Mummy's Little Helper (7 page)

‘I’m not surprised,’ I said. ‘What with all the things you do for Mummy. I’d be tired too.
And
forgetful. But that’s one of the reasons I needed to speak to Mr Elliot,’ I added slowly, keeping an eye on her expression, in case something I said unleashed another flood. ‘Because if they know, they can help you better, and make sure the other children –’

‘How can
they
help me?’ she wanted to know. ‘I shouldn’t be made to
go
to school, even. Least, not that much. I have too many more important things to do at home. And what if Mummy falls over? She falls over and she can’t get back up again. What if
that
happens when I’m at school? An’ she can’t get to the toilet, or anything?’

There was something about the way she said this that made me prick up my ears. ‘
Has
that happened, Abby?’

I could see her chin dimpling and her eyes filling up again. She didn’t answer. Which I took to mean yes. On
both
counts. What an image. How on earth did she deal with something like that? She was so slight, for one thing, so, physically, it would be a struggle. And what about psychologically? And there being no one to tell. No one to share it with. How could any mother consider that an acceptable state of affairs? I got out of my seat and squatted down beside Abby’s. Unlike many of the kids I dealt with, she didn’t seem to have any attachment issues, at least; as before, she seemed happy enough to let me pull her into my arms. I could feel her sobs against my chest. ‘I just want Mummy back,’ she mumbled brokenly into my sweatshirt. ‘I just want my
mummy
back. I want to go
home
.
Please
. When can I
go HOME
?’

‘I know, my love.’ I said, rubbing her back and hugging her. ‘I know.’

I just didn’t know when I could give her an answer.

‘Listen, winter,’ declared Riley, peering miserably out of the kitchen window. ‘We’ve had enough of you now. Go AWAY!’

It was Saturday lunchtime and the rain was coming down in stair rods, bouncing off the garden furniture that sat huddled on the patio, and turning the whole of our pretty new back garden into a bog. Right now there was such a big pond on the sagging trampoline that I wouldn’t have been surprised to find ducks sitting on it. Not to mention frogspawn and a pair of koi carp.

I didn’t mind the rain myself – it was what made Britain so green and pleasant, after all – but if there were two things that were often incompatible as bedfellows it was rain and stressed mothers with under-fives to keep entertained.

‘It’ll stop,’ I reassured my scowling daughter, as I joined her at the window. ‘You wait. Look. That’s a patch of blue up there, isn’t it?’

Riley snorted. ‘Mother, what are you like?
Blue
? Come on – that’s just a very slightly different shade of grey. Even your positive mental attitude doesn’t have the power to change that.’ She turned around. ‘So, what shall we do then? Play shops? Make some fairy cakes? Take to the bottle …?’

‘Er, go down to the woods?’

‘What, as in
swim
there?’

We might have moved house, amassed two grandsons and taken on a new foster child, but some things in the Watson family never changed. Riley and I tended to spend our Saturdays together, while Mike and Kieron did their weekly bit of father–son bonding. Of all the routines Kieron loved (and he loved his routines) having his dad watch him play Saturday league football was his favourite. If Mike wasn’t on the touchline it would thoroughly spoil his day. So, come rain, shine or hurricane, Mike would always be there.

Though one thing, it occurred to me, had changed. Now Kieron was living with his girlfriend Lauren, in a self-contained flat above her parents, I was at least spared the Herculean task – and it would be Herculean, on a day like this – of trying to get the mud out of my son’s kit. And we’d half-planned, Riley and I, to take the little ones on an adventure. It had been such a whirlwind moving into the house, and what with Christmas and New Year, there’d been little opportunity explore the place yet. And it was an area I hardly knew, so I’d been itching to get out and about to investigate our surroundings properly. I’d also spotted that there was a footpath off the green in front of the house, which the lady in the shop had said led down to a little patch of woodland. Perfect for little ones, she’d said (I’d been in there at the time with Levi), as it even had a little stream, where we could go pond dipping.

I’d also fancied getting out because I thought it would be good for Abby. The weekend had started badly, with the early morning news from John Fulshaw that Sarah had contracted some sort of viral infection. We had planned to go and visit her again early evening, but this was now out of the question, both because she was too poorly, and because of the risk of spreading the infection. John could only pass on the news that they’d update us on Sunday.

With her mum already so unwell, I knew Abby would be really traumatised about the news and I’d dreaded having to tell her. Once she’d got over her upset after school the previous evening, she’d talked of little else other than seeing her mum again, and making sure the hospital were looking after her properly.

She’d reacted as I’d expected, her eyes filling once again with tears, and I felt dreadful that I couldn’t even promise her she’d see Sarah on the Sunday either, because, no matter how much I reassured her and plied her with that positive mental attitude of mine, I knew all too well the sort of thoughts that must have been going through her mind.

But I’d been right in thinking that my grandsons would prove a useful distraction. As soon as they arrived, it was as if the storm cloud over her own head had been spirited away. Within minutes of meeting them, she was completely besotted. Which, endearing as they were, I actually found fascinating initially. You could usually get a sense of how older children would be with little ones, and it was more often than not the case that the kids in big families were more at ease around babies. It stood to reason; children with lots of siblings, and perhaps nieces and nephews, just felt more relaxed around babies and toddlers because they were used to having them around. Only children, on the other hand, sometimes had difficulties relating. Without other children in their home lives they were often more used to solitude and their own space, and found the behaviour of little ones challenging. Snatching toys, creating chaos out of order, throwing tantrums – I’d seen it often. All behaviours that could make such children irritable.

It was a generalisation, of course, and a ‘rule’ that was often broken, but, given what we already knew of Abby, my hunch was that though she might enjoy playing with Levi and Jackson for a bit, she would soon find them a little bit tiresome. After all, she found the other kids in school difficult to deal with and, given her home life, she was clearly a solitary child.

Which was one of the reasons I’d been keen to get out on a long walk. Yet it had not been the case – far from it. Straight away she’d set about entertaining the pair of them, dragging out the toy boxes I kept in the hall, under the stairs, and suggesting games she could set up for the little ones to play. It was almost as if she was a mini playgroup leader, and the boys – even Jackson, who was still at that slightly clingy stage – were happy to let her organise them.

‘She’s a sweetie,’ remarked Riley, who had returned from her vigil at the kitchen window and was now preparing some pasta for our lunch. We’d eat at home now, as opposed to going out with some sandwiches, as we’d originally planned, and see how the sky looked after that. If the worst came to the worst then we’d stay in and make those fairy cakes – why not? – but I was still hopeful we’d get out at some point.

I nodded, watching how Abby followed Jackson’s every move, like a particularly over-anxious mother hawk. They were over on the other side of the dining room, building a castle out of Duplo, and all three were engrossed in the task. ‘I feel so sorry for her,’ I told Riley, keeping my voice low. ‘I’m just so aghast how she’s soldiered on so long without anyone having twigged to what was going on at home.’

I told Riley about the conversation I’d had with Abby’s teacher, and about what John and Bridget had found at the house, and how isolated Abby had become. Riley shook her head. ‘Unbelievable,’ she said. ‘What was her mother
thinking
?’

‘That she’d be less of a burden on Abby, if Abby knew how to look after herself. That’s what she told me, anyway.’

Riley’s face made her feelings clear. ‘Look after herself? Or her mother? Because that sounds more like it to me.’

‘I’m sure there must be an element of that,’ I agreed. ‘But I don’t think that was her intention. I think she really thought she was doing the right thing. I –’

I stopped then, as Abby was fussing around Jackson, who was trying to head off for a quick cruise around the coffee table but was being restrained, much to his annoyance, by her holding onto his dungaree straps. He was growing in confidence every day and he’d be walking soon, I reckoned. If he was allowed to, that was. ‘He’s fine, sweetie,’ I reassured Abby, who was looking anxiously in our direction. ‘Just let go of him. He’ll be okay. And if he falls on his bottom, that’s fine. It’s all part of him learning …’ At which point, of course, Abby having grudgingly relinquished her hold on him, he did fall. And quite sharply, too, having been straining against her.

Abby’s wail of anguish drowned out Jackson’s one of frustration, and she scooped him up as if he’d toppled ten feet, rather than ten inches. ‘Honestly, love,’ Riley tried to reassure her also, ‘he’s fine!’

Abby wasn’t mollified, and still cradled a by now wriggling and indignant Jackson. ‘But he could have fallen against the coffee table and hit his head!’ she persisted. She let him go, however, as he was getting ever more cross in her grasp. She stood up instead, looked around, and seemed to consider. ‘Perhaps I should move the table, do you think?’

We both watched in amusement. She was already reaching for the pile of magazines and the TV remote that were on it.

‘There’s no need …’ I began. Then I thought better of stopping her. ‘But if you’ll feel happier, then by all means. You could slide it around behind the armchair.’ I indicated where. ‘Do you want me to come and help you?’

Silly question. Getting ‘help’ was an alien concept for Abby. The job was done before I could even finish speaking.

Matters didn’t change much over lunch. I was beginning to realise that Abby was incapable of relaxing in the presence of the little ones. By the time we had finished preparing the food there had been major health and safety work accomplished in the living room. Presumably thinking I wouldn’t mind, since I’d been happy enough about her moving the coffee table, Abby had set to work building a little fortress for the three of them. She’d removed all the seat and back cushions from both the sofa and the armchairs and the three of them were now playing Duplo in what looked like some sort of World War One foxhole.

I didn’t mind at all, but once we called them all for lunch itself I began to get an unexpected insight into just how ingrained and acute her anxiety was.

‘Is it okay if I feed Jackson?’ she asked Riley politely, as we sat down.

‘Of course you can, sweetheart,’ Riley answered. ‘If you want to. Be my guest.’ Jackson didn’t really need much help with eating these days, of course. He ate a lot of what we did, and loved feeding himself, too, so by now Riley would only feed him if we were eating on the hoof and she didn’t want the usual attendant mess.

And he was happy enough to let Abby feed him, in any case; like all little ones, he enjoyed the attention. But Abby was much too stressed to enjoy it herself. ‘I think this spaghetti needs mashing up, doesn’t it?’ she asked me anxiously. She was already busy crushing the strands to a virtual pulp. ‘Or he might choke, mightn’t he? You can’t be too careful, you know.’

‘It’s just fine, love,’ I reassured her. ‘He can’t choke on it. It’s too soft.’ Even so, she began giving him the tiniest little mouthfuls, and it was no wonder he kept trying to grab the spoon out of her hand.

Levi, seated the other side of her, was another cause for her hawk-eyed concern. ‘Open wide,’ she kept saying, every time he spooned up a new mouthful. ‘I need to check your mouth’s empty before you put any more food in.’

Levi, clearly bemused, would obediently do so, but after the sixth or seventh time of being inspected in this fashion he turned to me, confused. ‘Nana,’ he wanted to know, ‘is Abby a little mummy?’

Which had us all smiling, Abby included. However, it didn’t escape my notice – though again I didn’t press it – that her own lunch was largely untouched.

We did get our walk in the end, though it ended up being the Sunday before we could head down to explore the woods, when the clouds had finally shifted enough for us to enjoy a little sunshine, even if it was boggy under foot. We’d had a second call from John, too; Sarah was okay, sent her love and would call Abby that evening, but they felt it inadvisable for her to visit that day. They hoped we’d be able to visit again on Monday or Tuesday, which news Abby took on board without too much visible upset.

But the constant tension that I realised seemed always to be around her soon began to manifest itself again. We headed out and the little patch of woodland turned out to be delightful. A tract of land that had been preserved between two large areas of housing, it followed the course of a stream that tumbled down a slight incline, and was criss-crossed with several meandering paths. It was obviously a haven for dog walkers and children, and even in gloomy February, with very little growing yet, it was, I decided, a real find.

But I wasn’t sure Abby could even see it, let alone enjoy it. It was as if, in Levi and Jackson, she had found something else to get herself worked up about. It certainly seemed to be the only thing on her mind.

‘So,’ Mike had asked her, as we’d headed down the pathway across the green. ‘Did you enjoy playing with Levi and Jackson yesterday?’

This simple enquiry had unleashed a kind of torrent; it was as if she’d spent the whole of the previous night worrying and now needed her fears about them to be allayed. Did Riley, she wanted to know, know how to look after them properly? Did she understand about filling a bath with cold water before hot water so there was no danger of scalding them accidentally? Did she understand about germs? Did she have a fire blanket and did she keep it somewhere accessible? Did she have stair gates that she kept closed at all times?

Mike chuckled as we began to make our way through the woods. ‘Oh, don’t you worry. Of course she does,’ he reassured her, glancing across at me, his expression one of mild amusement. ‘Fixed to the wall, they are,’ he added. ‘They even borrowed my drill to do it. And, actually, now I think about it, I’m still waiting for it back.’

‘How d’you know about stair gates and all that stuff, love?’ I asked her. I wondered if she had more experience of little ones than I’d first thought. And if so, from where? Maybe Sarah wasn’t so isolated after all. Maybe there was a friend we didn’t know about.

Abby carefully negotiated an expanse of muddy water before answering. This was clearly not a child who’d jump in a puddle. She would probably be thinking too much about the laundry it might create. ‘From my book,’ she said, as if surprised that I wouldn’t already know that.

‘What book’s that, love?’ asked Mike, doing likewise, in a single squelchy stride.

Abby watched him, edging back a little. I could swear I saw her wince. ‘My safety book,’ she answered. ‘Don’t you have one? Doesn’t Riley?’

I shook my head. ‘Safety book?’

Abby nodded. ‘It’s called
Look Out!
Mummy got it for me. I think she bought it off the internet. I’ve got three of them, actually. But Riley can borrow them. I don’t mind. If someone can go and get them …’

‘That’s really kind of you,’ Mike said, ‘but you keep it safe at home. Don’t worry. Riley knows what to do. Here, look,’ he said, pointing. ‘Here’s that stream Casey was on about.’ He took a couple more steps, then squatted down on his haunches to scrutinise it more carefully. It was actually more like a stepped series of ponds. ‘I’ll bet there’ll be tadpoles in there before too long. And a few stickleback. It’s just the sort of –’