Copyright

Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the children.

HarperElement

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First published by HarperElement 2016

FIRST EDITION

© Cathy Glass 2016

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available from the British Library

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identified as the author of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780008153748

Ebook Edition © September 2016 ISBN: 9780008156602

Version: 2016-08-03

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One: Hope for the Future?

Chapter Two: Faye and Snuggles

Chapter Three: Not Stupid

Chapter Four: In Denial

Chapter Five: Best Outcome

Chapter Six: Vulnerable

Chapter Seven: Compromise

Chapter Eight: Don’t Want to Hurt Them

Chapter Nine: Innocent Remarks

Chapter Ten: Change of Heart

Chapter Eleven: Anniversary

Chapter Twelve: ‘Good Enough’ Parenting

Chapter Thirteen: A Sense of Occasion

Chapter Fourteen: Unethical

Chapter Fifteen: Optimistic

Chapter Sixteen: Teaching Faye

Chapter Seventeen: An ‘Off Day’

Chapter Eighteen: Excited and Concerned

Chapter Nineteen: Baby Edward

Chapter Twenty: Second Thoughts

Chapter Twenty-One: An Impossible Decision

Chapter Twenty-Two: Saying Goodbye

Chapter Twenty-Three: A Revelation

Chapter Twenty-Four: A Loving Legacy

Epilogue

Suggested topics for reading-group discussion

Cathy Glass

If you loved this book …

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

About the Publisher

Acknowledgements

A big thank you to my family; my editors, Carolyn and Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; my UK publishers HarperCollins, and my overseas publishers who are now too numerous to list by name. Last, but definitely not least, a big thank you to my readers for your unfailing support and kind words. They are much appreciated.

Dedication

To Faye.

I’m a better person for knowing you.

Chapter One
Hope for the Future?

‘Are you sure you are going to be all right alone tonight?’ I asked Mum again.

‘Yes, love. Don’t you worry about me,’ she replied, putting on a brave face. ‘Phone to let me know you are home safely.’

‘I will,’ I said. But I didn’t move. My children, Adrian, Lucy and Paula, were standing beside me, their expressions sad and serious as they shared my concerns. We were standing in the front porch of Mum’s house, trying to say goodbye, but it was very difficult. We were the last to go and would be leaving her alone.

‘I could stay with you tonight, Nana,’ Paula offered as she had done before, indeed as we all had.

‘No, thank you, love,’ Mum said. ‘That’s kind of you, but I’ll have to get used to being by myself. I’ll see you all again soon. Now off you go home. It’s been a long day for us all. I’ll watch a bit of television and then after you’ve phoned I’ll have an early night.’

None of us looked convinced, but clearly Mum wasn’t going to change her mind about one of us staying, and we had to respect her decision.

‘We’ll phone as soon as we’re home,’ I said. I kissed and hugged her again and then stepped out of the porch so that Adrian, Lucy and Paula could hug and kiss her goodbye too.

It was a dark night with no moon, but the porch lamp cast a little oasis of light over our departing group. The air was cool, it was late September, but at least it had stayed dry all day, for certainly heavy rain and dark storm clouds would have added to our gloom and misery. I took the few steps to my car parked on the drive and unlocked the doors, but I didn’t get in. I stood beside the car, watching Mum until my children had finished saying their goodbyes and had come over to join me. I still call them children, although they were young adults now: Adrian, twenty-two, Lucy, twenty and Paula, eighteen.

‘Don’t forget to lock the front door,’ I called to Mum. I’d already checked the back doors.

‘I won’t, dear, don’t you worry about me.’

I gave a small nod and the children and I climbed into the car and lowered our windows ready to wave as we departed. I started the engine and then slowly reversed off the drive as Mum stood in the porch waving and we waved back. How many times had we done this? I couldn’t begin to guess, for we saw my parents often, usually with the children we fostered. Mum and Dad would stand side by side in the porch, waving and smiling and already looking forward to our next visit, as we did theirs. But now our departure was restrained and a little muted, for it was just Mum seeing us off, bravely. And it would only ever be Mum in the future, for sadly my dear dad had died suddenly three weeks before, and today had been his funeral.

Once we were out of sight of the house we wound up our windows and I drove steadily and in silence towards our home. The children were silent too. Each of us deep in thought, doubtless thinking of the good, kind man who was no longer with us and the huge gap his passing had left in our lives. Although my father had been in his eighties he’d been in fine health, so it had come as a terrible shock when my brother telephoned my mobile to say he had died. Completely unexpected and a huge loss. The end had been very quick, if that was any consolation. His heart just stopped. He went into his garden to do some weeding and Mum looked through the window and saw him sitting on the damp grass, which she thought odd. She went out and he said her name once and then lay down on his side and closed his eyes, and that was it. She ran indoors, telephoned for an ambulance and then covered him with a blanket to keep him warm. She sat beside him holding his hand and talking to him, while knowing in her heart of hearts that he had probably already passed. When the ambulance arrived there was nothing they could do. He’d died of a massive heart attack.

‘I hope he could hear me tell him how much I loved him,’ Mum had said to me.

‘He knew,’ I told her.

‘At least he didn’t suffer,’ Mum said, grasping at this small platitude to try to ease her pain.

‘Yes,’ I agreed. Although it hadn’t helped much in the early days when our grief had been raw.

Dad was well respected in their village, and at his funeral the church had been full of mourners wanting to say their last goodbyes. A loving husband and a devoted father and grandfather, the reverend who’d led the service had said. He’d known Dad personally. My brother and Adrian had read out tributes too, touching and personal.

‘Will Nana be all right by herself?’ Lucy said from the back seat, breaking into my thoughts.

‘Yes, love. I’ll phone her as soon as we get home.’

‘Why didn’t she want us to stay with her tonight?’ Paula asked.

‘I think she needs time alone to reflect on today,’ I said. ‘And to start to come to terms with the future.’

‘I told her to make a list of anything she needs doing and I’d see to it,’ Adrian said quietly from the passenger seat. ‘You know, the stuff Grandpa used to do.’

‘Thanks, love,’ I said, glancing at him. ‘That was kind. I’m sure she appreciated that.’ I couldn’t have wished for more thoughtful children.

I’d stayed with Mum in the week straight after my father’s death, when my brother and I had gone through their address book and notified people of Dad’s passing and made the funeral arrangements. Then he and I had taken it in turns to stay with Mum, but now I could understand her wish to be alone. The time between a loved one passing and the funeral is a strange and difficult one; normal life is suspended, as you’re caught in a limbo of grief and uncertainty. The funeral is supposed to give some closure, and I supposed it had to some degree. But my parents had been married for fifty-eight years and had known each other for longer. They’d been teenage sweethearts and had spent a lifetime together. While Mum was a very positive person, I knew that it would take all her inner strength and resourcefulness to find a way forward in life without Dad. I thought that her insisting on being alone tonight was that first step.

I was aware that I had voice messages on my mobile; I’d checked my phone briefly at Mum’s, and I’d recognized one of the numbers as that of the local authority fostering services that I fostered for. However, I didn’t listen to my messages until later that night, after we were home and I had telephoned Mum. We were all upstairs, exhausted, and taking turns in the bathroom to get ready for bed. It was eleven o’clock and as I waited for my turn I perched on my bed and checked the texts and voicemails. Most were from friends saying they were thinking of us on this sad day and wishing me and my family well. The last was from Edith, my support social worker from the fostering services, also known as a supervising social worker or link worker. I’d been going to foster a young boy just before Dad had died, but I’d never met him. This was just after Zeena (whose story I tell in The Child Bride) had left us, but I doubted Edith’s call was about that boy, as the social services would have found another carer to look after him when I’d become unavailable. I hadn’t taken many breaks during the twenty-five years I’d been fostering: when my husband had left us many years before, and now with my father’s passing. I’d told the fostering services that I’d be in touch after the funeral when I was ready to start fostering again, but clearly Edith had something urgent to tell me.

‘Cathy, I know you’re on compassionate leave,’ Edith’s message began, ‘but I’ve had a referral from a colleague. It’s not your normal placement, but I think it would suit you and your family. Adult social services are looking for a short-term home for a young lady who is expecting. She’s a lovely person and won’t give you any trouble. It would just be for three months until she has her baby. Could you phone me please as soon as you can so we can discuss?’

Whether Edith had remembered that today had been my father’s funeral I didn’t know – perhaps not, given everything she must have had on her mind. But I was pleased she had telephoned with this referral and my spirits rose a little. I love fostering, it’s a huge part of my life, but I doubt I could have coped with a young child with very challenging behaviour at that time. Supporting a mother-to-be until she’d had her baby and then presumably seeing them both settled in their own accommodation could be just what we needed. A new baby, a new life, is uplifting and full of hope, and on a practical level a young woman wouldn’t need the constant supervision a young child would. Also, there would be no school run, which would leave me free to go to see Mum without having to put arrangements in place to collect the child from school. It felt right, and when I mentioned it to Adrian, Lucy and Paula before I went to bed they all said they thought it was a good idea too. Fostering is a whole family affair, so everyone’s view is important and needs to be taken into consideration.

I slept well – I was shattered – and the following morning, after I’d telephoned Mum to make sure she was all right, I phoned the social services.

‘Sorry I couldn’t return your call yesterday,’ I said to Edith. ‘It was my father’s funeral.’ Mentioning my father’s death or funeral was becoming slightly easier and I wasn’t tearing up so much.

‘How did it go?’ she asked.

‘Very well, thank you, but we weren’t home until late.’

‘Good. I’m pleased it went well. So the young lady I referred to, Faye, is a really lovely person. She is twenty-four.’

‘Oh, I see,’ I said, surprised. ‘I’d assumed she was a teenager.’

‘No. But because of her condition she functions at a much younger level. She has learning difficulties, and Becky, her social worker, has given me some background details. Faye has been living with her grandparents, but now that she’s pregnant they’re finding it difficult to manage. They’ve asked if she can be placed with a foster carer rather than live in supported lodgings, as they don’t think she’d cope. We’re trying to accommodate their wishes. They have brought her up, but they’re in their seventies now and not in the best of health. They are struggling to cope with all Faye’s antenatal appointments. Faye’s gran has chronic arthritis and her grandpa had a stroke a year ago. They both use walking aids and don’t drive, and they rely on the community transport scheme to go out, so it’s very difficult. Faye is childlike, apparently. She’s a sweet person. It’s thought her disabilities are a result of FAS. You’re aware of that condition?’

‘Yes.’ FAS, or Foetal Alcohol Syndrome, refers to a range of physical and mental disabilities that are the result of the mother’s alcoholism during pregnancy. The alcohol crosses the placenta and damages the baby.

‘Becky would like you to meet Faye and her grandparents as soon as possible,’ Edith continued. ‘Then arrange a moving date. Faye will still see her grandparents regularly. Her self-care skills are good; she just needs help, support and monitoring, like a child would. She’s coping reasonably well with being pregnant and will return to live with her grandparents once the baby is born. They don’t know who the father is, and Becky says that the grandmother has taken Faye getting pregnant rather badly. She thinks some of their “not coping” is because of this.’

‘I understand,’ I said. ‘I’m sure her grandmother will feel differently once the baby is born and she sees her great-grandchild. No one can resist a baby.’

There was a short silence on the other end of the phone before Edith said, ‘Sorry, Cathy, I should have made it clearer sooner. Faye isn’t keeping her baby. You will be supporting her while she is pregnant, but as soon as the baby is born it will be taken into care.’

‘Oh,’ I said, my heart sinking. ‘Why?’

‘Faye can’t possibly look after a baby. She functions at about the age of an eight-year-old. Realistically her grandparents couldn’t look after it either. There is no alternative. Once the baby has been checked over by the doctor, assuming all is well a foster carer will collect the baby from hospital and look after it until adoptive parents are found.’

I was sitting on the sofa in the living room, staring straight ahead. My feelings of hope and optimism at the thought of a new baby were now completely dashed. As a foster carer I’d had to collect a new baby from a hospital without its mother some years previously, and it had been heartbreaking. This would be even worse. Faye would be with me and part of my family for the next three months; we would bond with her and her unborn baby, while knowing all along that she was going to have to give it up as soon as it was born and would never have the chance to be a mother. It would be soul destroying and possibly more than I or my family could reasonably cope with right now. However, foster carers are expected to accept the referrals made to them through their support social worker. It’s not a pick-and-choose situation – I’ll take this child, but not that one. Carers can be registered to foster a certain age group, but many, like me, foster the whole range, from birth to young adult. Unless there is a very good reason why carers can’t accept a specific child, they are expected to take them, for obviously the younger person needs a home. I suppose I could have said that after losing my father we weren’t ready to foster again, but that wouldn’t have been strictly true.

Edith heard my silence and added: ‘You don’t have to worry about Faye being very distraught. Becky said she’s fine about giving up her baby for adoption.’

‘Is she?’ I asked, amazed.

‘Yes. Becky had a long discussion with her and her grandparents. Faye appreciates she would never be able to look after a baby and her grandparents are in no position to help. They have their own needs. Faye’s being very positive. Becky has suggested you all meet at two o’clock on Thursday afternoon. Is that all right with you?’

I was silent again before I said, ‘Yes.’

‘The meeting is at their flat. I’ll ask Becky to contact you with the address and placement details today. Phone her or me if there’s anything you’re not sure of.’

‘All right,’ I said. And we said goodbye.

I set down the phone and remained where I was in the living room. Through the patio doors I could see the blue sky beyond. Although it was mid-September it was another fine day, with the sun shining in a cloudless sky. I could hear movement upstairs as Adrian, Paula and Lucy slowly got up. Adrian and Lucy had taken an extra day off work after the funeral. Adrian had finished university and was working temporarily in a supermarket until he decided what he wanted to do (he was thinking of accountancy). Lucy worked at a local nursery and Paula, having passed her A-level exams, was starting at a local college the following week. It was now 10.30 a.m. and the meeting with Faye was the day after tomorrow.

As each of my family came downstairs I told them what Edith had said and asked them for their opinion.

‘That’s very sad,’ Paula said. ‘But we can look after Faye.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘Oh, yes. She sounds nice.’

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

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.

‘Faye has a schedule of antenatal appointments,’ Becky now said to me, moving on. ‘She has a maternity folder containing all the information you need, and notes on her check-ups and antenatal test results. The folder will be passed to you when she moves.’

‘And you mentioned a day centre? Will she still be going there?’ I asked.

‘If Faye wants to,’ Becky said. It felt slightly uncomfortable discussing Faye rather than asking her, but to some extent this was unavoidable due to her learning disabilities.

Faye had looked sheepishly at her gran when I’d asked the question about the day centre, as if she’d done something wrong.

‘Now she’s showing, some of the others who go there talk about her and point,’ Wilma said. ‘It’s not their fault, they don’t understand, but it’s not nice for Faye.’

‘Do you want to go to the day centre?’ Becky asked Faye.

She shrugged and looked at her gran again. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Let’s see how you feel after the move,’ Becky said, and wrote on her notepad. ‘I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable going there, but it does give you the opportunity to socialize. Perhaps if I have a word with the care workers?’ she suggested.

Faye looked at Wilma, who gave a stilted nod and Faye did likewise. Then Faye suddenly looked up and asked quite forcefully, ‘Can I still go to the stables?’

‘Not until you’ve had the baby,’ Stan said. ‘You know that. We’ve told you.’

‘We’ve had to suspend her visits to the stables due to health and safety concerns,’ Becky explained to me.

‘How long?’ Faye asked.

‘Before you can go to the stables again?’ Becky clarified. ‘About three and a half months. That’s around fourteen weeks.’

‘How many sleeps?’ Faye asked as a young child might. Clearly she liked going to the stables. She wasn’t checking with her gran but talking directly to Becky. I was pleased to see this other side of Faye.

‘Ninety-eight sleeps,’ Stan said with a small sigh. ‘One less than yesterday.’ So I guessed this was something he had to explain quite often. ‘Once you’re home again with us, Sue will start collecting you and taking you to the stables. I promise you, love.’

Faye gave a small, amicable nod, but I wondered if she really did understand the time scale. Time is a difficult concept for young children and adults with learning disabilities, but it was something I’d be able to help her with when she came to me, just as Stan was doing by explaining the number of sleeps.

‘How will Faye visit us?’ Wilma now asked. ‘She can use the bus once she knows the route.’

‘I can go with her and show her the route,’ I said. ‘Or I could bring her in my car. How often will she be visiting you?’

‘Every day if she wants,’ Wilma said.

‘She’ll need to spend time with Cathy to settle in, plus she has appointments and check-ups,’ Becky said. ‘I suggest she visits three times a week, perhaps every other day. Also,’ Becky said, now turning to me, ‘it’s important that Faye is encouraged to be as independent as possible, so once she knows the bus route let her do it by herself. She has a pay-as-you-go phone and knows how to use it. We’ll put your number into her contact list so she can phone you if there’s a problem.’

‘I’ve got a mobile phone,’ Faye said to me, smiling proudly. ‘Would you like to see it?’

‘Yes, please.’

She tucked her hand into her trouser pocket and carefully drew out her phone. ‘I’ll tell you all the people in my contact list. They are my friends and I can phone them.’

I smiled and watched as, using all her concentration and a little clumsily, she pressed the icon to display her contacts. ‘The first number is my home here,’ she said, glancing up at me. ‘Then I have Sue’s number. She runs the stables and I can talk to her. I have the number of the day centre I go to. My other number is for Emma. She is my friend at the day centre.’ Faye looked at me proudly. Bless her. Four contacts, and that was it. The total of her social circle. My heart clenched when I thought of the lists of names most of us have stored in our phones. ‘Shall I put your number in now?’ she asked me.

‘Yes, if you like,’ I said.

She passed the phone to her gran to enter the number. ‘I don’t know how to use these things,’ Wilma said and passed it on to Becky.

Becky opened the contacts list and I gave her my landline and mobile numbers to enter. ‘If you ever need me, try both numbers,’ I said to Faye. ‘I’ll always answer one.’

‘It might be a good idea if you have Faye’s number in your phone,’ Becky now said to me. ‘You have Stan and Wilma’s on the placement information forms.’

‘Yes,’ I said. I took my mobile from my bag and entered Faye’s phone number, then Becky returned Faye’s phone to her.

‘Thank you,’ Faye said, her eyes lighting up. ‘I’ve got another contact now!’ She looked as though she’d just been given a much-coveted present, which I suppose in a way she had.

‘Now, Faye,’ Becky said, ‘before we arrange a day for you to move to Cathy’s, do you have any questions?’

Faye looked sheepishly at her gran and then asked, ‘Can I bring Snuggles with me?’

I thought that Snuggles might be a small caged animal, as there was no sign of a dog or cat, but then Becky explained: ‘Snuggles is a cuddly toy that goes everywhere with Faye. In fact, where is Snuggles?’ She looked around the room.

‘I hid him,’ Faye said, giving an impish grin. ‘Gran said Cathy might think I was a baby if I had him in our meeting. He’s here.’ With a laugh she turned and, reaching behind the cushion on the sofa, brought out a cute, furry soft toy. It was an animal of indeterminable breed with big doleful eyes and soft silky fur that asked to be petted. Faye held him to her face and rubbed her cheek against him soothingly.

‘Hello, Snuggles,’ I said. ‘Nice to meet you. Yes, of course you must bring him with you.’

Wilma tutted and Stan raised his eyebrows indulgently. ‘She’s had Snuggles since she was a small child and he goes everywhere with her,’ he explained. ‘At the day centre and the stables they put him in the office for safe keeping. Heaven forbid if he got lost.’

‘I’ll keep a close watch on him,’ I said.

Faye kept Snuggles pressed to her cheek as Becky asked us, ‘Any more questions from anyone?’

Stan shook his head and then Wilma looked at me and said, ‘Will Faye be seeing your parents? Becky said you were a close family and Faye gets on very well with older people. Probably because we’ve brought her up.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We are a close family and she’ll see my parents whenever we do, as long as it doesn’t clash with when she sees you.’ I stopped. A lump had suddenly risen in my throat and I felt my eyes fill. My bottom lip trembled. Don’t cry, you silly woman, I told myself. But they’d seen my discomposure and were looking at me. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s just my mother now. We lost my dad recently. It was his funeral last Tuesday.’

‘Oh, I am sorry,’ Becky said, touching my arm kindly. ‘We didn’t know. The records haven’t been updated. I’ll tell Edith to change them so this doesn’t happen again.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, fighting to recover my composure. I felt such a fool. I took another deep breath and then said, ‘Yes, we are a close family, and Faye will be part of our family while she is with us.’ I left it at that, for I knew that to say any more about my parents, or rather Mum, would open the floodgates on my tears.

‘Faye,’ Becky now said, looking at her. ‘It’s Thursday today. I suggest we move you to Cathy’s at the weekend. Does that suit everyone?’ We all nodded. ‘Any preference for Saturday or Sunday?’ She looked around.

‘Sunday,’ Wilma said. ‘Gives me a chance to sort out what Faye needs to take with her.’

‘Sunday is fine with me,’ I said.

‘Do you want to take Faye in a cab so you can see where she is going to live?’ Becky now asked Wilma and Stan.

‘There’s no need,’ Wilma said. ‘We’ve seen the photographs Cathy brought. It would be such a kerfuffle getting us all down and into the cab, and then back again. We’re on the council waiting list for a ground-floor flat or bungalow,’ she added, glancing at me.

‘It must be very difficult for you up here,’ I said. ‘I can collect Faye. One of my children can come with me and help with her bags so we don’t have to make too many trips up and down in the elevator.’

‘That sounds good, thank you,’ Becky said. ‘What time shall we make it on Sunday?’

‘I’m easy,’ I said.

Stan and Wilma didn’t offer any suggestion on time so Becky said, ‘Shall we say two o’clock? Then Faye can have some lunch here with you before she leaves.’

‘OK,’ I said. Stan and Wilma nodded.

‘Great,’ Becky said and made a note before putting away her pad and pen.

Faye wanted to show me her bedroom before we left, which was a good sign. She was more relaxed with me now. Becky stayed in the living room while I went with Faye. It was a medium-size room, prettily decorated in shades of pink, with shelves of cuddly toys and dolls, much like a young girl’s bedroom might be. I admired it and then we returned briefly to the living room, before Faye came with Becky and me to see us out. Stan and Wilma remained seated in the living room and I had the feeling that it was probably such a struggle for them to get around that they only moved when they had to.

At the door Faye threw her arms around Becky. ‘She always hugs me goodbye,’ Becky explained. Then Faye wanted to hug me, so childlike and innocent in her display of affection and at odds with her obvious pregnancy.

‘I like you,’ she said after a moment, drawing back.

‘Good. I like you too,’ I said. ‘See you on Sunday. Three more sleeps.’

She smiled and we said goodbye.

‘Snuggles says goodbye too,’ Faye added.

‘Bye,’ I said.

Becky and I left and Faye closed the door.

‘Well, what do you think?’ Becky asked once we were in the elevator. ‘She’s a nice kid. Her grandparents have done a good job of bringing her up, although they can be overprotective.’

‘Yes, she’s lovely,’ I said. ‘But how on earth did she get pregnant when they never let her out of their sight?’

‘Exactly what they and I would like to know,’ Becky said.

Chapter Three
Not Stupid

‘Wilma is blaming the stables or the day centre,’ Becky continued in the elevator. ‘But they are adamant it couldn’t have happened there. Faye is never left unattended long enough to meet a man.’

‘Wilma said that Faye can use the bus once she knows the route,’ I said. ‘So presumably she’s on her own for some periods?’

‘Yes, but only for the length of the bus journey. One of the staff at the day centre or the stables sees her onto the bus, and the bus stop here is right outside the flats. If Faye is delayed for any reason or the bus is late one of the staff phones Wilma and Stan. There just isn’t a window of opportunity when Faye could have met someone, although clearly she has.’

‘And Wilma and Stan have no idea who he might be?’ I asked. The elevator stopped, the doors opened and we got out.

‘No, or if they do know they’re not saying,’ Becky continued outside. ‘When I tried talking to Faye about it she just looked at me blankly. I’m not sure she even understands how she got pregnant, although I did explain. She’ll be spending a lot of time with you after the move, so perhaps she’ll open up once she’s away from her grandparents.’

I nodded thoughtfully. ‘I guess Faye is entitled to a relationship just as anyone is. As long as she gave her consent.’

‘Yes. Exactly,’ Becky said. We were now standing by her car. ‘Adults with learning difficulties are very vulnerable. Statistically they are far more likely to be abused than anyone else in our society. Shocking, isn’t it? But I don’t know if someone has taken advantage of Faye or if she has been seeing someone. If she’d told me I could have arranged for her to see a nurse for contraception advice. I know some good nurses with experience of adults with learning difficulties. It’s something I’ll need to consider after the baby is born. I don’t want this happening again. So if you can find out if she is likely to see the father again, I’d be very grateful.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ I said. ‘But given that Faye only has four contacts in her phone, five now with mine, isn’t it unlikely she’s in a relationship? How has she been communicating with him?’

Becky shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘And Wilma and Stan never leave her alone in the flat?’

‘Not according to Wilma, although she was very quick to blame the stables and the day centre when she first found out. Stan never says much. Anyway, Cathy, hopefully Faye will open up to you. Thanks for taking her. We only have a few foster carers who specialize in adult fostering and they’re full. I guess it doesn’t appeal as much as looking after children.’

‘To be honest, it’s not something I’d previously considered,’ I admitted. ‘But I’m glad Edith thought of me. We’ll do our best for Faye.’

‘Thank you.’ Then, glancing at her watch, she added, ‘I need to be going now; I’m in a meeting soon. I’ll phone you on Monday after the move. Thanks again.’

We said goodbye. Becky got into her car and I went to mine. Did I feel happier now I’d met Faye? Yes, to some extent I did. Perhaps happy wasn’t the right word – she was, after all, still going to give up her baby – but I was slightly more at ease with it, simply because Faye didn’t appear upset or distraught about being pregnant or having her baby adopted. Indeed, it had hardly been mentioned. She’d been more concerned about not being able to go to the stables. Becky had said that Wilma had taken the news badly, but she, too, had appeared more relaxed now, perhaps because a fostering placement had been found to help them out.

Yet it was difficult to know, I thought, as I began the drive home, if Faye had really come to terms with what was happening or if she was just ignoring it, or didn’t even understand the implications. I’d noticed that she’d seemed oblivious to her baby bump and hadn’t rubbed or cupped it with her hand as many expectant mothers do. Was it possible she thought she was just growing fat? Although by now – six months – the baby would be moving inside her. I’d talk to her about it once she was living with me: to prepare her was part of my role.

That evening over dinner I told Adrian, Lucy and Paula about the meeting with Faye, and that I’d be collecting her on Sunday afternoon and was looking for a volunteer to help carry her bags. Adrian said he’d arranged to see Kirsty (his girlfriend) for the day but offered to meet her later so he could help me. There was no need, as both the girls were free and said they would help. After dinner I telephoned my mother as I had been doing every evening since Dad had passed. I always started by asking her how she was and what she’d been doing during the day. Her reply was usually that she’d been tidying up the garden or reading, both of which were solitary pursuits, but perhaps it was still a bit soon to be seeing friends or going on day trips as she and Dad had done. This evening I mentioned that Faye would be coming to live with us for the remainder of her pregnancy. Mum was quite stoical in her response, as Adrian had been. ‘I suppose if she has to give up the baby it’s best done sooner rather than later,’ she said. ‘It will have a good home and be very well loved by the adoptive parents. Does she know the sex of the baby?’

‘I don’t know. It wasn’t mentioned,’ I said.

We chatted for a while longer and then I said I’d like to come and see her on Saturday and suggested we go out for some lunch. She didn’t want to go out, so I said we’d make something there to eat. I didn’t think that Mum was depressed, but she did sound sad sometimes, which was hardly surprising given she’d recently lost Dad. It would obviously take time for her to come to terms with a future without him, just as it would for all of us, and I reminded myself of the maxim that time is a great healer.

The following day (Friday) I gave Faye’s room a thorough clean and then I did a large supermarket shop, as I would be out all day Saturday. I knew from the placement information forms that Faye had no special dietary requirements, so I stocked up with a range of nutritious foods as well as some treats – biscuits, ice cream, crisps – which I think are fine in moderation. Since I’d learnt that I’d be fostering Faye, I’d been giving some thought to the differences between fostering children and teenagers, and an adult with a learning disability. Many aspects seemed similar – for example, the care and support I would give her – but as an adult Faye had a right to make her own decisions as much as possible, which would help maintain and develop her self-confidence and independence. Yet, while I’d had plenty of experience fostering children and teenagers, and the benefit of ongoing training, Faye was my first adult placement. Edith must have been thinking the same, because shortly after I returned home from shopping she telephoned.

‘Cathy, I’ve been looking to see if there is any training that you might find useful, but we don’t seem to offer an awful lot specifically for fostering adults. There’s a two-day introductory course, but the next session isn’t for another eight weeks, which is going to be a bit late to help you. There is some information on the internet, though. I’ve sent you some links, and if you have any questions or concerns, you can always telephone Becky. She’s highly experienced in adult social care.’

‘Thank you, I will.’

So that evening I went online and, using Edith’s links and a search engine, I learnt quite a bit about foster care provision for adults. At present there are over 10,000 adult fostering placements in England; half of those are living in permanent placements. The ages of the adults fostered ranged from eighteen to over sixty, with three-quarters of the adults having a learning disability, and the others a physical disability or mental health problems. Schemes for fostering adults appeared to vary widely in different parts of the country, with some areas offering far more than others. The big advantage for the care receiver was that they could live with and be part of a family rather than in a care home. I learnt that the process for applying to foster adults was very similar to that of fostering children, with an assessment carried out by a social worker, references, a police check (now known as Disclosure and Barring Service), a health check and introductory training. Once the person was with the foster carer, their social worker visited regularly to monitor and support the placement, which was reassuring. While all this was very interesting, there was virtually no practical advice on fostering adults beyond it requiring patience, understanding and a wish to work with vulnerable adults.

Adrian, Lucy and Paula came with me on Saturday to visit Mum. She lived about an hour’s drive away. They were very quiet in the car, gazing out of their side windows rather than listening to music or chatting. I guessed that they, like me, were finding it difficult going to the house again; our first visit after the funeral, the house that for all their lives had been Nana and Papa’s home but was now just Nana’s. Although we’d already been quite a few times since Dad had passed, it wasn’t getting much easier. Arriving and leaving were the worst, with just Mum greeting us at the door and seeing us off, when it had always been the two of them. Once we were inside it became a little easier and today we all found jobs to do. Adrian cut the grass and then washed the car – my brother was selling it for Mum, as she didn’t drive – while the girls and I helped Mum prepare lunch and lay the table. It was the first time we’d all sat at the dining table since Dad had died; previously, when we’d been there to organize the funeral, we’d had sandwiches and snacks on our laps. Dad always sat in the same place at the head of the table, and ridiculously I left his place empty, which of course emphasized his absence. As we sat down Mum quietly moved her chair into the space.

‘That’s better,’ she said, and we all relaxed.

After lunch I asked Mum if she would like some help clearing out Dad’s clothes, which is a daunting and heartbreaking task. But she said she would do it in her own time and had already made a start. She then produced a gift for each of the children, a memento of their grandpa. His favourite cufflinks for Adrian, an inlaid wooden trinket box for Lucy and his paperweight for Paula, which she’d always admired. Even if they never used the items, they would be treasured as touching personal reminders of Grandpa. I could see the emotion in their faces as they thanked their nana and then kissed and hugged her.

As usual we were reluctant to leave Mum alone and took a long time parting. Eventually Mum said it would be time for her bath soon and shooed us towards the front door. ‘Phone me to let me know you’re home safely,’ she said as she always did. ‘I hope tomorrow goes well. I’ll look forward to meeting Faye.’

We got into the car and waved goodbye, each of us trying to adjust to seeing one lone figure in the porch.

On our return home Sammy was very pleased to see us and shot in through the cat flap as soon as he heard our voices in the hall. He was a short-haired cat of mixed breed with distinctive black-and-white markings and a haughty air about him, despite his past. He’d been living on the streets, presumably since birth, until someone took him to a cat rescue centre. We’d hesitated about having another cat for many years after Toscha had died, feeling that she was irreplaceable, but we were all pleased we’d gone ahead, as I hoped Sammy was too. He’d been quite feral to begin with and hadn’t wanted much to do with us, but now he was gradually accepting our affection, allowing us to stroke him and occasionally sitting on our laps. Although I thought he would always be his own person, and we respected that.

Before I went to bed that night I checked through the placement information forms Becky had sent me to make sure I hadn’t missed anything important. As we lived in the same National Health Service area as Faye, after the move she would be able to continue going to the same clinic and hospital she’d already been attending. I made a note to remember to make sure she brought her maternity folder with her, otherwise I’d have to go back for it, as it had to be taken to all her antenatal appointments. I also made a note to remember Snuggles, although I thought Faye wasn’t likely to forget him. I knew from what Becky had told me that Faye had lived with her grandparents since the age of two when her mother had died from liver failure, assumed to be a result of alcoholism. The problems that had led to Faye’s mother drinking herself to death weren’t known, and Faye’s father had never been named. Faye had an uncle (Wilma and Stan’s son) and two adult cousins, but they seldom saw them. The son had done well for himself and had moved out of the area. Satisfied I knew what I needed to, I closed the folder and went to bed.

The following morning Adrian was up before the rest of us, as he was going out for the day with Kirsty. We had breakfast together and I saw him off at the door in my dressing gown, then the girls and I had a leisurely morning. After lunch, at 1.30, we left in the car to collect Faye. Although Faye knew what my family looked like from the photographs, my family had no idea what she looked like, which is often the case when a move is planned and the child has seen the photograph album. As I drove I tried to describe Faye to Paula and Lucy. ‘She’s about five feet two inches tall, softly spoken, with a pleasant, round face and straight hair. She looks and acts much younger than her age, but she appears gentle and kind.’ They already knew Faye had learning difficulties and lived with her grandparents. ‘She might want to hug you,’ I said. ‘She likes hugging.’

It was just as well I’d said this, for Faye answered the door, took one look at me and threw her arms around me in a big hug. ‘I’m coming to stay with you like a holiday,’ she said. She appeared excited by the prospect and I was pleased. She could easily have been upset at having to leave her grandparents.

‘Yes, you are!’ I said, mirroring her excitement. ‘We’re looking forward to having you stay with us. This is Lucy and Paula, my daughters. You remember you saw their photographs? You’ll meet my son Adrian later.’

‘Hello,’ she said, now a little shy. ‘Are you going to be my sisters while I live with you?’

‘Yes, we are,’ Lucy said.

Faye smiled broadly and then threw her arms around Lucy, hugging her, and then Paula. They looked slightly embarrassed, but I could see they were touched by Faye’s easy and open display of affection, and her lack of adult inhibition made their first meeting much easier.

‘Are you packed and ready?’ I asked as we went in. I closed the door.

‘Yes.’

‘Bring them in here!’ Wilma called from the living room.

‘Whoops,’ Faye said, smiling as she realized this was what she was supposed to do.

‘No worries,’ I said.

We followed her into the living room where Wilma was sitting on the sofa exactly as I’d left her three days earlier. Stan was getting to his feet, using his stick for support.

‘These are my daughters, Lucy and Paula,’ I said to them both.

‘Hello,’ Wilma said, running her eyes over them. I wondered if she disapproved of what they were wearing. They were dressed fashionably but tastefully, although very differently to the way she dressed Faye.

‘Nice to meet you, ladies,’ Stan said to the girls, propping himself on his walking stick. They smiled back.

‘And you,’ Paula said politely.

‘Faye is packed, her bags are in her room,’ Wilma said matter-of-factly. ‘We’re seeing her Tuesday? Becky said to check with you first, but she felt Faye should be with you all day tomorrow to settle in.’

‘Yes, Tuesday is fine with me,’ I said. ‘What time?’

‘Becky said between eleven o’clock and three. You’ll come with Faye on the bus to begin with?’

‘Yes, and then I’ll return at three o’clock to bring her home. It’s only one bus – number forty-seven. She’ll soon get used to it.’ I smiled at Faye.

‘After she’s done the journey with you three or four times she should be all right by herself,’ Wilma said.

‘OK.’ Obviously it would have been easier for me to take and collect Faye in my car, but that wouldn’t have helped her independence.

‘Fetch your things then,’ Wilma said to Faye.

‘Shall we come and help?’ Lucy asked, stepping forward.

‘Yes, please,’ I said. ‘And don’t forget Snuggles,’ I called after them.

‘As if she would!’ Stan said indulgently. ‘He’s been sitting on top of her case all morning.’

I smiled. ‘And her maternity folder and mobile phone are packed?’ I asked.

‘Yes, they’re in the case,’ Wilma confirmed.

The girls returned almost immediately from Faye’s bedroom. Lucy was carrying a suitcase, Paula a shoulder bag and Faye Snuggles.

‘Is that everything?’ I asked, surprised.

‘Yes,’ Wilma said. ‘She can always collect some more clothes if she needs to when she visits.’ Which was true. ‘Although she hasn’t got that much that fits her now. She’s been wearing my clothes, but I need them here.’

I guessed money was tight living on state benefits, and Wilma didn’t strike me as the sort of person who would spend money on maternity wear that would only be worn for a few months.

‘I was thinking of taking Faye shopping for some maternity clothes, if that’s all right with you?’ I asked diplomatically. ‘As you know, I receive an allowance while Faye is with me.’

Wilma nodded.

‘That would be good,’ Stan said. ‘We’ve told Faye that staying with you is like going on holiday, so those can be her new holiday clothes.’ Which was a quaint way of putting it.

‘Good. I’ll take her shopping for some new outfits then,’ I said. ‘See you on Tuesday. Would you like Faye to telephone you this evening?’

‘Only if she wants to,’ Stan said. ‘She sees more than enough of us.’

I smiled. ‘But do phone us if you want to chat. You have my phone numbers?’

‘Yes, Becky gave them to us,’ Wilma confirmed.

We all said goodbye, and Wilma stayed where she was on the sofa while Stan came with us.

‘Faye, aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?’ Wilma called after her.

Faye stopped in the hall, looked at us and chuckled. ‘Oh dear,’ she said, clamping her hand over her mouth. ‘I nearly forgot!’

The girls and I laughed too, while Stan tutted fondly. Faye clearly had a sense of humour and now that she was more relaxed around us it was starting to come out.

‘She’d forget her head if it wasn’t screwed on,’ Stan said affectionately as Faye returned to the living room to kiss her gran goodbye. ‘But she’s a good, kind kid. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. We’re going to miss her.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ I said. ‘But it’s not for long and I’ll look after her.’

‘Thank you,’ he said gratefully. I thought that Stan felt a lot more than he showed.

Faye returned from the living room and hugged her grandpa goodbye. ‘Look after yourself and enjoy your time at Cathy’s,’ he said to her.

‘I’m going on holiday,’ she replied happily. ‘Say goodbye to Snuggles, Grandpa.’

‘Bye, Snuggles. Behave yourself,’ Stan said. It was lovely the way he accepted her for who she was.

Leaning on his stick for support, he opened the front door and then took a couple of steps out of the flat. He stood in the corridor and watched us walk to the elevator, then called goodbye and returned indoors. It was clearly an effort for him to walk and his left side was still weak from the stroke.

‘Is your house a long way away?’ Faye asked as we waited for the elevator.

‘No, not far. About a twenty-minute drive,’ I said. I’d mentioned this at my previous visit, but she must have forgotten or not understood.

‘I have a watch!’ she announced and drew up her left sleeve so we could see her wrist watch.

‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘That’s good. I can show you how long it is to my house.’ It’s so much easier to explain time with the aid of an analogue watch or clock. I always make sure the children I foster have one.

‘Which is the minute hand, do you know?’ I asked her.

‘Yes, the big hand,’ she said.

‘That’s right. It’s pointing to five now so in twenty minutes it will be there, on the nine. Do you know what the time will be then?’

She studied her watch for a moment and then said, ‘Quarter to three.’

‘Well done. So twenty minutes isn’t long; it’s from there to there,’ I said, showing her on the watch.

‘It’s not long,’ she told Lucy and Paula, and they smiled.

The elevator doors opened and we got in. ‘The lift smells,’ Faye announced, sniffing the air.

‘Yes, it’s disinfectant,’ I said. ‘I think it’s just been cleaned.’

‘Gran says some naughty people use it as a toilet late at night,’ Faye said.

‘Urgh gross!’ Lucy exclaimed, horrified, and peered down at the floor.

Faye looked bemused and a little alarmed at Lucy’s outburst. ‘What does gross mean?’ she asked me.

‘Dirty, not nice,’ I said.

As the elevator descended I saw Faye eyeing Lucy and Paula curiously and I wondered how much contact she normally had with young people. From what I’d learnt so far she seemed to spend most of her time with her grandparents, apart from two days a week when she went to the stables and the day centre. The elevator stopped, the doors opened and a middle-aged couple who knew Faye were waiting for the elevator. They smiled and said hello to her.

‘I’m going away but I’m coming back,’ she told them.

‘I know,’ the woman said kindly. ‘Your gran said. See you soon.’

We crossed to the car where Lucy and Paula loaded Faye’s suitcase and shoulder bag into the boot. I asked Faye if she would like to sit with me in the front, or in the rear. She wanted to sit in the rear so Paula sat with her, as it was Lucy’s turn to sit in the passenger seat. Despite their ages, my children still coveted the front seat, just as they had done when they were younger, and took turns to sit there, unless Adrian was with us, when it was his seat, as he needed the extra leg-room.

‘Five minutes has passed,’ Faye announced, looking at her watch as I started the engine.

‘Twenty minutes was only an estimate,’ I said, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. ‘It has taken us five minutes to come down in the elevator and get in the car.’

‘Our home is twenty minutes from now,’ Paula said. ‘So we’ll arrive at about ten minutes to three.’

Faye studied her watch and then looked out of her side window. There was a silence for a while and then Lucy asked Faye, ‘What sort of things do you like to do in your spare time?’

‘Watch television,’ Faye said.

‘Me too,’ Lucy agreed. ‘What programmes do you like?’

‘I like Coronation Street, EastEnders and Emmerdale, the same as Gran.’

‘You’re in good company then,’ I said. ‘Lucy loves the soaps.’

Lucy then talked to Faye about what was happening in these series, and Paula and Faye joined in. Paula watched soaps sometimes, but not as much as Lucy, who updated herself from the internet if she missed an episode. I’m not a great soap fan.

After a while I said, ‘Faye likes being at the stables too.’

‘I love the horses,’ Faye said. ‘More than I love Gary in EastEnders.’ Which made us all laugh.

‘So what do you do at the stables?’ Paula asked. ‘Do you ride the horses?’

‘Sometimes, but I also help muck them out.’

‘Yuck, what does that mean?’ Lucy asked. Considering she worked with children, she was rather delicate in these matters.

‘It means we have to shovel up their poo and put it in a wheelbarrow,’ Faye said.

‘Gross,’ Lucy said.

‘Gross,’ Faye repeated. ‘It’s very smelly.’

‘I don’t mind it,’ Paula said. ‘I go riding sometimes. Do you have a favourite horse?’

I could see that Paula and Lucy, like me, were working out where to pitch the conversation with Faye, and I thought they were doing well.

‘Whisper is my favourite,’ Faye said. ‘She is a Shetland cross and is eleven hands high. You measure horses and ponies in hands. My next favourite is Misty. He is a black gelding and is twelve hands high. I only ride those two because they are very gentle. But I help look after the others and stroke them.’

‘That’s fantastic,’ I said, glancing at her in the interior mirror. ‘You know a lot about horses.’

I saw her smile. ‘Some of the kids from the flats call me stupid,’ she said. ‘But Grandpa tells me to ignore them. He says I’m not stupid, I know more than them about horses.’

‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Your grandpa is a very wise man. It’s stupid to call people names.’

The thought of anyone calling Faye names or being unkind to her was enough to make me tear up. Gentle, kind Faye. But I could see how vulnerable she was, and I fully understood why her grandparents had become overprotective.

Chapter Four
In Denial

Although Faye had seen photographs of my house, I still showed her around when we first arrived. As we entered each room she said politely, ‘This is a nice room. Thank you for showing me.’ This was all rather formal, so I told her to treat the place like home as she would her flat. I introduced her to Sammy who, realizing there was someone new in the house, had shot in through the cat flap to see what was going on. He was usually standoffish when it came to meeting new people and would turn his back and walk away or flee outside, but not with Faye. He came straight up to her, rubbed around her legs, let her stroke him and then rolled over onto his back so she could rub his tummy.

‘I think he likes me,’ Faye said, pleased, and she knelt to pet him.

‘He certainly does,’ I said. ‘But remember to wash your hands when you’ve finished stroking him.’ It was basic hygiene, but even more important for an expectant mother, as disease could cross the placenta and affect the baby.

When Sammy had had his fill of being petted he went outside again. Faye washed her hands at the kitchen sink and then, examining her watch, said that her gran and grandpa had a cup of tea and a biscuit at home around this time – 3.30 p.m.

‘Would you like tea and biscuits now?’ I asked, assuming this was part of her routine.

‘Yes, please.’

I smiled. ‘You must tell me what you have at home so you can have it here. I want you to feel at home.’

‘Gran says I mustn’t be any trouble.’

‘You certainly won’t be that,’ I said. I filled the kettle. ‘But it will help me if you tell me what you want, OK?’ Faye was so self-effacing that it concerned me she might not like to say.

She gave a small nod and stayed with me in the kitchen, watching me as I took down the mugs.

‘I can make tea,’ she said after a moment. ‘I make it for Gran and Grandpa.’

‘That’s good. You can make it here too if you like. But it’s nice to have it made for you sometimes, isn’t it?’

She nodded accommodatingly. ‘Gran and Grandpa can’t walk very far so I help them,’ she said. ‘It was scary when Grandpa had his stroke. We had to call an ambulance. He’s slowly getting better. But he says he won’t ever be perfect.’

‘He’s doing very well,’ I said. ‘Strokes can take a long time to recover from. It’s good you can help him.’

‘That’s what he says. I love my grandpa. I hope he doesn’t die.’

‘He’s getting better,’ I reassured her. But I thought it must be a worry for Wilma and Stan, and for any parents with a disabled child, as to who would look after Faye when they did eventually die. I supposed she’d have to go into supported lodgings, as there were no close relatives she could live with.

Once the tea was made we took it into the living room where Lucy and Paula were waiting. I liked them to be sociable when a new child or young person arrived. They hadn’t wanted tea but had poured themselves a glass of water each. To start the conversation I said that Faye usually had tea and biscuits around this time at home, and we talked a bit about different families having different routines. Faye talked unselfconsciously, although it was more like an elderly person talking – measured and slow – than a young person in their twenties. How much of this was because of her learning disabilities or from spending so much time with her grandparents I didn’t know. But I guessed from what she said that she hadn’t spent much time in other people’s homes. It appeared that as a child (attending a special school) she hadn’t gone to friends’ homes to play, nor had she had them home. Now, she only saw her friend Emma at the day centre. She said she went into her neighbour’s flat with her grandparents for a cup of tea sometimes, although they were nearer her grandparents’ age than hers. But Faye seemed content and accepting of people and situations, which is an admirable quality in anyone.

Once we’d finished our tea I suggested to Faye that we unpack her suitcase. She came with me upstairs while Lucy and Paula went off to do their own thing. Snuggles, who’d been her constant companion, being either held or tucked under her arm, came with us and Faye sat him on the bed. She unzipped her suitcase and on top was the maternity folder, which she passed to me. Together we unpacked her case, folding and hanging the garments into the drawers and wardrobe. As her gran had said, there wasn’t an awful lot: two pairs of elasticated-waist trousers in dark green and brown, the same style her gran wore and Faye had on now; two large wash-worn jerseys in grey and beige, which I guessed had also been Wilma’s; a dressing gown and duffel coat, which were Faye’s but she couldn’t possibly do up over her baby bump; a pair of furry slippers; a pair of pyjamas; a vest, bra and pants; a towel and a brand-new wash bag.

‘I got that new for coming here,’ Faye announced proudly as she took the wash bag from the case.

‘It’s very pretty,’ I said. With a satin finish and a colourful flowery pattern, it was a welcome contrast to the drabness of her clothes.

‘I didn’t have a wash bag,’ Faye said. ‘So Grandpa asked our neighbour to buy one for me when she went shopping. He gave her the money. That’s was kind of him, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, it was. It’s beautiful,’ I said. ‘Lucky girl.’

She beamed and her whole face lit up.

Once the case was empty I stowed it on top of her wardrobe so it was out of the way. Then she took her towel and wash bag to the bathroom and I showed her where to put them: her towel on the rail next to ours and her wash bag on the shelf, ready for later. We returned to her room and unpacked her shoulder bag. It just contained her mobile phone, some well-thumbed women’s magazines, which Faye said were her gran’s, her hairbrush, some sweets and a small framed photograph of her grandparents which we placed on top of the chest of drawers. This photograph was the only object she’d brought with her that could personalize her room and I suggested that when we went shopping the following day she could choose some posters to put on the walls to make the room look more comfortable. I’d noticed she had some pictures of the Flower Fairies on her bedroom walls at home. Faye liked the idea and, giving me a hug, thanked me. It seemed a big treat for her.

I now suggested we went downstairs and looked through her maternity folder together. I needed to know how Faye was doing with her antenatal care and when her next appointments were, and it would be a reminder for her. I hoped it might also be a starting point for discussion about her baby. So far she hadn’t mentioned it and continued to behave as though it wasn’t there. She was happy to let me take the folder and we went downstairs where we settled side by side on the sofa with the folder open on my lap. The first few pages contained standard introductory information on the purpose and use of the folder, with emphasis on it needing to be kept with the patient and taken to all antenatal appointments. This was followed by the patient’s details: Faye’s name, address and telephone number (I’d give them mine too at the next appointment), date of birth, age, her doctor’s details and the date the baby was expected – 14 December. I’d thought it must be close to Christmas, but seeing it in print gave me a jolt. Faye would be giving birth and then parting with her baby only two weeks before Christmas, possibly closer if she overran her delivery date. The only consolation was that at least she would be home with her grandparents for Christmas.

I continued to the next page, explaining as I went. The results of Faye’s two ultrasound scans were included and they were normal. At the time of the second scan the sex of the baby can be ascertained with a reasonable degree of accuracy, and the parent(s) has the right to know if they wish. A note had been made by the nurse that Faye didn’t want to know the sex of her baby, which was obviously her decision and perhaps understandable, as she wouldn’t be playing any part in its life. While I’d been talking through the notes I’d noticed that Faye had been looking around the room, largely indifferent to the information, much of which was interesting and illustrated with diagrams. I’d been expecting her to ask questions or make comments as she had been doing about other things, for she didn’t appear shy any more.

‘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.

‘I want to go to the stables,’ she said.

‘I know, love, but do you remember your grandpa and Becky explaining that you couldn’t go while you’re expecting? Grandpa said you could go again in ninety-eight sleeps. That was when I visited you at your flat. It will be fewer now.’

‘How many now?’ she asked.

I did a quick calculation. ‘Eighty-eight,’ I said.

Satisfied, she returned to her food.

A couple with a toddler and a very small baby in a pram were sitting at the table next to us. The little boy was happily trying all the different foods, liking some but not others. When the baby woke the mother picked her up and gave her a bottle. I glanced at Faye to see if there was any reaction, but there wasn’t. She just continued eating. I’d noticed in the store earlier, where many of the women had been expecting or had a baby with them, that Faye hadn’t given them a second glance, outwardly uninterested, which seemed to confirm that perhaps she didn’t fully understand she was pregnant, for I would have expected her to at least look at them, if not comment.

Faye ate well, very well. There wasn’t a morsel left on her plate. But as we stood to leave I wondered if she’d overeaten, because she gave a small gasp and, bending forward, momentarily touched her stomach.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked, concerned.

‘No. My tummy feels funny.’

‘Do you want to sit down for a while? Perhaps it’s indigestion.’

‘No, it’s gone now,’ she said, straightening. ‘That food is moving.’

I looked at her carefully. ‘It wasn’t the food, love. It was the baby.’

‘No. It was the food,’ she said, ignoring my reference to the baby. ‘It has happened before.’

It would, I thought. Many women start to feel their babies move from sixteen weeks, and Faye was twenty-five weeks. ‘It will happen again,’ I said, and left it at that. I’d explain more once Becky had spoken to her on Friday.

We arrived home just after three o’clock. Paula was already home, having enrolled at college, and she told me about it. The rest of the week for her would be given over to introductory days – fresher’s week – then the lectures and work began in earnest the following week. She showed me some literature from college and a reading list. She was looking forward to the course and also being at college rather than school. Adrian arrived home just after four o’clock and met Faye for the first time. While he said an easy, ‘Hi, Faye, how are you?’ she went shy, threw him a small smile and went to fetch Snuggles, which I noticed she did if she felt insecure.

We all had dinner together, with Snuggles tucked beside Faye on her chair. Adrian, Lucy and Paula did most of the talking, while Faye and I listened. Once we’d finished and cleared the table, Faye wanted to watch television, so I showed her how to work the remote and she settled down for another evening of viewing soaps. Lucy and Paula joined her for a while and then went up to their rooms. Adrian had never been a great television watcher, and certainly not of soaps, preferring his laptop or a book, although he did listen to The Archers on the radio sometimes, which the girls were quick to point out was a type of soap. I telephoned Mum as usual. She’d been out with a neighbour to a garden centre for lunch. I was pleased. ‘Your dad and I used to go there sometimes,’ she said. ‘They do a very reasonable two-course lunch at a good price.’

Stan, Faye’s grandpa, telephoned and I answered it in the hall. He said he just wanted to check that I’d be bringing Faye on the bus the following day and I confirmed I would be. He said he’d tried to phone Faye’s mobile but she hadn’t answered. I said she rarely had it with her and often left it in her bedroom.

‘That’s OK,’ he said. ‘The phone is really for when she is out alone. What’s she doing now? Watching those soaps?’

‘Yes, how did you guess?’ I laughed. ‘Shall I fetch her for you?’

‘No, leave her. Just tell her I phoned and we miss her, and we’ll see her tomorrow.’

‘I will.’

I told Faye straight away, but she was so absorbed in the television she just nodded a response.

At nine o’clock when the soaps had finished Faye switched off the television and went into the kitchen for a glass of water to take to bed, as was her usual routine.

‘Would you like a bath before you go to bed tonight?’ I asked.

‘No, I had one last night,’ she said.

‘That was the night before,’ I said. ‘Before you came here.’ With a child I would just run the bath each night and insist they had one – nicely so, of course – but it was different with Faye. She was an adult and had her own routine. ‘Tomorrow night then.’

‘When it’s my bath night at home,’ Faye said, ‘Gran makes me have it before I watch television, otherwise she says I’m too late going to bed.’

‘Good idea,’ I said. ‘We’ll do that here then.’

The first week when a new foster child or young person arrives is really taken up with us all getting to know each other. It’s a period of adjustment, not only for the young person, who suddenly finds themselves living in a strange house with people they don’t know, but also for my family as we adapt to accommodate their wishes and routines. By the end of the week we are usually all jogging along side by side, and even after one day and night together Faye and my family were more relaxed. She called out goodnight as she went up to bed and they sang out, ‘Goodnight and see you in the morning.’ I waited on the landing until she’d finished in the bathroom. I wouldn’t necessarily do this every evening, unless she wanted me to, but it was important while she settled in. She came out of the bathroom looking very smart in her new pyjamas. ‘Snuggles likes my pyjamas so much he wants a pair,’ she laughed and hugged me. I laughed too. She was such a poppet.

I showed her where the laundry basket was for her washing and then I went with her to her bedroom. I now knew that she liked her curtains closed, the light off and the door shut at night. She placed her glass of water on the bedside cabinet and climbed into bed. I said goodnight and then gave Snuggles and her a kiss, as I had the night before.

‘After tonight, how many sleeps before I can see the horses?’ she asked, her little face peeping out over the duvet.

‘Eighty-seven,’ I said.

‘That’s a long time.’ She frowned. ‘I wish it was sooner. So does Snuggles.’

I smiled understandingly, stroked a strand of hair away from her cheek, then I had a thought. ‘Faye, you can’t visit the stables and work with the horses for now, but I could take you to see some horses in a field. Would you like that?’

‘Oh, yes please,’ she said, her eyes widening with excitement. ‘When? Tomorrow?’

‘You’re seeing your grandparents tomorrow. If you definitely aren’t going to the day centre on Wednesday, we could go then.’

‘Yes! Thank you,’ she cried. ‘I’ll look forward to it. I’m so happy. So is Snuggles.’ Sitting up in bed, she spread her arms for another kiss and hug.

All foster carers in the UK are required to keep a daily record of the child or young person they are looking after, which includes appointments, the child’s health and wellbeing and any significant events. When the child or young person leaves the carer this record is placed on file at the social services. In the absence of anyone telling me differently, I was doing the same for Faye. Before I went to bed I wrote up my log notes, and today I included our shopping trip for maternity clothes, that Faye had decided not to go to the day centre on Wednesday, that her grandpa had phoned to confirm arrangements for tomorrow and that Faye was settling in well.

When I’d first been asked to look after Faye I’d had huge concerns that my family and I would find it too upsetting to support Faye through her pregnancy, that we would grow close to her and her unborn baby, and then have to watch as the baby was taken into care. However, the more time I spent with Faye and got to know her, the more I was realizing that she couldn’t possibly look after a baby. It took all her skills, time and concentration to look after herself. She was a lovely person, but she functioned like a young child. Her numeracy and literacy skills were such that she wouldn’t be able to read and understand instructions on a packet of baby formula, for example, or on how to use a sterilizer or how to take medication (for herself or the baby), or do any of the other many requirements that go into parenting. Faye had little concept of time and lived unhurriedly, largely in her own little world, away from the pressures, demands and commitments that being an adult entails. I had no doubt that if she was immersed in watching a soap on television and the baby began crying for food or needed its nappy changing, Faye would finish watching the television programme first. Not because she was unkind or wilfully neglectful, but simply because she wouldn’t comprehend the urgency of her baby’s needs and that small babies require feeding and changing regularly. Wilma and Stan weren’t in any position to help and support her. They were already finding it too much looking after her and, indeed, needed help themselves. While Faye could still gain much from new experiences, her intellect had probably reached a plateau, which just wasn’t sufficient for parenting, sad though this was. I was therefore gradually accepting that finding a loving adoptive family for Faye’s baby was the best outcome for all concerned, and hopefully after the birth Faye would be able to resume her old life with her grandparents.

That night I slept easier, although when I heard Faye get up to go to the toilet I went round the landing to check she was all right. She was, and went straight back to bed. Did she know that the reason she was having to wee more often was because she was pregnant? I doubted it, and it was something else I’d explain to her after Becky had talked to her on Friday.

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