‘Perhaps, or next week as he said,’ I suggested.
We finished taking off our coats and shoes and I made us a hot chocolate. Then, after lunch, I covered the table with old newspaper and arranged paints and water in the centre. I gave the children an apron, paintbrush and a stack of plain paper each and they painted lots of wonderful pictures: of cats, dogs, themselves, each other, birds, fish and swirling geometric designs. Eventually we ran out of space to dry any more pictures and we cleared away the paints and got out the play dough. When they tired of modelling the dough they helped me make some biscuits to take with us to Nana and Grandpa’s the following day. We had dinner and then watched a film on television. When Beth telephoned her father that evening she told him about all the things she’d done. I thought he must be relieved and pleased that Beth was enjoying herself and not upset and pining for him. I also thought it was a pity I couldn’t talk to Derek, as I usually did with the parents of children I fostered. I could have reassured him that Beth was doing well and he shouldn’t worry. But after I’d upset him with the unfounded allegations, Jessie had said that I shouldn’t speak to him, and I had to accept that.
Sunday was grey and overcast to begin with. A thick blanket of cloud stretched as far as the eye could see, but as I drove to my parents’ (with Beth uncomplaining in her blue tracksuit), the sun came out, which caused Adrian to burst into song:
The sun has got his hat on,
Hip-hip-hip-hooray!
The sun has got his hat on,
He’s coming out today.
‘That’s Grandpa’s song,’ Paula said.
‘Grandpa sings it, yes,’ I said. ‘And you know the words too.’
‘So do I!’ Beth said and began singing.
All three children sang the chorus about six times. None of us knew any more of the verses; I don’t think my father did either.
‘I know other nursery rhymes,’ Paula said when they’d exhausted this one. She began singing, ‘Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?’
Beth joined in and when they’d finished Adrian began a rousing chorus of ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’, which we all joined in with, laughing. We headed down the motorway singing and laughing and only stopped as I pulled into the driveway of my parents’ house. My parents must have been looking out for us, for as I cut the engine their front door opened and they came out to greet us. I let the children out of the car and then introduced Beth to Mum and Dad.
‘Hello, love,’ Mum said, welcoming her. She hugged and kissed us all, while Dad hugged and kissed Paula and me and then shook hands with Adrian and Beth. My parents have a gift for making new children feel at home.
Once inside we presented Mum with the biscuits and then I went with her into the kitchen to help make coffee for the adults and pour juice for the children, while everyone else went into the sitting room. We set the drinks and a plate of the biscuits on a tray and I carried it into the sitting room. Mum told everyone to help themselves. Paula had already found a place on Grandpa’s lap and was looking very comfortable. Beth and Adrian sat in easy chairs to have their drinks and biscuits, and when they’d finished Adrian showed Beth the toy box, which had been Mum’s idea so that I didn’t have to keep packing bags of toys to bring with us to keep the children amused. She’d added to it over the years, so there were toys for boys and girls of most ages. The two of them began doing a jigsaw puzzle together, while Paula stayed snuggled on her grandpa’s lap. Mum and I sat together on the sofa and chatted as delicious smells drifted in from the kitchen.
‘Dinner won’t be long,’ she said. ‘Grandpa and I thought you might like to go for a walk after we’ve eaten.’
‘Can we go to the dark woods?’ Adrian asked eagerly, glancing up from the puzzle.
‘Yes, if you’d like to,’ Mum said.
‘I would!’ my father put in.
Adrian grinned. ‘The woods are very spooky,’ he told Beth. ‘And they’re very dark – that’s why I call them the dark woods. You can hide and jump out at people. They are full of scary monsters.’
‘I don’t like the woods,’ Paula said, snuggling closer to Grandpa.
‘We’ll stay together,’ my father reassured her. ‘You can hold my hand, like you did last time. There aren’t any monsters.’
Once we’d eaten – a full roast with all the trimmings – my father suggested we went for our walk while the sun was out and then return for pudding later. We all helped clear away the dirty dishes, and then put on our coats and shoes.
The Great Woods, as they are really called, are about three miles from my parents’ house and too far for the children to walk, so we took both cars. We parked in the small visitors’ car park; there were only two other cars. The Great Woods are more popular in summer and some visitors take picnics. My father opened the wooden gate that led to the track that ran through and around the woods. The woods are very atmospheric or, as Adrian said, ‘spooky’, because of the hundreds of very tall pine trees growing close together. Not much light comes through the branches, even in summer, and now in winter it was very dark in places. The density of the trees also magnifies the slightest sound in an otherwise eerily quiet wood, so that a twig crunching or bracken snapping makes you jump. It was easy to see how some of the locals believed The Great Woods were haunted.
‘Remember, you must be able to see us at all times,’ I called as Adrian and Beth ran ahead. This was a rule I’d started after one of our visits when Adrian had become too adventurous and had got lost for a couple of minutes. I think it had scared him as much as it had us, so I knew he would do as I’d asked, and Beth was keeping very close to him.
The rest of us followed in the direction Adrian and Beth had gone – along the single track flanked by trees and bracken. Every so often they’d disappear from view and then spring out from their hiding place, making grizzly noises to scare us. Dad always warned Paula when we were about to be scared, so that when they did spring out she wasn’t too frightened; indeed, she often laughed. It was great fun. The track took about forty-five minutes to walk and then we returned to my parents’ house and enjoyed Mum’s wonderful homemade apple crumble with lashings of custard. As Beth had to telephone her father at seven, we left at six. My parents stood on the doorstep, waving and blowing kisses until we were out of sight.
‘They’re very nice people,’ Beth said. ‘I’ve had a lovely day.’
‘Good, love. I’m pleased,’ I said. ‘We’ve all enjoyed ourselves.’
The children were quiet on the way home, exhausted from their day out. That evening when Beth spoke to her father I heard her telling him all about the great time she’d had at Nana and Grandpa’s, including a description of our walk in the scary woods. Beth then asked her father why she didn’t have a Nana and Grandpa. I couldn’t hear Derek’s reply as I was in the bathroom helping Paula, but I knew from Jessie that Derek’s father was in a care home and that he had no contact with his ex-wife’s family.
That evening, once all the children were tucked up in bed and asleep, I sat in the living room with a cup of tea feeling a lot more positive than I had the evening before. Although John hadn’t been able to come home for the weekend, we’d made the best of it. The children had enjoyed themselves and hadn’t missed their fathers too much, and I’d enjoyed the time I’d spent with them and the day at my parents’. In the weeks that followed, I came to view that weekend as a small oasis of calm before the storm hit and life changed irrevocably for us all, forever.
Chapter Eleven
Ignorance
On Monday afternoon I was standing in the playground with Paula waiting for school to finish when Jenni’s mother approached me. I hadn’t got back to her about Beth going to her house for tea and I was rather hoping that the invitation had been forgotten. Beth hadn’t been asking to go – indeed, she hadn’t mentioned it at all – and given the upset I’d already caused Derek I was reluctant to ask him for permission and risk upsetting him further.
‘Hi.
You remember me?’ Jenni’s mother asked with a smile.
‘Yes, of course,’ I said, returning her smile. ‘Beth often talks about Jenni and the games they’ve played during their lunch break.’ However, Beth also talked of other children, so I’d formed the impression that perhaps Jenni wasn’t the special friend her mother thought her to be, but more one of a group of friends. I was now anticipating another invitation for Beth to go to tea, but instead Jenni’s mother asked quite brusquely, ‘Is he still in hospital, then?’
‘Derek? Yes, he is at present. But he should be home soon.’
‘Aren’t they keeping him in?’ she now asked. I was starting to feel uncomfortable with the bluntness of her questions. Thankfully Beth and Jenni were standing to one side and talking to Paula, so I doubted they could hear.
‘He should be discharged soon,’ I confirmed, not wanting to get drawn into a discussion about Derek.
She raised her eyes upwards in exasperation. ‘It’s not right, is it?’ she said. ‘I mean, a man like him bringing up a girl alone. Bad enough before he went loopy, but now! Don’t you think something should be done about it? I do!’
As a foster carer I was used to deflecting personal questions about the children I fostered. I was also used to hearing derogatory comments, but never before had I heard something so blatantly prejudiced and cruel.
‘Done about it?’ I queried, trying to kerb the hostility in my tone. ‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘Well, he’s not all there, is he?’ Jenni’s mother said. ‘That’s why he’s been locked up. He shouldn’t be in charge of a child. It’s not right.’
I was quietly seething. ‘Derek certainly is “all there”,’ I said. ‘And by all accounts he’s done a very good job of raising his daughter alone. I doubt I would have coped as well.’
‘So why is he in the funny farm, then?’ Jenni’s mother persisted.
I thought there was nothing to be gained by continuing this conversation with someone expressing such bigoted views, and it wouldn’t be long before Beth and Jenni overheard. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said tightly. ‘I really can’t discuss Derek with you, but I think some sympathy wouldn’t go amiss. The poor man is in hospital.’
‘Exactly,’ Jenni’s mother said. ‘A mental hospital!’
I turned away and pretended to adjust the zipper on Paula’s coat as a displacement for what I really wanted to say. For a moment I thought she was going to say something else about Derek or mental illness – something probably just as disparaging as her previous comments – but instead she said to her daughter, ‘Come along, Jenni. We’re going.’
‘But I want to stay and talk to Beth,’ Jenni moaned.
I kept my head down and concentrated on Paula’s zipper.
‘Do as you’re told,’ Jenni’s mother said firmly, and taking her daughter by the hand she led her away.
I straightened and watched her cross the playground to stand with another mother and her child. She immediately began talking animatedly to the other woman, gesticulating with her hands. I could tell from her body language she was annoyed and I could easily guess with whom. Shortly, both women looked over at me and I knew I was the subject of playground gossip just as Derek had been.
The klaxon sounded for the start of school and I said goodbye to Adrian and Beth. ‘Have a good day,’ I called after them.
They waved as they ran to join their classes.
I drove home, angry with Jenni’s mother and her heartless attitude. There is so much ignorance and prejudice surrounding mental illness; I hoped she didn’t express her venomous thoughts to her daughter, as it could affect her friendship with Beth.
My hope was short-lived.
That afternoon, when Beth came out of school, she was quieter than usual. I asked her a few times during the rest of the day if she was all right and she nodded and said she was. She perked up a bit to speak to her father but at seven o’clock, it was only at bedtime, when I asked Beth again if she was worrying about anything, that she said, ‘I don’t think I’m going to be friends with Jenni any more.’
‘Oh? Why is that?’ I asked.
‘She said some nasty things about my daddy. They upset me and I wanted to cry, but I didn’t.’
‘What sort of things?’ I asked gently. ‘Can you tell me?’
Beth was sitting up in bed and I perched on the edge, facing her, and took her hand.
‘Jenni said my daddy has something wrong in his head and he has been locked up,’ Beth said, her little face very sad. ‘Jenni said he shouldn’t be allowed to look after me because he’s a nutter.’
I knew where that had come from. You couldn’t blame Jenni. At her age she was just repeating what she’d heard at home. Beth’s eyes had filled and she was now looking at me for reassurance.
‘What Jenni said was very rude and also utter rubbish,’ I said forcefully. ‘You visited your daddy last Friday. You saw he was in a hospital, being made better. He wasn’t locked up, was he?’
Beth shook her head. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I should have told Jenni that, but I was too upset. I just walked away.’
‘Sometimes children say things they don’t understand,’ I said. ‘I think that’s what Jenni did. But it was probably best you didn’t get into an argument and just walked away. That’s what I would have done.’
‘My daddy tells me not to argue,’ Beth said sadly.
‘He’s right,’ I said.
‘Will I be allowed to live with my daddy again?’ Beth now asked.
‘Yes, of course, love. As soon as he is well and has left hospital.’
Beth paused thoughtfully and then asked, ‘What is the matter with my daddy? I know he’s ill, but how is he ill? What’s the matter with him?’
Beth had asked her father this question on the telephone when she’d first arrived, and he’d told her that things had been getting on top of him, and then he’d burst into tears and had had to cut short the call. Jessie had never told me exactly what was wrong with Derek, but from what I knew I’d assumed he’d had a mental breakdown.
‘Sometimes adults can become very unhappy,’ I said to Beth. ‘It’s called depression. Things start to get on top of them, sometimes little things upset them, and they keep crying. So they go to the doctors or the hospital and the doctors make them well again.’
‘When I was at home my daddy kept crying,’ Beth said. ‘I tried to make him better, but it made him cry even more. Was it my fault he kept crying?’
‘No. Definitely not. It was part of his illness.’
‘He used to get very tired too,’ Beth said. ‘And sometimes he got angry and shouted at me for no reason. He never shouted before. Is that part of his illness?’
‘Yes, love, it would have been.’
‘And not sleeping?’ Beth now asked, clearly relieved at finally being able to discuss this. ‘Daddy used to come to bed with me and then get up when he thought I was asleep. I’d wait for him to come back to bed, but sometimes he didn’t so I’d go and look for him. He was sitting in a chair with his head in his hands, or sometimes he was just walking up and down. If I asked him what was the matter, he’d start crying again.’
I nodded and soothed her hand. The poor child had coped with so much, watching her father’s breakdown. Thank goodness, I thought, that Derek had sought help when he had and not left it any longer – for both their sakes.
‘Crying easily was part of your daddy’s illness,’ I said gently. ‘But the doctors are making him better. When you saw him last Friday he wasn’t crying, was he?’
‘No,’ Beth said, brightening a little. ‘He was laughing and joking and cuddling me like he used to.’
‘There you are!’ I said.
‘But why did Jenni say those horrible things if they aren’t true?’ Beth asked.
‘She didn’t understand what she was saying,’ I said. ‘I’m sure she didn’t mean to hurt you. Tomorrow I’ll come into school and see your teacher and ask her to explain to Jenni that what she said wa
s upsetting.’ While I didn’t think Jenni was being intentionally malicious, the matter needed to be dealt with.
‘Oh no, please don’t do that!’ Beth cried, her eyes widening in alarm. ‘I don’t want you going into school and getting Jenni into trouble. I want us to be friends again.’
‘She won’t get into trouble,’ I said. I knew Miss Willow would handle the matter sensitively and tactfully. ‘Suppose Jenni says something else horrible? I don’t want you being upset and hurting.’
‘I’ll tell her not to be horrid,’ Beth persisted. ‘I can stand up for myself, but I don’t want you to go into school.’
I hesitated; my instinct was to go in, but I was swayed by the forcefulness of Beth’s request not to. ‘If you really don’t want me to, I won’t,’ I said. ‘But I want you to promise me that if Jenni says anything else that upsets you, you’ll tell me. I don’t want you worrying. I’m here to help you.’
Beth look relieved and finally smiled. ‘I promise I’ll tell you,’ she said. ‘But I’m sure it will be OK. Thank you for helping me. I wish I had a mummy like you.’
It’s the little comments that are totally unexpected that often take my breath away and make me well up. Beth’s comment about having a mummy like me did just that. I felt my eyes mist and a lump rise to my throat.
‘That was a lovely thing to say,’ I said.
‘It’s true,’ Beth said. ‘If I had you for a mummy I’d be so happy.’
And not for the first time I wondered why Beth hadn’t let Marianne be her mummy. From what I’d seen of Marianne I was sure she’d have made a very loving and caring stepmother. It was such a pity.
True to my word, I didn’t go into school to see Miss Willow on Tuesday morning, despite still feeling it was the proper course of action. However, on Tuesday evening I had reason to reverse my decision. I’d said goodnight to Beth, Paula was asleep and I went into Adrian’s room to say goodnight to him. He was sitting up in bed reading a book, as he often did last thing at night.