Where Has Mummy Gone?: Part 3 of 3: A young girl and a mother who no longer knows her. Cathy Glass
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so she could see it from her bed. She was looking forward to being able to do similar in her mother’s room when she saw her the following week. On Tuesday after school Melody began play therapy and she wasn’t impressed. She was fine going in with the other three children, but when she came out at the end of the session she was scowling. Dr Marina Short had brought the children into the waiting room to return them to their parents and carers and said to me, ‘I’ve had to explain to Melody that the artwork she’s done has to stay in the room and can’t be taken home.’
I knew this from other children I’d fostered who’d attended play therapy, but not the reason behind it. ‘Why is that?’ I now asked.
‘I wondered the same thing,’ another parent said.
Marina looked slightly taken aback. Perhaps no one had ever asked before. She took a breath and addressed us all.
‘Play therapy is designed to encourage the child to explore their personal world through art and craft. We provide a safe environment that allows them to get in touch with their innermost thoughts and feelings through the process of creation. These are sensory-based experiences – visual, tactile, kinaesthetic – which encourage the child to express and record their experiences, perceptions, feelings and imagination, which they may not be able to verbalize. What they produce is very personal to them and they may want to return to explore it at a later date, so we keep it here safe.’
There was a moment’s silence. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I think I understand.’
‘I don’t,’ the other woman said under her breath.
On Thursday evening we baked and iced cupcakes, ate two each and put the rest in the cake tin. This was the week Melody didn’t visit her mother, but I would still go. The following day I took some out for Amanda and wondered if any of my family would notice that the cakes were disappearing faster than would have been expected had it just been us eating them. My visit to Amanda that afternoon was very similar to my previous one. We spent some time in the lounge and then went to her room, where we looked through the photograph album. I’d no idea if Amanda knew who I was, although I told her a few times. Once she said Melody’s name as we looked at her photo. I said, ‘Yes, well done. That’s your daughter, Melody. She’s at school now. She’ll see you next week.’ But that was it. As usual I left her the box of cakes and replenished the fruit bowl. I also asked a care assistant if Amanda needed anything, but was reassured she didn’t.
Friday was also the last day of Adrian’s exams and when I returned home he was already in and relaxing. He would still have to go into school until the end of term, but the lessons were vocational for those who’d taken exams to help them decide on a career and choose the subjects they wanted to study at a higher level.
Jill paid one of her statutory visits the following week and, having updated her, I made my suggestion for including play therapy in foster-carer training to give us a better understanding of what happened in a session. She thought it was a good idea and said she’d pass on my suggestion. I also told her I was seeing Amanda every other Friday when Melody didn’t. She couldn’t see a problem with that but pointed out that if Melody found out I’d have to explain my reasons for not telling her. She also said it was nice of me to go. I shrugged off her comment. I wasn’t visiting Amanda to ‘be nice’. I was going because I had got to know her, was looking after her daughter, and because she was very much alone in the world. It reassured me as much as anything that she was being well looked after. I told Jill that I doubted Amanda knew who I was or remembered my visit after I’d gone.
‘Or maybe she does,’ Jill said, ‘in which case your visits are even more important.’
Our weekday routine continued and towards the end of June Lucy and Paula had end-of-year exams, and Neave visited. She didn’t have any more to tell me but said family finding was ongoing for Melody. I updated her on how Melody was doing, including swimming and her visits to her mother. I said I felt that Amanda’s disease had plateaued for the time being, as I hadn’t noticed much change in her in the last month, and Neave agreed that was the nature of the illness. I told her that Melody was a little ambivalent towards the play therapy but didn’t mind going. At some point Marina would write a report for Neave.
School broke up the third week in July for the long summer holidays, and as Melody was now at home I had to suspend my visits to Amanda on alternate Fridays, but obviously still took Melody as normal. Although the weather was lovely and some residents were outside in the courtyard, Amanda never wanted to go out – unlike Mr and Mrs Bennett. We always followed the same routine: spent time in the lounge (doing occupational therapy if the therapist was there), then went to Amanda’s room. One day when we arrived there was a police car parked outside.
‘I wonder what’s happened?’ Melody asked excitedly.
As we let ourselves in through the outer door we could see two police officers through the inner glass door talking to three members of staff, one of whom I recognized as the manager. Mr and Mrs Bennett were also there. Once we’d signed in and were admitted, I heard the manager thanking the police officers for returning them. I guessed she was referring to Mr and Mrs Bennett. In the lounge, I soon learnt that they had slipped out when the door had been left open during a delivery of catering supplies. Thankfully their absence had been noticed as soon as the lorry had left and the police had been called. They were found just ten minutes away, but the care home’s security was being reviewed, as clearly they and the other residents were highly vulnerable and could easily come to harm out alone. Having said that, you have to admire their persistence.
I hadn’t booked for us to go away during the school summer holidays, but we had plenty of days out, including trips to the coast, theme parks, the zoo and other places of interest that suited everyone. My children were growing up quickly and I knew it wouldn’t be long before they didn’t all want to come on every family outing, so I was making the most of it while they did. Adrian and Paula also saw their father. Lucy saw her birth mother very occasionally. She phoned if she was in the area, but we hadn’t heard from her for a while. Lucy had grown used to this and, although she loved her, she accepted her mother’s shortcomings.
Neave telephoned in respect of Melody’s next review, which was due in August. The previous two reviews had been held at Melody’s school but the school was closed for the summer holidays, so Neave asked if it could be held at my house – reviews are sometimes held in the foster carer’s home. I said that was fine and Melody could play in another part of the house until it was her turn to speak. Then, almost as an afterthought, Neave added, ‘The family-finding team think they may have found a good match. I’m going with them to meet the woman at the start of September. She’s away on holiday at present.’
‘Oh, really?’
‘Nothing is definite yet, so please don’t say anything to Melody.’
‘No, of course not. Who is she?’
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