Kitabı oku: «Daddy’s Little Princess»

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

In the Beginning

Chapter One: Close to Tears

Chapter Two: Mr Sleep Bear

Chapter Three: The Photographs

Chapter Four: Inappropriate

Chapter Five: Marianne

Chapter Six: My Concerns Grow

Chapter Seven: Guilty

Chapter Eight: Wise Owl

Chapter Nine: Sexualizing the Innocent

Chapter Ten: Calm Before the Storm

Chapter Eleven: Ignorance

Chapter Twelve: Very Upset

Chapter Thirteen: Two-Parent Family

Chapter Fourteen: The Meeting

Chapter Fifteen: Loyal to Abuser

Chapter Sixteen: Are You Happy Here?

Chapter Seventeen: Special Present

Chapter Eighteen: Sudden Turn of Events

Chapter Nineteen: Dr Jones

Chapter Twenty: He’s Mine!

Chapter Twenty-One: The Telephone Call

Chapter Twenty-Two: Icing on the Cake

Chapter Twenty-Three: She Must Hate Me

Chapter Twenty-Four: A New Friend

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Decision

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Visit

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Postcard

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Couple in the Playground

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Exclusive sample chapter

Cathy Glass

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

About the Publisher

In the Beginning

To write this book – Beth’s story – I need to go back in time, to when Adrian was six and Paula was just two. I had only been fostering for a few years, and back then foster carers were given little in the way of training or support, or background information on the child. They were ‘thrown in at the deep end’ and left to get on with it, either swimming or sinking under the strain of it all. Looking back now, I shudder to think of some of the unsafe situations my family and I were placed in, and I also wonder – with the benefit of hindsight from years of fostering and training – if I would have handled situations differently. Some, maybe, but not with Beth. I am sure I would have made the same decisions then as now, for some behaviour is never acceptable and has to be stopped to save the child.

Chapter One
Close to Tears

I was starting to think that they weren’t coming after all. Beth’s social worker had telephoned me during the afternoon and had said she would bring Beth to me at about ‘teatime’. It was now nearly seven o’clock – well past teatime – and Adrian, Paula and myself had eaten. I’d make Beth something fresh to eat if and when she arrived. It was a cold night and little Beth would be upset enough at being parted from her father without arriving tired and hungry. I knew that plans in social care often change unavoidably at the last minute, but I thought the social worker might have telephoned to let me know what was going on. A little while later I told Paula it was time for her to go to bed. We were in the living room, at the rear of the house, snug and warm, with the curtains closed against the cold, dark night. Paula and Adrian were sitting on the floor; Paula had been building a castle out of toy bricks and Adrian was poring over a large, beautifully illustrated book on vintage cars and motorbikes he’d been given as a Christmas present three weeks previously. Toscha, our lazy, lovable cat, was curled up on her favourite chair.

‘I thought that girl was coming?’ Adrian said, glancing up from his book.

‘So did I,’ I said. ‘Perhaps her father isn’t as ill as they thought and she was able to stay at home. I hope so.’

Adrian, aged six, had some understanding of what fostering meant from having children stay with us previously, while Paula, aged two, wasn’t really old enough to understand, although I’d tried to explain that a girl aged seven who was called Beth might be coming to stay with us for a while. All I knew of Beth, other than her age, was that she lived with her father and that he was now ill and likely to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital. That was all the social worker had told me when she’d telephoned and I’d hoped to learn more from her when she arrived with Beth.

I rose from where I’d been sitting on the sofa and went over to Paula to help her pack away the toy bricks. ‘Bedtime, love,’ I said again.

‘I thought that girl was coming?’ Paula said, repeating Adrian’s comments. She was at an age where she often copied her older brother. I heard him give a little sigh.

‘I don’t think she will be coming now,’ I said to Paula. ‘It’s rather late.’

But just as I began collecting together the plastic building bricks, the doorbell rang, making us all jump. Both children looked at me expectantly.

‘Perhaps it is them after all,’ I said. ‘Stay here and I’ll go and see.’

With my husband, John, working away I was cautious when I answered the door after dark. Leaving Adrian and Paula in the living room, I went down the hall and to the front door where I first peered through the security spy-hole. The porch light was on and I could make out a woman and a child. Reassured, I opened the front door.

‘Sorry we’re so late,’ the woman immediately apologized. ‘I’m Jessie, Beth’s social worker. We spoke on the phone. You must be Cathy. This is Beth.’

I smiled and looked at Beth, who was standing close to her social worker. She wore a grey winter’s coat buttoned up to the top. She was pale, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were puffy from crying. She clutched a tissue in one hand, which she pressed to her nose.

‘Oh, love,’ I said. ‘You must be very tired and worried. Come in.’

‘I want my daddy,’ Beth said, her eyes filling.

‘I understand,’ I said, touching her arm reassuringly. Jessie eased Beth over the doorstep and then brought in a very large suitcase.

‘We stopped off at Beth’s house to get her clothes,’ Jessie explained as I closed the front door. ‘It took longer than I expected. Beth wanted to change out of her school uniform, and then we had to pack. She was worried about washing her clothes and the food in the fridge spoiling. I’ve told her not to worry, that you’ll wash her clothes here, and the house will be fine.’

I smiled again at Beth. ‘That’s right. There’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll look after you.’ Although I wondered that a seven-year-old had thought about laundry that needed to be done or food spoiling. ‘Would you like to take off your coat?’ I asked her. ‘And we’ll hang it here on the hall stand.’

Beth began to undo her buttons and then let Jessie help her out of her coat. I hung it on the stand and Jessie did the same with hers.

‘I want to be with my daddy,’ Beth said again.

‘It’s just for a short while until Daddy is better,’ Jessie reassured her.

‘Come on through and meet my son and daughter, Adrian and Paula,’ I said. ‘They’re looking forward to meeting you.’

Jessie took Beth’s hand and I led the way down the hall and into the living room. My first impression of Beth was that she’d been well cared for at home and was now clearly missing her father dreadfully. Jessie, I guessed, was in her late thirties, smartly dressed in black trousers and a pale-blue jumper. She seemed stressed, probably from running late and from all the arrangements she would have had to make to bring a child into care.

‘Would you like a drink?’ I offered Jessie and Beth.

Beth shook her head while Jessie said: ‘A coffee would be lovely, thank you. Milk and one sugar, please.’

‘This is Beth and her social worker, Jessie,’ I said, introducing them to Adrian and Paula. ‘I’ll leave you all to get to know each other while I make the coffee.’ But Paula wasn’t going to be left alone with strangers and she rushed over and slipped her hand into mine.

Jessie and Beth were settling on the sofa as I left the living room with Paula to make the coffee, while Adrian had put down his book and was setting aside his embarrassment to talk to Jessie and Beth. It’s always difficult when a new child first arrives until everyone gets to know each other and relaxes. From the kitchen I could hear Jessie asking Adrian how old he was and what he liked to do in his spare time. As I made the coffee I explained again to Paula who Beth was.

‘Beth’s going to stay with us for a few sleeps while the doctors make her daddy better,’ I said.

‘Why?’ Paula asked. ‘Why’ was a word Paula had recently discovered and now used quite a lot.

‘Because there’s no one else at home to look after her,’ I said. ‘And she can’t stay at home by herself.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because she’s too young,’ I said. ‘She’s only seven.’

‘I’m two,’ Paula said proudly.

‘Yes, that’s right, and in a few months you’ll be three.’

I made the coffee, arranged some biscuits on a plate and set them on a tray. Paula followed me into the living room where I placed the tray on the coffee table within reach of Jessie.

‘Thanks,’ she said gratefully, reaching for the mug of coffee and a couple of biscuits. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had something to eat or drink. Today has disappeared.’

Jessie wasn’t the first social worker who’d arrived having not had time to eat or drink. ‘Shall I make you something to eat?’ I asked.

‘No, thank you. I’ll settle Beth and then I need to get home. I have two children of my own, although you wouldn’t think so for the little I see of them.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink?’ I asked Beth.

She shook her head.

‘A biscuit?’ I asked, offering her the plate.

She shook her head again.

‘She’ll need something to eat before bed,’ Jessie said. ‘She had her school dinner but has only had a drink since then.’

‘You can tell me what you’d like later,’ I said to Beth with a smile.

But she pressed the tissue to her eyes and looked close to tears. I wasn’t surprised. I couldn’t begin to imagine how upsetting or unsettling it must be for a child to suddenly have to leave their home and all that is familiar and live with strangers.

Beth gave a sniff and then suddenly blurted: ‘It’s my fault my daddy’s ill. It’s because I forgot to give him his tablets.’ A tear escaped and ran down her cheek. Adrian and Paula looked at Beth, very worried.

‘No, that’s not the reason,’ Jessie said kindly, slipping her arm around Beth’s shoulders. ‘I explained to you on the way here that sometimes tablets are not enough to make a person better and they have to go into hospital. Your daddy was taking the tablets. It’s not your fault, Beth.’

Jessie cuddled Beth for a few minutes while Paula and Adrian, looking very concerned, sat close to each other on the floor beside the building bricks. I threw them a reassuring smile.

‘I’m wondering if we could go somewhere private to talk?’ Jessie asked me when Beth had stopped crying and had dried her eyes.

‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘We can go in the front room.’

‘Beth, you stay here with Adrian and Paula while I talk to Cathy,’ Jessie said. ‘Perhaps Adrian will show you his book. It looks good to me.’

Jessie stood and Adrian took his book and went and sat in the place Jessie had vacated. Paula immediately went too, sitting on the other side of him.

‘Thanks,’ I said to them as we left the room.

I showed Jessie into the front room and pushed the door to so we couldn’t be overheard.

‘I didn’t want to discuss Beth’s father in front of her,’ Jessie said, drawing out a chair and sitting down. I sat opposite her. ‘She’s finding it difficult enough already.’

I nodded.

‘Beth has been brought up by her father, Derek, since she was little,’ Jessie said. ‘I think she was about two or three when her mother disappeared. Beth never sees her. Derek has done a good job of bringing up Beth alone, but they came to the notice of the social services a few months ago. Derek went to his doctors saying he couldn’t cope and was depressed. He was prescribed medication, which seemed to work for a while, but today he reached crisis point. I don’t know why. He took Beth to school and then went straight to casualty at the hospital. He told the doctors he couldn’t take any more and was thinking of committing suicide.’

‘Oh dear. The poor man,’ I said.

‘Yes. They’ve admitted him to the psychiatric wing of St Mary’s Hospital, but I’m hoping it won’t be for long. Once his condition has been stabilized he should be able to go home with medication. If he’s in for longer than a week, Beth will need to visit him. They’re very close.’

‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘Beth’s obviously going to miss him a lot. And there isn’t a relative who can look after her?’ Which is usually considered the next best option if a parent can’t look after their child.

‘Not that we’re aware of,’ Jessie said. ‘Derek has had nothing to do with his ex-wife’s family since she left four years ago. His own mother died last year and his father is old and frail and in a care home. Derek is nearly fifty. He had Beth late in life.’

‘I see.’

‘That’s all the information I can give you really,’ Jessie said, winding up. ‘You have my contact details, so telephone if there is a problem. Now, I need to get going. I’ll say goodbye to Beth and leave you to it. I’m sure Beth will feel a bit brighter in the morning after a good night’s sleep.’

Jessie hadn’t given me much background information, but I assumed I had what I needed to look after Beth and that the rest was confidential.

We returned to the living room where the children were sitting in a row on the sofa looking at the pictures in Adrian’s book as he turned the pages.

‘I’m going now,’ Jessie said to Beth. ‘If you need anything, ask Cathy. As soon as I have news about your daddy I’ll phone. But try not to worry. The doctors are looking after him and I’m sure he’ll be better soon.’

‘When can I see my daddy?’ Beth asked anxiously.

‘As soon as he’s a little better,’ Jessie said. ‘I’ll be in contact with the hospital tomorrow and I’ll telephone Cathy.’

I could see from Beth’s face that this hadn’t reassured her. Indeed, she looked close to tears again.

‘Goodbye,’ Jessie said. ‘Try not to worry.’

‘I’ll see Jessie out and then I’ll get you something to eat.’ I smiled at Beth.

Beth looked back, lost and afraid.

I went with Jessie down the hall and it was only as she began putting on her coat that I realized I didn’t know which school Beth went to.

‘Beth’s school?’ I asked. ‘I assume she’s still going to school while her father is in hospital?’

‘Yes, sorry, I should have said. It’s Orchard Primary School, about a five-minute drive away.’

‘Oh,’ I said, surprised. ‘That’s the same school Adrian goes to. I thought Beth looked slightly familiar. I’ve probably seen her going in or coming out of school. She’ll be in the year above Adrian.’

‘Well, that’ll make life easier for you,’ Jessie said. ‘One school run to do.’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘When I collected Beth from school today I informed the school secretary that she’ll be staying with you for a little while.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘So Beth and Derek live quite close?’

‘About three-quarters of a mile away,’ Jessie confirmed. ‘Well, goodnight. I’ll be in touch, and thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

I saw Jessie out and closed the front door. Returning to the sitting room, I found Adrian and Paula now sitting either side of Beth. Adrian was still turning the pages of his book but was also giving a little commentary on the pictures, while Paula, having felt brave enough to leave her brother’s side, was snuggled close to Beth and holding her hand. I was pleased my children were making Beth welcome.

‘Jessie has just told me that you go to Orchard School,’ I said, smiling at Beth. ‘That’s Adrian’s school too.’

Beth gave a small nod, while Adrian turned to her and said: ‘I recognized you when you first came in.’ Then, looking at me, he said: ‘We don’t really know each other. Beth’s in another class.’

‘Still, it’s nice you are both in the same school,’ I said.

‘My teacher is Miss Willow,’ Beth said quietly to Adrian.

‘And mine is Mr Andrews,’ Adrian said. ‘He’s OK, but he shouts sometimes.’

As Adrian and Beth began talking about school, I thought it was a piece of good fortune that Beth lived locally, as one school run would certainly make my life easier. A more experienced foster carer would have realized that having a child’s family live so close, far from being a bonus, could actually cause problems.

Chapter Two
Mr Sleep Bear

I usually put the children to bed in ascending order of age – the youngest first – as younger children generally need more sleep. But tonight, as it was past the bedtimes of all three children, I took them upstairs together. I’d already placed Beth’s case in her room and had taken out her pyjamas, towel and wash bag. I would unpack the rest of her case the following day when I had more time. I now asked Beth and Adrian to change into their pyjamas while I got Paula, who was very tired, ready for bed. I switched on the light in Beth’s room and checked she had everything she needed and then left her to change; Adrian was already in his bedroom and knew what to do.

In the bathroom, I washed Paula’s face and hands and then helped her into her pyjamas. I took her round to the toilet. She was so tired she wanted ‘a carry’ from the toilet to her bed. I tucked her in, gave her a big kiss and said goodnight.

‘Night-night, Mummy,’ she yawned, her little arms encircling my neck. ‘Luv you.’

I hugged her hard. ‘I love you too, precious. Lots and lots. Sleep tight.’

By the time I left the room, she was nearly asleep.

I checked on Adrian who, now changed, was in the bathroom having a wash and brushing his teeth. ‘Straight into bed when you’ve finished,’ I said. ‘I’ll be in to say goodnight in a few minutes.’ He sometimes ‘got lost’ on his way from the bathroom to his bedroom and ended up downstairs playing, but I think even he was tired tonight, and he nodded.

I continued to Beth’s room. The door was pushed to but not shut. I gave a brief knock before I went in. Although Beth was only seven, I’d be giving her the same privacy I gave all the children. Nowadays foster carers draw up a ‘safer caring policy’, which includes privacy and is designed to keep all family members feeling safe and secure, but back then such matters were left to the carer’s common sense, and common sense told me that even quite young children liked some degree of privacy.

Beth had changed into her pyjamas and had also taken her clean school uniform out of her case ready for the following morning. It was laid neatly on the end of her bed.

‘Well done,’ I said, impressed. ‘You’ve got your uniform ready.’

‘I always do it at home,’ she said quietly. ‘But I don’t know where these go.’ Her brow creased. She was holding her dirty washing: underwear, socks and the uniform she’d presumably been wearing that day and had packed in her case. ‘At home I put them in the washing machine, but I don’t know where that is here.’

‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ I said, relieving her of the clothes. ‘I’ll see to it here. I’ll put them in the laundry basket and wash them tomorrow. Come on, let’s go round to the bathroom and then get you into bed. Everything will seem much better in the morning.’ Beth looked very sad and worried.

She gave a little careworn sigh and then picked up her towel and wash bag. ‘I hope I’ve remembered everything,’ she said anxiously. ‘I didn’t have much time to pack. Jessie was in a hurry.’

‘Beth, love, try not to worry,’ I said, touching her arm reassuringly. ‘If you’ve forgotten anything, I’m sure I’ll have a spare here you can use. And if not, we’ll ask your social worker to collect it from home. OK?’

She nodded, although she didn’t look much happier. I thought she appeared to shoulder a lot of responsibility at home for a child of her age. She looked permanently worried, although given her father was in hospital that was hardly surprising.

In the bathroom, Beth saw our towels hanging on the towel rail and immediately draped hers over, although a lot more neatly than ours. At the sink I showed her which tap was hot and which was cold. She gave a little nod. Not knowing how good her self-care skills were, I stayed in the bathroom to see if she needed any help. It soon became obvious that she didn’t. Unscrewing the cap on the toothpaste, she squirted a carefully measured amount of paste onto her toothbrush and then returned the cap to the tube, screwing it into place. She put the tube back into her wash bag and then methodically brushed her teeth and rinsed thoroughly. Once she’d finished she placed her toothbrush in the beaker with ours and then turned on the hot and cold water taps, mixing the water in the basin to the right temperature and testing it with her fingers before washing her face and hands.

‘Good girl,’ I said, even more impressed.

‘It’s too late for a bath, isn’t it?’ Beth asked, glancing at me in the mirror.

‘Yes. Just have a hands-and-face wash now. You can have a bath tomorrow when we’re in a better routine. Missing one bath won’t hurt.’

‘That’s what my daddy says,’ Beth said, smiling weakly. ‘I hope they’re looking after him in hospital.’

‘They will be, love,’ I reassured her.

I waited while Beth carefully patted her face and hands dry and then returned her towel, neatly folded, to the towel rail.

‘Good girl,’ I said again.

We went round the landing towards Beth’s room and she said she’d use the toilet before she went to bed, as she did at home. While Beth was in the toilet I popped into Adrian’s room to say goodnight and remind him to switch off his lamp. ‘Night, love,’ I said, tucking him in and kissing his forehead. ‘Love you. Sleep tight. And thanks for your help with Beth.’

‘She’s all right, for a girl,’ Adrian said, which, coming from a six-year-old boy, was a compliment. ‘Love you too,’ he said. ‘Will Dad be coming home at the weekend?’

‘Yes, I hope so.’

‘Good, I miss him.’

‘I know you do.’

I gave Adrian another kiss and came out of his bedroom. Beth had finished in the toilet and I went with her into her bedroom. I’d already closed the curtains, and with the Cinderella duvet cover, pillowcase and Disney wall posters, I thought the room looked warm and inviting. Although it obviously wasn’t as good as being at home.

I dimmed the lights and drew back the duvet ready for Beth to get in, but she stayed where she was and made no move to get into bed.

‘Is there anything else you need?’ I asked gently.

Beth shook her head.

‘OK, love, into bed then. It’s very late and you must be tired.’

I waited, but still Beth didn’t make any move towards the bed. ‘It’s bound to seem a bit strange sleeping here on the first night,’ I said. ‘But I can leave the door open and the light on if you like.’

‘No, it’s not that,’ she said, her face clouding.

‘What is it then, love? Can you tell me?’

‘I’m not used to sleeping alone.’

‘Oh, I see. Do you have a cuddly toy in your case that you usually sleep with?’ I thought this was likely, as many children sleep with a ‘cuddly’ toy for comfort so they don’t feel alone at night. I hadn’t seen a soft toy in Beth’s case when I’d taken out her nightwear, but then I hadn’t searched further down in the case.

‘No, I don’t have a soft toy,’ Beth said. ‘I don’t need one at home. I cuddle up to my daddy.’

‘Oh, I see. Your daddy cuddles you until you fall asleep?’ I said, remembering I’d done this with Adrian when he’d been little, as had John, and that I still did so with Paula sometimes. I could certainly cuddle Beth until she fell asleep, but she needed to get into bed first.

Beth looked at me seriously and fiddled with the sleeve of her pyjamas. ‘No,’ she said, after a moment. ‘I sleep with my daddy, in his bed.’

‘Oh,’ I said again. ‘Not every night, surely?’ For this seemed rather unusual to me for a girl of Beth’s age.

Beth nodded, almost sheepishly.

‘Don’t you have a bed and bedroom of your own?’ I asked. It was possible they didn’t have a second bedroom.

‘Yes, I have a bedroom,’ Beth said. ‘But I don’t sleep in it. I don’t like sleeping by myself. I like sleeping with my daddy and he likes me sleeping with him. Can I sleep with you? I don’t want to be alone.’

The safer caring policy for foster carers now advises that foster children should never sleep in a carer’s bed, and babies and children under two – who can share a carer’s bedroom – must have their own cot or bed. But then there was no safer caring policy so, as usual, I had to rely on my common sense. I wasn’t comfortable with having a seven-year-old who wasn’t a relative sleeping in my bed, apart from it not being fair on Adrian and Paula, who slept in their own beds. I also thought that Beth’s father might not like the arrangement, possibly feeling I was trying to usurp his position as parent. Obviously I didn’t want Beth to be upset, so I needed to find a solution.

‘Beth, love,’ I said gently as I perched on the edge of the bed. ‘I can’t really let you sleep in my bed. But I will stay with you and cuddle you until you fall asleep. I’ll leave your bedroom door open and the landing light is always on. If you wake in the night you can call out and I’ll come round straight away.’

Beth looked at me, unconvinced. But she needed to get into bed and off to sleep, so I thought I might have to be firm. ‘Come on, in you get,’ I said, patting her bed encouragingly. ‘I’ll stay with you until you’re asleep.’

Reluctantly, Beth climbed into bed and I pulled the duvet up to her chin. I then lay on the bed beside her, on top of the duvet, and put my arm around her to cuddle her.

‘How’s that?’ I said.

‘My daddy strokes my forehead,’ Beth said. ‘Like this.’ She lightly trailed her fingers over her forehead.

Many children like having their forehead caressed when they are finding it difficult to go to sleep. It’s soothing.

‘All right, close your eyes, and I’ll stroke your forehead,’ I said. ‘It won’t be the same as when your daddy does it, but I’ll try my best.’

Beth finally closed her eyes and I began gently stroking her forehead. Ten minutes later she was still awake, and her eyes opened. ‘The light’s too bright,’ she said. ‘It’s dark in my daddy’s room.’

Although I’d dimmed the bedroom light, I got off the bed and switched it off completely, but I left the door slightly ajar so I could see by the light of the landing. I returned to Beth’s bed, lay down and began stroking her forehead again, but ten minutes later her eyes shot open again.

‘It’s not the same,’ she said fretfully. ‘My daddy’s under the covers with me. I can feel him nice and warm when he cuddles up.’

Apart from not feeling wholly comfortable doing this for Beth, I knew that if I began this routine it was going to be difficult to break it later. I didn’t know how long Beth would be staying with me, but I knew I needed to create a practical working routine. I couldn’t spend every evening tucked up in bed with Beth; I had things to do. Then I had a flash of inspiration and I remembered Mr Sleep Bear. Mr Sleep Bear, as I’d named him, was dressed in blue-striped pyjamas and had been given to Adrian by my mother when he’d been very small. One evening, when Adrian hadn’t been able to go to sleep, I’d tucked the bear into his bed and told him that now he had Mr Sleep Bear with him – who was also very tired – he would go straight to sleep. And he did. After that, whenever Adrian hadn’t been able to go to sleep, Mr Sleep Bear came to the rescue. Adrian had outgrown the bear some years before and Paula had never used him, having a number of soft toys of her own that she took to bed with her.

‘I know,’ I said, climbing off the bed. ‘I’ve got just the person to help you go to sleep.’ Beth looked at me, concerned, as well she might. ‘It’s nothing to worry about. I’m going to fetch Mr Sleep Bear. He’s a very special bear who will send you off to sleep. Stay in bed and I’ll get him. He’s in my bedroom.’