Daddy’s Little Princess and Will You Love Me 2-in-1 Collection. Cathy Glass
like living in hotels. He’d said more than once that hotels were great for holidays, but quickly lost their appeal if you were incarcerated in them every evening after work. I knew he would have come home if it had been at all possible. I also worried that he was working too hard. At home he could relax and unwind over the weekend so that he could start the new week refreshed. Now he would lurch from one working week into the next. Poor John, I thought, alone in his hotel room and wishing he was at home with me, just as I was wishing he was sitting beside me on the sofa. I considered opening a bottle of wine, but decided it wouldn’t be the same without John.
Typical of many young children, having been given the opportunity of a lie-in, on Saturday morning Adrian, Paula and Beth were awake even earlier than on a school day. Wanting to make the most of every minute of the weekend, they were all out of their beds and playing by seven o’clock. They stayed in their dressing gowns, playing in their bedrooms, while I showered and dressed. Then I made us all a cooked breakfast. As we sat at the table enjoying eggs, bacon, sausage and tomatoes, Beth told Adrian and Paula that she had a cooked breakfast at the weekends too, and that her daddy brought it to her in bed.
‘You have breakfast in bed every weekend?’ Adrian asked.
Beth nodded.
‘Don’t you go getting any ideas,’ I said to Adrian with a smile. ‘The only time you have breakfast in bed is on your birthday or if you’re ill.’
‘Not keen anyway,’ he said, pulling a face. ‘All those toast crumbs, it’s like sand in the bed.’
I laughed.
‘My daddy brings my breakfast on a tray,’ Beth said, ‘so I don’t get crumbs in the bed. And if I spill my juice, he doesn’t mind, he just changes the sheets.’
Derek was clearly a very indulgent and tolerant father, although I wasn’t sure it was right to spoil a child so much; she could grow up to be self-centred and expecting to be pampered all the time. I supposed it was different if you just had one child. If you had more than one then you treated them all the same and time simply didn’t allow for pampering them all to the extent that Beth’s father pampered her.
The morning was cold again but bright, so after breakfast I suggested that once they were dressed we could go to the park for a while. The children were enthusiastic and helped clear away the breakfast things, and then we went upstairs to get ready. I intended to choose something appropriate for Beth to wear. Adrian lived in joggers or jeans at the weekend and knew what to wear. Paula came with me into Beth’s room, where I opened her wardrobe door and took out two tracksuits that I remembered unpacking, but which she’d never worn.
‘Can’t I wear a dress?’ Beth asked.
‘They’re not really practical for playing in the park on a cold day,’ I said. ‘These are perfect, and they look brand new.’
‘They are,’ Beth said. ‘I haven’t worn them.’
‘They’re both lovely. Which one would you like to wear today?’ I asked. ‘The blue or pink?’ I held up the tracksuits and Beth looked from one to the other.
‘The pink one,’ she said at last.
‘Excellent choice,’ I said. ‘And you can wear the blue one when we visit my parents tomorrow.’ Which neatly solved that problem too.
I took out warm socks and a vest for Beth as she took some pants from her drawer. All Beth’s clothes were in very good condition and many of them seemed brand new. I thought that Derek must spend a lot on clothes for Beth, perhaps indulging her wishes in this as he did in other things. I left Beth to get ready and went with Paula to help her wash and dress. Half an hour later we were all downstairs and in the hall, wrapped up warm in our coats, scarves and gloves, ready to go to the park. Adrian was bringing his football and I’d asked Beth if she wanted to take a ball or skipping rope or a scooter to the park, but she didn’t. She added that she didn’t often go to the park as parks were for children. I didn’t state the obvious and I was pleased Adrian didn’t either.
Outside the weather was crisp and cold and quite beautiful. The wintry sun shone from a clear blue sky, causing the remaining frost to sparkle like magic. We walked to our local park where Beth and Adrian ran off to the play equipment – swings, seesaw, roundabout – while I took Paula to the area for younger children and helped her on and off the little rocking horse and then the baby swings, which she loved, although I wasn’t allowed to call them ‘baby swings’. ‘They’re big-girl swings,’ she said indignantly. ‘Just smaller.’ Which is what I’d told her before.
We were in the park for over an hour. I’d taken my camera with me and I took plenty of photographs of the children playing. When my hands and feet grew cold and the children’s noses glowed red, I suggested we return home for a hot chocolate. The children asked for one last swing and then we left.
As we stepped into the hall I saw that the light on the answerphone was flashing, showing a message had been recorded. I pressed play and John’s voice came through. The children paused from taking off their coats. ‘Hi, kids, sorry I missed you. I expect you’re out shopping with your mother. Enjoy the rest of your weekend. I’ll try to telephone during the week. Be good. See you next weekend. Love Dad.’
The line went dead and the answerphone clicked off. I could tell from Adrian’s and Paula’s expressions that they were pleased to hear their father’s voice, but sad that they’d missed his call. ‘Perhaps he’ll telephone again later today,’ Adrian said hopefully.
‘Perhaps, or next week as he said,’ I suggested.
We finished taking off our coats and shoes and I made us a hot chocolate. Then, after lunch, I covered the table with old newspaper and arranged paints and water in the centre. I gave the children an apron, paintbrush and a stack of plain paper each and they painted lots of wonderful pictures: of cats, dogs, themselves, each other, birds, fish and swirling geometric designs. Eventually we ran out of space to dry any more pictures and we cleared away the paints and got out the play dough. When they tired of modelling the dough they helped me make some biscuits to take with us to Nana and Grandpa’s the following day. We had dinner and then watched a film on television. When Beth telephoned her father that evening she told him about all the things she’d done. I thought he must be relieved and pleased that Beth was enjoying herself and not upset and pining for him. I also thought it was a pity I couldn’t talk to Derek, as I usually did with the parents of children I fostered. I could have reassured him that Beth was doing well and he shouldn’t worry. But after I’d upset him with the unfounded allegations, Jessie had said that I shouldn’t speak to him, and I had to accept that.
Sunday was grey and overcast to begin with. A thick blanket of cloud stretched as far as the eye could see, but as I drove to my parents’ (with Beth uncomplaining in her blue tracksuit), the sun came out, which caused Adrian to burst into song:
The sun has got his hat on,
Hip-hip-hip-hooray!
The sun has got his hat on,
He’s coming out today.
‘That’s Grandpa’s song,’ Paula said.
‘Grandpa sings it, yes,’ I said. ‘And you know the words too.’
‘So do I!’ Beth said and began singing.
All three children sang the chorus about six times. None of us knew any more of the verses; I don’t think my father did either.
‘I know other nursery rhymes,’ Paula said when they’d exhausted this one. She began singing, ‘Mary, Mary, quite contrary, how does your garden grow?’
Beth joined in and when they’d finished Adrian began a rousing chorus of ‘The Grand Old Duke of York’, which we all joined in with, laughing. We headed down the motorway singing and laughing and only stopped as I pulled into the driveway of my parents’ house. My parents must have been looking out for us, for as I cut the engine their front door opened and they came out to greet us. I let the children out of the car and then introduced Beth