Where Has Mummy Gone?

by Cathy Glass

  I read the next question: ‘Who are your friends?’

  ‘Lizzie,’ Melody said.

  The next question asked: ‘Would you like to see more of them?’

  She shrugged. ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘I’ll write “don’t know” then,’ I said.

  ‘If you have any problems who do you talk to?’ was the next question.

  Again Melody looked thoughtful and then said, ‘Lucy, Paula and Mummy, but she’s not here.’ I wrote this but said, ‘You know you can always talk to me if there is something worrying you?’

  ‘Yes, I do tell you.’

  ‘Good.’ I read out the next question: ‘Do you have any questions about what is going to happen in the future?’

  She nodded. ‘When can I see my mummy?’

  I wrote it down.

  ‘The final question was: ‘Is there anything you would like to add?’

  ‘When will Mummy come out of hospital?’ she asked, and again I wrote it down verbatim.

  On the back of the booklet was a line where the child had to sign their name, and beneath that another line where the name of any person who had helped the child complete the form had to be entered. Melody wrote her name in the appropriate place and then I wrote mine.

  ‘Well done,’ I said, sliding the booklet into the envelope provided. ‘I’ll take this with me on Monday.’

  ‘So do all those questions mean I’ll be seeing Mummy soon?’ Melody asked. I smiled.

  ‘I really hope so,’ I said, which was all I could say.

  Jill telephoned the following day to say she’d spoken to Neave, and Amanda’s medical assessment hadn’t been completed yet, as a specialist had been asked to look at a brain scan she’d had.

  ‘So there are no plans for Melody to see her mother yet?’ I asked.

  ‘No, but we should find out more on Monday at the review.’

  ‘OK, Jill, thanks for letting me know.’ She wished us a happy weekend and we said goodbye.

  More delay, I thought. Not good news. It was now nearly two weeks since Melody had last seen her mother. Then, just as I was about to leave the house to collect Melody from school, the phone rang and it was Nina French, the Guardian ad Litem.

  ‘Sorry it’s such short notice, but can I see Melody later this afternoon? Her first review has been set for Monday and I really need to see her before then.’

  ‘Yes, but we won’t be home until around four o’clock.’

  ‘Perfect. I’ll be there then. I won’t stay for long.’

  ‘All right, see you later.’

  When asked what qualities are needed to foster I obviously include a love of working with children, sensitivity, patience, a non-judgemental attitude, but also flexibility – not only in the carer, but in the carer’s family. The relaxing end to a busy week had just vanished. I quickly scribbled a note for Paula, Lucy and Adrian saying that the Guardian ad Litem was coming at 4 p.m. and to let her in if she arrived before me.

  Chapter Ten

  Snow Angel

  ‘Will the garden or whatever she’s called let me see my mummy?’ Melody asked. I’d been explaining the Guardian’s role as I drove, and that she was visiting us this afternoon.

  ‘Guardian,’ I corrected. ‘We can ask her when we see her. She may know.’

  ‘What does she look like?’

  ‘I don’t know, I haven’t met her yet.’

  ‘Has my mummy met her?’ Melody asked.

  ‘I’m not sure, but she will do at some point.’

  When we arrived home there was a car parked right outside my house. ‘If that’s her she’s early,’ I said, parking behind it.

  I let us in the front door and heard voices coming from the living room. Leaving our coats and shoes in the hall, we went through and found Lucy in one armchair and a woman I took to be the Guardian in another, drinking tea from our best china.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, ‘I’m Cathy. I’m pleased you’re being well looked after.’ I meant it. Sometimes social workers and other professionals were left to wait outside by my children – especially Lucy – if they arrived early.

  ‘Nina French,’ she said, standing to shake my hand. ‘Your daughter has made me very welcome. She’s been telling me what’s wrong with the care system in this country and how to put it right.’

  ‘Has she?’ I asked dubiously, glancing at Lucy. I knew how articulate she could be when she got going on one of her pet subjects. What she considered to be the failings of the care system was one of them, having had first-hand experience before coming to me.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve been excruciatingly polite and didn’t bad-mouth social workers once,’ Lucy said.

  I smiled weakly.

  ‘I can vouch for that,’ Nina said. ‘I always appreciate hearing young people’s experiences of being in care.’

  Melody suddenly found her voice. ‘That’s good, because I want to see my mummy!’

  ‘I’m sure you do. You must be Melody,’ Nina said. Smiling, she went over and shook her hand. ‘Very pleased to meet you.’ Melody looked a bit taken aback at having to shake hands, but it was a nice gesture. ‘Would you like to talk to me now or would you like to play first while I talk to Cathy?’ Nina asked her.

  ‘Now,’ Lucy put in. ‘You don’t want five minutes at the end. This is all about you.’

  ‘Thank you, Lucy,’ I said pointedly.

  ‘Time for me to go,’ Lucy said, standing. ‘Oh, and by the way, Mum, Adrian phoned and said he won’t be back until after five-thirty. He has to stay behind for an athletics meeting at school.’

  ‘Thanks, love, and is Paula home?’

  ‘Yes, in her bedroom. Nice meeting you,’ Lucy said to Nina, with only the faintest hint of sarcasm.

  ‘And you. Thank you for the cup of tea.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ Lucy left the room. She had come a long way since she’d first arrived, angry, upset, and feeling unloved and rejected, but occasionally her old resentments resurfaced.

  ‘Do you want me to stay while you and Melody talk?’ I now asked Nina, who’d returned to her armchair. Some Guardians want the foster carer present, others don’t.

  ‘Stay if Melody is happy with that,’ Nina said. Then to Melody, ‘Is it OK if Cathy stays?’

  ‘Yes. She can tell you too.’

  Melody and I sat on the sofa. Nina – tall, mid-fifties and wearing black trousers and a light blue jersey – set her empty cup and saucer on the floor beside her, then took a notepad and pen from her bag. ‘What would you like to tell me?’ she asked Melody.

  ‘I want to see my mummy.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you do. Anything else?’

  ‘When can Mummy come out of hospital? And why can’t I see her now?’

  Nina finished writing and looked up. ‘I’ve been talking to your social worker about this, so I think I can answer some of your questions. The reason you haven’t been seeing your mother is because the doctor wanted to make sure she was well enough first, so she can talk to you and play games.’

  ‘Can’t Mummy talk?’ Melody asked, surprised.

  ‘Yes, but I think you’ve probably had experience of her being difficult to understand sometimes – when she gets confused and says strange things. Do you know why she is in hospital?’

  ‘Yes, Cathy told me. Because she’s feeling unwell inside.’

  ‘Yes, in her thoughts.’

  ‘But I still want to see her.’

  ‘I’ve written that down. I’ll talk to your social worker about when it’s likely to happen. The doctor will be telling her soon. Is that all right?’

  Melody nodded.

  ‘So what do you like about living here with Cathy and her family?’ the Guardian now asked.

  Melody told her pretty much what she’d told me for her review form – that she liked the food, her bedroom, a bed of her own and that the house was warm. Nina made some notes, then asked her about school. There was then some discussion about what Melody liked at school and the G
uardian asked her what she did in the evenings and weekends.

  ‘I used to see my mummy in the evenings,’ Melody said, with an attitude that reminded me of Lucy. ‘But I don’t any more.’

  ‘I know, I’ve written that down.’

  This visit was for Nina to meet and get to know Melody. She would visit again, and during her final visit before the court hearing she would start to prepare Melody for the most likely outcome, as her social worker and I would be doing too. As they continued to talk, with Melody telling the Guardian what she did in the evenings and weekends, I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. If I’d had more notice of the Guardian’s visit I would have prepared dinner so it could just be popped in the oven later.

  ‘Is there anything else you would like to tell me?’ Nina finally asked Melody as five o’clock approached, and Melody had grown fidgety.

  ‘Can I go and play now?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Nina smiled. ‘Thank you for talking to me.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Melody said, in exactly the same tone as Lucy had. She disappeared off to find Lucy and Paula while I made a mental note to remind Lucy that children were impressionable, so it was important to set a good example, which Lucy did most of the time.

  ‘Melody seems happy enough here, considering,’ Nina said.

  ‘Yes, she’s doing well. She was very anxious when she first arrived, feeling that her mother wouldn’t cope without her, and it seems she was right.’

  ‘We think Melody was doing far more for her mother than anyone appreciated. The support worker who visited daily noted that Amanda relied heavily on Melody even for basic tasks, but that was her only comment. Neave is waiting for Amanda’s full medical report, but initial tests show that she is likely to be suffering from a form of dementia.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, shocked. ‘Oh dear. I didn’t realize.’

  ‘No one did. Melody was good at covering up her mother’s confusion and shortfalls, but her condition has become more obvious since Melody came into care. The police returned Amanda home a number of times after she’d been found wandering, lost. The last time they alerted the social services, as there was evidence that a child had been living in the flat – Melody. It was freezing cold, there was no food in the kitchen and the place was filthy. It seems it was far worse than when Melody lived there.’

  ‘The poor woman. How very sad. She’s young to have dementia. Does it have anything to do with her drink and drug addiction?’ I knew from my foster carer training there could be a connection.

  ‘Possibly. We’re waiting for a fuller diagnosis – when the results of the brain scan are available.’

  ‘Even so, Melody does need to see her mother,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, I agree, and I’ll be discussing it with Neave first thing on Monday. There is something I need to ask you. If the care plan remains that Melody will stay in long-term foster care, how do you feel about her staying here with you?’

  ‘Yes, although I’d have to discuss it with Adrian, Paula and Lucy first.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She made a note. While it was highly likely Melody would remain in long-term foster care, nothing is definite until the judge makes their decision at the final court hearing.

  It was 5.30 as the Guardian wound up and I saw her out. Five minutes later Adrian arrived home. With no dinner prepared and four hungry children I suggested we had fish and chips, so I took Melody with me in the car to the shop, while Adrian, Lucy and Paula laid the table.

  Foster carers are expected to provide healthy, nutritious meals for the children they look after, and while deep-fried battered fish and chips – like the chicken nuggets and chips we’d had previously – couldn’t be described as particularly healthy, they were fine for an occasional meal. We all thoroughly enjoyed them and there was a little titbit for Toscha, who rubbed herself around our legs under the table and meowed loudly as we ate. Melody was more used to Toscha now and had accepted that she didn’t have fleas. After we’d finished Adrian took a phone call, Paula offered to hear Melody read her school book and Lucy helped me clear the table, which gave me the opportunity I needed to talk to her.

  ‘Thanks, love, you know I really appreciate all you do, and thanks for looking after the Guardian.’

  ‘I gave her one of our best cups, the ones we usually keep for when Nana and Grandpa come.’

  ‘Yes, I saw. I hope she was suitably impressed.’ She returned my smile. Thankfully all my children have a good sense of humour. ‘But just a reminder, love, that Melody idolizes you, as do many of the children we foster, so please be careful what you say in front of her.’

  ‘I am careful, aren’t I?’ she said a little indignantly.

  ‘Yes, usually, but the tone Melody used to the Guardian sounded just like you.’

  She looked at me and burst into laughter. I laughed too. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should have realized.’

  ‘It’s OK. She did sound quaint and I expect the Guardian has heard worse. But be aware, she copies you.’

  ‘I will.’

  Matter dealt with.

  That evening it began to snow. All the curtains were closed against the cold winter night, so we didn’t know straight away. It wasn’t until Toscha went out for her evening run and then shot back in through the cat flap with fresh snowflakes on her fur that I realized. I opened the back door and was met with a flurry of large white snowflakes.

  ‘It’s snowing!’ I called to the rest of the house.

  They opened the curtains of whichever room they were in and I heard cries of delight come from all over the house. Even Adrian, aged sixteen, was delighted, for when it comes to snow I think we are all children at heart. Whether there would be enough to play in the following day remained to be seen, but the weather forecast was hopeful. My mother phoned and said it was snowing where they lived too. We had a chat and then she and Dad spoke to my children.

  ‘I hope it keeps on snowing all night,’ Melody declared excitedly. ‘Do you think it’s snowing where my mummy is?’

  ‘Yes, I would think so.’ The hospital was only about a fifteen-minute drive away, so I thought it was likely.

  ‘I hope Mummy sees the snow,’ she said, pressing her face against the glass patio doors in the living room. ‘It will make her happy. She told me that when she was little she used to make snow angels in the snow. She was going to show me how to make them if it snowed.’ A snow angel is a pattern made in the snow that resembles the outline of an angel. It’s usually done by a child lying on their back and moving their arms and legs up and down at their sides, which creates the outline of an angel with wings. ‘Mummy was happy when she was playing in the snow,’ Melody added quietly.

  Yet again I felt sadness and regret for Amanda. This and other memories of her early childhood she’d shared with her daughter seemed to show it had been a normal, happy one to begin with before abuse blighted it. I didn’t know her early history, but clearly the abuse couldn’t have been discovered until it was too late to save her. Early intervention can and does make such a difference and saves lives.

  As soon as I woke the following morning I knew we’d had a good fall of snow. The early morning light coming through the curtains was brighter than usual and the sound outside was quieter, muted. I got straight out of bed and crossed to the window. A magical winter wonderland greeted me. A thick blanket of snow covered rooftops, trees, cars, front gardens, the pavements and road, a fairytale landscape where the edges of reality had been smoothed silently during the night. All was as yet untouched, except for a single car track down the centre of the road.

  ‘Cathy! It’s snowed!’ I heard Melody shout from her bedroom. Throwing on my dressing gown, I hurried round the landing. It was only 7.30, and as it was a Saturday Lucy, Paula and Adrian weren’t awake yet.

  Giving a brief knock on Melody’s door, I went in. She was out of bed, at the window, and peering excitedly through the glass. ‘Snow! Can I go outside and play in it?’ she asked.

  �
�Yes, of course. But you’d better get dressed first, and not too much noise – everyone else is still asleep.’

  She was beside herself with excitement. I took some warm jogging bottoms and a thick jumper from her wardrobe, also the gloves, woollen hat and matching scarf I’d bought, which she hadn’t had a chance to wear yet.

  ‘Can I go out as soon as I’m ready?’ she asked eagerly.

  ‘Yes, have a drink and then we’ll have breakfast later.’

  I left her to dress and I quickly showered and dressed and then downstairs I poured her a juice, which she drank straight down. She was wrapped up warm in layers and wearing the bright pink Wellington boots she’d chosen when we’d gone shopping. I unlocked the back door. ‘Are you coming out?’ she asked.

  ‘Just as soon as I’ve had a coffee.’

  ‘Will you show me how to make a snow angel?’

  ‘Yes. Give me five minutes.’

  I fed Toscha and then watched Melody through the kitchen window as I made and then sipped my coffee. Playing happily in the snow, she could have been any child if you didn’t know her past. How much the neglect and chaotic lifestyle she’d experienced would affect her future was impossible to gauge at present. Some children who come into care manage, with help and nurturing, to do well – go to university and form positive relationships – while others really struggle. It is a sad fact that 40 per cent of our prison population has been in the care system at some point and a similar figure is reflected in those living on the streets. Melody was a long way behind in her education and Miss May and I were doing all we could to help her catch up. I assumed that (as with most children who come into care) at some point she would be referred to the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service (CAMHS) for counselling. Together with the care she was now receiving, I hoped this would give Melody a good chance of enjoying a happy and fulfilling life.

  Melody waved for me to come out, so I quickly drained the last of my coffee, fetched my old jacket from the cupboard under the stairs, pulled on my Wellington boots and went out. Toscha sensibly stayed indoors.