Can I Let You Go?

by Cathy Glass

  ‘So you can still have your cup of tea in your dressing gown at eight o’clock as you usually do,’ I said, pointing to the relevant box on the chart. ‘Then you get dressed between eight and eight-thirty. There,’ I said, pointing to the next box. ‘Breakfast between eight-thirty and nine o’clock. There. Then you brush your teeth – five minutes for that – then you come downstairs straight away, and we put on our coats and shoes ready to leave.’ I finished by pointing to the last box, which showed a big 9.20 – the time we had to leave. ‘I know it’s different from the other mornings, but it will work fine, and will save me from having to nag you,’ I added with a smile. ‘I’ll pin it to your bedroom wall.’

  ‘Can I watch television now?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. But remember you’re having a bath tonight.’

  ‘I know. It’s on my chart.’

  The time chart seemed to be working, although I had to remind Faye when it was time for her bath. However, she left the television without protest, had her bath and then watched some more television in her dressing gown. At nine o’clock, as the last soap finished, she stood, went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water as usual, which she took up to bed. When I went into her bedroom to say goodnight I asked her if she had any questions or worries about the antenatal appointment the following morning.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I have a question.’ And for a moment I thought we had a breakthrough and she wanted to talk about her pregnancy. But then she said, ‘Can I take Snuggles with me?’

  ‘Yes, if you want to.’

  ‘Gran makes me leave him at home sometimes. She says I’m too old to be carrying around a cuddly toy. But he’s not just any cuddly toy. He’s Snuggles.’

  ‘I know, love. If it helps you, then take him with us. I don’t mind, and I’m sure your gran doesn’t either. She only wants what’s best for you.’

  ‘Snuggles is best for me,’ Faye said and, giving him a big kiss, she lay her head on the pillow, ready for sleep.

  Chapter Eight

  Don’t Want to Hurt Them

  The doctor’s surgery Faye attended was situated in a bungalow-style building that housed a number of different health clinics, including speech and language therapy, podiatry, diabetes, ophthalmology, as well as a maternity unit. Built around the same time as the tower blocks, it now also served the needs of those living in the streets of modern terraced housing that were gradually replacing the flats. The last block of flats still standing, where Faye lived with her grandparents, towered over the new-builds and could be seen from outside the clinic.

  ‘Shall I wave to Gran and Grandpa?’ Faye asked as we got out of the car, glancing up at the flats.

  ‘They won’t see you from here, love,’ I said. ‘It’s too far away. We can see the flats because they’re tall, but if they were looking out, we’d just be small dots to them.’

  ‘Like ants, Grandpa said.’

  ‘Yes.’ So I guessed he’d already explained this to her before.

  Faye was holding Snuggles loosely by her side and I was carrying her maternity folder. We’d left the house on time and had arrived a couple of minutes early. Faye appeared unfazed by the prospect of the antenatal appointment, possibly, I thought, because she was still in denial or didn’t fully appreciate her condition. A situation I hoped would change when Becky spoke to her that afternoon. I assumed Faye was likely to remain silent during the consultation with the midwife, as she had done at the previous appointments when her gran had accompanied her, although at present she was chatting quite amicably. We entered the health centre and approached reception.

  ‘Hello, Faye,’ the receptionist said, looking up and smiling warmly. ‘How are you?’ Because this had been Faye’s family’s doctor for many years, some of the staff knew her.

  ‘I’m very well, thank you,’ Faye said politely.

  ‘Good.’ The receptionist smiled at me and then checked us in. ‘Take a seat through there until you are called,’ she said, pointing to the waiting area.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. I saw no need to explain to her who I was. Faye wasn’t a child, and possibly her grandparents or Becky had informed the doctor’s surgery that Faye was living with me until the baby was born.

  Like most National Health Service waiting rooms it was adequately but not lavishly furnished: vinyl chairs arranged in rows, a small corner table containing some old magazines and a few children’s toys, but no potted plants, pictures on the walls or similar accessories, as one might expect in a private healthcare waiting room. There were a dozen or so adults waiting to be seen and two children, as various clinics ran at the same time, as well as general doctors’ appointments. One small boy, who was sitting on his mother’s lap, looked very pale. A toddler I guessed to be about eighteen months old was running around chuckling and generally entertaining those waiting. Patients were called to their appointments via a digital monitor suspended in one corner of the room, which announced their name, the person they were seeing and the number of the consultation room.

  Faye settled into the chair beside me with Snuggles on her lap. I checked in my bag that my mobile phone was on silent. Faye had left her phone in her bedroom as usual. The only time she’d need it would be when she started going alone on the bus to see her grandparents; then I would make sure it was fully charged and in credit. Faye vaguely watched the toddler running around, as most of us were doing, but there was nothing to be read in her expression other than slight intrigue. Then she turned her attention to the others waiting and studied them closely, as she tended to do with strangers. The antenatal appointment before ours overran by ten minutes and then Faye’s name, the name of the midwife and the room number flashed up on the monitor, while a digital voice simultaneously announced the same information. Faye seemed to know where the room was; she immediately stood, and with Snuggles dangling at her side she led the way out of the waiting area, down a corridor and to a room on the right. I knocked and opened the door. The midwife sat at the desk writing.

  ‘Take a seat, I won’t be a minute,’ she said, glancing up.

  Faye and I sat in the two chairs that were positioned at right angles to the midwife’s desk and waited until she’d finished. I passed her the maternity folder. ‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling at us both. Then glancing at the name on the front of the folder she said to Faye, ‘I remember, I saw you before with your grandmother.’ Unlike the receptionist and other permanent staff here, the midwife would serve a number of practices and would only have met Faye at her first antenatal appointment.

  I thought it was appropriate to introduce myself. ‘I’m Cathy Glass, a foster carer. Faye is staying with me until after the baby is born.’

  The midwife nodded and began looking through the folder, familiarizing herself with how Faye’s pregnancy was progressing. She would see many women each week, all at different stages in their pregnancies. Faye sat beside me in silence, head down and fiddling with Snuggles in her lap. After a few minutes the midwife stopped reading and looked at Faye. ‘So how is the pregnancy going, Faye? How are you feeling?’

  Faye gave a small shrug and didn’t look up.

  ‘No problems?’ the midwife asked.

  Faye shook her head.

  ‘And you can feel the baby moving?’

  Faye kept her head down and said nothing.

  ‘Let’s bring your details up on screen.’ She swivelled her chair slightly to face the desktop computer, which would give her access to Faye’s medical records; the maternity folder just monitored her pregnancy.

  Faye and I sat quietly again while the midwife read. I couldn’t see the screen; it was angled away from us. After a couple of minutes she turned to us again. ‘So, Faye, we’re going to check your blood pressure today, weigh you and I’ll measure your stomach. We’ll also listen to the baby’s heartbeat, and I’ll need to check your urine. Have you brought a specimen with you?’

  Eyes down, Faye shook her head.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I should
have realized it would be needed.’

  ‘No problem. She can do it once we’ve finished here. Ask at reception for a sample pot and then return it there. The toilets are at the far end of the waiting room. Collect an extra sample pot for next time.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  Clearly it was now time for the midwife to examine Faye. A couch was against one wall with a retractable screen. The midwife stood and, picking up the blood pressure monitor, turned to Faye. She didn’t move or look up – I was starting to see some of the stubbornness Wilma had mentioned.

  ‘I see you’ve already bought the baby a first toy,’ the midwife said, trying to engage Faye and referring to Snuggles. But of course it was totally the wrong thing to say.

  ‘Snuggles is actually Faye’s,’ I said. ‘They’re inseparable. You know the baby will be going for adoption?’

  The midwife grimaced, realizing her faux pas. ‘Sorry,’ she mouthed to me, so I didn’t know if she knew or not. Faye sat stubbornly in her seat.

  ‘Come on, love,’ I said, turning to her. ‘The nurse needs to take your blood pressure.’

  ‘I can do it with her sitting there,’ the midwife said, and took the couple of steps to her side.

  ‘Role up your sleeve,’ I said to Faye. ‘Do you want me to help you?’

  ‘No, I can do it,’ she said moodily.

  ‘Excellent,’ I said.

  Faye pulled up her sleeve and the midwife wrapped the cuff of the blood pressure monitor around her upper arm. ‘That’s a pretty top you’re wearing,’ she said to Faye, again trying to engage her in conversation.

  Faye remained perversely silent.

  The monitor did its job. The midwife said the reading was normal and marked the result on the appropriate graph in the maternity folder. ‘I’d like to weigh you now,’ she said to Faye. ‘Can you stand on those scales for me?’

  Without lifting her gaze, Faye stood and with Snuggles at her side went over and stepped onto the scales. Although she wasn’t responding she was at least cooperating.

  ‘That’s good,’ the midwife said, reading out her weight.

  Faye stepped off the scales and waited by them as the midwife noted the reading in the folder.

  ‘Now, we need to measure your tummy to make sure baby is growing as it should be. Can you lie on the couch for me?’

  Faye did as she was asked, lying flat on her back with Snuggles at her side. The midwife lifted Faye’s top a little so she could slide the tape measure underneath her back and then round the front and over her bump to get an accurate measurement.

  ‘Good,’ she said, and made a note of the figure. ‘Now we’ll have a listen to baby’s heartbeat.’ She squeezed a little gel from a tube onto Faye’s stomach and smeared it over her skin. Then she picked up the foetal Doppler and ran it over her bump until the baby’s heartbeat could be heard loud and clear. ‘There it is,’ she said, pleased. ‘Your baby’s heart beating healthily.’

  Emotion welled up in me, for here was the irrefutable proof of the life living within Faye. The tiny baby perfectly formed but only the size of a small bag of sugar. A baby’s heartbeat is twice as fast as an adult’s; it sounded like the clip-clop of a galloping horse or a high-speed train running over the tracks. It’s the sound expectant parents cherish – confirmation that their baby is healthy – and it’s a connection before the baby is born and they hear its first cry. But Faye remained staring at the ceiling, her face expressionless, as the sound echoed in an otherwise silent room.

  ‘That’s all fine then,’ the midwife said after a moment, switching off the Doppler and returning it to the table. The air was suddenly unnaturally quiet without the heartbeat. She pulled a paper towel from the dispenser and wiped the gel from Faye’s stomach. Faye tugged her top down into place and climbed off the couch.

  ‘Can we go now?’ she asked me.

  I looked at the midwife.

  ‘Everything is fine. The baby is the right size. Do you have any concerns?’

  ‘No.’ I didn’t in respect of Faye’s physical health. It was her non-acceptance of being pregnant that worried me. ‘She’s eating and sleeping well,’ I added.

  ‘Good. Before you leave, make an appointment at reception for her next check-up in three weeks. And don’t forget the urine sample. I’ll test it after you’ve gone. If you don’t hear from me, assume it’s normal.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘Can we go now?’ Faye asked again.

  ‘Yes,’ the midwife said with a smile.

  I wasn’t so pleased. I thanked the midwife again and we left. In the corridor outside I said to Faye, ‘That was rude.’

  ‘I don’t like her,’ Faye said sulkily.

  ‘Why not? She seemed pleasant enough to me.’

  ‘I don’t like what she says.’

  ‘What? About Snuggles?’

  ‘No. About babies.’

  ‘But that’s her job. She’s a midwife, a nurse with extra training. Her job is to help and monitor women who are expecting.’

  ‘Snuggles doesn’t like her either,’ Faye said, holding him up and ignoring my last comment.

  At reception I asked for two urine sample pots and gave one to Faye. ‘Do you know what to do?’ I asked her.

  ‘Gran showed me,’ she said, still a little moody.

  ‘Do you need help?’

  ‘No. I’ve got Snuggles.’

  The receptionist must have heard and flashed me an indulgent smile. ‘I’ll wait for you here then,’ I said to Faye.

  Faye went through the waiting area to the Ladies at the far end, while I turned to the receptionist and booked Faye’s next appointment.

  ‘She’s a sweet kid,’ the receptionist said. ‘It must be difficult for her.’ The phone rang before I needed to reply, and from then on she was busy answering the phone and attending to people at the counter.

  Ten minutes passed and Faye still hadn’t appeared, so I went through the waiting area and knocked on the door of the Ladies. It wasn’t the most private place to site a bathroom, and a few of those in the waiting area looked over. ‘Faye?’ I knocked again. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ came her small voice from the other side of the door.

  I waited by the door and five minutes later she came out and handed me the sample pot. ‘Well done. I know it’s awkward,’ I said quietly to her. ‘It’ll be easier next time. You can do it at home before we come.’

  We returned through the waiting room and I handed the sample pot to the receptionist and we said goodbye. Faye was still looking disgruntled and once outside I said again that the midwife was just doing her job.

  ‘Snuggles says can we go and see the horses?’ she asked.

  ‘Not today, love. There isn’t time. Becky is coming to see us at two o’clock. We’ll go next week.’

  I wondered if I should say anything further about the midwife’s role, but I decided to leave it until we’d seen Becky. I was pinning a lot on Becky’s visit – she was a highly experienced social worker and used to working with adults with learning disabilities. Faye’s grumpiness vanished in the car and once home she asked if she could watch television, but I produced some jigsaw puzzles from the cupboard instead.

  Her face lit up. ‘My grandpa does jigsaws,’ she said.

  I smiled. ‘So did my father.’

  The two puzzles Faye did first had about forty reasonably large pieces and were aimed at six- to eight-year-olds. But she quickly completed these and progressed to a more difficult puzzle with sixty slightly smaller pieces. When she’d finished that one we had lunch and then Faye took another jigsaw puzzle from the cupboard. This one was far more complex than the previous, with 150 small pieces forming an intricate, colourful geometric design. Adrian had bought it with his pocket money when he’d been into doing jigsaw puzzles as a child. We took it into the living room and set it on the coffee table where it could remain undisturbed until it was completed. Faye was still working on the puzzle twenty minutes later
when Becky arrived and I showed her into the living room.

  ‘Wow! I am impressed,’ Becky said, going over for a closer look. Faye smiled, pleased.

  I offered Becky a coffee and left her sitting on the sofa beside Faye while I went to make it. Sammy was in the kitchen trying to decide if he should go into the living room and introduce himself to our guest, but decided otherwise and went out through the cat flap. I returned to the living room with Becky’s coffee and set the cup and saucer on the small occasional table within her reach.

  ‘Thanks, Cathy,’ she said, taking a sip. She was watching Faye as she carefully selected another piece of the puzzle and tried to fit it in. ‘You’re doing well,’ she said to her.

  I agreed and sat in one of the easy chairs with my fostering folder and diary at my side.

  ‘So how did your antenatal appointment go this morning?’ Becky asked Faye, taking another sip of coffee.

  Faye didn’t reply, although she had clearly heard Becky. She kept her concentration on the puzzle.

  ‘Everything was fine,’ I said. ‘Blood pressure and weight, and the midwife measured her stomach. It was all normal. We also heard the baby’s heart beating.’

  ‘Excellent,’ Becky said. Setting down her coffee she took a notepad from her bag and made a few notes. Faye was still looking at the puzzle, pretending she hadn’t heard. Becky saw this.

  ‘Could you leave that for a moment,’ she said, lightly touching Faye’s arm. ‘I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes. It won’t take long.’

  ‘What do you want to talk about?’ Faye asked, without looking up.

  ‘I’d like to talk about how you’re feeling, and about the baby you’re carrying.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about that,’ Faye said firmly.

  ‘Why not? Can you tell me?’ Becky asked kindly.

  ‘Because it makes Gran and Grandpa sad.’

  ‘I see. Does talking about it make you sad?’ Becky asked.

  Faye shrugged. She put down the piece of puzzle she’d been holding and, picking up Snuggles, held him to her. ‘I want all of us to be happy again,’ she said quietly. ‘Grandpa, Gran, me and Snuggles. I want to go home and it to be like it was before.’