Can I Let You Go?. Cathy Glass
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glad Edith thought of me. We’ll do our best for Faye.’
‘Thank you.’ Then, glancing at her watch, she added, ‘I need to be going now; I’m in a meeting soon. I’ll phone you on Monday after the move. Thanks again.’
We said goodbye. Becky got into her car and I went to mine. Did I feel happier now I’d met Faye? Yes, to some extent I did. Perhaps happy wasn’t the right word – she was, after all, still going to give up her baby – but I was slightly more at ease with it, simply because Faye didn’t appear upset or distraught about being pregnant or having her baby adopted. Indeed, it had hardly been mentioned. She’d been more concerned about not being able to go to the stables. Becky had said that Wilma had taken the news badly, but she, too, had appeared more relaxed now, perhaps because a fostering placement had been found to help them out.
Yet it was difficult to know, I thought, as I began the drive home, if Faye had really come to terms with what was happening or if she was just ignoring it, or didn’t even understand the implications. I’d noticed that she’d seemed oblivious to her baby bump and hadn’t rubbed or cupped it with her hand as many expectant mothers do. Was it possible she thought she was just growing fat? Although by now – six months – the baby would be moving inside her. I’d talk to her about it once she was living with me: to prepare her was part of my role.
That evening over dinner I told Adrian, Lucy and Paula about the meeting with Faye, and that I’d be collecting her on Sunday afternoon and was looking for a volunteer to help carry her bags. Adrian said he’d arranged to see Kirsty (his girlfriend) for the day but offered to meet her later so he could help me. There was no need, as both the girls were free and said they would help. After dinner I telephoned my mother as I had been doing every evening since Dad had passed. I always started by asking her how she was and what she’d been doing during the day. Her reply was usually that she’d been tidying up the garden or reading, both of which were solitary pursuits, but perhaps it was still a bit soon to be seeing friends or going on day trips as she and Dad had done. This evening I mentioned that Faye would be coming to live with us for the remainder of her pregnancy. Mum was quite stoical in her response, as Adrian had been. ‘I suppose if she has to give up the baby it’s best done sooner rather than later,’ she said. ‘It will have a good home and be very well loved by the adoptive parents. Does she know the sex of the baby?’
‘I don’t know. It wasn’t mentioned,’ I said.
We chatted for a while longer and then I said I’d like to come and see her on Saturday and suggested we go out for some lunch. She didn’t want to go out, so I said we’d make something there to eat. I didn’t think that Mum was depressed, but she did sound sad sometimes, which was hardly surprising given she’d recently lost Dad. It would obviously take time for her to come to terms with a future without him, just as it would for all of us, and I reminded myself of the maxim that time is a great healer.
The following day (Friday) I gave Faye’s room a thorough clean and then I did a large supermarket shop, as I would be out all day Saturday. I knew from the placement information forms that Faye had no special dietary requirements, so I stocked up with a range of nutritious foods as well as some treats – biscuits, ice cream, crisps – which I think are fine in moderation. Since I’d learnt that I’d be fostering Faye, I’d been giving some thought to the differences between fostering children and teenagers, and an adult with a learning disability. Many aspects seemed similar – for example, the care and support I would give her – but as an adult Faye had a right to make her own decisions as much as possible, which would help maintain and develop her self-confidence and independence. Yet, while I’d had plenty of experience fostering children and teenagers, and the benefit of ongoing training, Faye was my first adult placement. Edith must have been thinking the same, because shortly after I returned home from shopping she telephoned.
‘Cathy, I’ve been looking to see if there is any training that you might find useful, but we don’t seem to offer an awful lot specifically for fostering adults. There’s a two-day introductory course, but the next session isn’t for another eight weeks, which is going to be a bit late to help you. There is some information on the internet, though. I’ve sent you some links, and if you have any questions or concerns, you can always telephone Becky. She’s highly experienced in adult social care.’
‘Thank you, I will.’
So that evening I went online and, using Edith’s links and a search engine, I learnt quite a bit about foster care provision for adults. At present there are over 10,000 adult fostering placements in England; half of those are living in permanent placements. The ages of the adults fostered ranged from eighteen to over sixty, with three-quarters of the adults having a learning disability, and the others a physical disability or mental health problems. Schemes for fostering adults appeared to vary widely in different parts of the country, with some areas offering far more than others. The big advantage for the care receiver was that they could live with and be part of a family rather than in a care home. I learnt that the process for applying to foster adults was very similar to that of fostering children, with an assessment carried out by a social worker, references, a police check (now known as Disclosure and Barring Service), a health check and introductory training. Once the person was with the foster carer, their social worker visited regularly to monitor and support the placement, which was reassuring. While all this was very interesting, there was virtually no practical advice on fostering adults beyond it requiring patience, understanding and a wish to work with vulnerable adults.
Adrian, Lucy and Paula came with me on Saturday to visit Mum. She lived about an hour’s drive away. They were very quiet in the car, gazing out of their side windows rather than listening to music or chatting. I guessed that they, like me, were finding it difficult going to the house again; our first visit after the funeral, the house that for all their lives had been Nana and Papa’s home but was now just Nana’s. Although we’d already been quite a few times since Dad had passed, it wasn’t getting much easier. Arriving and leaving were the worst, with just Mum greeting us at the door and seeing us off, when it had always been the two of them. Once we were inside it became a little easier and today we all found jobs to do. Adrian cut the grass and then washed the car – my brother was selling it for Mum, as she didn’t drive – while the girls and I helped Mum prepare lunch and lay the table. It was the first time we’d all sat at the dining table since Dad had died; previously, when we’d been there to organize the funeral, we’d had sandwiches and snacks on our laps. Dad always sat in the same place at the head of the table, and ridiculously I left his place empty, which of course emphasized his absence. As we sat down Mum quietly moved her chair into the space.
‘That’s better,’ she said, and we all relaxed.
After lunch I asked Mum if she would like some help clearing out Dad’s clothes, which is a daunting and heartbreaking task. But she said she would do it in her own time and had already made a start. She then produced a gift for each of the children, a memento of their grandpa. His favourite cufflinks for Adrian, an inlaid wooden trinket box for Lucy and his paperweight for Paula, which she’d always admired. Even if they never used the items, they would be treasured as touching personal reminders of Grandpa. I could see the emotion in their faces as they thanked their nana and then kissed and hugged her.
As usual we were reluctant to leave Mum alone and took a long time parting. Eventually Mum said it would be time for her bath soon and shooed us towards the front door. ‘Phone me to let me know you’re home safely,’ she said as she always did. ‘I hope tomorrow goes well. I’ll look forward to meeting Faye.’
We got into the car and waved goodbye, each of us trying to adjust to seeing one lone figure in the porch.
On our return home Sammy was very pleased to see us and shot in through the cat flap as soon as he heard our voices in the hall. He was a short-haired cat of mixed breed with distinctive black-and-white markings and a haughty air about him, despite his past. He’d been living on the streets, presumably since birth, until someone took him to a cat rescue centre. We’d hesitated about having another cat for many years after Toscha had died, feeling that she was irreplaceable, but we were all pleased we’d gone ahead, as I hoped Sammy was too. He’d been quite feral to begin with and hadn’t