I Miss Mummy Read online

  I Miss Mummy

  Cathy Glass

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Title Page

  Chapter One Desperate

  Chapter Two Am I to Blame?

  Chapter Three Stretched to the Limit

  Chapter Four Normal?

  Chapter Five ‘Mummy Things’

  Chapter Six Sleeping with Wolves

  Chapter Seven Accused

  Chapter Eight When Can I See My Mummy?

  Chapter Nine Pass the Parcel!

  Chapter Ten Brian the Bear

  Chapter Eleven Precious

  Chapter Twelve A New Mummy

  Chapter Thirteen Placement Meeting

  Chapter Fourteen A Beam of Love

  Chapter Fifteen A Dreadful Mistake?

  Chapter Sixteen Breaking the Rules

  Chapter Seventeen Warm and Cosy Inside

  Chapter Eighteen Bad Practice

  Chapter Nineteen A Quick Fix

  Chapter Twenty Nail in the Coffin

  Chapter Twenty-One Kitty-cat

  Chapter Twenty-Two ‘Just One Line’

  Chapter Twenty-Three Hunger Strike

  Chapter Twenty-Four Rejected

  Chapter Twenty-Five ‘Icing Sugar’

  Chapter Twenty-Six Happy Sand

  Chapter Twenty-Seven The Letter

  Chapter Twenty-Eight Judge’s Decision

  Chapter Twenty-Nine A Milestone Missed

  Chapter Thirty Torn Apart

  Chapter Thirty-One Don’t You Want Me?

  Chapter Thirty-Two Love from Mummy

  Chapter Thirty-Three Expecting an Ogre

  Chapter Thirty-Four Don’t Make Me Go!

  Chapter Thirty-Five Very Disappointed

  Chapter Thirty-Six A New Year’s Wish

  Chapter Thirty-Seven Ten Days

  Chapter Thirty-Eight You Can Say No

  Chapter Thirty-Nine Adoption

  Chapter Forty Finding Home

  Chapter Forty-One Moving On

  Author’s Note

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Chapter One

  Desperate

  ‘Mum has snatched her! The police are looking for them now. Goodness knows where they could have gone! They’re not at home.’

  I could hear the anxiety and panic in the social worker’s voice on the other end of the phone, and I appreciated why. From the little I knew of the child’s mother, I knew she was very unstable, with ongoing mental health problems, compounded by drug addiction. I also knew she was fiercely opposed to having her daughter taken into care and had been fighting the social services for three months to stop it. But while no one wants to see a child forcibly removed from home, sometimes there is no alternative if the child is to be kept from harm.

  ‘When did this happen?’ I asked, equally concerned.

  ‘Two hours ago. They can’t have got far. The police have circulated a description of them, and the ports and airports have been alerted. No one could have foreseen this happening – otherwise we’d have taken Alice sooner.’

  Alice was the little four-year-old I’d been expecting all afternoon. I’d been told the day before that the social services were going to court in the morning to ask the judge to grant an ICO (Interim Care Order) so that Alice could be brought into foster care. I knew from the referral (the print-out that gives the child’s basic details) that both her parents were drug users, and because neither of them could look after Alice she’d been staying with her maternal grandparents. I also remembered reading that Alice attended nursery from 9.00 a.m. to 3.15 p.m. every day.

  ‘Was Alice snatched from her nursery?’ I asked, puzzled, aware of the high security that now surrounds schools.

  There was a slight hesitation. ‘No. The head teacher phoned the social services first thing this morning to say Alice wasn’t in nursery. When we went to the grandparents’ home after court this morning, to collect Alice, she wasn’t there.’

  Now, I don’t think I’ve got incredible insight but if I’d been a social worker I think I might have heard alarm bells ringing if the child I was about to bring into care was suddenly absent from nursery on the morning of the court case.

  ‘We think the grandparents may have colluded in their granddaughter’s abduction,’ the social worker added. ‘They’re being interviewed by the police now, and I’m going to see them soon. I’ll phone you again later.’

  ‘All right. Thanks for letting me know. I do hope you find Alice soon.’

  ‘So do I,’ the social worker said. ‘And that she’s found safe.’

  I replaced the receiver and returned to the kitchen, where I had been preparing dinner. It was 5.30 p.m. and I’d been expecting Alice at 1.00. The apprehension and nervousness which I’d been feeling all afternoon, and indeed which I always felt when waiting for a new child to arrive, now developed into full anxiety. Although I’d never met Alice, and had only the briefest of details, I knew enough to be very worried. Her mother, mentally unstable and possibly under the influence of drugs, had snatched her daughter in a desperate bid to keep her, and was now on the run. Who knew what was going through that mother’s mind or what she might do in desperation? News headlines flashed across my anxious thoughts: Mum leaps off bridge with daughter, Mum and daughter found dead. My morbid speculations were far fetched, but such things do happen, particularly when a parent is desperate or under the influence of drugs.

  Ten minutes later the phone rang and I snatched it up, hoping it was news that Alice had been found safe and well. But it was Jill, my link worker from the agency I fostered for. In her voice I could hear the anxiety that I’d heard in the social worker’s, and which I now felt.

  ‘Did the social worker phone you?’ Jill asked. ‘I told her to contact you directly as soon as she heard anything. I’ve been in a meeting all afternoon.’

  ‘She phoned a short while ago, but they haven’t found Alice yet, although the police are out looking.’

  ‘Poor child,’ Jill said with a heartfelt sigh. ‘Poor mum.’

  ‘I know. But her mother must realize she can’t get away with it. They’ll be found eventually, and snatching her daughter is hardly going to count in her favour.’

  ‘Mum won’t have thought it through,’ Jill said. ‘With her level of problems she’ll have acted on impulse and won’t be thinking rationally.’ Which did nothing to ease my fear for mother’s and daughter’s safety. ‘Martha, the social worker, asked me if it was all right if they bring Alice straight to you when she’s found, assuming she doesn’t need hospital treatment, even if it’s out of office hours. I said I thought it would be.’

  ‘Yes, of course, bring her straight to me,’ I confirmed; then, unable to resist a dig: ‘I don’t really work to office hours, Jill.’

  ‘No, I know, but you know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes. Hopefully the police will find her soon.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Jill said. ‘The poor child will be upset enough already at having to come into care without all this.’

  Deep in thought, I returned to the kitchen and the dinner I was preparing, which was now running late.

  Adrian appeared, his stomach growling. ‘When’s dinner ready, Mum?’

  At fourteen, my son was continuously hungry, and growing upwards at an quite a rate. He was already four inches taller than me, and he was going to be six foot, like his father – who unfortunately no longer lived with us.

  ‘About half an hour till dinner,’ I said. ‘Have an apple if you’re hungry.’

  He nodded, and took an apple and banana from the fruit bowl, and a packet of crisps from the cupboard.

  ‘I hope that’s not going to spoil your appetite,’ I called after him, envious. I couldn’t
have eaten all that and dinner without putting on weight. There was no answer, but I knew the snack wouldn’t spoil his appetite. Adrian never left his food, unlike Lucy, my twelve-year-old foster daughter who picked at her food.

  Presently Paula, my ten-year-old daughter, came into the kitchen and began foraging for food.

  ‘No, leave the biscuits,’ I said. ‘Dinner will only be fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Adrian’s got crisps,’ she said accusingly.

  ‘I know, and you can have a packet after dinner, if you’re still hungry. Although fruit would be better.’

  She pulled a face but left the biscuit tin untouched in the cupboard. ‘Isn’t that little girl coming?’ she asked, suddenly remembering that I’d said Alice would be with us for dinner.

  ‘Hopefully later,’ I said. ‘She’s been delayed.’

  Paula looked at me questioningly and, while I didn’t want to burden her with my anxiety about Alice’s safety, I knew I had to give her some explanation. ‘Alice is with her mother,’ I said, ‘and the social worker isn’t sure where they are.’

  Paula pulled another face, unimpressed. ‘How can they be lost?’

  ‘They’re not lost, just temporarily misplaced,’ I said lightly, and changed the subject. Paula can be a real worrier when it comes to little children, even worse than me. ‘Could you pop up to Lucy’s room and tell her dinner is ready? If she says she’s not hungry, tell her I’d like her to come down and join us anyway. Thanks, love.’

  Lucy had been with us for nearly a year and, having lived with countless aunts and cousins and never had a proper family of her own, she’d settled into our family remarkably quickly, welcoming the stability and routine. However, while I was very pleased with her progress, both at home and school, my biggest concern remained with her eating. She was an attractive girl, her long black hair and dark eyes coming from her father, who was Thai, but she was slim to the point of thin. At 5 feet 4 inches, she weighed only six and half stone and whereas when she’d first arrived I’d assumed she would put on weight once she’d settled into our family, she hadn’t.

  I’d mentioned my concern to Jill and also to Lucy’s social worker, who in turn had taken advice from the looked-after children’s nurse who is employed by the council to advise on the health of children in care. On her advice I was now monitoring (as far as I could) what Lucy ate, and also her weight, keeping my supervision very low key so it didn’t become an issue. There was no evidence that Lucy was making herself sick after eating, or pretending to eat and then throwing the food away, so we were optimistic that she wasn’t suffering from an acute eating disorder such as anorexia or bulimia. But over the last four months since I’d started monitoring Lucy she hadn’t put on any weight but had grown in height, which in real terms meant she’d lost weight. According to the height/weight chart the nurse had used, Lucy should have weighed eight stone, so she was one and a half stone (twenty-one pounds) underweight, which was obviously very worrying.

  However, I was pleased to see that Lucy came downstairs with Paula for dinner. At the same time Adrian returned to the kitchen for an update on dinner.

  ‘It’s ready,’ I announced. ‘Sit down.’

  I began dishing up while the three of them sat at the table in what we grandly call the breakfast room – the term used by the architect who drew up the plans for what is really an extension to the kitchen. Having plated up some of the casserole for Alice and left it to one side, I carried the other plates over to the table. All that could be heard for some time was the chink of cutlery on china. As we ate I was half expecting the phone to ring – the social worker telling me Alice had been found and they were on their way – or even the door bell to ring, if they came straight to me.

  As we ate I was also watching Lucy out of the corner of my eye for, as often happened, she had begun well, eating four mouthfuls straight off as though she was ravenous, and then ground to a halt; she was now toying with her food. When Lucy had first arrived, I had told her, as I tell all children at their first meals, to eat what she wanted and leave what she didn’t want, but when I’d realized just how little she was eating I’d started to encourage her: ‘Can’t you just eat half of it?’ ‘Another couple of mouthfuls?’ ‘Just the mashed potato?’ I didn’t know if I was doing the right thing, but as every mother knows it is excruciating to watch a child eating insufficient for their body’s needs.

  ‘Did you have lunch?’ I asked Lucy as she continued to fork her food around the plate. I gave her money for lunch every day, but her secondary school ran a cafeteria system, so I’d no idea what, if anything, she’d bought or eaten.

  ‘Yes,’ she said as she usually did. ‘I had a sandwich.’ Which, as usual, I had to believe. But even if she had bought a sandwich and eaten all of it, her day’s food intake was still very small and barely sufficient to maintain growth and health: a thin slice of dry toast for breakfast, a sandwich for lunch and now a few mouthfuls for dinner.

  Lucy toyed with her food for a bit longer; then she laid her knife and fork on her plate, having finished. Paula laid down her knife and fork too, on a clean plate, and Adrian was looking for pudding.

  ‘Are you sure you’ve finished?’ I asked Lucy. She nodded, and I collected the plates. ‘I’ve just got to make the custard,’ I said and, leaving the three of them at the table talking about a television programme, I returned to the kitchen. I boiled the kettle and made instant custard; then I poured it into a jug and placed it on the table with a shop-bought apple pie. I told them to help themselves and surreptitiously watched Lucy take a small amount of custard but no pie. Then the phone rang and I jumped up from the table and went into the sitting room to answer it, fervently hoping it was Martha, Alice’s social worker, phoning to say Alice had been found, safe and well, and they would be with me shortly.

  It was Martha, but without good news. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Alice and her mother have completely disappeared. The police have searched all the addresses of friends and family we have given them, so I really don’t know where they can be.’ She sounded very weary. ‘I’m off duty soon, but I shall be leaving my mobile on all night and the police have instructions to call me directly when she’s found. Jill said it was all right to bring Alice to you, even it it’s in the middle of the night.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m a light sleeper – I’ll hear the phone or the door.’

  ‘Alice will be very distressed,’ Martha warned.

  ‘I know. Don’t worry. I’m an experienced foster carer. I’ll settle her and make sure she’s all right.’ Sometimes the social workers need as much reassuring as the children.

  ‘Thanks, Cathy.’

  ‘Have they found her?’ Paula asked as I returned to the dinner table. Adrian and Lucy looked at me, puzzled, unaware there was a problem.

  ‘Alice, the little girl who was supposed to be coming this afternoon, is missing with her mother,’ I explained.

  ‘Oh,’ Adrian said. ‘I thought she’d just got delayed.’

  Lucy nodded, clearly having thought the same as Adrian. In the past children had been delayed, for all sorts of reasons, arriving a lot later than expected – even the following day.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Unfortunately not, but I’m sure Alice will be found soon. If you hear the phone or front door bell go in the night, try to go back to sleep. Alice could arrive at any time, and you’ve all got school tomorrow. You’ll be able to meet her first thing in the morning.’

  They nodded, accepting my assurance and believing, as I did, that at some point during the evening or night Alice would be found safe and well, and be brought to us, when I would tuck her into bed and sit with her and comfort her until she finally dropped off to sleep.

  If only that had happened!

  Chapter Two

  Am I to Blame?

  At 10.00 p.m. we were all in bed, Lucy and Paula asleep, Adrian reading for half an hour, while I had the radio on, although I wasn’t listening to it. My thoughts were with Alice and her mother, and
I was very worried. I hadn’t heard anything further during the evening, so I had to assume they were still missing. It was the end of March and although we’d had a few mild days the nights were very cold, with a ground frost. I sincerely hoped Alice and her mother were indoors, having been given a bed for the night by a friend or relative who perhaps didn’t know about the court case or that the police were looking for them. Or perhaps, I speculated, Alice had been found and was being brought to me at this very moment. At 11.00 I switched off the radio and dozed, but I was listening out for the phone and doorbell, every so often raising my head to glance at the luminous hands on my bedside clock.

  Acutely aware of every street noise, shortly after 2.00 a.m. I heard a car pull up outside. My bedroom is at the front of the house, overlooking the road, and immediately I got out of bed and peered through the window, ever hopeful. A taxi was outside with its engine running and as I looked I saw my neighbour, Sue, and her family get out, with their suitcases, having returned from the airport after a week in Turkey. Sue looked up and, seeing me, gave a little wave. Aware that I fostered, she saw nothing too unusual in my peering out of my bedroom window at two in the morning, possibly waiting for a teenager to return, or for the police to bring a child under an emergency protection order.

  I returned to bed and dozed fitfully until 6.00 a.m. Then I declared the night over and, slipping on my dressing-gown and slippers, went downstairs to make coffee. On the work surface in the kitchen, almost as a testament to Alice’s disappearance, was the dinner I’d plated and covered the night before. If Alice had arrived hungry, as children often do, I could have easily reheated her dinner in the microwave, whatever time of night. Now I removed the cover from the plate and, scraping the congealed casserole into the bin, put the plate in the dishwasher. Dear Alice, wherever could she be? She had been missing for twelve hours now, which is a long time for a child of four. She and her mother – who I knew from the referral was called Leah and was twenty-three – had vanished into thin air. Where could they have gone? Then I wondered if they had been found and Alice had been returned to her grandparents, in which case Leah would now be in police custody, for I knew that despite any sympathy I had for Leah’s desperate bid to keep her daughter, snatching a child, especially a child protected by a court order, is a very serious offence and Leah would be prosecuted and very likely sent to prison. It was all so very sad.