Can I Let You Go?

by Cathy Glass

  Faye needed the toilet again just as we put on our coats and were about to leave, but finally we were out of the front door and I set off at a reasonably brisk pace up the road towards the bus stop in the high street.

  ‘I don’t like walking fast,’ Faye moaned after a moment. ‘It makes my feet hurt.’ So I slowed the pace.

  Somehow we arrived at the bus stop with a minute to spare. ‘You want the number forty-seven,’ I said, pointing to the number on the front of the bus.

  ‘Forty-seven,’ she repeated.

  We got on and sat together, then swapped seats, as Faye wanted to sit by the window. As the bus pulled away she turned to me with a frown. ‘I’ve forgotten Snuggles, and my phone.’

  I swallowed a sigh of exasperation. She only had two things to remember and she’d forgotten them both. I blamed myself; I should have checked.

  ‘You won’t need your phone,’ I said. ‘You won’t be going out alone, will you?’

  ‘No. But Snuggles is in the bathroom and he doesn’t like it in there without me. He always sits on my bed when I’m out.’

  ‘Don’t worry. As soon as I get home I’ll move him into your bedroom.’

  ‘He has to sit on my pillow,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I know. I’ve seen.’

  Reassured, Faye turned her attention to what was going on outside, gazing through the window with the intrigue and wonder of a child. People waiting at the bus stops, a man walking a large dog, cyclists passing on the inside, people getting on and off the bus all held interest for her. She didn’t comment, just watched them carefully, looking longer than the cursory glance an adult would normally give. I wondered what she was thinking.

  ‘Penny for your thoughts,’ I said after a while, using an expression my father had used.

  Faye smiled and looked at me. ‘Grandpa says that when I’m staring and don’t answer him. But when I’m thinking I don’t hear him.’

  ‘It’s because you’re concentrating,’ I said. ‘I’m the same.’

  Presently we entered the area of town that was familiar to Faye. ‘You know where you are?’ She nodded. ‘Not long now.’ I didn’t normally use the buses. I either walked or took my car, and the laborious stop-start motion of the bus had lost its novelty for me. ‘Only about another ten minutes,’ I said, more for my sake than hers.

  Faye raised her wrist to look at her watch and then realized she’d forgotten that too. ‘Silly me,’ she said, tapping her forehead.

  ‘No, you’re not. I should have reminded you,’ I said. ‘All your possessions are in different places at my house. It must be very confusing. We’ll remember them tomorrow, don’t worry.’ I smiled reassuringly.

  ‘Am I seeing my gran and grandpa tomorrow?’ she asked.

  ‘No, the day after. It’s every other day. It’s Wednesday tomorrow. Do you remember we decided that if you’re not going to the day centre I’d take you to see some horses?’

  ‘Oh yes, goody. I’m looking forward to that,’ she said happily.

  We can all forget things and lose track of time, but with someone like Faye, who had learning difficulties and relied heavily on routine and familiarity, it must have been very difficult for her to keep track of what was happening in her life when all that was familiar and regular had vanished. I guessed at home when she took off her watch at night she put it in the same place and then in the morning automatically put it on as part of her routine. We all have similar habits.

  It was 10.50 as we stepped off the bus. ‘You know that this is the bus stop you get off at, don’t you?’ I asked her.

  ‘Yes. It’s the same place I get off when I’ve been to the day centre.’

  Most of the buses stopped close to the flats – there was a mini-terminus from the days when there’d been four tower blocks here. We walked the short distance to Faye’s block of flats and the elevator took us up to the eighth floor. The doors opened and Stan must have been looking out for us as he was waiting in the corridor, leaning on his stick for support.

  ‘Hello, my lovely,’ he said, as soon as he saw Faye. ‘Don’t you look smart!’ Faye was wearing one of the new maternity dresses and her new coat.

  ‘I’ve forgotten Snuggles,’ she said, giving her grandpa a big hug.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, feeling responsible.

  ‘She doesn’t need him with her the whole time,’ Stan said. ‘She’s a big girl, aren’t you, pet?’ Faye nodded and gave him another hug. ‘Come on in, Gran’s waiting to see you.’ I guessed they’d been missing her quite a lot.

  ‘I’ll just say hello to Wilma and then I’ll be on my way,’ I said.

  ‘Won’t you stay for a cuppa?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s kind of you, but I’ve got a few things to do. I’ll be back later, though.’

  I followed them into the flat and to their living room where Wilma was sitting in her usual place on the sofa. We said hello as Faye went over and hugged her.

  ‘Where’s your duffel coat?’ she asked Faye.

  ‘At Cathy’s. I’ve got new clothes now,’ Faye added, proudly pointing to her coat and dress.

  ‘Don’t forget to bring your other clothes home with you,’ Wilma said. ‘They’ll fit you later.’

  ‘She won’t,’ I said. ‘I’ve put them all in her suitcase. None will go missing.’

  Wilma nodded, but that was all she said about Faye’s new clothes. She didn’t compliment her and I hoped she approved of what I’d bought. ‘What have you been up to then?’ she asked Faye.

  Faye looked to me for an answer.

  ‘On Sunday we unpacked, then after dinner Faye watched some television,’ I said. ‘And yesterday we went shopping.’

  ‘They’ve got a cat,’ Faye said.

  ‘Yes, we saw him in the photograph,’ Wilma said. ‘Are you managing to sleep there?’

  Faye nodded.

  ‘She’s doing very well,’ I said. ‘Becky is coming to see us on Friday.’

  ‘Yes, she phoned here this morning.’

  There was a small silence and then I said I’d better be going. I confirmed I’d be back around three o’clock and, having said goodbye, I saw myself out.

  I had to wait ten minutes for the bus, so by the time I arrived home it was twelve o’clock. I’d have to leave again shortly after two o’clock to collect Faye, so the days she saw her grandparents were going to be very short for me, until she felt confident using the bus alone.

  Upstairs I found Snuggles sitting on the edge of the bath and I took him to Faye’s room where I positioned him as she liked him on the pillow. Her bed was unmade, her pyjamas were on the floor and the curtains were only partially open from where she’d left in a hurry. Her phone was also on her bedside cabinet. I had a quick tidy up and then went downstairs to make the most of the time I had left.

  It was while I was vacuuming, with one eye on the clock, that I had the idea of making a time chart for Faye, also known as a routine chart. It had helped children I’d looked after in the past and I thought it might help Faye too. Leaving the rest of the housework, I went to our toy cupboard. I found white card, felt tips and a ruler and settled at the dining table.

  A time or routine chart shows a child or young person what they need to be doing at any particular time of day. It’s a timetable, really, and is used by parents, teachers and childcare workers to help a child establish a routine. It is especially useful for morning and evening routines and can include homework and out-of-school activities. Faye’s bedtime routine wasn’t an issue, apart from having a regular bath or shower; it was the morning when she needed constant reminders, and I hoped this would help. It also encourages self-reliance. Adults automatically create time charts in their minds so that, for example, if a person needs to leave the house at 8.30 to get to work by 9.00, and they know it takes them an hour to get ready, then they set their alarm clock for 7.30, aware they have to be showered and dressed by 7.50 and having breakfast at 8.00 to leave by 8.30 without chronic indigestion. Young children and those wi
th learning difficulties can’t conceptualize this, so writing it down can help.

  Using the ruler, I divided up the page into grids, then wrote the time on the left and what Faye needed to be doing on the right; for example, 8.45–9.00. Get dressed. She could read the time and there was a clock on the wall in her bedroom, so all she had to do was check the time with the chart, which I would pin beneath the clock. Friday would be slightly different, as we had the antenatal appointment, so she would have to be ready earlier. I made a second chart just for Friday morning. I would explain to Faye how they worked when she got home.

  Before I left to collect Faye that afternoon I texted Paula to say where I was going, as she might be in before me and wonder where I was. We usually let each other know our plans. I caught the 2.20 bus, this time taking a book with me to read to stave off the monotony of the journey. When I arrived at the flat I was slightly surprised to find Faye sitting in the living room with her coat on. I was five minutes early.

  ‘Everything all right?’ I asked, glancing at the three of them.

  Wilma gave a stiff nod.

  ‘She wouldn’t take her coat off,’ Stan said. ‘She loves it so much. Thanks for getting it. It’s good quality.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I said. ‘I’m glad she likes it, but sorry it caused a problem. Faye,’ I said, now looking at her, ‘the coat is for outdoors, not in. You’ll be too hot.’ Indeed, her cheeks were flushed.

  ‘We told her,’ Wilma said. ‘But when our Faye puts her mind to something she won’t be told.’ I hadn’t seen this side of Faye, but clearly it had caused some friction. ‘She tells me you’re taking her to see horses tomorrow?’ Wilma added.

  ‘Yes, just to see them in a field. I’m aware of the health and safety concerns. She won’t be riding them.’

  Wilma nodded, and again I thought I detected slight hostility.

  ‘Enjoy yourself,’ Stan said to Faye as she stood, ready to leave. Despite their disagreement, Faye hugged her gran goodbye and then Stan came with us to the elevator.

  ‘Don’t you fret over what your gran says,’ he said once outside. ‘She’s a bit out of sorts today. Her arthritis is playing up.’

  ‘I know,’ Faye said with a sigh. ‘But she does go on.’

  ‘It must be very frustrating not being able to do the things she wants and being in constant pain,’ I said.

  ‘It is,’ Stan said. ‘But her bark is worse than her bite.’ Which was another expression my father had used.

  The elevator arrived and Faye gave her grandpa a big hug as we said goodbye.

  ‘See you Thursday,’ he said as the doors closed. ‘Look after yourself.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’ I asked Faye as we descended.

  She nodded. ‘I love Gran, but she does get on my nerves sometimes. Grandpa tells her to be quiet and press the off switch.’

  I smiled. ‘No family ever gets along all the time. But it was OK?’

  ‘Yes. Did you put Snuggles on my bed?’

  ‘I did. I’ve also made a time chart for you and pinned it to your bedroom wall. I’ll explain about it when we get home.’

  Outside I asked Faye if she remembered which bus to catch and she didn’t.

  ‘Number forty-seven,’ I said.

  ‘Can you write it down for me? That’s what Grandpa does. He says I’d forget my head if it wasn’t glued on.’ She chuckled.

  I laughed too. ‘I like your grandpa. He reminds me of my own dad. I’ll write down the number of the bus and also put it in your phone. But Faye, you won’t be travelling on the bus by yourself until you’re sure of the journey, so don’t worry.’

  When the bus arrived I pointed out the number on the front.

  ‘Number forty-seven,’ Faye repeated loudly as we got on, and then made a dash for a window seat. I saw a couple glance at her.

  After a few moments Faye started asking questions about the time chart and I explained as best I could without having it with me to show her.

  ‘We have a chart like that on the wall at the stables,’ she said. ‘It’s got the names of the people and which horses they have to muck out and feed.’

  ‘Yes. That’s similar,’ I said. ‘It’s a rota. Your chart just has your name on it and the times you need to be doing things.’

  ‘If it works, you can give it to my gran when I go home. Stop her nagging me,’ Faye said.

  ‘Yes, I could. Although she probably has her own techniques for helping you.’

  ‘It’s called nagging!’ Faye said after a moment, and we both laughed.

  Halfway through the journey the schools finished for the day. The bus quickly filled with secondary school children and the noise level rose. Two lads sitting directly behind us were particularly loud, guffawing and whooping at whatever it was they were sharing on their mobile phones. I heard Faye sigh a couple of times, and then she suddenly turned in her seat and said very forcefully, ‘Keep the noise down, won’t you!’ Much as her gran would probably have done, I thought.

  ‘Sorry,’ one of the lads said, and they lowered their voices. But I was concerned.

  ‘Faye,’ I said quietly. ‘You shouldn’t really talk to strangers like that. Not all strangers are nice.’

  ‘But they needed to be told,’ she said. ‘My gran yells at the lads on our estate from the kitchen window if they make a lot of noise.’

  ‘But that’s different,’ I said. ‘She’s safe in the flat. It’s not a good idea to talk to strangers for any reason, especially if you’re alone.’

  It was at times like this that Faye’s vulnerability was highlighted. She couldn’t see danger as someone else might. I was with her now and she’d chosen two decent lads who’d simply looked a bit surprised and had apologized. But if she’d been alone on the bus and had decided to reprimand a thug, the outcome could have been very different, for I doubted many thugs would excuse her on the grounds of her disability. I thought it must be a constant worry for parents and carers looking after young people with learning disabilities to allow them the independence they needed while keeping them safe.

  ‘Have your grandparents talked to you about strangers?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, lots of times,’ Faye said a little testily. ‘I know I shouldn’t talk to them, but those boys were making a noise.’ So I left it at that.

  As the bus neared the stop where we had to get off, I began pointing out landmarks so that Faye would know when to press the bell to tell the driver she wanted the bus to stop.

  ‘The church is on the right,’ I said, pointing. ‘Then that row of shops is on your left.’ I pointed again. ‘Once the bus has passed the last shop you press the bell and then stand.’ The traffic in the high street usually meant that the bus was moving quite slowly at this point, so she should have plenty of time to see the landmarks.

  I let Faye press the bell and we stood as the bus stopped. Two other passengers got off with us. ‘Now we go to the crossing,’ I said. ‘It’s the only safe place to cross the road here.’ She nodded.

  We waited at the edge of the crossing for the cars to stop. ‘You know you never step onto the crossing until the cars have stopped in both directions,’ I said.

  ‘I know.’

  We crossed and then walked along the pavement until we came to the end of my street. Faye recognized it.

  ‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘Do you know our address?’

  ‘No. Should I?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll write that down and put it in your phone. You’ve already got my telephone number stored there.’ I always made sure the young people I fostered either knew our home address when they started using the buses alone or had it written down. Obvious, but it was something that could easily be overlooked.

  We were the first ones home and Faye was eager to see the time chart, so we went up to her room. She kissed and hugged Snuggles and then stood next to me as I explained the chart. I hadn’t pinned up Friday’s chart yet, as that could be confusing for her – I’d do so on Thursday evening. Faye
seemed to grasp the concept of the time chart.

  ‘So what are you doing between six and six-thirty in the evening?’ I asked.

  ‘Having my dinner,’ she answered correctly with a smile. Then, looking at the clock on the wall, ‘That’s in two hours.’

  ‘Yes, it is. Well done.’

  I’d added a bath into the evening schedule, hoping it could become part of her routine, but if having one every day became an issue she could revert to every third night as she did at home. As long as her hygiene was good, it wasn’t for me to change what was a well-established and working routine, as she’d be home again in three months.

  All my family were in for dinner and as usual we chatted as we ate, mainly about what we’d been doing during the day. My children made a point of including Faye by asking her about her day with her grandparents, and she also told them a few times that she was going to see horses tomorrow. Faye ate well, helped to clear away the dishes and then settled in front of the television. Lucy was with her for a while and then left to chat to a friend on her phone. Paula was on the computer and Adrian went out to check something that wasn’t working correctly on his car. It was his first car, which he’d saved up for, but it was starting to give him some problems.

  At 7.30 p.m., after Faye had been watching television for an hour, I told her it was time for her bath.

  ‘But I’ll miss my programme,’ she said.

  ‘If you have your bath now you’ll have time to watch more television afterwards, just as you do at home with your gran. That’s what the chart shows.’ She didn’t move. ‘Faye,’ I said, non-confrontationally but picking up the remote, ‘I’ll fill your bath while you fetch your pyjamas from your bedroom. That will speed it up.’

  ‘Nag, nag, nag,’ she said good-humouredly. ‘You’re just like my gran.’ But she stood and came with me upstairs.

  In the time it took her to fetch her pyjamas I had run her bath. I checked she had everything she needed and then I left her to wash. As it was the first time she’d used this bath I waited on the landing in case she needed anything. I could hear water splashing as she washed herself, and she also hummed a tune. Then it went quiet. ‘Is everything all right, Faye?’ I called from outside the door.