Will You Love Me?: The story of my adopted daughter Lucy: Part 3 of 3. Cathy Glass
an absolute treasure and a delight to look after.’ But my enthusiasm seemed strangely out of place in this emotional void, as Bonnie and Lucy continued to look at each other from a distance, not embarrassed, but just not connecting; more like distant acquaintances than mother and daughter.
‘Shall we go into the contact room now?’ the supervisor suggested, then turning to me she said, ‘You and Bonnie could have a chat later when you come to collect Lucy.’
‘Yes, that’s fine with me,’ I said.
The three of them turned and the supervisor led the way down the corridor towards the contact rooms. Before they disappeared through the double doors I heard Bonnie ask Lucy: ‘So, what have you been doing?’
‘Going to school and other things,’ Lucy replied flatly.
Outside, I left my car in the car park and crossed the road to the park to go for a walk. It was a lovely summer’s day and the play area was full of children running and shouting excitedly under their parents’ watchful gaze. I followed the path that ran around the perimeter of the park, under some trees and beside a small lake. I breathed in the beautiful scent of summer flowers, fresh from a recent watering by the gardeners. I knew from the original referral that Bonnie was thirty-six, but having met her she looked a lot older. There had been a suggestion in the referral that she’d been drink and drug dependent at various times in her life, and this could explain her premature ageing. I’d met parents of other children I’d fostered who’d looked old before their time from drug and alcohol abuse; many far worse than Bonnie. Some had been skeletally thin with missing teeth, a hacking cough and little or no hair. Apart from looking older than she should have done, Bonnie appeared well nourished and was smartly dressed in fashionable jeans and a T-shirt. I’d noticed that, while Lucy had inherited her father’s dark eyes and black hair, there was a strong family likeness between her and her mother. Although their initial meeting had been awkward, I assumed that as the hour passed and they got to know each other again they’d relax and feel more comfortable, so that when I arrived to collect Lucy they’d be laughing, chatting and playing games.
I completed the circuit of the park and stopped off at the cafeteria to buy a bottle of water, which I drank on the way back. It was exactly four o’clock when I arrived at the contact centre.
‘You can go through and collect Lucy,’ the receptionist said. ‘They’re in Blue Room.’ Sometimes the carer collects the child from the contact room and at other times the supervisor brings the child into reception once they’ve said goodbye to their parents in the room.
Each of the contact rooms was named after the colour it was decorated in. I went down the corridor, through the double doors and arrived outside Blue Room. I knocked on the door. Through the glass at the top of the door I could see the contact supervisor sitting at a table, writing. She looked up and waved for me to go in.
Inside, Lucy was sitting on the sofa next to her mother, close, but not touching. Usually at the end of contact the child is very excited – often over-excited – and has to be persuaded to pack away the games they’ve been playing and say goodbye to their parents. But there were no games out and apparently no excitement. The room was eerily quiet.
Bonnie and Lucy looked over at me as I entered, and I smiled.
‘It’s time for you to go,’ Bonnie said evenly to Lucy.
‘Yes,’ Lucy said, and stood.
‘Have you had a nice time?’ I asked.
Bonnie glanced at her daughter. ‘It was good to see her again,’ she said, in a tone devoid of emotion. Lucy looked sombre and subdued. Then Bonnie said to me: ‘Thank you for bringing Lucy. We might meet again some time.’
I hesitated, not sure what to make of this comment. I took a couple of steps further into the room. The supervisor was busy writing. If I was feeling confused, then surely Lucy was too?
‘I believe Lucy’s social worker is going to set up regular contact,’ I said to Bonnie. ‘She was talking about once a week.’
Bonnie gave another tense little laugh and looked slightly embarrassed. Then, glancing at her daughter, she said, ‘Oh, no, Lucy won’t be expecting that, will you? She knows what I’m like. I’m sure I’ll see her again some time, though.’
‘So you won’t be seeing her regularly?’ I asked, unable to believe what I was hearing.
‘No, that’s not possible,’ Bonnie said. ‘It’s nice of you to look after her, though; she seems happy with you.’
I smiled weakly and looked at Lucy. Her face was emotionless. She appeared to be taking this in her stride; perhaps she’d been expecting this reaction from her mother.
‘Well, goodbye,’ Bonnie now said to me, ready to go. ‘I understand I have to wait in this room until you two have left the building.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s what usually happens.’ Then: ‘There’s something I need to ask you before we go.’
‘If it’s anything to do with Lucy, ask her,’ Bonnie said. ‘She knows more about herself than I do.’ She gave yet another nervous laugh.
‘No, it’s nothing like that,’ I said. ‘I know Lucy quite well now. It’s that I need your permission to take Lucy on holiday. I think Stevie was going to mention it to you?’
‘Oh, yes, she did,’ Bonnie said nonchalantly, waving the question away with her hand. ‘It’s fine with me. I hope you have a nice time.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. I had planned to give Bonnie the details of our holiday – where we were going and when – but she didn’t seem interested. She was now slipping her bag over her shoulder, getting ready to go after we had left the centre. ‘Goodbye then,’ she said.
I said goodbye and then waited to one side while she said goodbye to Lucy. I was anticipating that she would give her daughter a hug or goodbye kiss – even friends do that – but she didn’t. Standing a little in front of Lucy, she said, ‘Goodbye, love. Look after yourself.’
‘Goodbye,’ Lucy said, not expecting any more. It was one of the saddest goodbyes I’ve ever witnessed.
Without saying anything further, Lucy came over to me and slipped her hand into mine.
‘Be good,’ Bonnie called, as we turned to leave.
‘She always is,’ I said.
We walked down the corridor and through the double doors. My immediate impression of Bonnie was that she wasn’t callous or uncaring, but just completely detached from her daughter. There appeared to be no bond between them, other than the genetic link. I was shocked, and sad for Lucy, but it did explain a lot of what I knew about her. I was so preoccupied and choked up by what I’d just seen that I walked straight past the visitors’ book.
‘Hey, Cathy!’ Lucy said, drawing me to a halt. ‘You’ve forgotten to sign out.’
We returned to the visitors’ book and both signed our names and wrote our time of departure. Then outside we walked in silence. Lucy had her hand in mine again and a couple of times I glanced at her, feeling I should say something, but not knowing what. She clearly knew her mother better than I did, and had known what to expect, while I’d had a completely different set of expectations, based on how I would feel at being reunited with my daughter after six months’ separation. Quite clearly Stevie had had different expectations too – unrealistic expectations. If she phoned I’d tell her what had happened, or she’d read the supervisor’s report in a couple of days. Either way, regular contact wasn’t going to happen, and for reasons I really didn’t understand.
In the car I turned in my seat to face Lucy, who was fastening her seatbelt. ‘Are you all right, love?’ I asked gently. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’m all right,’ she said quietly. ‘Mum’s like that because she was hurt badly when she was little. She can’t let people close to her, not even