‘It was worse than that,’ I said, and I confessed all.
Fortunately Jessie saw the funny side to it. ‘Little madam!’ She laughed. ‘She can be very strong-willed when she wants to be.’
‘Yes, although she does accept what I say once I’ve explained the reasons for a decision.’
Jessie then asked me about the telephone contact on Friday and I gave her a résumé as she made some notes. I showed her the letter I’d received from Dr Weybridge confirming Beth’s appointments and Jessie noted the times.
‘It’s been decided that, as of next week, Marianne will join one of Derek’s therapy sessions,’ Jessie said. ‘She’ll be taking time off work to attend. You have to admire the woman’s commitment, whatever the outcome of all this.’
I nodded, and I knew I should mention Marianne’s telephone call to me, so I gave Jessie a brief outline.
‘Marianne’s very anxious,’ Jessie said. ‘I’ll speak to her and give her some feedback.’ She made another note and then looked at me. ‘But generally, Beth is happy here with you?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ I said.
‘Good. That’s what I thought. There’s something I need to ask you.’
‘Yes?’ I said, puzzled, wondering what was to come.
‘When the assessment is complete – in a couple of months – if it’s decided that Beth can’t go home to live with her father, would she be able to stay here with you and your family?’
I smiled. ‘I’d thought about asking you the same question,’ I said. ‘Obviously I’ll have to discuss it with my husband and children, but I have a feeling they’d be happy if Beth stayed, and I certainly would.’
‘Excellent,’ Jessie said. ‘I am pleased. No one wants to move a child unless it is absolutely essential, and Beth is so settled here. It would be a long-term foster placement, as Derek would never give permission for Beth to be adopted.’
‘I understand,’ I said.
Jessie left shortly after, calling goodbye to the children as she went. We ate and then after dinner we sat in the living room where I read another chapter from Roald Dahl’s book Matilda, which all three children were enjoying. The telephone rang. I reached out and answered it and was initially delighted to hear John’s voice: ‘Hi, how are you?’
‘We’re all fine, thanks, love,’ I said. ‘How are you?’
‘Not so bad, but unfortunately I won’t be able to make it home this weekend. Sorry. It’s unavoidable.’
‘Oh dear. Not even for a day?’ I asked, disappointed.
‘Not possible, I’m afraid. But I’ll definitely be home the following weekend for Adrian’s birthday party.’
‘And the weekend after that for Paula’s birthday party?’ I reminded him.
‘Yes, of course. I haven’t forgotten. It’s in my diary, so is Adrian’s swimming competition. It’s just this weekend that’s causing a problem.’
‘Oh well, I suppose it can’t be helped,’ I said, aware the children were listening and I needed to stay positive. ‘And the weeks go quickly.’
‘They do indeed,’ John said. ‘Can I speak to the children now?’
‘Yes, of course.’
I passed the phone to Adrian, who talked to his father about his party and then he passed the phone to Paula, who talked about her party. She passed the phone to Beth, who said she was looking forward to both parties, which was so sweet of her. When she’d said a few words she passed the phone back to Adrian, who chatted and then let Paula have another turn. And so it went on with the phone being passed around the children three times, amid lots of laughing, before it was returned to me to say goodbye. Although John had told the children he wouldn’t be coming home at the weekend, all the talk about the birthday parties and the laughter had minimized their disappointment, so they weren’t unhappy. Once we’d said goodbye, I continued with the story of Matilda and her magic powers of being able to make objects move by thought alone.
‘I wish I could do that,’ Beth said.
‘Me too,’ Adrian, Paula and I agreed.
Torrential rain and gale-force winds set in on Friday morning and were forecast for most of the weekend, making driving conditions hazardous, so in a way I was relieved John wasn’t driving home. On Friday evening Beth got dressed up again to telephone her father, but the conversation was a good one – with nothing untoward – just as it had been the previous Friday. When Beth told her father what she was wearing he said, ‘Oh,’ and changed the subject. I noticed that Beth didn’t tell him she’d tried to phone him on Tuesday night, but she did tell him that Jessie had visited. Then she asked him if he was still ‘cooperating’.
‘Who told you that?’ Derek asked.
‘Jessie,’ Beth said. ‘She said you were cooperating with the social services. Is that a good thing, Daddy?’
‘Yes, it is,’ he said. ‘It means I’m listening to what I’m being told and I’m trying to change.’
The relentless rain and wind over the weekend meant that the children and I were confined mainly indoors. Even Toscha only went out to do her business and then quickly returned. By Sunday morning the children had virtually exhausted all the games in the house and were becoming a bit niggly with each other. I organized some cake making and then we made some fresh play dough, which the children modelled for an hour or so. After lunch the rain finally eased and we all put on our coats and boots and went for a little walk to a local ‘open space’. The air was fresh and the exercise was just what we all needed. When we returned home the children were in better spirits and watched a movie, while I made dinner. After dinner I read some more of Matilda and then it was time for the bath and bedtime routine. The following weeks were going to be busy – with Beth’s therapy starting, Adrian’s extra swimming practice, Paula’s mother and toddler group and then the birthday parties and the swimming gala. There was a lot in the diary.
On Tuesday morning, when I took Adrian and Beth to school, I went into reception and asked the school secretary if she’d let Miss Willow know that I’d be collecting Beth at 1.30 p.m. Jessie had already told Miss Willow that Beth would be starting therapy but hadn’t given her the times. The secretary said she’d pass on the message, and then said that I should wait in reception when I collected Beth that afternoon. When Jessie had visited us the previous Wednesday, she’d told Beth about the play therapy, so Beth had an understanding of what to expect. However, what Jessie hadn’t told her was which hospital we would be attending, and I hadn’t thought to mention it either. That afternoon, when I drove into the hospital car park, Beth cried out anxiously, ‘I’m not going in there!’
‘Why? Whatever is the matter?’ I asked.
‘They took my daddy away!’ Beth said.
‘Really?’ Paula asked, turning to Beth in sympathy. ‘I hope they don’t take my daddy away.’
I parked, cut the engine and turned in my seat to face the girls. They both looked at me anxiously. ‘It’s a hospital,’ I said. ‘They make people better. They don’t take daddies away.’ Although I could see why Beth might think that. ‘Beth, your daddy stayed here for a while and you visited him. Then the doctors made him well enough to go home. You know that.’
‘You won’t leave me here to sleep, will you?’ she asked.
‘No, of course not. People come to hospital for appointments; they don’t all stay. They see the doctor and then go home again. That’s what you’ll be doing. You’re not sleeping here.’
Paula looked at Beth. ‘Is that all right, then?’ she asked her.
‘I guess so,’ Beth said. ‘So you haven’t brought my pyjamas?’ she asked me.
‘No, love. You’ll see the doctor for one hour and then we’ll all go home again.’
Which showed how easily a child could misinterpret a situation that seems clear to an adult. The only time Beth had been to the hospital was when she’d visited her father who, as an inpatient, had slept there and, in Beth’s eyes, had effectively been ‘taken away’ from her.
Using the m
ap that had been enclosed with the appointment letter, we easily found the Butterfly Wing. It was a small new outbuilding attached to the far end of the children’s ward by a short corridor. I gave Beth’s name to the receptionist and she pointed us to the waiting room where there were comfortable chairs, toys and books. The whole unit appeared very welcoming and child friendly, with the walls painted pastel shades of blue and lilac, and decorated with brightly coloured friezes and pictures of cuddly animals. A woman was sitting in the waiting room reading a magazine. She glanced up and smiled as we entered and I said hello. There were no children present. I sat in one of the chairs while Beth and Paula went to the large toy box at one end of the room. Squatting on the floor, they began taking out the toys and playing with them. At little before two o’clock I heard a door along the corridor open and close, and then footsteps, before a woman whom I took to be a doctor appeared with a child of a similar age to Beth.
‘Goodbye, Clare,’ the doctor said to the child, and she ran over to the other woman.
‘Thank you, Doctor,’ the woman said. ‘See you next week.’ She began helping the child into her coat.
‘Dr Weybridge,’ the doctor said, coming over and introducing herself to us.
‘Hello, I’m Cathy Glass and this is Beth,’ I said. ‘And this is my daughter, Paula.’
Dr Weybridge said hello to both girls, and they smiled back shyly. I guessed Dr Weybridge was in her mid-forties; she was of average height and wasn’t wearing a white coat, but a woollen skirt and jumper. She had rather unkempt hair, suggesting she’d more important matters on her mind than styling her hair. I’d noticed on the appointment letter she was very well qualified, with lots of letters after her name.
‘Does Beth understand why she is here?’ Dr Weybridge asked me.
‘Yes. Her social worker and I have both explained.’
‘Good. Say goodbye to Cathy,’ Dr Weybridge said to Beth. ‘You’ll see her here again in an hour.’
‘Bye,’ Beth said without hesitation.
‘Bye, love, see you soon,’ I replied.
Paula gave a little wave, and Beth went with Dr Weybridge along the corridor, and I heard a door open and close. Paula returned to playing with the toys and I picked up a magazine, then a little later I read to her from some of the books that were in the toy box. The time passed quickly and towards the end of the hour another woman came into the waiting room with a young boy. We smiled at each other and the boy joined Paula on the floor by the toy box.
Just before three o’clock I heard the door along the corridor open and close, footsteps and then Dr Weybridge and Beth appeared. Beth ran over to me with a big smile.
‘OK, love?’ I asked.
Beth nodded.
‘See you on Thursday, then,’ Dr Weybridge said to Beth and me. She then went over to the other woman, whose child went in next.
I had wondered if I would receive some feedback at the end of the session, but that didn’t happen, so we put on our coats and left.
‘Was everything all right?’ I asked Beth as we crossed the car park.
‘Yes. I had fun,’ she said with a little hop.
‘Good.’
I wouldn’t question Beth about what had happened in her therapy session, as that was private and between her and Dr Weybridge. Dr Weybridge would write a report as part of the assessment and hopefully I’d be told what I needed to know. Paula, however, a young child, didn’t have the same reservations as I did. ‘What did you do with that doctor lady?’ she asked, as we got into the car.
‘Drawing and colouring, and we played some games,’ Beth said easily.
‘That sounds nice,’ Paula said. ‘Can I come in with you next time?’
‘No,’ Beth said. ‘It’s only for kids with problems. You haven’t got problems.’ Which Paula accepted. I thought Beth’s reply was rather sweet, although I wondered where the idea had come from. I hadn’t told her she had problems. Maybe it was something she’d deduced.
I drove to school to collect Adrian and then we all went home. Later that evening, when Beth was getting ready for bed, she said to me, ‘I like Dr Weybridge.’
‘That’s good,’ I said. But again I didn’t press her for details. If Beth wanted to tell me about her therapy that was fine, but it wasn’t for me to ask.
On Thursday Beth had no reservations about going to the hospital for therapy again. Indeed, that morning she told us that she would rather go and play and draw with Dr Weybridge than do her lessons in school. Paula and I collected Beth from reception at 1.30 p.m. and drove to the hospital. The routine was the same as before: I registered our arrival at reception and then we sat in the waiting room until Dr Weybridge had finished the previous session, and when she came out Beth went in. As before, there was no feedback at the end of the session, but in the car Beth said she’d enjoyed herself. She also said she’d been playing, and talking to Dr Weybridge about lots of things. Because Adrian had swimming practice after school that afternoon, I had time to return home briefly and give the girls a drink before we collected him. Adrian came out in high spirits, having won a practice race, and also because he and his friends had been talking about his birthday party on Sunday. Apparently there’d been some light-hearted banter in the changing rooms about who was best at bowling and who would win, with everyone claiming they would.
On Friday afternoon Adrian’s excitement reached new heights when we returned home from school to find John was already home. He said he’d left work after lunch so he could spend as much time as possible with ‘the birthday boy’. Adrian was overjoyed, as we all were, and the atmosphere in the house that Friday evening was so merry that it seemed Adrian’s party had already begun.
On Saturday I left Adrian at home with his father while I went into town to collect his birthday cake. Paula and Beth came with me but knew they had to keep the secret of Adrian’s cake, which I’d ordered specially and was in the shape of a football; football was another of Adrian’s favourite sports. He stayed up late on Saturday playing chess with his father, which was lovely to watch. John had begun teaching Adrian chess a couple of years before, but when he’d started working away he hadn’t had much time to play with him.
Sunday was Adrian’s actual birthday as well as the day of his party, so we began the day by watching him open his presents. His little face lit up as he peeled off the gift-wrapping from each one and thanked us. We arranged Adrian’s cards on the mantelpiece in the living room, and then Adrian, John and the girls played with one of Adrian’s new boxed games in the living room, while I made a light lunch. After that we all got changed – Beth into a new dress I’d bought her – and then I smuggled the cake in its box into the boot of the car, and John drove us to the leisure centre. We arrived fifteen minutes before the party was due to start, checked in at reception and then I sneaked the cake into the party room. Adrian’s friends began arriving and they’d all brought presents for him, which was kind. He thanked them and put them aside to open later as there was so much going on. He had invited ten friends, but it seemed more like ten hundred with their noisy excitement. My parents arrived and having said happy birthday to Adrian they stood with John and me, as the party organizers – two staff from the leisure centre – took over.
The birthday-party package included two games of bowling, a party tea and some more games. We all bowled, including the adults. Beth teamed up with Paula and helped her, as even the lightweight balls were heavy. Fred, a boy from Adrian’s class, won the bowling and we all cheered and clapped. Then the organizers led the way into the party room, gaily decorated with balloons and streamers, where the tea was already laid out on the table. I took lots of photographs, and when it was time for the cake I told Adrian to cover his eyes. ‘No peeping,’ I said.
I took the cake from the cupboard where I’d hidden it, added the seven candles and then placed it on the table in front of him. ‘Wow!’ he said, impressed. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
I smiled, pleased that he liked his cake. John gav
e Adrian the box of matches and supervised him as he lit the candles. Of course, Adrian was embarrassed when we all sang ‘Happy Birthday’, but that’s all part of having a birthday, and he loved every moment. He blew out all the candles with one breath and we gave three cheers – more embarrassment for Adrian. The party organizers then arranged some games for the children, while Mum and I cut the cake. At the end, when his friends’ parents arrived to collect their children, we thanked them for the presents and Adrian handed each of his friends a party bag, containing a slice of cake, some sweets, novelties and a small gift. My parents retuned home with us for a cup of tea and to watch Adrian open the presents and cards from his friends, and also the present from them, which was a new cycling helmet. They left around eight o’clock and after we’d waved them off at the door Adrian thanked his father and me and said he’d had a fantastic birthday and loved his cake. But I knew the real ‘icing on the cake’ was that he’d been able to spend so much time with his dad over the weekend, and that John didn’t have to leave for work until Monday morning.
Chapter Twenty-Three
She Must Hate Me
Paula’s birthday party was on Sunday a week later and fell at the start of the Easter holidays. It was a different type of party to Adrian’s but suitable for her age and she enjoyed it very much. We held it at home, and my family, Kay and her family and another two of Paula’s friends and their parents were guests. I organized party games and made a buffet tea and her birthday cake. It was in the shape of the number three and covered in pink icing with a piped decoration. It looked impressive, although it had been simple to make using a shaped cake tin.
Paula’s actual birthday was on the Monday, so she opened the presents from her friends at the party, and I put away those from the family until the next day. Because we’d broken up from school, Paula was able to open her presents the following morning without rushing, although unfortunately John had to leave for work at 6 a.m. so wasn’t able to watch. As usual I took lots of photographs, which I would show him the following weekend. The mother and toddler group Paula and I attended had broken up for two weeks in line with the school’s Easter holidays, but Beth’s therapy continued, as did the Friday telephone calls to her father. Out of the school routine we all relaxed and the children either played at home or I organized trips to the local parks and open spaces, where we met up with friends and their children. John had the national holidays off work – Good Friday and Easter Monday – and we arranged a couple of day trips, to the zoo and to a forest with an outdoor activity centre. Having the Friday and Monday off work also meant that John had two four-day working weeks, which made his absence from home seem much shorter.