Will You Love Me? (32 page)

‘Open your presents, Mum,’ Lucy said, sitting on the sofa.

‘Yes, I will,’ Bonnie said, sitting beside her daughter. ‘I’ll open my card first, and then my presents. I’ve got three presents!’ she exclaimed, peering into the bag. There was a touching childlike naivety in her enthusiasm and, as I left, I thought that if there was ever a case of a mother in need of looking after as much as her child, it was Bonnie. I wished I could have taken her home and looked after her too.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Thunderstorm

I went for a short walk while Lucy saw her mother, but the evening was so cold I soon returned to the contact centre, where I sat in the waiting room and flicked through a couple of old magazines someone had left there. My thoughts returned to Bonnie and Lucy, now in Red Room. A lot had happened in the interim since they’d last seen each other and I wondered if Bonnie would talk to Lucy about the court case and why Lucy was staying with me. I felt I should say something to Bonnie, perhaps to reassure her that I would take good care of Lucy, and thereby acknowledge the responsibility I felt for looking after her long term. I decided to see what Bonnie said and to take my cue from her.

The hour’s contact came to a close and, leaving the waiting room, I went to Red Room where I knocked on the door and went in. The room was unusually quiet for the end of a contact, as I remembered it had been the last time Lucy had seen her mother. Bonnie and Lucy were sitting side by side on the sofa, close, but not touching, just like the last time. I smiled as they looked up, and then the contact supervisor said to them: ‘Time to pack away now.’ Although the only item that needed putting away was the pack of playing cards Lucy held in her hand. There were no other games or toys out.

Lucy stood and crossed to the toy cupboard and put away the cards.

‘What have you been playing?’ I asked, filling the silence.

‘Snap,’ Lucy said.

‘It’s the only card game I know,’ Bonnie said, with an embarrassed laugh.

‘It’s a fun game,’ I said. ‘We play it at home.’ Although in truth it was a game for much younger children, and we only played it when we had small children visiting us.

The room fell silent again, and Lucy returned to the sofa and took her coat from the arm of the chair. Bonnie stood and picked up her jacket too. ‘Thank you for the presents,’ she said to me.

‘You’re welcome,’ I said. ‘Did the social worker give you my telephone number, as you asked?’

‘Yes. Thank you,’ Bonnie said quietly. ‘It will be nice to talk to Lucy sometimes. But don’t worry, I won’t make a nuisance of myself and keep phoning.’

Once again my heart went out to her. ‘Phone whenever you want,’ I said. I knew I was taking a chance, as Bonnie might have phoned continuously, which would have been very unsettling for Lucy, but from what I knew of Bonnie I didn’t think she would.

‘I’ll take good care of Lucy,’ I added.

‘I know you will,’ Bonnie said. ‘Lucy’s told me how happy she is with you. I can’t thank you enough for looking after her. She’s had so many moves, and not everyone has been as kind to her as you have.’

A lump immediately rose in my throat. Bonnie’s self-effacing manner, with no hint of resentment that I had stolen her role as parent, made me want to reach out and hug her. I didn’t, because I knew she would find that very difficult.

‘There’s no need to thank me,’ I said. ‘We are all very pleased Lucy can stay. Hopefully one time you’ll be able to meet Adrian and Paula.’

‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Bonnie said. ‘Thank you. Well, goodbye then, love,’ she said, turning to Lucy. ‘Take care, and be good for Cathy.’

‘Goodbye,’ Lucy said.

There was something so very sad and a little strange in this emotionless farewell, especially as Lucy was always so tactile with us at home. I didn’t offer my hand to Bonnie for shaking – I doubted she would have accepted it – so I said simply, ‘Look after yourself then, Bonnie. Phone when you’re ready.’

‘I will,’ she said, with a small smile.

I felt I had missed an opportunity to say more to Bonnie, but I didn’t know what else I could say. Anything I considered sounded trite and even patronizing. Bonnie picked up the gift bag and returned to sit on the sofa to wait until we had left the building.

‘Bye, Mum!’ Lucy called, as we went.

‘Bye, love,’ Bonnie replied.

As we went through the door, I turned and smiled a final goodbye. Bonnie was sitting on the sofa with the gift bag clutched protectively to her chest, as if it was her most treasured possession, and perhaps it was. She reminded me of one of those child refugees you see in photographs, who have all their possessions in a bag that they hold close, in case anyone should try to snatch it.

Lucy linked her arm through mine as we left the contact centre. In some respects it was a relief that there hadn’t been a big emotional scene when Lucy had parted from her mother. It can take days or even weeks for a child to fully recover from the upset of saying goodbye at the end of an emotionally charged contact. I hoped Bonnie had some good friends whom she could confide in and who would support her, for she seemed so alone in the world, and we all need at least one shoulder to cry on.

Jill visited the following morning as arranged and asked me how the contact had gone. I told her, and then I shared my concerns for Bonnie.

‘Will the social services offer Bonnie counselling?’ I asked. I knew they did for some parents with children in long-term care.

‘I’m sure Lily would have offered it,’ Jill said. ‘Although from what I know of Bonnie’s lifestyle, she doesn’t stay in one place long enough to access counselling or support services.’ Which I had to accept. ‘Did Bonnie give Lucy the birthday present she mentioned in her card?’ Jill asked.

‘No, and Lucy didn’t expect it, so she wasn’t disappointed.’

‘Just as well,’ Jill said dryly. ‘But it’s best not to make a promise if you can’t keep it.’

‘I don’t suppose Bonnie has the money to buy presents,’ I said.

‘No,’ Jill agreed sadly. ‘I don’t suppose she has.’

Jill now took a file of papers from her large bag, which doubled as a briefcase. ‘Your application to the permanency panel,’ she said, tapping the file. ‘Because you’re already fostering Lucy, we’ve been able to streamline the process. If she wasn’t here already, your application would have been far more complex and lengthy. Don’t worry, I’ll go through this with you now.’

I moved closer so I could see the papers and Jill opened the file. ‘The application begins with the basic stuff, your essential information, which I’ve taken from our records,’ she said, referring to the top pages. ‘I’ve checked it all and it’s current.’ I nodded and ran my eyes down the pages as Jill turned them. ‘Then we have your fostering history,’ she said. ‘And what you learnt from looking after those children. This was all included in your last review, which you read and signed at the time.’ I nodded and skimmed the pages. ‘Then we go on to information about your family,’ Jill said, ‘including family interests, and that you are all aware of the implications of fostering long term. There is a paragraph on your motivation for offering a long-term placement to Lucy, how well you handle contact and how you support Lucy. All of which you do admirably, of course,’ Jill added, as I read. She paused while I finished reading and then turned the page again. ‘Here we have your children’s views about fostering Lucy long term, which are of course very positive, followed by Lucy’s views on staying here – again, all positive – which I wrote after speaking to you and Lily.’ Jill paused again as I finished reading these pages.

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘The next question is standard, so don’t take it personally,’ Jill said. My gaze fell to the next box on the form which asked: ‘Do the carers and their family understand the impact of racism, and what do they do to support the child’s ethnic origin?’

I read Jill’s reply and nodded. ‘Thank you,’ I said again.

‘I’m almost certain there will be a question along these lines at the permanency panel too,’ Jill said. ‘So be prepared.’

‘I will,’ I said.

‘Your references,’ Jill continued, turning the next few pages. ‘All positive, of course. Then your police checks and medical, which are current and always included. And a copy of your last fostering review, which you’ve already read.’ This alone was twelve pages long. ‘And, finally,’ Jill said, ‘my conclusion, with my recommendation to the panel that they should grant your application to foster Lucy long term.’

Jill waited while I read this section.

‘What lovely words,’ I said.

‘You deserve it. So if you’re happy with all of this, sign here, and I’ll send it with Lily’s part of the application for the March panel.’

I picked up my pen, signed on the dotted line and returned the file to Jill. She then told me a bit about what to expect at the panel hearing, after which she read and signed my log notes.

‘You know, you’ll still have to keep your log notes going, even after permanency,’ Jill said.

‘Yes, I know.’

‘Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll be off. See you at the review next week,’ Jill said. ‘Ask Lucy if she would like to attend her review. She might feel differently now.’

‘I will,’ I said.

When Lucy arrived home from school that afternoon, I told her Jill had visited and the reason why. But when I asked her if she’d like to attend her review, she said, ‘Maybe next time. I don’t want to miss school.’ Which was reasonable.

‘Perhaps I could ask for your next review to be held during a school holiday?’ I suggested. ‘So you won’t have to miss school.’

‘OK,’ Lucy said amicably, and went off to listen to her music, which was far more interesting than discussing her review.

That evening, when I went upstairs to say goodnight to Lucy, she was sitting in bed, with Mr Bunny on the pillow beside her. Her hands were beneath the duvet and there was a lump in the covers, as though she was concealing something, something she’d possibly hidden when she’d heard me approaching.

‘Is everything all right?’ I asked.

‘Yes, but there’s something I want to show you,’ she said. ‘It’s a secret and I haven’t shown anyone before.’

I sat on the bed, puzzled and a little apprehensive as to what it could be. I thought I knew Lucy well and I couldn’t think of anything she might have wanted to hide from me all this time. She was sharing her worries and past experiences more easily now.

‘It’s this,’ she said, producing the object from under the duvet. ‘I think you call it my Life Story Book, but I call it my diary.’

‘Oh, yes,’ I said, surprised and relieved. ‘That’s right. I remember Paula and I had to close our eyes when you unpacked it when you first arrived.’

Lucy smiled. ‘Now I’d like you to see it, and you can read some of the writing, but I’ll tell you what you can and can’t read.’

‘Thank you, love,’ I said. That Lucy wanted to share this with me now was not only very touching, but also highly significant: she was, in effect, entrusting me with her past. And although it was her bedtime, I knew I needed to give her all the time she needed.

‘That’s a photograph of me on the front,’ Lucy said, tilting the book so I could see. ‘I’m three years old there.’

‘What a lovely dress you’re wearing,’ I said.

‘It was my party dress,’ Lucy announced proudly. ‘Do you know how I know I was three?’

‘No.’

‘There are more photographs like this inside. I’m wearing my best dress because it was my third birthday.’ Lucy opened the book to reveal a double page of photographs showing her at the same age and in the same dress. The top of the page was neatly labelled: ‘Lucy’s Third Birthday’.

‘I had a little party,’ Lucy said, happy at the recollection. ‘There’s my cake, and look at all those presents! I can remember unwrapping them and playing games. That lady was my foster carer.’ She pointed to an adult in one of the photographs. ‘She was called Annie,’ Lucy said. ‘She’s written all the names of the people in the photographs underneath. Mum was there too.’

I looked at the photographs. Bonnie was sitting on the sofa watching Lucy unwrap her presents. So much younger and with different coloured hair, I wouldn’t have easily recognized her.

‘I had a lovely day,’ Lucy said, with a satisfied sigh. ‘I was happy living at Annie’s. Here I am in the garden,’ she said, turning the pages. ‘And here it’s Christmas.’

I smiled as I looked at the pictures. ‘Presumably Annie started this book for you?’

‘Yes, one of my social workers told me she did. The social worker said she’d asked Mum for some photographs of me when I was a baby to put in it, but it never happened.’

‘I’ll ask Lily,’ I said. ‘It’s important you have some photographs of when you were very little. I’m sure Bonnie must have taken some.’

‘Thanks,’ Lucy said, and turned the page. ‘Here are some more of me with Annie and her family. We did lots of things. Look at me at the farm stroking the rabbit, and here I am on the swings in the park. I don’t really remember all of those things, but I can tell I was happy because I’m smiling in all the photographs. I look happy, don’t I?’

‘You certainly do, love.’

Lucy turned the page again and the photographs taken at Annie’s suddenly stopped. Lucy’s face grew serious. ‘I think Mum must have taken me away then, because that’s Dave,’ she said, pointing to a passport-size photo. ‘I was going to tear it up, but I kept it to remind me what he looked like, in case I ever meet him again. He was horrible to me. He looks horrible, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. With a shaved head, one earring, a scar running through one eyebrow and cold, grey, staring eyes, he looked the epitome of a thug. I wondered what Bonnie had seen in him and how she could ever have entrusted her daughter to him.

‘There he is with Mum,’ Lucy said, pointing to the photograph beneath. It was another passport-size photo, presumably taken in a booth, and showed Bonnie and Dave with their heads pressed together and lips pursed towards the camera.

‘Who gave you these photographs?’ I asked.

‘Mum,’ Lucy said. ‘I think she was proud of Dave.’