by Cathy Glass
‘Will I be sick?’ she asked.
‘No.’
‘What if I am?’
‘You won’t be.’
I persuaded her to lie down and left her looking at a book while I showered and dressed. I was usually up shortly after six o’clock anyway, so it wasn’t worth going back to bed. When I checked on Molly after I’d showered she was asleep again. She slept for another hour, but as soon as she was awake she asked, ‘Will I be sick at nursery?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
I guessed it would take some time before the constant worry of being sick completely left her, if it ever did.
Molly didn’t want much breakfast, but I wasn’t worried. She was still a little anxious, and she could make up for it at lunch once the anxiety of her first visit to nursery was behind her. We left the house just after 10.30 a.m. with Kit in the stroller and Molly walking slowly beside me. She was quiet, but Kit kept up a steady flow of chatter. His latest expression was ‘Whatsthat?’ – all run together into one word – and he said it as he pointed to virtually everything we passed. I told him: ‘That’s a house’. ‘A blue car’. ‘A tin can’. ‘A dog’. ‘A lamppost’. ‘A dog weeing up a lamppost.’ Finally, Molly laughed.
We arrived at the nursery just before eleven o’clock. I pressed the security buzzer and gave my name. ‘I’m here for Molly’s visit,’ I said. While I was familiar with the layout of the school and nursery from when I’d brought my children and some of those I’d fostered, all the staff had changed. Alison Dene, the Head, whom I’d spoken to yesterday, let us in, and was as friendly and warm in person as she had been on the phone. She made a big fuss of Molly and then showed us around the nursery. Most of the children were in the main room where the activities were and looked about Molly’s age. They were all occupied – painting, playing in the sand pit, at the water table, in the playhouse and so on. The room was bright with lots of colourful collages on the walls and mobiles hanging from the ceiling. Alison showed us the separate room for babies and infants who still needed a sleep. It was prettily decorated and had four cots, a changing station and a rocking chair.
As we returned to the main room, Alison suggested I put Kit’s name on the waiting list for the nursery in case he was still with me. She then gave me an information pack for Molly, which included a registration form, and introduced us to Molly’s keyworker, Julie, a young lady who reminded me of Lucy. All the children were assigned a keyworker who they could go to if they needed anything, and who would keep an eye on them. I filled in the registration form, while Molly spent some time with Julie, who talked to her and encouraged her to play with some of the activities.
We stayed until the end of the session and Molly didn’t want to leave, she’d had such a nice time. I thanked Julie for looking after her and said we’d see her again next Tuesday. Molly didn’t stop talking about nursery all the way home and was looking forward to going again. I was relieved and pleased. However, it must have tired her out because after lunch she fell asleep on the sofa for over an hour. This allowed me some one-to-one time with Kit. Later that afternoon, Molly drew some pictures of her nursery to show Lucy, Paula and Adrian – especially Lucy.
‘Fantastic. It’s just like my nursery!’ Lucy exclaimed as Molly proudly showed her the drawing. In truth it was a typical three-year-old’s drawing with lots of different-coloured lines and swirls but nothing distinguishable. It was what Molly wanted to hear, though, and she was delighted.
The following morning, Molly wanted to go to nursery again, so I had to explain that it wasn’t held at the weekend and we’d go again on Tuesday – three more sleeps. We had a relaxing day on Saturday and then visited my mother on Sunday, then there were just two more sleeps until Molly could go to nursery again.
On Tuesday I stayed for the whole of the first session, although Molly spent most of it away from me and playing alongside other children. During the second session on Thursday Julie suggested that Kit and I leave the nursery for half an hour to get Molly used to being left, which I did. When I returned, Julie said Molly had asked where I was a couple of times but had been easily reassured. The following week I left her at the start and collected her at the end of the sessions, as the other mothers and carers did, and she was fine. We also began attending the playgroup for Kit on Wednesday afternoon and that went well. Our weeks were now very busy, and with less than a month to go until Christmas I began shopping in earnest. The first weekend in December we put up our Christmas decorations.
Retrieving the boxes of Christmas decorations from the loft and decorating the house is a family tradition, and everyone joins in. Molly couldn’t remember last Christmas and Kit had only been nine months old, but Molly said they’d been talking about Christmas at nursery, so she had some understanding of what it meant. Lucy and Paula decided we should approach the task methodically by hanging the ceiling decorations first, then those that went on the walls and doors, then spraying the artificial frost on the windows, and then finally dressing the tree. Adrian, the tallest, went up the ladder, while Lucy, Paula and Molly passed up the decorations, and I tried to keep Kit occupied and out of the way. It was impossible, and happy chaos resulted. Kit pulled garlands, tinsel and baubles from the boxes before Adrian and the girls were ready for them, became entangled in the streamers and then tried to decorate Sammy, who eventually shot out through the cat flap.
It took all afternoon, but by the time we’d finished our house sparkled and shone, ready for Christmas. We switched on the tree lights as soon as it went dark, and it was magical. However, I’d learnt from previous years not to put the chocolate novelties and candy canes on the tree until much closer to Christmas, as they had a habit of mysteriously disappearing, for which Mr Nobody was responsible. I had some illustrated children’s books about Christmas which I kept with the decorations and I read them to Molly and Kit for their bedtime stories. Molly was very excited and kept asking questions about Christmas and presents, and going to church on Christmas Eve, which I’d told them all about. My mother would be coming to us for Christmas and we’d see my brother and his family and close friends over the Christmas period. My family and I have always loved Christmas, but we are acutely aware that it can be very difficult for families who are separated. Christmas is a family time and the loss of separation is highlighted by all the images on the television and in magazines of families celebrating Christmas together.
It was now nearly four weeks since Molly and Kit had seen their parents and they were talking about them less and less. The last time Tess had mentioned contact was when she’d told me that Aneta was in a psychiatric hospital and Filip’s solicitor was asking for contact for just him, and she was waiting for the outcome of the police enquiry. The following Wednesday Tess phoned. She thanked me for my email updating her about Molly going to nursery and Kit’s playgroup, asked how they were, and then said, ‘We’re going to reinstate contact for Filip two days a week, starting this Friday. The police are satisfied that he played no part in making the children ill.’
‘OK.’
‘I shall observe contact this Friday,’ Tess continued. ‘It will be Monday and Friday, three till five, so Filip can work the early shift. I won’t have a chance to see Molly and Kit before Friday so can you prepare them for seeing their father again, please?’
‘Yes, I will. A month is a long time in a young child’s life. What shall I tell them about their mother? Molly is sure to ask.’
‘If Molly does ask then tell her she is in hospital, which is what Filip will be saying.’
‘All right.’
Tess then said she’d just sent out the invitations for the children’s next review on 17th December, and we said goodbye. I wasn’t surprised that contact had resumed for Filip if he hadn’t played any part in making his children ill. He had a moral and legal right to see them, at least until the final court hearing w
hen the judge would decide where Molly and Kit would live permanently, and set any contact arrangements.
I introduced the subject of contact to Molly and Kit that afternoon as we walked to playgroup. ‘Tess telephoned me and she said you will be able to see your daddy this Friday afternoon.’
Molly looked thoughtful. ‘And Mummy?’ she asked.
‘No. It will just be Daddy, and Tess will be there too.’
‘Why not Mummy?’
‘She is in hospital being looked after by doctors and nurses.’
‘Mummy likes hospitals,’ Molly said, as she’d said before. ‘I hope I’m not sick,’ she said a moment later, immediately growing anxious.
‘No, you won’t be. That time has passed.’
‘I don’t like being sick. I like living with you, because I’m not sick.’
‘Good.’ I smiled.
‘Do you like me living with you?’
‘Yes, I do, a lot.’ I swallowed hard. I was a professional foster carer and knew that at some point the children could leave me, but that hadn’t stopped me growing very close to them, loving them, as did my family. If we ever had to say goodbye, I knew it was going to be heart-breaking for us all.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Disclosure
I prepared Molly and Kit as best I could for seeing their father again on Friday. Molly, that much older, had a better understanding than Kit. ‘Daddy,’ he said whenever I broached the subject. I replied, ‘Yes, you are seeing your daddy again on Friday.’ Molly kept telling him that too.
I was slightly apprehensive at meeting Filip again after all that had happened. I also worried that the children might not show him the warmth they had done in the past and which he might be expecting. Molly and Kit had got used to life without their parents, were bonding with my family and had different lives now that involved nursery and playgroup, where they were making friends. They weren’t the quiet, anxious, compliant and sickly children Filip had been used to.
I explained to Molly and Kit that they’d be seeing their father at the Family Centre and I’d take and collect them as I had before. Molly fell silent as we approached the centre, but Kit kept up his usual chatter. ‘Whatsthat?’ he said as I parked.
‘The Family Centre, silly,’ Molly replied.
‘Molly, he’s only little,’ I reminded her.
The notice in reception about not taking in food and drink had gone, having served its purpose. The receptionist told me the children would be in Rainbow Room – primarily reserved for babies and very young children. Whether this was by chance or design I didn’t know, but I was pleased they weren’t in Blue Room. It could have set off many memories, not all of them positive. This seemed to be a fresh start. I signed the Visitors’ Book and the receptionist said we could go straight through, as Tess and the children’s father were already there.
I took Molly and Kit by the hand and we went down the corridor and through swing fire doors. ‘Is Mummy here?’ Molly asked, although I’d already told her a few times she wouldn’t be.
‘No, just Daddy, and Tess, your social worker.’
We had to cross the central atrium to get to Rainbow Room and a boy aged about eight was kicking a football with his mother. She told him to stop to let the kiddies pass. I thanked them and we continued across and down a short corridor. The door to Rainbow Room was decorated with brightly coloured rainbows. I knocked and opened it. Filip, dressed smartly in grey trousers, open-neck shirt and jumper, was standing in the middle of the room with Tess. It was clear they’d been talking. A contact supervisor, a different one from before, sat at the table.
‘Molly, Kit!’ Filip said as he saw them, and opened his arms wide.
The children hesitated and then Molly shouted, ‘Daddy!’ at the top of her voice and ran to him. Kit followed. Filip scooped them up and held them close. I saw his face crumple as he dissolved into tears. The poor man was embarrassed and buried his head in his children so we couldn’t see him cry. My heart went out to him, and if Tess hadn’t placed a comforting hand on his arm I would have done. His shoulders heaved as, head down, he wept. I felt my own eyes fill.
Tess nodded to me that I could go. ‘I’ll see you at five,’ I said quietly, and came out, closing the door behind me.
I swallowed hard as I began back down the corridor. Yes, it had been upsetting and very moving to see Filip so emotional, but I was relieved and pleased Molly and Kit had gone readily to their father. It would have been far more upsetting for him if they’d appeared cool or even rejected him. It was a promising start and I hoped the rest of the contact followed suit. I assumed Tess had talked to Filip and explained that the children might need time to adjust, having not seen him for a month, and were unlikely to be able to simply pick up where they’d left off. I’d had experience of parents who, for various reasons, had been in a similar position, where they hadn’t seen their children for a while, and when contact resumed they’d become upset and angry that their children hadn’t been able to show them the love and attention they’d been expecting. Sometimes they were angry at the foster carer, whom they felt had been encouraging the children in this. It’s not like that. Children bond with their main care-giver, whoever it is: birth parent, adoptive parent, foster carer or relative. It they don’t then it’s even more worrying, as it suggests they might have an attachment disorder, which if left untreated can have a negative impact on the rest of their lives.
When I returned to collect Molly and Kit I was apprehensive again, hoping it had all gone well. It was exactly five o’clock as I knocked on the door to Rainbow Room and went in. The children were sitting on the sofa either side of their father and listening to a story. He had an arm around each of them and they both had their heads resting against his chest. Molly was sucking her thumb as she did sometimes when she was relaxed. The contact supervisor was at the table, writing, and Tess had apparently gone.
‘Is it that time already?’ Filip asked, looking up.
‘I’m afraid so,’ I said. ‘Have you all had a nice time?’ The atmosphere was calm and relaxed, quite different to the end of some contacts, when Filip had been playing riotous games with Molly and Kit.
‘Yes, we have, thank you,’ Filip said, and slowly took his arms from his children and closed the book. ‘Molly has been telling me about nursery,’ he said, standing. ‘I hear Kit goes to a group too.’
‘Yes, that’s right, although I stay with him.’
‘Tess explained.’ Filip returned the book to the shelf and came over to where I was waiting, just inside the door. ‘Molly’s quite the young lady,’ he said. ‘She’s talking a lot more and Kit’s got some words too, so that’s good.’ Although what he said was positive, there was sadness in his eyes. ‘You know where Aneta is?’ he asked me quietly.
‘Yes. Tess told me.’
He nodded slowly. ‘I see her most days after work.’
‘How is she?’
‘Making progress. Tomorrow I’ll tell her I’ve seen Molly and Kit and they are doing well. She will be pleased. She knows what she did was wrong.’ He stopped. Molly and Kit had come over to us now. ‘I’m sure these two have grown since I last saw them!’ he exclaimed, and picked them up. ‘They’ll be as tall as me soon!’
I smiled. He kissed and hugged them goodbye, and set them down again. ‘Molly plays nicely with Kit now,’ he remarked.
‘Yes, I think mixing with other children at nursery is helping.’
He looked thoughtful. ‘They didn’t really mix before. Aneta didn’t …’ Aware the children would hear, he let his words fall away. ‘Anyway, you’re doing a good job.’ But his eyes were sad.
‘Thank you. We’ll see you on Monday then. Have a good weekend.’
‘And you.’
He said goodbye to the children again and we left, the children parting easily from their father. They were quiet as we left the centr
e, but as I drove away Molly said, ‘Daddy was different. Unhappy.’
‘He’s been through a lot,’ I said, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. ‘He was very pleased to see you both. That will make him happy.’
‘I told him about my friends at nursery and he’s going to tell Mummy.’
‘Good.’
‘Why can’t I tell Mummy?’ Molly asked.
‘Because your mummy is in hospital.’
‘That’s what Daddy said. When can I see Mummy?’
‘I don’t know, love. What did your daddy say?’ I guessed she’d asked him, and parents are often made aware of arrangements before the foster carer.
‘Daddy said he didn’t know. But someone must know!’ she declared adamantly and tutted. I smiled to myself.
‘We will be told if anything changes,’ I said.
‘Whatsthat?’ Kit said, pointing to a large red bus that had just pulled out in front of us.
‘It’s a bus, silly,’ Molly told him.
‘Don’t call him silly,’ I lightly admonished. ‘We all have to learn.’
‘But he is.’
Calling Kit silly had increased since Molly had started nursery, so I thought that while mixing with her peers had generally been positive, it had also produced some behaviour we could have done without, just as school often does.
While I drove, Molly talked about the games they’d played with their father. She also said their mother was in hospital, being made better by the doctors, which I assumed was what Filip had said. But then, as I parked outside the house, she suddenly said, ‘Cathy, you know Kit broke his arm?’
‘Yes, love, but it’s all better now.’
‘It was my fault.’
