I Miss Mummy Page 15
‘I think you should,’ the chairperson said. ‘The barrister is sure to raise it in court.’ He paused and wrote again. ‘And do we know what Alice wants in all this?’ he finally asked.
‘To live with her mother,’ Kitty said. ‘Or failing that her grandparents.’
‘Yes, she does,’ I agreed.
‘Perhaps you could tell us about Alice?’ the chairperson asked me. ‘You are the person who sees Alice the most.’
I started with a résumé of Alice’s routine. I said she ate and slept well, attended nursery, and was an intelligent and sociable child who was a delight to look after. ‘Alice has clearly had some very good parenting,’ I continued, addressing the chairperson. ‘She has many happy memories of her mother and grandparents – Mr and Mrs Jones. She has a strong bond with them and loves them deeply. My family is doing all we can to make Alice’s stay with us as happy as possible, but Alice deeply misses her mother and grandparents. The sooner everything is sorted out, the better.’
‘And contact with Dad?’ the chairperson asked. ‘How is that going?’
‘Alice always has a pleasant time and appreciates the attention,’ I said.
‘But is there a strong attachment yet?’
Without looking at Sharon and Chris, I shook my head. I couldn’t fabricate what wasn’t there. Despite Alice seeing her father and Sharon for two hours twice a week, at the end of three months Alice was no closer to her father and Sharon than she had been at the beginning.
The chairperson finished writing and then asked if there was anything else anyone wanted to raise before he closed the meeting.
‘Lots,’ Mr Jones said, shaking his head sadly, ‘but what’s the point when we’re not being believed?’
‘You don’t know what she’s like!’ Sharon pounced, referring to Leah. ‘You haven’t seen her when she’s off her trolley. Chris has, and she’s a nutter.’
‘Of course Chris has seen her like that!’ Mr Jones retaliated. ‘He gave her the drugs that made her that way!’ He was wagging his finger across the table at Chris, while Mrs Jones was close to tears again. The meeting looked as though it was going to finish as it had begun – with both sides of Alice’s family shouting accusations.
‘This is not helping,’ the chairperson intervened. ‘I thank you all for coming and I am closing the meeting.’ The room fell quiet as he set a date for the next review, in three months’ time. He then suggested Mr and Mrs Jones left first, and Sharon and Chris waited behind until Mr and Mrs Jones had had time to leave the building, to avoid confrontation in reception. It was like dismissing naughty children from the classroom.
As we watched, Mr Jones tenderly helped his wife to her feet and she linked her arm through his. I smiled at them as they passed. They looked so sad and dejected, as though they hadn’t a hope in the world. Mr and Mrs Jones left the room and the rest of us waited in awkward silence until the chairperson deemed enough time had elapsed and said that Chris and Sharon could go now. After they’d gone I left with Kitty and the chairperson.
‘Leah is very unstable at present,’ Kitty confided outside the committee room. ‘She phoned me this morning on her way to the doctor. She was threatening suicide, and also said that as she’d nothing left to lose she might as well take Alice again. I’ve alerted the school. As far as I’m aware, Leah doesn’t have your address, Cathy, but obviously if you see her in your street, phone the police.’
‘The poor woman must be desperate,’ I said. ‘I do hope she gets the help she needs.’
The chairperson and Kitty nodded; we said goodbye and went our separate ways. Later, that afternoon, I was to see for myself just how desperate Leah was, for when I went to collect Alice from school Leah was waiting outside.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hunger Strike
Leah was standing, half concealed, behind the large oak tree on the opposite side of the road to the school, as she had been two months previously when she’d wanted to catch a glimpse of Alice dressed up for the Easter parade. Now, as I walked along the pavement towards the tree to cross the road at the crossing, she stepped out from behind its protective cover and straight into my line of vision. All manner of things flashed through my mind at that moment as our eyes met, and my pulse soared with anxiety. There was no sign of the tender, warm openness that I was used to seeing in the photograph Alice had in her room. Taken the previous Christmas, Leah had been cuddling Alice on her lap and they were both laughing. Now her face was set hard, and the wildness and anger in her eyes said she was desperate and out of control. For a second I thought she was going to attack me.
I stopped. Leah was a yard or so in front, blocking my path, and it crossed my mind to dart round her, over the road and into the school, where I could call the police. But I didn’t. Perhaps I saw something behind her eyes that said although she was angry and out of control she was also very scared, and reachable. Without Alice with me I felt I could take a chance.
‘Hello, Leah,’ I said evenly. ‘How are you?’
She started with surprise – that I recognized her?
‘I’m Cathy,’ I continued in the same even tone. ‘I’m so pleased to meet you at last.’ I smiled and, closing the gap between us, offered my hand for shaking. She didn’t take it; I hadn’t really expected her to, but I was hoping that being polite and non-threatening would defuse the situation and that she might respond.
Leah continued to stare at me; then she looked around, her lips moving as though she was trying to think out what to say, but she didn’t speak. Although, like Alice, she was an attractive girl, she was now very unkempt and clearly hadn’t been looking after herself. Her slender frame looked thin and malnourished, and her long brown hair hung limp and lifeless around her shoulders. She was very pale, and her once-delicate features now looked gaunt, which seemed to deepen and accentuate her large brown eyes. Her gaze flickered back to mine.
‘Leah,’ I said gently. ‘I know how much you miss Alice, but you can’t see her here, love. You’ll get into trouble.’
She shrugged, despair and dejection replacing her previous anger. ‘I’ve got nothing to lose,’ she said, her voice quivering. ‘I need Alice. I love her.’
‘I know you do, and she loves you, lots. But you are going to have to do what your social worker and solicitor tell you and see Alice at supervised contact for now. I can’t let you see her here. Really I can’t.’ I glanced towards the school gates, where other mothers were going in to collect their children. I knew if anyone mentioned that Leah was outside or a member of staff saw her, the school secretary would call the police – they couldn’t afford to take any chances. ‘You must try to cooperate and do as they say,’ I said again, although I didn’t know if Leah was thinking rationally enough to do so.
‘I can’t go to contact,’ she said, rubbing the back of hand over her forehead in a gesture of despair. ‘They want me to see Alice for an hour and then say goodbye. I can’t cope with that. I want Alice, I need her. She’s my life. I need to look after her. I promise I’ll be a good mother.’ Tears welled in her eyes. I felt so dreadfully sorry for her.
‘You were a good mother,’ I said, touching her arm. ‘I’ve told the social worker and your parents that. You brought up Alice beautifully; she is a credit to you. But you’re going to have to do as you are told now – cooperate with the social services and see Alice at contact. Trust me, it’s the only way forward.’
‘But can’t I just see her for a few minutes, now, please?’ Leah nearly begged. ‘I won’t cause a problem, I promise. I’ll just say hello and give her a kiss and a cuddle. I won’t make a fuss.’ My heart cramped; at times like this I hated my role as foster carer.
‘Leah, it’s not my decision, honestly, love. It’s your social worker and your solicitor you need to see. I can’t help you. Please don’t wait here for Alice to come out, because if you approach her I will have to tell your social worker and call the police, and that won’t do anyone any good.’
She shrug
ged despondently as though she’d half guessed as much and clearly thought that in the ‘them and us’ situation I was one of ‘them’. I felt wicked stopping Leah from seeing her daughter, but realistically there was nothing I could do. I dearly hoped she would heed my warning and not approach Alice, for I would have to report her. ‘Leah, please try to do as I say,’ I said. ‘Alice needs to see you too – she misses you dreadfully – but you can’t meet her here. Go home, contact your social worker and solicitor, and say you want to see Alice at contact.’ It was the only advice I could give her.
As I looked at her a large tear ran down her cheek and she brushed it away with the back of her hand in the same gesture of despair.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, touching her arm again. ‘Please do as I say, for Alice’s sake. Go home or to your parents, but don’t wait here.’ Another tear fell, and another; then, completely defeated, she turned and walked away.
I watched her go and my heart ached. Although I was relieved she’d taken my advice and gone, and I knew I’d acted correctly and professionally, I felt no less wretched. I waited until she’d disappeared along the pavement and was out of sight before I crossed the road and went into the playground and towards the nursery. I sincerely hoped Leah wouldn’t return and wait outside, for if she did I would have no alternative but to call the police. With Alice with me I couldn’t do anything else; Leah was desperate and I wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t try to snatch her daughter again.
In the nursery I greeted Alice, as I always did, with a bright, ‘Hi, have you had a good day?’ Usually Alice answered and chatted away about all the things she’d done at school. Sometimes she didn’t want to talk, and my question was met with a small nod, but that’s normal for most children at the end of a tiring day. Now Alice was very quite and pensive, silently slipping her hand into mine. As we walked across the playground towards the main gate, I was watching out for any sign of Leah. Outside, on the pavement, I looked over the road to the tree, and then up and down the street, but it was all clear. Nevertheless I hurried Alice across the road towards the car and was relieved once she was strapped in her seat and I was driving away. I would have to make a note in my log that I had met Leah, but I wouldn’t be drawing it to anyone’s attention. Alice hadn’t seen her mother and no harm had been done, so I felt justified in striking my meeting with Leah from my conscious recollection. And while I wanted nothing more than for Alice to see her mother again, it was essential that any contact took place in the safe confines of the family centre, where it would be supervised and monitored for Alice’s well-being.
I didn’t know if Alice had picked up my anxiety or had somehow sensed her mother had been close, but she was unusually quiet for the rest of the afternoon; even Adrian couldn’t raise a response when he offered her his palm for slapping and said ‘Give me five,’ which Alice usually loved. Then when I called everyone for dinner Alice sat at the table with her hands in her lap and refused to eat anything. I encouraged and cajoled her to eat but without effect. When I asked her what was the matter she said resolutely, ‘If I can’t see my mummy I don’t want to eat anything ever again.’
And she kept it up for two days.
On the third day, nearly out of my mind with worry, I phoned Jill. ‘Alice is on a hunger strike,’ I said. ‘She hasn’t eaten a morsel for three days and says she won’t eat unless she can see her mother.’
‘Little madam,’ Jill said. ‘She certainly knows how to put the knife in!’ I knew what Jill meant: Alice couldn’t have chosen a more effective way to make her point, for, as I’d already found out with Lucy, nothing brings a parent or carer to their knees faster than a child refusing to eat. ‘Try not to make an issue of it,’ Jill advised. ‘Give her the meals as you usually do, and then clear away at the end. Check with the school and see if she’s eating her lunches.’
‘I have,’ I said, ‘and she’s not, which is why I’m so worried. She can’t go for much longer without anything to eat.’
‘But she’s drinking?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s more important. You can go for quite a few days without food but not without fluid. Look, Cathy, carry on as you have been doing – prepare her favourite foods, but keep it low key. Serve the meal, give Alice a reasonable length of time to eat it and then clear away. We’ll give it another couple of days, and if she still hasn’t eaten by the end of the week we’ll seek medical advice.’
‘Thanks, Jill,’ I said. It was at times like this – when I was in the middle of a crisis and too emotionally involved to view the situation dispassionately – that I really appreciated Jill’s advice and support.
‘I’ll phone tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Take care and try not to worry.’
I did as Jill suggested – made Alice’s favourite meals, allowed a reasonable time for her to eat it and then threw it (untouched) in the bin. Two days later, when Alice had gone five days without food, she began eating again, although even then I’m not convinced she would have done so without Lucy’s input. Dear Lucy, who had her own eating difficulties, and was aware what it felt like to be in foster care, identified with Alice in a way the rest of us couldn’t, and knew what to say. Leaning conspiratorially across the table as though she was letting Alice into a big secret, she whispered, ‘I’m not seeing my mum but I still eat. If you don’t eat, when it is time to see your mum you won’t be strong enough to go, and how sad would that be?’
From the corner of my eye I saw Alice pick up her knife and fork and start to eat. Before long her plate was empty and she was asking for more. I smiled a thanks to Lucy, and motioned for everyone not to say anything. For while we were all relieved that Alice was eating again, I didn’t want Alice thinking that refusing to eat resulted in lots of attention and praise, which was a short step to using food refusal as a tool for manipulation. But while Alice had started eating again and would continue to do so, it was as though something had sealed itself in her mind, a resolute, almost morbid acceptance, and it wasn’t healthy.
The following morning she announced, quite matter-of-factly, ‘I haven’t got a mummy any more.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Rejected
It was a little after 9.30 a.m. on Saturday, and Paula,
Alice and I had just finished breakfast. Lucy had spent the night at her friend’s and I was going to collect her at 11.00, while Adrian had already left for football practice. Paula was upstairs in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. Alice was helping me clear the breakfast things from the table when she made her announcement. I knew immediately she was feeling rejected.
‘Of course you have a mummy,’ I reassured her. ‘It’s just that it isn’t possible for you to see her at present. Think of all the happy memories you have of you and your mummy, and have a look at that lovely photograph on the shelf in your bedroom. Mummy is still out there, and she’s thinking of you.’
Alice concentrated on handing me the breakfast plate, which looked huge in her tiny hands, before she answered. ‘No,’ she said almost defiantly. ‘I don’t have a mummy, not any more.’
‘You do, love. She’s ill, and we’re hoping she’ll get better and be well enough to see you soon. I can understand why you’re angry with her, but try not to blame her – you’ll make yourself unhappy.’
Alice shrugged and changed the subject, and I knew she hadn’t accepted what I’d said. I’d looked after children before who, for many reasons, had been unable to see their parents and, feeling rejected, dealt with it by rejecting the parent(s) to the point where they no longer existed. It was an understandable but unhealthy form of denial, and it was often very difficult to persuade the child out of it. It was especially difficult for Alice to accept being separated from her mother, for she was very young and had had a good relationship with her. I could only hope, as with so many losses, that given time, or when Alice began seeing her mother again, the damage done by the separation could be undone, although it would take patience and a lot of reassurance. But feeling that h
er mother had rejected her was only a short step away from Alice feeling the same rejection from her grandparents, whose contact with her was so limited.
That evening when we phoned her nana and grandpa, Alice was clearly set on punishing them by making them feel sorry for her.
‘I haven’t done anything all day,’ Alice said in a feeble voice when her nana asked her for her news and what she had been doing.
‘Nothing?’ her nana said. ‘You must have done something, Alice.’
‘No,’ Alice said, scowling. ‘I haven’t.’
‘Tell Nana about how we went to the park, and your new shoes,’ I encouraged.
But she didn’t. Alice sat beside me on the sofa, her face glum and her lips tightly shut against anything that might have been reassuring for her grandmother to hear, while her nana continued to talk and prompt Alice, trying to elicit some good news. After a while, when the most Alice had said was a grunted ‘No’ and I could hear Mrs Jones growing anxious, I took the phone from its cradle, cutting off the speaker, and said, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Jones, Alice is feeling rather rejected at present. I’ve been talking to her and have reassured her you love her very much, but I know she’s finding the separation very difficult.’
Mrs Jones was obviously concerned, and very disappointed that Alice didn’t want to talk to her, but she was also very understanding. She suggested she put on Grandpa. ‘Alice is sure to want to talk to him about the football,’ she said. ‘Did Alice watch it?’
‘Oh yes, and so did Brian the Bear.’
Mrs Jones gave a small laugh. ‘Thank you, Cathy. I’ll just fetch Martin.’
Before I returned the phone to speaker I said to Alice, ‘Your grandpa is coming to the phone. Please make sure you talk to him. It’s upsetting for your nana and grandpa if you don’t talk to them; they look forward to your phone calls.’
But of course upsetting them, and therefore punishing them for not seeing her more often, was exactly what Alice was doing. When Mr Jones came on the line and began talking about the football, the skill of a winning goal and how pleased Brian the Bear must have been, he was met with the same stony silence and the occasional grunted ‘No’.