by Trisha Merry
At exactly midday, Bernard drove up outside the house. The children were both with me when I opened the front door, and in came this carefully made-up, slim young woman with perfect skin and beautiful, long auburn hair, right down to her waist. Daisy couldn’t take her eyes off it. This was just what she had always wanted, but could never have.
Seeing the way Daisy looked at her mother’s hair, it was one of the few times in my life when I would have liked to be quite spiteful. I wanted to say to her, ‘Oh, you’ve got long hair. What is it about your daughter that you don’t want her to have the same?’ But of course, I didn’t.
She was superbly turned out, and such a contrast to Rocky. I couldn’t imagine how they ever got together. He was rough and ready, while she was neat and tidy; he was brash, while she was demure. His clothes looked as if he’d worn them all week, and it wasn’t just his clothes that were grubby, but she was the opposite – everything clean and ironed, prim and proper. To my mind, they didn’t fit at all as a couple.
Bernard did the introductions, and when I shook hands with Pamela, it was like holding a dead fish.
I was intrigued to see whether the children, meeting their mother, might feel some slight sense of recognition from their infancy, especially Daisy; so I watched their faces and body-language, but it was no different from when they met any stranger. Daisy stood back, like an observer, while Paul was offhand and uninterested.
We all went into the sitting room and plonked ourselves on the chairs . . . except for Pamela. The temperature in our house dropped for me when I watched the careful way she sat down. As she lowered herself into her seat, she paid more attention to smoothing all the pleats in her skirt than she did to the children she hadn’t seen for eleven years. She looked all around the room, and out of the window, but she barely gave them a glance.
Nobody spoke for a few awkward seconds, until I started a conversation with her.
‘Did you have far to come, Pamela?’
‘It wasn’t too bad,’ she replied, giving nothing away. Her accent had a west-country lilt, but her coarse voice took me by surprise. In fact, although she seemed prim and proper on the surface, and clearly tried to come across as genteel, I felt there was a rough rigidity about her, a lack of empathy perhaps. But that was probably just my imagination. I tried to stop judging her.
I could see, gazing sideways at Paul, that he looked expectant. I tried to shake my head at him without her noticing. But it didn’t work. He couldn’t contain himself.
‘Did you bring us any presents?’ It was the first thing he said to her, and she didn’t look pleased.
‘No, I’m afraid I didn’t. Why? Is it your birthday or something?’
‘Don’t you know when my birthday is?’
‘No . . . oh, wait a minute.’ She was trying to dredge it out of her memory. ‘Your birthday is in the summer, isn’t it? And Daisy’s too?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ her daughter said.
‘Daisy,’ I prompted her. ‘Do you want to tell your mum about your school?’ Fortunately, that was an easy subject for Daisy to talk about in detail, as she always enjoyed school. But I noticed she kept it short today.
‘And what about you, Paul?’ I asked.
‘I don’t really like school,’ he told her. ‘Except for PE and break-times.’
Their mother’s eyes looked glazed, as if she was only half-listening.
Then Bernard tried to engage them in another conversation, about their hobbies, then their favourite foods
‘That reminds me,’ I stood up. ‘I must get the lunch ready for all the children. It will be mainly sandwiches today, plus bits and bobs.’
‘Can you do bacon sandwiches?’ asked Paul. ‘They’re my favourite.’
‘Yes, that’s OK,’ I said.
‘Can I come and help you?’ he seemed unusually eager. He never usually wanted to help with anything, unless he was being paid. But he wasn’t a boy who enjoyed conversation, so any excuse to escape polite talk with adults.
‘No thanks, Paul. Not this time. You stay here with your mother.’ I turned to Pamela and Bernard. ‘You can all come through in about ten minutes and join us in the kitchen for a help-yourself lunch . . . bacon sandwiches included.’
That casual lunch helped to break the ice, but Pamela remained detached and the atmosphere was still rather strained.
After they’d finished eating, Bernard went off to respond to a call, and I sent Daisy and Paul upstairs with their mother to show her their bedrooms.
Thank goodness, they managed to stay up there for at least thirty minutes, as they showed her where they slept and all their things. Daisy showed her the special homework she’d been doing about the Fire of London, with her careful drawings. Then Paul went to get his rather battered model of a Viking longboat.
When I’d finished clearing all the lunch things away, I went upstairs to join Daisy, Paul and Pamela. They were sat in silence on the bed in Daisy’s room, while their mother flicked idly through one of Daisy’s school books. She put it down when I arrived.
‘What about showing your mum your new shoes, Daisy? She might like to look at your clothes as well.’ I smiled to encourage Pamela, with no obvious effect. I don’t normally use the word disdain, but it was the perfect word to describe her expression.
After a few minutes of that, with Daisy telling her mother where she had bought or worn each outfit, and Pamela never once responding with a positive comment, I felt really impatient with this impassive woman. Did she have any feelings? Most people would have said, ‘Oh, that’s a pretty dress’, or ‘It looks like pink is your favourite colour’, or whatever. But Pamela made no effort to make her daughter feel good – or feel anything.
It was all so uncomfortable, so forced. I felt . . . Arrrghgh! It was like trying to unscrew a very tight lid.
‘Paul is very clever on his bike,’ I said. ‘I think he wants to show you some of the tricks he can do.’
Paul beamed. ‘I can do wheelies,’ he said. It was the first moment he had looked animated since his mother had arrived.
‘Really? I don’t think so . . . it’s rather cold outside.’
Paul’s face fell. How could this woman be so indifferent to her children’s needs?
‘We don’t have to go outside, Pamela. Come on, we can watch from the kitchen window.’ I didn’t give her any choice.
Paul put on a good show for her. Daisy stood with her mother and me to watch his antics. He fell off at one point, and I took in a sharp breath, but she showed no concern. He finished his demonstration, put the bike away and came in.
‘Well done, Paul,’ I said with enthusiasm and gave him a cuddle. I gave Pamela a look to urge her to say something too.
‘Yes, well done,’ she repeated half-heartedly.
Thinking back, I may have judged her too harshly, because it was a difficult situation for her, meeting her children for the first time in all those years, coming into an alien environment, in a huge house, full of children, with what probably seemed a chaotic lifestyle. I don’t think chaos was in her vocabulary. It must have been daunting for her. I just wish she could have summoned up the slightest hint of enthusiasm.
It had been a long afternoon, with a strained atmosphere, so I think the kids were as relieved as I was when Bernard came back, looked at his watch and declared that it was time to go home.
‘Give your mum a hug,’ I said, and she stood back slightly as they came to her, Daisy first, then Paul. She leant down a little so that they could each give her a hug, but not close enough for their faces to come into contact.
I opened the hall door, shook hands and off they both went. I closed the door with relief. Phew! I thought. Thank goodness that’s over with.
When Mike came back from work, he asked how her visit had gone.
‘It was hard work,’ I groaned. ‘Like stirring treacle.’
‘Oh, bad as that?’ he laughed. ‘What was she like with the kids?’
‘Cold comfort –
detached and undemonstrative. I was quite worried. I don’t think she has a motherly bone in her body. It was almost as if she was here under duress, perhaps because Bernard had talked her into coming, against her better judgement.’
‘That’s probably it,’ he said.
‘Why did they have to give Daisy and Paul a rookie social worker, on a mission to reunite mothers with children, regardless of the damage that might cause?’
‘How do you think the children felt about her?’
‘They did try to engage her, but there was no bonding. They seemed as relieved as I was when she went. But it could have been different if she’d made an effort. Her heart just wasn’t in it.’ I paused. ‘I’ll be very surprised if we ever hear from her again.’
29
The Bombshell
We were well into December now and the excitement mounted day by day. The house was filled with tinsel, wrapping-paper, decorations and lights. We hung a holly wreath on the front door and mistletoe just inside. Most of the children gathered round the kitchen table to make paper chains, which we festooned around each room. Then Mike got Luke and Kevin to help him carry in the enormous Christmas tree and stand it in the hall. All the others helped to decorate the tree and, by the time we’d finished, it looked good enough for Buckingham Palace, apart from the wonky star on the top!
Luke was a changed lad, since Guy had taken him on. He loved all their outings and was learning amazingly fast, almost without realising it. He could now write a few lines about whatever he had been to see. He could do some simple calculations and he was always telling us new things he’d learnt.
‘Did you know, the tallest mountain in England is Scafell Pike, and it’s 3,209 feet high? It’s in the Lake District,’ he said proudly. ‘Guy says we might go for a trip up there to see it in the spring.’
‘Where are you going this week?’ asked Mike.
‘To the Potteries. Have you heard of Josiah Wedgewood? We’re going to find out about him and we’re going to find out where clay comes from. We’re going to look round one of the factories and see where they make the pots and plates and things. Guy says I might get a chance to decorate one of them.’
‘I bet you’ll make a good job of that,’ said Mike. ‘You ought to do something creative when you’ve finished growing up.’
It was heartwarming to see that pale, cold boy whom I’d found huddled homeless in our porch that morning now healthy and full of enthusiasm for life.
‘I want to be an aircraft engineer or designer,’ said Kevin, his eyes down as if he was staring at something on the floor. ‘Mike said he’d take me into work with him one day in the holidays, so I can see what they do.’
‘Come on, Kevin,’ said Luke. ‘Let’s go and have a game of chess.’
So off they went. It was strange how these two teenagers, with their different problems, had palled up, even though they hardly ever spoke to each other once they were concentrating on something. Kevin had stopped self-harming – a great step forward for him. Luke could now read and write some of the simple captions in comic strips, so he too could see his progress. For the first time in his life, nobody was calling him thick, and he was learning something new every day.
All through teatime, the younger ones were talking about what they wanted to do when they left school. Sheena wanted to be a model, Ronnie wanted to work in a supermarket and AJ was keen on becoming a builder, Daisy wanted to be a librarian and read all the books in the library, while Paul wanted to become a fireman. I think he still remembered that time when the firemen came into our house and one of them let Paul try on his helmet. Mandy wanted to be a scientist. Sindy, Duane and Lulu didn’t know yet. My wish for them was simply that they grew up as normal, socialised individuals, leaving their abusive past behind them.
Daisy and Paul’s former social worker, John, called in the following day to visit Luke, who had just been put on his caseload. When he’d finished talking to Luke, he joined me for a cup of tea in the kitchen.
‘How did Daisy and Paul’s mother’s visit go?’ he asked.
‘Ooh . . . It was hard, John. I’ve never had anything like that happen before. Bernard said their mother wanted to come and see them, but she was cool and detached all day long. They tried to engage with her. But it was as if she was only here under sufferance.’
John listened intently, but said nothing. I was frustrated by his lack of response at first . . . until I realised how much his silence told me.
A few days later, just when I thought that was the end of it, Bernard phoned.
‘Pamela wants to come on Saturday and take the children out for a couple of hours.’
‘Right,’ I gulped. I’d have to prepare them and boost them up again . . . if I could. ‘Saturday the fourteenth? I asked, looking at the calendar by the phone.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Will she come back here afterwards as well?’
‘No, she says she’ll come and collect them at ten o’clock and she’s only got about two hours, so it won’t be like last time. She’ll just take them into town, bring them back again and then she’ll leave.’
I waited till after tea, before sitting Daisy and Paul down with me and telling them what Bernard had said on the phone. They both listened without saying a word, then looked at each other and turned back to me.
‘We don’t want to go,’ said Daisy, coolly and clearly, as if they’d discussed what they would do in just such an eventuality. Could they have done? Would they? I have to say I was surprised by this united stand. Daisy and Paul were as unlike as it is possible for a brother and sister to be. But either it was telepathy or they really had discussed it.
‘It’ll only be for two hours.’ I tried to encourage them to go, as I knew I must.
‘But I don’t want to go out with her,’ protested Paul with a defiant pout.
‘We can see her here, can’t we?’ asked Daisy, the peacemaker.
‘Yes, of course you can,’ I said. ‘But she told Bernard that she wanted to take you both into town.’
‘Yes, but we don’t want to go to town with her,’ repeated Daisy, patient but firm. ‘I’m not going,’ insisted Paul. ‘And that’s that.’
I did my best to change their minds at breakfast the next morning, but they were adamant.
Pamela arrived at ten o’clock, as agreed.
‘Are they ready to go?’ she asked, when I showed her in.
‘Let me give them a call,’ I said, shouting their names. We had an uncomfortable couple of minutes, waiting in the hallway, talking about the weather.
Finally they both arrived from different directions at once. Paul looked rather dishevelled, but not too bad, while Daisy was her usual neat self, uncannily like her mother, I realised.
‘Are you ready to go out?’ asked Pamela ‘Do you have coats to put on?’ She looked impatient.
Daisy and Paul looked at me . . . and I remained silent.
Paul took the plunge. ‘I don’t want to go!’
‘Oh,’ said his mother. ‘But I wanted to take you into town.’
‘Please could we stay here instead?’ asked Daisy.
‘Oh . . . well . . . Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ they said in unison, and nodded.
‘All right then.’ She looked slightly adrift for a moment. Then turned to look at me. ‘Will that by acceptable to you, Mrs Merry?’ I think she was hoping I would persuade them to go, but I didn’t.
‘Yes, that’s fine with me. You can stay as long as you like. Join us for lunch again.’
‘Oh no, I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly do that.’ She paused. ‘My husband is collecting me at twelve for another appointment.’
So, I thought, her children are just an appointment, are they?
‘I’d like to have a talk with Daisy and Paul. On our own,’ she said.
‘Why don’t you all go and have a chat in the sitting room?’ I suggested. ‘And close the door.’
‘I’ve got to go,’ said Pame
la, at the end of the two hours. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m sorry they didn’t want to go into town with you.’ I apologised with a smile.
She just shrugged.
As on her first visit, the moment we closed the front door behind her as she left, both the kids relaxed. You could feel the tension leave them.
I finished my baking and Paul went off to join Ronnie and AJ in the garage, where they were constructing something, while Daisy went up to her bedroom to carry on reading her latest library book, Little Women. She had quite old-fashioned tastes in reading.
I suspect she needed to immerse herself in the escapism of nineteenth-century America, after what might have seemed an uncomfortable visit; or maybe I was wrong and the visit had gone much better than last time. I hoped it had, but I couldn’t see it.
The following Monday, Bernard Brown called again.
‘Pamela has applied to have the children.’ This was Bernard’s opening sentence. A complete bombshell. It blew me off my feet. ‘We’re making arrangements to view her house,’ he said. ‘Just to put you in the picture . . .’ I noted the irony, since social workers were not usually keen to put us in the picture.
‘She’s recently married again,’ he continued.
‘Really?’ I said, remembering that she’d mentioned a husband when she’d been here on Saturday.
‘Yes, a few months ago.’
Well, the rules in those days were different – much more lax. Now, if a parent is in a new relationship, they can’t have their kids back at the same time. Social Services would want the marriage or partnership to settle down and stabilise for long enough, before sending the children into this new family situation.
But the thing that really bugged me was why did she want to have her kids, after all those years of ignoring them? I couldn’t manage to fathom it out then, and I still can’t. Was it her, or her new husband . . . or was it Bernard’s intervention? And, more importantly, was it in the best interests of the children? It was a very uncomfortable feeling – a mixture of anxiety and fear for their future. And, of course, great sadness that we would be losing them after more than ten years.
