Will You Love Me?

by Cathy Glass

  ‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘Will your cat be there when I come tomorrow?’

  ‘I’ll make sure of it, love.’

  We said goodbye, but Lucy didn’t sever the call. I heard muffled sounds as she carried the handset downstairs and gave it to Pat, who I guessed was waiting for any news.

  ‘Hello,’ she said anxiously.

  ‘Is half past eleven tomorrow morning all right for you and your husband to move Lucy?’ I said.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Pat said, surprised. ‘Has Lucy agreed to come then?’

  ‘She has.’

  ‘How did you manage that?’

  ‘I think the cat did it,’ I said, with a small laugh. ‘So half past eleven is all right? I’d rather not leave it any later as the waiting will unsettle Lucy again.’

  ‘Yes, we’ll get going on the packing straight away.’

  ‘Good. And you may not know this but, when an older child moves, it’s usually best if the carers say goodbye and leave reasonably quickly, so I won’t be offering you coffee. I know it’s different when you move babies to permanency.’

  ‘Yes, it is. Thanks for telling me.’

  ‘You can phone Lucy in a week or so. That would be nice, and visit in a few weeks – once she’s had a chance to settle in.’

  ‘We will. See you tomorrow then. And thanks for all your help.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Enjoy your evening. You want to part on good terms.’

  ‘Yes, we’ll try.’

  In truth, I hadn’t really done much to persuade Lucy to move other than use my skills and experience from years of fostering. Pat and her husband were used to fostering babies and had been out of their depth looking after an older child, which is why carers are approved and trained to foster a specific age group. I returned to the living room where Adrian and Paula were just finishing their game of draughts and told them the good news: that I’d spoken to Lucy and she would be coming tomorrow. ‘She’s looking forward to playing with you both,’ I added. ‘And we need to make sure Toscha is in.’

  ‘Why?’ Adrian asked, glancing up from the board. ‘What’s the cat done?’

  Ignoring his stab at humour, I said, ‘Lucy’s very keen to see her.’

  He threw me an old-fashioned look, took the last of Paula’s pieces from the board and, punching the air, shouted: ‘Winner!’

  ‘Well played,’ I said.

  Paula scowled.

  ‘You played well too,’ I said diplomatically.

  They packed away the game and then Adrian went off to play on his Nintendo, while I took Paula up for her bath and to get her ready for bed. It was Friday, so both children were up later than on a school night. Paula can sometimes be a real little chatterbox, especially at bedtime, and tonight all she could talk about was Lucy.

  ‘I’m very excited that Lucy’s coming,’ she said, flapping the water in the bath to make more bubbles. ‘What does she like to play?’

  ‘I’m not sure. You can ask her. I don’t think she knows many games, so you can teach her some.’

  ‘I will. And I’ll show her my toys and let her play with them, even my new Christmas toys. And if it snows, we can go in the garden and build a snowman. I hope it snows. I’m going to like playing with Lucy.’

  While Paula was happily planning all she was going to do with Lucy, I was also thinking about Lucy, and, among other things, about the school run on Monday. Like most foster carers, I had to juggle my children’s commitments with the child or children I was fostering. Adrian, at thirteen, went to school with his friends, but I still took Paula, at age nine, to her primary school and collected her. Lucy’s school was a twenty-minute bus journey away, and although most secondary-school children use buses I wasn’t comfortable with her making an unfamiliar journey alone when she’d just moved in. Once I knew what time her school started, I was hoping I’d be able to work out something that would allow me to take both girls to school and collect them. When a new foster child first arrives, there’s always a period of readjustment and then, once the new routine is established, the household runs smoothly again.

  The following morning – Saturday – I was up, showered and dressed earlier than usual for the weekend, and with a mixture of excitement and apprehension I double-checked that Lucy’s room was ready. Paula was up earlier than usual, too, and the first thing she said when she came downstairs was that she was looking forward to meeting Lucy. Adrian, true to form, only stumbled from his bed when he smelled bacon frying. We usually have a cooked breakfast at the weekend; it’s the only two days in the week when we have time to enjoy it. By eleven o’clock Adrian was showered and dressed, too, and caught in the frisson of excited expectation that had enveloped the house. So, with half an hour to go before Lucy’s arrival, we were all ready and waiting, except …

  ‘Where’s Toscha?’ I asked, suddenly realizing she wasn’t in her favourite spot on the chair by the window.

  We looked around the obvious places and couldn’t see her. Then the children helped me search the house from top to bottom: under the beds; in corners (especially by radiators); in and behind cupboards; even in the airing cupboard, where she’d once been found; but there was no sign of Toscha.

  ‘I expect she’s out,’ Adrian said. ‘I take it she is allowed to use the cat flap?’

  ‘Very funny,’ I said, unimpressed.

  I peered out of the window but couldn’t see Toscha in the garden. I slipped on my coat and, taking her bag of favourite cat biscuits with me, went into the garden. I shook the bag while calling her name, but no Toscha came running. It was now nearly 11.20, and apart from Lucy being disappointed when she arrived that there was no Toscha when I’d promised there would be, I was also growing concerned. Toscha was a creature of habit and didn’t normally go outside and vanish in the middle of the morning, especially in winter.

  Then I heard Adrian shout from inside the house: ‘Mum! Come in. She was on the bed in Lucy’s room! You shut her in!’

  Relieved, I returned indoors, thinking she must have crept into Lucy’s room without me seeing her when I’d checked it earlier. I’d closed Lucy’s bedroom door as I’d come out, and her room had been the one room I hadn’t thought to search. Fortunately, Adrian had.

  ‘Well done, love,’ I said, as he set Toscha on the sofa ready to receive our new arrival.

  It wasn’t a moment too soon, for as Toscha curled herself into a ball, comfortably resting her head on her front paws and unaware what all the fuss had been about, the doorbell rang. ‘That’ll be them,’ I said.

  Paula slipped her hand into mine and came with me down the hall to answer the door, while Adrian stayed on the sofa stroking Toscha. I felt a little rush of nervousness as I opened the door, and Paula squeezed my hand.

  ‘Hello,’ I smiled at the three of them.

  ‘Hi, Cathy,’ Pat said brightly. ‘This is my husband Terry, and this is Lucy.’

  ‘Hi, Terry. Hello, love,’ I said to Lucy. ‘Come on in.’

  Lucy’s large dark eyes rounded as she looked at me. She was a petite, slender child with gorgeous long black silky hair, which hung loosely over her shoulders. She was wearing a smart winter coat, open at the front, with new jeans and a pink jumper underneath. I smiled at her again as she came in.

  ‘I’ll get the cases,’ Terry said.

  ‘Thanks. I’ll leave the door on the latch,’ I said, as he disappeared back down the path. Then to Lucy and Pat I said: ‘This is Paula. Adrian and Toscha are in the living room – straight down the hall.’

  ‘What a nice house,’ Pat said encouragingly to Lucy as we went down the hall.

  Lucy didn’t reply; I didn’t expect her to – even Paula was nervous and still had her hand in mine.

  As we entered the living room, Adrian looked up from stroking Toscha and said, ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hi,’ Pat said. ‘Nice to meet you. This is Lucy.’

  Adrian threw Lucy a small self-conscious smile. She was standing close to Pat, head slightly bowed and lo
oking at the cat from under her fringe. ‘Shall I take your coat, love?’ I suggested. ‘It’s warm in here.’

  Without speaking or looking at me, Lucy slipped out of her coat and handed it to me. The poor child looked so lost and ill at ease, it broke my heart. ‘I’m sure Toscha would like a stroke from you, too,’ I said, trying to make her feel at home.

  Adrian looked at Lucy and threw her another smile. Then, very gingerly, almost cat-like herself, she lightly crossed the room and sat on the sofa on the other side of Toscha and began gently stroking her. Paula found the courage to let go of my hand and went over to join Lucy and Adrian, standing just in front of them to form a little semi-circle as they all stroked the cat. Toscha had never had so much attention and was purring loudly. Pat and I sat in the chairs watching them and made light conversation as Terry brought Lucy’s bags into the hall. He closed the front door and then joined us in the living room, saying hello to Adrian. ‘Nice garden,’ he said, nodding at the view through the patio doors.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘We make the most of it in the summer.’

  There was a short awkward silence and then, turning to Pat, and following my advice about keeping their departure short, Terry said, ‘Well, I suppose we’d better be off.’

  Pat nodded. ‘We’ll phone you in a week,’ she said to Lucy.

  Lucy didn’t reply or look up but concentrated on petting Toscha. Pat then went over and kissed the top of Lucy’s head. I thought Lucy might have wanted a hug or, perhaps finding separating difficult, cry, but she didn’t. She just gave a small nod and then said in a very quiet voice, without looking up: ‘Goodbye.’

  Lucy’s face was emotionless, and I instinctively felt she was a child used to hiding her emotions, probably as a coping mechanism to stop her from being hurt again.

  ‘Goodbye then, Lucy,’ Terry called from across the room. ‘Take care.’

  Lucy gave another small nod and continued stroking Toscha.

  I showed Pat and Terry to the front door. ‘Don’t worry, Lucy will be fine,’ I reassured them. ‘I’m sure she won’t stay this quiet for long.’

  They both looked at me a little oddly. ‘She will,’ Pat said. ‘She’s hardly said a word to us in the whole three months she’s been with us. To be honest, we found her silence quite unnerving. The most she ever said was the other day when we told her she would be moving. Then she shouted and screamed. Perhaps she’s schizophrenic?’

  ‘More like traumatized,’ I said, a little tersely, concerned that a serious medical condition could be assigned so loosely.

  I reassured Pat and Terry again that Lucy would be fine and we said goodbye. Closing the front door, I returned down the hall, still thinking of Pat’s comment. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard an adult – carer, parent, teacher or even a social worker – resort to labelling a child for behaviour they didn’t understand. Schizophrenia, ADHD, dyslexia, autism, etc. – these words should only be used after a medical diagnosis, because labels can stick. I hoped they hadn’t said anything similar within earshot of Lucy.

  In the living room, Adrian, Paula and Lucy were still grouped around Toscha, stroking her.

  ‘I’ll go and play in my room then, Mum, if that’s OK?’ Adrian said, standing, and eager to be on his Nintendo.

  ‘Of course, love, and thanks for your help finding Toscha.’

  ‘It’s OK!’ he called, disappearing out of the living room.

  I went over to Lucy and Paula, who now slipped into the seat Adrian had vacated. Both girls were very quiet, still shy, so squatting on the floor in front of them I began making conversation. I was sure once they got talking they’d be fine.

  ‘Before you arrived,’ I said to Lucy, ‘we had quite a scare, didn’t we, Paula?’ Paula nodded. ‘We couldn’t find Toscha anywhere. We looked all over the house and even in the garden. You’ll never guess where we found her?’ I paused, allowing time for Lucy to offer a suggestion or perhaps say, ‘No? Where was she?’ But she was too shy.

  ‘She was on your bed! Fast asleep.’ Paula said, supplying the answer. ‘She’s not really supposed to be on the beds.’

  Lucy slowly raised her head and looked at me, her large dark eyes growing rounder with astonishment. Then, very quietly, she said: ‘Was she really on my bed?’

  ‘She was, love. I must have shut her in when I checked your room first thing this morning.’

  The smallest, almost imperceptible smile now crossed Lucy’s face. Then, in the same quiet voice, she said, ‘I think if Toscha was on my bed it means she likes me, don’t you?’

  I felt my eyes brim. ‘It does love. It most certainly does. We all like you.’

  I hadn’t planned any activities for the weekend. I’d kept it clear so that Lucy would have a chance to settle in and familiarize herself with us, her new home and routine, and hopefully start to relax a little. She came across as a very gentle child who could easily be taken advantage of; someone who needed protecting. I thought again how frightening it must be to come into yet another stranger’s house, where you were expected to fit in. I also felt she was tense, on guard, almost in a permanent state of alert, as if at any moment she was ready to run. I knew from my previous fostering experience and training that this heightened anxiety wasn’t unusual for a child who’d been severely neglected or abused; even a pin dropping can make them jump. I also knew it would take many weeks, if not months, and a lot of work before Lucy felt safe enough with us to lower her guard and completely relax.

  Presently Paula tired of stroking Toscha and said to Lucy, ‘Would you like to play a game now?’

  Lucy gave a small nod.

  ‘Or would you like to see your room first and then play a game?’ Paula said.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Lucy said quietly, with a little self-conscious smile.

  ‘It’s your decision,’ I encouraged.

  ‘Shall we see my room first?’ Lucy asked Paula.

  I was in no doubt that, had Paula said no, Lucy would have gone along with whatever Paula wanted to do.

  ‘Yes. Let’s see your room first,’ Paula said. ‘Then we can play a game.’

  Both girls stood and we went out of the living room and upstairs, where I opened the door to Lucy’s bedroom and we all went in.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Paula asked, crossing to the window. ‘It’s got a nice view.’

  I smiled. The view was something I usually pointed out when I showed a new child and their social worker around the house, as the room overlooked the garden.

  Lucy gave a small nod, but didn’t go over to look out of the window.

  ‘Your room will be better once you’ve got all your belongings in it,’ I said. ‘I’ll bring up your bags shortly.’

  She gave another small nod and then looked to Paula for direction.

  ‘I’ll show you the rest of the upstairs,’ I said.

  Leaving Lucy’s room, we went to the next room, which was Adrian’s. I tapped on his bedroom door. ‘Can Lucy have a quick peek in your room, please?’ I called.

  ‘Yes, come in,’ he returned.

  ‘We always knock and wait to be asked into someone else’s bedroom,’ I explained to Lucy, taking the opportunity to mention one of our house rules. ‘It keeps our rooms private and safe.’

  Opening the door, I went in. Lucy took a little step in, just big enough for her to glance at the room, and then stepped out again.

  ‘Thanks, love,’ I said to Adrian, coming out. ‘I’ll give you a call when lunch is ready.’

  Paula led the way along the landing to her room. ‘I don’t have to knock on my door,’ she said with a mischievous grin, ‘because it’s my room and I’m not in it!’

  I laughed. ‘I’ve got a family of jokers,’ I said to Lucy, and she managed a small smile.

  ‘You can come all the way into my room,’ Paula said, eager for Lucy to see her room, of which she was proud.

  Lucy took a couple of steps in and gazed around. The theme in Paula’s room was Disney’s Winnie the Pooh, an
d images of the cartoon characters were on the duvet, pillowcase, wallpaper and curtains. Her shelves were brimming with soft toys and games that she’d been given for birthdays and Christmas. Paula’s bedroom wasn’t any more special than many girls’ her age, but I could tell from Lucy’s expression that it was to her.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ she breathed after a moment. ‘You are lucky.’

  Paula smiled self-consciously, and I could see she felt a bit uncomfortable. Lucy wasn’t the first child we’d fostered to be in awe of what we took for granted, and it was a timely reminder that not everyone was as lucky as we were.

  We came out of Paula’s room and I showed Lucy the bathroom and my bedroom. Then we went downstairs and I showed her the front room where the computer was, explaining that she could use it for homework. Then we went into the kitchen-cum-diner and I saw from the wall clock that it was nearly one o’clock.

  ‘I thought we’d have some soup and a sandwich for lunch,’ I said to both girls. ‘We usually have our main meal in the early evening,’ I added, for Lucy’s sake.

  Lucy glanced at Paula, and then said quietly to me, ‘I’m not really hungry.’

  ‘Did you have a big breakfast?’ I asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I really don’t like eating much.’

  Lucy had said similar to me on the phone, but she couldn’t afford to miss meals. I knew from the referral that she was underweight, and from what I could see of her frame – through her jumper and jeans – she was slender to the point of thin; plus, concerns had already been raised about her not eating. When she first came into care she would have had a medical, so when I saw her social worker I would ask about this. In the meantime, I needed to try and get Lucy in the habit of eating by establishing a regular pattern of mealtimes. Children from neglected backgrounds often swing between bingeing and then going without food altogether. I didn’t know what the previous carers had done to address this and it was something else I would need to ask her social worker.

  ‘While Mum makes lunch, shall we play?’ Paula now asked Lucy.

  Lucy gave a small nod.

  ‘What would you like to play?’ Paula asked.