cottage pie we had on Wednesday. I’ll defrost it and bring it with me.’ The look of gratitude on Melody’s face was heartbreaking. Then it was replaced with yet more anxiety. ‘It’s Saturday tomorrow, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mum and me go shopping on Saturday to buy food for the weekend. I won’t see her again until Monday, so she won’t have anything to eat all weekend.’
‘Melody, I am sure your mother will buy herself something to eat over the weekend. She’s an adult. Please don’t worry about her. Now come on, time to get dressed ready for school.’
I was about to leave her room when she said, ‘Cathy, you said you give us pocket money on Saturday. Can I have mine early?’
‘What for?’
‘To buy food for my mum.’ She wasn’t the first child I’d fostered who’d wanted to use their pocket money to help out their parents.
‘Love, that money is for you, but as you’re so worried I’ve got a couple of ready meals in the freezer, which your mum can have. I’ll bring them with me at the end of school and she can have them at the weekend.’
‘Thank you,’ Melody said, and threw her arms around me, which made me tear up. Clearly I wouldn’t be providing Amanda with all her meals – this was a short-term measure to stop Melody from worrying and to get them both through their first weekend apart. Amanda had her benefit money, and if she really had stopped using drugs she should have enough to buy food.
Later, before I left to collect Melody from school, I added some fruit, crisps and biscuits to the bag I was taking.
Melody needn’t have worried about her mother being late for contact, for when we arrived she was already there, and had been for two hours! The receptionist said it wasn’t clear why Amanda had arrived so early, but she’d insisted on staying in the waiting room for the whole two hours so she didn’t miss Melody. She was now in Yellow Room with the contact supervisor for the start of contact. Melody was of course delighted that her mother was already there. She was sitting on the sofa, looking at a children’s book, and the contact supervisor was at a small table at one end, writing.
‘Hello, Mummy!’ Melody cried, running to her, the bag of food dangling at her side.
Amanda looked up and for a second seemed startled, as if she hadn’t been expecting to see Melody or didn’t recognize her, but then she stood and hugged her. I said hello to Amanda and then left. I walked to a small local café where I did some paperwork over a cup of tea and a teacake. I returned to collect Melody at 5.30 p.m. and went through to Yellow Room. The door was open and the three of them were putting on their coats. I said hello. Amanda looked in my direction but didn’t say anything. Melody was naturally reluctant to leave her mother and kept hugging and kissing her until the contact supervisor said, ‘Time to go.’ With a final hug and kiss for her mother, Melody came to me and we left.
Outside the centre Melody said, ‘Mum liked your cottage pie. She ate it all.’
‘Good. She warmed it up in the microwave?’
‘Yes, the contact supervisor helped her, as children aren’t allowed in the kitchen. She was starving and said it was the first thing she’d had to eat since your rice pudding.’
‘But that was Wednesday,’ I said, shocked. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. She ate the crisps and biscuits too. I keep telling you, Mum forgets to eat without me telling her to.’
If Melody was right then it was very worrying and exceeded any adult–child dependency I’d seen before.
‘All right. I’ll make sure Neave knows.’ But shouldn’t her social worker have known already? I wondered. Melody and her mother had been known to the social services for some time. Unless of course Melody was exaggerating, perhaps thinking this was the way to get home.
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