Daddy’s Little Princess

  ‘What, never?’ Adrian asked, amazed.

  ‘No, never,’ I said.

  ‘Why?’ Paula asked.

  ‘Because her daddy was a bit over-protective,’ I said. ‘He’s getting better now.’

  ‘Why was he over-a-detective?’ Paula asked, mispronouncing the word.

  ‘Over-protective!’ Adrian shouted in her ear.

  ‘Don’t shout,’ Paula said, rubbing her ear. ‘Why was he over-protective?’

  ‘Because he thought he was doing the right thing,’ I said.

  ‘But he wasn’t,’ Adrian added.

  ‘Exactly.’

  As we entered the playground, Adrian ran off to join his friends while Beth scanned the children looking for April. ‘There she is!’ she cried, grabbing my arm and then hauling me across the playground to where April was standing quietly with her mother.

  ‘Hello,’ I said, smiling at April’s mother. ‘I’m Cathy. Beth was wondering if April would like to come and play after school one day, and maybe stay for some tea?’

  April’s mother looked a bit startled at suddenly being descended on, while Beth and April were jumping up and down and shouting, ‘Yes! Yes!’

  ‘I’m Beth’s foster carer,’ I said, feeling I should explain. ‘My son Adrian goes to this school and this is my daughter, Paula.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen you in the playground. I’m Frances,’ she said, a little more relaxed. ‘Hello, Paula, how are you?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Paula said shyly, and buried her head in my skirt.

  ‘I’m sure April would like to come,’ Frances said. Turning to April she asked, ‘Would you like to go to Cathy’s house to play with Beth?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ April said politely. Both girls began bouncing up and down again, clapping their hands in excitement.

  ‘Wednesday would suit us,’ I said to Frances. ‘Is that any good for you?’

  ‘Yes, April’s free on Wednesday. Her piano lessons are on Tuesday and Thursday.’

  ‘I could collect April at the end of school and then bring her home to you after tea, at about six o’clock?’

  ‘Yes, that would be all right. Thank you.’

  I found a piece of paper and a pen in my handbag, wrote down my contact details and passed the paper to Frances. Then I wrote down her address and telephone number on another piece of paper and tucked it into my purse.

  ‘What does April like to eat?’ I now asked, hoping it was something I could master.

  ‘Oh, she’s a good eater,’ Frances said. ‘She enjoys most things.’

  ‘What’s her favourite?’ I asked.

  ‘Fish fingers and chips,’ Frances said, with a laugh.

  ‘Fish fingers and chips it is, then,’ I said, relieved.

  ‘Yippee!’ the girls cried.

  The klaxon sounded and before Frances left she thanked me for inviting April, adding, ‘And perhaps Beth would like to come to tea at our house the following week?’

  ‘Thank you. I know she will,’ I said.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Decision

  The word excitement did not do justice to the fervour that built up in our house as Wednesday approached. Beth might have been hosting a royal garden party at Buckingham Palace for the planning and anticipation that went into April coming to tea. She thoroughly tidied her already neat bedroom, then the living room, the toy cupboard and then her bedroom again. After that she began fussing about the meal, which couldn’t have been simpler.

  ‘Cathy, have you got enough fish fingers for us all?’ she asked for a second time.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, again.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  I showed her the large packet of fish fingers in the freezer.

  ‘Are the chips the thin, crispy ones we like?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, and I opened the freezer door again and showed her the bag of chips.

  ‘Can we have baked beans with the fish fingers, not peas like you usually do with fish?’

  I hadn’t realized I’d been so set in my ways. ‘Yes, of course you can have baked beans,’ I said. I opened the cupboard door to show Beth that we had plenty of cans of baked beans.

  Then, a short while later, Beth asked, ‘Cathy, you know you said you’re going to make a trifle for dessert …’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, what if April doesn’t like trifle?’

  ‘Then she can have something else,’ I said. ‘Please don’t worry, Beth. I’ve had children to tea before. I promise you, everything will be fine.’

  But this was such a big occasion for Beth, she wanted everything to be perfect. And it was.

  April was a very polite and kind child and she loved the meal, including the trifle. She and Beth played nicely together, sometimes downstairs with Paula and sometimes in Beth’s bedroom, as girls of their age do. Adrian joined us for dinner but otherwise kept out of their way, feeling that a ‘house full of girls’ was a bit much. But, of course, the two hours after school were nowhere near long enough, and when it was time for April to go Beth asked me if she could stay longer. I reminded her that April’s mother was expecting her soon after six o’clock, but added to April she could come again another day if she wished, which helped. I took April home in the car and Frances thanked me, and then repeated her offer for Beth to go to tea at their home the following week, so we made a definite arrangement.

  After this Beth and April became good friends and, interestingly, when the news got out at school that they were friends and had been to each other’s homes for tea, barriers were broken down and other children in the class wanted to be friends with April too. In reaching out the hand of friendship, Beth had unwittingly removed the wariness that had made others cautious of a different culture.

  Beth’s therapy arrangements continued unchanged for the next two weeks, and then one Monday afternoon in the middle of May Jessie telephoned to say that the next two therapy sessions would be group therapy. Dr Jones with Derek and Marianne would join Dr Weybridge and Beth in the Butterfly Wing. Jessie said she wanted to be present so she could include her observations in her final report, and would collect Beth from school and return her home after the session. I assumed, therefore, that we were getting close to the time when a decision would be made on where Beth would live permanently. This new arrangement was to start the following day, and as Jessie wouldn’t have a chance to visit beforehand and tell Beth, she asked me to.

  That evening after dinner I explained to Beth what was happening. She was delighted that she would be seeing her father again after so long, but then added rather grumpily, ‘Why does she have to be there?’

  ‘Who? Jessie?’ I asked.

  ‘No. Marianne.’

  ‘Because Jessie and the doctors think it will be helpful,’ I said.

  ‘It’s not helpful,’ Beth grumbled.

  Clearly Beth didn’t know if it would be helpful or not. It was just the mention of Marianne that provoked the negative reaction, as it always had.

  ‘I’m sure Jessie and the doctors know what they are doing,’ I said. ‘So try to keep an open mind.’

  On Tuesday morning, when I took Beth and Adrian to school, I went in and told the receptionist that Beth’s social worker would be collecting Beth that afternoon, and also on Thursday. She thanked me, made a note and said she would tell Miss Willow. Paula and I returned home and then, with the afternoon suddenly free (we didn’t have to take Beth to therapy) and with the weather good, I took Paula to the park. From there we went to collect Adrian from school, and then the three of us went home. It felt strange not having Beth with us, as though we weren’t a complete family, and I kept looking round thinking one of the children was missing.

  When Jessie brought Beth home that afternoon, about half an hour after we arrived home, she said she couldn’t come in but that the session had ‘gone well’. However, for the rest of the afternoon Beth was very quiet, and although she joined Adrian and Paula in the living room where they were watch
ing television, she didn’t say much. Usually Beth had a lot to say after school and Adrian sometimes told her to shush while they were watching television. She was quiet during dinner too, although she ate well. After the meal, when Paula and Adrian had left the table, I asked Beth if everything was all right.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. But that was all.

  She had homework to do, which she needed some help with, but as I sat beside her she seemed preoccupied and kept making silly mistakes. I asked her if there was anything bothering her that she might like to talk about.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  I assumed she was thinking about the therapy session. Seeing her father again after such a long time, and also Marianne, must have given her a lot to think about. But as a foster carer (and parent) I have to respect the fact that sometimes a child doesn’t want to talk and share their thoughts and feelings, and they shouldn’t be pressed to do so. Beth wasn’t unhappy or sitting alone in her bedroom, she was just quiet and preoccupied, so I said, ‘You know you can talk to me whenever you want.’

  ‘Yes,’ Beth said. So I left it at that.

  By the following morning Beth had recovered and was her usual chirpy self. She was a resilient child, as many who’ve led difficult lives are, and tended to bounce back. Over breakfast she and Adrian talked about how long it was until the next school holiday. Wednesday continued, uneventful, and on Thursday morning I reminded Beth that Jessie would be collecting her from school again that afternoon and taking her to therapy as she had done on Tuesday.

  ‘Daddy and Marianne will be there,’ she said reflectively and went quiet.

  I knew there was a lot going on for Beth, not all of which she wanted to share, so I asked, ‘Is everything OK?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, but again that was all.

  When Jessie brought Beth home later that afternoon she didn’t come in but said this was the last of the therapy sessions and that she’d telephone me the following day to explain what was happening. Again, Beth was very quiet after her return, but then, as I was washing up the dinner plates, she came to find me.

  ‘Cathy, do you like Marianne?’ she asked.

  I stopped what I was doing to look at her, aware I needed to choose my words carefully. ‘I’ve only met her once,’ I said honestly, ‘but she seems a nice person to me.’

  ‘Do you think my daddy needs her?’ Beth asked, watching carefully for my reaction.

  I guessed Beth’s questions had been sparked by something that had been said in therapy, but, not knowing what, again I was careful in my reply. ‘I think Marianne has been helping your daddy a lot,’ I said. ‘And he’s happy to have her help.’

  Beth nodded and then asked, ‘Do you think Marianne likes me as much as she likes my daddy?’

  ‘Yes. I think she does,’ I said.

  Satisfied, Beth went off to play, and I was relieved. While I’m always happy to answer a child’s questions if I can, without knowing what was behind Beth’s questions I was concerned I might inadvertently say something that wasn’t helpful or ran counter to the therapy. From Beth’s questions, it seemed to me she was re-evaluating her view of Marianne.

  As it turned out, I wasn’t wrong.

  Jessie telephoned the following morning and began by asking how Beth had been after the two group therapy sessions. I told her she’d been quiet at home on both occasions, and then I told her about the questions she’d asked about Marianne.

  ‘Mmm,’ Jessie said thoughtfully. ‘Some of the work covered in the sessions has been to help Beth and Marianne form a relationship. Dr Weybridge, Dr Jones and myself are in the process of writing our final reports. The assessment has been lengthy, because it was important we got it right this time. But we are now of the opinion that Beth can be successfully rehabilitated home to live with her father and Marianne.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, so it’s reassuring that Beth is starting to adjust her perception of Marianne, which is essential if this is to work. While Derek has made huge progress, it is unlikely we would be making the decision to return Beth home without Marianne being there.’

  ‘I see,’ I said again. ‘Does Beth know she’s going home? She hasn’t mentioned it here.’

  ‘No. I haven’t told her yet. Once we’ve had the planning meeting I’ll see her and explain what’s going to happen. I’m allowing a month for Beth to be rehabilitated home, but I shall be monitoring the situation carefully. I’ll extend the time if necessary. We’ll go at Beth’s pace. It’s important she feels comfortable. Derek has asked Marianne to marry him, but don’t say anything to Beth. Her father will tell her when the time is right. But first things first. I know it’s short notice, but can you come to a planning meeting tomorrow morning, here at the council offices?’

  ‘As long as I can get a sitter for my daughter,’ I said. ‘What time?’

  ‘Ten o’clock. I don’t know which room yet, so when you arrive, ask at reception. Derek and Marianne will be attending, possibly my manager, and me of course. And bring your diary.’

  ‘I will,’ I said.

  ‘See you tomorrow at ten,’ Jessie said.

  As soon as Jessie had hung up, I telephoned Kay. Full of apologies for the short notice, I explained I’d been called to an urgent meeting the following morning.

  ‘No problem,’ she said, before I’d even finished. ‘But you’d better warn Paula that we shall be going shopping. My cupboards are bare.’

  ‘She won’t mind if Vicky is there,’ I said.

  ‘Tell her we’ll have a drink and a sticky bun at the café when we’ve finished. That should help.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ I said gratefully. ‘I owe you big time.’

  ‘No you don’t,’ Kay said. ‘You’ve helped me out plenty of times.’

  Nevertheless, I bought Kay a box of her favourite chocolates, which I gave her the following morning when we met in the playground.

  ‘You shouldn’t have,’ she said. ‘But I’m glad you did.’

  Sometimes it’s difficult for foster carers to accept the decisions made by the social services, usually because we don’t have access to all the information that they do. I’d be lying if I said I had no reservations about the decision that had been made for Beth to return to live with her father, but then I guessed Jessie did too, for her comments about Marianne were very telling: While Derek has made huge progress, it is unlikely we would be making the decision to return Beth home without Marianne being there. So Marianne was critical to Beth going home, which was why she’d been in the group therapy with Beth. I wouldn’t be shown the reports that Jessie and the doctors had written, so it was unlikely I’d ever know the extent of Derek’s inappropriate physical contact with Beth, although clearly it hadn’t been the worst-case scenario, for there’d been no police prosecution and Beth was returning home. She wouldn’t have been, even with Marianne there, if the emotional incest had led to sexual incest. I had to accept that Jessie, Dr Jones and Dr Weybridge, having seen and discussed all the evidence, and having worked with Derek and Marianne, were satisfied that Beth was in no danger and it was in her best interest to return home to live with her father and Marianne.

  I dressed smartly for the meeting, choosing a navy skirt and jacket, and as I entered the meeting room I was pleased I had. Marianne and Derek, the only ones present so far, were looking very smart too: Marianne in a skirt and jacket and Derek in a suit and tie. They were seated at a small rectangular table in the centre of the room and both looked up and smiled as I entered.

  ‘Jessie has been called away,’ Marianne said. ‘She said to tell you she shouldn’t be long.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  I sat in one of the two empty chairs on the opposite side of the table to Marianne and Derek. It was a different room to the one I’d been in for the previous meetings; this room was much larger, and being seated at the small table in the centre of the large room gave the feeling of being exiled on a small island. I slipped off my jacket and hung it
on the back of my chair and then took my diary from my bag and set it on the table in front of me. There was an uncomfortable silence.

  ‘How is Beth doing?’ Marianne asked after a moment.

  I looked up. ‘She seems to be doing very well,’ I said, addressing them both.

  ‘It was nice of you to invite her friend to tea,’ Marianne said. ‘Jessie told us how much she enjoyed it.’

  ‘Yes, they had a great time, and also when Beth went to April’s for tea.’

  ‘Thank you for arranging that,’ Derek said, a little stiffly.

  There was another awkward silence and then Marianne suddenly said, ‘I owe you an apology.’

  ‘Oh?’ I met her gaze.

  ‘The last time we spoke on the telephone I was rather rude to you and hung up without saying goodbye.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said, with a reassuring smile. ‘It was a fraught time for us all. I’m pleased everything is sorted out now. I expect you’re both very excited and looking forward to Beth’s homecoming.’

  ‘I’m also very nervous,’ Marianne admitted, her expression serious. ‘I so want to be a good stepmother, but I’ve still got bad memories of the last time I tried. The therapy has helped. I can see what went wrong before, so I won’t make the same mistakes. But my only experience of children is my niece and nephew, and I only see them a couple of times a year. I’ve signed up for some parenting classes that Jessie recommended, but I’d also appreciate any help and advice you can give me.’

  ‘I’d be pleased to help in any way I can,’ I said. ‘Beth’s a good kid, but she will need some boundaries, as all children do.’

  ‘Yes, Dr Jones is very keen on boundaries and routine,’ Marianne said, glancing at Derek. Derek nodded but didn’t say anything. I was forming the impression that Marianne would be leading the parenting of Beth.

  The door opened and Jessie came in, cradling a large folder and a desk diary. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said, slightly out of breath. ‘We had an emergency. My manager is dealing with it now.’ She sat in the chair next to me and with a little sigh set her folder and diary on the table in front of her. ‘So, how are we all?’ she asked brightly, looking across the table at Marianne and Derek.