The Cast-Off Kids (27 page)

‘I believe their father visits them?’

‘Yes, but very infrequently. He hasn’t been for more than a couple of years now. And the one time we needed to contact him, to ask his permission for Daisy to have tests in hospital,
he refused and put the phone down.’

‘Yes, I can see that John has documented that.’

‘And the doctor who was with John was anxious to go ahead, but Rocky took no notice.’ I paused to let that sink in. ‘Daisy felt very let down by her father, when she most
needed him. She still does.’

‘Yes. I can understand that.’ Bernard seemed impatient. ‘But what about the mother? I can’t see anything here about her, other than her name and a contact
number.’

‘Well, that’s more than we have. According to Rocky, she walked out on him and the kids just after Paul was born. She just abandoned them. I don’t know if that’s true,
but neither of the children could remember her and they have never mentioned her at all.’

‘I do believe that mothers should not be sidelined like this, Mrs Merry.’

‘Trisha,’ I said, indignant at his tone. ‘I hope you’re not accusing us of sidelining her? We’ve never heard from her, or anything about her. You may have a
telephone number, but nobody gave it to us, and she certainly has never attempted to make any contact with us, nor even sent as much as a birthday card to either of her children. So I don’t
think sidelining is the right word.’

‘I see. Well, I’m sorry if I have offended you, Trisha. I didn’t mean to do that. I suspect the Social Services Department may have been guilty of not following through on the
contact side. There’s no record that anybody here has ever made contact with her. And all the paperwork was signed by the children’s father, alone.’

‘Yes, I was there when he signed the papers.’

‘I do apologise, as it seems I haven’t made a good start in my relationship with you as the children’s foster-mother. I do recognise the great importance of your role in acting
as their mother . . . while they are with you.’ He was saying some of the right words, but I had an uncomfortable feeling about the way this conversation was going.

‘Are you hoping to come round and meet the children?’ I asked. ‘I think it would be helpful for you to get to know them, and us too.’

‘If you wish.’ I didn’t like the way he said that, as if meeting the children didn’t really matter.

We arranged for him to come on the following Monday, 2 December, in the late afternoon.

Bernard came as agreed and spent the first half hour, sitting on the playroom sofa, chatting with each of the children in turn. I assumed he would be asking them about their
schools, their friends and hobbies. Maybe he would ask them about living as part of our family, and about us too. He was a social worker. I trusted him. Perhaps that was my first mistake.

Next, it was my turn. ‘Mrs Merry—’

‘Trisha,’ I interrupted him.

‘Yes, Trisha, I’ve had a good chat with both Daisy and Paul, and they would like to see their mother.’

‘What?’ I spluttered in astonishment. How had that come about? They hadn’t mentioned her once in ten years, so why would they say that to a stranger on his first visit?
‘Did you actually hear them say that?’ I asked, in a cool voice.

‘Yes.’

‘On their own initiative?’

‘Well, no . . . but they seemed OK to talk about her.’

‘But they don’t know anything at all about her.’

‘No, but I wanted to know whether they’d like to see her.’

‘That’s outrageous,’ I protested. ‘You are raising their awareness of their mother, giving them the hope that she might want to see them, when, as the last ten years have
shown, she clearly has no wish at all to see them.’ I paused to take a big breath and lower my shoulders. ‘What do you think that will do to them?’

‘But, have you considered her point of view?’

‘No, because it’s the kids I care about. I would never do or say anything that might lead to their disappointment and any further feeling of betrayal. Have you ever seen a child
waiting all day for their parent to show up, then go to bed in tears because they hadn’t? Daisy and Paul’s mother abandoned them once. Why wouldn’t she do it again? If she cared,
she could have contacted them at any time before now. But she hasn’t.’

‘Don’t you think that everyone needs the chance to at least meet their own mother?’ he insisted.

I didn’t answer that rhetorical question. I do believe in rights for all, of course, but he seemed to have this all skewed in his mind. What was he thinking of? I feared where this could
lead and needed to say so. But, as I suspected, he had his own agenda.

‘Well, I think that the children’s mother should be part of their picture of who they are,’ he continued. ‘So, although the number I was given was wrong, I did manage to
track down Daisy and Paul’s mother, and I had a chat with her. As a result of that conversation, she has agreed to come and visit the children. Isn’t that marvellous?’

Another question to which I could not give a polite answer. I was livid, but I had to try not to show it too obviously. I composed myself as best I could.

‘I can only answer that with another question,’ I replied.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Did you ask her to come and see them, or did she ask to visit them?’

‘Well . . . that’s a good question.’

‘Yes, I know. But I want to hear the answer.’

‘Well, I think you know it already. I phoned their mother, had a chat with her and then asked her if she’d like to visit them.’

‘And did she answer you straight away?’

‘Er, no. She wanted to think about it. She rang me back the following day and agreed to come.’

‘Why? What for?’

‘Because she’s their mother. Don’t you think that’s enough?’

‘What I think is that you’re setting the children up to be knocked down – very badly. I hope I’m wrong, but—’

‘That’s not the point,’ he interrupted, clearly annoyed with my concerns.

‘Then what is?’

He said nothing.

‘Do we have a date?’

‘Wednesday at noon. Will that be all right for you?’

I felt like snapping at him:
It will have to be, won’t it?
But I didn’t. I said ‘Yes. Though it means they will have to miss school. At least I’ll have the time in
between now and then to prepare the children gently for her visit.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Merry.’

‘Goodbye, Mr Brown.’ I shut the front door as soon as he had passed through and stood with my back to it, leaning against it.

How dare he get us into this mess? It would be fine, better than fine, if their birth mother genuinely wanted to get to know her children. I’d be delighted for that to happen, as long as
she turned up and it wasn’t a one-day wonder. If they really did develop a positive relationship, I’d be very happy for them and do all I could to support it. But I feared what it would
do to Daisy and Paul if she let them down in any way, let alone abandoning them again. It would be so much worse this time.

Bit by bit, that evening and over the following day, I created opportunities to talk with them about their mother.

But I must say, they seemed remarkably matter-of-fact about it, both of them. The message I was getting from them was:
We’ve got a mother, but we don’t remember her. We
don’t know what she looks like, or anything about her life. But she’s a stranger, so we’re not really interested
. That’s how they seemed to be taking the
conversation.

However, I hadn’t yet broken the news to them that their mother was coming to see them the next day. I would have to do that after school tonight. I wondered how they would react.

D
aisy and Paul had a similar reaction to mine.

‘Why does she want to come?’

‘To see you. I know you don’t remember your mother, but she remembers you. When she last saw you, Pauly, you were probably a newborn baby, or not much bigger than that. And Daise,
you were one year old – a toddler. You had probably just learnt to walk, but you couldn’t talk yet, except gibberish, which only you understood.’

Paul giggled at the thought of himself as a tiny baby.

‘Did I used to suck my thumb then?’ asked Daisy, as she tried to imagine herself at that age. ‘Maybe I didn’t have this haircut yet?’ she asked. It was still a sore
point with her, and she blamed her mother for all the years of having to put up with it, and all the horrid things other children said about it. But she was not a child who held a grudge, so I
hoped she wouldn’t take it out on her mother. ‘I expect that, when she sees you now, Daise, she might let you change it, if you ask her. I hope so.’

‘Why hasn’t she come before?’ asked Daisy.

‘I don’t know, sweetheart. Perhaps she didn’t want to disturb your life here with us. The main thing is that she’s coming here to meet you both now.’

‘Will she bring us a present?’ asked Paul, with a cheeky grin.

‘Not if you ask for it!’ I said. ‘Let’s wait and see.’

‘What will we do when she gets here?’ asked Daisy.

‘Say hello and get to know each other. Maybe chat a bit. Then take her up to see your bedrooms, if you like.’

‘Can I go outside and show her tricks on my bike?’ asked Paul.

‘Yes, of course, if it’s not too cold and wet. Or she could watch you from the kitchen window if the weather’s bad.’

‘She won’t want to take us away, will she?’ asked Daisy, with an anxious expression.

‘No. She’s just coming to visit. She certainly can’t just take you away tomorrow or anything like that. So you don’t need to worry.’

‘Oh good,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t want to leave you and Mike. And I don’t want to leave my school, and I’ve just started going to Guides, so I don’t want
to leave that either.’

‘She’s just coming to see you,’ I said, putting my arm round her shoulders to reassure her. ‘Then you’ll know what she looks like, and you can tell her the things
you like doing.’

Daisy chose what she wanted to wear and spent some time in front of the mirror, experimenting whether to do up her cardigan or not. Whereas Paul said, ‘I’m not
bothered – you choose.’ So I picked out an emerald green jumper and the new pair of navy cord trousers I’d bought him the previous week. I had to remind him to change into them,
just in time.

At exactly midday, Bernard drove up outside the house. The children were both with me when I opened the front door, and in came this carefully made-up, slim young woman with perfect skin and
beautiful, long auburn hair, right down to her waist. Daisy couldn’t take her eyes off it. This was just what she had always wanted, but could never have.

Seeing the way Daisy looked at her mother’s hair, it was one of the few times in my life when I would have liked to be quite spiteful. I wanted to say to her, ‘Oh, you’ve got
long hair. What is it about your daughter that you don’t want her to have the same?’ But of course, I didn’t.

She was superbly turned out, and such a contrast to Rocky. I couldn’t imagine how they ever got together. He was rough and ready, while she was neat and tidy; he was brash, while she was
demure. His clothes looked as if he’d worn them all week, and it wasn’t just his clothes that were grubby, but she was the opposite – everything clean and ironed, prim and proper.
To my mind, they didn’t fit at all as a couple.

Bernard did the introductions, and when I shook hands with Pamela, it was like holding a dead fish.

I was intrigued to see whether the children, meeting their mother, might feel some slight sense of recognition from their infancy, especially Daisy; so I watched their faces and body-language,
but it was no different from when they met any stranger. Daisy stood back, like an observer, while Paul was offhand and uninterested.

We all went into the sitting room and plonked ourselves on the chairs . . . except for Pamela. The temperature in our house dropped for me when I watched the careful way she sat down. As she
lowered herself into her seat, she paid more attention to smoothing all the pleats in her skirt than she did to the children she hadn’t seen for eleven years. She looked all around the room,
and out of the window, but she barely gave them a glance.

Nobody spoke for a few awkward seconds, until I started a conversation with her.

‘Did you have far to come, Pamela?’

‘It wasn’t too bad,’ she replied, giving nothing away. Her accent had a west-country lilt, but her coarse voice took me by surprise. In fact, although she seemed prim and
proper on the surface, and clearly tried to come across as genteel, I felt there was a rough rigidity about her, a lack of empathy perhaps. But that was probably just my imagination. I tried to
stop judging her.

I could see, gazing sideways at Paul, that he looked expectant. I tried to shake my head at him without her noticing. But it didn’t work. He couldn’t contain himself.

‘Did you bring us any presents?’ It was the first thing he said to her, and she didn’t look pleased.

‘No, I’m afraid I didn’t. Why? Is it your birthday or something?’

‘Don’t you know when my birthday is?’

‘No . . . oh, wait a minute.’ She was trying to dredge it out of her memory. ‘Your birthday is in the summer, isn’t it? And Daisy’s too?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ her daughter said.

‘Daisy,’ I prompted her. ‘Do you want to tell your mum about your school?’ Fortunately, that was an easy subject for Daisy to talk about in detail, as she always enjoyed
school. But I noticed she kept it short today.

‘And what about you, Paul?’ I asked.

‘I don’t really like school,’ he told her. ‘Except for PE and break-times.’

Their mother’s eyes looked glazed, as if she was only half-listening.

Then Bernard tried to engage them in another conversation, about their hobbies, then their favourite foods

‘That reminds me,’ I stood up. ‘I must get the lunch ready for all the children. It will be mainly sandwiches today, plus bits and bobs.’

‘Can you do bacon sandwiches?’ asked Paul. ‘They’re my favourite.’

‘Yes, that’s OK,’ I said.

‘Can I come and help you?’ he seemed unusually eager. He never usually wanted to help with anything, unless he was being paid. But he wasn’t a boy who enjoyed conversation, so
any excuse to escape polite talk with adults.