by Cathy Glass
‘I don’t suppose I’ll see you again at my age,’ she said, her voice thick with emotion. Which upset Paula and me even more.
‘Please don’t say that, Nana,’ Paula said, taking a tissue from her pocket.
‘I’m not getting any younger, love.’
I swallowed my emotion and tried to stay positive. ‘Mum, we’re hoping to Skype Oskar at Christmas,’ I said. ‘You’ll be with us for Christmas, so you’ll be able to see and talk to him then.’
‘I hope so,’ she said bravely, and, taking Oskar’s hand, she took him into the living room. Paula and I followed, our hearts going out to Mum.
She and Oskar sat quietly together on the sofa, holding hands and gazing down the garden for some moments as little birds came to the feeder. Mum then picked up one of the story books she had set out ready on the coffee table and began to read from one of his favourites. She keeps books and toys at her house just for the children we foster. She (and Dad when he was alive) always made such a fuss of the children we looked after, and bonded with them. Mum had grown especially close to Oskar, I think because of his age, what he had been through and because we’d seen her most weekends. She once confided in me that Oskar reminded her of Adrian in some ways. I knew what she meant. It wasn’t so much his physical appearance, although Adrian did have similar hair colouring at Oskar’s age; it was their mannerisms, facial expressions and cheeky smile – just like Adrian had at that age.
When Mum had finished reading and she and Oskar seemed a bit brighter, I suggested we go out for lunch as planned. It was very subdued.
‘Will you have food like this when you live with your aunt?’ Mum asked Oskar, trying to make conversation.
‘I don’t know,’ Oskar replied.
‘It will be nice for you to live with your brother,’ Paula said positively.
‘Yes,’ Oskar said unenthusiastically.
‘You’ll be fine once you’re there,’ I told him.
Mum ate very little and I thought that maybe I shouldn’t have brought Oskar to say goodbye and phoned instead.
Later, when it was time to go, I said quietly to Mum that we would keep the goodbyes short. She’d bought Oskar a card and present, which was kind of her. Oskar’s eyes glistened with tears as she gave them to him.
‘Thank you, Nana. I love you,’ he said, and wrapped his arms tightly around her.
It was the first time he’d told her he loved her, although he’d heard us say it – when we said goodbye either in person or on the phone. It was something we always did, unlike his mother.
‘I love you too, dear,’ Mum said. ‘You’re a good boy. Thank you for coming into my life.’
Paula looked closed to tears and I was struggling. ‘We’ll be off now then, Mum,’ I said, my voice catching. ‘We’ll phone you once we’re home.’
‘Yes, love. Take care. Love you.’
‘Love you too. You stay indoors,’ I told her. ‘It’s cold outside.’ She liked to wave us off at the door, but I could see how upset everyone was getting. ‘I’ll phone you once we’re home.’ With a final goodbye, we went out and I drew the door to behind me, leaving Mum in the hall.
‘I don’t want to go,’ Oskar said as we got in the car.
‘I know, love.’
Paula sat with him in the back as I drove. After about ten minutes I was so worried about Mum that I asked Paula to phone her and make sure she was all right. The first time she tried it went through to answerphone, which worried me even more. Then a few minutes later she tried again and Mum answered.
‘Nana, it’s Paula. Mum’s driving. Are you OK?’
Paula listened and said, ‘All right, I’ll tell her. Speak soon. Love you.’ Then to me, she said, ‘Nana says she’s OK, but she’s going to have an early night so not to phone her when we get home.’
Which I had to accept, although it did nothing to alleviate my concern for her. She frets and worries about the children we look after just as much as we do. I think as she’s got older she finds it more difficult to cope with suffering in the world and saying goodbye. Her words about not seeing Oskar again at her age were an uncomfortable reminder she wouldn’t be with us forever, which was heart-breaking. I couldn’t bear to think of a time when we wouldn’t have Mum, and neither could my children. She’d been there for us all with her love and compassion, in good times and bad.
I respected Mum’s request not to phone her when we got home, so I phoned her first thing in the morning. She was always up early, even on a Sunday, and she’d just come in from topping up the bird feeder and sounded brighter. ‘The birds are so hungry at this time of year,’ she said. ‘Sorry about yesterday. Is Oskar all right?’
‘Yes. Thanks for the present. He opened it in the car. He’ll treasure that forever.’ It was a silver money box in the shape of a bear. Mum knew he liked his teddy bear – he’d shown her Luka. She’d bought Adrian, Lucy and Paula silver money boxes when they’d been little, so it showed the level of her affection for Oskar.
‘A little keepsake to remember me by,’ she said.
‘It’s lovely, Mum, very thoughtful of you. I’ll be over to see you next weekend as usual.’
‘Good. I’ll look forward to it. Love you.’
‘Love you too, Mum.’
Andrew emailed the details of Oskar’s departure. Their flight was at 2.30 p.m. on Thursday and he would collect Oskar at 10.30. He had paid for extra luggage, so Oskar could have three bags in the hold with a weight of 32kg each. Andrew knew how important it was that Oskar took everything with him. Not only would it mean that Dol wouldn’t have to start buying new, but his belongings were part of Oskar’s history. Three suitcases might sound like a lot, but as well as his clothes he had all his toys and the Christmas presents we’d bought for him. I replied to Andrew that I’d make sure the bags were within the limit and would have Oskar ready by 10.30 a.m. I said I wasn’t planning on taking Oskar to art therapy on Wednesday, as it was his last day at school and I was giving him a little leaving party straight afterwards – from 4.30 till 6.30 – which I hoped Andrew would be able to come to. He emailed back thanking me for the invitation and saying he’d look in, and that it was fine for Oskar not to go to therapy.
I arranged with Dol to Skype on Tuesday evening rather than Wednesday because of Oskar’s leaving do. He and his family were so excited – in forty-eight hours he’d be with them. Ivan was at work, but Luka told us that Oskar’s bedroom was nearly finished, and if it wasn’t, he could share his room. Their dog barked in the background, seeming to confirm this. Dol told Oskar that he would go to school the following week for the last few days of term before they broke up for Christmas, which would get him used to it ready for the new term.
Oskar groaned as many six-year-olds would do at the prospect of a new school term, and then asked, ‘Will my social worker be staying with us?’
‘No,’ Dol replied. ‘Andrew is going to bring you here on Thursday and will stay in a bed and breakfast on Thursday night. He’s going to visit us on Friday, and then fly home that evening. He’ll return for one last visit in the New Year, and if everything is all right we won’t see him again.’
‘Good. I don’t mind not seeing him any more,’ Oskar said, and I saw Dol smile.
Dol said she’d text me to confirm that Oskar had arrived safely and we’d Skype at Christmas and then stay in touch. I thanked her and said if she needed any help at all in connection with Oskar she could call me. I didn’t doubt her ability to parent Oskar, but it occurred to me that she’d only really seen him at Christmas for the last few years, so I probably knew him better than she did at present.
Oskar was very excited after the call and it took a long time for him to settle and go to sleep. He’d only mentioned his mother once since their final contact and that was simply to say he’d be seeing her at Christmas.
The next morning, Oskar’s last at school
, Leo and the other children in their class ran over to greet him as soon as we entered the playground. They were excited for him and told him he was lucky to be going on a plane to live in another country. They made such a fuss of him and I thought back to the solitary child I’d first stood with in the playground, withdrawn and miserable from the secret of abuse. When it was time for school to start, I wished him a nice day and waited while he went in.
When he came out at the end of school, he was carrying the biggest leaving card I’ve ever seen. Made by the children in his class, on the front was a large photograph of them all, with Mrs Williams, Elaine Summer and Miss Jordan. Inside, everyone had signed it. It was a lovely gesture and I knew Oskar would treasure it. To shouts of goodbye and good luck, we left the playground and I helped Oskar carry the card to the car. Once home, I stood it with his other leaving cards on the table, where I laid out the buffet for his leaving party.
On the invitations I’d set the time of the party as 4.30 till 6.30 to allow the children he’d invited from his class a chance to go home and change out of their school uniforms. Oskar changed into casual clothes too, and at dead on 4.30 p.m. the doorbell rang. Oskar flew to answer it and first to arrive was Leo, with his mother and older brother. They gave Oskar a card and present and I reminded him to say thank you. Next to arrive was Paula, home from college; Lucy and Adrian would come as soon as they could after work. Miss Jordan, Mrs Williams and Elaine Summer arrived together, followed by a succession of six children who Oskar had become friends with, and their mothers. I couldn’t invite the whole class, so Oskar had chosen his closest friends. Everyone had brought a card and present. ‘It’s like Christmas!’ Oskar declared excitedly.
Lucy and Adrian arrived just after five o’clock, quickly changed out of their work clothes and joined us downstairs for the buffet and drinks. Paula and I arranged some games and made sure all the children won a little prize. Andrew arrived for the last half-hour, but Edith didn’t make it. I assumed something must have come up, but Oskar didn’t miss her. I was touched that so many had come to wish Oskar all the best for the future. He was so happy; even when it was time to say goodbye his mood didn’t drop. But I thought it might be very different the following morning when the house was quiet and there was just him and me to say goodbye. That’s when it would hit us both.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Unexpected News
Adrian, Lucy and Paula said goodbye to Oskar as they left the following morning. They knew it was important to stay upbeat and positive, despite what they might be feeling. Adrian gave Oskar a high five as he said goodbye and told him that Kirsty sent her best wishes too. Paula put on a brave smile as she hugged Oskar goodbye, but Lucy went very pale, so much so that I asked her if she was feeling all right.
‘Not really,’ she said, but then she left for work without saying anything further. I assumed it was because she was having to say goodbye to Oskar. It often affected her deeply when children left, as she knew what it was like to have to move, from when she’d been in care herself before coming to live with me.
By 9.15 a.m. there was just Oskar and me, with Sammy asleep by the radiator in the living room. The house was silent and seemed to have fallen sad too. Oskar had eaten a little breakfast, but not much, and asked if he could watch television. I thought that was a good idea, so after he’d brushed his teeth he watched a children’s programme while I put away the last of his belongings. I dragged all the cases downstairs and lined them up in the hall, then checked the house for any stray items, and joined Oskar in the living room. I sat on the sofa and held his hand. He was wearing the watch we’d bought him as a leaving present.
‘I’ve enjoyed looking after you,’ I said. ‘We’ll all miss you, but I know you’ll be happy with your family. You’re a good boy.’
He didn’t reply but snuggled in close, resting his head on my shoulder. Sometimes silence and a small gesture can speak volumes. I continued to sit beside him, gazing, unseeing, at the television, and making the most of our last few minutes together. I’m not sure he was really interested in the programme either, but it was a distraction for him as it was for me. At 10.15 I told him to go to the toilet so he was ready for when Andrew arrived. As he returned downstairs the doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be Andrew,’ I said, going to answer it. Oskar’s eyes filled.
‘I wish you were coming with me,’ he cried, and wrapped his arms around me so tightly I couldn’t move. I hugged him for a moment and then opened the front door.
‘Are you OK?’ Andrew asked, for clearly we weren’t.
‘Oskar’s ready,’ I said stoically.
‘Excellent.’ He smiled reassuringly.
Andrew’s car was parked right outside, and I helped Oskar in as Andrew loaded the cases. Then it was time for me to say goodbye. Oskar was sitting, head down and seatbelt on. I leant in. ‘Bye, love.’
‘I love you, Cathy.’
‘I love you too.’ I kissed his cheek. ‘We’ll Skype at Christmas and you can tell me all about what you’ve been up to. Bye, love.’ I closed his car door.
‘Thanks for looking after him,’ Andrew said.
‘It was a pleasure.’
I stood on the pavement, my face set to a smile, and waved Oskar off. Once they were out of sight, I returned indoors. The Christmas decorations stirred in the draught from the closing door. Sammy had left the comfort of the radiator and, sensing something was going on, had come into the hall to find out what.
‘Oskar’s left,’ I said, and picked him up. I carried him through to the living room, where I sat on the sofa and stroked his soft, silky fur as he purred. I find something comforting in stroking a cat, and Sammy seemed pleased too. ‘Oskar’s gone to start his new life,’ I told him. ‘I wonder who we will be looking after next.’ He purred an acknowledgement.
I didn’t have to wonder long, for five minutes later, while I was still sitting on the sofa and thinking of Oskar, the landline rang. I reached out and picked up the handset. It was Edith. ‘Sorry I couldn’t make Oskar’s leaving party,’ she said. ‘Has he gone now?’
‘Yes, about ten minutes ago.’
‘We’ve had a referral for a fourteen-year-old girl who we need to move quickly. She’s very angry with –’ But as Edith began giving me her details, I heard the front door open and close. I wasn’t expecting anyone home, and for a moment I thought Oskar had returned, which was ridiculous, as he didn’t have a key and was on his way to the airport. Sammy had also heard the door and pricked up his ears.
Familiar footsteps came down the hall and Lucy appeared in the living room. ‘I need to talk to you,’ she said seriously, clearly upset.
‘Edith, I’m sorry, I’ll have to get back to you.’ I ended the call.
‘What’s the matter, love?’ I asked, worried, and went to her.
‘Mum, I’m so sorry,’ she said. Her face crumpled and she fell into my arms.
‘What is it? Have you lost your job?’ I asked anxiously as I held her. It seemed the most likely explanation for her suddenly appearing in the day.
‘No, I’ve taken time off work. I’ve been to see a doctor.’
Fear gripped me. ‘Why? Are you ill?’
‘No. Please don’t be angry with me,’ she sobbed.
‘I won’t. But tell me what’s the matter, please.’
Another small sob and then she said, ‘I’m pregnant and I don’t know what to do.’
At that point, neither did I.
But this story is about Oskar, and I need to finish it first.
On Thursday evening Dol texted to say Oskar had arrived safely but was very tired. We gave him time to settle in, and then on Christmas Day evening we Skyped. Not for long, as they were busy with their Christmas, as we were with ours, but long enough for us all – including my mother – to see Oskar was happy with his new family. Roksana was there in the background and called hello. The children
talked excitedly about their presents and then we all wished each other a Merry Christmas and said we’d chat again in the New Year. Dol and I had already agreed that it was best if we took our cue from Oskar and Skyped when he wanted to. I knew from experience that often children wanted to keep in touch regularly with their carer to begin with, but then as they moved on with their lives it tailed off and sometimes stopped completely. It would be Oskar’s decision. Some children keep in touch and some make contact again after a long gap, which is a lovely surprise. Foster carers are always pleased to hear from the children they’ve looked after.
If it hadn’t been for Dol, I probably wouldn’t have found out the result of the criminal court case against Oskar’s abusers. Once a child leaves, the foster carer is very rarely updated by the social services. In March, just after Andrew’s final visit, Dol told me that both men had been found guilty and were now serving prison sentences, which was a great relief to us all. Andrew had also told Dol there was another man living in the house who was wanted by the police, though it wasn’t Mr Nowak.
‘Roksana was far too trusting,’ Dol said to me. ‘In those types of houses you end up living with strangers. It’s no place for a child.’
I agreed. ‘Thankfully Oskar’s got you and that’s all behind him now,’ I said. There was just Dol and me on Skype now, as Oskar had finished talking and gone off to play. ‘Dol, there’s something I’d like to ask you. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And please don’t take offence.’
‘I won’t,’ she said uncertainly. ‘What is it?’
‘During the months we’ve been Skyping, I couldn’t help but notice the state of Luka’s wheelchair. It seems old and difficult for him to manoeuvre, especially outside.’
She gave a small, rueful laugh. ‘Yes, I know. It was worn out when we got it years ago. It was donated by a charity so we can’t complain.’