Will You Love Me? (13 page)

‘That was sweet of her,’ I said. ‘Now, is your phone fixed or cordless?’

‘Cordless.’

‘Excellent. Take the handset up with you, knock on Lucy’s bedroom door, go in and tell her again I would like to talk to her. But this time, leave the phone on her bed facing up so she can hear me, and then come out. I might end up talking to myself, but I’m used to that.’

Pat gave another snort of nervous laughter. ‘Fingers crossed,’ she said.

I heard Pat’s footsteps going up the stairs again, followed by the knock on Lucy’s bedroom door and the slight creak as it opened. Pat’s voice trembled a little as she said: ‘Cathy’s still on the phone and she’d like to talk to you.’

There was a little muffled sound, presumably as Pat put the phone on Lucy’s bed, and then I heard the bedroom door close. I was alone with Lucy. This was my chance to talk to her, to try and connect with her and reassure her. Maybe my only chance.

I took a deep breath and said gently: ‘Hello, love. It’s Cathy. Can you hear me, pet?’

I paused. Although I wasn’t expecting a reply straight away, I wanted to give her the chance. I pictured the handset on the bed, presumably near enough for Lucy to hear. I wondered if she’d looked at the phone as my voice had come through.

‘I know how dreadful this is for you,’ I began, my voice gentle but hopefully loud enough for her to hear. ‘I know how you must be feeling at having to move again. You’ve had so many moves, Lucy. I think you’ve coped remarkably well. I don’t think I would have coped as well as you have.’

I paused again and listened for any response, but there was none, not even a sigh or a sob. For all I knew she might have stuffed the phone under her pillow so she didn’t have to listen to me, but at least she hadn’t severed the call; the line was still open.

‘I’d like to tell you a bit about myself and my home,’ I continued. ‘So it won’t seem so strange to you when you arrive. I live in a house about a twenty-minute drive from where you are now, so you’ll be able to go to the same secondary school, which is good. You don’t want to change schools again. I have two children: Adrian, who is thirteen, and Paula, who is nine. They are both looking forward to meeting you and having you stay. Paula is planning lots of games for you to play with her. There’s just the three of us, as I’m divorced, so they’ll be four of us in the family when you arrive. Five including our cat.’ I paused again, but there was nothing.

‘I’ve got your room ready,’ I said. ‘But I’m sure you’ll want to change things around to suit you, which is fine. You’ll be able to put posters and pictures on your bedroom walls to make it look nice. Just as you want it. As well as the bed, there’s a wardrobe and drawers for your clothes, plenty of shelf space for your cuddlies and a toy box. There’s also a small table, which you can work at if you need quiet for your homework, or you can do your homework downstairs if you wish. I’ll always help you with your school work if you want me to, just like I help Adrian and Paula. We have quite a big garden with some swings. We like to go out in the garden when the weather is fine. We also like playing games. Adrian and Paula are playing a board game now. Do you like playing games, love?’

I stopped and waited, hoping for a reply, but none came. Was Lucy listening? Had I caught her attention? Or was she still in denial, refusing to acknowledge me, and perhaps sitting with her hands pressed to her ears not having heard a word I’d said. I waited a moment longer and then continued.

‘So, Lucy, I’m wondering what else I can tell you? I’m sure you’ve got lots of questions. Our cat is called Toscha. You’ll like her. She’s very gentle and loves being stroked. The only time she ever scratched anyone was years ago when Adrian was little and he pulled her tail. Cats don’t like having their tails pulled and Adrian learnt his lesson. He never did it again. Paula sometimes puts a doll’s bonnet on Toscha and pushes her around the garden in her doll’s pram. She does look funny.’

I stopped. I thought I’d heard a faint sound, possibly a movement. I waited, not daring to breathe, my pulse throbbing. Then I heard another noise and I stood perfectly still. I had the feeling Lucy had picked up the phone; I thought I heard the faintest sound of breathing. I waited a moment longer to see if she would speak, then, lowering my voice, I said softly: ‘Hello, Lucy.’

A pause, and then an almost inaudible: ‘Hello.’

Relief flooded through me. I could have wept. Her little voice sounded so very sad. ‘Well done, love,’ I said. ‘You’re being very brave. I know how difficult this is for you. Pat does, too. How are you feeling?’

Another pause, and then a very slight: ‘OK, I guess.’

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. I wished I could reach out and hug her.

‘We’re all looking forward to meeting you,’ I said. ‘Adrian, Paula, me and Toscha. Can you think of any questions you’d liked to ask?’

Silence; then her small voice again: ‘What’s the name of the game Adrian and Paula are playing?’ So she had been listening.

‘It’s called draughts, love. Do you know the game?’

A very quiet: ‘I think so.’

‘You play it on a board with round pieces, and you take the other person’s pieces by hopping over them. It’s easy to play and good fun.’

‘I don’t know many games,’ Lucy said quietly.

‘We’ll teach you. We have a cupboard full of games. When you arrive I’ll show you where everything is and you can choose a game to play. Adrian and Paula are always playing games when they’re not at school.’

‘Do they watch television, too?’ Lucy asked quietly.

‘Oh yes, too much sometimes. Do you have a favourite television programme?’

A small pause, then a tiny: ‘Not really. I watch what everyone else watches.’

‘So, what do you like to eat?’ I now asked. ‘And I’ll make sure I’ve got some of your favourite foods in ready for tomorrow.’

‘I don’t mind,’ Lucy said, in the same small, self-effacing voice that made me want to cry. ‘I don’t really have any favourite food. I don’t like eating much.’

Although I was pleased that Lucy was now talking to me, she seemed so sad and far too compliant – probably a result of having to continually fit in with other families. I was also concerned about her last comment in respect of not liking to eat, for the referral had said she was underweight and had raised the possibility of an eating disorder.

‘What else can I tell you about us?’ I now asked.

There was a pause, and then Lucy asked the one question I’d been dreading. ‘If I come to you, will I have to move again?’

I took a breath. ‘What did your social worker tell you?’ I asked.

‘She said my mum would have to go to court if she wanted me back, as there was a court order now.’

‘That’s right. You’re in care now under what’s called an Interim Care Order. Did your social worker explain what that was?’

‘I think so, but I didn’t really understand.’

‘I know, love. There was too much going on. I’ll try and explain. Until recently, when you were in care it was under what’s called a Section 20, which is an agreement between your mum and the social services. It meant that your mum could take you out of care whenever she wanted to, which is one of the reasons you’ve had so many moves. That can’t happen now there is a court order. The social services will be applying for a Full Care Order, when the judge will make the decision on where you should live permanently: if you can live with your mother or if you would be better off in foster care permanently. But we won’t know the judge’s decision for many months, possibly a year, as they have to read lots of reports to make sure it’s the right decision.’ I stopped. ‘Does that make any sense to you, love?’

There was a long pause, which was hardly surprising; the workings of the care system are difficult enough for adults to grasp, let alone an eleven-year-old child.

When Lucy spoke again it brought tears to my eyes. ‘I don’t want to live with my mum,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want to have to keep moving. Other kids have proper homes and families who love them. I just want a family of my own.’

Chapter Eleven

Lucy

I couldn’t lie to Lucy. I couldn’t tell her she would never have to move again, but I
could
tell her that eventually she would be found a permanent family of her own.

‘Lucy, from what I know of your history I think it’s highly unlikely the judge will decide you should live with your mother. So the social services will see if you have a relative who can look after you, and if not then they will find you a long-term foster family to suit you.’ I didn’t say ‘one that will match your cultural heritage’, although I knew that would be part of the criteria. Lucy was dual heritage, as her father was Thai, so the social services would want to find her a family that reflected this.

‘But all that will take many months,’ I said, ‘maybe up to a year, and you won’t have to move again during that time.’ It was the best I could offer to reassure Lucy and, bless her, it was enough.

‘So I won’t have to move again for a whole year?’ she said, her voice lightening a little.

‘That’s right, love. Only once the judge has made his or her decision will you move, and that will be to your forever family.’

‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘Will your cat be there when I come tomorrow?’

‘I’ll make sure of it, love.’

We said goodbye, but Lucy didn’t sever the call. I heard muffled sounds as she carried the handset downstairs and gave it to Pat, who I guessed was waiting for any news.

‘Hello,’ she said anxiously.

‘Is half past eleven tomorrow morning all right for you and your husband to move Lucy?’ I said.

‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Pat said, surprised. ‘Has Lucy agreed to come then?’

‘She has.’

‘How did you manage that?’

‘I think the cat did it,’ I said, with a small laugh. ‘So half past eleven is all right? I’d rather not leave it any later as the waiting will unsettle Lucy again.’

‘Yes, we’ll get going on the packing straight away.’

‘Good. And you may not know this but, when an older child moves, it’s usually best if the carers say goodbye and leave reasonably quickly, so I won’t be offering you coffee. I know it’s different when you move babies to permanency.’

‘Yes, it is. Thanks for telling me.’

‘You can phone Lucy in a week or so. That would be nice, and visit in a few weeks – once she’s had a chance to settle in.’

‘We will. See you tomorrow then. And thanks for all your help.’

‘You’re welcome. Enjoy your evening. You want to part on good terms.’

‘Yes, we’ll try.’

In truth, I hadn’t really done much to persuade Lucy to move other than use my skills and experience from years of fostering. Pat and her husband were used to fostering babies and had been out of their depth looking after an older child, which is why carers are approved and trained to foster a specific age group. I returned to the living room where Adrian and Paula were just finishing their game of draughts and told them the good news: that I’d spoken to Lucy and she would be coming tomorrow. ‘She’s looking forward to playing with you both,’ I added. ‘And we need to make sure Toscha is in.’

‘Why?’ Adrian asked, glancing up from the board. ‘What’s the cat done?’

Ignoring his stab at humour, I said, ‘Lucy’s very keen to see her.’

He threw me an old-fashioned look, took the last of Paula’s pieces from the board and, punching the air, shouted: ‘Winner!’

‘Well played,’ I said.

Paula scowled.

‘You played well too,’ I said diplomatically.

They packed away the game and then Adrian went off to play on his Nintendo, while I took Paula up for her bath and to get her ready for bed. It was Friday, so both children were up later than on a school night. Paula can sometimes be a real little chatterbox, especially at bedtime, and tonight all she could talk about was Lucy.

‘I’m very excited that Lucy’s coming,’ she said, flapping the water in the bath to make more bubbles. ‘What does she like to play?’

‘I’m not sure. You can ask her. I don’t think she knows many games, so you can teach her some.’

‘I will. And I’ll show her my toys and let her play with them, even my new Christmas toys. And if it snows, we can go in the garden and build a snowman. I hope it snows. I’m going to like playing with Lucy.’

While Paula was happily planning all she was going to do with Lucy, I was also thinking about Lucy, and, among other things, about the school run on Monday. Like most foster carers, I had to juggle my children’s commitments with the child or children I was fostering. Adrian, at thirteen, went to school with his friends, but I still took Paula, at age nine, to her primary school and collected her. Lucy’s school was a twenty-minute bus journey away, and although most secondary-school children use buses I wasn’t comfortable with her making an unfamiliar journey alone when she’d just moved in. Once I knew what time her school started, I was hoping I’d be able to work out something that would allow me to take both girls to school and collect them. When a new foster child first arrives, there’s always a period of readjustment and then, once the new routine is established, the household runs smoothly again.

The following morning – Saturday – I was up, showered and dressed earlier than usual for the weekend, and with a mixture of excitement and apprehension I double-checked that Lucy’s room was ready. Paula was up earlier than usual, too, and the first thing she said when she came downstairs was that she was looking forward to meeting Lucy. Adrian, true to form, only stumbled from his bed when he smelled bacon frying. We usually have a cooked breakfast at the weekend; it’s the only two days in the week when we have time to enjoy it. By eleven o’clock Adrian was showered and dressed, too, and caught in the frisson of excited expectation that had enveloped the house. So, with half an hour to go before Lucy’s arrival, we were all ready and waiting, except …

‘Where’s Toscha?’ I asked, suddenly realizing she wasn’t in her favourite spot on the chair by the window.

We looked around the obvious places and couldn’t see her. Then the children helped me search the house from top to bottom: under the beds; in corners (especially by radiators); in and behind cupboards; even in the airing cupboard, where she’d once been found; but there was no sign of Toscha.