Will You Love Me? (23 page)

‘I will,’ I said. ‘Also, I’d like to take Lucy on holiday with us at the end of August. Do I have your permission?’

‘I should think so. Send me the details, and we’ll need Lucy’s mother’s permission as well, as she still has parental rights. You can mention it to her when you meet her at contact.’

‘Will do,’ I said.

When I told Lucy that Stevie had traced her mother and had set up contact, she shrugged as if she didn’t care.

‘It’s for an hour,’ I added. ‘At the contact centre. I’ll take and collect you. It will be nice for me to meet your mother.’

‘Will it?’ Lucy said blankly.

‘Yes,’ I said, trying to be positive. ‘And I’ll be able to talk to her about you coming on holiday with us. Reassure her that you’ll be safe by the sea.’ I’d already told Lucy I was hoping to take her on holiday.

‘She won’t care where I go,’ Lucy said, and changed the subject.

I thought that as Stevie was on a mission to trace Lucy’s family, and had already succeeded in tracing her mother, then she might succeed with Lucy’s other relatives, specifically her father. I talked to Lucy about this and the Thai culture and put renewed effort into acquiring a Thai flag, which wasn’t proving easy. I knew what the Thai flag looked like – it was horizontally striped in red, white and blue, but it wasn’t easy to find one to buy in England. I phoned various shops and department stores, and even our local Thai restaurant to see if they knew where I could buy one, but without any success. Then I went online, which is what I should have done to begin with. The Flag Store sold flags from all around the world, in various sizes and made from different materials. I could have bought a thirty-foot bunting, but I thought that was a bit over the top, especially as Lucy wasn’t even keen on the idea of having a flag. The smallest flag I could order was three feet by two feet. I put in my card details and the flag arrived three days later. I handed the parcel to Lucy and said, ‘I’ll help you hang it in your bedroom later.’

She shook out the flag and a look of disdain crossed her face. ‘I’m not having that in my bedroom!’ she said.

‘Perhaps I could trim it to make it smaller,’ I suggested.

‘No. I want to keep my posters.’ Lucy’s bedroom walls were covered with pictures of cuddly animals and cuttings from her favourite magazines.

‘You can keep those as well,’ I said. ‘The flag will only take up part of one wall, and it will make Stevie happy.’

‘No,’ Lucy said, her face setting.

‘We could pin it on your bedroom door?’ I suggested.

‘No,’ Lucy said.

‘What about on the outside of the door, so you can’t see it?’

‘No,’ Lucy said.

‘Or we could use it as a throw-over on your bed? Flags make popular bedspreads, especially with football supporters.’

Lucy glared at me and pushed the flag into my arms. ‘No, Cathy. I’m sorry, you’ve wasted your money. I don’t want it.’

Which I accepted. I put the flag away. At least I’d tried, and I could understand why a young girl would rather have pictures on her wall than a flag. There were other, more important issues to concentrate on, like preparing Lucy for seeing her mother, which I did over the coming week.

Chapter Eighteen

‘I’d Rather Have You’

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.’