Daddy’s Little Princess

by Cathy Glass

  It was on the Friday after Easter, the third week in April, and just before the schools went back for the summer term that something interesting happened. It was five o’clock, time for Beth’s telephone contact, so I called her to the telephone in the hall. We’d got into the habit of telephoning her father at five; the time suited me and seemed to suit Derek too. Beth came straight to the telephone as she always did and sat on the chair beside it as I pressed the speaker button and then keyed in Derek’s number. I could have let Beth make the call herself, but I wanted to reinforce to her that I was in charge of the telephone, in case she was entertaining any more thoughts about creeping downstairs at night to phone her father, or anyone else for that matter.

  We listened to the telephone ringing and then her father answered, ‘Hello.’

  As usual, I said, ‘Good evening, Derek. Beth is here.’ I moved away from the hall table and sat on the bottom step of the stairs with my notepad and pen ready. It was only then, as I looked over at Beth, that I realized she hadn’t got all dressed up (tarted up) to speak to her father. She was in the same clothes she’d been wearing all day – a winter dress I’d bought her. And she wasn’t wearing the ridiculous high heels, fishnet tights, make-up or nail varnish.

  I wasn’t sure what this meant, if anything, but I made a note and then listened as unobtrusively as I could to what they were saying. I didn’t like having to listen to and record their conversation; it seemed intrusive, but I appreciated that sometimes it’s essential for the welfare of the child. Foster carers are often asked to supervise telephone contact. Beth was telling her father what she’d been doing during the Easter holidays, including Paula’s birthday party, which had taken place after their last telephone call.

  Derek was quiet as Beth finished, and then he said, ‘You have a lot of parties at Cathy’s.’

  ‘Not really,’ Beth said. ‘It’s because Adrian’s and Paula’s birthdays are close together.’ Which was sensible. Then she said, ‘Daddy, can I have a party when it’s my birthday?’

  I waited for Derek’s reply, as did Beth. Given that Beth had never been allowed to play with children outside of school and certainly not have them home to tea, I thought a party was highly unlikely, even if it was decided that Beth could return home, which was a big ‘if’.

  ‘We’ll have to wait and see what happens,’ Derek said eventually. ‘Nothing’s settled yet.’

  ‘But if I can come home, can I have a birthday party?’ Beth persisted. ‘And invite lots of my friends from school?’

  Another silence, then Derek said, ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why don’t you know, Daddy?’ Beth asked. I could hear the insistence creeping into her voice and I knew she was challenging him.

  ‘Because October is a long way off,’ Derek said. ‘We don’t know what’s going to happen before then.’ Which was all he could say, really, with the decision on Beth’s future unmade.

  But Beth was ready with her reply. ‘If I’m still at Cathy’s, she’ll give me a big party. I’ll invite all my friends and we’ll have a great time.’

  Her face was set. The comment was designed to hurt her father. It went quiet on the other end of the phone and I almost felt sorry for Derek.

  ‘Beth, that’s not a nice thing to say,’ I gently cautioned her. ‘Your father’s told you he isn’t able to make a decision yet about your birthday.’ It wouldn’t do Beth any good to grow up believing she could blackmail or manipulate adults into doing what she wanted.

  ‘What Cathy says is right,’ Derek replied quietly.

  But Beth hadn’t finished with him yet. ‘I’m not wearing one of your pretty dresses,’ she said defiantly. ‘And I’m not wearing any make-up or nail varnish or my black tights or heels.’

  I glanced over again. I was writing and listening at the same time. There was another pause before Derek said, ‘That’s all right, princess.’ Which, given his previous enthusiasm for Beth’s dresses, surprised Beth as much as it did me.

  ‘But you like me to wear those things,’ Beth said, clearly wrong-footed by her father’s reaction, or lack of it. ‘I’m not wearing them ever again. I might even throw them away.’

  There was another pause before Derek said, ‘Is there a reason, princess?’

  ‘Yes! Because I’m not your princess any more. I’m a normal girl and normal girls don’t wear make-up or black tights. My friends don’t.’

  ‘I see,’ Derek said.

  ‘My friend’s mothers wouldn’t let them wear that stuff,’ Beth continued, her anger now rising. ‘And if I had a mother, she wouldn’t let me. Cathy doesn’t let me wear your dresses or make-up. I wear things that are suitable for children. Cathy knows how I should dress.’ While all this was true, I’d no idea where it had come from or what had provoked Beth’s attack on her father, which was clearly designed to hurt him.

  I waited, as did Beth, for her father’s reply. ‘I know you’re angry with me,’ he said, ‘and I can understand why. You’re right. You are only a little girl and I haven’t been treating you like one. I’m trying to learn how to treat you like a child, but it’s not easy and it’s taking me time.’

  The significance of her father’s words weren’t lost on Beth. ‘Is that so I can come home?’ she asked. My heart went out to her.

  ‘Yes,’ Derek said.

  They were both silent again, then I heard Derek take a deep breath before he said shakily, ‘I’d better go now, pet. Be good and remember to phone again next Friday, please.’ They’d only been talking a short while.

  Beth didn’t reply. ‘Say goodbye to your father,’ I prompted her.

  ‘Bye, Daddy,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘Bye, love,’ Derek said. ‘Bye, Cathy.’

  ‘Goodbye, Derek,’ I said, going closer to the phone. ‘We’ll telephone again at the same time next week,’ I confirmed.

  ‘Thank you.’

  As I went to push the speaker button to cut the call, Beth called out, ‘I am your princess really, Daddy!’

  Derek didn’t reply. He’d hung up.

  Beth looked at me anxiously. She hadn’t got the replies from her father she’d been expecting. ‘Why can’t I be my daddy’s little princess any more?’ she asked, confused.

  ‘I think it’s because your daddy is having to learn new ways to behave and talk to you,’ I said. ‘Perhaps this is something you could ask Dr Weybridge when you see her next. I’m sure she can explain it better than I can.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll do that,’ Beth said quickly, now eager to put the telephone call and all the issues it raised behind her.

  She went off to play with Adrian and Paula. I appreciated just how confusing all this must be for Beth. I was struggling with having to put aside my negative feelings towards Derek and remain neutral during the assessment period.

  I finished my notes and put them safely away in a drawer.

  We ate at six and as John wasn’t home I plated up his dinner and put it in the oven to keep warm. He arrived home just as we’d finished eating and, having said hello and hugged all the children, he ate his dinner on a tray in the living room. I thought he seemed a bit quieter than usual, but when I asked him if everything was all right, he said he was just tired and he’d have an early night.

  The weather dramatically turned warm over the weekend, as it can in England. The temperature rose ten degrees centigrade to the mid-twenties, and the sun shone in a clear blue sky. John said he could do with relaxing over the weekend after a very busy week, so we spent most of it in the garden. I did some gardening, while John sat on a lounger and read the newspaper. The children didn’t mind that John didn’t feel up to playing lots of games – it was enough that he was there, as it was for me. By Sunday evening, when it was time for John to leave, he said he felt much better and that the rest had done him good.

  Jessie telephoned on Monday and began by asking if the kids and I had had a good Easter, and then she asked how Beth’s therapy was going.

  ‘It seems to be g
oing well,’ I said. ‘Although Beth doesn’t say much and I certainly don’t press her.’

  ‘But she’s happy to go? And isn’t upset after?’ Jessie asked.

  ‘No. She’s fine. She said she’d rather go than stay at school.’

  Jessie laughed. ‘And the phone contact? How is that going?’

  ‘Very well. Just a minute and I’ll fetch my notes,’ I said.

  I collected my notes and at the same time checked on Paula, who was crayoning at the table. Leaving the door open so I could hear her if she needed me, I returned to the living room where I’d taken the call. I sat on the sofa and, using my notes, gave Jessie a résumé of the phone contact since the last time we’d spoken, finishing with the most recent.

  ‘That’s very interesting,’ Jessie said. ‘It seems the therapy is having an effect on both of them. Can you photocopy your notes, please, and put a set in the post to me.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said.

  ‘Thanks. Derek’s therapist, Dr Jones, would like you to attend this Friday’s session at ten o’clock. It’s at the hospital you take Beth to, only in a different wing: the Chancery Suite.’ I wrote the name of the suite on my notepad.

  ‘Will Derek be there too?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. It’s his therapy you’re joining.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ I said, feeling a bit dim, but I’d never done anything like this before. ‘Thank you.’

  That afternoon I took Paula to the mother and toddler group and then later – in the playground at the end of school – I asked Kay if she could look after Paula on Friday morning. She said she would be happy to and that she’d got a number of dental appointments coming up when she would be asking for my help. Kay didn’t ask where I was going and assumed it was a meeting in connection with fostering, which it was in a way. The week was busy and time flew. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t apprehensive about the therapy session I had to attend on Friday. Not knowing what to expect, I imagined all sorts of weird and wonderful scenarios, including Dr Jones discovering my innermost thoughts, feelings and phobias simply by looking at me. Also, I had reservations about just how much I could contribute to the session or how my contribution could possibly help Derek. I’d only met him once and then he’d hardly said a word, and any communication between us on the telephone was confined to hello and goodbye.

  On Thursday evening my anxiety reached a new level, but for a different reason. John telephoned late in the evening, after the children had gone to bed, to say he would be travelling home on Saturday morning, not Friday evening. Normally this wouldn’t have caused me a lot of angst as it had happened before, but this Saturday was the county swimming competition that Adrian had been practising so hard for. Although the competition didn’t start until half past one, the competitors had to be there by 12.45 p.m. I was immediately worried that John wouldn’t make it home in time.

  ‘You know we have to leave the house at twelve-fifteen,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, I know. I’ll be there in plenty of time.’ Which I had to accept.

  But I remained concerned, and the following morning when I told Adrian, despite reassuring him that his father would leave his hotel very early on Saturday morning, he was anxious too.

  ‘Supposing there’s a lot of traffic, or an accident on the motorway?’ Adrian said, remembering that these had delayed John on previous journeys home. ‘What then?’

  ‘Please don’t worry. If necessary, we’ll meet your dad at the swimming pool. We won’t be late, I promise, and he won’t miss it.’

  I felt it was a pity that Adrian was now having to worry about his father arriving on time when he should have been concentrating on, and looking forward to, the competition.

  Kay had suggested that I leave Paula with her in the playground on Friday morning, rather than return home for what would only be fifteen minutes and then drop her off at her house later. As a result, I arrived at the hospital early and had time to pick up a coffee from the vending machine in the foyer. I stood outside to drink it before returning to the building. The main hospital building was old and very different from the newer extension in which the Butterfly Wing was situated. Many of the wards were named after historic places or figures – Trafalgar Ward, Henry VIII Ward, Waterloo Ward, Shakespeare Ward. They were clearly signposted and I found the Chancery Suite without a problem. I went through the double swing doors and into a small reception area where a lady sat behind a desk.

  ‘Cathy Glass,’ I said. ‘I’m here to see Dr Jones at ten o’clock.’

  ‘Take a seat over there, please,’ she said, pointing to an open-plan waiting area. ‘Dr Jones will be with you shortly.’

  I thanked her and went over and sat down in one of the steel-framed chairs. I was alone in the waiting area and with five minutes until the appointment time I wondered if Derek would arrive and sit in the waiting area, which might be embarrassing. I’d no idea what we would find to talk about. The waiting area was stark and poorly decorated compared to the Butterfly Wing. Derek didn’t appear, but at exactly ten o’clock Dr Jones did, suddenly, from around the corner.

  ‘Good morning, Cathy,’ he said. ‘Thank you so much for coming.’ He shook my hand. ‘We’re in here,’ he said, heading off in the direction from which he’d come.

  I followed him around the corner and into a small room. Derek was already there, seated in one of three chairs arranged in a small circle in the middle of the room. He stood as I entered and offered his hand for shaking. He appeared nervous and I felt his hand tremble in mine.

  ‘Thank you for joining us,’ Dr Jones said as we sat down.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Derek echoed. I threw him a small smile. He was dressed smartly in navy trousers and an open-neck shirt. His forehead glistened slightly, but the room was very warm.

  Dr Jones retrieved his notepad and pen from under his chair and placed them on his lap. ‘As you may know,’ he said, looking at me, ‘Derek has been seeing me for some weeks now, and Marianne, Derek’s partner, has being joining us for some sessions. It is intended that Derek and I will meet up with Dr Weybridge and Beth at some point. When you and I met before, when Jessie and Laura were present, I explained the framework in which I would be working with Derek – that of emotional incest. Derek and I have been addressing a number of issues in connection with this and we’ve now reached the stage where we feel some input from you would be useful.’

  I nodded, although I still had little idea how I could be useful.

  Dr Jones continued. ‘Recently, Derek and I have been looking at the changes he needs to make in the way he relates to Beth, and the expectations he has of her. I think a good place to start now would be with the way Derek has been dressing Beth, as he tells me this came up in their telephone conversation last Friday.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ I said, glancing at Derek. ‘It was wrong of Beth to speak to you like that.’

  ‘She was angry with me,’ Derek said, justifying Beth’s comments.

  ‘That telephone call raises some interesting points,’ Dr Jones said. ‘But I’d like to stay with the issue of how Derek dresses Beth for now. Cathy, could you give us your views, please?’

  I shifted in my chair. ‘Beth arrived with a lot of clothes,’ I began. ‘Far more than she would ever need. But most of them were not practical or appropriate for a girl of her age. I’ve bought her some new outfits and she knows she wears those when we go out. She now keeps most of the clothes Derek bought her for dressing up in at home.’ I’d no idea if I was on the right track, and I paused and looked at Dr Jones.

  ‘When you say “not appropriate”, what exactly do you mean?’ Dr Jones asked, making a note.

  ‘They’re not what a girl of seven should be wearing. They’re what I would call sexy, tarty. And the make-up doesn’t help either. I don’t let her wear make-up.’

  ‘And Beth has accepted your boundaries?’ Dr Jones asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said.

  There was a small silence and then Dr Jones said: �
��Derek has struggled to put boundaries in place. As a result, there has been a lot of confusion in his role and relationship with his daughter. I explained some of this before in our previous meeting.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Marianne told me what I was doing wrong a long while ago,’ Derek now said, rubbing his fingers nervously across his forehead. ‘But I didn’t listen. I thought Marianne was jealous because Beth and I were very close, and also because she didn’t have a child of her own. Marianne told me Beth’s clothes and make-up weren’t right, and that I shouldn’t keep giving in to her, or cuddling and kissing her the way I did, or having her in my bed. But I needed Beth so much. I didn’t want her leaving me like her mother did. I can see now I was wrong, but I never meant to hurt her.’

  Derek stopped and Dr Jones gave him a few moments to recover. I wasn’t sure what I should be feeling about Derek’s confession. Then Dr Jones looked at me and said, ‘I believe you had to set boundaries in the way Beth acted towards your husband?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ I said. ‘Beth was over-familiar with him. At the start it was difficult for me to work out exactly what was making me feel so uncomfortable, and my husband, John, didn’t think anything was wrong. But I had the feeling that the way Beth behaved towards John – touching him and stroking him and almost flirting with him – wasn’t right.’