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So why not ask her to buy the things she does like? I thought but didn’t say.
‘And your mum didn’t want to walk down with you?’ I asked as we walked.
‘She’s got a bad headache. She’s in bed, and Dad won’t be home until later.’
‘Oh dear.’ I could see Kim looking enviously at Adrian’s and Paula’s ice creams and I wished I’d thought to buy her one. ‘So who’s looking after Liam?’ I asked.
‘He’s in the pram, asleep. I wanted to bring him with me, but Mum wouldn’t let me. If she’s not up later I can make him a bottle,’ Kim added proudly. ‘I know what to do.’
I smiled and hid my concerns. This wasn’t making sense. If Geraldine liked to help, why wasn’t she helping the family now when they needed her? Laura was in bed, unwell, and Kim’s father wasn’t home. Why not phone Geraldine and ask for help? She only lived five streets away. We were drawing close to Laura’s house now.
‘What time does your dad get in from work?’ I asked her. ‘Do you know?’
‘I think it’s usually about seven-thirty or eight,’ Kim said.
That was three hours away. ‘Does he know your mum is unwell and you had to go to the shop?’ We’d arrived at her garden gate.
‘No,’ Kim said, and opened the gate. If I hadn’t been expecting Shelley and Darrel, I would have gone in and asked Laura if there was anything I could do.
Kim paused on the other side of the gate as she looped the carrier bag over her arm and took a front-door key from her purse.
‘Kim, will you please tell your mother I said hello and to phone me if there is anything I can do? She has my telephone number.’
‘Yes. Thank you,’ Kim said sweetly, and then hesitated. With a slightly guilty look she said, ‘You won’t tell Dad or Gran you saw me, will you?’
‘No, but is there a reason?’
‘They wouldn’t like it,’ Kim said. With a little embarrassed smile she turned and continued up the path to her front door.
I watched her open the door and go in. There was no sign of Laura. The door closed and we continued on our way home.
‘Why is Kim doing the shopping?’ Adrian asked, having heard some of the conversation.
‘Her mother isn’t feeling well.’
‘Would I have to do the shopping if you weren’t well?’ he said through a mouthful of ice cream.
‘No. You’re too young.’
‘So who would do the shopping while Dad’s away if you were ill?’
‘I’d ask Sue [our neighbour], or another friend, or Nana and Grandpa. But don’t you worry, I’m not going to be ill.’ I knew Adrian was anxious about his father working away, and he occasionally asked who would do the jobs his dad usually did, like cutting the grass, or about other ‘what if’ scenarios, and I always reassured him.
I paused to wipe ice cream from Paula’s mouth and hands, as it was melting faster than she could eat it, and then we continued up the street towards home. Perhaps it was from years of fostering that I instinctively sensed when a child might be hiding something, and I felt that now with Kim. What she might be hiding I didn’t know, but I had a nagging doubt that something wasn’t right in her house. I decided that the following week, at the first opportunity, I would make a neighbourly call and knock on Laura’s door – unless, of course, she was in the playground on Monday, which I doubted.
Chapter Three
Lullaby at Bedtime (#u790336bf-6d47-51d8-8fde-58ac855e3f41)
We’d just finished dinner that evening when the doorbell rang, and Adrian and Paula came with me to answer the door. Although it was still light outside I checked the security spyhole before opening it.
‘I’m Shelley and this is Darrel,’ the young woman said, with a nervous smile.
‘Yes, I’ve been expecting you, love. Come in.’
‘This is the lady I told you about,’ Shelley said, bending down to Darrel. He was standing beside her, holding her hand, and now buried his face against her leg, reluctant to come in.
‘He’s bound to be a bit shy to begin with,’ I said.
‘I know. I understand how he feels,’ Shelley said, clearly anxious herself. ‘Look, Darrel, Cathy has children you can play with.’
‘This is Adrian and this is Paula,’ I said.
But Darrel kept his face pressed against his mother’s leg as she gently eased him over the doorstep and into the hall. I closed the front door. Adrian, two years older than Darrel and more confident on home territory, went up to him and touched his arm. ‘Would you like to come and play with some of my toys?’ he asked kindly.
‘That’s nice of you,’ Shelley said, but Darrel didn’t look up or release his grip on his mother.
Then Paula decided that she, too, was shy and buried her face against my leg.
‘Do you want to leave your bags there?’ I said to Shelley, pointing to a space in the hall. ‘I’ll sort them out later.’
She was carrying a large holdall on each shoulder and, unhooking them, set them on the floor. She was also carrying a cool bag. ‘Could you put these things in the fridge, please?’ she said, handing me the cool bag. ‘There’s a pot containing his porridge for breakfast. I made it the way he likes it, with milk, before we came, so you just have to heat it up.’
‘OK, that’s fine, thank you.’
‘And there’s some yoghurt in there as well, and diced fruit in little pots. He has them for pudding and snacks. I’ve also put in a pint of full-cream milk. He prefers that to the semi-skimmed. I give him a drink before he goes to bed. I forgot to tell the social worker that and I didn’t know if you had full-cream milk here.’
‘I’ve got most things,’ I said, trying to reassure her. ‘But it’s nice for Darrel to have what you’ve brought.’
‘Oh, the sausages!’ Shelley exclaimed.
‘Yes, I got some. Don’t worry.’
‘Thank you so much. I am grateful.’ Then, bending down to Darrel again, she said, ‘Cathy has got your favourite sausages. Isn’t that nice?’
But Darrel kept his face pressed against his mother, and Shelley appeared equally nervous and anxious.
‘Try not to worry. He’ll be fine soon,’ I said. ‘Come and have a seat in the living room, while I put these things in the fridge.’
Shelley picked him up and held him tightly to her. I thought he was probably sensing her anxiety as much as he was nervous and shy himself. I showed them into the living room. Adrian went in, too, while Paula, slightly unsettled, came with me into the kitchen. At her age it was more difficult for her to understand fostering.
‘Baby?’ she asked as I set the cool bag on the work surface and unzipped the lid.
‘No, Darrel is older than you. He’s three. He’s sleeping here for one night. You can play with him.’
I began putting the contents of the cool bag into the fridge as Paula watched. Shelley seemed to have thought of everything, and I recognized the love, care, concern and anxiety that had gone into making up all these little pots so that Darrel had everything he was used to at home. Each pot was labelled with his name, what the pot contained and when he ate the food – so, for example: Darrel’s porridge, breakfast, around 8 a.m., and Darrel’s apple and orange mid-morning snack, around 11 a.m. Once I’d emptied the cool bag I returned to the living room with Paula and placed the bag near Shelley. ‘All done,’ I said.
‘Thank you so much,’ she said gratefully. Darrel was sitting on her lap, with his face buried in her sweater. ‘I’ve written down his routine,’ she said, passing me a sheet of paper that she’d taken from her bag.
‘Thanks. That will be useful.’ I sat on the sofa and Paula sat beside me. Adrian was on the floor, playing with the toys and glancing at Darrel in the hope that he would join in.
‘I’m sure he’ll play with you soon,’ I said. Then to Shelley: ‘Would you and Darrel like a drink?’
‘No, thank you, we had one before we left. He had warm milk, and he has one before he goes to bed too. I put the milk in the bag.’
‘Yes, I saw it, thanks. Although I’ve got plenty of milk here. Has he had his dinner?’
‘Yes, and I gave him a bath this morning so there is no need for him to have one this evening. I thought it would be better for him if I did it rather than him having to have a bath in a strange house. No offence, but you know what I mean.’
I smiled. ‘Of course. Don’t worry. I’ll keep to your routine. I’ll show you both around the house before you leave, so it won’t be so strange.’
‘Thank you.’
I guessed Shelley was in her early twenties, so she could only have been seventeen or eighteen when she’d had Darrel, but she obviously thought the world of him, and, as the social worker had said, she was a good mother. She was slim, average height, with fair, shoulder-length hair and was dressed fashionably in jeans and layered tops. She had a sweet, round face but was clearly on edge – she kept frowning and chewing her bottom lip. I knew Darrel would pick up on this. Paula, at my side, was now chancing a look at Darrel as if she might be brave enough to go over to him soon. Shelley saw this. ‘Come and say hello to Darrel,’ she said. ‘He’s just a bit shy, like me.’
But Paula shook her head. ‘In a few minutes,’ I said.
‘I think I’ve packed everything Darrel needs,’ Shelley said. ‘His plate, bowl, mug and cutlery are in the blue bag in the hall. I’ve put in some of his favourite toys and Spot the dog. He’s the soft toy Darrel takes to bed. Darrel is toilet trained, but he still has a nappy at night. I’ve put some nappies in the black bag, but he only needs one. I didn’t have room to bring his step stool, but he needs that to reach the toilet.’
‘Don’t worry. I have a couple of those,’ I said. ‘They are already in place in the bathroom and toilet.’
‘Thanks. I’ve put baby wipes in the blue bag too. His clothes and night things are in the black bag, but I couldn’t fit in his changing mat.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said again. ‘I have one of those too. In fact, I have most things children need.’
‘Oh, yes, of course, you would have,’ Shelley said with a small, embarrassed laugh. ‘You have children and you foster. Silly me.’
She was lovely but so anxious. ‘I promise I’ll take good care of Darrel and keep him safe,’ I said. ‘He’ll be fine. How did you get here with all those bags and Darrel?’
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