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AlsobyCathyGlass
DamagedHiddenCut
TheSaddestGirlintheWorldHappyKids
TheGirlintheMirrorIMissMummy
MummyToldMeNottoTellMyDad’saPoliceman(a
QuickReadsnovel)Run,Mummy,Run
TheNighttheAngelsCameHappyAdultsABaby’sCry
HappyMealtimesForKidsAnotherForgottenChild
PleaseDon’tTakeMyBaby
Contents
CoverTitlePageAlsobyCathyGlassAcknowledgements
EpigraphPrologue
PARTONE
1Desperate2Escape3Concerned4TooLatetoHelp5Family6Neglect
7NoChancetoSayGoodbye8AGoodFriend9‘IHateYouAll!’
PARTTWO
10‘AFamilyofMyOwn’11Lucy12NoAppetite13‘DoOurBest’14Control
15‘IDon’tWantHerHelp!’16TestingtheBoundaries17Progress18‘I’dRatherHaveYou’19HappyHoliday20‘WillYouLoveMe?’21‘NoOneWantsMe’22 A New Year, a NewSocialWorker23‘She’sOKforaGirl’24SpecialDay
25Thunderstorm26‘I’llTryMyBest’27SpecialLove
ExclusivesamplechapterCathyGlassCopyrightAboutthePublisher
Acknowledgements
Abigthank-youtomyeditor,Holly; my literary agentAndrew; and Carole, Vicky,Laura and all the team at
HarperCollins.
‘EverytimeIhearanewbornbabycry…
ThenIknowwhy,Ibelieve.’
‘IBelieve’byErvinDrake
Prologue
I heard Pat, Lucy’s carer,knock on Lucy’s bedroomdoor, and then a slight creakas thedoor opened, followed
by: ‘Your new carer, Cathy,ison thephone foryou.Canyoucomeandtalktoher?’Therewassilenceandthen
I heard the bedroom doorclose. A few moments laterPat’s voice came on thephone again. ‘I told her, butshe’s still refusing to evenlook atme. She’s just sittingthere on the bed staring into
space.’MyworriesforLucyrose.‘What should I do now?’
Patasked,anxiously. ‘Shall Iask my husband to talk toher?’‘Does Lucy have a better
relationship with him?’ Iasked.‘No, not really,’ Pat said.
‘She won’t speak to him,
either. We might have toleave her here untilMonday,when her social worker isbackatwork.’‘Then Lucy will have the
wholeweekendtobroodoverthis,’Isaid.‘Itwillbeworse.Let’s try again to get her tothe phone. I’m sure it willhelp if she hears I’m not anogre.’
Pat gave a little snort oflaughter. ‘Jill said you werevery good with olderchildren,’ referring to mysupportsocialworker.‘That was sweet of her,’ I
said. ‘Now, is your phonefixedorcordless?’‘Cordless.’‘Excellent. Take the
handset up with you, knock
on Lucy’s bedroom door, goin and tell her again Iwouldliketotalktoher,please.Butthis time, leave thephoneonherbedfacingup,soshecanhearme,andthencomeout.Imight end up talking tomyself,butI’musedtothat.’Pat gave another snort of
nervous laughter. ‘Fingerscrossed,’shesaid.
I heard Pat’s footstepsgoing up the stairs again,followed by the knock onLucy’sbedroomdoorandtheslight creak as it opened.Pat’svoicetrembledalittleasshesaid:‘Cathy’sstillonthephone and she’d like to talktoyou.’There was a little muffled
sound,presumablyasPatput
thephoneonLucy’sbed,andthen I heard the bedroomdoor close. I was alone withLucy.
Lucy and I believe we weredestined to be mother anddaughter; it just took us awhiletofindeachother.Lucywas eleven years old whenshecametome.Idesperately
wish it could have beensooner. It breaks my heartwhen I think of whathappened to her, as I’m sureit will break yours. To tellLucy’s story – our story –properly,weneedtogobackto when she was a baby,before I knew her. With thehelp of records we’ve beenable topiece togetherLucy’s
earlylife,sohereisherstory,rightfromthestart…
PART ONE
Chapter One
Desperate
It was dark outside and, atnine o’clock on a Februaryevening in England, bitterlycold. A cruel northeasterlywind whipped around the
small parade of downbeatshops:anewsagent’s,asmallgrocer’s, a bric-a-brac shopselling everything from bagsofnailstoout-of-datepacketsofsweetsandbiscuits,andatthe end a launderette. Fourshops with flats aboveforming a dismal end to arundown street of terracedhouses,whichhadoncebeen
part of the council’sregeneration project, until itsbudgethadbeencut.Three of the four shops
were in darkness andshutteredagainstthegangsofmarauding yobswho roamedthis part of town after dark.But the launderette, althoughclosed to the public, wasn’tshuttered. It was lit, and the
machines were working.Fluorescent lighting flickeredagainst a stainedgreyceilingas steam from the machinescondensed on the windows.The largest window over thedryers ran with rivulets ofwaterthatpuddledonthesill.Inside, Bonnie, Lucy’s
mother, worked alone. Shewasinhermid-twenties,thin,
and had her fair hair pulledbackintoaponytail.Shewasbusy heaving the dampclothes from the washingmachines and piling themintothedryers,thenreloadingthe machines. She barelyfaltered in herwork, and thebackground noise of themachines, clicking throughtheirprogrammesofwashing,
rinsing, spinning and drying,providedarhythm;itwaslikea well-orchestrated dance.While all the machines wereoccupied and in mid-cycle,Bonnie went to the ironingboard at the endof the roomand ironed asmany shirts asshe could before a machinebuzzedtosoundtheendofitscycle and needed her
attention.Bonnie now stood at the
ironing board meticulouslypressingtheshirtsofdivorcedbusinessmen who didn’tknow how to iron, had noinclinationtolearnanddrovepast the launderette from thebetter end of town on theirway to and from work.Usually they gave her a tip,
which was just as well, forthe money her boss, Ivan,gave her wasn’t enough tokeep her and her baby.Nowherenear.With her earphones in and
thevolumeturneduphighonher Discman, plus the noisecoming from the machines,Bonnie didn’t hear the mantapping on the window and
then rattling the shop door.Withherconcentratingontheironing and her back turnedaway from him, he couldhave stood there indefinitelytrying toattractherattention.The door was Chubb lockedand double bolted, as it wasevery evening when Bonnieworked alone. It was lucky,therefore, that after a few
moments Bonnie set downthe iron to adjust thevolumeon her Discman, because asshe did so she caught aglimpse of movement out ofthe corner of her eye.Turning, shepeered from thebrightnessoftheshopintothedarkness outside and was alittle startled to see thesilhouette of a man at the
door. Then, with relief, sherecognized the silhouette asthatofVince.Bonnie crossed the shop
floor, taking out herearphones and switching offherDiscmanasshewent.ShewasexpectingVince;hewasthe reason the shuttersweren’t down. He’d phonedearlier and said he needed to
see her urgently as he wasleaving – for good. Bonniehadn’t been shocked to hearthat the father of her babywas leaving. Vince (not hisreal name, which he’d toldher was unpronounceable toEnglish people) had comeover from Thailand on astudent visa four yearspreviously,althoughasfaras
Bonnieknewhe’dneverbeena student. His visa had longsince run out, and in thefourteen months Bonnie hadknownVincehe’dsaidmanytimes that immigration wereafter him and hewould haveto leave. But after the firstfew times, as with many ofthe other things Vince hadtold her – like his age and
where his money came from–Bonniehadbegun todoubtthatitwastrue,andsuspecteditwasjustanexcusetocomeand go from her life as hepleased.However, as Bonnienow slid the bolts aside andopened the door, letting thecold night air rush in, shecouldseefromhisexpressionthat something was different
tonight. Vince’s usuallysmooth manner was ruffledand he appeared to besweating, despite it beingcoldoutside.‘My sister phoned,’ he
said,slightlyoutofbreath,ashe stepped in and locked thedoorbehindhim.‘Mymotherisill.Ihavetogotoher.’Bonnie looked at him. He
was thesameheightasher–aboutfivefooteightinches–with pale olive skin and jet-blackhair;shesawhischarmandappealnowasshealwayshad, despite the way hetreated her. Her mother hadsaid it was her fault that sheallowedmen to treat her likeadoormat, but at leastVincedidn’t hit her, as some men
had.‘Yourmotherisalwaysill,’
Bonnie said, not unkindly,but stating a fact. ‘You toldme your sister looks afterher.’Vince rubbed his forehead
withtheheelofhishand.‘Mymotherisinhospital.Shehascancerandwillnotlivelong.Ihavetogohome.’
Bonnie looked into hisdark, almost black eyes andsearchedforthetruthinwhathe said, which was alsoprobably the key to herfuture.‘You’regoinghome?Ona
plane?’sheasked,raisinghervoice over the noise of themachines,forhe’dneversaidbefore that he was going
home,onlythathewasgoingaway.Vince nodded and stuffed
his hands into the pockets ofhisleatherjacket.‘For how long?’ Bonnie
asked.He shrugged. ‘Maybe for
good.’‘And your daughter?’
Bonnie said, irritated by his
casualness, and still not fullybelievinghim.‘WhatdoItellLucywhensheisoldenoughtoaskaboutherfather?’‘I’llwrite,’hesaidwithno
commitment. ‘I’ll write andphoneonherbirthday.’‘Likeyourfatherdoeswith
you?’shesaidbitterly,awarethat Vince only ever heardfrom his father on his
birthday. But if she washonest, she knew Vince hadnever wanted a baby; it hadbeen her decision not toterminatethepregnancy.‘I have to go,’ he said,
glancing anxiously towardstheshopdoor.‘Ineedtobuymytickethome,butIhaven’tthemoney.’Bonniegaveasmall,sharp
laugh. ‘So that’s why you’rehere?Toborrowmoney.No,Vince,’ she said, before hecouldask.‘ThelittleIearnisformeandmybaby.There’snever any left over, as youknow.’‘You live rent free here in
the flat,’ he said, an edge ofdesperation creeping into hisvoice. ‘Youmust have some
cashyoucanlendme?’‘No. I have to pay bills –
heatingandlighting.Ihavetobuy food and clothes. I’vetold you before I have nosavings. I don’t have enoughfor Lucy and me.’ She wasgrowing angrynow.Abettermanwouldhaverealizedandnotasked.‘I’m desperate,’ Vince
said, almost pleading. ‘Youwouldn’tstopmefromseeingmymotherwhensheisdying,wouldyou?’Bonnieheardtheemotional
blackmail, but it didn’t stopher feeling guilty. ‘I don’thave any money,’ she saidagain.‘Honestly,Idon’t.’Vince’seyesgrewcold,as
they did sometimes, though
not normally in relation toher. It made her uneasy, asthough there was a side tohimshedidn’tknow.‘The till,’ he said, shifting
hisgaze to thefarendof theshop where the till sat on atable fixed to the floor. ‘Youhave the day’s takings.Please. I’m desperate. I’llrepayyou,Ipromise.’
‘No. It’s impossible,’Bonnie said, an icy chillrunningdownherspine.‘I’vetold you what Ivan’s like.He’salwayssayinghe’llbeatme if the day’s takings aredown. He would, I’m sure.He’s capable of it. Youwouldn’tputmeindanger?’But she could tell from
Vince’s eyes that he could
andwould.Hisgazeflickeredto the till again as henervously licked his bottomlip. ‘You don’t understand,’he said. ‘It’s not just aboutmy mother. I owe peoplemoney.Peoplewho’llkillmeifIdon’tpaythem.I’msorry,Bonnie, but I don’t have anychoice.’His mother’s illness or
creditors? Bonnie didn’tknow the truth and it hardlymattered any more; hisbetrayalofherwascomplete.Shewatchedinhorroraswithsingle-minded determinationhe walked the length of theshop to the till. Shewatchedfrom where she stood as heopened the till draw,struggling to accept that he
thought more of his ownsafety than hers and wouldput her in danger to savehimself. But as he begantaking out the money – themoneyshehadcollectedfromhand washes, dry cleaningand ironing; which could be£500ormore;andwhichshetooktotheflateachnightforsafe keeping, ready to give
Ivanthefollowingmorning–herthoughtswenttoIvanandwhat he would do to her ifany of the money wasmissing.SheknewshehadtostopVince.‘No, Vince!’ she cried,
rushing to the till. ‘No!’ Shegrabbed his arm. ‘No! Stop.ThinkofLucy.Ivanwillhurtheraswellasmeifyoutake
themoney.’‘NotasmuchasthegangI
owe will hurt me,’ hesneered.He pushed her fromhim and continued filling hisjacketpockets.‘No. Stop!’ Bonnie cried
again. In desperation shegrabbedhishandsandtriedtostop him from taking themoney,butheshookheroff.
She grabbed his handsagain but his next push wasmuch harder and sent herreelingbackwardsagainstthehardmetaledgeofawashingmachine.Shecriedoutastheimpact winded her and painshot through her. Vincequicklystuffedthelastofthemoneyintohisjacketpocketsandwithoutlookingbackran
fromtheshop.
Bonniestayedwhereshewas,tryingtocatchherbreath.Shewas also trying to come toterms with what had justhappened. Vince had gone,probably for good, and he’dtaken all of Ivan’s money –themoneyIvanwouldexpectto collect at 8.00 the
following morning. Tearsstungthebacksofhereyesasshe stood and leant againstthe washing machine, tryingtoworkoutwhattodo.The launderette was
uncannily quiet. The dryersthat had been working whenVince arrived had completedtheir cycles and now stoodstill; the washing machines
were in mid-cycle, theirdrums gently swishing waterfrom side to side. Bonnielooked at the shop door,which was still wide openfrom Vince’s exit. The chillfrom the night was quicklyreplacing the previouswarmth of the shop. Beforelong, if she didn’t close thedoor,adrunk,druggieoryob
wouldcomein.Notthattherewas any money left to steal,shethoughtgrimly;therewasjusthersafetytoworryabout.Heavingherselfawayfrom
the support of the machine,Bonnie rubbed her back andbegan to make her waytowards the open door.Despite Vince’s behaviour,Bonnie didn’t condemn him
for what he’d done; shebelieved she deserved it.Abuse was always her fault.Thingslikethisdidn’thappentonicegirls.Shewasbad,somentreatedherbadly.Itwasas simple as that. She closedand locked the door, slid thebolts across and turned tosurvey the shop. Baskets ofwashing waited to be loaded
intomachinesanddryers, theironingwashalfdoneandthewhole shop needed to becleaned and tidied ready forwhen it opened at 7.30 a.m.the next day. Bonnie usuallydidallthisbeforeshewenttobed. Ivan expected it andliked a clean and tidy shopwhen he called to collect hismoneyat8.00a.m.Evenifit
took her until midnight tofinish, she alwaysmade sureeverything was done, just asIvanlikedit.But not tonight, Bonnie
thought. There’s no point infinishing the laundry andcleaning the shop, for thecrimeoflosingIvan’smoneywasfargreaterandcouldnotbe put right by a clean and
tidy shop. It briefly crossedher mind that perhaps shecouldsaythey’dbeenbrokenintoandtheday’stakingshadbeen stolen, but with noforcedentryshedoubtedIvanwould believe her, and shedidn’t dare take the risk.Bonnie lived in fear of Ivan,as she did most men whocameintoherlife.
With a very heavy heartand her back paining her,Bonniewent to the cornerofthe shop and opened theinternal door that led to theflat above. She pressed thelight switch and the staircasewas illuminated, then sheturned off the lights in theshop – all except the nightlight, which always stayed
on. Closing the door on theshop,shebeganupthestairs,and as she did so she heardLucy crying. Bonnie knewfrom the distress in herscreams that she’d beencryingforaverylongtime.
Chapter Two
Escape
Halfway up the damp andfoul-smelling staircase, withitsdangerouslyfrayedcarpet,the light went out. Ivan hadthe light switches at the top
and bottom of the stairs ontimers so as not to wasteelectricity: he paid for theelectricityonthestairsandintheshop;Bonniepaidforitinthe flat. As usual, Bonnieclimbed the last six steps indarknessand thengroped forthe light switch on thelandingandpressed it,whichgave her another ten seconds
oflight–enoughtoopenthedoortotheflatandgoinside.The door opened directly
into the room where Lucylay, and her screams weredeafening now. The livingroom was lit by a singlestandard lamp that Bonnieleft on whenever Lucy wasalone–whichwasoften.Themain overhead light had
never worked, and Ivan hadneveroffered to fix it. In thehalf-light Bonnie crossed towhere her daughter lay in aMoses basket on the floor.Lucy’s eyes were screwedshutandhermouthwasopenin a grimace of crying. Thesmell was putrid, acombination of the diarrhoeaand vomit that had been
festering since the last timeBonniehadcheckedonLucyand changed her nappy, overfivehourspreviously.Bonnieknewitwaswrongtoleaveababy unattended for so long,butshehadtowork.Shealsoknew that, at sixmonthsold,LucywastoooldforaMosesbasket, but she couldn’tafford a cot. She kept the
basket on the floor so that ifLucy did tumble out shewouldn’thavefartofall.Lucy’s eyes shot open as
hermotherpickedherupandshe stopped crying. But herexpression wasn’t one ofrelaxed reassurance sensingthat, as a baby, all her needswere about to be met. Shedidn’t smile on seeing her
mother, as most six-month-oldbabieswould.No,Lucy’slittle brow furrowed and hereyes registered concern andanxiety,asthoughshesharedher mother’s fears andresponsibilities for theirfuture.The sheet in the Moses
basket and the Baby-gro andcardigan Lucy wore were
caked with dried vomit.Roundthetopsofthelegsofthe Baby-gro were freshbrownstainswherehernappyhad overflowed. Lucy’ssickness and diarrhoea werein their third day now andBonnie knew she shouldreallytakehertoadoctor,butif she did she would beregistered on their computer
system, and then it wouldonly be a matter of timebefore concerns were raisedand a social worker cameknocking on her door. Atpresent, no one knew whereshewas,notevenhermother.OnlythehospitalwhereLucyhad been born – over 100miles away – knew of herbaby’s existence, and that
wasalltheyknew.Bonnie felt Lucy’s
forehead. Thankfully shedidn’t feel hot so Bonnieassumed she didn’t have atemperature. Bonnie washoping, praying, that naturewould take its course andLucywould get better of herown accord, although howlong that would take she
didn’t know. Ignoring thesqualor of the living room,Bonnie carried her daughterthrough to the bathroomwhereshepulledon the lightcord. Filthy broken tilesformed the splashback to anoldchippedandbadlystainedbath. What was left of thelino on the floorwas stainedfromtheleakingtoiletandthe
ceiling was covered withlarge, dark, irregular-shapedwatermarksfromtheleakingroof above. This room, likethe rest of the flat,was cold,and mould had formedbetween the tiles, around theedge of the bath and aroundthe window, which couldn’tbe opened but rattled in thewind. Bonnie knew that this
room – like the others shewasallowedtouseintheflat:thelivingroomandkitchen–was unfit for humanhabitation. Ivan knew it too,and that she wouldn’tcomplain, because she wasdesperate and had nowhereelse to go. The doors to thetwo bedrooms werepermanently locked and Ivan
hadthekeys.He’dnevertoldher what was in them andshe’dneverdaredtoask.Spreading the one towel
she owned on the filthybathroom floor, Bonniecarefully laidLucyon topofit.Lucyimmediatelybegantocry again, as if sheanticipatedwhatwas comingnext.
‘There, there,’ Bonniesoothed. ‘I’m sorry, but Ihave to wash you.’ Bonniealways felt a sense of panicwhen Lucy cried, as thoughshe was doing somethingwrong.Lucy’scriesgrewlouderas
Bonnie began taking off herdirtyclothes. ‘Youmust stopcrying,’ she said anxiously.
‘Themannextdoorwillhearyou.’TheAsianmanwhoranthe
newsagent’s next door andlived in the flat above withhiswifeandtwochildrenhadtwice come into thelaunderette worried thatthey’d heard a baby cryingforlongperiodsandthattheremight be something wrong.
Bonnie had reassured him,butnowlivedindreadthathewould voice his concerns tothepoliceorsocialservices.Bonnie placed Lucy’s
soiledcardigan,Baby-groandvest to one side and thenunfastened the tabs on hernappy. The smell wasoverpowering and Bonnieswallowed to stop herself
from gagging. BeforeremovingLucy’s nappy, in awell-practised routine shereached into the bath andturned on the hot tap. Coldwater spluttered out as thepipesrunningthroughtheflatcreaked and banged. Bonnieheld her fingers under thesmall streamofwateruntil itlost its chill and became
lukewarm.Thiswasashotasitgot,sosheandLucyalwayswashed in lukewarm water,andLucyalwayscried.Leaving the tap running,
BonnietookoffLucy’snappyand lifted her into the bathwhere she held her bottomunder the tap. Lucy’s criesescalated. ‘Sssh,’ Bonniesaid, as shewashed herwith
an old flannel. ‘Please bequiet.’ But Lucy didn’tunderstand.Having cleaned her back
and bottom, Bonnie turnedLucy around andwashed herfront, finishingwith her faceand the little hair she had.Lucygaveaclimacticscreamandshiveredasthewaterranover her head and face.
‘Finished. All done!’ Bonniesaid.Turning off the tap, she
lifted Lucy out of the bathand onto the towel. Thecomparative warmth andcomfortof thefabricsoothedLucy and she finally stoppedcrying. ‘Good girl,’ Bonniesaid,relieved.She knelt on the floor in
front of her daughter andpattedherdrywiththetowel.Lucy’s gaze followed hermother’s movementsapprehensively as though atany moment she might havereason to cry again. OnceLucy was dry, Bonniewrappedthetowelaroundherdaughter like a shawl andthencarriedherintothehalf-
light of the living room,where she sat on thethreadbaresofawithLucyonher lap. ‘Soon have youdressed,’shesaid,kissingherhead.Bonnie took a disposable
nappy from the packet shekept with most of her otherpossessions on the sofa.Bonnieownedverylittle;her
and Lucy’s belongings wereeasily accommodated on thesofa and armchair. At least Iwon’t have much packing todo, she thought bitterly.Whereshewouldgoescapedher,butsheknewshehadnochoicebut to leave, now thatIvan’smoneyhadgone.Lying Lucy flat on the
sofa, Bonnie secured the
clean nappy with the stickyfasteners,andthenreachedtotheendofthesofaforLucy’sclean clothes.One advantageofworking in the launderettewas that she’d been able towashanddrytheirclothesforfree.Taking the clean vest,
Baby-gro and cardigan(bought second-hand),
Bonnie dressed Lucy asquickly as she could. Theonlyheatingintheroomwasanelectricfire,whichwasfartoo expensive to use, soBonnie relied on the heatrisingfromthe launderette totake thechilloff the flat,butit was never warm. Lucydidn’t cry as Bonnie dressedher; in fact, she didn’t make
anynoiseatall.BonniefoundthatLucywaseithersilentorcrying; there was nocontentedin-between.Neitherhad she begun to make thebabbling and chunteringnoisesmostbabiesofheragedo. The reason was lack ofstimulation,butBonniedidn’tknowthat.Once Lucy was dressed,
Bonnie replaced the sheet inthe Moses basket ready forlater and then carried herdaughter into the squalidkitchen. Balancing Lucy onher hip with one arm, shefilled and plugged in thekettlewiththeother,andthentook the carton ofmilk fromthewindowsill.Therewasnofridge so the windowsill,
draughty from the ill-fittingwindow, acted as a fridge inwinter. Bonnie kept her‘fridge foods’ there – milk,yoghurt and cheese spread.An ancient gas cooker stoodagainstonewallbutonly thehobs had ever worked, sosince coming to the flat fivemonths previously Bonniehad lived on cold baked
beans, cheese spread onbread, cornflakes, crisps andbiscuits. Lucy was on cow’smilk – the formula was tooexpensive – and Bonniewonderedif thiscouldbethereason for Lucy’s sicknessanddiarrhoea.Bonnie prepared the milk
for Lucy in the way sheusuallydid,byhalffillingthe
feeding bottle with milk andtopping it up with boilingwater.Withoutahobormilkpan it was all she could do,and it alsomade themilkgofurther. She made herself amug of tea and, taking ahandful of biscuits from theopen packet, returned to theliving room. She sat on thesofaandgaveLucyherbottle
while she drank her tea andnervously ate the biscuits.Shewouldhavelikedtomakeher escape now so she waswell away from the areabefore Ivan returned in themorningandfoundhismoneyand themgone, but the nightwascold,soitmadesensetostay in the flat for as longaspossible.Bonniedecided that
if she left at 6.00 a.m. she’dhave two hours before Ivanarrived – enough time tosafelymaketheirgetaway.Physically exhausted and
emotionally drained, Bonnierested her head against theback of the grimy sofa andclosed her eyes, as Lucysuckled on her bottle. Shewondered if she should head
north for Scotlandwhere hermother lived, but hermotherwouldn’t be pleased to seeher. A single parent with aprocession of live-in lovers,many of whom had tried toseduce Bonnie; she had herown problems. Bonnie hadtolerated her mother’slifestyle for as long as shecouldbuthadthenleft.Aged
seventeen and carrying asingle canvas holdall thatcontained all her belongings,Bonnie had been on thestreets, sleeping rough orwherever she could find abed. Bonnie’s two olderbrothershadlefthomebeforeher andhadn’t kept in touch,soasLucyfinishedthelastofher bottle and fell asleep
Bonnie concluded that shedidn’thaveanywheretogo–which was how she’d endedupatIvan’sinthefirstplace.
Dioralyte! Bonnie thought,her eyes shooting open.Wasn’t that the name of themedicineyougavebabiesandchildren when they haddiarrhoeaorsickness?Hadn’t
she seen it advertised ontelevision last year whenshe’dstayedinasquatwherethey’d had a television? Shewassureitwas.Shehadabitofmoney– the tips from theday – she’d find a chemistwhen they opened in themorning and buy theDioralyte that would makeLucy well again. With her
spirits rising slightly, Bonnielooked down at her daughtersleeping peacefully in herarmsand felt a surgeof loveand pity. Poor little sod, shethought,notforthefirsttime.Shedeservedbetter thanthis,but Bonnie knew that betterwasn’t an easy option whenyou were a homeless singlemother.
Careful not towake Lucy,Bonniegentlyliftedherfromher lap and into the Mosesbasket,where she tucked herin, making sure her littlehandswereundertheblanket.Theroomwasverycoldnowthe machines below hadstopped. It then occurred toher that tonight neither ofthem had to be cold – she
didn’t have to worry aboutthe heating bill as shewouldn’t be here to pay it.Theycouldbewarmon theirlastnightinIvan’sdisgustingflat! Crossing to the electricfire she dragged it into thecentre of the room, closeenough for them to feel itswarmth,butnottooclosethatit could burn or singe their
clothes.Shepluggeditinandthetwobarssoonglowedred.Presentlytheroomwaswarmand Bonnie began to yawnand then close her eyes. Shelifted up her legs onto thesofa,kickedoffthepacketofnappies to make space andthen curled into a foetalposition on her side, restingher head on the pile of
clothes,andfellasleep.
She came to with a start.Lucywascrying,andthroughthe ill-fitting ragged curtainsBonniecouldseetheskywasbeginning to lighten. ‘Shit!’shesaidout loud,sittingboltupright. ‘What time is it?’Groping in her bag she tookout her phone. Jesus! It was
7.00 a.m. The heat of theroom must have lulled herintoadeepsleep;Ivanwouldbe here in an hour, possiblysooner!With her heart racing and
leaving Lucy crying in theMoses basket, Bonniegrabbed the empty feedingbottlefromwhereshe’dleftiton the floorand tore through
to the kitchen. She filled thekettleand thenrinsedout thebottle under the ‘hot’ watertap. While the kettle boiledshe returned to the livingroom and, ignoring Lucy’scries, changed her nappy. Itwas badly soiled again; shewouldfindachemistassoonasshecould.ReturningLucyto the Moses basket, Bonnie
flew into the kitchen, pouredthe last of the milk intoLucy’sbottleandtoppeditupwith boiling water. Back inthe living room she put theteat into Lucy’s mouth andthen propped the bottleagainst the sideof thebasketsoLucycouldfeedwhileshepacked.Opening the canvas bag,
Bonniebeganstuffingintheirclothes and then the nappiesand towel. She put on herhoody and zipped it up; shedidn’t own a coat orwarmerjacket. Bonnie then ran intothe bathroom, quickly usedthe toilet, washed her handsin the lukewarm water and,takinghertoothbrushandtheroll of toilet paper, returned
tothelivingroomandstuffedthoseintotheholdall.Bonniedidn’t have any toiletries orcosmetics; they were tooexpensive and she neverrisked stealing non-essentialitems; she could livewithoutsoapandmake-up.In the kitchen Bonnie
collected together the littlefood she had left – half a
packet of biscuits, twoyoghurts and a tub of cheesespread. She remembered totake a teaspoon from thedrawer so she could eat theyoghurts, and then returningto the living room she putthem all in the holdall. Thebag was full now so shezipped it shut. She’d packedmost of their belongings; all
that remained were Lucy’ssoiledclothesandtheywouldhave to stay. There wasn’troom for them and theywouldsmell.Bonnie checked the time
again. It was now 7.15. Herheart quickened. She’d haveto be careful as she left thearea and keep a watchfullookout for Ivan. He arrived
by car each morning, butfrom which direction shedidn’t know. With a finalglance around the dismalliving room and with mixedfeelings about leaving – atleasttheplacehadprovidedaroof over their heads and awage–Bonniethrewherbagover her shoulder and thenpicked up the Moses basket.
She felt a stabofpain inherback from where Vince hadpushed her into the washingmachine.Opening the door that led
from the flat to the staircase,Bonnieswitchedonthetimedlight and then manoeuvredthe Moses basket out andclosed the door behind her.Shebegancarefullydownthe
stairs, her stomach crampingwith fear. The only way outwas through the launderetteand if for any reason Ivanarrivedearly, ashehaddonea couple of times before,there’d be no escape. Theback door was boarded shuttokeeptheyobsout.Halfwaydownthestairsthelightwentout and Bonnie gingerly
made her way down the lastfew steps, tightly clutchingthe Moses basket andsteadying herself on thewallwithherelbow.Atthefootofthestairsshepressedthelightswitch and saw the door tothe launderette. Opening it,she went through and thenclosed it behind her. Withnone of the machines
working the shop was eerilystill and cold. She beganacrosstheshopwithhereyestrained on the door to thestreet lookingforanysignofIvan;herheartbeatwildly inher chest. With one finalglance through the shopwindow,sheopenedthedoor.Thebellclangedand,leavingthe sign showing ‘Closed’,
sheletherselfout.
Chapter Three
Concerned
The cruel northeasterly windbit through Bonnie’s jeansandzip-up topas sheheadedfor town, about amile away.Shehadnoclearplanofwhat
she should do, but she knewenough about being on thestreets and sleeping rough toknow there would be aMcDonald’sinthehighstreetopen from 6.00 a.m.; someevenstayedopenallnight. Itwould be warm in there andas long as you boughtsomethingtoeatordrink–itdidn’tmatterhowsmall–and
satunobtrusively inacorner,the staff usually let you staythere indefinitely. That washow she’d met Jameel lastyear,sheremembered,sittinginaMcDonald’s.He’dsatatthenext table andhadbeguntalking.Whenhe’dfoundoutshewas sleeping rough, he’dtakenherbacktothesquatheshared with eight others –
men andwomen in their lateteens and early twenties,many of whom had been inthe care system. One of thegirls had had a four-year-oldchildwithher,andatthetimeBonnie had thought it waswrong that the kid should beforced to live like that andfeltitwouldhavebeenbetteroff in foster care or being
adopted, but now she had ababy of her own it wasdifferent; she’d do anythingtokeepherchild.Bonniehadlived at the squat for twomonths and had only leftwhen Vince had reappearedinherlife.Badmove,Bonniethought resentfully, as shecontinued towards the townwith Lucy awake and gazing
upather.‘You all right, love?’ a
male voice boomed suddenlyfromsomewherecloseby.Bonnie started, stopped
walkingandturnedtolook.Apolicecarhaddrawnintothekerb and the male officer inthe driver’s seatwas lookingat her through his loweredwindow,waitingforareply.
‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said,immediatelyuneasy.‘Bit early to be outwith a
little one in this cold,’ hesaid, glancing at the Mosesbasket she held in front ofher.Bonnie felt a familiar stab
ofanxietyatbeingstoppedbythe police. ‘I’m going onholiday,’ she said, trying to
keep her voice even andraising a small smile. Shecouldseefromhisexpressionthat he doubted this, whichwas understandable. It wasthemiddle ofwinter and shedidn’texactly look likea jet-setterofftoseekthesun.‘Tomy aunt’s,’ she added. ‘Justfor a short break while myhusband’saway.’
The lie was so ludicrousthat Bonnie was sure he’dknow. Through the openwindow she could see thetrousered legs of a WPCsittinginthepassengerseat.‘Where does your aunt
live?’ the officer drivingasked.‘On the other side of
town,’ Bonnie said without
hesitation.‘Nottoofar.’TheWPCduckedherhead
down so she, too, could seeBonnie through the driver’swindow. ‘How old is thebaby?’sheasked.‘Sixmonths,’Bonniesaid.‘Andshe’syours?’‘Yes. Don’t worry, she
won’tbeoutinthecoldlong.I’ll get a bus as soon as one
comesalong.’Bonnie saw the driver’s
hand go to the ignition keys.This was a bad sign. Sheknew from experience that ifhe switched off the engine itmeant they would ask hermore questions and possiblyrunacheckthroughthecar’scomputer. When that hadhappened before she hadn’t
had Lucy, so she’d legged itand run like hell. But thatwasn’t an option now. Itwould be impossible tooutrun the police with theholdall and Lucy in theMosesbasket.‘Where does your aunt
live?’ theWPCasked, as thedrivercuttheengine.Shit! Bonnie thought. ‘On
the Birdwater Estate,’ shesaid.Shedidn’tknowanyoneon the estate, only that itexistedfromseeingthenamein thedestinationwindowonthefrontofbuses.Suddenly their attention
was diverted to the car’sradio.Amessagewascomingthrough: ‘Immediate supportrequested for an RTA’ – a
multi-vehicle accident on themotorway. Bonnie watchedwith relief as the driver’shand returned to the ignitionkeyandhestartedtheengine.‘As long as you’re OK
then,’ the WPC said,straightening in her seat andmoving out of Bonnie’s lineofvision.‘I am,’ Bonnie said.
‘Thankyouforasking.’The driver raised his
window and the car spedaway with its lights flashingandsirenwailing.‘That was close,’ Bonnie
said,andquickenedherpace.She knew she’d attract the
attentionofanypoliceofficerwith child protection on hismind, being on the streets so
early with her holdall and ababy. That was how she’darrived at Ivan’s launderetteat 7.30 a.m. when Lucy hadbeen one month old. Livingrough, she’ddodged a policecar thathadbeencircling thearea,andBonniehadrunintothe launderette, which hadjust opened, to find Ivancursingandswearingthat the
woman who should havebeenopeningupandworkingforhimhadbuggeredoff theday before. They’d startedtalkingandwhenshe’dheardthatthejobcamewiththeflatabove she’d said straightaway she would work forhim.Now she crossed the road
andwaitedat thebusstop. It
was only a couple of stopsinto town, and she could justaffordthefare.Shealsoknewfromexperience thatshewasless likely to be stopped bythe police while waiting at abus stop than she was whilewalking.
Itwas a little after 8.00 a.m.when Bonnie entered the
brightly lit fast-foodrestaurant, with its usualbreakfast clientele. She wasthirsty, her arms and backached from carrying theMosesbasketandbagandshedesperately needed a wee.She was also hungry; apartfrom the handful of biscuitsshe’d eaten the eveningbefore, she’d had nothing
since lunch yesterday, andthat had only been a cheese-spread sandwich made fromthe last of the bread.Although she had enoughmoney to buy breakfast, shehad no idea how long she’dbelivingrough,soshewasn’tabout to spend it until itbecame absolutely necessary.Bonnieopenedthedoortothe
corridorthat ledtothetoiletsandoneofthestaffcameout.‘Oh, a baby!’ she said,surprised,and thencontinuedinto the restaurant to cleartables.Bonnie manoeuvred the
Mosesbasketandholdallintothe ladies. Fortunately itwasempty,sosheleftthebagandMosesbasketwithLucy in it
outside the cubicle with thedoor open while she had awee. Flushing the toilet, shecame out, washed her handsandthenheldthemunder thehot-air dryer. As the dryerroared, Lucy started andcried. ‘It’s all right,’ Bonniesoothed, and quickly movedawayfromthedryer.She picked up the Moses
basketandbag,andasshedidshecaughtsightofherfaceinthemirroronthewall.Underthe bright light she lookedevenpalerthanusualandsheseemed to have lost weight;hercheekbonesjuttedoutandthereweredarkcirclesunderher eyes. With a stab ofhorror,Bonniethoughtthatifshedidn’tchangeherlifestyle
soon she’d end up lookinglikehermother,haggardfromyears of drinking andsmoking and being knockedaround.Returningtotherestaurant,
Bonnie ordered a hotchocolate for herself and acartonofmilk forLucy. ‘Eathere or takeaway?’ theassistantasked.
‘Here,’Bonnieconfirmed.Shepaidand then, lodging
the drinks upright at the footof the Moses basket so shecouldcarryeverythinginonego, shecrossed tooneof thelong bench seats on the farside–awayfromthecashiersand the draughty door.Placing theMoses basket onthe seat beside her, Bonnie
quickly began drinking herhot chocolate. The warmthand sweetness wascomforting and reminiscentof the hot milky drinks hergran used to make for herwhenshe’dstayedwithherasa child. Bonnie wonderedwhathergranwasdoingnow.Her mother had fallen outwith her and they hadn’t
spoken for some years.Bonnie loved her gran,although she hadn’t seen hersince she’d left home eightyearspreviously.She took the packet
containing the last fewbiscuits from her bag andkeptitonherlap,outofsightofthestaff,asshequicklyatethem. The sugar rush lifted
her spirits and helped quellher appetite for the timebeing. Lucy was watchingher, but didn’t appear to behungry so Bonnie decidedshe’dkeepthecartonofmilkshe’djustboughtforlaterandtuckeditbackinatthefootofthe Moses basket, ready forwhenitwasneeded.Shealsohad the yoghurts, one of
which she’d give to Lucylater.She’dstartedgivinghersome soft food – yoghurt, achip chewed by her first tosoften it or a piece of breadsoakedinher tea.Whentheyweresettled,shethought,andshe had more money, she’dstart buying the proper babyfoodsforweaning.‘It won’t always be like
this,’ Bonnie said out loud,turning to her daughter andgently strokingher cheek. ‘Itwill get better. I promiseyou.’ Although how andwhen it would get betterBonniehadnoidea.
At 9.00 a.m. Bonnie hitchedthe bag over her shoulders,picked up the Moses basket
and left the fast-foodrestaurant in search of achemist. Lucy was asleepnowand,althoughshehadn’tbeensickorhadadirtynappyyet that morning, Bonniewanted to buy the medicineso shehad it ready in case itwasneeded.Shetriedtobeagood mum, she told herself,but itwas very difficultwith
no home, no regular incomeandhavingherownmotherasa role model. When she’dbeen a child she’d assumedthatthechaosandpovertysheand her brotherswere forcedtoliveinwasnormal,thatallfamilies lived like that. Butwhen shewas old enough toplay in other children’shouses she realized not only
thatitwasnotnormalbutthatothersontheestatepitiedherand criticized hermother forneglecting her and herbrothers. Bonnie wonderedwhy no one had intervened;perhapsitwasbecauseofhermother’s ugly temper, whichshe’d been on the receivingend of many times and wasalways worse when she’d
been drinking. This mightalso have been the reasonwhythesocialserviceshadn’trescued her and her brothersastheyhadsomeoftheotherkids on the estate, shethought; that,or theyweren’tworth saving – a view shestillheldtoday.Bonnie spotted the blue-
and-white cross on the
chemist’sshopalittlefurtherup and went in. There weretwocustomersalreadyinside:a lady browsing the shelvesandamanbeingservedatthecounter. Bonnie scanned theshelves looking for themedicine she needed butcouldn’tfindit.Oncethemanat the counter had finished,shewentuptothepharmacist
– a rather stern middle-agedAsian woman dressed in acolourfulsari.‘I think what I need is
called Dioralyte,’ Bonniesaid.‘Is it for you?’ the
pharmacist asked, givingBonnietheonceover.‘No,formybaby.’‘Howoldisit?’
‘Sixmonths.’She glanced at the Moses
basketBonnieheldinfrontofher. ‘What are thesymptoms?’‘Sicknessanddiarrhoea.’‘How long has she been
ill?’‘Twodays,’Bonniesaid.‘She needs to see a doctor
if it continues,’ the
pharmacistsaid.Reachingupto a shelf on her right, shetook down a box markedDioralyte. ‘Thisboxcontainssixsachets,’shesaid,leaningover the counter and tappingtheboxwithherfinger.‘Youfollow the instructions. Mixone sachet with water ormilk. You understand thisdoesn’t cure sickness and
diarrhoea?Itreplacesthesaltsand glucose lost from thebody. If your baby is nobetter in twenty-four hours,you must take her to yourdoctor.’‘Iwill,’Bonniesaid,taking
herpursefromherpocket.‘Four pounds twenty,’ the
womansaid.‘That’s a lot!’ Bonnie
exclaimed. ‘Can’t I just buytwosachets?’The pharmacist paused
from ringing up the item onthetillandlookedatBonnie.Bonnieknewsheshouldhavekept quiet andpaid.Throughthe dispensing hatch Bonniecould see aman, presumablythe woman’s husband, stopwhat he was doing and look
ather.Thenthewomancameout from behind the counterand leaned over the Mosesbasket for a closer look atLucy.‘Icansmellsick,’shesaid,
feeling Lucy’s forehead tosee if she had a temperature.Lucystirredbutdidn’twake.‘It might be on the
blanket,’ Bonnie said
defensively. ‘I didn’t havetimetowashthatbeforeIleft.Herclothesareclean.’‘Haveyoutakenthebaby’s
temperature?’ the womannowasked.‘Yes,’ Bonnie lied. ‘She
doesn’tfeelhot,doesshe?’‘No, but that isn’t
necessarilyagood test.Whatwashertemperature?’
‘Normal,’ Bonnie said,withnoideawhatthatwas.The woman looked at her
and then returned to behindthe counter. ‘Babies canbecome seriously ill veryquickly,’shesaid.‘Youneedtowatchhercarefully.Ifyougotoyourdoctor’s,theywillgive you a prescription forfree.Wheredoyoulive?’
‘Eighty-six HillsideGardens,’Bonniesaid,givingtheaddressofthelaunderetteshe’djustleft.Itwastheonlylocal address she knew byheart.‘Do you want the
Dioralyte?’‘Yes,’ Bonnie said, and
quickly handed her a fivepoundnote.
‘Remember, you see yourdoctor if she’s no bettertomorrow,’ the woman saidagain, and gave her thechange.‘I will,’ Bonnie said, just
wanting to get out. Onceshe’d tucked the change intoher purse, she dropped italong with the paper bagcontaining the Dioralyte into
theMosesbasketandhurriedfromtheshop.
However,insidetheshopMrsPatel was concerned. Theyoung woman she had justserved looked thin and gauntand her baby was ill. She’dappeared agitated and thebasketshecarriedherbabyinwas old and grubby; she
hadn’t seen one like it foryears. And why was themotheroutonthestreetswithherbagspackedinthemiddleofwinterwhenherbabywasill? It didn’t add up;something wasn’t right. MrsPatel was aware that in thepast chemists had missedwarning signs whenintervention could have
stopped suffering and evensaved a life. Half an hourlater, having voiced herconcerns to her husband, heserved in the shopwhile shewent into their office at thebackof the shopandphonedthesocialservices.‘Thismaybenothing,’she
began,asmanycallers to theduty social worker do. ‘My
name is Mrs Patel, I’m thechemist at 137 High Street.I’ve just served a youngwomanwith a sick baby andI’m concerned. Is it possibleforsomeonetocheckonher?Ihaveanaddress.’Andthatwasthefirst time
Lucy came to the notice ofthesocialservices–asasix-month-old baby with an
addressbutnoname.
Chapter Four
Too Late toHelp
Three days later, in the earlyafternoon, Miranda parkedher car in the first available
spaceontheroad,alittlewaypast the launderette, and gotout, extending her umbrellaas shewent. Shewas a first-year social worker, havingqualifiedtheyearbefore,andhad been assigned thisrelatively straightforwardcase. The duty socialworkerat the Local Authority hadnoted Mrs Patel’s concerns
and passed the referral toMiranda’s team manager,who’dallottedthecasetoher.Miranda had duly contactedthehealthvisitorwhosepatchincluded86HillsideGardens,but having checked theirrecordsshehadcomebacktoher and said they had norecordofayoungmotherandbaby registered at that
address. Now Miranda wasvisiting the address toinvestigate Mrs Patel’sconcerns.It was only as Miranda
stood in the street that sherealized the address she’dbeengivenwasn’tahousebuta launderette – the last shopinaparadeof four.With therain bouncing off her
umbrella, she checked thestreet sign to make sure shewas in the correct road, andthen looked round theendofthebuildingtothesideofthelaunderettetoseeiftherewasa door to Number 86. Therewasn’t,soshereturnedtothefront of the launderette,collapsed her umbrella andwent in. Thick, dank and
unhealthilyhumidairhither.Although most of themachineswereworking,therewere only two people in theshop: an elderly man sittingon the bench in front of themachines, presumablywaiting for his washing tofinish, and a rather largewoman in her late thirtiesironing at the far end of the
shop. The woman lookedoverasMirandaenteredand,seeingherhesitate,askedinastrong Eastern Europeanaccent:‘CanIhelpyou?’Mirandawalkedovertothe
woman before she spoke. ‘Isthis Number 86 HillsideGardens?’sheasked.‘Yes,’ the woman
confirmed, pausing from her
ironing.‘Areyoutheowner?’‘No.Iworkhere.Why?’‘I’mtryingtofindayoung
womanwithababywhomaylivehere,’Mirandasaid.The woman looked at her
suspiciously, and Mirandathought that perhaps shehadn’t fully understood her,so she rephrased: ‘I would
like to see the woman livingherewhohasababy.’‘No. I live here. Me –
Alicja,withmyhusband,’shesaid, pointing to the ceilingandflatabove.‘Do you have a baby?’
Miranda asked. AlthoughAlicja didn’t match thedescription Mrs Patel hadgiven, she was possibly a
relative.‘No baby. My boy eight.
HeinPoland,’Alicjasaid.‘Doesanyoneelselivehere
withyou?’‘Are you the police?’
Alicja asked, her eyesnarrowing. ‘Wehave right tobe here. My husband hasvisa.’‘No, I’m not the police,’
Miranda said with a smile,tryingtoreassurethewoman.‘Iamasocialworker.’Alicjafrowned,puzzled.‘Social worker,’ Miranda
repeated, wishing that likesomeofhercolleagues she’dmasteredthebasicsofPolish.‘Me good lady,’ she said,pointing to herself. ‘I helppeople. I want to help the
womanwiththebaby.’‘Not police?’ Alicja asked
again,seekingconfirmation.‘No. Social worker. Do
you have amother and babylivingwithyou?’‘No. No baby. Only me
and husband,’ Alicjaconfirmed.‘Doyouknowawomanin
herearly twentieswithasix-
month-old baby?’ Mirandanowasked,foritwaspossiblethat the mother she waslooking for had stayed withAlicjaorjustvisited.‘No. I show you our
room?’ Alicja said again,pointingtotheflatabove.Mirandahadn’tintendedto
ask to see the livingaccommodation; she really
didn’t have a right, but asAlicja had offered it madesenseforhertoseetheflatsoshe could rule out the babybeingthere.‘Yes, please,’ she said.
‘Thatiskindofyou.’Alicja gave a small nod
and, unplugging the iron, ledthewaytothedoorinthefarcorner of the shop. Opening
it,shetappedthelightswitchandMirandafollowedherupthe dingy, damp-smellingstaircase.‘Ivan very angry with the
girl with baby,’ Alicja said.‘Ivanownshopandshestealhismoneyandgo.’‘I see,’ Miranda said. ‘So
there was a girl with a babyliving here before you, and
she left?’ Then she gave alittlecryandstoppeddeadasthelightswentout.‘Noworry. Ipress,’Alicja
said, going up the last fewstepsandpressing the switchatthetoptorestorethelights.Miranda joined her on the
smalllanding.‘Yes. She go,’Alicja said,
opening the door to the flat.
‘Me and husband come lastnight.Nounpackingyet.’Miranda followed Alicja
into the flat, which, like thestaircase, smelled damp andmusty. A drizzle of winterlight filtered through thegrimy windows, but even inthe half-light Miranda couldsee the flat was unfit forhumanhabitation.
‘We unpack later,’ Alicjasaid, almost apologetically,waving a hand at the bags,cardboard boxes and carrierbags that littered the floor.‘Notimeyet.’Mirandagaveaweaksmile
and nodded; her gaze hadgone to the nylon sleepingbagsopenonthegrimy,wornsofaandarmchair.
‘No beds,’ Alicja said,following Miranda’s gaze.‘Ivan say no bed. He lockdoor to bedrooms. He havekey. Me and husband sleephere.’Not for thefirst timesince
Mirandahadbegunhercareerin social work, she wasappalled at the conditionssome people were forced to
livein.Andwhileitwastruethat this wasn’t the worseshe’d seen – not by a longway–itwasbad,andshefeltAlicja’s humiliation that sheandher husband – twohard-working adults – had beenreduced to living like this.She also felt anger towardsthe landlords who exploitedimmigrantlabour.
‘And there was a babyliving here?’ Miranda asked,now concerned that a babycould have been living insuchconditions.‘Yes,’Alicjasaid. ‘Mother
leavedirtynappyandclothes,babyclothes.Ishowyou.’Miranda followed Alicja
roundtheboxesandbagsintowhat passed for a kitchen.
Freezing cold, withcrumbling plaster and filthylike the rest of the flat,Miranda noted it didn’t evenhave the basics of storagecupboards or a fridge.Alicjawent to a rowof knottedbinbags propped against the oldcooker, which had its ovendoorhangingoff.Untyingthetopofoneofthebags,Alicja
tilted it towards her so shecouldseein.Mirandasawthesoilednappyandbabyclothesamong theothergarbageandtook a step back, away fromthe smell coming from thebag.‘I put these out later, and
clean when I finish work,’Alicja said quickly, retyingthebag.
Miranda was tempted toask how much she and herhusbandwerepayingIvanforthisdump,butitwasnoneofher business. She’d learntearly on in her career thatsocial workers couldn’t saveeveryadult living inpoverty;the social services budgetdidn’t stretch that far. Asthere was no child or
vulnerable adult living here,her involvement waseffectively finished. Therewasnothingshecoulddo.‘I show you bathroom?’
Alicjaoffered. ‘Then Iwork.IvanangryifInotwork.’‘Thankyou,’Mirandasaid.
ShefollowedAlicjaoutofthekitchen, around the bags andboxes in the living room to
the bathroom. It was prettymuch as Miranda hadexpected: basic, with mouldgrowing on the walls andaround the window, an oldcrackedbathandsink,rippedlino, a leaking toilet and noheating.Thatababyhadbeenlivingherewasappalling.‘Do you know where the
woman and baby went?’
Miranda asked, as theyreturned to the top of thestairs and Alicja pressed thelightswitch.‘No. Good that Ivan not
know,’ Alicja said. ‘He veryangry. She take his money,but he badman. He frightenme, but not frighten myhusband.’Alicja went ahead to the
bottomof the stairs and keptthe light switch pressed soMiranda could complete herdecent without suddenlybeingplungedintodarkness.‘Now Iwork,’Alicja said,
as they returned to thelaunderette.‘Thank you verymuch for
your time,’ Miranda said.‘You’ve been very helpful.’
She took a social servicescompliment slip, which sheusedasabusinesscard,fromher bag and handed it toAlicja. ‘That is the telephonenumberofwhereIwork,’shesaid.‘Ifthegirlandherbabycome back, will you call meplease?’Alicja nodded and tucked
the slip of paper into the
pocket of her jeans andpicked up the iron. ‘She notcome back here. She keepaway from Ivan.Maybe youtalk to the man in the shopnextdoor?Hecomeherethismorning.Askaboutbaby.Heworried–hiswifehearbabycrying.’‘I will,’ Miranda said
gratefully. ‘Thank you. Take
care.’‘You’rewelcome.’Wishing that there was
something she could do tohelp Alicja and her husbandand the thousands like thembeing exploited for cheaplabour, she left thelaunderette. Not bothering toput up her umbrella, shestepped quickly into the
newsagent’snextdoor.Beinga social worker ofteninvolved detective work –asking questions ofneighbours, friends andfamily and trying to build apicture of the person theywere investigating. Somepeople were happy to help,others were not; some wererude and even threatening. It
waspartofthejob.
Twoteenageladscameoutofthe newsagent’s as Mirandaentered. She went up to thecounter where an Asiangentleman wearing glassesand a thick jumper wasserving.Helookedatherandsmiled.‘CanIhelpyou?’Miranda smiledback. ‘I’m
asocialworker.I–’‘You’ve come about the
baby next door?’ he said,before she could get anyfurther.‘Yes,’Mirandasaid,alittle
takenaback.‘You’re too late. She’s
gone,’hesaid.‘MywifesawthemgoonMondaymorning,at about half past seven.We
have been very concerned.You should have comesooner.’‘Wedidn’tknowtheywere
here,’ Miranda said, takinghernotepadandpenfromhershoulder bag and making anoteofthedateandtime.‘The mother and baby
moved in about five monthsago,’hecontinued. ‘Mywife
and I heard the baby crying.We heard it every eveningwhile the mother workeddownstairs in the launderette.It’s not right to leave a babycrying for so long.We werevery worried. We have twochildren andwhen theywerebabies we comforted themwhen they cried. We neverleftthem.’
‘Do you know thewoman’s name?’ Mirandaasked, writing and thenglancingup.‘No. But the baby was
called Lucy. I know becausewhen I went round to see ifthey were all right, themother referred to her asLucy. She was ironing andthe washing machines were
going and making such anoise, she couldn’t hear thebabycryingintheflatabove.When I told her we couldhear the baby through thewallshe lookedveryworriedandstoppedironing.Shesaid,“I’m going to see to Lucynow.” Sheworked very longhours,toolongwiththebaby.I suppose she needed the
money.’‘Yes. Thank you. I see,’
Miranda said, frowning, andwriting quickly to catch up.‘CanItakeyourname?’‘MrSingh.’Mirandamadeanote.‘My wife offered to look
after the baby while thewoman worked,’ Mr Singhcontinued. ‘But she didn’t
want our help. It’sunderstandable, she didn’tknow us. But it would havebeen better for us to lookafterthebabythantoleaveitcryingforhours.’‘Did the woman have a
partner or boyfriend livingwithher?’‘Not as far as I know.
There was a man, oriental
origin I think, who used tovisitsometimes.Idon’t thinkhewaslivingthere.’‘Did you see the baby?’
Mirandanowasked.Mr Singh shook his head.
‘No.Thebabywasalwaysinthe flat. It never went out.The only time we saw thebaby was when they left onMonday morning. My wife
was looking out of thewindow and called me over.We sawher leavingwith thebaby in a funny type ofbasket. She had a big bagwithhersoitwasobviousshewas going. Running away, Ithink. She seemed veryanxious and kept lookingbehindherasshewentuptheroad.Thatwas the only time
wesawthebaby.’‘Thankyou,’Miranda said
again,asshewrote.‘The mother always kept
herself to herself,’Mr Singhadded. ‘Perhaps she was introuble with the police. Idon’tknow.’Hegaveasmallshrug. ‘Shewasyoung,earlytwenties;whiteskin, fairhairand very thin. My wife said
she looked like she needed agoodmeal.’‘Idon’tsupposeyouknow
where they might havegone?’ Miranda now asked,knowingitwasalongshot.‘No. As I say, she never
spoketous.Wejustheardthebabycrying.’‘Thank you, you’ve been
very helpful,’ Miranda said
again, returning her pen andpad to her bag. She took outanother compliment slip andpassedittoMrSingh.‘Ifyousee the girl again, perhapsyouwould phonemeon thatnumber?’‘Yes.’ He nodded and
placed the compliment slipbeside the till. ‘I hope youfind them. My wife and I
were very worried about thebaby. Children are soprecious.’‘Yes, they are,’ Miranda
agreed. ‘I’ll try my best tofindthem.’Thanking him again,
Miranda left the shop, moreworried than when she’darrived. Clearly baby Lucywas being badly neglected,
butwithnosurname,nationalhealth number or address,therewasverylittleshecoulddo to trace and help them.Dodging the rain, she ran tohercar,got inandclosedthedoor. On her return to theoffice she would discuss herfindings with her linemanager who would makesure she hadn’t overlooked
anything and then she’d fileherreport.ItwasagreatpityMr and Mrs Singh hadn’tcalled the social services orthepolicewhileLucyandhermotherhadbeenlivingintheflat,thenshecouldhavebeenhelped.Butlikemanypeoplewho didn’t report theirconcerns,they’dprobablyfeltthattheywouldbepryingand
hoped someone else wouldassumetheresponsibilityandphone.
As Miranda returned to heroffice, Bonnie was threemiles away boarding a trainfor thenext big town– fortymilessouth–whereherAuntMaggie lived. Having spenttwo nights sleeping rough,
desperate and worried aboutLucy’s health, Bonnie hadreluctantly telephoned hermother and asked for help.Her mother, sober for once,was surprised to hear fromher after so long, but notwholly surprised to hear shehadababy.‘Ialwaysthoughtyou’d end up getting up theduff,’ she said, with a
smoker’s cough. ‘Likemotherlikedaughter!’Bonniehadstoppedherself
from snapping back that shewasn’t like her and neverwould be, not in a millionyears, for she needed hermother’s help. But Bonniedidn’tgetanyfurther,forhermother said: ‘And if you’rethinkingofasking ifyoucan
come home, forget it. Mynew bloke’s moving in withhis kids soon so there’s noroom.’Therejectionwasnomore
than Bonnie expected fromhermother,who’dalwaysputherownneedsfirst.‘What about Gran?’
Bonnieasked. ‘PerhapsLucyandIcouldlivewithher like
Iusedto?’Hermother gave a cynical
laugh. ‘You’re well out oftouch.Gran’sinacarehome.Lost her marbles and on herlastlegs.’Bonniewassadtohearthat
her gran was poorly, andhatedhermotherforbeingsocallous. She wished she’dmademoreofanefforttosee
her gran. She was about tohangupwhenhermotherhadsaid: ‘You could try yourAuntMaggie.She’s a suckerforkids.’Apart from Gran, Maggie
was the only familymemberher mother had any contactwith, and although Bonniehad no recollection ofMaggie, having not seen her
since she was about threeyearsold,Maggiealwayssenther mother a Christmas cardwith an open invitation tovisit.‘Give me her address and
telephone number,’ Bonniesaid.‘Say please,’ her mother
said.‘Please,’Bonniesaid.Then
she noted down the detailsthathermotherreadout.‘Goodbye,’ her mother
said, andwith no ‘take care’or ‘stay in touch’ the linewent dead. Bonnie felt littleresentment towards hermother, who saw nothingwrong in putting her latestboyfriendandhiskidsbeforeher daughter and
granddaughter; her reactionhad been no more than shewas used to and expected.Her mother was damagedgoods, and it was doubtfulshe’deverchange.AslongasI don’t follow the same pathwith my daughter, Bonniethought.
Having used the last of her
moneytobuythetrainticket,and with no credit on herphone to call ahead and tellMaggie shewas on herway,Bonnieplanned to just arriveandhopeforthebest.AllsheknewofAuntMaggie–apartfrom that she was marriedand likedkids–was thatshewas mixed race. She andBonnie’s mother had shared
the same mother, butMaggie’s father had beenblack. With Lucy asleep inthe Moses basket on thebench seat beside her, themotionofthetrainsoonmadeBonnie doze. At some pointduring the journey shereceiveda textmessagefromVince: Plane leaves in 30mins. Bye. Vince. She didn’t
reply, and that was the lastBonnie heard from Lucy’sfather.
Chapter Five
Family
Itwasnearly6.00p.m.whenBonnie arrived at AuntMaggie’s – a mid-terraceVictorian townhouse on theoutskirts of the city. She
struggled up the path, coldandaching fromcarrying theMosesbasketand theholdallall the way from the station,over a mile away. She setdown the Moses basket,grateful to be able to relieveher arms of the weight, andpressedthedoorbell.Already,sheknewthishousewasverydifferentfromhermother’sor
anyof the places she’d livedin since. The neat frontgarden, the freshly paintedred door, the large pottedplant in the porch and thedoormatallsuggestedahousethat was well looked after –and that those living insidewereequallywellcaredfor.Bonnie pressed the bell
again and felt her heart beat
faster.Supposingnoonewasin, what would she do then?Or supposing Aunt Maggiedidn’t want to help her?Bonniewasn’tevensurewhatshe wanted from AuntMaggie, who was after all astranger to her. But she wasso desperate she’d havejourneyed to any address hermother or anyone else had
given her. It was impossibleto sleep rough with a baby,and she prayedAuntMaggiewouldhelpher,forshedidn’tknowwhatelsetodo.Eventually she heard
footsteps scurrying down thehall towards the door –children’s footsteps, Bonniethought. The door sprungopenandaboyandgirlaged
aboutnineandtengrinnedupat her. They were of similarheight, with large dark eyesand brown skin; the boy’sAfrohairwascutshortwhilethe girl’s was neatly plaitedintocornrows.‘Who is it?’ a woman
called from inside the house,as the children gazedinquisitivelyupatBonnie.
‘Dunno, Mum!’ the boyshouted.‘It’sawoman.’‘What’s she selling?’ their
mothercalledback.The children’s eyes fell
from Bonnie to Lucy in theMosesbasket.‘Ababy!’theboyreturned.Both children exploded
intolaughter,andforthefirsttime since Bonnie could
remember she found herselfactuallysmiling.‘No,I’mnotselling my baby,’ she saidquietly. ‘Tell your mummyI’mBonnie.’But there was no need for
the children to relay this totheir mother, for Bonniecould see she was alreadycoming down the hall. Shewasofmediumheight,witha
cuddly figure, and wore abrightlypatternedblouseoverblacktrousers.‘CanIhelpyou?’shesaid,
arriving at the door andtaking in Bonnie, her bagsand the baby in the Mosesbasket.Herchildrenmovedtostandeithersideofher.‘AreyouMaggie?’Bonnie
asked.
Thewomannodded.‘Mum gave me your
address.I’mBonnie.’A brief puzzled frown
flickered across Maggie’sface before she realized whoshe was looking at. ‘Mysister’s girl!’ she exclaimed.‘Goodheavens!Whatareyoudoing here?’ Steppingforward, she threw her arms
around Bonnie and huggedhertightly.‘Youshouldhavetoldmeyouwerecoming.I’dnoidea.’Bonnie felt uncomfortable
at being hugged; she didn’tlike physical contact,especiallyfromstrangers.Shewas relieved when Maggiereleased her and steppedback.
‘So, what are you doingcoming all this way in thecold with your bags and ababy?’ Maggie began. ButbeforeBonniehadthechanceto reply, toher reliefMaggiewelcomed her in. ‘It’sfreezing out there, come onin. Good heavens, girl. Letmehelpyou.’Maggie scooped up the
Mosesbasket from theporchandcarrieditindoors,peeringat Lucy as she did. UsuallyBonniewasveryprotectiveofLucy and never let anyonenear her, but now she foundshedidn’tmindAuntMaggieholding the basket; indeedthere was somethingcomfortinginhavinghertakecontrol.
‘Leaveyourbagandshoesdown there,’ Maggie said,pointingtoaplaceinthehalljustbelowarowofcoatpegs.‘Don’tyouhaveacoat,girl?’‘No,’ Bonnie said, still
shivering.Maggietutted.‘Well,come
andwarmyourself.’Bonnie slipped off her
trainers as the children
watched. She saw that theyand Maggie went barefoot,butunlikeBonnie’stheirfeetwereclean.‘Sorry,’ she said,
embarrassed. ‘I’ve beensleepingrough.’Maggie tutted again.
‘Throughhere,’shesaid,andled the way into their neatfrontroom.
Bonnie took in the thick-pile mauve carpet, the chinaornaments that filled theshelvesandtheframedfamilyphotographs dotted on mostofthewalls.Itwaswarmandfriendly, a proper home, likenoothershe’deverknown.‘So my sister sent you
here?’ Maggie said, settingtheMosesbasketonthefloor
andpullingbackthecoversoshe could see Lucy. Herchildrenpeeredintoo.‘Sort of,’ Bonnie said. ‘I
didn’t have anywhere to goandshesuggestedyou.’‘Andyourmotherwouldn’t
have you home?’ Maggiesaid.‘No.’‘All right. Let’s get your
babysortedoutfirstandthenyou.What’shername?’‘Lucy.’‘When was she last fed?’
Maggie asked. For havingpulled back the cover shecould see little Lucy wassucking ravenously on herfist.‘About twelve o’clock.’
Bonnie said. ‘I guess she’s
hungrynow.’‘I bet she is, poor little
mite,’ Maggie said. ‘That’ssixhoursago.Toolongforababytogowithoutfood.Howoldisshe?’‘Justoversixmonths.’‘It’sall right,pet,’Maggie
said, cradling Lucy in herarms. ‘We’ll soon have youfedandcomfortable.’Thento
her children she said: ‘Goupstairsandfetchyoursister.Tell Liza I need herdownstairs now to keep aneye on the dinner. Tell hernow,notwhenitsuitsher.’The children scuttled off
and Bonnie knew they wereusedtodoingastheirmothertold them and that Maggiewas used to being obeyed.
Yet while Maggie was firm,Bonnie sensed she was alsovery caring and loving – sounlikeherownmotheritwasdifficult to believe theywerebloodrelatives.She heard the children’s
footsteps disappear upstairsand then their shouts of:‘Hey, Liza!Mumwants younow.Guesswhat!’
Maggie looked at Bonnieassheperchedawkwardlyonthe edge of the sofa. ‘Relax,girl. You can tell me laterwhat’s been going on. First,we need to get this little onefed and bathed. Is she ill? Icansmellsick.’‘She was sick, but I gave
her medicine from thechemist.’
‘You didn’t take her to adoctor?’‘No. She stopped being
sick.’‘So what does she eat?’
Maggienowasked,takingtheempty milk-stained feedingbottlefromtheMosesbasket.‘Milk, yoghurt and
anythingsoft Ihave,’Bonniesaid.
Maggie didn’t voice herthoughts. ‘OK, let’s start herwithabottleofmilkfirstandthen we’ll bath her. Then,once she’s more comfortablewe’ll give her some dinner.We’ll also need to wash herclothes and the covers fromthebasket.’‘Ihave somecleanclothes
for her in my bag,’ Bonnie
said, grateful that Maggieknew what to do to helpthem.Footsteps sounded on the
stairs and the childrenreappeared, with a teenagegirl dressed fashionably inleggings and a long jerseytop.ShelookedatBonnieandthen at Lucy in hermother’sarms.
‘Liza, this is Bonnie,’Maggie said. ‘My sister’sgirl, your cousin. I need youtohelpmewithdinnerwhileIgetthislittleonesortedout.’Bonniethoughtshesawthe
faintest flash of resentmentcrossLiza’s faceas shegavea small nod and then left thefront room to go into thekitchen.
‘YouholdyourbabywhileI fix her a bottle,’ Maggiesaid toBonnie, placingLucyin her arms. She took thebottle,whichwasinneedofagood wash, and disappearedinto the kitchen, while thetwo younger children stayed,staringquizzicallyatBonnie.‘Are you going to sleep
here?’ the boy asked after a
moment.Bonnie shrugged. ‘I
dunno.’‘Haven’tyougotahome?’
thegirlasked.Bonnieshookherheadand
concentrated on Lucy, whowassuckinghardonherfist.‘How come?’ the boy
asked. ‘How come youhaven’t got a home and a
mumanddad?’‘I just haven’t. That’s all,’
Bonnie said, niggledby theirintrusivequestions.Shecouldhear muffled voices comingfrom the kitchen and hopedMaggiewouldreappearsoon.These kids had so muchconfidence they frightenedher. She felt safe withMaggie, andLucywasgoing
tostartcryingagainsoonandworryherfurther.Inthekitchen,Maggiewas
using boiling water and abottle brush to thoroughlyclean the bottle of congealedmilk.‘Littlewonderthebabywassick,’shesaid,scrubbingthe rim of the bottle for thethirdtime.Milk was warming in a
milkpanonthehobandLizawas keeping an eye on itwhilestirringthepanoffoodfordinner.‘Is she staying?’ Liza
asked,glancingathermother.‘She’ll have to tonight,’
Maggie said. ‘It’s late andcold.Shecan’tbeoutwithababy. They’ve nowhere elsetogo.’
‘You weren’t thinking ofgiving her Bett’s bed?’ Lizasaid,givingthespoonasharptap on the edge of the panbefore setting it on the worksurface.‘Yes,justfortonight.’Liza knew better than to
complain;itwashermother’sdecision to allow Bonnie touse her elder sister’s bed
while she was away atuniversity.‘What about the baby?’
Lizaasked.‘Isshecominginmyroomtoo?’‘She’ll have to until I get
somethingelsesortedout.’Maggiepouredthewarmed
milkintothecleanbottleandtook it into the living roomwheresheleftBonnietofeed
Lucywhileshewentupstairstopreparethebedroom.
Thatevening,onceLucywasfed, dressed in clean clothesand asleep, and the familyhadeaten,MaggiehadalongtalkwithBonnie,fromwhichit soon became clear thattherewasnopointinphoningher sister as she couldn’t, or
wouldn’t, help her daughter.So Maggie assumed theresponsibility, although shemade it clear from theoutsetthatBonnie stayingwasonlytemporary, until she couldfindsomethingmoresuitable.The social services’ recordsshow that Bonnie and Lucystayed for two months andthatBonniecametoviewthis
periodasthebesttwomonthsofherlife–livinginalovingfamily headed by a womanwhoactuallycaredforher.EveryeveningwhenLeon,
Maggie’s husband, camehome from work they atearound a large circular table,with a spotlessly cleantablecloth and cutlery thatgleamed. Dinner was a
sociableevent,witheveryonetalking and laughing, sharingtheirnewsandcatchinguponthe day’s events – it wasunlike anything Bonnie hadexperiencedbefore.Tobeginwith she felt uneasy andslightly intimidated by thisnoisy family and ate insilence, but gradually shebegantorelaxandjoininthe
conversation, although shenever had that much to say.Leon didmost of the talkingand was a great storyteller.Bonnielovedtolistentohim;to her, he was a proper dadand far removed from themen her mother had broughthome. He was from a largeJamaican family and wasused to accommodating
members of the extendedfamily, so he was relaxedabout Bonnie and Lucystaying.Heworkedatthebusdepot as a mechanic,servicing and repairing thecouncil’sfleetofbuses,whileMaggie, primarily ahomemaker, supplementedtheir income by workinglunchtimes as a canteen
supervisor at the localprimary school. Liza soonforgot her grievances athavingtoshareherroomandhappily traded in the lack ofspace and privacy for thenovelty of helping to lookafter baby Lucy, who rarelycried at night now she waswarmandfed.ToBonnie,heraunt’s family was the ideal
family,liketheonesyousawon television at Christmas,and shewould have loved tohavestayedforever.That first morning after
Bonnie had arrived, MaggieinsistedtheytakeLucytothedoctor’s for a check-up. Sheregistered both Bonnie andLucy at her doctor’s astemporary patients, living at
her address. The doctorchecked Lucy’s heart, chestandstomach;askedBonnieanumber of questions aboutthe illness and if Lucy wasup-to-date with herimmunizations, to whichBonnie replied that she‘thought so’.Thedoctor saidhewouldcheckonthesystemand a card would be sent to
her if there were anyvaccinations outstanding. HealsosaidLucy’ssicknessanddiarrhoea was very likely ‘abug’ and, as long as thevomitinganddiarrhoeadidn’treturn,shewouldbefineandhe needn’t see her again.While Bonnie was relievedthat Lucy had beenpronounced fit and well, she
wasconcernedthatherdetailswere now on the system andthat a health visitor mightcall.‘Don’tworry,girl,’Maggie
toldher,whenBonnievoicedherconcerns. ‘Healthvisitorshelp mothers with theirbabies.It’snothingforyoutoworry about. You’re not inany trouble.’ Although, of
course,Maggiewasn’t awareof the shocking conditionsBonnie and Lucy had beenliving in prior to coming toher, nor that the socialserviceshadbeenalertedandthat a social worker hadcalled at the launderette andfoundhergone.During Bonnie’s stay,
Maggie looked after her as
shewouldadaughter.Shefedandclothedher,andgaveherpocket money in exchangefor her helping with thechores around the house asthe other children did. Sheshowed Bonnie how to cookbasic meals, established aroutineforLucyandbegantoteach her how to play withher daughter to stimulate her
– of which Bonnie had noidea. Maggie also beganweaning Lucy properly – byintroducing her to smallnutritious meals, which shemashed down. Bonnie washappy to accept her aunt’sadvice and Maggie formedthe opinion that Bonnie wasable to successfully parentLucy,forasshesaidtoLeon:
‘While Bonnie isn’t thesharpest pencil in the pencilcase, she loves her baby andhasaninbuiltsurvivalkit.’Staying at Maggie’s not
only showed Bonnie what aproper family life was, butalso gave her new skills. Forthe first time in her lifeBonnie felt wanted ratherthansomethingthathadtobe
tolerated–asshe’dfeltathermother’s and later in herrelationships with men.Realizing the gaping chasmbetween her life and that ofher cousins, Bonnie grewincreasingly angry with hermother, for not only had shefailed to provide the basics,but she’d allowed her to beabused. She said so to
Maggie and then onemorning,whentherewasjustthe two of them at home,Bonnie asked Maggie if shecould use the phone to callher mother, and Maggieagreed.Maggie was in another
room but she could hearBonnie clearly as her voicequickly rose until she was
shouting at her mother,ripping into her for all shehad failed todo andblamingher for the abuse she’dsuffered and the life she’dbeen forced into. EventuallyMaggie stopped the call asBonniewasnearlyhysterical.She put the phone down andthen held and comfortedBonnieuntil shewas calmer.
Late thatnight,whenBonniewas asleep, her motherphoned Maggie. Drunk andbelligerent, she blamedMaggiefor‘puttingideasintoBonnie’s head’ and turningher against her.Maggie triedreasoning with her sister butwithout success, andeventually Leon took thephonefromherandhungup.
Although Bonnie knew thatlivingwithAuntMaggieandher family was only evergoing to be temporary, andthat Maggie was activelylooking for suitableaccommodation for her, itwas still a shock whenMaggie returned home fromwork one afternoon andannouncedthatshe’dfounda
small furnished self-contained flat just right forBonnieandLucy.Itwasonlya mile away, Maggie said,and had a large bedroombigenough to take a bed and acot, and a small kitchenetteand bathroom. Furthermore,andunlikemanyof theotherlandlords Maggie hadcontacted, this one didn’t
mind benefit claimants.Maggie explained to Bonniethatonceshehadapermanentaddress, and until she couldfinda joband sortout child-care arrangements, she couldclaim benefit to pay the rentand liveon.Worried that theflatmightgoquickly,Maggiehad paid the deposit and thefirst month’s rent. Bonnie
thanked her, but Maggiecould see she was sad athaving to go and she feltguilty,eventhoughshedidn’thave the room to let Bonniestay.Bettwasduehomefromuniversity for the Easterholiday and ultimately shewould return to live at homewhen shehadgraduated, andMaggie’s two younger
children already shared abedroom.Out of her own money
Maggie bought a cot,bedding,apushchair,awarmcoat forBonnie and the nextsizeofbabyclothesforLucy,and filled the cupboards inthe flat with food. Then shehelped Bonnie move in andgave her fifty pounds to ‘see
her over’ until her benefitmoneycamethrough.MaggiefeltshehaddoneherbestforBonnie and, having madesure she and Lucy hadeverythingtheyneededattheflat, she promised to phoneand look in regularly, tellingBonnie tovisitwhenever shewanted and phone if she hadanyworries.
All went reasonably well forthe first few weeks; Maggievisited twice a week, andalthough Bonnie’s flat wasoften untidy, Lucy appearedclean, comfortable and wellfed. But then, over the nextmonth,Maggiebegantohaveconcerns. Bonnie oftenwasn’t up when Maggiecalledonherway toworkat
the school, although it was11.30 a.m. When Bonnieeventually answered thedoorshe was often still in hernightwear andLucywas stillin her cot. Although Bonnietold Maggie that she’d beenup early and had fed andchangedLucy,Maggiebeganto doubt this. Lucy’s nappy,her clothes and the cot
bedding would be saturated,suggesting she hadn’t beenchanged for some time,possibly not since the nightbefore, and she was alwayshungry. A couple of times,while Maggie waited forBonnie to answer the door,she heard Lucy crying, verydistressed, from inside. ThenMaggie found that there
wasn’t any food in thecupboardsandonlymilkandyoghurt in the fridge, despiteBonnie now being in receiptofbenefit.‘What are you two living
on?’ Maggie asked,concerned.Bonnie became defensive;
sheshruggedandtoldMaggieshe had to leave as she was
goingoutsoon.Now very concerned,
Maggie returned to Bonnie’sflat afterworkwith a bag ofgroceries for them, butBonnie refused toanswer thedoor. Maggie knew she wasin as she could hear Lucycrying, so she called throughtheletterbox,butBonniestillrefused to come to the door.
Eventuallysheleftthebagofgroceriesonthedoorstepand,wondering what she’d donewrong, returned home. Thatevening and the followingday Maggie telephonedBonnie many times but shedidn’tpickup,neitherdidshereturn Maggie’s messages.Unable to understand whatwas going on, but very
concerned for Bonnie’s andLucy’s safety and wellbeing,shewent to her doctor – theone she’d taken Bonnie andLucy to when they’d firstarrived. She explained herconcerns and said that shewasn’tsurewhattodoforthebest. The doctor said thatwhile confidentiality forbadehim to discuss Bonnie and
LucywithMaggie, hewouldaskthehealthvisitorattachedto the practice to visit them.When he checked theircontact details he found thatthey were still registered astemporary patients atMaggie’s address, soMaggiegave him their new address,which he entered on thecomputer system. Two days
laterahealthvisitorcalledonBonnieandLucyand,havingbeen allowed into the flat,subsequently alerted thesocialservices.
Chapter Six
Neglect
Doris was in her late thirtiesand an experienced socialworker with two children ofher own. She had a goodworking relationship with
Bonnie’s health visitor, whowas also a qualified nurse.Doris trusted her opinion, sothatifshehadconcernsaboutaclientandmadeareferral,itwas acted on immediately.Doris had wanted to visitBonnie and Lucy the daybefore, but with anemergency child-protectioncase conference in the
morning and then having toplace five siblings in fosterhomes in the afternoon, theday had disappeared. Nowshe was calling on Bonniefirst thing the followingmorning. It was 9.30 a.m.when she rang the doorbell.Doris wasn’t expectingBonnietobeupanddressed–notmanyof her clientswere
at this time–sosherangthebellasecondtime.Aminute later the door to
theflatnextdooropenedandan elderly lady poked herhead out. ‘You the social?’sheasked.‘Yes,’ Doris said with a
smile,wonderingwhy itwassoobvious.‘Good. That baby’s been
crying far too much for myliking, but the mother don’ttalk to me,’ the neighboursaid, and then disappearedback inside, closing the frontdoor.DorispressedthebelltoBonnie’s flat again, moredetermined than ever to gainentry. If the mother didn’tanswer then she’d call backlater,andiftherewasstillno
response she’d return with acourtorderandthepolice.Giving the bell another
push, Doris stooped so shewas at eye-level with theletter box and peered in.Herview was blocked by adraughtexcluder,soshetriedcallingthroughtheletterbox:‘Bonnie,love,areyouin?Myname’s Doris. I’m a social
worker. Can we have a chatplease,love?Nothingforyouto worry about.’ Doris knewfrom experience that youdidn’t go straight in talkingabout child-protection issuesif you could help it.Sometimes it wasunavoidable – if a child wasin danger and had to beremoved – but in cases like
this itwas likely thatBonniecouldbehelpedwith supportandmonitoring.Straightening, Doris
pressed the bell again andwaited.A fewmoments latershe heard the lock turn, andthenthedooropened.‘Hello,love,’ she said, smiling. ‘AreyouBonnie?’Theyoungwomannodded.
DressedinacrumpledT-shirtand shorts, with her hairdishevelled,she’dclearlyjuststumbled out of bed. ‘Whatdo you want?’ she askeddefensively.‘I’m a social worker. I’d
just like to have a chat tomake sure that you and yourbabyareOK,andthatyou’reaccessing everything you’re
entitledto.Yourhealthvisitoraskedme to drop by. Iworkwith her,’ she added. Thehealth visitor had told Doristhat while there were noobvioussignsthatbabyLucywas being physically abused,the level of care she wasreceiving fell below anacceptable standard and wasbordering on neglect –
although Doris wouldn’t besayingthatyet.‘Can I come in?’ Doris
askedwithanothersmile.Clearly resenting the
intrusion, the young motherstoodasideandDorissteppedinto the short hall, where abagofrubbishwaswaitingtobe taken out. She closed thefront door behind her. She
couldn’t hear a baby crying,but there was a strong smellofsoilednappies.‘Youcansit in therewhile
I get her up,’ Bonnie saidgrudgingly, nodding towardsthe door to the living room,while sheopened thedoor tothebedroom.‘It’s all right. I’ll come
with you,’ Doris said
brightly. ‘We can talk whileyouseetoyourbaby.’Alessexperienced social workermight have sat in the livingroom and waited for themother to return, therebymissingtheopportunitytoseemoreoftheclient’shomeandhowtheyrelatedtotheirchildorchildren.As Doris followed Bonnie
into thebedroomshe took inthe rumpled double bedwithonly one pillow, seeming toconfirmwhatBonniehadtoldthehealthvisitor:thatshehadno partner or live-inboyfriend.Dorisalsosawthepile of dirty laundry in onecorner, the overflowingclutter on the windowsill,which was being used as a
shelf, and the cot against thewall where the baby sat insilence,holdingontothebarsand staring out like a littlecagedanimal.‘What a lovely baby,’
Doris said, joiningBonnie atthe cot and trying to put themotheratease.ShecouldfeelBonnie’s hostility and itwouldn’t help in building a
relationship. ‘Her name’sLucy,isn’tit?’Bonnie nodded, reached
intothecotandliftedoutherdaughter. Doris noticed thetoys in the cot – the infantactivitycentreandrattle.Thatwaspositive,shethought.Butshe also saw that the baby’ssleep suit was saturated, aswas the cot bedding, and
there was a strong smell offaeces and ammonia,suggesting that Lucy hadbeen in thesamenappyforalong time. She watched asBonnie laidLucy on the bedand then, taking a roll oftoilet paper from thewindowsill, began removingLucy’s sleep suit. Doris sawthe baby stiffen and brace
herself, as though she wasexpecting pain. Havingremoved the wet and soilednappy,Bonnietoreoffastripof toilet paper and begancleaning Lucy’s red rawbottom. The baby cried outand Doris looked at Bonnieexpecting a reaction. Therewas none. The motherseemed impervious to her
daughter’s distress andcontinued cleaning Lucy’sbottom with strips of drytoilet paperwithout trying tosootheherinanyway.‘Don’t you have any baby
wipes or cream for herbottom?’ Doris asked, asBonnie reached for a cleannappy.‘No,Iranout.’
‘You need to get somemore, and a pot of antisepticbarrier cream from thechemist today.Orgo toyourdoctor for a prescription.You’re on benefit so themedication will be free. Assoon as you can,’ Dorisadded. ‘Her little bottom’svery sore and causing her alotofdistress.’
Bonnie gave a tight nodand picked up her daughter,whohadnowstoppedcrying.Shecarriedherintothelivingroom. Doris followed. Shewasn’tworriedthatLucywaswearing only a vest andnappyas itwas Juneand theflatwaswarm.However,shewasconcernedbythelackofinteraction between mother
and baby. At ten and a halfmonths of age a babywouldnormally be seeking out itsmother’s attention, but Lucydidn’t, and the most likelyexplanation was that she’dbeen ignored for so long thatshe’d given up trying toengage with hermother, andso far the mother had madenoattempttoengagewithher
daughter. She held her, butdidn’ttalktoherormakeeyecontact.Doris noted that the living
room was very bareconsidering a mother andchild lived there. Two oldchairs and a chipped coffeetablewere theonly furniture,andtherewerenotoysinthisroom apart from a heap of
plasticbuildingbricks inonecorner. Clutter free andunlived in, it suggested toDoris that mother anddaughterwereeitheroutalotor lived mainly in thebedroom, possibly staying inbedformostofthedayifthemother was very depressed,as the health visitor hadthought. Doris sat in one of
the chairs and Bonnie sat intheother,settingLucyonthefloor. As soon as Lucy wasdown she went onto herhandsandkneesandbeganaslow and cumbersome crawlacross the room towardsDoris. Doris took somecomfort from seeing this, forshe hadn’t crawledwhile thehealth visitor had been
present, and babies who areseverely neglected often failto meet this developmentalmilestone, remaining likenewborn infants from beingleftintheircotallday.‘She’sdoingwellwithher
crawling,’ Doris saidencouragingly, taking anotepad and pen from herbag.
Bonnienodded.‘You are a clever girl,’
Doris said, smiling at Lucy.Lucy stared back, her largeeyes unresponsive. ‘Is shetryingtopullherselfupintoastanding position yet?’ Doristhen asked Bonnie. Thiswould be one of the nextdevelopmental milestonesand was often achieved by
babiesofLucy’sage.‘No,’Bonniesaid, fiddling
withherhair.‘I expect she will soon,’
Dorissaidpositively,makinganote. ‘WhatdoesLucy liketoeat?’‘The health visitor asked
me that,’ Bonnie saidresentfully.‘Itoldher–milk,yoghurtandporridge.’
Doris nodded. ‘And Ibelieve the health visitorsuggested some new foodsforLucytotry?’Bonnienoddedagain.‘Good. We’ll have a look
inyourkitchen laterandyoucan show me what you’replanningtoeattoday.’‘I haven’t been shopping
yet,’ Bonnie said tersely.
‘That health visitorwas onlyhereafewdaysago.’Threedays,Doris thought;
plentyoftimetogoshoppingandtostart implementingthehealth visitor’s suggestionsforfeedingLucy.Sheglanceddown at Lucy who, havingarrived at her chair, wassittingquietlyather feet likeanattentivepuppy.
‘Hello, love,’ she said toLucy, with a smile. But thelook on Lucy’s face waspretty much the same as hermother’s – suspicious andwatchful.‘It’sverydifficultbringing
up a child on your own,’Doris said, returning herattention to Bonnie. ‘Do youhave any family living close
by who can help you?’ Shewas aware that this referralhadcomefromadoctorafteran aunt of Bonnie’s hadexpressedconcerns.‘No,’Bonniesaid.‘You were living with an
aunt?’Dorisasked.‘For a while. But she has
familyofherown.’‘And your mother and
father?’‘Idon’tseethem.’‘Dotheylivelocally?’‘No.’Doris made notes as she
talked,allthewhilewearingasmile and trying to put themother at ease. However,althoughshewassmiling,shewas quickly forming theimpression, as the health
visitorhaddone, that allwasfar from well here; that themother could be verydepressed and, as a result,wasneglectingherchild.‘Have you been able to
find Lucy’s record bookshowing her checks andvaccinations?’ Doris nowasked, for when the healthvisitor had asked to see it
Bonnie had said she wasn’tsure where it was and thatshe’dtrytofindit.She’dalsotold the health visitor shecouldn’t remember if Lucy’sdevelopment checks andvaccinationswere up-to-date,whichhadaddedtothehealthvisitor’sconcerns.‘No,’Bonnie said. ‘I can’t
findtherecordbook.’
‘All right, don’t worry.Your previous doctor willhave a record of all of that.We’ll arrange to have yournotes transferred to yourcurrent doctor. This is yourpermanentaddressnow?’Bonnienodded.‘Sowhatwasthenameand
address of your last doctor?’Doris now asked, pen poised
tonotethis.‘Ican’tremember,’Bonnie
said,bitingherlittlenail.‘A street name and town
willdo.Wecantraceit fromthat.’‘Idon’tknow,’Bonniesaid
again.‘I’llfindout.’Doris knew it was
impossible not to know thename of the town that you’d
lived in a few monthspreviously, unless you hadsevere learning difficulties,which Bonnie did not. Shewondered what it was thatBonniewas trying to hide orrunawayfrom.‘Doyouknowthenameof
the hospital where Lucywasborn?’ Doris now asked.‘They’ll have details of your
doctor.’‘St Mary’s, I think,’
Bonniesaid.‘Inwhichtown?’Bonnie shrugged and
continued to nibble her littlefinger. St Mary’s was themost common name for ahospital and Doris knew itwould be impossible to tracetheonewhereLucywasborn
withoutknowing the townorat least the area.Bonniewasplayinggameswithher.‘It can be very isolating
living in a new town with ayoung baby,’ Doris saidevenly,changingdirection. ‘Iunderstand the health visitorgave you somedetails of themother and baby groups inthisarea.’
‘Yes,’Bonniesaid.‘Do you think these are
somewhere youmight go? Itwould be good for Lucy’sdevelopment and will alsogive you a chance to meetother young mothers andmakesomefriends.’‘Yes,’Bonniesaid.‘And how do you feel in
yourself?’Dorisnowasked.
‘OK,’ Bonnie said with ashrug.‘Areyousure?Youseema
bitdowntome.’‘I’mfine.I’mcoping.’‘Only coping?’ Doris
asked,hopingthismightleadthe way in, but Bonnie justlookedbackandnodded.‘Can you talk me through
youraverageday,fromwhen
you get up in the morning?’Dorissaid.Bonnielookedather.‘Start with when you get
up?’ Doris prompted. ‘Whattime is that usually?’ Sheknew that those sufferingfrom severe depression oftenstayed in bed for very longperiods, sometimes most oftheday.
‘About now I guess,’Bonniesaid.‘Then what happens? Do
you shower and dress or gobacktobed?’‘We have breakfast,’
Bonniesaid.‘Lovely,’Dorissaid,trying
to give positive feedbackwherevershecould.‘Whatdoyouhave?’
‘Lucyhasmilk and Ihaveacupoftea.’‘Nothingelse?’‘I give Lucy porridge as
well.’‘Good. Has she had her
porridgethismorning?’‘No, onlymilk.You came
before Ihad time togiveherporridge,’Bonniesaid.Doris wrote and then
smiledatLucy.‘Thenwhatdoyoudoafter
breakfast?’ she asked,lookingatBonnie.Bonnieshrugged.‘Nothing
really.Wegooutsometimes.’‘Wheredoyouliketogo?’‘To the shops sometimes,
or the canal. I walk by thecanal. I like it there,with thedeep water.’ Doris gave an
involuntary shudder andmade a note, for in herpresent state of mind itwouldn’t take much, shethought, for this youngmother who clearly wasn’tcoping to step into the canalwith her daughter and end itall. She agreed with thehealthvisitorthatwhiletherewere no obvious signs that
the mother was harming herchild,thelevelofcarewassolow that this in itself was aform of abuse. Mother andbabyneededhelp.‘What do you do for the
rest of the day?’ Doris nowasked.‘Wecomehome.’‘And?’Bonnieshookherhead.
‘Why don’t you see yourauntanymore?’Dorisasked.‘She’s been worried aboutyou.’‘I dunno.Shehasherown
family.’‘But she’d still like to see
youaswell.Doyouthinkyoumight be able to start seeingher again? Go round fordinner?She’dlikeyouto.’
Bonnie nodded, but notveryconvincingly.DorisglancedatLucy,who
was looking up at her, herlarge eyes round andimploring. ‘Can I pick herup?’ Doris asked. She knewbetter than to simplypickupa client’s child, withoutasking theparent first.Socialworkers were often seen as
the enemy and she wouldn’tbe the first social worker tobe assaulted for touching aclient’schild.Bonnie gave a stiff,
indifferent nod and Dorisbent down and lifted Lucyonto her lap. She was light,Doris thought, lighter thanshe should be for ten and ahalf months old. She hadn’t
had a bath and was wearingthe same vest, so there wasstill a smell of ammoniacoming from Lucy, whichwould probably transfer toher skirt, but she kept achange of clothes in the carfor just such eventualities;that, and having drinks orworsethrownatherbyangryparents.
‘Who’salovelygirlthen?’DorissaidtoLucy.Lucy looked at her but
didn’tsmile.‘Is she smiling and trying
to talk?’ Doris asked,glancingatBonnie.‘Yes,’ Bonnie said.
‘Sometimes,’ althoughthere’d been no evidence ofeither since Doris had been
withher.‘Comeonthen,’Dorissaid
cheerfully to them both,standing. ‘Show me aroundyour flat.Let’s startwith thekitchen.’‘There’s nothing much to
see,’ Bonnie said, rising toherfeetwithasmallsigh.‘Nevermind.Ijustneedto
haveaquicklookround.’
Itwasclear that thenatureof the social worker’s visithadchanged from‘achat’ toascrutinizingassessment,andDoriscouldsensethatBonniewas trying to stifleher risingfearthatshewasabouttoloseherbaby.‘I’mgoingshoppinglater,’
Bonnie said, as they enteredthesmallkitchen.
Doris opened the door ofthe fridge, revealing only acarton of milk and twoyoghurts.Shethenopenedthedoors to the cupboards, butall theycontainedweresomecrockery and pans suppliedby the landlord,andapacketofporridge,somebiscuitsandafewteabags.‘What does Lucy drink
from?’Dorisasked.‘Cansheuseatrainercup?’‘No. She has a bottle. It’s
inhercot,’Bonniesaid.Still carrying Lucy, Doris
left the kitchen, had a quicklook in the bathroom,which,while basic, was functional,andthenreturnedtothelivingroom. Doris passed Lucy toBonnie and they returned to
their chairs. Doris looked atBonniecarefully.‘Ihaveconcerns,love,’she
said evenly. ‘I think Lucyisn’t doing as well as shecould, and I think you arefinding things difficult too. Iwanttohelpyou.’Shepausedand waited for Bonnie’sreaction, but therewas none.‘When I return to my office
I’m going to arrange what’scalled a case conference so Ican work out how best tosupport you andLucy.Don’tlook so worried, I’m notgoingtotakeLucyaway.Butyou will need to make somechanges,allright,love?’Bonnie nodded. ‘I know,’
she said, though by now shesounded like she’d agree to
anything just to get rid ofDoris.‘One of the options might
beforyouandLucytoliveinamother-and-baby unit for awhile, where you will beshown parenting skills andmonitored. Or – and I willneed to discuss thiswithmymanager – you could stayhere with support. You’d be
monitored and assessed andwould need to attendparentingclasses.’Bonnie nodded. ‘Yes,’ she
said.‘Good.I’llgonowandI’ll
phone you later today, afterI’ve discussed the optionswithmymanager.CanIhaveyourphonenumberplease?’Bonnie reeled off eleven
digitsasDoriswrote.‘Thanks,’Dorissaidwitha
reassuring smile. ‘I’ll leavethe two of you to have yourporridgenowandwe’llspeaklater.’Bonnie nodded and,
carrying Lucy, went withDoris to the front door andsawherout.AsDorisleftthebuilding she was already
calling her office. Althoughshe wouldn’t be taking Lucyinto care today, the motherwould need to startcooperatingandmakingsomechanges, otherwise she’dhave no alternative but toapply to the court for a careorder. While this wasn’t theworst case of neglect Dorishad seen – far from it – she
agreedwith thehealthvisitorthat the warning signs werethere, and withoutintervention she had littledoubtLucy’s situationwoulddeterioratefurther.
Three hours later, havingspoken with her manager,Doris phoned Bonnie toarrange a meeting. An
automatedvoicemessagetoldher the number wasunobtainable, so Dorisconcluded that Bonnie hadeither accidentally ordeliberately given her thewrong number. As Bonnieand Lucy’s case wasn’t themost urgent she wasresponsible for, and hercaseload was so heavy she
had toprioritize,Doris set inmotion the case conferenceand then putBonnie’s file toone side to concentrate onanother, more pressing case.She decided to call in onBonnie on her way homefrom work, check the phonenumberandadviseherof thedateof themeeting. Itwouldalso give her another chance
toseehowtheyweredoing.When Doris returned to
Bonnie’sflatat5.45p.m.andrang the bell there was noreply. She was about to callthrough the letter box whenthedoor to the flatnextdooropened and the elderly ladyDoris had seen that morningappeared.‘She’s gone,’ the woman
said bluntly, as if it wasDoris’s fault. ‘Packed herbags and left with the babyabout an hour after you leftthismorning.’‘Idon’tsupposeyouknow
where they’ve gone?’ Dorisasked,herheartsinking.‘No.LikeIsaid,shenever
spoke tome.’And, returninginside, she closed her front
door.
Chapter Seven
No Chanceto Say
Goodbye
Itmayseemincredibleinthis
age, when there is so muchdata stored on people, thatsomeone could simplydisappear. But on that fineJune day when the sun wasshining and the airwas alivewithbirdsong, andLucywasnearlyelevenmonthsold,thatis what Bonnie did. FearingLucy would be taken awayfromher, shequicklypacked
her bags and vanished. HadLucy been the subject of acourt order the police wouldhave been alerted, and amissing person bulletin putout. But there was no courtorder, only a concern ofneglect, the level of whichhadn’tmeritedthemeasureofapplying to the court for anemergency protection order.
It’s true that the socialservices could have appliedforacourtorderafterBonniehad gone, but they didn’t,presumably for the samereason one hadn’t beenapplied for before: thatthough Lucy had beenneglected she wasn’t, as yet,at risk of significant harm –the threshold that needed to
be reached before the socialservices applied for a careorder. Had they done so, thepolice would have beenalerted, resulting in a betterchanceoffindingBonnieandLucy, and Lucy would havebeentakenintocare.Withnocourtorderandno
verifiable details of Bonniethat might have helped trace
her, it is likely their casestayed open at the socialservices for a few months –while Doris checked withMaggieand localagencies toseeifanyonehadheardfromBonnie – before being filedaway until such time asBonnieandLucyreappeared.It’s on record that Maggietold Doris she’d telephoned
her sister a couple of timesduring this period to see ifshe’dheardfromBonnie,butshe hadn’t, and Maggie saidhersisterwassoimmersedinher own problems that shehad little interest inwhatherdaughter and granddaughterwere doing or even inwhethertheyweresafe.Withnoevidencetogoon,
it’simpossibletoknowofthelife Bonnie and Lucy ledduring the next fourteenmonths while they were‘missing’,butonecanguess.Living ‘underground’, awayfrom the attention of theauthorities, relies on a hand-to-mouth existence, fundedby cash-in-hand jobs if youare lucky, but more likely,
borrowing, begging, stealing,prostitution and sleepingwherever you can: indoorways, under bridges, insquats,onsomeone’sfloor,incheap bed and breakfasts, orin beds with no breakfast. Itwould have been even moredifficult with a baby, butunregistered,unregulatedandunscrupulous landlords can
be found down thebackstreets of any big city,theirclientelehearingoftheirlocation by word of mouth.These ‘landlords’ cram asmanymattresses into a roomas it will hold and chargeonly a few pounds for thenight. They are always full.Not only with runaways, butthe short- and long-term
homeless, drug addicts,alcoholics,thosewithmental-healthproblemsandcriminalswantedby thepolice–of allages and both sexes. Suchplacesarehealthhazardsandare often responsible forpassing on infections; forexample, tuberculosis. Withno fire escapes they can alsobedeathtraps.Butifyouare
avoiding the authorities asBonnie was, you are unableto obtain benefit moneywithout risk of beingdiscovered.When Bonnie and Lucy
reappeared, fourteen monthslater, it was in the AccidentandEmergencydepartmentofahospitaltwocountiesaway.ItwasaFridayafternoonand
theywerebothsufferingfromhighly inflamed rashes thatcovered large areas of theirbodies.Theywere diagnosedas having scabies. Scabies iscaused by parasitesburrowingundertheskinandlaying their eggs. It is mostcommonly found in thoseliving in overcrowdedconditionswithpoorhygiene.
The irritation caused by theinfestation is unbearable andmost sufferers go to theirdoctor in the early stages ofthedisease.Thedoctoratthehospitalnotedthatthesecaseswere very severe, especiallyin the child, and had clearlybeen left untreated for sometime, causing the child a lotof distress. The doctor
prescribedalotion,whichhadto be applied after a bathfrom the neck down to thetoes, left on overnight andthen washed off. Heexplained to Bonnie that asecond treatment would beneeded a week after the firstandtoldhertogotoherowndoctor to get the prescriptionfor it and also to have their
condition checked. He wasconcerned that some of thechild’s sores were becominginfected,sohealsoprescribedan antibiotic cream. Heexplained that scabies washighly contagious and allclothing, bedding and towelsusedbythemmustbewashedinveryhotwateranddriedinahotdryertopreventanother
infestation. When registeringat the hospital, Bonnie hadgiven her address as the flatshe’d lived in near her AuntMaggieandherdoctoras theone she’d seen when she’dfirstarrivedatMaggie’s.ItisunknownifBonnietookLucyto a doctor for a follow-upappointment; she certainlydidn’tgotothatdoctor.
Bonnie and Lucy thendisappeared again andreappeared when Lucy wasnearlythreeyearsold.Bonniewasnowlivingwithamaninhis thirties called Freddie –andusinghissurnameforherand Lucy. She registeredLucy at a nursery so shecouldstart justafterher thirdbirthday, and two nursery
teachers made a home visitprior to Lucy starting. Thesehome visits are normalpractice in England; they areinformal, last about half anhourandgivethemotherandchild a chance to meet thenursery teachers and ask anyquestions. However, thesetwo teachers were veryworried by what they found,
especially as their visit hadbeen pre-arranged and wastherefore expected. The one-bedroom flat was dirty,smellyandclutteredwithbitsof car engines, empty beerbottles, plastic fizzy-drinkbottles, old pizza boxes andempty crisp packets, all ofwhich Lucy was encouragedtoplaywithintheabsenceof
any children’s toys. Therewerenobeds:LucysleptwithhermotherandFreddieunderblanketsonmattressesonthebedroom floor; none of therooms in the flat had carpetsorcurtains.Therewasausedcat-litter tray in the kitchen,which was badly in need ofemptying,andthekitchenandbathroom were filthy. The
nursery teachers also laternoted that the flat reeked ofstale beer, cigarette smokeand a slightly sweet smell,which could have beencannabis.During their conversation,
Bonnieadmittedthatshewasstruggling to cope and, farfrom being supportive,Freddie–whowasn’tpresent
– spent most of hisunemployment money onbetting, so they never hadenoughtoeatorpaythebills.They were behind with therent and the landlord wasthreatening to evict them.Bonnie told the nurseryteachers that sheandFreddieoften argued and hesometimes hit her – in front
of Lucy. The teachers notedthat Lucy was grubby, smallfor her age and afraid ofstrangers. They couldn’t saymuch about her developmentfrom their visit as she hidbehind the sofa all the timetheywerethere.Whenoneofthem tried to coax her out,shescrewedhereyesshutandscreamed. Bonnie said they
should just leaveher thereasshe was scared of strangersbecause of some badexperiences they’d had,although she didn’t saywhatthese experiences were.Bonnie also said she hopedLucy would learn to be lessfrightened of strangers whenshewent tonurseryand‘metsomenicepeople’.
The nursery teachers werewithBonnieforoveranhourandwhentheyreturnedtothenursery they immediatelyheld a meeting with theirhead teacher to report theirconcerns. The head teachercontacted the social servicesand two days later a socialworker telephoned Bonnieand made an appointment to
visit her the following day.Although Bonnie knew inadvance that the socialworker was visiting (as shehad with the nurseryteachers), she made noattempttocleantheflat,soitwas in much the samecondition as the teachers hadreported. Freddie was therewhen the social worker
arrivedbutleftstraightaway,pushing past her in the hallwithoutsayinghello.Bonnie admitted to the
socialworker thatshewasn’tcopingand said she felt verylow and thought she wassuffering from depression,althoughshehadn’tbeentoadoctor. The social workerexplainedtoBonniethatthere
were concerns about Lucyand tried to persuadeBonnieto see a doctor for herdepression. They thendiscussed various optionswith regard to Lucy’s care.Shewasrelieved thatBonniewas cooperative and quicklyagreedthatitwouldbebestifLucy went into caretemporarily as an
‘accommodated child’ (underSection 20 of the ChildrenAct). Often referred to as a‘Section 20’, this is avoluntary arrangementbetween the social servicesand the parent(s) of a childwhoagree to the child livingwithafostercarerforashorttime.Theparent(s)retainfulllegal parental rights, which
they wouldn’t do under anyother care order.Approximately a third ofchildren in foster care are‘accommodated’.There isnocourt order and thearrangement shouldencourage a better workingrelationship between thesocial worker, the parent(s)and the foster carer. The
parent(s) feel less threatenedastheyretainlegalcontroloftheir child, have regular andunsupervisedcontact andcanremove the child from fostercare at any time. It issupposed to be a short-termmeasureandshouldneverbeused when a child is indangerofbeingabused;onlywhen there is a good chance
of the child beingrehabilitatedbacktolivewiththe parent(s) within areasonableperiod.Having gained Bonnie’s
consent, the social workerreturned toherofficeandsetaboutfindingasuitablefostercarer for Lucy. Annie wasidentified: she was married,with two young girls of her
own, and had been fosteringforeighteenmonths.UnderaSection 20 the parents knowwhere the foster carer livesand can go with the socialworker to the carer’s homewhenthechildisplaced,andsoitwaswithBonnie.
It was a hot day in lateAugust when Bonnie and
Lucy arrived in the socialworker’s car. Bonnie carriedLucy into Annie’s hallway.Lucy had her head buried inher mother’s shoulder andwas wearing a little pinkcotton dress and plastic jellysandalsandwassuckingonagrubby rag as a comforter.Bonnie, slightly built, withher hair in a ponytail, was
dressed in jeans, T-shirt andbadly worn plimsolls. Shelooked tired and veryanxious.LoopedoverherarmwasasupermarketcarrierbagcontainingLucy’sclothes.Straight away Annie set
about making Bonnie andLucy feel welcome. Sheshowed them into her livingroom,madethemcolddrinks
and introduced them to herchildren,whowereoffschoolforthesummerholiday.Theytalked for a while, with herand the social worker doingmost of the talking, and thenshe showed them around thehouse. Bonnie marvelled athowniceAnnie’shousewas,andAnniefeltsorryforher–she formed the impression
that Bonnie hadn’t been inmany decent homes, as herswas average and no differentfrom many others. All thistime Lucy wouldn’t be putdownandwhentheyreturnedto the living room she againsat on her mother’s lap withher face buried in her chest.Annie asked Bonnie aboutLucy’s likesanddislikesand
her routine, explaining thatthemoreinformationshehadabout Lucy the easier itwouldbetosettleher.Bonniesaid that Lucy ate ‘anythingreally’ and went to bed andgot up when she felt like it.AnniethenaskedifLucyhada favourite toy – one sheliked to take to bed – andBonnie said, ‘Just that,’
referring to the frayed anddirty rag Lucy was suckingon.Bonnie and the social
workerstayedforanhourandduring that time Lucy didn’tsay a word or leave hermother’slap.Despitealotofencouragement from Annieand her two girls, Lucy satfacinghermother,refusingto
look at anyone. Even whenAnnie’s two girls suggestedthey could all play in thegarden and maybe Lucywould like an ice cream, shedidn’t look at them. Bonnietold Annie, as she had thesocial worker and nurseryteachers, that following‘somebadexperiences’Lucywas afraid of strangers,
althoughshedidn’telaborate.Eventually the social
workersaidtheyshouldleaveso that Annie could settleLucy.Anniesaidshe’dphoneBonnie to reassure her thatLucy was all right. BonniegaveLucyaquickkissonthetop of her head and said:‘Mummy has to go.’Standing,sheplacedLucyon
Annie’slapandrandownthehallandoutofthefrontdoor.Lucy immediately beganscreaming. Rigid with fear,she gripped Annie’s blouseand buried her head inAnnie’schest.Concerned for Bonnie’s
safetyandhavingpromisedtotakeherhome inhercar, thesocial worker said a quick
goodbye and went afterBonnie. She later noted thatLucy’s screaming was soloud it could be heardoutside.TherewasnosignofBonnie in the street, so shegot into her car and returnedto the office, intending tophoneBonnielater.Inside the house, Annie
was sitting on the sofa with
her arms around Lucy,rocking her gently andquietly, talking to her, tryingtoreassureheraswellasherownchildren,whowereveryworried at seeing a child soupset. It tookhalf anhour tocalmLucysufficientlysothatAnnie could persuade her torelaxhergripalittleandraiseherheadsoAnniecouldwipe
away her tears. As she did,Annie saw Lucy’s faceproperly for the first time.With her petite features,porcelain skin, black silkyhair and large dark eyes shewas like a little doll; a trulybeautiful child, but one whowas clearly very scared.Annie also noticed whatlooked like a bruise on
Lucy’s cheek, just below herleft eye, which she wouldmention in her log noteswhenshewrotethemuplater.Allfostercarershavetokeeplog notes. This is a dailyrecordofthechildorchildrenthey are looking after andincludes appointments thechild has, the child’s healthand wellbeing, significant
events and any disclosuresthe child may make abouttheir past. When the childleaves the foster carer, thisrecordisplacedonfileatthesocial services and can belooked at by the child whentheyareanadult.
Lucy didn’t speak at all thatevening, refusedall foodand
drink and cried so much atbedtime that Annie had tosleep on the floor in Lucy’sroom, holding her hand andcontinuously reassuring her.Thefollowingtwodayswerelittle better; Lucy didn’tspeakoreat,criedincessantlyandkepttakingrefugebehindthe sofa, although after a lotof persuasion Annie did
manage to get her to comeoutanddrinksomemilk.Toofrightened to tell anyone sheneeded the toilet,unsurprisingly Lucy keptsoilingherselfandAnniewasconstantlymoppingupwithabucket of hot water anddisinfectant, especiallybehind the sofa where Lucywould run and hide. When
Annie telephoned Bonnieeach evening, notwanting toworry her, she told her thatLucy missed her but wasgradually settling in. It wasdifficulttoknowifLucywasso upset because she wasmissing her mother. Shedidn’t ask for her or say‘mummy’; she just seemedpetrified of everyone and
everything.Annie wrote in her log
notes that it was three daysbeforeLucyateanything,andthen it was a yoghurt. Shealso stated that Lucyscreamed hysterically whenAnnie’ssupportsocialworkervisited, when Annie’shusband returned fromwork,when the postman rang the
doorbellandwhenafriendofAnnie’s stopped by in theevening. It was clear (asBonnie had said) that Lucymust indeed have had somebad experiences withstrangers to make her soscared.Aswell asnoting thebruiseonLucy’scheekinherlog notes, Annie alsomentioned it to the social
worker. She subsequentlyasked Bonnie how Lucy hadgot the bruise and Bonniereplied thatLucyhad trippedand fallen at the flat the daybefore. Perhaps she had.Therewasnowaytoknow.It soon became clear to
Annie that Lucywasn’t usedto a routine of any sort, soAnniebeganestablishingone,
explaining to Lucy why itwas important that wewash,brushourteetheachmorningand evening and eat regularmeals. On day five Annieintroduced bath time intoLucy’s evening routine, andalthough Lucy shied awayfromthebathtobeginwith–as Annie turned on the tapsandranthewater–afteralot
of persuading and cajolingLucy climbed in. Once shewas in and felt the warmwater lappingaroundher shebegan to relax and thenactually enjoyed her bath,playing with the bath toysthat Annie provided, whileAnniewashedherhair,whichwasverydirty.Bytheendofthat first week Lucy had
begun responding slightlymore to Annie and herfamily, saying the oddword,pointing to what she wantedandansweringtheirquestionswith a nod or a shake of herhead, pretty much as a one-year-oldchildwould.Annie desperately needed
togoshoppingtobuyclothesfor Lucy as hardly anything
inthecarrierbagthatBonniehad brought with her wasusable. Annie was dressingLucy in the clothes she keptfor emergency placements,but she wanted to buy newthings so Lucy would haveclothesofherown.However,she knew from her foster-carer training that, as adeprived child, Lucy
shouldn’t be subjected to toomany new experiences all atonce,asshewouldpanicanditcouldsetbackherrecovery.On day eight, just over aweek after Lucy had arrived,whenshewascryinglessandletting the girls take her bythe hand and spend a littletime playing in the backgarden,Anniedecidedtorisk
taking her shopping. SheexplainedtoLucywheretheywere going and why andLucynoddedinresponse.Butonce in the shopping centre,Lucywassoscaredofallthepeople, noise and lights thatshe wouldn’t let Annie puther down and had to becarried everywhere. Anniekept their shopping trip short
andjustboughttheessentials.LaterAnnienotedthatLucy’slife seemed to have been soconfined and limited thateven a routine shopping tripscaredher,andshewonderedif Lucy had ever beenshoppingbefore.Gradually,overthecoming
days,weeksandthenmonths,Annie introduced Lucy to
new experiences: playing inthe park and feeding theducks,forexample;aswellasslowly getting her used tomeeting people – Annie’sextended family, friends andotherchildren.TobeginwithLucyhadnoideahowtoplayor interact with otherchildren,presumablybecauseshe’d never mixed. Any
thoughts of nurserywere putonholdasLucywouldneverhave coped, so Annie begantaking her to a mother-and-toddler group two afternoonsa week where Annie stayedwhile Lucy slowly found theconfidence to leave her lapand tentatively play with theother children. Although thechildren were much younger
than Lucy, Lucy was so farbehind in her developmentthatshecouldrelatetothemalittle, rather than to childrenherownage.Annie had registered Lucy
at her doctor’s and Lucysubsequently had a medical,and also a developmentalcheck-up. Physically, Lucywas small for her age –
probably as a result of poornutrition – but equallyworrying was that she had avocabularyofonlytenwords,a milestone usually reachedbyachildateighteenmonths.However, thegoodnewswasthat the tests appeared toshow Lucy had normalintelligence, so it was hopedthat with a lot of help she
would eventually be able tocatch up with her peers.Speech therapy wassuggested and Lucy was puton thewaiting list.At home,Annie continued with thework she’d already begun todevelop Lucy’s skills,experiences and language –throughplayandbytalkingtoher and encouraging her to
talk back. It is to Annie’scredit that Lucy improved asmuch as she did during thetimeshewaswithher.Lucy’s newdoctor applied
forLucy’smedicalnotes,butall that came back was therecordofthevisitBonnieandLucy had made to Maggie’sdoctor. Their visit to theAccident and Emergency
department at the hospitaldidn’t show up, presumablybecause of the way visitswere logged and recorded atthat time.Also, therewasnorecord of Lucy having hadany of her infantvaccinations, and whenBonnie was asked if she’dhad them she said shecouldn’t remember. So, with
Bonnie’s consent, over thenext six months Annie tookLucy to the clinic for thevaccinations she should havehadasababy.Annie had been
telephoning Bonnie everyevening to reassure her thatLucywasallright,andifshedidn’t answer – which wasoften–sheleftamessagefor
her. After a few weeks thesocialworker toldAnnie sheshould stop, as the emphasiswas on Bonnie telephoningAnnie to find out how herdaughter was doing – itwould be seen as anindication of her level ofcommitmentandhowseriousshe was in wanting herdaughter back. Annie did as
shewas told andBonnie fellinto the pattern of phoningonce a week and visitingLucy about once every tendays. Bonnie usually stayedfor a whole morning orafternoon and never wantedto take Lucy out, evenwhentheweatherwasgood.Bonnieseemedtoenjoythecomfortsof Annie’s home and being
lookedafterasmuchasLucy.Annie formed the impressionthat Bonnie wasn’t a viciousor uncaring mother, but hadhad such a bad start in lifeherselfandnowhadsomanyproblemsofherownthatshestruggledtolookafterachild.Annie also noted thatsometimes she thought shecould smell cannabis on
Bonnie’s clothes when shecame into the house, butobviously she didn’t know ifBonniewasauserornot.Lucy improved
dramatically in the eightmonths she livedwithAnnieandherfamily.Shegraduallylost her fear of strangers,began playing and talkingmore, and was starting to
catchupwithherpeergroup.Annie took lots ofphotographs of Lucy duringthis time and some of themost poignant are of Lucy’sthird birthday and her firstproper Christmas, where thelook of astonishment andsheer joy on her face says itall. She was clearlyoverwhelmed, having never
experienced anything like itbefore. Annie also tookphotographs of Bonnie andLucytogether,someofwhichsheframedandputinLucy’sroom,tokeepthememoryofher mother alive betweenvisits. She gave BonniecopiesofthephotographsandBonnie thanked herprofusely. She was really
touched, having never had aphotograph of her daughterbefore;she’dneverbeenableto afford a camera. Lucyclearly became very secureand settled with Annie andbegan calling her mummy,although Annie alwayscorrected her and said: ‘I’mAnnie. You’ll be seeingmummy next Tuesday’ – or
wheneveritwasshewouldbeseeing her, and pointed toBonnie’sphotograph.Although Annie and her
familyknewthatLucy’sstaywaslikelytobetemporaryona Section 20, and that onceBonniehadsortedoutherlifeshewouldwant her daughterback, Annie had reasonablyassumedthat thetransitionto
return Lucy to her motherwould be gradual. Bonniewould visit more often andthen take her daughter homefor short periods that wouldeventually include overnightstays and finally lead to amove home. This is how aplannedmoveshouldbedonefor any child in care tominimize disruption and
confusionforthechild.Itthereforecameasagreat
shockwhen, inthemiddleofonemorningwhen Lucy hadbeenwithAnnieforjustovereight months, Annieanswered the telephone toBonnie who told her shewould be coming to takeLucy that afternoon. Bonniesaid she now had a new
partner–Dave–whotreatedher right, and theywanted tobetogetherasafamily.Anniewas shocked, upset and veryconcerned about the effect asuddenmovewould have onLucy. She tried to persuadeBonniethattheyshouldspeakto the social worker andarrangeamoregradualmove–forLucy’ssake.ButBonnie
was adamant and knew herrights.Shesaidshe’dalreadytoldthesocialworkerthatsheand Dave would be comingfor Lucy that afternoon, andasked Annie to have Lucyready by one o’clock. Assoon as Bonnie hung upAnnie called the socialworker, who confirmed thatBonnie had telephoned her
and that, although shewouldhave preferred a gradualreintroduction, as Lucy wasplaced under a Section 20BonniewasfreetotakeLucywhenever shewanted to.Sheadded that Bonnie had givenhertheirnewaddressandshewould be visiting them tomakesureallwaswell.Ifshehad any concerns, Lucy
would be brought back intocare – preferably withBonnie’s agreement, but ifnecessarywith a court order.This reassuredAnnie a little,butnotmuch.With a very heavy heart,
fightingbacktearsandtryingto put on a brave face forLucy’s sake, Annie used thelittle time they had left
together to try and prepareLucy for going to live withhermotherandDave,aswellaspackingallLucy’sclothesandtoys,ofwhichtherewerenowmany.Lucybecameveryquiet andwithdrawn, refusedlunch and then asked Anniewhy she had to go. WhenAnnie explained that hermummy loved her and she
wantedhertolivewithherinher new home Lucy said:‘Can’t Mummy come andliveherewithus?’Clearly that wasn’t
possible and it was verydifficult to try and explainthis, and why she wassuddenlyhavingtoleave,toasmallchild.Annie thenspentthe next hour cuddling Lucy
on her lap and reading herstories to try to distract heruntil thedoorbell rangatoneo’clock. Lucy went withAnnie to answer the door.Bonniewasintheporch,andparked outside was an oldwhite van with its enginerunning and a man –presumablyDave–waitinginthedriver’sseat.
‘Comeandmeetyournewdaddy,’ Bonnie said, takingLucybythehand.GivingAnnieandLucyno
chance to say goodbye,Bonnie hurried Lucy downthepathtowardsthevan.Sheput Lucy in the front andslammed the door shut. Shethen returned for Lucy’sbelongings,whichAnniehad
ready in bags and boxes inthe hall. Without any thanksfor all Annie had done or apromise to stay in touch andlet Annie know how Lucywas, Bonnie began loadingthe van. Annie helped her.Therearofthevancontaineddecorating materials, soAnnie assumed Dave was apainter and decorator. He
didn’tturnorsayhello.OnceallLucy’sbelongings
were in the van,Bonnie shutthe rear door while Davestayedinthevan.BonniesaidatersegoodbyetoAnnieandclimbed into the front of thevan next to Lucy. Lucy wassmall, and, as she wassandwiched between theadults,Anniecouldn’tseeher
from the pavement, but shewaved anyway. With Lucynowgone, therewasnoneedfor Annie to put on a braveface any longer and by thetime she reached her frontdoor she was crying openly.Not only for the uncertaintythat Lucy faced, but for herown loss and that of herfamily, who would come
home and find Lucy gone,having not been able to saygoodbye.
Chapter Eight
A GoodFriend
MrsBridgesstoodatthefrontof her class of six-year-oldsandwaitedfor themtofinish
packing away theirworksheets before dismissingthem for morning break. Itwas mid-September and twoweeks into the new schoolterm, before the coughs andcoldshadtakenhold,sononeof the children was absent.Thirty boys and girls, seatedaround five tables, werelooking back at her and still
smart in their new schooluniforms. Some, though,looked smarter than others,for even behind the schooluniforms it was obvious toMrsBridges–asitwastotheother children in the class –who came from comfortablywell-off, nurturing familiesand who did not. A second-hand uniform that
accumulated a week’s stainsbefore it was washed; cheapplastic shoes that tore ratherthan scuffed; hair that waslong, matted or unevenlyshort from a home cutting;and faces that were slightlygrimy from missing themorning wash. But it wasn’tonly appearance that singledout a child from an
impoverished home; it wasthe personality of the childtoo – either loud andattention-seekingorquietandwithdrawn. Mrs Bridges’sgazefelluponthetabletoherleft and two of the childrenwho sat there: Sammy andLucy, who had joined theschoollastyearwithinaweekof each other and were now
inseparable.‘Off you go then,’ Mrs
Bridges said, dismissing theclassformorningbreak.The usual clamour of
excited voices rose as chairsscraped back and childrenjostled each other out of theclassroom,eager tomake themostofeverymoment in theplayground. All the children
except one, who having puthis chair under the tableremainedstandingbehindit.Mrs Bridges smiled at
Sammy. ‘I haven’t got anyjobs for you to do thismorning,’ she said kindly.‘Go and join your friends inthe playground and get somefreshair.It’saniceday.’Jabbing his hands into his
trouserpockets,Sammycameoutfrombehindthetableandtook a couple of stepstowards his teacher. ‘I will,Miss, but can I talk to youfirstplease?’Mrs Bridges paused from
collectingtheworksheetsandlooked at him. She alwaysmade time for Sammy. Hewas a thin ladwith a shaved
head,andastheeldestoffivechildren in a one-parentfamily he had far moreresponsibility than he couldcope with. His frustrationsgot the better of himsometimes, when he ventedhis anger in the classroom,butunderneathhewasakindlad. The social serviceswereinvolvedwith his family and
hadput in support to try andkeep them together, but itwasn’tlookingveryhopeful.‘Of course you can talk to
me.How’syourmumdoing?’MrsBridgesasked.Sammy gave a small
dismissiveshrug.‘Allright,Iguess.But it’snotmeIwanttotalkabout.’‘No?’
Heperchedon theedgeofthe table, his face fixed andserious. ‘It’s about Lucy,Miss.’‘Your friend Lucy, in this
class?’MrsBridgesclarified.‘Yes, Miss. She needs to
tell you herself. I’ve told hershe has to. But she can’t,she’stooshy.’‘Tell me what?’ Mrs
Bridgessaid,settingasidethepaperstogiveSammyherfullattention. As an experiencedteacher she’d developed asixthsenseforknowingwhena child was just telling talesorabouttotellhersomethingimportant.‘Lucy’s being bullied,
Miss. Some of the kids callher “smelly” and “nit head”,
but it ain’t her fault. At herhouse she has to wash herclothesincoldwater.Andheraunt won’t get her the stuffsheneedstokill thenits’cositcoststoomuch.Itoldherifshegoestothedoctoryougetitfornothing,likewedo.Butshe won’t. Can you tell her,please?’Mrs Bridges looked at
Sammy carefully, trying toidentify which part of whathe’d said had set alarm bellsringing.SheknewLucyoftencame to school smelling andwearing badly stainedclothes, and that she wassometimes picked on by theother children. She kept alookout for this and severelyreprimanded anyone she
caught name-calling –bullyingwas never tolerated.Mrs Bridges also thoughtLucyprobablyhadhead lice;her long hair was unkemptand she often saw herscratching her head in class.In line with school practice,she’d sent a printed notehomewith each child askingthe parents to check their
child’s hair and treat it ifnecessary.All this sheknew,but what had set off alarmbellswasSammy’s referencetoLucy’s aunt andhaving towash her clothes in coldwater.‘I thoughtLucywas living
with her mother andstepfather?’MrsBridgesnowasked.Oftenthechildrenwho
livedontheestateknewmoreabout family arrangementsthantheschooldid.Sammy shook his head.
‘Nah, Miss. Not for a longtime.Hermumwentoffwithsomeblokeandherdad’sgothimselfanewgirlfriend.’‘And the girlfriend is the
auntyou’retalkingabout?’‘Yes, Miss. Lucy has to
call her Aunt, and do all thewashing. I told Lucy herbleedin’auntshouldbedoingthewashing,notgivingittoasix-year-oldtodo.Excusemelanguage,Miss.’MrsBridgesstifledasmall
smile. Despite Sammy’srough-and-ready nature, hewas a real character andalwayspolite.‘AndLucytold
youthis?’‘Yes,Miss.’‘Hasshetoldyouanything
else about her home life youthinkIshouldknow?’Theboyscratchedhishead
thoughtfully, making MrsBridgeswonderifhetoohadnits.‘Notreally,Miss.Onlythat
she hasn’t seen hermum for
agesandherauntdoesn’tlikeher. You know Lucy, Miss,she don’t say much. Shekeeps things bottled up. Notlikeme.Itellyawhenthingsare bad at home. So I wasthinkingthatasLucytoldmethis itmustbeverybad,’coskids likeherdon’t tellunlessthey really have to, do they,Miss?’
‘No, you’re right, Sammy.Thankyou.I’llspeaktoLucylater.’
In the hour and a half oflesson time between the endof morning break andlunchtime, as well ascontinuing with the class’sproject,MrsBridgesgavethewhole class a lecture on the
unkindness of bullying. Shesaid that everyone deservedtobetreatedwithdignityandrespect, and that anyonecaught bullying would loseprivileges for a whole weekand their parents would beinformed. As she spoke, shepurposelykepthergazeawayfromSammyandLucysotheother children in the class
wouldn’t be alerted to theidentity of those who’dsparked the lecture, as thiscould have led to morebullying and accusations of‘telling’.At12.30p.m.MrsBridges
dismissedtheclassforlunch,butaskedLucytowaitbehindfor a moment. ‘It’s all right,love, you haven’t done
anything wrong,’ she added,for Lucy always looked asthough she expected to betoldoff.‘Ijustwanttohaveachatwithyou,that’sall.’She waited until the last
child had left the classroomandthenclosedtheclassroomdoor so they wouldn’t beoverheard. ‘Let’s sit down,’she said, pulling out two
children’s chairs from underthe table. She found that ifshe was sitting it helped thechild relax and invitedconfidences.Still looking very serious,
Lucysatononeofthechairs,while Mrs Bridges took theother. ‘Sammy is a goodfriendofyours,isn’the?’shebegan.
Lucygaveasmallnod,herlarge dark eyes growingrounder.Shewasanattractivechild, though small for herageand, likeSammy,alwayslooked as though she coulddo with a good wash andgenerallymorenurturing.‘Did Sammy tell you he
came to me this morningbecausehewasworriedabout
you?’MrsBridgesasked.Lucynoddedagain.‘Hesaysyou’relivingwith
your stepfather and a ladyyoucallAunt?Isthatright?’She gave another small
nod.‘Is everything all right at
home?’ Mrs Bridges nowasked.Lucy gave a little shrug
andthensaidquietly,‘Iguessso.’‘You don’t sound very
sure,love,’MrsBridgessaid.Another shrug, and then
Lucy shook her head, whichwas enough forMrs Bridgesto continue. ‘Tell me whatmakes you happy and whatmakes you unhappy,’ MrsBridges prompted. ‘What do
youliketodointheeveningsandweekends?’‘Iliketoplay,Miss,’Lucy
saidsoftly.‘Whatdoyouliketoplay?’‘I watch television, Miss,
andsometimesIplayoutsidewithSammyandhissisters,ifI’vebeengood.’‘Thatsoundsfun.Whatdo
you have to do to be good?’
Mrs Bridges now asked, forshe couldn’t imagine Lucybeing anythingbut good, shewassoquietandconforming.Shegaveanothershrugand
thensaid:‘Ihavetowashthedishesandcleantheflat,thenIcanplayout.’‘Andhowoftendoyoudo
that?’ Mrs Bridges asked,withareassuringsmile.Many
children had chores to do,which was fine, as long astheyweren’texcessive.‘I don’t know how often,
Miss,’ Lucy said, with aworried expression. ‘Everyday,Ithink.’‘All right, love. It’s
nothing to worry about. I’mjust trying toget apictureofyour life at home. Who
makes the meals in yourhouse?’A pause, then: ‘My aunt
andDad,Iguess.’‘And who washes the
clothes?’Therewas a longpause as
Lucy’s gaze fell from MrsBridgesand sheconcentratedon the floor. ‘The same, Ithink.Idon’tknow.’
Clearlythechildwasbeingvery guarded in what shesaid, possibly fearingrecrimination if she told andwasfoundout.‘All right, don’t worry.
Have you seen your mumrecently?’Lucyshookherhead. ‘She
sent me a card for mybirthday,butIdidn’tseeher.’
Lucy had had a birthday theweek before and as usualwhen a child in the classcelebrated a birthday all thechildren had sung ‘HappyBirthday’; what othercelebrations had taken placethateveningforLucyathomeMrs Bridges didn’t know.Most children told her, butLucyhadn’t.
‘Did you have a nicebirthday?’Lucyshrugged.‘Did you get some
presents?’‘Ithinkso.’‘Butyou’renotsure?’‘No.’Mrs Bridges continued to
look atLucy as she stared atthe floor. All her senses
screamedthattherewasabigproblem at home and thechild was too frightened tosay. But she neededsomethingconcretetotaketothe headmaster, which hecould then act on. Lucy’sevasiveness was making thisdifficult. Sammy was rightwhen he’d said that Lucydidn’tsaymuch;she’dhardly
spokenawordtoMrsBridgesall term, and it seemed shecouldn’ttalktohernow.‘If you could change
anything at home, whatwould it be?’ Mrs Bridgesasked, making one lastattemptbeforeLucyhadtogofor her lunch. ‘I know it’s adifficultquestion,butcanyouthink of anything you’d
change? If I was asked, I’dsayI’dliketoseemoreofmysister.’Lucylookedthoughtfulfor
a moment and then, raisingher eyes to meet MrsBridges’s, she said: ‘I’d liketo live in Sammy’s family,Miss.’‘Wouldyou?’MrsBridges
asked, surprised. Sammy’s
family was about as farremoved from the idealfamily as you could get.‘Why’sthat?’Lucy took a moment
beforereplyingandthensaid:‘They’vegotasocialworker.She helps Sammy. I wouldlike a social worker to helpme.’
‘CanIhaveawordwithyou,please?’ Mrs Bridges said,giving a perfunctory knockon the door to theheadmaster’s office as sheentered.Theheadoperatedan‘open-door policy’ – to staffand pupils – so that, to hiscredit,hewasaccessiblemostofthetime,andalsoknewthenames of all the children in
hisschool.‘Have a seat,’ he said,
waving to the easy chair atthe side of his desk. ‘Whatcan I do for you on thisbeautifulautumnday?’MrsBridges smiled as she
sat in the chair. Some of thestaff found his effusivemanner irritating, but shefounditquiterefreshingafter
thedournessoftheirprevioushead. And he had thechildren’s best interests atheart.‘Lucy, in my class,’ Mrs
Bridges began. ‘Her friendSammy came to me thismorning at break veryworriedaboutLucy.’‘Oh, yes?’ The head
frowned and drew his
fingertips together under hischin in a characteristicgesture.‘He said Lucy was being
bullied,whichI’vedealtwith,buthe’salsoworriedthat thewomanLucy is livingwith–her stepfather’s girlfriend –isn’t treating her well. I’vespoken to Lucy. She’s notsayingmuch,butshedidsay
that if she could changeanythinginherlifeshe’dliketolivewithSammyandhavea social worker, whichconcerns me. I waswondering what we knewaboutLucy’shomelife.Mumseems to have left a whileback.’‘That’s news to me,’ the
headsaidwithanotherfrown,
lowering his hands. ‘ThereweresomeconcernslastyearwhenLucyfirststartedatthisschool, but as far as I knowthe problems were sorted.AlthoughI’msurehermotherwas living there then. Whobrings Lucy into school andcollectsher?’‘She comes with a
neighbour and her child. She
usuallybringsSammyandhisyoungerbrotheraswell.’‘I see. So we haven’t met
theaunt?’‘No.’The head looked
thoughtful.‘Leaveitwithme.I’llchecktherecordsandgetback to you. I take it Lucy’snot in any immediatedanger?’
‘Idon’tthinkso.I’veneverseen any marks on her,although she’s far too quietformyliking.’The head nodded. ‘That
was one of the commentsraised by her teacher lastyear. Pity she’s left – youcould have had a chat withher. Anyway, give me acouple of hours and I’ll look
intoit.’Thanking the headmaster,
MrsBridgeslefttoeataveryquick sandwich before theclass returned after lunch fortheafternoonsession.
AllschoolsinEnglandhaveaset procedure for reportingconcerns about a child, andmembers of staff have to
follow them. Mrs Bridgescouldn’t simply pick up thetelephone and call the socialservices; she had to pass herconcernstoherlinemanager,who in her school was theheadmaster, and he wouldtake the necessary action.Despite all his otherresponsibilities, theheadmasteralwaysprioritized
any matter relating to achild’swelfare,sobytheendof that day he had checkedtheir records, contacted thesocial services and updatedMrs Bridges. It seems thatalthoughtherehadbeensomeconcerns about Lucy’swelfare the previous yearthey were around inadequateparenting rather than child
abuse or neglect. A socialworker had visited Lucy’smother and stepfather, Dave,and no further action hadbeen taken, other thanadvising Lucy’s mother andstepfather to enrol in someparenting classes to improvetheir parenting skills.Whether they had done thistheschooldidn’tknow,norif
any follow-up visit had beenmade by the social services,but the filewasclosedat thetime. Following the newconcerns and theheadmaster’s phone call tothe social services, the filewas reopened and the headtoldMrsBridgesthatasocialworker would be visitingLucy’s homewithin the next
few days. In the interim, heaskedMrsBridgestopreparea short report coveringLucy’seducationalandsocialdevelopment, as well as theconcernsthathadbeenraised.
On the Monday morning ofthe following week, whenLucy came into school, MrsBridges noticed that she
looked very downcast, moreso than usual, so at morningbreaksheaskedLucyiftherewas anything worrying her.Lucy shook her head andwentoutintotheplayground.Mrs Bridges tried again atlunch break, but Lucy said:‘No,Miss. Nothing’s wrong.I’m fine,’ and ran off tolunch.
Lucy looked anything butfine,andduringtheafternoonMrsBridges thoughtshewasclose to tears. At the end ofthe day, when she dismissedthe class at home time, sheasked Sammy if she couldhave a word with him. Sheasked him if Lucy was allright.Sammy,alwayswillingto share his thoughts and
worries, shook his headadamantly and said: ‘No,Miss.Lucy certainly ain’t allright. She’s very upset. Asocialworkerwenttoseeher,Friday I think it was, Miss.Aftershe’dgone,thatwickedaunt andDad yelled at Lucyfor causing trouble. She’sright scared. She won’t betalkingtoyouagain,Miss.’
Chapter Nine
‘I Hate YouAll!’
‘It appears it was handledvery insensitively,’ theheadmaster said, when Mrs
Bridges told him what hadhappened. ‘Do you think itwould help if I talked toLucy?’‘To be honest, I think it
might make matters worse,’MrsBridges said. ‘Lucy toldSammy that I mustn’t sayanything more about her toanyone, and to forget whatshe’d already said, or she’ll
runaway.’The head nodded. ‘I’ll be
guidedbyyou.I’llphonethesocial services and find outexactly what happened whenthesocialworkervisited,andalsowhatstepsthey’retakingto safeguard Lucy. Did shesay anything else to Sammyaboutthevisit?’‘Ifshedid,he’snot telling
me.’
It was two days before thehead managed to have aconversation with the socialworker who’d visited Lucy,and afterwards he told MrsBridgeswhathe’dlearnt.‘The social worker said
that Lucy’s home wasreasonablycleanandheraunt
and stepfather werecooperative and polite. Infact,shesaidthattheaunthadbeen more cooperative andopen to suggestions thanLucy’s mother had been theyear before.When the socialworker explained what Lucyhad told Sammy andyourself,’theheadcontinued,‘the aunt was shocked and
saidshehadnoideaLucyfeltthatwayorthatshehadheadlice, and blamed herself fornot noticing her scratching.Shesaidshe’dbuy the lotionimmediately.Sheshowed thesocial worker around theirhouse. Lucy has her ownbedroom, where there weresome toys and clothes in thewardrobe. There was also
food in the fridge and awashing machine in thekitchen.’‘Just because there’s a
washing machine doesn’tmean it’s being used,’ MrsBridgesputin,unabletohideherfrustrationanylonger.‘I know,’ the head said.
‘But Icanonly tellyouwhatthe social worker has
reported. I can’t tell her howtodoherjob.’Mrs Bridges gave an
apologetic nod and the headcontinued:‘Theauntsaidshedoes most of the cooking,although she admitted thatLucy doesn’t have a verygood appetite and sometimesprefers a sandwich to acooked meal. The social
worker said the aunt cameoverasgenuineandcaringofLucy.’‘SowhywouldLucymake
up these allegations and sayshe would rather live withSammyifthey’renottrue?’‘The aunt said itwas very
likely because Lucy resentsher role as mother. Lucyobviously wants her own
mother back, but that’s notpossible. She’s cleared offand no one knows whereshe’s gone. The stepfathersaid he was very grateful tohisgirlfriendfortakingontheresponsibilityoflookingafterLucy, because he couldn’thave coped alone, so if shehadn’t Lucywould have hadtogointocare.’
Shemighthavebeenbetteroff in care, Mrs Bridgesthought but didn’t say, andshe didn’t share the socialworker’s confidence that theaunt was acting in Lucy’sbest interest. A gut feelingsaid that Lucy wasn’t beinglookedafterandthattheauntwas manipulative andpossiblyalsoaliar.‘So,what
action are the social servicestaking to safeguard Lucy?’Mrs Bridges now asked thehead.‘They’re going to make a
follow-up visit in a week orso,althoughtherearenorealconcerns. The aunt said shethoughtitwouldtaketimeforLucy to accept her as astepmother, which of course
soundsreasonable.’Mrs Bridges held the
headmaster’s gazethoughtfully. ‘I suppose it’spossiblethatLucyresentsthisnew woman …’ she began.‘But…Didthesocialworkerspeak to Lucy alone –separate from the aunt andstepfather?’‘I don’t know,’ the head
said. ‘But I thinkwehave toaccept the social services’findings, although I agree itcould have been handledmoresensitively.You’llkeepan eye on Lucy, and if youhaveanymoreconcernswe’llactonthemstraightaway.’Mrs Bridges nodded,
thanked the headmaster andlefthimtoattendtohisother
business.Itwasalltheycoulddo.
The following morningLucy’s aunt brought her intoschool. Lucy looked cleanerthan she had done since thestart of term: her hair wasfreshlywashedand tiedbackneatlyintoaponytailandherclotheswerestainfree.Atthe
end of the day, Mrs Bridgesstood in the playgrounddispensing children to theadults responsible forcollecting them, and Lucy’sauntapproachedher.‘Nice tomeet you at last,’
she said, smiling. ‘Sorryabout the misunderstanding.Lucy and I have had a chatandwe’regettingalongmuch
betternow.’Mrs Bridges smiled and
nodded, although, apart fromlooking cleaner, Lucy hadbeen no less withdrawn thatdayandhadn’tseemedmuchhappier. Lucy’s aunt was inherearlythirties,withblondehair,andwasdressedintightblack leggings, knee-lengthbootsandanimitationleather
jacket.‘LetmeknowifIcanhelp
Lucy with her school work,’theauntoffered.‘You could hear her read
each evening to help hercatch up,’ Mrs Bridgessuggested.‘Andalsogivehersome help with her weekendhomework.’‘Sure will,’ the aunt said
enthusiastically, and went totakeLucy’shand.Mrs Bridges noticed that
Lucyshiedawayandrefusedto take her aunt’s hand, andthen walked some distancebehind her as they left theplayground.
WhatimpressionMrsBridgesformedofLucy’sauntwasn’t
noted in the records.However, what was notedwas that the improvement inLucy’s appearance lasted fora week and then quicklytailed off. Two weeks laterLucy was again coming intoschool looking unkempt anduncaredfor,andsheremainedquietandwithdrawninclass.
Amonthlater–attheendofOctober – the class waspreparingforHalloween.Thechildren were cutting outsilhouettes of ghouls andwitches to stick on a wallfrieze when Sammy casuallyremarkedtoMrsBridges:‘Atleast Lucy’s witch has gone.Flownoffonherbroomstick.Hopeshefallsoff.’
Mrs Bridges paused fromcuttingouttolookatSammy.‘Lucy’s aunt has left?’ sheaskedhimquietly,sononeoftheotherchildrencouldhear.‘Yes,Miss.Goodriddance,
Isay.’‘So who’s looking after
Lucynow?’‘Herdad.’‘You mean her stepfather,
Dave?’‘Yes, Miss. But he’s no
better than that aunt. Lucyhateshim.Pity shecan’t livewithme.Iaskedmemumbutshe saidwe ain’t got enoughroom,andLucyneededtotellhersocialworker.’
‘Lucy’s aunt has gone, andLucy told Sammy she hates
her stepfather and wants tolive with Sammy,’ MrsBridges said to theheadmasterassoonashewasfree. ‘And I don’t think it’sappropriate for a six-year-oldgirltobeinthesolecareofastepfather whom she doesn’tevenlike.’‘Butwhatrealconcernsare
there?’ the head asked. ‘Is
Lucy saying he’s abusingher?’‘No, she’s not saying
anything,or if she isSammyisn’ttellingme,’MrsBridgessaidalittletersely.‘It’snotasthough there haven’t beenconcernsbefore.’‘But they were unproven,’
theheadsaid.There was a pause asMrs
Bridges and the head lookedat each other, both deep inthought. Mrs Bridges knewtherewasn’tenoughevidencetoactionaninvestigation,butshecouldn’tjustdonothing.Fortunately, neither could
the head. ‘I’ll speak to thesocial worker as soon as Ihave a free moment andexplain that Lucy’s home
situation has changed. I’llsuggest they make anotherhomevisit.’‘Thankyou.’
Two weeks later theheadmaster informed MrsBridges that a social workerhad visited Lucy and herstepfatherand thatno furtheractionwouldbetaken.Anote
to this effect was placed onfile at the school, and MrsBridges couldn’t do anymore, other than to keep aneyeonLucyasshecontinuedin her role as class teacher;there were, after all, otherchildren in the class apartfrom Lucy. Two monthspassed, Christmas came andwent,andonthemorningthe
children returned to schoolmostofthemwerefullofthewonderful time they’d hadover the holiday and thepresents they’d received.ButLucy, as usual, hardly said aword, andwhenMrsBridgesaskedher if she’dhadanicetimeatChristmassherepliedwithasmallnod,whichcouldhave meant anything. Mrs
Bridges knew better than topress Lucy and possiblyembarrassherbyaskingwhatpresents she’d had, for itmight have been somethingvery small or perhaps evennothing. However, Sammy,being Sammy, was moreforthcoming.‘I got a brand-new bike!’
he announced to the class.
‘Frommemum’snewbloke.I’vedecidedhe’sallright,soI’ve told me mum he canstay.’ Even the class of six-year-olds appreciatedSammy’s humour andlaughed.But later that morning, at
break time, Sammy hungbackas thechildrenfiledoutof the classroom. ‘Can I
speak to you, Miss?’ heasked.‘Inprivate,please.’Mrs Bridges waited until
the last child had left theclassroom and closed thedoor.SheassumedthereasonSammy wanted to speak toher related to worries abouthis mother’s new partner.TherewasanextrovertsidetoSammy,whichkept theclass
entertained, but there wasalsoamuchdeeper,sensitiveside thatworried and fretted.Heoftenconfidedhisworriesabout his mother’s newpartners to Mrs Bridges. Asusualshedrewouttwoschoolchairs from under the table,andtheysatdown.‘It’s about Lucy, Miss,’
Sammy began, immediately
serious. ‘Don’t tell her I toldyou, but she had a rottenChristmas. Dave broughthome his new bird, and Idon’t mean the turkey sort.He and his woman spent allChristmasdayinbedandleftLucy to play outside byherself. I couldn’t play outwithher,Miss.Iwaswithmefamily. I mean, you have to
spend Christmas with yourfamily,don’tya,Miss?’‘Yes,indeed,’MrsBridges
said, upset at the thought ofLucy alone and outside onChristmas day. ‘It’s not yourfault,Sammy,’sheadded,forclearlySammyfeltguilty fornot playing with her. ‘Butyou understand that in orderto help Lucy I’m going to
have to share what you’vetoldmewith theheadmaster,who will tell the socialworker?’‘Yes,Miss,Iknow.Ithink
you should. Lucy needslooking after. Evenmymumsaysso.’
MrsBridgeswenttotheheadwith what Sammy had told
herandhedulycontactedthesocialservices,whosaidtheywould make a home visit.Following that home visit, itwas felt that although thechangeincareprovider–thatis, Dave’s new girlfriend(also referred to as Lucy’s‘aunt’) – was unsettling, atleast the other caregiver –Dave – had remained
constant, which gave Lucysomedegreeof stability.Thedecision to take a child intocareisnevertakenlightlyandhas to be carefully weighedup,possiblyleavingachildina less-than-perfect homeenvironment, rather thanplacingtheminafosterhomewhere they would lose thefamilytheyknewandallthat
wasfamiliar.A second home visit was
scheduled to take place amonth later, but the recordsshow that before thishappened a fight broke outbetween Dave and his newgirlfriendandthepolicewerecalled.As soon as the policehad gone, the new girlfriendpacked her bags and moved
out.Dave,ayearbehindwithhis rent and having ignoredalldemandsandsummonsforpayment, was then servedwithacourtordergivinghimnotice to leave the property.Dave took Lucywith him tolive with his older sister,whose home was twentymiles away, which made itimpossible for Lucy to
continue to attend the sameschool.Without prior notice,andthereforegivingtheclassno chance to say goodbye toLucy, she vanished. Theschool informed the socialservices; they traced Dave’ssister and a social workervisited. The social workermust have decided that theliving arrangements were
satisfactory, as no furtheractionwastakenatthistime.
ItwastwoyearsbeforeLucycame to the attention of thesocial services again. Nowaged eight, shewas living intheMidlandswithhermotherand her mother’s newboyfriend. One night, aneighbour became so
concerned by the adultsarguing and throwing thingsnext door that she called thepolice. When the policeenteredtheflattheyfoundtheliving-roomfloorlitteredwithbroken items that had beenthrown and Lucy coweringunderablanketinabedroom.The police calmed the adultsand, once satisfied that they
wouldn’t resume theirfighting, they left. However,concerned for the child, andfollowing normal procedure,they reported the incident tothe social services. Lucy hadbeen using Dave’s surnamesinceshe’dfirstbeentakentolivewith him andher detailscame up on the socialservices computer system,
together with the previoussocial services involvement.A social worker visitedBonnieandsheadmitted thatshewasn’tcoping.Whyshe’dtaken Lucy from Dave andhissisterisn’tknown,butshetold the social worker thatDave,whomshe’dpreviouslyencouraged Lucy to lookupon as a father and had
happilyleftLucywith,wasa‘no-good piece of shit’, andthey wouldn’t be havinganything to do with himagain.Aftersomediscussion,BonnieagreedforLucytobetakenintofostercare–underaSection20.The foster carer Lucywas
sent to live with already hadtwo fosterchildren, abrother
and sister who’d been therefor nearly three years. It’sclear from the records thatLucystruggledtofitintothisfoster family right from thestart. The carer commentedthat Lucy wasn’t a sociablechild; didn’tmake any effortto get along with the othertwo children; had low self-esteem; rarely smiled or
laughed andwas ‘difficult’ –hardly surprising given themomentous upheavals andanxieties thathadbesetLucythroughout her short life. Itcanbehardinanycaseforanew child to fit into anestablishedhouseholdsuchasthis one, and the situationrequires a lot of time andpatience from the carer. But
this carer seems to havelabelled Lucy as sullen anduncooperative from the start,with every disagreementbetween the three childrenbeingputdowntoLucy’sbadtemper and lack ofcooperation. Whether Lucywas ill-tempered andobstinate or not, the carer’sattitude meant that the
placement was doomed tofail. Bonnie visited Lucy atthe foster homeonce aweekto begin with, then once amonth, and then there wasnothingforthreemonths.WhenLucy had beenwith
this foster carer for elevenmonths, thecarergavenoticeon the placement and askedforLucy to bemoved, citing
the negative impact Lucy’spresence was having on theothertwochildren.Placementbreakdowns, as they areknown, happen; sometimesthey are unavoidable and amove is in everyone’s bestinterest. However, at othertimes, if support is given tothe foster family, rather thanjust leaving the carer to get
onwith it, theplacementcanbe saved and the child doesnot have to be moved.Whether support would havehelped Lucy stay in thisplacement will never beknown,buttheresultwasthatLucy had to pack and leave.This meant another move,more insecurity and anotherrejection for Lucy in a
lifetime of insecurity andrejections.
Lucy was now sent to livewith a foster carer fivemilesawaywhowasasingleparentwithadaughter thesameageas Lucy. When Lucy firstarrived the carer commentedto her support social workerthat Lucy was more like a
child just coming into care(from a neglected home),rather than from anothercarer. She looked unkempt,had head lice and camewithvery few possessions. Thehope is that all foster carersprovide a high standard ofcare for all the children theylook after, but sadly this isnot always so. Although
foster carers are trained andcarefully monitored, thestandard of care-giving canvary.Whenthepreviouscarerwas questioned by hersupport social worker, shesaid she washed Lucy’s hairregularly, but Lucy insistedon taking out her plait atschool,whichmadeherproneto catching head lice. She
also said that she’d boughtLucylotsofthings,butwhenLucy got angry she brokethem. Maybe she did, ormaybe she wasn’t lookedafteraswellas theother twochildren.Lucy’snewplacementwas
quite different.Her carer puta lot of effort into makingLucy feel welcome and part
ofherfamily.Lucygotalongwellwiththecarer’sdaughterandfinallybegantosmileandplayasachildshould.Sadly,this was a small oasis ofsecurity and happiness in anotherwise vast desert ofchange and anxiety. Threemonths later, Bonnie, havingbeennotifiedofthechangeincarer (which the social
services were obliged to dounder aSection20), said shewanted Lucy back. She wasnow living in a small rentedflat, so she gave the socialserviceshernewaddressand,with a day’s notice, tookLucy home with her. Thecarer said that Lucy hadn’twanted to go but didn’t feelshe had any choice. Bonnie
promised to keep in touchwith the carer and meet up,but sheneverheard fromheragain.Bonniehadn’tbeenableto
look after Lucy before andthere was no reason to thinkshecoulddosonow.Nothinghad changed in her life apartfrom a different flat and anew boyfriend. The social
servicesmonitoredthefamilyfor six months and asconcerns grew, and thethresholdforinterventionwasreached,Lucywas taken intocare.This time itwaswith acourt order and not under aSection 20, which gave thesocial services more power,and should have given Lucymoresecurity.
ThefostercarersLucywasnow sent to livewithwere amarried couple who had twoteenage children and lived ina comfortable modern houseon a new estate on theoutskirts of the city.Unfortunately the motherdidn’t drive and the schoolLucy had been attending forthe previous six months –
when she’d been living withher mother – was over anhour’s bus journey away. Itwas felt that thiswas too farfor a child Lucy’s age totravel and that, in any case,Lucy might find itembarrassing to arrive atschool with a foster carerwhenshehadpreviouslybeenseenwith hermother. It was
thereforedecided thata freshstart at a new school wouldbe beneficial, so Lucy wassent to the local primaryschool. By now, excludingnursery school, Lucy hadattended at least six differentprimaryschoolsinfiveyears.Exactly how many differentaddresses Lucy had lived atby then is hard to ascertain,
butaconservativeestimateatthe time put it in excess ofthirty.Although Lucywas nearly
three years behind with herlearning she began to makesome progress at this schooland also enjoyed a pleasantChristmas with her fosterfamily.However,whenLucyhad been living with these
carers for five months, thefamily’s fortunes abruptlychanged: the factory wherethefosterfatherworkedgavenotice to all its employeesthat itwashavingtoclose.Itmade the offer that anyemployee who had beenworking at the company foroverfiveyearscouldrelocatetotheirotherfactory–eighty
miles north. Withunemployment high and jobsscarce, the familyunderstandably felt theyshould accept the offer torelocate, and they suggestedto the social services thatLucy could go with them.Although Lucy was in careunderacourtorder,itwasanInterim Care Order, which
meantthatLucy’smotherstillhad a say in any decision-making about Lucy. Bonniehad seen Lucy twice duringthis five-month period, butnow invoked her rights andobjected toLucymoving outoftheareaincaseshewantedto see hermore often,whichwould be difficult if Lucywas living so far away.As a
result, the familymoved andLucy was moved to anotherfosterhome.The only carer free in the
area at that timewas a babycarer – that is, she wasapproved to foster babies upto the age of two. Lucy wasplaced with her temporarilyuntil amore suitable carer inthe area became free.
Repeated moves for childrenin care for reasons like theseare all too common and thewhole system needs athorough overhaul to ensurethat unnecessary moves areeliminated as much aspossible.Two months after being
placed with this carer, Lucy,now eleven, began at the
localsecondaryschool–abigenough step in itself withoutthe uncertainty of notknowingwhereshewouldbelivinginafewmonths’ time.Six weeks later a moresuitable carer became free inthe area and Lucy arrivedhome from school oneafternoon to be told that shewould be moving at the
weekend.AlthoughLucyhadalways known at the back ofher mind that she’d have tomove again one day, on topof just starting secondaryschool and the accumulatedyears of neglect, misery andcontinuous upheaval, it allbecame too much. As thecarer began explaining toLucy that her social worker
would take her for a visit tomeet her new foster carer,Cathy, and her two children,Lucy let out themost blood-curdlingscreamandthenfledupstairsandlockedherself inthebathroom–theonlyroomin the house with a lock onthedoor.Thecarer,frightenedatthe
sudden outburst from a child
whowasusuallyveryplacid,quiet and obedient, ranupstairs after her. She thenspent over half an houroutside the bathroom doortrying to reason with Lucyandpersuadehertocomeout.Lucy’s sobs grew louder andmore disturbing.By the timethe carer’s husband camehome from work, Lucy’s
hysterical shouts could beheard from outside: ‘I hateyou all! I’m not goinganywhere! I’m going to killmyself!’shecried.
PART TWO
Chapter Ten
‘A Family ofMy Own’
‘It’s a nightmare,’ Jill, mysupport social worker, saidover the phone. ‘The carer’s
husband had to break downthe bathroom door to getLucy out, and she’s stillrefusingtospeaktoanyone.’‘The poor child,’ I said.
‘You can’t blame Lucy forbeing so upset. Her life hasbeen a misery, more or lessfrom day one. No wondershe’s so angry and feelsunwanted.Noonehaswanted
her.’‘I know. You’ve read the
referral?’‘Yes.’ Because Lucy had
been coming to me as aplanned move, I’d had achance to read thereferralsothatIcouldbetterunderstandLucyandcaterforherneeds.Aswell as briefly describingLucy’s strengths and
weaknesses, the referralgaveashorthistoryofherpast.Ifachild came to me as anemergencyfosterplacementIknew very little about thechild, sometimes nothing.‘Yes,I’vereadthereferral,’Isaid. ‘I nearly cried. Lucydeserved so much better.She’s been treateddreadfully.’
‘Absolutely,’Jillsaid.‘Butthe fact remains, she stillhastomove and at present she’srefusing to evenvisit you,orsee her social worker. I’msure she’d feel a bit betterabout the move if she couldmeet you, Adrian and Paulabeforehand, see her bedroomand have a look around thehouse. But we can’t force
her.’ And of course if Lucywas refusing even to meetme, how on earth were theygoingtomoveher?Jill and I were both quiet
foramomentandthenIsaid:‘Iwonder ifLucywould talktomeonthephone?Itwouldbe better than nothing. Is itworthatry?’‘Yes, it’s a possibility, I
suppose. I’ll phone Lucy’ssocial worker and see whatshe thinks, and then I’ll getbacktoyou.Ifyoudidphoneit would have to be thisevening – they’re stillplanning on moving hertomorrow, although I’m notsurehow.’‘I’m in all evening,’ I
confirmed.‘Speaklater.’
Wesaidgoodbyeandhungup. Jill had beenmy supportsocialworker for the last sixof the thirteenyears I’dbeenfostering. We had a closeworking relationship and Irespected her decisions andopinions. But as I walkedawayfromthephone,visionsof a screaming, strugglingeleven-year-old girl being
forcibly brought to my doorflashedthroughmymind.I’dexperiencedyoungerchildrenbeingtakenfromtheirparentsand handed to me in a verydistressed state. I’d sat andcuddledthemforaslongasittook to calm them and untiltheir sobbing eased. Rarelydoes a child willingly leavetheirparents–usuallyonlyin
the worst cases of sexualabuse.ButLucywasn’t littleandcouldn’tjustbeleftinmyarms. And also, she wasn’tcoming to me from herparents,butfromatemporaryfoster placement. I thought itwasanindicationofallshe’dbeen through that she’dbecome hysterical at havingtomove from a family she’d
only been with for threemonths.
It was now 5.00 p.m., and acold winter evening inFebruary.My two children –Adrian, aged thirteen, andPaula, nine – were watchingtelevisionwhileIwasmakingthe evening meal. Havinggrown up with fostering,
they’d seen many childrencome and go, of all ages, ofbothsexesandfromdifferentethnic backgrounds. Theytookanynewaddition toourfamily in their stride, andwhen I’d told them a coupleof days ago thatLucywouldbecomingtostayforawhile,Paula had predictably said,‘Oh good, a big girl to play
with,’ while Adrian,preferring aboyhisownagefor company, had pulled afaceandsighed:‘Notanothergirl in the house!’ Although,in truth, we all welcomed asfamily any child who cameintoourhome.Jill, efficient as usual,
phoned back fifteen minuteslater. ‘The socialworkerwas
busy so I telephonedPat, thefoster carer,’ she said.‘Lucy’s still refusing to talkto her and she’s certain shewon’t talk to you either, butPat said she’s happy for youto try. Also, and moreworryingly, Lucy is refusingtoeat–shehasn’teatensinceall this blew up the daybeforeyesterday.I’llgiveyou
Pat’snumber.Itoldheryou’dphoneataboutseveno’clock.Isthatallright?’‘Yes,’ I said, now even
more worried for Lucy.PickingupthepenIkeptwiththe notepad by the phone, Iwrote down the carer’stelephone number and thenread itback tocheckIhad itright.
‘Good luck,’ Jill said. ‘Patand her husband were goingto move Lucy tomorrow –Saturday – but if she’s stillnot cooperating then they’llhave to wait until Monday,when the social worker isbackintheofficeandcansortitout.’‘And what will she do?’ I
asked.
‘No idea. There doesn’tappear to be a plan B,’ Jillsaid, trying to lighten anotherwisediresituation.‘The whole thing is so
tragic,’Isaid,myheartgoingouttoLucy.‘Yes, and the most tragic
aspectofLucy’scaseisthatitneedn’t have happened,’ Jillsaid. ‘Lucy’s life could have
been so different if someonehad made the decision toremove her early on. Shecouldhavebeenadopted.It’stoo late now. She’s too old.Thedamagehasbeendone.’
Adrian and Paula had beenexpecting to meet Lucy thatFridayevening, justas Ihad,soonceI’dfinishedspeaking
to Jill on the phone andbefore I served dinner, Ireturned to the living roomand explained to Adrian andPaula that Lucy wouldn’t becomingforavisitasshewastoo upset, but that I wouldphone her carer later and trytotalktoLucy.‘Whydoesn’tLucywantto
come?’Paulaasked.‘Doesn’t
shelikeus?’‘She doesn’t even know
us,’ Adrian put in quickly,always ready to correct hisyoungersister.‘I think she’s just had all
she can take,’ I said. ‘She’sneverhadaproperhomeandshe’s been treated verybadly.’‘Tellherit’sOKforherto
come here. We won’t treather badly. We’ll be kind toher,’Paulasaid.I smiled. ‘That’s nice,
love.’ If only it was thatsimple,Ithought.
Once we’d eaten and I’dcleared away the dishes, andbefore I began Paula’sbedtimeroutine,I leftAdrian
and Paula playing a boardgameinthelivingroomwhileIwentdownthehalltophoneLucy’s carers. I neededquietinordertothinkwhatIwouldsay to Lucy if I got thechance, and also I wasnervous. Even after manyyears of fostering, I still getanattackofnervesjustbeforethearrivalofanewchild,and
it’salwaysworseifthemovedoesn’t go smoothly. Butthen, I thought, how muchworse must Lucy be feeling,rejected and having to moveinyetagainwithstrangers?‘IsthatPat?’Iasked,asthe
callconnectedandawoman’svoiceanswered.‘Yes.Speaking.’‘It’sCathyGlass.’
‘Oh,yes,Lucy’snewcarer.Hello.’ I could hear relief inher voice. ‘Jill said you’dphone.’‘So, how is Lucy now?’ I
asked.‘Still shut inher roomand
refusingtocomeoutorspeakto us. I don’t know what todo. I feel awful, so doesmyhusband. Lucy’s blaming us
for her having to move, butwe’re only approved to lookafter babies. To be honest,Cathy, I regret ever havingagreed to take Lucy in thefirst place. It’s so upsettingandwefeelveryguilty.’‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘It’s not
yourfault.Thesocialservicesweredesperate toplaceLucyin the area after her mother
complained,andyouweretheonly carer available. It’s notgood practice, but it happenswhen the system is stretchedto the limit. Have you beenabletotellLucythatIwouldbephoning?’‘Sort of. I called through
her bedroom door and toldher. She didn’t answer, but Ithinksheheardme.’
‘Howlongagowasthat?’Iasked.‘Abouttwohours.’‘Allright.Couldyougoup
now please and tell her I’mon the phone. I assume herbedroomdoorisn’tlocked?’‘No.Weneverputlockson
thebedroomdoors.We’renotallowedto.’Patwasreferringto the ‘safer caring’
recommendations for fostercarers, which advise againstlocks being fitted to thechild’s bedroom door, as itcould prevent the carer fromenteringinanemergencyorifthechildisdistressed.‘Good,’ I said. ‘This is
what I’d like you to do. Goup now, knock on Lucy’sbedroom door and then poke
your head round and saylightly:“There’saphonecallforyou.It’sCathy,yournewcarer. She’s hoping she canhavealittlechatwithyou.”’‘You think I should open
her door and go in?’ Patasked, concerned. ‘I thoughtshewantedtobealone.’Notusedtofosteringolder
children,Pathad thought she
was respecting Lucy’sprivacy in leaving her alone,butasanexperiencedcarerofolder children I knew that,once a child had had time tocooloff, theyusuallywantedyou to go to them and givethemacuddle.Iwouldneverhaveleftachildaloneintheirroom for any more thanfifteen minutes if they were
asupsetasLucywas.‘Yes, Pat. Open her
bedroom door and go in alittle,’Iconfirmed.‘All right, I’ll do as you
say.’Iheardthephonebeingset
downandthenPat’sfootstepsrecedingupstairs.AsIwaitedI could feel my heartthumpingloudlyinmychest.
Adrian and Paula’s distantvoices floated through fromthe living room. I heard Patknock on Lucy’s bedroomdoor, then a slight creak asthedooropened,followedby:‘Yournewcarer,Cathy,isonthe phone for you. Can youcomeandtalktoher?’There was more silence
andthenIheardthebedroom
door close. A few momentslaterPat’svoicecameon thephone again. ‘I told her, butshe’s still refusing to evenlook atme. She’s just sittingthere on the bed staring intospace.’MyworriesforLucyrose.‘What should I do now?’
Patasked,anxiously. ‘Shall Iaskmyhusbandtotrytotalk
toher?’‘Does Lucy have a better
relationship with him?’ Iasked.‘No, not really,’ Pat said.
‘She won’t speak to him,either.Jillsaidthatwemighthave to leave her untilMonday, when her socialworkerisbackatwork.’‘Then Lucy has the whole
weekendtobroodoverthis,’Isaid. ‘It will be worse. Let’stry again to get her to thephone.I’msureitwillhelpifshehearsI’mnotanogre.’Pat gave a little snort of
laughter. ‘Jill said you werevery good with olderchildren.’‘That was sweet of her,’ I
said. ‘Now, is your phone
fixedorcordless?’‘Cordless.’‘Excellent. Take the
handset up with you, knockon Lucy’s bedroom door, goin and tell her again Iwouldlike to talk to her. But thistime, leave the phone on herbedfacingupsoshecanhearme, and then come out. Imight end up talking to
myself,butI’musedtothat.’Pat gave another snort of
nervous laughter. ‘Fingerscrossed,’shesaid.I heard Pat’s footsteps
going up the stairs again,followed by the knock onLucy’sbedroomdoorandtheslight creak as it opened.Pat’svoicetrembledalittleasshesaid:‘Cathy’sstillonthe
phone and she’d like to talktoyou.’There was a little muffled
sound,presumablyasPatputthephoneonLucy’sbed,andthen I heard the bedroomdoor close. I was alone withLucy.Thiswasmychancetotalktoher,totryandconnectwith her and reassure her.Maybemyonlychance.
I took a deep breath andsaid gently: ‘Hello, love. It’sCathy. Can you hear me,pet?’I paused. Although I
wasn’t expecting a replystraight away, I wanted togive her the chance. Ipictured the handset on thebed,presumablynearenoughforLucy tohear. Iwondered
if she’d looked at the phoneas my voice had comethrough.‘I know how dreadful this
isforyou,’Ibegan,myvoicegentle but hopefully loudenough for her to hear. ‘Iknow how you must befeeling at having to moveagain. You’ve had so manymoves, Lucy. I think you’ve
coped remarkably well. Idon’t think I would havecopedaswellasyouhave.’Ipausedagainandlistened
for any response, but therewasnone,notevenasighorasob.ForallIknewshemighthave stuffed thephoneunderherpillowsoshedidn’thaveto listen to me, but at leastshe hadn’t severed the call;
thelinewasstillopen.‘I’d like to tell you a bit
aboutmyselfandmyhome,’Icontinued. ‘So itwon’t seemso strange to you when youarrive.Iliveinahouseabouta twenty-minute drive fromwhereyouarenow,soyou’llbe able to go to the samesecondary school, which isgood. You don’t want to
change schools again. I havetwo children:Adrian,who isthirteen, and Paula, who isnine. They are both lookingforward to meeting you andhaving you stay. Paula isplanning lots of games foryoutoplaywithher.There’sjust the three of us, as I’mdivorced,sothey’llbefourofus in the family when you
arrive. Five including ourcat.’Ipausedagain,buttherewasnothing.‘I’vegotyourroomready,’
I said. ‘But I’m sure you’llwanttochangethingsaroundto suit you, which is fine.You’ll be able to put postersandpicturesonyourbedroomwalls to make it look nice.Justasyouwantit.Aswellas
the bed, there’s a wardrobeanddrawers foryourclothes,plentyofshelfspaceforyourcuddlies and a toy box.There’s also a small table,whichyoucanworkatifyouneed quiet for yourhomework, or you can doyourhomeworkdownstairs ifyou wish. I’ll always helpyouwithyourschoolworkif
you want me to, just like Ihelp Adrian and Paula. Wehave quite a big gardenwithsome swings. We like to goout in the garden when theweather is fine.We also likeplaying games. Adrian andPaula are playing a boardgame now. Do you likeplayinggames,love?’I stopped and waited,
hoping for a reply, but nonecame. Was Lucy listening?Had I caught her attention?Or was she still in denial,refusing to acknowledge me,and perhaps sitting with herhandspressed toherearsnothavingheardawordI’dsaid.Iwaitedamomentlongerandthencontinued.‘So, Lucy, I’m wondering
what else I can tellyou? I’msure you’ve got lots ofquestions. Our cat is calledToscha.You’lllikeher.She’svery gentle and loves beingstroked. The only time sheever scratched anyone wasyears ago when Adrian waslittle and he pulled her tail.Cats don’t like having theirtailspulledandAdrian learnt
his lesson. He never did itagain.Paulasometimesputsadoll’s bonnet on Toscha andpushesheraroundthegardenin her doll’s pram. She doeslookfunny.’I stopped. I thought I’d
heard a faint sound, possiblya movement. I waited, notdaring to breathe, my pulsethrobbing. Then I heard
another noise and I stoodperfectly still. I had thefeeling Lucy had picked upthe phone; I thought I heardthe faintest sound ofbreathing.Iwaitedamomentlonger to see if she wouldspeak, then, lowering myvoice, I said softly: ‘Hello,Lucy.’A pause, and then an
almostinaudible:‘Hello.’Relieffloodedthroughme.
I could have wept. Her littlevoice sounded so very sad.‘Well done, love,’ I said.‘You’re being very brave. Iknowhowdifficultthisisforyou. Pat does, too. How areyoufeeling?’Another pause, and then a
veryslight:‘OK,Iguess.’
I swallowed the lumprisinginmythroat.IwishedIcouldreachoutandhugher.‘We’reall lookingforward
to meeting you,’ I said.‘Adrian, Paula, me andToscha.Canyouthinkofanyquestionsyou’dlikedtoask?’Silence; then her small
voice again: ‘What’s thenameofthegameAdrianand
Paula are playing?’ So shehadbeenlistening.‘It’s called draughts, love.
Doyouknowthegame?’Averyquiet:‘Ithinkso.’‘You play it on a board
with round pieces, and youtaketheotherperson’spiecesby hopping over them. It’seasytoplayandgoodfun.’‘I don’t know many
games,’Lucysaidquietly.‘We’ll teachyou.Wehave
a cupboard full of games.When you arrive I’ll showyou where everything is andyou can choose a game toplay. Adrian and Paula arealways playing games whenthey’renotatschool.’‘Do they watch television,
too?’Lucyaskedquietly.
‘Oh yes, too muchsometimes. Do you have afavourite televisionprogramme?’Asmallpause,thenatiny:
‘Not really. I watch whateveryoneelsewatches.’‘So, what do you like to
eat?’ I now asked. ‘And I’llmake sure I’ve got some ofyour favourite foods in ready
fortomorrow.’‘I don’t mind,’ Lucy said,
in the same small, self-effacing voice that made mewant to cry. ‘I don’t reallyhave any favourite food. Idon’tlikeeatingmuch.’Although I was pleased
thatLucywasnowtalkingtome,sheseemedsosadandfartoo compliant – probably a
resultofhavingtocontinuallyfit in with other families. Iwasalsoconcernedaboutherlastcommentinrespectofnotliking to eat, for the referralhadsaidshewasunderweightandhadraised thepossibilityofaneatingdisorder.‘What else can I tell you
aboutus?’Inowasked.There was a pause, and
then Lucy asked the onequestion I’d been dreading.‘IfIcometoyou,willIhavetomoveagain?’I took a breath. ‘What did
your socialworker tell you?’Iasked.‘She said my mum would
have to go to court if shewantedmeback,astherewasacourtordernow.’
‘That’s right. You’re incarenowunderwhat’scalledan Interim Care Order. Didyour social worker explainwhatthatwas?’‘I think so, but I didn’t
reallyunderstand.’‘I know, love. There was
too much going on. I’ll tryand explain. Until recently,whenyouwereincareitwas
underwhat’scalledaSection20, which is an agreementbetween your mum and thesocial services. It meant thatyourmumcouldtakeyououtofcarewhenever shewantedto, which is one of thereasons you’ve had so manymoves. That can’t happennow there is a court order.The social services will be
applying for a Full CareOrder, when the judge willmake the decision on whereyou should live permanently:if you can live with yourmother or if you would bebetter off in foster carepermanently. But we won’tknowthejudge’sdecisionformany months, possibly ayear,astheyhavetoreadlots
of reports to make sure it’stherightdecision.’Istopped.‘Doesthatmakeanysensetoyou,love?’There was a long pause,
which was hardly surprising;the workings of the caresystem are difficult enoughfor adults to grasp, let aloneaneleven-year-oldchild.When Lucy spoke again it
brought tears to my eyes. ‘Idon’t want to live with mymum,’ she said. ‘But I don’twanttohavetokeepmoving.Otherkidshaveproperhomesandfamilieswholovethem.Ijust want a family of myown.’
Chapter Eleven
Lucy
I couldn’t lie to Lucy. Icouldn’t tell her she wouldneverhavetomoveagain,butIcouldtellherthateventuallyshe would be found a
permanentfamilyofherown.‘Lucy, from what I know
of your history I think it’shighlyunlikelythejudgewilldecide you should live withyour mother. So the socialserviceswillseeifyouhavearelative who can look afteryou,andifnotthentheywillfind you a long-term fosterfamily to suit you.’ I didn’t
say‘onethatwillmatchyourcultural heritage’, although Iknew that would be part ofthe criteria. Lucy was dualheritage, as her father wasThai, so the social serviceswould want to find her afamilythatreflectedthis.‘Butallthatwilltakemany
months,’Isaid,‘maybeuptoayear,andyouwon’thaveto
moveagainduringthattime.’ItwasthebestIcouldoffertoreassureLucy and, bless her,itwasenough.‘So I won’t have to move
again for a whole year?’ shesaid, her voice lightening alittle.‘That’s right, love. Only
once the judge has made hisor her decision will you
move,andthatwillbetoyourforeverfamily.’‘That’s good,’ she said.
‘WillyourcatbetherewhenIcometomorrow?’‘I’llmakesureofit,love.’Wesaidgoodbye,butLucy
didn’t sever the call. I heardmuffledsoundsasshecarriedthe handset downstairs andgave it toPat,whoIguessed
waswaitingforanynews.‘Hello,’shesaidanxiously.‘Is half past eleven
tomorrow morning all rightfor you and your husband tomoveLucy?’Isaid.‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Pat
said, surprised. ‘Has Lucyagreedtocomethen?’‘Shehas.’‘How did you manage
that?’‘I think the cat did it,’ I
said,with a small laugh. ‘Sohalf past eleven is all right?I’d rather not leave it anylater as the waiting willunsettleLucyagain.’‘Yes, we’ll get going on
thepackingstraightaway.’‘Good. And you may not
knowthisbut,whenanolder
childmoves, it’susuallybestifthecarerssaygoodbyeandleavereasonablyquickly,soIwon’tbeofferingyoucoffee.I know it’s different whenyou move babies topermanency.’‘Yes, it is. Thanks for
tellingme.’‘You can phoneLucy in a
week or so. That would be
nice,andvisitinafewweeks–once she’shada chance tosettlein.’‘We will. See you
tomorrow then. And thanksforallyourhelp.’‘You’re welcome. Enjoy
your evening. You want topartongoodterms.’‘Yes,we’lltry.’In truth, I hadn’t really
donemuch to persuadeLucyto move other than use myskills and experience fromyearsoffostering.Patandherhusband were used tofosteringbabiesandhadbeenout of their depth lookingafter an older child,which iswhy carers are approved andtrainedtofosteraspecificagegroup.Ireturnedtotheliving
roomwhereAdrianandPaulawerejustfinishingtheirgameofdraughtsandtoldthemthegoodnews:thatI’dspokentoLucy and she would becoming tomorrow. ‘She’slooking forward to playingwithyouboth,’Iadded.‘AndweneedtomakesureToschaisin.’‘Why?’ Adrian asked,
glancing up from the board.‘What’sthecatdone?’Ignoring his stab at
humour, I said, ‘Lucy’s verykeentoseeher.’He threw me an old-
fashioned look, took the lastof Paula’s pieces from theboard and, punching the air,shouted:‘Winner!’‘Wellplayed,’Isaid.
Paulascowled.‘You played well too,’ I
saiddiplomatically.
They packed away the gameand then Adrian went off toplayonhisNintendo,whileItook Paula up for her bathand to get her ready for bed.It was Friday, so bothchildrenwereuplaterthanon
a school night. Paula cansometimes be a real littlechatterbox, especially atbedtime, and tonight all shecouldtalkaboutwasLucy.‘I’m very excited that
Lucy’s coming,’ she said,flappingthewaterinthebathtomakemorebubbles.‘Whatdoessheliketoplay?’‘I’mnotsure.Youcanask
her. I don’t think she knowsmany games, so you canteachhersome.’‘I will. And I’ll show her
mytoysandletherplaywiththem, even my newChristmas toys. And if itsnows, we can go in thegardenandbuildasnowman.Ihopeitsnows.I’mgoingtolikeplayingwithLucy.’
While Paula was happilyplanningallshewasgoingtodo with Lucy, I was alsothinking about Lucy, and,amongotherthings,abouttheschool run onMonday. Likemost foster carers, I had tojuggle my children’scommitments with the childor children I was fostering.Adrian, at thirteen, went to
schoolwith his friends, but Istill took Paula, at age nine,to her primary school andcollected her. Lucy’s schoolwas a twenty-minute busjourney away, and althoughmost secondary-schoolchildren use buses I wasn’tcomfortablewith hermakingan unfamiliar journey alonewhen she’d just moved in.
Once I knew what time herschool started, I was hopingI’d be able to work outsomething that would allowme to take both girls toschool and collect them.Whenanewfosterchildfirstarrives, there’s always aperiod of readjustment andthen,once thenew routine isestablished, the household
runssmoothlyagain.
The following morning –Saturday – I was up,showered and dressed earlierthan usual for the weekend,and with a mixture ofexcitement and apprehensionI double-checked thatLucy’sroom was ready. Paula wasupearlierthanusual,too,and
the first thing she said whenshecamedownstairswasthatshe was looking forward tomeetingLucy.Adrian,truetoform,onlystumbledfromhisbed when he smelled baconfrying. We usually have acooked breakfast at theweekend; it’s the only twodays in the week when wehave time to enjoy it. By
eleven o’clock Adrian wasshowered and dressed, too,and caught in the frisson ofexcited expectation that hadenvelopedthehouse.So,withhalf an hour to go beforeLucy’s arrival, we were allreadyandwaiting,except…‘Where’sToscha?’Iasked,
suddenlyrealizingshewasn’tin her favourite spot on the
chairbythewindow.We looked around the
obvious places and couldn’tsee her. Then the childrenhelped me search the housefromtoptobottom:underthebeds; in corners (especiallyby radiators); in and behindcupboards; even in theairingcupboard, where she’d oncebeenfound;but therewasno
signofToscha.‘Iexpectshe’sout,’Adrian
said. ‘I take it she isallowedtousethecatflap?’‘Very funny,’ I said,
unimpressed.Ipeeredoutofthewindow
butcouldn’tseeToschainthegarden. I slipped onmy coatand, taking her bag offavouritecatbiscuitswithme,
wentintothegarden.Ishookthe bag while calling hername, but no Toscha camerunning. It was now nearly11.20, and apart from Lucybeing disappointed when shearrived that there was noToscha when I’d promisedthere would be, I was alsogrowing concerned. Toschawas a creature of habit and
didn’t normally go outsideand vanish in the middle ofthe morning, especially inwinter.Then I heardAdrian shout
frominsidethehouse:‘Mum!Comein.ShewasonthebedinLucy’sroom!Youshutherin!’Relieved, I returned
indoors, thinking she must
have crept into Lucy’s roomwithout me seeing her whenI’d checked it earlier. I’dclosed Lucy’s bedroom doorasI’dcomeout,andherroomhad been the one room Ihadn’t thought to search.Fortunately,Adrianhad.‘Welldone,love,’Isaid,as
he set Toscha on the sofaready to receive our new
arrival.It wasn’t a moment too
soon, for as Toscha curledherself into a ball,comfortably resting her headon her front paws andunawarewhatallthefusshadbeenabout,thedoorbellrang.‘That’llbethem,’Isaid.Paulaslippedherhandinto
mineandcamewithmedown
the hall to answer the door,while Adrian stayed on thesofa strokingToscha. I felt alittlerushofnervousnessasIopened the door, and Paulasqueezedmyhand.‘Hello,’ I smiled at the
threeofthem.‘Hi, Cathy,’ Pat said
brightly.‘ThisismyhusbandTerry,andthisisLucy.’
‘Hi, Terry. Hello, love,’ IsaidtoLucy.‘Comeonin.’Lucy’s large dark eyes
roundedasshelookedatme.She was a petite, slenderchild with gorgeous longblack silky hair, which hungloosely over her shoulders.She was wearing a smartwintercoat,openatthefront,with new jeans and a pink
jumper underneath. I smiledatheragainasshecamein.‘I’ll get the cases,’ Terry
said.‘Thanks.I’llleavethedoor
on the latch,’ I said, as hedisappeared back down thepath.Then toLucyandPat Isaid: ‘This is Paula. Adrianand Toscha are in the livingroom – straight down the
hall.’‘What a nice house,’ Pat
saidencouraginglytoLucyaswewentdownthehall.Lucy didn’t reply; I didn’t
expect her to – even Paulawasnervousandstillhadherhandinmine.As we entered the living
room,Adrianlookedupfromstroking Toscha and said,
‘Hi.’‘Hi,’ Pat said. ‘Nice to
meetyou.ThisisLucy.’AdrianthrewLucyasmall
self-conscioussmile.Shewasstanding close to Pat, headslightlybowedandlookingatthecatfromunderherfringe.‘ShallItakeyourcoat,love?’I suggested. ‘It’s warm inhere.’
Without speaking orlooking at me, Lucy slippedoutofhercoatandhanded ittome.Thepoorchildlookedsolostandillatease,itbrokemy heart. ‘I’m sure Toschawouldlikeastrokefromyou,too,’ I said, trying to makeherfeelathome.AdrianlookedatLucyand
threw her another smile.
Then, very gingerly, almostcat-like herself, she lightlycrossed the room and sat onthe sofa on the other side ofToscha and began gentlystrokingher.Paula found thecourage to letgoofmyhandand went over to join Lucyand Adrian, standing just infront of them to form a littlesemi-circleastheyallstroked
thecat.Toschahadneverhadso much attention and waspurring loudly. Pat and I satin the chairs watching themand made light conversationasTerrybroughtLucy’sbagsinto the hall. He closed thefrontdoorand then joinedusin the living room, sayinghello to Adrian. ‘Nicegarden,’ he said, nodding at
the view through the patiodoors.‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘We
make the most of it in thesummer.’Therewasashortawkward
silence and then, turning toPat,andfollowingmyadviceaboutkeeping theirdepartureshort, Terry said, ‘Well, Isupposewe’dbetterbeoff.’
Pat nodded. ‘We’ll phoneyou in a week,’ she said toLucy.Lucy didn’t reply or look
up but concentrated onpettingToscha.Patthenwentover and kissed the top ofLucy’s head. I thought Lucymight havewanted a hug or,perhaps finding separatingdifficult, cry, but she didn’t.
Shejustgaveasmallnodandthen said in a very quietvoice, without looking up:‘Goodbye.’Lucy’s face was
emotionless, and Iinstinctively felt she was achild used to hiding heremotions, probably as acopingmechanismtostopherfrombeinghurtagain.
‘Goodbye then, Lucy,’Terry called from across theroom.‘Takecare.’Lucy gave another small
nod and continued strokingToscha.I showedPat andTerry to
the front door. ‘Don’tworry,Lucywillbefine,’Ireassuredthem. ‘I’m sure she won’tstaythisquietforlong.’
They both looked at me alittle oddly. ‘She will,’ Patsaid. ‘She’s hardly said awordtousinthewholethreemonths she’s been with us.To be honest, we found hersilence quite unnerving. Themost she ever said was theother day when we told hershe would be moving. Thenshe shouted and screamed.
Perhapsshe’sschizophrenic?’‘More like traumatized,’ I
said, a little tersely,concerned that a seriousmedical condition could beassignedsoloosely.I reassured Pat and Terry
againthatLucywouldbefineandwesaidgoodbye.Closingthe front door, I returneddown the hall, still thinking
of Pat’s comment. It wasn’tthe first time I’d heard anadult – carer, parent, teacheror even a social worker –resort to labelling a child forbehaviour they didn’tunderstand. Schizophrenia,ADHD,dyslexia,autism,etc.–thesewordsshouldonlybeused after a medicaldiagnosis, because labels can
stick.Ihopedtheyhadn’tsaidanything similar withinearshotofLucy.Inthelivingroom,Adrian,
Paula and Lucy were stillgrouped around Toscha,strokingher.‘I’ll go and play in my
room then, Mum, if that’sOK?’ Adrian said, standing,and eager to be on his
Nintendo.‘Of course, love, and
thanks for your help findingToscha.’‘It’s OK!’ he called,
disappearingoutofthelivingroom.I went over to Lucy and
Paula, who now slipped intothe seat Adrian had vacated.Both girls were very quiet,
still shy, so squatting on thefloorinfrontofthemIbeganmaking conversation. I wassure once they got talkingthey’dbefine.‘Beforeyouarrived,’Isaid
to Lucy, ‘we had quite ascare, didn’t we, Paula?’Paula nodded. ‘We couldn’tfind Toscha anywhere. Welookedalloverthehouseand
even in the garden. You’llnever guess where we foundher?’ Ipaused,allowing timeforLucytoofferasuggestionor perhaps say, ‘No? Wherewas she?’ But she was tooshy.‘Shewasonyourbed!Fast
asleep.’Paulasaid,supplyingthe answer. ‘She’s not reallysupposedtobeonthebeds.’
Lucy slowly raised herhead and looked at me, herlarge dark eyes growingrounder with astonishment.Then, very quietly, she said:‘Wasshereallyonmybed?’‘Shewas,love.Imusthave
shut her in when I checkedyour room first thing thismorning.’The smallest, almost
imperceptible smile nowcrossedLucy’sface.Then,inthe same quiet voice, shesaid, ‘I think if Toscha wasonmybeditmeansshelikesme,don’tyou?’I felt my eyes brim. ‘It
does love. It most certainlydoes.Wealllikeyou.’
I hadn’t planned any
activitiesfortheweekend.I’dkept it clear so that Lucywouldhaveachancetosettleinandfamiliarizeherselfwithus,hernewhomeandroutine,andhopefully start to relax alittle. She came across as avery gentle child who couldeasilybe takenadvantageof;someone who neededprotecting. I thought again
howfrighteningitmustbetocome into yet anotherstranger’s house, where youwereexpectedtofitin.Ialsofelt she was tense, on guard,almostinapermanentstateofalert,asifatanymomentshewasreadytorun.Iknewfrommy previous fosteringexperience and training thatthis heightened anxiety
wasn’t unusual for a childwho’d been severelyneglected or abused; even apin dropping canmake themjump. I also knew it wouldtake many weeks, if notmonths, and a lot of workbefore Lucy felt safe enoughwith us to lower her guardandcompletelyrelax.Presently Paula tired of
stroking Toscha and said toLucy, ‘Would you like toplayagamenow?’Lucygaveasmallnod.‘Or would you like to see
yourroomfirstandthenplayagame?’Paulasaid.‘I don’t mind,’ Lucy said
quietly, with a little self-conscioussmile.‘It’s your decision,’ I
encouraged.‘Shall we see my room
first?’LucyaskedPaula.Iwasinnodoubtthat,had
Paula said no, Lucy wouldhave gone along withwhateverPaulawantedtodo.‘Yes. Let’s see your room
first,’ Paula said. ‘Then wecanplayagame.’Both girls stood and we
went out of the living roomand upstairs, where I openedthe door to Lucy’s bedroomandweallwentin.‘Do you like it?’ Paula
asked, crossing to thewindow. ‘It’s got a niceview.’I smiled. The view was
something I usually pointedout when I showed a new
child and their social workeraroundthehouse,astheroomoverlookedthegarden.Lucygaveasmallnod,but
didn’t goover to lookout ofthewindow.‘Your room will be better
once you’ve got all yourbelongings in it,’ I said. ‘I’llbringupyourbagsshortly.’Shegaveanothersmallnod
and then looked to Paula fordirection.‘I’ll show you the rest of
theupstairs,’Isaid.Leaving Lucy’s room, we
wenttothenextroom,whichwasAdrian’s.Itappedonhisbedroom door. ‘Can Lucyhave a quick peek in yourroom,please?’Icalled.‘Yes, come in,’ he
returned.‘We always knock and
waittobeaskedintosomeoneelse’s bedroom,’ I explainedto Lucy, taking theopportunitytomentiononeofourhouserules.‘Itkeepsourroomsprivateandsafe.’Opening the door, I went
in.Lucy took a little step in,just big enough for her to
glance at the room, and thensteppedoutagain.‘Thanks, love,’ I said to
Adrian,comingout.‘I’llgiveyou a call when lunch isready.’Paulaledthewayalongthe
landing to her room. ‘I don’thave to knock on my door,’she said with a mischievousgrin, ‘because it’s my room
andI’mnotinit!’I laughed. ‘I’ve got a
family of jokers,’ I said toLucy, and she managed asmallsmile.‘Youcancomealltheway
into my room,’ Paula said,eager for Lucy to see herroom, of which she wasproud.Lucytookacoupleofsteps
in and gazed around. Thetheme in Paula’s room wasDisney’s Winnie the Pooh,and images of the cartooncharacterswereon theduvet,pillowcase, wallpaper andcurtains. Her shelves werebrimming with soft toys andgames that she’d been givenfor birthdays and Christmas.Paula’s bedroom wasn’t any
morespecialthanmanygirls’herage,but Icould tell fromLucy’sexpression that itwastoher.‘It’s lovely,’ she breathed
after a moment. ‘You arelucky.’Paula smiled self-
consciously, and I could seeshe felt a bit uncomfortable.Lucy wasn’t the first child
we’dfosteredtobeinaweofwhatwetookforgranted,anditwas a timely reminder thatnoteveryonewasas luckyaswewere.We came out of Paula’s
roomand I showedLucy thebathroom and my bedroom.ThenwewentdownstairsandI showed her the front roomwhere the computer was,
explaining that shecoulduseit for homework. Then wewent into the kitchen-cum-dinerandIsawfromthewallclock that it was nearly oneo’clock.‘I thoughtwe’dhavesome
soup and a sandwich forlunch,’ I said to both girls.‘We usually have our mainmeal in the early evening,’ I
added,forLucy’ssake.LucyglancedatPaula,and
then said quietly tome, ‘I’mnotreallyhungry.’‘Did you have a big
breakfast?’Iasked.She shook her head. ‘I
really don’t like eatingmuch.’Lucy had said similar to
me on the phone, but she
couldn’taffordtomissmeals.I knew from the referral thatshe was underweight, andfromwhat I could seeof herframe – through her jumperandjeans–shewasslendertothe point of thin; plus,concerns had already beenraised about her not eating.Whenshefirstcameintocareshe would have had a
medical, so when I saw hersocial worker I would askaboutthis.Inthemeantime,IneededtotryandgetLucyinthe habit of eating byestablishing a regular patternof mealtimes. Children fromneglected backgrounds oftenswing between bingeing andthen going without foodaltogether. I didn’t know
what the previous carers haddone to address this and itwas something else I wouldneedtoaskhersocialworker.‘WhileMummakes lunch,
shall we play?’ Paula nowaskedLucy.Lucygaveasmallnod.‘What would you like to
play?’Paulaasked.Predictably, Lucy gave
another small shrug and thensaid,‘Idon’tmindreally.’‘Paula,’ I said, ‘why don’t
youshowLucy thecupboardwhere we keep the games,and then the two of you canchoose something to playtogether?’‘I will,’ Paula said, now
feeling more at ease. Andsensing that Lucy needed to
be looked after as a muchyounger child would, Paulagently took her by the handandledheroutofthekitchen.
Chapter Twelve
No Appetite
Mealtimes in many familyhomesareoftenas importantfortheirsocialinteractionandfamilybondingastheyareforeating food. In our house, as
in many others, we eat ourmeals together wheneverpossible, seated on diningchairs around a table, talkingbetween mouthfuls andsharingournews.Apartfromin exceptional circumstances– birthdays, Christmas orwhen a child is upset andmightwantacuddlytoywiththem–Idon’tnormallyallow
toys, books, games consoles,mobile phones or any otherdistractionsat thetablewhilewe’reeating. I encourage thechildren in their tablemanners, as they not onlyensureapleasantmealforall,butwill stand the children ingoodsteadforlaterlife,whenmuch socializing andbusiness takes place over a
good meal. However, Irealizethatwhilemychildrenare relaxed around the mealtable, it could seemdauntingforanewcomer:anothernewcustomwithitsownritualsina house of strangers. So Ikeep a watchful eye on thenewchildanddoall Ican tomakethemfeelcomfortable.In the thirteen years I’d
been fostering I’d seen alltypesofbehaviouratthemealtable, including shouting,screaming,tantrums,standingon the table, hiding under it,nose-picking, burping,farting, throwing food,grabbing food from others’plates and, very commonly,children who only ate withtheir fingers because they’d
neverusedcutlery.But inallthose years I’d never seen achildasanxiousasLucywaswhenshecametoourtable.IcalledherandPaula tocometo lunch three times beforetheyfinallyappeared.AtfirstI thought itwasbecausetheywanted to finish their game,butwhenPauladrewLucybythe hand into the kitchen I
realizeditwasmorethanthat.‘Lucy doesn’t want
anything to eat,’ Paula said.‘She’snothungry.’I looked at Lucy with a
reassuring smile, but I couldseehowtenseshewas.‘Well,sit down, love, and just havealittle,’Iencouraged.‘You’llneed something to eat; youdidn’thavebreakfastand it’s
alongtimeuntildinner.’Idrewoutthechairnextto
Paula and smiled again atLucy.‘Wethoughtyou’dliketo sit here, next to Paula,’ Isaidbrightly.‘Yes,sitnexttome,’Paula
said. Adrian was alreadyseated, opposite Lucy – he’dbeen the first to come whenI’dcalledeveryoneforlunch.
Lucy hesitated, her browcreasing with worry. Thenshe slipped silently onto thechair next to Paula, and Ihelped her ease it closer tothe table. Igaveeachofusabowl of soup and set theplatter of sandwiches, crisps,cherry tomatoes and slicedcucumberinthecentreofthetable ready for when we’d
finishedoursoup.Isatdown.Adrian and Paula werealready tucking into theirsoup as I picked up myspoon, but Lucy sat stifflyupright,staringatherbowl.Ididn’tknowhowmuchofheranxiety was due to theintimacyofsittingandeatingwithstrangersandhowmuchof it was about the actual
food. When I’d asked her ifshe liked tomato soup she’dsaidshedid,butasIwatchedher out of the corner of myeyewhile I atemy soup shedidn’t make any attempt tostarthers.‘Try a little,’ I encouraged
after a while. ‘You must behungry.Youdon’thavetoeatitall.’
Slowly, reluctantly almost,Lucy picked up her spoonand,dipping it into thebowl,took out the smallest amountpossibleandputittoherlips.I saw Adrian and Paulasurreptitiously watching herand I motioned for them notto stare. Poor Lucy felt self-conscious enough alreadywithout having an audience.
Lucytookasecondandthirdspoonful as slowly and asmeasured as the first, then,when Adrian and Paulafinished their soup, she putdownherspoon,leavingoverhalfabowlful,andsatbackinherchair.‘There’s no rush,’ I said,
hoping shemight have somemore.
‘I’mfull,’shesaidquietly.I finished the last of my
soup, collected together thebowls, took them through tothe kitchen and left them inthesink.‘Help yourselves,’ I said,
returning to the table andreferring to the sandwiches,crisps and salad. ‘Thosesandwiches are ham and
those are cheese,’ I said,pointing. I’d previouslychecked with Lucy that shelikedboth.Adrian and Paula began
filling their plates withsandwiches, salad and crisps,while Lucy took one littlesandwich. I’d cut themdiagonally into quarters sothat one sandwich amounted
tohalf a sliceofbreadandalittlebitoffilling.‘Are you going to have
some crisps and salad?’ Isuggested, offering Lucy theplates as she might not haveliked to help herself, but sheshookherhead.She ate the one sandwich
slowly,takingsmallbitesandchewing endlessly before
swallowing. I made lightconversation to try and helpherfeelatease,andIalsoputon the radio in thebackground, but it didn’thelp. Lucy only had onesandwich and half a glass ofwater. It was her first mealwith us and I didn’t want tomake her feel more self-conscious than she already
did by encouraging herfurther. So once everyoneelse had finished and it wasclear Lucy wasn’t going toeat anymore, I cleared awaythe dishes and hoped she’dmakeupforitatdinnertime.As soon as Lucy left thetable, shevisibly relaxedandhappily went with Paula tofinish their game of
dominoes.Shortlyafterlunch,afriend
of Adrian’s who lived in thenext street telephoned andaskedifhe’dliketogotohishouseforafewhours.Adrianasked me if it was all rightand I said yes. I knew fromexperience that a new childwould feel at home morequickly ifwecarriedonwith
normal family life. I toldLucy that Adrian was goingto a friend’s house for a fewhours and he called goodbyeasheleft.Ithenreadacoupleof pages of my book in theliving room while the girlsplayedsnakesandladders.Inher playing and interactionLucy was doing well, muchbetter thanPatandTerryhad
led me to expect, so I waspleased.Once thegirlshad tiredof
snakes and ladders, Isuggested we unpack Lucy’sbags, which I’d previouslytakenuptoherroom.Iknewthat once she had herpossessions in her room andhad arranged them to herliking shewould start to feel
moreathome.‘We can both help you,’
Paula said enthusiastically,jumping up and clapping herhandsinexcitement.I saw that Lucy looked a
bit uncomfortable. ‘Is it allright if Paula and I help youwiththeunpacking?’Iasked.ForIwouldn’thaveexpectedan eleven-year-old child to
unpackbyherself.Lucygaveasmallnodand
then said quietly, ‘It’s justthat I’ve got some privatethingsIdon’twantanyonetosee.’ She said it so sweetlyand self-effacingly it was asthoughshedaren’tbreatheforfear of upsetting others. Iguessed these private thingswere small mementoes she
was attached to. I’d seenchildren I’d fostered beforearrivewith all sorts ofweirdandwonderful objects they’dgrown attached to and didn’twantanyonetosee,includingone little boywho brought aclothes peg with him, whichhe said reminded him of hismother, and a girl who wasinseparable from her father’s
(expensive) watch. I laterfoundouthewasinprisonforbreaking into a jeweller’sshop!‘I understand, love,’ I said
toLucy. ‘Wecouldhelpyouunpack, and then when youtake out your private thingsPaula and I will close oureyes.Howdoesthatsound?’A small smile flickered
across Lucy’s face and Itouchedherarmreassuringly.‘You don’t have to worryaboutupsettingme,’Isaid.‘Iwant you to feel relaxed andat home here. You must tellmewhatyouwant.’She gave a small nod and
then said to Paula: ‘I canshow you one of the privatethings,butnottheother.’
‘Great!’ Paula exclaimed.Taking Lucy’s hand, shedrewher toher feetand thenscampered off, with Lucyclosebehind.Upstairs inLucy’s room, I
asked Lucy which case weshould unpack first and shepointed to the largest case,whichcontainedherclothes.Ibegan hanging and folding
them into the wardrobe anddrawers,showingLucywhereI was putting them, whileLucy began unpacking herbag of toys, with Paula’shelp. Lucy didn’t havemanypossessions compared to theaverage eleven-year-old but,havingbeeninfostercareforawhile, shehadmore thanachild coming straight into
care from a neglected home,who would often arrive withnothing.‘This is the private thing I
can showyou,’ I heardLucysay.I glanced over from the
wardrobeasshedelvedintoasmall pink rucksack andcarefully drew out a soft toyrabbit. Clearly much loved
andpetted,ithadchewedearsand a missing tail. Holdinghim against her chest, shehuggedhimhard.‘Why’s he private?’ Paula
asked,voicingmythoughts.‘Because I don’t usually
show him to anyone,’ Lucysaidquietly. ‘The children inonefosterhomewerehorribleto me, because he’s old and
has bits missing. So I don’tlet anyone see him. But Ithinkyou’rekind.Iknowyouwon’tlaugh.’I could see that, far from
laughing, Paula was close totears at the thought ofchildren being unkind toLucy because her favouritetoywasold.Ididn’tknowinwhich home this unkindness
had taken place, but childrencan be cruel without anyonerealizingit.‘What’s his name?’ Paula
asked, as Lucy held the softtoy to her chest and strokedhimprotectively.‘He’s called Mr Bunny,’
Lucysaid.‘MrBunnyRabbitif he’s been naughty.’ IsmiledandthoughtthatLucy
hadasenseofhumourburiedbeneath all her worry andanxiety.‘How old is he?’ Paula
asked, meaning: how longhaveyouhadhim?‘I don’t know,’ Lucy said.
‘He’s always been with me,for as long as I canremember.Myother toysgotlost when I kept having to
move, but Mr Bunny stayedwith me. I used to take himout, but I don’t any more.He’sprivate.’Andsosaying,Lucy leant on the bed andtucked Mr Bunny under theduvet, so that only his earswere visible on the pillow.‘You can have a little sleep,Mr Bunny,’ she said softly.‘You’vehadabusyday.’
I continued unpacking asLucy and Paula exploredLucy’s toys, slowly puttingthemintothetoybox.ThenIheard Paula ask: ‘What’syourotherprivatething?’‘No, Paula,’ I cautioned
lightly, turning from what Iwasdoingtolookather.‘Wesaid we’ll close our eyeswhen Lucy unpacks her
private things. She’s alreadyshownyouMrBunny.’Lucy gave a small nod. ‘I
can show you the cover, butno more. Not yet. Not for along time, because it’s veryprivate.’BeforeIlookedawayIsaw
her slide a large scrapbookfromherbag.Onthefrontofthebookwasaphotographof
herself. I thought itmight beher Life Story Book, startedby a previous foster carer.Life StoryBooks are usuallycompiled by foster carers forchildren in long-term care.They contain photographsand some written history tosupportthechild’smemories.Children who are raised bytheir own families share
collective memories, butfoster children don’t havethis, and memories canbecomeconfusedorevenlostover time. If Iwas right andthis was Lucy’s Life StoryBook, then it would be verypersonal to her and I couldappreciate why she didn’twanttoshareitwithusyet.‘It’sgot somephotographs
in it and some writing aboutme,’ Lucy said to Paula, asshe hid the book under thebed.‘Why don’t you put it
safely in one of yourdrawers?’ I suggested,pointing to the chest ofdrawers. ‘No one comes intoyour bedroom without yourpermission,soitwillbesafe.
Noonewillsee.’Lucygaveasmallnodand
reached under the bed toretrievethebook.‘Eyes closed,’ I said to
Paula.Paula and I both screwed
shut our eyes and I heardmovements as Lucy placedthe book in a drawer andclosedit.
‘You can look now,’ shesaid.
Ataboutthesametimeasthegirls and I finished Lucy’sunpacking, Adrian returnedfrom his friend’s house. Helethimself in, calledup, ‘Hi,ladies!’ and then went intothe kitchen for a snack. Likemost active thirteen-year-old
boys,hewasalwayshungry.I stacked Lucy’s empty
suitcase and bags on thelanding. ‘I’ll put them up intheloftlater,outoftheway,’I toldLucy,forIdidn’twanther to think that I’d just gotridofthem.AsIwentdownstairs,with
Lucy and Paula following, Iheard Lucy tell Paula: ‘I
won’t need my bags for along time, maybe a year.Your mum said I can stayuntil the judge makes adecision.’‘I’m pleased,’ Paula said.
‘I like playing with you. Ithinkwe’regoing tobegoodfriends.’‘That’snice,’Lucysaid.‘I
think I’m going to be happy
livingherewithyouandyourfamily.’You will, love, I thought.
I’llmakesureofit.
Iserveddinneratsixo’clock,but far from making up atdinnerwhat she hadn’t eatenat lunch,Lucy looked just asuncomfortable, still had noappetite and picked at her
food. I’dmadecottagepie, adishthatiseasilyeatenwithaforkorspoon,andafavouritewithmostchildren.WhenI’daskedLucybeforethemealifshe liked cottage pie, she’dsaidyes.Butthelittleshehadsheateveryslowly,almostasthough she was scared ofeatingordidn’t like the tasteorfeeloffoodinhermouth.
‘Are you feeling all right,love?’ I asked at length,wonderingifperhapsshehadasorethroatorwassickeningforsomething.Lucy nodded and
continued slowly, eating atinybitatatime.PaulaandIfinishedours,andAdrianwasalready on seconds. ThenLucy looked up and said, ‘I
reallycan’teatanymore.’‘All right, love, don’t
worry,’ I said quickly. ‘Justeatwhat youwant and leavetherest.’Shesetdownherknifeand
fork; I guessed she’d eatenabout four mouthfuls – notenough for a growing child,but I didn’t say anythingmore. I served pudding –
apple crumble and ice cream–andLucyhadonescoopofice cream, but no crumble.Had Lucy’s poor eating notalready been mentioned, Imight have put it down tobeing in a new house – andthat might well have beenpartly responsible – but Iknew that if her appetitedidn’t start improving over
the next few days then Iwould be raising the matterwith her social worker andseekingadvice.Afterdinnerwewatcheda
filmontelevisionandwhenitfinished I made everyone ahotmilky drink,which Lucyhad,andthenIbeganthebathandbedtimeroutine.Iusuallyput the children to bed in
ascending order of age, soPaula first, then Lucy, andAdrian last. Adrian usuallywentupataboutnineo’clockand read for a while in bed.SowhenPaulawas snuggledin her bed, I called for Lucyto come up and together wecollected her toothbrush,flannel, towel and pyjamasfrom her bedroom and took
them into the bathroom. Ishowedherwhereeverythingwas and ran her bath. Iwouldn’t normally bath aneleven-year-old unless theyhad learning difficulties andneededhelp,soonceherbathwas ready I checked thatLucy had everything sheneeded and then came out,telling her to call me if she
needed anything. I’m alwaysvery cautious when a newchild arrives, until I am surewhat they can safely do andwhattheyneedhelpwith,soIhoveredon the landingwhileLucy was in the bathroom.But fifteen minutes later sheemerged, washed, dressed inherpyjamasandbrushingherlovelylongblackshinyhair.
I showed her where thelaundry basket was for herdirty clothes and then wentwith her to her bedroom. Iasked her if she liked hercurtains open or closed atnight, and she said open alittle.Ialsofoundoutthatsheliked to sleep with the lightoffandthedoorslightlyajar.‘It’s bound to be a bit
strangeatfirst,’Isaid,assheclimbed intobed. ‘Callme ifyouneedmeinthenight.I’ma light sleeper, so I’ll hearyou.’Shegaveasmallsmileand
snuggled beneath the duvet.She looked very comfortablewithMrBunnyonthepillowbesideher.‘All right then, love? Is
thereanythingyouneed?’Sheshookherhead.‘Would you like a
goodnightkiss?’Ialwaysaskachildwhen they first arriveif theywant a kiss. Somedoand some don’t, and it’s aninvasion of their personalspace to just assume they doandgoahead.‘Yes,I’dlikeakiss,’Lucy
saidsoftly.Ileanedforwardandkissed
herforehead,andasIdidsheslid her arms around myneck.‘CanIhaveahugtoo?’sheaskedquietly.‘Ofcourse, love.’ I looped
myarmsunderher shouldersand gave her a hug. I couldfeel her smooth,warmcheekresting lightly against mine.
It’s unusual for a child towant this degree of physicalcontactontheirfirstnightandI thought that Lucy musteither be a very tactile child,or she’d been starved ofaffection.AfterawhileIgentlydrew
awayandkissedherforehead.‘You get some sleep now,love.Youmustbeexhausted.
You’ve done very well foryourfirstday.’‘Have I done well?’ she
asked,herdarkeyesgrowingwider.‘Yes, you have. I’m very
pleasedwithyou.Andyou’llfind it will be easiertomorrow, and the next day.Everything won’t be sostrange – well, apart from
me!’ I added, with a smalllaugh.She smiled. Then her eyes
flickered and began to close;thepoorchildwasexhausted.‘Night, love,’ I said,
standing.‘Sleeptight,andseeyouinthemorning.’‘Night,’ she said. ‘And
thanksforhavingme.’‘There’s no need to thank
me, love. I’m glad you’rehere.’
ThatnightPaulagotherwish–itsnowed.WhenIwokeinthe early hours to check onLucy,whowas asleep, Iwasaware the air outside seemedbrighterandthesoundmuted.Returning to my bedroom Ipeeredthroughthecurtainsto
see awhite blanket of snow.Not enough to cause travelchaos,butabouttwoinches–enough to smooth the edgesof reality so that everythinghad a magical, dreamlikesoftness to it. Yippee, Ithought, we’ll have funtomorrow!I returned to bed; it was
only3.30a.m.,butIcouldn’t
sleep.Excitedby the snow, Iwanted the children to wakesotheycouldseeittoo,butIwasalsothinkingaboutLucy.I find the early hours are agood time for worrying andfrettingovertheday’sevents,and I had plenty to worryaboutwithLucy.Thereferralhad said very little and Ihopedtolearnmorefromthe
social worker. But when achild has been seriouslyneglectedovera longperiod,as Lucy had – unprotectedand living with a series ofstrangers – there’s a strongpossibility that at some pointthey’ve fallen victim to apredatorpaedophileandbeensexually abused. There wasno suggestion in the referral
that Lucy had been sexuallyabused, and obviously thiswas a huge relief, but Lucyhad spent so long living ahand-to-mouthexistencewithher itinerant mother that Iknew she would have seenand experienced more thanany child should have. Somechildren deal with their painand anger by attention-
seeking and aggressivebehaviour, but Lucy seemedtobeinternalizingherpain.Iknew at some point itwouldcomeout,justasithadattheprevious carers’ when she’dbeen told she would have tomoveagain.
‘Snow!’Adrian cried at 7.30a.m., his voice reverberating
aroundthehouse.Within minutes Paula and
Lucywere out of bed and attheir bedroom windows,echoing: ‘Snow! It’s beensnowing!’ Paula then wentinto Lucy’s room,rememberingtoknockonthedoor first, and joined her atherbedroomwindow.Still inmy dressing gown, I joined
Adrian at his bedroomwindow.‘Isn’titbeautiful?’Icalled,
loud enough for the girls tohearinLucy’sroom.‘Yes! Can we play in it?’
theyreplied.‘Of course!’ Adrian
shoutedback.Asthefourofusgazedout
from the two bedroom
windows over the backgarden, thewinter sun beganto rise, a fiery glowing ballthatcastapinktingeoverthewhitesnow.‘It’smagic,’Paulacalled.Andittrulywas.
I’d never seen children dresssoquickly(well,notsincethelast time we’d had snow the
previous winter). Twentyminutes later, they weredressed, with coats, scarvesand gloves on, and in thegarden, making footprints inthe virgin snow, throwingsnowballs and generallyhaving fun. I joined them inthe garden for a while andthen said I would go in andfeed Toscha – who’d taken
one look at the snow anddashedbackinside–andalsoget some breakfast going.‘How does egg, bacon andbeanssound?’Iasked.‘Great,’theyreplied.As I turned, a large
snowball hitmeon theback.‘You wait!’ I called toAdrian.‘I’llgetyou!’Butmyfeebleattemptfellfarshortof
its target as Adrian ran forcover.I hoped the fresh air and
exercisewould give Lucy anappetite, but when I calledthem in for breakfast shedidn’t want the cookedbreakfast, just a bowl ofcornflakes. I suggested shemight likeapieceof toastaswell,butsheshookherhead.
However, she did have milkand sugar on the cornflakesand ate them all, which wassomething. After breakfastthe children returned to thegarden, while Toscha and Istayedinthewarm.Thethreeof them played in the snowuntil their hands and feetwere cold and their nosesglowedred.When theycame
inIhungtheirwetglovesandcoats on the radiators to dryand made them a hotchocolate, which Lucyenjoyed.Ataboutoneo’clockIsaid
I’dmake a light lunch and IaskedLucyifshelikedpasta.She said she did, but at thetablesheonlyateabouthalfadozen pasta shapes and one
thin slice of warm Frenchbread. I didn’t try toencouragehertoeatmore,asI didn’t want to turn hereating into an issue, butPaula, who had a goodappetite, said: ‘Is that allyou’rehaving,Lucy?’Lucygaveasmallnodand
I could see how self-consciousshefelt.
‘It’s fine, just have whatyou want,’ I said lightly, forpressuringhertoeatwouldn’thelp.As we neared the end of
lunch the phone rang andAdrian, guessing it was hisfather, flew from the tableand answered it in the livingroom. John, my ex-husband,usually saw the children
every third or fourth Sundayand telephoned on theSundays he didn’t see them.Paula,hearingAdriansay‘HiDad’,leftthetableandjoinedhimon the sofa in the livingroom,waiting for her turn tospeaktoherfather.I explained to Lucy who
John was. She had finishedeating,butstayedatthetable
withme. ‘Isheaniceman?’sheasked.Difficult question, I
thought,consideringhe’drunoffwithayoungerwomansixyearspreviously.‘Yes,’Isaidgenerously. ‘He lovesAdrianandPaula.’There was a moment’s
pause and then Lucy said:‘Mydadusedtohitme.That
wasn’tnice,wasit?’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Do Our Best’
I looked at Lucy and for thefirsttimesinceshe’darrivedIcaughtaglimpseoftheangershe must have been feelingabout everything she’d been
through, and then it wasreplacedwithsadness.‘No, it certainly wasn’t
nice,’ I said. ‘Adults shouldnever hit a child, not even ifthey are naughty, which Ican’t imagine you were.’ Aswell as being concerned bywhat Lucy had just told meabout her father, I was alsopuzzled, as it didn’t tie up
with what I’d read in thereferral. ‘Lucy,’ I said, ‘Imight bewrong, but I didn’tthink you ever saw yourfather?’Shegaveasmallshrugand
looked away. ‘The socialworker told me he was mystepfather,butIalwayshadtocallhimDad.’‘I understand,’ I said. ‘His
namewasDave?’‘Yes.Ilivedwithhimfora
longtime.’‘Youdid,’ I said, recalling
this from the referral. ‘Didyou ever tell anyone Davewashittingyou?’‘ItoldMum,’Lucysaidin
a small, tightvoice. ‘But shedidn’t believe me. He neverhitmewhenshewasthere.’
‘He doesn’t sound like aniceperson,’Isaid.‘Notlikeafathershouldbe.’Thismaysound obvious, but it wasn’tnecessarily to Lucy, whoseonlyexperienceofafather,asfarasIknew,hadbeenDave.‘He was all I had,’ Lucy
said softly. ‘Hewas the onlyone around when my mumwasn’t there and my aunts
left. So I tried not to upsethim.’‘Your aunts?’ I asked,
againpuzzled.‘Dad’s girlfriends,’ Lucy
clarified. ‘I had to call themAunt.Davesaiditwaspolite,because they lookedaftermesometimes.’Not very polite of him to
be hitting a young child, I
thought.‘Sowherewasyourmother
when theseauntswere livingwithyouandDave?’Iasked,trying to fill in some of theblanks and get a betterunderstandingofLucy’spast.‘Mum used to go out and
not come back for a longtime.Shewasn’t theremuch.I don’t see her often now.’ I
knew this from the referral,buthearingitonachild’slipsmade it all the moreimmediateandupsetting.‘Did you tell the social
worker about Dave, and theaunts, and your mum notbeing there?’ I now asked,wondering why Lucy hadn’tbeen brought into long-termcaresooner.
Lucy paused and I sawsomeoftheangerflashacrossher eyes again, before itwasreplacedbyhurt.‘Itwouldn’thavedoneanygood,’shesaiddespondently. ‘He was nicewhen anyone came.’ Thenshe quickly changed thesubject and said: ‘Is it allrightifIgotomyroomuntilPaula’s finished on the
phone?’‘Yes, of course, love.You
don’t have to ask. This isyourhome.Doasyouwish.’
Leaving the table,Lucywentupstairs. I felt so sorry forher. What an appalling,disruptive past she’d had,withhermotherinandoutofher life, Lucy in and out of
careandastringofunrelatedstrangers looking after her.HowmuchofwhatLucyhadtold me was known to thesocial services I couldn’tgauge from the referral, butwith Lucy upstairs andAdrian and Paula still in theliving room talking to theirfather, I took theopportunitytoaddwhatLucyhadsaidto
my log notes. I’d alreadybegunLucy’s folderwith thereferralandnowIaddedwhatLucy had told me about herstepfather. Sadly, from mypast fostering experience, Iknew that more disclosureswerelikelytofollowandthatthey could get worse. Onlywhenachildfeelssettledandsecure do they find the
courage to reveal what hashappened to them, and oftenit’sshocking.
On Sunday afternoon wewent for a short walk to ourlocalpark,takingsomebreadtofeedtheducks.Weweren’tout for long as it began torain,whichquicklyturnedthesnow to slush. Iwas pleased
the children had made themost of playing in the snowearlier, for if the raincontinuedthesnowwouldbegonebymorning.Inowknewfrom Lucy that her schoolopenedat8.00a.m.,soontheway home from the park Itold the girls that thefollowing morning I plannedto take Lucy to school first
and then take Paulaafterwards. Lucy said therewas no need for me to takeher as she could go on thebus, but I said she could goby bus the following week,once she was more familiarwith the area and I’d shownher the route, and as long ashersocialworkeragreed.Forthisweek,I’dfeelhappierifI
took and collected her in thecar. I explained that itwouldalso giveme the opportunityto introduce myself at herschool’s office, check thatthey had my contact detailsand hopefully make anappointment to see herteacher.‘Why do you want to see
my teacher?’ Lucy asked, a
little suspiciously, as shesquished through the puddlesofmeltingsnow.‘Tosayhelloandaskhow
I can help you with yourschoolwork.IsthatOK?’‘Sure,’shesaideasily.‘It’s
just thatnooneeverdid thatbefore.’Well, they should have
done,Ithought.
I made roast chicken fordinner that evening, withroast potatoes, peas andcarrots, having checked withLucyfirstthatshelikedthesefoods. However, I wasquickly realizing that Lucylikingafooddidn’tmeanshewould eat it. At dinner shemanaged a few carefullychewedmouthfulsofchicken,
one roast potato and aspoonfulofpeas;notenoughto feedagnat, asmymotherwouldhavesaid.IsawPaulaand Adrian glance at Lucy’splate as she set down hercutlery,havingleftmorethanshe’d eaten, but they didn’tsay anything and neither didI. Once the rest of us hadfinished,IsimplyaskedLucy
ifshe’dhadenoughandwhenshe nodded I took her plateaway, hoping that when shefelt more settled her appetitewould grow. Toscha ate thechicken. Lucy didn’t wantany pudding, but did have afewgrapes.
That evening Imade sure allthree school uniforms were
laid out ready for thefollowing morning, and thenbegan the bath and bedtimeroutine.When it was Lucy’sturn to go up, she said shedidn’t need a bath as she’dhad one the night before. Isaid that we usually had abath or a shower every day,butthenshesaidshewastootired.
‘Evenforaquickshower?’Iasked.‘Yes,’shesaid.SoIgaveherthebenefitof
thedoubtanddidn’tinsist.Soofteninparentingwehavetodecide which issues to focuson and which we canreasonablyletgo.Whilegoodhygiene is important, as longasLucyhadabathorshower
the following day then littleharm would be done. Whenshe’d been with us longer,she’d fall into our routine ofbathing or showering eachday,justasshewouldtakeonother aspects of our familylifeandroutines.
As Iwent tobed that night Iwas feeling quite positive.
The weekend had gone farbetter than I’d expected,considering that on Fridayevening, only forty-eighthours previously, Lucy hadbeen shut in her bedroom ather previous foster carers’house, refusing to come outoreven talk toanyone.Now,here she was, just two dayslater, talkingandplayingand
making herself at home. Ishouldhaverealized,withallmy years of fostering, thatthis was the ‘honeymoon’period, aswe refer to it, andLucy’s behaviour woulddeteriorate.
The following morning Iarrived at Lucy’s school at8.25 a.m. and parked in one
ofthevisitor’sbays.IknewIwas short of time: Paula’sschool started at 8.55 and Ihad a return journey oftwenty minutes. We’d lefthome later than I’d planned,asLucyhad forgottenoneofher school books and we’dhadtoreturntocollectit.‘Reception is over there,’
Lucy said helpfully, as we
climbed out of the car and Ipressedthekeyfob.I hurried across the car
park, a child on each side ofme. Most of the otherchildren arriving werewithout parents or carers,coming to school alone orwith friends. I wondered ifLucyfeltembarrassedhavingmehere. ‘I’lldropyouoffat
the gates tomorrow,’ I said,reassuring her. ‘I’m justcominginfortoday.’Shenodded,butdidn’tsay
anything.Inside the building, I
introduced myself to thereceptionist while Lucy andPaulasaton thechairs in thewaiting area. I find thatreceptions in large secondary
schools can sometimes beimpersonalcomparedtothoseof smaller primary schools,where friendly office staffknow all the children byname and welcome visitors.Having introduced myself, Iexplained that I was Lucy’snew foster carer and askedthereceptionist ifmycontactdetails were on file. She
checked and found theyweren’t, so I gave her myaddress and telephonenumber,whichshewroteonapieceofpaper.‘Is this Lucy’s permanent
address?’sheasked,glancingup.‘Yes,fortheyear.’She made another note,
although I couldn’t see what
itwas.‘Also,’ I said, ‘I’d like to
make an appointment to seeLucy’steacher,MissConnor,please.’‘You’ll need to arrange
that with Miss Connorherself,’ she replied – notterriblyhelpful.‘HowdoIdothat?’‘Phone the school at
lunchtime; she won’t beteachingthen.’‘Thank you,’ I said, and
turnedtothegirls.Theystoodreadytoleave.‘Have a good day then,
love,’ I said to Lucy, as sheswung her school bag overhershoulder.She gave a small nod.
‘Bye,Paula,seeyoulater.’
‘Bye,’ Paula said, with alittlewave.We watched Lucy go
through the swing doors thatledintothemainbodyof theschool, and then Paula and Ileft the building and hurriedto the car. Fortunately, mostofthetrafficwasgoingintheopposite direction, so Iarrived at Paula’s school just
as thebellwasgoing. Igaveher a big kiss, said a quickgoodbye and drove home. Ihadn’tbeeninlongwhenthephoneranganditwasJill,mysupport social worker, fromtheagencyIfosteredfor.‘Well done,’ she said, as
soonasIanswered.‘Pat tellsme you performed a miracleandLucyiswithyounow.’
‘She is,’ I said,appreciating the praise. ‘I’vejust returned from taking hertoschool.’‘Excellent. So how’s she
doing?Settlingin?’‘Yes,she’sdoingfine.’‘HasLucy’ssocialworker,
Stevie,beenintouchyet?’‘Notyet.’‘She’ll be phoning you
later to arrange a visit, and IneedtoseeyouandLucytoo.Can I come after schooltomorrow?’‘Yes, half past fourwould
begood.Giveusachancetohave a drink and a snackfirst.’ Both the child’s socialworker and the carer’ssupportsocialworkerhavetovisitassoonaspossibleafter
achildhasmovedin.‘I’ll see you at half past
four then,’ Jill confirmed.‘Doyouhaveany immediateconcernsaboutLucy?’‘Only her eating,’ I said.
‘ButI’lldiscussthatwithyoutomorrow.’‘All right. See you
tomorrow.Andwelldone.’‘Thankyou.’
I was smiling as I put downthe phone.We all like praise– a verbal pat on the back –and foster carers are noexception.IreallyappreciatedJill’s words, her recognitionthat I had done well topersuade Lucy to move inwithout a big scene, and Icontinued the day withrenewedenergy–evenwhile
doingthehousework.An hour later the landline
rangagain.‘Hello, it’s Lucy’s social
worker, Stevie. I need to seeLucy, but my diary’s fulluntilFriday,soI’llcomethenathalfpastthree.’‘Can we make it a bit
later?’ I said. ‘We won’t behome from school then.Half
pastfourwouldbebetter.’I thought I heard a small
sigh before she said: ‘Verywell. See you at half pastfour.’ Andwith no goodbye,shehungup.I excused Stevie’s
brusqueness on the groundsthat,likemostsocialworkers,she undoubtedly carried ahugeworkloadanddidavery
difficultjob.
It was only as twelve noonapproached that I realized Ihadn’t thought to ask theschool’s receptionist whattime the school broke forlunch – the time I wassupposed to phone Lucy’steacher – so I took a chanceand telephoned at 12.30. I
gavemynameandsaidthatIwould like to speak to MissConnor.‘She’s at lunch,’ the
receptionistsaid.‘Yes, I know,’ I said. ‘I
was asked to telephone atlunchtimetospeaktoher.’‘Hold the line and I’ll see
ifshe’sinthestaffroom.’The line went quiet and
then a series of clicksfollowedbeforeamalevoicesaid:‘Hello,staffroom.’‘Is it possible to speak to
Miss Connor, please?’ Iasked, in my best speakingvoice.‘Should be,’ he said,
sounding friendly and jovial.‘I’llaskher.’Iheardhimcallacross the staff room: ‘Miss
Connor,areyoufree?’‘Yes, she is,’ he said.
‘She’sonherway.’A moment later a young
woman’s voice answered.‘Hello?’Igavemynameagainand
said that I was Lucy’s newfostercarerandthatIthoughtitwouldbeagoodideaifwecouldmeetsoon.
‘Yes, absolutely, thesooner the better,’ MissConnor said enthusiastically.‘I’mpleasedyou’vephoned.Iknew Lucy was having tomove again. I could see youafter school this afternoon, ifthatsuitsyou?’‘Yes, please.Although I’ll
have my younger daughterwithme.’
‘Noproblem.Come tomyclassroom when you arrive.It’s E1; reception will directyou. I’ll keep Lucy with meattheendofschool.’‘Thankyou.’‘I’ll look forward to
meetingyou.’‘Andyou.’Miss Connor came across
as a very pleasant, well-
organized and approachablelady. I was looking forwardtomeetingherandhavingtheopportunitytodiscussLucy’sprogress and what help shemightneedwithherlearning.
Thatafternoondisappearedina trip to the local shops forgroceries, and then it wastime to collect Paula. Paula
knew she had to come outquicklythisweekandnotlagbehindchattingtoherfriends,as we would be collectingLucyfromschool.Adrianhada front-door key and wouldlethimselfinasusual.Paulacameoutontimeand
IdrovetoLucy’sschool.Thereceptionareawasbusywithother parents and it was a
couple of minutes before Iwas seen. I explained that Ihad an appointment withMiss Connor and asked fordirectionstoherclassroom.‘E1 is through the swing
doors, then turn right, downthe corridor, up the staircaseon your left, and MissConnor’s room is on yourleft,’thereceptionistsaid.
Ithankedher.‘Didyougetall that?’ I joked toPaula,aswe went through the swingdoors.Paulagrinnedandpulleda
face. But finding MissConnor’sclassroomwasn’tascomplicated as it hadsounded, and a couple ofminutes later we were at thetop of the stairs, standing
outside classroom E1.ThroughtheglassinthedoorIcouldseeLucysittingatoneofthetablesnearthefrontofthe room, but there was nosignofherteacher.Iknockedonthedoorandwewentin.Lucy looked up and
smiled. ‘That’s my teacher,overthere,’shesaid,pointingtotheyoungwomanworking
onthewalldisplayattherearoftheclassroom.MissConnor stoppedwhat
shewasdoingandcameover.‘Lovely to meet you,’ shesaidpleasantly.‘And you,’ I said, shaking
herhand.‘I thought the girls could
wait inherewhilewehaveachat,’MissConnorsaid.‘We
can use the English officenextdoor.’‘You’llbeallrightinhere,
won’t you?’ I said to Paula.‘I’ll be in the room nextdoor.’Paula nodded and,
droppingmyhand,wentoverandsatbesideLucy.‘Come and fetch us if you
needus,’MissConnorsaidto
thegirls,asweleft.‘Yes, Miss,’ Lucy said
respectfully.Thedoor to thenext room
was labelled English Office,E2. ‘We call it “TheCupboard”,’ Miss Connorsaid, as she opened the doorand we went in. I could seewhy.It was a small room that
clearlydoubledastheEnglishdepartment’s stock cupboardaswell as their office, and itwasfull.Asmallsteel-framedtable and three matchingchairs stood in the centre ofthe room and the walls werelined with cupboards andshelvesfullofsetsofEnglishbooks.Therewasjustenoughroom to draw out a chair
eithersideofthetable.‘I’m Lucy’s English
teacher as well as her formteacher,’ Miss Connorexplainedaswesatdown.‘Thank you for seeing me
so quickly,’ I said. ‘I knowLucy’s behind with herlearning and I want to helpherallIcan.’‘That’sgreat.Whydidshe
have tomove?’MissConnorasked.It was a question I’d been
expectingandIexplainedthatlivingwithPatandTerryhadonly been a temporaryarrangement.‘She’s had so many
moves,’ Miss Connor said.‘Willshebestayingwithyoupermanentlynow?’
ItwasanotherquestionI’dbeen expecting. ‘Lucy willlive with me until the finalcourt hearing,’ I said. ‘Thenthe judge will make adecisiononwheresheshouldlive permanently. The wholeprocessusually takesaboutayear.’‘But it’s not likely Lucy
will return to live with her
mother, is it?’ Miss Connorasked, concerned. ‘I didn’tthink she ever saw hermother.’ As her teacher, shewould have some knowledgeof Lucy’s background fromtheschool’srecords.‘Lucy doesn’t see her
mother often,’ I said. ‘Andshe’d have to complete asuccessful parenting
assessment to convince theauthoritiesthatsheiscapableoflookingafterLucy.’‘And if the judge decides
Lucy shouldn’t go to livewith her mother, she’ll staywithyou?’For thosewhodon’t know
the workings of the social-care system, a child stayingwiththeirpresentfostercarer
oftenseemsthemostobvioussolution.‘If the judge decides Lucy
can’t live with her mother,then the social services willtry to find a relative to lookafterher,’Iexplained.‘That’salways considered the nextbest option. If there is nosuitable relative then thesocialserviceswillfindLucy
a long-term foster family tomatch her cultural needs. Asyouknow,she’sdualheritage–herfatherisThai.’There was a pause when
Miss Connor lookedconcerned.‘AndLucyknowsallthis?’‘Yes. I’ve explained it to
her and so has her socialworker.’
‘Poor kid. How veryunsettling. It makes yougratefulforyourownfamily.’‘It does,’ I said. Then
steeringMissConnorbackontrack, I said, ‘But whileLucy’swithme Iwant to domy very best for her, and Ihopetomakeabigdifferenceinayear.’‘Yes, of course.
Absolutely. We must do ourbest for Lucy. I’ll start bytellingyouwhere she iswithherlearning.’
Chapter Fourteen
Control
Half an hour later I wasdriving home, mulling overeverything Miss Connor hadtold me while the girlschatted in therearof thecar.
I’d told Lucy that MissConnorwaspleasedwithherprogress, although she stillhad some catching up to do,soMissConnor and Iwouldhelpherdothat.I’dreassuredLucy that this wasn’t herfault, but the resultof all thetimesshe’dbeenabsentfromprimary schools. What Ihadn’t told Lucy was that
Miss Connor was moreconcerned with Lucy’s lackof friends than with hereducation,which she felt shecouldcatchupon. ‘Isolated’,‘solitary’, ‘lacking in self-confidence’, ‘low self-esteem’ and ‘doesn’t trustpeople’ were some of thewords and phrases MrsConnorhadusedaboutLucy.
And while I knew, as MissConnor did, the reasonswhyLucy was like this, it wasdifficult to know what to doabout it. Certainly tellingLucy she needed to makefriendswouldn’thelp.IcouldsupportLucy inher learning,help build her self-esteemthroughpraise,but Icouldn’tmakefriendsforher.
‘Lucy, you know you canalways invite friends homefortea,’Isaid,glancingatherin the interior mirror. ‘Iwouldtakethemhomeinthecar afterwards,’ I added, forLucy’sclassmateslivedinthecatchment area of the school–aboutatwenty-minutedrivefromus.‘Thanks,’ Lucy said, and
continuedchattingtoPaula.I didn’t knowwhat else to
say, but I was worried, asMiss Connor was, for socialisolationcansoeasilyleadtodepression – in children aswellasadults.
Adrian was already backwhenwe arrived home. I setabout making the dinner
while the children unwoundfrom their day at school.Once we’d eaten (with Lucyeating very little again), Iexplained to her that I likedeveryone to do theirhomework before theywatchedanytelevision.‘I haven’t got much
homework,’Lucysaid.‘Nevertheless, I’d like you
todo it first,’ Isaid. Ihad tostartasImeanttocarryon.A little reluctantly, Lucy
fetched her school bag andbrought it to the table,whileAdrian, used to our routine,had already disappeared intothe front room to research apiece of homework on thecomputer. He knew thesooner he completed his
homework the sooner hecouldwatch some television.Paula was playing, and Iknew that on Mondays shejusthadreadinghomeworktodo, so Iwould hear her readonceI’dseentoLucy.‘We’ve got maths and
science homework,’ Lucysaid with a sigh. ‘I’m in thebottomgroupformaths.’
‘Well,let’sseeifIcanhelpyou change that,’ I said.‘Although maths was nevermystrongpointatschool.’With another sigh, Lucy
opened her maths exercisebookwhere a worksheet hadbeen stapled in. ‘Fractions,’she said, and propped herhead on her handdespondently.
IscannedthepageandfeltconfidentIcouldhelpher,forthe sums were quite simple,although I could see that inthe previous exercise she’dgot quite a few wrong. ‘Doyou understand what afraction is?’ I asked, goingbacktobasics.‘A part of a whole,’ Lucy
said.
‘That’s right. Well done.Thenumberunder the line isthe whole number and thenumber above is the numberofparts.Soifyoucutacakein two and eat half, you areeatingonepartoftwoparts.’‘Andthenumberbelowthe
lineinafractioniscalledthedenominator,’ Lucy said.‘Andthenumberatthetopis
thenumerator.’‘Excellent,’Isaid.‘I understand that,’ Lucy
saidgloomily.‘It’swhenyouhave to add and take themawaythatIdon’tgetit.’‘OK, let me talk you
through thestages foraddingandtakingawayonestepatatime.’ Starting with the firstquestion, I went through the
stages for adding fractionswhile Lucy did the mathsinvolved. Although I washelping her, itwas importantshe did the calculationsherself so she would gainconfidence and learn. I didthe same with the secondfraction, which was asubtraction, and shecompleted the third by
herself,withmebesidehertogivehelpifnecessary.‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘See,
youcandoit.’She smiled, pleased with
herself. ‘You like helpingkids, don’t you?’ she said,glancingatmebeforestartingthenextquestion.‘Yes, I suppose I do,’ I
said.
‘Why?’Iwas slightly takenaback.
It seemed a strangequestion,and wasn’t one I’d beenaskedbefore. Iwas surprisedby the candidness of myreply.‘Well,weallfeelbetterabout ourselves when we dosomethingright.Ifoundsomeof my school work difficult.Not like some kids, who got
everything right. I remembersitting in class and keepingmy head down, hoping theteacher wouldn’t ask me aquestion.Icanalsorememberhowrelieved Iwaswhenmyparents helped me with myhomework and showed mewhat to do. Like you, I justneeded it explained again, soI do the same for my
children.’‘And while I’m here I’m
one of your children?’ sheasked.‘Yes,ofcourse,love.’And I knew from Lucy’s
smile just how much thatreassurancemeanttoher,andmyheartached.As Lucy tackled the next
question,IcheckedonAdrian
to see ifheneededanyhelp,but he didn’t. Then, tellingLucytocallmeifsheneededme, I went through to theliving room to hear Paularead.‘Is Lucy’s homework hard
likeAdrian’s?’Paulaasked.‘Yes,’ I said, aware that
Lucy could hear me. ‘Andshe’sdoingverywell.’
Lucy didn’t need myassistance while I washearing Paula read, so oncewe’d finished Iwent throughto see how she was gettingon.‘I’ve nearly finished,’ she
said.‘Canyoucheckthem?’‘Yes,ofcourse,love.’Ilookeddownheranswers
and saw a couple of errors.
‘Have another look at thosetwo,’Isaid,pointing.‘They’re wrong, aren’t
they?’ she said, immediatelylosing confidence andbecoming annoyed withherself.‘You’vemade a couple of
small errors, that’s all. Therestarefine.’I waited while Lucy
corrected them, and then shedidthelastsum.‘Well done,’ I said.
‘What’snext?’‘Science,’ she said with a
groan.She put away her maths
bookandtookouthersciencebook together with a roughnotebook. ‘We have to writeupascienceexperiment,’she
said,openingbothbooks.Thepreviouspieceofwork
in her science book wascovered in the teacher’spencil corrections, and thenotes Lucy had made in herroughnotebookaboutthelastexperimentwere litteredwithspelling mistakes and verypoorgrammar; Icouldn’tseea single full stop. Without
makinganissueofit,Ipickedup Lucy’s pencil and begangoingthroughtheroughdraftof the experiment, correctingthespellingandgrammarandexplainingwhatwaswrong.‘Thanks,’shesaid.I left Lucy to copy the
science experiment into herbook under the variousheadings of ‘Aim’,
‘Apparatus’, ‘Method’ and‘Conclusion’, while I playeda game with Paula and thensaw her up to bed. When IreturneddownstairsLucyhadfinished her sciencehomework and was packingawayherbooks.‘Alldone?’Iasked.She nodded. ‘Thanks for
yourhelp.’
I then mentioned to LucythatJillwascomingtoseeusafter school the followingday. ‘And Stevie is comingon Friday,’ I said. ‘I expectyou’reusedtosocialworkersvisitingfromlivingwithyourotherfostercarers.’Lucystoppedwhatshewas
doing and her face set. ‘Youcantalktothem,butI’mnot.
I hate fucking socialworkers!’ Throwing herschool bag on the floor, shestormed out of the room andupstairs, slamming herbedroomdoorbehindher.I was shocked by the
sudden change in Lucy’sbehaviourandthevehemenceof her outburst. I’d lookedafter children before who
swore, sometimes at me –many children in care areangry because of the waytheyhavebeentreated.ButasecondbeforeLucyhadbeensweetly thanking me forhelping her with herhomework, and now she’djust blown up, and oversomethingquitesmall.I gave her a fewmoments
to calm down, but not verylong.Not as long as Iwouldhave given a child I’d beenfostering for many monthsand therefore knew well andthat they could be safely leftalone. Iwas aware thatLucyhad locked herself in thebathroomforhoursatPatandTerry’s, and while shecouldn’tlockherselfinanyof
theroomsinmyhouse,asallthe doors were fitted withsafety locks that could beopened from the outside, Iwas worried she might dosome something desperate –possiblybarricadeherselfintoher room or even harmherself in anger. As anexperienced foster carer I’ddealt with all types of
behaviour before and myinstinct now told me thatLucy shouldn’t be left alonefor longand that I shouldgouptoher.At the top of the stairs I
quickly looked into Paula’sbedroom to see if she hadbeen woken by Lucy’sshouting, but she hadn’t. Ithen knocked on Adrian’s
door, poked my head roundandsaid,‘YouOK?’‘What’s the matter with
Lucy?’heasked.‘She’s upset. I’m going to
hernow.Don’tworry.’He nodded and, partly
reassured, returned to thebookhewasreading.Closinghisdoor,Iwentto
Lucy’s room. It was quiet.
‘Lucy?’Isaid,givingasmallknock on the door. ‘Can Icomein?’More silence, so giving
another knock I slowlyopened the door. The roomwasindarknessandit tookafew seconds for my eyes toadjust after the brightness ofthe landing light. Lucy waslying face down on her bed
with her face buried in thecrookofherarm.‘Areyouall right, love?’ I
askedgently, takingacoupleofstepsintoherroom.‘Go away,’ she said,
without raising her head.‘Leavemealone.’Icouldtellfrom her voice that she wascrying.I stayed where I was, a
little way from her bed. ‘Ican’t leave you alone whileyou’re upset, love,’ I saidgently. I heard her sob. ‘Canyou try talking to me andtellingmewhat’sthematter?’‘Ihatesocialworkers,’she
said. ‘And I’m not seeingthem.’‘All right. I won’t force
you to see them ifyou really
don’t want to. But they onlywant to help you. As youknow, they have to visitregularly. Jill, to make sureI’m looking after youproperly, and Stevie tomakesureyou’reOK.’‘She doesn’t care!’ Lucy
blurtedfrombeneathherarm.‘Noonedoes.’Taking the couple of steps
toherbed, I saton theedge.‘Icare,’Isaid.‘No, you don’t,’ she said
vehemently. ‘Fostering is ajobtoyou.’‘It’sfarmorethanajob,’I
said. ‘Fostering is my life. Ilove looking after childrenand it hurts me when I seethemupset.’‘Don’tcare,’Lucysaid.
‘Ithinkyoudocare,oryouwouldn’tbecrying.’ Iplacedmy hand gently on hershoulder. ‘I know it’sdifficult, love. You’ve beenthrough so much, but don’tshut all the hurt inside you.It’ll make it worse. Can youtry and tell me what’s reallyupsettingyou?I’dliketohelpif I can.’ For I felt sure this
wasmorethanjustthevisitoftwosocialworkers.‘No. You won’t
understand,’ Lucy said, facedown into her arm. ‘Youcan’t understand unlessyou’vebeenthere.’‘Youcouldtryandhelpme
understand,’ I said, my handstill lightly resting on hershoulder.‘Iknowyou’vehad
alotofchangesinyourlife.Iknowthatsomeofthepeoplewho were supposed to lookafter you, didn’t. I’m surethere’salotmoreyoucantellme.’There was a long pause
when I thought shemight besummoning the courage totell me, but then she said,‘Notnow.’
‘Sure? There’s no rush. Ican sit here all night if ithelps.’‘No,’ she said, and shook
her head. I knew I shouldn’tpursue it, as she clearlywasn’tready.‘All right, another time
then,’ I said. ‘Now, let’s drythose tears and get you intobed. Worries are always
worse if you’re tired, andyou’ve got school againtomorrow.’Lucy finally raised her
head and, sitting up in bed,turnedtofaceme.Iwipedhercheeks with a tissue. ‘There,that’sbetter,’ I said. ‘You’vegotsuchalovelyface;Idon’tliketoseeyoulookingsad.’Shegavemethefaintestof
smiles, her anger gone now.‘Can I have a hug?’ sheasked, as she had the firstnight.‘Of course, love. I’m
alwaysreadyforahug.’She slid her arms around
meandburiedherheadinmyneck. I held her close.‘Remember, love, whenyou’re ready to share your
worrieswithme, I’ll be hereready to listen. It doesn’tmatter how busy I am; yousay,“Cathy,IhavesomethingtotellyouandIneedtotalk.”AndI’lllisten.OK?’‘I’ll remember that,’ she
said,andhuggedmetighter.
‘So thehoneymoonperiod iswellandtrulyover,’Jillsaid,
with a knowing laugh, as Ifinished updating her thefollowing day. ‘That wasquick.’As Lucy had threatened,
she’d refused to see Jill andhad stormed up to her roomwhen she’d arrived, shoutingasshewentthatshewouldn’tcome down until Jill hadgone.
‘You could say that,’ Isaid, returning Jill’s smile.‘Lucy’s anger is very fiercebut short-lived. She recoversquickly, although I thinkthere’s plenty more to comeout.’‘Absolutely,’ Jill agreed.
‘And the longerLucy’s here,themoresecureshe’llfeel,sothe easier it will be for her
angertocomeout.’‘Thanks, Jill,’ I said. ‘But
on the positive side, she issleeping well; she’s madefriends with Paula andAdrian, she’s talking to usandI’veseenherteacherandwe’re giving her some extrahelp to catch up. Lucy washappyformetohelpherwithherhomework.’
‘Excellent. It’s good shewantstolearn,’Jillsaid.‘I’veupdated Stevie about theallegations Lucy madeagainst her stepfather andshe’ll be talking to Lucyabout that on Friday,assumingLucywillseeher.’‘I’ll try to persuade her,’ I
said. ‘I’ll explain that it’simportant.’
‘Good. Now thepaperwork,’ Jill said. ‘Haveyoureceivedit?’‘No.’ Usually the
placement and essentialinformation forms camewiththe social worker when thechild first arrived, butbecause Pat and Terry hadbrought Lucy this hadn’thappened.
‘I’ll speak to Stevie,’ Jillsaid, taking out her notepadandmakinganote.‘Youneedthose forms. She can postthem or bring themwith heronFriday.’‘Thankyou.’‘And Lucy’s eating?
How’s that going?’ Jill nowasked.I frowned, concerned.
‘Well,asIsaidonthephone,she’s eating, but not nearlyenough. Lucy’s very slim.She can’t afford to loseweight.Ihaven’tweighedherbecauseIdon’twant todrawattention to it, and anyway itwouldn’thelp–notknowingwhat she weighed before, Iwon’t know if she’s losingweight.She’sveryanxiousat
the meal table and doesn’tseemtogetanypleasurefromeating.IalwaysaskherifshelikesthefoodI’mplanningtocook. She says she does, butthenhardlyeatsanything.’‘Does she have school
dinners?’‘Yes, but I’ve no idea if
she’seatingthem.’‘No, and at secondary
school the staff won’tencourage the children to eatastheydoinprimaryschool.I’ll speak to Stevie and seewhatsheknowsaboutLucy’seating.’ Jill made anothernote.‘IbelieveconcernswereraisedaboutLucy’seatingbyherpreviouscarers,’Jillsaid.‘AndSteviewillhaveacopyof Lucy’s medical. We may
need to seek medical help ifLucy’s eating doesn’timprove, andwe’ll alsoneedtoraiseitatherreview.’Jill was referring to the
regular reviews that allchildren in care have. Atthesemeetings,issuessuchasthe child’s health, educationand general wellbeing arediscussed to make sure
everything that needs to bedoneisbeingdonetohelpthechild.‘And in the meantime I’ll
continue as I have beendoing?’InowaskedJill.‘I’mgiving Lucy a variety offoods inmanageableportionsand letting her eat what shewants. Ihaven’tbeenovertlyencouraging her to eat, as I
didn’t want tomake her feelmore self-conscious than shealreadydoes.’‘No, that’s right,’ Jill said,
and looked thoughtful. ‘It’spossible Lucy is sufferingfrom an eating disorder, likeanorexia or bulimia. I take itshe’s not going to the toiletstraight after a meal andmakingherselfsick?’
‘No!’ I said, shocked. ‘I’dhave noticed, although I’llobviously keep an eye onher.’Jill made another note. ‘It
might be that, once she feelsmoresettledhere,herappetitewill improve, but we can’trule out anorexia, which ismoreaboutcontrolthanfood.GivenhowlittlecontrolLucy
hashadinherlife,youcouldsee how she might use foodto gain control. You’veattended training on eatingdisorders,haven’tyou?’‘Yes,awhileback. I think
I need to read up on thesubject.’‘Goodidea.Makesureyou
give Lucy as much controlover her food as is practical
for an eleven-year-old. Lether helpwith the preparationandcookingofthefoodwhenpossible, and allow her toserveherselfratherthanplateit up forher. If she feels shehas control over her food,she’s likely to feel lessanxiousandmayeatmore.’‘Thanks, Jill,’ I said,
grateful for her advice. ‘I’ll
dothat.But isn’televenveryyoungtobesufferingfromaneating disorder? I thought itwas teenagers who had thecondition.’‘It’s more prevalent in
teenagers – boys and girls –but it’s becomingincreasingly common inchildren, even those underten. I blame the girly
magazines and media, whichportray thin girls asbeautiful.’Inodded.IagreedwithJill,
for I’d often felt glossywomen’s magazines showedunrealisticbodyshapesastheideal.CertainlyIcouldneverlooklikethosemodels.Jill concluded her visit, as
she usually did, by reading
and then signing my lognotes, and I then saw her tothefrontdoor.‘Goodbye, Lucy, Adrian
and Paula!’ she called fromthehall.‘Goodbye!’ Adrian and
Paula returned from upstairs,but there was nothing fromLucy.‘No worries,’ Jill said.
‘TellherIsaidgoodbyeandIlook forward to meeting hernexttime.’
I went upstairs and relayedJill’s message to Lucy, whowas now playing with Paulain her room, and she justshrugged. A quarter of anhour later I called everyonedownstairs for dinner.
Following Jill’s advice,instead of serving the mealontoplatesasIusuallydid,Iset the casserole dish in thecentre of the table and,warning them that the dishwasveryhot,Itoldeveryonetohelpthemselves.Theresultwas a verymessy tablecloth.Adrian, Paula and I ate ourusual-sized portions, and
Lucy,who took a very smallamount,finishedwithacleanplate. Whether this wasprogressornotIdidn’tknow,butonethingIdidknowwasthat the following day,wheneveryone was at school, Iwouldgoonlineandresearcheatingdisorders.
Chapter Fifteen
‘I Don’t WantHer Help!’
Twentypercentofthosewhodevelop anorexia will diefrom their illness, I read. I
read thewords twice.What Iwas reading was shockingand I was having difficultytaking it all in. I’d been onthe computer reading andscrolling for nearly an hourandIwasshakentothecore.All I needed to know aboutanorexia and other dreadfuleating disorders was online.Gruesome photographs of
emaciated young peopleaccompanied agonizingtestimonials from devotedparents who’d battled foryearstotrytohelptheirchildovercome an eating disorder.Some families had won thebattle and were now givingsupport and advice to otherfamilies facing the sameillness, while others had lost
the battle and their child haddied. It was heartbreaking,andmore than oncemy eyeswelled as I read the painfulaccounts of young livesruined and even ended bythesehorrendousillnesses.Jill had been right when
she’dsaidthatchildrenunderten were being diagnosedwith eating disorders – some
wereasyoungas fiveor six.There was mention of themedia being partly to blameby using very thin models,and also discussion aboutvarious therapies fordiscovering the underlyingproblems of the sufferer. Itseemed that anorexia andother eating disorders wereneveronlyabouteatingfood,
but the manifestation of adeeper unhappiness, whichoften needed to be addressedby the whole family goingintotherapy.Aswell as parents sharing
their experiences, there wereblogs and forums run bysufferers or those who hadrecovered,andtheydescribedincandiddetailthehorrorsof
beingatthemercyofasevereeating disorder. One of themostharrowingIreadwasbya woman, aged twenty-two,who’dsufferedfromanorexiasince the age of sixteen.Herblog stopped abruptly oneday, and then her best friendhad added a ‘Rest in Peace’message, stating that herfriend had died the day
before, having literallystarved herself to death.Oneof the most heartening postswas from a mother who’dtwice brought her daughterback from the brink of deathandshehadnowmadea fullrecovery. The mother wassharing what she’d learnt totry and help other parents,and her advice made good
sense and fitted inwithwhatJill had said: give the youngperson as much control overtheir food as possible, foreating disorders are tied upwithafeelingofhelplessnessand being at the mercy ofothers. I also learnt thatweighingscalesshouldbeputaway, as someone withanorexia will often weigh
themselves repeatedly –upwardsof ten timesaday–andiftheygainanouncetheypurge themselves withlaxatives.WhileIdidn’tthinkLucywasdoing this,assoonas I’d finished on thecomputer Iwentupstairsandtook the scales out of thebathroomandputthemattheback of my wardrobe. We
didn’tneedthem.What I’d read played on
my mind. While Lucy’seating problems seemedrelatively mild compared totheaccountsI’dreadonline,Ifelt a huge responsibility tomakesureshedidn’tdevelopfull-blown anorexia, whichshecouldeasilydo,givenherpast.
In line with what I’d read, Idecided not to do a bigsupermarket shop during theweek as I usually did, but towait until Saturday whenLucy would be home fromschool and could come withme to help choose our food.In the same mode, I left thepreparationof the ingredientsforthefishpieIwasplanning
fortheeveningmealuntilthegirlswerehomefromschool.Adrian had an after-schoolactivity and wouldn’t behomeuntillater.‘Would you both like to
helpmemakethefishpie?’Iasked the girlsenthusiastically, once they’dtakenofftheircoatsandhadadrink.
Paula looked at me a bitoddly. ‘Fish pie? I likehelping make cakes, butmakingfishpiedoesn’tsoundmuchfun.’Lucysaid,‘Dowehaveto?
I wanted to watch televisionbeforedinner.’‘No, you don’t have to,’ I
said, for it seemedcounterproductivetoinsist.‘I
justthoughtyoumightliketohelp, and it wouldn’t takelong.’The girls looked at each
other and then at me. ‘We’dratherwatch television,’ theychorused.‘OK.Anothertimethen.’
When dinner was ready Icalled everyone to the table
(Adrian was home by then).As I had done the previousevening, I placed the dishcontainingthemaincourseinthecentreof the tablewithaserving spoon and, with awarning that the dish wasvery hot, told everyone tohelp themselves. The resultwas the same: Adrian, Paulaand I ate heartily, and Lucy
took the tiniest of amounts,but ate it all. She also had aglassofmilk,whichwouldbegoodforher.Shedidn’tgotothe toilet straight after themeal, so I assumed shewasn’tmakingherself sick. Itherefore remained hopefulthatwithlotsofTLC,andbyencouraginghertotalkabouther problems, her issues
surrounding food and eatingwouldgraduallydisappear.
That first week Lucy waswith us, I’d taken her to andcollected her from school,and on Friday, when wearrivedhome,Lucyremindedme: ‘Don’t forget to ask mysocial worker if I can go bybusnextweek.’
‘Or you could ask heryourself?’Isuggested.‘She’llbeheresoon.’‘No, thank you. I’ll be in
my room,’ Lucy said, andflouncedoffupstairs.‘I’ll be in my room too,’
Paula said, following Lucyupstairs.Adrianwasn’thomeyet,so
when Stevie arrived fifteen
minutes later there was justToschaandmetogreether.Iopened the front door andStevie took one look at thecatandcriedout:‘Ihatecats!They make me sneeze. Canyouputitout?’Toschadidn’tneedputting
out. Stevie’s cry had startledher so much that she’d shotout right past her,which just
left me to welcome Lucy’ssocialworker.‘Nice tomeetyou,’ I said.
‘ShallItakeyourcoat?’‘No. I’ll keep it on,
thanks.’IshowedSteviethroughto
the living room and thenofferedheradrink.‘Water,please,’shesaid.Ipouredtheglassofwater
and when I returned to theliving room Stevie was stillstanding.‘Dositdown,’Isaid.‘Where?Which chair does
the cat sit on? I can’t sitwherethecatdoesorIwon’tstop sneezing.’ So I guessedshehadabadallergytocat’sfur.‘Shesitsoverthere,’Isaid,
pointingtoToscha’sfavouriteseat by the window.‘Although I do vacuum thecushionsregularly.’Stevie sat on the sofa
furthest from Toscha’sfavourite seat and set herbriefcase on the floor besideher. ‘Where’s Lucy?’ sheasked,quitebrusquely.‘In her room,’ I said. ‘I’ll
try to persuade her to comedown later. I’m afraid she’sstill a bit anti social workersat themoment.Shewouldn’tseeJill,either.’‘I’ll need to see her at
some point,’ Stevie saidbluntly.‘Yes, I appreciate that,’ I
said. ‘I can always take youup to her room, if she really
won’t come down.’ For Iknew it was a requirementthat the socialworker had toactuallyseethechildwhenheor she visited. The samewasn’t so for my supportsocialworker.Stevieopenedherbriefcase
and took out a wodge ofpapers. ‘Here’s thepaperwork you need,’ she
said, handing me theplacement and essentialinformation forms. ‘You canlookatthoselater.’‘Thankyou,’Isaid,setting
thembesidemeonthesofa.‘So, how is she?’ Stevie
asked, taking a pen andnotepad from her briefcase.‘Jilltellsmeyou’vegotsomeproblems.’
‘Not somuchproblems,’ Isaid.‘Lucyissettlinginwell.Moreworries.’‘Goonthen,’shesaid,with
herpenpoised.Iwasfindinghermanner ratherabruptandI wondered if this was thereasonwhyLucyhadfounditdifficultrelatingtoher.‘Well,hereating,’Ibegan.
AndIexplainedmyconcerns
abouthowlittleLucyate,heranxiety around food and thatshe was thin. I then askedaboutthemedical.‘Lucy had a medical,’
Steviesaiddefensively. ‘Youcan’t have a copy, it’sconfidential. But I can tellyoushe’singoodhealth.’‘Sonothingwassaidabout
hereatingorweight?’
‘Her weight’s low. At thevery bottom of normal. Thelast carer thought she couldbe anorexic, but it wasn’tconfirmed. We’ll start Lucyintherapyonceshe’swithherpermanent family – after thefinalcourthearing.’‘But that’s a year away,’ I
said,concerned.‘Yes.Butwedon’tusually
starttherapyuntilthechildissettled, and she won’t bestaying here. As anexperienced foster carer I’msure you know the reason –therapy is long-term and itreleasesallsortsofemotions,behaviourandpainwhicharebest dealt with in a settledenvironment. If you’ve stillgotconcernsinafewmonths,
we’ll send her for anothermedical. But too manymedicalsareaformofabuse.You wouldn’t like to keephaving to take off yourclothes in front of strangers,wouldyou?’Ithoughtthiswasastrange
comment. We were after alltalking about a doctor and apossible life-threatening
condition. But I didn’tcomment.‘Was there anything else?’
Stevieasked.‘The allegations Lucy
made about her stepfather,Dave…’Isaid.‘Yes. Jill told me. The
matter’s already on file. Itwas investigated at the timeandtherewasnoevidence.’
‘Isee,’ Isaid thoughtfully,meeting Stevie’s gaze. I wasexpecting her to give me alittle more detail andclarification, but she justlooked back, waiting for metomoveontowhateverelseIhadtoraise.‘I’ve seenLucy’s teacher,’
Isaid.‘Asyouknow,Lucyisbehindwith her education so
I’llbehelpingherathometocatchup.’‘Don’t put the child under
pressure,’Steviesaidbluntly.‘There’s enough going on inherlife.’‘Of course Iwon’t puther
under pressure,’ I said.‘Lucy’shappyformetohelpher.Shewassopleasedwhenshe got all her maths
homework right. You couldseeherconfidencegrow.’‘Sowhat are you doing to
meet her cultural needs?’Stevie now asked. Before Ihadachancetoanswershe’dadded: ‘I wanted a fosterfamilytomatchherethnicity,butwedidn’thaveone.’AndI felt she could have added,‘Soyou’llhavetodo.’
Iwondered if thiswas thereason for the sharpness inStevie’s attitude towardsme.She was dual heritage,although not of the sameracial origins as Lucy, sopossibly meeting Lucy’sculturalneedswasasensitiveissue for her, and higher onher agenda than it mightotherwise have been.
However, like most fostercarers, Iwas used to lookingafter children from differentethnic backgrounds andprided myself on meetingtheir needs, although many,like Lucy, had been born inthe UK and saw themselvesasBritish.‘I’m right in saying Lucy
was born in this country and
her mother is English?’ Iasked.‘Yes, and her father is
Thai, which seems to havebeen forgotten,’ Stevie said.‘Lucyhasbeenraisedmainlybywhite English people. I’lltry and trace her father andarrangesomecontact,butyouneed to start engendering apositive cultural identity in
her. Talk to her aboutThailand, cook some Thaifood and hang the Thai flagon one of the walls in herbedroom along with somepicturesfromhercountry.’I knew better than to say
that England was Lucy’scountry, so I just noddedagreeably. I heard the frontdoor open and close as
Adrian returned home fromschool. ‘That’s my son,’ Isaid to Stevie, and Adriancalled‘Hi’fromthehallashewentthroughtothekitchen.‘I’ll be trying to set up
some contact with Lucy’smother too,’ Steviecontinued. ‘Lucy hasn’t seenhermotherinoversixmonthsand only twice the year
beforethat.AtpresentIdon’thave her current contactdetails,butassoonasIdoI’llarrangeforLucytoseeher.Ithink that’s everything,’Stevieconcluded.‘Is thereanythingelseyou
can tell me about Lucy’sbackgroundthatwillhelpmelookafterher?’Iasked.‘Everything you need to
knowis in thosepapers,’shesaid, nodding to theplacement and essentialinformation forms besidemeon the sofa. I doubted it.Theseformsusuallyprovidedbasic information on thechild, but gave little morebackground information thanthe referral. It wouldn’t givemeaclearerunderstandingof
Lucy’spast.Fostercarersrelyon thesocialworker for that;some are forthcoming andothersarenot.‘Lucy doesn’t have any
other relativesapart fromhermother,doesshe?’Iasked.‘Yes, she does,’ Stevie
said, quite curtly. ‘There’sherfather,althoughwe’renotsure if he’s in this country.
AndLucyhas twouncles onher mother’s side, althoughshe doesn’t see them. Shealso has a maternalgrandmother and a distantaunt on her mother’s side.Lucystayedwiththeauntfora short timewhen shewas ababy.’‘So Lucy has a
grandmother?’ I asked,
slightly surprised that Lucyhadn’t mentioned her whenwe’dtalkedaboutmyparents,whomshewouldmeetsoon.‘As far aswe know, Lucy
has never seen hergrandmother,’ Stevie said.‘Bonnieisestrangedfromherfamily. She’s had a hard lifetoo.’I nodded sadly. ‘Well, at
least Lucy has been savedfromfurthersuffering,’Isaid,trying to focus on thepositive.‘The care plan forLucy is
a Full Care Order,’ Steviesaid, oblivious to mysentiment. ‘Then for arelativetolookafterherlong-term,ifthereisone,or,ifnot,a long-term foster placement
tomatchherculturalneeds.’Inodded.‘Lucywouldlike
tousethebustogotoschoolfrom next week,’ I said. ‘Isthatallrightwithyou?’‘Yes.Whyshouldn’titbe?
She’snot likely to runaway.She hasn’t got anywhere torunto.’‘I just wanted to check
withyoufirst.’
‘Well, if that’s everything,canyoutakemeuptoseehernow?’Steviesaid,puttingherpen and notepad into herbriefcase.Istoodandledthewayout
of the living room andupstairs to Lucy’s room,where I knocked on herbedroom door. ‘Lucy, Steviewantstoseeyou,’Isaid,and
openedherdooralittle.‘Canshecomein?’‘No!’ Lucy said loudly.
‘Shecan’t!’I glanced at Stevie, but
opened the door slightlywidersoIcouldseein.Lucywas sitting on her bedcuddling Mr Bunny. ‘Sheneedstoseeyou,love,’Isaid.‘Tomakesureyou’reOK.’
‘Tell her I’m OK,’ Lucysaidrudely.‘AndIneedtotalktoyou,’
Stevie added, over myshoulder.‘Go away. I’m not talking
toyou,’Lucysaid.‘Don’t be rude, love,’ I
said. ‘Stevie only wants tohelp.’‘I don’t want her help,’
Lucysaid.‘Suit yourself,’ Stevie
retortedwith a shrug. I thinkitwas supposed to be a joketodefusetheatmosphere,butitdidn’twork.‘Bugger off!’ Lucy
shouted.‘Lucy!’ I cautioned. I felt
embarrassed by her rudenessand, as her foster carer,
responsibleforherbehaviour.‘If you don’t want me to
comein,youcancometothedoor,’Steviesaid.‘No.’ Lucy said. ‘I’m not
moving.’Lucy could be very
determinedwhen shewantedto be, and I thought of herprevious carers, Pat andTerry, who’d spent hours
trying to talk her out of thebathroomandhadthenhadtobreak down the door. It wasclear that Lucywasn’t goingtocomeoutor evencome tothedoor,soImovedasidesothatSteviecould see into theroomandseeLucy.‘Is there anything you
need?’Stevieasked from theopendoor.
‘No!’Lucysaid.‘I’m trying to arrange
contact for you to see yourmother,’ Stevie said. Lucydidn’t reply. ‘I’m also tryingto trace your father and yourunclestoseeiftheycanofferyouapermanenthome.’While all this was correct
social-work practice, Ithought that mentioning
another move now, whenLucyhad only beenwithmea week, could be veryunsettlingforher.‘Don’t care!’ Lucy said.
‘Dowhatyouwant.Youwillanyway.’Again, I felt embarrassed
by Lucy’s behaviour,although I appreciated thatshewasangryandfrustrated.
‘Lucy, you’re a big girl,’ ItriedfromwhereIstood.‘TrytalkingtoStevieproperly.’There was no reply. Then
Stevie said, ‘All right, I’veseen you. I’ll be in touch.Takecare.’She closed Lucy’s door,
went along the landing andheadeddownstairs.Ifollowedher down, but as we neared
thebottomaloudcrashcamefrom Lucy’s room. I shotback upstairs while Steviewent to fetch her briefcasefromthelivingroom.Igaveaperfunctory knock on Lucy’sdoor and went in. Lucy wassitting on the bed with MrBunny clutched to her chest,having overturned the table.Her expression was one of
anger, but her eyes glistenedas though she was about tocry. ‘I’ll be with you in asecond,’Isaid.Iquicklywenttothetopof
the stairs. Stevie had fetchedher briefcase from the livingroomandwasreadytoleave.‘Lucy’s upset. Can you letyourselfout?’Iasked.‘Will do,’ Stevie said.
Then without any trace ofirony she added, ‘Have agood weekend,’ and letherselfout.
Chapter Sixteen
Testing theBoundaries
AdrianandPaulaappearedonthe landing, wondering whatthe noise was. ‘It’s all right.
Lucy’stablefellover,’Isaid.‘I’m going to have a chatwith her now and then I’llmake us some dinner.’We’dbeen fostering long enoughfor them toknow that a loudnoisecomingfromthechild’sbedroom and a chat meantthat the child was upset andangry and needed me. Theyboth returned to their
bedrooms and I returned toLucy’s room. The light wasonandIsatonherbed,close,but not quite touching. Shewas now holding Mr Bunnyinasittingpositiononherlapfacing her, as though she’dbeen talking to him. Neitherof us spoke for a fewmoments, and then I said,‘Stevie says you can start
going to school by bus nextweek,sothat’sgoodnews.’Lucy shrugged, as though
itnolongermattered.There was silence again
and then I said, ‘You know,it’s all right to be angry andupset sometimes, but it’sbetter to talk if you can. Ithinkthere’salotgoingoninyour thoughts that needs to
come out. Have you triedtalking to your socialworkers?’‘There’s no point,’ Lucy
said firmly, her expressionhard.‘Theydon’tlisten.’‘I’m sure the social
workers do listen,’ I said,‘although they may notalways be able to do as youwould like them to.’ Many
children in care want to gohome and blame their socialworkers for not making thishappen, although I didn’tthink this was the reason forLucy’shostility.Lucy shrugged
dismissively. ‘Mr Bunnythinks the same asme, don’tyou?’ she said, looking athim. ‘He doesn’t talk to
social workers, either. He’salways with me when theyvisit. He was before. Heknowstheydon’thelpme.’‘Mr Bunny has been with
youalongtime,’Isaid.Lucynodded. ‘So what do youthink Mr Bunny would tellme if he could?’ I asked.Childrencansometimessharetheir worries by using a
favourite doll or toy as amouthpiece – to say whattheycan’t.Lucysatverystillforsome
moments, her eyes stillglistening with unshed tearsas she concentrated on MrBunny.‘Doyouthinkthere’ssomething he’d like to tellme?’Iprompted.There was more silence
and then, still looking at MrBunny, Lucy said: ‘He’d tellyou thatsocialworkerscameto see me lots of times, butthey didn’t help me. HewouldsayIwasoftenhungryand cold, and I had to do allthe washing in cold water.He’d say my aunts andstepdadwere horrible tome,andthatIwantedtolivewith
Sammy,orsomeoneelse,butthey didn’t talk to me. He’dsay they talked to my auntsand stepdad,butnot tome. Iwas so unhappy I wanted todie.’Acoldshiverrandownmy
spine at Lucy’s last words.This is when it would havehelped to have known moreof Lucy’s past. ‘You must
have been very unhappy,’ Isaid gently. ‘Who isSammy?’‘He was my friend at
school,’ Lucy said,concentrating on Mr Bunny.‘Sammy lived near me. Hehad social workers whohelpedhim.Iwantedthemtohelpme.Butwhentheycametomyhousetheybelievedmy
stepdad and his girlfriend.They were good liars. MrBunny knows, don’t you?’She gave Mr Bunny a littlejerksohenoddedhishead.Itwas pitiful and touching. Imoveda little closer toLucyand slipped my arm aroundherwaist.‘Does Mr Bunny know
how old youwerewhen this
happened?’ I asked, trying tofit this into the jigsaw ofLucy’spast.‘Iwassix,’Lucysaidwith
conviction.‘IknowbecauseIwas sobad that year I didn’tget anyChristmaspresents. Ididn’t have any birthdaypresentseither,becauseIwasbad.’‘You weren’t bad,’ I said,
horrified by this crueltreatment.‘I was,’ Lucy said. ‘My
aunt said Father Christmaswouldn’t come because I’dbeen telling lies about her atschool. But I didn’t. MrBunny knows I didn’t. I toldSammy because I was sounhappy and he told myteacher. It wasn’t my fault.
The social worker came andtold my aunt to get somelotionformynits.Shewassoangrywhenthesocialworkerwent.Butthenshetookmetoschool and was friends withmy teacher. I thought theywereganginguponme, so Ididn’t tellanyoneagain.Andbecause I told, we had tomove and I lost my only
friend, Sammy. There weremore social workers afterthat,butnoonehelpedme,soIdon’ttalktothemanymore.There’snopoint.’What a shocking
indictment of our child-protectionservices,Ithought.All that social servicesinvolvement, on and off formuch of Lucy’s life, while
she waited for someone torescueher–andnoonehad.‘Didn’t any of the social
workers speak to you byyourself, away from yourauntorstepdad?’Iasked.‘No. I would have asked
themtotakemeawayiftheyhad. I knew I couldn’t livewithmymum,butshewasn’thorrible to me. She just
couldn’t look after me. IthoughtthatwhenIcameintocare it would be better, butit’snot,isitMrBunny?’‘Isn’tit?’Iasked,shocked.
‘Itshouldbe.What’swrong?’Lucy gave a little shrug
andIheldhercloser.‘If you can tell mewhat’s
wrong,I’lltrytoputitright,’Isaid.
She gave another shrug. ‘Iknow foster carers have hotwater and they do mywashing. And I have niceclothesandnonits,butIstillkeephavingtomove.It’slikenoonewantsme.Idon’thavea family of my own, and noonelovesme.’My eyes welled. I felt so
sorry for her, but pity
wouldn’t help her. ‘Youwillhave your own family oneday,’Isaidpositively.‘Stevieis going to find you one.Doyou remember I explainedthatwhenthejudgemakeshisor her decision – in about ayear–youwillgotolivewithyour forever family? I knowit will mean another move,butitwillbethelastone.’
‘I guess,’ Lucy saiddespondently. Then,addressing Mr Bunny, shesaid: ‘At least I’ll alwayshave you to love me, won’tI?’ She gave the soft toyanother little shake so henodded his head. The scenewas so tragic I could havewept.
There wasn’t much more IcouldsaytoLucy,otherthanreassure her as I had beendoingandalsoconcentrateonthe present. I suggested shecome downstairs to help mewithdinner.Ididn’twanthersitting alone in her roomwhileshewasfeelingsolow,and also I was trying toinvolveherinthepreparation
of her meals and hopefullyimprovehereating.Lucydidcome down with me andhelped – peeling andchoppingvegetablesandthenlaying the table – but shedidn’t eat any more. In fact,she ate less. I thought thismight be due to the previousupset,asshewassubduedformost of the evening. At
bedtime I asked her if therewas anything else she orMrBunnywantedtotellme,butshesaidno.I tuckedher intobed,kissedhergoodnightandwent downstairs where I satin the living roomandwroteup my log notes. When I’dfinished,IlookedthroughthepaperworkSteviehadleft.The placement formswere
as I’dexpectedand included,amongother things, the formthatgavemethelegalrighttofoster Lucy on behalf of thelocal authority. The essentialinformation forms, whichStevie said would give mewhat Ineeded toknow,werea disappointment,withmanyof the information boxes leftblank. Lucy’s full name and
date of birth were given,together with her mother’sname, date of birth andethnicityaswhiteBritish,butthere was no otherinformation. The box forLucy’s father’s details waseven barer, without so muchasaname,but itdidgivehisethnicity as Thai. Under the‘Other Relatives’ section it
stated that Lucy had twouncles who were in theirthirties and a great-aunt, butthat they weren’t known toLucy, and there were nonames, dates of birth orcontactdetails.Lucy’sdoctorwasgivenasher last–whenshe was at her previouscarers’ – and I’d register herwithmydoctorsoon.
I read thatLucyhadhadamedical nine monthspreviously, the test results ofwhichwerenormal, althoughshe was in the bottompercentile for her height andweight, and itwasnoted thatshehadapoorappetite.Therewere no details of her birth,andunder‘Education’itgavethe contact details of her
present secondary school andstatedthatLucyhadmissedalot of primary schooling andwas therefore three yearsbehindwithher learning.Allof which I knew. The nextbox was headed: ‘Does thechild have any behaviouralissues?’ and the answerinserted was ‘Yes’. It thenstated that a foster carer had
notedthatLucyhaddifficultyexpressingheremotionsinanacceptable way, and couldeasily become angry andaggressive. It didn’t saywhich carer had made thisobservation and it didn’tmatter.FromwhatI’dseensofar, I thought that the secondpart of this statement mighthave some truth in it –Lucy
couldflyoffthehandle–butthe first part certainlywasn’ttrue.Lucyhadjustspenthalfanhour talkingtome,soshecouldexpressheremotionsinanacceptablewaygiventimeandencouragement.Thecareplanwasincluded
in these forms and was as Iexpected: the social serviceswouldapplytothecourtfora
Full Care Order, and then asuitable relative or fostercarer would look after Lucypermanently.Whatwasmoststriking in these essentialinformation forms was thecondensed bullet-pointedhistory it gave of the socialservices’ involvement. Itbegan when concerns hadfirst been raised, when Lucy
was six months old, andcontinued to the present andher placement with me. Icouldn’t remember everhavingfosteredachildbeforewhere there’d been so muchsocial services involvement,withsolittleresult. Iknewitwouldn’t be the fault of anyone person, but I felt thesocial services held a
collective responsibility formonitoringacase,ratherthanintervening.I finished reading and
closed the folder with aheartfeltsigh.Thepoorkid,Ithought. Little wonder Lucyfelt no one cared for her orlovedher;noonehad.
On Saturday morning, with
no school, we had a moreleisurely start to theday,andas usual I made a cookedbreakfast,althoughLucyonlywanted one rasher of baconandhalfasliceoftoast.Ithenhelped Lucy with herhomework – there was nopressure; she’d asked formyhelp – while Adrian did hishomework. After which
Lucy, Paula and I wentsupermarket shopping whileAdrianwenttohisfriend’stowork on a school project.Atthe supermarket the girlsdecided I should push thetrolley and call out the itemsfrommy list and theywouldload the trolley. I also toldLucy to select anything shefancied from the shelves. I
wouldn’tnormallyhavegiventhis invitation to the childrenI fostered, as we’d haveendedupwithatrolleyfullofsweets,biscuitsandicecreamand no fruit and vegetables.ButIwantedLucytohaveasmuch say in what she ate aspossible, and I was pleasedwhen she selected a bagelfrom the fresh-bread counter
and also a packet ofhoneycomb cereal. It was astart.Halfway round the
supermarket we came to theaislesdedicatedtofoodsfromaroundtheworld–shelvesoflabels from exotic countries:Indian spices, poppadoms,naan and ready-made currysauces;Chinesenoodles,egg-
fried rice and sweet-and-soursauce; Mexican fajitas,tortillas and tacos; and thenwe came to an assortment ofThaifoods.‘Let’s make some Thai
food for dinner tonight,’ Isuggested, hoping it didn’tsound too contrived. I didn’twant tomakeLucy feel self-conscious by stating why I
was suggesting we ate Thaifood.Ididn’thaveto!‘My social worker’s been
talking to you,’ Lucy saideasily, with a theatrical sigh.‘She told my last carer Ineeded to know more aboutThailand.’ Then turning toPaulasheexplained:‘Mydadis fromThailand, but I don’tknow him or anything about
his country, and my socialworker says I should.’ Sherolled her eyes upwards inexasperation and both girlsgiggled.Somuchforpoliticalcorrectness,Ithought.‘We’ll discover Thai food
together,’ I saidenthusiastically. ‘It’ll be fun.I’veeateninThairestaurants,but I’ve never cooked Thai.
We’ll make something easytobeginwith.’‘Isn’t itvery spicy?’Paula
asked, not a great fan ofhighlyspicedfood.‘Itneedn’tbe,’Isaid.The girls stood either side
of me as we surveyed thebewildering assortment ofpackets, tins and jars.Then Ispotted a holder containing
leafletswith recipes for Thaifood, with a sign beneathtelling customers to helpthemselves. The girls and Ibegan flicking through therecipe leaflets until we cameto a Thai stir-fry. ‘I’ve got awok,’ I said. ‘A stir-fry iseasyandfuntomake.’‘Yes, I like stir-fry,’ Paula
said.
‘SodoI,’Lucyagreed.Holdingtheleafletbetween
us, we gathered together theingredients needed and thencompleted the rest of ourshopping. That evening, allfour of us, including Adrian,made the stir-fry, andworking together as onefamilywasfunandrewardingin itself. I would like to say
that Lucy ate heartily thatnight, having chosen andcooked the food, but shedidn’t. While she’d beenhappy preparing the food, asbefore, when it came toeating it her anxietiesreturned and she ate verylittle. I knew from myresearch that this behaviourwas typical of many who
sufferedfromeatingdisorders– they are happy to prepareandcookthefood,butnoteatit.Iwasworried,anddecidedthat if Lucy’s eating didn’timprove soon I’d put it toStevie that we should seekmedical advice sooner thanshe’dsuggested.
That evening, Pat, Lucy’s
previous foster carer,telephoned as promised, butLucy refused to come to thephone.‘Are you sure you won’t
speaktoPat?’IaskedLucy.‘Yes.’‘Don’ttakeitpersonally,’I
explainedtoPat.‘Lucy’shada lot of changes in her lifeand is feeling a bit rejected
rightnow.’‘Not by us, I hope,’ Pat
said defensively. ‘It wasn’tourfaultshehadtomove.’‘Iknow,andI’veexplained
that to Lucy. She doesn’tblame you.’ But of course,deep down, as far as Lucywas concerned, having tomove from Pat and Terry’swasjustanotherrejection.
Lucy was in the livingroomandoutofearshot,soItook theopportunity tosee ifI could find out moreinformation about Lucy thatmight helpme look after herbetter. ‘Pat, I know Lucydidn’t talk to you much,’ Isaid, ‘but I understand youraised concerns about hereating.Steviementionedit to
me,asIhaveconcernstoo.’‘Yes, I took Lucy to my
doctor,’Patsaid.‘ButwhenItoldStevieshewentonatmesomething awful. ApparentlyI should have got herpermissionfirst.’‘Whatdidthedoctorsay?’‘That Lucy might be
borderline anorexic, and thatwe should try to talk to her
about her feelings. But Lucydidn’twanttotalktous.HowdoyougetonwithStevie?’‘I’veonlymetheronce,’ I
said,notwantingtobedrawninto a conversation aboutLucy’s social worker. ‘Canyou tell me anything elseaboutLucyorwhatthedoctorsaid?’‘Not really. Would Lucy
seeStevie?’Patnowasked.‘No.’‘Shewouldn’tseeherhere
either,’Patsaid.‘Steviemademe feel it was my fault, butwhenLucy decides she’s notdoing something there’s nochanging her mind.’ I didn’trespond. ‘Oh, well, best beoff then,’ Pat said. ‘GiveLucyourbestwishes.’
‘Iwill,’Isaid.‘Andthanksforeverything.’ForIdoubtedwe’dhearfromPatagain.When I toldLucy that Pat
sentherbestwishes,shegaveoneofherdismissive shrugs.However,Iwasnowrealizingthatshrugging,farfrombeinga sign that Lucy didn’t care,wasanindicationofjusthowmuch she did care and was
hurting; not wanting to behurt again, she pretended itdidn’tmatter.
Sunday was bitterly cold(thoughitdidn’tsnowagain),so I suggested a trip to thecinema.Lucyhadbeentothecinema a couple of timesbeforewith a previous fostercarer and was eager to go
again. The four of us had alovely afternoon laughing atthe cartoon and eatingpopcorn. Little outings suchasthishelpbondafamilyandcreateasenseoffamilyunity.Interestingly, in the dark andwith her mind on the film,Lucyforgotheranxietyabouteating and absent-mindedlyate a large hotdog.However,
thateveningsheateverylittleat dinner – just a couple ofmouthfuls–whichshedidn’tenjoy. Ignoring her eatinghabitsanylongerseemedlikeignoring the elephant in theroom,and later,when Iwentto say goodnight to her, Isaid, ‘Love, I am concernedthatyou’renoteatingenough.You won’t get fat, you
know.’ My research hadmentioned that thosesuffering with eatingdisorders often obsessedaboutputtingonweight.‘It’snot that,’Lucysaid,a
little tersely, as thoughsomethingsimilarmighthavebeen said to her before. ‘I’mjustnothungry.Ididn’thavemealsbefore.’
‘Beforeyoucameintocareyoumean?’‘Yes.’Inodded.‘Ithinkyouneed
to try toget into thehabit ofeating.Willyoutrytoeatjustalittlebitmore?I’msureMrBunnywouldwantyouto.’She smiled. ‘OK. I’ll try,
forMrBunny.’‘Goodgirl.’
Ikissedhergoodnightandcameout.
On Monday Lucy begantaking the bus to and fromschool. I gave her the busfare, checked she had theschoolbooks sheneededandthen waved her off at thedoor. When I returned fromtaking Paula to school I
phoned the office at Lucy’sschool to let them know thatLucywouldbeusing thebusinfuture.Mostschoolsliketoknow their pupils’ means oftransport to and from schoolasasafetyprecaution,incasetheydon’t arrive, andalso totry and reduce the instancesof truanting. The schoolreceptionist made a note in
theirrecords.Theweekwentwell and I
thought I saw a slightimprovement in Lucy’sappetite, so I crossed myfingers, hoped for the bestand quietly thanked MrBunny. On Sunday, myparents came for dinner andmet Lucy for the first time.All the children I foster love
my parents, and Adrian andPaula adore their nana andgrandpa. They are thearchetypalgrandparents:kindandverygenerous.Myfatheroften tells silly jokes andloves to play board games,and my mother has endlesspatience for reading thechildren stories and listeningto their news.Asmymother
andIclearedawaythedinnerthings, my mothercommentedthatLucyseemedalovelychild,butwhatasadlife she’d led. Whileconfidentialityhadprohibitedme from telling my motherabout Lucy’s past, Lucy hadeasily confided in her thatshe’d had to move lots oftimes and had lived with
some horrible people, andthat she didn’t have a propermummy or daddy. ‘She getsonverywellwithPaula,’mymotheradded.‘She does,’ I agreed. ‘And
Adrian,althoughathisagehetends to be out with hisfriendsmore.’That evening, after my
parents had left, I overheard
Lucy telling Paula that shewasveryluckytohaveanicegran and grandpa, as shedidn’thaveany.‘Iknow,’Paula said. ‘And
while you’re here they areyourgranandgrandpatoo.’‘That’sgood,’Lucysaid.‘I
likethemnearlyasmuchasIlikeyou.’
Now we were in a weekdayroutine, theweeksslippedbyandverysoonLucyhadbeenwith us for over a month. Itwas March and spring wasjust around the corner. Onmany levels, Lucy had fittedeasily and successfully intomy family, and I knewAdrianandPaulafeltthattoo.However, the more relaxed
and at home Lucy felt, themore easily she let goof herangerandfrustration.Whileitwaspositivethatshewasableto express herself, whatwasn’t so positive was hermode of expression: objectshurled across her bedroomand often broken in temper.Triggers that caused her toflareupincludedanymention
of her social worker, anunkindwordorasnubfromapupil at school, a lengthy ordifficult piece of homework,general frustration, andsometimes there was noobvious reason at all – she’djustarrivehomefromschool,burstingwithangerandpent-upfrustration,goupstairsandtrashherroom.
I spent hours talking toLucy about her feelings,reassuredherthathurtingwasto be expected and madesome suggestions formanaging her anger. Then,when her behaviour didn’timprove, I stopped some ofher privileges, and some ofher pocketmoney to pay forbreakages (with the social
worker’s permission). Andfinally,exasperated,ItoldherIwasverydisappointedinherbehaviour and that sheneeded to find otherways toexpressheranger.‘Don’t care!’ Lucy
shouted. But of course shedid care and, when she’dcalmeddown,shewasalwaysverysorry.
IshowedLucyhowtotakeout her frustration and angerby pummelling a pillow,rather than breaking objects,which she tried. Shepummelled the pillow on herbed and then trashed herroom.IknewLucyhadsomecontrol over her actions,because while most of theobjects in her room had at
some time all been thrown,MrBunnyhadescaped.‘I’m sure Mr Bunny isn’t
impressedbyyourbehaviour,Lucy,’Isaid,whenyetagainthecontentsofhershelveslaystrewnacrossherroom.‘Yes, he is!’ she retorted.
‘He’sonmyside.’And sometimes it felt like
we were on warring sides –
opposingarmiesinabattleofwills.
‘You know why Lucy’sbehavinglikethisandtestingthe boundaries?’ Jill said,whenIupdatedheryetagain.‘ToseeifIreallycareorif
Iwillrejectherlikeeveryoneelsehas,’Ireplied.‘Exactly. She’s making
you prove that you care bypushingyoutothelimit.’‘I know, Jill, and I’ve told
herIcaremany,manytimes.Don’t worry, we’ll workthroughthis.Wehaveto.’Seeing my resolve
strengthen, Lucy upped thetesting and became the mostobnoxious, argumentativechild I’d come across in a
long time. Teenagers can beconfrontational andchallenging, but Lucy, agedeleven, perfected the art, andI now appreciated wheresome of the comments fromherpreviouscarershadcomefrom. Cooperation hadvanished and LucyquestionedeverythingIdidoraskedofher,oftenrefusingto
doeventhesimplestoftasks,likegettingupinthemorningor having a wash andcleaningherteethatbedtime.When she refused to have abathforthreenightsinarow,I stopped her watchingtelevision, and when sherefusedtodoherhomeworkIstoppedherfromgoingonthePlayStation, which of course
ledtoaccusationsthatIhatedher, and she stamped offupstairsandtrashedherroom.Gone was the quiet,undemanding and convivialchild who’d first arrived.Lucy constantly looked fornew ways to provoke me.‘Don’t like your smellyhouse!’ she said one day.‘Don’t like you or your
children.’WhichIignored.‘Why is Lucy being
horrible to us?’ Paula askedonebedtime.‘Idon’tlikeit.IwanttheoldLucyback.’‘Lucy’s angry, love,’ I
said. ‘She’s had a difficultlifeandnowshefeelssettledshe’s letting go of her anger.Try not to worry. She’s notangrywithyou.’Andindeed,
when Lucy wasn’t in a badmood she played nicelywithPaula,andAdriantoo.But Paula did worry, and
notforthefirsttimesinceI’dbegun fostering I wasconcerned about the impactthis was having on mychildren. Adrian, that bitolder, seemed able to ignoreLucy’s outbursts and unkind
wordsandriseabovethemasI did, but Paula – two yearsyounger than Lucy – lookedup to her and was hurt. Ihoped that at some pointLucy’sbehaviourwouldpeakand thenwe’d turn a corner.In themeantime, I continuedwith my strategy of alwaysmaking time to talk to andlisten toLucy, rewardingher
good behaviour andsanctioning her badbehaviour. At the end ofMarch we celebratedAdrian’sbirthdayandthen,atthebeginningofApril,itwasPaula’s birthday. Lucy waspleasant on both occasions,butonceourvisitorshad leftsherevertedtoherobnoxiousbehaviour, and I wondered
how much longer this couldgo on. Then somethinghappened, somethingunplanned that completelychanged everything, almostovernight.
Chapter Seventeen
Progress
‘I wouldn’t ask but we’redesperate,’ Jill said. ‘I knowwe agreed you’d wait untilLucy had been with you forlonger and had calmed down
before you fostered anotherchild, but Lucy’s taking hertimetocalmdown,andnoneofourothercarersarefree.Itwouldonlybefortwoweeks’respite and David’s verysweet. It’s just while hismotherisinhospital.’‘Ireallydon’tknow,Jill,’I
saidagain,wishingshehadn’tasked. Although I had the
space in my house to fosteranotherchild,Ihadmyhandsfull with Lucy, and Davidwassure tobeupsetatbeingseparated from his mother.‘Will I have to take him tovisithismotherinhospitalaswell?’ I asked, feeling thiswould be impossible witheverything else that wasgoingon.
‘No, his aunt will takehim,’Jillsaid.‘Shecan’tlookafter him during the daybecause she works full time,but she can take him to thehospital in the evenings andat theweekend.Davidwon’tgive you any trouble,’ Jilladded. ‘And we’d be verygrateful.’‘When do you need to
knowby?’Iasked.‘Now, please. His mother
would need to bring him toyou tomorrow morning,beforeshegoesintohospital.’‘Andtherereallyisnoone
else?’‘No.’‘Allright,I’lldoit,’Isaid.
‘Although I have bigreservations.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ Jill said,with a confidence I didn’tfeel.‘Andyouneverknow,itmight do Lucy some good.Give her someone else tofocus on for a change, ratherthan herself.’ Although Jillwas highly sympathetic toLucy, as I was, I think shewas starting to lose patienceandfeltthatmaybeLucywas
revelling in all the attentionher outbursts evoked.‘Thanks,Cathy.’We said goodbye and I
went straight upstairs to thespare bedroom and made upthe bed with a fresh duvetcover and pillowcase. Thatevening over dinner, Iexplained to Adrian, Paulaand Lucy that David would
be coming the following dayto stay for two weeks whilehis mother was in hospital.Adrian and Paula were veryenthusiastic, probablybecauseawell-behavedthree-year-oldwouldbelightreliefafter Lucy’s recent tantrums.Lucy looked at me, amazedby the news, shocked even,and then became
confrontational.‘You’re fostering another
child as well as me?’ sheaskeddisparagingly.‘That’sright, love.Justfor
twoweeks.’‘Areyouallowedto?’‘Yes, of course. I’m
approved to foster twochildrenorasiblinggroupofup to three. Don’t worry. It
won’taffectmycareofyou.’Lucyscowled,whilePaula
and Adrian wanted to knowmore about David. ‘Why’shis mother having to stay inhospital?’ Paula asked,concerned.‘She’s got to have an
operation, and she’ll needtime to recoverafterwards,’ Isaid. Jill had told me that
Beth, David’s mother, washaving a hysterectomy, butPaula didn’t need to knowthat.‘Hasn’t David got a gran
and grandpa to look afterhim?’Adrianasked,whichiswhatwouldhavehappenedtoAdrianandPaulahadIhadtostayinhospital.‘Unfortunatelynot,’ I said.
‘David’s grandparents aredead.’‘That’ssad,’Paulasaid.ThenLucyasked,orrather
demanded, ‘What about hisdad?Hasn’thegotadadwhocanlookafterhim?’‘No, he died last year,’ I
said.‘Hewasn’tveryold.’And just for a moment I
saw on Lucy’s face the
briefest acknowledgementthat there could be at leastone other child in the worldwho’dhadasadanddifficultlifejustasshehad,albeitinadifferent way. Paula lookedclose to tears, so I changedthe subject and talked aboutthegameswecouldplaywithathree-year-old.Thatevening,whenIwent
to say goodnight to Lucy, itwas obvious she’d beenthinkingaboutDavid,forshehad some questions abouthim. ‘Does David still misshisdaddy?’shesaidquietly.‘I’msurehedoes,’Isaid.‘Will he miss his mummy
andcryatnight?’‘Very likely, but I’ll look
after him. Then, when you
comehomefromschool,youcanhelpmeifyoulike.’But Lucy had lowered her
guardenoughforoneeveningand retorted with a sharp,‘No.That’syourjob.’Ignoring her ill humour, I
said goodnight, kissed herforeheadandcameout.
Beth arrived with David at
9.30 the following morning,just after I’d returned fromtaking Paula to school. Bethwas a lovely lady in herthirties, although she wasanxious at the thought of theoperation she was about tohave, and also about leavingDavid,whomshe’dneverleftwith anyone before. Shebrought with her a suitcase
containingDavid’s clothes, atoy box of his favourite toysand books and a cuddly toy,whichshetoldmehetooktobedwithhimatnight–allofwhich would help him settlewithme.AlthoughBethwasworriedabout leavingDavid,as we talked, David – notfully appreciating what wasabout tohappen–washappy
tochaseToschaandthenplaywith the toys I’d put out inthe living room. Beth hadwrittendownDavid’sroutine,whichwouldbeusefulformeto follow, and had alsoincludedhislikesanddislikesin food, which again wouldbeveryhelpful.‘Jen,mysister,willcollect
David after work tonight,’
Beth said, ‘at about half pastfive, and bring him to thehospital. She’ll have himbacktoyoubyseven–that’sthe timehe normally goes tobed. I won’t see himtomorrow as it’s the day ofmy operation, so Jen willcollect him again the dayafter.’IreassuredBeththatDavid
would be fine and then Ishowed them around thehouse,withDavidholdinghismother’s hand. When wewentintoDavid’sroom,Bethexplained to him that hewould be sleeping here fortwo weeks while she was inhospital and then he wouldcome home again, but Idoubted that at his age he
really understood. Beth leftshortlyafter,asshehadtobeat the hospital for 10.30.David and I waved her offand then,once I’d closed thedoor and his mother hadgone, he began to cry. Ipicked him up, took himthrough to the living roomwhere I sat with him on mylap and cuddled him,
explaining that he would seeMummy later. Then Idistracted him with toys andgames, which I played withhim for most of the day.Everysooftenhewouldask,‘Where’s Mummy gone?’ Isaid, ‘To the hospital. Youwill see her later, afterdinner.’ Soon he beganrepeating very sweetly,
‘Mummy gone to thehospital, see her later afterdinner.’ He was so cute. Icuddledhimalot.Whenitwastimetocollect
Paula from school, I helpedDavid into thecarseat in therear ofmy car andhe asked:‘Going to see Mummy inhospitalnow?’Blesshim.‘No, love, later,’ I said.
‘Auntie Jen is taking youafterdinner.’Butofcourseatthree years of age thesearrangements must haveseemed very confusing tohim.Paula treated little David
like a large doll and herevelled in the attention. Sheplayed with him while Ibegan making an early
dinner, as Jen would becollecting David at 5.30.Soon I could hear chucklingcoming from the living roomas Paula made him laugh.David’s chuckle was veryinfectious and was lovely tohear. However, when Lucyarrived home from school, IknewassoonasIopenedthedoor she was looking for
trouble.‘Myfriendsays it’swrong
ofyoutofosteranotherchildwhen you have me, andyou’re only doing it for themoney.’WhileIwaspleasedtohear
thatLucyhadafriend,Iknewthat telling me this wasobviously designed toprovokeme.
‘Idon’t expectyour friendknowsmuchaboutfostering,’I said lightly, asLucy glaredat me antagonistically.‘Perhaps she’d like to comehere for tea so she can seewhat really goes on. ComeandmeetDavid.’‘No!’ Lucy said, and
stormed off up to her roomwhere she stayed sulking
until I called her down fordinner.Adrian and Paula kept
DavidamusedatdinnerwhileImadesureheatesomething.Idon’tthinkhe’deverhadsomuch attention and I couldtell from Lucy’s expressionthatshedidn’tlikeitandmaywell havebeen jealous.Eachtimehechuckledshescowled
athimandthenfinallysaidtome: ‘Tell him to be quiet.He’smakingtoomuchnoise.It’sdoingmyheadin.’‘No. I’m pleased he’s
happy,’ I said. ‘And he’seating.’Lucy glowered at me and
carried on picking at herfood, but even she wasn’timmune to David’s sweet,
smiling face and infectiouslaugh, despite missing hismother. I saw her snatchingglancesathim,andgraduallyduring the meal herexpression lost its resentmentand finally she allowedherselftosmile.Bytheendofthe meal she was laughingwith the rest of us each timeDavidchucked.
After dinner Lucy camewith Paula and me into thelivingroomwhereweplayedwith David until Jen arrivedat 5.30 to take him to thehospital. David was verypleased to see his aunt’sfamiliar face and threwhimself into her arms andgave her a big kiss. Jenpicked him up and hugged
him, thankedme for lookingafterhimand thenconfirmedthat she’d have him back byseveno’clock.Ithinkshefeltabitguiltyfornothavinghimto staywith her, but she hadtowork.While David was out, I
took the opportunity tounpack his suitcase and takesome of his toys up to his
roomsohefeltmoreathome.The rest of his toys wouldstay downstairs for him toplaywith in the living room.Lucywasinherbedroomandmust have heard me movingaround in David’s room, forpresently she appeared at hisbedroom door. She stoodwatching me for a fewmoments and then said, ‘I’m
sorry I was horrible aboutDavid coming. I like himreally.’‘I know,’ I said. ‘That’s
good.’ But Lucy was oftensorry after the event, and Iwas used to hearing herapologize.However,shethensaidsomethingIhadn’theardhersaybefore:‘Idon’tknowwhy you still want to look
afterme.Theothersdidn’t.’I paused from unpacking
and looked up at her.‘Because I like looking afteryou,’Isaid.‘Ilikeyou,andIunderstand why you’rehurting.’She lookedaway. ‘There’s
a lot you don’t understand,’she saidquietly. ‘Thingsyoudon’t know about me. Some
horrible things thatmakemebehavebadly.’Ismiledsadly.‘You’renot
the first child I’ve lookedafter who’s had secrets. Ihope one day you may beable to tellme, orwhen youstarttherapyyoucantellyourtherapist. But one thing I doknow,Lucy, is thatwhateverhappened toyouwasn’tyour
fault. No matter what youweretold.Allright,love?’She gave a small shrug. ‘I
guess.’ Then, with a smallpuzzled frown, she asked,‘How did you know I wastolditwasmyfault?’‘Because that’s what bad
adults tell the children theyhurt.Sothechildrenwillfeelguilty and won’t tell anyone
else.’She held my gaze for a
moment and then lookedaway. ‘I won’t be horriblewhileDavidishere.’‘Good.He’sgoingtoenjoy
playingwithyou.’
Forthenexttwoweeks,whileDavid was with us, Lucy’sbehaviour did indeed
improve.Wedidn’thaveanyangry outbursts, so I didn’tfeel I was continually on aknife edgewaiting for her toexplode. Lucy became politeandcooperativeandwentoutof her way to help me lookafter David. She’d alwaysbeennicetoAdrianandPaulaand my parents; it was meshe’d directed her anger
towards.MaybeJillhadbeenright when she’d said thatLucy had been receiving toomuch attention and thathaving David to stay wouldgiveusanotherfocalpoint,orperhaps Lucy realized thatthere were other children intheworldwho’dhad sadnessin their lives as she had, butcould still laugh. I didn’t
know. But whatever thereason, Iwasgrateful for thechange in Lucy – theatmosphere in the houseimproved tremendously. Ialso noticed that her eatingimproved; not hugely, butsince David had arrived shewas more relaxed at thedinnertableandwaseatingalittlemore.
Stevie paid us one of herscheduled visits during thesecond week that David waswithus.Itwas4.30p.m.andLucywas downstairs playingwith David and Paula whenStevie arrived. Lucy blankedStevie when she said hello,and then went up to herbedroom. I apologized toStevie, but didn’t go up and
trytopersuadeLucytocomedown; Stevie didn’t expectme to. Stevie stayed for halfan hour, andwhile I updatedheronLucyPaulakeptDavidamused.Amongotherthings,Stevie asked what I wasdoingtomeetLucy’sculturalneeds. I told her about theThaimealswewere cookingand that I talked to Lucy
about Thailandwhenever theopportunityarose.‘Have you got her a Thai
flagforherroom?’sheasked.‘No, but I will,’ I said,
making a mental note to doso, as I’d previouslyforgotten.I told Stevie that, while I
still had concerns aboutLucy’s eating, it had
improved since David hadbeen with us. Stevie made anote and said she was stilltrying to trace Lucy’s family– her parents and uncles.Steviethensaidthat,althoughshe’d seen Lucy briefly, shestill needed to have a quicklookintoherbedroom(itwasa requirement of the socialworker’svisit).So I tookher
up, knocked on Lucy’sbedroomdoor and opened it.Lucystill refused tospeak toStevie, but Stevie had seenenough to be able to includeit in her report. As wereturned downstairs, Toschasuddenly appeared fromLucy’s room. Stevie turnedandshrieked.‘I’msorry,’ I said, rushing
to pick up the cat, who waslooking pretty scared. ‘I putheroutearlier. Ididn’tknowshewasuphere.’IheardLucylaugh.Later, after Stevie had
gone, I reminded everyonethatToschahadtobekeptoutwhileSteviewashere,asshewasallergictocats.Lucy grinned. ‘Toscha
wanted to say hello toStevie,’shesaid.Adrian exploded into
laughter.‘Well, please don’t do it
again,’ I said. ‘You knowStevie’s got an allergy tocats.’Of course Lucy knew,
that’swhy she’ddone it – tocauseSteviediscomfort.
After David had returnedhome, Lucy’s behaviourdidn’t immediatelydeteriorate as I was halfexpectingitto:she’dbeenonher best behaviour forDavid’s sake, after all, andnow therewasnoneed tobeanymore.Iwouldn’tsayshewas an angel, but theimprovement in her
behaviour continued, and shewas also still eating a littlemore.‘You’llhavetohelpusout
with respite more often,’ Jillsaid,whenIupdatedher.Inodded.‘Althoughnotfor
awhile,’ I said. ‘I need timeto recover.’ I’m not alwayssuresocialworkersappreciatejust how tiring it is looking
afterchildren.
Spring gave way to summerand Lucy continued to makeprogressathomeandschool.WhenIsawherteacher,MissConnor, for the end-of-termconsultation,shesaidshewasvery pleased with Lucy’sacademic improvement. Shethanked me for all I was
doingathometohelpher,butsaid that Lucy was stillstruggling to make friends.She said she felt Lucy haderected a protective barrieraround herself to stop othersgetting close. Lucy talked toother children, but didn’tform meaningful friendshipsas most children of her agedid. Miss Connor had
partnered Lucy with a newgirl in the class to be herbuddy: to show her aroundthe school, be with her atlunchtime and generally helpher settle in. Lucy had donewhatwasrequired,buthadn’tdeveloped the friendship asMiss Connor had hoped.WhenMissConnorsuggestedtoLucythatshemightliketo
be friends with the girl andtake her home for tea, Lucyreplied it wasn’t worthmaking friends, as she’d losethem when she moved in ayear. This had upset MissConnor, as it didmewhen Iheard, although we bothrecognized the truth in whatLucy had said. When thecourt made its decision
Lucy’s forever family wouldalmost certainly live out ofthearea,whichwouldmeanachangeofschool.‘I just hope the court
hurriesup,soLucycangetonwiththerestofherlife,’MissConnorsaid.But I knew from
experience that thewheelsofthelawturnslowly.
ByJuly,whenLucyhadbeenwithusforfivemonths,Iwasfeeling quietly confident thatshewasovertheworstofherbehaviour. She got annoyedandfrustratedsometimes,butthensodomostchildren.Theonly time Lucy really grewangry now was when therewas any talk of her socialworker or when she visited
us, which she had to do. Itwasn’t so much that Lucydidn’t like Stevie, more thatshe was anti social workersper se, because they hadfailedtoprotectherwhenshewasyounger.TellingLucy itwasn’t Stevie’s fault didn’thelp, and each time Stevievisited Toscha appeared.WhileIcouldseethehumour
in this, I was concerned byLucy’s blatant disregard forStevie’s welfare, so I toldLucythatifithappenedagainI’dstophertelevision.‘Don’t care,’ Lucy said.
‘Dowhatyouwant.’Later,sheapologizedtome
forbeingrude.
Stevietelephonedmetheday
before the schools broke upfor the summer holiday andvery excitedly told me she’dmanaged to trace Lucy’smother, Bonnie, and had setup contact for the followingweek. While I knew thatStevie had been looking forLucy’s family, and that thiswas correct social-workpractice, I wondered what
effect this would have onLucy, who’d come to termswith not seeing her mother.Also, if everything went toplan,Lucywouldbewithherpermanent foster family inabout eight months, and shewould be expected to bondwiththemasherownfamily.I thereforewasn’t sure aboutthe benefits of reintroducing
her natural mother to hernow.‘I hope it doesn’t unsettle
Lucy,’Isaid.‘Why should it?’ Stevie
asked,quite sharply. ‘It’s thechild’smother, forgoodness’sake.’‘Itmight giveLucymixed
messages,’Isaid.‘Shemightthink there’s a chance of her
returninghome.’‘I doubt it,’ Stevie said.
‘But if you’re worried,explain to her again what’shappeningwith thecourtandsoon.Shewon’tseeme,soIcan’t.’ Stevie soundedextremely put out and Iwondered if she’d expectedme to congratulate her ontracingLucy’smother.
‘I will,’ I said. ‘Also, I’dlike to take Lucy on holidaywithusat theendofAugust.DoIhaveyourpermission?’‘Ishouldthinkso.Sendme
the details, and we’ll needLucy’s mother’s permissionas well, as she still hasparental rights. You canmention it to her when youmeetheratcontact.’
‘Willdo,’Isaid.
WhenI toldLucy thatSteviehad traced her mother andhad set up contact, sheshruggedasifshedidn’tcare.‘It’s for an hour,’ I added.
‘At the contact centre. I’lltake and collect you. It willbe nice for me to meet yourmother.’
‘Will it?’ Lucy saidblankly.‘Yes,’ I said, trying to be
positive. ‘And I’ll be able totalk toheraboutyoucomingon holidaywith us.Reassureher thatyou’llbesafeby thesea.’ I’d already told Lucy Iwas hoping to take her onholiday.‘She won’t care where I
go,’ Lucy said, and changedthesubject.
I thought that as Stevie wason amission to trace Lucy’sfamily, and had alreadysucceeded in tracing hermother, then she mightsucceed with Lucy’s otherrelatives, specifically herfather.ItalkedtoLucyabout
this and theThai culture andput renewed effort intoacquiring a Thai flag, whichwasn’t proving easy. I knewwhattheThaiflaglookedlike– it was horizontally stripedin red,white and blue, but itwasn’teasytofindonetobuyinEngland. I phonedvariousshops and department stores,and even our local Thai
restauranttoseeiftheyknewwhere I could buy one, butwithout any success. Then Iwent online,which iswhat Ishould have done to beginwith. The Flag Store soldflags from all around theworld, in various sizes andmade from differentmaterials. I could havebought a thirty-foot bunting,
but I thought that was a bitover the top, especially asLucywasn’tevenkeenontheidea of having a flag. Thesmallest flag I could orderwas three feet by two feet. Iputinmycarddetailsandtheflagarrivedthreedayslater.IhandedtheparceltoLucyandsaid, ‘I’llhelpyouhang it inyourbedroomlater.’
Sheshookout theflaganda lookofdisdain crossedherface. ‘I’m not having that inmybedroom!’shesaid.‘Perhaps I could trim it to
makeitsmaller,’Isuggested.‘No. I want to keep my
posters.’ Lucy’s bedroomwalls were covered withpictures of cuddly animalsand cuttings from her
favouritemagazines.‘You can keep those as
well,’ I said. ‘The flag willonlytakeuppartofonewall,and it will make Steviehappy.’‘No,’ Lucy said, her face
setting.‘We could pin it on your
bedroomdoor?’Isuggested.‘No,’Lucysaid.
‘Whataboutontheoutsideof the door, so you can’t seeit?’‘No,’Lucysaid.‘Or we could use it as a
throw-over on your bed?Flags make popularbedspreads, especially withfootballsupporters.’Lucy glared at me and
pushedtheflagintomyarms.
‘No,Cathy.I’msorry,you’vewasted your money. I don’twantit.’WhichIaccepted.Iputthe
flag away. At least I’d tried,andIcouldunderstandwhyayounggirlwould ratherhavepictures on her wall than aflag. There were other, moreimportant issues toconcentrateon,likepreparing
Lucy for seeing her mother,which I did over the comingweek.
Chapter Eighteen
‘I’d RatherHave You’
I’d arranged for Adrian andPaula to spend the afternoonattheirfriends’houses,rather
thanhavingtositinahotcarwhile I took Lucy to contactand then wait while she sawher mother. As the contactwas only for an hour, itwasn’t worth me returninghome, soonce I’d seenLucyinto the centre and met hermother, Iplanned togoforawalkin the localparkuntil itwastimetocollecther.When
I’d talked to Lucy aboutseeing her mother, she’dseemed quite unfazed by theprospect; she hadn’t had anyquestions to askme and saidshe remembered the contactcentre fromwhen she’d seenher mother there the yearbefore. However, now wewere in the car and on ourway she’d fallen very quiet,
and I appreciated howunsettledandanxiousshewasprobably feeling, althoughshewaskeepingatightlidonher emotions. I felt nervous.Lucy hadn’t seen hermotherfor over six months, and Iwas imagining a veryemotionalreunionwheretheyfell into each other’s armsandcriedopenly.
‘Stevie said if it all goeswell today she’ll set upregular contact,’ I said toLucy,as Ipulled into thecarpark at the centre. ‘She’sthinking ofmaking it once aweek.’‘Mum won’t be around
long enough for that,’ Lucyreplied.I thought Stevie wouldn’t
have suggested it if shewasn’t sure it was feasible,but I didn’t say so. ‘Wheredoes your mother go whenshedisappears?’Iasked.‘Doyouknow?’‘No,’ Lucy said bluntly.
‘She never toldme. She justwent.’I thought I’d said enough.
Lucy clearly resented my
question and now she’dwithdrawnintohershell.‘Noworries,’ I said. Iparkedandcuttheengine.I turned inmyseat to face
Lucy. ‘It’s bound to bestrange for you both,’ I said,tryingtoreassureher.‘But ifyouhaveanyworries,tellthecontact supervisor.Sometimes parents don’t
know what to say in contactand can say the wrong thingwhen they don’t mean to.’They often talk about theirhome lives, which can bevery upsetting for a child incare.Lucyshrugged.‘Come on then,’ I said,
with a cheerful smile. ‘Let’sgo in.We’re a bit early, but
we can wait inside, ratherthaninthehotcar.’I got out of the car and
went round to open Lucy’sdoor,whichwaschild-locked.She clambered out and Ipressed the fob to lock thedoors. As we went up thepath leading to the mainentrance, Lucy slipped herhandintomineandIgaveita
reassuring squeeze. Shehadn’t held my hand beforeand I thought it was anindication of how vulnerableshe must be feeling that sheneededthisextrareassurance.Arriving at the door to thecentre, I pressed the securitybuzzer and the door clickedopen. Inside, I said hello tothe receptionist, who was
seated behind the opensliding-glass window of theoffice. She knew me a littlefrommypreviousvisitstothecentrewithotherchildrenI’dfostered.‘This is Lucy,’ I said.
‘She’s seeing her mother,Bonnie,atthreeo’clock.’The receptionist smiled.
‘Bonnie isn’t here yet, so if
you’dliketosignin,youcanhave a seat in the waitingarea.’Lucy and I signed the
visitors’ book and then wentround the corner to thewaiting area, which wastucked away from the mainreceptionarea andhada fewbooks and games to keepchildren occupied while they
waitedfortheirparents.Oncetheparentsarrived,theywentintooneofthecontactroomswith a contact supervisor.Thereweresixcontactroomsin the centre and they werecosily furnished, like livingrooms,withcarpet,curtains,asofa, a television and lots ofbooksandgames.Althoughitobviously wasn’t home, it
was made to look home-likesothatthechildrenrelaxedasmuchaspossibleandenjoyedthe short time they had withtheirparents.We were the only ones in
the waiting area, but Iassumed other children withdifferent contact times werein the rooms with theirparents. It was now one
minute before three o’clockandIhopedBonniewouldn’tbe late. One of the mostupsettingthingsforachildincare isbeingkeptwaitingbyaparentat contact,orworse,the parent not arriving at all.It’s stressful enough for thechild to be separated fromtheirfamilyandthenreunitedbriefly at contact, without
being kept waiting or letdown. For this reason, thecontactrulesareveryfirm:ifaparentdoesn’tphonetosaytheyhavebeendelayed,or ifthey don’t arrive withinfifteen minutes of thescheduled time, then thecontact is terminated and thefoster carer takes the childhome. Although this is
upsetting for the child, it islessupsettingthaniftheyareleftwaitingendlessly,onlytobedisappointedyetagain.ItriedtointerestLucyina
book or a game of cardswhile we waited, but shepreferred to just sit andwait.Uprightonherchairandwithher hands folded loosely inherlap,IthoughtIwasmore
nervous than sheappeared tobe. She was dressed smartlyin new summer clothes I’dbought for her, and her hairwas shining and tied in aloose plait. I always makesure the child or children Ifoster look nice when theysee their parents. It reassuresthe parents that their child isbeing well looked after, and
alsogivesthemeetingasenseof occasion – which it is, averyspecialoccasion.At 3.05 we heard the
security buzzer sound,followed by the outer doorclickingopen.Thenweheardthe receptionist say to theperson who’d just arrived:‘They’re here.’ So I thoughtshemustbereferringtous,as
wewere theonlyones in thewaitingarea.Ifeltmyheartstarttorace
at little, but Lucy remainedoutwardly calm. We heardfootsteps coming along thecorridor,andthentwowomenappeared from around thecorner;one I recognizedasacontact supervisor, and theotherIassumedtobeBonnie.
She looked at Lucy andsmiled.I stood, so too did Lucy.
‘Hello,’ Bonnie said to herdaughter.‘Howareyou?’‘I’m well, thank you,’
Lucy said politely. ‘How areyou?’‘I’mgood,thanks.’Formal and distant, they
madenomovetohugorkiss
each other, which fell farshort of the emotional sceneI’d envisaged. There wassilence, so I stepped forwardand offered Bonniemy handfor shaking. ‘I’m Cathy,’ Isaid,‘Lucy’sfostercarer.’Bonnie didn’t shake my
hand, but gave a smallnervous laugh. ‘Nice tomeetyou, Cathy. I hope Lucy
hasn’t been giving you anytrouble.’‘Not at all,’ I smiled.
‘She’s an absolute treasureand a delight to look after.’But my enthusiasm seemedstrangely out of place in thisemotional void, as BonnieandLucycontinuedtolookateach other from a distance,not embarrassed, but just not
connecting;more like distantacquaintances than motheranddaughter.‘Shall we go into the
contact room now?’ thesupervisor suggested, thenturning tome she said, ‘YouandBonniecouldhaveachatlater when you come tocollectLucy.’‘Yes,that’sfinewithme,’I
said.The three of them turned
and the supervisor led theway down the corridortowards the contact rooms.Before they disappearedthrough the double doors Iheard Bonnie ask Lucy: ‘So,whathaveyoubeendoing?’‘Goingtoschoolandother
things,’Lucyrepliedflatly.
Outside, I left my car in thecarparkandcrossedtheroadtotheparktogoforawalk.Itwas a lovely summer’s dayand theplay areawas full ofchildrenrunningandshoutingexcitedlyunder theirparents’watchfulgaze. I followed thepath that ran around theperimeter of the park, undersometreesandbesideasmall
lake. I breathed in thebeautiful scent of summerflowers, fresh from a recentwatering by the gardeners. Iknew from the originalreferral that Bonnie wasthirty-six,buthavingmethershe looked a lot older.Therehad been a suggestion in thereferral that she’dbeendrinkanddrugdependentatvarious
times in her life, and thiscould explain her prematureageing. I’d met parents ofother children I’d fosteredwho’dlookedoldbeforetheirtime from drug and alcoholabuse; many far worse thanBonnie. Some had beenskeletally thin with missingteeth, a hacking cough andlittle or no hair. Apart from
lookingolderthansheshouldhave done, Bonnie appearedwell nourished and wassmartly dressed infashionable jeans and a T-shirt. I’d noticed that, whileLucy had inherited herfather’s dark eyes and blackhair, there was a strongfamily likeness between herand her mother. Although
their initialmeetinghadbeenawkward, I assumed that asthe hour passed and they gotto know each other againthey’d relax and feel morecomfortable, so that when IarrivedtocollectLucythey’dbe laughing, chatting andplayinggames.I completed the circuit of
the park and stopped off at
thecafeteriatobuyabottleofwater, which I drank on thewayback.Itwasexactlyfouro’clockwhen Iarrivedat thecontactcentre.‘You can go through and
collectLucy,’thereceptionistsaid.‘They’reinBlueRoom.’Sometimes the carer collectsthe child from the contactroom and at other times the
supervisor brings the childinto reception once they’vesaid goodbye to their parentsintheroom.Each of the contact rooms
wasnamedafter thecolour itwas decorated in. I wentdown the corridor, throughthe double doors and arrivedoutside Blue Room. Iknocked on the door.
Through the glass at the topof the door I could see thecontactsupervisorsittingatatable,writing. She looked upandwavedformetogoin.Inside,Lucywassittingon
the sofa next to her mother,close, but not touching.Usually at the endof contactthe child is very excited –often over-excited – and has
tobepersuadedtopackawaythe games they’ve beenplaying and say goodbye totheir parents. But there wereno games out and apparentlynoexcitement.Theroomwaseerilyquiet.Bonnie and Lucy looked
overatmeasIentered,andIsmiled.‘It’s time for you to go,’
BonniesaidevenlytoLucy.‘Yes,’ Lucy said, and
stood.‘Have you had a nice
time?’Iasked.Bonnie glanced at her
daughter. ‘Itwasgood to seeheragain,’shesaid,inatonedevoid of emotion. Lucylooked sombre and subdued.Then Bonnie said to me:
‘Thank you for bringingLucy. We might meet againsometime.’Ihesitated,notsurewhatto
makeofthiscomment.Itookacoupleof steps further intotheroom.Thesupervisorwasbusywriting.IfIwasfeelingconfused, then surely Lucywastoo?‘I believe Lucy’s social
worker is going to set upregular contact,’ I said toBonnie. ‘She was talkingaboutonceaweek.’Bonnie gave another tense
little laugh and lookedslightly embarrassed. Then,glancing at her daughter, shesaid, ‘Oh,no,Lucywon’t beexpecting that,willyou?Sheknows what I’m like. I’m
sure I’ll see her again sometime,though.’‘So you won’t be seeing
her regularly?’ I asked,unable to believewhat Iwashearing.‘No, that’s not possible,’
Bonniesaid.‘It’sniceofyouto lookafterher, though; sheseemshappywithyou.’Ismiledweaklyandlooked
at Lucy. Her face wasemotionless. She appeared tobe taking this in her stride;perhapsshe’dbeenexpectingthisreactionfromhermother.‘Well, goodbye,’ Bonnie
now said tome, ready to go.‘IunderstandIhavetowaitinthis roomuntilyou twohaveleftthebuilding.’‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’swhat
usually happens.’ Then:‘There’s something I need toaskyoubeforewego.’‘If it’sanything todowith
Lucy, ask her,’ Bonnie said.‘She knows more aboutherself than I do.’ She gaveyetanothernervouslaugh.‘No,it’snothinglikethat,’
I said. ‘I know Lucy quitewellnow.It’sthatIneedyour
permission to take Lucy onholiday. I think Stevie wasgoingtomentionittoyou?’‘Oh, yes, she did,’ Bonnie
saidnonchalantly,wavingthequestionawaywithherhand.‘It’sfinewithme.Ihopeyouhaveanicetime.’‘Thank you,’ I said. I had
planned to give Bonnie thedetailsofourholiday–where
we were going and when –but she didn’t seeminterested. She was nowslipping her bag over hershoulder, getting ready to goafter we had left the centre.‘Goodbyethen,’shesaid.I said goodbye and then
waited to one side while shesaid goodbye to Lucy. I wasanticipating that she would
give her daughter a hug orgoodbye kiss – even friendsdo that – but she didn’t.Standing a little in front ofLucy, she said, ‘Goodbye,love.Lookafteryourself.’‘Goodbye,’ Lucy said, not
expecting any more. It wasone of the saddest goodbyesI’veeverwitnessed.Without saying anything
further, Lucy came over tomeandslippedherhand intomine.‘Be good,’ Bonnie called,
asweturnedtoleave.‘Shealwaysis,’Isaid.We walked down the
corridor and through thedouble doors. My immediateimpression of Bonnie wasthat she wasn’t callous or
uncaring, but just completelydetached from her daughter.Thereappearedtobenobondbetween them,other than thegenetic link. I was shocked,and sad for Lucy, but it didexplain a lot ofwhat I knewabout her. I was sopreoccupied and choked upby what I’d just seen that Iwalked straight past the
visitors’book.‘Hey, Cathy!’ Lucy said,
drawingmetoahalt.‘You’veforgottentosignout.’Wereturnedtothevisitors’
book and both signed ournamesandwroteour timeofdeparture. Then outside wewalked in silence. Lucy hadherhandinmineagainandacouple of times I glanced at
her, feeling I should saysomething, but not knowingwhat. She clearly knew hermother better than I did, andhad known what to expect,while I’d had a completelydifferent set of expectations,basedonhowIwouldfeelatbeing reunited with mydaughter after six months’separation. Quite clearly
Stevie had had differentexpectations too – unrealisticexpectations. If she phonedI’d tell her what hadhappened, or she’d read thesupervisor’s report in acouple of days. Either way,regular contact wasn’t goingto happen, and for reasons Ireallydidn’tunderstand.
InthecarIturnedinmyseatto face Lucy, who wasfastening her seatbelt. ‘Areyou all right, love?’ I askedgently. ‘How are youfeeling?’‘I’m all right,’ she said
quietly. ‘Mum’s like thatbecause she was hurt badlywhenshewaslittle.Shecan’tlet people close to her, not
even me, because of thehorrible things some peopledidtoher.’I lookedatLucy, shocked,
and my heart ached – notonlyforLucy,butforBonnietoo. How easily Lucy’s lifecould have followed that ofhermother’shadshenotbeenbroughtintocare.‘It’snotherfaultshe’slike
she is,’ Lucy added. ‘I don’tblameheranymore.’‘No, it’s not her fault,’ I
saidsadly.Lucy had previously told
me things about her motherand her life before cominginto care – usually on theSundays when Adrian andPaula were out with theirfatheranditwasjust thetwo
ofus–butshehadn’ttoldmethis before. ‘I think yourmother had a very difficultlife,’Isaid,stillturnedinmyseat facing her. ‘I think shegets by as best she can. It’ssuch a pity someone didn’thelp her, like you’re beinghelped now. I’m pleasedyou’ve forgiven her.’ For sooftenwhenchildrenarefailed
by their parents they becomeconsumed by anger, whichcan easily blight the rest oftheirlives.
That night I gave Lucy anextra-bighug.MrBunnywastucked in beside her on thepillow, and sometimes, liketonight, she askedme tokisshim goodnight. Although
Lucymusthavebeenaffectedby seeing hermother and allthe emotions, memories,hopes and disappointments itno doubt resurrected, shewasn’t showing it. Iwondered what was reallygoingoninherthoughts.‘Isthereanythingyouwant
totalkabout?’Iaskedgently,asIsatonthebed.
Lucyshookherhead. ‘Notreally.Mumwillbefine.Shecan look after herself,’ shesaid, as though reassuring usboth.‘I’m sure she can,’ I said.
‘Andwhenshefeelsupto it,she’llgetintouchwithStevieandarrangetoseeyouagain.’Lucy looked thoughtful
andthenfrowned.‘IthinkI’ll
haveleftyoubythen.’‘Yes, if it’s in sixmonths’
timeormore,you’llprobablybe with your forever family,but they’ll take you tocontact.’Lucy frowned again and
thensaid,‘IwishIcouldstayherewithyou.’‘Oh, love,’ I said, stroking
her forehead. ‘I know how
unsettling this must be foryou.’‘Mum asked me if I was
staying with you and I toldherIcouldn’t.Butwhycan’tIstay,Cathy?’Thiswassodifficult.Lucy
knewthecareplan,asBonniewould, and I wondered whatthey’d said about this incontact. ‘Doyou remember I
explained that Stevie wastryingtofindyourrelativestoseeifoneofthemcouldlookafter you?’ I said. Lucynodded. ‘And if there isn’tanyone suitable, Stevie’sgoing to find a permanentfoster family for you, whereone of the parents is Thai orAsian,soyou’llfitin.’‘But I fit inhere,don’t I?’
Lucysaid.‘Yes, of course you do,
love.Ithinktheworldofyou,so do Adrian and Paula, butit’s not my decision. Socialworkers like children to bewith families that have thesame ethnic background. Doyou remember I explainedwhatthatmeant?’Lucy nodded solemnly.
‘WhatifIletyouputthatflagup in my bedroom? Could Istaythen?’‘Oh, love,’ I said again, a
lump rising in my throat. ‘Iwishitwasthatsimple.’Lucy then gave a small
mischievous smile. ‘If Stevielets me stay, I’ll stop lettingToschainwhenshevisits.’I laughed. ‘You need to
stoplettingherinnow,’Isaidplayfully. ‘Stevie’s comingnext week for your review,andIdon’twanthersneezingthewholetime.’‘I’m not coming to my
review,’Lucysaidmatter-of-factly.‘I know, and no one is
goingtomakeyou.Butifyoufeel able, you could come in
for a few minutes. We’rehaving it here, so you canstay for as longor as short atimeasyoulike.’Lucyshookher head. The socialworkersusually expected a child ofherage tobepresent forpartof their review, unless therewas a good reasonwhy theyshouldn’torcouldn’tattend.‘No,notgoingatall,’Lucy
said, her face setting. ‘I hatesocialworkers.’‘All right, I hear you,’ I
said. ‘ButnowIwantyou toforget abouthatingand thinkof some nice things so youcan get off to sleep. We’regoing on holiday in a fewweeksandtheninSeptemberit’s your birthday. You’llhavetotellmewhatyouwant
to do for your birthday treat,andwhatpresentsyou’dlike.’A smile replaced Lucy’s
frown.‘That’sbetter,’Isaid.‘I’m looking forward to
going on holiday, and mybirthday,’ Lucy said,snugglingherfaceagainstMrBunny.‘Willyoutakelotsofphotographs of me, so I canrememberthenicetimeIhad
afterI’vegone?’‘Yes, of course, love.
You’ll have lots of happymemoriestotakewithyou.’‘I’dratherhaveyou,’Lucy
said,andIcouldhavewept.
Chapter Nineteen
HappyHoliday
Lucy’s review began ateleven o’clock the followingTuesday. Stevie, Jill, Peter
(the reviewing officer) andmyself were seated in myliving room with coffee andbiscuits. The children wereamusing themselves upstairs,and I’d said thatLucy didn’twant to attend her review.Lucy’s mother would havebeen invited to the review,but she’d disappeared again,without leaving a forwarding
address.Lucy’steacher,MissConnor,hadbeeninvited,butbecause it was the schoolholidays she was away, soshe had sent in her report,which the reviewing officerhad just finished readingout.ThegistofherreportwasthatLucy was making steadyprogress, but still found itdifficult to make friends,
which I knew from theconsultation evening. MissConnor had included sometest results and finished bystating that she was gratefulforthehelpI’dgivenLucyathomeandthatLucywouldn’thave made the progress shehad without it, which waskind of her. Having finishedMiss Connor’s report, the
reviewing officer, Peter, nowturned to me: ‘Cathy, wouldyou like to tell us howLucyisdoing,please?’I glanced at my notes,
readytobegin,butasIdidalleyes went from me to theliving-room door,whichwasnow slowly opening. Ithought itmustbeoneof thechildren having come down
from upstairs for something,perhaps even Lucy feelingbrave enough to attend herreview. However, once thegapwaswideenough,Toschasauntered in with a loudmeow.Stevie shrieked, and Iwas immediately on my feetgoing after Toscha who,frightened by the noise, hadfledintothekitchen.Ilether
out the back door andreturnedtothelivingroom.‘Sorry,’IsaidtoStevie,as
Isatdown.‘I’msureIputheroutearlier.’Jill,whoknewaswellasI
did how Toscha had got in,threwmeaknowinglookandwe both stifled a smile.Fortunately, Toscha hadn’tbeenintheroomlongenough
to trigger a sneezing fit inStevie,andPeterwaslookingrather bemused by herhysterical reaction. OnceStevie had finishedexplainingwhyshehatedcatsso much and how she wasallergictothem,Peterlookedtome to givemy report. Hemade notes as I spoke and Ibegan by saying how well
Lucy had settled into myfamilyandthatshehadaverygood relationship with mychildren,myparentsandme.I said Iwaspleasedwithherprogress at school and thatshewantedtodoabitextraathome.Idescribedherroutineand what she liked to do inher spare time. I said thatwhile I was encouraging
Lucy to bring friends homeshehadn’tdonesoyet,andImentioned Lucy’s commentto Miss Connor about it notbeing worth her makingfriends as she would beleaving the school inunderayear.‘That’s a great pity,’ Peter
said,ashewrote.‘She could still make
friends,’ Stevie said. ‘Andkeepintouchwiththemaftershe’sleft.’I nodded, and continued
with my report, saying thatLucy was much better atmanagingherangernow,andthathereatinghadimproved,although I still had concernsas her eating fluctuated andshewasn’teatingasmuchas
sheshouldforachildherage.IthensaidthatLucyhadseenher mother the week beforeand that I didn’t think it hadbeenagreatsuccess.‘Perhaps we could leave
contact for now and discussthat when Stevie gives herreport?’Petersaid.‘Yes, of course,’ I said. I
finishedmy report by saying
that Lucy was lookingforward to our holiday andherbirthdayandthatshewasadelighttolookafter.‘Thank you,’ Peter said.
Then turning to Jill: ‘AsCathy’s support socialworker,doyouhaveanythingtoadd?’‘Not really,’ Jill said.
‘Because of all the upheaval
and Lucy’s early lifeexperiences, she struggled tobegin with, but she’s settleddown now. I’m sure Lucywill benefit from therapywhen she goes topermanency, which shouldaddressherissueswitheatingaswell.’‘Are there plans for Lucy
to have another medical?’
Peter now asked Stevie. ‘Iremember the previous carerraised the same concerns asCathy and took Lucy to herdoctor.’ Peter had been thereviewing officer at previousreviews so was aware ofLucy’shistory.‘Lucy will have another
medical before she goes topermanency,’ Stevie said. ‘If
necessary, we can bring thatforward,butIdon’tthinkit’snecessaryyet.’She looked toJill and me for confirmationandwenodded.Petermadeanote.Jill didn’t have anything
further to say, soPeteraskedStevie for her report. Shebegan by outlining the careplan: that the social services
would apply for a Full CareOrder and then Lucy wouldgo to a suitable relative or along-termfosterplacement.Peterasked,‘Sohowisthe
search going for a suitablerelative? You were lookingintothatatthelastreview.’‘I haven’t been able to
trace Lucy’s father,’ Steviesaid.
‘Andhe’shardlyasuitablerelative,’ Peter put in. ‘He’snever featured inLucy’s life.He hasn’t seen her since shewasababy,andas farasweknow he’s not even in thiscountry. Does his nameappear on her birthcertificate?’‘No,’Steviesaid.‘SoIthinkwecanrulehim
out,’ Peter said. ‘Unless hesuddenly materializes andapplies to look after Lucy,which is highly unlikely.’Stevie nodded. ‘What aboutthe other relatives?’ Peternow asked Stevie. ‘We needto get this moving so thatLucy is settled. She’s hadenoughuncertaintyinherlife.At the last review you were
looking for two uncles, anaunt and a grandmother?’Peter said, checking back inhisnotes.‘Wherearethey?’‘Lucy’s maternal
grandmother lives inScotland,’ Stevie said. ‘Shehas had her own problemsand Bonnie is adamant thatshe doesn’t want Lucy to goand live with her. I agree;
because of her lifestyle, it’snotanoption.Bonniedoesn’tknowwhere her brothers are– there’s been no contact formany years – and Lucy hasnevermetthem,soI’veruledthemouttoo.’‘And theaunt?’Petersaid,
checking back in hispaperwork. ‘This was thelady who gave Bonnie and
LucyahomewhenLucywasa baby. We thought thatsoundedhopeful.’Stevie shook her head.
‘I’vespokentoMaggieonthephone. She’s a lovely lady,but she can’t offer Lucy ahomeassheisinpoorhealthherself.’‘So that leaves us with a
long-term foster family for
Lucy?’Petersaid.‘Yes,’ Stevie confirmed.
‘The family-finding team arelookingforagoodmatch.’‘Well, I hope they don’t
take too long,’ Peter saidquite forcefully. He finishedwriting and then said toStevie: ‘Perhaps you couldnow tell us about the contactLucyhadwithhermotherlast
week?’Stevie sighed. ‘It wasn’t
good. The contactsupervisor’sreportshowsthatbothBonnie and Lucy foundthemeetingverydifficult.’‘How long was the
contact?’Peterasked.‘Onehour.’Hemadeanote,andStevie
continued: ‘Bonnie andLucy
didn’tengagewitheachotheratall.Theystruggledtomakeconversationandweren’tableto communicate at anymeaningful level.Therewerelong, awkward silences andtheywereawkwardwitheachother,andnotatalltactile.’‘Youmeantheydidn’thug
or kiss each other?’ Peterasked.
‘That’s right. Not evenwhen they met or saidgoodbye.’ Which of courseI’dalsonoticed.‘According to the
supervisor’s report,’ Steviecontinued, ‘Lucy suggestedthat they play some gamestogether – draughts,dominoesandScrabble–butBonnie said she didn’t know
how to play any of thesegames.Lucyoffered to teachher and said that Cathy hadbeenteachingher,butBonniesaid it was better she playedthem with Cathy, who knewhow to play the games. Infact, Lucy talked a lot aboutCathyandherfamilyandthethingstheydotogether.’‘Did Bonnie resent this?’
Peterasked.‘Surprisingly, no,’ Stevie
said. ‘In fact, Bonnie toldLucyshewaspleasedshewashappywithCathy.CathymetBonnieatthestartandendofcontact.’‘How did that go?’ Peter
asked,turningtome.‘All right,’ I said. ‘I only
met Bonnie for a couple of
minutes,butshewaspolitetome.’‘And how was Lucy after
contact?’Peteraskedme.‘Lucy wasn’t upset; she
seemed to take it in herstride,’ I said. ‘I formed theimpression that she hadn’texpectedmuchmorefromhermother.Lucytoldmethatshedidn’t expect to see her
mother regularlyand thathermother couldn’t help beingthewaysheis,becauseshe’dbeenabusedasachild.’‘Howvery sad,’Peter said
as he wrote. Then he lookedat Stevie. ‘You were hopingto set up regular contactbetween Lucy and hermother; I take it that’s notgoingtohappennow?’
‘No,’ Stevie said. ‘It’s notpractical.’‘IsBonniegoingtocontest
thecase incourt?’PeternowaskedStevie.‘No.Bonnierecognizesshe
can’tlookafterLucy.’‘It took her long enough,’
Peter commented dryly. ‘So,we’re just waiting for yourfamily-finding team to come
up with a good match forLucy?’‘Yes,’Stevieconfirmed.Then turning to me, Peter
said, ‘And while the socialservicesarefindingasuitablefamilyforLucy,shecanstaywithyou?’‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘For as
long as it takes to find afamily. The night she had
contact, wewere talking andshetoldmeshewouldliketostay with us permanently.I’veexplainedwhythat’snotpossible.’Peter looked at Stevie.
‘AndasLucy’ssocialworkeryou’ve explained all this toLucy?’heasked.‘Asmuchas I can,’Stevie
said. ‘Lucy won’t have
anything to do with me atpresent.’‘Well, someone needs to
explain the recentdevelopments toLucy,’Petersaid. ‘That none of herextended family has comeforward to look after her, soshe’llbegoingtoalong-termfoster family. I take it she’stoooldtobeadopted?’
‘Yes,’Steviesaid.‘I think Lucy understands
most of this already,’ I said.‘But I can have another chatwith her if you like and tellher,asshewon’tseeStevie?’‘Yes, please,’ Peter said.
‘It’s a pity Lucy didn’t feelable to join us for herreview.’IfeltIwasreceivinga little smack on the legs.
‘And her Life Story Book?’PeternowaskedStevie.‘She should have it here,’
Steviesaidtome.‘It’s in a drawer in her
bedroom,’ Isaid. ‘She’sveryprotectiveof it andhasn’t letany of us see it. I’m takinglots of photographs that canbeaddedtoit.’‘Good,’Petersaid,making
a note. ‘Now, is thereanything else?’ He lookedaround the room, but no onehad anything to add. ‘In thatcase,we’ll set a date for hernextreviewandI’llclosethemeeting.’We took out our diaries
andadatewassetinJanuary,in five months’ time. Peterthanked us all for attending,
which is customary, and heand Stevie left while Jillwaitedbehind.‘That went reasonably
well,’ Jill said, once they’dgone.‘Yes, although it’s a pity
Lucywouldn’tcomedown.’‘She did once,’ Jill said
with a smile. ‘To let the catin.’
‘Iknow!’‘Hopefully she’ll come to
her next review. It will bevery close to her going topermanency so it will be animportant one.’ I nodded.‘Cathy, how do you feelabout doing another shortrespite?’ Jill said, changingthe subject. ‘Just for nextweek.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ Isaid. ‘Everyone was happyaboutDavidstaying.’‘Thanks. His name is
Toby. He’s twelve and hasbeen with his foster familyfor a year. His carers hadbooked to take him onholiday, but the socialservices didn’t get him apassport in time, so rather
than have the whole familycanceltheirholiday,I’vesaidwe’ll arrange a week’srespite.’‘That’sallrightwithme,’I
said. ‘Although it’s a pityTobycouldn’tgoonholiday.’The dilemma that facedToby’s family highlighted anongoingproblemexperiencedbymany foster families: that
thechildorchildren theyarelooking after don’t havepassports,andtheapplicationto acquire one can only bemade by the social services,not the foster carer. Whilethis might not seem a highpriority, it often resulted ineither the foster family nothaving a holiday (sometimesforyears),havingtocancela
pre-booked holiday andlosing their money or thefoster child being left behindinrespitecare.Jill called goodbye to the
children upstairs as she left,and once she’d gone I wentup and told them that weweregoingtolookafterTobyfrom Friday evening for aweek. Adrian was delighted
tohaveaboyofasimilarageto himself for company, andLucy and Paula were happyfor Toby to stay too. Wemade the best of the goodweather that week and wereoutside most days, either inthegardenorthelocalparks.
When Toby’s foster father,Sid, brought Toby on Friday
evening, he and Adrianimmediatelywentofftoplay.Sid was still angry that hecouldn’t take Toby onholidaywiththemand,outofearshot of the children, hesaidtome:‘Mywifetoldthesocial services ten monthsagothatwewerebookingthisholiday. We had permissionto take him abroad. You’d
havethoughttheycouldhavegothimapassport!Howlongdotheyneed?’Isympathized,for had I wanted to take myfamily abroad I could havebeen in the same position;Lucy didn’t have a passportand she’d been in care forthreeyears!IreassuredSidthatIwould
giveToby a goodweekwith
lotsofoutings,whichiswhatIdid.Wewentouteverydayand I included a day at thezoo and a day trip to thecoast.WhileTobyenjoyedallofthis,itwasn’tasgoodasaholiday abroad, which Tobyhad clearly been lookingforward to – it would havebeenhisfirsttimeonaplane.Apart from missing out on
this experience, he alsomissedhis foster family, as Iwas sure they were missinghim. When Sid returned tocollect Toby, they huggedeachotherhardandIthoughtthey were close to tears.While Toby went up to hisroom to collect his bag, IaskedSidifheandhisfamilyhad had a nice time. He
shruggedandsaid,‘Wemadethebestofit,buttobehonestwe all felt guilty aboutleaving Toby behind. I thinkweshouldhavecancelledandlost the money.’ I felt sorryfor him and thought: all this,for the sake of somepaperwork!
It was now halfway through
August and our thoughtsturned to our own holiday,whichwas in aweek’s time.Adrian,LucyandPaulawereall very excited and wereplanning all the fun thingstheywere going to do: buildsandcastles,paddleandswimin the sea, eat loads of icecreams,watch thePunchandJudyshowonthebeach,stay
up very late and lots, lotsmore.They’dbeensavinguptheir pocket money so theycouldgoonplentyofridesatthefunfair,andwhenthetimecametopacktheircasestheywere more than happy tohelp.Itwasafive-hourdrivetothecoast,butwelefthomeat 6.00 a.m., stopped at theserviceson themotorwayfor
breakfast and arrived attwelve. We dropped off ourcases at the self-cateringbungalowwewerestayinginand were on the beach byearlyafternoon.Westayedonthebeachuntil thesunbegantodropand thenwe returnedto the bungalow, unpackedourcasesandwentout toeatin a family restaurant
overlooking the sea. Itwas alovely start to the holiday,and that evening three tiredbut very excited childrenclimbed into bed and wereasleep as soon as their headstouchedtheirpillows.Wemadethemostofevery
day of our holiday; on thebeach, in the sea, visitinglocal attractions. The resort
was popular with familiesand, like all the other happyfamilies aroundus,we had agreat time.Lucywasecstaticand kept thanking me andtelling me what a fantastictime she was having – overandoveragain.‘It’s OK, love,’ I said.
‘You don’t have to keepthanking me. I’m pleased
you’rehavingagoodtime.’‘I am! Thanks, Cathy. It’s
the best holiday I’ve everhad.’AsfarasIknew,itwasthe
onlyholidayshe’deverhad.As I sat on the beach
watching Adrian, Lucy andPaula playing in the sea, Ithoughtmore than once howmuch of a family unit we
really were. Perhaps it wasbecause Lucy had no properfamily of her own that she’dbonded with us so quickly,and uswith her. She’d fittedin so easily, and I often feltshewasmydaughter,andthethreechildrenweresonaturaltogetherthattheycouldeasilyhave been siblings by birth.True,Lucy’s hairwasdarker
than Adrian’s and Paula’s,and she had some of herfather’sThaifeatures,butthedifferencesweresonegligiblethat she didn’t stand out asdifferent. Many families arenow comprised of childrenwith different fathers, and Imight have been marriedmorethanonceforallanyoneelseknew.Steviewaslooking
for a good ethnic match forLucy, but I knew such afamily would be difficult tofind. How long would sheand the family-finding teamleave Lucy in uncertaintywhile they looked?And howmuchdiditreallymatter thata perfect ethnic match wasfound?Surelyastable,lovingfamily should be the first
priority?I ran through these
questions inmymindquiteafewtimesduringtheholiday,and by the end of the weektherewassomethingpressingIneededtoaskJillassoonaswereturned.
Chapter Twenty
‘Will YouLove Me?’
‘Jill,wouldyoubackme if Iwere to apply to look afterLucy permanently?’ I asked,
myheartpoundingnervouslyin my chest. ‘I haven’t saidanything to Lucy, Adrian orPaulayet;Iwantedtodiscussitwithyoufirst.’It was 5 September, the
dayaftertheschoolsreturnedfrom the summer holiday, sotherewasjustJill,Toschaandme in the house. Jill waslooking at me carefully,
clearlydeepinthought.I continued, ‘I appreciate
that Stevie is looking for along-term foster family withthe right ethnic mix forLucy,’ I said. ‘But is findingsuch a family realistic? Andhow long will it take? Lucysees herself as British. Shedoesn’t have issues with hercultural identity, and I’m
doingallIcantopromoteherdualheritage.She’shadsucha rough life, with so manymoves and so muchuncertainty.She’ssettledherewith us. Adrian, Paula and Ithink the world of her and Iknowshedoesus.Morethanonce she’s asked if she canstay,andwewantherto.’I’dspoken passionately, straight
from my heart. Jill was stilllookingatmeintently.‘Well?Whatdoyouthink,Jill?’‘Do you love Lucy?’ Jill
askedafteramoment.‘Yes, Ido,’ I said,without
hesitation. ‘She’s like adaughtertome,andasistertoAdrian and Paula. I knowtheyfeelthesameasIdo.Atpresent they understand that
Lucy will leave us one day,just as all the other childrenwe’ve fostered have. That’ssomethingyouhavetoacceptwhen you foster, but I knowtheywouldbeoverthemoonifLucycouldstay.’Jillgaveasmallthoughtful
nod and then her face brokeinto a smile. ‘Yes, I’ll backyou,’shesaid.‘I’dbepleased
to. I can see how settled andhappy Lucy is with you.She’sintegratedperfectlyintoyourfamily.’‘Oh, thank you!’ I cried,
clasping my hands together.‘Thankyousomuch!’Istoodand, crossing the room, gaveJillabighug.‘You’reastar!’Jill laughed. ‘You’re
welcome.Now,thefirstthing
I need to do is to approachStevie. As Lucy’s socialworker, her view will beparamountinthis.’In all my excitement I’d
almostforgottenStevie’srolein this. ‘Do you think she’llsupport my application?’ Iasked, immediately growingconcerned.‘Yes, I’m sure she will,’
Jill said. ‘No social workerwants to move a childunnecessarily. And Steviewillknowthatthechancesoffinding a perfect match forLucy are very remote. If Iwas Stevie, I’d be on mykneesthankingyouforgivingLucy a permanent home. I’llphoneherassoonas I returntomyoffice.’
Iwasgrinning fromear toear. ‘So how long do youthink the process will take?Canyoutalkmethroughit?’‘Sure. Now, let me see.
The final care hearing is setfor December, but thedeadline for submitting thepaperwork to court will benext month. Included in thatpaperwork will be a copy of
thecareplan.Steviewillneedto revise that before shesubmits it, toshowthatLucywillbestayinghereasalong-term foster placement. Then,after the final court case inDecember, when the socialservices will have beengranted the Full Care Order,yourapplicationtokeepLucywill go before the
permanency panel. Morepaperwork, I’m afraid, andthat will need to be in amonthbeforethepanelmeets.It meets once a month, so ifyour application misses theJanuary deadline then it willbe included in February.You’ll have to attend thepermanencypanel,butnotthecare proceedings.’ I gave a
small gasp. ‘Don’t worry,you’llbefine.I’llbewithyouand I’m sure the panel willapprove your application. SomyguessisthatbytheendofFebruary it should all bepassed.’‘Wonderful!’Icried.I could hardly contain my
excitement and could havehappilykissedJill.She’dnow
takenapenandnotepadfromher bag and was writing. Iwaited patiently until she’dfinished.‘I’mgoingnow,’ she said,
standing. ‘Iwant to get yourapplication moving. I’llphone Stevie and then phoneyoutoconfirmthetimescale.’She grinned, and I could seeshewasashappyformeasI
was. ‘You’vemademyday,’shesaid,asIwentwithhertothefrontdoor.‘You’ve made mine,’ I
said. ‘Thanks again.’ I gaveher another big hug beforesheleft.
For the rest of that morningandtheearlyafternoonIwason a cloud. I skipped around
the house, doing thehousework as though on acushionofair.IknewAdrianand Paula would beoverjoyed when I told them,and as forLucy,well, itwasher birthday soon, and whatbetter birthday present wasthere than a family of herown!IfelttheluckiestpersonaliveandIsaidasilentprayer
of thanks. There’d been atimeinmylifewhenI’dbeentold that tests showed I wasunlikelytohavechildren,andnowhereIwaswiththreeandstill fostering. ‘Thankyou!’ Isaidoutloud.Attwoo’clockthelandline
rang and I rushed to answerit,expecting it tobeJillwiththe confirmation I’d been
anticipating.ItwasJill,butassoon as she spoke I knewsomethingwasbadlywrong.‘Cathy, you’d better sit
down.’ Her voice was tightand tense. ‘I’ve spoken toStevieandit’snotgoodnews,I’m afraid.’ For a second Ithought shewasgoing to tellme that Stevie had found afamily for Lucy – the match
she’d been looking for –whichwould have been verydisappointing, but not theblowJillnowdelivered.‘Stevie won’t consider
your application as a long-termcarerforLucy,’Jillsaid,‘because she feels you can’tmeet her needs. I tried topersuade her you could, butshe’sadamant.Shewon’tput
youforward.’My stomach churned.
‘What needs?’ I asked, orratherdemanded.‘Lucy’sculturalneeds,’Jill
saidbluntly.‘So tell me what else I
need to do,’ I said, sickwithfear. ‘And I’lldowhatever ittakes.’‘It’snotaboutwhatyouare
doingornotdoing,’Jill said.‘I know you’re positivelyreinforcing Lucy’s culturalidentity,butyoucan’tchangewhoyouare.’‘YoumeanI’mnotThaior
partThai?’Iasked,myvoicerising.‘That’s right. And no one
in your extended family is,and neither are any of your
closefriends.’My anger flared. ‘That’s
Stevietalking,isn’tit?’Isaid.‘It’s racism as well as beingridiculous. We live in amulticultural society, Jill. Ihave friends from manydifferent cultures. Lucyblends in, she doesn’t standout. You said yourself she’dfitted in perfectly. Yet
because my family isn’t thesame racialmix,we’re beingruled out. I think this hasmore to do with Stevie’shang-ups about culturalidentity than what’s best forLucy. That woman’s beenobsessedwith this right fromthestart.NevermindthatweloveLucyandcangiveherapermanent loving family.All
that has been forgotten,sacrificed, because Steviethinks the right ethnicmix ismore important!’ I stopped.My breath caught in mythroat and tears stung myeyes. I’d probably said toomuch,butIfeltIhadnothingtolose.Jill was very quiet on the
otherendof thephoneand it
was a moment before shespoke. ‘I’m so sorry,Cathy,’shesaidgently.‘Ireallyam.Ishouldn’t have built up yourhopes before I’d spoken toStevie, but I genuinelythoughtshewouldbepleasedandsupportyourapplication.’I sighed. ‘It’s not your
fault.’ I said. ‘Was thateverything? I’ve got to go
now.’‘Yes.’And without saying a
proper goodbye, I put downthephoneandwept.
Laterthatafternoonwhenthechildren were home fromschool they asked me acouple of times if there wasanythingwrong, as I seemed
quiet. I said therewasn’tandtried to put on a brave facefor their sakes, but it wasn’teasy.Duringtheweekofourholiday, and when we’dreturned, I’d planned what Iwanted to say to Jill, andwhenshe’dbeensopositiveIfelt elated. All this time I’dbeen quietly confident thatLucywouldstay,andthenthe
blow – the shatteringdisappointment of Stevie’srejection.I’mnormallyaverypositive, optimistic person;someonewhoseestheirglassas half full, rather than halfempty.WhenIhaveasetbackIconsolemyself that itcouldhave been worse, but at thispointallIcouldcomeupwithwas that at least I hadn’t
shared thiswith the children,so they’d been spared thedisappointment, and thatLucy would be staying untilStevie found her a family,which could take manymonths.But while I found some
consolationinthesethoughts,my anger didn’t go away. IgenuinelybelievedthatStevie
wasmisguidedinherattitude.I knew political correctnessreigned supreme in someareas of the social services,sometimestotheexclusionofother equally importantfactorsandgoodsense.Iwasdoing all I could to promoteLucy’s cultural inheritance,and had she seemeddistressed or started saying
she didn’t fit in with myfamily then I would haveagreedwithStevieandhopedthat she would find Lucy apermanent home very soon.Butthatwasn’tthecase–farfrom it. Lucy fitted in andwantedtostay.I don’t give up easily and
bythetimeIwenttobedmydisappointmentandangerhad
galvanized into action. Idecided that the followingmorning, when I’d returnedfrom taking Paula to school,I’d telephone Jill. And withthat thought, I fell asleep,emotionallyexhausted.
‘Sorry I hung up on youyesterday, Jill,’ I began. ‘Iwasveryupset.’
‘Understandably,’ Jill said.‘Look, Cathy, if it’s anyconsolation, I think Stevie iswrong too, but there’snothingwecandoaboutit.’‘That’s what I wanted to
askyou.Isthereanythingwecando? Iwaswondering if Icould appeal against Stevie’sdecision.Maybetakeittohermanager?’
Jillpaused.Icouldtellshewas choosing her wordscarefully. ‘I discussed thiswithmymanager yesterday,’she said, ‘straight after I’dspoken to Stevie. He and Ithink that to raise this withStevie’s manager wouldcreatealotofbadfeelingandwouldn’t do any good. Hermanager is almost certainly
going to uphold Stevie’sdecision, and furthermore itcould result in Lucy beingmovedearly.’‘What do you mean,
“movedearly”?’Iasked,witha sinking feeling. ‘Theyhaven’t found a suitablefamilyforLucy,havethey?’‘No, but the department
mightfeelthatasLucy’srace
has become an issue shewould be better off in anAsian family. Social servicesare very sensitive tomeetingchildren’sculturalneeds.’‘Tell me about it!’ I
snapped. ‘This is politicalcorrectnessgonemad.Worsethan that, it’s discrimination!The only person making anissueoverthisisStevie.Little
wonderthesocialservicesgeta bad name!’ I was fuming,butImeantwhatI’dsaid.Jill allowed me a moment
tocalmdownbeforeshesaidevenly, ‘Cathy, I’m onlytellingyouwhatmymanagerandIthink.Wewouldn’tfeelcomfortable lodging acomplaint. I’ve tried talkingto Stevie, but she won’t
change her mind. As Lucy’ssocial worker, she has everyright tomake this decision. Iwouldn’twanttoseeyouhurtmore than you already havebeenbyLucybeingsuddenlymoved.’‘I hear what you’re
saying,’ I said sharply.‘Thanks.’Andforthesecondtime in two days I hung up
withoutsayinggoodbye.
I was trembling as I walkedaway from the phone, butrealisticallyIknewtherewasnothingmore I could do. Jillwas right when she’d saidStevie could make thedecision, and that tochallenge her could makemattersworse.AllIcoulddo
was hide my disappointmentas best I could andconcentrate on Lucy’sbirthday, which was thefollowingweek.Shewantedanew bike as a present and Iwas takingher tochooseoneon Saturday, although shewouldn’t be having it untilher actual birthday. Thatevening, when I asked her
how she’d like to celebrateher birthday and suggestedinviting a few friends fromherclass toaparty,shesaid:‘There isn’t really anyone atschool Iwant toask. I’d liketo spend it with my family.Can we invite Nana andGrandpa, and all go on afamily outing? I’d like that.’Which brought tears to my
eyes, for reasonsLucydidn’tknow and I couldn’t sharewithher.
Lucy decided she wanted togo bowling for her birthdayouting, at the new leisurecentre, which had justopened.She’dheard someofher classmates talking aboutthe new leisure complex and
we hadn’t been yet. When Itelephoned my parents andtold Mum that Lucy wouldlike her andDad to come toher birthday outing, she wasastouchedasIhadbeen.‘It just shows how much
Lucy thinks of us all,’Mumsaid. ‘Youknow she calls usNanaandGrandpa?AndI’veheard her calling you Mum
sometimes. It just slips outand then she corrects herselfandsaysCathy.’‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s
difficult.Carersaresupposedto discourage their fosterchildren from calling themMumorDad. It’s consideredtobeconfusingforthem,andcan also antagonize thenaturalparents.’
Mumtutted. ‘IfLucy feelshappy calling you Mum, Idon’tseeaproblem.Shejustwants a proper family of herown,that’sall,love.’Andmy heart ached again
for the family I could nevergiveLucy.‘We’ll see you at twelve
o’clock on Sunday then,’ Iconfirmed with Mum. ‘After
bowling, we’ll come backhere for a tea party. I’veordered a special birthdaycake.Lucywillloveit.’‘Shall Imake some ofmy
cupcakestoo?’Mumasked.‘Oh, yes please. That
would be nice. And, Mum,it’s fine forLucy to call youandDadNanaandGrandpaifshewants.It’sjustthatIhave
to be careful, as she’ll begoing to a permanent familybefore long, with a new“mother”.’‘Iunderstand,love.’IwishIdid,Ithought.
BothLucy’sactualbirthday–the following Wednesday –and her birthday outingwerea great success. As
Wednesdaywasaschoolday,I woke everyone up a littleearlier thanusualand,still inour nightwear, we gatheredaroundLucy’s bedwhile sheunwrapped her presents andcards. Mum and Dad werebringing their present andcard with them on Sunday,and, with nothing arrivingfrom Lucy’s mother, Lucy
just had our presents andcards to open, plus a cardfromJill.Therewas thebikeshe’d chosen and a box ofchocolates from me, twobooks from Adrian, somegamesfromPaulaandachinaornamentintheshapeofacatfrom Toscha. I think sheloved that most of all. Lucydidn’t comment that there
wasnothingfromhermother– she didn’t seem to expectanything. Once dressed, shehad time for a quick ride onher new bike in the gardenwhile I made breakfast, andthenafterbreakfastshehadtoleaveforschool.That afternoon, while
everyone was out, I laid thetable with a party tablecloth
and matching napkins andprepared the meal Lucy hadrequested.All thechildren inmy house choose what wehave for dinner on theirbirthday, and Lucy wantedchicken casserolewith chips.I’dalsoboughticecreamanda small iced birthday cake.She’d have her properbirthdaycakeafterourouting
onSunday.When Lucy came home
from school she was excitedand delighted with the partytableware. She also ate areasonable amount of themeal.ButIthinksheenjoyedeven more all the attentionthat came with being the‘birthday girl’ and beingmade to feel very special.
After dinner she chose somegames for us to play, butbecauseitwasaschoolnightwecouldn’tstayuptoolate.As I tucked Lucy in and
kissed her goodnight, shesaid, ‘Thank you for a nicebirthday, Cathy. You’vemademefeelveryspecial.’‘You are special, love,’ I
said,givingherabighugand
a kiss. ‘Very special indeed.And don’t you ever forgetthat.’She returned my kiss and
then suddenly said, ‘I loveyou all so much! I know Ican’t stay forever, but I stilllove you. Will you love mewhileI’mhere?’‘Oh,Lucy,darling,’Isaid.
‘Of course. I love you
already.Wealldo.’‘That’s nice,’ she said,
withacontented smile. ‘Thisis my best birthday ever.’Then turning to Mr Bunnyshe said, ‘There! I told youthey loved us, and I wasright!’
On Sunday Lucy gave myparents a big hug and a kiss
as they arrived. ‘I’m sopleased you could come tomyparty,’shedeclared.‘We’repleasedtobehere,’
Dadsaid.‘Thank you for inviting
us,’Mumsaid.We went through to the
livingroomwheremyparentsgave Lucy her birthdaypresent, and we all watched
whilesheopenedit.Lucyhadpreviously told my motherthat she wanted to be afamous beautician when shewasolderanddothemake-upforfilmstars.Now,toLucy’sunimaginable delight, thepresent frommy parentswasa largeplaybeauty salon, setin a big red sparkling case.We all admired it. It was
fascinating, with rows androws of little colourful potscontaining make-up and nailvarnish. There was a mirror,false nails, hair extensions, abattery-operated hairdryer,littlebottlesofcleanser,tonerand perfumes. In fact,everything a girl couldpossiblyneedtorunabeautysalon for the stars.Lucywas
overjoyed, and while shewould probably change hermindonacareer–manygirlsgo through a phase ofwanting to be a beautician –shewashappy,whichwasallthat mattered. She read thecard frommy parents,whichcontainedsomelovelywords,and then stood it on themantelpiece next to our card
and the one from Jill. Threecards; not many when youthink what some childrenreceive, but Lucy had neverknown anything different.And I knew that previously,before coming into care, herbirthdayhadbeencompletelyforgotten and she’d receivednothingatall.Lucy won the bowling –
we made sure of it – andwhenwereturned,she,Paula,my father andAdrian playedsome games while Mumhelped me prepare the tea.Afterwe’deaten,wereturnedto the living room whereLucyset aboutpractisingherskills as a beautician on usall.Itwasgreatfunandlastedmostoftheevening,although
I’m not sure the film starswould have been thatimpressed.Paulahadeachofher nails painted a differentcolour to accompany herbright-red lipstick and blueeyeshadow.Ihadafacialandmy hair set on rollers. Mumescaped lightly with a footmassage with aromatherapyoil. Adrian had false
eyelashes applied and ayellowribbonclippedintohishair,whileToschahadapinkribbonlooselytiedaroundhertail. But funniest of all wasmyfather,who’dsatpatientlyasLucyappliedpinklipstick,luminous silver eye shadow,false nails and blond hairextensions. We were all infitsoflaughterandItooklots
ofphotographs.We’d had one of Mum’s
cupcakes each at the end ofdinnerandnowthatwe’dhadtimetodigestourmealitwastime for Lucy’s surprisebirthday cake,which I’d hadmade.IwentintothekitchenwhereI’dhiddenthecake,litthecandlesandthencarrieditinto the living room as we
sang ‘Happy Birthday’. Thejoy on Lucy’s face wasindescribable. Icouldseehereyesglistening as I set downthe cake on the coffee table.Madein theshapeofafairy-tale princess’s castle, it hadfour turrets and was indifferentshadesofpinkicing.‘Wow!’ Lucy and Paula
exclaimedtogether.
‘Fantastic,’ my parentsagreed.‘That’s cool,’ Adrian
added.Lucy blew out the candles
inonegoandweclappedandgave three cheers. I then Ihelpedhertocutthecakeandshe handed out a slice on apartyplatetoeachofus.Thecake tasted as good as it
looked and we all hadseconds,whichwasafirstforLucy – she’d never had asecond helping of anythingbefore.‘This is my best birthday
party ever,’ she exclaimed tousall.Wesmiled,and Iput from
mymindthethoughtthatthiswould be Lucy’s only
birthdaypartywithus,forbynext September she wouldhavemoved.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘No OneWants Me’
OnMonday afternoon Stevietelephoned. ‘A card hasarrivedhereintheofficefrom
Lucy’s mother,’ she said.‘I’m due to visit you, so I’llbring it with me. I’ve got acard forLucy too.’ It’s usualforsocialworkerstogivethechildren they are responsiblefor a card, and sometimesthey manage a small presenttoo. ‘What time is she backfrom school?’ Stevie nowasked.
‘Halfpastfour.’‘Seeyoulaterthen.’
When Lucy arrived homefromschool I toldherSteviewascomingsoonandthatshehad a birthday card for her,andalsoonefromhermother.‘Tellmewhenshe’sgone,’
Lucy said, and went straightuptoherroom.
Lucyremainedveryhostiletowards social workers, asshe still held themresponsible for not rescuingher when she’d most neededit,andalsobecausetheykeptmoving her and didn’t listento what she wanted. This, ofcourse, was without herknowing that Stevie hadstopped my application to
keepher.Before Stevie arrived I
checked the house forToscha, including upstairsand in Lucy’s room, but shewasnowhere tobeseen,soIassumed she was out. Steviearrived punctually at 4.30p.m.,andassoonasIopenedthe door she asked, ‘Is thatcatout?’
‘Yes,’Iconfirmed.IshowedSteviethroughto
thelivingroom,toldherLucywas in her bedroom andoffered her a drink, but shedidn’twantanything.‘I’ll have to see Lucy at
some point,’ Stevie said, asshe always did. Then added:‘To give her the birthdaycardsandalsoupdateher.’
My heart clenched.‘Update her?’ I asked. ‘Haveyou foundLucy a permanentfamily then?’ In some waysthis would have been goodnews, as Lucy needed to besettledandfortheuncertaintytoend.‘No. I need to update her
aboutoursearch,’Steviesaid.‘You mean tell her you’re
stilllooking?’Iqueried.‘Yes.’‘Sheknows,’Isaid.‘Itold
herafterthereview.’‘Even so, as her social
workerIneedtotellher.Shecan’t just hear it from thefostercarer.’Steviehadratherabrusque
manner sometimes, and evenif she hadn’t refused my
application to keep Lucy Ithink Iwould have struggledto like her; but then, as ‘thefoster carer’, I didn’t have tolikeher,justworkwithher.Ithought that updating Lucywhen the only update wasthat they were still lookingfor a permanent family wasunnecessary and unsettling.Wouldn’t it havemademore
sense to wait until a familyhad been found and then tellher?ButIdidn’tsayso.‘Lucyenjoyedherbirthday
andparty,’Isaidpositively.‘Did she invite friends
fromschool?’Stevieasked.‘No. I suggested that, but
Lucy said there was no oneshe wanted to invite, so wehadafamilyouting.It’swhat
she wanted to do. Bowlingandthenteahere.’Stevienoddedwithoutalot
of enthusiasm and wrote onher notepad. ‘And you’repreparing her for movingon?’sheasked.‘As much as I can, given
that a family hasn’t beenfound yet. Once we knowwhereshe’sgoingI’llbeable
toprepareherbetter.’Steviemadeanothernote.‘I’mdoingallIcantogive
Lucy a positive culturalidentity,’ I continued. ‘Andshe had a good summerholiday, both here and whenwe went away to the coast.Would you like to see thephotographs?’‘Another day,’ she said.
‘I’m a bit pushed for timeright now. Did you buy hertheflag?’‘Yes,but shedoesn’twant
itinherbedroom.’‘So put it on the wall in
this room then,’ Stevie said,glancing around the livingroom. ‘The flagdoesn’thavetobeinLucy’sroom.Infact,it’sbetterifitisdownherein
acommunal room.Lucywillfeel you are acknowledgingand celebrating her culture,ratherthanshuttingitawayinherbedroom.’Iheardthecriticismandbit
my tongue. I knew thatnothing I could say or do inrespectofLucy’s racewouldsatisfy Stevie. I was white,Stevie was dual heritage, so
she had the advantage overmewhen itcame toknowingwhat was best for Lucy. Itwasn’tthefirsttimesinceI’dbegun fostering and enteredthe world of the socialservicesthatIfeltstigmatizedfor being white. I knewStevie didn’t approve of mefostering a child with adifferent ethnic identity, but
therehadn’tbeenanychoice,and Lucy and I were bothvery happy with thearrangement.‘I’ll find a place for the
flag in here,’ I said, andcontinuedtoupdateStevieonthe progress Lucy had madesince her last visit, as Steviemadenotes.IincludedLucy’seating, that she was sleeping
well,makinggoodprogressatschool and was generallyhealthyandhappy.When I’d finished, Stevie
said, ‘Well, if that’s all, I’llgoandseeLucynow.’Shetuckedhernotepadand
penintoherbag,stood,andIledthewayupstairstoLucy’sroom. Lucy’s bedroom doorwas shut, but she knew that
Steviewouldneed to seeherat some point. I knocked onthedoorandthenopeneditalittle. ‘Stevie’s here,’ I said.‘Canshecomein?’Lucywassittingonthebed
flicking through a magazineand, to my surprise, shereplied,‘Yes.’‘Goodgirl,’Isaid,pleased.I stood aside to let Stevie
in and as I moved away Iheard Stevie say, ‘Hello,Lucy.’ Then I heard Stevieshriek, and both she andToschashotoutoftheroom.‘I’m so sorry,’ I said,
grabbing the cat. ‘She musthave been hiding.’ Or beenhidden,Ithought.I carried Toscha
downstairs, put her out the
back door and returnedupstairs. I would speak toLucy later about hidingToscha in her room. She’dgonetoofarthistime.‘I’vemadesureshe’sout,’
I reassured Stevie, as Iarrived on the landingwhereStevie was still waiting. Shewasn’t sneezing, so no realharm had been done, other
thangivingherashock.We returned to Lucy’s
roomwherethedoorwasstillslightly ajar. Stevie went in.Full marks for tenacity, Ithought.‘I’veboughtyouabirthday
card,’ I heard her say. ‘Andthere’s one here from yourmother.’There was no reply from
Lucy and I hovered on thelanding, just to make surethey were all right. I heardStevie say, ‘Cathy tells meyou had a nice birthday andyou got a new bike,’ whichwasanicecommenttomake.Stevie was trying hard and Ihoped Lucy would respond,buttherewassilence.Then I heard a floorboard
creek as Stevie took anotherstep into the room. ‘I won’tkeepyoulong,’shesaid.‘ButI need to tell you what I’vebeen doing to find you apermanent home. I believeCathy told you we’ve ruledout your extended family –your gran, aunt and uncles –so we’re now concentratingon finding you a long-term
foster family. You’ll be ableto stay there until you’reeighteen and come out ofcare.’Stevie didn’t get any
further. I heard a loud crashassomethinghittheinsideofLucy’s bedroom door. ThenLucywasshoutingat the topofhervoice: ‘Getout! Ihateyou! Leave me alone!’ The
vehemence of her anger wasfrightening.Stevie rushed from the
roomasanotherobjecthittheinside of Lucy’s bedroomdoor. I went in. Lucy wasstanding in themiddleof theroom, her face set hard inanger and her eyes blazing.She had another ornament inher hand and was about to
throwit.‘Putitdown,’Isaidfirmly. ‘You’ll be sorry laterthat you’ve broken yourthings.’‘Don’t care.Hateyouall!’
she cried. ‘Get out!’ Shethrew the ornament, not atme, but at the door, and itbrokeintwo.‘I’ll be going then,’Stevie
called from the landing. ‘I’ll
letmyselfout.’Lucy screamed, ‘I hate
you!’ I hadn’t seen her thisangry since the early days,and for a moment I thoughtshe was going to go afterStevie.Isteppedforwardand,takingachance,laidmyhandlightly on her arm. ‘Calmdown, Lucy,’ I said. ‘Takesome deep breaths and calm
down.’She pulled her arm away
and reached for anotherornament. ‘Don’t!’ I saidsharply. ‘You don’t need todo this. I understand whyyou’reupset.’‘I hate you all!’ she cried
again. ‘Iwish I’dneverbeenborn.’ Then she threw theornament onto the floor and
collapsed, sobbing, into myarms.
Standinginthemiddleof theroom, I heldher and soothedher until her sobbinggradually eased. Once shewas calmer, I reached for atissue from the box andgentlywipedherface.‘There,that’s better,’ I said. I could
hearPaulaandAdrianonthelanding, clearly worried forLucy.‘It’sallright,’Icalled.‘We’llbewithyoushortly.’IdrewLucytotheedgeof
the bed and we sat side byside.Itookherhandgentlyinmine. ‘Feeling a bit betternow?’She gave a small nod. ‘I
wish I wasn’t in care,’ she
said, her anger now replacedby sorrow. ‘I wish I didn’thave social workers. I justwant tobenormal, likeotherkids.LikeAdrianandPaula.Ididn’tasktobeborn.IwishIhadn’t been. No one wantsme.’‘Oh, love,’ Isaid.Slipping
myarmaroundher,Iheldherclose.
While I felt desperatelysorryforLucyandwantedtosay something to help her, Iknew I had to be careful inwhat I said. ‘I want you,’ Isaid. ‘And so will yourpermanent family, whenSteviefindsthem.’Lucy shrugged. ‘Maybe. I
just wish she wouldn’t keepgoing on about it. It makes
meangryandupset.’‘Iunderstand,love.’She was quiet for a few
moments and then, leaningforward,shepickeduponeofthe two birthday cards thatwerelyingonthefloor.‘I’vegot a card from my mum,’shesaid,showingme.‘That’slovely,’Isaid.The
cardhadaprettypictureofa
bouquet of flowers on thefront,butitdidn’tsay‘ToMyDaughter’orsimilar.Itwasageneral birthday card of thetype you might send anacquaintance.‘She’s written inside,’
Lucy said, now opening thecardandholding it forme toread.The printed words in the
card said: Happy Birthday.May your day be special.Then underneath Lucy’smother had written: Have alovelyday.Iknowyouwill. Ihopeyougetlotsofpresents.I’ll give you something nexttime I see you. Love Bonnie(Mum).It seemed a distant
message from a mother to a
daughter, but in some waysappropriate, given thedistance I’d previouslywitnessed between them.Lucy’s only comment was:‘She’llforget.’‘Forgetwhat?’‘Tobuymeapresent.She
always does. I don’t mind.Shecan’thelpit.’Aswithallher mother’s other failings
and shortcomings, Lucyforgave her mother. I wastouched.IdoubtIwouldhavebeen so forgiving in herplace.‘You’rea lovelyperson,’ I
said,andgaveherahug.She shrugged and I kissed
hercheek.‘Shallweputyourcardon
the mantelpiece in the living
room with your others?’ Isuggested.Lucy nodded and then
picked up the card fromStevie,whichwasstillonthefloor. ‘I’d better put this oneonshowtoo,’shesaid.‘That would be nice.’ I
smiled.We went out of Lucy’s
room. Paula was still on the
landingandshecamewithusdownstairs.WebothwatchedLucy position the two cardsbeside the others on themantelpiece, making five inall. It was a nice display. Inour house, birthday cardsusually stay on show for acouple of weeks after thechild’sbirthdayandIthenputthemsafelyaway.
Lucy and Paula watchedsometelevisionwhileImadedinner.We were eating laterthan usual and I assumedeveryone would be hungry.Lucy, however, hardly ateanything–farlessthanusual– and I thought that, whileoutwardlysheseemedtohaverecoveredfromherupsetwithStevie, inside she was still
hurting and in turmoil. I’dnoted before that distresscaused Lucy’s eating toplummet, and I’d learnt frommy reading that this was herwayof trying to regain somecontrolinherlife.‘I’m really not hungry,’
Lucy said, pushing her plateaway.So I cleared away andhoped that, as had happened
before, her eating wouldimprove when she wascompletely over the upset. Iwondered if Stevie fullyappreciated the impact herwordswouldhaveonLucy.Itwas a week before she waseatingnormallyagain.
I hung the Thai flag on thewall in the living room as
Steviehadsuggested,andtwoweeks later I took it down –at Lucy’s insistence. Apartfrom it looking slightlyridiculous – I mean, howmany people have a big flaghangingintheir livingroom?–visitorsnaturallyaskedwhyit was there. I then had toexplain that Lucy’s fatherwas Thai, which to Lucy –
who just wanted to blend inandhaveanormalfamilylife– singled her out and madeher feel conspicuous. Lucycomplained, so I took downthe flag and continued as Ihadbeendoing,byeducatingLucyonherculturalheritagein more subtle and, I wouldsay,moremeaningfulways.September gave way to
October and autumn arrived.The leaves changed fromgreen to magnificent shadesof orange, yellow, red andbrown. At the weekends weput on our coats and bootsand,bracingourselvesforthechilly air, went for walks inthe woods, where wecollectedpineconesandsawsquirrels burying acorns for
the winter. The daysshortenedandthenightsdrewin, and although I lovesummer I think there issomething cosy andcomforting in being at homeonacold,darkevening,whenthe curtains are drawn, thelights are on and the fireglows, and the family issafely cocooned away from
theoutsideword.At the end of October we
celebrated Halloween. Thechildren dressed up in scarycostumes and I went withthemtothoseneighbourswhohadapumpkinintheirporch,confirming that theywelcomed trick or treaters.Then,onGuyFawkesNight,we went to a fireworks
display on the playing fieldsat Paula’s school. As usualtherewasahugebonfirebuiltby the parents, staff andpupils,andadazzlingdisplayof fireworks. After thedisplay, while the bonfirecrackled in the night air, westood in small groups andchattedwithotherfamiliesaswe ate barbecued hot dogs
withfriedonionsandlashingsoftomatoketchup.Christmas was now fast
approaching and by the endof November most of theshops were festivelydecorated and sellingChristmas gifts. Some evenhadChristmasmusicplaying.I hadn’t heard from Steviesince she’d visited us in
September, and shewasnowwell overdue for her nextvisit.Itcrossedmymindthatperhaps Lucy’s reaction toheronherlastvisithadupsetSteviemorethanshe’dshownat the time, although as asocialworkershewouldhavehad to deal with a lot worsethan Lucy throwing a fewornamentsandtormentingher
withthecat.Lucyonlyhadtosee Stevie or hear her namementioned and she becameangry and upset. I hopedStevie wouldn’t make hernext visit too close toChristmas, as I didn’t wantLucy upset over the festiveperiod. However, when Jillnext visited – the first weekin December – she said,
‘Stevie has left thedepartment and has gone towork for another authority.Herpostwon’tbefilleduntilafter Christmas, so if youneed to contact thedepartment in the meantime,phoneherteammanager.’‘Allright,’Isaid.‘Hopefully Lucy will get
onbetterwith thenewsocial
worker,’Jilladded.‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘And
hopefully her new socialworker won’t be allergic tocats!’
Chapter Twenty-Two
A New Year,a New Social
Worker
IloveChristmas,andsodoes
my family. I always makesurethechildrenI lookafter,as well as my own, have afantastic Christmas – onetheywillremember.Somanyof the children I foster haveneverhadaproperChristmasbefore,andIcancryatsomeof the stories they tell meabout their Christmasesbeforecomingintocare.Over
theyears I’veheardof everydisappointment and atrocityyoucanimaginetakingplaceonChristmas day: having noChristmasatall,despitebeingpromisedone;havingnofoodin the house and having tobeg fromneighbours;parentsbeingtoodrunk,hungoverorhigh on drugs to look aftertheir children, so that they
wereleft togetonwith it,astheywere everyotherdayofthe year; and, worst of all,children being abused onChristmas day.Abuse is evilat any time,but atChristmas– a time of good will andpeace–itseemsanevenvileroutrage, andmy heart aches.One child I looked after hadbeen badly beaten by his
parentsonChristmasmorningfor waking them up early,hoping that Father Christmashad been. He hadn’t. Theparents locked him in thecellaruntiltheywerereadytoget up in the afternoon andstartdrinkingagain.Lucy had been in care the
previous Christmas, so sheknewtherewasplentytolook
forwardto.Mostfostercarersgo out of their way to makesure the children they lookafterhavealovelyChristmas,because they know howimportant it is to them.School broke up four daysbeforeChristmas,andAdrian,Paula and Lucy’s excitementescalated until ChristmasEve, when they hung their
sacks on the front door inanticipation of FatherChristmas coming – only, ofcourse, in our house it wasMummy Christmas. Theywereallsoexcitedtheydidn’tgo to sleep until after eleveno’clock, and then I heardthem wake with shouts of‘Father Christmas has been!’justbeforeseveno’clock.
Adrian, now fourteen, nolonger believed in FatherChristmas, but hewas happyto keep the magic alive foreveryone else’s sake. Paula,nowagedten,hadherdoubts,but put them aside, helpedthis year by Lucy who,thoughtwelve,hadneverhadthe opportunity of believinginFatherChristmasasachild
and embraced itwholeheartedly, so dispellingPaula’sdoubts.Astheystartedunwrapping
the presents in their sacks,whichhadmiraculouslyfilledandbeenplacedbytheirbedsduring the night, I slippedinto my dressing gown andwent in and out of theirbedroomstowatchthemopen
theirgifts.‘LookwhatFatherChristmas has brought me!It’sjustwhatIwanted!’Lucycriedoverandoveragain.‘And me!’ Adrian and
Paula called back from theirbedrooms, as they tore thepaperfromtheirpresents.Seeing their little faces
light up with unbridled joymade all the preparation and
hard work that goes intoChristmas completelyworthwhile. Once they’dfinishedopeningtheir‘FatherChristmas presents’, theyadmired each other’s giftsand then, when washed anddressed, we all wentdownstairs for a lightbreakfast.I’dset theovenonthe timer so the turkey was
already cooking, and I nowpreparedthevegetableswhilewewaitedformyparentsandmybrother and his family toarrive, which they did ateleven o’clock. Thehappiness and excitementgrew as we exchanged giftsand thenplayedgames, ate ahuge Christmas dinner withall the trimmings and then
played more games. Thehouserangwith thesoundoflaughter – from adults andchildren – and eventually,when everyone left justbeforemidnight,weagreeditwas the best Christmas ever;butthen,wealwayssaythat.
Adrian and Paula’s fathertook them out the following
day (Boxing Day), asarranged. This allowed Lucyandmetospendsomeone-to-one time together, as on theother Sundays the childrensawtheirfather.‘We’re not going to do
school work today, are we?’Lucysaid,pullingaface,asIreturned from seeing off thechildren.Lucyusuallydidan
hour or two of school workwhenAdrian andPaulawereoutwiththeirfather,asitwasagoodopportunity forher tohave my undivided attentionandhelp.Ilaughed.‘No.It’sBoxing
Day–stillpartofChristmas,’Isaid.‘Anyway,youtoldmeyoulikeddoingextraworktocatchup.’
‘Yes, I don’t mind. I’mpleasedI’mnotbottomoftheclassanymore.Ihatedthat.’I toldLucy Iwasgoing to
have to clear up fromyesterday before we didanythingelse.‘Can I help you?’ she
asked, followingme into thekitchen.‘Yes, if you’d like to,’ I
said. ‘Or you can play withyour Christmas presents.’ Irarely asked Lucy to help inthe house, as she’d had fartoo much responsibility fordomestic chores beforecomingintocare.‘Idon’tmindhelpingyou,’
she said, picking up a teatowelas Ibeganwashing thefirst pan. ‘I like to help you,
you’re like amum. I used tohatedoingitformyauntsandDave.’‘Youweremade to do far
toomuch,’ I said, as I’d toldherbefore.‘Itwaswrong.’‘But I got through it, and
all theotherstuff,’Lucysaidstoically. ‘There’smany kidsworseoffthanme.’I smiled sadly. ‘Yes,
you’reright.’SinceLucyhadbeen with me she’d grownincreasingly positive in heroutlook, which I thoughtwouldserveherwellinlife.‘Some of my aunts were
worsethanothers,’Lucysaid,takingthepanI’djustwashedanddryingit.‘Therewasonecalled Pinky. What a sillyname!Shewasa realcow to
me. She used to have menround when Dave wasn’tthere.Theyusedtodrinkandsmokestuff.She toldme if Itook my knickers off andshowed my bare bottom tothe men they’d give memoney.EnoughtobuyallthesweetsIeverwanted.’My hands froze in the
washing-up water and I
stopped cleaning the pan.‘And did you show them?’ Iasked.‘No!Iwasonly littlebut I
knewitwaswrong.’‘And they didn’t force
you?’ I asked, hardly daringtolookather.‘I don’t think so. It’s
difficult to remember. Therewere so many different
people in different flats andhouses. I remember Pinkykeptaskingmetotakeoffmyknickers. She said she tookhersoffforthemen,soitwasOKforme todo it.ShealsosaidIshouldn’ttellDave,buthe threwher out anyway.Orsheleft.Idon’tknowwhich.’IcontinuedtolookatLucy
assheabsentlydriedthepan.
‘Haveyou toldanyoneaboutthis?’Iaskedgently.‘Oneofyour social workers or apreviousfostercarer?’‘No.I’dforgottenallabout
it until just now. It suddenlypoppedintomyheadasIwasstandinghere. Is thatnormal,Cathy; to forget and thensuddenlyremember?’‘Yes, perfectly normal,’ I
said. ‘Especially with badmemories. Because you feelsafenowyourmindisslowlyallowing you to remember –only what it feels you candeal with. There may havebeenatriggertothismemory– possibly being in thekitchen. But suddenlyremembering is normal, andwhen you eventually start
therapythetherapistwillhelpyou deal with thosememories.’‘You help me already,’
Lucy said, planting a kiss onmycheek.I smiled weakly. ‘Lucy,
whatyoutoldmejustnowischild abuse, and I’ll bepassing on what you said toyour socialworker, as Ihave
the other things you’ve toldme. If there is enoughevidence, the police willinvestigate.It’simportantthatpeople like Pinky and thosemen are brought to trial, tostop them harming otherchildren. Idon’tsupposeyoucanrememberPinky’ssecondname? Or the names of themen, or where you were
livingatthattime?’‘No.Idon’t thinkIknew,’
Lucysaid,withasmallshrug.‘I remember I didn’t haveSammyatthattime,andtherewasn’t a teacher I could talkto.ButIdon’tknowhowoldI was or where we wereliving.’‘All right, don’t worry,’ I
said.‘You’vebeenthroughso
much; you’re doing verywell.’‘Much better than you’re
doing with the washing up,’Lucy said with a laugh.‘You’veonlydoneonepan!’I laughed too and, taking
the next pan, began washingit, as Lucy started talkingaboutChristmas: thepresentsshe’dreceivedandthegames
we’dplayed,andreliving thehighlights.Likemanyabusedand neglected children, Lucyhad developed a copingmechanism that allowed hertorecountamemoryandthenreturntothepresentandpickupwhereshe’dleftoff.
NoChristmascardorpresenthad arrived via the social
services fromLucy’smother,so I assumed none had beensent. Lucy hadn’t mentionednot receiving a card orpresentfromhermotherandIdidn’tthinksheexpectedone.However, now she suddenlysaid, ‘I hope my mum’s allright.IworryaboutherwhenI don’t hear from her forages.’
‘I’m sure she is all right,love,’ I said. ‘She can lookafter herself. But if you’reworried, I’ll phone the socialservices when they reopentomorrow and ask if anyonehas heard from her. Or youcouldphonethemyourself,ifyoulike?You’reoldenough.’‘No, you do it,’ she said.
Then,takingthenextpan,she
looked at me thoughtfully.‘Cathy, do you ever makeNewYear’sresolutions?Youknow,thingsyou’resupposedtodoorstopdoing?’‘Sometimes,’Isaid.‘Likewhat?’‘Usuallynottoeatsomuch
cakeandchocolate.’Lucy laughed loudly.
‘You’llbreakthatforsure!’
‘Iknow.’‘I was thinking I should
make a New Year’sresolution to try and be nicetomynewsocialworker,andto forgiveall thepeoplewhohurtme. Then I’ll be a nicerperson,won’tI?’‘Oh, love,’ I said, turning
toher.‘Youareanicepersonalready.Iloveyoujustasyou
are.’‘I love you too,’ she said,
with another kiss on mycheek.‘AndIalwayswill.’
I telephoned the socialservices the following day,but therewasonlyaskeletonstaff in the offices until aftertheNewYear,soasitwasn’tan emergency I said I’d
phone back in aweek. Iwasaware that the final courthearinghadtakenplacesometime in December and Iassumed Stevie’s managerhad represented the socialservices in court. As theoutcomeofthehearingdidn’tdirectly affect me lookingafterLucy,Ihadn’tbeentold,butitseemedlikelythejudge
wouldhavegrantedthesocialservices a Full Care Order,which would give them fullparental rights, although itdidn’tchangethecareplan.Iwondered if Bonnie hadattended the court hearing orwhether she’d left it to hersolicitor and lawyer. Allparties in care proceedingshave legal representation; if
they can’t afford the legalcosts,thenthosecostsaremetby thestate through the legalaidscheme.All toosoontheChristmas
holidays came to an end andwe had to take down thedecorationsandstowtheminthe loft for next year. Thechildren were very slowgetting up on that first
morning back at school, so Ihadtochivvythemalong.‘Six weeks until half-term
holiday,’ Adrian sighed atbreakfastthatmorning.Lucy groaned and Paula
pulleda sulky face. Itwasn’tthattheydidn’tlikeschool;itwasthewrenchofgoingbackafterawonderfulChristmas.Ifelt the same reluctance to
starttheschoolroutineagain.‘Ihope it snows like itdid
lastyear,’Lucysaid,perkingupalittleatthethought.‘I hope so too!’ Paula
agreed.‘Wehadsuchfun!’Incredibly, in February
Lucy would have been withus for a year. We thoughtbackand rememberedhow ithad snowed on her first
weekend with us, and wesharedourhappymemories.
The following week, on theTuesday morning, havingheardnothingfromthesocialservices, I prepared forLucy’s review, which wasscheduled to take place ateleven o’clock. Jill hadtelephoned the department to
confirm the review wastaking place, and the teammanager said that itwas andthat anewsocialworkerhadjust taken up the post andwould be attending thereview. As with Lucy’sprevious review, itwas tobeheld at my house and Lucycould have attended, but hadchosen not to, preferring to
gotoschoolinstead.Jill arrived first, ten
minutes early. I made uscoffeeandwetookitthroughto the living room,which I’dpreviously dusted, vacuumedandtidiedasIhadtherestofthe house. Peter, thereviewing officer, arrivednext. I made him a cup ofcoffee and then joined them
inthelivingroom.‘I understand Lucy’s new
social worker will beattending,’ Peter said. ‘Haveyoumether?’‘No,’JillandIsaid.‘I’mnotexpectingmanyto
attend this review,’ Petercontinued, addressing usboth. ‘It seems that becauseno socialworker has been in
place the invitations to thereviewhaven’tbeensentout.’Normally,twoweeksbeforeareview the social workersendsinvitationstoallpartiesinvolved with the child, butthishadn’thappenedasLucyhadn’t had a social worker.‘I’msureyou’llbeabletotellus what we need to knowabout Lucy,’ Peter added,
lookingatme.‘Yes, I’m sure I will,’ I
said. ‘I know Lucy verywell.’Wesippedourcoffees,and
Jill and Peter took out theirnotepads and pens, ready tobegin as soon as the newsocial worker arrived. Fiveminutes later the doorbellrang and I went straight to
answer it. A smartly dressedlady in her forties smiled atme. ‘Cathy? Have I got therightaddress?’‘Yes.Comein.’‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said,
slightlyflustered,offeringherhand for shaking. ‘I’m Lily,Lucy’snewsocialworker.’‘Nicetomeetyou,’Isaid.‘Sorry I didn’t have a
chancetomeetyouandLucybefore the review,’ Lily nowapologized. ‘I only took uppost yesterday and it’s beenratherhectic.’‘Icanimagine,’Isaid.But
I wondered how much useshe was going to be, havingjust taken up post and notknowingLucy’scase.‘We’re through here,’ I
said, leading the way downthe hall and into the livingroom.Peter and Jill stood,
introduced themselves andshook hands with Lily. Ioffered her a drink, but shedidn’t want one. As wesettledonthesofaandchairs,Toscha, inquisitiveas towhowashere,saunteredin.
‘What a lovely cat,’ Lilysaid,andimmediatelyroseinmy estimation. ‘I bet Lucylikesher,’sheadded.‘She does,’ I said. Jill
threwmeaknowingsmile.Peternowofficiallyopened
the review and, aswas usualpractice, we introducedourselves. He then spoke toLily. ‘I’m assuming that as
the invitations weren’t senttherewill just be the four ofus?’‘Yes,I’msorryaboutthat,’
Lilysaid,apologizingagain.‘It’s not your fault,’ Peter
replied.‘We’llsendacopyofthe minutes to all parties.Let’s make a start then.Cathy, would you like tobeginbytellingushowLucy
hasbeendoing sinceher lastreview?’I glanced at the sheet of
paper I held where I’d listedthekeypoints.PeterwroteasI spoke. ‘Lucy is still doingvery well at home andschool,’ I began. ‘She hasfully integrated into myfamily and has a lovelyrelationshipwithmychildren,
myparentsandme.Shesaysshe loves us all, and wecertainly love her. Shecelebrated her birthday inSeptember and although shedidn’t want to invite anyonefrom school we still had alovely time.’ I then told thereview what we’d done forLucy’sbirthdayandaboutthepresentsshe’dreceived.
‘Very good,’ Peter said ashewrote.‘Lucy is stillmaking good
progress at school,’ Icontinued.‘AtthestartofthenewschoolyearinSeptembershe went up a year with herclass.Iamincontactwithhernew form teacher,MrMace,and he is pleased with herprogress. I sent a copy of
Lucy’s end-of-year report,which included her testresults, to thesocialservices.She’s catching up fast and isnow only twelve monthsbehindherpeergroup.’‘Excellent,’ Peter said.
Then glancing up at Lily, heasked, ‘Do you have a copyofLucy’sschoolreport?’‘Notwithme,’shesaid.‘It
will be on file. I’ll read itwhenIreturntotheoffice.’Peter nodded, then looked
tome tocontinue. I said thatLucy was much better atmanaging her anger andfrustration now, and thatwhile her eating hadimprovedIstillhadconcerns,asitdidn’ttakemuchforhertostopeatingafteranupset.I
said I thought her eatingproblems were more to dowith her emotions and pastexperiencesthananydesiretobe thin. She didn’t ever sayshewas fat or spend a lot oftimeinfrontofthemirror,orpurgeherselformakeherselfsick, as some suffering fromeatingdisordersdo.‘Well, that’s hopeful,’
Petersaid.‘So,we’llcontinueto monitor Lucy for thepresent, without medicalintervention?’‘Yes,’Iagreed.‘I’mhappy
with that.’ I concluded myreportbysayingalittleaboutthe fantastic Christmas we’dhad.‘Thank you very much,’
Petersaid.‘DidLucyseeher
motheratChristmas?’‘No.Therehasn’tbeenany
face-to-face contact since thelast review,’ I confirmed.‘Although Bonnie did sendher a birthday card via thesocialservices.’‘Oh,thatremindsme,’Lily
said, dipping her hand intoher briefcase. ‘There’s aChristmascardhereforLucy
from Bonnie. It was left onmydesk.’Better late than never, I
thought, but didn’t say. Itwasn’t Lily’s fault the cardwassolate.‘Iopenedittomakesureit
was appropriate,’ Lily said,handing the card to me. It’susualforthesocialworkerorsometimes the foster carer to
open cards and letters fromthe child’s family, to makesure nothing threatening orupsetting has been writteninside. This may seemintrusive,butchildrenincarecan be easily scared intosilence or badly upset by aninappropriate word orcomment.‘Thank you,’ I said, and
laid the card on the sofabesideme.Peternowasked Jill if she
had anything to add to whatI’dsaid.‘Not really,’ Jill said. ‘As
Cathy’s support socialworker, I visit every monthand I’m pleased with theprogress Lucy has madeunderCathy’scare.Asfaras
the agency is concerned, it’sbeen an excellent placement.Lucy has come on in leapsand bounds, and Cathy andher family have foundlooking after Lucy veryrewarding.’‘Thankyou,’Petersaid,as
he finished writing. Thenturning to Lily he said, ‘Iappreciate you’ve just taken
up post, but can you updateusasbestyoucan,please?’‘Yes,ofcourse,’Lilysaid,
taking some papers from herbriefcase.‘IreadasmuchasIcouldofthefilelastnight,soI’ve got a feel for the caseandwhat has been going on,although you’ll have toexcuse me if I can’t answerall yourquestions. I alsohad
a quick meeting with mymanager this morning, andbriefly spoke to the family-findingteamfortheirupdate.’IcouldseethatPeterandJillwere as impressed as I was;Lily had been very diligentandconscientious.‘Let’s start with the
outcome of the final courthearing,’ Peter said, pen
poisedandreadytowrite.Lily nodded. ‘The hearing
wasn’t contested,’ shebegan.‘The social services havebeen granted a Full CareOrder in respect of Lucy.Bonniewasincourt,butonlyspoke through her lawyer.Essentially,shetoldthejudgethat she was happy for Lucyto stay in long-term care, as
sheknewLucywouldhaveabetter life than the one shecould give her. Bonnie saidshe’dliketoseeLucytwiceayear and also be allowed tosend her Christmas andbirthday cards, which thesocial services have agreedto. However, Bonniecomplained through herlawyertothejudgeabout the
number of different fostercarers Lucy has had sincecoming into care, and theamountof time itwas takingto find Lucy a permanenthome. Our lawyer explainedthat it was because of thematching process – that wewere trying to find apermanentfamilyforLucytomatchher cultural heritage. I
understandfrommymanagerthatBonnie’s lawyer told thejudge that Bonnie hadn’t aclue what they were talkingabout,asLucywasEnglish.’Jill and I exchanged a
meaningful glance, whilePeter looked up from hiswriting. ‘The mother has agood point,’ he said. ‘Howlong are the social services
going to be looking for thisfamily before they widentheir search to include otherfamilies? It’s a pity wehaven’t anyone from thefamily-findingteamhere.’‘I’m sorry,’ Lily said.
‘WhenIspoke to thefamily-finding team this morningthey said they were stillcontacting independent
fosteringagenciesforthebestmatch.’Peter sighed. ‘And Lucy
can’t possibly stay here withyou?’heasked.It took me a moment to
realizehewastalkingtome.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘She’s OK fora Girl’
I was stunned, speechlesswith shock. Then I began
grappling for the words Ineeded to reply. ‘We’d loveto have Lucy staypermanently,’ I said. ‘Butwe’renotallowedto.’‘What do you mean – not
allowedto?’Peterasked.I lookedatJill tohelpme,
andshelookedatPeterasshespoke.‘LastSeptemberCathytoldme shewould like to be
consideredtolookafterLucylong term. I said I wouldsupportherapplication.LucyhadsettledinwellwithCathyand was making goodprogress. However, when Iapproached Stevie she saidshe wouldn’t put Cathy’sapplication forward becauseshe felt she couldn’t meetLucy’sculturalneeds.’
‘I wasn’t aware of this,’Petersaid,frowning.‘This happened after
Lucy’s last review,’ Jillclarified.‘Are you aware of this?’
PeternowaskedLily.‘No,’Lilysaid.‘Presumablyyourmanager
is?’‘I would think so,’ Lily
said. ‘Stevie would havediscussed it with him at thetime.’Peter paused and, giving a
small cough to clear histhroat, looked at us all. ‘Iwould have liked to havebeeninformedatthetime.Noonehastowaituntil thenextreview to advise a reviewingofficerofadevelopment ina
case or a change incircumstances, especiallywhen it is important. I’mcontactable between reviewsby phone and email. And ifthereissomethingweneedtodiscuss I can bring forwardthe date of the next review.’NoneofwhichIknew,andIdoubted many other fostercarerskneweither.
‘I’m sorry you weren’tinformed,’Lilysaid,althoughof course she hadn’t beenresponsibleforthis.Peter looked thoughtful
and then said to Lily: ‘Iappreciate you’ve onlyrecently joined the team, butwhat is your view onsupporting Cathy’sapplication,assumingshestill
wants to keep Lucy longterm?’‘I do,’ I said, before Lily
had a chance to reply. I feltmy pulse quicken and mycheeksflush.IlookedatLilyand waited, as Peter and Jillweredoing.‘I don’t know,’ Lily said
after a moment, shiftinguncomfortably in her chair.
‘I’mnotfamiliarwithLucy’scase, and I haven’t evenmetLucyyet. I’dhave todiscussit with my manager and thefamily-finding team. Itwouldn’t just be mydecision.’‘No, I appreciate that,’
Petersaid.Jill was looking as though
she was bursting to say
something, but was wiselywaiting to hear what elsePeter had to say, for clearlyhehadn’tfinishedyet.‘It’s not my decision
either,’ Peter continued,mainlyaddressingLily.‘ButIhave an opinion, and havingbeenLucy’sreviewingofficerfortwoyearsIknowthecasewell. I shall be includingmy
view in the record of thisreview. I would like to seeCathy’sapplicationgivenfullconsideration; indeed, Idon’treally understand why itwasn’t before. If Lucy’smother isn’t asking for afamily forLucy thatmatchesher daughter’s dual heritage,then I don’t see why thesocial services should
continue in their search andprolong the uncertainty forLucy. First and foremost,Lucy needs a permanenthome and a loving family,whichCathycanoffer.Whenyou return to your office, Ishould like you to set up ameeting with your managerand the other professionalsinvolved in Lucy’s case, to
consider the possibility ofLucy staying here as a long-termfosteringplacement.’‘Yes, Sir,’ Lily said. ‘Sir’
didn’t seem out of place,given Peter’s now veryauthoritativemanner.‘Iwill,’shesaid,andmadeanote.Peter also wrote and then
looked up. ‘Is there anythingelse we need to discuss?’ he
asked,lookingatusall.Stunned into silence, Lily
andIshookourheads.‘No,Ithink we’ve coveredeverything,’Jillsaid.‘InthatcaseI’llsetthedate
forthenextreview;notinsixmonths’time,butinamonth,sowe can see what progresshas been made. But, Cathy,’he said, now turning to me,
‘youcanexpect tohear fromthesocialserviceswellbeforethe next review – within thenext couple of days, andcertainly by the end of theweek.’Lily nodded in agreement
andmade another notewhileIlookedagainatJill.ShewasclearlyastakenabackbythissuddendevelopmentasIwas,
butIcouldalsoseecautioninher gaze, warning me not toget my hopes up yet. It wasthe first time I’d been at areview when the reviewingofficer had been as proactiveas Peter. Usually they justrecorded and reviewed. Ithought it was fantastic thatPeterwasmaking full use ofhisrole.
Having set a date for thenext review for the secondweek in February, Peterthanked us all for attendingand closed the meeting. Hestood to leave, said goodbyeand I saw him out. When Ireturned to the living roomLily was packing her papersinto her briefcase. The poorwomanlookedquiteshocked,
and Iwasn’t surprised, givenwhathadhappened.‘I’ll need to see Lucy as
soon as possible,’ she said,standing. ‘Can I visit you onFridayafter school? I’llhavehad a chance to talk to mymanagerbythen.’‘Yes,ofcourse,’Isaid.‘What do you think your
manager will say?’ Jill now
asked.‘Idon’tknow,’Lilysaid.‘I
haven’tdiscusseditwithhimbefore.’‘Hemayhavehadachange
of heart after Bonnie’scomplaint in court and nowthe reviewing officer’scomments.’‘I really don’t know,’Lily
said again, clearly flustered.
‘I’ll do as the reviewingofficersaid,I’llspeaktohimand set up a meeting. I’llphone you when I have anynews.’‘Thankyou,’Isaid.Lily said goodbye to Jill
andIsawhertothedoor.‘I’llphone,’ Lily said again, asshe disappeared down thepathtowardshercar.
Iclosed thefrontdoorandreturned to the living room.My mouth was dry and mythoughts were whizzing.‘Well, well! What a turn ofevents,’ I said, as I floppeddown onto the sofa with aheartfeltsigh.Jillwas lookingatmeand
was clearly as bemused as Iwas, but I could see that her
expression was also serious.‘Cathy, I don’t want youdisappointed twice. Pleasedon’t raise your hopes yet,and don’t say a word to thechildren.Thiscouldallcometo nothing if the departmentstill feels that Lucy’s needswould be better met byanotherfamily.’‘Iknow,’Isaid.‘ButIcan
hope.’WhichiswhatIdid.Ispent
the rest of the day wishing,hopingandprayingthatLucywouldbeallowedtostay.
WhenLucycamehomefromschool that afternoon, whileomitting any reference topermanency, I told her aboutthe review, which as her
fostercarerIwasexpectedtodo. She wasn’t reallyinterested,but I toldherwhowaspresentandthateveryonewas very pleased with herprogress. I said that her newsocial worker was verypleasant,andIgaveLucytheChristmas card from hermother. ‘It was sent beforeChristmas,’ I said.
‘Unfortunately it gotoverlooked.’Lucy didn’t comment that
it was late, nor that the cardhad been opened. I guessedthat, having been in care forsome time, she was used tohaving her post opened. Asshe slid the card from theenvelope, her whole face litup. ‘Mr Bunny!’ she
exclaimed. ‘Thank you,Mum.’I moved closer so I could
seethecard.Onthefrontwasa traditional snow scene, butsittingon thepileof snow inthemiddlewasapictureofatoy rabbit, the image of MrBunny.‘How lovely!’ I cried. ‘I
wonder where your mother
managed to find that card.She must have spent a longtime looking.’ I didn’t knowif Bonnie had spent timelooking for the card or ifshe’d just stumbled across it,but it was a thoughtfulgesture and clearly meant alot to Lucy. She opened thecard and, still smiling, readthe words inside. Then she
passedthecardtometoread.The printed words saidsimply:MerryChristmasandA Happy New Year. Bonniehad added… to you andMrBunny. Ihopeyouallhavealovely Christmas. See you inthe New Year. Love Bonnie(Mum)xxx.‘That’s lovely,’ I said.
‘You’ll have to put it
somewheresafe.’‘I’ll put it in my drawer
with my other cards and myspecialbook,’Lucysaid.Ihandedherback thecard
and she disappeared upstairsto her room to put the cardsafely away. It didn’t matterto Lucy that her motherhadn’t sent her a present, orthat shehadn’t seenherover
Christmas.Lucyacceptedhermother’s behaviour and hadrealistic expectations ofwhather mother could and couldnotdo.Itwasenoughthathermotherhadsentacard,whichreassured Lucy that she wassafeandwell.
I heard nothing from Lily orJill on the Wednesday or
Thursday of thatweek, but Iknew they would phone iftherewasanynews.AlthoughI continued as best I couldwith the weekday routine,what was going on at thesocial services was never farfrom my mind. I regularlyimagined thediscussions thatwere taking place,hypothesizing on what was
being said and the variousoutcomes. This includedeverything from the positive– it had been decided that IcouldapplytokeepLucy–tothenegative–myapplicationstill wouldn’t be upheld. Soby the time Friday arrived, Ithought I could handle anynews; that was, until Lilyphoned.I’djustreturnedfrom
taking Paula to school andwas in thehall takingoffmycoat and shoes when thephone rang. ‘Hello,’ I said,pickingupthehandset.‘Cathy.’AssoonasIheard
Lily’svoicemylegstrembledand I sat on the chair besidethe phone. ‘Sorry I haven’tbeen in touch sooner. It’sbeen constant meetings here
since I saw you on Tuesday,mainly about Lucy. I’m dueto see Lucy after schooltonight,butIwantedtospeakto you first. The departmenthasreviewedLucy’scaseandwe have come to theconclusion that, assumingLucy wants to, we wouldsupportanapplicationbyyoutokeepherlongterm.’
Iopenedmymouth,butnowords came out, as Lilycontinued talking in thebackground, explainingprocedure. Had I heard hercorrectly? Had they changedtheirminds?WasLilysayingthatLucydidn’thavetomoveandcouldstayandbepartofmyfamily?’‘So you’ll support my
application?’Iasked.‘Yes. Assuming Lucy
wants to stay, which fromwhat I know I’m sure shewill.WhenIseeLucytonightI’ll explainwhatpermanencywillmean for her. I’ll phoneJill when we’ve finished.We’re too late for theFebruary permanency panelso I’d like to take this to the
March panel. We should beable tomanagethat ifwegeta move on.’ There was apause and then she said:‘You’vegoneveryquiet.AreyouOK?’‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I said,my
eyes filling. ‘Just trying totakeitallin.’‘Well, I’ll leave you to it
then. I’ll see you and Lucy
afterschool,atabouthalfpastfour.’‘CanItellLucy?’Ithought
toask.‘Yes,ifyou’dliketo.’‘Thankyou.Seeyoulater.’
I put down the phone andremained sitting in the hall.Sometimesmonumentalnews– good or bad – is so
overwhelming that we areunabletoprocessitallinonego, and have to digest itpiecemealtofullyunderstandwhat we’ve been told. So itwas with Lucy. I’d heardwhat Lily had said andgradually I understood. Lucycouldstay forgood.Tearsofrelief and overwhelminghappiness rolled down my
cheeksasIcriedandlaughed,and Toscha looked at me asthough I’d gone completelymad.
During the rest of the day,while I was going about mychores, I quietly rejoiced inthe news and pictured tellingthe children. At first, Ithought I would gather the
threeofthemtogetherandtellthem all at once, but then Idecided they should be toldseparately, taking intoaccounttheirindividualneedsand levels of understanding.Paula, I would tell as wewalked home from school –we often spoke of importantmatters then,when therewasjust the two of us. I’d tell
Adrian and Lucy separatelyas they arrived home. Myeyes filled each time Ipictured telling them thewonderfulnews,andalsomyparents,whoIknewwouldbeaspleasedasIwas.Jill telephoned during the
afternoon, having spoken toLily. ‘Congratulations!’ shesaid,assoonasIanswered.
‘Thank you, Jill. I stillcan’tbelieveit.’‘I’m so pleased for you.
Weallare.’Homefinderswasasmall fosteringagency,andI knew they all shared in thegood news of their fostercarers. ‘I hope someone hasthought to tell Peter thedepartment’s decision,’ Jilladded with a laugh. ‘I’ll
remind Lily the next time Ispeak to her, or there’ll beanothertelling-offat thenextreview.’‘Yes.’ I smiled. ‘Jill, did
Lily tell you what promptedthe department to changetheir minds and support myapplication?’Iasked.‘Not exactly. But reading
between the lines, I think it
was a combination ofBonnie’s complaint in court,the reviewing officer’scomments and the change ofsocial worker. Lily was 100per cent behind you andsupported your application.She didn’t have the samereservationsasStevie.’‘Thank goodness,’ I said.
‘But I dowonder howmany
otherchildrenareinthesameposition as Lucy and havehad to wait years for apermanent family with the“right”ethnicmatch.’‘Too many,’ Jill said
bluntly. ‘Attitudes arechanging, but gradually.There is still a long way togo. Of course, culturalidentity is important, but
more important to a child ishaving a loving family.Anyway,at leastLucy’swaitisover.She’sgother family.I’llpreparethedocumentsweneed and then I’ll come andseeyou.And,Cathy?’‘Yes?’‘It’sessentialthatLilysees
Lucytonightwhenshevisits.Lucy can’t hide in her
bedroom as she has beendoing. As her social worker,LilyneedstohearfromLucyherself that she wants tostay.’‘Iunderstand,’Isaid.‘Well, there’s no need to
say“haveahappyweekend”.Iknowyouwill.I’llphonetoarrange a visit as soon as Ihavethepaperworkready.’
‘Thank you, Jill,’ I saidagain. ‘Thanks foreverything.’‘You’re welcome. I
couldn’t be happier for youall.’
Laterthatafternoon,wrappedupagainstthecold,Istoodinthe playground chatting toothermothersas Iwaited for
school to finish. I wasburstingtotellPaulathegoodnews. As soon as the bellrangIsteppedforward,awayfrom the othermothers,withmy gaze concentrated on thedoor shewould comeout of.She saw me straight away,smiled,andranover.‘Hello,love,’Isaid,giving
her a kiss, as I always do.
‘Haveyouhadagoodday?’‘We had fish fingers,
mashed potato and bakedbeans for lunch,’ she said.‘Myfavourite.’‘Good. And did you
remember to change yourreadingbook?’‘Yes, and we’ve got
comprehension and mathshomework.’ She pulled a
face.‘It’sdifficult.’‘Don’tworry,I’llhelpyou
over the weekend,’ I said,helping her do up the topbuttononhercoat.Paula slipped her gloved
hand into mine and calledgoodbye toher friendsaswecrossed the playground. Iwanted to be away from thecrowd so that no one could
hearuswhenItoldPaulaournews. OnMonday she couldtell her friends, but for nowthiswasprivateandpersonal– just for us. Once we werethe other side of thecongestion at the schoolgates, I gave Paula’s hand alittle squeeze and began:‘Paula,youknowyou’vetoldmeinthepasthowmuchyou
like having Lucy living withus, and that you look uponherasasister?’‘Yes,’shesaid.‘She’slike
family and I wish she couldstay.’‘Well, love, I have some
very good news.Lucy’s newsocial worker phoned metoday and the social serviceshave decided that Lucy can
staywithus,ifshewantsto.’‘She will!’ Paula cried.
Then, thinking this might betoo good to be true, sheasked, ‘Really? Are yousure?’I smiled. ‘Absolutely
positive. Lucy can stay andbe part of our family forgood.’‘Yippee!’ Paula cried,
giving a little skip. ‘I’m sopleased. I love Lucy, and Ilove you andAdrian, and allmyfamily!’Which was enough to
make me emotional again,and it was a few momentsbefore I could talk. ‘I loveyou too,’ I said. ‘Very, verymuch.’As we continued to walk
home, I reminded Paula thatLucy’s social worker wascomingtoseeherafterschooland that she would want totalk to Lucy alone. ‘Iunderstand,’ Paula said, inher grown-up way. ‘WillLucy still have to see socialworkers now she’s stayingwith us? And have all thosereviews, when you spend
ages cleaning the house andgetoutthebestmugs?’I smiled at her. ‘Yes, but
after permanency has beengranted the reviews willhappen less often, althoughLucy will still see her socialworker regularly.’ This wasbecause,asalong-termfosterplacement, Lucy wouldtechnicallystillbeinthecare
system.
Whenwearrivedhome,Paulawanted to wait in the frontroom and watch at thewindow for Lucy to arrive,butItoldherIthoughtitwasbest if she carried on asnormal,andthatIwouldliketospeaktoLucyalonefirst.‘All right, Mummy,’ she
said sweetly, and barely abletocontainherexcitementsheranofftoplay.I went into the kitchen to
begin the preparations fordinner so that it would beready for when Lily hadgone.Presently, as Iworked,I heardAdrian let himself inthe front door. ‘I’m home,Mum!’ he called, as he did
every afternoon on arrivinghome.‘Hi, love. I’m in the
kitchen,’Ireturned.Following his usual
routine, Adrian dumped hisschool bag in the hall,together with his shoes andcoat, and then came into thekitchen to find himself asnack to see him through to
dinner.‘Have you had a good
day?’Iasked.‘Yes, thanks. What’s for
dinner?’ He peered into thepans and then startedrummaginginthefridge.‘Adrian, I need to talk to
you about somethingimportant,’Isaid.He paused and met my
gaze.‘Yes?’‘You know how well you
get along with Lucy? Am Iright in thinking you wouldbe happy if she stayed?’ButassoonasIsaidthewords,Irealized I’d phrased it badly.Supposinghesaidno?Tomy utter relief he said,
‘Yeah, sure. She’s OK for agirl. I’llmiss herwhen she’s
gone.’‘That’swhatIthought.I’m
pleased, because the socialservices are going to allowLucy to stay, assuming shewantsto.’‘She will,’ he said. ‘She
likesithere.She’stoldme.’‘And what about you,
Adrian? Are you completelyhappywithherstaying?It’sa
bigcommitmentforusall.’‘Yes, of course,’ he said,
tearing off a lump of crustybread togowith thepieceofcheese he’d cut. ‘I’m happyfor her to stay. But twosisters!’ He pulled a face.‘Howcouldyou,Mum!’‘And one amazing son,’ I
said, kissing him on thecheek.‘Loveyou.’
‘Loveyoumore!’NowallIhadtodowastell
Lucy.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Special Day
When I heard the doorbellringIwasimmediatelyinthehall to answer it. I hadn’t
given Lucy a front-door keyyet, but now shewas twelveand was staying for good Iwould give her a key. Paulawas in the living room andAdrianwasinhisbedroom.Ifelt a heady mixture ofexcitement and nervousnessasIopenedthefrontdoor.‘Hi, love.Howareyou?’ I
said,asshesteppedinside.As
usual, she offered her cheekforkissing.‘I’m not seeing that social
worker,’ Lucy said straightaway. ‘I know you said shewas nice, but I’m still notseeing her. Sorry. I’m goingtomy room.’ She kicked offher shoes, dumped her coaton the hall stand and beganupstairs.
‘Lucy!’ I called after her.‘There’s something I need totellyou.Youhavetoseeyoursocial worker. She has goodnews.’‘I doubt it,’ Lucy replied
glumly, and continuedupstairs. ‘You can tell melaterwhatIneedtoknow.’‘Shehastospeaktoyou!’I
cried, going after her. This
wasn’t how I’d visualizedtelling Lucy, not at all; andshe had to see her socialworker. ‘They’re letting youstay!’ I shouted, as I ranupstairs.‘Iknow,you toldme,’she
retorted. ‘Until they find meanotherfamily.’‘No!Forgood!’Shepausedonthetopstep,
with her back to me, thenturned and stared at me.‘What do you mean, forgood?Whatareyousaying?’I joinedheron the landing
and took her hand. ‘Lucy,your new social workerphoned me today. She saidthat if you wanted to stayhere permanently, thedepartment will support my
application to keep you. Soyouwon’thavetomoveeveragain; we’ll be your foreverfamily.’Lucy stared at me
completely bewildered, and Iknew how she felt. This hadallcomesoquicklyandwasashock after a year ofbelieving she was going.‘Why?’ she asked, her brow
furrowing. ‘I don’tunderstand.’‘BecauseIaskedforyouto
stay,love.Iknewyouwantedto, andwe loveyou.Youdowanttostay,don’tyou?’She nodded dumbly, still
unabletotakeit in.‘Let’sgoand sit in your room and I’llexplain what’s happened,’ Isaid.
I ledheralong the landingtoherroomwherewesatsidebysideonthebed,aswehaddone many times in the pastforourchats.Iheldherhandand gave it a reassuringsqueeze.Shelookedatme,solost and out of her depth, itreminded me of when she’dfirst arrived, adrift and veryafraid.
‘Lucy,’ I began, ‘halfwaythrough last year I realizedhow settled you were hereand thatyou’dgrownto loveus,aswehadyou.Morethanonce, you asked me if youcould stay and I always hadto tell you that Stevie waslooking for a permanentfamily for you – to matchyour cultural identity.’ Lucy
frowned.‘Iknow,love.Ifeltasyou
did, and thought you shouldstay. You were happy hereand looked upon us as yourfamily. When we returnedfrom our lovely summerholiday I asked Jill if shethoughtIcouldapplytohaveyou permanently, and shethought it was a good idea.
She told me not to sayanything to you, Adrian orPaula until she’d spoken toStevie, because she didn’twant you to be disappointed.ItwasjustaswellIdidn’ttellyou, because Stevie believedshe should keep looking forthe right family for you.’Lucyscowledagain.‘But since then, things
have happened that havemade the social serviceschange their minds. Yourmothertoldthejudgeincourtthat she was worried abouthow many moves you’d hadand how long it was takingthesocialservicestofindyouapermanentfamily.Thenyouhad a change of socialworker, and your new social
worker is happy to back myapplication. Lilywill explainall about this when shecomes, and she will need toseeyou.Shehastoaskyouifyouwanttostay.’‘Of course I do!’ Lucy
cried. ‘Oh my God, I’mstaying! I’ll see her and tellher, of course I will.’ Herface had lost its fearful
hunted look and she wasgrinningfromeartoear.‘Oh,is this really happening? Ican’t believe it. I’m sohappy.’ Then she frowned.‘They won’t change theirminds, will they? I couldn’tbearitiftheydid.’‘No, although it will have
to be approved by thepermanency panel, but you
don’t have to worry aboutthat.’‘Oh, Cathy!’ Lucy cried
again, finally accepting thatshecouldstayforgood.‘I’venothingmoretoworryabout.Thank you. I love you all somuch.’ Slipping her armsaroundmywaist,shelaidherhead against my chest and Iheld her close as she quietly
cried. ‘I’ll be normal now,’she said. ‘Like all the otherkids at school. I’ll beable toinvite a friend home for tea,now I have a family of myown.’It’s often the little
comments that take youunaware and make you wellup, and so it was with whatLucyhad just said. I realized
how much she must havebeen craving what mostchildren took for granted – afamily – and tears sprang tomyeyes.‘Inviteyour friendas soon
as you like,’ I said, when Iwasabletospeak.Wedidn’thavetimetotalk
further as the doorbell rang.‘That’ll be Lily,’ I said.
‘Come with me and we’llanswerittogether.’Lucy wiped her eyes and,
without offering anyobjection to seeing her newsocialworker, she stoodand,holdingmy hand, camewithme downstairs. Paulaappeared from the livingroom and skipped down thehall to us. ‘Are you happy?’
sheaskedLucy.‘Iam!’‘Very,’Lucysaid,smiling.I opened the door with
Lucy on one side ofme andPaula on the other. ‘What awelcomingparty!’Lilysaid.‘This is Lucy and this is
Paula,’ I said, introducingthem, as Lily hadn’t meteitherofthembefore.‘Hello ladies,’ she said,
shakingtheirhands.‘Howareyouboth?’Paula smiled sheepishly
while Lucy said, ‘I’m good,thankyou.’Lilyflashedmeaknowing
smile as she came in. I hunghercoatonthestandandthenwewentintothesittingroom.Adrianwas still in his room,so rather than interrupt him
now I’d tell him later whatLilyhadsaid.‘Asyoucanguessfromall
thehappyfaces,I’vetoldthechildren the good news,’ IsaidtoLily.‘DoyouwanttospeaktoLucyalonefirst?’‘Yes,Ithinkthatwouldbe
best,thenI’llhaveachatwithyouafter.’Paula and I left the living
roomasLilyandLucysatonthesofa.Itwasnearlyhalfanhour before Lucy came tofind us, now completelyrelaxedandsmiling.‘Youcancome in,’ she said. ‘Lily hadto make sure I understoodwhatwashappening,andaskme if Iwanted tostay. I toldheryes,yes,yes!’ShepickedPaulaup,gaveher abighug
and then swung her round,which made Paula laughloudly.We returned to the living
room. Paula sat on my lapwhile Lucy sat on the sofanext to Lily. ‘I’ve explainedto Lucy what permanencywillmean forher,’Lily said,addressing me. ‘And she’shappyforustogoahead.I’ve
also explained that she willstill be in care and I will bevisiting her to make sureshe’sallright.’‘I don’t mind now,’ Lucy
said.‘IlikeLily.’PaulashotLucyaquizzical
glance,clearlytakenabackbyhersuddenchangeofattitudetowards social workers,having previously refused to
see any. I could understandwhy Lucy felt differently.Nowshewasnolongerlivingunder the constant threat ofbeingmovedagain,hersocialworker had changed frombeingherenemytoherally.‘I’ve also spoken to
Bonnie,’ Lily continued,addressing me. ‘She’sconfirmed she’s happy for
Lucytostaywithyou,and,asyou know, shewould like toseeLucya coupleof timesayear. It’s over six monthssince she last saw her andshe’s back in town for awhile,soI’mgoing tosetupcontact for next week. I’mthinking of Wednesday. AreyouabletocollectLucyfromschool and take her to
contact?’‘Yes,’Isaid.Lilymade a note. ‘Bonnie
has asked if she can haveyourtelephonenumbersoshecan phone Lucy on specialoccasions – Christmas andbirthdays. Before I give heryour number, I wanted toconfirm it was all right withyoufirst.’
‘Yes, that’s fine with me.It’llbeniceforLucytospeaktohermotherbetweenseeingher.’Iftherearesafeguardingconcerns, then the parents ofa child in care are not giventhe foster carer’s contactdetails, but there were nosuchconcernshere.‘Well, I think that’sall for
now,’ Lily said, as she
finished writing. ‘Do youhaveanyquestions?’‘I can’t think of any,’ I
said. I looked at Lucy, whoshookherhead.‘Phoneme if you think of
anything,’Lilysaidtous.She packed away her
notepad and pen and stood.‘I’ll letyougetonwithyourdinner then – something
smellsgood!’‘It’s casserole,’Paula said,
finallybraveenoughtospeak.‘Hmmm, my favourite,’
Lilysaid.‘You’re welcome to stay
and have some, if you’d liketo,’ I offered. ‘There’splenty.’‘That’s kind of you, but I
needtobegoingnow.Thanks
anyway.’We all stood and then, to
Lily’s surprise, Lucy wentover and threw her armsaroundher.‘That’sforlettingme stay,’ she said. ‘Andthankyourmanager.I’mveryhappy.’ From which Iguessed that Lily hadexplained hermanager’s roleinthedecision.
‘I’mverypleasedforyou,’Lily said. ‘It’s at times likethis that I know why Ibecameasocialworker.’ShekissedLucyonthehead.ThegirlsandIsawLilyto
the front door and saidgoodbye. Once she’d gone,Paula went upstairs to fetchAdrianfordinnerwhileLucyhelped me serve. Lucy ate
well, and after we’d eaten Itelephoned my parents andtold them the good news.They were of coursedelighted.‘Will you continue
fostering now Lucy isstaying?’Mumasked.‘Ohyes.Wehavetheroom
and it worked out well withthe children we looked after
onrespite.’‘As long as you don’t
overdoit,’Mumcautioned,asshehadbefore.‘Don’t worry. Adrian,
Lucy and Paula are a bighelp. In fact, I couldn’tmanage without them.’Which was very true.Fostering is a whole familycommitment.
The children stayed up laterthan usual, and by way of alittle celebration we hadmicrowave popcorn andlemonade while watching aDVD. We would haveanother celebration inMarchwhen the permanency panelpassed my application andLucystayingbecameofficial.But fornow, thismarked the
day when our lives changedforever–althoughinpracticenothingchanged,asLucywasalreadypartofmyfamily.That night Lucy’s second
wishwasgranted–itsnowed.We woke on Saturdaymorning to find the worldoutsidehadbeen transformedinto a winter wonderland, aswe had done almost a year
before. I didn’t need toprovide entertainment for thechildrenthatweekend;itwasready-made. We spent themornings in the gardenbuilding a snowman andhaving snowball fights, andthen in the afternoons wedraggedour toboggans to theparknearby,whichhadahillideal for tobogganing and
was very popular when itsnowed.We saw friends andneighbours there; children ofall ages and their parents,gliding down the slipperysnow-covered hill onanything they had available,including tea trays. The fourofustookturnsusingourtwotoboggans, climbing to thetopand then flyingdown the
shiny slope, over and overagain.Itwasgreatfunandwedidn’t notice the cold. Weonly started for home in thelate afternoon, when the airchilled and the sun began tosink,turningthewhitesnowamagical,glisteningicypink.Monday was a normal
school day, as there wasn’tenough snow to keep people
athome.Atschool,PaulatoldmostofherfriendsthatLucywasstaying,soshenowhadasister.Ididn’tknowifAdriantoldhis friends–he’s averyprivate person and doesn’talways share news – butwhenLucyarrivedhomeshehad told at least one friend,for she said, ‘Canmy friendJosette come to tea on
Friday?’‘Yes, of course,’ I said,
delighted.‘AndCathy,I’mseeingmy
mumonWednesday.I’msureit’sherbirthdaysoon. Iwantto get her something, but Iwon’t have a chance to gointo town.Can you getme acard and present for her,please?’
‘Yes.I’llgotomorrow,andweneedtomakeanoteofthedatefornextyear.’‘Don’tgetheroneofthose
sloppy cards, though,’ Lucyadded matter-of-factly. ‘Theones that say things aboutbeing a wonderful mother.She knows she’s been crap.You’ve been more of amother to me than she ever
was.’I couldn’t find it in my
hearttotellheroffforsaying‘crap’. That Lucy couldaccept her mother for whatshe was, and still care abouther,touchedmedeeply.‘I’ll find something
suitable,’Isaid.
The following day, after I’d
takenPaulatoschool,Idroveinto town, and after muchdeliberation found a birthdaycard I thought would beappropriate. I bought apresent for Lucy to give toher mother: a silverphotograph frame in which Iwould put a photograph ofLucy,aboxofchocolatesandaboxof toiletries. I alsohad
another front-door key cut,which I gave to Lucy whenshe arrived home fromschool.‘And when do I have my
own front-door key?’ Paulademandedhaughtily,withherhandsonherhips.‘Whenyou start secondary
school,’ I said. ‘That’s whenAdrianhadhiskey.’
‘And suppose I’m homebefore you, how will I getin?’‘Paula, you’re ten. I meet
you from school and you’reneverhomealone.’‘I suppose I’ll just have to
accept that then,’ she saidwith the same air, and withherhandsstillonherhipsshemarchedofftheatrically.
I’msuretheyoungestchildin a family grows up fasterthantheolderones.
I showed Lucy the presentsand card I’d bought for hermother. She was pleased.‘The card’s good,’ she said,and I was relieved. On thefrontwereprinted thewords:To Someone Special. Inside
therewasashortverse,whichended: ‘…althoughwecan’tbetogether,I’llbethinkingofyou on your special day.Happy Birthday’. I didn’tknowwhatLucywroteinthecard–shetookittoherroomto sign, and I didn’t ask.Whatshewrotewaspersonal,betweenherandhermother.Jilltelephonedthenextday
and said she needed to seeme. She had the paperworkreadyformetoreadandsignas part of my application tothepermanencypanel.‘That was quick,’ I said,
aware of how many formsneededtobecompleted.‘I started completing the
forms last September,’ Jillsaid. ‘Then, when your
applicationdidn’tgoahead,Ifiled them away. I’vecompleted the agency’s part,but there are some boxes onthe forms for you to fill in.’Wemadeanappointment forJill to visit on Thursday athalfpastten.
OnWednesday,thedayLucywas having contact with her
mother, I arranged for Paulatogotoafriend’shouseafterschool,ratherthanspendoveran hour in the car on a coldwinter’s night.Adrianwouldlethimselfinasusual.Italsomeant that I didn’t have somuch rushing around to do,andIarrivedatLucy’sschoolin plenty of time. Thewrapped presents and card
wereinagiftbagonthebackseat. I parked in one of thevisitors’ bays in the school’scar park, where I’d arrangedtomeetLucy.WhileIwaitedforschooltofinish,Ilistenedtotheradio.Iwasn’tanxiousat the thought of meetingBonnie again, just sad thatlife hadn’t been kind to herandhadresultedinherhaving
to give up her daughter. Ithought it said a lot aboutBonniethatshehadbeenableto put her daughter’s bestinterests first. Knowing hermotherhadaccepted that shewould be better off in carehad without doubt helpedLucy settle in and fullyintegrateintomyfamily.Lucywasoneofthefirstto
comeout of school. She sawmycar,ranoverand,jumpingintothepassengerseat,kissedmycheek.‘Hi, love,’ I said. ‘Have
youhadagoodday?’‘Yep!’ she said, and
fastened her seat belt.‘Josette’smothersaysJosettecan come to tea on Friday,but she wanted your address
and telephone number, so Iwrote it down and gave it toJosette.Ihopethat’sOK?’‘Yes. Absolutely. Parents
need to know where theirchildrenareandthat theyaresafe, nomatter how old theyare.I’ddothesame.’‘Josette’salreadyaskedifI
can go to her house thefollowingFriday,’Lucy said,
excited. ‘Is that OK? I’ll getheraddress.’‘Yes,ofcourse.’‘And hermum said to say
thankyouforofferingtotakeJosettehomeafterwards.’‘She’s welcome,’ I said.
‘Theysoundanicefamily.’‘Yes,theyare.’Lucycontinuedchattingas
I drove,mostly about Josette
and another girl she wasmaking friends with. Wearrived at the contact centrewith ten minutes to spare. Iparkedthecarandwegotout,with Lucy carrying the giftbag. Inside the centre wegave our names to thereceptionist and then signedthe visitors’ book. Thereceptionist said that Bonnie
had already arrived and wasinRedRoom.‘Goonin,’shesaid. ‘The contact supervisorwillbewithyoushortly.’Now that the care
proceedings had finished andastherewerenosafeguardingissues, having a contactsupervisor present wasn’t socriticalandwasreallyonlytomonitor contact and make
sure it was a positiveexperience for Lucy. It wasquite possible that futurecontact would take placeawayfromthecentre–inthecommunity, as it is known –and without a supervisor,which would make the timeLucy spent with her mothermorerelaxedandnatural.Thedoor to Red Room was ajar
and I followed Lucy in.Bonniewassittingonthesofaflicking through a magazine,which she returned to themagazinerackasweentered.‘Hello,’ she said to Lucy,
standing and taking a steptowardsher.‘Hi,’ Lucy said. Going
over,shekissedhermother’scheek.
I saw that Bonnie wassurprised. She drew backslightly.Shedidn’treturnthekiss or hug her daughter. Idon’tthinkshecould.‘Hello, Bonnie,’ I said,
going over. ‘Nice to see youagain.’‘Andyou,’ she said softly,
withasmallsmile.‘Happy Birthday,’ Lucy
said, handing hermother thegiftbag.‘For me?’ Bonnie said,
genuinely amazed. ‘How didyou know it was mybirthday?’‘I thought it was about
now,’Lucysaid.‘ButIdidn’tknowtheexactdate.’‘It’s tomorrow,’ Bonnie
said. ‘Thank you so much.
How lovely of you toremember.’My heart went out to her;
she was so pleased, Iwondered ifshe’deverhadapresent and card on herbirthday before. As I lookedat Bonnie, I saw that,although it was only a littleoversixmonthssinceI’dlastseen her, she’d aged. She
looked as though she’d lostweight and was very pale.She was again dressedfashionably in jeans and azip-uptopandevenhadonalittlemake-up, but there wasa remoteness about her. Hereyes looked distant andslightlyglazed.Irememberedreadinginthepaperworkthatshe’d been on anti-
depressants at various timesinher life,andIwondered ifshewasonthemnow,tohelphercope.The supervisor came into
the room, introduced herselfand sat at the table. ‘I’ll gonow,’Isaid.‘Youcan stay if you like,’
Bonniesaid.The supervisor was as
surprised as I was by thisoffer; usually the naturalparents can’t wait for thefostercarertoleave.‘No, this is your special
time, for you and yourdaughter,’ I said to Bonnie.‘I’ll comeback in anhour attheendofcontact.’‘Open your presents,
Mum,’ Lucy said, sitting on
thesofa.‘Yes, I will,’ Bonnie said,
sitting beside her daughter.‘I’ll open my card first, andthen my presents. I’ve gotthree presents!’ sheexclaimed, peering into thebag. There was a touchingchildlike naivety in herenthusiasm and, as I left, Ithoughtthatiftherewasever
acaseofamotherinneedoflooking after asmuch as herchild,itwasBonnie.IwishedI could have taken her homeandlookedafterhertoo.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Thunderstorm
IwentforashortwalkwhileLucysawhermother,buttheevening was so cold I soonreturnedtothecontactcentre,where I sat in the waiting
room and flicked through acouple of old magazinessomeone had left there. Mythoughts returned to BonnieandLucy,nowinRedRoom.A lot had happened in theinterimsince they’d lastseeneachother and Iwondered ifBonnie would talk to Lucyabout thecourtcaseandwhyLucywas stayingwithme. I
feltIshouldsaysomethingtoBonnie, perhaps to reassureher that I would take goodcare of Lucy, and therebyacknowledge theresponsibility I felt forlookingafterher longterm.Idecided to see what Bonniesaidandtotakemycuefromher.Thehour’scontactcameto
a close and, leaving thewaiting room, I went to RedRoomwhereIknockedonthedoor and went in. The roomwas unusually quiet for theend of a contact, as Iremembered it had been thelast time Lucy had seen hermother. Bonnie and Lucywere sitting side by side onthe sofa, close, but not
touching, just like the lasttime. I smiledas they lookedup, and then the contactsupervisor said to them:‘Time to pack away now.’Although the only item thatneeded putting awaywas thepack of playing cards Lucyheld inherhand.Therewerenoothergamesortoysout.Lucy stood and crossed to
the toy cupboard and putawaythecards.‘What have you been
playing?’ I asked, filling thesilence.‘Snap,’Lucysaid.‘It’s the only card game I
know,’ Bonnie said, with anembarrassedlaugh.‘It’s a fun game,’ I said.
‘We play it at home.’
Although in truth it was agame for much youngerchildren, andweonlyplayeditwhenwehadsmallchildrenvisitingus.The room fell silent again,
andLucyreturnedtothesofaand took her coat from thearm of the chair. Bonniestood and picked up herjackettoo.‘Thankyouforthe
presents,’shesaidtome.‘You’re welcome,’ I said.
‘Did the social worker giveyoumytelephonenumber,asyouasked?’‘Yes. Thank you,’ Bonnie
saidquietly.‘Itwillbenicetotalk to Lucy sometimes. Butdon’t worry, I won’tmake anuisance of myself and keepphoning.’
Once againmy heartwentout to her. ‘Phone wheneveryou want,’ I said. I knew Iwas taking a chance, asBonnie might have phonedcontinuously, which wouldhavebeenveryunsettlingforLucy, but fromwhat I knewof Bonnie I didn’t think shewould.‘I’ll take good care of
Lucy,’Iadded.‘I know youwill,’ Bonnie
said. ‘Lucy’s told me howhappysheiswithyou.Ican’tthankyouenoughforlookingafter her. She’s had somanymoves, andnot everyonehasbeen as kind to her as youhave.’A lump immediately rose
in my throat. Bonnie’s self-
effacingmanner,withnohintof resentment that I hadstolen her role as parent,made me want to reach outandhugher.Ididn’t,becauseI knew she would find thatverydifficult.‘There’s no need to thank
me,’ I said. ‘We are all verypleased Lucy can stay.Hopefullyone timeyou’llbe
able to meet Adrian andPaula.’‘Yes,I’dlikethat,’Bonnie
said. ‘Thank you. Well,goodbyethen,love,’shesaid,turning to Lucy. ‘Take care,andbegoodforCathy.’‘Goodbye,’Lucysaid.There was something so
verysadandalittlestrangeinthis emotionless farewell,
especially as Lucy wasalways so tactile with us athome.Ididn’toffermyhandto Bonnie for shaking – Idoubted she would haveacceptedit–soIsaidsimply,‘Look after yourself then,Bonnie. Phone when you’reready.’‘I will,’ she said, with a
smallsmile.
I felt I had missed anopportunity to say more toBonnie, but I didn’t knowwhat else I could say.Anything I consideredsounded trite and evenpatronizing. Bonnie pickedup the gift bag and returnedtositonthesofatowaituntilwehadleftthebuilding.‘Bye, Mum!’ Lucy called,
aswewent.‘Bye, love,’ Bonnie
replied.As we went through the
door, I turned and smiled afinal goodbye. Bonnie wassitting on the sofa with thegiftbagclutchedprotectivelyto her chest, as if it was hermost treasured possession,and perhaps it was. She
remindedmeofoneof thosechild refugees you see inphotographs, who have alltheirpossessionsinabagthatthey hold close, in caseanyoneshouldtrytosnatchit.Lucy linked her arm
through mine as we left thecontact centre. In somerespects it was a relief thatthere hadn’t been a big
emotional scene when Lucyhad parted from her mother.It can take days or evenweeks for a child to fullyrecover from the upset ofsayinggoodbyeat theendofan emotionally chargedcontact. I hoped Bonnie hadsomegoodfriendswhomshecould confide in and whowould support her, for she
seemedsoaloneintheworld,and we all need at least oneshouldertocryon.
Jill visited the followingmorning as arranged andaskedmehowthecontacthadgone. I told her, and then Ishared my concerns forBonnie.‘Will the social services
offer Bonnie counselling?’ Iasked. I knew they did forsomeparentswithchildreninlong-termcare.‘I’m sure Lilywould have
offered it,’ Jill said.‘Although fromwhat I knowof Bonnie’s lifestyle, shedoesn’tstayinoneplacelongenough to access counsellingor support services.’Which I
had to accept. ‘Did Bonniegive Lucy the birthdaypresent shementioned in hercard?’Jillasked.‘No, and Lucy didn’t
expect it, so she wasn’tdisappointed.’‘Just as well,’ Jill said
dryly. ‘But it’s best not tomake a promise if you can’tkeepit.’
‘I don’t suppose Bonniehas the money to buypresents,’Isaid.‘No,’ Jill agreed sadly. ‘I
don’tsupposeshehas.’Jill now took a file of
papers from her large bag,whichdoubledasabriefcase.‘Your application to thepermanency panel,’ she said,tapping the file. ‘Because
you’re already fosteringLucy, we’ve been able tostreamline theprocess. If shewasn’t here already, yourapplication would have beenfar more complex andlengthy. Don’t worry, I’ll gothroughthiswithyounow.’I moved closer so I could
seethepapersandJillopenedthe file. ‘The application
begins with the basic stuff,your essential information,which I’ve taken from ourrecords,’shesaid,referringtothetoppages.‘I’vecheckeditallandit’scurrent.’Inoddedand ran my eyes down thepages as Jill turned them.‘Thenwehaveyourfosteringhistory,’ she said. ‘Andwhatyou learnt from lookingafter
those children. This was allincluded in your last review,whichyoureadandsignedatthe time.’ I nodded andskimmedthepages.‘Thenwego on to information aboutyour family,’ Jill said,‘including family interests,and thatyouare all awareofthe implications of fosteringlong term. There is a
paragraphonyourmotivationfor offering a long-termplacement toLucy,howwellyou handle contact and howyou support Lucy. All ofwhich you do admirably, ofcourse,’ Jill added, as I read.She paused while I finishedreading and then turned thepage again. ‘Here we haveyour children’s views about
fostering Lucy long term,which are of course verypositive, followed by Lucy’sviews on staying here –again, all positive – which Iwrote after speaking to youandLily.’JillpausedagainasI finished reading thesepages.‘Thankyou,’Isaid.‘The next question is
standard, so don’t take itpersonally,’Jillsaid.Mygazefell to the next box on theform which asked: ‘Do thecarers and their familyunderstand the impact ofracism, andwhat do they doto support the child’s ethnicorigin?’I read Jill’s reply and
nodded. ‘Thank you,’ I said
again.‘I’m almost certain there
willbeaquestionalongtheselinesatthepermanencypaneltoo,’ Jill said. ‘So beprepared.’‘Iwill,’Isaid.‘Your references,’ Jill
continued, turning the nextfew pages. ‘All positive, ofcourse. Then your police
checks and medical, whichare current and alwaysincluded.Andacopyofyourlast fostering review, whichyou’ve already read.’ Thisalonewas twelvepages long.‘And, finally,’ Jill said, ‘myconclusion, with myrecommendation to the panelthat they should grant yourapplication to foster Lucy
longterm.’JillwaitedwhileIreadthis
section.‘What lovely words,’ I
said.‘You deserve it. So if
you’rehappywithallof this,signhere,andI’llsenditwithLily’s part of the applicationfortheMarchpanel.’Ipickedupmypen,signed
on the dotted line andreturned the file to Jill. Shethentoldmeabitaboutwhattoexpectatthepanelhearing,after which she read andsignedmylognotes.‘You know, you’ll still
have to keep your log notesgoing, even afterpermanency,’Jillsaid.‘Yes,Iknow.’
‘Well, if there’s nothingelse,I’llbeoff.Seeyouatthereview next week,’ Jill said.‘Ask Lucy if she would liketo attend her review. Shemightfeeldifferentlynow.’‘Iwill,’Isaid.
When Lucy arrived homefrom school that afternoon, Itold her Jill had visited and
the reason why. But when Iasked her if she’d like toattend her review, she said,‘Maybe next time. I don’twant tomiss school.’Whichwasreasonable.‘Perhaps I could ask for
your next review to be heldduring a school holiday?’ Isuggested. ‘So you won’thavetomissschool.’
‘OK,’Lucy said amicably,and went off to listen to hermusic, which was far moreinteresting than discussingherreview.
That evening, when I wentupstairs to say goodnight toLucy, shewas sitting in bed,withMrBunnyonthepillowbeside her. Her hands were
beneath the duvet and therewas a lump in the covers, asthough she was concealingsomething, something she’dpossibly hidden when she’dheardmeapproaching.‘Is everything all right?’ I
asked.‘Yes,butthere’ssomething
Iwanttoshowyou,’shesaid.‘It’s a secret and I haven’t
shownanyonebefore.’I sat on the bed, puzzled
andalittleapprehensiveastowhat it could be. I thought Iknew Lucy well and Icouldn’tthinkofanythingshemight have wanted to hidefrom me all this time. Shewas sharing her worries andpast experiences more easilynow.
‘It’s this,’ she said,producing the object fromunder the duvet. ‘I think youcall it my Life Story Book,butIcallitmydiary.’‘Oh, yes,’ I said, surprised
and relieved. ‘That’s right. IrememberPaulaand Ihad toclose our eyes when youunpacked it when you firstarrived.’
Lucysmiled.‘NowI’dlikeyou to see it, and you canreadsomeof thewriting,butI’lltellyouwhatyoucanandcan’tread.’‘Thank you, love,’ I said.
That Lucy wanted to sharethis with me now was notonly very touching, but alsohighlysignificant:shewas,ineffect,entrustingmewithher
past.Andalthoughitwasherbedtime, I knew I needed togive her all the time sheneeded.‘That’saphotographofme
on the front,’ Lucy said,tiltingthebooksoIcouldsee.‘I’mthreeyearsoldthere.’‘What a lovely dress
you’rewearing,’Isaid.‘It was my party dress,’
Lucyannouncedproudly.‘Doyouknowhow Iknow Iwasthree?’‘No.’‘There are more
photographs like this inside.I’m wearing my best dressbecause it was my thirdbirthday.’ Lucy opened thebook to revealadoublepageof photographs showing her
at the same age and in thesame dress. The top of thepage was neatly labelled:‘Lucy’sThirdBirthday’.‘I had a little party,’ Lucy
said, happy at therecollection. ‘There’s mycake, and look at all thosepresents! I can rememberunwrappingthemandplayinggames. That lady was my
foster carer.’ She pointed toan adult in one of thephotographs. ‘ShewascalledAnnie,’ Lucy said. ‘She’swritten all the names of thepeople in the photographsunderneath. Mum was theretoo.’I looked at the
photographs. Bonnie wassitting on the sofa watching
Lucyunwrapherpresents.Somuch younger and withdifferent coloured hair, Iwouldn’t have easilyrecognizedher.‘I had a lovely day,’ Lucy
said, with a satisfied sigh. ‘Iwas happy living atAnnie’s.HereIaminthegarden,’shesaid, turning the pages. ‘Andhereit’sChristmas.’
I smiled as I looked at thepictures. ‘Presumably Anniestartedthisbookforyou?’‘Yes, one of my social
workerstoldmeshedid.Thesocial worker said she’dasked Mum for somephotographs of me when Iwasababytoputinit,butitneverhappened.’‘I’ll ask Lily,’ I said. ‘It’s
important you have somephotographs of when youwere very little. I’m sureBonnie must have takensome.’‘Thanks,’ Lucy said, and
turned the page. ‘Here aresomemoreofmewithAnnieandherfamily.Wedidlotsofthings.Lookatmeatthefarmstrokingtherabbit,andhereI
amontheswingsinthepark.Idon’treallyrememberallofthose things, but I can tell Iwas happy because I’msmiling in all thephotographs. I look happy,don’tI?’‘Youcertainlydo,love.’Lucyturnedthepageagain
and the photographs taken atAnnie’s suddenly stopped.
Lucy’s face grew serious. ‘Ithink Mum must have takenmeaway then,because that’sDave,’shesaid,pointingtoapassport-size photo. ‘I wasgoingto tear itup,butIkeptit to remind me what helooked like, in case I evermeet him again. He washorrible to me. He lookshorrible,doesn’the?’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. With ashaved head, one earring, ascar running through oneeyebrow and cold, grey,staring eyes, he looked theepitomeofathug.IwonderedwhatBonniehadseeninhimandhowshecouldeverhaveentrustedherdaughtertohim.‘There he is with Mum,’
Lucy said, pointing to the
photograph beneath. It wasanother passport-size photo,presumably taken in a booth,andshowedBonnieandDavewith their heads pressedtogether and lips pursedtowardsthecamera.‘Who gave you these
photographs?’Iasked.‘Mum,’Lucysaid.‘I think
shewasproudofDave.’
I didn’t comment. Lucyturned thepage. ‘And there’sme again,’ she said,brightening very slightly.‘I’m at school.’ But I couldtellassoonasIlookedatthephotograph she hadn’t beenhappyatthattime.‘My teacher gave me the
photo,’ Lucy said. ‘All thechildren in the school had
their photographs taken. Wewere supposed to pay forthem, but Mum didn’t havethe money, so my teachersaid I could keep it anyway.Shewasanicelady.ShewascalledMrsBridges.’I looked at the posed
school photograph. Lucy’sskin was pale and her hairhung lankly around her
shoulders. Even though shewas trying to smile for thephotographer,itwasahollowsmile. Her gaze was lifeless,and it was clear to me notonly that she was hurtinginside, but she wasn’t beingwelllookedafter.‘I think I was six then,’
Lucy said sombrely. ‘Butthere’s so much I can’t
remember. It’s veryconfusing.’‘It might help if we ask
Lilytotelluswhatsheknowsabout your past. As yoursocial worker, she’ll be abletolookbackinthefiles.’‘Yes, please,’ Lucy said,
andturnedthepage.‘Istartedto write in this book then,’she said. ‘Mum and Dave
didn’tknowIhadthisbook.Ikeptithiddenandonlywroteinitwhentheywereinbedorout. I had two things thatweremine–thisbookandMrBunny.’ She gaveMrBunnyalittlekissbeforecontinuing.I looked at the page Lucy
now showed me, with itschildishscrawledhandwriting–morelikethatofathree-or
four-year-old than a child ofsix.‘I tried to write my name
here and draw a picture,’Lucy said. ‘I know it’s notvery good. I didn’t go toschool much then, so Icouldn’t write or draw well.That’ssupposedtobemeandSammy. He was my friend.WhenIwasunhappyathome
andwasn’tallowedtogoandseeSammy,Iusedto lookathispictureinstead.’The image of Lucy taking
comfort from this childishdrawing was so sad andpathetic I could have cried. Iput my arm around her andgaveher ahug.Sometimes ahugcansaymorethanwords.Lucyturnedthepageagain
and I was now looking at anumberofstickdrawingsofalady. ‘They are all of MrsBridges,’Lucysaid.‘I might have struggled to
recognize her,’ I said with asmile.‘So would I!’ Lucy said,
laughing.Thenherfacegrewserious.‘Ican’trememberallthat happened at that time,
but I know my mum wasn’taround,andDavehad lotsofgirlfriends who I had to callaunt.’ She turned the pageand I now looked at rows ofchildishly drawn faces withtheirmouthswideopen.‘Those were my “aunts”,’
Lucysaid.‘Theywerealwaysangry with me, so I drewthem shouting. I’ve tried to
write some of their namesunderneath, but I couldn’tspell.’The ‘names’ were really
only jumbles of letters,indecipherableaswords,untilwe got to the picture at thebottom of the page, whichshowed two people shouting,one with hair and the otherwithout. Underneath Lucy
had written clearly ‘Mum’and ‘Dave’. ‘That’s whenMum came back to Dave.Therewasabigargumentandshe left again. Then I hadanother aunt. That’s her,’Lucy said, pointing to thenextdrawing.‘Shestayedfora while, then suddenly I hadto leave Mrs Bridges andSammyandgoand livewith
Daveandastrangewoman.Iwas very unhappy. I didn’tknow anyone in the newschool and I couldn’t makefriends. No one wanted toplay with me. Look at allthesepicturesofmecrying.’LucyturnedthepageandI
now lookedat adoublepageofchildishlydrawnfacesthatwere supposed to be Lucy.
Theremusthavebeentwentyor more, all lookingunbelievably miserable, withlarge tears falling from theireyes. The overall impressionwasofdevastatingsadness.‘You were so unhappy
then,’Isaidquietly,shocked.‘I was,’ Lucy said. She
turnedthepageandthewholeof the next sidewas covered
indark-greycrayon.‘That’sathunderstorm,’ she said. ‘Ipinched the crayons fromschool.Wedidn’thaveanyathome. I don’t know why Idrewathunderstorm,perhapsitwasrainingatthetime.’‘Or perhaps it was your
wayofshowinghowunhappyyou were,’ I said. ‘All thatdark grey is how you felt
inside. Children cansometimes show theirfeelings in art when theycan’tputthemintowords.’‘Youcouldberight,’Lucy
said. ‘I hadn’t thought of itthatwaybefore.’Shepausedand then said, ‘I didn’t seeMumforages, thensuddenlyshecameandtookmeaway.Iwas seven. I know because I
wrote the number seven hereso I would remember.’ Sheturned the page. ‘That’s mydrawingofMumandhernewboyfriendarguing.’Her drawings were
maturing now and it wasobvious the picture was oftwo very angry people; theirfists were raised as thoughthey were about to hit each
other. Lucy had drawn aballoon coming out of theirmouths, which contained thewords:‘Ihateyou!’Ididn’tsayanything.Lucy
was turning the page againand suddenly the drawingshad gone, replaced byphotographs, and I knewimmediatelythatLucywasinfostercareagain.
‘I wouldn’t let the fostercarer see this book,’ Lucysaid. ‘So she gave me thephotos and a gluestick and Istuck them in. That’s whysomeof themarewonkyandcomingloose.’‘Don’tworry.Wecansoon
stickthoseinagain,’Isaid.Lucy nodded. ‘That’s the
carer,andthoseareherother
foster children,’ she said,pointing to the photographs.‘Thekidsdidn’tlikemeandIgot blamed for everythingthat went wrong. Perhaps itwasmyfault.Iwasn’thappythere,butitwasbetterthanatDave’s. I sawMum a lot tobegin with, and then shestopped visiting. Some timelaterIhadtoleave.Thefoster
kidssaiditwasbecauseIwasso horrible no one wantedme.’‘That was a cruel thing to
say,’ I said. ‘Of course youweren’t horrible. Just veryconfusedandupset.’Lucy gave a little shrug
andturnedthepage.Wewerenow looking at somephotographsofanothercarer.
‘ShewascalledAngie,’Lucysaid. ‘That’s her daughter,Shelly.Theywerekindtomeand I liked beingwith them,butIwasonlyallowedtostayfor a little while, then Mumtookmeawayagain.Iwouldhave liked to have stayedlonger,’ Lucy addedwistfully.Therewerenophotographs
on the next two pages. Lucyhad written the number nineatthetopandhadruledsomelines beneath it, where she’dwritten in dates with a fewshort sentences, like diaryentries. ‘I don’t want you toread this,’ she said, coveringthewritingwithherhandandthen turning the page. ‘Iwrote horrible things about
Mumandhernewboyfriend.I feel guilty now, but at thetime I was very upset andangry.’‘Iunderstand,love,’Isaid.
‘You’d been through somuch, of course you werehurtandangry.’As Lucy turned the page
again, more photographsappearedandIknewshewas
infostercareagain.Allfostercarersareexpected tokeepaLifeStoryBookfor thechildwith photographs andmemorabilia.‘That’sthecarer,Heather,’
Lucy said. ‘That’s herhusbandandtwodaughters.Itwas OK there, but I had tochange schools again and Iwasn’t doing well in any
subjects. I spent Christmaswiththem.IdidmybesttofitinandIthinktheylikedmealittle, but they had to movehouse. They told me theywantedtotakemewiththem,but my social worker said Icouldn’t go. Maybe that’strue or maybe they justwanted to be rid of me, Idon’tknow. I thenhad togo
and live with Pat and Terry.Youmetthem.’‘Yes,’Isaid.PatandTerry
were the couple Lucy hadstayedwithpriortocomingtome.‘Iknewwhen Iwent there
I couldn’t stay,’ Lucy said.‘Stevie told me it wasbecause they only lookedafter babies. I thought that
was just an excuse and that,like all the others I’d livedwith, they didn’t want mearoundforlong.Iwaseleven,andacoupleofmonthsafterIarrived I had to go tosecondary school. ThebuildingwashugeandIkeptgettinglost.Icouldn’tdomywork or make friends and Istoppedeating.Ifeltsoalone,
I really didn’t think life wasworth living. I knew Mumcouldn’tlookafterme,butnoone else wanted me either.Then one afternoon, when Igot home from school, PatsaidSteviewascomingtotellme she’d found me anotherfoster carer and I’d bemoving at the weekend.Something seemed to snap
insideme.Icouldn’ttakeanymore.Iscreamedandshoutedandthenlockedmyselfinthebathroom. Pat kept trying totalk to me through thebathroom door, but I wasn’tlistening. Nothing matteredanymore.When Terry camehome, he broke down thedoorandgotmeout.SoIrantomybedroom.Theyleftme
alone.Idon’tthinktheyknewwhat to do. I planned onstaying in my room until Istarved to death. Iwanted todie, I really did. Then in theeveningPatcame inwith thephone and left it on the bed.Your voice came through. Itried not to listen, but youkept on and there wassomething in your voice that
toldme I should pick up thephone. The rest you know,’Lucyfinishedquietly.We both sat in silence for
some time, subdued by theevents Lucy had relived.‘Thank goodness you didpick up the phone,’ I said atlast, takingherhandbetweenmine.‘You can be very
persuasive,’ Lucy said, withsmallsmile.‘Good.’Yet I saw thatLucy’sLife
Story Book had ended withthephotographsofherstayatPat and Terry’s. I wonderedwhy she hadn’t stuck in thephotographs I’d been givingher. I’d takenplenty andhadalways given Lucy a copy,
but there wasn’t one in herbook.‘Where are all the
photographs of us?’ I askedpresently.‘Inmydrawer,’Lucysaid.
‘I haven’t added thembecauseinthepasteverytimeI put the photographs in thebook I had to leave. I didn’twanttoleavehere,soIdidn’t
stick them in, and itworked.I’mstaying!’Myheartmelted. ‘It’s safe
foryoutosticktheminnow,love,’ I said. ‘You won’t betempting fate. Trust me,you’re staying. I’m certainthepanelwillapproveit.’Lucy smiled and, leaving
thebed,shereturnedherLifeStoryBooktothedrawerand
closed it.Climbingback intobedshesnuggledbeneaththeduvet.MrBunnywas tuckedin beside her. I kissed hergoodnight. ‘Thank you forsharing your special bookwith me,’ I said. ‘I’m sopleasedyouwereabletopickup Pat’s phone.’ ForwithoutdoubtthathadbeencrucialinLucycomingtome.
‘I’mpleasedIwasableto,’Lucysaid.I kissed her goodnight
againandcameout,awareofjust how close I’d come tobeinganotherentryinLucy’sLife Story Book. Had I notpursued my application tokeepLucy,hadwenothadachange of socialworker, hadPeter not been so proactive,
my family and I would havesimply become yet anotherphotograph.Ifevertherewasa story showing the failingsof the care system, it was inLucy’s book.All those yearsof missed opportunities,whereeveryone involvedhadplayed their part andinadvertently contributed toher life of rejection,
insecurity and isolation … Ifelt the collectiveresponsibility,andhopedthatin timeIcouldmake itup toLucy and undo some of theharmdone.
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘I’ll Try MyBest’
On Friday, Lucy’s friendJosette came to dinner. Theyused the bus to come home
andLucylettheminwithherfront-door key. I went intothehalltogreetthem.‘Mum, this is Josette,’
Lucysaid,introducingme.‘Come on in and make
yourselfathome,’Isaid.Josette smiled and offered
herhandforshaking.‘Lovelytomeetyou,’shesaid,withastrongFrenchaccent. ‘Thank
youforinvitingme.’‘You’rewelcome. It’snice
tomeetyoutoo.’‘We’ll get ourselves a
drink and then go up to myroom,’ Lucy said, hangingtheircoatsonthehallstand.On the way to the kitchen
Lucy took Josette into theliving room to introduce herto Paula. I kept out of their
way while Lucy and Josettewere in the kitchen makingthemselvesadrink,andwhentheywentup toLucy’s roomI continued with thepreparation of the eveningmeal. It wasn’t long beforePaulaappearedinthekitchen.‘Can I go and play with
Lucy and her friend?’ sheasked.
‘Perhaps later,’ I said. ‘Ithink they’re listening tomusic and chatting now.’ Ithought that girls of Lucy’sage needed some privacywhen spending time with asimilar-aged friend. ‘Howabout helping me with themeal?’ I suggested. But itdidn’tholdthesameappealtoPaula, so she skipped off to
amuse herself until I calledeveryonefordinner.As the children arrived at
the meal table, Lucyintroduced Adrian to Josette,andIcouldseehewasalittletaken aback when Josetteofferedherhand for shaking.But the French shake handseasily, it’s part of theircustom and charm, and
Adrian responded with acharmofhisown.Icouldseehe was quite taken with her.Theysatdownand Ibroughtin the serving dishes andplaced themon the table andweallhelpedourselves.Afteran initial awkwardnesseveryone relaxed and startedchattingastheyate.Listeningto Josette with her delightful
French accent wascaptivating, and I could seeAdrian and Paula were veryimpressed that she couldspeak a second language sofluently. Josette told us thatherfather’sworkhadbroughther family to England.They’d arrived four monthspreviously and would bestaying for at least three
years.Iwonderedifbeingthenew girl in the school hadencouraged Lucy to makefriends with her, for, havingmovedherselfsomanytimes,Lucyknewwhatitfeltliketoarrive in anewclass andnotknowanyone.When I took Josette home
in the car that evening, sheinvited me in to meet her
parents and elder brother.TheywereallasdelightfulasJosette, although we didn’tstaylongasitwasgettinglateand Paula was with me.Josette’s mother thanked mefor inviting Josette to dinnerandbringingherhomein thecar, and then confirmed thatLucy was invited there fordinner the following Friday
and she would bring Lucyhome afterwards. I didn’tknowifLucyhadtoldJosetteIwas her fostermother or ifshe’dletherassumeIwashernatural mother, but it didn’tmatter. It was up to Lucywhatshetoldherfriends,andI knew she’d tell themwhatevershefeltcomfortablewith. Clearly my old friends
knew Lucy was my fosterdaughter who was nowstaying permanently, butwhat Lucy told her newfriendswasherdecision, andIwouldgoalongwithit.
The following Tuesday,Lucy’s review was held asscheduledatmyhouse.Itwasrelatively short and consisted
mainlyofLilyupdatingPeteronallthathadhappenedsinceLucy’s last reviewthemonthbefore. Lily told him thatshe’dtakenLucy’scasebackto her manager and thefamily-finding team,and thatthey’ddecidedtosupportmyapplication to keep Lucypermanently.‘Good,’Petersaid,without
anysurprise.SoIguessedhewas already aware of thedecision, having been incontact with Lily since thelastreview.‘I’vespokentoLucy,’Lily
continued. ‘She confirmed tomethatshewantstostaywithCathy long term. The socialservices are now of theopinion that Cathy can meet
Lucy’s needs. I’ve submittedthe application to thepermanency panel, includingthe matching report, and itwill be heard at the Marchpanel.’‘Excellent,’ Peter said.
‘Andyou’vegivenCathy thedateofthepanelmeeting?’‘Yes,’Lilyconfirmed.‘You know you have to
attend the panel hearing?’Petersaidtome.‘Yes, it’s in my diary,’ I
said.‘So how does Lucy feel
aboutstaying?’heaskedme.‘She’s over the moon,’ I
said. ‘It’s what she’s wantedforalongtime.Weallhave.’LilyandJillnodded.‘And you’ve advised
Bonnie of the decision?’PeternowaskedLily.‘Yes,’Lilyconfirmed.‘I understand Lucy has
seenhermothersincethelastreview?’ Peter now said toLily.‘Yes,’ Lily said. ‘The
contactwentaswellascouldbeexpected.’‘Andcontactwillremainat
twice a year?’ he said,makinganote.‘Yes, that’s the
department’srecommendation,’ Lily said.‘Although it will largelydependonBonniekeepingintouch.’‘And how was Lucy after
the last contact?’Peteraskedme.
‘Shetookitinherstride,’Isaid. ‘I think shewas helpedbyknowingshe’ssettlednowand that hermother is happywiththearrangement.’Peter nodded as he wrote.
Then he raised a couple ofquestions with Lily aboutprocedure and, satisfied,askedJill ifshehadanythingtoadd. Jill saidonly that she
waspleasedwiththeoutcomeand thought it was a goodmatch,andPeteragreed.I thenasked if itwouldbe
possible for Lily to gothrough some of Lucy’shistory with her. ‘We havebeenlookingatherLifeStoryBook,’ I explained. ‘Lucy israther confused about someepisodes in her life and the
decisions that were made atthetime.Ithinkitwouldhelpif you could fill in the gapsandexplainwhathappened.Idon’t know enough of herpasttohelpher.’‘I’ll pull out the files and
seewhatIcanfind,’Lilysaidhelpfully. ‘There’s beensocial services involvementsinceLucywas a baby, so it
maytakemeawhiletopieceitalltogether.’‘Thank you,’ I said, as
Peter and Lily wrote. ‘Also,Lucy would like somephotographsofwhenshewasababyanda toddler,’ I said.‘The first photographs shehas inher life-storybookareof her aged three, when shefirstwentintocare.’
‘You will need to askBonnie for those,’ Peter saidtoLily.Lily nodded and made a
note.‘And,finally,’Isaidwitha
smile, ‘can I have a copy ofLucy’s birth certificate,please, so I can set up asavings account for her, andalso apply for a passport for
her.’Peter looked atLily again,
as this would be for her toinitiate. ‘Yes, I’ll apply forone,’Lily said. ‘Lucyshouldbe saving.Have you got anyplans to go abroad onholiday?’‘Notstraightaway,’Isaid.
‘ButIwouldlikethepassportreadyforwhenwedo.’
Peter nodded, finishedwriting and, with no furtherbusiness on the agenda, hetook out his diary to arrangethe date for Lucy’s nextreview. ‘April,’ he said. ‘Intwomonths’ time. After thatwe’ll go to six-monthlyreviews.’Perfect, I thought. Easter
was in April. ‘Can we
schedule the review for theEasterholidays?’Iasked.‘SoLucycanattend.’‘Yes,ofcourse,’Petersaid,
slightly amused. ‘I take itLucy’s feeling a bit happierwith us all if she wants toattendherreview?’‘Yes.Alothappier,’Isaid.
Three weeks later I attended
the permanency panelhearing,whichwas held in aconference room at the localgovernment offices. As afostercarer, Ihad toattendasimilar panel hearing everythree years to renew myregistration to foster, so Iknew it would be quitedaunting.Knowing,however,didn’thelp.AsLilycameout
of the conference room,havinggivenherreporttothepanel and answered thepanel’s questions, Jill and Iwentin.Aseaoffaceslookedup at us: ten panel memberssitting along three sides of ahuge rectangular oak table.My stomach churned. Twochairs had been left emptyfacing the other panel
members, so Jill and I satdown. I took a very deepbreathandthoughtIheardJilldo the same. I guess it wasdaunting for her too. Eachpanel member had a bundleof papers in front of them –copies of my application,with all the supportingdocumentation. They wouldhave received these a week
before the hearing so thatthey had time to read themandcomposetheirquestions.The chairperson began by
saying good morning andintroducing himself by nameand explaining that he wasthe chairperson, after whichall the other panel membersintroducedthemselves.Goinground the table, they gave
their name and position. Thepanel was comprised of twosocial workers, a doctor, afoster carer, one localauthority elected member,two parents who’d adoptedanda teacher,noneofwhomI knew. Jill and I thenintroduced ourselves: Jill, asmysupportsocialworker;meas Lucy’s foster carer. The
chairperson thanked us, andthen said a few words aboutwhy we were here: toconsider my application tofoster Lucy long term. Jillwas then asked to speak andgave a brief résumé of myfostering history, thecomposition of my familyand the reasons why shesupported my application to
look afterLucy permanently.The chairperson thanked Jillandthenlookedtome.‘We’ve all read your
application thoroughly,’ hesaid. ‘Your fostering historyis very impressive. I shouldlike to start the questions byasking you to tell us whatLucyisliketolivewithonadaily basis. Then I’ll pass to
the other panel members sothat they can ask theirquestions.’Heregoes,Ithought.Itook
another deep breath before Ibegan. I’d anticipated thisquestion or somethingsimilar, and gainedconfidencefrombeingabletoanswer – describing Lucy,andwhatshewasliketo live
with, all of which was ofcourse positive. Thechairperson nodded andthankedme, and then one ofthe two socialworkers askedme what impact I thoughtlookingafterLucyhadhadonmy children, positive andnegative. I said that she’dfitted into my family veryeasilyandwaslikeasisterto
AdrianandPaula.Idescribedhow she played with Paulaandhelpedherout.IsaidthatLucy had taught us humilityand forgiveness, becausedespite everything that hadhappened to her she wasn’tbitter. I said that she andAdrian teased each othersometimes, as siblings do.That was the only negative
commentIcouldthinkof.The other social worker
then asked me to describeLucy’s routine, which I did,although it overlapped withthe first question and Irepeatedmyselfalittle.Then,one of the adoptive parentsasked what Lucy’s interestsandtalentswere.Ielaboratedon points I’d mentioned in
responsetothefirstquestion,adding that shewanted to bea beautician when she wasolder,althoughofcoursethatmight change. Then theelected member from thelocal authority, obviously aveteranatthesepanels,asked:‘CanyoutellusaboutLucy’sability to make and sustainfriendships?’
I certainly could, and Ispoke at some length on thehuge improvement Lucy hadmade since coming to livewithus–fromnotbeingableto make friends to having anumber of school friends,including one best friendwhomshealso saw regularlyoutofschool.‘Excellent,’ he said.
‘Thankyou.’Thedoctorthenasked:‘As
an experienced foster carer,howdoyouseeLucy’sabilityto form attachments tosignificantpeopleinherlife?’This wasn’t a question I’d
prepared,buthavingattendedmany training sessions onattachment issues I knew thesignificance of the question
andhowtoanswer.Isaidthatdespite Lucy’s earlyexperiences, once she trustedanadultshewasabletoforman appropriate attachment tothem, and had done so withall members of my family,includingmyparents.Inearlyadded ‘and the cat’, butthought that might havesounded flippant. The doctor
thenaskedifIwasawarethatsometimes abuse anddeprivationinearlylifedidn’tsurfaceuntilmuchlater,andIsaid I was. Then suddenly Ifound the questions hadstopped and the chairpersonwas thanking me. So thequestion that Jill and I hadbeen convinced would comeup – in respect of Lucy’s
cultural needs – hadn’t,possibly because it had beencovered extensively in myapplication. Whatever thereason, I breathed a sigh ofrelief.‘If you and your support
social worker would like towait outside the room, we’llconclude our discussion,’ thechairperson said. ‘I’ll invite
you to return when we havemade our decision.’ I knewthistobenormalpractice.Jill and I stood and the
panel members waited untilwe’d leftbeforecommencingtheir discussion. I’d beenanswering questions for halfan hour, but it didn’t seemthat long. Once outside theroomIfloppedintooneofthe
chairs in the waiting area.Highonadrenalin,mycheekswere flushed and my heartwasracing.‘You did well,’ Jill said,
sittinginthechairbesideme.‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘I
answered their questions asbestIcould.Ijusthopeitwasgoodenough.’‘Don’t worry. You’ll be
fine,’ she said. Yet, while itwas almost certain the panelwould approve myapplication, there was a slimchance theymight not, and Iwouldn’t relax until Iofficiallyhadtheirapproval.Fifteen minutes later, the
door to the conference roomopened and amember of thepanel asked us to return.My
heart started pounding againand my mouth went dry. Asweenteredtheroomthepanelmembers looked at us, but Icouldn’t read anything intheir expressions. Once Jilland I were seated, thechairpersonlookeddirectlyatmeashespoke.‘We’venowconcludedour
discussion,’ he said. ‘I’m
pleased tobeable to tellyouthat the panel unanimouslyendorses your application tofoster Lucy long term.Congratulations.’‘Thank you,’ I said,
grinning. ‘Thank you verymuch.’‘Well done,’ Jill said to
me.Other panel members also
added their own‘congratulations’ and ‘welldones’. Jill then thanked thechairperson and pushed backher chair, ready to leave. Itsuddenlyhitmethatitwasallover and I stood too. If I’mhonest, it seemed a bit of ananti-climax: hearing thechairperson’swordsand thenjust walking from the room
afterallthoseanxiousmonthsof hoping, planning andwaiting.Iwouldhavelikedafanfare with thousands ofcongratulatory balloonsreleasedintothesky.Instead,I heard the door to theconferenceroomclosebehindus and a little voice in myhead offering a silent prayerofthanksfortheoutcome.
‘Come on,’ Jill said,touching my arm. ‘Let’s goandgetacoffee.’‘Goodidea,’Isaid.‘And there’s something I
needtoaskyou,’sheadded.‘Ohyes?’I’d seen that look on Jill’s
facebefore.‘I’ve been thinking, now
Lucyissettledandwe’vegot
the panel hearing out of theway’, she said, as we madeourwaydownstairs,‘thatyoumight like to start fosteringagain properly, rather thanjustdoingrespite?’‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve been
thinkingthattoo.’‘Good,’ Jill said. ‘Because
I’vehadareferralthroughforafour-year-oldgirl.’
‘Jill,you’reincorrigible!’Iexclaimedwithasmile.‘I know.What would you
dowithoutme?’‘Ihonestlydon’tknow.’Over coffee, Jill explained
that the referral was for alittle girl called Alice. Hersocialworkerwasapplyingtocourt the following morningfor an InterimCareOrder. ‘I
understand she’s a realsweetie,’ Jill said. ‘She’sbeen staying with hergrandparents for the last fewmonths, as her mother hasmental-health issues. They’rein court at ten o’clocktomorrow so, assuming theorder is granted, she’ll bewithyouaboutoneo’clock.Ihaveacopyof thereferral in
mybag.’
That afternoon, when Lucy,Adrian and Paula returnedhomefromschool,Ihadalotto tell them. First andforemost was that the panelhad said Lucy could staypermanently, so it wasofficial. Everyone clappedandwhooped for joy.Then I
told them about Alice andtheirresponseswere:‘Goody,alittleonetoplay
with,’fromPaula;‘She’ll be very upset, so
I’ll help settle her in,’ fromLucy;‘Not another girl!’ from
Adrian.
ItellAlice’sstoryinmybook
IMissMummy,soIwon’tsayany more about her now, oranything about the veryworrying circumstances ofherarrival,whichdidn’tgotoplan, not at all. Instead, Iwant tomove on tenmonthsto when Alice was about toleave us. It was a cold nightin January. Paulawas in bedasleep, Adrian was in bed
readingandIwentupstairstosaygoodnighttoLucy.We spent a few moments
talking about various things,as we often did last thing atnight before she went tosleep.Mr Bunny was on thepillow beside her as usualand, once we’d finishedtalking, I kissed them bothgoodnight. I stood, ready to
go, but as I did I had thefeeling Lucy had somethingonhermind.‘Is everything all right?’ I
asked. ‘There’s nothingworryingyou,isthere?’Shepaused,toyingwiththe
edgeoftheduvet,andIknewthere was something on hermind. I sat on thebed again.‘Yes?’ I asked gently. ‘What
isit?’‘I need to ask you
something,’Lucysaidquietlyand avoiding eye contact.‘You can say no if you like.I’ll understand. I won’t behurtordisappointed.Well–Iwill be, but I’ll try not toshowit.’‘Yes?’ I prompted,
wondering what on earth it
could be that Lucy wasfindingsodifficulttotellme.Shedidn’tnormallyhavethismuchtroubletalkingtome.‘Well, it’s this,’ she said,
looking very serious andfiddlingwith theduvet. ‘YouknowI thinkofallofyouasmyproperfamily?’Inodded.‘Yes,weare.’‘And you know I
sometimescallyouMum?’‘Yes.’‘Well, I’ve been doing
someresearch,readingbooksin the school library, andonline,aboutadoption.AndIwas wondering if you couldadopt me? I love you all somuch, and I promise Iwon’tbe any trouble. You can saynoifyouwant.’
Myeyesimmediatelyfilledand I took Lucy inmy armsandheldherclose. Iwas toochokedup to speak.Shewasquiet,butIfeltthewarmthofherloveandthetrustshewasputtinginmeinherembrace.After a fewmoments I drewslightly away and looked ather.IknewwhatIwouldliketo say, but I had to be
realistic.‘Lucy, love,’ I said, ‘I
already lookuponyouasmydaughter, and I couldn’t loveyoumore.While I would bevery happy to adopt you, itwouldn’tbemydecision.’‘I know,’ Lucy said. ‘I
understand.’‘I’ll speak to Lily
tomorrow and see what she
says. You still have somecontactwithyourmotherandher views will be taken intoaccount. It may be that shewon’t want you to beadopted. I can ask, but if itdoesn’thappenwedon’tneedapieceofpaper tosaywe’remotheranddaughter,dowe?’Lucysmiledsadly.‘Iguess
not, but it would make me
veryhappy.’‘Iknow,love,Iunderstand.
I’lltrymybest.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Special Love
The following morning, assoonasIreturnedhomefromtaking Paula to school, I
telephoned Lily and told herof the discussion Lucy and Ihad had in respect of meadopting her. Lily said shewould need to consult herteam manager, but shethought that if Lucy and Iwanted adoption, then thedepartmentwouldsupportmyapplication. However, as Iexpected,sheaddedanoteof
caution: she would need tospeak to Bonnie to ascertainherview.Webothknew thatmost parents of children incare, while agreeing to along-term foster placementfortheirchild,wouldstronglyoppose adoption, as it tookaway all their legal status asparents. Even the birthcertificateofanadoptedchild
can be changed to show theadopted parents’ names,replacing thoseof thechild’sbirthparents.That evening I told Lucy
thatLilywaslookingintoourrequest,butthatitmighttakesome time before we knewanythingfordefinite.Itwas threemonthsbefore
Lily was able to contact
Bonnie,andLilytoldmethatto begin with Bonnie hadreservations about meadoptingLucy,asshethoughtshe wouldn’t be able to seeLucy again. Once Lily hadreassured her that I washappy to continue with thepresentcontactarrangements,Bonnie said she wouldn’toppose the adoption, as she
wanted whatever Lucywanted. Not only wasBonnie’s attitude completelyselfless, it was also veryunusual. Needless to say,Lucy was overjoyed, and Ibegantheapplicationprocess.A year later, when Lucy
had been with me for twoyears, theadoptionorderwasgranted and Lucy officially
became my daughter. AtLucy’s request, we changedher surname to our familyname, and I applied for asavings account and passportin her new name. An addedbonus for Lucy that camewith being adopted was thatthere was no more socialservices involvement – nomore reviews or visits from
social workers – as she wasnolongerincare.We celebrated Lucy’s
adoption with a party athome,wheremyparents,mybrother and his family, Lily,Jill, Josette and Vicky (nowanother good friend ofLucy’s) all came for theevening and I made a buffettea.LucyhadtoldJosetteand
Vicky about her adoption,but, apart from her teacher,nooneelseatschoolknew.Although the social
services’ involvement hadfinished with the granting ofthe adoption order, Lilyofferedtocontinuetoarrangeand supervise contact if Iwished. As I had a goodworking relationship with
Bonnie, I felt there was noneed for supervised contact,so it was left to Bonnie andme to organize between us.This arrangement workedwellandBonniecontinuedtosee Lucy twice a year andphonedoccasionally–usuallyon birthdays and atChristmas. Sometimes LucysawBonnieatmyhouse,and
on those occasions she metAdrian and Paula. Othertimes,BonnieandLucywentout, and I always gave Lucyextra money so they couldhave some lunch and dosomething fun – go to thecinema, for example – asBonnie was permanentlybroke. IoftenwishedBonniewould change her lifestyle
andgetoffwhatevershewason, but I didn’t say anythingtoherorLucy.Bonnieclearlystruggledwithlife,andtellingher she needed to changewouldn’t have helped. I wassure shewouldchange if shecould,andhopedthatonedayshewould.Lucy was always slightly
pensive and quiet when she
returned from seeing hermother.Oftenshedidn’twantany dinner or just picked ather meal. While her eatinghad improved drastically, ifshe was upset or worried itshowedinalossofappetite.Iwas still keeping an eye onLucy’s eating, but I didn’thavethesameconcernsasI’dhadwhen she’d first arrived.
She’d put on some weightand was within the normalweight range forher age andheight, but she’s naturallypetite and slim, so she’llnever be very big. Lucywasoffered counselling justbefore the adoption, but sherefused. Entering counsellingor therapy is a personalchoiceandthetimehastobe
right. She knows she can gointo it when she feels ready.Verytouchingly,whenitwasmentioned she said, ‘Havingmy own family is my besttherapy.’ Which made metearup.
One day, when Lucy wassixteenandhadbeenoutwithBonnie, she returned home
andwentstraighttoherroom.Igavehersometimeandthenwent up after her. I knockedon thedoorandwent in.Shewas sitting on her bedcuddling Mr Bunny, a suresign she had something onhermind.‘Areyouall right, love?’ I
asked, going further into theroom.
‘Sort of,’ she said quietly,glancingupatme.‘Sort of isn’t good
enough,’Isaid,sittingonthebed. ‘I need to know you’recompletely all right. Pleasetellmewhat’swrong.’She threw me a small sad
smile and then, lookingdown, concentrated on MrBunny. ‘It’s difficult,’ she
said,afteramoment.‘I’mnotsureyou’dunderstand.’‘Try me,’ I said, touching
herarmreassuringly.Shepausedagainand then
said, ‘When I’m out withBonnie I feel guilty that Ican’tlovehermore.She’smybirthmother, but I don’t feelforherwhat I feel foryou. Ican’t love her as I love you,
andthatmakesmefeelguiltyandunhappysometimes.’‘Ohlove,Idounderstand,’
I said. ‘Perfectly. Letme tryand explain something. Weare not born loving ourparents.We bondwith thosewholookafterus,andlovingsomeoneispartof thatbond.I love you and you love mebecause of the time we’ve
spent together and all thethings we’ve done and beenthrough together. I’vebeen amother to you and you’vebeenadaughtertome,soweloveeachotherasmotheranddaughter. Sadly, Bonnie wasnever able to give you thatspecial mother–daughterrelationship, so it’s naturalthat you feel differently
towardsher,althoughIknowshelovesyou.’‘ButIfeellikeI’vealways
been your daughter,’ Lucysaid, as she’d said before.‘Likeyouhadme.’‘I know. I feel the same. I
couldn’t love you more if Ihadgivenbirthtoyou.That’show strong our bond is. Butin your heart, even though
youmight not know it, thereisa specialplace forBonnie,separate from the love youfeel for me. It will bedifferent,but itwillbe there,so there’snoneed foryou tofeel guilty. Bonnieunderstands and just wantsyou to be happy. That’s averyselflesslove.’Lucy was silent for a
moment, and then looked atme, her expressionbrightening. ‘Yes, that helps.I understand,’ she said, andkissed my cheek. ‘I’ve gottwo mothers and it’s OK tolove them differently.Thanks,Mum.Iloveyou.’‘Iloveyoutoo.’
InspiredbyCathyGlass?
DiscoverToreyHayden.
Readanexclusiveexcerptnow.
Chapter 1
The article in the newspaperwas tiny, considering thecrime.Ittoldofasix-year-oldgirl who had lured a localtoddler from his yard, taken
him to a nearby woodland,tiedhimtoatreeandsetfireto him. The boy, badlyburned, was in hospital. Allthat was said in whatamounted to no more than aspace filler below the comicstrips on page six. I read itand, repulsed, I turned thepageandwenton.Six weeks later, Ed, the
special education director,phoned me. It was earlyJanuary, the day we werereturning fromourChristmasbreak.“There’sgoingtobeanew girl in your class.Rememberthatlittlegirlwhoset fire to the kid inNovember…?”
I taught what was
affectionately referred to inour district as the “garbageclass.” It was the last yearbefore congressional lawwould introduce“mainstreaming,” therequirement that all specialneedschildrenbeeducatedinthe least restrictiveenvironment; and thus, ourdistrictstillhadthemyriadof
small special educationclassrooms,eachcateringtoadifferent disability. Therewere classes for physicallyhandicapped, for mentallyhandicapped,forbehaviorallydisordered, for visuallyimpaired…youname it,wehadit.Myeightwerethekidsleftover,theoneswhodefiedclassification. All of them
suffered emotional disorders,but most also had mental orphysical disabilities as well.Outofthethreegirlsandfiveboysinthegroup,threecouldnot talk, one could butrefused and another spokeonly in echoes of otherpeople’s words. Three ofthemwerestillindiapersandtwo more had regular
accidents. As I had the fullnumber of children allowedby state law for a class ofseverely handicappedchildren, Iwasgivenan aideat the start of the year; butmine hadn’t turned out to beone of the bright,hardworking aides alreadyemployedby the school, as Ihad expected. Mine was a
Mexican-American migrantworker named Anton, whohad been trawled from thelocalwelfare list.He’dnevergraduated from high school,never even stayed north allwinter before, and certainlyhadneverchangeddiapersona seven-year-old. My onlyother help came fromWhitney, a fourteen-year-old
juniorhighstudent,whogaveup her study halls tovolunteerinourclass.By all accounts we didn’t
appear a very promisinggroup, and in the beginning,chaos was the byword;however, as the monthspassed, we metamorphosed.Anton proved to be sensitiveand hardworking, his
dedication to the childrenbecomingapparentwithinthefirst weeks. The kids, inreturn, responded well tohaving a man in theclassroom and they built onone another’s strengths.Whitney’syouthoccasionallymadehermorelikeoneofthechildrenthanoneofthestaff,but her enthusiasm was
contagious, making it easierforallofustovieweventsasadventures rather than thedisasterstheyoftenwere.Thekids grew and changed, andbyChristmaswehadbecomea cohesive little group. NowEd was sending me a six-year-oldstickofdynamite.
Her name was Sheila. The
next Monday she arrived,being dragged into myclassroom by Ed, as myprincipal worriedly broughtup the rear, his handsflapping behind her as if tofan her into the classroom.Shewasabsolutelytiny,withfierce eyes, long, mattedblond hair and a very badsmell. I was shocked to find
she was so small. Given hernotoriety, I had expectedsomething considerablymoreHerculean. As it was, shecouldn’t have been muchbiggerthanthethree-year-oldshehadabducted.Abducted? I regarded her
carefully.Bureaucracy being what it
is inschooldistricts,Sheila’s
school files didn’t arrivebefore she did; so when shewentofftolunchonthatfirstday, Anton and I took theopportunitytogodowntotheoffice for a quick look. Thefilemadebleakreading,evenbythestandardsofmyclass.Our town,Marysville,was
inproximitytoalargementalhospital and a state
penitentiary, and this, inaddition to themigrants, hadcreated a disproportionateunderclass, many of whomlived in appalling poverty.The buildings in the migrantcamp had been built astemporary summer housingand many were literallynothing but wood and tarpaper that lacked even the
mostbasicamenities,buttheybecamecrowdedinthewinterby those who could affordnothing better. It was herethat Sheila lived with herfather.Adrugaddictwithalcohol
problems, her father hadspent most of Sheila’s earlyyearsinandoutofprison.Hehad no job. Currently on
parole, he was attending analcohol abuse program, butdoinglittleelse.Sheila’s mother had been
only fourteen when, as arunaway, she took up withSheila’s father and becamepregnant. Sheila was borntwodaysbeforehermother’sfifteenth birthday. A secondchild, a son, was born
nineteen months later. Therewasn’t much else relating tothe mother in the file,although it was not hard toread drugs, alcohol anddomestic violence betweenthelines.Whatever,shemusthave finally had enough,because when Sheila wasfour,sheleftthefamily.Fromthe brief notes, it appeared
that she had intended to takeboth children with her, butSheila was later foundabandonedonanopenstretchof freewayabout thirtymilessouth of town. Sheila’smother and her brother,Jimmie, were never heardfromagain.The bulk of the file
detailedSheila’sbehavior.At
home the father appeared tohave no control over her atall. She had been repeatedlyfound wandering around themigrant camp late at night.She had a history of firesettingandhadbeencitedforcriminal damage three timesby the local police, quite anaccomplishment for a six-year-old. At school, Sheila
oftenrefusedtospeak,andasa consequence, virtuallynothingwas contained in thefile to tell me what or howmuchshemighthavelearned.Shehadbeen inkindergartenand then first grade in anelementary school near themigrant camp until theincident with the little boyhad occurred, but there were
noassessmentnotes.Inplaceof the usual test results andlearning summaries was acatalog of horror storiesdetailingSheila’sdestructive,oftenviolent,behavior.Attheendofthefilewasa
briefsummaryoftheincidentwith the toddler. The judgeconcludedthatSheilawasoutofparentalcontrolandwould
be best placed in a secureunit, where her needs couldbebettermet.Inthisinstance,he meant the children’s unitat the state mental hospital.Unfortunately,theunitwasatcapacity at the time of thehearing, and thus, Sheilawould need to await anopening. A recently datedmemo was appended
detailing the need to providesome form of education,givenherageandthelaw,butno one bothered to mincewords. Her placement wascustodial.Thismeantshehadto be kept in school for thetime being, because of thespecifics of the law, but Ineed not feel under anyobligation to teach her.With
Sheila’sarrival,myroomhadbecomeaholdingpen.Youth was my greatest
asset at that point in mycareer. Still fired withidealism, I felt strongly thatthere were no problem kids,only a problem society.Althoughinitiallyreluctanttotake Sheila, it had beenbecause my room was
crowded and my resourcesoverstretched already, notbecause of the child herself.Thus, once I had her, Iregardedher asmine andmyclasswasnoholdingpen!Mybelief inhuman integrityandthe inalienable right of eachandeveryoneofmychildrentopossessitwastrenchant.Well, almost. Before she
was done, Sheila had givenallmybeliefsagoodshakingandshestarted thatveryfirstday. As Anton and I weresitting in the frontoffice thatlunch hour, reading Sheila’sfile, Sheila was in ourclassroom scooping thegoldfish out of the aquariumand,onebyone,pokingtheireyesout.
Sheila proved to be chaosdressed in outgrown overallsand a faded T-shirt.Everything she said wasshrieked. Everything shetouched was broken, hit,squashed or mangled. Andeveryone, myself included,was The Enemy. Sheoperated in what Antonchristened her “animal
mode.” There was not much“child mode” present in theearly days. The slightestunexpected movement shealways interpreted as attack.Her eyeswould go dark, herface would flush, her bodywould take on alert rigidity,and from that point it was afinely balanced matter as towhether she would fight, or
panic and run away. Whenshewas in her animalmode,ourmethodswereawholelotmore akin to taming thanteaching.Yet…Sheilawasdifferent.There
was something electric abouther,abouthereyes,aboutthesharpness of her movementsthat superimposed itself over
evenhermostferalmoments.I couldn’t articulate what itwas,butIcouldsenseit.
I loved my children dearly,but the truth was, they werenot a very bright lot. Mostchildren with emotionaldifficulties use so muchmental energy coping thatthere simply isn’t much left
for learning. Additionally,other syndromes often occurin conjunction withpsychological problems,eithercontributingtothemorresulting from them. Forexample, two ofmy childrensuffered from fetal alcoholsyndrome and another had aneurological condition thatwas causing a slow
deterioration of his centralnervous system. As aconsequence, none of thechildren was functioning atanaveragelevelforhisorherage, although undoubtedlyseveral were of normalintelligence.Thus, itcameasa surprise to me to discoverduring Sheila’s early dayswith us that she could add
andsubtractwell,becauseshehad managed only threemonthsoffirstgrade.A bigger surprise came
days later,whenIdiscoveredshe could give the meaningsof unusual words. One suchwordwas“chattel.”“Whereverdidyou learna
wordlikethis?”Iaskedwhenmy curiosity finally
overwhelmedme.Sheila, little and dirty and
very smelly, sat hunched upon her chair across the tablefrom me. She peered upthroughmattedhair toregardme. “Chattel of Love,” shereplied and added in herpeculiar dialect, “it be thenameofabookIfind.”“Book? Where? What
book?”“I don’t steal it,” she
retorteddefensively.“Itbeinthegarbagecan.Ifindit.”“Where?”“Idofindit,”sherepeated,
obviously believing this wasthe issue I was trying toexplore.“Yes,okay,”Ireplied,“but
where?”
“Intheladies’toiletsatthebus station. But I don’t stealit.”Ismiled.“No,I’msureyou
didn’t. I’m just interested inhearingaboutit.”She regarded me
suspiciously.“Whatdidyoudowiththe
book?”Iasked.Sheila clearly couldn’t
puzzle out why I wanted toknow these things. “Well, Iread it,” she said, her voicefull of disbelief, as if I’dasked a very silly question.Therewas aworried edge toit,however.Shestillsenseditwasanaccusation.“Youreadit?Itsoundslike
arathergrown-upbook.”“Well,Idon’treadallofit.
But on the cover it sayChattelofLoveandsoIdobecuriousaboutit,’causeofthepicture,’ cause of what theman be doing to the lady onthecover.”“I see,” I replied
uncertainly.She shrugged. “But I
couldn’tfindnothinggoodinit,soIthrowitawayagain.”
With an IQ we soondiscovered tobe inexcessof180, Sheila was electric allright. Indeed, she was morelikenuclear.
Discovering Sheila was ahighly gifted childintellectually did nothing tochange the facts of hergrindingpoverty,herabusive
backgroundorhercontinuingand continually outrageousbehavior.Uncertainwhere tostartwhentherewassomuchthat needed improving, Ibeganwith the very smallestthings, those I knew werewithinmypowertochange.Sheila’s hygiene was
appalling. She literally hadonly one set of clothes: a
faded brown-striped T-shirtand a pair of worn denimoveralls, a size too small.Withthesewentapairofred-and-white canvas sneakerswith holes in the toes. Shehadunderwear,butnosocks.If any of these were everwashed, there was littleevidenceofit.Certainly Sheila wasn’t
washed.Thedirtwasworninon her hands and her elbowsandaroundherankles,sothatdark lines had formed overthe skin in these areas.Worse,shewasabedwetter.The smell of stale urinepermeated whatever part ofthe classroom Sheilaoccupied. When I quizzedSheila about washing
facilities, I discovered theyhadnorunningwater.Thisseemedthebestplace
to start. She was sounpleasant to be near that itdistracted all of us from thechildherself;soIcamearmedwith towels, soap andshampoo and began to batheSheilainthelargesinkatthebackoftheclassroom.
I was washing her when Ifirst noticed the scars. Theywere small, round andnumerous, especially alongher upper arms and theinsides of her lower arms.The scars were old and hadlong since healed, but Irecognized them for whatthey were—the marks leftwhenalitcigaretteispressed
againsttheskin.“Does your dad do things
that cause these?” I asked,trying to keep my voice ascasual and conversational aspossible.“My pa, he wouldn’t do
that! He wouldn’t hurt mebad,” she replied, her toneprickly. “He loves me.” IrealizedsheknewwhatIwas
asking.Inoddedandliftedherout
of the water to dry her. Forseveral moments Sheila saidnothing, but then she twistedaroundtolookmeintheeye.“You know what my mamadone,though?”“No,what?”She lifted up one leg and
turneditformetosee.There,
on the outer side just abovethe ankle, was a wide whitescar about two inches long.“Mymama, shepushmeoutofthecarandIfalldownso’sarockcuttedupmylegrighthere.See?”I bent forward and
examinedit.“My pa, he loves me. He
don’t go leaving me on no
roads.You ain’t supposed todothatwithlittlekids.”“No,you’renot.”There was a moment’s
silence while I finisheddryingherandbegantocombout her newly washed hair.Sheila grew pensive. “Mymama, she don’t love me sogood,” she said. Her voicewas thoughtful,but calmand
matter-of-fact. She couldhave been discussing one oftheotherchildrenintheclassor a piece of schoolwork or,for that matter, the weather.“Mymama, she take JimmieandgotoCalifornia.Jimmie,he be my brother and he befour, ’cept he only be twowhen my mama, she leave.”Amomentortwoelapsedand
Sheila examined her scaragain. “In the beginning, mymama taked Jimmieandme,’cept shegot sickofme.So,she open up the door andpushmeoutandarockcuttedupmylegrighthere.”
Those early weeks withSheila were a roller-coasterride. Some days were up.
Delighted awe at this newworld she found herself inmade Sheila a sunny littlecharacter. She was eager tobe accepted into the groupandinherownoddwaytrieddesperately to please Antonandme.Otherdays,however,we went down, sometimesprecipitously. Despite herbrilliant progress right from
the beginning, Sheilaremained capable of trulyhair-raisingbehavior.The world was a vicious
place in Sheila’s mind. Shelived by the creed of doingunto others before they dounto you. Revenge, inparticular, was trenchant. Ifsomeone wronged Sheila oreven simply treated her a bit
arbitrarily, Sheila exactedprecise, painful retribution.On one occasion, she causedhundredsofdollars’worthofdamage in another teacher’sroom in retaliation for thatteacher’shavingreprimandedherinthelunchroom.What saved us was a
complicated bus schedule. Inthe months prior to coming
into my room, Sheila’sbehavior had gotten herremoved from two previousschoolbusesandtheonlyoneavailable to her nowwas thehigh school bus.Unfortunately, this did notleave for the migrant campuntiltwohoursafterourclassgot out. Thus Sheila had toremain after school with
Antonandmeuntilthattime.IwashorrifiedwhenIfirst
foundout,because those twohours after school were myplanningandpreparationtimeandIcouldn’t imaginehowIwould get on with thingswhile simultaneously havingtobaby-sitasunpredictableachild as Sheila. There was,however, no choice in the
matter.Initially,Iletherplaywith
theclassroomtoyswhileIsatatthetableandtriedtogetonwith my work, but afterfifteen minutes or so on herown, she’d inevitably pullawayandcometostandovermewhile Iworked. Shewasalways full of questions.What’sthat?What’sthisfor?
Whyareyoudoingthat?Howcome this is like this? Whatdo you do with that thing?Constantly. Until I realizedwewere talkingmuchof thetime. Until I realized howmuchIenjoyedit.She liked to read and she
could, I think, read virtuallyanything I placed in herhands.Whatstoppedherwas
not her ability to turn thelettersonthepageintowords,but rather to turn them intosomething meaningful.Sheila’s lifewas so deprivedthat much of what she readsimplymadenosensetoher.As a consequence, I beganreadingwithher.There was something
compelling about sharing a
bookwith Sheila.Wewouldsnuggle up together in thereading corner as I preparedto read aloud to her andSheila would be so ravenousfor the experiences the bookheld that her entire body’dgrow taut with excitement.Winnie the Pooh, Long JohnSilver and Peter Pan provedsturdiermagicthanChattelof
Love. However, of all thebooks,itwasSaint-Exupéry’sThe Little Prince that wonSheila’s heart. She adoredthis bemused, perplexinglittle character.His othernessshe understood perfectly.Mature one moment,immature the next, profound,then petty, and always,always the outsider, the little
princespokedeeplytoSheila.We read the book so manytimes that she could quotelongpassagesbyheart.When not reading, we
simply talked. Sheila wouldlean on the table and watchmework,orwewouldpauseat some point in a book forme to explain a concept andthe conversation would go
from there, never quitereturningtothestoryathand.Progressively, I learned
moreaboutSheila’slifeinthemigrant camp, about herfather and his lady friendswho often came back to thehousewith him late at night.Sheila told me how she hidhisbottlesofbeerbehind thesofa to keep him from
drinking too much, and howshe got up to put out hiscigarettes after he had fallenasleep. I came to hear moreabouthermother,herbrotherand the abandonment. And Iheard about Sheila’s otherschoolandherotherteachers,aboutwhatshedid to fillherdaysandhernights,whenshewasn’t with us. In return, I
gave her my world and thehope that it could be hers aswell.Those two hours were a
godsend. All her short lifeSheila had been ignored,neglected and often openlyrejected. She had littleexperience with mature,loving adults and stableenvironments, and now,
discovering their existence,shewasgreedyforthem.Thebusy atmosphere of theclassroom during the day,supportive as it was, did notallow for the amount ofundivided attention Sheilarequired to make up for allshe had lacked. Itwas in thegentle silence of theafternoon when we were
alone, thatshedaredtoleavebehindheroldbehaviorsandtrysomeofmine.
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