I Miss Mummy (8 page)

‘
I
’m so sorry,’ Alice’s grandmother said, between sobs. ‘Alice can’t hear me, can she?’

‘No, don’t worry,’ I reassured her. ‘Alice is in another room. I’ll fetch her when you’re ready, and we’ve finished talking.’ As I usually did, I’d made the first contact phone call out of earshot of the child so that I could answer any questions about the child without them hearing. But as soon as I’d introduced myself to Mrs Jones, she’d broken down in tears.

‘Take your time,’ I said. ‘There’s no rush. Alice is playing. I’ll call her only when you’re ready. I appreciate how upsetting all this is.’

‘Oh, do you?’ Mrs Jones said gratefully. ‘Bless you, dear. How kind you must be. This is tearing us apart. Grandpa and I really aren’t coping with losing Alice, not at all.’ I heard her take a deep breath as she tried to control her tears; I really felt for her. Mrs Jones had a warm and gentle voice with a very slight Yorkshire accent. It was the voice of a doting grandmother, kind and caring.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said again, after a moment, her voice slightly more even. ‘I’m all right now. I promise I won’t cry when I speak to Alice. The social worker told me not to, and what I can and can’t say.’

Tactfully, I hoped. ‘Please don’t worry,’ I reassured her. ‘I’m sure you know what to say. Would you like me to put Alice on now and we can have a chat after you’ve spoken to her? She’s been looking forward to speaking to you and Grandpa all week.’

‘Has she?’ Mrs Jones said. ‘Bless her.’ I heard her voice catch again. ‘Yes please, put her on. I’ll be fine. Thank you so much.’

I laid the receiver beside the phone and went into the breakfast room, where Paula had been keeping Alice amused with a puzzle. I’d already explained to Alice that I would be speaking to her nana first, and I’d also given Alice a demonstration of how we’d use the phone when it was set to speaker. I now took Alice into the sitting room and she scrambled on to the sofa. I sat beside her and, pressing the ‘handsfree’ button to engage the speaker, I replaced the receiver.

‘Say hello to your nana,’ I said, which Mrs Jones could now hear.

‘Hello, Nana,’ Alice said in a little voice, leaning towards the phone as she spoke, although it wasn’t necessary.

‘Hello, Alice,’ her nana said, putting on a very brave voice. ‘How are you, love?’

‘I want to come home,’ Alice said. ‘I love you, Nana.’

‘We love you too, pet. Very much. Are you being a big brave girl?’

Alice nodded, although of course Nana couldn’t see that. ‘I only cried on the first night,’ Alice said.

‘And you’re all right now, pet?’

Alice gave a very small, ‘Yes.’ My heart went out to her.

‘Good girl. Have you got your clothes and toys? I sent them with the social worker.’

‘Yes,’ Alice said quietly. ‘I helped Cathy put them in my bedroom.’

‘That’s good. And you’ve got Brian the Bear to watch over you at night?’

‘Yes,’ Alice said again. Then she drew a deep breath.

‘Yes?’ Nana prompted. ‘What were you going to say, love?’

‘Nana, why can’t I live with you and Grandpa any more? Don’t you want me?’

I heard Mrs Jones’s silence and knew she was fighting back her tears as indeed I was. Dear little Alice, so very innocent, asking her nana if she no longer wanted her: it was heartbreaking. I also guessed Mrs Jones would be struggling with what to tell Alice, given that the social worker would have warned her to keep off the subject of why Alice was in care, so I stepped in and offered some help.

‘It’s natural that Alice will need a lot of reassurance,’ I said. ‘When Alice asked me the same question earlier in the week I told her that you, Grandpa and her mum love her very much but it’s not possible for you to look after her at present. I’ve explained to Alice that I look after children who can’t live with their own parents or grandparents until everything is sorted out.’

‘Yes, that’s right, Alice,’ Mrs Jones agreed; then she added, ‘It wasn’t our decision, love.’

‘Nana, Martha told me it was because you were too old to look after me,’ Alice said.

‘Grandpa and I don’t think we’re too old, but perhaps Martha meant that nanas and grandpas usually have their grandchildren come and visit, not live with them all the time.’ Which I thought was very well put. Mrs Jones then changed the subject, steering it away from Alice being in care, and asked Alice about nursery and her friends and teacher.

I felt so sad, sitting beside Alice and listening to their conversation, as her nana struggled to keep their talk on safe ground and they both fought to control their emotions. I looked at Alice, her eyes round with innocence and not really understanding why she couldn’t be with her beloved nana instead of having to make do with talking on the phone – their first contact since she’d come into care. I listened to Mrs Jones, having to deny her own feelings because the social worker had told her not to cry and upset Alice. I felt it was intrusive and demeaning for her to know I was listening to everything she said and I wondered if my monitoring the phone call was really necessary. The social worker had told me to use the speaker phone, so I had to, yet I struggled with the notion that Alice’s doting nana could say anything remotely detrimental to the well-being of her cherished granddaughter.

After about ten minutes of chatting with her nana Alice looked up at me and said: ‘Am I allowed to speak to my Grandpa?’

‘Of course you’re allowed to,’ I said, concerned that Alice should think otherwise.

‘I’ll fetch him now,’ Mrs Jones said, and we heard a small clunk as she set down the receiver.

I put my arm around Alice and gave her a hug. ‘You’re doing very well,’ I said. ‘You’ll be seeing Nana and Grandpa next Wednesday, which isn’t long now.’

Alice just looked at me with those big brown eyes. I knew my reassurance was of no consolation – she was yearning to be with her grandparents now. We heard another small clunk as the receiver was picked up, and then Grandpa’s voice came on.

‘So how’s my Alice?’ he said with forced brightness. ‘And how’s Brian the Bear? Has he won any matches lately?’

‘I don’t play with him now,’ Alice said quietly.

‘But you’ve got him with you?’

‘He’s in my bedroom.’

‘Well, that’s good. He’ll be keeping you safe at night. Have you told Cathy he sits with you when you watch the football?’

‘I don’t watch the football here,’ Alice said.

‘But you’ve got a television there?’ Mr Jones asked. ‘Can’t you ask to have it on?’

Alice nodded, which obviously Mr Jones couldn’t see, so I thought I should say something. ‘Hello, Mr Jones,’ I said. ‘Cathy here, Alice’s carer.’

‘Hello, Cathy, pleased to meet you.’

‘And you. We can talk more later, when you’ve finished speaking to Alice, but if you could tell me a bit more about the football Alice watches, I can make sure she doesn’t miss it in future.’

‘That’s kind of you, Cathy,’ Mr Jones said. ‘Thank you for looking after Alice.’ I didn’t say anything. I always feel uncomfortable when someone thanks me. ‘I hope we’ll have the chance to meet you soon.’

‘Next Wednesday,’ I confirmed. ‘I shall be bringing Alice to contact at the family centre.’

‘That’s good. Now, about the football and Brian the Bear. Alice might have told you I am a football fan and I used to support Nottingham Forest. I don’t go to the matches any more, but Alice and I always watch the football on television on a Saturday afternoon. And we always have Brian the Bear, our lucky mascot, with us. We’ve been doing this since Alice was a toddler, even before she came to live with us. Alice’s mum, Leah, used to visit every Saturday afternoon and while she was talking to Nana, Alice and I would watch the football. I’ve always watched it with Alice, always.’ He paused and took a breath. ‘I couldn’t put the television on this afternoon,’ he said. ‘Not alone. I couldn’t watch the football without Alice.’ His voice broke and I heard a sob; Alice heard it too.

‘Don’t cry, Grandpa,’ she said, her own voice quivering. ‘I’ll watch the football with you again soon, I promise.’

There was a moment’s silence as Mr Jones fought to regain control. Then in a broken voice he said: ‘Sorry, love, I’ll put Nana back on.’ He left the phone in tears.

I hugged Alice, who was close to tears herself. She rested her head against me as I swallowed the lump in my throat. It’s never easy when a child first starts having to speak to their loved ones on the phone, especially for
a young child who isn’t used to using a phone, but this was one of the most upsetting phone contacts I’d ever been party to, and I’d monitored plenty during my years of fostering.

After a few moments we heard Nana pick up the phone. ‘Hello, Alice,’ she said, her own emotion carefully under control. ‘Grandpa’s a bit tired. He’s gone for a lie-down. He sends his love and he’ll see you on Wednesday.’

Alice nodded.

Mrs Jones then talked about subjects that were neutral and not likely to upset them – nursery, what Alice was wearing and what she’d had to eat. Mrs Jones asked Alice if there was anything she would like her to bring with her on Wednesday. Alice shook her head sadly; then suddenly she brightened and said: ‘Chutney. I have cheese and chutney sandwiches here, but there’s something wrong with the chutney.’

‘You shouldn’t say that,’ her nana cautioned. ‘It’s not polite.’

‘Ask Nana which brand it is,’ I whispered to Alice, ‘and I’ll buy some the same.’

Alice did. ‘It’s home-made,’ her nana said proudly. My spirits fell, but then rose again as Nana added, ‘I’ve a pot left. I’ll bring it with me on Wednesday and you can have it at Cathy’s.’

‘Thank you very much,’ I said, loudly enough for Mrs Jones to hear.

‘You’re very welcome. Alice loves that chutney. I’ll have to make some more. That’s the last pot. Is there anything else you need?’

‘I don’t think so,’ I said, ‘but when you’ve finished speaking to Alice perhaps we could have a chat and you can tell me about Alice’s likes and dislikes?’

‘Yes, love, that would help put my mind at rest.’

Mrs Jones talked to Alice for another five minutes or so, again searching for safe, non-emotive topics, which wasn’t easy: they were missing each other so much that all topics seemed to lead back to their separation and loss. Mrs Jones asked Alice if she’d like her doll’s pram with her but Alice said, no, she wanted to leave it at her nana’s house so she could play with it there again. Presently her nana wound up. ‘Well, love, I expect it’s getting near your bath and bedtime. We’ll see you on Wednesday. I can’t kiss you goodnight, so shall I send a big kiss down the phone?’

‘Yes please, Nana,’ Alice said.

‘Be ready to catch it, then.’

‘I will,’ Alice said. She moved to the edge of the sofa and, leaning forward, towards the phone, cupped her little hands in front of her, ready to catch the kiss.

‘Are you ready?’ her nana said. ‘Here it comes. Don’t miss it.’

We heard Nana blow a kiss and we waited as it flew down the phone, transported on a beam of love, and landed into Alice’s little outstretched hands. Closing her hands around the kiss, Alice carefully drew it to her face before letting it go on her cheek.

‘I’ve caught it, Nana. I’ve got your kiss.’

‘Good girl. Have you got a kiss for me, love?’

‘I have,’ Alice said. Again she leant towards the phone, then said: ‘Are you ready, Nana? Are you ready to catch my kiss?’

‘Yes, I’m ready, love. I’m here.’

Alice pursed her lips and, drawing a deep breath, blew a big kiss down the phone. We saw it disappear. Borne on the same beam of love that had carried Nana’s kiss to her, Alice’s kiss winged its way down the telephone line to her beloved grandmother, who was waiting to catch it at the other end. ‘Did you catch it, Nana?’ Alice asked after a moment, having given it time to arrive. ‘Did you catch my kiss, Nana?’

‘I did, love, I did. I’ll share it with Grandpa. Night, love, see you on Wednesday.’

‘Night, Nana.’

I
took Alice into the breakfast room to continue playing with Paula and returned to the sitting room, where I closed the door so I couldn’t be overheard. When I picked up the receiver, the speaker phone automatically switched off. ‘Alice is with my daughter in another room,’ I assured Mrs Jones.

I’d intended that we’d spend some time talking about Alice, when I would reassure Mrs Jones as best I could and she would tell me of Alice’s routine and her likes and dislikes, so that I could make Alice’s time with me more comfortable; but Mrs Jones needed to unburden herself and all I could do was listen. She began immediately, with the day Leah had snatched Alice.

‘I told Leah it was the wrong thing to do,’ Mrs Jones said. ‘But she wouldn’t listen. She was so desperate that they’d take Alice away and give her to Chris, and she’d never see her again. I told her she should let Alice go into care and then get her solicitor to sort it out, but she wouldn’t listen.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. Mrs Jones had given Leah sound advice.

Mrs Jones then went back over the six months Alice had been living with them, prior to coming into care. ‘We were doing all right,’ she said. ‘I know we’re a bit old to be parenting a young child, but we always made sure Alice was at nursery on time, clean and well fed. Our biggest mistake was to ask that social worker for some help. I had a hospital appointment and Martin – Alice’s grandpa – was going to take me. We asked the social worker if someone could take Alice to nursery that morning. They took it as a sign we couldn’t cope.’

‘Usually the social services are pleased to put in help to keep families together,’ I said.

‘I don’t know,’ Mrs Jones sighed. ‘Perhaps this was the excuse they were looking for to take Alice away. We didn’t get any help, just more visits from social workers, leading up to the court cases. You know, they took us back to court three times. I’ve not been well and I was physically sick with worry each night before we had to go. The first two times we went to court the judge wouldn’t grant them the court order to take Alice away. He said there was insufficient reason. But the third time he did. I don’t know what was different, other than that we’d asked for help with the hospital appointment, but by then we were too exhausted to put up a fight and Alice had to go into care.’ Mrs Jones stifled a sob.

‘You can’t blame yourself,’ I reassured. Certainly the first part of what Mrs Jones had said fitted in with what
I knew: the social services had returned to court three times before the Interim Care Order had been granted, although the reasons for this I didn’t know.

‘We did our best for Alice,’ Mrs Jones continued. ‘But it wasn’t good enough. We’ve lost her and I think Leah is blaming us.’ She stopped again to catch her breath.

‘It’s very difficult for me to comment,’ I said. ‘I don’t know enough about the circumstances that brought Alice into care. But what I do know, and what I have said to the social worker, and will be saying again, is that Alice has been very well looked after. She is a delightful child and a great credit to you and your daughter. You should all be very proud of her. It’s a long time since I’ve looked after a child who’s been so well brought up.’

It was a moment before Mrs Jones could speak. ‘Thank you, love, so much,’ she said, her voice faltering. ‘That means a lot to me.’

‘Before Alice came to live with you,’ I asked, ‘did Leah look after her?’

‘Yes, although we’ve always played a big part in her life.’

‘I can tell. Alice has many fond memories of you and Grandpa, as well as her mother.’

‘Cathy, can I speak frankly to you? I’m not saying anything I haven’t told the social workers, but Alice’s father is a very wicked man. He was the one who got Leah into drugs; he deals in them, or used to. He treated Leah dreadfully; he beat her up more than once. He’s never been a father to Alice, and now they are going to send Alice to live with him and that Sharon woman. It’s
shocking, and Leah is so desperate I’m frightened she will do something silly.’

I hesitated. I didn’t know what I should or could say, for while I knew Alice’s father hadn’t been involved in her life in the past, I didn’t know the truth of Mrs Jones’s claim of him beating Leah or starting her on drugs.

‘Has Leah been found now?’ I asked.

‘Yes. She handed herself into the police on Wednesday.’

‘Is she still in police custody?’

‘No. Thankfully they let her off with a caution, although she’s been told not to go to the nursery or try to contact Alice. The police were very fair. They said they recognized that snatching Alice was an act of desperation, so they wouldn’t prosecute her, but they told her to get medical help.’ I was relieved that good sense had prevailed. ‘I think it was me letting Leah see Alice that led to Alice being taken into care,’ Mrs Jones added tearfully.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand. When was this?’

‘When Alice came to us, six months ago, when Leah couldn’t cope, the social worker – not Martha, but a different one – said that because of Leah’s mental problems I mustn’t let Alice see her, or speak to her on the phone. They said they would set up supervised contact so that Alice could see her mum, but it didn’t happen – I don’t know why. But tell me, Cathy, you’re a mother: how could I stop my own daughter from seeing her child? Where is the milk of human kindness? I couldn’t do it, so I used to let Leah into the
house so she could see Alice. There was never a problem; Leah always behaved herself – I made sure of it. The one time she arrived having been smoking something I sent her packing. But the social services found out I’d been letting her in to see Alice and they told the judge, and also that we’d all spent Christmas together. And I’m pleased we did. We had a lovely time and I think it will turn out to be our last Christmas together as a family.’ Mrs Jones stopped as her voice broke again.

What the truth of all this was I’d no idea, but given what I knew of Alice’s case, I could accept what Mrs Jones was saying. I also knew that if Leah was going to stand any chance of having her daughter returned to her, she needed to get medical help, speak to her solicitor, and stop screaming at the social workers as Martha had said she had been doing. I waited until Mrs Jones had stopped crying before giving her the best advice I could.

‘Leah must try to engage with the social workers,’ I said. ‘There is a new one taking up Alice’s case soon, so Leah can start afresh. Also she must make sure her solicitor is aware of all the background information. It is important. Does he know what you’ve just told me about Alice’s father’s violence and drug dealing? Was it ever reported to the police?’

‘I don’t think so. Leah was scared of Chris. He threatened her.’

‘Leah must tell her solicitor all this,’ I said again. ‘Also – and you can tell me to mind my own business – is Leah on any medication to help her?’

‘She was, but I don’t know if she still takes the tablets. She said they made her feel ill.’

‘I really think she needs to go back to her doctor and talk to him about her condition. If Leah’s been prescribed medication then she should be taking it. If she has problems with one tablet then her doctor may be able to prescribe something else. It’s important if she is going to try to make a case for having Alice returned to her, which I assume she will.’

‘Oh, yes. Alice is the most important person it the world to Leah. I know she’s lost her way, but she loves her daughter dearly.’

What I said to Mrs Jones was common sense really, but so often when we’re in a crisis we can miss the obvious. Mrs Jones thanked me and said she would speak to her daughter and tell her what I’d said. We said goodbye.

I replaced the receiver and sat for a moment thinking, before I went to run Alice’s bath. It wasn’t helpful for a ‘them and us’ situation to develop between the social services and the family of a child who was considered to be at risk. But this had clearly happened in Alice’s case, where Mrs Jones (and doubtless Mr Jones too) and Leah viewed the social services as the enemy, who were against them. I could appreciate why. If what Mrs Jones had said was true, then no help or support had been given to keep Alice with her maternal family and, worse, Alice was now being fast-tracked to a father who appeared to have a history of violence and drug dealing. Possibly Mrs Jones was misrepresenting the situation out of loyalty to her daughter; or had a dreadful
mistake occurred? In all my years of fostering I had always been able to see the reasons why a child had been brought into care, and that there had been no alternative if the child was to be kept safe. Now, I had serious doubts.