‘That’s Cuddles,’ Faye said, without picking him up. ‘He’s the baby of Snuggles, and he’s staying with me.’
I smiled as Wilma threw me a knowing look. ‘It’s another one of her mum’s toys,’ Wilma said. ‘We kept all her favourites.’
‘That’s nice,’ I said.
‘He’s not the same as Snuggles,’ Faye said, a little disheartened.
‘He will be soon,’ Wilma said positively. ‘He just needs some TLC. We’ll work on it.’
I smiled again and then reached into my bag for the packet of photographs and passed it to Wilma.
‘Thank you. How much do we owe you?’
‘Nothing. It’s my pleasure.’
‘That’s kind of you.’ She tucked the packet down beside her on the sofa.
‘I’m not looking at them,’ Faye said.
‘No, you don’t have to, but your grandpa and I will,’ Wilma replied. I thought how appropriately Wilma handled Faye; kind but firm. I had no doubt that she would deal sympathetically with Faye as she came to terms with losing Edward, but she wouldn’t indulge her. I could imagine the three of them in years to come sitting in this living room, looking at the photographs and possibly speculating about what Edward looked like now and what he was doing. Usually the natural parent(s) of a child that is to be adopted is updated with photographs and short reports on the infant’s progress until the actual adoption, and then after the adoption there are sometimes updates, but that would be for Becky and the adoption team to discuss and arrange.
‘So, what are you doing for Christmas?’ Wilma asked after a moment, making conversation.
‘My mother and my brother and his family are coming to us for Christmas Day.’
‘That’ll be nice.’
‘Yes. And you?’
‘We’re going next door as usual,’ Wilma said. ‘They invite us every year and make a real fuss of us. We have a lovely time. They’re like family.’
‘And as they’re only next door I can have a couple of scotches and still find my way home,’ Stan added, with a laugh. Wilma and I laughed too.
There was another silence and then I said, ‘Well, I won’t keep you. I’ll be off then. I think I’ve packed everything, but if I find something of Faye’s that I’ve missed I’ll give you a ring and then bring it to you.’
‘Thanks, love,’ Wilma said.
‘You haven’t packed the baby clothes, have you?’ Faye asked, picking up Cuddles.
‘No, love. Just all your belongings.’
‘You and I have got some unpacking to do,’ Wilma said, nudging Faye.
I stood and returned my chair to the table. ‘Goodbye then,’ I said to Faye. I went over and gave her a hug. ‘I’ll be thinking of you.’
To my surprise Wilma then hugged me too. ‘Thanks for all you’ve done,’ she said quietly. ‘We’re very grateful. We couldn’t have managed without you.’
‘It was a pleasure to be of help,’ I said as I straightened. I was about to add that I just wished the outcome could have been different, but I stopped myself.
Wilma must have read my expression. ‘It’s for the best,’ she said stoically, looking me straight in the eyes. ‘We would have supported Faye whatever, but I think this is right. It’s what’s meant to be.’
I nodded. We said goodbye and then Stan pulled himself from his chair and leant on his walking stick. ‘I’ll see you out, love,’ he said. ‘We can’t have a young lady seeing herself out, it’s bad manners.’
I said a final goodbye to Wilma and Faye and left them as I found them, side by side on the sofa, watching television. There was something comforting in the familiarity of this scene. Faye was where she wanted to be and belonged, and I had every confidence that with her grandparents’ help she would move on with her life, safe in the knowledge that she’d made the right decision and that little Edward was happy with his adoptive family.
Stan came with me to the elevator. ‘If I don’t see you again, thanks,’ he said. He took my hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze.
I hesitated before I spoke, as there was something still bothering me. ‘Stan, you do know that I didn’t persuade Faye to try to keep her baby. It was her decision.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘She can be very obstinate sometimes. Wilma and I feel that she probably had to travel that path to be satisfied that having Edward adopted was the right decision.’
I was grateful for the reassurance. The elevator arrived and I stepped in.
‘All the best then,’ Stan said, with a wave of his walking stick. ‘Merry Christmas to you and your family. Have a good one.’
‘And you,’ I said, and the doors closed.
The lift descended uninterrupted to the ground floor where I got out. I took a couple of steps and then Lewis, their neighbour’s nephew whom I’d just met, appeared in front of me in the lobby. He wasn’t wearing a coat and had his arms folded across his chest, as if trying to protect himself from the cold. ‘You need a jacket on down here,’ I said. ‘It’s freezing.’
I looked at him. He was my height and his nose and cheeks were blue from the cold.
‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘I need to talk to you,’ he said edgily. ‘You’re a foster carer, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘So you know about social workers and the law.’ His teeth chattered as he spoke.
‘A little,’ I said, puzzled. I wasn’t sure how much of his shivering was due to the cold and how much was nervousness, for he seemed very agitated. ‘What’s the matter? Are you in trouble with the police?’
‘I think I might be.’
‘I see. How?’ I waited as he shivered and shifted from one foot to the other.
Then he swallowed hard. ‘Don’t be angry with me, but I think I might be the father of Faye’s baby.’
My jaw dropped. I stared at him, and my first thought was that he wasn’t old enough.
‘What makes you say that?’ I asked, trying to hide my shock.
He looked down, embarrassed. ‘You know, Faye and me did it.’
‘Sorry. It was a daft question. I’m not thinking straight. Have you told anyone apart from me?’
He shook his head. ‘I was worried I’d be in trouble, but Faye said I had to tell now.’ He looked and sounded like a naughty schoolboy.
‘She’s right. How old are you, Lewis? If you don’t mind me asking.’
‘Nearly nineteen.’ He looked more like twelve. ‘I didn’t hurt her,’ he blurted. ‘She wanted me to. She saw it on the television and wanted to do it. I’d never done it before either. I didn’t think you could get pregnant just doing it once.’ I wondered how many other young people had been similarly caught out, but it wasn’t for me to lecture him.
‘Lewis, you’re going to have to tell your aunt and uncle. Do you live with your parents?’ He nodded. ‘You will need to tell them too.’
He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Can you tell them for me?’
‘It will be better coming from you. I will tell Faye’s social worker. She needs to know so she can talk to Faye and her grandparents.’
‘Will the police want to see me?’ he asked anxiously.
‘I don’t know, but if they do, you just tell them the truth, as you’ve told me, and I’m sure it will be fine.’
He brightened a little. ‘I’ll tell my aunt and uncle first. They’re easier to talk to than my parents.’
‘I should do it now. Don’t put it off any longer.’ Then curiosity got the better of me. ‘Where did this happen, Lewis? Faye never goes out.’
‘In her flat. Stan and Wilma were with my aunt and uncle in our flat, so I went round to keep her company. We often do that. Either I go there or she comes to us. The adults play cards in one flat and we watch films in the other.’
‘I see,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘All right, I understand. Just explain what happened. They are bound to be upset to begin with. It will be a shock.’
&n
bsp; ‘I know. I’ll tell them now.’ He turned and headed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I looked after him for a moment and then continued out of the building.
I’ve experienced many a dramatic and surprising turn of events as a foster carer – some disturbing and others happy – but Lewis’s revelation was certainly in the top ten for surprise value. To use an expression, I was gobsmacked. I knew that his aunt and uncle, and Stan and Wilma, were close – good friends and neighbours. They were going to be very surprised and shocked. I didn’t think the police would need to be involved if Lewis was telling the truth. He and Faye were both over the age of consent, and although Faye was classified as a vulnerable adult, he hadn’t forced or coerced her into having sex – she had been willing. However, as the child’s father, Lewis had rights and he might want to play a part in Edward’s life, even bringing him up, although he appeared little more than a child himself. Certainly the social services would want to talk to him to ascertain his wishes and to plan Edward’s future. Now the baby’s father was known, it wasn’t just Faye’s decision.
I was still bemused and mulling over all of this when I arrived home. As soon as I was in I telephoned Becky and updated her.
‘Oh my!’ she said, as surprised as I was. ‘And Wilma’s been blaming the day centre and the stables! They’ll be relieved to know they’re off the hook. But Lewis’s aunt and uncle are going to be furious. I’ve never met Lewis, but I have met his aunt and uncle. They’re a good, kind couple who do a lot for Stan and Wilma. They’ll be mortified when they find out their nephew is responsible. I think I’ll phone Stan and Wilma and prepare them, and I’ll need to see Faye. Thank you, Cathy.’
Having said goodbye to Becky, I telephoned Edith and updated her. Not being directly involved in my fostering of Faye, Edith wasn’t so aware of the ramifications of this development or as surprised. She asked me to send in my final report on Faye, which would go on the social services’ file, as was normal practice, and then confirmed with me that I was free to foster again if necessary. I said I had some Christmas presents for Edward and that I would like to give them to Patsy, but I didn’t know her contact details. Edith said she’d find out. An hour later she called back with Patsy’s telephone number and address, having checked with her first (for confidentiality reasons) that it was all right to give them to me. Edith wished me a good Christmas in case she didn’t speak to me again beforehand, and I wished her the same. Having said goodbye, I cut the call and then phoned Patsy.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A Loving Legacy
‘I see Santa Claus has come early this year,’ Patsy joked the following afternoon as I stood on her doorstep holding Edward’s Santa sack. ‘Come on in, Cathy. Good to see you. Let me take your coat.’
I put the Santa sack and the bag of baby clothes in the hall, took off my coat and handed it to Pasty, who hung it on their hall stand, and then followed her into the living room. Like many carers who specialize in fostering babies and toddlers, the room looked like a mini nursery, with large boxes overflowing with colourful toys, a play mat, baby walker, high chair, rocker, entertainment centres for various ages, a toy cooker and shop, and so on. I went straight to the Moses basket standing by the sofa.
‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ Pasty said, already smitten, as we gazed in.
‘Absolutely.’ Dear little Edward, how pleased I was to see him. He lay on his back in blissful sleep, with his arms flung out either side of him.
‘How is his mum coping?’ Pasty asked kindly, glancing at me. ‘The poor girl.’
‘I saw her yesterday and she seems to be doing all right,’ I said. ‘She’s living with her grandparents again and they’re looking after her.’
Patsy nodded. ‘And how are you?’
‘I’m fine.’
She threw me an old-fashioned look, aware that a foster carer is never ‘fine’ when a child or young person they’ve been fostering has just left, but that it would take time to adjust.
She offered me a drink and while she went into the kitchen to make tea I continued to gaze at Edward. So peaceful and content cocooned in the crib, away from the outside world and all that was happening there. He had his whole life ahead of him. I sincerely hoped it was a good one. How I wished I could take that journey with him.
Patsy returned carrying a tray of drinks and, setting it on an occasional table, passed me one of the cups. I tore myself away from the Moses basket and sat beside her on the sofa. As we sipped our tea we talked, firstly about the routine she was establishing for Edward, then about our plans for Christmas. She mentioned that she was also fostering a two-year-old girl who at present was seeing her mother at the contact centre. She’d have to collect her later. I told Patsy the bag in the hall contained not only baby clothes, but also nappies, creams, wipes and other small baby items that Faye and I had bought and which I hoped she could make use of.
‘Thank you, Cathy. You can never have too many.’
‘And the Santa sack contains Edward’s presents from my family and me,’ I said. ‘Also a soft toy that my children bought specially for him.’
‘That’s kind of them. I’ll make sure he has them. We’ve got him some presents too. Not that he’s going to know much about them now, but he will in the future.’
It was then I realized I couldn’t see Snuggles anywhere. I set my cup in its saucer and looked around. ‘I did give you a soft toy at the hospital – Snuggles – didn’t I?’ I asked, worried.
‘Yes, but I’ve put him safely away for when Edward is older,’ Patsy said. ‘I didn’t want him getting damaged. I’ll explain the significance of Snuggles to Edward’s adoptive parents when he eventually leaves me.’
‘Thank you. Snuggles didn’t just belong to Faye but to her mother as well.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll tell them.’
It was obvious that Patsy didn’t yet know that Edward’s father had come forward, which might change the plans for Edward being adopted, and it wasn’t my place to tell her. She would be informed by Edward’s social worker and then be involved in planning and moving Edward to his permanent home, wherever that might be. Although it wouldn’t happen for some months yet. Presently Edward woke for a feed and I stood by the Moses basket and soothed him while Patsy warmed his milk. When she returned she asked me if I’d like to feed him.
‘Yes, please,’ I said.
But as I sat on the sofa with him cradled in my arms, suckling contentedly, I felt a rush of sadness that it wasn’t Faye feeding him, especially after all those weeks of practising. I’d had such high hopes. I wondered what she was doing now and if she was coping. Sitting here with her child just didn’t seem right. It’s a thought I have often when I’m fostering: feeling that the child should be with their parents instead of me and hoping they were coping without them.
When he’d taken half the milk I paused to wind him and then continued with the rest of the bottle. He barely opened his eyes, bless him. Patsy changed his nappy and then settled him in the Moses basket again. I stayed for another twenty minutes and then Patsy had to leave to collect her other child from contact. She saw me to the door, and as I left we both wished each other a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. That evening I was able to reassure my children that I’d seen Edward and he was being very well looked after, and that he would be given our presents at Christmas.
Christmas was now only five days away. Paula had broken up from college for the holidays, but Adrian and Lucy had to work right up to Christmas Eve. On the day before Christmas Eve I received the telephone call I’d been dreading from Edith, informing me that the social services might be bringing a child into care. Edith said that a young couple with a small child had been arrested by the police after a house raid, and if they couldn’t find a family member to look after the infant then they’d need a foster placement. She said she’d call back as soon as she had more details. I quickly checked the spare bedroom and also my cache of emergency Christmas presents. Thankfully, later that after
noon Edith telephoned again and said that an aunt had been found to look after the child until the parents were released from custody, so she wouldn’t have to come into care. But even so, what a dreadful upset, and I wondered what sort of Christmas that family would have. I was never told what the couple had done to be arrested and, like most referrals that failed to arrive, I didn’t hear any more.
My family and I had a good Christmas. It was obviously different without Dad, but we enjoyed ourselves, as he would have wanted us to. He loved Christmas like a child and never grew out of playing games and winning prizes from the Christmas tree. We spoke of him a few times during the day as our thoughts went to him, and I think it is true to say that we felt his love and joy shining through, even though he wasn’t with us. On Boxing Day the children and I visited the cemetery, taking some of our Christmas flowers with us to put on Dad’s grave. It was a very cold day, the clouds were low and the air was perfectly still. Snow had been forecast in some parts of the country and while we were there, to our delight, a few snowflakes fell – the first of the winter.
‘Grandpa loved the snow,’ Adrian said. ‘The toboggan he made for us when we were little is still in the shed.’
‘I hope it snows a lot,’ the girls said, gazing wishfully at the sky. ‘Then we can use it.’
On the way home I drove through more little flurries of snow, although none appeared to settle, but then the following morning when we woke the outside was shrouded in a magical blanket of pure white snow. Suddenly, we were all up and dressed, like children again, excited and eager to be out in the snow. Sammy didn’t know what to make of it and he took one look and shot back in through the cat flap. After breakfast Adrian fetched the toboggan from the shed and, wrapped up warm, we set off to our nearby park, renowned for its hill that makes a perfect toboggan run. There were already many others there and we saw friends, neighbours and families from the area. There was a festive atmosphere, with lots of shouting, screaming and laughing, as adults and children of all ages hurtled down the slope on their toboggans – or anything they had: trays, sheets of plastic and cardboard, even a metal dustbin lid, which looked comical but was surprisingly fast. As we flew down, laughing, taking turns on the toboggan that Dad had made all those years ago, I hoped he could see how much fun we were all having.