Will You Love Me? (33 page)

I didn’t comment. Lucy turned the page. ‘And there’s me again,’ she said, brightening very slightly. ‘I’m at school.’ But I could tell as soon as I looked at the photograph she hadn’t been happy at that time.

‘My teacher gave me the photo,’ Lucy said. ‘All the children in the school had their photographs taken. We were supposed to pay for them, but Mum didn’t have the money, so my teacher said I could keep it anyway. She was a nice lady. She was called Mrs Bridges.’

I looked at the posed school photograph. Lucy’s skin was pale and her hair hung lankly around her shoulders. Even though she was trying to smile for the photographer, it was a hollow smile. Her gaze was lifeless, and it was clear to me not only that she was hurting inside, but she wasn’t being well looked after.

‘I think I was six then,’ Lucy said sombrely. ‘But there’s so much I can’t remember. It’s very confusing.’

‘It might help if we ask Lily to tell us what she knows about your past. As your social worker, she’ll be able to look back in the files.’

‘Yes, please,’ Lucy said, and turned the page. ‘I started to write in this book then,’ she said. ‘Mum and Dave didn’t know I had this book. I kept it hidden and only wrote in it when they were in bed or out. I had two things that were mine – this book and Mr Bunny.’ She gave Mr Bunny a little kiss before continuing.

I looked at the page Lucy now showed me, with its childish scrawled handwriting – more like that of a three- or four-year-old than a child of six.

‘I tried to write my name here and draw a picture,’ Lucy said. ‘I know it’s not very good. I didn’t go to school much then, so I couldn’t write or draw well. That’s supposed to be me and Sammy. He was my friend. When I was unhappy at home and wasn’t allowed to go and see Sammy, I used to look at his picture instead.’

The image of Lucy taking comfort from this childish drawing was so sad and pathetic I could have cried. I put my arm around her and gave her a hug. Sometimes a hug can say more than words.

Lucy turned the page again and I was now looking at a number of stick drawings of a lady. ‘They are all of Mrs Bridges,’ Lucy said.

‘I might have struggled to recognize her,’ I said with a smile.

‘So would I!’ Lucy said, laughing. Then her face grew serious. ‘I can’t remember all that happened at that time, but I know my mum wasn’t around, and Dave had lots of girlfriends who I had to call aunt.’ She turned the page and I now looked at rows of childishly drawn faces with their mouths wide open.

‘Those were my “aunts”,’ Lucy said. ‘They were always angry with me, so I drew them shouting. I’ve tried to write some of their names underneath, but I couldn’t spell.’

The ‘names’ were really only jumbles of letters, indecipherable as words, until we got to the picture at the bottom of the page, which showed two people shouting, one with hair and the other without. Underneath Lucy had written clearly ‘Mum’ and ‘Dave’. ‘That’s when Mum came back to Dave. There was a big argument and she left again. Then I had another aunt. That’s her,’ Lucy said, pointing to the next drawing. ‘She stayed for a while, then suddenly I had to leave Mrs Bridges and Sammy and go and live with Dave and a strange woman. I was very unhappy. I didn’t know anyone in the new school and I couldn’t make friends. No one wanted to play with me. Look at all these pictures of me crying.’

Lucy turned the page and I now looked at a double page of childishly drawn faces that were supposed to be Lucy. There must have been twenty or more, all looking unbelievably miserable, with large tears falling from their eyes. The overall impression was of devastating sadness.

‘You were so unhappy then,’ I said quietly, shocked.

‘I was,’ Lucy said. She turned the page and the whole of the next side was covered in dark-grey crayon. ‘That’s a thunderstorm,’ she said. ‘I pinched the crayons from school. We didn’t have any at home. I don’t know why I drew a thunderstorm, perhaps it was raining at the time.’

‘Or perhaps it was your way of showing how unhappy you were,’ I said. ‘All that dark grey is how you felt inside. Children can sometimes show their feelings in art when they can’t put them into words.’

‘You could be right,’ Lucy said. ‘I hadn’t thought of it that way before.’ She paused and then said, ‘I didn’t see Mum for ages, then suddenly she came and took me away. I was seven. I know because I wrote the number seven here so I would remember.’ She turned the page. ‘That’s my drawing of Mum and her new boyfriend arguing.’

Her drawings were maturing now and it was obvious the picture was of two very angry people; their fists were raised as though they were about to hit each other. Lucy had drawn a balloon coming out of their mouths, which contained the words: ‘I hate you!’

I didn’t say anything. Lucy was turning the page again and suddenly the drawings had gone, replaced by photographs, and I knew immediately that Lucy was in foster care again.

‘I wouldn’t let the foster carer see this book,’ Lucy said. ‘So she gave me the photos and a gluestick and I stuck them in. That’s why some of them are wonky and coming loose.’

‘Don’t worry. We can soon stick those in again,’ I said.

Lucy nodded. ‘That’s the carer, and those are her other foster children,’ she said, pointing to the photographs. ‘The kids didn’t like me and I got blamed for everything that went wrong. Perhaps it was my fault. I wasn’t happy there, but it was better than at Dave’s. I saw Mum a lot to begin with, and then she stopped visiting. Some time later I had to leave. The foster kids said it was because I was so horrible no one wanted me.’

‘That was a cruel thing to say,’ I said. ‘Of course you weren’t horrible. Just very confused and upset.’

Lucy gave a little shrug and turned the page. We were now looking at some photographs of another carer. ‘She was called Angie,’ Lucy said. ‘That’s her daughter, Shelly. They were kind to me and I liked being with them, but I was only allowed to stay for a little while, then Mum took me away again. I would have liked to have stayed longer,’ Lucy added wistfully.

There were no photographs on the next two pages. Lucy had written the number nine at the top and had ruled some lines beneath it, where she’d written in dates with a few short sentences, like diary entries. ‘I don’t want you to read this,’ she said, covering the writing with her hand and then turning the page. ‘I wrote horrible things about Mum and her new boyfriend. I feel guilty now, but at the time I was very upset and angry.’

‘I understand, love,’ I said. ‘You’d been through so much, of course you were hurt and angry.’

As Lucy turned the page again, more photographs appeared and I knew she was in foster care again. All foster carers are expected to keep a Life Story Book for the child with photographs and memorabilia.

‘That’s the carer, Heather,’ Lucy said. ‘That’s her husband and two daughters. It was OK there, but I had to change schools again and I wasn’t doing well in any subjects. I spent Christmas with them. I did my best to fit in and I think they liked me a little, but they had to move house. They told me they wanted to take me with them, but my social worker said I couldn’t go. Maybe that’s true or maybe they just wanted to be rid of me, I don’t know. I then had to go and live with Pat and Terry. You met them.’

‘Yes,’ I said. Pat and Terry were the couple Lucy had stayed with prior to coming to me.

‘I knew when I went there I couldn’t stay,’ Lucy said. ‘Stevie told me it was because they only looked after babies. I thought that was just an excuse and that, like all the others I’d lived with, they didn’t want me around for long. I was eleven, and a couple of months after I arrived I had to go to secondary school. The building was huge and I kept getting lost. I couldn’t do my work or make friends and I stopped eating. I felt so alone, I really didn’t think life was worth living. I knew Mum couldn’t look after me, but no one else wanted me either. Then one afternoon, when I got home from school, Pat said Stevie was coming to tell me she’d found me another foster carer and I’d be moving at the weekend. Something seemed to snap inside me. I couldn’t take any more. I screamed and shouted and then locked myself in the bathroom. Pat kept trying to talk to me through the bathroom door, but I wasn’t listening. Nothing mattered any more. When Terry came home, he broke down the door and got me out. So I ran to my bedroom. They left me alone. I don’t think they knew what to do. I planned on staying in my room until I starved to death. I wanted to die, I really did. Then in the evening Pat came in with the phone and left it on the bed. Your voice came through. I tried not to listen, but you kept on and there was something in your voice that told me I should pick up the phone. The rest you know,’ Lucy finished quietly.

We both sat in silence for some time, subdued by the events Lucy had relived. ‘Thank goodness you did pick up the phone,’ I said at last, taking her hand between mine.

‘You can be very persuasive,’ Lucy said, with small smile.

‘Good.’

Yet I saw that Lucy’s Life Story Book had ended with the photographs of her stay at Pat and Terry’s. I wondered why she hadn’t stuck in the photographs I’d been giving her. I’d taken plenty and had always given Lucy a copy, but there wasn’t one in her book.

‘Where are all the photographs of us?’ I asked presently.

‘In my drawer,’ Lucy said. ‘I haven’t added them because in the past every time I put the photographs in the book I had to leave. I didn’t want to leave here, so I didn’t stick them in, and it worked. I’m staying!’

My heart melted. ‘It’s safe for you to stick them in now, love,’ I said. ‘You won’t be tempting fate. Trust me, you’re staying. I’m certain the panel will approve it.’

Lucy smiled and, leaving the bed, she returned her Life Story Book to the drawer and closed it. Climbing back into bed she snuggled beneath the duvet. Mr Bunny was tucked in beside her. I kissed her goodnight. ‘Thank you for sharing your special book with me,’ I said. ‘I’m so pleased you were able to pick up Pat’s phone.’ For without doubt that had been crucial in Lucy coming to me.

‘I’m pleased I was able to,’ Lucy said.

I kissed her goodnight again and came out, aware of just how close I’d come to being another entry in Lucy’s Life Story Book. Had I not pursued my application to keep Lucy, had we not had a change of social worker, had Peter not been so proactive, my family and I would have simply become yet another photograph. If ever there was a story showing the failings of the care system, it was in Lucy’s book. All those years of missed opportunities, where everyone involved had played their part and inadvertently contributed to her life of rejection, insecurity and isolation … I felt the collective responsibility, and hoped that in time I could make it up to Lucy and undo some of the harm done.

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘I’ll Try My Best’

On Friday, Lucy’s friend Josette came to dinner. They used the bus to come home and Lucy let them in with her front-door key. I went into the hall to greet them.

‘Mum, this is Josette,’ Lucy said, introducing me.

‘Come on in and make yourself at home,’ I said.

Josette smiled and offered her hand for shaking. ‘Lovely to meet you,’ she said, with a strong French accent. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’

‘You’re welcome. It’s nice to meet you too.’

‘We’ll get ourselves a drink and then go up to my room,’ Lucy said, hanging their coats on the hall stand.

On the way to the kitchen Lucy took Josette into the living room to introduce her to Paula. I kept out of their way while Lucy and Josette were in the kitchen making themselves a drink, and when they went up to Lucy’s room I continued with the preparation of the evening meal. It wasn’t long before Paula appeared in the kitchen.

‘Can I go and play with Lucy and her friend?’ she asked.

‘Perhaps later,’ I said. ‘I think they’re listening to music and chatting now.’ I thought that girls of Lucy’s age needed some privacy when spending time with a similar-aged friend. ‘How about helping me with the meal?’ I suggested. But it didn’t hold the same appeal to Paula, so she skipped off to amuse herself until I called everyone for dinner.

As the children arrived at the meal table, Lucy introduced Adrian to Josette, and I could see he was a little taken aback when Josette offered her hand for shaking. But the French shake hands easily, it’s part of their custom and charm, and Adrian responded with a charm of his own. I could see he was quite taken with her. They sat down and I brought in the serving dishes and placed them on the table and we all helped ourselves. After an initial awkwardness everyone relaxed and started chatting as they ate. Listening to Josette with her delightful French accent was captivating, and I could see Adrian and Paula were very impressed that she could speak a second language so fluently. Josette told us that her father’s work had brought her family to England. They’d arrived four months previously and would be staying for at least three years. I wondered if being the new girl in the school had encouraged Lucy to make friends with her, for, having moved herself so many times, Lucy knew what it felt like to arrive in a new class and not know anyone.

When I took Josette home in the car that evening, she invited me in to meet her parents and elder brother. They were all as delightful as Josette, although we didn’t stay long as it was getting late and Paula was with me. Josette’s mother thanked me for inviting Josette to dinner and bringing her home in the car, and then confirmed that Lucy was invited there for dinner the following Friday and she would bring Lucy home afterwards. I didn’t know if Lucy had told Josette I was her foster mother or if she’d let her assume I was her natural mother, but it didn’t matter. It was up to Lucy what she told her friends, and I knew she’d tell them whatever she felt comfortable with. Clearly my old friends knew Lucy was my foster daughter who was now staying permanently, but what Lucy told her new friends was her decision, and I would go along with it.

The following Tuesday, Lucy’s review was held as scheduled at my house. It was relatively short and consisted mainly of Lily updating Peter on all that had happened since Lucy’s last review the month before. Lily told him that she’d taken Lucy’s case back to her manager and the family-finding team, and that they’d decided to support my application to keep Lucy permanently.