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

Paula’s face immediately brightened. ‘Yes, we will. And I’ll get up tonight if she’s upset and look after her. You can stay in bed.’

I smiled. My family were used to disturbed nights when a child first arrived, but they didn’t always offer to get up. ‘That’s very kind of you, love,’ I said. ‘But it’s important you get your sleep, with school in the morning. There’ll be plenty of opportunity for you to help look after Alice – after school and at the weekends.’ I paused. ‘But Paula, you do realize that I don’t know how long Alice will be with us? It could only be a few weeks.’ For already I could see that my family were going to get very attached to Alice, and very quickly.

Paula nodded. ‘I know, Mum, but I hope she stays a long time.’ Then she yawned.

‘OK, love, off to sleep now.’ I kissed her goodnight, tucked her in, and then came out and went into Lucy’s room.

Lucy was propped in bed, listening to her Discman. ‘Lucy, it’s far too late to be listening to that,’ I said. ‘You’ve got to get up for school in the morning.’

She immediately switched off her music and took out her earpieces – a vast improvement from when she’d first arrived, nearly a year before, when she’d bucked against authority and argued and debated about absolutely everything I (or her teachers) had asked her to do. Now she placed the Discman and headphones on her bedside cabinet and snuggled down, ready for me to tuck her in and say goodnight.

‘I wonder why Alice has come into care.’ Lucy said as I kissed her forehead.

‘I’m not sure exactly. Her mother couldn’t look after her, so she’s been staying with her grandparents.’

‘‘Well, they’ve done a good job. She looks normal.’

‘What do you mean “normal”?’ I asked, smiling.

‘You know, like someone has looked after her. Not like I was. My aunts didn’t care a toss. They didn’t do anything about my nits, even when the school nurse sent me home with a letter. It was awful going to school and scratching my head the whole time. All the other kids laughed. I remember sitting in lessons and trying not to scratch, but in the end I had to ‘cos it itched so much. And I stank. I knew I did. My clothes were filthy. I tried to wash them at home but I was only allowed to use cold water.’

I took Lucy’s hand between mine, as I had done so many times during the past year, when she’d wanted to talk about the sad memories of her deprived childhood – the severe neglect she’d suffered for as long as she could remember. ‘I can only guess how awful that time must have been for you,’ I said quietly. ‘But thankfully it is past now, and will never return. You did so well coping with all of that. I’m sure I wouldn’t have coped so well.’

‘You would if you had to,’ Lucy said thoughtfully. ‘You just get on with it and take each day as it comes. I always made sure I found one good thing in each day. It didn’t matter how small it was as long as it was good and made me happy. One day a girl at school gave me a crisp from her packed lunch – that was a really good thing. And another time I was chosen by the teacher to collect the brushes at the end of the art lesson – that was a very big good thing. But sometimes it was the small things that were good, and maybe you wouldn’t notice them if you weren’t looking for something to make you happy. Like the bud of a flower just about to open in spring, or a bird flying off with a twig in its beak to make a nest, or writing a poem you’re really pleased with. There are so many good things in the world to make us happy, but sometimes you have to look very hard to find them.’

I pressed Lucy’s hand between mine and swallowed the lump rising in my throat. Lucy had such a beautiful way of putting things, I wondered if it was as a result of her suffering, if it had sharpened her senses, for I doubted the average twelve-year-old would have such insight. ‘Nevertheless, Lucy,’ I said, ‘you had a lot to cope with, and you coped very well. I’m just so pleased that that time is past and you found your way to me.’

‘So am I,’ she said. Throwing her arms around me, she gave me an extra big hug.

Having said goodnight to Lucy and come out of her room, I hovered on the landing again, outside Alice’s door. It was quiet but I wanted to check on her so, easing the door open, I crept in. She was still on her back, fast asleep, with one little hand pressed to her chin. Relaxed in sleep, her lips were slightly parted, and I could hear the faintest whisper of her breath. What memories of her past would Alice have, I wondered; not only of the days when she was missing but from the four years before that? – her short life to date. Would her memories be like Lucy’s, which were similar to those of many of the children I’d looked after? – memories of severe neglect and abuse. I doubted it. Something told me Alice’s story would be very different, although I doubted it would be any less upsetting.

Chapter Five (#ulink_4ca28d99-9bfe-5131-85d5-7d3aaaa51eff)

‘Mummy Things’ (#ulink_ee2d6ba8-ab67-5874-8331-b55ea801a0de)

Convinced I’d have a disturbed night, after checking on Alice I went straight to bed, hoping for a couple of hours’ sleep before she woke, distressed at finding herself in a strange room. I woke at 1.30 a.m. and, although I couldn’t hear Alice crying, I wondered if she’d called out and I’d subconsciously heard her. But when I went round to her room she was fast asleep, now curled on to her side, but still with one little hand pressed against her chin. I returned to bed and woke again just after 4.00. I immediately checked on her, but she was still asleep. At 6.00, when my alarm clock went off, Alice remained asleep, having slept far better than I had.

It was Monday, a school day, so I needed to get going – showering and dressing, and then making the two packed lunches before I woke Adrian, Paula and Lucy. However, I also wanted to be with Alice when she woke so that I could reassure her, for I could imagine how frightening it would be at her age to wake from a deep sleep, alone in a strange room. She probably wouldn’t even remember how she got there the night before. I continued my normal weekday morning routine but interrupted it every ten minutes or so to check on her. Quickly showering, and with a towel wrapped round me, I checked on Alice. I hurriedly dressed in my bedroom and then checked on Alice. I went downstairs, fed Toscha and put the kettle on; then I returned upstairs to check on Alice. I made the packed lunches and checked on Alice. Then at 6.45, as I again peered into her room, I was rewarded by seeing her eyes flicker open, followed by a big yawn.

I had been right to be concerned. The second Alice woke and saw unfamiliar surroundings she sat bolt upright in bed and cried, ‘Nana!’, her voice tiny with fright.

I was immediately by her bed. ‘Hello, love,’ I smiled. ‘It’s all right. You’re safe. I’m Cathy. You came to my house late last night.’

Alice looked at me with the same wide-eyed amazement she had the night before. She was completely overwhelmed, and probably wondering why and how I’d been summoned into her life like a genie from a lamp.

‘There’s nothing for you to worry about,’ I continued, kneeling by the bed and taking one of her little hands in mine. ‘You are staying with me for a while. I’m a foster carer. Do you remember seeing Adrian, Lucy and Paula last night? They are in their beds, still asleep.’

She looked at me and blinked. ‘Nana?’ she asked in the same small voice, her eyes widening further. ‘Where’s my nana and grandpa?’

‘They’re fine, love, they’ll be at home in their house. I expect they are waking up, just like you.’ I’d obviously no idea where her grandparents were or what they were doing, but this seemed the most likely option and would, I hoped, reassure Alice. ‘Nana and Grandpa know you’re here,’ I added, feeling she should know this and that it might help.

Alice blinked again and then her face began to crumple. ‘I want Nana and Grandpa,’ she cried, tears springing from her eyes.

‘Oh, love, don’t be upset,’ I soothed, putting my arm around her and holding her close. ‘You’ll see Nana and Grandpa soon.’ Again, I had to assume this would be so for, given that Alice’s grandparents had been her main carers for the last six months, I expected the social services to arrange contact so that Alice could see them within the next day or so. My reassurance seemed to help. The tears stopped and Alice’s face brightened a little. ‘That’s better, love,’ I said, and I cuddled her.

Aware we would be having a very busy day, as soon as I’d woken the rest of the family, I would get Alice dressed and ready. When a child arrives, the first few days are always hectic. Apart from settling the child into our home, all the professionals connected with the case would phone or visit; clothes and toys would need to be collected from home if at all possible, or I would go out and buy new clothes; school and contact arrangements would be clarified; and if there was any reason to believe the child had been physically harmed or was in bad health then an emergency medical would be arranged.

Alice had arrived with only the clothes she had on and I’d already sorted out a tracksuit and underwear from my emergency supply, which I kept in an ottoman in my bedroom. But now, seeing Alice properly for the first time, I realized that the tracksuit I’d selected was far too big. Although Alice was four she was so dainty I guessed she was probably wearing three-year-old clothes. ‘Just wait here a moment, love,’ I said, standing, ‘and I’ll find you something to wear until we can get your own clothes.’

She looked up at me, wide eyed and incredulous, and, not for the first time since I’d begun fostering, I wondered how on earth these children coped with all the turmoil and upheaval in their short lives; I doubt I would have coped so well. Before I left the room I took one of the cuddly toys I’d arranged on the chair in Alice’s bedroom and tucked it beside her on the bed. ‘Ben will keep you company,’ I said. ‘I won’t be a minute.’ Alice slowly blinked, her long black eyelashes fluttering gracefully; she really was a beautiful child, and despite everything that had happened to her she seemed to have a natural inner peace.

Going round the landing en route to my bedroom to change the clothes for Alice, I knocked on each of the children’s bedroom doors and then poked my head round. ‘It’s seven o’clock, time to wake up,’ I called, adding, ‘Alice is awake,’ which I hoped might provide the incentive for them to leap out of bed.

In my bedroom, I rummaged in the large ottoman, where I found another tracksuit, pale blue, which looked more like Alice’s size. I also took out some smaller-sized socks and pants. Closing the lid, I returned round the landing, again poking my head into the children’s bedrooms. ‘It’s seven o’clock,’ I repeated. ‘Time to get up. Alice is awake.’ And whereas before I’d been met with silence, I now heard murmurs and groans suggesting they were awake and might even get up.

Alice was exactly as I’d left her, sitting up in bed and staring at her surroundings, with the cuddly toy at her side. ‘All right, love,’ I said, ‘let’s get you dressed. You can have a bath later, tonight.’ Had she arrived dirty, as some children do, I would have bathed her straightaway, but Alice looked clean and it was preferable she got to know me a little before I started bathing her. ‘You can wear these today,’ I said, showing her the tracksuit. ‘I’ll wash the clothes you have on and you can wear them again tomorrow.’ For in the new and unfamiliar world in which Alice now found herself, she might have thought I was taking away her own clothes for good.

Alice remained sitting up in the bed, just looking at me, and I gently eased back the duvet. ‘If you get out of bed, I’ll show you where the toilet is,’ I said. ‘I expect you want to go.’

She continued to look at me in wonder but didn’t move. I gently eased her legs out of bed and helped her to stand. ‘This way,’ I said cheerily, taking her hand. ‘The toilet is round here.’ I led her from the bedroom and round the landing to the toilet, where I opened the door.

She stood looking in, making no attempt to use the toilet. ‘Can you manage by yourself?’ I asked. ‘Or do you need some help?’ At her age she should have been able to manage the toilet alone, although I’d looked after many children who couldn’t. ‘Do you want some help?’ I asked again.

Alice slowly shook her head and began to raise her dress. I held the door to, giving her some privacy, and waited for her to finish. Hearing it flush, I went in, ran some water in the sink and helped her to wash her hands. I guessed Alice probably had these self-care skills but was so overwhelmed at present she needed help. I dried her hands on the towel and then led her back along the landing towards her room.

Paula appeared from her room. ‘Hi, Alice,’ she called, smiling and giving a little wave.

Alice started, unblinking and overawed.

‘This is Paula, my daughter,’ I reminded her. ‘You remember you saw her last night?’ A little smile crossed Alice’s face. ‘She remembers,’ I said to Paula. ‘She’s just very shy at present.’

‘See you at breakfast,’ Paula said. ‘I’m going to shower and dress.’

She gave another little wave and Alice very cautiously raised one hand and gave a little wave back.

At the age of four a child should normally be able to dress him or herself, apart from tricky bits like doing up buttons and shoelaces. But as Alice had come into care with so little information, I’d no idea what she was capable of doing. And given that she was clearly overwhelmed, if not traumatized, I told her I would help her dress. She cooperated by raising her hands so that I could easily draw her dress up and over her head. As I changed her into the clean clothes I also, unfortunately, had to keep a lookout for any marks or bruises which might have suggested she’d been physically abused, and which I’d have to tell the social worker about as soon as their offices opened. Alice, like all children coming into care, would have a medical but it might not be arranged for another two to three weeks.

I’ll never forget the time, in my early years of fostering, when I stripped an eighteen-month-old toddler ready for his bath only find his torso covered in angry bruises and red weals, which turned out to be cigarette burns. It was late in the evening on the day he’d arrived and I was completely shocked. I quickly wrapped him in his clothes again and, leaving the bath, fled to Accident and Emergency at our local hospital. They examined and X-rayed him and kept him in overnight (I stayed with him). The paediatrician’s report showed that the toddler had eighteen recent bruises, thirteen cigarette burns and two (old) fractures to his ribs. I’d been so shocked and horrified that anyone, let alone a parent, could inflict such cruelty on a small child that the memory of that night had stayed vivid. But as I now changed Alice thankfully there were no marks of any description and she looked very clean and well cared for.

Once I’d helped her into the new tracksuit I sat her on the bed and, kneeling at her feet, began putting the socks on her. As I worked I could feel her large eyes looking at me, probably wondering who on earth this strange woman was, who was nothing like her nana. I could hear the rest of the family getting ready: Lucy’s music was on, Paula had finished in the bathroom and was now in her bedroom getting dressed, and Adrian was in the shower.

‘OK, love,’ I said. ‘Ready.’ I lifted Alice off the bed. ‘Let’s go downstairs for some breakfast and you can tell me what you’d like to eat. We’ve got lots of different cereals, or you can have toast, or egg, or whatever you like.’ (Within reason, I thought.)

Alice looked up at me, her little mouth slightly open in wonder; then she slipped her hand into mine. I smiled, and we went out of her bedroom and towards the top of the stairs. Before we began downstairs she drew me to a halt, and I looked down into her big brown eyes.

‘Cathy?’ she asked quietly, and innocently. ‘Are you going to be my mummy now?’

I could have wept. ‘Oh, love,’ I said, bending down so I was at her height. ‘I’m not your mummy, but I will be doing mummy things for you. While you are with me I’ll look after you – make your meals, take you to nursery, play with you and take you to the park. Is that OK?’