‘And my birthday party,’ Paula added. ‘It’s only a week after Adrian’s.’
‘Yes, I’ll make a note of that in my diary too,’ John said.
Beth kept quiet about her birthday, and there wasn’t anything positive I could say, for we didn’t know where she would be in October. It’s at moments like this that I’m reminded of just how insecure all the uncertainty must make a child in care feel – not knowing where you will be living from one month to the next, and not having any say in the moves.
That evening, when the children were in bed, John and I chatted and he told me more about the appraisal he’d had at work, and I told him about the meeting I’d attended with Dr Jones. John was surprised I’d met Derek, and more surprised by what I’d learned.
‘You always thought there was something odd about their relationship,’ he said, referring to Derek and Beth. ‘I thought they were just close and loved each other.’
‘They do love each other,’ I said, ‘but Derek shows his love and affection in a way that isn’t appropriate. He treats Beth like a partner, rather than a daughter, which is why Beth saw Marianne as a rival and not a possible stepmother.’ I continued by explaining why Beth dressed as she did for her father, and reminded John to practise safer caring, for his sake and Beth’s. ‘Beth doesn’t know how to relate to a father figure,’ I said. ‘So you will need to set the boundaries as you have been doing.’ John, like most adult males, knew instinctively how to relate appropriately to children because of the examples he’d been set as a child. Our chat had turned into a heavy conversation for a Friday evening, but afterwards I felt considerably relieved at being able to share the burden of it all with John.
We had a lazy morning on Saturday and in the afternoon we went to a wildlife reserve at an old flooded quarry about half an hour’s drive away. The weather was reasonable, and we stood in the hide as quietly as the children were able to, watching the birds, ducks and geese land and take off on the water. Between us we knew the names of some of the birds and fowl, but not all. On the way home we stopped off at a café and ordered an all-day breakfast each. The meal was huge and even Beth, who had a good appetite, struggled to finish. John and Adrian ate half of Paula’s and some of mine. However, we all found room for an ice cream with chocolate topping for dessert. The only disappointment in the day was that when we returned home John received a telephone call from a work colleague who had something urgent to discuss that couldn’t wait until Monday. John said he’d have to meet the man and arranged a rendezvous with him at a pub equidistant between their two homes, about an hour’s drive from us. John left at half past seven, having reassured the children he’d be home later that night, although after they were asleep.
I felt him slip into bed beside me just before midnight. ‘Is everything all right?’ I mumbled, half asleep.
‘Yes, all sorted,’ he said happily.
We had another lazy morning on Sunday, and then in the afternoon we went to a local park with some bread to feed the ducks. John didn’t have to leave for work again until eight o’clock on Monday morning, so we had the whole of Sunday together, and he was able to see the children off to school on Monday.
Jessie telephoned on Monday afternoon and said she would visit Beth after school on Wednesday. She asked how Beth had been since our meeting and how the telephone call to her father had gone. I told her that the telephone call had gone well, although Beth had dressed up for it, and had then got a bit moody when her father hadn’t asked what she was wearing.
‘It sounds as though Derek is taking on board what Dr Jones is saying,’ Jessie said positively.
‘It left Beth a bit confused,’ I said.
‘It will, because her father is changing the way he relates to her. I’ll try to explain it to her when I see her, but she’ll be starting play therapy next week, which should help. Have you got a pen handy?’
‘Yes.’ I reached for the pen and notepad.
‘I’ve arranged for Beth to see Dr Weybridge, who is a child psychologist. I’m afraid it will mean Beth missing some school, but it can’t be helped. There’s a long waiting list for appointments out of school time. It will be Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, starting next week. The times have yet to be confirmed. Dr Weybridge will be working closely with Dr Jones, and the plan is for Beth to see Dr Weybridge twice a week, and then, in a month or so, they’ll join Dr Jones and Derek in family therapy.’
I made a note of all this. ‘Do you want me to tell Beth’s teacher she’ll be missing school?’ I asked.
‘I’ve already spoken to Miss Willow. I’ve told her I’ve asked for the appointments to be as late as possible in the afternoon, so minimizing the time Beth has off school. I’ll see you and Beth on Wednesday, then.’
‘Yes, thank you.’
I was pleased that things seemed to be moving forward, for I felt sure therapy would help Beth in a way I could not.
That evening, to my astonishment and slight embarrassment, Marianne telephoned. It was 9.30 p.m. and the children were in bed, asleep.
‘I’ve just popped back to my flat to collect some more of my things,’ Marianne said. ‘So I thought I’d give you a quick ring.’
‘Oh, I see,’ I said hesitantly. ‘How are you?’ The last time Marianne had telephoned me – when Derek had been in hospital and all contact with Beth had been stopped – she’d become quite angry and had hung up.
‘Derek doesn’t know I’m phoning you,’ she said, ‘so please don’t tell him. I don’t want him to think I’m checking up on him, but I was wondering if you could tell me how the telephone call went on Friday? It seemed all right from our end, but how was Beth?’
While it was thoughtful of Marianne to be concerned about Beth, it wasn’t my place to give her feedback – Jessie or Dr Jones would tell her what she needed to know – but at the same time I didn’t want to appear rude, so I said, ‘I think it went quite well.’
‘Is that what you told Jessie?’ Marianne now asked, an edge of anxiety creeping into her voice.
‘I gave her an honest account of the call, yes.’
‘And Jessie was pleased?’
I could understand why Marianne was anxious – the telephone calls would form part of Derek’s assessment – but it wasn’t for me to go into detail or second-guess Jessie’s opinion of the call or anything else.
‘It’s all right, you can tell me,’ Marianne added. ‘Jessie has told me all about the assessment. I shall be included in it and the therapy at some point.’
‘I gave Jessie an honest account,’ I said again. ‘It’s probably best if you ask her.’
Marianne went quiet for a moment and then said, ‘I blame myself, you know. I knew there was something wrong and I should have intervened. But it was difficult; the two of them against me, and I felt very hurt. I didn’t know what to do for the best.’
‘I don’t think you can blame yourself,’ I said.
‘That’s what Jessie said. She also said this type of thing can be very difficult to spot, which is one of the reasons so many cases go unreported.’ I noticed Marianne hadn’t been able to use the word incest. ‘Does Beth hate me?’
‘She’s very confused,’ I said diplomatically.
‘So am I,’ Marianne said. ‘I broke down at work last week and ended up confiding in my manager. It won’t go any further, but I knew she’d had similar problems in her family. Her niece dated an older man who had a child from a former relationship. The way he and his daughter behaved towards each other was worse than Derek and Beth. Her niece couldn’t understand what was going on and eventually ended their relationship. She was very upset, but you wonder about the child left there.’
‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘She couldn’t walk away.’
‘But Derek didn’t do anything, you know.’
Marianne heard my silence.
‘Derek didn’t sexually abuse Beth,’ she said. ‘I know the way he behaved towards her was wrong, but it never went that far. And he certainly di
dn’t rape her. I’ve told Jessie that.’
‘She’s the best person to tell,’ I said, wondering how Marianne could be so sure. She hadn’t been certain at one time: Some of their kissing and cuddling could be described as sexual, she’d said when she’d brought Beth’s swimming costume.
‘Don’t you believe me?’ Marianne asked, her voice rising slightly.
‘I don’t know what happened between Beth and her father,’ I said. ‘I think we should leave it to Dr Jones and Jessie to make their assessment.’
There was a pause and then Marianne’s voice broke as she said, ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you.’ And she hung up.
I was sorry I hadn’t been able to offer her the reassurance she sought, but I didn’t know what else I could have said. No one knew the outcome of the assessment and, as Laura had said, it would be wrong to speculate.
I went to bed that night with thoughts of Beth, Marianne, Derek and Marianne’s manager’s niece chasing through my head. I was finally drifting off to sleep when I was startled by the phone ringing. I reached out and picked up the handset on the beside cabinet. ‘Hello?’
A woman’s voice asked, ‘Is John there?’
‘No, he’s at work,’ I said blearily.
‘Of course he is, how silly of me. Sorry to have troubled you.’ She hung up.
I thought nothing more of this call until some months later, when I was forced to think a lot about telephone calls to John, and his nights away.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Icing on the Cake
The following night an incident occurred that made me realize I’d become a little too complacent with Beth. When a foster child first arrives and I don’t know them, I am hyper-vigilant, not only to make sure all their needs are met, but also that they and my family are safe. As time passes and I get to know them and they feel more settled, depending on their level of needs I start to relax. The longer the child is with me the more relaxed I become, until eventually they are just one of the family, and I know and trust them implicitly. That is, unless something happens to put me on alert again.
Having had a restless night on Monday, I was tired the following day and planned to have a reasonably early night. I might have mentioned this to the children – a throw-away comment – and possibly Beth heard me, for she spied the opportunity she’d been waiting for. I was in bed shortly after ten o’clock and went to sleep very quickly. Fortunately, regardless of how tired I am, I’m a light sleeper – from years of listening out for children – and tend to wake at the slightest noise. It was just before eleven o’clock when my eyes opened. To begin with I thought that one of the children had called out, or possibly I’d heard cats fighting or a fox barking in the garden, which happened quite a lot where we lived. I lay in the small light coming through the parted curtains from the streetlamp outside and listened. All was quiet for a few seconds, but then I heard a strange tapping sound, which seemed to be coming from downstairs.
With John working away, I can feel quite vulnerable at times, especially with unidentified noises in the night. I don’t consider myself a nervous person, but one of the reasons I keep a telephone by the bed is so that I can call for help if necessary. But, the intermittent tapping I was hearing didn’t seem like a burglar – they certainly weren’t being very quiet about breaking in if they were. I listened a moment longer and then gingerly eased back the duvet. With my heart starting to race, I got out of bed and padded quietly across my bedroom in my nightdress. Once on the landing, I knew the noise was definitely coming from downstairs and I continued slowly round the landing until I could see the hall below. The night-lights in the hall and on the landing were on and I could see Beth in her pyjamas standing beside the telephone table in the hall below. She had her back to me, but I could see that in one hand she held the telephone handset and she was tapping the numbers on the keypad with the other.
Not wanting to wake Adrian and Paula, I went part-way down the stairs before I spoke. ‘Beth, what are you doing?’
She jumped and, spinning round, dropped the handset. ‘Nothing!’ she said guiltily.
I continued downstairs into the hall where I picked up the handset, which was sounding the dialling tone, and replaced it in its cradle. ‘Who were you phoning?’
‘No one,’ Beth said, clutching a piece of paper to her chest.
‘Beth, love, I’m not silly. You were trying to phone someone. You won’t get into trouble, but I’d like to know who it was and why.’
‘A friend,’ Beth said.
‘It’s rather late to be phoning a friend,’ I said. ‘Won’t they be in bed?’
Beth looked at me, then, perhaps realizing she’d been caught out and would at some point have to confess, she pushed the crumpled piece of paper towards me. I opened it out. In Beth’s childish handwriting was a row of numbers, which I recognized as Derek’s telephone number with the area code.
‘So you were trying to telephone your father,’ I said.
‘Yes, but he didn’t answer. I tried lots of times, but the answerphone is on, like here. So I didn’t speak to him.’
Just as well, I thought, for I could imagine the bad impression that would have given: a child chatting to her possible abuser as the foster carer slept.
‘Why were you trying to phone your father in the middle of the night?’ I asked.
Beth shrugged.
Aware Adrian’s and Paula’s bedroom doors were ajar and our voices might carry up and wake them, I said, ‘Come in the front room, Beth, and talk to me.’ I opened the door to the front room, switched on the light and then closed the door behind us.
Beth stood in the centre of the room and looked at me a little defiantly. ‘I wanted to speak to my daddy,’ she said.
‘But we phone your daddy on a Friday, as Jessie told us to. And at the time that was agreed, not in the middle of the night.’
‘But I want to speak to him more often,’ she said.
‘I understand that. And the correct thing to do is to tell Jessie how you feel when you see her tomorrow. I can’t make the decision for you to phone your father, as you know. Neither can we take it upon ourselves to phone him whenever we like.’
‘I don’t like you listening when I talk to him!’ Beth now blurted out.
‘I can understand that too,’ I said. ‘But I have to do as Jessie tells me, just as you do.’
‘Does my daddy have to do what Jessie says?’ Beth now asked.
‘Yes, he does.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s working with Jessie for his own good,’ I said. ‘Jessie will explain more when she sees you tomorrow, but you can’t decide to telephone your father when you want to. I thought you were asleep. Were you awake all this time, waiting for me to go to bed?’
She nodded.
‘Well, you need to promise me you won’t do it again, Beth. You could have tripped and fallen downstairs in the half-light.’ Which, of course, was another worry.
‘I promise,’ Beth said a little sulkily.
‘Good. How did you get your father’s number?’ I asked, glancing at the paper I held.
‘When we phoned I watched which numbers you pressed and then I wrote them down. Not all at once, I couldn’t remember them all, but a few each time.’
Full marks to Beth for ingenuity, I thought, and another minus point to me for letting her see the numbers as I’d keyed them in.
‘Thank you for being honest,’ I said. ‘Now off to bed and no more wandering around in the night.’
Beth nodded and we went upstairs and I saw her into bed. However, for a few weeks following this incident, to be on the safe side, I began unplugging the telephone in the hall before I went to bed, and then plugging it in again the next morning. The doors to the rooms downstairs where there were other phones were closed at night, and of course I’d hear Beth if she came into my bedroom to use that telephone.
The following day a letter arrived from Dr Weybridge’s secretary, confirming Beth’s appoin
tments for therapy on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 2 p.m., commencing the following week. It said each session would last an hour and would be held in the Butterfly Wing, which was a unit attached to the children’s ward of our local hospital – the same hospital Derek had been in. Enclosed was an information leaflet giving instructions on how to get to the hospital and a map showing where the unit was situated and where to park. It also said there was a waiting area for parents and their children not attending the session, from which I concluded that Beth would be seeing Dr Weybridge alone, and that I would be able to wait with Paula in the designated waiting area, although I’d phone to check. The timing of the appointments was also good, as Beth wouldn’t miss too much school, and I should have time at the end of the session to meet Adrian from school, so I wouldn’t have to ask Kay for another favour.
That afternoon Jessie visited us as arranged at four o’clock. She wanted to speak to Beth alone first, so I made her a cup of coffee and then left the two of them in the living room with the door closed, while I began making dinner and Adrian and Paula amused themselves. It was three-quarters of an hour later when Beth emerged from the living room and came to find me.
‘Jessie says you can go in now,’ Beth said. ‘She’s finished with me.’ She seemed happy and with a little hop and a skip went off to play with Adrian and Paula.
I went into the living room where Jessie was sitting on the sofa with some papers, and a notepad and pen on her lap.
‘Beth appears to be taking it all very well,’ she said as I sat down. ‘Although she can become very anxious about her father.’
‘Yes, I reassure her as best I can.’
‘I’ve told her that her father is being well looked after,’ Jessie said, updating me. ‘She asked if Marianne was still at home and I’ve told her the truth – that she’s staying with her father so she can help him. Beth needs to know. Marianne’s not going to disappear. But their relationship is something that’ll be addressed in therapy. Beth also told me she wants to telephone her father more often, but I’ve said it will stay at once a week for now. I understand she tried to phone him when you weren’t looking.’