I Miss Mummy: The true story of a frightened young girl who is desperate to go home

‘All change!’ Lucy said disparagingly, referring to Alice’s change of social worker and all the changes of social workers she’d experienced. ‘Pass the parcel!’

‘Enough!’ I said to Lucy. She was in rather an antagonistic mood and while I appreciated why, she needed to stop it, as it wasn’t helping Alice. I’d noticed before that when a new child arrived it had an adverse effect on Lucy for the first few days. Although Lucy went out of her way to help settle in the new arrival, as did Paula, it reminded Lucy of her own unsettled past and painful memories resurfaced. I knew she would be fine in a day or so.

I decided to leave unpacking Alice’s suitcases until after dinner and, with everyone helping, we sat down to eat thirty minutes later. But unlike at breakfast, when Lucy had set a good example and had encouraged Alice to eat, Lucy now toyed with her food and ate virtually nothing. Alice seemed to be copying her and I found myself having to encourage them both to eat, my own eating interspersed with sideways glances and ‘Come on, eat up.’ Out of the two it was Lucy I was most concerned about, for I knew Alice had had a reasonable lunch – sandwich, yogurt and fruit – but I’d no idea what, if anything, Lucy had eaten. I also knew that if I asked her she’d become evasive and it would turn into an issue.

Eventually I began collecting together the plates. ‘Are you sure you’ve had enough?’ I asked Lucy and Alice. They both nodded. Apart from being concerned that Lucy wasn’t getting enough for her body’s requirements, I was also concerned that Paula might copy her example. Adrian had always been a good eater and he was that much older, but Paula was at an impressionable age and looked up to Lucy. In all other respects Lucy had settled in very well, was coming to terms with her past and was growing very close to Paula, Adrian and me. It was a shame there was still the issue of her eating.

Chapter Ten (#ulink_0c1e0bc0-e341-5329-a881-ca52c03a39f9)

Brian the Bear (#ulink_0c1e0bc0-e341-5329-a881-ca52c03a39f9)

Before I ran Alice’s bath, Adrian took the two suitcases upstairs and into Alice’s bedroom. I lay one flat on the floor and opened it, leaving the other standing by the wall. Opening a child’s bag or case is always a poignant moment: a bittersweet reminder of the life the child has left behind. Sometimes the bag contains no more than a handful of ragged dirty clothes which aren’t of any use, and I make do with clothes from my emergency supply and then go shopping at the earliest opportunity to buy new. But as I opened the first of Alice’s two cases my heart ached: rows and rows of her little clothes, washed and neatly pressed, and smelling of a fabric conditioner which, while unfamiliar to me, would be very familiar to Alice. I looked through the case and found skirts, jumpers, dresses, pyjamas, dressing-gown, slippers, little jogging outfits, coat, gloves and scarf, and shoes wrapped in a plastic bag. It was like a suitcase packed for a holiday where, unsure of the weather, all eventualities had been catered for. I knew how much love and care had gone into that packing; Alice’s nana had wanted to make sure Alice would be comfortable and have everything she needed. I also knew the pain it must have caused her nana to pack her cherished granddaughter’s belongings for a holiday from which she would never return.

Alice, who had been watching me, wide eyed and in silence, now began diving into the case, taking out the little bundles of her clothes and pressing them to her face. The smell and feel was a welcome reminder to her that at least some of her past had come with her. She took out another bundle of clothes and an envelope appeared. ‘To the Carer’ was written on the outside and I quickly picked it up. Directing Alice towards the wardrobe so she could begin putting away some of her clothes, I moved to one side and slit open the envelope. My eyes filled as I read the short handwritten note: ‘Dear Carer, Please take good care of our beloved granddaughter. She means everything to us. God bless you. Janice and Martin Jones.’ I looked at the note and then at Alice. I dearly wished I could have phoned Alice’s grandparents there and then and tried to reassure them. But the social worker had clearly stated that phone contact should take place on Saturday evenings, and I knew I couldn’t go against her instructions.

Tucking the note into my pocket, I joined Alice in unpacking. She was engrossed in the task and, while many of the clothes would need refolding later if they weren’t going to be badly creased, she was happy in her work and, with her clothes in the wardrobe, it was starting to look more like home. I was conscious of the time: I needed to get Alice into bed before long, as she would have to be up early in the morning for nursery, and she hadn’t had her bath yet. I suggested to her that we left unpacking the second case until the following day.

‘Can we just find Brian?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ I smiled, guessing that Brian was a favourite toy rather than a stowaway. ‘I hope Nana has remembered to pack him,’ I said.

‘She will,’ Alice said. I shared her confidence: Alice’s grandmother had remembered to pack everything else that Alice could possibly need, so I was sure she would have remembered a favourite toy.

Closing the empty suitcase I stood it on the landing, ready for putting away later. I laid the second case on the floor in Alice’s bedroom and unzipped the lid. Sure enough, to Alice’s delight, there lay Brian: a cuddly teddy bear, resplendent in a Nottingham Forest football kit.

‘Who supports Nottingham Forest?’ I asked.

‘My grandpa,’ Alice said, smiling, and, scooping up the bear, clutched him to her. ‘Grandpa bought him at an away match when they won,’ Alice explained knowledgeably. ‘Brain Clough was the manager and Grandpa said he should have a bear named after him because he had done so well with his team. You can say hello to Brian the Bear if you like.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ I said, shaking his paw.

We assume our lives are pretty constant and that our surroundings and routine will remain constant too, but for a child who is taken into care all continuity vanishes when the child is suddenly uprooted and set down in a strange environment, with strange people and customs. Now that Alice had been reunited with Brian the Bear and her clothes I could see she was already starting to feel more at ease. There were more toys in the second suitcase, and books, a set of towels, a wash bag, and a throw-over bed cover with a big picture of Barbie doll. I took this out, together with the wash bag, one of the books and a towel. Although I had plenty of towels I would use the one Alice’s grandmother had sent, which was familiar to Alice.

Closing the case, I stood it to one side and then removed the pink blanket Alice had arrived in from the bed and draped the Barbie cover over it. I then took Alice through to the bathroom, where I ran her bath. I squirted in a few drops of the child’s bubble bath her nana had included in Alice’s wash bag, and used the sponge and face flannel that were also in the bag. I washed Alice’s back and she did the rest. Then I lifted her out and wrapped her in the bath towel her nana had sent. It was fragranced with the same fabric conditioner as her clothes and Alice pressed it to her face as I helped dry her. I helped her into her Sleepy Cat pyjamas, squirted toothpaste on her toothbrush and waited while she brushed her teeth.

In her bedroom Alice snuggled beneath the duvet and Barbie cover and looked much more relaxed and at home. ‘All right, love?’ I asked. She nodded. ‘You’re doing very well.’ I perched on the edge of the bed and, lightly stroking her forehead, ran through what we would be doing the following day: I would take her to nursery, collect her after lunch, take her to the family centre to see her dad and Sharon, and then collect her and bring her home. Although I’d already told Alice this I repeated it, as children can get very confused when they first come into care with so many new things and routines to adjust to. Alice didn’t make any comment, but she looked quite tired. I asked her if she wanted a story before she went to sleep. She nodded so, still sitting on the bed, I read the book I’d taken from the suitcase – Favourite Nursery Rhymes, which I guessed her nana had read to her many times, for Alice was word perfect.

When I finished the book I went on to the landing and called downstairs that Alice was ready to say goodnight. Lucy and Paula broke off from doing their homework in the dining room and came up, and Adrian appeared from his bedroom. They took it in turns to say goodnight to Alice; the girls kissed her cheek while Adrian blew a kiss and gave a little wave from the door. ‘See you in the morning,’ they chimed as they left, and Alice smiled.

As Adrian, Paula and Lucy returned to their homework, which they knew had to be completed before they watched television, I returned to sit on Alice’s bed for a moment, stroking her forehead and just looking at her little face. ‘You’re doing very well,’ I said again. ‘I know it isn’t easy, but you’ll find it gets a bit easier as time goes on. There’s nothing for you to worry about. If you’ve got any questions or there is anything worrying you, ask me, won’t you?’

Alice’s gaze went to the window where the curtains were drawn. ‘Is it dark outside?’ she asked in a small voice.

‘Yes, love. But I’ll leave your light on low, like I did last night.’ I assumed she was worried by the dark, as she had been the night before.

Alice paused and thought for a moment. Then she asked seriously: ‘Can we go to the quarry now it’s dark?’

‘No, love,’ I said, surprised. I’d have thought that would have been the last place she’d want to go. ‘The quarry is closed. It’s night-time. We don’t go to the quarry at night.’

‘But my mummy might be there,’ she said. ‘I want to see my mummy. I want to sleep with her in the shed at the quarry. Why can’t we go?’

‘Oh, love, Mummy isn’t at the quarry now. People don’t normally sleep at the quarry; they sleep in their beds. Your mummy will be sleeping in a bed now.’

I continued to stroke her forehead. Despite the trauma of being snatched and taken to the quarry at night, where the sound of the barking foxes had terrorized her, Alice would risk it all again just to be with her mother.

‘Where is my mummy?’ Alice asked after a moment, her large eyes finally moving from the window to me.

‘I’m not sure, love, but I do know she isn’t at the quarry. I expect your nana is looking after her.’ Clearly I had no idea where Leah was, but this seemed enough to reassure Alice. I continued to sit with her, stroking her forehead until her eyes finally closed in sleep.

Chapter Eleven (#ulink_d30f70b9-af18-563c-bd87-0ea5ec3dbb49)

Precious (#ulink_d30f70b9-af18-563c-bd87-0ea5ec3dbb49)

I always feel like the ‘new girl’ at school when I walk into a playground for the first time. I don’t know the layout of the school or where the child’s classroom is, and I feel other mothers are looking at me, wondering who I am. Without any further instructions from Martha, other than I had to take Alice to nursery on Tuesday, I had decided to do what I usually did on the first morning: introduce myself at the school’s reception and ask for directions to Alice’s classroom. Alice, however, bright as a button and happy at the prospect of seeing her friends again at nursery, wanted to go straight to her classroom.

‘It’s this way,’ she said, pulling me across the playground. ‘I’ll show you.’ She led me to the side of the main school building and to a separate entrance with a door marked ‘nursery only’. ‘We can go straight in,’ Alice explained. ‘The older children have to wait in the playground until the bell goes.’