Will You Love Me? (22 page)

‘No, he died last year,’ I said. ‘He wasn’t very old.’

And just for a moment I saw on Lucy’s face the briefest acknowledgement that there could be at least one other child in the world who’d had a sad and difficult life just as she had, albeit in a different way. Paula looked close to tears, so I changed the subject and talked about the games we could play with a three-year-old.

That evening, when I went to say goodnight to Lucy, it was obvious she’d been thinking about David, for she had some questions about him. ‘Does David still miss his daddy?’ she said quietly.

‘I’m sure he does,’ I said.

‘Will he miss his mummy and cry at night?’

‘Very likely, but I’ll look after him. Then, when you come home from school, you can help me if you like.’

But Lucy had lowered her guard enough for one evening and retorted with a sharp, ‘No. That’s your job.’

Ignoring her ill humour, I said goodnight, kissed her forehead and came out.

Beth arrived with David at 9.30 the following morning, just after I’d returned from taking Paula to school. Beth was a lovely lady in her thirties, although she was anxious at the thought of the operation she was about to have, and also about leaving David, whom she’d never left with anyone before. She brought with her a suitcase containing David’s clothes, a toy box of his favourite toys and books and a cuddly toy, which she told me he took to bed with him at night – all of which would help him settle with me. Although Beth was worried about leaving David, as we talked, David – not fully appreciating what was about to happen – was happy to chase Toscha and then play with the toys I’d put out in the living room. Beth had written down David’s routine, which would be useful for me to follow, and had also included his likes and dislikes in food, which again would be very helpful.

‘Jen, my sister, will collect David after work tonight,’ Beth said, ‘at about half past five, and bring him to the hospital. She’ll have him back to you by seven – that’s the time he normally goes to bed. I won’t see him tomorrow as it’s the day of my operation, so Jen will collect him again the day after.’

I reassured Beth that David would be fine and then I showed them around the house, with David holding his mother’s hand. When we went into David’s room, Beth explained to him that he would be sleeping here for two weeks while she was in hospital and then he would come home again, but I doubted that at his age he really understood. Beth left shortly after, as she had to be at the hospital for 10.30. David and I waved her off and then, once I’d closed the door and his mother had gone, he began to cry. I picked him up, took him through to the living room where I sat with him on my lap and cuddled him, explaining that he would see Mummy later. Then I distracted him with toys and games, which I played with him for most of the day. Every so often he would ask, ‘Where’s Mummy gone?’ I said, ‘To the hospital. You will see her later, after dinner.’ Soon he began repeating very sweetly, ‘Mummy gone to the hospital, see her later after dinner.’ He was so cute. I cuddled him a lot.

When it was time to collect Paula from school, I helped David into the car seat in the rear of my car and he asked: ‘Going to see Mummy in hospital now?’ Bless him.

‘No, love, later,’ I said. ‘Auntie Jen is taking you after dinner.’ But of course at three years of age these arrangements must have seemed very confusing to him.

Paula treated little David like a large doll and he revelled in the attention. She played with him while I began making an early dinner, as Jen would be collecting David at 5.30. Soon I could hear chuckling coming from the living room as Paula made him laugh. David’s chuckle was very infectious and was lovely to hear. However, when Lucy arrived home from school, I knew as soon as I opened the door she was looking for trouble.

‘My friend says it’s wrong of you to foster another child when you have me, and you’re only doing it for the money.’

While I was pleased to hear that Lucy had a friend, I knew that telling me this was obviously designed to provoke me.

‘I don’t expect your friend knows much about fostering,’ I said lightly, as Lucy glared at me antagonistically. ‘Perhaps she’d like to come here for tea so she can see what really goes on. Come and meet David.’

‘No!’ Lucy said, and stormed off up to her room where she stayed sulking until I called her down for dinner.

Adrian and Paula kept David amused at dinner while I made sure he ate something. I don’t think he’d ever had so much attention and I could tell from Lucy’s expression that she didn’t like it and may well have been jealous. Each time he chuckled she scowled at him and then finally said to me: ‘Tell him to be quiet. He’s making too much noise. It’s doing my head in.’

‘No. I’m pleased he’s happy,’ I said. ‘And he’s eating.’

Lucy glowered at me and carried on picking at her food, but even she wasn’t immune to David’s sweet, smiling face and infectious laugh, despite missing his mother. I saw her snatching glances at him, and gradually during the meal her expression lost its resentment and finally she allowed herself to smile. By the end of the meal she was laughing with the rest of us each time David chucked.

After dinner Lucy came with Paula and me into the living room where we played with David until Jen arrived at 5.30 to take him to the hospital. David was very pleased to see his aunt’s familiar face and threw himself into her arms and gave her a big kiss. Jen picked him up and hugged him, thanked me for looking after him and then confirmed that she’d have him back by seven o’clock. I think she felt a bit guilty for not having him to stay with her, but she had to work.

While David was out, I took the opportunity to unpack his suitcase and take some of his toys up to his room so he felt more at home. The rest of his toys would stay downstairs for him to play with in the living room. Lucy was in her bedroom and must have heard me moving around in David’s room, for presently she appeared at his bedroom door. She stood watching me for a few moments and then said, ‘I’m sorry I was horrible about David coming. I like him really.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘That’s good.’ But Lucy was often sorry after the event, and I was used to hearing her apologize. However, she then said something I hadn’t heard her say before: ‘I don’t know why you still want to look after me. The others didn’t.’

I paused from unpacking and looked up at her. ‘Because I like looking after you,’ I said. ‘I like you, and I understand why you’re hurting.’

She looked away. ‘There’s a lot you don’t understand,’ she said quietly. ‘Things you don’t know about me. Some horrible things that make me behave badly.’

I smiled sadly. ‘You’re not the first child I’ve looked after who’s had secrets. I hope one day you may be able to tell me, or when you start therapy you can tell your therapist. But one thing I do know, Lucy, is that whatever happened to you wasn’t your fault. No matter what you were told. All right, love?’

She gave a small shrug. ‘I guess.’ Then, with a small puzzled frown, she asked, ‘How did you know I was told it was my fault?’

‘Because that’s what bad adults tell the children they hurt. So the children will feel guilty and won’t tell anyone else.’

She held my gaze for a moment and then looked away. ‘I won’t be horrible while David is here.’

‘Good. He’s going to enjoy playing with you.’

For the next two weeks, while David was with us, Lucy’s behaviour did indeed improve. We didn’t have any angry outbursts, so I didn’t feel I was continually on a knife edge waiting for her to explode. Lucy became polite and cooperative and went out of her way to help me look after David. She’d always been nice to Adrian and Paula and my parents; it was me she’d directed her anger towards. Maybe Jill had been right when she’d said that Lucy had been receiving too much attention and that having David to stay would give us another focal point, or perhaps Lucy realized that there were other children in the world who’d had sadness in their lives as she had, but could still laugh. I didn’t know. But whatever the reason, I was grateful for the change in Lucy – the atmosphere in the house improved tremendously. I also noticed that her eating improved; not hugely, but since David had arrived she was more relaxed at the dinner table and was eating a little more.

Stevie paid us one of her scheduled visits during the second week that David was with us. It was 4.30 p.m. and Lucy was downstairs playing with David and Paula when Stevie arrived. Lucy blanked Stevie when she said hello, and then went up to her bedroom. I apologized to Stevie, but didn’t go up and try to persuade Lucy to come down; Stevie didn’t expect me to. Stevie stayed for half an hour, and while I updated her on Lucy Paula kept David amused. Among other things, Stevie asked what I was doing to meet Lucy’s cultural needs. I told her about the Thai meals we were cooking and that I talked to Lucy about Thailand whenever the opportunity arose.

‘Have you got her a Thai flag for her room?’ she asked.

‘No, but I will,’ I said, making a mental note to do so, as I’d previously forgotten.

I told Stevie that, while I still had concerns about Lucy’s eating, it had improved since David had been with us. Stevie made a note and said she was still trying to trace Lucy’s family – her parents and uncles. Stevie then said that, although she’d seen Lucy briefly, she still needed to have a quick look into her bedroom (it was a requirement of the social worker’s visit). So I took her up, knocked on Lucy’s bedroom door and opened it. Lucy still refused to speak to Stevie, but Stevie had seen enough to be able to include it in her report. As we returned downstairs, Toscha suddenly appeared from Lucy’s room. Stevie turned and shrieked.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, rushing to pick up the cat, who was looking pretty scared. ‘I put her out earlier. I didn’t know she was up here.’

I heard Lucy laugh.

Later, after Stevie had gone, I reminded everyone that Toscha had to be kept out while Stevie was here, as she was allergic to cats.

Lucy grinned. ‘Toscha wanted to say hello to Stevie,’ she said.

Adrian exploded into laughter.

‘Well, please don’t do it again,’ I said. ‘You know Stevie’s got an allergy to cats.’

Of course Lucy knew, that’s why she’d done it – to cause Stevie discomfort.

After David had returned home, Lucy’s behaviour didn’t immediately deteriorate as I was half expecting it to: she’d been on her best behaviour for David’s sake, after all, and now there was no need to be any more. I wouldn’t say she was an angel, but the improvement in her behaviour continued, and she was also still eating a little more.

‘You’ll have to help us out with respite more often,’ Jill said, when I updated her.

I nodded. ‘Although not for a while,’ I said. ‘I need time to recover.’ I’m not always sure social workers appreciate just how tiring it is looking after children.

Spring gave way to summer and Lucy continued to make progress at home and school. When I saw her teacher, Miss Connor, for the end-of-term consultation, she said she was very pleased with Lucy’s academic improvement. She thanked me for all I was doing at home to help her, but said that Lucy was still struggling to make friends. She said she felt Lucy had erected a protective barrier around herself to stop others getting close. Lucy talked to other children, but didn’t form meaningful friendships as most children of her age did. Miss Connor had partnered Lucy with a new girl in the class to be her buddy: to show her around the school, be with her at lunchtime and generally help her settle in. Lucy had done what was required, but hadn’t developed the friendship as Miss Connor had hoped. When Miss Connor suggested to Lucy that she might like to be friends with the girl and take her home for tea, Lucy replied it wasn’t worth making friends, as she’d lose them when she moved in a year. This had upset Miss Connor, as it did me when I heard, although we both recognized the truth in what Lucy had said. When the court made its decision Lucy’s forever family would almost certainly live out of the area, which would mean a change of school.

‘I just hope the court hurries up, so Lucy can get on with the rest of her life,’ Miss Connor said.

But I knew from experience that the wheels of the law turn slowly.

By July, when Lucy had been with us for five months, I was feeling quietly confident that she was over the worst of her behaviour. She got annoyed and frustrated sometimes, but then so do most children. The only time Lucy really grew angry now was when there was any talk of her social worker or when she visited us, which she had to do. It wasn’t so much that Lucy didn’t like Stevie, more that she was anti social workers per se, because they had failed to protect her when she was younger. Telling Lucy it wasn’t Stevie’s fault didn’t help, and each time Stevie visited Toscha appeared. While I could see the humour in this, I was concerned by Lucy’s blatant disregard for Stevie’s welfare, so I told Lucy that if it happened again I’d stop her television.

‘Don’t care,’ Lucy said. ‘Do what you want.’

Later, she apologized to me for being rude.

Stevie telephoned me the day before the schools broke up for the summer holiday and very excitedly told me she’d managed to trace Lucy’s mother, Bonnie, and had set up contact for the following week. While I knew that Stevie had been looking for Lucy’s family, and that this was correct social-work practice, I wondered what effect this would have on Lucy, who’d come to terms with not seeing her mother. Also, if everything went to plan, Lucy would be with her permanent foster family in about eight months, and she would be expected to bond with them as her own family. I therefore wasn’t sure about the benefits of reintroducing her natural mother to her now.

‘I hope it doesn’t unsettle Lucy,’ I said.

‘Why should it?’ Stevie asked, quite sharply. ‘It’s the child’s mother, for goodness’ sake.’

‘It might give Lucy mixed messages,’ I said. ‘She might think there’s a chance of her returning home.’

‘I doubt it,’ Stevie said. ‘But if you’re worried, explain to her again what’s happening with the court and so on. She won’t see me, so I can’t.’ Stevie sounded extremely put out and I wondered if she’d expected me to congratulate her on tracing Lucy’s mother.