Will You Love Me? Read online

  ‘That Lucy might be borderline anorexic, and that we should try to talk to her about her feelings. But Lucy didn’t want to talk to us. How do you get on with Stevie?’

  ‘I’ve only met her once,’ I said, not wanting to be drawn into a conversation about Lucy’s social worker. ‘Can you tell me anything else about Lucy or what the doctor said?’

  ‘Not really. Would Lucy see Stevie?’ Pat now asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘She wouldn’t see her here either,’ Pat said. ‘Stevie made me feel it was my fault, but when Lucy decides she’s not doing something there’s no changing her mind.’ I didn’t respond. ‘Oh, well, best be off then,’ Pat said. ‘Give Lucy our best wishes.’

  ‘I will,’ I said. ‘And thanks for everything.’ For I doubted we’d hear from Pat again.

  When I told Lucy that Pat sent her best wishes, she gave one of her dismissive shrugs. However, I was now realizing that shrugging, far from being a sign that Lucy didn’t care, was an indication of just how much she did care and was hurting; not wanting to be hurt again, she pretended it didn’t matter.

  Sunday was bitterly cold (though it didn’t snow again), so I suggested a trip to the cinema. Lucy had been to the cinema a couple of times before with a previous foster carer and was eager to go again. The four of us had a lovely afternoon laughing at the cartoon and eating popcorn. Little outings such as this help bond a family and create a sense of family unity. Interestingly, in the dark and with her mind on the film, Lucy forgot her anxiety about eating and absent-mindedly ate a large hotdog. However, that evening she ate very little at dinner – just a couple of mouthfuls – which she didn’t enjoy. Ignoring her eating habits any longer seemed like ignoring the elephant in the room, and later, when I went to say goodnight to her, I said, ‘Love, I am concerned that you’re not eating enough. You won’t get fat, you know.’ My research had mentioned that those suffering with eating disorders often obsessed about putting on weight.

  ‘It’s not that,’ Lucy said, a little tersely, as though something similar might have been said to her before. ‘I’m just not hungry. I didn’t have meals before.’

  ‘Before you came into care you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I nodded. ‘I think you need to try to get into the habit of eating. Will you try to eat just a little bit more? I’m sure Mr Bunny would want you to.’

  She smiled. ‘OK. I’ll try, for Mr Bunny.’

  ‘Good girl.’

  I kissed her goodnight and came out.

  On Monday Lucy began taking the bus to and from school. I gave her the bus fare, checked she had the school books she needed and then waved her off at the door. When I returned from taking Paula to school I phoned the office at Lucy’s school to let them know that Lucy would be using the bus in future. Most schools like to know their pupils’ means of transport to and from school as a safety precaution, in case they don’t arrive, and also to try and reduce the instances of truanting. The school receptionist made a note in their records.

  The week went well and I thought I saw a slight improvement in Lucy’s appetite, so I crossed my fingers, hoped for the best and quietly thanked Mr Bunny. On Sunday, my parents came for dinner and met Lucy for the first time. All the children I foster love my parents, and Adrian and Paula adore their nana and grandpa. They are the archetypal grandparents: kind and very generous. My father often tells silly jokes and loves to play board games, and my mother has endless patience for reading the children stories and listening to their news. As my mother and I cleared away the dinner things, my mother commented that Lucy seemed a lovely child, but what a sad life she’d led. While confidentiality had prohibited me from telling my mother about Lucy’s past, Lucy had easily confided in her that she’d had to move lots of times and had lived with some horrible people, and that she didn’t have a proper mummy or daddy. ‘She gets on very well with Paula,’ my mother added.

  ‘She does,’ I agreed. ‘And Adrian, although at his age he tends to be out with his friends more.’

  That evening, after my parents had left, I overheard Lucy telling Paula that she was very lucky to have a nice gran and grandpa, as she didn’t have any.

  ‘I know,’ Paula said. ‘And while you’re here they are your gran and grandpa too.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Lucy said. ‘I like them nearly as much as I like you.’

  Now we were in a weekday routine, the weeks slipped by and very soon Lucy had been with us for over a month. It was March and spring was just around the corner. On many levels, Lucy had fitted easily and successfully into my family, and I knew Adrian and Paula felt that too. However, the more relaxed and at home Lucy felt, the more easily she let go of her anger and frustration. While it was positive that she was able to express herself, what wasn’t so positive was her mode of expression: objects hurled across her bedroom and often broken in temper. Triggers that caused her to flare up included any mention of her social worker, an unkind word or a snub from a pupil at school, a lengthy or difficult piece of homework, general frustration, and sometimes there was no obvious reason at all – she’d just arrive home from school, bursting with anger and pent-up frustration, go upstairs and trash her room.

  I spent hours talking to Lucy about her feelings, reassured her that hurting was to be expected and made some suggestions for managing her anger. Then, when her behaviour didn’t improve, I stopped some of her privileges, and some of her pocket money to pay for breakages (with the social worker’s permission). And finally, exasperated, I told her I was very disappointed in her behaviour and that she needed to find other ways to express her anger.

  ‘Don’t care!’ Lucy shouted. But of course she did care and, when she’d calmed down, she was always very sorry.

  I showed Lucy how to take out her frustration and anger by pummelling a pillow, rather than breaking objects, which she tried. She pummelled the pillow on her bed and then trashed her room. I knew Lucy had some control over her actions, because while most of the objects in her room had at some time all been thrown, Mr Bunny had escaped.

  ‘I’m sure Mr Bunny isn’t impressed by your behaviour, Lucy,’ I said, when yet again the contents of her shelves lay strewn across her room.

  ‘Yes, he is!’ she retorted. ‘He’s on my side.’

  And sometimes it felt like we were on warring sides – opposing armies in a battle of wills.

  ‘You know why Lucy’s behaving like this and testing the boundaries?’ Jill said, when I updated her yet again.

  ‘To see if I really care or if I will reject her like everyone else has,’ I replied.

  ‘Exactly. She’s making you prove that you care by pushing you to the limit.’

  ‘I know, Jill, and I’ve told her I care many, many times. Don’t worry, we’ll work through this. We have to.’

  Seeing my resolve strengthen, Lucy upped the testing and became the most obnoxious, argumentative child I’d come across in a long time. Teenagers can be confrontational and challenging, but Lucy, aged eleven, perfected the art, and I now appreciated where some of the comments from her previous carers had come from. Cooperation had vanished and Lucy questioned everything I did or asked of her, often refusing to do even the simplest of tasks, like getting up in the morning or having a wash and cleaning her teeth at bedtime. When she refused to have a bath for three nights in a row, I stopped her watching television, and when she refused to do her homework I stopped her from going on the PlayStation, which of course led to accusations that I hated her, and she stamped off upstairs and trashed her room. Gone was the quiet, undemanding and convivial child who’d first arrived. Lucy constantly looked for new ways to provoke me. ‘Don’t like your smelly house!’ she said one day. ‘Don’t like you or your children.’ Which I ignored.

  ‘Why is Lucy being horrible to us?’ Paula asked one bedtime. ‘I don’t like it. I want the old Lucy back.’

  ‘Lucy’s angry, love,’ I said. ‘She’s had a difficult life and now she feels settled she’s letting go of
her anger. Try not to worry. She’s not angry with you.’ And indeed, when Lucy wasn’t in a bad mood she played nicely with Paula, and Adrian too.

  But Paula did worry, and not for the first time since I’d begun fostering I was concerned about the impact this was having on my children. Adrian, that bit older, seemed able to ignore Lucy’s outbursts and unkind words and rise above them as I did, but Paula – two years younger than Lucy – looked up to her and was hurt. I hoped that at some point Lucy’s behaviour would peak and then we’d turn a corner. In the meantime, I continued with my strategy of always making time to talk to and listen to Lucy, rewarding her good behaviour and sanctioning her bad behaviour. At the end of March we celebrated Adrian’s birthday and then, at the beginning of April, it was Paula’s birthday. Lucy was pleasant on both occasions, but once our visitors had left she reverted to her obnoxious behaviour, and I wondered how much longer this could go on. Then something happened, something unplanned that completely changed everything, almost overnight.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Progress

  ‘I wouldn’t ask but we’re desperate,’ Jill said. ‘I know we agreed you’d wait until Lucy had been with you for longer and had calmed down before you fostered another child, but Lucy’s taking her time to calm down, and none of our other carers are free. It would only be for two weeks’ respite and David’s very sweet. It’s just while his mother is in hospital.’

  ‘I really don’t know, Jill,’ I said again, wishing she hadn’t asked. Although I had the space in my house to foster another child, I had my hands full with Lucy, and David was sure to be upset at being separated from his mother. ‘Will I have to take him to visit his mother in hospital as well?’ I asked, feeling this would be impossible with everything else that was going on.

  ‘No, his aunt will take him,’ Jill said. ‘She can’t look after him during the day because she works full time, but she can take him to the hospital in the evenings and at the weekend. David won’t give you any trouble,’ Jill added. ‘And we’d be very grateful.’

  ‘When do you need to know by?’ I asked.

  ‘Now, please. His mother would need to bring him to you tomorrow morning, before she goes into hospital.’

  ‘And there really is no one else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘All right, I’ll do it,’ I said. ‘Although I have big reservations.’

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ Jill said, with a confidence I didn’t feel. ‘And you never know, it might do Lucy some good. Give her someone else to focus on for a change, rather than herself.’ Although Jill was highly sympathetic to Lucy, as I was, I think she was starting to lose patience and felt that maybe Lucy was revelling in all the attention her outbursts evoked. ‘Thanks, Cathy.’

  We said goodbye and I went straight upstairs to the spare bedroom and made up the bed with a fresh duvet cover and pillowcase. That evening over dinner, I explained to Adrian, Paula and Lucy that David would be coming the following day to stay for two weeks while his mother was in hospital. Adrian and Paula were very enthusiastic, probably because a well-behaved three-year-old would be light relief after Lucy’s recent tantrums. Lucy looked at me, amazed by the news, shocked even, and then became confrontational.

  ‘You’re fostering another child as well as me?’ she asked disparagingly.

  ‘That’s right, love. Just for two weeks.’

  ‘Are you allowed to?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m approved to foster two children or a sibling group of up to three. Don’t worry. It won’t affect my care of you.’

  Lucy scowled, while Paula and Adrian wanted to know more about David. ‘Why’s his mother having to stay in hospital?’ Paula asked, concerned.

  ‘She’s got to have an operation, and she’ll need time to recover afterwards,’ I said. Jill had told me that Beth, David’s mother, was having a hysterectomy, but Paula didn’t need to know that.

  ‘Hasn’t David got a gran and grandpa to look after him?’ Adrian asked, which is what would have happened to Adrian and Paula had I had to stay in hospital.

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ I said. ‘David’s grandparents are dead.’

  ‘That’s sad,’ Paula said.

  Then Lucy asked, or rather demanded, ‘What about his dad? Hasn’t he got a dad who can look after him?’

  ‘No, he died last year,’ I said. ‘He wasn’t very old.’

  And just for a moment I saw on Lucy’s face the briefest acknowledgement that there could be at least one other child in the world who’d had a sad and difficult life just as she had, albeit in a different way. Paula looked close to tears, so I changed the subject and talked about the games we could play with a three-year-old.

  That evening, when I went to say goodnight to Lucy, it was obvious she’d been thinking about David, for she had some questions about him. ‘Does David still miss his daddy?’ she said quietly.

  ‘I’m sure he does,’ I said.

  ‘Will he miss his mummy and cry at night?’

  ‘Very likely, but I’ll look after him. Then, when you come home from school, you can help me if you like.’

  But Lucy had lowered her guard enough for one evening and retorted with a sharp, ‘No. That’s your job.’

  Ignoring her ill humour, I said goodnight, kissed her forehead and came out.

  Beth arrived with David at 9.30 the following morning, just after I’d returned from taking Paula to school. Beth was a lovely lady in her thirties, although she was anxious at the thought of the operation she was about to have, and also about leaving David, whom she’d never left with anyone before. She brought with her a suitcase containing David’s clothes, a toy box of his favourite toys and books and a cuddly toy, which she told me he took to bed with him at night – all of which would help him settle with me. Although Beth was worried about leaving David, as we talked, David – not fully appreciating what was about to happen – was happy to chase Toscha and then play with the toys I’d put out in the living room. Beth had written down David’s routine, which would be useful for me to follow, and had also included his likes and dislikes in food, which again would be very helpful.

  ‘Jen, my sister, will collect David after work tonight,’ Beth said, ‘at about half past five, and bring him to the hospital. She’ll have him back to you by seven – that’s the time he normally goes to bed. I won’t see him tomorrow as it’s the day of my operation, so Jen will collect him again the day after.’

  I reassured Beth that David would be fine and then I showed them around the house, with David holding his mother’s hand. When we went into David’s room, Beth explained to him that he would be sleeping here for two weeks while she was in hospital and then he would come home again, but I doubted that at his age he really understood. Beth left shortly after, as she had to be at the hospital for 10.30. David and I waved her off and then, once I’d closed the door and his mother had gone, he began to cry. I picked him up, took him through to the living room where I sat with him on my lap and cuddled him, explaining that he would see Mummy later. Then I distracted him with toys and games, which I played with him for most of the day. Every so often he would ask, ‘Where’s Mummy gone?’ I said, ‘To the hospital. You will see her later, after dinner.’ Soon he began repeating very sweetly, ‘Mummy gone to the hospital, see her later after dinner.’ He was so cute. I cuddled him a lot.

  When it was time to collect Paula from school, I helped David into the car seat in the rear of my car and he asked: ‘Going to see Mummy in hospital now?’ Bless him.

  ‘No, love, later,’ I said. ‘Auntie Jen is taking you after dinner.’ But of course at three years of age these arrangements must have seemed very confusing to him.

  Paula treated little David like a large doll and he revelled in the attention. She played with him while I began making an early dinner, as Jen would be collecting David at 5.30. Soon I could hear chuckling coming from the living room as Paula made him laugh. David’s chuckle was very infectious and was lovely to hear. However, when Luc
y arrived home from school, I knew as soon as I opened the door she was looking for trouble.

  ‘My friend says it’s wrong of you to foster another child when you have me, and you’re only doing it for the money.’

  While I was pleased to hear that Lucy had a friend, I knew that telling me this was obviously designed to provoke me.

  ‘I don’t expect your friend knows much about fostering,’ I said lightly, as Lucy glared at me antagonistically. ‘Perhaps she’d like to come here for tea so she can see what really goes on. Come and meet David.’

  ‘No!’ Lucy said, and stormed off up to her room where she stayed sulking until I called her down for dinner.

  Adrian and Paula kept David amused at dinner while I made sure he ate something. I don’t think he’d ever had so much attention and I could tell from Lucy’s expression that she didn’t like it and may well have been jealous. Each time he chuckled she scowled at him and then finally said to me: ‘Tell him to be quiet. He’s making too much noise. It’s doing my head in.’

  ‘No. I’m pleased he’s happy,’ I said. ‘And he’s eating.’

  Lucy glowered at me and carried on picking at her food, but even she wasn’t immune to David’s sweet, smiling face and infectious laugh, despite missing his mother. I saw her snatching glances at him, and gradually during the meal her expression lost its resentment and finally she allowed herself to smile. By the end of the meal she was laughing with the rest of us each time David chucked.

  After dinner Lucy came with Paula and me into the living room where we played with David until Jen arrived at 5.30 to take him to the hospital. David was very pleased to see his aunt’s familiar face and threw himself into her arms and gave her a big kiss. Jen picked him up and hugged him, thanked me for looking after him and then confirmed that she’d have him back by seven o’clock. I think she felt a bit guilty for not having him to stay with her, but she had to work.

  While David was out, I took the opportunity to unpack his suitcase and take some of his toys up to his room so he felt more at home. The rest of his toys would stay downstairs for him to play with in the living room. Lucy was in her bedroom and must have heard me moving around in David’s room, for presently she appeared at his bedroom door. She stood watching me for a few moments and then said, ‘I’m sorry I was horrible about David coming. I like him really.’