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‘So you’ve had two scans and everything is fine,’ I said, trying to engage her.
She shrugged, and I wondered if she hadn’t understood what a scan was or didn’t remember having the scans. ‘You know when you went to the hospital and the nurse put cold gel on your tummy, and there was a picture on the screen? It says here Gran was with you.’
Faye gave a half-hearted nod and continued to gaze around the room. I returned to the folder. I read that Faye was going to give birth in the hospital rather than the birthing centre, but there was no mention of a birthing partner.
‘Is Gran going to be your birthing partner?’ I asked, for clearly she needed someone there.
Faye shrugged again, so I wondered if she hadn’t understood. ‘A birthing partner is someone close to you, who stays with you while you are in labour. They help and support you. Will Gran be with you when you have your baby?’ I tried again, rephrasing it.
For the first time since I’d met Faye her face set. Losing her open, happy disposition, she now looked grumpy. ‘Don’t say that word,’ she said, frowning.
‘What? Baby?’ I asked, puzzled.
‘Yes. We don’t talk about that.’
I looked at her carefully. ‘Faye, love, we are going to have to talk about it. You are having a baby and I need to help you prepare for that.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said again. ‘Gran knows that. You have to be like Gran.’
This completely threw me. How was I going to help prepare her for what was to come, which was part of my role, if she refused to talk about it? If she wasn’t prepared, labour was going to be a very frightening experience for her.
‘You can read it,’ she said. ‘But don’t talk to me about it. That’s what Gran does.’
‘OK.’ I’d wait until she’d been with me longer and I’d had a chance to speak to her social worker, Becky, on Monday. I didn’t want to upset Faye, but on the other hand she needed to know how her pregnancy was progressing and how the baby would be born. Perhaps she already knew about childbirth, but it was possible she didn’t. If not, I had some literature that I used with children that would help explain the process.
I continued going through the folder, looking for the appointment schedule, without making any further comment while Faye gazed around the room. I found a note saying that Faye wouldn’t be attending the standard antenatal classes, nor the workshop on breastfeeding, as it wasn’t considered appropriate, but she would join the group for a tour of the maternity unit. I didn’t know if it wasn’t considered appropriate because of her learning difficulties or because she was giving up the baby. Becky had said that she hoped being away from her grandparents might encourage Faye to start opening up and maybe identify the baby’s father and the circumstances in which they’d met, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen while she denied the existence of a baby. However, it was still early days.
Once I’d found the list of appointments I closed the folder. ‘Good. Everything is going well,’ I said with a cheerful smile. ‘Do you have any questions?’
‘Not about that,’ she said, prodding the folder. ‘But can I play with Sammy?’
‘Yes, of course, if he’s in the house.’
‘I’ll go and look for him,’ she said. She stood and with childlike enthusiasm went off in search of Sammy. I heard her go upstairs and then Paula’s voice on the landing as they began a conversation. I put away the folder and went into the kitchen to begin the preparations for dinner. Sammy wasn’t in the house, but as soon as he heard me in the kitchen he shot in through the cat flap in search of his dinner.
Adrian texted to say he’d be having dinner with Kirsty and would see us later, so the girls and I ate together at around six o’clock. Faye had a good appetite but ate and drank using the same slow, measured movements with which she approached everything. When she’d finished she carefully set her knife and fork in the centre of her clean plate.
‘You’re a pleasure to cook for,’ I said.
‘It was nice,’ she said. ‘Better than we have at home.’
‘You shouldn’t say that,’ Lucy admonished with a laugh.
‘But it’s true!’ Faye protested. With her naïve approach to life and lack of inhibition, she said things as she saw them, unencumbered by tact or diplomacy.
‘Do you or your grandparents cook?’ I asked lightly, making conversation.
‘We all do it,’ she said. ‘But we have the food in plastic trays that you put in the microwave.’
‘Ready meals?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
I guessed that cooking, like many domestic tasks, would be difficult for her grandparents with their restricted mobility, so convenience meals were a practical option. ‘Would you like me to show you how to cook some easy meals?’ I offered. ‘The cheese and broccoli bake we just had is very quick and simple.’
‘Yes, please,’ she said. ‘My grandpa will like that too. He doesn’t like plastic food. He says you can’t tell if you’re eating the container or the food.’ She chuckled, and I could see where she got her sense of humour.
After dinner everyone helped clear the table and then Faye said she wanted to watch television. Lucy went with her into the living room while Paula went upstairs to wash her hair. I took the opportunity to telephone Mum, using the phone in the hall. I always began by asking her how she was, and as usual she said, ‘I’m fine, dear, you mustn’t worry about me.’ Which didn’t really answer my question. Mum was of a generation who rarely shared their problems and just got on with life.
‘What have you been doing today?’ I asked, as I often did.
‘Oh, you know, this and that. Keeping busy. How has your day been? Is your young lady with you?’ Which of course directed the conversation away from her to me.
‘Yes, Faye’s here and settling in,’ I said. ‘She seems happy enough.’
‘Good. I’ll look forward to meeting her. I expect you’re busy with everyone, so don’t worry about me. Thanks for phoning, love.’ And so she wound up the conversation and a minute or so later we said goodbye. Mum never wanted to be any trouble, and while she always listened to any problems we might have, I had little idea of hers. I just hoped she was coping without Dad as she led us to believe, but it was difficult to tell.
Faye watched television for the rest of the evening, and I realized she had an even greater capacity for the soaps than Lucy, who was texting as she watched. I joined them for a short while. Paula was in her bedroom listening to music as she dried her hair. At nine o’clock, as the soaps finished, Faye said it was her bedtime. Obviously this was early for a twenty-four-year-old, but being pregnant could have made her tire more easily, and also it wasn’t for me to disrupt her usual routine. I asked her if she normally had a hot drink before she went to bed and she said no, just a glass of water. She came with me into the kitchen and I showed her where the glasses were, and then I waited while she filled one from the cold tap. As it was her first night with us I said I’d go with her and make sure she had everything she needed. She said goodnight to Lucy as we passed the living room and then called goodnight to Paula through her bedroom door. ‘Goodnight, Faye,’ Paula sang out. Adrian wasn’t home yet.
Having checked that Faye had everything she needed, I waited on the landing while she was in the bathroom, changing, washing and getting ready for bed. She said she didn’t have a bath every night, as she had to take turns with her gran and grandpa, so it was every third night. I assumed that this was because her grandparents, with their disabilities, took a while to bath or shower, so they only had time for one per night. I told her she could have a bath or shower every night while she was staying with me, but she said it was OK, as she’d had a bath the night before. Again, I wasn’t about to disrupt her routine, but when she’d been with me longer I’d suggest she showered or bathed every day, as my family and I did.
Faye took a long time washing, changing and brushing her teeth, and when she came out of the bathroom she was in her pyjamas, the buttons on the jacket straining over her bump.
‘When we go shopping tomorrow,’ I said, ‘we can buy you some nice new pyjamas that aren’t so tight, or a nightdress. What do you think?’
‘Yes, please,’ she said, smiling. ‘Thank you. I’m looking forward to going shopping for new holiday clothes.’ She gave me another big hug. I didn’t correct her and say ‘maternity clothes’. I didn’t want to upset her.
I went with her to her bedroom and checked again that she had everything she needed. I told her there was a night-light on the landing that stayed on, so she would be able to see if she needed to go to the toilet. I reminded her where my bedroom was and that she should come and find me or call me if she needed anything in the night, but not to go wandering downstairs by herself in the dark, just as I did with the children I fostered. She said she understood. I then asked her if she’d like her curtains closed or open (she said closed), the light on or off (she slept with it off, and the door closed). Small details, but they are important in helping a young person to settle in a strange room. Snuggles was already in bed and Faye climbed in and pulled the duvet up to her chin.
‘Comfortable?’ I asked.
‘Yes. Very comfortable,’ she said. Just her little face peeped over the duvet. She pressed Snuggles to her cheek and then kissed him. ‘Grandpa kisses Snuggles and me goodnight,’ she said. ‘Gran can’t bend down any more.’ She smiled.
‘Would you like me to kiss you goodnight?’ I asked. Some children want a goodnight kiss, others don’t, so I always ask, otherwise it’s an intrusion.
‘Yes.’ She held up Snuggles and I kissed his forehead, and then hers. ‘Night, love,’ I said. ‘See you in the morning. Remember to call me if you need me in the night.’
‘I will,’ she said.
Saying a final goodnight, I came out and closed her door. It felt a bit strange having an adult in the room instead of a child or teenager. Paula was on her way to the bathroom to shower and I said I’d come up later to say goodnight. Downstairs, Lucy was still in the living room with the television on low and texting. I sat beside her on the sofa.
‘How are you getting on with Faye?’ I asked.
‘She’s really sweet,’ Lucy said. ‘And very kind. I like her. I told her about when I was a child – you know, when I didn’t have a proper home – and she was really kind and sympathetic. But, Mum, does she know she’s pregnant?’ Lucy stopped texting and looked at me.
‘I’m not sure. Why do you ask?’
‘Well, she said how slim I was and I told her she would be slim again once she’d had the baby. She went quiet and then said I mustn’t say that, and that she was fat. I tried to tell her it was the baby, but she said no and changed the subject, so I didn’t say any more.’
‘Thanks for telling me. I’m going to speak to her social worker tomorrow and try to find out how much Faye understands, so we can help her.’
‘She’s nice, though, really nice. Such a pity she can’t keep the baby.’
‘Yes, it is,’ I agreed thoughtfully.
Adrian arrived home half an hour later, having had a good day out at a leisure park with Kirsty. We chatted for a while and then he went to bed, as he had to be up at six in the morning for an early shift at the supermarket. Lucy went up too and I followed at around 10.30. I never sleep well when there is someone new in the house; I’m half listening out in case they wake. I heard Faye get up at around 2.00 a.m. to go to the toilet and when she’d finished I went round the landing to make sure she was all right. She was, and I didn’t hear her again until after 8.00 a.m. when I was up and dressed and Adrian had left for work. He’d meet her that evening.
Faye appeared in the kitchen in her pyjamas and dressing gown and asked if she could make herself a cup of tea. I said of course she could and showed her where the tea, mugs and milk were. She said that at home she always made tea for herself and her grandparents while in her dressing gown, and they drank it in their bedrooms while they dressed. After that they had breakfast together – cereal and toast – at around ten o’clock.
‘I help Gran and Grandpa get dressed,’ Faye told me. ‘Grandpa needs help putting on his vest and doing up the buttons on his shirt. So he sits on the bed and I help him, then I put his socks on for him. Gran needs help with her bra and her socks.’
‘That’s kind of you, love,’ I said. ‘Who is helping them while you are not there, do you know?’
‘Our neighbour is going in.’
‘That’s good.’
It was important for Faye to feel at home and to maintain her independence, so I left her to make her tea in her own time. She offered to make me tea too, but I thanked her and said I’d already had a coffee. In keeping with her usual routine, Faye took her mug up to her bedroom and drank it while she dressed. Lucy was up and dressed, and left for work at 8.30, just as Paula was surfacing. She had to enrol at college today but not until eleven o’clock. Unsure of what she wanted to do, she’d opted for a business studies course at a local college, which would give her a good grounding for many careers.
Because Faye didn’t have to help her grandparents this morning, she was ready earlier than usual and came downstairs well before ten o’clock. This threw her and she was undecided if she should have breakfast now or wait until ten.
‘Are you hungry?’ I asked her. She nodded. ‘So have your breakfast now then. It’s important you eat and drink regularly.’ I was going to add ‘for you and your baby’, but stopped. I’d wait until I’d spoken to Becky before I talked to Faye again about her baby. She poured herself some cereal – cornflakes – while I made some toast. Paula joined us with her breakfast, and at 9.30 I left them at the table while I went into the living room to telephone Becky. I wanted to catch her before we went shopping.
She was at her desk, and when she heard my voice she was immediately concerned. ‘Is everything all right?’ she asked. A carer phoning the social worker first thing on a Monday morning usually meant they’d had a difficult weekend.
‘We’re all fine,’ I quickly reassured her. ‘I collected Faye as arranged yesterday and she is settling in. But I need to ask you something.’
‘Sure. Go ahead. I’m hoping to visit you both later in the week.’
I could hear Paula and Faye talking at the table. The doors were slightly open, so I kept my voice low.
‘You know you said that Faye appears to be coping well with the pregnancy and isn’t distressed at the thought of giving up her baby?’
‘Well, yes. It’s hardly mentioned.’
‘Is it possible she doesn’t really understand that she is having a baby, or is in denial?’
Becky paused. ‘I don’t know. It’s possible, I suppose, although I spoke to her at length when we first found out she was pregnant. What makes you ask?’
‘She completely ignores all aspects of her pregnancy, and yesterday afternoon I went through her maternity folder with her, but she told me not to talk about it. There’s no mention of a birthing partner. Will it be Wilma? Then later she told my daughter Lucy that she was getting fat. When Lucy said it was because she was expecting a baby she became withdrawn and changed the subject. We’re going shopping today for maternity clothes, but she’s calling them holiday clothes.’
‘Stan put that idea in her head,’ Becky said.
‘Yes, I know. But Faye acts as though she isn’t pregnant. She hasn’t mentioned it and won’t talk about it. I think it’ll make her upset if I push it.’
There was another silence. ‘Let me have a chat with her and we’ll take it from there. Are you in on Friday afternoon, around two o’clock?’
‘Yes. Faye has an antenatal appointment in the morning, but we’ll be here in the afternoon.’
‘Good. I’ll come to see you both then. We’ll have a good chat with her. Apart from that, she’s all right?’
‘Yes, she’s delightful.’
‘And, Cathy, on the matter of a birthing partner, Wilma’s already said she’s not up to it, so I was hoping you’d do it.’
Chapter Five
Best Outcome
Well, that was a shock. I was going to be Faye’s birthing partner. A first for me. Visions of passing Faye the gas and air, holding her hand, dabbing her brow with a cool towel and encouraging her to push when necessary as I’d seen on television ran through my head. Of course I’d do it, if that’s what Faye and the adults responsible for her wanted, although I wondered how I would cope when I saw that beautiful baby and then had to stand by helplessly as it was taken away, never to be seen by Faye or me again. Was that how it happened when a newborn went straight into foster care? Or would Faye (and I) have the opportunity to hold her baby? I didn’t know and I wasn’t sure which was worse. But I would find out so that I could prepare us both. If I was prepared then perhaps there’d be less chance of me breaking down and I’d be better able to support Faye. I’d ask Becky when I saw her on Friday, although there was a great temptation to ignore it all, just as Faye was doing.
After Paula had left to enrol at college, Faye and I left for the shopping mall in town. Snuggles stayed on her bed and Faye told me that her gran didn’t allow him to go shopping in case he got lost. I parked in the multi-storey car park and we took the elevator down to the shops. Faye was excited to be going shopping for new clothes, but I wondered what her reaction would be as we entered the store we were heading for. It was huge and sold everything you could possibly want for pregnancy, babies and early years. I wondered if this would be the trigger that allowed Faye to start talking about her pregnancy. If so, I would be considerably relieved.
A very smiley assistant greeted us at the entrance of the store and offered us a basket, which Faye took. Gentle, soothing lullaby music played in the background all around the store, and immediately on our right was the newborn section, with rows and rows of the cutest first-size baby clothes. Faye went straight to them and I followed, feeling that this was a good first step. Although we were here to buy her maternity clothes, if she wanted to buy a first-size outfit for the baby then she could; it would be an acknowledgement that she was pregnant and going to have a baby. Faye picked out the sweetest little pink-and-white dress I’ve ever seen. ‘This would fit Suzie,’ she said, holding it up.
‘Is that what you’re going to call your baby?’ I asked, surprised, and feeling we had taken a big leap forward.
‘Suzie is my doll at home,’ she said, ignoring my reference to the baby.
‘These are first-size baby clothes,’ I said. ‘For newborn babies, not for dolls.’
‘It will fit Suzie,’ she said.
‘It probably will, but we’re not here to dress your doll, love. We need to buy you some maternity clothes.’
She was clearly disappointed, which I felt bad about, but she returned the dress to the rail and came with me to the maternity wear section, and we looked around.
‘This is a lovely dress,’ I said, selecting one. ‘I think it would suit you. Would you like to try it on in your size?’
Her face lit up. ‘Oh, yes, please.’ The doll’s clothes were forgotten.
‘Excellent. Try on a few different ones.’ I helped her select dresses in her size and we put them into the basket for her to try on later. I continued flicking through the rails with Faye close beside me and I showed her some leggings and tops. ‘These are good for everyday use,’ I said. She nodded enthusiastically. ‘Which tops do you like?’ She chose a few and put them in the basket. I added black maternity leggings to go with the tops.
‘Do you need any help?’ another cheery assistant asked.
‘I think we’re OK, thank you,’ I said.
‘When’s the baby due?’ she asked, looking at Faye. I guessed it was part of their sales patter.
Faye smiled but didn’t reply.
‘December,’ I said.
‘A Christmas baby, how lovely,’ the assistant enthused. ‘Please ask me or any of the assistants if you need help or would like to be measured for a maternity bra.’ She glanced at Faye.
‘Thank you,’ I said.
Once she’d gone I asked Faye if she would like to be measured for a bra and I explained what was involved. She pulled a face and said no, so I said I’d guess her size and she could try on some bras in the cubicle, for her present ones must be tight by now. Together we continued round the store and selected some pretty lace-trimmed bras, maternity trousers, a pair of pyjamas, a nightdress, pants and camisole tops, which I explained were like vests. With the basket full we went into the changing rooms, where I hung all the garments on the hooks in a cubicle and then waited just outside while Faye tried them on, ready to help if necessary. Undressing and dressing was a slow process for Faye, but it was important she did it herself. She came out and showed me each outfit once it was on, smiling and twirling in front of the mirror. She was in her element, bless her, but had no idea what fitted or suited her, so I helped her choose. The bras were too small, so I asked one of the assistants to bring in bigger sizes, and eventually Faye had tried on everything. She wanted to wear one of the dresses straight away, so, leaving her in the cubicle, I took the dress to the till, paid for it, and returned it to her. She was delighted.
‘I look pretty, don’t I?’ she said, gazing at her image in the mirror.
‘You do, love. Very pretty.’ The dress was made from a light grey and pink check material, with long sleeves, and was loosely gathered under the bust to accommodate her growing bump, although I didn’t say that to Faye. I just admired it and then, collecting together all the other items we wanted, we went to the till to pay for the rest.
Faye had put on her old duffel coat over the dress. It didn’t do up, and I realized we needed to buy her a better-fitting coat or jacket. After trying on a few we chose a three-quarter-length beige quilted jacket, which she would also be able to wear after the birth. I’d spent far more than the clothing allowance I’d receive for fostering Faye – rarely did it cover equipping a child from scratch – but it was completely worth it. Not only was Faye delighted with all her new clothes, I felt proud that she looked smart, as I thought her grandparents would be. Yet Faye had successfully chosen a whole new wardrobe of maternity clothes without so much as acknowledging she was pregnant!
By the time we left the store it was nearly 1.00 p.m. I was hungry and Faye said she was too. I suggested that rather than go straight home we could take the bags to the car and then have lunch in the mall. She loved the idea and wanted to wear her new jacket instead of her old duffel coat, so she changed into it by the car. Faye was like a child in a new dress going to a party as we headed back to the elevator. Her excitement bubbled over and she kept hugging me and thanking me. She didn’t look obviously disabled as a person with Down’s syndrome or cerebral palsy might, but strangers tended to notice something in her manner and behaviour and so they’d glance at her, smile politely and look away. Which is what the couple in the elevator did as Faye hugged me again and said how much she liked her new clothes and didn’t she look pretty.
Many of the restaurants, cafés and bars on the ground floor of the mall were open-plan and as we approached this area we were greeted with an array of delicious aromas from the different cuisines on offer: Chinese, Thai, Malaysian, Mexican, Indian, as well as traditional British food. I asked Faye what she liked but she didn’t know. I explained a little about the different foods and Faye stopped at a Malaysian buffet where a large screen on the wall above the counter showed enticing pictures of their range of dishes. She’d never eaten Malaysian food before but wanted to try it, so, aware of her rather conservative tastes in food, I suggested a selection of dishes that weren’t too hot and didn’t include shellfish, which I knew pregnant women were advised to avoid. I carefully carried the tray with the dishes to one of the bench-style tables and we sat on either side. The food tasted as delicious as it looked in the pictures and Faye enjoyed it. As we ate we talked and I reminded Faye that she was going to see her grandparents the following day. I also asked her if she wanted to go to the day centre on Wednesday; if so, I’d go with her on the bus, but she said she didn’t want to.