by Casey Watson
‘It would be the very best news imaginable,’ I agreed.
‘But don’t say anything to Abby yet, will you?’
‘Oh course not. Your call, I think.’
‘Because I’ve asked Andy – Andrew, my social worker – if he’ll go to my house and pick up some pictures. I thought I should sit Abby down and explain things to her, show her all the photos, tell her what happened. I need to be honest with her. If we’re going to make this work, I have to be honest. She needs to know why her auntie has been out of her life for so long.’
I felt for Sarah. It wouldn’t be a pleasant job for her because, ultimately, she had to take responsibility for it having happened. But children are adaptable. Programmed to love unconditionally. I said so.
‘I hope you’re right,’ Sarah said.
‘I don’t hope,’ I reassured her. ‘I know.’
There was also the small matter of where home would be, and how it would happen. Could Sarah even get home again? Or was she too sick? No, it was the right thing to keep Abby in the dark for a little longer. Just until some of these concerns had been addressed. No rush. It would be too cruel to offer the child a lifeline, only to snatch it away again at the last minute.
‘Frogspawn!’ Kieron announced, standing on the doorstep with two empty jam jars, both of which he had accessorised with string handles.
It was Sunday afternoon, the back end of a full-on weekend. With no word from anyone – bar from Bridget, on the Friday, with the usual ‘we’ll keep you posted’ – the Watson family was in something of a state of limbo. Well, I was – the rest seemed blissfully unaware of my inner angst, Abby because she had no idea how radically her life trajectory might be changing, and the rest because they’d all obviously taken one of my son’s infamous ‘chill pills’. As Mike had observed more than once, what would be would be.
But I’d had to provide Abby with plenty of distractions – this trip to the woods being one such – if only to divert her from worrying about me, and how unusually distracted I seemed. I felt sure she’d reverted to her earlier diagnosis: that I might have MS, and didn’t know it.
For all that I’d smiled at her, it really brought it home to me that this child was hard-wired to expect the worst, always, that life was a very bumpy, uncertain road, one on which bad things had already happened and were certain to keep happening, to the end. Things also hadn’t been helped by her most recent visit to see Sarah, where Sarah too – like me, in fact – was struggling with the business of having such momentous news, but which she couldn’t yet share. She was waiting for Andrew to stop by with the photos he’d promised to get for her. There’d been no real change in the atmosphere – none that I could detect while I was with them, anyway – but Abby was almost superhuman in her sensitivity to the emotional temperature, and half-way home she had burst into tears.
‘Mummy’s going to die!’ she sobbed. ‘Isn’t she?’ And she wouldn’t be pacified. In the end I’d had to leave the motorway so I could calm her down properly, she was just so convinced there was something her mother wasn’t telling her.
She was fine again now – an evening phone call had calmed and reassured her – and since then the weekend had passed smoothly enough, though her rituals were as evident as they’d ever been. How would the coming developments affect her, I wondered, as I watched her. For the better or, actually and quite possibly, for the worse? I tried to put it out of my mind, and keep her occupied – she’d been to the pictures with Riley and the little ones, been out shopping for clothes with Lauren, been to Donna’s café for lunch (and had the promise of another ‘shift’ there next week) and now here was Kieron on the doorstep, as we’d planned, making good with the aborted frogspawn outing, which was actually sensible, as it had turned out. If they’d gone before it would probably have been too early.
‘You up for it then, Abs?’ he said. ‘For getting those hands of yours dirty?’
Abby blushed scarlet, to the roots of her hair. She really did have a full-on Kieron-crush, bless her.
And, getting ready, I was pleased to see she was actually quite sanguine. ‘It’s better to go now,’ she said, reaching into the under-stairs cupboard for her wellies. Since she’d been with us, there was no messy pile of outdoor footwear in there. Wellies were corralled into a row, in tidy pairs, each clipped together by a clothes peg. ‘Casey, I’m surprised you didn’t know about doing this,’ she’d exclaimed.
‘How come?’ I asked now. ‘Because some might be turning into tadpoles?’
Abby shook her head. ‘No, because it’s dry now. So we won’t get all yucky. That’s why.’
They returned an hour later, largely free of mud, as promised, the jam jars duly half filled with the clear wobbling gunk.
‘And we don’t need to wash it, do we, Mum?’ Kieron ask me.
‘No, of course not,’ I said, confused. ‘Why would you wash it?’
‘See, Abby?’ Kieron said. ‘I told you. She doesn’t believe me, Mum. She thinks you have to wash the jelly off.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ I told her. ‘They need the jelly. That’s what they eat.’
Abby looked mortified. ‘Euww!’ she said. ‘How revolting! They actually eat it?’
‘They actually eat it,’ Kieron said. ‘You eat jelly, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but not jelly from a pond, stupid.’ She punched his arm playfully. ‘Strawberry jelly, raspberry jelly –’
‘No,’ Kieron said, ever the pedant, ever quick with details. ‘Like the jelly you get round the meat in the inside of a pork pie. It’s like that jelly.’
If possible, Abby was even more disgusted.
‘Kieron, that’s just gross! You’re actually making me feel sick now.’
‘Abs,’ he laughed. ‘Man up. You are such a lightweight.’
It was another good hour before the frogspawn was sorted, Kieron helping Abby prepare the tank to provide just the right environment, which I was pleased about, since it would be me who had to deal with the lion’s share of looking after them, I didn’t doubt. It had been ever thus. It was also great that Abby now had something on which to base her school show-and-tell the following week.
And Riley too did a stint of helping out. Once Kieron had left, and I took my gorgeous grandsons up for a bath, she helped Abby draw some pictures of the newly acquired frogspawn, and helped her write a project piece on frogs and reproduction, which she could use for her talk, along with some of the frogspawn, which we’d left ready, for the time being, in its jar.
By the time I came down again, however, they’d moved on to colouring, the two of them carefully filling in a lovely riverside scene, which in this case was destined for her scrapbook. I felt a real glow of love for my children, as I watched them. And a pang of sadness that poor Abby had no siblings. But the moment passed; she’s soon have a new person to love her, wouldn’t she?
I let the boys go and join them while I went into the kitchen to prepare some tea, smiling to myself as I watched them all gathered around the dining table, and marvelling, as I often had, with all the kids I’d fostered, that this little family tableau looked so, well, so very normal.
I said as much to Mike later that night, once we’d gone to bed. ‘And it’s weird, isn’t it?’ I added. ‘Whenever I get that feeling, that’s the very moment I realise.’
‘Realise what?’
‘That that’s it. That’s the exact time you know it’s all coming to an end.’
Mike thought for a moment. ‘Well, that would seem to figure,’ he said finally. ‘Sign of a job well done, I’d say.’
‘Fingers crossed,’ I said. ‘I’d hate it if she had to stay in care now. Let’s just pray that the whole Vicky thing works out.’
And even as the irony of doing it wasn’t lost on me, yet again, feeling slightly foolish, I touched wood.
Chapter 24
To say I was on pins all Monday morning is something of an understatement. I’d sent Abby off to school with her jam jar and her ner
ves about public speaking, and I was actually quite glad she was so preoccupied by it – it meant her focus wasn’t entirely on me.
In my mind what was coming would be simple. Sisters reunite, aunt meets niece, everyone loves each other, Abby can live with aunt and they all live happily ever after. You don’t often get fairy-tale endings in foster care, but I really couldn’t see why not this time.
It was eleven before Bridget was back on the phone, however, by which time I’d done everything domestic I could think of, including checking on the frogspawn and feeding Snowball, the virtual dog.
‘So,’ she said, ‘I gather you know all about the telephone reunion? It’s fabulous news, isn’t it? Who’d have thought it?’
‘Yes, it is,’ I said. ‘And?’
‘And are you free tonight, basically? Sarah wondered if you could bring Abby up to see her after school today, so she can sit down and tell her about her auntie.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘More than happy to – I’m bloody useless at keeping secrets. She’s got the photos from Andrew, then?’
‘Yes, and she’s keen to get on now. As is Vicky. She’s travelling up here tomorrow.’
‘And then?’ I asked.
‘And then we’ll talk about ways we can play this. Too early to second-guess things – we need to explore the options. But for the time being we’ve put a hold on the search for a permanent foster home – at least till we get some idea of what’s viable. Sarah’s needs are complex. There’s a lot to think through. And as yet we don’t know how big a commitment her sister’s prepared to make. It’s not something you can expect a person to dive straight into. Not without considering all the implications, as you know.’
Even so, I spent the afternoon grinning. I knew I was programmed to look on the bright side – had been like it all my life – but even taking that into account, I really couldn’t see how Vicky – from what Sarah had said of their history, and from how she’d been with me – would want to do anything short of whatever was needed.
I still had the grin on my face when Abby got home from school. So much so that, half-way through telling me about her frog-reproduction presentation, she stopped speaking and stared. ‘Casey,’ she asked, ‘have you bought me a present?’
I was puzzled by the odd question. ‘A present? No, sweetheart, I haven’t, I’m afraid. Why would you ask that?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ she said, after a moment’s consideration. ‘You just have a very funny look on your face. The one Mummy used to have if she’d got me a surprise.’
I grinned. ‘Well, I suppose I have, actually. In a way. We’re off to see your mum tonight –’
‘I thought we were going tomorrow?’
‘We were. But now we’re going to go tonight instead. So that is a surprise, isn’t it?’
She still looked suspicious. ‘Hmm, you’re still hiding something, Casey. I can tell.’
I shook my head. ‘I really don’t know where you get your ideas from, Missy. Now come on, let’s get that frogspawn back into the fish tank, then off upstairs to get changed, so we can have a snack and still beat the rush hour.’
Abby was still suspicious when we arrived at the hospital and called the lift. ‘Casey,’ she said, wriggling her hand away from my own, ‘your hand is all sweaty.’ She scrutinised me carefully. ‘Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?’ If she’d been tall enough I don’t doubt she’d have checked my temperature as well, by placing a hand on my brow.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not. I am honestly not, I promise.’ And I made a mental note, such as I’d made many times before. A life of crime and subterfuge was definitely not for me.
Happily, however, the wait would soon be over, but not before Abby had one last moment of panic, seeing her mother’s equally strange expression as we approached her. She looked from one to another, than popped her hands on her hips, as she often did. ‘Mummy, Casey’s being all weird. Why’s she being weird? Do you know? Look –’ She pointed. ‘Look at her face.’
Sarah smiled. She looked better today, her skin returning to normal. And also better in a way that was impossible to define, but was there nevertheless. I waved hello.
‘Well, poppet,’ she said to Abby, ‘I think we can allow Casey her funny look today. I have one too.’ She gently turned Abby’s face to look at her. ‘See? And that’s because I have some very special news for you.’
My cue, I decided. ‘I’ll pop off then,’ I said. ‘Grab a coffee …’
‘No, no,’ Sarah said. ‘Please. I’d really prefer it if you stayed.’
‘Oh, I think this is between you two,’ I said, feeling very much that this was private – between the two of them. But Sarah insisted. ‘I want you to be part of it – that’s if you don’t mind – just in case Abby has any questions later on. You know, if she forgets anything. It’s going to be a lot to take in.’
And, of course, she was right; that did make perfect sense. So I sat down on the visitor’s chair – Abby climbed up onto the bed – and listened quietly for the next half an hour while Sarah told Abby the whole story. It was punctuated once or twice by questions from Abby, but mainly she listened intently while her mother talked, taking everything in – I could see her processing all the details – in what appeared to be a very matter-of-fact way.
I found the way Sarah spoke a little odd to begin with. She seemed to speak to Abby more like she was a friend, rather than her daughter: she was straight to the point, and wasted no time on dressing things up. There was no kiddie-speak, there were no euphemisms, just the bald, unvarnished facts, which I felt might be a little strong for a child of such an age.
But then I thought some more, and it occurred to me that this was probably how it had always been. This was probably the dynamic Abby was used to. And it was a hunch that was confirmed when Sarah finally finished speaking, and Abby, having digested it, announced her verdict. Again it was matter of fact, unemotional, pragmatic. ‘Mummy, you’ve been so silly. All this time, and I had an auntie I didn’t know about! If you’d made friends with her, I could have had a break once in a while.’ She patted her mum’s hand. ‘But don’t you worry,’ she continued. ‘Now you’re friends again, it’s all going to be okay, isn’t it?’
Wow, I thought. She really was such a singular little girl.
Of course, both of them then started crying. And, feeling a bit teary myself now, I decided to leave them to it. Outside the room I took a deep breath and fanned my face with my hand, then set off down the corridor towards the vending machine. As I fiddled around in the bottom of my bag for some change, Chelsea joined me. She had her coat on, presumably done for the day.
‘Great news, isn’t it?’ she said, smiling at me. ‘About the sister turning up.’
‘The best,’ I agreed, pressing the button for the disgusting gunk that passed for coffee. ‘Well, in theory. There’s still no guarantee they’ll get either of them home.’
‘Oh, it’ll be fine,’ Chelsea said. ‘Trust me. We’re already on the case. Having a family member on hand makes a world of difference. We’re already looking into setting up the whole external package. You’d be amazed at the stuff you can get these days. You have to remember, keeping a patient in their own homes, rather than in a home, is the outcome that works out best for everyone. Not an option while there’s no one to support the patient, obviously, but now that’s not the case –’
‘You sound pretty confident that’s going to happen.’
Chelsea shook her head. ‘Not just confident. I’ve already been in touch with Vicky, haven’t I?’ She patted my shoulder reassuringly. ‘So not just blind faith. But I expect you probably know all the gen anyway.’
I couldn’t help but smile at that. Albeit ruefully.
Chapter 25
After promising to return the next day, and holding a clutch of family photos, Abby was eventually persuaded to leave the hospital. We’d be back the next day anyway, so she could finally meet her auntie. Just call me Parker,
I mused, as I helped her strap herself into the car.
She was still full of excitement when we finally made it home. We’d hit the tail end of the rush hour, and to compound things it would also soon be Easter, and though Abby hadn’t broken up yet, the motorway was choked with caravans and heavily laden cars. So Mike was already home by the time we arrived back, and, as I’d predicted, she couldn’t wait to pounce on him with her news. I’d never seen her so excited, I thought, but then, why would I? She’d come to us with the weight of the world on her shoulders. Now it was being lifted, and, lighter of heart, you could see the sunny child she could become.
‘And, you know what, Mike,’ she babbled on, having shown him all her pictures, ‘Auntie Vicky might even move in with us! And then everything will be just perfect – she’ll be just like Mary Poppins. She’ll do all the cleaning and the cooking – well, once I’ve shown her how to do it, anyway. And then I won’t have to do a thing, hardly. Not a thing! Won’t I, Casey?’
I laughed at her analogy, even though privately I was thinking whoah there!, starter guns and jumping them springing immediately to mind. But now was not the time to quash her hopes. Who knew, anyway? From what Chelsea had said that was a distinct possibility. Instead I stroked her hair, mindful that that bald patch still existed. ‘You’re just like a mini Mary Poppins yourself, love. Practically perfect in every way.’ I scooped her up for a hug then. I did need to say something. ‘Hey, but you know, Abs, let’s not even try to imagine how things might be just yet. We need to speak to your aunt first, don’t we? Make sure that she’s able to help.’
But Abby was having none of it. She wanted this too badly. This meant everything. This would mean that she and her mum could go home. ‘Oh don’t worry about that, Casey,’ she told me, throwing her arms around me. ‘Mummy said Aunt Vicky will love me. And that’s because I can charm the birds!’
‘Well, it’s certainly looking positive, by the sound of it,’ Mike said, once Abby had skipped off, at his suggestion, to get her paints and her sketch book, and perhaps make a picture to give to her aunt the next day.