I Miss Mummy (15 page)

I
t was the following Sunday, late morning, when I spotted a golden opportunity to introduce the subject of the past, and the memories we carry from it. Alice had wanted to look at some of my photograph albums, as she did from time to time. These albums contained pictures of my family and also the children we’d looked after, some of them going back years. Alice and I were in the sitting room with the French windows open on another gloriously warm sunny day. I was sitting beside her on the floor as she turned the pages of the album and asked questions about the children in the photographs.

‘You’ve got lots and lots of pictures,’ she said, closing one album and opening the next.

‘Yes. I like photographs.’

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘It reminds me of all the good times we’ve had. Sometimes memories can fade, so it’s nice to have something to remind us. That’s why I take lots of photographs of you – so that when you leave we will
both have something to remember each other by.’ Alice didn’t say anything but studied the present page of photographs, which had been taken in the summer two years previously. Adrian had been twelve, Paula eight, and Lucy hadn’t arrived yet. In Lucy’s place was a five-year-old boy who had stayed with us for three months. Adrian was kicking a ball to him while Paula could be seen in the background on the swings.

As Alice looked at the photographs I casually said: ‘These photographs were taken one summer. I like summer. Do you remember last summer – before you went to live with your nana and grandpa?’

‘Yes,’ she said with a small nod.

‘I thought you might, because you have a very good memory. Do you remember seeing your dad last summer? Before you started seeing him at the family centre for contact?’

‘Yes,’ she said again, still looking at the photographs.

I was surprised, because Alice had never mentioned it. I paused, wondering how best to proceed, and then decided a direct and honest approach would work best with Alice. ‘Alice, this could be important, so I want you to think hard. Kitty has asked me if you can tell me what you remember of seeing your dad last summer.’

‘We met him outside our flat,’ Alice said without hesitation.

‘Who’s “we”?’

‘Mummy and me.’

‘What, you mean in the street outside the flat, where you lived with your mummy?’

Alice nodded. This confirmed what Chris had said at the review – that he’d met Leah in the street once, although he hadn’t mentioned Alice being there.

‘Were you surprised to see him?’ I asked. ‘Or did Mummy tell you that you were going to meet him?’

‘I was surprised. I didn’t know him. He said he was my daddy, and Mummy said he was.’

‘And was Mummy surprised to see him, do you remember?’

‘Yes.’

‘So what did you do? Did you talk to him or just carry on going with Mummy? Do you remember?’

‘He came into our flat,’ Alice said, again without hesitation.

‘Your mummy asked him to come in?’

‘I think so.’

‘And were you happy for him to come to your flat?’ She shrugged and turned another page in the album. ‘So what happened when Daddy came in? Did Mummy make him a drink? Did he play with you? Don’t worry if you can’t remember.’

‘He stayed, for a long time,’ Alice said.

‘What, for the whole day?’

‘No, lots of days and nights. Mummy was happy to begin with, and I liked it for a bit. It was like a proper family with a mummy and daddy. Then he made Mummy upset and angry and she shouted a lot.’

‘That was very sad, and it can be frightening when adults shout. Did Mummy shout at you?’

‘No, she shouted at Daddy. And he made Mummy cry,’ Alice added. I wondered if this could have been the
screaming and shouting the neighbours had heard last August and had reported to the police – unaware that Chris was in the house, they’d assumed it was Alice Leah had been shouting at.

‘Alice, what did Daddy do to make Mummy shout and cry? Do you know?’ I sensed I might not want to hear the answer, and I was right.

‘He kicked Mummy in the head and the tummy. It hurt her so much she screamed and cried.’

I looked at Alice carefully. She had stopped turning the pages of the album and was now staring at it as though staring through it, as she concentrated on what she was remembering.

‘It was very naughty of him to hurt Mummy,’ I said. ‘It’s wrong for people to hurt each other, and certainly mummies and daddies should look after each other. Alice, why haven’t you told me all this before?’

‘He’ – she meant her father – ‘said I mustn’t tell. And Mummy said it would make it bad for her if I told.’

‘When was this said to you? Last summer?’

Alice nodded. Then her brow creased. ‘Sometimes he used his head and banged it in Mummy’s face. He made her nose bleed and it was all swollen. One day I saw Mummy on the floor and Daddy was kicking her. I went to help her and he kicked me too. Daddy said he didn’t mean it – I got in the way. But I didn’t like him hurting my mummy. I wanted to help her.’

I was appalled. This was the man Alice was seeing regularly at contact and with whom she was supposed to be going to live! ‘Daddies shouldn’t do hurtful things
and certainly not kick and head-butt,’ I said. ‘It’s very, very wrong.’

‘That’s what Nana and Grandpa said.’

‘You told them?’

‘They saw what he did. The last time, when Mummy was on the floor, there was lots of blood and she couldn’t get up. After Daddy had gone, I helped Mummy crawl to the phone so she could phone Grandpa. She told him she had been hurt and Grandpa and Nana came in the car and took us to their house. They made Mummy better and said Daddy was an evil man.’ Alice paused and, still deep in thought, said reflectively: ‘Daddy was horrible to me and my mummy at our flat, but he’s nice to me now.’ Well, yes, I thought, he would be in supervised contact and in front of Sharon; he couldn’t be anything else but nice! My anger flared.

I was shocked by what Alice had told me, and greatly saddened that a young child had had to witness such horrendous domestic violence. But on another level I was pleased Alice had witnessed it, and had been able to tell me, for it supported what Mr and Mrs Jones had been claiming all along, and also put Chris in an entirely new (and worrying) light. Once Kitty was aware of what Alice had said, doubtless further investigation would be carried out into Chris’s background and suitability to parent Alice, which must now surely be called into question.

However, as if what Alice had already witnessed wasn’t bad enough, there was more to follow, which made me wonder why Mr and Mrs Jones’s claims had been so easily dismissed, and why Chris hadn’t been
investigated sooner, before it was decided that Alice should go and live with him.

‘Alice, you did very well remembering all that,’ I said, giving her a hug. ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me or is that it?’

‘He stayed lots of nights,’ Alice said again, returning her gaze to the photographs. ‘And he was horrible to my mummy. Sometimes he pulled her hair out and made her scream. Sometimes he teased her and made her beg.’

‘How do you mean, “teased her and made her beg”? Can you explain?’

Alice was looking at the photograph of Adrian and Paula having a water fight in the garden, their enjoyment a far cry from what Alice was now remembering. ‘Daddy had something Mummy wanted and he wouldn’t give it to her. He teased her with it,’ Alice said.

‘What sort of something?’

‘I don’t know. It was like icing sugar in a small plastic bag. He held it in his hand above Mummy’s head, and when she tried to grab it, he moved it and laughed. That’s teasing, isn’t it?’

‘It certainly sounds like it.’

‘The only way she could get the bag was to beg. She had to kneel down in front of him and pretend she was a dog. He made her run round his legs and bark. Then she had to kiss his feet and he gave her the bag of icing sugar.’

‘Then what happened after he’d given Mummy the bag?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice even.

‘Mummy went into the bathroom and when she came out she was happy again, for a little while. Daddy put
some of the icing sugar on some paper in a little line and sniffed it like he had a cold.’

I nodded. There was no doubt in my mind that the ‘icing sugar’ was an illegal drug, probably cocaine – which was either snorted, or sometimes diluted in water and injected. At the review Mr Jones had said that Chris had introduced Leah to drugs and used his words – ‘one little line won’t hurt, just for old times’ sake’. A line of cocaine is exactly what it says – a thin line of cocaine powder, which can be snorted. What Alice had just told me seemed to substantiate Mr Jones’s claim that Chris had got Leah on drugs. It was shocking that Alice had had to witness all this, but thank goodness she had.

‘Well done for telling me all this,’ I said again. ‘It must have been very upsetting for you to watch.’ She nodded and I gave her another hug. ‘Is there anything else you can remember so I can tell Kitty?’ Alice shook her head. ‘One last question, Alice: did you see your dad after you left the flat and went to live with your nana and grandpa?’

‘I didn’t see him, but he came to Nana’s house and wanted to see Mummy. Nana wouldn’t let him in. He pushed Grandpa and tried to force his way in. Nana called the police.’

‘But you didn’t see him?’

‘No.’

‘All right, love, well done. Let’s talk about something nice now. You see these photographs,’ I said pointing to the next page in the album. Alice nodded. ‘They were taken while we were on holiday. When school finishes
in July we shall all go on holiday to the seaside.’ Alice smiled.

While Alice pored over the photographs of sea and sand and happy children paddling, I grabbed my folder and began writing up my log notes while what she had told me was still fresh in my mind. As I wrote, I used the words Alice had used as much as possible – a verbatim account gives credence to the disclosures a child makes. But I knew that while I believed what Alice had told me, it would doubtless be hotly denied by Chris (and Sharon), and would still have to be proved. How could it be proved? I’d no idea, but one thing that had occurred to me was that if Chris had gone to Mr and Mrs Jones’s house looking for trouble, and Mrs Jones had called the police as Alice said, then surely the police would have a record of that 999 call. I knew it wasn’t much in terms of evidence, but it was a starting point that would surely uphold what Alice had told me and what Mr and Mrs Jones were saying, and would, I hoped, lead to the truth of what had happened last summer when Chris had reappeared in Leah’s life.

Later that afternoon, while Paula played with Alice in the garden, I typed up my log notes, printed out a copy and put it in an envelope addressed to Kitty. I would post it when we went out later, and I would also phone her on Monday and update her. The doubts I’d previously entertained about Chris parenting Alice (due to his lack of enthusiasm and commitment) were compounded and I felt very protective towards Alice. For while I knew that contact was strictly supervised and Alice was safe there, I also recognized how confusing
and upsetting it must be for Alice to be seeing her (abusive) father. She was now in regular contact, and being encouraged to form an attachment to a man whom she’d witnessed violently and sadistically assaulting her mother, while her mother – the victim, whose only crime was not being strong enough to stand up to Chris and say no to the drugs he’d offered – had been banished from Alice’s life. What a conflicting and warped message this must be sending to Alice, I thought! How confusing and frightening! And if he had behaved as Alice had described, what was stopping him from behaving similarly in future when Alice went to live with him? I feared for Alice’s safety and wanted desperately to protect her.

K
itty wasn’t in the office when I phoned on Monday; she was in court on another child protection case, which was expected to last most of the week. I left a message with her colleague, saying I had spoken to Alice as Kitty had asked, and I had put a copy of my log notes in the post. I guessed Kitty would receive my telephone message and log notes when she returned to the office later in the week, and phone me.

In the meantime the week ran as usual for us. The following day was Tuesday and Alice was due to see her father and Sharon again. I wasn’t looking forward to meeting Chris after what Alice had told me. I knew I would have to wear my most professional, neutral face and put my own feelings to one side.

Chris and Sharon always arrived early at the family centre which, according to the contact supervisor, was a sign of their commitment to parenting Alice. They waited in reception where they could see us as soon as we walked in. Sharon used to rush over to greet Alice, while Chris remained sitting in his chair, waiting for
Sharon to take Alice to him. But in recent weeks both Sharon and Chris had remained seated and I had taken Alice over to them to say hello. I always waited with Alice until the contact supervisor arrived before I said goodbye and came away, and they went to whichever room they were using for the contact. Chris and Sharon had never missed contact, unlike some parents, and their reliability was taken as another sign of their commitment to parenting Alice.

On Tuesday afternoon, true to form, they were already sitting in reception. Alice and I went over, and I said hello. As usual Sharon spoke before Chris and said: ‘Hi, Alice,’ and then, ‘Say hello to your dad,’ which Alice dutifully did. Having observed the way they’d greeted Alice in previous weeks, with Sharon always taking the initiative, I had put Chris’s lack of enthusiasm down to simply that – ambivalence towards Alice, or possibly (and more kindly) an awkwardness from not really knowing Alice or how to behave as a father, although it hadn’t improved with time. Similarly I’d attributed Alice’s reticence towards her father to not having had a relationship with him in the past. But knowing what I now knew I realized that Alice’s reserve – her guardedness – could be due to fear. I wondered if it continued in the contact room and, if so, if the supervisor had noticed and included it in her reports. Part of the contact supervisor’s role is to observe and note how family members interact with each other. The standard of the reports and the training and experience of contact supervisors varies greatly, from excellent to not good, but this supervisor had noted
Sharon’s enthusiasm waning towards Alice, so I thought there was a good chance she’d noticed Alice’s reaction to her father.

Having said a polite hello to Sharon and Chris, as usual I said that Alice was well, and told them any news she had. In the early weeks Sharon had been eager to hear all snippets of information about her ‘future daughter’ but now, as in recent weeks, they both looked at me blankly and nodded, uninspired.

‘Thank you for telling us,’ Sharon managed when I’d finished, while Chris nodded with as much enthusiasm as a wet lettuce leaf. The contact supervisor appeared, so I said goodbye to Alice, and then watched the four of them go down the corridor towards the contact room, with the supervisor chatting brightly to Alice, and Chris and Sharon following in silence at the rear.

Alice never spoke about contact afterwards and, other than asking her if she’d had a nice time, which was usually met with a shrug, I didn’t press her. I would be told anything I needed to know by Kitty, who received a copy of the contact supervisor’s reports each week. Alice had contact again on Thursday, and Sharon seemed to make a bit more effort and gave Alice a hug when we went in. Chris remained as impassive as ever and waited until Sharon told Alice to say hello before he said hi.

On Friday Kitty phoned and immediately apologized for not phoning sooner, as she’d been in court all week. She’d read the copy of my log notes I’d sent her and was shocked by what Alice had witnessed last summer at her mother’s. Kitty believed what Alice had said, as I
had done, for it tied in with what Mr and Mrs Jones were claiming, and it was also unlikely that a child of Alice’s age could have invented a story with that degree of detail. However, Kitty quickly pointed out that Chris was vehemently denying Alice’s allegations, and they would be difficult to prove.

‘When I spoke to Chris this morning,’ Kitty said, ‘he said Leah must have told Alice to say that.’

‘When? Alice hasn’t seen her mother in nearly four months. And she isn’t a child who can easily be manipulated, not as some children can, or else Sharon would have had her calling her Mummy by now. Furthermore Alice isn’t feeling very loyal to her mother at present. She’s still angry with her for not seeing her, and doesn’t speak of her mother, so she’s hardly going to lie for her.’

‘I know,’ Kitty said, ‘but the problem is there aren’t any independent witnesses. I’ve contacted the police and asked them to check their records for the calls the neighbours made about Leah shouting. I want to see exactly when those calls were made and what the neighbours reported hearing. I’ve also asked them for details of the 999 call Mrs Jones made when Chris went to her house. Mrs Jones can’t remember the exact date the incident happened, so it’s going to take a while. When I spoke to Chris he admitted he went to Mr and Mrs Jones’s house, but he says it was only to see Alice and he came away quietly when they wouldn’t let him in. He denies pushing Mr Jones. Mrs Jones says Chris arrived at their house very angry, demanding to see Leah and cause trouble, and didn’t ask for Alice.’

‘That is more or less what Alice said.’

Kitty sighed. ‘It’s a dreadful mess. My feeling is that a more thorough investigation should have taken place when the social services were first involved, before it was decided that Alice should live with her father, but don’t quote me on that.’

I gave a tight laugh. ‘No, I won’t quote you, but I’m pleased to hear you say it.’

‘I shall be observing contact as soon as I can,’ Kitty continued, ‘so will you explain to Alice that I’ll be in the contact room sometimes? I’ve also asked a psychologist I’ve used in the past to make an assessment of Alice in relation to her father and Sharon, and her grandparents. Her name is Brenda Taylor and she’ll be observing contact too, but not at the same time as me. Brenda is very nice and I’ve found in the past she can spot things in the way a child relates to their parents that the contact supervisor has missed.’

‘That sounds very positive,’ I said. ‘I’ll explain it all to Alice. Thanks for all you’re doing.’

‘It’s the least little Alice deserves,’ Kitty said with another sigh. ‘But you know, Cathy, it may be that in the end the judge decides Alice should go to live with her father. If hitting an ex-partner was a bar to parenting there would be an awful lot of kids without fathers. Chris’s and Sharon’s parenting assessment has been positive so far and, apart from Sharon’s enthusiasm waning a bit, which I suppose is understandable given all the delays, the contact supervisor’s notes are positive. I’ll see what the police come up with, but as you know there are two sides to every story. Who’s to say Leah
didn’t provoke Chris?’ Which of course was perfectly possible.

The next five weeks until the end of the summer term flew by, and before I knew it Alice was saying goodbye to her friends at nursery and I was saying, ‘See you in September’ to the parents, which seemed increasingly likely. A place was being kept open for Alice in the first year of the infant school, although the head teacher was aware of the uncertainty surrounding Alice’s future. If Alice did go to live with her father and Sharon, she would go to a different school, closer to where they lived on the other side of the county.

Kitty, and Brenda, the child psychologist, attended contact and observed Alice with Chris and Sharon, and also with her grandparents. Brenda was indeed very pleasant and sat, as Kitty had done, unobtrusively at the back of the room and made notes, while Alice played. But whereas Alice continued as normal, uninhibited by the presence of an extra adult in the room, Mrs Jones confided in me during the following telephone contact that she found it most intrusive and felt very self-conscious at being monitored and having everything she said and did written down. Of an older generation and having looked after Alice she couldn’t see why a contact supervisor was necessary, let alone the added intrusion of the social worker and psychologist. I reassured Mrs Jones this was normal practice and that while the supervisor would always be in contact until the final court hearing when the judge made a decision on Alice’s future, Kitty and
Brenda’s presence was only temporary – half a dozen sessions at the most. But I could understand the indignation she and Mr Jones felt, and I again wondered how my grandparents would have coped in their position.

We went on holiday the first week in August and had a wonderful time. Alice had seen the sea before – her mother and grandparents had taken her on day trips to the coast – but she hadn’t actually stayed at the seaside. I rented a three-bedroom bungalow overlooking a small Pembrokeshire bay in Wales. Lucy and Paula shared a bedroom, as did Alice and I, while Adrian had a room to himself. Alice was a little unsettled to begin with and woke the first two nights, wondering why she wasn’t in her ‘own bed’ and where all her things were – not fully understanding that we would be going home again at the end of the week. After that she slept well, helped, I think by exhaustion from having spent all day on the beach and eating late in the evening. Interestingly, halfway through the week, Alice suddenly began talking about her mother again – of happy thoughts and memories as she used to. It was as though being away had helped heal her feelings of anger and rejection.

‘I wish my mummy could come on holiday with us,’ she said more than once as we made sandcastles or paddled in the sea. ‘My mummy would like a holiday. It would make her happy.’

‘Perhaps Mummy will be able to have a holiday another year,’ I suggested.

Alice nodded thoughtfully. ‘I’ll take my mummy on holiday. When I’m grown up I’ll bring her here on holiday and we can make sandcastles.’

I smiled. ‘That’s a nice idea, love, although there are lots of different beaches you can go to. It doesn’t have to be this one.’

‘I’ll bring her here,’ Alice said decisively. ‘This sand has made me happy and it will make my mummy happy too.’ Which I thought was a lovely sentiment, and how popular this beach would become if its therapeutic qualities became known.

The only ‘negative’ aspect to our holiday was Lucy’s eating. Having seen her make so much improvement in recent months – Lucy had been eating small regular meals and encouraging Alice to eat – I now saw a dramatic decline in Lucy’s eating, and in her swimming costume I noticed how slim she was. She didn’t have the skeletal frame of some anorexics, who cover up their starved bodies with layers of baggy clothing, but she didn’t have an ounce of fat on her. I knew she was still underweight for her height and needed to put on at least a stone in weight.

Since we’d been on holiday Lucy had been eating a slice of toast for breakfast, one small sandwich for lunch, which we usually had on the beach, had refused all ice creams and candies, and had eaten very little of the evening meal, which we usually had at a restaurant. I’d half anticipated that dining out might cause Lucy a problem as she panicked at the sight of a full plate of food and the expectation to eat, but I’d assumed she could perhaps just have a starter and pudding, which
she did a few times but left more than she ate. I also caught her examining her stomach and patting it as if it had suddenly ballooned.

I was tempted to say something but, in keeping with my usual policy at home, I decided against drawing attention to the problem, which would probably have made Lucy self-conscious and was unlikely to improve her eating. My amateur psychology and reading on eating disorders had told me that, away from home and all that was familiar, Lucy felt a loss of control – similar to that she’d experienced when she’d first come into care. As a result she was exerting control in the one area where she had absolute control and for which she was totally responsible: her food intake and body weight. I hoped that once we returned home she would start eating again and resume the progress she had made.

On the last day of our holiday we left the beach early to go present shopping. The children wanted to buy their close friends little mementos of our holiday; I wanted to buy my parents something; and Alice should likewise take something back for members of her family. We spent over an hour in the gift shop, with other families doing similarly, and finally had a small souvenir for everyone, including Alice’s grandparents, Alice’s mother (which we’d send via her grandparents) and, after much persuasion, a box of candy for Alice’s father and Sharon. I felt it would have been impolite not to give Chris and Sharon something, especially if they found out that we’d bought gifts for Alice’s mother and grandparents.

As it turned out, Alice didn’t get the chance to give the box of candy to her father and Sharon, for on our return home the second letter I opened was from Kitty, advising me that contact with Alice’s father had been stopped.