by Cathy Glass
She managed a small smile. ‘Does it really? I’ve never worn a delicate floral print before. I’ve always gone for plain and drab. When I get out of here perhaps I’ll treat myself to some new clothes when I have the money. Give me something to look forward to.’
‘Yes, do. It’s nice to have something to look forward to. And the most important thing is going home to your family.’
She nodded.
‘Is there anything else you need before I go? I have to collect my children soon.’
‘Just a couple of new feet,’ she joked. ‘Thanks for coming. I promise I won’t eat all the sherbet lemons in one go.’ She threw me an old-fashioned look, then suddenly and completely unexpectedly she reached out and took my hand. It was so out of character that I started. It was a very courageous gesture for someone who avoided all physical contact, seeing it as a threat.
‘Thank you for everything,’ she said, giving my hand a little squeeze. ‘Please tell Max I love him lots, and once I’m home I’ll make it up to him. Tell him I’m sorry I haven’t been a good mummy. I’ll try my best to be better in the future. Tell him I’m proud of him and I should have told him sooner.’
‘I’ll tell him, Caz, although I’m sure he knows how much you love him, as all your family love you.’
‘If they do, I don’t deserve it. I pray I get the chance to make it up to them.’ She wiped away a tear, as did I.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bittersweet
I was pretty choked up as I returned to my car and then drove to collect Paula. The image of Caz, childlike in the pleasure she’d gained from the new nightdress but feeling she wasn’t pretty enough to wear it, had moved me deeply. All children need to be loved, protected, praised and adored. To go through life as Caz had done, believing she was worthless, was soul-destroying. Partly due to the abuse she’d suffered as a child and then perpetuated by Dan, her self-esteem was non-existent. I hoped that one day, once Caz was settled at home again with her children, if they began therapy then some of the harm done to her could be undone, otherwise she ran the risk of passing her issues on to her children. In respect of comfort eating, she already had.
I was served a timely reminder of how lucky I was when I collected Paula and saw the smile on her face. She’d had the confidence to spend time with her friend and was now overjoyed to see me, as I was her. As soon as I stepped into the hall she flew into my arms and covered my face in kisses, innocent and unreserved. I picked her up, hugged and kissed her, and then, thanking Kay for having her, we made an arrangement for her daughter to come to us for lunch. I then had to leave to collect Adrian and Max.
The first day of the new term and both boys had a lot to tell me. Max knew I was going to the hospital to see his mother and I told him she was fine, sent her love and would see him tomorrow.
I told him again at bedtime that his mother had specifically asked me to tell him she loved him loads, was proud of him and was looking forward to going home so they could be together again as a family.
‘So am I,’ he said. ‘I love my mummy lots.’
‘I know, and I think you should tell her that when you see her.’
‘Should I?’ he asked, slightly surprised. They weren’t a family who showed affection either verbally or physically, largely due to the abuse Caz had suffered. Natural affection had become confused and warped by abuse for her.
‘I think your mother would like to hear you say you love her.’
‘OK, I will. I’ll remember,’ he said. It wasn’t spontaneous as it is in some families.
The following day when we arrived on the ward he walked up to the bed, presented his mother with the fruit, kissed her cheek and said, ‘Mummy, I love you.’ And added, ‘You’ve got a new nightdress. You look pretty.’
Which, of course, brought Caz close to tears.
‘Thank you, love,’ she said. ‘That is kind.’ She managed to give him a small hug.
Our new routine of hospital visiting continued for the next two and a half weeks. We took it in turns with Max’s sisters to go on alternate evenings, and then at the weekend we all went. Bet had moved in, as Lorraine had said the girls weren’t old enough to live alone and would have to go into short-term foster care otherwise. I hadn’t met Bet. She’d been visiting Caz, but not at the same time we did. She sounded like a really good person, selfless, and a loyal and supportive friend, not only to Caz but the whole family. When Caz was discharged from hospital Bet took the day off work so she could help her settle in and make sure she had everything she needed. Caz left hospital in a wheelchair and was taken home by ambulance, although she used a walking frame inside the house. We kept the same contact going – Tuesday and Thursday evenings and Saturday and Sunday afternoons.
Jo returned to work ten days later and when she telephoned, I said I hoped she was feeling better, although it soon became obvious she was no less stressed than the last time I’d spoken to her. Her voice was tight and she spoke quickly. She told me that Max would live with me while Caz continued her recovery at home and she completed an assessment. The social services had concerns that Dan could return to live at the house, which would make it an unsafe environment for the children, although they were partly reassured that as far as anyone knew Caz hadn’t let him back in since he’d left. I said I didn’t think she would. They also needed to be satisfied that Caz could provide a reasonable standard of parenting for Max – for example, by making simple meals, establishing a bath and bedtime routine and by meeting his emotional and intellectual needs. I told Jo of the present contact arrangements and she was happy for them to continue, while adding that in future Max would be allowed to stay at home all weekend, which was good news.
Despite all that was going on, or perhaps as a result of it, Kelly and Paris asked their doctor for a referral to the health centre so they could follow a diet and fitness plan similar to the one Max was on. Summer didn’t, claiming she had too much homework, and Caz said she’d go once her feet were better and walking wasn’t so painful. Max was still following the plan, although it lapsed at weekends when he was at home. He’d tell me on a Sunday evening when I collected him what he’d been doing and what he’d had to eat – the good news first: ‘Cathy, Paris and me went for a walk, then I had scrambled eggs on toast with tomatoes for lunch.’
‘That sounds good,’ I’d say.
‘And in the afternoon I had crisps, a chocolate bar, three biscuits and a big bowl of ice cream all to myself.’
‘Good heavens!’ I’d say lightly, wondering if he was trying to wind me up. ‘It’s a wonder you didn’t burst.’
But despite the lapses at the weekends Max continued to lose a little weight each week – around a pound or two – and was generally much fitter. The rotund portliness that had given him the air of a Charles Dickens character was diminishing, and without rolls of fat getting in the way he could now move more easily and was more agile. He could also skip, work a swing, kick a football with some force and ride a skateboard and scooter, but he hadn’t mastered a bike yet. Mrs Marshall, his teacher, made a point of telling me one day that she’d seen a big improvement and that Max was far less self-conscious now in PE, and had recently started joining in and playing with other children in his class at break time, rather than sitting by himself reading. He still loved reading, but joining in was a big step forward; he now had the confidence to play with his peer group. His breathing had improved and he didn’t get out of breath so easily when exerting himself. He hadn’t used his inhaler at home or school, although he still kept it in his school bag. At night I only heard him snore if he was lying flat on his back and in a very deep sleep. So he was fitter all round, and I hoped the improvements in his health, diet and general wellbeing continued once he was home permanently, but of course that would be his mother’s responsibility.
Eventually, in December, the social services were satisfied that Max could return home and the moving date was set for Saturday, 19 December, the day after the schools broke up f
or Christmas. His leaving was bittersweet. Yes, of course I was pleased he was able to go home, as were Adrian and Paula – it was the best outcome possible – but we’d been imagining Max with us at Christmas, so in that respect we were disappointed. I packed all his belongings, including his Christmas presents, which I asked Kelly to hide until Christmas morning. There were his ‘Father Christmas presents’ and presents from me, Adrian, Paula and my parents.
The girls had really done a good job of decorating the house for Christmas; they’d put a lot of effort into it. Outside a large illuminated reindeer and sleigh stood by the pathway, and inside festive garlands, balloons, sparkling decorations and ‘Happy Christmas’ signs adorned the walls and ceilings. The light bulb in the hall had been replaced, and a waist-high illuminated Perspex laughing Santa stood just inside the hall and greeted visitors with a booming ‘Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!’ before bursting into song. Adrian and Paula enjoyed running past and activating it and asked if we could have one. I said we had quite a lot of decorations already. In their living room a tall, glittering artificial Christmas tree stood majestically in the window so it could be seen from outside. Three different sets of coloured lights flashed on and off in various random sequences, multifaceted baubles glinted as they turned, and chocolate novelties and gaily coloured candy bars hung in abundance from the branches of the tree.
It took two trips to move all Max’s belongings, although I left him at his house after the first trip and returned with Adrian and Paula for the rest of his things. Then it was time to say goodbye. The three of us stood in their living room surrounded by the trappings of Christmas, and I wished them all a Merry Christmas before saying a personal goodbye to Max, who had gone very quiet.
‘So, young man,’ I said. ‘You have a lovely Christmas. I know you will now you are home. Your mum and I are going to stay in touch, so I’ll find out how you’re doing, and hopefully we’ll see you before too long. It’s been great having you stay with us and you’ve done really well. So a big hug, please, and then we’ll be off.’ There was a second’s hesitation before he stepped forward to hug me – any spontaneity of affection he’d developed while living with us already waning. But he gave me a hug, and then Adrian and Paula said goodbye to him.
I also said goodbye to his sisters and Caz. It felt odd not hugging or kissing cheeks when saying goodbye, as we did in my family. I’d packed a Christmas present for each of them in the bag containing Max’s presents. Caz then told Adrian and Paula to choose a chocolate each from the tree. They all had one too. Using her walking frame, Caz hauled herself to her feet and, leaving the girls in the living room, came with us down the hall to see us out. As we passed the singing Santa he burst into a loud ‘Ho! Ho! Ho!’ and one of their cats shot by in a frantic panic to hide.
‘You have a lovely Christmas with all your family,’ Caz said, opening the door. ‘And thanks again for everything.’
I smiled. How different this parting was to our first one. ‘Take care and we’ll speak after Christmas,’ I said.
We stepped outside. Caz gave a little wave and then closed her front door. As we went down the path she was returning down her hall and ‘Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!’ burst robustly from within, followed by a verse of ‘Jingle Bells’.
Adrian laughed. ‘You can even hear it out here!’ he said.
‘Yes. Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!’ I returned loudly, and in the same tone as the Santa, much to Adrian and Paula’s embarrassment.
‘Mum, stop it. I can’t take you anywhere,’ he admonished with a grin.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tragedy
When a child leaves a foster carer and returns home it’s usually left to the child’s parent(s) to keep in touch with the carer. Many do for a short while because they appreciate that the child needs the contact, having established a bond with the carer and their family. Then it often peters out as memories fade, day-to-day living takes over and the family moves on with their lives. Caz had said she wanted to stay in touch with me, not only for Max’s sake, but she also felt, as I did, that we’d become (unlikely) friends. We agreed we’d phone each other and get together when we could. In the New Year we got into the habit of taking it in turns to phone every week. Caz was the one who did most of the talking and seemed grateful to have an understanding ear, as she put it.
After Caz and I had spoken and she’d told me all her news, I passed the telephone to Adrian and Paula so they could talk to Max. Sometimes we all said hello to the girls too. The family was being monitored by the social services and Jo’s visits would continue for at least a year, longer if there were any concerns.
As time passed our calls grew less frequent – about once a month. During that first year we also visited Max three times while the schools were on holiday – Easter, summer and the following Christmas, when I took them all a little gift and Caz gave us chocolates. Chocolate Santas for Adrian, Paula and the child I was fostering, and a box of chocolates for me. Caz’s feet had healed and no further operations were planned, so her mobility was as good as it was going to get. She never went out alone and got around at home using a walking frame. She didn’t use crutches, as she said they made her feel unsteady. She still had regular check-ups at the hospital, including attending the diabetic clinic, and ambulance transport was provided.
Caz took a lot of medication, much of which she would have to take for the rest of her life. As well as tablets for type 2 diabetes, she took tablets for reducing her cholesterol, lowering her blood pressure and for water retention, antibiotics if there was any sign of infection, and so on. The list was endless and even she didn’t know what some of them were for. Yet when she talked about the tablets and showed me the dosette boxes full of them it was with a certain pride, as if she wore a badge of honour. Yes, it was sad, her world seemed to have closed in and now consisted of hospital appointments and taking medication. She was old before her time.
I didn’t ever bring up the subject of food or dieting, but occasionally Caz volunteered that she’d seen the dietician at the hospital who’d given her a diet plan. If she did lose any weight, it couldn’t have been much, for it didn’t show and certainly her general health didn’t improve. Max maintained his weight loss during his first year at home and didn’t significantly lose or gain weight. Kelly and Paris began attending the diet and fitness classes at the health centre, and while Paris noticeably slimmed down during the year, Kelly stayed the same, claiming it was her genes. Even Caz gave a snort of laughter and said it was more likely all the chips, cakes, chocolates and ice cream she ate. Certainly, whenever I saw Kelly she was eating. It was such a pity, and I feared she was following in her mother’s footsteps. Of all three girls she was the most similar to her mother in appearance and character.
Caz and I continued to keep in touch for the next two years, phoning each other every couple of months, and we still visited her during the school holidays. Kelly left college and got a job locally working for a small printing firm. Paris and Summer continued their education by studying vocational courses at the same college Kelly had been to. Paris maintained her weight loss, but despite her good example Kelly, Summer and Caz remained morbidly obese. During this time Max had continued to grow upwards, which had helped redistribute his weight, so he was now what I would describe as chubby rather than obese. He continued to excel at school and I had little doubt he would do well. When we visited he took Adrian and Paula to his room to play, while I talked to Caz – and the girls if they were at home – in the living room.
On one of our visits we met Bet, who was the lovely person I’d imagined her to be. She was mid to late fifties, so about fifteen years older than Caz, with a very big heart. She lived a few doors away and seemed to act as a motherly figure to Caz and her family, and had taken them all under her wing. I thought she looked familiar when I first saw her but couldn’t place her until she said she’d worked at Beeches for twenty years, the large department store in town, and I realized that’s where I’
d seen her. She said her husband also worked there, in the store’s warehouse. We got on very well and the next time she knew we were visiting Caz she made a point of calling in to see us, which was kind. She had five children, who were all adults now and had moved away, apart from one of her daughters who lived at home with her partner and two young children. Bet was of average weight for her height, and I saw her shake her head sadly when Kelly, having made tea, ate most of the cake and biscuits she’d set out on a plate for us all.
‘I can only say so much,’ Bet confided quietly to me when Caz left the room to use the bathroom. ‘Caz needs to be firmer with the girls or they’ll all go the same way. I’ve told her what I think, so there’s not much more I can do.’ She was obviously worried, not only about Caz’s health, but that of her children too.
Bet asked me about fostering, as many people do, and she said it was something she and her husband would consider if ever they had a spare room, but of course at present they had a full house with their daughter and her family living there.
As it turned out Bet got her wish, but sadly not in a way she could have foreseen or wanted.
At the end of January, three years after Max had left us, when Kelly was twenty, Paris eighteen, Summer sixteen and Max just nine, I received a telephone call the like of which I hoped I’d never receive. It was ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning and there was just Toscha and me at home, as the children were at school. It was a cold day – we’d had a frost that morning – and Toscha was curled up in her usual place by the radiator. I was in the living room with a file open on my lap, completing some paperwork for the part-time clerical work I did from home. When the phone rang I was tempted to let it ring, as I really needed to get on with the work while I had some time. I reached out and picked up the handset, ready to dispatch the caller as quickly as possible. ‘Hello?’
