Another Forgotten Child Page 26

  I turned and, squinting into the sunlight, saw Susan walking towards me. I glanced up and down the road but there was no one in sight. I had to pass her to go up to the high road, for behind me was a dead end. Hatchet wasn’t with her, thank goodness, but that was little consolation.

  ‘Hello, Susan,’ I said evenly, trying to hide my anxiety. ‘This is a surprise.’

  ‘I saw you drive past. I’m here to see me therapist,’ she volunteered, coming to stand directly in front of me.

  ‘Well, I hope it all goes OK,’ I said, and went to step past her. She placed a restraining hand on my arm.

  ‘Can I speak to you?’ she said. ‘I’ve got half an hour before my appointment.’

  I assumed it was to complain, at the very least, or to vent her anger and frustration. ‘I’m sorry, I’m in rather a hurry,’ I said, gently releasing my arm. ‘Why don’t you arrange a meeting with Norman as I suggested, and we can all have a chat then?’

  ‘It’s not about Aimee,’ Susan blurted loudly. ‘It’s about me. I want you to know I’m not as bad as you think I am.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re bad,’ I said quickly, surprised that Susan cared what I thought of her. ‘I’ve never told Aimee that either – just the opposite, in fact. I’ve always told her you love her but unfortunately you can’t look after her.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Susan said, lowering her voice. ‘Aimee told me and I’m grateful for that. Thank you.’

  I thought I must have misheard. Susan thanking me? That couldn’t be right. Not the woman who’d issued so many threats, complaints and allegations that Adrian and his friends had come under suspicion and I’d nearly resigned.

  Foster carers often have to make snap decisions about whether they are being told the truth, but it’s usually when the child they are fostering is trying to bend the rules on what they are allowed to do. Now I had to make a snap decision as to whether Susan was sincere in her wish to talk to me or if it was a ploy. For all I knew, her gangster friends might be waiting around the corner to teach me a lesson; anything was possible in the twilight underground drug-fuelled world she inhabited.

  ‘Can we sit in your car and talk?’ Susan now suggested. ‘It’s cold.’ She had her arms folded across her chest and was shivering. She was wearing the same thin jacket she’d been wearing the last time I’d seen her, outside the school, with T-shirt, threadbare jeans, and plimsolls that were sopping wet. I looked at her. I wasn’t going to risk sitting in my car with her in this deserted road.

  ‘Shall we go for a coffee?’ I asked after a moment. ‘There’s a place on the high road.’

  ‘Wouldn’t mind,’ she said, shivering again. ‘But I haven’t got any money.’

  ‘I’ll pay,’ I said. ‘Come on.’ I stepped past her and began up the road to the busier high road. Susan followed a step or two behind me, treading in the centre of the path to avoid the slush piled on either side. I still wasn’t convinced she only wanted to confide but I’d be safer in the high street. I’d had parents of other children I’d fostered wanting to share some of their life experiences with me, but in those cases I’d established a good working relationship with them, so that confiding seemed to come naturally and I wasn’t worried. That wasn’t so with Susan, but I had a few minutes to spare and the poor woman looked as though she needed a hot drink, so I could hear what she wanted to tell me.

  We stood side by side and waited to cross the main road; then Susan followed me into the coffee shop and up to the counter. The girl behind the counter was busy serving a couple in front of us and as we waited I saw Susan eyeing the selection of savouries and cakes displayed beneath the glass-topped counter.

  ‘Do you want something to eat?’ I asked.

  She shrugged.

  ‘Say if you do and I’ll pay.’

  ‘Can I have a sausage roll, please, and one of those cakes with the pink icing on top?’ She was like a child asking for a treat and I felt her humiliation.

  ‘Have whatever you want,’ I replied gently. ‘They do a very good English breakfast here. My son used to have it when we’d been shopping.’ I felt I needed to try to persuade her to eat, as she was so thin and ill-looking.

  ‘Oh, go on, then,’ she said, with a small nervous laugh. ‘Treat me to a full English breakfast.’ I thought a decent meal was probably a treat for her. I saw the girl behind the counter looking at Susan as she served the couple. Susan looked so wasted that she attracted stares; she wasn’t the type of customer normally found in a nice coffee lounge.

  When the assistant had finished serving the couple in front of us we moved along the counter and I ordered the breakfast – egg, bacon, sausage, hash brown, beans, tomatoes and mushrooms – and two mugs of coffee, and then paid. Placing the mugs of coffee on a tray, with the cutlery Susan would need for her breakfast, I carried the tray to a corner table. The breakfast would be cooked fresh and brought to our table when it was ready. I saw the occupants on the other tables glance up and look at Susan as we passed.

  Once seated either side of the table, we sipped our coffee. Susan cupped her hands around her mug, drawing its warmth. Gradually her fingers lost their mauve appearance as they began to thaw out.

  ‘You could do with some gloves in this weather,’ I remarked, as one would tell a child.

  Susan nodded but didn’t say anything. Although we were now in this public place and I felt safer, I was still uncertain what exactly she wanted of me.

  ‘Aimee’s making good progress at school,’ I tried presently. ‘She’s a lot of catching up to do, but I help her with her reading and maths each evening.’

  Susan nodded again and then set down her mug. ‘Aimee listens to you,’ she said. ‘She never would to me. I tried to help her but she used to push me away.’

  ‘I have to be firm sometimes,’ I said. ‘Aimee knows she doesn’t watch television until she has done her homework.’

  Susan shrugged. ‘That’s the difference between you and me. You know how to look after kids. I never did. I’m not a bad person, I just can’t look after kids properly. I told the social [services] to take Aimee off me when she was born. But all they did was put her on the [“at risk”] register and send me to parenting classes.’

  I stared at Susan in utter amazement. ‘You asked the social services to take Aimee into care when she was born?’ I said. ‘But I thought you’d been battling to keep her?’

  ‘Yeah. Recently I have, ’cos I grew to love her. But when she was a baby it would have been easier to let her go. I’ve told a few social workers over the years to take her. I couldn’t look after her. But they kept giving me help. I knew it wasn’t going to do any good. I knew where it would lead – same as me older kids. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.’ Susan gave a small nervous laugh and her hand instinctively went to her mouth to cover her missing teeth. ‘They should have taken Aimee when she was born like I told them. Before I loved her and she loved me.’

  I shook my head in dismay. I could picture only too well the scenario Susan had just described: the succession of social workers following correct social work practice and trying to keep the family together, even though all the odds were stacked against it succeeding. The Guardian had mentioned the years of support and monitoring, not only for Aimee but for the older children. Eva had also told me that Susan had been badly abused throughout her own childhood and had then run away and got into drugs, although Susan wouldn’t necessarily know I knew.

  ‘It can’t have been easy for you,’ I said.

  ‘No, it bloody wasn’t. Not for me or me kids. I did try, a few times, to get off the drugs, but once they get into your brain they screw you up for life – well, they did for me. I’m not going to live to see Aimee become an adult, so it’s best she goes to Jason. But I want to see her regularly while I can. I love her.’

  ‘I know you do,’ I said gently. ‘I’ve told Aimee that.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Susan said quietly and took another sip from her coffee. I wasn’t sure if her refere
nce to not living to see Aimee become an adult was a result of a diagnosed medical condition or if she meant that the drugs would eventually kill her, as they did so many. It didn’t seem appropriate to ask. ‘I blame my stepfather for screwing up my life,’ Susan said. ‘And me mum. She knew what was going on. I told her enough times. But she called me a liar and chose him over me.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, at a loss to know what to say.

  ‘Yeah, well,’ Susan said dismissively. ‘Shit happens, doesn’t it? And it happened to me.’

  The breakfast arrived and as it was set down on the table in front of her Susan’s face lost its pinched expression and lit up. Seizing the sauce bottle with child-like enthusiasm, she squirted swirls of tomato ketchup all over the food. It was sad and peculiarly touching.

  ‘Aimee likes tomato sauce too,’ I offered.

  ‘Tell me about it!’ Susan said, setting down the sauce bottle and picking up her knife and fork. ‘I couldn’t nick enough of the stuff to keep up with her. Whoops – shouldn’t have told you that,’ she said with smile.

  I returned her smile and thought that if stealing tomato sauce had been Susan’s only wrongdoing her life would have been very different. She ate ravenously, as though she hadn’t eaten in ages, and very possibly she hadn’t, for a drug habit is expensive and I knew that buying them took precedence over all other needs for an addict, even food. I sipped my coffee as Susan ate and very soon her plate was clear. She set down the knife and fork and drained the last of her coffee.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘That was nice.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I said. ‘Do you want another coffee or anything else?’ She looked warmer now and had some colour in her cheeks.

  ‘No thanks. I’ve got to go to the therapist soon.’

  While I felt sorry for Susan, and it was now clear she meant me no harm, I was also mindful of the anguish and upset she’d caused my family, as she had done the carers of her older children.

  ‘When Aimee goes to Jason I hope you won’t make things up to upset them,’ I said, looking her straight in the eyes.

  ‘I don’t make things up!’ she said defensively.

  ‘You did with me. You were always complaining about the way I looked after Aimee, or rather didn’t look after her, and all that stuff about my son and his friends kissing her. You must have known that wasn’t true.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I was angry,’ she said, looking very slightly guilty. ‘I wanted to get at you. You did such a good job looking after Aimee it seemed to show up what a crap parent I’d been. It was like rubbing my nose in it. Every time I saw Aimee at contact she would come in and tell me about her nice bedroom and all the things you did for her. Then when she started telling you she’d been abused by my friends I was angry and wanted to get back at you.’

  ‘But I didn’t make things up,’ I said. ‘I was just doing my job and reporting the abuse Aimee had disclosed to me. I believe she’s telling the truth – some of your friends did abuse her.’

  Susan looked away. ‘I know,’ she said, her voice dropping. ‘I tried to protect her as much as I could, and if I found anyone touching her I went for them. But most of the time I hadn’t got a clue what was going on. I was completely off my head with drugs. That’s the trouble with drugs – they put you in cuckoo land. I couldn’t protect Aimee or myself. She saw things no kid should see. I know that. Like I said, they should have taken her off me when she was born. It would have been kinder. It’s too late for me but I hope Aimee can be saved.’

  I looked at Susan’s downcast face, ravaged by years of drug abuse and old beyond her years, and my heart went out to her. ‘It’s never too late to change,’ I said. ‘Aimee will be fine with Jason and you can change too.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Susan said dismissively. And I could see from her expression she knew otherwise. ‘Anyway, I need to go and see me therapist now,’ she said, scraping back her chair. ‘Thanks for breakfast, and for listening. Oh yeah, and thanks for looking after Aimee.’

  I smiled weakly. ‘There’s no need to thank me,’ I said. ‘She’s a nice kid. She’ll be fine. If I don’t see you again, good luck, and look after yourself.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ she said without conviction.

  ‘Susan, one last thing. Why did you tell the social services that Aimee killed the kittens when it was Craig?’

  ‘He told me to.’

  ‘And you always do what he tells you? Even when it’s wrong?’

  ‘I have to. He’s my supplier.’

  Standing, she turned and headed towards the door, and I watched her go out into the cold again. If ever anyone needed a fresh start and looking after it was that poor woman.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Peter Rabbit

  Two weeks later Aimee stood at the window in the front room, looking out. ‘Is it eleven thirty yet?’ she asked, for the umpteenth time that morning.

  ‘Nearly. They’ll be here soon,’ I replied. ‘Any time now.’

  ‘I wish they’d hurry up. I’ve been waiting for ages!’

  I smiled. Aimee was watching out for the first sign of Jason and his family. It was Wednesday and she’d been allowed time off school to meet and get to know her forever family.

  Jason and his wife’s application to look after Aimee had been approved, and the day before I’d attended a permanency planning meeting, where I’d met Jason and Jenny for the first time. I’d immediately taken to them: they were a warm, open couple in their late twenties, easy to talk to and sincere in their commitment to Aimee. Jason and Jenny had met while at university and had been married for five years. The permanency planning meeting had run smoothly, unlike the last one. All those present – Norman, Stacey, Jason, Jenny and me – agreed that the sooner Aimee could be settled with Jason and Jenny, and therefore able to get on with her life, the better it would be for her. Stacey had drawn up a timetable for the introduction, which involved Aimee seeing Jason and Jenny nearly every day for two weeks, and culminated in her moving in. Two weeks may not seem long for a child to bond with his or her new parents but I knew from experience it was long enough; any longer and the child feels in limbo and dispossessed. I’d returned home from the meeting with an album of photographs from Jason and Jenny, which showed them and their three-year-old daughter, Emily, in their home and garden. Aimee and I had looked at the album many times during the evening so that Aimee could familiarize herself with her new family before they met. Now she was excitedly looking forward to their arrival.

  ‘Cathy, there’s a car pulling up,’ Aimee cried a minute later. ‘Come and see. I think it’s them.’

  I joined Aimee at the window and looked at the car Aimee pointed to. Then I saw the profile of Jenny sitting in the passenger seat and a small child in the rear. ‘Yes, that’s them,’ I said. ‘Come on, let’s go and welcome them.’

  I began across the room but Aimee held back, her previous excitement now replaced by nervous apprehension as the moment of their meeting finally arrived. ‘Come on,’ I encouraged, returning to offer her my hand. ‘Jason and Jenny will be as nervous as you are, if not more so. You don’t have to say anything unless you want to.’

  Aimee gave a small shy smile and slipped her hand into mine. I gave it a reassuring squeeze. ‘Good girl.’

  We went to the front door but as I opened it Aimee held back again. ‘I’ll wait here,’ she said.

  ‘OK, love. Whatever you feel comfortable with.’

  I went down the front path and out on to the pavement. ‘Hello. Good to see you again,’ I said, going to greet them.

  Jenny was reaching into the rear of the car to release her daughter’s seatbelt. She straightened and gave me a hug while Jason came round from the driver’s side and, smiling warmly, shook my hand. ‘Good to see you, Cathy.’ Jason had Susan’s nose but that was where any similarity ended.

  ‘Hello, love,’ I said to Emily as she scrambled out of the car and stood next to her mother on the pavement. ‘You must be Emily. I’m Cathy. How are
you?’

  ‘I’m very well, thank you,’ she said sweetly. She was an engaging child who had her mother’s thick brown hair and petite features.

  I could see Jenny and Jason looking past me and into the house for any sign of Aimee – the reason they were here. ‘Aimee’s gone a little shy,’ I said. ‘It’s understandable. It’s a big day for her.’

  ‘Oh, yes, absolutely,’ Jenny said. ‘We’ll just stay for the hour, as arranged, and then see her again tomorrow when you come to us.’ As foster carers they knew the importance of keeping to the timetable of introduction, which was carefully designed to allow the child to get to know and bond with his or her new family without feeling overwhelmed. Emily would also need time to adjust to having a new sister, and Jenny and Jason had been preparing her for the changes just as I had been preparing Aimee.

  I led the way down the front path and into the hall, where Adrian appeared from upstairs and on his way out. ‘This is my son, Adrian,’ I said, introducing him to Jason and Jenny. ‘He’s home from university for Easter and is about to go out.’ They shook hands.

  ‘Where’s Aimee?’ I asked Adrian before he left, for she was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Hiding in the sitting room,’ Adrian said. ‘She wants you all to go and find her. I think she’s playing hide and seek. See you later. Nice to meet you,’ he called to Jenny and Jason as he let himself out.

  ‘And you,’ they returned.

  With a knowing smile at Jason and Jenny I led the way down the hall, and as we entered the sitting room I said in a voice loud enough for Aimee to hear: ‘I wonder where Aimee can be? I hope we can find her soon. I know how much you are looking forward to meeting her.’

  ‘I hope so too,’ Jason said, joining in the game.

  ‘And Emily’s looking forward to playing with Aimee,’ Jenny added.