Can I Let You Go?: Part 1 of 3: A heartbreaking true story of love, loss and moving on

When Lucy came down her response was, ‘Perhaps Faye will change her mind and keep the baby.’ So I explained that this wasn’t an option because of her learning disabilities.

‘Well, someone has got to look after her,’ Lucy said pragmatically. ‘So it may as well be us.’ Lucy had been in and out of foster care before coming to live with me eight years previously and was now my adopted daughter. She had a slightly different view of being in care and I valued her opinion.

‘If the baby has to go for adoption,’ Adrian said when I told him, ‘then I think it’s better that it’s taken away at birth. I’m sure it would be more upsetting to bond with the baby, love it, and then have to say goodbye.’

‘So you think we should look after Faye?’ I asked.

‘Yes, if you do. But, Mum, I know that whatever happens you’ll make sure she is OK.’

‘Thanks for your vote of confidence,’ I said, although I really didn’t see how she could be OK – not a mother having to give up her baby.

Chapter Two

Faye and Snuggles (#uf75cf2a7-b112-5215-8be8-22c0a1a3e761)

At 1.45 p.m. on Thursday I entered the elevator in the high-rise block on the edge of town where Faye lived with her grandparents. The design of the building, once hailed as innovative and the future for city living, with the passing of time now seemed a monstrous piece of architecture, and was the last of four to be left standing. The others had been demolished and the social housing tenants relocated to a new estate. At some point this would be too. The elevator reeked of disinfectant. I pressed the button and began the ride to the eighth floor. I wasn’t surprised that Faye’s grandparents, exiled up here with their limited mobility, were struggling. What happened when the elevator broke? I wondered. From what Becky, Faye’s social worker, had told me, they couldn’t manage the eight flights of stairs, and not for the first time in my life I felt very grateful that I had a nice home and my family and I were all in good health.

The elevator ground to a halt and the doors juddered open. I stepped out and over a discarded bag of half-eaten fish and chips that someone hadn’t bothered to throw in a bin. I went along the corridor to flat 87 and pressed the bell. The door, like all the others in the corridor, was dark green and in need of a repaint, but that wouldn’t happen now the block was due for demolition. Edith, my support social worker, wasn’t attending this introductory meeting, and this would be the first time I met Faye’s social worker, Becky, although we had spoken on the phone.

A woman answered the door with a cheery, ‘Good afternoon, you must be Cathy. I’m Becky. Pleased to meet you.’

‘And you.’

We shook hands and I went in and closed the door, then followed Becky down the short hall into the living-cum-dining room. She was a mature social worker with a friendly, relaxed manner that I thought would put anyone at ease.

‘This is Cathy, the foster carer I’ve been telling you about,’ Becky said to the three people in the room. ‘This is Stan, Faye’s grandpa,’ she said, introducing me to the portly gentleman sitting in an armchair.

‘Hello,’ I said.

‘Sorry, I can’t easily get up,’ he said, extending his hand. I went over and we shook hands. In his early seventies, he was wearing a woollen waistcoat over an open-neck shirt and grey flannel trousers; his walking stick was hooked over the chair arm.

‘This is Wilma, Faye’s gran,’ Becky said, referring to one of the two women sitting on the sofa.

‘Hello, nice to meet you,’ I said.

‘And you,’ Wilma replied, looking me up and down. She was a similar age and build to her husband and was dressed in navy trousers and a matching jersey. Her walking frame stood within her reach.

My gaze now moved to her granddaughter, who was sitting beside her on the patterned two-seater sofa. ‘This is Faye, the young lady I’ve been telling you about,’ Becky said.

‘Hello, love.’

Faye threw me a small, anxious smile and immediately looked down.

‘Say hello to Cathy,’ her gran directed.

‘Hello,’ Faye said shyly, without looking up. My heart went out to her. Of average height and build, she had straight hair cut rather severely to chin level, emphasizing her plainness. The maroon jersey and trousers she was wearing were very similar to those of her gran; indeed, I thought they could be hers. They were too big, even allowing for her baby bump, and it crossed my mind that one of the first things I should do for Faye when she came to live with us was to take her shopping to buy some pretty maternity clothes.

Becky drew up one of the dining chairs for me and placed it beside hers, so we sat in a small circle. The room was clean and full of the homely clutter of everyday living. I guessed Faye and her grandparents had lived here for a long time. As I sat down I saw Faye snatch another glance at me and I smiled reassuringly. With her small, round face and petite features, she had the classic look of a person with Foetal Alcohol Syndrome. It gave her a childlike appearance. Yet there was also an elderly quality about her, especially in her mannerisms. Her posture and the way her hands were folded in her lap mirrored that of her gran, which was probably a result of Faye’s reliance on her and having spent so much time with her.

‘Cathy has come here so you can get to know her a little before you go and stay with her,’ Becky said positively to Faye. Her tone was gentle and conciliatory as one might use for a child, although it wasn’t patronizing. ‘I think it would be a good idea if we asked Cathy to tell us a bit about where she lives and her family, don’t you?’ Faye nodded and stole another shy glance at me. ‘Over to you, then,’ Becky said, smiling at me.

I was expecting this and had come prepared. ‘I’ve brought some photographs to show you,’ I said brightly.

‘That’s a good idea,’ Becky enthused.

Dipping my hand into my bag I took out the small photograph album I’d compiled some years before. I usually took it with me to show the child and their family if the move to me had been planned in advance, but if the child came into care as an emergency I didn’t have this opportunity, as they just arrived on my doorstep with their social worker. I opened the album at the first page and passed it to Faye. She immediately passed it to her gran, partly so that all three of them could see, but also, I thought, passing on the responsibility.

‘The photograph on the left shows the front of our house,’ I began. ‘There is a small garden at the front and a much bigger one at the rear.’ I knew the sequence of photographs in the album off by heart from having used it many times before. ‘The photograph on the right was taken in the hall. You can see our coat stand, where we hang our coats, and our shoes beneath.’ I paused while they looked, and then Wilma turned the page. Becky was leaning forward for a look too. ‘The picture on the left is the front room and the one on the right is of the back room. That’s the one we use most. That’s where the television is.’ I paused again as they looked at these two photographs and then turned the page. ‘There’s the kitchen,’ I said. ‘And then the next photo is outside in the back garden. You can see my family sitting on the patio. Faye, I think they’re waving at you, aren’t they?’ Faye gave a small smile as she studied the photo. This picture was recent and my family were posed, waving and smiling, as though welcoming our new arrival. ‘From left to right is my son Adrian, then my daughters Lucy and Paula. Can you see anyone else in the picture?’

Faye nodded and pressed her forefinger on the image. ‘A cat,’ she said, pleased.

‘Yes, that’s right. He’s called Sammy. We used to have a cat called Toscha, but she grew very old and died. Sammy is only two. We haven’t had him long. He’s from a rescue centre.’

‘That’s nice,’ Becky said encouragingly. ‘You like cats, don’t you, Faye?’

Faye gave a small nod and flashed me another cautious smile, then returned her attention to the photographs. The photographic tour continued upstairs with pictures of our bathroom and bedrooms. There were about twenty photographs in all, and every so often Wilma would say something like, ‘That’s nice,’ and Stan would nod, while Faye looked at the pictures very carefully, taking it all in. Doubtless she was overwhelmed by all the changes she was about to face, as most children are before they come into care. These photographs would hopefully help to reassure and prepare her, so that when she arrived my home and family wouldn’t be completely strange to her. The last photograph was of what would soon be Faye’s bedroom, and she peered at it closely.

‘It’ll look better once you have your belongings in there,’ I said. I’d taken the photograph between one child leaving and the next arriving. It was a comfortable room but plain without personal possessions, and decorated in neutral colours so it would suit a child of any age and of both sexes.

‘I like the duvet,’ Faye said.

‘Good. You can use that one if you wish or choose one from the others I have. Or you may prefer to bring one from home.’

Faye looked at her gran for direction. ‘She may as well use yours,’ Wilma said. ‘No point in moving her stuff if she doesn’t need to.’

I hesitated and then Becky said exactly what I was thinking. ‘It will be nice for Faye to take some of her possession with her. It’ll make her feel more at home and help her settle.’

Wilma gave a small, stiff nod as though acknowledging what Becky had said while not necessarily agreeing with it. I suspected Wilma was used to being agreed with and organizing Stan and Faye.

‘I can use my car to move whatever Faye wants to bring,’ I offered, wondering if this could be a problem, given the grandparents’ limited mobility.

Wilma gave the same small, stiff nod.

‘Have a think about what you want to take,’ Becky said to Faye.

Having come to the end of the album, Wilma closed it and handed it back to me.

‘Thanks for bringing that,’ Becky said. ‘Perhaps you could say a few words about you and your family, now we know what you all look like.’

This was usual at an introductory meeting and it gave the young person a flavour of what family life with the foster carer would be like. I began by saying a little about what Adrian, Paula and Lucy were doing in terms of work and college, and a description of our weekday routine. ‘At weekends we sometimes relax at home,’ I continued. ‘At other times we go out to places of interest, for a walk, to the cinema or to visit family and friends. It’s very flexible. What sort of things do you like to do?’ I asked Faye.

She met my gaze and shrugged. ‘She’s usually with us,’ Stan said, joining the conversation. ‘We don’t get out much.’

‘She shouldn’t really be going out in her condition,’ Wilma added.

I assumed she was referring to Faye’s pregnancy. It seemed an odd thing to say, but I didn’t comment.

‘I’m sure Cathy will think of some nice places to go,’ Becky said to Faye, and she smiled shyly. Edith had told me that Faye wouldn’t give me any trouble, and I could see what she meant. My first impression was that Faye – compliant, malleable and, it appeared, highly reliant on her gran – could do with being a bit more assertive, as Becky had hinted on the phone. Despite Faye’s learning disabilities, she would have opinions and views of her own, but they needed drawing out. Although I still had reservations about how my family and I were going to cope with Faye giving up her baby, I’d obviously do my best for her.