by Cathy Glass
Christmas Day was on Sunday and Donna had her usual contact on the Friday before. I had found with the previous children I had fostered that this last contact before Christmas (unless they were seeing each other over Christmas) was used to celebrate Christmas, and presents were exchanged.
Donna had chosen and wrapped presents for her mother, father, gran, Chelsea and brothers, and took them to contact. I had added a present and card for Edna from us all. I knew that Donna's gran wouldn't be at contact because she had gone to stay (as she usually did) with her family in Barbados for a month. Donna's dad was still in hospital, but Edna had said she would make sure that he and her gran got their presents from Donna as soon as was possible after Christmas. Buying all these presents, together with my own shopping, had taken quite a lot of time and organisation, but it is part of a foster carer's role to arrange presents for the looked-after child to give to their family on birthdays and at Christmas, and quite rightly so.
When I collected Donna from contact at 6.30 p.m. I was relieved to see she was carrying a number of presents, all of which were still wrapped and would be put under the tree for her to open on Christmas Day. There was a present from Edna, one each from Warren and Jason, one from Donna's dad and her gran, which Edna said her gran had sent to her office before she'd gone away, and also one each from her mum and Chelsea. ‘I took Rita and Chelsea Christmas shopping,’ Edna said to me quietly, as I placed the presents in the car boot. ‘I made sure they bought Donna something this year.’
‘That's so sweet of you, Edna,’ I said. ‘You have a lovely Christmas, and a well-deserved rest.’
‘And you,’ she said. ‘And thank you for my present and card.’
‘You're very welcome.’ Edna was truly an angel. With all her workload, she'd found the time to take Rita and Chelsea shopping to ensure that Donna had a Christmas present from them. And doubtless the money for this had come from the social services budget, for Rita appeared to be permanently broke.
Adrian and Paula saw their father for the day on Christmas Eve, and returned with presents from him to go under the tree. This would be their third Christmas without their father and it still touched a raw nerve with me, as I'm sure it does for any family that isn't complete. But I wished John a merry Christmas and he did me. Paula and Adrian gave him an extra hug and a kiss before they said goodbye, and he returned to spend Christmas with his partner.
Our Christmas followed its usual tradition and on Christmas Eve we went to the family service at our local church. It's a very informal short service and centres around the crib scene and what the Christmas story is all about. We returned home for a late supper, after which the children put a glass of milk in the porch for Santa, together with a carrot for the reindeer (one to be shared between nine because I needed the rest for Christmas dinner). Then Donna, Paula and Adrian hung their pillowcases on the inside of the front door in anticipation of Father Christmas's visit that night, while I took a photograph. The pillowcases would be magically filled during the early hours and appear by their beds in morning. It had never actually been stated in our house how this happened; Paula and Adrian happily accepted, as Donna now did, that it was just part of the ‘magic’ of Christmas. Aged six, Paula still believed in Father Christmas, and I had asked Adrian a couple of years previously, when he'd started expressing doubts, to keep them to himself, for no child likes to be told that Father Christmas doesn't exist; they want to hang on to the fantasy for as long as possible. Donna embraced the whole concept of Father Christmas unreservedly, although obviously being the same age as Adrian (and aware that Santa hadn't existed in previous years) she must have known the truth.
It was 9.30 p.m. before I finally had the children in bed, and another half an hour before they were asleep. Mummy Christmas then sat up until nearly midnight with a couple of glasses of sherry and a mince pie, watching a late-night film. Only when she was certain that the children were really fast asleep did she resist another glass of sherry and unhook the empty pillowcases from the front door. She then tiptoed up the stairs and into her bedroom, where she took the wrapped presents from her locked wardrobe and packed them into the correct pillowcases. Then, very quietly, she trod round the landing, carefully avoiding the squeaking floorboard, and into the children's bedrooms, hoping they wouldn't wake and see her. She carefully rested the overflowing pillowcases against the bed of each child, then stole from the last bedroom and into her own bed.
And it seemed to her that she had only just gone to sleep when she was woken by the sounds of excited squeals. She opened one bleary eye to look at the clock and saw it was 5.55 a.m.
‘Merry Christmas!’ came the cries from the landing. ‘Can we come in?’
‘Yes. Merry Christmas,’ Mummy Christmas returned.
And as all three children dragged their pillowcases into her room, as tradition required, then sat on her bed and opened their presents, she saw the look on their faces, and knew that all the hard work and expense had been completely and wondrously worthwhile.
My parents, and my brother and his wife, arrived within five minutes of each other at 11.00 a.m. on Christmas morning, and put their presents under the tree to join the huge pile. We had drinks, nibbles and mince pies, and then played some games — Twister and an old favourite, Hunt the Thimble. We spent over an hour unwrapping Christmas presents, with my father reading the names on the gift tags one at a time and handing them out. We had another drink before I served dinner at 3.00 p.m., and my brother carved the turkey. After the main course we had a break from eating and I organised some ‘sitting down’ games in the lounge while we digested our meal. We returned to the dining table in the front room for pudding, and my brother poured copious amounts of brandy over the pudding and set fire to it. I had made a trifle because I knew that Adrian and Paula didn't like the rich Christmas pudding, and Donna had a bit of everything. She'd done very well joining in, and although she had been quiet she'd taken part in all the games, and also spent some time talking to my mother, to whom children easily warm. I presented the cheese board in the lounge at 7.00, and although everyone groaned and claimed they ‘couldn't possibly eat another thing’, either they did, or we'd had a nasty invasion of mice.
We finally said goodbye around 10.00 p.m., and everyone agreed it was the ‘best Christmas ever’, but then we say that every year. However, for Donna I thought it was probably true, and most likely her only Christmas to date. As the four of us grouped on the doorstep and waved off my parents and my brother and his wife, it crossed my mind what my ex had missed with just him and his partner and no children. I also wondered what Rita and Chelsea had done, for while Donna and her brothers had enjoyed a Christmas with all the trimmings, Rita and Chelsea had presumably spent it by themselves, and I imagined it had been a pretty dismal one. Despite everything Rita had done to Donna, I felt sorry for her and Chelsea, particularly for Chelsea, who had been denied the pleasure and excitement of a child's Christmas for life.
Chapter Sixteen
Winter Break
The children returned to school on 4 January, and when I arrived home I took down the decorations with a severe case of post-Christmas blues. I felt like this every year; I'm sure a lot of people do. There is all the excitement and build-up to the festive season and then January falls flat and cold, with short days, overcast skies and spring seeming a long way off. Adrian's and Paula's birthdays were the next family celebration — 30 March and 7 April — but until then there was a bit of a void. What we really needed was a holiday, a change of scenery, in the February half-term break. Somewhere hot and sunny, I thought, in a hotel where I was waited on hand and foot! We hadn't had a holiday abroad since my husband had left. How much would a holiday for four in February cost, I wondered as I packed away the last of the decorations? There was only one way to find out, and on the whim of the moment I took my coat from the hall stand, picked up my bag, and with that buzz that comes from throwing caution to the wind, I drove to the shopping mall, where I parked in the mu
lti-storey car park and walked to the travel agent's.
Two hours later I came away with the brochure and booking form — proof that the children and I would be spending half term in Morocco, and with my winter blues banished and my savings account just about coping. I'd phoned Edna from the travel agent's, before booking and had obtained her permission to take Donna. She'd given it without hesitation ‘What a lovely opportunity for Donna,’ she'd said. ‘Thank you so much. I'll arrange a passport for her straight away and also check that her vaccinations are up to date.’
It was 2.30 p.m. by the time I was in the car again and I drove straight to collect Paula and Adrian from school. I was bursting to tell them, but I stopped myself: I wanted to wait until we were all together at home. It was Thursday, so without the quick turnaround necessary when Donna had contact, as soon as we arrived home I told the children to go into the lounge because I had something important to say. They were subdued and wide-eyed when I went in, sitting in a line on the sofa and wondering what was so important, and if they had done something wrong.
‘I've booked us a holiday,’ I announced, producing the brochure and squatting on the floor in front of them. ‘At half term we're going on a plane to Morocco!’
‘Wow!’ Adrian said, and he immediately slid off the sofa and joined me on the floor for a closer look. ‘Cor,’ he said. ‘What type of plane is it?’ I hadn't thought to ask. ‘I bet it's a Boeing 747,’ he said, bubbling over with excitement. ‘It's one of the biggest planes in the world — that's why it's called a jumbo jet. It's got four engines and can seat over five hundred passengers!’
‘Yes,’ Paula knowledgeably agreed, joining him on the floor for a closer look at the brochure.
Donna hadn't said anything.
‘Well, what do you think?’ I asked. ‘Are you happy to go?’
She stared at me in utter amazement. ‘Are you taking me?’ she asked.
‘Yes, of course.’ I had thought it would be obvious but apparently it hadn't been. ‘Donna, you are part of this family. Of course you are coming with us.’
She too now left the sofa and joined us on the floor, and with the brochure open at the page showing the hotel I read out the details of this luxurious and family-orientated resort. To say they were excited was an understatement; if Christmas had taken Donna's breath away then this left her absolutely speechless.
‘Are you all right? Donna,’ I asked, for even now she wasn't saying anything. ‘There's nothing for you to worry about on the plane. I'll look after you. It will be one big adventure for us all.’
‘I don't think Mum will let me go,’ she said sombrely.
‘I've spoken to Edna and she is going to ask your mother, but if she says no then Edna can make the decision. Edna wants you to come, so you will be coming, I promise you that.’
But later when Edna told me what Rita had said I was still shocked. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish. I hope the plane crashes,’ Donna's mother had said.
‘Why does Rita hate Donna so much?’ I asked Edna, for I had come to believe that ‘hate’ wasn't too strong a word.
‘I really don't know,’ Edna said. ‘But I have come across cases before where one child in the family is victimised, sometimes when the other children are reasonably well cared for, although that wasn't so here.’ No one really knew why Rita hated Donna, but it was very, very sad.
The weeks flew by to our holiday and before we knew it, it was the last day of the half term and we were going the next morning. When I collected Adrian and Paula from school it appeared that most of their classes were aware of our holiday, and we left the playground to the cries of ‘Have a good time!’
When I met Donna from school, the head, Donna's teacher, Emily and her mother, Mary, Ray and the boys all made a point of seeing us and wishing us a happy holiday. Mary and Ray were taking the boys for a few days out over the half-term break, including a trip to the zoo, and I wished them a good time. ‘It's a lovely opportunity for Donna,’ Mrs Bristow said to me. ‘We'll look forward to hearing all about it, and make sure you show us the photos, Donna.’
Beth Adams added that the class had been tested on their twelve times table and, as with the others, Donna had got them all right and received two team points. I was obviously pleased and praised Donna, as I had in all the previous weeks, but I was also quietly relieved that we had finally come to the end of the times tables and that learning them would no longer dominate our car journeys, evenings and weekends. But the result of all the weeks of hard work and repetition was not only that Donna now knew her times tables but that she had proved to herself and her teacher that she could learn as well as anyone, given time. I had high hopes for Donna in the future.
It was a very noisy crew that I drove home that afternoon, and also a very cold one. The temperature had dropped, and although we hadn't had snow, ‘flurries’ had been forecast and the skies looked full of it. I prayed that nothing would happen over night that could disrupt our travel plans.
As it was Friday, Donna had contact, so we weren't out of the routine yet. I had plated up Donna's dinner as I usually did, and she ate it and then changed out of her school uniform. At 4.30 p.m. we were in the car again, taking her to contact. When I collected her at 6.30, Edna brought Donna out to the car and made a point of wishing us all a good holiday. Edna always took the opportunity at the end of contact to let me know how contact had gone and update me, and tonight was no exception.
Once Donna was in the car with the door closed and out of earshot, Edna said, ‘Rita has told the boys that she will take them on a plane to Morocco when they go home to live with her!’ Edna raised her eyes, for clearly making unrealistic promises to young children was unfair and could only lead to disappointment. However, on a purely personal and selfish level I felt that if that was all that had been said, then Donna had escaped very lightly.
That evening my parents and my brother phoned to wish us bon voyage, and so too did Paula and Adrian's father, which I thought was decent of him. By the time everyone had had a bath and was changed, it was 8.30 p.m. ‘In twelve hours' time,’ I announced, ‘we shall be in the taxi going to the airport!’ They all cheered.
It was difficult to say who was more excited that evening, the children or me; certainly it took me the longest to get off to sleep. Apart from the anticipation of a long overdue holiday, I kept running through a mental checklist of anything I could conceivably have forgotten. I was still tossing and turning at 1.00 a.m., and eventually I got out of bed and double checked that the plane tickets and passports were still in my handbag, which of course they were. At 7 o'clock the alarm went off and I was up, washed and dressed within fifteen minutes. I woke the children and they performed the same feat in ten minutes!
I love take-off — the speed and exhilaration that flattens you into your seat, as you hurtle down the runway, going the fastest you are ever likely to go on land in your life. Then there's that euphoric moment as the wheels lift from the tarmac and you are airborne, actually flying! As at the end of a good ride at the fair, I feel I want to go back and do it again. Just one more go, please! I glanced across at the children and knew they were feeling it too, although Donna and Paula with a little trepidation. The children occupied the three seats that stretched out from the window, while I was on the end of the row directly across the aisle. They were going to take turns to sit by the window. I looked at their happy smiling faces, on the biggest adventure of their lives to date, and I knew I had made the right decision to throw caution to the wind and come on holiday. And just as Christmas had been the best one ever, I felt this holiday would follow suit, and also help confirm to Donna that she was truly an integrated member of the family.
Chapter Seventeen
Final Rejection
My only criticism of the holiday was that it wasn't long enough and before we knew it we were at the airport again for the return flight. But as well as giving us all a wonderful break, the holiday had helped to strengthen our bond as a family. There had been
no major disagreement or incidents, despite us all being together for the most part of seven days. I'd only had to tell Donna once not to boss Paula, when I'd asked Paula to get out of the pool, as it was time to get changed for dinner, and Donna had shouted, ‘Get out of the pool now!’ But she had quickly apologised.
I felt Donna was more accepting of her role as simply that of a child and I didn't anticipate having to continually watch her any more when she was with Paula and Adrian as I had done in the past. I also hoped there would be no more of the violent outbursts of anger which had culminated in Donna trashing her room. I wasn't expecting an angel, for Donna had suffered a lot in her past, but she was making more attempt to talk to me, and I hoped she would therefore be able to verbalise her anger rather than taking it out on her room.
The following Monday saw us back in the routine, and me with a suitcase full of washing to be done. The children had wrapped the model camels they were going to give their friends as presents, and we took them with us to school. The children looked incredibly healthy: their faces glowed from the sun and fresh air, and we were all a shade darker. The weather wasn't quite as cold as it had been when we had left England, but we wrapped up warmly on that first morning — it was taking a while for us to acclimatise. I saw Donna into the breakfast club, and Mrs Bristow, the head, was waiting for her.
