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  ‘Don’t forget to watch the football,’ I called after them as the car turned left and disappeared from view.

  Lucy, who was standing beside me, left out a heartfelt sigh. ‘I’m so pleased I won’t ever have to leave,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t cope with another move.’

  I turned to her and smiled. ‘No, but then Alice is going home. You are home now. It took us a while to find you, but now you’re home for good.’

  Chapter Forty-One

  Moving On

  When a child leaves us, especially a child who has become very close as Alice had, there is a sense of bereavement: a loss, a sadness, a gap in the family – emotionally and physically. The child’s chair is spare at the dinner table; their bedroom, once crammed full of their personal belongings, is now empty; their shoes no longer line up with ours in the hall; their laughter is missing from the house and the air is unnaturally quiet and still.

  So it was with Alice, and it would take time to adjust. On that Saturday afternoon I automatically went into the sitting room to switch on the television for the football, before I caught myself and remembered. I wasn’t the only one to forget Alice was no longer with us, for an hour later, when it would have been half-time, Adrian, as he had done every Saturday during Alice’s stay, poked his head round the sitting-room door to ask what the half-time score was, before he realized. ‘Oh,’ he said, embarrassed. ‘Of course.’ A little while later Lucy admitted she’d gone in search of Alice to ask her if she wanted her hair plaited, while Paula said she’d looked in Alice’s bedroom to ask if she wanted to play.

  And although I could and should have been doing other things, I found myself in the sitting room that Saturday afternoon with the television off, the unread newspaper open on my lap and the imaginary cheers of the football crowd ringing in my ears. I could picture Brian the Bear dancing up and down as a goal was scored or hiding his head under his paws in shame as a goal was missed. I considered switching on the television and watching a match, but I didn’t particularly like football and it wouldn’t have been the same without Alice. I’d willingly watched the football every Saturday and enjoyed it, for Alice’s sake, but my interest and enjoyment had left with her.

  At 6.00 p.m., when Alice would have normally phoned her grandparents, I caught myself about to call her to the phone, before I remembered. Dear Alice and her phone calls: all those kisses she’d sent down the phone to her dear nana and grandpa, the kisses that had carried so much love and had had to see them through until they saw each other again. One hour every two weeks – how had they coped? I thought of Alice sitting beside me on the sofa, leaning forward with her arms outstretched and her little hands cupped open, ready to catch the kiss from her nana and grandpa. Now, of course, they could kiss each other goodnight in person; our loss was their gain.

  Yes, we were a sad bunch the weekend Alice left us, as we mooched around the ‘empty’ house, which now seemed far too big and quiet. Then on Monday our school routine began and, while our loss didn’t just go, we gradually began to adjust, although I shut Alice’s bedroom against the constant reminder that her room was empty.

  On Monday afternoon Jill phoned to ask how Alice’s move had gone and I told her it had gone ‘well’. Knowing Alice would be greatly missed she made a point of asking how we all were and I said, not very convincingly, ‘OK.’

  ‘Sure you are,’ she said, disbelievingly. ‘I’ll phone Kitty later in the week, when she’s had a chance to see Alice, and find out how she’s doing.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  But on Wednesday Kitty beat Jill to it and phoned us, having visited Alice after school the previous day. Kitty said Alice was happy and settling in very well, although she missed us and sent her love.

  ‘We miss her too,’ I said, ‘but I’m pleased she’s happy and everything is working out.’

  ‘Let’s hope it continues that way,’ Kitty said.

  Jill phoned again on Thursday and asked if I could look after a nine-year-old boy who would be coming into care later that day, and I said, ‘No. I’m sorry, I’m going to have a short break and take two weeks off from fostering.’ Jill said she understood and that she had thought that might be the case; she would ask another carer to look after the boy. The two weeks I was taking off wasn’t a figure I’d plucked from the air: it was the time I knew I needed to let go of Alice, so that I could dedicate myself to the next child. Two weeks would also see us past the phone call we were allowed to make to Alice, which I hoped would bring some closure. Some foster carers deal with a child leaving by taking the next child straightaway, but I’d found having a short break helped, and also gave my family a chance to re-group.

  When we phoned Alice two weeks later Mrs Jones answered. It was strange hearing her voice without Alice sitting beside me on the sofa, ready to speak to her nana. Adrian, Lucy and Paula were also in the sitting room, waiting for their turn to speak to Alice. Mrs Jones told me Alice talked a lot about us and her happy memories of her time with us. I was pleased she had so many positive memories from what must have been a very anxious period for her. Mrs Jones said the Life Story book I had given to her was invaluable, as it allowed her and her husband to share Alice’s memories of what she called the ‘missing year’ – the time Alice had lived with us. When Alice came to the phone and I heard her little voice, a lump immediately rose in my throat.

  ‘Hello, Aunty Cathy,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘We’re fine, love. It’s good to hear you again. How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine too,’ she said.

  I asked her what she’d been doing, and she chatted happily, telling me all her news. She told me how her grandpa took her to school in his car, which had a strange rattle under the bonnet; of her school friends and school dinners; that she had seen her mummy at the family centre but not her dad; and how Nana had taken her to the park to ride her bike. Alice finished by saying, ‘I love my nana and grandpa so much,’ and then, lowering her voice, added: ‘but it’s very quiet here.’ I smiled and thought it would be, with just her and her grandparents, after all the comings and goings in my house.

  When I passed the phone to Adrian, Alice repeated much of the news she’d told me. Then Adrian joked, ‘Give me five, little ‘un,’ and Alice laughed and clapped her hands at the other end of the phone.

  When it was Lucy’s turn, Alice asked her if she could show her nana how she plaited her hair, as her nana couldn’t do it properly. Lucy said she would when we visited and I wondered what she was letting Mrs Jones in for – I’d never mastered a successful French plait, despite Lucy showing me many times.

  When Lucy passed the phone to Paula, the first thing Alice said was that she missed playing with Paula, which I’d suspected she might. Paula, closest in age to Alice, had spent hours and hours playing with Alice, getting down to her level – more so than the rest of us. Paula said she would play with Alice when we visited and told her to think of what game she wanted to play.

  When Paula had finished speaking she returned the phone to me and I spoke to Mrs Jones to arrange our visit: 1.00 p.m., a week on Sunday – a month after Alice had left us and nearly a year since she’d first arrived. I then put the phone on ‘speaker’ so that we could all call our goodbyes.

  ‘See you soon,’ Mrs Jones said, which Alice echoed.

  ‘Brian the Bear is waving goodbye,’ Alice added.

  ‘We’re waving back,’ I called.

  The following Tuesday we began fostering a twelve-year-old boy, Simon, who fortunately spent every Sunday with his mother. I say ‘fortunately’ because it wouldn’t have been appropriate for us to take him with us when we visited Alice, and I would have had to leave him with other carers for the duration of our visit. As it was, I was able to drop him off at his mother’s at 10.00 a.m. before we left at 12.30 p.m. to arrive at Alice’s for 1.00.

  Mr and Mrs Jones greeted us at their door, and then showed us through to a neat sitting room, where Alice was waiting, seated on the sofa, hands in lap a
nd looking a little shy.

  ‘Hello, love,’ I said. ‘Good to see you.’

  She grinned sheepishly, then came over and hugged and kissed us all.

  Mr Jones told us to make ourselves at home while Mrs Jones offered us a drink and a slice of her home-made cake, which we readily accepted. While she went into the kitchen we sat with Mr Jones and Alice and chatted – politely and a little formally – about Alice’s school and the weather. When Mrs Jones returned with the cake and drinks everyone seemed to thaw out a little and conversation became a bit easier.

  But while Mr and Mrs Jones made us very welcome I was acutely aware of the conflicting emotions seeing us again would arouse, not only for Alice but also for her grandparents. Our presence was a stark reminder of the circumstances that had brought Alice into care: the family’s agonizing separation and, of course, that for nearly a year we had been Alice’s family, and I had effectively been Alice’s mother. Although Mrs Jones was far too pleasant and polite to show any sign of resentment, I could guess what she must be feeling and I was very careful not to fall back into my role of foster carer/mother towards Alice – scooping her up and smothering her with kisses as I used to, and which would have been very easy to do. It was early days yet and the bond Alice had with her grandparents, which would have suffered from their separation, would still be repairing and strengthening. I could see poor Alice was confused – hesitant as to which of the adults she should go to, what she should be saying and to whom; she didn’t know if she should be sitting on her nana’s lap or mine. It was easier for her to relate to Adrian, Lucy and Paula, for there were no siblings in her grandparents’ house to confuse her.

  Paula played Barbie dolls with Alice and then some board games – Snakes and Ladders and Spot the Difference – while Lucy plaited her hair. Alice didn’t ask Lucy to show her nana how to do a French plait so Lucy, diplomatically, didn’t draw attention to it by offering, although Mrs Jones did say how nice Alice’s hair looked when Lucy had finished.

  As we ate the cake and drank our tea I asked Mrs Jones how Leah was, and she said she was very well and still making good progress. She said Leah was going to marry her partner, Mike, in the summer and I asked her to pass on my congratulations. Mrs Jones then added that Alice hadn’t seen her father, Chris, since the court case where the judge had decided to return Alice to them; Chris had sent various excuses through his solicitor to the social worker. It didn’t surprise me that Chris was no longer seeing Alice, for Sharon had always been the guiding force in wanting Alice to live with them and be a family. With her now gone I thought it was unlikely Chris would show the same commitment. Mrs Jones said that Kitty had told them that if Chris didn’t resume contact soon she would apply to the court to have the contact order revoked, as it wasn’t fair on Alice to keep having contact cancelled at the last minute.

  An hour is generally the accepted time for a post-leaving visit (as ours was deemed to be): time to show the child he or she hasn’t been forgotten but not long enough to be intrusive and undo the bonds reforming in the child’s family. While Adrian, Lucy and Paula played with and amused Alice I continued chatting to Mr and Mrs Jones and an hour passed easily. I knew I should then make a move for us to leave.

  ‘Well, it’s been lovely seeing you all again,’ I said, placing my cup and saucer on the tray. ‘But I think it’s time we left you to get on now.’

  Mrs and Mrs Jones smiled and nodded, while Alice looked up from where she sat playing on the floor between Paula and Lucy, surprised.

  I stood up from the sofa. ‘Thanks for the cake – it was fantastic,’ I said to Mrs Jones; then to Alice: ‘I bet you have lots of lovely home-made cakes now.’

  Alice smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, lots.’

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ Mr Jones said, also standing. ‘And thanks for everything. You’re a nice family – doing all you did for Alice. We won’t forget your kindness.’

  At the front door Lucy, Paula and I kissed Alice goodbye and Adrian extended his hand, which Alice slapped. ‘Give me five!’ she said, laughing.

  We shook hands with Mr and Mrs Jones and then the three of them waited on the doorstep while we got into our car. We wound down our windows to wave.

  ‘Bye!’ we called.

  ‘Bye! Safe journey!’

  I pulled away, and as I did we caught our final glimpse of Alice – standing between her nana and grandpa on the doorstep of her home.

  It was quiet in the car as they disappeared from view and I knew Adrian, Lucy and Paula were feeling, as I was, that while it had been great seeing Alice again, now she had returned to her own family we were quickly being consigned to being the ‘nice family’ who had been kind enough to look after her. We would send birthday and Christmas cards to Alice but whether Mr and Mrs Jones stayed in touch with us or not would be up to them. Some of the children we had looked after were still in touch years later, while others simply wanted to move on and forget the difficult time of being in care. I had the feeling that Mr and Mrs Jones might fall into the second group, and ultimately whether we ever saw Alice again depended on Leah, if Alice returned to live with her. It would be sad if we never saw Alice again, but that is something families who foster just have to accept.

  Author’s Note

  Certain details, including names, places, and dates, have been changed to protect the child.

  Epilogue

  As I thought might happen, Mr and Mrs Jones didn’t keep in touch, and although we appreciated why, we were sad at not seeing Alice. Having had Alice returned to them, Mrs and Mrs Jones just wanted to get on with their lives and didn’t want the constant reminder of the past that our presence would have evoked. We wrote to Alice, sent her birthday and Christmas cards but didn’t hear anything back. It wasn’t for me to phone the social worker and ask about Alice: now Alice had left me I was no longer ‘involved’ in her case, so I didn’t have the right to know, although it would have been nice.

  Ten months after Alice had left, however, Jill bumped into Kitty in the social services’ offices. They were both in a hurry, on their way to meetings, but Jill managed to ask after Alice. Kitty said she was very well and happy, and was still with her grandparents. She thanked me for our letter and cards, which Alice had shown to her.

  Then six months later (sixteen months after Alice had left us) I was shopping in a department store in a neighbouring town when I spotted Mr and Mrs Jones in the glass and china section. They didn’t see me. I watched them from a distance for a while, uncertain if I should approach them, and of the reception I might receive. I watched them for a bit longer; then, throwing caution to the wind, went over and said: ‘Hello. Do you remember me?’

  They looked up from the display stand of cut-glass ornaments, surprised and clearly taken aback. Recovering first, Mr Jones shook my hand, as Mrs Jones returned the ornament she’d been examining to the display.

  ‘Of course, Cathy,’ Mr Jones said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m very well, thank you. And yourselves?’

  ‘We’re fine, thank you,’ Mrs Jones said, now shaking my hand.

  ‘You’re certainly looking very well,’ I said.

  ‘So are you.’

  There was an awkward silence before Mrs Jones said, ‘Alice is very well too.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Is she still living with you?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Mr Jones said, surprised. ‘Didn’t you know?’

  ‘No,’ I shook my head. ‘Once a child leaves me I’m not kept informed unless the relatives keep in touch.’ I hadn’t intended it as a criticism, just a statement of fact, but Mr and Mrs Jones looked guilty and apologized.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Mrs Jones said. ‘I thought someone would have told you. Alice went to live with her mother and Mike three months ago. Leah and Mike got married last August and I’m happy to say Alice will have baby brother or sister in eight weeks’ time.’

  ‘That’s fantastic news,’ I said. ‘I’m so pleased. Please pass on my congratulations and bes
t wishes to them all.’

  ‘Yes, we’re very happy,’ Mrs Jones said. ‘And also that Mike is going to adopt Alice.’

  ‘Really?’ I said.

  She nodded. ‘They’re going through the process now. It takes a long time, but Kitty has said there shouldn’t be a problem. Chris didn’t see Alice again after she left you, and he’s not objecting to the adoption. In fact Kitty said he seemed pretty relieved.’

  ‘Probably because he won’t have to pay child maintenance,’ Mr Jones put in.

  ‘Well, whatever the reason,’ Mrs Jones said kindly, ‘it’s good news for Alice.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I agreed. ‘Adrian, Lucy and Paula will be delighted when I tell them.’

  ‘How are your family?’ Mr Jones asked.

  ‘They’re very well, thank you.’

  There was another awkward silence before I said, ‘Well, I’d best be getting on then. It was nice bumping into you, and I’m so pleased everything is working out. Please give Alice our love.’

  ‘Yes, we will.’ They nodded. ‘And thanks again for all you did,’ Mrs Jones said. ‘We did appreciate it.’

  We shook hands and I moved away, leaving Mr and Mrs Jones to the display of glass. Whether or not they would tell Alice they’d seen me I wasn’t sure, but I was very pleased and relieved to hear that things were working out for Alice and her family.

  Later that afternoon when Adrian, Lucy and Paula arrived home from school, I told them I’d bumped into Alice’s grandparents and gave them the news. They too were pleased for Alice, although they said it was a pity they couldn’t see her from time to time, or even speak to her on the phone.