Can I Let You Go?. Cathy Glass
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then took a couple of steps out of the flat. He stood in the corridor and watched us walk to the elevator, then called goodbye and returned indoors. It was clearly an effort for him to walk and his left side was still weak from the stroke.
‘Is your house a long way away?’ Faye asked as we waited for the elevator.
‘No, not far. About a twenty-minute drive,’ I said. I’d mentioned this at my previous visit, but she must have forgotten or not understood.
‘I have a watch!’ she announced and drew up her left sleeve so we could see her wrist watch.
‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘That’s good. I can show you how long it is to my house.’ It’s so much easier to explain time with the aid of an analogue watch or clock. I always make sure the children I foster have one.
‘Which is the minute hand, do you know?’ I asked her.
‘Yes, the big hand,’ she said.
‘That’s right. It’s pointing to five now so in twenty minutes it will be there, on the nine. Do you know what the time will be then?’
She studied her watch for a moment and then said, ‘Quarter to three.’
‘Well done. So twenty minutes isn’t long; it’s from there to there,’ I said, showing her on the watch.
‘It’s not long,’ she told Lucy and Paula, and they smiled.
The elevator doors opened and we got in. ‘The lift smells,’ Faye announced, sniffing the air.
‘Yes, it’s disinfectant,’ I said. ‘I think it’s just been cleaned.’
‘Gran says some naughty people use it as a toilet late at night,’ Faye said.
‘Urgh gross!’ Lucy exclaimed, horrified, and peered down at the floor.
Faye looked bemused and a little alarmed at Lucy’s outburst. ‘What does gross mean?’ she asked me.
‘Dirty, not nice,’ I said.
As the elevator descended I saw Faye eyeing Lucy and Paula curiously and I wondered how much contact she normally had with young people. From what I’d learnt so far she seemed to spend most of her time with her grandparents, apart from two days a week when she went to the stables and the day centre. The elevator stopped, the doors opened and a middle-aged couple who knew Faye were waiting for the elevator. They smiled and said hello to her.
‘I’m going away but I’m coming back,’ she told them.
‘I know,’ the woman said kindly. ‘Your gran said. See you soon.’
We crossed to the car where Lucy and Paula loaded Faye’s suitcase and shoulder bag into the boot. I asked Faye if she would like to sit with me in the front, or in the rear. She wanted to sit in the rear so Paula sat with her, as it was Lucy’s turn to sit in the passenger seat. Despite their ages, my children still coveted the front seat, just as they had done when they were younger, and took turns to sit there, unless Adrian was with us, when it was his seat, as he needed the extra leg-room.
‘Five minutes has passed,’ Faye announced, looking at her watch as I started the engine.
‘Twenty minutes was only an estimate,’ I said, glancing at her in the rear-view mirror. ‘It has taken us five minutes to come down in the elevator and get in the car.’
‘Our home is twenty minutes from now,’ Paula said. ‘So we’ll arrive at about ten minutes to three.’
Faye studied her watch and then looked out of her side window. There was a silence for a while and then Lucy asked Faye, ‘What sort of things do you like to do in your spare time?’
‘Watch television,’ Faye said.
‘Me too,’ Lucy agreed. ‘What programmes do you like?’
‘I like Coronation Street, EastEnders and Emmerdale, the same as Gran.’
‘You’re in good company then,’ I said. ‘Lucy loves the soaps.’
Lucy then talked to Faye about what was happening in these series, and Paula and Faye joined in. Paula watched soaps sometimes, but not as much as Lucy, who updated herself from the internet if she missed an episode. I’m not a great soap fan.
After a while I said, ‘Faye likes being at the stables too.’
‘I love the horses,’ Faye said. ‘More than I love Gary in EastEnders.’ Which made us all laugh.
‘So what do you do at the stables?’ Paula asked. ‘Do you ride the horses?’
‘Sometimes, but I also help muck them out.’
‘Yuck, what does that mean?’ Lucy asked. Considering she worked with children, she was rather delicate in these matters.
‘It means we have to shovel up their poo and put it in a wheelbarrow,’ Faye said.
‘Gross,’ Lucy said.
‘Gross,’ Faye repeated. ‘It’s very smelly.’
‘I don’t mind it,’ Paula said. ‘I go riding sometimes. Do you have a favourite horse?’
I could see that Paula and Lucy, like me, were working out where to pitch the conversation with Faye, and I thought they were doing well.
‘Whisper is my favourite,’ Faye said. ‘She is a Shetland cross and is eleven hands high. You measure horses and ponies in hands. My next favourite is Misty. He is a black gelding and is twelve hands high. I only ride those two because they are very gentle. But I help look after the others and stroke them.’
‘That’s fantastic,’ I said, glancing at her in the interior mirror. ‘You know a lot about horses.’
I saw her smile. ‘Some of the kids from the flats call me stupid,’ she said. ‘But Grandpa tells me to ignore them. He says I’m not stupid, I know more than them about horses.’
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Your grandpa is a very wise man. It’s stupid to call people names.’
The thought of anyone calling Faye names or being unkind to her was enough to make me tear up. Gentle, kind Faye. But I could see how vulnerable she was, and I fully understood why her grandparents had become overprotective.
Chapter Four
Although Faye had seen photographs of my house, I still showed her around when we first arrived. As we entered each room she said politely, ‘This is a nice room. Thank you for showing me.’ This was all rather formal, so I told her to treat the place like home as she would her flat. I introduced her to Sammy who, realizing there was someone new in the house, had shot in through the cat flap to see what was going on. He was usually standoffish when it came to meeting new people and would turn his back and walk away or flee outside, but not with Faye. He came straight up to her, rubbed around her legs, let her stroke him and then rolled over onto his back so she could rub his tummy.
‘I think he likes me,’ Faye said, pleased, and she knelt to pet him.
‘He certainly does,’ I said. ‘But remember to wash your hands when you’ve finished stroking him.’ It was basic hygiene, but even more important for an expectant mother, as disease could cross the placenta and affect the baby.
When Sammy had had his fill of being petted he went outside again. Faye washed her hands at the kitchen sink and then, examining her watch, said that her gran and grandpa had a cup of tea and a biscuit at home around this time – 3.30 p.m.
‘Would you like tea and biscuits now?’ I asked, assuming this was part of her routine.
‘Yes, please.’
I smiled.