Daddy’s Little Princess. Cathy Glass
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was in her bed and I went to say goodnight, she was clearly still thinking of her father. ‘Why didn’t Daddy want to speak to me?’ she asked.
My heart clenched, and I felt even guiltier. ‘It wasn’t that Daddy didn’t want to speak to you,’ I said. ‘He was asleep.’
‘But it was only seven o’clock,’ Beth said. ‘And he knew I was going to phone. He told me to phone every evening.’
‘I know. But sometimes in hospital plans change at the last minute. It can’t be helped. I’ll telephone your social worker tomorrow and see what she says.’
Beth finally accepted this and I tucked her in and kissed her goodnight. She turned onto her side and, sliding the photograph of her father from under the pillow, kissed his image through the glass. ‘Night, Daddy,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll telephone tomorrow. Please be awake.’
She returned the photograph to under the pillow. I said goodnight again and came out.
I had another restless night thinking about Derek, what Jessie had said and the conversation I would have with Jessie the following day. Eventually I fell asleep in the early hours and it seemed I’d no sooner fallen asleep than the alarm was ringing. I tumbled out of bed and into the school-day routine: waking the children, helping Paula wash and dress and then making breakfast. It was another cold January day, with grey skies that stretched as far as the eye could see. We wrapped up warm in our coats, scarves and gloves and hurried to school. On the way home I stopped off at the local grocery store for milk and bread. Also shopping was a friend of mine, Kay, with her daughter Vicky; her children were a similar age to mine. We began chatting and presently Kay said, ‘Cathy, rather than stand here talking, why don’t you come back to my house for coffee, and the girls can play?’ We did this from time to time – meeting at Kay’s house or mine and sometimes with other friends and their children too.
‘I’d love to,’ I said. ‘But I have to speak to Beth’s social worker first thing about something urgent.’ Kay knew I fostered, as did my other close friends.
‘So why not come over later when you’ve spoken to the social worker? Say about eleven o’clock? How does that sound?’ Although Paula often had a short nap at eleven o’clock, she was coming to the end of the time when she needed a daytime sleep.
‘Thanks. That would be great,’ I said. ‘We’ll see you later.’
‘See you later,’ the girls chimed, grinning at each other.
I bought the groceries I needed and went home. I wondered if Jessie would telephone me; the last time we’d spoken she’d said she would call if she had any news. I waited until just after ten o’clock and then I decided to telephone her. Settling Paula with some toys in the living room, I told her I was going to use the telephone in the hall so that I didn’t disturb her, and that once I’d finished we’d get ready and go to Kay’s, which pleased her.
I dialled the children’s services and asked for Jessie’s extension. She answered.
‘It’s Cathy, Beth’s carer,’ I said.
‘I was going to telephone you later. How is Beth?’
‘All right now, but she was upset last night when we phoned her father. He couldn’t speak to her.’
‘I know,’ Jessie said.
‘The nurse said he was asleep.’
‘He was sedated,’ Jessie said bluntly. ‘They were putting him to bed as I left.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘Can I ask you why he was sedated?’
‘He was upset,’ Jessie said, equally bluntly. ‘When I told him of your concerns, he became very agitated and started shouting and crying. The doctor was called and said he would give him something to calm him down and help him sleep.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. As I’d feared, I was responsible.
‘It’s not your fault,’ Jessie said, which surprised me. ‘Derek was in a fragile state to begin with. I told him I thought the allegations were unfounded and I had no reason to doubt his ability to parent Beth, but he still took it very badly. He feels there is a lot of prejudice against a man bringing up a daughter alone, and I think he could be right. He’s overheard mothers discussing him in the playground. One even suggested that the reason his wife had disappeared was because he’d “done her in”. Miss Willow had also spoken to him, so I’m afraid your comments were the final straw. I reassured him that as far as I’m concerned the matter is finished, but it didn’t help. Hopefully he’s recovered now.’
‘I do hope so,’ I said. I hesitated, then I dared to ask: ‘Did you tell him what Marianne said?’ From what Jessie had said, it seemed that she hadn’t mentioned Marianne’s worries to Derek, just mine.
‘Yes. Derek admitted there was a problem between Marianne and Beth. He said they seemed to be jealous of each other and vied for his attention. It was going from bad to worse, which was why he ended his relationship with Marianne. He explained this to Marianne, but it appears she doesn’t want to believe it.’
Put like that it all seemed so rational and reasonable. I felt an absolute fool – a vindictive fool who had caused a lot of trouble and set back Derek’s recovery.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Will Derek be well enough for Beth to speak to him this evening?’
‘Yes. I should think so. I’m going to telephone the hospital later and see how he is today. If you don’t hear from me, assume he’s all right and telephone as normal. But Cathy, I would appreciate it if you just made the call and then passed the telephone to Beth. I don’t want you engaging in conversation with Derek. Understood?’
‘Yes.’
‘Also, I want Beth to see her father later in the week. The doctor agrees it will help his recovery. I was thinking of Friday after school. I was going to ask you to take Beth, but given the animosity between you and Derek I think it’s better if I take her.’
‘All right,’ I agreed, feeling completely ineffectual.
‘If I don’t speak to you before, I’ll collect Beth at about four o’clock on Friday, and return her after the visit.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Shall I tell Beth she’ll be seeing her father on Friday?’
‘Yes. It will help cheer her up. Should help cheer up Derek too. Poor man, he was so upset. Inconsolable.’
Which compounded my feelings of guilt and wretchedness.
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