Daddy’s Little Princess

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Postcard (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Couple in the Playground (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Exclusive sample chapter (#litres_trial_promo)

Cathy Glass (#litres_trial_promo)

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

In the Beginning (#u3641ec51-23c6-52d7-b9a4-59184395ef42)

To write this book – Beth’s story – I need to go back in time, to when Adrian was six and Paula was just two. I had only been fostering for a few years, and back then foster carers were given little in the way of training or support, or background information on the child. They were ‘thrown in at the deep end’ and left to get on with it, either swimming or sinking under the strain of it all. Looking back now, I shudder to think of some of the unsafe situations my family and I were placed in, and I also wonder – with the benefit of hindsight from years of fostering and training – if I would have handled situations differently. Some, maybe, but not with Beth. I am sure I would have made the same decisions then as now, for some behaviour is never acceptable and has to be stopped to save the child.

Chapter One

Close to Tears (#u3641ec51-23c6-52d7-b9a4-59184395ef42)

I was starting to think that they weren’t coming after all. Beth’s social worker had telephoned me during the afternoon and had said she would bring Beth to me at about ‘teatime’. It was now nearly seven o’clock – well past teatime – and Adrian, Paula and myself had eaten. I’d make Beth something fresh to eat if and when she arrived. It was a cold night and little Beth would be upset enough at being parted from her father without arriving tired and hungry. I knew that plans in social care often change unavoidably at the last minute, but I thought the social worker might have telephoned to let me know what was going on. A little while later I told Paula it was time for her to go to bed. We were in the living room, at the rear of the house, snug and warm, with the curtains closed against the cold, dark night. Paula and Adrian were sitting on the floor; Paula had been building a castle out of toy bricks and Adrian was poring over a large, beautifully illustrated book on vintage cars and motorbikes he’d been given as a Christmas present three weeks previously. Toscha, our lazy, lovable cat, was curled up on her favourite chair.

‘I thought that girl was coming?’ Adrian said, glancing up from his book.

‘So did I,’ I said. ‘Perhaps her father isn’t as ill as they thought and she was able to stay at home. I hope so.’

Adrian, aged six, had some understanding of what fostering meant from having children stay with us previously, while Paula, aged two, wasn’t really old enough to understand, although I’d tried to explain that a girl aged seven who was called Beth might be coming to stay with us for a while. All I knew of Beth, other than her age, was that she lived with her father and that he was now ill and likely to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital. That was all the social worker had told me when she’d telephoned and I’d hoped to learn more from her when she arrived with Beth.

I rose from where I’d been sitting on the sofa and went over to Paula to help her pack away the toy bricks. ‘Bedtime, love,’ I said again.

‘I thought that girl was coming?’ Paula said, repeating Adrian’s comments. She was at an age where she often copied her older brother. I heard him give a little sigh.

‘I don’t think she will be coming now,’ I said to Paula. ‘It’s rather late.’

But just as I began collecting together the plastic building bricks, the doorbell rang, making us all jump. Both children looked at me expectantly.

‘Perhaps it is them after all,’ I said. ‘Stay here and I’ll go and see.’

With my husband, John, working away I was cautious when I answered the door after dark. Leaving Adrian and Paula in the living room, I went down the hall and to the front door where I first peered through the security spy-hole. The porch light was on and I could make out a woman and a child. Reassured, I opened the front door.

‘Sorry we’re so late,’ the woman immediately apologized. ‘I’m Jessie, Beth’s social worker. We spoke on the phone. You must be Cathy. This is Beth.’

I smiled and looked at Beth, who was standing close to her social worker. She wore a grey winter’s coat buttoned up to the top. She was pale, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were puffy from crying. She clutched a tissue in one hand, which she pressed to her nose.

‘Oh, love,’ I said. ‘You must be very tired and worried. Come in.’

‘I want my daddy,’ Beth said, her eyes filling.

‘I understand,’ I said, touching her arm reassuringly. Jessie eased Beth over the doorstep and then brought in a very large suitcase.

‘We stopped off at Beth’s house to get her clothes,’ Jessie explained as I closed the front door. ‘It took longer than I expected. Beth wanted to change out of her school uniform, and then we had to pack. She was worried about washing her clothes and the food in the fridge spoiling. I’ve told her not to worry, that you’ll wash her clothes here, and the house will be fine.’

I smiled again at Beth. ‘That’s right. There’s nothing for you to worry about. I’ll look after you.’ Although I wondered that a seven-year-old had thought about laundry that needed to be done or food spoiling. ‘Would you like to take off your coat?’ I asked her. ‘And we’ll hang it here on the hall stand.’

Beth began to undo her buttons and then let Jessie help her out of her coat. I hung it on the stand and Jessie did the same with hers.

‘I want to be with my daddy,’ Beth said again.

‘It’s just for a short while until Daddy is better,’ Jessie reassured her.

‘Come on through and meet my son and daughter, Adrian and Paula,’ I said. ‘They’re looking forward to meeting you.’

Jessie took Beth’s hand and I led the way down the hall and into the living room. My first impression of Beth was that she’d been well cared for at home and was now clearly missing her father dreadfully. Jessie, I guessed, was in her late thirties, smartly dressed in black trousers and a pale-blue jumper. She seemed stressed, probably from running late and from all the arrangements she would have had to make to bring a child into care.

‘Would you like a drink?’ I offered Jessie and Beth.

Beth shook her head while Jessie said: ‘A coffee would be lovely, thank you. Milk and one sugar, please.’

‘This is Beth and her social worker, Jessie,’ I said, introducing them to Adrian and Paula. ‘I’ll leave you all to get to know each other while I make the coffee.’ But Paula wasn’t going to be left alone with strangers and she rushed over and slipped her hand into mine.

Jessie and Beth were settling on the sofa as I left the living room with Paula to make the coffee, while Adrian had put down his book and was setting aside his embarrassment to talk to Jessie and Beth. It’s always difficult when a new child first arrives until everyone gets to know each other and relaxes. From the kitchen I could hear Jessie asking Adrian how old he was and what he liked to do in his spare time. As I made the coffee I explained again to Paula who Beth was.

‘Beth’s going to stay with us for a few sleeps while the doctors make her daddy better,’ I said.

‘Why?’ Paula asked. ‘Why’ was a word Paula had recently discovered and now used quite a lot.

‘Because there’s no one else at home to look after her,’ I said. ‘And she can’t stay at home by herself.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because she’s too young,’ I said. ‘She’s only seven.’

‘I’m two,’ Paula said proudly.

‘Yes, that’s right, and in a few months you’ll be three.’

I made the coffee, arranged some biscuits on a plate and set them on a tray. Paula followed me into the living room where I placed the tray on the coffee table within reach of Jessie.

‘Thanks,’ she said gratefully, reaching for the mug of coffee and a couple of biscuits. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had something to eat or drink. Today has disappeared.’

Jessie wasn’t the first social worker who’d arrived having not had time to eat or drink. ‘Shall I make you something to eat?’ I asked.

‘No, thank you. I’ll settle Beth and then I need to get home. I have two children of my own, although you wouldn’t think so for the little I see of them.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want a drink?’ I asked Beth.