a minute,’ the nurse said, and the telephone was set down again. I heard muffled voices in the background and then the telephone was picked up and the same nurse asked: ‘Are you a relative?’
‘No. I’m his daughter’s foster carer.’
‘Derek is asleep and shouldn’t be woken,’ she said. ‘You’ll need to speak to the social worker tomorrow.’
I hesitated, confused. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’m sorry. As you are not a relative, I can’t tell you any more. You’ll have to speak to his social worker tomorrow.’
Aware something was wrong, Beth was no longer sprawling leisurely on the bed, but had sat upright and was looking at me, concerned.
‘And he can’t come to the telephone to talk to his daughter? Not just for a short while?’ I asked.
‘No. I’m sorry. He’s asleep.’
There was nothing more I could say, so, thanking the nurse, I put down the telephone and turned to Beth. Her face was already crumpling. ‘Why can’t I speak to my daddy?’ she asked, her voice trembling.
‘Because he’s asleep, love, and the nurse didn’t want to wake him.’
‘But he wanted to speak to me. He told me to phone. They should have woken him.’
‘I’m sorry, love. I can’t do any more. I only know what the nurse told me.’
‘Can’t we phone and try again?’ Beth asked, her eyes filling. ‘That nurse might be wrong. Can you speak to another nurse?’
‘The nurse said your daddy was definitely asleep, pet,’ I said, taking her hand in mine. ‘Perhaps he’s had a busy day.’ But Beth didn’t believe this any more than I did. ‘I’ll telephone Jessie tomorrow,’ I said.
Beth burst into tears and I put my arms around her and comforted her. I felt sorry for her. She was so disappointed at not being able to speak to her father. I also felt guilty, for I was sure that in some way I was responsible for Derek ‘being asleep’ and not being able to come to the phone. It seemed too much of a coincidence that Derek hadn’t been able to come to the phone after Jessie’s visit.
I soothed Beth, and when she was feeling a bit better I gently dried her eyes. ‘There, that’s better,’ I said. ‘Now, why don’t you go downstairs and play a game with Adrian, while I read Paula a story? I won’t be long.’
‘Can I come with you?’ Beth sniffed.
‘Yes, of course, if you want to.’
Beth nodded mournfully and I took her hand and we went round to Paula’s room.
‘Beth would like to listen to your story too, if that’s all right?’ I said to Paula.
‘Yes. You can listen,’ Paula said, patting the bed beside her. ‘Have you spoken to your daddy?’ she asked as Beth climbed onto the bed.
I saw Beth’s bottom lip tremble. ‘Not tonight,’ I said. ‘Her daddy was asleep.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Paula said. ‘I don’t speak to my daddy much on the phone.’ I could have wept. Perhaps I was feeling overly sensitive, but Paula’s comment touched me deeply, and I dearly hoped John would remember his promise to telephone during the week.
There wasn’t much room on Paula’s single bed for the three of us, but we managed. Propped up against the headboard, I balanced precariously on the edge of the bed as I read Paula’s favourite stories. Although the books were a little young for Beth, she seemed to enjoy them as much as Paula did. Also, I think she enjoyed the closeness and intimacy of the bedtime story. It’s a lovely way for children to unwind at the end of the day.
‘I’m going to ask my daddy to read me stories in bed when I go home,’ Beth said.
‘Can’t your mummy read you stories?’ Paula asked innocently.
‘She doesn’t live with us,’ Beth said.
‘My daddy doesn’t live with us much either,’ Paula agreed.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I read the next story and continued reading for half an hour.
Later, when Beth was in her bed and I went to say goodnight, she was clearly still thinking of her father. ‘Why didn’t Daddy want to speak to me?’ she asked.
My heart clenched, and I felt even guiltier. ‘It wasn’t that Daddy didn’t want to speak to you,’ I said. ‘He was asleep.’
‘But it was only seven o’clock,’ Beth said. ‘And he knew I was going to phone. He told me to phone every evening.’
‘I know. But sometimes in hospital plans change at the last minute. It can’t be helped. I’ll telephone your social worker tomorrow and see what she says.’
Beth finally accepted this and I tucked her in and kissed her goodnight. She turned onto her side and, sliding the photograph of her father from under the pillow, kissed his image through the glass. ‘Night, Daddy,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll telephone tomorrow. Please be awake.’
She returned the photograph to under the pillow. I said goodnight again and came out.
I had another restless night thinking about Derek, what Jessie had said and the conversation I would have with Jessie the following day. Eventually I fell asleep in the early hours and it seemed I’d no sooner fallen asleep than the alarm was ringing. I tumbled out of bed and into the school-day routine: waking the children, helping Paula wash and dress and then making breakfast. It was another cold January day, with grey skies that stretched as far as the eye could see. We wrapped up warm in our coats, scarves and gloves and hurried to school. On the way home I stopped off at the local grocery store for milk and bread. Also shopping was a friend of mine, Kay, with her daughter Vicky; her children were a similar age to mine. We began chatting and presently Kay said, ‘Cathy, rather than stand here talking, why don’t you come back to my house for coffee, and the girls can play?’ We did this from time to time – meeting at Kay’s house or mine and sometimes with other friends and their children too.
‘I’d love to,’ I said. ‘But I have to speak to Beth’s social worker first thing about something urgent.’ Kay knew I fostered, as did my other close friends.
‘So why not come over later when you’ve spoken to the social worker? Say about eleven o’clock? How does that sound?’ Although Paula often had a short nap at eleven o’clock, she was coming to the end of the time when she needed a daytime sleep.
‘Thanks. That would be great,’ I said. ‘We’ll see you later.’
‘See you later,’ the girls chimed, grinning at each other.
I bought the groceries I needed and went home. I wondered if Jessie would telephone me; the last time we’d spoken she’d said she would call if she had any news. I waited until just after ten o’clock and then I decided to telephone her. Settling Paula with some toys in the living room, I told her I was going to use the telephone in the hall so that I didn’t disturb her, and that once I’d finished we’d
