by Cathy Glass
‘Yes. Can I get out now?’
‘Have you finished washing?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK. Do you need any help?’
‘No. You mustn’t come in. I haven’t got any clothes on.’
‘I won’t,’ I replied quickly. Faye needed her privacy as much as anyone.
I heard the water drain, but it was another quarter of an hour before she came out in her pyjamas and dressing gown, and her hair was wet. She said she always washed it in the bath and I asked if she wanted a hair dryer, but she said she dried it on the towel. Not wanting to miss any more television, she took the towel downstairs with her and continued drying her hair as she watched her programme. If I thought she watched too much television when she could be doing something more stimulating, it wasn’t for me to say. She enjoyed watching television and these programmes had been part of her life with her gran at home.
As with the previous evenings, Faye watched television until nine o’clock and then, when the last soap finished, she stood, poured herself a glass of water and went up to bed. I kissed her and Snuggles goodnight and came out of her room. I heard her get up to use the toilet once in the night, but now I was more confident she was all right alone I didn’t get up. Once I heard her bedroom door close I turned over to go back to sleep. It was only then that I realized I hadn’t telephoned Mum. I was annoyed with myself. I’d telephoned her every evening since Dad had passed, but it was too late now. I’d phone first thing in the morning.
Chapter Seven
Compromise
‘You don’t have to telephone me every evening,’ Mum said as I apologized again for not phoning the day before. ‘You’re worrying too much about me. I’m doing all right, really I am.’
‘Are you?’ I asked. It was 7.30 a.m. and I knew Mum would be up. She and Dad had always been early risers. I, too, was showered and dressed, and sitting on the edge of my bed.
‘Yes, I’m all right,’ Mum said. Then there was a small silence before she added, ‘You know, love, it’s different when you’re young, when you have your whole life ahead of you. You don’t think about death. But as you get older you know that if you are a couple then eventually one of you is likely to pass before the other. Your dad and I talked about this not that long ago and we both agreed it was important that whoever was left behind made the most of the time they had left, until we could be together again.’ She paused. ‘Of course I miss your dad dreadfully – he was my best friend as well as my darling husband – but he wouldn’t want me sitting here night after night, depressed and in tears. He wouldn’t want you fretting and worrying about me being alone either. I don’t really feel alone. I have a wealth of happy memories that brings your dad closer to me. I am sure he’s watching over me. Yesterday I tried to hang a picture …’
‘We could have done that for you,’ I said, swallowing the lump that had risen in my throat.
‘I know, love, but I wanted to have a go at it myself. I found his tool kit in the garage, but when I hammered the nail into the wall it was wonky. I had to laugh, and I could hear him laughing too. We shared the joke. “Well, at least you had a go,” I heard him say, which of course is what he would have said in life.’
‘Yes, it is,’ I said quietly. ‘Dad always encouraged us to try new things, even if they were difficult and we might not succeed.’
‘That’s right, he did. I expect you feel his presence sometimes, just as I do. We were a close family, we still are. Because we can no longer see him doesn’t mean he isn’t with us. He’s with us constantly in our thoughts. So promise you’ll stop worrying about me. I’ll ask you if I need help.’
‘All right,’ I said, and wiped the tear from my eye.
‘Good. So how’s your young lady settling in? Faye?’
‘Yes. She’s doing well. I thought I might bring her over to meet you at the weekend. I’m not sure which day yet. It will depend on when she is seeing her grandparents.’
‘I’ll look forward to meeting her. Life goes on.’
‘Yes. But you don’t mind me phoning you each evening if I want to?’ I asked.
‘No, of course not, love. Just don’t feel you have to.’
‘OK.’
After we’d said goodbye I remained sitting on the edge of the bed. Yes, I did feel Dad was with me, watching over me, just as Mum did, but it didn’t stop me from missing him. My parents had always been the backbone of the family, and after my husband, John, had left when the children were little, Dad had fulfilled not only the role of grandpa, but father too. But for now, at least, my chat with Mum had reassured me, and it was the start of a new day.
The time chart, combined with the promise of seeing horses, resulted in Faye being ready at 9.30 a.m., an hour earlier than I’d planned to leave. She wanted the television on to fill the gap (The Jeremy Kyle Show), but instead I took some books from the shelf about animals and horses and suggested she might like to have a look at those while I saw to the laundry. The books were aimed at junior-school-aged children, but the beautiful coloured plates of different breeds of horses and ponies soon had Faye captivated. She sat engrossed for the full hour. She could read some of the sentences and came to me with any words she didn’t know. Then in the car I explained again to Faye about the place we were going to: that it was a ten-minute drive away and the field held about twenty horses and ponies, and one donkey.
I’d never known whom the animals belonged to, but they’d been there for as long as I could remember. I used to take my children when they were little, and more recently the children I fostered. Up until about three years ago you could feed the horses, but then a notice had appeared on the gate asking people not to feed them as it upset their stomachs. However, they still liked to be stroked and petted and they galloped over as soon as anyone approached the gate. It was a popular spot in the school holidays, but now there was just Faye and me; she’d left Snuggles in the car.
Faye stood beside me at the gate, smiling broadly and in her element as she gently stroked one of the horses.
‘I’m sorry we haven’t got anything for you to eat,’ she said as she patted his neck. He nuzzled her shoulder and she laughed. The larger horses, the stallions, had arrived first and were at the front, with the ponies behind them, almost waiting for their turn in a hierarchy of size and dominance. The donkey was alone and standing some way off.
Some of the horses at the front were leaning over the gate and the fences either side of it, trying to reach fresh grass. ‘It’s all right to feed them grass,’ Faye said, bending down and tearing off a handful. I assumed it was, as they were grazing in a grassy field.
I fed the horses too and then took the packet of antibacterial wipes I kept in my bag and wiped the slobber from my hands. I’d make sure Faye wiped her hands well when she’d finished and then wash them once we were home.
‘You’ve had some,’ Faye said, lightly admonishing one of the horses that had already taken grass from her hand. He seemed to understand and moved aside to let another horse take his place.
I took some photographs on my phone, which I would have printed for Faye and her grandparents, and I breathed in the fresh September air. The day was warm but without the muggy heat of August. Birds fluttered in and out of the hedgerow and occasionally rabbits could be seen hopping along the far side of the field. I watched Faye tearing off the grass and feeding the horses, and I was very pleased that I’d suggested we come. Although it wasn’t the stables, it was a good second best for Faye. She clearly had a rapport with the horses, and I could see why she loved going to the stables. As she stroked them her touch was light and rhythmic, which must have felt good, for they stood very still as she petted them and partially closed their eyes, almost swooning. Once the horses at the front had had their fill of grass and petting, Faye sent them off to make room for the smaller ponies. They galloped away across the field, their tails held high and manes flying out behind them. Eventually most of the horses and ponies had taken a turn to be fed and there
was just the donkey left. He stretched up his neck so that his chin was just able to rest on the top rung of the gate and looked at Faye with large doleful eyes. Then he suddenly gave a very loud hee-haw, which made us both start. Faye quickly tore up another handful of grass and fed him. He was one of the oldest animals in the field and his coat was patchy and dusty. It always had been. My father had once remarked that he looked as though he’d ‘spent a night on the town’, meaning he was looking rough after an evening out celebrating, which rather summed him up.
‘What’s your name, lovely?’ Faye asked him.
He let out another hee-haw in response. Faye laughed and patted his neck, and dust motes flew.
‘I don’t think these horses have names,’ I said. ‘If they do, we’ve never known them.’
‘All the horses in the stables have names,’ Faye said. ‘I’m going to call him Dancer, like Santa’s reindeer. I’m sure he could dance if he wanted to.’ Dancer appeared to nod his head.
Faye gave him some more grass and then gently tried to untangle the hair of his mane. ‘I really need the mane and tail brush we use at the stables,’ she said.
‘Sorry, I haven’t got one of those with me,’ I said with a smile.
‘I’ll bring my hairbrush next time,’ she said seriously.
She petted and talked to Dancer for some time. He was in no hurry to leave. Then one of the stallions returned, his hooves thundering across the field, and Dancer, clearly aware of his place in the pecking order, ran off.
‘That was rude,’ Faye said, mildly chastising the stallion. ‘I know you’re bigger than Dancer, but you shouldn’t throw your weight around. I’m going to call you Boxer, because you’re like the fighting men Grandpa watches on television.’
Boxer was soon joined by a couple of other horses and Faye continued petting and naming them. Eventually, all twenty or so of the horses in the field had a name. I couldn’t tell some of them apart, but she seemed to be able to, perhaps from working with horses. We were there for over an hour, and the only reason we left was because Faye needed to use a toilet and she didn’t fancy squatting behind a hedge.
‘Can we come here again tomorrow?’ she asked as I passed her the antibacterial wipes for her hands.
‘You’re seeing your gran and grandpa tomorrow,’ I reminded her. ‘Then on Friday we have your antenatal appointment in the morning and Becky is coming in the afternoon. But we could come again next week.’
‘Yes. I want to come here every week,’ she said, pleased.
Once her hands were reasonably clean she called goodbye to the horses, said she’d see them again soon, and we returned to the car. On the way home Faye told Snuggles all about the horses and the names she’d given them, remembering most of them. Once home, after she’d been to the bathroom, she wanted to watch television. Faye told me that the television was on for most of the day at her home. I didn’t usually have the television on all day, so I suggested she might like to draw some pictures of the horses we’d seen instead, and show them to her grandparents. She liked the idea, so I took paper, crayons and a pencil from the cupboard and set them on the table. I sat with her for a while as she drew and then left her colouring in while I saw to some housework. Every so often Faye came to find me to show me the pictures and I admired the work in progress. Her drawings were at a very basic level, the artwork of the average seven- to nine-year-old. Three brown horses with legs in straight lines stood in the bright green field, below a solid blue sky with a huge round yellow sun. She drew two pictures, very similar, one for her gran and one for her grandpa. ‘So there won’t be any arguments,’ she explained in a tone similar to one her gran might have used.
When Paula arrived home Faye proudly showed her the finished drawings, childlike in her enthusiasm. Paula praised them and then Faye tried to remember the names of the horses. Not for the first time since I’d met Faye, I saw the disparity between the innocent child, the little girl who loved ponies and was proud of her drawings, and the pregnant woman – a fact she was still ignoring. My family might have seen the discrepancy too, but they didn’t say. I wondered how Faye was going to cope on Friday at the antenatal appointment when she was refusing to acknowledge her pregnancy. Wilma had taken Faye to the previous antenatal appointments and I thought it would be a good idea if I had a chat with her so that I was better prepared. This would be awkward with Faye present, so after dinner, while Faye was watching television, I took the phone into the front room and telephoned her grandparents. Stan answered. I could hear the television in the background.
‘It’s Cathy, Faye’s carer,’ I said. ‘Sorry to disturb you. Everything is all right, but I wanted to check a couple of things with you.’
‘Sure. Fire away,’ he said jovially.
‘Which day were you thinking of seeing Faye this weekend? I’ll work my plans around it.’
‘Saturday. If that’s all right with you.’
‘Yes. That’s fine. I’ll see my mother on Sunday. And the other thing –’ I hesitated. ‘Is it possible to have a quick chat with Wilma? I wanted to ask about the antenatal appointments she took Faye to.’
‘Sure, women’s stuff. Hang on a moment and I’ll take the phone to her.’ The sound went from the television and then I heard him say, ‘It’s Cathy. She wants to talk to you about Faye.’
There was a small silence and then Wilma said a tentative ‘Hello.’
‘Hi, Wilma. How are you?’
‘Not so bad. Legs playing up as usual, but I mustn’t complain. What did you want to talk to me about?’
‘You know Faye has her twenty-five-week antenatal appointment on Friday?’
‘Yes.’
‘You went with her to the previous ones and I was wondering how you got on.’
‘It was a struggle. First getting in and out of the lift here, then the taxi, and those stairs in the doctor’s are a killer. Stan came with us and stayed in the waiting room. I’ve taken her to four appointments, including the two scans, but I can’t do any more. It nearly did me in.’
‘Yes, it must have been very difficult,’ I sympathized. ‘But I was wondering how Faye got on in the actual consultation, when she saw the midwife. She would have measured her stomach, taken her blood pressure, checked her urine and generally talked to her about how the pregnancy was progressing. How did Faye cope with all of that?’
‘I see. Well, she completely ignored the midwife and left me to do all the talking. I think the midwife put it down to Faye being disabled, but it wasn’t. Faye’s got her problems, but she can talk. When we got out of the surgery I told her off for sitting there like she was dumb, but Stan said to leave the girl alone. So that’s what we’ve done since. We don’t mention it unless we have to. It’s easier for us all.’
‘I see,’ I said. ‘I can appreciate that. And the ultrasound scans? Did the radiographer give Faye a print-out of the baby? It’s usual now.’
‘She offered, but Faye didn’t want it. She wouldn’t talk to the radiographer or look at the monitor, which I can understand. It’s lovely if you’re keeping the baby, but do you really want to see an image of it if you know you’re never going to be its mother and look after it? I didn’t want a picture and neither did Faye.’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘I understand. Thank you. It’s helpful to know. I feel a little more prepared now.’
‘Faye might be different with you and talk,’ Wilma added.
‘I’m not so sure. She’s not saying anything to me about the pregnancy – she doesn’t want it mentioned – which is making it difficult for me to help prepare her. Becky is coming to talk to her on Friday.’
‘Yes, I know. When she phoned here she asked me how much I thought Faye understood about being pregnant. I said a lot more than she’s letting on. Faye has always been good at ignoring what she finds difficult, but she can’t ignore this for much longer.’
‘No, indeed,’ I agreed.
‘To be honest, Stan and I are counting off the days until all this is ove
r and Faye can come home. Then we can get back to normal. We try not to show it in front of Faye, but the strain this is putting on us is enormous. First our daughter goes off the rails and kills herself with alcohol, and now this. It’s our great-grandchild, after all, although Stan and I try not to think of it that way.’
At a loss to know what comfort I could offer, I sympathized, thanked Wilma again for taking the time to talk to me and then we said goodbye.
Faye didn’t have a bath that evening. I’d been on the telephone at the time she was supposed to have it, and she didn’t want it later, as she’d miss ‘the best bit of the programme’ she was watching. I find that parenting is full of compromises, where you have to balance what should happen with what the young person wants. Faye had had a bath the previous evening and could have one the following, so I let it go. She stayed in front of the television until nine o’clock when she stood, poured herself a glass of water and, calling goodnight, went up to bed.
Thursday followed a similar pattern to Tuesday. I took Faye on the number forty-seven bus to her grandparents’ to familiarize her with the route. Stan was waiting in the corridor outside the elevator to greet us, and he hugged Faye affectionately. When I went into the flat to say hello to Wilma I sensed that her attitude towards me had softened, perhaps because of our chat on the telephone the evening before. She smiled at me, used my name and thanked me for bringing Faye and for all I was doing for her. Then, later, when I collected Faye that afternoon, Wilma said to me, ‘Good luck for tomorrow. I’ll be thinking of you,’ referring to the antenatal appointment.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
That evening after dinner I showed Faye the time chart I’d made for the following morning and explained to her that we had to leave the house at 9.20 to be at the doctor’s surgery for her antenatal appointment at 9.45.
