Will You Love Me? (28 page)

‘All right,’ I said.

‘Hopefully Lucy will get on better with the new social worker,’ Jill added.

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘And hopefully her new social worker won’t be allergic to cats!’

Chapter Twenty-Two

A New Year, a New Social Worker

I love Christmas, and so does my family. I always make sure the children I look after, as well as my own, have a fantastic Christmas – one they will remember. So many of the children I foster have never had a proper Christmas before, and I can cry at some of the stories they tell me about their Christmases before coming into care. Over the years I’ve heard of every disappointment and atrocity you can imagine taking place on Christmas day: having no Christmas at all, despite being promised one; having no food in the house and having to beg from neighbours; parents being too drunk, hung over or high on drugs to look after their children, so that they were left to get on with it, as they were every other day of the year; and, worst of all, children being abused on Christmas day. Abuse is evil at any time, but at Christmas – a time of good will and peace – it seems an even viler outrage, and my heart aches. One child I looked after had been badly beaten by his parents on Christmas morning for waking them up early, hoping that Father Christmas had been. He hadn’t. The parents locked him in the cellar until they were ready to get up in the afternoon and start drinking again.

Lucy had been in care the previous Christmas, so she knew there was plenty to look forward to. Most foster carers go out of their way to make sure the children they look after have a lovely Christmas, because they know how important it is to them. School broke up four days before Christmas, and Adrian, Paula and Lucy’s excitement escalated until Christmas Eve, when they hung their sacks on the front door in anticipation of Father Christmas coming – only, of course, in our house it was Mummy Christmas. They were all so excited they didn’t go to sleep until after eleven o’clock, and then I heard them wake with shouts of ‘Father Christmas has been!’ just before seven o’clock.

Adrian, now fourteen, no longer believed in Father Christmas, but he was happy to keep the magic alive for everyone else’s sake. Paula, now aged ten, had her doubts, but put them aside, helped this year by Lucy who, though twelve, had never had the opportunity of believing in Father Christmas as a child and embraced it wholeheartedly, so dispelling Paula’s doubts.

As they started unwrapping the presents in their sacks, which had miraculously filled and been placed by their beds during the night, I slipped into my dressing gown and went in and out of their bedrooms to watch them open their gifts. ‘Look what Father Christmas has brought me! It’s just what I wanted!’ Lucy cried over and over again.

‘And me!’ Adrian and Paula called back from their bedrooms, as they tore the paper from their presents.

Seeing their little faces light up with unbridled joy made all the preparation and hard work that goes into Christmas completely worthwhile. Once they’d finished opening their ‘Father Christmas presents’, they admired each other’s gifts and then, when washed and dressed, we all went downstairs for a light breakfast. I’d set the oven on the timer so the turkey was already cooking, and I now prepared the vegetables while we waited for my parents and my brother and his family to arrive, which they did at eleven o’clock. The happiness and excitement grew as we exchanged gifts and then played games, ate a huge Christmas dinner with all the trimmings and then played more games. The house rang with the sound of laughter – from adults and children – and eventually, when everyone left just before midnight, we agreed it was the best Christmas ever; but then, we always say that.

Adrian and Paula’s father took them out the following day (Boxing Day), as arranged. This allowed Lucy and me to spend some one-to-one time together, as on the other Sundays the children saw their father.

‘We’re not going to do school work today, are we?’ Lucy said, pulling a face, as I returned from seeing off the children. Lucy usually did an hour or two of school work when Adrian and Paula were out with their father, as it was a good opportunity for her to have my undivided attention and help.

I laughed. ‘No. It’s Boxing Day – still part of Christmas,’ I said. ‘Anyway, you told me you liked doing extra work to catch up.’

‘Yes, I don’t mind. I’m pleased I’m not bottom of the class any more. I hated that.’

I told Lucy I was going to have to clear up from yesterday before we did anything else.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked, following me into the kitchen.

‘Yes, if you’d like to,’ I said. ‘Or you can play with your Christmas presents.’ I rarely asked Lucy to help in the house, as she’d had far too much responsibility for domestic chores before coming into care.

‘I don’t mind helping you,’ she said, picking up a tea towel as I began washing the first pan. ‘I like to help you, you’re like a mum. I used to hate doing it for my aunts and Dave.’

‘You were made to do far too much,’ I said, as I’d told her before. ‘It was wrong.’

‘But I got through it, and all the other stuff,’ Lucy said stoically. ‘There’s many kids worse off than me.’

I smiled sadly. ‘Yes, you’re right.’ Since Lucy had been with me she’d grown increasingly positive in her outlook, which I thought would serve her well in life.

‘Some of my aunts were worse than others,’ Lucy said, taking the pan I’d just washed and drying it. ‘There was one called Pinky. What a silly name! She was a real cow to me. She used to have men round when Dave wasn’t there. They used to drink and smoke stuff. She told me if I took my knickers off and showed my bare bottom to the men they’d give me money. Enough to buy all the sweets I ever wanted.’

My hands froze in the washing-up water and I stopped cleaning the pan. ‘And did you show them?’ I asked.

‘No! I was only little but I knew it was wrong.’

‘And they didn’t force you?’ I asked, hardly daring to look at her.

‘I don’t think so. It’s difficult to remember. There were so many different people in different flats and houses. I remember Pinky kept asking me to take off my knickers. She said she took hers off for the men, so it was OK for me to do it. She also said I shouldn’t tell Dave, but he threw her out anyway. Or she left. I don’t know which.’

I continued to look at Lucy as she absently dried the pan. ‘Have you told anyone about this?’ I asked gently. ‘One of your social workers or a previous foster carer?’

‘No. I’d forgotten all about it until just now. It suddenly popped into my head as I was standing here. Is that normal, Cathy; to forget and then suddenly remember?’

‘Yes, perfectly normal,’ I said. ‘Especially with bad memories. Because you feel safe now your mind is slowly allowing you to remember – only what it feels you can deal with. There may have been a trigger to this memory – possibly being in the kitchen. But suddenly remembering is normal, and when you eventually start therapy the therapist will help you deal with those memories.’

‘You help me already,’ Lucy said, planting a kiss on my cheek.

I smiled weakly. ‘Lucy, what you told me just now is child abuse, and I’ll be passing on what you said to your social worker, as I have the other things you’ve told me. If there is enough evidence, the police will investigate. It’s important that people like Pinky and those men are brought to trial, to stop them harming other children. I don’t suppose you can remember Pinky’s second name? Or the names of the men, or where you were living at that time?’

‘No. I don’t think I knew,’ Lucy said, with a small shrug. ‘I remember I didn’t have Sammy at that time, and there wasn’t a teacher I could talk to. But I don’t know how old I was or where we were living.’

‘All right, don’t worry,’ I said. ‘You’ve been through so much; you’re doing very well.’

‘Much better than you’re doing with the washing up,’ Lucy said with a laugh. ‘You’ve only done one pan!’

I laughed too and, taking the next pan, began washing it, as Lucy started talking about Christmas: the presents she’d received and the games we’d played, and reliving the highlights. Like many abused and neglected children, Lucy had developed a coping mechanism that allowed her to recount a memory and then return to the present and pick up where she’d left off.

No Christmas card or present had arrived via the social services from Lucy’s mother, so I assumed none had been sent. Lucy hadn’t mentioned not receiving a card or present from her mother and I didn’t think she expected one. However, now she suddenly said, ‘I hope my mum’s all right. I worry about her when I don’t hear from her for ages.’

‘I’m sure she is all right, love,’ I said. ‘She can look after herself. But if you’re worried, I’ll phone the social services when they reopen tomorrow and ask if anyone has heard from her. Or you could phone them yourself, if you like? You’re old enough.’

‘No, you do it,’ she said. Then, taking the next pan, she looked at me thoughtfully. ‘Cathy, do you ever make New Year’s resolutions? You know, things you’re supposed to do or stop doing?’

‘Sometimes,’ I said.

‘Like what?’

‘Usually not to eat so much cake and chocolate.’

Lucy laughed loudly. ‘You’ll break that for sure!’

‘I know.’

‘I was thinking I should make a New Year’s resolution to try and be nice to my new social worker, and to forgive all the people who hurt me. Then I’ll be a nicer person, won’t I?’

‘Oh, love,’ I said, turning to her. ‘You are a nice person already. I love you just as you are.’

‘I love you too,’ she said, with another kiss on my cheek. ‘And I always will.’

I telephoned the social services the following day, but there was only a skeleton staff in the offices until after the New Year, so as it wasn’t an emergency I said I’d phone back in a week. I was aware that the final court hearing had taken place some time in December and I assumed Stevie’s manager had represented the social services in court. As the outcome of the hearing didn’t directly affect me looking after Lucy, I hadn’t been told, but it seemed likely the judge would have granted the social services a Full Care Order, which would give them full parental rights, although it didn’t change the care plan. I wondered if Bonnie had attended the court hearing or whether she’d left it to her solicitor and lawyer. All parties in care proceedings have legal representation; if they can’t afford the legal costs, then those costs are met by the state through the legal aid scheme.

All too soon the Christmas holidays came to an end and we had to take down the decorations and stow them in the loft for next year. The children were very slow getting up on that first morning back at school, so I had to chivvy them along.

‘Six weeks until half-term holiday,’ Adrian sighed at breakfast that morning.

Lucy groaned and Paula pulled a sulky face. It wasn’t that they didn’t like school; it was the wrench of going back after a wonderful Christmas. I felt the same reluctance to start the school routine again.

‘I hope it snows like it did last year,’ Lucy said, perking up a little at the thought.

‘I hope so too!’ Paula agreed. ‘We had such fun!’

Incredibly, in February Lucy would have been with us for a year. We thought back and remembered how it had snowed on her first weekend with us, and we shared our happy memories.

The following week, on the Tuesday morning, having heard nothing from the social services, I prepared for Lucy’s review, which was scheduled to take place at eleven o’clock. Jill had telephoned the department to confirm the review was taking place, and the team manager said that it was and that a new social worker had just taken up the post and would be attending the review. As with Lucy’s previous review, it was to be held at my house and Lucy could have attended, but had chosen not to, preferring to go to school instead.

Jill arrived first, ten minutes early. I made us coffee and we took it through to the living room, which I’d previously dusted, vacuumed and tidied as I had the rest of the house. Peter, the reviewing officer, arrived next. I made him a cup of coffee and then joined them in the living room.

‘I understand Lucy’s new social worker will be attending,’ Peter said. ‘Have you met her?’

‘No,’ Jill and I said.

‘I’m not expecting many to attend this review,’ Peter continued, addressing us both. ‘It seems that because no social worker has been in place the invitations to the review haven’t been sent out.’ Normally, two weeks before a review the social worker sends invitations to all parties involved with the child, but this hadn’t happened as Lucy hadn’t had a social worker. ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to tell us what we need to know about Lucy,’ Peter added, looking at me.

‘Yes, I’m sure I will,’ I said. ‘I know Lucy very well.’

We sipped our coffees, and Jill and Peter took out their notepads and pens, ready to begin as soon as the new social worker arrived. Five minutes later the doorbell rang and I went straight to answer it. A smartly dressed lady in her forties smiled at me. ‘Cathy? Have I got the right address?’

‘Yes. Come in.’

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said, slightly flustered, offering her hand for shaking. ‘I’m Lily, Lucy’s new social worker.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ I said.

‘Sorry I didn’t have a chance to meet you and Lucy before the review,’ Lily now apologized. ‘I only took up post yesterday and it’s been rather hectic.’

‘I can imagine,’ I said. But I wondered how much use she was going to be, having just taken up post and not knowing Lucy’s case.

‘We’re through here,’ I said, leading the way down the hall and into the living room.

Peter and Jill stood, introduced themselves and shook hands with Lily. I offered her a drink, but she didn’t want one. As we settled on the sofa and chairs, Toscha, inquisitive as to who was here, sauntered in.

‘What a lovely cat,’ Lily said, and immediately rose in my estimation. ‘I bet Lucy likes her,’ she added.

‘She does,’ I said. Jill threw me a knowing smile.

Peter now officially opened the review and, as was usual practice, we introduced ourselves. He then spoke to Lily. ‘I’m assuming that as the invitations weren’t sent there will just be the four of us?’