by Cathy Glass
‘If that is so,’ Lucy put in dryly, ‘someone should tell the social services. Sleep deprivation is a form of abuse.’
I laughed. ‘Very well put,’ I said.
‘Cathy,’ Alice said, finally getting to the point. ‘When I am five what time will I have to go to bed?’
‘Well, let me see,’ I said, thinking out loud. ‘You’re four now and you go to bed at seven o’clock. Is that right?’ Alice nodded. ‘So when you are five I think six o’clock would be a good time. What do you think, Lucy?’
‘Yes,’ Lucy said, stifling a smile. ‘Definitely.’
Alice looked at me, horrified, before she realized we were joking. ‘You’re teasing me,’ she said with an old-fashioned smile. ‘And you, Lucy!’
I went over and kissed her cheek. ‘OK, seriously, love, I think seven o’clock on a school night is late enough for a big person of five. But we could make your bedtime seven thirty at weekends – on a Friday and a Saturday when you don’t have to be up early in the morning.’
Alice smiled, pleased. ‘But when I tell my friends I’ll say now I’m five I go to bed at seven thirty, and forget the bit about weekends. Emily still has to go to bed at six and she’s been five for ages.’
‘I think I’ve been duped!’ I said, and Lucy agreed.
On the Wednesday before her birthday Alice had contact with her grandparents and they took her birthday presents to the family centre so that she could open them while they were together. Her grandparents also gave Alice a little party – just the three of them, with the supervisor joining in. The family centre accommodates families wanting to celebrate birthdays and can provide plates, cutlery, cups, glasses, microwave oven, etc. Mrs Jones had taken in party food and a small iced birthday cake with five candles. When I went into the contact room to collect Alice at the end she was very flushed and excited, and eager to show me her presents and tell me of the games they’d played. Mr and Mrs Jones were clearly pleased that Alice had enjoyed herself, but I could see it had been a bittersweet event for them. This year they had been forced to celebrate Alice’s birthday in the confines of one hour at the family centre, under supervision, unlike previous years when presumably the family had all been together at home.
‘Leah has promised to send Alice a present and card,’ Mrs Jones said quietly to me as Mr Jones helped Alice into her coat. ‘I offered to put her name on our present and card but she wants to do something of her own.’
‘That’ll be lovely,’ I smiled. ‘How is Leah now?’
‘Making progress. It’s good she feels up to organizing a present and card. She wouldn’t have done that a month ago. Having Chris prosecuted has helped.’
‘Oh?’ I asked, uncertain what she meant.
‘Leah felt everyone was against her, but now the police are prosecuting him she feels someone believes her and is on her side.’ Mrs Jones shrugged. ‘We’ve always believed her and have been on her side, but that hasn’t been enough to help her.’
I nodded, and then turned towards Alice, who had finished kissing Grandpa goodbye and was on her way over to us.
‘Now, have I put in all her presents?’ Mrs Jones said, checking the large carrier bag before passing it to me. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Cathy, I’m taking the rest of the cake home with me. Leah is coming later and we’ll have a slice with her as a little celebration.’
‘No, of course I don’t mind,’ I said. ‘I’ve bought a cake for Alice’s actual birthday on Sunday. I hope you have a nice evening.’ But I thought how sad it was that the closest Leah would get to celebrating her daughter’s birthday this year was with a slice from the remaining birthday cake.
The following day, Thursday, Alice had contact with her father and Sharon and they also took in a birthday present, which Alice unwrapped. There was no party food or cake, but it was a nice present – a child’s first computer, which taught letter sounds, word and number recognition, and had small puzzles to do. At the end of contact Sharon, always ready to undermine Leah, asked me in front of Alice if her mother had bought her anything for her birthday. The contact supervisor was still present and motioned for Sharon not to continue.
But Sharon didn’t have to say anything further, for Alice, having heard Sharon, naturally asked: ‘Will my mummy remember my birthday?’
‘I should think so, love,’ I said. Then I redirected Alice to say goodbye.
Outside, in the car, Alice asked again: ‘Cathy, do you think my mummy will buy me a present and card?’
‘I hope so.’ I couldn’t say yes, for clearly I didn’t know for definite. Mrs Jones had said Leah was going to arrange to send something but I hadn’t heard anything from Kitty to this effect. Leah didn’t have our address, so I assumed the present and card would come to us via the social worker, which is what had happened in the past with other children I’d fostered who hadn’t seen their parents on their birthdays. But Leah was leaving it a bit late, for the next day was Friday – the last possible day for a present and/or card to be given to the social services in time for Alice’s actual birthday on Sunday. That night as I tucked Alice into bed she looked sad.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked, adjusting the duvet under her chin. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, as I did every night after reading a story – making sure Alice was all right, that there was nothing worrying her and that she was ready to go to sleep. I’ve found – with my own children and those I’ve fostered – that this time, this little space between daytime ending and night-time beginning, is when children are most relaxed, and more likely to share a worry or release a secret. It is also a good time for me to talk to a child, as they are often more receptive.
‘I hope my mummy remembers it’s my birthday,’ Alice said pensively. ‘She doesn’t have to buy me a present or send me a card, but I would like her to write a little note. It could say “Happy Birthday, love from Mummy”. It will make me so very happy.’
‘Alice, love,’ I said, stroking her cheek. ‘I know your mummy won’t forget your birthday. Not this year, not ever. I know wherever your mummy is on your birthday she will remember and be thinking of you. But what I don’t know is if mummy will be able to send you anything. It is very difficult for her right now. But if she doesn’t send a card or present, I want you to know mummy hasn’t forgotten you, but is thinking of you on your birthday; it will make you both feel that little bit closer. Like the kisses you send down the phone to Nana and Grandpa – they bring you closer, don’t they?’
Alice thought for a moment; then she gave a little nod and a smile crossed her face. ‘If I think of my mummy now perhaps it will help her write a card.’ She screwed her eyes closed in concentration, willing her mother to write her a birthday card. ‘I think she’s writing it,’ Alice said. ‘I think she’s writing: “Happy Birthday to my darling Alice. Love from Mummy”. Yes, I’m sure she is.’
Alice was right: her wish was granted, although the wording in the card wasn’t quite the same. The following day, after I’d taken Alice to school, Kitty phoned from her mobile. ‘I need to ask you a favour,’ she said, against the sound of a train on the track. ‘Two favours, actually.’
‘Yes?’
‘Leah has dropped off a present and card for Alice at the offices. They’re in reception. I won’t have time to collect them and bring them to you today. I’m visiting a child who had just been placed out of the area. Could you collect the present and card so Alice has them for her birthday?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll go as soon as we’ve finished.’
‘Thanks. And secondly could you have a little look at the present before you give it to Alice to make sure it’s suitable? I’ll leave it to your judgement, Cathy, and also how much of the card you read out. I don’t want Alice upset, so if mum is pouring out her heart could you edit it out when you read it, please? Fortunately Alice can’t read yet.’
‘Yes, of course, I understand. I’m just so pleased Leah has sent Alice something. It will mean the world to her.’
‘Yes, alt
hough it was Leah’s partner, Mike, who took the present and card into reception while Leah waited outside,’ Kitty said, mildly critical. ‘Leah still thinks the department is out to get her, so she won’t come into the building.’
‘It’s understandable, given everything that’s happened,’ I said, instinctively rallying to Leah’s defence. ‘And it’s nice that Leah has Mike’s support. Chris has Sharon’s.’
‘Agreed. Well, thanks for your help, Cathy. Have a great day on Sunday. I’ve put a card from me in the post for Alice.’
While Sharon’s presence and support of Chris was viewed in a positive light, Mike’s similar support of Leah had been interpreted as something lacking in Leah. I’d noted similar before and I wondered if a negative comment had been made by one of the first social workers involved in Alice’s case, before Alice came to me, and the attitude had persisted. I was sure if it had been Sharon taking a gift for Alice into reception at the social services while Chris waited outside it wouldn’t have been commented on.
We had a fantastic day on Sunday – Alice’s birthday and also the day of her party. I had invited six of Alice’s friends from school and Alice wore a new cream dress and matching slipper-shoes. She looked and behaved liked an angel. It had been some years since I’d had an opportunity to provide a full-scale children’s birthday party, with jelly and ice cream, games, pass the parcel, and party bags to take home at the end. My children understandably considered themselves too old for all that, and the children we’d looked after recently, being that bit older too, had preferred bowling, football and themed parties; Paula had had a sleepover.
But suddenly age and maturity were forgotten when it came to joining in and having fun at Alice’s party. Lucy’s sophistication vanished as she competed with the little ones in trying to keep a balloon in the air without using her hands. We all laughed when Adrian, following Alice’s instructions, got down on his hands and knees so she could reach to blindfold him for a game of ‘pin the tail on the donkey’, while Paula, aged ten, was a little child again and joined in unreservedly with everything.
By the time the parents arrived to collect their children at 6.00 p.m. and we called our goodbyes from the doorstep we were all pleasantly exhausted. I knew Alice had had a lovely party and had liked her presents – from us and her friends, but the present and card that was most treasured were of course those from her mother. The present, opened that morning, was a china doll in beautiful hand-knitted clothes, which Alice had tucked into her bed; and the large card with sparkling letters stood in place of honour on the mantelpiece in the sitting room. When Alice had opened the card that morning, following Kitty’s advice and my own intuition, I had read only some of the words: ‘To my beautiful daughter. Have a wonderful birthday. I’ll be thinking of you. All my love Mummy xxxxx’.
Once everyone had gone, we’d cleared up and Alice was in bed, I returned to the sitting room, where I took down the card and looked at it again. On the front in large glittering letters was ‘To My Darling Daughter’ with a glittering picture of a fairytale princess. I carefully opened the card and began re-reading the lines written on the left-hand flap of the card – those I hadn’t read aloud to Alice that morning. The words were very moving and I knew they would have been upsetting for Alice, but there was something else, something that had been niggling at me all day, but which I’d put on hold so I could concentrate on Alice’s birthday and party.
‘My dear Alice,’ Leah wrote, ‘I’m so very sorry I can’t be with you on your birthday. Please try and forgive me. I will be thinking of you as I think of you every minute of every day. I know I haven’t been a good mother and now I am being punished by losing you. I have no one to blame but myself. I should have been stronger, I should have said no. I did so well for four years and we were happy, but then I stupidly put him before you and now I have lost you for good. I know you won’t make the same mistakes I did. You are a bright girl and I have been such a fool. If only I could turn back the clock and have another chance, but I can’t. If we don’t see each other again please try and find it within your heart to forgive me. I didn’t mean to cause you pain. I love you more than life itself. Take care my precious one. All my love Mummy xxxxx’
I read the last few lines again and then looked up and stared across the room with the card still open in my hand. What I didn’t like, and what had been bothering me all day, was the ring of finality at the end: the way Leah seemed to be saying goodbye for good – ‘If we don’t see each other again’. And while I recognized that the words could have been referring to the way Leah had lost Alice into care, or would lose her permanently through adoption, increasingly I was feeling that there could be another, more sinister interpretation, and that given Leah’s desperation she could be thinking of ending her life.
Alice had phoned her grandparents the evening before and wasn’t due to phone them again until the following Saturday; she wouldn’t be seeing them until the week after. I remained seated on the sofa with a growing need to reassure myself and make sure Leah was all right. I didn’t want to leave it until Kitty was in the office the following day. Realizing I was probably over-reacting and about to make a complete fool of myself, but at the same time feeling that if I didn’t say anything and something dreadful happened I’d never forgive myself, at nearly 9.00 p.m. I phoned Alice’s grandparents.
‘Is Alice all right?’ Mrs Jones immediately asked, anxious on hearing my voice.
‘Yes, she’s fine. She’s had a lovely birthday and is now asleep.’
‘Thank God. I thought for a moment something was wrong.’
‘No, Alice is fine. I’m sorry to phone you like this but I just wanted to make sure Leah was all right. I know it’s probably nothing, but Leah wrote some words in Alice’s birthday card that made me think she might be considering doing something silly – desperate.’
There was silence before Mrs Jones spoke and in that silence I knew I had been right to be worried. ‘Leah tried to commit suicide last night,’ Mrs Jones said. ‘Thankfully Mike came home and found her in time.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
Expecting an Ogre
‘I should have realized Alice’s birthday was more than Leah could cope with,’ Mrs Jones continued in a subdued voice. ‘Leah was doing so well, and now this. She had returned to her flat and Mike had moved in. He’s blaming himself for not spotting the warning signs.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘Where is Leah now?’
‘At home, with Mike. They pumped out her stomach at the hospital and she returned home early this morning. Mike is taking time off work to look after her. His manager at the garage is being very understanding. Mike is badly shaken up too. He got in late last night, after working the evening shift, and found Leah on the sofa with a bottle of tablets beside her. She left a note saying that life wasn’t worth living without Alice. The poor girl misses her daughter so much – she desperately needs to see her.’
‘And Alice needs to see her mother,’ I said. ‘Even though she can’t live with her, they should be seeing each other, at contact.’
‘I know,’ Mrs Jones said quietly.
I hesitated, aware that having been reassured Leah was safe, I should now say goodnight and that I would phone with Alice as usual the following Saturday, but I didn’t.
‘Janice,’ I said, using her first name. ‘I think you and I have worked very well together since Alice came into care. I hope you trust me enough to know I always have Alice’s best interest at heart.’
‘Oh yes, of course, Cathy. Martin and I can’t thank you enough.’
‘There is no need to thank me – Alice is a treasure to look after – but I would like to speak plainly to you, if I may. How much of what I say you pass on to Leah is obviously up to you, but I think the present situation, with Alice not seeing her mother, has gone on far too long. It is very bad for both of them.’
‘Well, yes,’ Mrs Jones said hesitantly. ‘Go ahead.’
‘I appreciate that w
hen Alice first came into care Leah wasn’t well enough to see her daughter, but from what I understand from Kitty now, Leah has improved in recent months, apart from the setback last night.’
‘Yes, she has,’ Mrs Jones confirmed.
‘I think the reason Leah won’t engage with Kitty and talk to her about the possibility of contact being set up is now more to do with Leah’s anger, and her fears, rather than her present mental health.’
Mrs Jones was quiet for a moment. ‘What do you mean, exactly?’
‘Did you know that Kitty phoned Leah three times last month, inviting her to go to her office to discuss setting up contact so she can see Alice?’
‘No, I didn’t. When was this?’
‘I don’t know the exact dates. But I do know that each time Kitty phoned Leah, Leah became so angry that Kitty eventually had to end the call. Leah wouldn’t listen to what Kitty was saying but shouted down the phone that she would never agree to supervised contact, and then called Kitty a lot of names, which didn’t help. I think Leah’s anger and fear are getting in the way of her seeing Alice. She is angry with herself for Alice going into care, and it is stopping her from moving forward. In the birthday card she sent to Alice she says she should have been stronger and blames herself for losing Alice. Leah needs to stop blaming herself, and accusing Kitty, and concentrate on trying to see Alice. I know Leah isn’t well enough to look after Alice and might never be, but I think if she could let go of her pain and anger and stop wallowing in her own misery, she might be well enough to start seeing Alice again at contact. She has the support of Mike, and I know Kitty suggested that Mike accompany Leah to any meetings.’
‘Did she?’ Mrs Jones asked, surprised.
‘Yes, but Leah wouldn’t listen and screamed that Kitty had taken Alice from her. Kitty is one of the best social workers I have come across and she is doing all she can to help Leah, so that mother and daughter can see each other. Janice, if you have any influence over Leah I think you need to talk to her and tell her it is essential she put her own hurt and anger to one side for the sake of her daughter, before it’s too late.