by Cathy Glass
Jill was very quiet on the other end of the phone and it was a moment before she spoke. ‘I’m so sorry, Cathy,’ she said gently. ‘I really am. I shouldn’t have built up your hopes before I’d spoken to Stevie, but I genuinely thought she would be pleased and support your application.’
I sighed. ‘It’s not your fault.’ I said. ‘Was that everything? I’ve got to go now.’
‘Yes.’
And without saying a proper goodbye, I put down the phone and wept.
Later that afternoon when the children were home from school they asked me a couple of times if there was anything wrong, as I seemed quiet. I said there wasn’t and tried to put on a brave face for their sakes, but it wasn’t easy. During the week of our holiday, and when we’d returned, I’d planned what I wanted to say to Jill, and when she’d been so positive I felt elated. All this time I’d been quietly confident that Lucy would stay, and then the blow – the shattering disappointment of Stevie’s rejection. I’m normally a very positive, optimistic person; someone who sees their glass as half full, rather than half empty. When I have a setback I console myself that it could have been worse, but at this point all I could come up with was that at least I hadn’t shared this with the children, so they’d been spared the disappointment, and that Lucy would be staying until Stevie found her a family, which could take many months.
But while I found some consolation in these thoughts, my anger didn’t go away. I genuinely believed that Stevie was misguided in her attitude. I knew political correctness reigned supreme in some areas of the social services, sometimes to the exclusion of other equally important factors and good sense. I was doing all I could to promote Lucy’s cultural inheritance, and had she seemed distressed or started saying she didn’t fit in with my family then I would have agreed with Stevie and hoped that she would find Lucy a permanent home very soon. But that wasn’t the case – far from it. Lucy fitted in and wanted to stay.
I don’t give up easily and by the time I went to bed my disappointment and anger had galvanized into action. I decided that the following morning, when I’d returned from taking Paula to school, I’d telephone Jill. And with that thought, I fell asleep, emotionally exhausted.
‘Sorry I hung up on you yesterday, Jill,’ I began. ‘I was very upset.’
‘Understandably,’ Jill said. ‘Look, Cathy, if it’s any consolation, I think Stevie is wrong too, but there’s nothing we can do about it.’
‘That’s what I wanted to ask you. Is there anything we can do? I was wondering if I could appeal against Stevie’s decision. Maybe take it to her manager?’
Jill paused. I could tell she was choosing her words carefully. ‘I discussed this with my manager yesterday,’ she said, ‘straight after I’d spoken to Stevie. He and I think that to raise this with Stevie’s manager would create a lot of bad feeling and wouldn’t do any good. Her manager is almost certainly going to uphold Stevie’s decision, and furthermore it could result in Lucy being moved early.’
‘What do you mean, “moved early”?’ I asked, with a sinking feeling. ‘They haven’t found a suitable family for Lucy, have they?’
‘No, but the department might feel that as Lucy’s race has become an issue she would be better off in an Asian family. Social services are very sensitive to meeting children’s cultural needs.’
‘Tell me about it!’ I snapped. ‘This is political correctness gone mad. Worse than that, it’s discrimination! The only person making an issue over this is Stevie. Little wonder the social services get a bad name!’ I was fuming, but I meant what I’d said.
Jill allowed me a moment to calm down before she said evenly, ‘Cathy, I’m only telling you what my manager and I think. We wouldn’t feel comfortable lodging a complaint. I’ve tried talking to Stevie, but she won’t change her mind. As Lucy’s social worker, she has every right to make this decision. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt more than you already have been by Lucy being suddenly moved.’
‘I hear what you’re saying,’ I said sharply. ‘Thanks.’ And for the second time in two days I hung up without saying goodbye.
I was trembling as I walked away from the phone, but realistically I knew there was nothing more I could do. Jill was right when she’d said Stevie could make the decision, and that to challenge her could make matters worse. All I could do was hide my disappointment as best I could and concentrate on Lucy’s birthday, which was the following week. She wanted a new bike as a present and I was taking her to choose one on Saturday, although she wouldn’t be having it until her actual birthday. That evening, when I asked her how she’d like to celebrate her birthday and suggested inviting a few friends from her class to a party, she said: ‘There isn’t really anyone at school I want to ask. I’d like to spend it with my family. Can we invite Nana and Grandpa, and all go on a family outing? I’d like that.’ Which brought tears to my eyes, for reasons Lucy didn’t know and I couldn’t share with her.
Lucy decided she wanted to go bowling for her birthday outing, at the new leisure centre, which had just opened. She’d heard some of her classmates talking about the new leisure complex and we hadn’t been yet. When I telephoned my parents and told Mum that Lucy would like her and Dad to come to her birthday outing, she was as touched as I had been.
‘It just shows how much Lucy thinks of us all,’ Mum said. ‘You know she calls us Nana and Grandpa? And I’ve heard her calling you Mum sometimes. It just slips out and then she corrects herself and says Cathy.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s difficult. Carers are supposed to discourage their foster children from calling them Mum or Dad. It’s considered to be confusing for them, and can also antagonize the natural parents.’
Mum tutted. ‘If Lucy feels happy calling you Mum, I don’t see a problem. She just wants a proper family of her own, that’s all, love.’
And my heart ached again for the family I could never give Lucy.
‘We’ll see you at twelve o’clock on Sunday then,’ I confirmed with Mum. ‘After bowling, we’ll come back here for a tea party. I’ve ordered a special birthday cake. Lucy will love it.’
‘Shall I make some of my cupcakes too?’ Mum asked.
‘Oh, yes please. That would be nice. And, Mum, it’s fine for Lucy to call you and Dad Nana and Grandpa if she wants. It’s just that I have to be careful, as she’ll be going to a permanent family before long, with a new “mother”.’
‘I understand, love.’
I wish I did, I thought.
Both Lucy’s actual birthday – the following Wednesday – and her birthday outing were a great success. As Wednesday was a school day, I woke everyone up a little earlier than usual and, still in our nightwear, we gathered around Lucy’s bed while she unwrapped her presents and cards. Mum and Dad were bringing their present and card with them on Sunday, and, with nothing arriving from Lucy’s mother, Lucy just had our presents and cards to open, plus a card from Jill. There was the bike she’d chosen and a box of chocolates from me, two books from Adrian, some games from Paula and a china ornament in the shape of a cat from Toscha. I think she loved that most of all. Lucy didn’t comment that there was nothing from her mother – she didn’t seem to expect anything. Once dressed, she had time for a quick ride on her new bike in the garden while I made breakfast, and then after breakfast she had to leave for school.
That afternoon, while everyone was out, I laid the table with a party tablecloth and matching napkins and prepared the meal Lucy had requested. All the children in my house choose what we have for dinner on their birthday, and Lucy wanted chicken casserole with chips. I’d also bought ice cream and a small iced birthday cake. She’d have her proper birthday cake after our outing on Sunday.
When Lucy came home from school she was excited and delighted with the party tableware. She also ate a reasonable amount of the meal. But I think she enjoyed even more all the attention that came with being the ‘birthday girl’ and being made to feel very special. After dinner she chose some games for us to
play, but because it was a school night we couldn’t stay up too late.
As I tucked Lucy in and kissed her goodnight, she said, ‘Thank you for a nice birthday, Cathy. You’ve made me feel very special.’
‘You are special, love,’ I said, giving her a big hug and a kiss. ‘Very special indeed. And don’t you ever forget that.’
She returned my kiss and then suddenly said, ‘I love you all so much! I know I can’t stay forever, but I still love you. Will you love me while I’m here?’
‘Oh, Lucy, darling,’ I said. ‘Of course. I love you already. We all do.’
‘That’s nice,’ she said, with a contented smile. ‘This is my best birthday ever.’ Then turning to Mr Bunny she said, ‘There! I told you they loved us, and I was right!’
On Sunday Lucy gave my parents a big hug and a kiss as they arrived. ‘I’m so pleased you could come to my party,’ she declared.
‘We’re pleased to be here,’ Dad said.
‘Thank you for inviting us,’ Mum said.
We went through to the living room where my parents gave Lucy her birthday present, and we all watched while she opened it. Lucy had previously told my mother that she wanted to be a famous beautician when she was older and do the make-up for film stars. Now, to Lucy’s unimaginable delight, the present from my parents was a large play beauty salon, set in a big red sparkling case. We all admired it. It was fascinating, with rows and rows of little colourful pots containing make-up and nail varnish. There was a mirror, false nails, hair extensions, a battery-operated hairdryer, little bottles of cleanser, toner and perfumes. In fact, everything a girl could possibly need to run a beauty salon for the stars. Lucy was overjoyed, and while she would probably change her mind on a career – many girls go through a phase of wanting to be a beautician – she was happy, which was all that mattered. She read the card from my parents, which contained some lovely words, and then stood it on the mantelpiece next to our card and the one from Jill. Three cards; not many when you think what some children receive, but Lucy had never known anything different. And I knew that previously, before coming into care, her birthday had been completely forgotten and she’d received nothing at all.
Lucy won the bowling – we made sure of it – and when we returned, she, Paula, my father and Adrian played some games while Mum helped me prepare the tea. After we’d eaten, we returned to the living room where Lucy set about practising her skills as a beautician on us all. It was great fun and lasted most of the evening, although I’m not sure the film stars would have been that impressed. Paula had each of her nails painted a different colour to accompany her bright-red lipstick and blue eye shadow. I had a facial and my hair set on rollers. Mum escaped lightly with a foot massage with aromatherapy oil. Adrian had false eyelashes applied and a yellow ribbon clipped into his hair, while Toscha had a pink ribbon loosely tied around her tail. But funniest of all was my father, who’d sat patiently as Lucy applied pink lipstick, luminous silver eye shadow, false nails and blond hair extensions. We were all in fits of laughter and I took lots of photographs.
We’d had one of Mum’s cupcakes each at the end of dinner and now that we’d had time to digest our meal it was time for Lucy’s surprise birthday cake, which I’d had made. I went into the kitchen where I’d hidden the cake, lit the candles and then carried it into the living room as we sang ‘Happy Birthday’. The joy on Lucy’s face was indescribable. I could see her eyes glistening as I set down the cake on the coffee table. Made in the shape of a fairy-tale princess’s castle, it had four turrets and was in different shades of pink icing.
‘Wow!’ Lucy and Paula exclaimed together.
‘Fantastic,’ my parents agreed.
‘That’s cool,’ Adrian added.
Lucy blew out the candles in one go and we clapped and gave three cheers. I then I helped her to cut the cake and she handed out a slice on a party plate to each of us. The cake tasted as good as it looked and we all had seconds, which was a first for Lucy – she’d never had a second helping of anything before.
‘This is my best birthday party ever,’ she exclaimed to us all.
We smiled, and I put from my mind the thought that this would be Lucy’s only birthday party with us, for by next September she would have moved.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘No One Wants Me’
On Monday afternoon Stevie telephoned. ‘A card has arrived here in the office from Lucy’s mother,’ she said. ‘I’m due to visit you, so I’ll bring it with me. I’ve got a card for Lucy too.’ It’s usual for social workers to give the children they are responsible for a card, and sometimes they manage a small present too. ‘What time is she back from school?’ Stevie now asked.
‘Half past four.’
‘See you later then.’
When Lucy arrived home from school I told her Stevie was coming soon and that she had a birthday card for her, and also one from her mother.
‘Tell me when she’s gone,’ Lucy said, and went straight up to her room.
Lucy remained very hostile towards social workers, as she still held them responsible for not rescuing her when she’d most needed it, and also because they kept moving her and didn’t listen to what she wanted. This, of course, was without her knowing that Stevie had stopped my application to keep her.
Before Stevie arrived I checked the house for Toscha, including upstairs and in Lucy’s room, but she was nowhere to be seen, so I assumed she was out. Stevie arrived punctually at 4.30 p.m., and as soon as I opened the door she asked, ‘Is that cat out?’
‘Yes,’ I confirmed.
I showed Stevie through to the living room, told her Lucy was in her bedroom and offered her a drink, but she didn’t want anything.
‘I’ll have to see Lucy at some point,’ Stevie said, as she always did. Then added: ‘To give her the birthday cards and also update her.’
My heart clenched. ‘Update her?’ I asked. ‘Have you found Lucy a permanent family then?’ In some ways this would have been good news, as Lucy needed to be settled and for the uncertainty to end.
‘No. I need to update her about our search,’ Stevie said.
‘You mean tell her you’re still looking?’ I queried.
‘Yes.’
‘She knows,’ I said. ‘I told her after the review.’
‘Even so, as her social worker I need to tell her. She can’t just hear it from the foster carer.’
Stevie had rather a brusque manner sometimes, and even if she hadn’t refused my application to keep Lucy I think I would have struggled to like her; but then, as ‘the foster carer’, I didn’t have to like her, just work with her. I thought that updating Lucy when the only update was that they were still looking for a permanent family was unnecessary and unsettling. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to wait until a family had been found and then tell her? But I didn’t say so.
‘Lucy enjoyed her birthday and party,’ I said positively.
‘Did she invite friends from school?’ Stevie asked.
‘No. I suggested that, but Lucy said there was no one she wanted to invite, so we had a family outing. It’s what she wanted to do. Bowling and then tea here.’
Stevie nodded without a lot of enthusiasm and wrote on her notepad. ‘And you’re preparing her for moving on?’ she asked.
‘As much as I can, given that a family hasn’t been found yet. Once we know where she’s going I’ll be able to prepare her better.’
Stevie made another note.
‘I’m doing all I can to give Lucy a positive cultural identity,’ I continued. ‘And she had a good summer holiday, both here and when we went away to the coast. Would you like to see the photographs?’
‘Another day,’ she said. ‘I’m a bit pushed for time right now. Did you buy her the flag?’
‘Yes, but she doesn’t want it in her bedroom.’
‘So put it on the wall in this room then,’ Stevie said, glancing around the living room. ‘The flag doesn’t have to be in Lucy’s room. In fact,
it’s better if it is down here in a communal room. Lucy will feel you are acknowledging and celebrating her culture, rather than shutting it away in her bedroom.’
I heard the criticism and bit my tongue. I knew that nothing I could say or do in respect of Lucy’s race would satisfy Stevie. I was white, Stevie was dual heritage, so she had the advantage over me when it came to knowing what was best for Lucy. It wasn’t the first time since I’d begun fostering and entered the world of the social services that I felt stigmatized for being white. I knew Stevie didn’t approve of me fostering a child with a different ethnic identity, but there hadn’t been any choice, and Lucy and I were both very happy with the arrangement.
‘I’ll find a place for the flag in here,’ I said, and continued to update Stevie on the progress Lucy had made since her last visit, as Stevie made notes. I included Lucy’s eating, that she was sleeping well, making good progress at school and was generally healthy and happy.
When I’d finished, Stevie said, ‘Well, if that’s all, I’ll go and see Lucy now.’
She tucked her notepad and pen into her bag, stood, and I led the way upstairs to Lucy’s room. Lucy’s bedroom door was shut, but she knew that Stevie would need to see her at some point. I knocked on the door and then opened it a little. ‘Stevie’s here,’ I said. ‘Can she come in?’
Lucy was sitting on the bed flicking through a magazine and, to my surprise, she replied, ‘Yes.’
‘Good girl,’ I said, pleased.
I stood aside to let Stevie in and as I moved away I heard Stevie say, ‘Hello, Lucy.’ Then I heard Stevie shriek, and both she and Toscha shot out of the room.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, grabbing the cat. ‘She must have been hiding.’ Or been hidden, I thought.
I carried Toscha downstairs, put her out the back door and returned upstairs. I would speak to Lucy later about hiding Toscha in her room. She’d gone too far this time.
‘I’ve made sure she’s out,’ I reassured Stevie, as I arrived on the landing where Stevie was still waiting. She wasn’t sneezing, so no real harm had been done, other than giving her a shock.
