by Cathy Glass
‘Are you packed and ready?’ I asked as we went in. I closed the door.
‘Yes.’
‘Bring them in here!’ Wilma called from the living room.
‘Whoops,’ Faye said, smiling as she realized this was what she was supposed to do.
‘No worries,’ I said.
We followed her into the living room where Wilma was sitting on the sofa exactly as I’d left her three days earlier. Stan was getting to his feet, using his stick for support.
‘These are my daughters, Lucy and Paula,’ I said to them both.
‘Hello,’ Wilma said, running her eyes over them. I wondered if she disapproved of what they were wearing. They were dressed fashionably but tastefully, although very differently to the way she dressed Faye.
‘Nice to meet you, ladies,’ Stan said to the girls, propping himself on his walking stick. They smiled back.
‘And you,’ Paula said politely.
‘Faye is packed, her bags are in her room,’ Wilma said matter-of-factly. ‘We’re seeing her Tuesday? Becky said to check with you first, but she felt Faye should be with you all day tomorrow to settle in.’
‘Yes, Tuesday is fine with me,’ I said. ‘What time?’
‘Becky said between eleven o’clock and three. You’ll come with Faye on the bus to begin with?’
‘Yes, and then I’ll return at three o’clock to bring her home. It’s only one bus – number forty-seven. She’ll soon get used to it.’ I smiled at Faye.
‘After she’s done the journey with you three or four times she should be all right by herself,’ Wilma said.
‘OK.’ Obviously it would have been easier for me to take and collect Faye in my car, but that wouldn’t have helped her independence.
‘Fetch your things then,’ Wilma said to Faye.
‘Shall we come and help?’ Lucy asked, stepping forward.
‘Yes, please,’ I said. ‘And don’t forget Snuggles,’ I called after them.
‘As if she would!’ Stan said indulgently. ‘He’s been sitting on top of her case all morning.’
I smiled. ‘And her maternity folder and mobile phone are packed?’ I asked.
‘Yes, they’re in the case,’ Wilma confirmed.
The girls returned almost immediately from Faye’s bedroom. Lucy was carrying a suitcase, Paula a shoulder bag and Faye Snuggles.
‘Is that everything?’ I asked, surprised.
‘Yes,’ Wilma said. ‘She can always collect some more clothes if she needs to when she visits.’ Which was true. ‘Although she hasn’t got that much that fits her now. She’s been wearing my clothes, but I need them here.’
I guessed money was tight living on state benefits, and Wilma didn’t strike me as the sort of person who would spend money on maternity wear that would only be worn for a few months.
‘I was thinking of taking Faye shopping for some maternity clothes, if that’s all right with you?’ I asked diplomatically. ‘As you know, I receive an allowance while Faye is with me.’
Wilma nodded.
‘That would be good,’ Stan said. ‘We’ve told Faye that staying with you is like going on holiday, so those can be her new holiday clothes.’ Which was a quaint way of putting it.
‘Good. I’ll take her shopping for some new outfits then,’ I said. ‘See you on Tuesday. Would you like Faye to telephone you this evening?’
‘Only if she wants to,’ Stan said. ‘She sees more than enough of us.’
I smiled. ‘But do phone us if you want to chat. You have my phone numbers?’
‘Yes, Becky gave them to us,’ Wilma confirmed.
We all said goodbye, and Wilma stayed where she was on the sofa while Stan came with us.
‘Faye, aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?’ Wilma called after her.
Faye stopped in the hall, looked at us and chuckled. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, clamping her hand over her mouth. ‘I nearly forgot!’
The girls and I laughed too, while Stan tutted fondly. Faye clearly had a sense of humour and now that she was more relaxed around us it was starting to come out.
‘She’d forget her head if it wasn’t screwed on,’ Stan said affectionately as Faye returned to the living room to kiss her gran goodbye. ‘But she’s a good, kind kid. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. We’re going to miss her.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ I said. ‘But it’s not for long and I’ll look after her.’
‘Thank you,’ he said gratefully. I thought that Stan felt a lot more than he showed.
Faye returned from the living room and hugged her grandpa goodbye. ‘Look after yourself and enjoy your time at Cathy’s,’ he said to her.
‘I’m going on holiday,’ she replied happily. ‘Say goodbye to Snuggles, Grandpa.’
‘Bye, Snuggles. Behave yourself,’ Stan said. It was lovely the way he accepted her for who she was.
Leaning on his stick for support, he opened the front door and then took a couple of steps out of the flat. He stood in the corridor and watched us walk to the elevator, then called goodbye and returned indoors. It was clearly an effort for him to walk and his left side was still weak from the stroke.
‘Is your house a long way away?’ Faye asked as we waited for the elevator.
‘No, not far. About a twenty-minute drive,’ I said. I’d mentioned this at my previous visit, but she must have forgotten or not understood.
‘I have a watch!’ she announced and drew up her left sleeve so we could see her wrist watch.
‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘That’s good. I can show you how long it is to my house.’ It’s so much easier to explain time with the aid of an analogue watch or clock. I always make sure the children I foster have one.
‘Which is the minute hand, do you know?’ I asked her.
‘Yes, the big hand,’ she said.
‘That’s right. It’s pointing to five now so in twenty minutes it will be there, on the nine. Do you know what the time will be then?’
She studied her watch for a moment and then said, ‘Quarter to three.’
‘Well done. So twenty minutes isn’t long; it’s from there to there,’ I said, showing her on the watch.
‘It’s not long,’ she told Lucy and Paula, and they smiled.
The elevator doors opened and we got in. ‘The lift smells,’ Faye announced, sniffing the air.
‘Yes, it’s disinfectant,’ I said. ‘I think it’s just been cleaned.’
‘Gran says some naughty people use it as a toilet late at night,’ Faye said.
‘Urgh gross!’ Lucy exclaimed, horrified, and peered down at the floor.
Faye looked bemused and a little alarmed at Lucy’s outburst. ‘What does gross mean?’ she asked me.
‘Dirty, not nice,’ I said.
As the elevator descended I saw Faye eyeing Lucy and Paula curiously and I wondered how much contact she normally had with young people. From what I’d learnt so far she seemed to spend most of her time with her grandparents, apart from two days a week when she went to the stables and the day centre. The elevator stopped, the doors opened and a middle-aged couple who knew Faye were waiting for the elevator. They smiled and said hello to her.
‘I’m going away but I’m coming back,’ she told them.
‘I know,’ the woman said kindly. ‘Your gran said. See you soon.’
We crossed to the car where Lucy and Paula loaded Faye’s suitcase and shoulder bag into the boot. I asked Faye if she would like to sit with me in the front, or in the rear. She wanted to sit in the rear so Paula sat with her, as it was Lucy’s turn to sit in the passenger seat. Despite their ages, my children still coveted the front seat, just as they had done when they were younger, and took turns to sit there, unless Adrian was with us, when it was his seat, as he needed the extra leg-room.
‘Five minutes has passed,’ Faye announced, looking at her watch as I started the engine.
‘Twenty minutes was only an estimate,’ I said, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. ‘It has taken us fiv
e minutes to come down in the elevator and get in the car.’
‘Our home is twenty minutes from now,’ Paula said. ‘So we’ll arrive at about ten minutes to three.’
Faye studied her watch and then looked out of her side window. There was a silence for a while and then Lucy asked Faye, ‘What sort of things do you like to do in your spare time?’
‘Watch television,’ Faye said.
‘Me too,’ Lucy agreed. ‘What programmes do you like?’
‘I like Coronation Street, EastEnders and Emmerdale, the same as Gran.’
‘You’re in good company then,’ I said. ‘Lucy loves the soaps.’
Lucy then talked to Faye about what was happening in these series, and Paula and Faye joined in. Paula watched soaps sometimes, but not as much as Lucy, who updated herself from the internet if she missed an episode. I’m not a great soap fan.
After a while I said, ‘Faye likes being at the stables too.’
‘I love the horses,’ Faye said. ‘More than I love Gary in EastEnders.’ Which made us all laugh.
‘So what do you do at the stables?’ Paula asked. ‘Do you ride the horses?’
‘Sometimes, but I also help muck them out.’
‘Yuck, what does that mean?’ Lucy asked. Considering she worked with children, she was rather delicate in these matters.
‘It means we have to shovel up their poo and put it in a wheelbarrow,’ Faye said.
‘Gross,’ Lucy said.
‘Gross,’ Faye repeated. ‘It’s very smelly.’
‘I don’t mind it,’ Paula said. ‘I go riding sometimes. Do you have a favourite horse?’
I could see that Paula and Lucy, like me, were working out where to pitch the conversation with Faye, and I thought they were doing well.
‘Whisper is my favourite,’ Faye said. ‘She is a Shetland cross and is eleven hands high. You measure horses and ponies in hands. My next favourite is Misty. He is a black gelding and is twelve hands high. I only ride those two because they are very gentle. But I help look after the others and stroke them.’
‘That’s fantastic,’ I said, glancing at her in the interior mirror. ‘You know a lot about horses.’
I saw her smile. ‘Some of the kids from the flats call me stupid,’ she said. ‘But Grandpa tells me to ignore them. He says I’m not stupid, I know more than them about horses.’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Your grandpa is a very wise man. It’s stupid to call people names.’
The thought of anyone calling Faye names or being unkind to her was enough to make me tear up. Gentle, kind Faye. But I could see how vulnerable she was, and I fully understood why her grandparents had become overprotective.
Chapter Four
In Denial
Although Faye had seen photographs of my house, I still showed her around when we first arrived. As we entered each room she said politely, ‘This is a nice room. Thank you for showing me.’ This was all rather formal, so I told her to treat the place like home as she would her flat. I introduced her to Sammy who, realizing there was someone new in the house, had shot in through the cat flap to see what was going on. He was usually standoffish when it came to meeting new people and would turn his back and walk away or flee outside, but not with Faye. He came straight up to her, rubbed around her legs, let her stroke him and then rolled over onto his back so she could rub his tummy.
‘I think he likes me,’ Faye said, pleased, and she knelt to pet him.
‘He certainly does,’ I said. ‘But remember to wash your hands when you’ve finished stroking him.’ It was basic hygiene, but even more important for an expectant mother, as disease could cross the placenta and affect the baby.
When Sammy had had his fill of being petted he went outside again. Faye washed her hands at the kitchen sink and then, examining her watch, said that her gran and grandpa had a cup of tea and a biscuit at home around this time – 3.30 p.m.
‘Would you like tea and biscuits now?’ I asked, assuming this was part of her routine.
‘Yes, please.’
I smiled. ‘You must tell me what you have at home so you can have it here. I want you to feel at home.’
‘Gran says I mustn’t be any trouble.’
‘You certainly won’t be that,’ I said. I filled the kettle. ‘But it will help me if you tell me what you want, OK?’ Faye was so self-effacing that it concerned me she might not like to say.
She gave a small nod and stayed with me in the kitchen, watching me as I took down the mugs.
‘I can make tea,’ she said after a moment. ‘I make it for Gran and Grandpa.’
‘That’s good. You can make it here too if you like. But it’s nice to have it made for you sometimes, isn’t it?’
She nodded accommodatingly. ‘Gran and Grandpa can’t walk very far so I help them,’ she said. ‘It was scary when Grandpa had his stroke. We had to call an ambulance. He’s slowly getting better. But he says he won’t ever be perfect.’
‘He’s doing very well,’ I said. ‘Strokes can take a long time to recover from. It’s good you can help him.’
‘That’s what he says. I love my grandpa. I hope he doesn’t die.’
‘He’s getting better,’ I reassured her. But I thought it must be a worry for Wilma and Stan, and for any parents with a disabled child, as to who would look after Faye when they did eventually die. I supposed she’d have to go into supported lodgings, as there were no close relatives she could live with.
Once the tea was made we took it into the living room where Lucy and Paula were waiting. I liked them to be sociable when a new child or young person arrived. They hadn’t wanted tea but had poured themselves a glass of water each. To start the conversation I said that Faye usually had tea and biscuits around this time at home, and we talked a bit about different families having different routines. Faye talked unselfconsciously, although it was more like an elderly person talking – measured and slow – than a young person in their twenties. How much of this was because of her learning disabilities or from spending so much time with her grandparents I didn’t know. But I guessed from what she said that she hadn’t spent much time in other people’s homes. It appeared that as a child (attending a special school) she hadn’t gone to friends’ homes to play, nor had she had them home. Now, she only saw her friend Emma at the day centre. She said she went into her neighbour’s flat with her grandparents for a cup of tea sometimes, although they were nearer her grandparents’ age than hers. But Faye seemed content and accepting of people and situations, which is an admirable quality in anyone.
Once we’d finished our tea I suggested to Faye that we unpack her suitcase. She came with me upstairs while Lucy and Paula went off to do their own thing. Snuggles, who’d been her constant companion, being either held or tucked under her arm, came with us and Faye sat him on the bed. She unzipped her suitcase and on top was the maternity folder, which she passed to me. Together we unpacked her case, folding and hanging the garments into the drawers and wardrobe. As her gran had said, there wasn’t an awful lot: two pairs of elasticated-waist trousers in dark green and brown, the same style her gran wore and Faye had on now; two large wash-worn jerseys in grey and beige, which I guessed had also been Wilma’s; a dressing gown and duffel coat, which were Faye’s but she couldn’t possibly do up over her baby bump; a pair of furry slippers; a pair of pyjamas; a vest, bra and pants; a towel and a brand-new wash bag.
‘I got that new for coming here,’ Faye announced proudly as she took the wash bag from the case.
‘It’s very pretty,’ I said. With a satin finish and a colourful flowery pattern, it was a welcome contrast to the drabness of her clothes.
‘I didn’t have a wash bag,’ Faye said. ‘So Grandpa asked our neighbour to buy one for me when she went shopping. He gave her the money. That’s was kind of him, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, it was. It’s beautiful,’ I said. ‘Lucky girl.’
She beamed and her whole face lit up.
Once the c
ase was empty I stowed it on top of her wardrobe so it was out of the way. Then she took her towel and wash bag to the bathroom and I showed her where to put them: her towel on the rail next to ours and her wash bag on the shelf, ready for later. We returned to her room and unpacked her shoulder bag. It just contained her mobile phone, some well-thumbed women’s magazines, which Faye said were her gran’s, her hairbrush, some sweets and a small framed photograph of her grandparents which we placed on top of the chest of drawers. This photograph was the only object she’d brought with her that could personalize her room and I suggested that when we went shopping the following day she could choose some posters to put on the walls to make the room look more comfortable. I’d noticed she had some pictures of the Flower Fairies on her bedroom walls at home. Faye liked the idea and, giving me a hug, thanked me. It seemed a big treat for her.
I now suggested we went downstairs and looked through her maternity folder together. I needed to know how Faye was doing with her antenatal care and when her next appointments were, and it would be a reminder for her. I hoped it might also be a starting point for discussion about her baby. So far she hadn’t mentioned it and continued to behave as though it wasn’t there. She was happy to let me take the folder and we went downstairs where we settled side by side on the sofa with the folder open on my lap. The first few pages contained standard introductory information on the purpose and use of the folder, with emphasis on it needing to be kept with the patient and taken to all antenatal appointments. This was followed by the patient’s details: Faye’s name, address and telephone number (I’d give them mine too at the next appointment), date of birth, age, her doctor’s details and the date the baby was expected – 14 December. I’d thought it must be close to Christmas, but seeing it in print gave me a jolt. Faye would be giving birth and then parting with her baby only two weeks before Christmas, possibly closer if she overran her delivery date. The only consolation was that at least she would be home with her grandparents for Christmas.
