I Miss Mummy: The true story of a frightened young girl who is desperate to go home. Cathy Glass
and I waved Adrian, Lucy and Paula off to school at the door; then I told Alice we would go upstairs and I would help her have a wash and brush her teeth. I’d already found a new child’s toothbrush, face flannel and towel in my emergency supply and had placed them in the bathroom, ready; but as at breakfast Alice was too mesmerized by her new surroundings to do anything other than stand and gaze at everything in the bathroom, including me. I washed her face and hands, brushed her teeth and then brushed her hair, which was chin length and very clean and shiny. All the time I talked to Alice, explaining what I was doing and reassuring her: ‘This is your towel; I’ll hang it on the rail next to mine. We’ll put your toothbrush in the glass here. Now we’ll go downstairs…’ and so on.
Although Alice didn’t say much I could tell she was taking it all in. Her gaze alighted on everything I pointed out or mentioned, and after a while I began to sense she was feeling more comfortable with me. Her little hand, which she’d tucked into mine, relaxed and she seemed to be less tense. Downstairs, I left the clearing up from breakfast for later and steered Alice into the sitting room. ‘Would you like a story?’ I asked. She nodded. I showed her to the bookshelves, where the children’s books are kept on the lower shelves within reach. ‘Choose some books,’ I encouraged.
Alice spent a few minutes squatted down, going through the books, before selecting three – The Very Hungry Caterpillar and two books about teddy bears. We sat on the sofa and Alice immediately snuggled into my side, ready for the story. I put my arm around her and felt her head gently pressing against me, completely relaxed.
‘Did Nana and Grandpa read you stories?’ I asked, as I opened the first book.
Alice nodded. ‘I like stories.’
I smiled. ‘Good, because I like reading stories too. So do Adrian, Paula and Lucy.’
I read the first book about bears with Alice sitting very still and quiet, apparently engrossed in the story as I turned the pages, but as I finished and closed the book she said, ‘Can I see my nana soon?’ So I wasn’t sure what she’d been thinking about.
‘I hope so, love,’ I said. ‘Your social worker should phone me today and tell me when you are seeing them. Do you know Martha, your social worker?’
Alice nodded. ‘Not that man last night?’
‘No, he brought you to me because it was very late and Martha wasn’t at work. I’m sure it will be Martha who phones us later.’
‘I don’t like Martha,’ Alice said quietly.
‘Oh?’ I looked at her. ‘Why?’
‘She made my nana cry. She told her I’d have to go into care and my nana was very upset.’ Although Alice spoke quietly, now that she was talking more I could hear just how good her diction was. She pronounced her words clearly, as a much older child would, and was fluent, suggesting someone had spent a lot of time talking to her.
‘Well, you’re in care now,’ I said gently, ‘and it’s not so bad, although I understand why your nana was upset. I should be meeting Nana soon, so I’ll be able to reassure her and tell her you are fine; then she won’t be upset.’ I assumed I would be meeting Alice’s grandparents – either at contact or at the placement meeting (the meeting held within five days of a child coming into care). It is usual for a foster carer to meet the child’s family or main carer and I was expecting Martha to phone later with the details.
‘I love Nana and Grandpa,’ Alice said, reluctant to let go of the subject and listen to another story.
‘I know, pet, and they love you, lots. It’s just that the social worker felt it was better for you to come into foster care for now.’ And I thought for goodness’ sake don’t ask me why, because I’ve no idea.
‘I wanted to stay with Nana and Grandpa,’ Alice said. ‘I was upset when Mummy took me away, but I love her too.’
I hugged her. Then I thought that, as Alice had touched on the subject of her mother taking her from her grandparents, and was now clearly more at ease talking to me, I could ask her what I knew the social worker and all the other professionals connected with the Alice’s case would eventually want to know.
‘Alice, love,’ I said, ‘you remember when Mummy took you from Nana’s a few days ago, before you came here?’ She nodded. ‘Where did Mummy take you? Do you remember?’
Alice snuggled closer into my side and tucked her arms under mine, as though seeking reassurance. ‘To McDonald’s and the shops,’ she said, ‘then to Mummy’s friend.’
‘And where did you sleep at night?’
‘With the wolves,’ she said, and shivered. ‘I was very frightened. It was dark and I didn’t want to see the wolves. They made a horrible noise at night.’
Now, whereas I usually believe what children tell me until it is proved differently, and while I knew Alice was trying to tell me something, I also knew she hadn’t slept with wolves. We don’t normally have wolves roaming the UK and the nearest zoo – over an hour drive away – didn’t have wolves, and even if it had I was sure they wouldn’t have just let them loose.
‘Wolves?’ I asked gently. ‘Can you tell me what they looked like?’
‘I didn’t see them. I heard them bark. Mummy said they weren’t dogs but like wolves. She told me what they were called but I forgot.’
‘Alice,’ I said, looking at her. ‘Did your mummy call them foxes?’
‘Yes. That was the name. It was so dark and I could hear them bark. I was very scared.’
‘I’m sure you were, love.’ I felt my heart start to race as I realized what Alice could be trying to tell me. ‘Alice, when you heard the foxes at night, were you in a house or outside in the open?’
‘Outside,’ she said. ‘It was very dark and I’m frightened of the dark.’
Dear God, I thought, surely not? ‘Alice, did you sleep outside at night?’
She nodded. ‘I was tired and it was cold. I couldn’t sleep, I was so frightened.’
I hid my shock as Alice snuggled even closer into my side at the recollection. ‘Do you know how many nights you were outside?’
‘Three,’ she said without hesitation.
‘How do you know it was three?’ I asked, for I would have thought that at her age, and with the trauma of it all, she wouldn’t have known precisely.
‘Mummy cried and said we had slept outside for three nights and she couldn’t do it any more. It wasn’t fair on me. She said she would take me back.’
‘And that’s what happened?’
Alice gave a little nod. ‘Mummy phoned Mike and he came and got us in his car and I fell asleep in the back.’
‘Who’s Mike?’
‘Uncle Mike is Mummy’s friend.’
‘I understand. So what happened after that? When you woke up? Do you remember?’
Alice gave a little nod and her face clouded. ‘When I woke up Mummy and Uncle Mike had gone and I was with the policemen.’ Which fitted in with what I knew of Alice being taken to the police station late on Sunday evening.
‘It’s all right, love.’ I held her close.
Alice’s account had a nasty ring of truth and I was almost convinced she was telling me the truth,. Almost, for I couldn’t believe a mother would sleep out in the open for three nights when the temperature had been down to two degrees centigrade, as it had for the last few nights. Was it possible Alice had seen something similar on television? Or maybe someone had put her up to saying this, although I couldn’t imagine who or why.
‘You must have been very brave,’ I said. ‘It’s not right for a