Where Has Mummy Gone?. Cathy Glass
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out. Jill stayed for another five minutes to make sure Melody had settled and then left. As soon as the front door closed, Melody asked, ‘When can I go home?’
‘What did Neave tell you?’ I asked gently.
‘That I had to live with you for now.’
‘That’s right. Try not to worry, you’ll see your mother tomorrow and again on Friday. Then every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. That’s three times a week.’ But what Neave wouldn’t have told Melody at this stage – and neither would I – was that, as it was likely she would be remaining in long-term care, the level of contact would gradually be reduced. Then at the end of the year when the final court hearing had been heard and the judge confirmed the social services’ care plan, Melody would probably see her mother only a couple of times a year for a few hours. Sad though this was, it was done to allow the child to bond with their carer and have a chance of a better life in the future. I should probably also say that when children come out of care at eighteen they invariably go back to their birth families – not always, but often.
‘I want to go home. My mum needs me,’ Melody said.
‘I understand, but try not to worry. Your mother is an adult and can look after herself, and Neave will make sure she’s all right.’
‘No, she won’t,’ Melody said.
Best keep Melody occupied, I thought. ‘Adrian, Lucy and Paula will be home from school in about half an hour,’ I said. ‘So we have time to treat your hair and give you a bath before I have to start making dinner.’
‘Treat my hair?’ she queried.
‘Yes, with nit lotion.’ I always kept a bottle in the bathroom cabinet, as so many children who come into care have head lice.
‘How do you know I have nits?’ Melody asked, seeming surprised I knew. ‘My mum said if I didn’t scratch no one would know.’
‘Your social worker told me,’ I said. ‘It must be very uncomfortable for you.’
‘It bleeding well is,’ she said, and jabbing both hands into her matted hair, she gave her scalp a good scratch. ‘Aah, that feels so much better!’ she sighed, relieved.
‘Good, but we don’t swear. Come on, let’s get the nit lotion on and you won’t have to scratch.’
‘Is not swearing another of your rules?’ she asked as she followed me upstairs. ‘Like knocking on bedroom doors.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’
‘Do you have many rules here?’
‘No, just a few to keep everyone safe and happy.’
‘I’ll tell my mum. She needs rules to make me safe and happy, then she can have me back.’
I smiled sadly, for of course it was far too late for that. Amanda had had her chance, and Melody wouldn’t be going back.
Chapter Three
‘I can smell nit lotion!’ my daughter Lucy cried from the hall as she let herself in the front door.
‘We’re in here!’ I called. I was in the kitchen peeling vegetables for dinner, and Melody was sitting at the table colouring in while the head-lice lotion took effect. I’d given her a bath – her first in months, she told me – and she was now dressed in clean clothes from the spares I kept. The lotion had a dreadfully pungent smell and needed to be left on for an hour, but I knew from using it on other children that it was very effective.
‘This is Melody,’ I said, introducing her to Lucy.
‘Hi, how are you? Don’t look so grumpy, you’ll be fine here.’ Having been neglected herself before coming to me as a foster child, Lucy could relate in a special way to the children we fostered. She had an easy manner with them and most of the children formed an attachment to her before they did me.
‘I’m not grumpy,’ Melody said. ‘I don’t like this stuff on my hair. My mum never put it on.’
‘That’s why you had head lice. That will kill the little buggers.’
‘Lucy,’ I admonished, ‘I’ve just told Melody not to swear.’
‘Ooops,’ Lucy said, and theatrically clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry.’ And for the first time I saw Melody smile. ‘Nice picture,’ Lucy said, going over and admiring Melody’s colouring in. Then to me she added, ‘I’m going to my room now, Mum.’
‘Fine, love. Did you have a good day at school?’
‘I guess.’
‘I want to go with you,’ Melody said, clearly finding Lucy’s company far more interesting than mine.
‘Not until the lotion is washed off. It’ll make my room smell.’
I glanced at the clock. ‘Only fifteen more minutes,’ I said.
‘That’s not fair,’ Melody moaned. ‘I want to go with you now.’
‘I’m flattered,’ Lucy said. ‘But you can’t until you’ve had your hair washed. See you later.’ Throwing her a smile, she left the room.
When I think back to how Lucy was when she first arrived, I feel so proud of all she’s achieved. I’m proud of Adrian and Paula too, of course, but Lucy had a shocking start to life and could so easily have gone off the rails. She had a lot of catching up to do, but she didn’t let her past hold her back. Her self-confidence has developed immeasurably; she is happy, has a good circle of friends, eats well and is achieving at school. I couldn’t love her more if she’d been born to me, and I feel very lucky that I have three wonderful children and am allowed to foster more.
No sooner had Lucy disappeared upstairs than Paula came home. She had a different nature to Lucy and was quieter, more placid and could easily let things worry her.
‘Hi, Paula,’ I called. ‘Come and meet Melody.’
‘Hello,’ Paula said, coming in.
‘Are you Lucy’s sister?’ Melody asked.
‘Yes.’
‘You got any more sisters?’
‘No.’ Paula smiled.
‘Good day?’ I asked her as I always ask my children when they first come home.
‘Yes, but I’ve got tons of homework. I’m going to start it now before dinner.’
‘OK, love. I’m nearly finished here, then I’ll wash Melody’s hair, so we’ll eat around six o’clock.’
Paula poured herself a glass of water and, giving Melody a small smile, left.
‘Where’s she gone?’ Melody asked.
‘In the front room to start her homework,’ I said.
‘Can I go?’
‘No, she needs quiet to concentrate. You will see her at dinner when we’ll all eat together.’ I put the chicken casserole in the oven. ‘Now, let’s wash your hair, then you can see Lucy.’
Melody didn’t object, probably because she knew she’d only spend time with Lucy once her hair was washed. We went to the bathroom where I thoroughly washed her hair. As I was rinsing it I heard my son Adrian arrive home. ‘Hi, Mum!’ he called from the hall. At sixteen, he was now six feet tall, although of course to me he’d always be my little boy.
‘I’m in the bathroom, washing Melody’s hair!’ I called down.