Can I Let You Go?

by Cathy Glass

  I looked at her. ‘I didn’t know that. If you’d like to go, I can take you.’

  ‘Yes, I’d like that. Can you ask Gran how we get there?’

  ‘I will.’

  The cemetery where Dad lay was about a fifteen-minute drive from Mum’s house. Situated in a beautiful spot in the heart of the countryside, it was accessed through large patterned wrought-iron gates that were locked at night, and then down a long winding drive. There’d been a cemetery on this site for centuries and the inscriptions on the tombstones in the oldest part dated back to the 1700s. I parked the car in the area close to Dad’s grave and cut the engine.

  ‘Snuggles and I can wait in the car,’ Faye said.

  ‘Thank you. You’ll be able to see us through the window.’

  Mum and I got out. I linked arms with her and we began walking along the path towards the area that had been most recently dug. One of the groundsmen working in the immaculate gardens paused to say a polite good morning and then continued tending the flowerbeds of winter pansies. A chilly wind ran through the trees, sending a flurry of leaves to the ground. Despite the cold, an elderly gentleman sat on one of the benches, taking in the peace and tranquillity. He smiled and nodded as we passed.

  Dad had been joined by others since his funeral; four fresh graves now lay in a line to the right of his. We hadn’t decided on the finish of the grave yet, whether to plant bulbs and flowers, to have a vase for cut flowers or to cover the top with decorative stone chippings, as some had done. Mum was thinking about what she wanted to do, and then my brother and I would arrange it.

  Mum stood at the edge of the grave and spoke to Dad just as if he was there. ‘Hello, love. It’s our anniversary. My turn to buy you a rose after all those years of you buying one for me.’ My eyes filled.

  She bent down and carefully laid the rose on the grave near the headstone, then, brushing away a couple of leaves, she straightened. We stood side by side in silence for some moments, our eyes down and concentrating on the grave as we thought of Dad. ‘Much-loved and greatly missed husband and father’, the engraving on the marble headstone read. The marble, as yet unweathered, shone brightly, as did the other stones around him that were recent.

  ‘He was always there for us,’ I said after a few moments.

  ‘Yes. He was a good man. The best,’ Mum said, her voice catching.

  Another leaf blew onto the grave and I removed it. The grave didn’t need tending in any other way, as it was too new for the surrounding grass to have encroached. I glanced over to the car to check on Faye and could just make her out, sitting as we’d left her in the back of the car and looking through the window.

  Mum and I stood silently for a few moments longer, taking in the chance to be alone with our thoughts and close to Dad. Then the first drop of rain fell.

  ‘It rained on our first date,’ Mum said. ‘Your dad had just given me the rose and the first drops fell. He’d brought an umbrella with him and we huddled together under it. He said later he was pleased it had rained, as it gave him an excuse to get close to me.’ She smiled.

  ‘It’s a pity I didn’t think to bring an umbrella with us,’ I said as more drops fell.

  ‘Best return to the car,’ Mum said. Then, looking at the grave one last time, she added, ‘Bye, love. Happy Anniversary.’

  I took her arm and we walked at a slightly quicker pace back along the path. As we went Mum told me more about their first date, details I’d never known. ‘Your dad wore his best suit,’ she said with a smile. ‘He did look smart. It was navy and he’d had it pressed especially. Dating was different then, more formal. We were both nervous and shy. We didn’t even hold hands until the second date, and it was weeks before he kissed me.’

  I smiled. ‘Very different from now then.’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  As we climbed into the car Faye asked Mum if she’d had a nice time, which was obviously inappropriate, but Mum understood and said, ‘Yes, thank you, dear. Have you been all right?’

  ‘Yes. Snuggles and I could see you.’

  We went to a country pub for lunch where I’d been before with my parents. You could sit outside to eat in the summer and there was a children’s play area, but it was too chilly to eat out today. Mum and I helped Faye choose from the menu and then while we waited for our food we sipped our drinks and talked. Presently Mum nudged my arm and said quietly to me, ‘Those two women over there are really staring.’

  I looked over and saw immediately whom she meant. It was Faye they were staring at, and it was clear they were talking about her. As I met their gaze they quickly looked away. ‘Just ignore it,’ I said to Mum.

  I’d noticed recently that now Faye was obviously pregnant she was attracting more stares, and some of them appeared judgemental, almost condemnatory, suggesting a comment along the lines of: What’s someone like her doing being pregnant? When the two women looked again I was ready with my questioning raised eyebrow and they quickly looked away. I was used to fending off critical and intrusive looks when out with some of the children I’d fostered, especially if their behaviour was bizarre or they had a meltdown or tantrum in public. As a foster carer I’d learnt that there was no room for self-consciousness and I fended off unwanted stares and comments and protected the children, just as I did my own.

  When we’d finished eating (Faye had a pudding while Mum and I had coffee) I took Mum home. The rain had stopped and the watery autumnal sun made a brave appearance. We stayed at Mum’s for about an hour and then, mindful that Paula would be home soon, we said goodbye. It was still very difficult leaving Mum alone, although she assured me she was fine and would telephone either my brother or me if she needed help. As I reversed off the drive and Mum stood in the porch waving, I felt that same stab of sadness that Dad was no longer by her side.

  ‘Your mum is nice,’ Faye said, waving.

  ‘Yes, she is,’ I agreed. I pulled away.

  ‘I think your dad was nice too.’

  ‘Yes. Definitely.’

  ‘My mum was nice. I wished I’d known my mum. It’s sad when people die, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Very sad.’ I blinked to clear my eyes and concentrated on the drive home.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Good Enough’ Parenting

  Faye often expressed her thoughts as they occurred to her, just like a child would. There was no internal filter, which most adults acquire in order to screen a comment for its appropriateness of content or timing. The following morning I took Faye to her grandparents’ for the day, and as soon as we walked into their living room, even before she had taken off her coat, she said, ‘Cathy’s going to take me to see Mummy. Can you tell her where she is?’

  Little wonder Stan and Wilma looked surprised. ‘What are you talking about, love?’ Wilma asked, not unkindly. ‘You know your mum’s been dead for years.’

  ‘Yes, but I want to see her like we used to.’

  ‘You want to visit her grave?’ Stan asked. Faye nodded. ‘What’s brought that on?’ he said.

  Faye looked to me to explain. ‘Faye came with me yesterday when I took my mother to visit my father’s grave,’ I said. ‘Faye said she used to visit her mother’s grave but that you hadn’t been for a while. I offered to take her, if that’s all right with you.’

  ‘I see,’ Stan said thoughtfully. ‘Yes, we did used to go regularly. Then all the buses became a bit much. I hadn’t realized she wanted to go.’

  ‘Perhaps you and Wilma would like to go too,’ I suggested. ‘I could fit you all in my car.’

  ‘You don’t want to be bothering with us,’ Stan said. ‘We’re not the easiest bodies to move around, me relying on a stick and Wilma her walking frame.’

  But then Wilma said, ‘Cathy, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to go, thank you.’

  ‘Good.’ I looked at Stan.

  ‘Well, yes, if it’s not too much trouble.’

  ‘It’s not,’ I said. ‘How about the day after tomorrow? I cou
ld bring Faye here at the usual time and we could go from then. I’ll bring you back, of course.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Wilma said.

  ‘If you’re not in any rush afterwards, I could treat us all to a cake and a drink in the café,’ Stan offered. ‘It’s not far from the entrance to the cemetery. We always used to go in there after we’d visited Mary’s grave and before we caught the bus back.’

  It was the first time I’d heard Faye’s mother’s name and suddenly she became that more real, a person.

  ‘Stan, I’ve always got time for a cake and a coffee,’ I said to him with a smile. ‘That would be lovely. Thank you.’

  ‘Good,’ Wilma said. She was smiling broadly, clearly appreciating the outing. She didn’t often smile and yet all it had taken was the thought of a visit to her daughter’s grave and a drink and a cake in the café afterwards. I was very moved. This clearly meant a lot to her and Stan, who was now reminiscing about the delicious hot chocolate and homemade cakes they served in the café.

  I said goodbye to Wilma and Faye, and Stan saw me to the front door. As he opened it he lightly touched my shoulder. ‘Thanks, love,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re a good person. Not many would go that extra mile. We greatly appreciate your kindness.’ Embarrassingly, I teared up.

  ‘You’re very welcome,’ I said.

  The rest of the day vanished in a trip to the supermarket and a quick tidy of the house in preparation for Becky’s visit later that afternoon. When I returned to collect Faye at three o’clock she was sitting in the living room with her coat and shoes on. ‘She said Becky was coming to see her, so I thought best have her ready so you’re not late,’ Wilma said. ‘What’s she coming for?’

  Faye looked at me a little guiltily. Clearly she hadn’t told her grandparents the reason for Becky’s visit, only that she was coming to see us.

  ‘To talk about what happens after the birth,’ I said, which wasn’t a lie.

  Wilma and Stan nodded. It was all they wanted to hear, and if Faye hadn’t told them the reason – that she’d changed her mind and now wanted to keep the baby – it wasn’t for me to tell them.

  Confirming that I’d see them the day after tomorrow for our trip to the cemetery, I said goodbye and Faye kissed her gran. Stan came out with us to say goodbye and then waited in the corridor outside the flat until the elevator arrived, when he called another goodbye before returning inside. Once the elevator doors had closed Faye said, ‘I’m glad you didn’t tell them. Becky can tell them, then they won’t be cross with me.’

  ‘They’ll have to know some time,’ I said. This was typical of Faye. In her simplistic world, Becky would tell her grandparents that she was keeping her baby and magically everything would be fine. Only of course it wouldn’t, and if Becky couldn’t persuade Faye to change her mind back again then her grandparents would have to be told. I could imagine how upset they’d be. They weren’t in good health and they’d had a lot to cope with in the last few months: learning that Faye was pregnant and having to accept that adoption was the only practical solution. To then hear that Faye wanted to keep her baby (which would likely result in a court case) would cause them even more anguish and heartache. They seemed vulnerable and not at all robust, and I didn’t doubt that the resulting stress would impact on their health.

  Paula was home when Faye and I arrived. She’d had a tutorial that afternoon followed by private study. I asked her how it had gone and she said well, then I reminded her that Faye’s social worker would be coming at four o’clock. Like any family that fosters, we were used to visits from social workers and meetings taking place in our home. The children knew that they weren’t to disturb the social worker while she was with the child. Paula and Faye chatted for a while and then Paula went up to her room. Faye went into the living room where she sat on the sofa beside Sammy with Snuggles in her lap. She began petting the cat with her right hand while holding up her left so she could see her wristwatch, and she started counting off the minutes. She wasn’t nervous, but sometimes she liked to show how well she could tell the time by counting down to an appointment. Four o’clock came and went and then at five minutes past four the doorbell rang. I showed Becky into the living room.

  ‘You’re five minutes late,’ Faye declared, holding up her watch for Becky to see.

  ‘Oh dear, that’s not good,’ Becky said indulgently, and went over for a closer look. ‘You’re right. I’ll have to do better next time.’

  Faye smiled, satisfied she’d been right.

  I offered Becky a drink, but she didn’t want one. ‘Shall I leave you to talk to Faye alone?’ I asked.

  When I fostered children it was usual to give the social worker time alone with the child or young person so that they had the opportunity to discuss any issues they might not feel comfortable sharing in front of their foster carer. It’s a slightly unsettling feeling to be shut out of a meeting in your own home, aware that they may be talking about you, but it’s something foster carers have to get used to. However, in this instance Becky said, ‘If Faye is happy, it would be easier if you stayed. You need to know the options.’

  Faye nodded and I sat in one of the easy chairs as Becky took a notepad and pen from her bag, and then carefully looked at Faye, who kept her gaze down and concentrated on stroking Sammy.

  ‘Faye,’ Becky began, ‘I need you to tell me what you’ve told Cathy, about what you would like to happen once your baby is born.’

  ‘I want to keep it,’ Faye said, pausing from stroking Sammy. ‘I’m not going to give my baby to someone else.’

  ‘Can you tell me why?’ Becky asked, leaning forward slightly and trying to make eye contact. ‘When we talked about this before we all agreed it would be best for you and your baby if I found a mummy and daddy to adopt it.’

  ‘But I’m not giving them my baby now,’ Faye said, her face setting. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘What’s changed your mind?’ Becky asked.

  Faye shrugged and then, taking her hand from the cat, said, ‘It’s my baby and I can keep it if I want to.’

  ‘Faye, I know it’s your baby,’ Becky said patiently. ‘But babies and young children need a lot of looking after. How would you look after the baby? Do you know?’

  Faye was silent for a moment and then, looking at Becky for the first time, said, ‘Cathy can teach me. I can learn. I learnt to tell the time and cook.’

  ‘Yes, you did,’ Becky said. ‘And that’s good. But looking after a small baby is very different. It’s far more complicated and you can’t afford to make mistakes or forget things.’

  Faye was quiet again.

  ‘Where would you live?’ Becky continued patiently, trying to make Faye see the impossibility of the situation.

  ‘I could stay here with Cathy,’ Faye said.

  ‘Permanently?’ Becky asked. ‘What about your gran and grandpa?’

  ‘I could visit them, like I do now,’ Faye replied, clearly having considered it. ‘Cathy can take me in her car or I could go on the bus. I know which bus to catch now. I’ve learnt that.’

  ‘Have you told your grandparents of your plans?’ Becky asked gently.

  Faye shook her head. ‘You can tell them. They won’t be annoyed with you.’ My heart went out to her. She was so sincere, but unrealistic in her expectations.

  Becky gave a small, sad smile. ‘I’m afraid it’s not possible for you to stay here with Cathy permanently,’ she said. ‘But you’ll be here until you go into hospital to have the baby.’ She paused and took a breath, as though gathering her thoughts. ‘Faye, I’ve been talking to my manager and I’ll be speaking to her again after I’ve seen you. We both feel that adoption is best for your baby, but if you’re sure you want to try and look after it then it’s possible I could arrange for you to stay in a specialist mother-and-baby unit. It’s a special type of home and there will be other mothers staying there with their babies or young children. You each have your own room. There are staff there who are trained and on hand
to help and advise you. They will also watch how you look after your baby, assess your parenting skills and then write a report. I will visit you as well, and then we will decide what is best for your baby.’

  I was looking at Faye. Did she have any idea what Becky was talking about? That she was being given a chance to parent her baby and prove she was capable. I should have felt elated, but I didn’t. No more elated than Becky, who’d just delivered this in a flat monotone voice, aware, as I was, that all this was going to do was delay the inevitable: that Faye would fail the parenting assessment and still have to part with her baby at the end of it.

  ‘What do you think?’ Becky asked. ‘You’ll have your baby with you and you’ll look after it in the home for about six months.’

  ‘I want to stay here,’ Faye said. ‘Cathy can help me.’

  ‘It’s not just about helping you,’ Becky said gently. ‘The staff at the home will assess you too. To see if you can meet the needs of the baby.’

  ‘Cathy can assess me,’ Faye said.

  Foster carers do sometimes play a role in assessing a child, young person or even a mother with a baby or child. I’d had to do this with Jade (whose story I tell in Please Don’t Take My Baby), but that was very different. Jade didn’t have learning difficulties and had stood a reasonable chance of being able to keep her baby if she changed her lifestyle and acquired the right parenting skills. But even then I’d felt uncomfortable assessing her and had helped her too much, so in the end she’d gone to a mother-and-baby unit, although not the same one that Becky had in mind for Faye.

  I was relieved, therefore, when Becky said, ‘Faye, you can stay here with Cathy until you go into hospital to have your baby, and then you will need to go to the mother-and-baby unit. While you are here, Cathy will continue to help prepare you for the birth and she can also teach you some parenting skills, but after the birth you will have to go to the mother-and-baby unit. Places are limited, so you will need to tell me if this is what you want. Then I’ll discuss it further with my manager and apply for a place for you. There’s only a little over seven weeks before your due date.’