Where Has Mummy Gone?

by Cathy Glass

  ‘I can’t remember,’ she said, unable to meet my gaze in the rear-view mirror. I let the matter go. Possibly Melody really couldn’t remember with all the other responsibilities she had at home, or maybe she remembered all too well, and wanted to forget. Or maybe she felt that admitting the extent to which she had helped her mother would be disloyal. It was feelings like this that she would be helped to address in therapy. So many children in care are burdened with guilt, shame and remorse.

  Chapter Twelve

  Four Sleeps

  Social workers and supervising social workers usually visit the child in the foster carer’s home approximately every four to six weeks. Jill arrived as arranged after school on Thursday and spent time talking to Melody with me in the room before she went off to play. As well as updating Jill, her visit was to check that I was fostering to the required standard, to give support and advice as necessary, to discuss my training needs and finally to sign off my log notes. We spent some time talking about how I would prepare Melody for when she saw her mother in hospital – the details of which I should learn the following day when Neave visited us. ‘I just hope it goes ahead,’ I said. ‘Melody does need to see her mother.’

  ‘I know she does,’ Jill agreed.

  On Friday Neave was late arriving and Melody’s anxiety grew. ‘If she doesn’t come I won’t know about seeing my mummy!’ she worried.

  ‘I’m sure Neave will be here soon,’ I said. ‘If not, I’ll phone her and find out what’s going on.’

  ‘That man at my review promised I’d see my mummy!’ Melody said.

  ‘I know, love.’

  Neave finally arrived half an hour later and apologized – a previous meeting had overrun and then she’d got stuck in traffic. Social workers’ schedules are always stretched to the limit. I offered her a drink and she gratefully accepted a coffee.

  ‘I’ll talk to Melody while you’re making it,’ she said, hanging up her coat on the hall stand. It’s usual for the child’s social worker to spend some time alone with the child in case there is anything the child wants to raise that they don’t feel comfortable talking about in front of the carer. ‘Oh yes, and here’s the permission slip for the dental work Melody needs,’ she said, taking it from her bag.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll book the appointment for after school.’

  She went into the living room with Melody while I made the coffee and set some biscuits on a plate. From the kitchen I could hear their voices but not what they were saying. However, when I went into the living room with Neave’s coffee, Melody said excitedly, ‘I’m seeing my mummy on Monday!’

  ‘That’s fantastic,’ I said. ‘In hospital?’

  ‘Yes, I think so.’

  I looked at Neave. ‘Do you want some more time alone?’

  ‘No, stay, then I won’t have to say everything twice.’

  I settled in one of the easy chairs. Neave and Melody were sitting on the sofa, and my children had made themselves scarce and were in their bedrooms. Neave drank some of her coffee and then set the cup and saucer on the occasional table. ‘I’ve explained to Melody that I’ve spoken to the doctor who’s looking after her mother and he has told me that her mummy is well enough to have visitors, but she will need to stay in hospital for the foreseeable future. Melody can visit on Monday – I’ll give you the details. I suggest you go there straight from school so it’s not too late for her.’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine,’ I said, then to Melody, ‘That is good news.’

  She nodded but then asked, ‘What’s foreseeable?’

  I left Neave to answer, as she’d used the term. ‘It means as far as we can see, possibly for good. Some people live in a type of hospital called a care home permanently if they can’t look after themselves.’

  Melody thought about this. ‘So won’t Mummy ever be going home?’

  ‘The doctor doesn’t think she is well enough,’ Neave said.

  ‘When will she be well enough?’ Obviously, long-term care was a difficult concept for a child of eight to grasp.

  ‘It’s likely your mummy may never be well enough to go home,’ Neave said, letting her down as gently as she could. ‘So the care home staff will look after her and that will become her home.’

  Again, Melody thought about this and then made a connection. ‘But if Mummy doesn’t go home then I can’t.’

  ‘No, but you are being well looked after by Cathy. You said on your review form you liked living here and were happy.’

  I watched Melody’s face as she took it all in. ‘I’d rather be with my mummy at our home,’ she said. ‘Even if it was cold and there was nothing to eat.’

  ‘I know it’s difficult,’ Neave said. ‘But I think it will become easier for you when you start seeing your mummy regularly.’

  I thought she was probably right. Once children in care settle into a routine of seeing their parent(s) at contact, it allows them to concentrate on other aspects of their life.

  ‘How often will I see my mummy?’ Melody asked.

  ‘We think once a week to begin with.’

  ‘Then will it be more? I could see her three times a week before.’

  ‘The situation is a bit different now,’ Neave said. ‘We’ll review it as time goes by. Cathy will be with you to answer any questions you may have.’

  ‘Will that lady be there too – the contact supervisor?’

  ‘No, just Cathy.’

  ‘Will Cathy stay with me and Mummy the whole time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why? She didn’t at the Family Centre.’

  ‘No, but it’s different now with your mother being in hospital.’

  ‘How long will I see her for? It used to be four to five-thirty. I know because Cathy and Miss May have been teaching me the time and Cathy showed me on the clock.’ I smiled.

  ‘I’m going to leave the exact length of time to Cathy,’ Neave said. ‘But I think an hour is about right.’ Neave glanced at me and I nodded.

  ‘Why not longer?’ Melody asked.

  ‘Because we don’t want your mummy getting overtired and agitated.’ All this must have seemed odd to Melody, who’d been used to living with her mother whether she was tired and agitated or not, but of course Neave was now looking at contact in terms of Amanda being a patient, not just a mother seeing her daughter. ‘Let’s see how it goes,’ Neave said, and drank the rest of her coffee.

  ‘Shall we take Mummy dinner like we used to?’ Melody now asked me.

  ‘She’ll have plenty to eat in hospital, but we could take her a snack,’ I suggested. ‘Perhaps some fruit and biscuits, and you could make her a card. That’s what people usually do when they visit family in hospital.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll make her a card,’ Melody said.

  ‘That’ll be nice,’ Neave agreed. Melody didn’t have any more questions, so we spent a little while talking about Melody’s routine, then Neave gave me the details of the hospital ward where Amanda was. Satisfied that Melody was being well looked after, Neave then asked to see Melody’s bedroom before she went. It’s usual for the social worker to check the child’s room during their visit. I stayed in the living room while Melody took Neave upstairs. Her room was far more attractive now, more personalized, with the belongings she’d acquired since coming to me. Nothing had come from home and now Amanda was in hospital I doubted any would. They were up there for about five minutes and when they came down Neave said, ‘She clearly loves her bedroom.’

  ‘Good.’

  Picking up her bag, Neave prepared to leave. ‘Have a good weekend then. I’ll phone next week to see how contact has gone.’

  Melody went off to play while I saw Neave out. It was now nearly six o’clock and I was glad I’d prepared dinner earlier and it was ready in the oven. We all ate and then after dinner Melody made a lovely card for her mother using colouring pens, and sticking on felt shapes and glitter. By the time she’d finished there was glitter everywhere, including on the cat, whose fur sparkled in the light,
until, worried she might lick it off, I gave her a good brush.

  Despite having been told it was highly unlikely she or her mother would ever return home, Melody was happy because she was seeing her mother on Monday. It overrode everything else. Plus we had a busy weekend. I took Melody swimming on Saturday morning, and Lucy came too. Then in the afternoon I took her to the cinema and Paula joined us. On Sunday we visited my parents and Melody told both of them – jointly and separately – that she was seeing her mother on Monday. ‘She’s in hospital,’ she explained. ‘I’m going to see her after school. Cathy will be there too and we are going to take her a snack.’

  ‘That’s lovely,’ my mother said. ‘Your mummy will be so very pleased to see you.’

  My family appreciated, as I did, just how important it was for Melody to see her mother. Mum had made cupcakes for our visit and she put some in a stay-fresh box for Melody to give to her. ‘Thank you, my mummy will love these,’ Melody said gratefully. ‘Like she did Cathy’s rice pudding. Do you think Mummy will have rice pudding in hospital?’

  ‘I am sure she will,’ Mum said.

  All Melody’s hopes therefore were pinned on seeing her mother on Monday and she planned what they were going to do. I didn’t disillusion her by saying that her mother might not be up to playing games, because in all honestly I didn’t know. Amanda had played with Melody a few weeks ago when she’d seen her at the Family Centre. She couldn’t have deteriorated that much, could she?

  On Monday morning Melody was up early and, once dressed, she carefully set by the front door (so I wouldn’t forget to bring them later) the card she’d made, the box of cakes, and some fruit and chocolate biscuits she’d selected from the cupboard.

  ‘Don’t be late,’ she told me when I saw her into school. ‘Neave said we’re going straight from school to the hospital.’

  ‘I know,’ I smiled. ‘I won’t be late.’ And with a hop, skip and a little wave she went happily into school.

  On the way home I stopped off at the supermarket, and I was unpacking the shopping in the kitchen when the phone rang. I was slightly surprised to hear Neave’s voice, as I wasn’t expecting to hear from her again until after Melody had seen her mother this evening.

  ‘A care home has been found for Amanda,’ she said. ‘She is being transferred there later today, so contact won’t take place.’

  ‘Oh no. Can’t Melody see her mother before or after the move?’

  ‘No, because I’ve no idea what time she’ll be moved, and the hospital don’t know yet either. It’ll depend on when transport is available.’

  ‘Oh I see, oh dear. Melody is going to be so disappointed.’

  ‘I appreciate that, but it can’t be helped. She’ll see her mother as soon as she’s settled at the care home.’

  ‘Shall I take her tomorrow then?’ I asked.

  ‘No, we want her settled first, and a social worker from the adult safeguarding team will visit her.’

  ‘But Melody will be seeing her mother later this week, won’t she? If I could give her a definite day, it might help lessen her disappointment.’

  My attitude and persistence must have irritated Neave, and doubtless she was very busy on a Monday morning, for she said tersely, ‘Mrs Glass, if I could give you confirmed arrangements I would, but I can’t yet. So if you could tell Melody her mother is being moved to a care home and she’ll see her as soon as possible, I’d be very grateful.’ With a rather curt thank you and goodbye she ended the call and hung up.

  ‘Damn and blast,’ I cursed as I returned the handset to its cradle. Not because I’d irritated Neave, but because Melody wouldn’t be seeing her mother. While I appreciated that arrangements in fostering can and do change, this wasn’t right. Everyone at the review had agreed Melody should be seeing her mother, yet now it had been postponed indefinitely. I realized it wasn’t practical for Melody to see her mother today, but I didn’t understand why Neave couldn’t have given me a firm day, which I felt would make telling Melody that bit easier. Your mummy is moving today to a care home, so we’ll see her on Wednesday – or Thursday or Friday, or whichever day it was – sounded less harsh than, We can’t visit your mummy today, as she is moving to the care home. Neave will tell us when we can see her. Children in care have to deal with so many disappointments, especially in respect of their parents, and it’s often left to the foster carer to mop up the mess.

  I stood in the kitchen, staring into space, feeling Melody’s disappointment. I considered telephoning Jill, but she wouldn’t be able to offer much beyond commiseration. I then thought about the Guardian, Nina, who’d been advocating the resumption of contact. Going into the front room, I took my fostering folder from the drawer and found Nina’s office phone number. As I dialled I hoped Neave wouldn’t think I was going behind her back or over her head, then I thought, sod it, I don’t care. Melody needs to see her mother.

  Nina was out of the office but was expected back in an hour or so, so I left a message with her colleague, giving my details and asking her to call me as soon as she could. She returned my call an hour later and I explained that contact had been arranged for today and how excited Melody had been over the weekend, but that Neave had just telephoned to say Amanda was being transferred to a care home and that she didn’t know when Melody could see her mother. ‘It’s nearly a month since she saw her and this is going to affect her badly.’

  ‘I agree,’ Nina said. Then it went quiet. ‘My role is really to report to the judge at the final court hearing. I don’t usually become involved in social worker practice.’ Which I knew. ‘But let me see what I can do. Clearly it’s in Melody’s best interests to see her mother.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Later that afternoon, shortly before I was about to leave for school, the phone rang again and it was Nina. ‘I’ve spoken to Neave and she’s suggested you take Melody to see her mother at the care home either Friday after school or Saturday afternoon. Visiting is any time between one-thirty and seven-thirty. If it goes all right then once a week, but she’ll speak to you next week.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ I said.

  ‘Do you have the address of the care home?’

  ‘No.’ I reached for the paper and pen I kept by the phone and wrote the address. It was an hour’s drive away. ‘So the care home isn’t local?’

  ‘No. It was the nearest that had a free bed and could offer the type of care that Amanda needs. That’s why Neave has suggested Friday or Saturday – when Melody doesn’t have to be up for school in the morning if you’re late back.’

  ‘OK, thank you. I’ll tell her.’

  As I drove to collect Melody from school that afternoon I considered which day would be best to take her to see her mother – Friday, at the end of the week when she might be tired, or Saturday afternoon, which would limit us going out on any day trips. I decided to try Friday and see how it went. If Melody was too tired, I would switch it to Saturday the following week. Neave had said Friday or Saturday and left it for me to decide. I was pleased that I could now give Melody a definite day, although of course she was coming out of school expecting to see her mother that afternoon.

  I waited in my usual place in the playground and when Melody’s class came out she was near the front, smiling broadly and with Miss May at her side. Miss May also thought we would be going straight to the hospital to see Amanda so didn’t come over to talk, but just gave a little wave. Melody ran to my side full of joy and anticipation. I steeled myself for what I had to say.

  ‘Look, love,’ I said, taking her hand. ‘There has been a slight change of plan.’

  ‘I’m not seeing my mother, am I?’ she cried, snatching her hand away.

  ‘Yes, you are, but not this afternoon.’

  ‘That’s not fair!’ she shouted, and stamped her foot. Others turned to look.

  ‘Come on, I’ll explain as we walk to the car.’ I didn’t want a scene in the playground. With her face set like thunder, Melody reluctantly fell into ste
p beside me.

  ‘What?’ she demanded. I saw her old anger return and who could blame her?

  ‘You remember Neave said that they were looking for a nice care home for your mummy?’ I began steadily. ‘Well, they’ve found it and she’s moving there this afternoon. That’s why we can’t see her today, but we are going to see her on Friday after school.’

  ‘But Friday is ages!’ she moaned.

  ‘It’s not ages,’ I said. ‘It’s four sleeps, which isn’t long at all.’

  She thought about this for a moment. ‘But I wanted to see her today.’

  ‘I know, love, but it can’t be helped, and Friday isn’t so long.’

  ‘What about all the food I got ready to take and your mum’s cakes?’

  ‘The biscuits will be fine and you can choose some more fruit. But I think we should eat those cakes and then you and me can make some more.’

  Most children like to make cakes and Melody was no exception. ‘All right,’ she said begrudgingly, but her anger was receding.

  ‘Excellent,’ I said and opened her car door. ‘I’ve just had another good idea.’

  ‘What?’ she asked suspiciously, pausing before getting in.

  ‘Let’s stop off on the way home and you can choose a box of chocolates to take to your mother on Friday.’

  ‘Yes, my mummy likes chocolate, and we’ll make the cakes too?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘With icing on?’

  ‘Yes, if you like.’

  So while Melody was disappointed, it could have been far worse.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Heartbreaking

  Adrian, Lucy and Paula obviously knew that Melody was supposed to be seeing her mother that afternoon, so I’d left a note in the kitchen saying contact had been postponed so they wouldn’t accidentally say something insensitive when we walked in earlier than expected. Melody and I stopped off on the way home to buy the chocolates for her mother and she also chose some pink icing for the cupcakes we were going to make. By the time we arrived home her anger had subsided, my family were in, and the afternoon and evening continued as most school evenings did, with Melody playing or watching television before dinner, then me helping her with her homework, and reading her a story before her bath and bed.