I Miss Mummy (22 page)

A
s one foster daughter was preparing to leave, another was preparing to stay – forever. That same evening as I said goodnight to Paula, and then Adrian, I told them what Lucy had just said about wanting to be adopted and asked what they thought, for clearly it had to be a whole-family decision. They were both happy with the idea, feeling that Lucy was already like their sibling and they’d assumed she would be staying for good. So the following morning, after I’d taken Alice to school and before I began her packing, I telephoned Lucy’s social worker and told her that Lucy had asked if I could adopt her.

She was sympathetic and said she would support my application, but added the same warning I had given to Lucy: that her mother could (and probably would) object. Parents of children in care often accept that their child has to be looked after but fiercely oppose adoption, when they would lose all legal rights to the child. Lucy’s social worker also said Lucy’s mother had no fixed address, so it was going to be difficult and would
take time to trace her, and then set up a meeting to try to get her permission to begin the lengthy process of adoption.

‘And you can’t free Lucy for adoption without her mother’s consent?’ I asked. ‘She’s never been a proper mother to her.’

‘Not really, not at Lucy’s age. It would be too costly and time consuming for the department; I’d never get the funding. It would be different if Lucy was younger: the department would consider the cost of pursuing an adoption a good investment, as it would take Lucy out of foster care, but not with a teenager. If we can’t find mum or she won’t give her permission, I assume Lucy can still stay with you as a long-term foster placement?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do, but warn Lucy she may be disappointed.’

‘I already have.’

We said goodbye, then I went down the hall and opened the door to the cupboard under the stairs. Switching on the light, I reached in and pulled out two suitcases – the suitcases Alice’s grandmother had asked me to keep so I had them ready if Alice was ever returned to her. It was a hope that had seemed completely unrealistic at the time as Alice had been going to live with her father and Sharon within the month. Now, as I wiped off the thin layer of dust, I was about to complete Mrs Jones’s request: ten months later and against all the odds, Alice was returning to live with her.

It was just after eleven o’clock when I started the packing and it took over two hours. Apart from all the
clothes Alice’s nana had sent and the many I’d bought, Alice had had a birthday and Christmas since she’d been with us, so there were boxes and boxes of toys. Kitty had offered to take some of Alice’s possessions in her car to the grandparents, after she’d seen us that evening. At the time I’d thought that wouldn’t be necessary – that everything would go in one car – but I now realized this had been wildly optimistic. Apart from the two suitcases, boxes and bags covered all available floor space in Alice’s bedroom and more bags were lined up on the landing, ready to be taken downstairs. Alice’s bike – her Christmas present from her nana and grandpa – was in the shed and I would bring that in later. I smiled reflectively as I thought of Mr and Mrs Jones at the family centre just before Christmas, when we’d secretly transferred the bike from their car boot to mine and, with litte hope of Alice ever returning to them, Mrs Jones had said sadly: ‘Hopefully we’ll see Alice ride it one day.’ Now, very soon, they would.

While I’d been busy packing, I hadn’t really had time to dwell on the gap Alice’s departure would leave in my family, but as I checked under the bed for any stray objects, and then stood and surveyed the room, I got a sudden flash of what it would be like tomorrow, after Alice had gone. I felt very sad and empty. I’d taken down all her posters, so the walls were bare, and her shelves were empty of her books, photographs and knick-knacks. Likewise now that I’d packed her clothes, her drawers and wardrobe were empty and had a hollow sound. All that remained were Alice’s
pyjamas, folded under her pillow, a change of clothes for tomorrow on her chair, and Brian the Bear in his usual place at the bedhead – I would pack him first thing in the morning. Brian and I had become well acquainted during all the Saturday afternoon football matches, when he either jumped up and down as a goal was scored or covered his eyes with his paws in shame as a goal was missed. Tomorrow Brian too would be back where he belonged – sitting on the sofa between Alice and her grandpa as Mrs Jones doubtless fussed over them. I came out and closed Alice’s bedroom door, aware that the next few days were going to be very difficult for all of us.

When I collected Alice from school that afternoon, Alice’s teacher gave me a bunch of spring flowers with a card thanking me for all I’d done, which was very thoughtful and entirely unexpected. This was my last trip to the school, for on Monday Alice’s grandpa would take and collect Alice, just as he had been doing nearly a year before when Alice had attended nursery. I thanked Alice’s teacher and teaching assistant for the flowers and also thanked them for all they’d done. Between us we had kept the school/home continuity running smoothly without any major upheaval to Alice. As Alice and I left I had the chance to say goodbye to a couple of mothers I’d got to know – mothers of Alice’s friends – but there were other mothers I’d chatted to in the playground, whom I didn’t see, so I missed the chance to say goodbye. Sadly, they would simply arrive at school on Monday morning to find me gone.

Kitty came as promised at four o’clock and was met by a very excited Alice. Once settled in the sitting room, Kitty confirmed what I had already told Alice: that she would be returning to live with her nana and grandpa the following day, and would see her mother and father every week at the family centre. Kitty also explained to Alice that she wouldn’t be seeing Sharon any more, as she and her father had separated and were no longer living together. Alice, having never warmed to Sharon and resenting her mothering role, accepted this news without comment, although I felt sorry for Sharon. Sharon had been married for only just over a year and was now separated, and during that time she’d had her hopes of motherhood built and then dashed. I hoped things worked out for her and, wherever she was, she found happiness. Kitty finished by saying that Alice’s grandparents would come and collect Alice the following morning at about eleven o’clock. Then Kitty asked Alice if she had any questions.

‘Will you take some of my things in your car?’ Alice said. ‘Cathy said you would. There is too much for one car.’

Kitty smiled. ‘Yes, of course. Don’t you worry: nothing will be left behind. Is there anything else you want to ask me?’

‘Can I still see Cathy, Adrian, Lucy and Paula?’

I knew this was more difficult for Kitty to answer, for although we would be allowed to phone Alice and see her once or twice after the move, like most of the children who left us we had to withdraw from their lives to allow them to bond with their forever families, or in
Alice’s case re-bond with her grandparents and ultimately (we hoped) her mother.

‘Cathy will phone you in two weeks,’ Kitty said gently – two weeks is now the accepted time for this phone call. ‘Then she will arrange to visit you.’

‘Can Adrian, Lucy and Paula come too?’ Lucy asked.

‘Yes, of course, if they’re free.’

‘They will be,’ I confirmed.

Thankfully Alice was so looking forward to returning to live with her dear nana and grandpa that she didn’t dwell on not being able to see us regularly, which was good. Kitty then thanked me for all I’d done and said she hoped to work with me again in the future. I thanked her for all she’d done. Then Alice helped Kitty and me load Kitty’s car with the boxes of toys Adrian had brought down from the landing. We had soon filled the boot, and just managed to squeeze Alice’s bike on to the back seat. ‘The rest should go in Grandpa’s car tomorrow,’ Kitty said. ‘If not I’ll pop back for it next week.’

Kitty then asked if she could say goodbye to Adrian, Lucy and Paula, which was thoughtful. I called them and they appeared from their bedrooms and the front room.

‘Bye, kids,’ Kitty said. ‘Thanks for looking after Alice so well. Might see you again one day. And Lucy, good luck with your application. I hope you get what you want.’ News travels fast, I thought, for I’d only spoken to Lucy’s social worker about her adoption that morning. ‘You couldn’t do much better for a mother,’ Kitty added, smiling at me.

‘Thank you very much,’ I said.

I tried to keep our last evening together as normal as possible and followed Alice’s usual routine of play-time, television, dinner, bath and bed; I told the children to keep it low key too. I knew Alice must have many conflicting feelings, for although she dearly loved her nana and grandpa and couldn’t wait to return to live with them, ten months is a long time in a child’s life, and goodbyes are always difficult. Once Alice was tucked in bed I read her a story and then prepared to say goodnight. I saw her face grow serious as she looked around her room, now bare except for the two suitcases and the remaining boxes stacked at one end.

‘I’ll miss you,’ she said, suddenly throwing her arms around me and hugging me tightly.

‘I’ll miss you too,’ I said. ‘We all will.’

‘I love you, nearly as much as I love my nana, grandpa and mummy,’ Alice said.

‘We love you too, pet. You’re very special.’

I gave Alice a final hug and then called to Adrian, Lucy and Paula to come and say goodnight. They came in and kissed Alice; then Adrian fooled around with Brian the Bear, making him dance and appear to speak, which made Alice laugh. Saying goodnight and ‘See you in the morning’, we filed out and I closed Alice’s bedroom door for her last night with us. Dear Alice: I hoped her mother made a full recovery, for while adoption seemed absolutely right for Lucy, who had no proper family of her own, I couldn’t for the life of me
see how it could work for Alice, who loved her nana, grandpa and mummy more than anyone else in the world.

T
here was a strange atmosphere in our house that Saturday morning, as excited expectation mingled with the sadness and loss of Alice leaving. We were all up and dressed earlier than usual for the weekend and had had breakfast by 9.30. Alice’s suitcases were in the hall with the remaining boxes and bags, and Brian the Bear sat astride one of the suitcases, looking like a jockey under starter’s orders. I’d checked all the rooms for any of Alice’s possessions that might have gone astray, but all that remained was her coat, scarf and shoes in the hall. We now grouped in the sitting room and gave Alice her leaving gift and card, which I’d hurriedly bought the day before after I’d found out she was going. It was a silver necklace with a pendant in the shape of the letter A – a gift I hoped she’d keep and remember us by.

‘Thank you,’ Alice said in a small sad voice; then she asked Paula to read the words in the card. Each of us had written something and signed our names and added kisses. Paula had written: ‘I loved having you as
a younger sister. Take care. Love and best wishes, Paula xxxx’. Lucy had put: ‘It’s been great having you stay, Alice. Good luck for the future, hugs and kisses, love Lucy, x’. And Adrian had written: ‘You’re a good kid, Alice. Look after your nana and grandpa, best wishes, Adrian x’. I had purposely kept my message light and short: ‘Dear Alice, I love and miss you, Cathy xxxx’.

‘Thank you,’ Alice said in the same small voice when Paula had finished reading. I could see she was close to tears.

‘I’ll put your present and card in your suitcase,’ I said, going over to her, ‘then how about we play a game before Nana and Grandpa arrive?’ I didn’t want Alice having time to mope and then leaving us in tears. I thought a game might provide a distraction.

‘Bingo,’ Paula suggested. ‘It’s Alice’s favourite.’ We’d first played bingo with Alice at Christmas and she’d loved being able to show off all the numbers she knew.

‘Yes?’ I asked, looking at Alice, and she nodded.

Paula went to the conservatory-cum-playroom, where we kept all the board and boxed games, to find the bingo, while I went down the hall to pack Alice’s present. Unzipping the suitcase, I carefully tucked in the necklace box and card; then I returned to the sitting room, where Paula had found the game and was handing out the cards and tiles. Alice said she’d like to be the caller, so Paula gave her the plastic number tiles. ‘Eyes down for a full house,’ Alice said, once we were settled. Then she began picking up the numbers one at a time, reading them in a nice loud voice: ‘Nine, twenty-five, three’ and so on.

Alice did very well at recognizing the numbers and needed help with only a few of the higher numbers. Now that she was happily absorbed in the game her face had lost the sadness that had been there since waking.

Twenty minutes later, having covered all the numbers on his card, Adrian shouted ‘Bingo’.

‘Well done,’ I said, and we all clapped. In our house, tradition (and possibly the rules of the game) dictated that whoever won the last game of bingo became the caller for the next, so Alice gave Adrian the numbers and took a card and tiles from the box so she could play.

‘I wonder who will win this game?’ I said pointedly, glancing at Lucy and Paula.

‘I hope it’s Alice,’ Paula said, nudging Lucy just in case she was in any doubt.

And sure enough, fifteen minutes later Alice was shouting ‘Bingo’ to rapturous applause. ‘Another game,’ Alice said. ‘I won, so I can be the caller again,’ which would have been true had not the door bell rung. Alice continued for a moment – picking up the first tile, ready to call it out – before she realized the significance of the ring. ‘Oh,’ she said, suddenly becoming still. ‘Do I have to go?’ Wide eyed, she looked round at us.

‘Yes, I think so, love,’ I said gently. ‘I think that will be your nana and grandpa. Let’s go and see.’

Alice clambered down from the sofa and, tucking her little hand in mine, came with me down the hall. I thought how strange it must be for her: walking towards the familiar door, as she’d done so many times before, but now to open it on a completely unfamiliar
scene: her nana and grandpa coming to take her home. It was as though her two lives, past and present, were finally coming together, and very soon her life with us would be past as she resumed life with her grandparents.

As I opened the front door a large bouquet of flowers landed in my arms. ‘Good morning, Cathy,’ Mr Jones said brightly. ‘Thanks for everything,’ Bending down, he scooped up Alice and gave her a big kiss. ‘Hello, my lovely.’ Alice grinned.

‘You shouldn’t have bought these,’ I said. ‘They’re beautiful. Thank you so much.’ I kissed their cheeks. ‘Come in.’

‘It’s nothing,’ Mrs Jones said. ‘We can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done.’

Alice was clinging like a koala bear to her grandpa, with her arms and legs tightly wrapped around him and her head snuggled into his shoulder. I closed the front door and suggested we went through to the sitting room. ‘Would you like a tea or coffee?’

I saw Mr and Mrs Jones exchange a glance and look a little uncomfortable. ‘Would you mind awfully if we didn’t stay?’ Mrs Jones said, touching my arm. ‘Don’t think we’re ungrateful, but we’d really like to get Alice home and get her settled. We’ve waited so long for this moment. I hope you understand.’

‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘But at least say hello to the rest of the family. They’d like to meet you.’ Adrian, Lucy and Paula had come out of the sitting room and were now hovering at the far end of the hall. They came over and I introduced them: ‘This is my son, Adrian.’ He
shook hands. ‘And my daughters, Paula and Lucy.’ They shook hands with Mr Jones and kissed Mrs Jones’s cheek.

‘What a fine family you have,’ Mr Jones said. ‘Alice has told us so much about you. Cathy is right to be proud of you all.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. I saw Adrian blush.

‘You’ve made Alice’s stay such a happy one,’ Mrs Jones added, looking at Adrian, Lucy and Paula. ‘She’s played so many games she hasn’t had time to be upset.’ Then her gaze fell to the suitcases in the hall and she let out a little gasp. ‘Oh, my! I’d completely forgotten those were here. That dreadful day when I had to pack all Alice’s things…’ Her face clouded and I saw her bottom lip tremble as she thought back and remembered.

‘And there’s Brian the Bear!’ Mr Jones exclaimed jovially, lightening the mood and nodding to where Brian perched on the suitcase. ‘Has he won any good matches?’ He set Alice down and she picked up Brian and tucked him under her arm.

‘No, he hasn’t,’ I said. ‘Hopefully this afternoon’s match will be better than last week’s. They should never have missed that penalty.’

‘Agreed!’ Mr Jones said, while Adrian, Lucy and Paula looked at me oddly, wondering when I had become such an authority on football.

‘Shall I give you a hand loading the car?’ Adrian asked Mr Jones.

‘I’d appreciate that. Alice’s social worker brought over a carful last night. Just as well or we’d never get it all in.’

While Adrian helped Mr Jones load his car with Alice’s luggage, I lay my flowers on the hall table and helped Alice into her coat, scarf and shoes, as clearly they wanted to leave as soon as possible. Lucy and Paula were now standing very quietly watching Alice, their faces glum. I knew they were struggling to keep a lid on their emotions, now that the moment of Alice leaving had finally come. It’s always difficult saying goodbye to the children we look after, even when you know, as in Alice’s case, they are going to a loving home and it’s the right decision. Alice had been part of our lives for nearly a year and, perhaps because she was so young and vulnerable, or because of the journey we’d travelled together, or simply because she was such a joy to look after, we’d loved her from the start.

Mr Jones and Adrian finished packing the car and returned to the hall. All that remained now was for us to say goodbye to Alice. We stood for a moment in awkward silence, looking at Alice, who was ready to go in her shoes, coat and scarf, with Brian the Bear tucked under her arm.

‘OK,’ I said, bravely taking the initiative. ‘Let me give you a big hug.’ I knelt down and, drawing Alice to me, held her close. I felt her arms around my neck and her warm cheek press against mine. I smelt the child’s shampoo I’d used on her freshly washed hair and knew I would never smell it exactly the same again. Her little arms, so dainty, almost fragile, now felt strong as she hugged me hard. I kissed her cheek, then drew slightly away and looked into her eyes. ‘Goodbye, love,’ I said. ‘Take care. You’re very special.’ She blinked and her
eyes misted. With a final hug, I straightened and moved away.

Adrian stepped forward; he seemed so large beside little Alice. He bent down and ruffled her hair. ‘Bye, little ‘un,’ he said. ‘You’re all right for a girl. Give me five.’

Alice grinned and slapped his outstretched palm. ‘Bye, Adrian. You’re all right for a boy.’ We all managed a laugh.

Paula now took Adrian’s place and hugged and kissed Alice but didn’t say anything. As Paula moved away I saw tears on her cheek, and she turned from Alice so she wouldn’t see how upset she was. I took Paula’s hand as Lucy now said goodbye. She knelt to hug her, as I had done, and gave Alice a big kiss on her cheek. ‘Bye Alice,’ she said. ‘You’ll be fine. You’ve got a good family and they’ll look after you now.’

Mrs Jones thanked us all again for looking after Alice and then, taking Alice’s hand, followed Mr Jones out of the door. We too went down the path and on to the pavement, where we waited as they got in. Mrs Jones and Alice sat in the back of the car as Mr Jones climbed into the driving seat. Although it was cold they wound down their windows so they could wave goodbye.

‘You’ll phone us in two weeks,’ Mr Jones confirmed, before he started the engine. ‘Then we’ll arrange for you to visit.’

‘Yes, please,’ I said.

The engine started and Mr Jones began waving vigorously from the front window and Mrs Jones from the rear window. Alice sat passively beside her nana, head
down and clutching Brian the Bear. The car began to pull away, and then slowly down the road, with only Mr and Mrs Jones waving from their respective windows. Then, just before the car turned left and disappeared from view, a little arm appeared out of the rear window, beside that of Mrs Jones. Not a child’s arm, not Alice’s: this one was brown and furry. Then a little furry head and shoulders appeared and Brian the Bear was dancing up and down and waving his paw.

‘Don’t forget to watch the football,’ I called after them as the car turned left and disappeared from view.

Lucy, who was standing beside me, left out a heartfelt sigh. ‘I’m so pleased I won’t ever have to leave,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t cope with another move.’

I turned to her and smiled. ‘No, but then Alice is going home. You
are
home now. It took us a while to find you, but now you’re home for good.’