time we arrived home Alice didn’t look quite so sad. As I opened the car door and helped her out, she said quietly: ‘I love my mummy.’

‘I know you do, pet. And she loves you very much. I know how difficult this is, but now you are seeing your mother each week it should start to get a bit easier.’

Alice nodded and slipping her hand into mine gave it a squeeze, and I knew I had been forgiven for taking her away.

Lucy and Paula, as before, were waiting in the hall. ‘I’ve seen my mummy,’ Alice announced proudly, although still a little subdued, as we entered.

Lucy and Paula both clapped and gave little whoops of joy, which made Alice laugh. I helped her out of her coat and she began telling Lucy and Paula all about her mummy: how her hair was longer than it had been when she’d last seen her, how kind she was and the games they’d played at contact. The phone rang and I answered it in the hall. It was Kitty, asking if Alice was all right now.

‘She’s fine,’ I said. ‘We’ve just got in.’

‘Good. I promised I’d phone Leah after I’d spoken to you to put her mind at rest. She was so upset after Alice had left. I told her how well she had done.’

‘She did very well,’ I said. ‘Please tell Leah Alice soon settled in the car and is all right now. She’s going to have some dinner soon. She sends her love and is looking forward to seeing her next week.’

‘Thanks, Cathy. I’ll tell Leah.’ Kitty paused and I heard her take a long breath. ‘You know, Cathy, although Leah has had a lot of problems, underneath she’s a lovely person. Despite losing her daughter, she isn’t bitter and only wants what’s best for Alice. The trouble is I’m not sure I know what
is
best for Alice. I’ve
had sleepless nights over this. I can’t for the life of me see a way forward, and in some respects I question the decision to bring Alice into care in the first place.’

‘I completely understand,’ I said.

K
itty wasn’t the only one who was expressing doubts about the decision to bring Alice into care. The following day, Carole, the Guardian ad Litem, telephoned to make an appointment to visit Alice, and at the same time asked me for an update. Since Carole had visited Alice six months previously, when Alice had been with me for two months, apart from a phone call when she’d asked me to update her, we hadn’t seen her. I now told her that Alice had settled into school, was eating and sleeping well, and had finally seen her mother the evening before, which she already knew from Kitty.

‘And how is Alice today?’ Carole asked.

‘Counting the days until next Monday when she can see her mother again.’

Carole sighed. ‘Oh dear. I had doubts about this case right at the beginning and I’m not at all happy with the way it’s going. Alice has been kept without a decision on her future for far too long. Remind me when she came to you.’

‘Beginning of March.’

‘And it’s now mid-November, so that’s over eight months. She was supposed to have been with you for four weeks, then settled with her father and Sharon.’ She sighed again.

‘Are you’re still considering Alice going to live with Chris and Sharon?’ I asked.

‘The social services are.’ From which I took it that Carole didn’t necessarily agree – Guardians work independently of the social services and don’t always uphold the social services’ decisions. ‘Cathy,’ she said after a moment. ‘You’re an experienced foster carer. How would you have handled this case? I’d be interested to hear your view.’

I’d never been asked that before by a Guardian. But put on the spot I went over the worries I’d harboured since Alice had first arrived. ‘Alice was being well looked after by her grandparents,’ I began. ‘I know there were concerns about Leah having access to Alice while she was at her grandparents, but personally I trust Mr and Mrs Jones’s judgement. They wouldn’t have put Alice in danger and I’m sure they would have supervised Alice when Leah was there. Based on what I know of the case, if it had been my decision, I would have left Alice with her grandparents with monitoring and support. It would have given Leah the time she needed to seek help and hopefully recover. I’m sure losing Alice by having her taken into care – with the prospect of her going to live with Chris – has set back Leah’s recovery. Also a more thorough investigation of Chris could have been
carried out at that time, while Alice was with her grandparents.’

‘Chris was investigated,’ Carole put in a little defensively. ‘And based on what the department knew at the time, it was felt that going to her father was the best option for Alice’s long-term care. And might still be. I don’t think the social services would have had the resources to investigate further.’ How many times had I heard that! – lack of resources, i.e. not enough money being responsible for a less-than-perfect job?

‘At least having Alice in foster care for all this time has allowed a more thorough investigation to take place,’ I said.

‘Yes, by default,’ Carole admitted. She paused again, presumably thinking about what I’d said. ‘Anyway, I’ll see you next week. Will you tell Alice I’m coming and remind her who I am? It’s a while since I’ve seen her.’

‘Yes, I will.’

‘Carole is the Guardian ad Litem. You’ve met her a couple of times before,’ I said to Alice the following Wednesday as we waited for Carole to arrive. Alice saw her grandparents on alternate Wednesdays and this was one of the Wednesdays when she didn’t see them, so we’d come home straight from school. ‘Carole speaks to all your family,’ I explained. ‘Your mum, dad, nana and grandpa, and you and me, and then she tells the judge what she believes is best for you.’

‘I know what is best for me,’ Alice said. ‘I want to live with my mummy.’

‘You can tell Carole that,’ I said, ‘but, Alice, we’ve already talked about why it isn’t possible for you to live with your mummy.’ As usual when I said this or something similar Alice returned to her play or changed the subject.

When Carole arrived ten minutes later, Alice told her what was best for her, even before Carole had taken off her coat! ‘You must tell the judge I want to live with my mummy, not Dad and Sharon,’ Alice said defiantly.

‘I see,’ Carole said with a small smile. ‘Shall we go and sit down first? Then we can have a chat.’

I showed Carole through to the sitting room, made her a cup of coffee and then left her alone with Alice, which was usual when the Guardian visited, just as it was when the social worker visited, so that they had a chance to talk in private.

Half an hour later Alice came into the kitchen to fetch me. ‘Carole wants to see you now. Can I watch television?’

‘Yes. Pop upstairs and ask Paula or Lucy to switch it on for you.’

Alice raced upstairs on all fours as I went into the sitting room.

‘Alice is very articulate for a child of her age,’ Carole said ruefully. ‘She certainly knows her own mind, although of course she doesn’t know what is best for her. She really doesn’t understand why she can’t live with her mother.’

‘I have tried to explain,’ I said.

‘I’m sure you have, but she’s not taking it in. She’s in denial, which is understandable but is going to
need addressing in therapy. Look, I won’t keep you further,’ Carole said, making a move to go. ‘You updated me on the phone last week. The only new development is that I’ve found out it will be at least six months before Chris’s case goes to the criminal court.’

I looked at her in dismay. ‘I thought it was being hurried through?’

‘Apparently not: there is a long list of prosecutions waiting to go to court. I’m not prepared to keep Alice waiting indefinitely for a decision on her future. I know she’s happy with you, but this was only ever going to be a short-term measure. I’m meeting with the social services the week after next to review Alice’s case. If the care plan is wrong, and Alice isn’t going to live with her father and Sharon, then they need to be putting it right very quickly.’

‘But how?’ I asked. ‘Adoption?’

‘Possibly. I’m not sure yet. I’m exploring all avenues.’

Although I was pleased Carole was being proactive and questioning Alice’s case, I couldn’t see what other ‘avenues’ there were to explore, as all options for Alice’s long-term care seemed to have been considered. Sometimes care plans, drawn up early in childcare proceedings, need slightly adjusting as time passes and situations change. But to admit a care plan was entirely wrong is unusual, and putting it right in Alice’s case wasn’t going to be easy. None of the options available seemed right for Alice and, not for the first time, I considered offering to keep Alice permanently – either as a long-term foster placement
or by adopting her. But I wasn’t sure this was right for Alice either; and if I made the offer now, might it confuse and slow down the process even further? If Alice was going to be adopted, shouldn’t it really be to a younger, childless couple who had been denied the wondrous gift of parenthood? I already had two natural children and had been privileged to foster many, many more; wasn’t it greedy of me to want Alice? The whole situation was becoming very confused and in the meantime, while Carole and Kitty were reexamining Alice’s case, Alice was in limbo, unsure of whom she should be bonding with, or where she would eventually live.

Alice’s next contact with her mother the following Monday was less traumatic, although Leah and Alice still parted in tears, and I again felt like the wicked witch as I carried Alice away sobbing from her mother. That week Alice had contact as usual with her father and Sharon on Tuesday and Thursday, as well as the fortnightly contact with her grandparents on Wednesday. So for four afternoons I collected Alice, already tired from a day at school, and took her to the family centre, and then returned to collect her an hour later. By Friday she was so exhausted she fell asleep on the sofa at 6.00 p.m.

By the first week in December I was using all my spare time to go Christmas shopping. Apart from buying presents for my family and friends, and filling four sacks (Adrian, Lucy and Paula didn’t feel they
were too old to hang up their sacks on Christmas Eve), I also took Alice shopping to buy presents for her grandparents, mum, dad and Sharon, and also Leah’s partner, Mike. Paula helped Alice write her Christmas cards.

On the second Saturday in December, in the evening, when Alice had finished speaking to her nana and grandpa on the phone, Mrs Jones asked to speak to me, as she often did. I sent Alice off to find Adrian, Lucy or Paula, and I closed the sitting-room door so I couldn’t be overheard. Mrs Jones often simply wanted some reassurance – to know Alice was eating well, or warm enough, and how she was getting on at school, etc. – but I didn’t like talking about Alice in front of her, even if it was positive, which was why I always spoke so Alice couldn’t hear. Now what Mrs Jones told me certainly wasn’t for Alice’s ears.

‘Did you know Chris hit Sharon last week?’ Mrs Jones said as soon as I picked up the phone.

‘No,’ I said shocked. ‘I didn’t. I’m sorry. Was she badly hurt?’

‘No. More shaken than anything. She turned up at Leah’s flat at nine o’clock on Thursday evening in a right state.’

‘Sharon went to Leah’s?’ I asked, incredulous.

‘Yes. I’d have sent her packing. But Leah has a heart of gold and felt sorry for her, and asked her in.’ I couldn’t believe it – here was Sharon, who didn’t have a good word to say about Leah and wanted her child, seeking refuge in Leah’s flat!

‘Good grief!’ I said. ‘So where is Sharon now?’

‘Once Sharon had stopped crying, she phoned Chris on her mobile from Leah’s flat, apologized to him and then asked him to collect her in the car. She said she had provoked him into hitting her. I doubt it, but that’s up to her.’

‘And did Leah speak to Chris?’

‘No. She stayed in her flat while Sharon went out to the car.’

‘Does Kitty know all this?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I told her. I wasn’t sure Leah would. And the other piece of news, which is better news, is that our parenting assessment has been completed satisfactorily.’

‘Good,’ I said hesitantly, and hoped Mrs Jones hadn’t read too much into this. A positive parenting assessment simply means that those being assessed have demonstrated an acceptable level of parenting skills and are therefore eligible to be considered for the child. It does not give them automatic right to the child. ‘When we see the Guardian next week we shall be asking to have Alice returned to us,’ Mrs Jones continued brightly, and I feared they were going to be very disappointed. But it wasn’t for me to explain: the social worker or Guardian should have done so already, and possibly had. In the same optimistic tone Mrs Jones then said she was thinking of buying Alice a bike for Christmas and what did I think.

‘That’s a lovely idea,’ I said. ‘We’ve got a bike here Alice uses, but having one of her own would be so much nicer. What a fantastic present. She’ll love it.’

‘Good. Martin and I will get it next week. We’ve a park near by which will be ideal for Alice learning to
ride. I can’t wait to see her face when she unwraps it on Christmas morning.’ And my heart sank as I realized Mrs Jones was expecting Alice home for Christmas.

I
telephoned the Guardian on Monday and left a message on her voicemail saying that I thought Mrs Jones could have misinterpreted the purpose of the parenting assessment and now believed Alice would be returned to her; could she explain when she saw her? Carole didn’t return my call, but I assumed she must have spoken to Mrs Jones and explained, for the following Saturday when we phoned Alice’s grandparents, Mrs Jones talked to Alice about the ‘wonderful Christmas’ she would have at ‘Cathy’s’. She didn’t ask to speak to me on this occasion, but she must have been very disappointed to have had her hopes raised and then dashed. I felt sorry for her, and yet again marvelled at her courage as she put aside her own feelings to be so brave and positive for Alice.

The week before Christmas was very busy. Apart from finishing the preparations for Christmas, friends dropped by, and Alice had extra contact at the family centre as it was Christmas. She saw her mother on Monday for an extended contact of two hours, when
they exchanged gifts: Alice proudly presented her mother with a wrapped box of perfume we had chosen together and Leah handed me a large carrier bag of presents and asked me quietly if I could put them beside Alice’s bed so that she would wake up and find them on Christmas morning, which is what she would have done if Alice had been with her. ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I’ll put them with the “Father Christmas” presents from us.’

I knew that saying goodbye at this contact – the last before Christmas – was going to be particularly difficult, and when I returned to collect Alice, mother and daughter were already in tears. Eventually the contact supervisor gently lifted Alice from her mother’s arms and put her into mine, and I left the room to the sound of Alice crying and her mother calling ‘Merry Christmas’ through her tears.

‘Merry Christmas,’ I returned, although without Alice I doubted it would be very merry for Leah or Mr and Mrs Jones.

On Wednesday Alice had an extended two-hour contact with her grandparents and she once more proudly presented them with wrapped gifts. Mrs Jones told Alice they would put the presents away until Christmas, while Mr Jones said to me he had the ‘you know what’ (Alice’s bike) in the boot of the car and he would transfer it to my car at the end of contact. Mrs Jones had taken in some party food and a Christmas cracker each, and the three of them, plus the supervisor, had a little Christmas celebration with lemonade, sausage rolls and mince pies. Sadly this was the closest
Alice’s grandparents would come to celebrating Christmas with Alice this year and yet again I marvelled at their courage to be able to go through with it.

At the end of contact Mr and Mrs Jones and the contact supervisor came with me into the car park, where I put Alice in her car seat and closed the car door so she couldn’t see. Mr Jones opened the boot of his car and I did the same with mine. He carried over the gaily wrapped bicycle, which was to be given to Alice on Christmas morning, and laid it carefully in the boot. ‘Hopefully we’ll see Alice ride it one day,’ Mrs Jones said sadly. ‘Have a good Christmas, Cathy, and thanks for everything.’

‘And you.’ We hugged, and as they waved goodbye to Alice I saw that Mrs Jones was finally in tears.

On Thursday, contact with Alice’s father remained at one hour; I assumed this was because they’d already seen Alice as usual for an hour on Tuesday. They didn’t mention Chris’s assault on Sharon – I hadn’t expected them to. Sharon bore no obvious bruises or marks; indeed they now seemed even more lovey-dovey, making a big show of holding hands and talking attentively to each other. I’d had to persuade Alice to buy her father and Sharon a present, and then persuade her further to wrap the gifts and take them into contact. Unlike when Alice had seen her grandparents and mother, Alice had been allowed to open her Christmas presents during contact with Chris and Sharon. When I collected her I immediately spotted the new doll’s pram which Alice was doing her best to ignore.

‘Don’t you like the present?’ Sharon said as we said goodbye and came away with me wheeling the pram. ‘I spent a long time choosing it.’

‘I think she’s just a bit overwhelmed,’ I said, excusing her. ‘You know how exciting the build-up to Christmas can be. It’s been quite a week.’ Sharon seemed to accept this, although I knew Alice’s coldness towards the gift was because it had come from Sharon, whom she still resented; had it come from her mother her reaction would have been very different.

On the Friday morning Jill and Kitty both popped in with a gift for Alice, and a Christmas card for us all. Jill also had a gift for me from the fostering agency, and we had a box of chocolates ready under the tree for each of them. Kitty was so touched and appreciative at being given a present that I guessed she didn’t often receive gifts or thanks – such is the nature of her job.

By Friday afternoon I had more or less finished the shopping, the presents were wrapped and there was no more contact until after Christmas. On Saturday Adrian and Paula went out with their father for the day and returned with their presents from him, which went under the tree. Unsurprisingly there wasn’t one for me.

That evening Lucy’s mother phoned, for the first time in three months, to wish Lucy a merry Christmas. Lucy hadn’t seen her mother for five months because her mother was now living ‘abroad’, although no one was quite sure where exactly. Lucy had never known her father and had never had a proper relationship with her mother. In effect we were the only real family she’d ever had. This was one of the reasons why she’d bonded
with us so quickly, and occasionally called me Mum. Lucy was on the phone to her mother for only a few minutes as her mother was dashing off somewhere. Lucy seemed to take this rejection, as she had all the other rejections from her mother, in her stride; the only outward sign that she was hurting was her attitude to food and the cynical comments she sometimes made.

Christmas is always a difficult time for children in care. Everywhere you look there are pictures of adoring parents smiling at their perfect children to a backdrop of family harmony and domestic bliss. It is a stark reminder to children who are fostered that their own lives haven’t matched up to the ideal, and indeed they can’t even be with their families at Christmas. While foster carers do their best to give the children they look after a fantastic time at Christmas we are also painfully aware of the many conflicting emotions looked-after children must experience. More than once, in the build-up to Christmas, I’d found Alice in her bedroom quietly studying the photograph of her mother, taken the Christmas before when they had all been together.

‘I know Christmas will be a bit different this year,’ I said. ‘But I’ll make sure you have a lovely time with games, presents and lots to eat.’

‘Thanks, Cathy,’ Alice said wistfully. ‘But I’d give up all that if could just have my mummy.’

Yet like all young children Alice got caught up in the joy of Christmas and was awake early on Christmas morning, very excited at finding Father Christmas had been and she was surrounded by presents. I took lots of
photographs as she tore off the wrapping paper and her little face lit up; and she was temporarily able to forget her loss as the magic of Christmas took over. Her mother had given her some beautifully illustrated story books, a huge compendium of paints, crayons and puzzles, a Barbie doll all dressed up for an evening out and some very pretty clothes. Alice loved them all, and also the Father Christmas presents I’d bought – a dolls’ house with furniture and little doll people. Adrian, Lucy and Paula were awake early too and I went into their bedrooms as they delved into their sacks and unwrapped their presents. I took plenty of photographs of them too, much to the consternation of Lucy, who said I should have waited until she’d put on her make-up! Downstairs there were more presents under the tree, including the bike from Alice’s nana and grandpa which, despite being well wrapped, was easily identifiable. ‘A bike of my own!’ Alice gasped as soon as she saw it.

As we’d done in previous years, my parents, my brother and his wife and their three-year-old son came to us on Christmas Day; then on Boxing Day we continued the festivities at my brother’s house, where we had a chance to meet again with my sister-in-law’s family. There were thirty of us in all, including ten children, aged eighteen months to Adrian at fourteen. My sister-in-law produced a wonderful buffet and organized games where we won prizes off the Christmas tree. As I finally drove us home at 10.00 p.m. I was the only one in the car still awake.

The next day was Tuesday and contact resumed. Because Alice hadn’t seen her mother on Monday –
Boxing Day – it was rescheduled for an hour on Tuesday morning; then she saw her father and Sharon for an hour in the afternoon. She wasn’t due to see her grandparents this Wednesday, and she saw her father and Sharon for an hour again, as usual, on Thursday. So what with contact, visiting friends and playing with Christmas gifts, the week between Christmas and New Year slipped by. Poor Adrian even had some homework to do!

On New Year’s Eve we were invited next door to my neighbour, Sue, as we had been in previous years. There were twenty of us with our children – all living in the road and knowing each other. It was a lovely atmosphere and we could have a drink and see in the New Year without the worry of finding a babysitter or driving home. As midnight approached everyone squeezed into the sitting room and, with the television on, we counted down to midnight. As midnight struck on Big Ben we cheered, kissed each other and sang a chorus of ‘Auld Lang Syne’. By 1.00 a.m. we were saying goodbye, wishing each other a happy New Year and steering very tired children home to their beds.

Alice was so tired she was nearly asleep on her feet, and Adrian carried her down Sue’s front path and then up ours. Alice didn’t wake as Adrian carried her upstairs and laid her on her bed. While he, Lucy and Paula got ready for bed I changed Alice into her pyjamas and tucked her in with Brian the Bear. She didn’t wake. Before I left I stood for a moment, gazing down at her little face – so similar to her mother’s and so peaceful in sleep. I wondered what the coming year
would bring for her. I worried about Alice, more than I cared to admit. I feared for her future. If the wrong decision was made it could be disastrous, and I thought if I was to be granted one New Year wish it should be that everything turned out right for Alice, although how that could possibly happen I’d no idea.