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‘I can come and collect you,’ I offered.
‘That’s nice of you, but I’ll be fine, and I don’t know what time I’ll be discharged.’
‘You could phone me when you know and I’d come straight over. The hospital isn’t far.’
She gave a small shrug. ‘Thanks. I’ll see how it goes.’ And I knew that given her comment about being self-sufficient she’d have to be feeling very poorly before she took up my offer of help.
Toscha had sauntered off and the children were now playing with the toys I’d set out. It was after six-thirty and at some point Shelley would have to say goodbye to Darrel and leave, which would be difficult for them both. The sooner we got it over with the better, and then I could settle Darrel before he went to bed.
‘I’ll show you around the house before you go,’ I said to Shelley.
Her forehead creased and she looked very anxious again. ‘I was thinking, if you don’t mind, is it possible for me to stay and put Darrel to bed? Once he’s asleep I’d go, and he wouldn’t be upset.’
Each fostering situation is different, and foster carers have to be adaptable to accommodate the needs of the child (or children) they are looking after, and also often the parents too. There was no reason why she couldn’t stay.
‘Yes, that’s fine with me,’ I said. ‘But we will need to explain to Darrel what is happening. Otherwise he’ll wake up in the morning expecting to find you here, and be upset when you’re not.’
‘Darrel, love,’ Shelley said, leaving her chair and going over to kneel on the floor beside him, ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
He stopped playing and looked at her, wide-eyed with expectation and concern.
‘It’s nothing for you to worry about,’ she reassured him. ‘But you remember I explained how you would be sleeping here for one night while I went into hospital?’
Darrel gave a small nod.
‘Well, I am not going to leave you until after you are asleep. Then, in the morning when you wake up, Cathy will be here to look after you until I come back. I’ll be back as soon as I can tomorrow. All right, pet?’
‘Yes, Mummy,’ he said quietly.
‘Good boy.’ She kissed his cheek.
I thought Shelley had phrased it well, and at three years of age Darrel would have some understanding of ‘tomorrow’.
‘Shall we have a look around the house now?’ I suggested. ‘You can see where you will be sleeping,’ I said to Darrel.
‘Yes, please,’ Shelley said enthusiastically, standing. Darrel stood, too, and held her hand. He looked at Adrian and Paula, now his friends.
‘Yes, they will come too,’ I said. They usually liked to join in the tour of the house I gave each child when they first arrived, although obviously there was no need, as they lived here. ‘This is the living room,’ I began. ‘And through here is the kitchen and our dining table where we eat.’
As we went into the kitchen Darrel exclaimed, ‘There’s the cat’s food!’ and pointed to Toscha’s feeding bowl.
‘That’s right,’ I said, pleased he was thawing out a little. ‘It’s empty now because Toscha has had her dinner.’
‘I’ve had my dinner,’ Darrel said.
‘I know. Your mummy told me. What did you have? Can you remember?’
‘Stew,’ he said. ‘With dumplings.’
‘Very nice. Did you eat it all up?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s a good eater,’ Shelley said. ‘He’s likes my bean stew. I learned to make it from a recipe book. I put in lots of vegetables and he eats it all.’
‘Very good,’ I said, impressed, and thinking I should make stew and dumplings more often.
We went down the hall and into the front room. Given that Darrel was only young and here for one night, I didn’t go into detail about what we used the rooms for; I was just showing him around so he was familiar with the layout of the house and would hopefully feel more at home.
‘We’ll bring the bags up later,’ I said as I led the way upstairs. We went round the landing to Darrel’s room.
‘It’s not like my room at home,’ he said, slightly disappointed as we went in.
I smiled. ‘I’m sure your bedroom at home is fantastic, and it’ll have all your things in it, but this will be fine for tonight.’
‘Yes, thank you, Cathy,’ Shelley said, frowning at Darrel. ‘It’s very nice.’
I then briefly showed them the other rooms upstairs, including the toilet and bathroom where the step stools were already in place. I made a point of showing Darrel where I slept so that if he woke in the night he knew where to find me. It helped to reassure the child (and their parents), although in truth I was a light sleeper and always heard a child if they were out of bed or called out in the night.
‘Thank you very much, Cathy,’ Shelley said, and we began downstairs.
We returned to the living room and the children played with the toys again. Shelley sat on the floor with them and joined in, childlike and enthusiastic in her play. She carefully arranged the toy cars and play-people in the garage and sat the attendant behind the cash desk. I thought that, like many children from neglected and abusive backgrounds, she’d probably missed out on her childhood and had grown up fast to survive. After a while she left the children to finish their game and joined me on the sofa. I took the opportunity to explain to her that I would have to take Darrel with me to school in the morning when I took Adrian. I said that if he couldn’t manage the walk there and back I had a double stroller I could use.
‘He’ll be fine walking,’ Shelley said. ‘It’s not far, and he walks everywhere with me. I don’t have a car and I sold his stroller six months ago as I needed the money.’ I appreciated it must be difficult for her financially, bringing up a child alone.
It was nearly seven o’clock and I said I usually took Paula up for her bath and bed about this time.
‘It’s nearly Darrel’s bedtime too,’ Shelley said. ‘Can I give him his drink of warm milk now?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ll show you where everything is in the kitchen.’
Leaving the children playing I took Shelley into the kitchen, showed her around and then left her to warm Darrel’s milk, while I took Paula upstairs to get ready for bed.
‘Baby bed?’ Paula asked.
‘Darrel will be going to bed soon,’ I said, guessing that was what she meant. My reply seemed to satisfy her, for she chuckled.
I gave Paula a quick bath, put her in a clean nappy and then, after lots of hugs and kisses, tucked her into her cot bed. ‘Night, love,’ I said, kissing her soft, warm cheek one last time. ‘Sleep tight and see you in the morning.’
Paula grinned, showing her relatively new front teeth, and I kissed her some more. I said ‘Night-night’ again and finally came out, leaving her bedroom door slightly open so I could hear her if she didn’t settle or woke in the night, although she usually slept through now.
Downstairs Darrel had had his milk and Shelley was in the kitchen, washing up his mug while Darrel played with Adrian in the living room. Shelley looked quite at home in the kitchen and I asked her if she’d like a cup of tea, but she said she’d like to get Darrel to bed first. We went into the living room where she told Darrel it was time for bed. ‘Say goodnight to Adrian,’ she said.
‘Goodnight,’ Darrel said politely, and kissed Adrian’s cheek. Adrian looked slightly embarrassed at having a boy kiss him, but of course Darrel was only three.
‘I’m sorry,’ Shelley said, seeing Adrian’s discomfort. ‘He always kisses me when we say goodnight.’
‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘As Mrs Clause says in Santa Clause: The Movie, “If you give extra kisses, you get bigger hugs!”’
‘That’s lovely,’ Shelley said, clasping her hands together in delight. ‘I’ll have to remember that – “If you give extra kisses, you get bigger hugs!”’
Adrian grinned; he loved that Christmas movie and the saying, as I did.
Shelley and I carried the holdalls upstairs and into Darrel’s room, with Darrel following. Having checked she had everything she needed, I left Shelley to get Darrel ready for bed and went downstairs. I’d got into the routine of putting Paula to bed first and then spending some time with Adrian. He usually read his school book, then we’d play a game or just chat, and then I’d read him a bedtime story and take him up to bed. It was our time together, set aside from the hustle and bustle of him having a younger sister and fostering. Now, as I sat on the sofa with my arm around him, we could hear Shelley moving around upstairs while she saw to Darrel.
‘It’s strange having another mummy in the house,’ Adrian said.
‘Yes, it is,’ I agreed. ‘But it’s rather nice.’ It was touching and reassuring to hear another mother patiently and lovingly tending to the needs of her child.
Once I’d finished reading Adrian his bedtime story, he put the book back on the shelf and then went over to say goodnight to Toscha as he did every night. She was curled on her favourite chair and he gently kissed the top of her furry head once and then twice. ‘Remember, Toscha,’ he said. ‘“If you give extra kisses, you get bigger hugs!”’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Although I’d be very surprised if she got up and hugged you.’ Adrian laughed loudly.
‘Mum, you are silly sometimes.’
We went upstairs and while Adrian went to the toilet I checked on Paula. She was fast asleep, flat on her back, with her arms and legs spread out like a little snow angel. I kissed her forehead and crept out, again leaving her door slightly open. Shelley was in Darrel’s room now and through their open door I could hear her telling him that she would only go once he was asleep, and then she’d come back for him as soon as possible the next day. There was anxiety in her voice again, and I hoped it wouldn’t unsettle Darrel, for it could take hours before he went to sleep.
I ran Adrian’s bath and waited while he washed – even at his age I didn’t leave him unattended in the bath for long. I also washed his back, which he often forgot about. Once he was out, dried and dressed in his pyjamas, I went with him to his room. Following our usual routine, he switched on his lamp and I switched off the main light, then I sat on his bed while he snuggled down and settled ready for sleep. He often remembered something he had to tell me at this time that couldn’t wait until the morning. Sometimes it was a worry he’d been harbouring during the day, but more often it was just a general chat – a young, active boy delaying the time when he had to go to sleep. But tonight we heard Shelley talking quietly to Darrel in the room next door.
‘Will Darrel still be here when I come home from school tomorrow?’ Adrian asked.
‘I don’t think so. His mother is hoping to collect him in the early afternoon.’
‘He’s nice, isn’t he?’ Adrian said.
‘Yes, he’s a lovely little boy, just like you.’
Adrian smiled and I stroked his forehead. ‘Time for sleep,’ I said.
Then we both stopped and looked at each other in the half-light as the most beautiful, angelic voice floated in from Darrel’s room. Shelley was singing him a lullaby and her soft, gentle voice caressed the air, pitch perfect and as tender and innocent as a newborn baby – it sent shivers down my spine. First Brahms’s ‘Lullaby’ and then ‘All Through the Night’:
‘Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee,
All through the night,
Guardian angels God will send thee,
All through the night …’
By the time she’d finished my eyes had filled and I swallowed the lump in my throat. It was the most beautiful, soulful singing I’d ever heard, and I felt enriched for having been part of it.
Chapter Four
Shelley (#ua795b969-a622-5dea-b063-7dfce1291e87)
‘You’ve got a lovely voice,’ I said to Shelley when she finally came downstairs from settling Darrel for the night.
‘Thank you. I wanted to become a professional singer, but that won’t happen now.’
I was in the living room with the curtains closed against the night sky, reading the sheet of paper Shelley had given to me on Darrel’s routine. ‘Would you like that cup of tea now?’ I asked her.
‘Yes, please. Shall I make it?’
‘No, you sit down,’ I said, standing. ‘You’ve had a busy day. Milk and sugar?’
‘Just milk, please.’
‘Would you like something to eat now too?’ I asked. ‘It’s a while since you had dinner.’
‘A biscuit would be nice, thank you,’ Shelley said. ‘I usually have one with a cup of tea when I’ve finished putting Darrel to bed.’
I went through to the kitchen, smiling at the thought of Shelley’s little evening ritual, not dissimilar to my own, of putting the children to bed first and then sitting down and relaxing with a cup of tea and a biscuit. I guessed parents everywhere probably did something similar.
I made the tea, set the cups and a plate of biscuits on a tray and carried it through to the living room. ‘Help yourself to biscuits,’ I said, putting the tray on the occasional table and passing her a cup of tea.
‘Thank you. You’ve got a nice home,’ she said sweetly. ‘It’s so welcoming and friendly.’
‘That’s a lovely compliment,’ I said, pleased.
‘Do you find it hard with your husband working away?’ Shelley asked, taking a couple of biscuits.
‘I did to begin with,’ I said. ‘But we’re in a routine now. And my parents will always help out if necessary.’
‘I wish I had parents,’ she said.
‘Where are they?’ I asked. ‘Do you know?’ It was clear that Shelley wanted to talk, so I felt it was all right to ask this.
‘My mum’s dead, and I never knew my dad. I think he’s dead too,’ she said without self-pity.
‘I am sorry.’
She gave a small shrug. ‘It was a long time ago. It happened when I was a child. They were both heavy drug users. It was the drugs that killed my mum and I think my dad too. I remember my mum from when I was little, but not my dad. I never saw him. I have a photo of my mum at home. I keep it by my bed. But even back then you can see she was wasted from the drugs. When the kids at secondary school started boasting that they’d been trying drugs I used to think: you wouldn’t if you saw what they did. My mum was only twenty-six when she died, but she was all wrinkled and wizened, and stick thin.’
‘I am sorry,’ I said again. ‘You’ve had a lot to cope with in your life. And it must be difficult bringing up a child completely alone. Although you are doing a good job,’ I added.
Shelley gave a small nod and sipped her tea. ‘I was a week off my eighteenth birthday when I had Darrel,’ she said, setting the cup on the saucer. ‘All my plans had to be put on hold. I had great plans. I wanted to be something. Go to college and study music and try to become a professional singer. I thought I’d get a good job, buy a house and a car, and go on holidays like other people do. But that’s all gone now. I know other young single mums and, although we all love our children, if we’re honest we’d do things differently if we had our time over again – get a job and training first, meet someone, set up home and then have a family. You can’t do that if you have a child.’
‘It is difficult,’ I agreed. ‘You’re not in touch with any of your foster carers?’
‘No. I was moved so often I can’t even remember most of their names. Some of them were nice, others weren’t. The only one I really felt was like a mother to me was Carol. I was with her from when I was fourteen to when I was seventeen. She was so nice. She helped me through a really bad time. But when I was seventeen the social worker said I had to go and live in a semi-independence unit ready for when I left care. Carol tried to stay in touch – she phoned and put cards through my door – but I never got back to her.’
‘That’s a pity. Why not?’
Shelley shrugged. ‘Not sure. But I was dating then and I sort of put my trust in him.’
‘Have you thought about trying to contact Carol now?’ I asked. ‘I’m sure she’d be pleased to hear from you.’
‘It’s been over three years,’ Shelley said.
