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Chapter Three
Stretched to the Limit
‘So you’re there, at last!’ the duty social worker snapped, finally answering the phone. ‘I’ve been trying to get you all evening. Alice has been found.’ I didn’t know the duty social worker and, as far I was aware, I hadn’t had any dealings with him before. He would probably be from an agency, covering out-of-office-hours calls.
Ignoring his gross exaggeration of ‘all evening’ – his first call had been timed at 8.30, fifty minutes before – I held my voice steady as I said: ‘I’m sorry you were unable to reach me. Why didn’t you phone my mobile?’
‘Wasn’t aware I had your mobile number,’ he said, no less tersely. Then, clearly having found it on the paperwork, he added dismissively: ‘Oh yes, but it’s not obvious. At least you’re there now.’ I thought an apology wouldn’t have gone amiss but, aware Alice was waiting somewhere, waiting to be brought to me, I didn’t pursue it. ‘The child is at the police station,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to bring her to you, but it won’t be straight away. I’m stretched to the limit here.’
‘Do you want me to collect Alice from the police station?’ I offered.
‘You can’t,’ he snapped. ‘It needs an SW’ – social worker – ‘to place a child who’s on an Interim Care Order.’ It was a technicality, but I realized he was probably right. As a foster carer I couldn’t simply go to the police station and collect Alice; procedure dictated a social worker or police officer should bring her to me.
‘Is Alice all right?’ I asked anxiously. ‘Where’s she been?’
‘No idea. Mum snatched her, and then disappeared, that’s all I know. I’ll get to you as soon as I can, but I’m the only one on duty.’
‘How long do you think you’ll be?’ I asked, mindful that little Alice, after three days missing and goodness knows what else, was now waiting at the police station instead of snuggled in her bed upstairs and being comforted by me.
‘As soon as I can,’ he snapped. ‘Why? You’re not going out again, are you?’
That was the final straw. I’d had enough of his rudeness and intimidating manner. ‘No, of course I’m not going out,’ I snapped back. ‘It’s nearly ten o’clock. But I’d have thought, given Alice’s age and what has happened to her, it should be a priority for you to get her to me.’
It went quiet for a moment, then he said stiffly: ‘I’ll be with you as soon as I can, Mrs Glass. You do your job and I’ll do mine.’ And he hung up.
I remained where I was by the phone for a second and then replaced the receiver with more force than was necessary. ‘Ignorant pig,’ I muttered. Overworked he might be, but that was no reason to be rude. I glanced up the stairs and saw Lucy and Paula watching me from the landing, looking very worried.
‘It’s all right,’ I reassured them. ‘That was the duty social worker. He’s bringing Alice to us as soon as he can.’
‘Terrific. Is she OK?’ Paula said.
‘I think so, although the social worker didn’t know much.’
‘Do they ever?’ Lucy said disparagingly.
‘Now, now,’ I cautioned lightly. ‘They’re understaffed.’ Lucy took every opportunity to criticize social workers and I knew she had to start letting go of the anger from her past and look to the future. ‘Alice is safe at the police station,’ I said, ‘but I don’t know what time she will be here. I want the two of you to get ready for bed, and if you’re still awake when Alice arrives you can see her. Otherwise you’ll see her in the morning.’
Lucy and Paula disappeared into their bedrooms to get changed, ready for bed, and I went upstairs to draw the curtains in what would soon be Alice’s room. The room was ready, as it had been since I was first told to expect Alice. There was a brightly coloured Cinderella duvet cover on the bed with a matching pillowcase, cuddly toys propped on the chair and posters of rabbits and kittens on the walls. I knew virtually nothing about Alice – only that she was small for her age and of average intelligence. More details would follow in the essential information forms, which Martha should bring when she visited Alice – presumably on Monday. What trauma Alice had suffered since going missing I couldn’t begin to guess, but clearly she was going to be very distressed, and I anticipated being up most of the night comforting her. For when all was said and done Alice was being brought to the house of a stranger (albeit a well-meaning one), in the middle of the night, by a man she didn’t know, having somehow got to the police station after going missing for three days. I thought she had a right to be upset.
Perhaps the duty social worker had heeded my comment about prioritizing his workload, for he must have left his office straight after we’d spoken. Thirty minutes later the doorbell rang and, with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation, I ran to answer it.
Standing in the porch was a very tall man, over six feet, cradling a small bundle in a pink blanket.
‘Oh my,’ I said, peering into the bundle, and holding the door wider so that he could come in. ‘Oh, bless her, poor little mite.’
I looked closer at the child the duty social worker held as he stepped into the hall. With only her little face showing, Alice looked just like a sleeping doll. A few strands of light brown hair wisped around her delicate features, and one little hand lay pressed against her chin.
‘She fell asleep in the car,’ he said amicably.
For a moment I couldn’t say anything; I just gazed at Alice, nestled deep in the blanket, so peaceful and vulnerable in sleep, and so, so beautiful – she looked just like an angel. My heart went out to her in a rush of love and pity.
‘We’ll put her straight to bed,’ I said, coming to my senses. I closed the front door and led the way upstairs and into what was now Alice’s room. The duty social worker’s previous animosity towards me appeared to have gone now and he carried Alice into her room, where I helped ease her from his arms and on to the bed. She didn’t wake. ‘I’ll just remove her coat for tonight,’ I whispered. ‘I’ll leave her to sleep in her clothes – save disturbing her.’
‘She hasn’t come with a change of clothes,’ he said quietly.
‘It’s all right. I have spares.’
While the duty social worker supported Alice’s back, floppy in sleep, I carefully slipped her arms out of her coat. I noticed that although her coat had dried mud on it, it was of very good quality and also new, as was her little dress and cardigan. My first impression was that Alice wasn’t undernourished, and her face and hands were clean; her chin-length hair looked well groomed. In fact, apart from the mud on her coat, she appeared clean and well cared for.
Having taken off Alice’s coat, I gently eased her head on to the pillow. As I did, her long black eyelashes fluttered and her eyes opened. Huge brown eyes looked at me in surprise and fear. ‘It’s all right, love,’ I soothed, stroking her little forehead. ‘My name is Cathy. I’m going to look after you for a while. You are in bed in my house and you are safe. There is nothing to worry about.’ Her eyes remained wide, staring at me: she was so innocent, so overwhelmed and so worried, I could have wept. ‘It’s all right,’ I soothed again.
‘I’ll get the paperwork from my briefcase in the car,’ the duty social worker said, clearly pressed for time.
I nodded. ‘I’ll ask one of my children so stay with Alice and I’ll come down.’
He left the room and I sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Alice’s forehead. She looked at me with big wondering eyes. ‘It’s OK,’ I continued to reassure her. ‘My name is Cathy, I am a foster carer and I look after children. You are safe now.’
I half expected her to burst into tears and sob hysterically, but I think she was so tired and traumatized she didn’t have the energy. She lay on her back under the duvet with her pink blanket loosely draped on top, her huge eyes still staring at me. Then she licked her lips. ‘Do you want a drink?’ I asked softly, but she didn’t answer, her eyes not daring to move from my face. ‘Oh pet,’ I said. ‘Please don’t worry. Everything will be all right now.’
Lucy and Paula, in their pyjamas, appeared at the bedroom door and hesitated, uncertain if they should disturb us.
‘Come in and say hello to Alice,’ I said quietly.
They crept in, to the side of the bed, and gazed down at her. Their gasps said it all. ‘Oh! Oh, look at her. She’s so sweet.’
Alice’s big eyes moved from my face to theirs.
‘This is Lucy and Paula,’ I said. ‘They live here too.’
‘Hi, Alice,’ the girls whispered. They knelt beside her bed.
I heard the front door close as the duty social worker returned from his car. ‘Could you stay with Alice for a moment while I speak to the social worker?’ I asked the girls. ‘I shouldn’t be too long.’
It wasn’t a question that needed answering. Lucy and Paula immediately took over, Lucy soothing Alice’s forehead as I had been doing, while Paula took hold of her little hand, which still lay against her chin.
‘I’m just going downstairs to speak to the man who brought you here,’ I said to Alice. ‘Lucy and Paula will stay with you.’ While it might have been obvious to us and an older foster child what was happening, it wouldn’t necessarily have been obvious to a traumatized four-year-old, who might have thought I was disappearing for good and that Lucy and Paula would follow me, leaving her alone in a strange room.
Alice’s gaze briefly flickered to me as I stood, and then returned to Lucy and Paula.
Downstairs I found the duty social worker already in the sitting room, seated in the armchair and using his briefcase to rest on as he completed a form.
‘What’s your full name, and postcode?’ he asked as I entered, his terseness returning. I told him. ‘And I placed Alice at ten twenty-five p.m. on 25 March,’ he said, glancing at his watch.
I nodded and sat on the sofa.
‘Who else is in the house?’
‘Just my children and me,’ I said, surprised.
‘I need their names for this form.’
‘Adrian, Lucy and Paula. Lucy is my foster daughter.’
‘And their ages?’
‘Fourteen, twelve and ten.’
He wrote, and then asked: ‘No husband or partner?’
‘No.’ Had Alice been placed during the day, all this information should have been available, supplied by Jill or the social services, but without access to the file I assumed he was completing a placement form for his agency.
He wrote some more, I didn’t know what, and then put the form in his briefcase and snapped the lid shut. ‘Alice’s social worker will contact you on Monday,’ he said and stood, ready to go.
‘Do you not have any other information about Alice?’ I asked quickly.
‘No. Don’t you?’
‘All I have is the original referral, which doesn’t say much. Do you know if Alice has an allergies or special needs?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said with a shrug, ‘so we’ll have to assume she doesn’t, although I should go easy on the peanut butter.’ I didn’t appreciate his stab at humour. Even if a child arrives in the middle of the night as an emergency I’m usually told of anything that could affect the child’s health like allergies or asthma. And given that Alice’s move to me hadn’t been an emergency but had been planned (although it had gone badly wrong at the end, with Alice being snatched), I’d have thought Martha would have had time to print out the essential information and leave it with the duty social worker – or was that expecting too much?
‘I’ve got to go,’ the duty social worker said, heading towards the sitting room door. ‘A runaway teenager has been found on the other side of the county. I’m the only one on call to collect him.’
I nodded, but while I sympathized with his obviously very heavy workload, my concerns were with Alice, and I persisted in trying to find out more about her background that might help me to look after her. ‘Who took Alice to the police station?’ I asked, following him down the hall.
‘Mum’s boyfriend, I think,’ he returned over his shoulder; then, hand on the doorknob, he let himself out.
‘Goodnight,’ I called after him as he went down the front path, but he didn’t reply. He was already taking his mobile from his jacket pocket and answering the next call.
‘Yes, I’m on my way,’ he snapped. ‘But I can’t be in two places at the same time.’ I thought that if I ever won the jackpot on the lottery I’d use some of the money to fund more social workers so they could do their jobs properly and didn’t have to be in two places at the same time.
Chapter Four
Normal?
Upstairs again, I joined Lucy and Paula at Alice’s bedside. I stood for a few moments gazing down at Alice as Lucy stroked her forehead and Paula held her hand. Alice’s expression still held the same wide-eyed bewilderment and amazement, but I thought she looked slightly less anxious, and at least she wasn’t crying. The girls were talking to her gently, telling her their names again and that she would be staying with us for a while, and reassuring her it was a nice house and she would be happy. Alice stared at them with her big brown eyes, occasionally shifting her gaze from one to the other, as she had to me when I’d come into the room, but she didn’t speak.
Nestled beneath the duvet and pink blanket, with only her little face peering out, she reminded me of a little babushka doll, swaddled, with her cheeks red against her pale skin. I was going to leave the pink blanket on her bed, for although it wasn’t needed for warmth (she had the duvet), I assumed the blanket was familiar to her and would therefore be a source of comfort now everything else was unfamiliar. But I wondered where the blanket had come from, for Alice had been staying with her grandparents when she’d been snatched, and according to the duty social worker, she’d been taken to the police station by her mother’s boyfriend. I’d no idea where he lived or how he fitted into Alice’s life.
Adrian’s bedroom door opened and he appeared in the doorway of Alice’s room in his pyjamas and dressing-gown. ‘Mum, do you know it’s nearly eleven o’clock?’
I nodded. ‘Come and say hello to Alice. Then we’d all better try and get some sleep.’
At fourteen years of age I’m sure Adrian would have preferred it if a boy his own age had come to stay, but when he saw Alice his face melted. ‘Hi, Alice,’ he said with a little wave. ‘I’m Adrian.’
Alice’s eyes flickered from the girls to him and the briefest of smiles crossed her lips.
‘She likes you,’ Paula exclaimed, and I wondered if Alice’s extended family had included a boy of Adrian’s age with whom she’d had a close bond, so she now felt comfortable with Adrian. I knew from the referral that Alice didn’t have any siblings; perhaps there’d been a cousin, or perhaps her mother’s boyfriend had helped in her care?
‘Adrian is my son,’ I explained to Alice. ‘He lives here too.’
Alice’s eyes darted to me and then returned to Adrian. He smiled and waved again and she smiled back. The four of us then stood for a moment, grouped around the bed, gazing down at Alice. The poor child was the star attraction but she didn’t seem to mind.
‘I think we need to get some sleep soon,’ I said presently, as reluctant as the children were to leave.
Adrian made a move first and, giving Alice another little wave, said, ‘Goodnight, Alice.’ Alice’s gaze followed him out of the room.
‘And you two,’ I said to Lucy and Paula, who I’m sure would have happily spent all night with Alice, petting and reassuring her.
‘Goodnight,’ they said at last, and took it in turns to kiss her forehead.
Alice’s big round eyes blinked, her long dark lashes dusting her cheek like a butterfly’s wing. ‘They’re going to their bedrooms to sleep now,’ I explained to Alice. ‘You’ll see them in the morning.’
Lucy and Paula kissed Alice again and, with more goodnights, finally moved away from her bed. Alice’s gaze followed them until they were out of her line of vision and they left her room.
‘OK, love,’ I said gently to Alice, leaning over the bed. ‘I want you to try and get some sleep. You must be very tired. I’ll leave your bedroom door open a little so I can hear you if you wake in the night. Do you usually sleep with your light on or off?’ Although I didn’t expect a reply – Alice was too overwhelmed to make a decision about lighting – I always ask the children I foster this on their first night, for so many are afraid of the dark. ‘I’ll leave the light on low,’ I said. ‘Is that all right?’
Her big eyes blinked, but she didn’t say anything.
‘All right, pet, I’ll see you in the morning. I’m going to my bed now.’ I kissed her forehead, tucked her in and moved away from the bed.
She watched me as I walked slowly to the door and I smiled. ‘Night, love. See you in the morning.’
Dimming the light to a level that allowed her to see but wouldn’t keep her awake, I said a final goodnight and came out, leaving the door half open. I waited on the landing, expecting her to cry out now she was alone, but she didn’t. She was very quiet and didn’t make a sound. From where I stood on the landing, with her door half open, I could see her, although she couldn’t see me unless she turned her head. She lay on her back, very still, and as I watched, her long eyelashes flickered and then closed in sleep. She was utterly exhausted, which was hardly surprising considering what she had been through.
I now crept along the landing and into Paula’s room to kiss her goodnight.
‘I feel so sorry for Alice,’ Paula said as I perched on the bed, her face clouding. ‘She’s so little to be without her mummy.’
‘I know, love, but we’ll look after her and make sure she’s all right.’
Paula’s face immediately brightened. ‘Yes, we will. And I’ll get up tonight if she’s upset and look after her. You can stay in bed.’
I smiled. My family were used to disturbed nights when a child first arrived, but they didn’t always offer to get up. ‘That’s very kind of you, love,’ I said. ‘But it’s important you get your sleep, with school in the morning. There’ll be plenty of opportunity for you to help look after Alice – after school and at the weekends.’ I paused. ‘But Paula, you do realize that I don’t know how long Alice will be with us? It could only be a few weeks.’ For already I could see that my family were going to get very attached to Alice, and very quickly.
Paula nodded. ‘I know, Mum, but I hope she stays a long time.’ Then she yawned.
‘OK, love, off to sleep now.’ I kissed her goodnight, tucked her in, and then came out and went into Lucy’s room.
Lucy was propped in bed, listening to her Discman. ‘Lucy, it’s far too late to be listening to that,’ I said. ‘You’ve got to get up for school in the morning.’
She immediately switched off her music and took out her earpieces – a vast improvement from when she’d first arrived, nearly a year before, when she’d bucked against authority and argued and debated about absolutely everything I (or her teachers) had asked her to do. Now she placed the Discman and headphones on her bedside cabinet and snuggled down, ready for me to tuck her in and say goodnight.
‘I wonder why Alice has come into care.’ Lucy said as I kissed her forehead.
‘I’m not sure exactly. Her mother couldn’t look after her, so she’s been staying with her grandparents.’
‘‘Well, they’ve done a good job. She looks normal.’
‘What do you mean “normal”?’ I asked, smiling.
‘You know, like someone has looked after her. Not like I was. My aunts didn’t care a toss. They didn’t do anything about my nits, even when the school nurse sent me home with a letter. It was awful going to school and scratching my head the whole time. All the other kids laughed. I remember sitting in lessons and trying not to scratch, but in the end I had to ‘cos it itched so much. And I stank. I knew I did. My clothes were filthy. I tried to wash them at home but I was only allowed to use cold water.’
I took Lucy’s hand between mine, as I had done so many times during the past year, when she’d wanted to talk about the sad memories of her deprived childhood – the severe neglect she’d suffered for as long as she could remember. ‘I can only guess how awful that time must have been for you,’ I said quietly. ‘But thankfully it is past now, and will never return. You did so well coping with all of that. I’m sure I wouldn’t have coped so well.’
‘You would if you had to,’ Lucy said thoughtfully. ‘You just get on with it and take each day as it comes. I always made sure I found one good thing in each day. It didn’t matter how small it was as long as it was good and made me happy. One day a girl at school gave me a crisp from her packed lunch – that was a really good thing. And another time I was chosen by the teacher to collect the brushes at the end of the art lesson – that was a very big good thing. But sometimes it was the small things that were good, and maybe you wouldn’t notice them if you weren’t looking for something to make you happy. Like the bud of a flower just about to open in spring, or a bird flying off with a twig in its beak to make a nest, or writing a poem you’re really pleased with. There are so many good things in the world to make us happy, but sometimes you have to look very hard to find them.’
I pressed Lucy’s hand between mine and swallowed the lump rising in my throat. Lucy had such a beautiful way of putting things, I wondered if it was as a result of her suffering, if it had sharpened her senses, for I doubted the average twelve-year-old would have such insight. ‘Nevertheless, Lucy,’ I said, ‘you had a lot to cope with, and you coped very well. I’m just so pleased that that time is past and you found your way to me.’
‘So am I,’ she said. Throwing her arms around me, she gave me an extra big hug.
Having said goodnight to Lucy and come out of her room, I hovered on the landing again, outside Alice’s door. It was quiet but I wanted to check on her so, easing the door open, I crept in. She was still on her back, fast asleep, with one little hand pressed to her chin. Relaxed in sleep, her lips were slightly parted, and I could hear the faintest whisper of her breath. What memories of her past would Alice have, I wondered; not only of the days when she was missing but from the four years before that? – her short life to date. Would her memories be like Lucy’s, which were similar to those of many of the children I’d looked after? – memories of severe neglect and abuse. I doubted it. Something told me Alice’s story would be very different, although I doubted it would be any less upsetting.
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