Will You Love Me?: The story of my adopted daughter Lucy: Part 3 of 3. Cathy Glass
not,’ I said. ‘David’s grandparents are dead.’
‘That’s sad,’ Paula said.
Then Lucy asked, or rather demanded, ‘What about his dad? Hasn’t he got a dad who can look after him?’
‘No, he died last year,’ I said. ‘He wasn’t very old.’
And just for a moment I saw on Lucy’s face the briefest acknowledgement that there could be at least one other child in the world who’d had a sad and difficult life just as she had, albeit in a different way. Paula looked close to tears, so I changed the subject and talked about the games we could play with a three-year-old.
That evening, when I went to say goodnight to Lucy, it was obvious she’d been thinking about David, for she had some questions about him. ‘Does David still miss his daddy?’ she said quietly.
‘I’m sure he does,’ I said.
‘Will he miss his mummy and cry at night?’
‘Very likely, but I’ll look after him. Then, when you come home from school, you can help me if you like.’
But Lucy had lowered her guard enough for one evening and retorted with a sharp, ‘No. That’s your job.’
Ignoring her ill humour, I said goodnight, kissed her forehead and came out.
Beth arrived with David at 9.30 the following morning, just after I’d returned from taking Paula to school. Beth was a lovely lady in her thirties, although she was anxious at the thought of the operation she was about to have, and also about leaving David, whom she’d never left with anyone before. She brought with her a suitcase containing David’s clothes, a toy box of his favourite toys and books and a cuddly toy, which she told me he took to bed with him at night – all of which would help him settle with me. Although Beth was worried about leaving David, as we talked, David – not fully appreciating what was about to happen – was happy to chase Toscha and then play with the toys I’d put out in the living room. Beth had written down David’s routine, which would be useful for me to follow, and had also included his likes and dislikes in food, which again would be very helpful.
‘Jen, my sister, will collect David after work tonight,’ Beth said, ‘at about half past five, and bring him to the hospital. She’ll have him back to you by seven – that’s the time he normally goes to bed. I won’t see him tomorrow as it’s the day of my operation, so Jen will collect him again the day after.’
I reassured Beth that David would be fine and then I showed them around the house, with David holding his mother’s hand. When we went into David’s room, Beth explained to him that he would be sleeping here for two weeks while she was in hospital and then he would come home again, but I doubted that at his age he really understood. Beth left shortly after, as she had to be at the hospital for 10.30. David and I waved her off and then, once I’d closed the door and his mother had gone, he began to cry. I picked him up, took him through to the living room where I sat with him on my lap and cuddled him, explaining that he would see Mummy later. Then I distracted him with toys and games, which I played with him for most of the day. Every so often he would ask, ‘Where’s Mummy gone?’ I said, ‘To the hospital. You will see her later, after dinner.’ Soon he began repeating very sweetly, ‘Mummy gone to the hospital, see her later after dinner.’ He was so cute. I cuddled him a lot.
When it was time to collect Paula from school, I helped David into the car seat in the rear of my car and he asked: ‘Going to see Mummy in hospital now?’ Bless him.
‘No, love, later,’ I said. ‘Auntie Jen is taking you after dinner.’ But of course at three years of age these arrangements must have seemed very confusing to him.
Paula treated little David like a large doll and he revelled in the attention. She played with him while I began making an early dinner, as Jen would be collecting David at 5.30. Soon I could hear chuckling coming from the living room as Paula made him laugh. David’s chuckle was very infectious and was lovely to hear. However, when Lucy arrived home from school, I knew as soon as I opened the door she was looking for trouble.
‘My friend says it’s wrong of you to foster another child when you have me, and you’re only doing it for the money.’
While I was pleased to hear that Lucy had a friend, I knew that telling me this was obviously designed to provoke me.
‘I don’t expect your friend knows much about fostering,’ I said lightly, as Lucy glared at me antagonistically. ‘Perhaps she’d like to come here for tea so she can see what really goes on. Come and meet David.’
‘No!’ Lucy said, and stormed off up to her room where she stayed sulking until I called her down for dinner.
Adrian and Paula kept David amused at dinner while I made sure he ate something. I don’t think he’d ever had so much attention and I could tell from Lucy’s expression that she didn’t like it and may well have been jealous. Each time he chuckled she scowled at him and then finally said to me: ‘Tell him to be quiet. He’s making too much noise. It’s doing my head in.’
‘No. I’m pleased he’s happy,’ I said. ‘And he’s eating.’
Lucy glowered at me and carried on picking at her food, but even she wasn’t immune to David’s sweet, smiling face and infectious laugh, despite missing his mother. I saw her snatching glances at him, and gradually during the meal her expression lost its resentment and finally she allowed herself to smile. By the end of the meal she was laughing with the rest of us each time David chucked.
After dinner Lucy came with Paula and me into the living room where we played with David until Jen arrived at 5.30 to take him to the hospital. David was very pleased to see his aunt’s familiar face and threw himself into her arms and gave her a big kiss. Jen picked him up and hugged him, thanked me for looking after him and then confirmed that she’d have him back by seven o’clock. I think she felt a bit guilty for not having him to stay with her, but she had to work.
While David was out, I took the opportunity to unpack his suitcase and take some of his toys up to his room so he felt more at home. The rest of his toys would stay downstairs for him to play with in the living room. Lucy was in her bedroom and must have heard me moving around in David’s room, for presently she appeared at his bedroom door. She stood watching me for a few moments and then said, ‘I’m sorry I was horrible about David coming. I like him really.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘That’s good.’ But Lucy was often sorry after the event, and I was used to hearing her apologize. However, she then said something I hadn’t heard her say before: ‘I don’t know why you still want to look after me. The others didn’t.’
I paused from unpacking and looked up at her. ‘Because I like looking after you,’ I said. ‘I like you, and I understand why you’re hurting.’
She looked away. ‘There’s a lot you don’t understand,’ she said quietly. ‘Things you don’t know about me. Some horrible things that make me behave badly.’
I smiled sadly. ‘You’re not the first child I’ve looked after who’s had secrets. I hope one day you may be able to tell me, or when you start therapy you can tell your therapist. But one thing I do know, Lucy, is that whatever happened to you wasn’t your fault. No matter what you were told. All right, love?’
She gave a small shrug. ‘I guess.’ Then, with a small puzzled frown, she asked, ‘How did you know I was told it was my fault?’
‘Because that’s what bad adults tell the children they hurt. So the children will feel guilty and won’t tell anyone else.’
She held my gaze for a moment and then looked away. ‘I won’t be horrible while David is here.’
‘Good. He’s going to enjoy playing with you.’
For the next two weeks, while David was with us, Lucy’s behaviour did indeed improve. We didn’t have any angry outbursts, so I didn’t feel I was continually on a knife edge waiting