Читать книгу Will You Love Me?: The story of my adopted daughter Lucy: Part 3 of 3 - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 8

I’d arranged for Adrian and Paula to spend the afternoon at their friends’ houses, rather than having to sit in a hot car while I took Lucy to contact and then wait while she saw her mother. As the contact was only for an hour, it wasn’t worth me returning home, so once I’d seen Lucy into the centre and met her mother, I planned to go for a walk in the local park until it was time to collect her. When I’d talked to Lucy about seeing her mother, she’d seemed quite unfazed by the prospect; she hadn’t had any questions to ask me and said she remembered the contact centre from when she’d seen her mother there the year before. However, now we were in the car and on our way she’d fallen very quiet, and I appreciated how unsettled and anxious she was probably feeling, although she was keeping a tight lid on her emotions. I felt nervous. Lucy hadn’t seen her mother for over six months, and I was imagining a very emotional reunion where they fell into each other’s arms and cried openly.

‘Stevie said if it all goes well today she’ll set up regular contact,’ I said to Lucy, as I pulled into the car park at the centre. ‘She’s thinking of making it once a week.’

‘Mum won’t be around long enough for that,’ Lucy replied.

I thought Stevie wouldn’t have suggested it if she wasn’t sure it was feasible, but I didn’t say so. ‘Where does your mother go when she disappears?’ I asked. ‘Do you know?’

‘No,’ Lucy said bluntly. ‘She never told me. She just went.’

I thought I’d said enough. Lucy clearly resented my question and now she’d withdrawn into her shell. ‘No worries,’ I said. I parked and cut the engine.

I turned in my seat to face Lucy. ‘It’s bound to be strange for you both,’ I said, trying to reassure her. ‘But if you have any worries, tell the contact supervisor. Sometimes parents don’t know what to say in contact and can say the wrong thing when they don’t mean to.’ They often talk about their home lives, which can be very upsetting for a child in care.

Lucy shrugged.

‘Come on then,’ I said, with a cheerful smile. ‘Let’s go in. We’re a bit early, but we can wait inside, rather than in the hot car.’

I got out of the car and went round to open Lucy’s door, which was child-locked. She clambered out and I pressed the fob to lock the doors. As we went up the path leading to the main entrance, Lucy slipped her hand into mine and I gave it a reassuring squeeze. She hadn’t held my hand before and I thought it was an indication of how vulnerable she must be feeling that she needed this extra reassurance. Arriving at the door to the centre, I pressed the security buzzer and the door clicked open. Inside, I said hello to the receptionist, who was seated behind the open sliding-glass window of the office. She knew me a little from my previous visits to the centre with other children I’d fostered.

‘This is Lucy,’ I said. ‘She’s seeing her mother, Bonnie, at three o’clock.’

The receptionist smiled. ‘Bonnie isn’t here yet, so if you’d like to sign in, you can have a seat in the waiting area.’

Lucy and I signed the visitors’ book and then went round the corner to the waiting area, which was tucked away from the main reception area and had a few books and games to keep children occupied while they waited for their parents. Once the parents arrived, they went into one of the contact rooms with a contact supervisor. There were six contact rooms in the centre and they were cosily furnished, like living rooms, with carpet, curtains, a sofa, a television and lots of books and games. Although it obviously wasn’t home, it was made to look home-like so that the children relaxed as much as possible and enjoyed the short time they had with their parents.

We were the only ones in the waiting area, but I assumed other children with different contact times were in the rooms with their parents. It was now one minute before three o’clock and I hoped Bonnie wouldn’t be late. One of the most upsetting things for a child in care is being kept waiting by a parent at contact, or worse, the parent not arriving at all. It’s stressful enough for the child to be separated from their family and then reunited briefly at contact, without being kept waiting or let down. For this reason, the contact rules are very firm: if a parent doesn’t phone to say they have been delayed, or if they don’t arrive within fifteen minutes of the scheduled time, then the contact is terminated and the foster carer takes the child home. Although this is upsetting for the child, it is less upsetting than if they are left waiting endlessly, only to be disappointed yet again.

I tried to interest Lucy in a book or a game of cards while we waited, but she preferred to just sit and wait. Upright on her chair and with her hands folded loosely in her lap, I thought I was more nervous than she appeared to be. She was dressed smartly in new summer clothes I’d bought for her, and her hair was shining and tied in a loose plait. I always make sure the child or children I foster look nice when they see their parents. It reassures the parents that their child is being well looked after, and also gives the meeting a sense of occasion – which it is, a very special occasion.

At 3.05 we heard the security buzzer sound, followed by the outer door clicking open. Then we heard the receptionist say to the person who’d just arrived: ‘They’re here.’ So I thought she must be referring to us, as we were the only ones in the waiting area.

I felt my heart start to race at little, but Lucy remained outwardly calm. We heard footsteps coming along the corridor, and then two women appeared from around the corner; one I recognized as a contact supervisor, and the other I assumed to be Bonnie. She looked at Lucy and smiled.

I stood, so too did Lucy. ‘Hello,’ Bonnie said to her daughter. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m well, thank you,’ Lucy said politely. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good, thanks.’

Formal and distant, they made no move to hug or kiss each other, which fell far short of the emotional scene I’d envisaged. There was silence, so I stepped forward and offered Bonnie my hand for shaking. ‘I’m Cathy,’ I said, ‘Lucy’s foster carer.’

Bonnie didn’t shake my hand, but gave a small nervous laugh. ‘Nice to meet you, Cathy. I hope Lucy hasn’t been giving you any trouble.’

‘Not at all,’ I smiled. ‘She’s an absolute treasure and a delight to look after.’ But my enthusiasm seemed strangely out of place in this emotional void, as Bonnie and Lucy continued to look at each other from a distance, not embarrassed, but just not connecting; more like distant acquaintances than mother and daughter.

‘Shall we go into the contact room now?’ the supervisor suggested, then turning to me she said, ‘You and Bonnie could have a chat later when you come to collect Lucy.’

‘Yes, that’s fine with me,’ I said.

The three of them turned and the supervisor led the way down the corridor towards the contact rooms. Before they disappeared through the double doors I heard Bonnie ask Lucy: ‘So, what have you been doing?’

‘Going to school and other things,’ Lucy replied flatly.

Outside, I left my car in the car park and crossed the road to the park to go for a walk. It was a lovely summer’s day and the play area was full of children running and shouting excitedly under their parents’ watchful gaze. I followed the path that ran around the perimeter of the park, under some trees and beside a small lake. I breathed in the beautiful scent of summer flowers, fresh from a recent watering by the gardeners. I knew from the original referral that Bonnie was thirty-six, but having met her she looked a lot older. There had been a suggestion in the referral that she’d been drink and drug dependent at various times in her life, and this could explain her premature ageing. I’d met parents of other children I’d fostered who’d looked old before their time from drug and alcohol abuse; many far worse than Bonnie. Some had been skeletally thin with missing teeth, a hacking cough and little or no hair. Apart from looking older than she should have done, Bonnie appeared well nourished and was smartly dressed in fashionable jeans and a T-shirt. I’d noticed that, while Lucy had inherited her father’s dark eyes and black hair, there was a strong family likeness between her and her mother. Although their initial meeting had been awkward, I assumed that as the hour passed and they got to know each other again they’d relax and feel more comfortable, so that when I arrived to collect Lucy they’d be laughing, chatting and playing games.

I completed the circuit of the park and stopped off at the cafeteria to buy a bottle of water, which I drank on the way back. It was exactly four o’clock when I arrived at the contact centre.

‘You can go through and collect Lucy,’ the receptionist said. ‘They’re in Blue Room.’ Sometimes the carer collects the child from the contact room and at other times the supervisor brings the child into reception once they’ve said goodbye to their parents in the room.

Each of the contact rooms was named after the colour it was decorated in. I went down the corridor, through the double doors and arrived outside Blue Room. I knocked on the door. Through the glass at the top of the door I could see the contact supervisor sitting at a table, writing. She looked up and waved for me to go in.

Inside, Lucy was sitting on the sofa next to her mother, close, but not touching. Usually at the end of contact the child is very excited – often over-excited – and has to be persuaded to pack away the games they’ve been playing and say goodbye to their parents. But there were no games out and apparently no excitement. The room was eerily quiet.

Bonnie and Lucy looked over at me as I entered, and I smiled.

‘It’s time for you to go,’ Bonnie said evenly to Lucy.

‘Yes,’ Lucy said, and stood.

‘Have you had a nice time?’ I asked.

Bonnie glanced at her daughter. ‘It was good to see her again,’ she said, in a tone devoid of emotion. Lucy looked sombre and subdued. Then Bonnie said to me: ‘Thank you for bringing Lucy. We might meet again some time.’

I hesitated, not sure what to make of this comment. I took a couple of steps further into the room. The supervisor was busy writing. If I was feeling confused, then surely Lucy was too?

‘I believe Lucy’s social worker is going to set up regular contact,’ I said to Bonnie. ‘She was talking about once a week.’

Bonnie gave another tense little laugh and looked slightly embarrassed. Then, glancing at her daughter, she said, ‘Oh, no, Lucy won’t be expecting that, will you? She knows what I’m like. I’m sure I’ll see her again some time, though.’

‘So you won’t be seeing her regularly?’ I asked, unable to believe what I was hearing.

‘No, that’s not possible,’ Bonnie said. ‘It’s nice of you to look after her, though; she seems happy with you.’

I smiled weakly and looked at Lucy. Her face was emotionless. She appeared to be taking this in her stride; perhaps she’d been expecting this reaction from her mother.

‘Well, goodbye,’ Bonnie now said to me, ready to go. ‘I understand I have to wait in this room until you two have left the building.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s what usually happens.’ Then: ‘There’s something I need to ask you before we go.’

‘If it’s anything to do with Lucy, ask her,’ Bonnie said. ‘She knows more about herself than I do.’ She gave yet another nervous laugh.

‘No, it’s nothing like that,’ I said. ‘I know Lucy quite well now. It’s that I need your permission to take Lucy on holiday. I think Stevie was going to mention it to you?’

‘Oh, yes, she did,’ Bonnie said nonchalantly, waving the question away with her hand. ‘It’s fine with me. I hope you have a nice time.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. I had planned to give Bonnie the details of our holiday – where we were going and when – but she didn’t seem interested. She was now slipping her bag over her shoulder, getting ready to go after we had left the centre. ‘Goodbye then,’ she said.

I said goodbye and then waited to one side while she said goodbye to Lucy. I was anticipating that she would give her daughter a hug or goodbye kiss – even friends do that – but she didn’t. Standing a little in front of Lucy, she said, ‘Goodbye, love. Look after yourself.’

‘Goodbye,’ Lucy said, not expecting any more. It was one of the saddest goodbyes I’ve ever witnessed.

Without saying anything further, Lucy came over to me and slipped her hand into mine.

‘Be good,’ Bonnie called, as we turned to leave.

‘She always is,’ I said.

We walked down the corridor and through the double doors. My immediate impression of Bonnie was that she wasn’t callous or uncaring, but just completely detached from her daughter. There appeared to be no bond between them, other than the genetic link. I was shocked, and sad for Lucy, but it did explain a lot of what I knew about her. I was so preoccupied and choked up by what I’d just seen that I walked straight past the visitors’ book.

‘Hey, Cathy!’ Lucy said, drawing me to a halt. ‘You’ve forgotten to sign out.’

We returned to the visitors’ book and both signed our names and wrote our time of departure. Then outside we walked in silence. Lucy had her hand in mine again and a couple of times I glanced at her, feeling I should say something, but not knowing what. She clearly knew her mother better than I did, and had known what to expect, while I’d had a completely different set of expectations, based on how I would feel at being reunited with my daughter after six months’ separation. Quite clearly Stevie had had different expectations too – unrealistic expectations. If she phoned I’d tell her what had happened, or she’d read the supervisor’s report in a couple of days. Either way, regular contact wasn’t going to happen, and for reasons I really didn’t understand.

In the car I turned in my seat to face Lucy, who was fastening her seatbelt. ‘Are you all right, love?’ I asked gently. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘I’m all right,’ she said quietly. ‘Mum’s like that because she was hurt badly when she was little. She can’t let people close to her, not even me, because of the horrible things some people did to her.’

I looked at Lucy, shocked, and my heart ached – not only for Lucy, but for Bonnie too. How easily Lucy’s life could have followed that of her mother’s had she not been brought into care.

‘It’s not her fault she’s like she is,’ Lucy added. ‘I don’t blame her any more.’

‘No, it’s not her fault,’ I said sadly.

Lucy had previously told me things about her mother and her life before coming into care – usually on the Sundays when Adrian and Paula were out with their father and it was just the two of us – but she hadn’t told me this before. ‘I think your mother had a very difficult life,’ I said, still turned in my seat facing her. ‘I think she gets by as best she can. It’s such a pity someone didn’t help her, like you’re being helped now. I’m pleased you’ve forgiven her.’ For so often when children are failed by their parents they become consumed by anger, which can easily blight the rest of their lives.

That night I gave Lucy an extra-big hug. Mr Bunny was tucked in beside her on the pillow, and sometimes, like tonight, she asked me to kiss him goodnight. Although Lucy must have been affected by seeing her mother and all the emotions, memories, hopes and disappointments it no doubt resurrected, she wasn’t showing it. I wondered what was really going on in her thoughts.

‘Is there anything you want to talk about?’ I asked gently, as I sat on the bed.

Lucy shook her head. ‘Not really. Mum will be fine. She can look after herself,’ she said, as though reassuring us both.

‘I’m sure she can,’ I said. ‘And when she feels up to it, she’ll get in touch with Stevie and arrange to see you again.’

Lucy looked thoughtful and then frowned. ‘I think I’ll have left you by then.’

‘Yes, if it’s in six months’ time or more, you’ll probably be with your forever family, but they’ll take you to contact.’

Lucy frowned again and then said, ‘I wish I could stay here with you.’

‘Oh, love,’ I said, stroking her forehead. ‘I know how unsettling this must be for you.’

‘Mum asked me if I was staying with you and I told her I couldn’t. But why can’t I stay, Cathy?’

This was so difficult. Lucy knew the care plan, as Bonnie would, and I wondered what they’d said about this in contact. ‘Do you remember I explained that Stevie was trying to find your relatives to see if one of them could look after you?’ I said. Lucy nodded. ‘And if there isn’t anyone suitable, Stevie’s going to find a permanent foster family for you, where one of the parents is Thai or Asian, so you’ll fit in.’

‘But I fit in here, don’t I?’ Lucy said.

‘Yes, of course you do, love. I think the world of you, so do Adrian and Paula, but it’s not my decision. Social workers like children to be with families that have the same ethnic background. Do you remember I explained what that meant?’

Lucy nodded solemnly. ‘What if I let you put that flag up in my bedroom? Could I stay then?’

‘Oh, love,’ I said again, a lump rising in my throat. ‘I wish it was that simple.’

Lucy then gave a small mischievous smile. ‘If Stevie lets me stay, I’ll stop letting Toscha in when she visits.’

I laughed. ‘You need to stop letting her in now,’ I said playfully. ‘Stevie’s coming next week for your review, and I don’t want her sneezing the whole time.’

‘I’m not coming to my review,’ Lucy said matter-of-factly.

‘I know, and no one is going to make you. But if you feel able, you could come in for a few minutes. We’re having it here, so you can stay for as long or as short a time as you like.’ Lucy shook her head. The social workers usually expected a child of her age to be present for part of their review, unless there was a good reason why they shouldn’t or couldn’t attend.

‘No, not going at all,’ Lucy said, her face setting. ‘I hate social workers.’

‘All right, I hear you,’ I said. ‘But now I want you to forget about hating and think of some nice things so you can get off to sleep. We’re going on holiday in a few weeks and then in September it’s your birthday. You’ll have to tell me what you want to do for your birthday treat, and what presents you’d like.’

A smile replaced Lucy’s frown. ‘That’s better,’ I said.

‘I’m looking forward to going on holiday, and my birthday,’ Lucy said, snuggling her face against Mr Bunny. ‘Will you take lots of photographs of me, so I can remember the nice time I had after I’ve gone?’

‘Yes, of course, love. You’ll have lots of happy memories to take with you.’

‘I’d rather have you,’ Lucy said, and I could have wept.