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.

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