Mummy's Little Helper (23 page)

For all that I’d smiled at her, it really brought it home to me that this child was hard-wired to expect the worst, always, that life was a very bumpy, uncertain road, one on which bad things had already happened and were certain to keep happening, to the end. Things also hadn’t been helped by her most recent visit to see Sarah, where Sarah too – like me, in fact – was struggling with the business of having such momentous news, but which she couldn’t yet share. She was waiting for Andrew to stop by with the photos he’d promised to get for her. There’d been no real change in the atmosphere – none that I could detect while I was with them, anyway – but Abby was almost superhuman in her sensitivity to the emotional temperature, and half-way home she had burst into tears.

‘Mummy’s going to die!’ she sobbed. ‘Isn’t she?’ And she wouldn’t be pacified. In the end I’d had to leave the motorway so I could calm her down properly, she was just so convinced there was something her mother wasn’t telling her.

She was fine again now – an evening phone call had calmed and reassured her – and since then the weekend had passed smoothly enough, though her rituals were as evident as they’d ever been. How would the coming developments affect her, I wondered, as I watched her. For the better or, actually and quite possibly, for the worse? I tried to put it out of my mind, and keep her occupied – she’d been to the pictures with Riley and the little ones, been out shopping for clothes with Lauren, been to Donna’s café for lunch (and had the promise of another ‘shift’ there next week) and now here was Kieron on the doorstep, as we’d planned, making good with the aborted frogspawn outing, which was actually sensible, as it had turned out. If they’d gone before it would probably have been too early.

‘You up for it then, Abs?’ he said. ‘For getting those hands of yours dirty?’

Abby blushed scarlet, to the roots of her hair. She really did have a full-on Kieron-crush, bless her.

And, getting ready, I was pleased to see she was actually quite sanguine. ‘It’s better to go now,’ she said, reaching into the under-stairs cupboard for her wellies. Since she’d been with us, there was no messy pile of outdoor footwear in there. Wellies were corralled into a row, in tidy pairs, each clipped together by a clothes peg. ‘Casey, I’m surprised
you
didn’t know about doing this,’ she’d exclaimed.

‘How come?’ I asked now. ‘Because some might be turning into tadpoles?’

Abby shook her head. ‘No, because it’s
dry
now. So we won’t get all yucky. That’s
why
.’

They returned an hour later, largely free of mud, as promised, the jam jars duly half filled with the clear wobbling gunk.

‘And we don’t need to wash it, do we, Mum?’ Kieron ask me.

‘No, of course not,’ I said, confused. ‘Why would you wash it?’

‘See, Abby?’ Kieron said. ‘I told you. She doesn’t believe me, Mum. She thinks you have to wash the jelly off.’

‘Of course you don’t,’ I told her. ‘They need the jelly. That’s what they eat.’

Abby looked mortified. ‘Euww!’ she said. ‘How revolting! They actually
eat
it?’

‘They actually eat it,’ Kieron said. ‘You eat jelly, don’t you?’

‘Yes, but not jelly from a pond, stupid.’ She punched his arm playfully. ‘Strawberry jelly, raspberry jelly –’

‘No,’ Kieron said, ever the pedant, ever quick with details. ‘Like the jelly you get round the meat in the inside of a pork pie. It’s like
that
jelly.’

If possible, Abby was even more disgusted.

‘Kieron, that’s just
gross
! You’re actually making me feel sick now.’

‘Abs,’ he laughed. ‘Man up. You are
such
a lightweight.’

It was another good hour before the frogspawn was sorted, Kieron helping Abby prepare the tank to provide just the right environment, which I was pleased about, since it would be me who had to deal with the lion’s share of looking after them, I didn’t doubt. It had been ever thus. It was also great that Abby now had something on which to base her school show-and-tell the following week.

And Riley too did a stint of helping out. Once Kieron had left, and I took my gorgeous grandsons up for a bath, she helped Abby draw some pictures of the newly acquired frogspawn, and helped her write a project piece on frogs and reproduction, which she could use for her talk, along with some of the frogspawn, which we’d left ready, for the time being, in its jar.

By the time I came down again, however, they’d moved on to colouring, the two of them carefully filling in a lovely riverside scene, which in this case was destined for her scrapbook. I felt a real glow of love for my children, as I watched them. And a pang of sadness that poor Abby had no siblings. But the moment passed; she’s soon have a new person to love her, wouldn’t she?

I let the boys go and join them while I went into the kitchen to prepare some tea, smiling to myself as I watched them all gathered around the dining table, and marvelling, as I often had, with all the kids I’d fostered, that this little family tableau looked so, well, so very
normal
.

I said as much to Mike later that night, once we’d gone to bed. ‘And it’s weird, isn’t it?’ I added. ‘Whenever I get that feeling, that’s the very moment I realise.’

‘Realise what?’

‘That that’s it. That’s the exact time you know it’s all coming to an end.’

Mike thought for a moment. ‘Well, that would seem to figure,’ he said finally. ‘Sign of a job well done, I’d say.’

‘Fingers crossed,’ I said. ‘I’d hate it if she had to stay in care now. Let’s just pray that the whole Vicky thing works out.’

And even as the irony of doing it wasn’t lost on me, yet again, feeling slightly foolish, I touched wood.

To say I was on pins all Monday morning is something of an understatement. I’d sent Abby off to school with her jam jar and her nerves about public speaking, and I was actually quite glad she was so preoccupied by it – it meant her focus wasn’t entirely on me.

In my mind what was coming would be simple. Sisters reunite, aunt meets niece, everyone loves each other, Abby can live with aunt and they all live happily ever after. You don’t often get fairy-tale endings in foster care, but I really couldn’t see why not this time.

It was eleven before Bridget was back on the phone, however, by which time I’d done everything domestic I could think of, including checking on the frogspawn and feeding Snowball, the virtual dog.

‘So,’ she said, ‘I gather you know all about the telephone reunion? It’s fabulous news, isn’t it? Who’d have thought it?’

‘Yes, it is,’ I said. ‘And?’

‘And are you free tonight, basically? Sarah wondered if you could bring Abby up to see her after school today, so she can sit down and tell her about her auntie.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘More than happy to – I’m bloody useless at keeping secrets. She’s got the photos from Andrew, then?’

‘Yes, and she’s keen to get on now. As is Vicky. She’s travelling up here tomorrow.’

‘And then?’ I asked.

‘And then we’ll talk about ways we can play this. Too early to second-guess things – we need to explore the options. But for the time being we’ve put a hold on the search for a permanent foster home – at least till we get some idea of what’s viable. Sarah’s needs are complex. There’s a lot to think through. And as yet we don’t know how big a commitment her sister’s prepared to make. It’s not something you can expect a person to dive straight into. Not without considering all the implications, as you know.’

Even so, I spent the afternoon grinning. I knew I was programmed to look on the bright side – had been like it all my life – but even taking that into account, I really couldn’t see how Vicky – from what Sarah had said of their history, and from how she’d been with me – would want to do anything short of whatever was needed.

I still had the grin on my face when Abby got home from school. So much so that, half-way through telling me about her frog-reproduction presentation, she stopped speaking and stared. ‘Casey,’ she asked, ‘have you bought me a present?’

I was puzzled by the odd question. ‘A present? No, sweetheart, I haven’t, I’m afraid. Why would you ask that?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ she said, after a moment’s consideration. ‘You just have a very funny look on your face. The one Mummy used to have if she’d got me a surprise.’

I grinned. ‘Well, I suppose I have, actually. In a way. We’re off to see your mum tonight –’

‘I thought we were going tomorrow?’

‘We were. But now we’re going to go tonight instead. So that is a surprise, isn’t it?’

She still looked suspicious. ‘Hmm, you’re still hiding something, Casey. I can tell.’

I shook my head. ‘I really don’t know where you get your ideas from, Missy. Now come on, let’s get that frogspawn back into the fish tank, then off upstairs to get changed, so we can have a snack and still beat the rush hour.’

Abby was still suspicious when we arrived at the hospital and called the lift. ‘Casey,’ she said, wriggling her hand away from my own, ‘your hand is all sweaty.’ She scrutinised me carefully. ‘Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?’ If she’d been tall enough I don’t doubt she’d have checked my temperature as well, by placing a hand on my brow.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not. I am honestly not, I promise.’ And I made a mental note, such as I’d made many times before. A life of crime and subterfuge was definitely not for me.

Happily, however, the wait would soon be over, but not before Abby had one last moment of panic, seeing her mother’s equally strange expression as we approached her. She looked from one to another, than popped her hands on her hips, as she often did. ‘Mummy, Casey’s being all weird. Why’s she being weird? Do you know? Look –’ She pointed. ‘Look at her face.’

Sarah smiled. She looked better today, her skin returning to normal. And also better in a way that was impossible to define, but was there nevertheless. I waved hello.

‘Well, poppet,’ she said to Abby, ‘I think we can allow Casey her funny look today. I have one too.’ She gently turned Abby’s face to look at her. ‘See? And that’s because I have some very special news for you.’

My cue, I decided. ‘I’ll pop off then,’ I said. ‘Grab a coffee …’

‘No, no,’ Sarah said. ‘Please. I’d really prefer it if you stayed.’

‘Oh, I think this is between you two,’ I said, feeling very much that this was private – between the two of them. But Sarah insisted. ‘I want you to be part of it – that’s if you don’t mind – just in case Abby has any questions later on. You know, if she forgets anything. It’s going to be a lot to take in.’

And, of course, she was right; that
did
make perfect sense. So I sat down on the visitor’s chair – Abby climbed up onto the bed – and listened quietly for the next half an hour while Sarah told Abby the whole story. It was punctuated once or twice by questions from Abby, but mainly she listened intently while her mother talked, taking everything in – I could see her processing all the details – in what appeared to be a very matter-of-fact way.

I found the way Sarah spoke a little odd to begin with. She seemed to speak to Abby more like she was a friend, rather than her daughter: she was straight to the point, and wasted no time on dressing things up. There was no kiddie-speak, there were no euphemisms, just the bald, unvarnished facts, which I felt might be a little strong for a child of such an age.

But then I thought some more, and it occurred to me that this was probably how it had always been. This was probably the dynamic Abby was used to. And it was a hunch that was confirmed when Sarah finally finished speaking, and Abby, having digested it, announced her verdict. Again it was matter of fact, unemotional, pragmatic. ‘Mummy, you’ve been so silly. All this time, and I had an auntie I didn’t know about! If you’d made friends with her, I could have had a break once in a while.’ She patted her mum’s hand. ‘But don’t you worry,’ she continued. ‘Now you’re friends again, it’s all going to be okay, isn’t it?’

Wow, I thought. She really was such a singular little girl.

Of course, both of them then started crying. And, feeling a bit teary myself now, I decided to leave them to it. Outside the room I took a deep breath and fanned my face with my hand, then set off down the corridor towards the vending machine. As I fiddled around in the bottom of my bag for some change, Chelsea joined me. She had her coat on, presumably done for the day.

‘Great news, isn’t it?’ she said, smiling at me. ‘About the sister turning up.’

‘The best,’ I agreed, pressing the button for the disgusting gunk that passed for coffee. ‘Well, in theory. There’s still no guarantee they’ll get either of them home.’

‘Oh, it’ll be fine,’ Chelsea said. ‘Trust me. We’re already on the case. Having a family member on hand makes a
world
of difference. We’re already looking into setting up the whole external package. You’d be amazed at the stuff you can get these days. You have to remember, keeping a patient in their own homes, rather than in
a
home, is the outcome that works out best for everyone. Not an option while there’s no one to support the patient, obviously, but now that’s not the case –’

‘You sound pretty confident that’s going to happen.’

Chelsea shook her head. ‘Not just confident. I’ve already been in touch with Vicky, haven’t I?’ She patted my shoulder reassuringly. ‘So not just blind faith. But I expect you probably know all the gen anyway.’

I couldn’t help but smile at that. Albeit ruefully.

After promising to return the next day, and holding a clutch of family photos, Abby was eventually persuaded to leave the hospital. We’d be back the next day anyway, so she could finally meet her auntie. Just call me Parker, I mused, as I helped her strap herself into the car.

She was still full of excitement when we finally made it home. We’d hit the tail end of the rush hour, and to compound things it would also soon be Easter, and though Abby hadn’t broken up yet, the motorway was choked with caravans and heavily laden cars. So Mike was already home by the time we arrived back, and, as I’d predicted, she couldn’t wait to pounce on him with her news. I’d never seen her so excited, I thought, but then, why would I? She’d come to us with the weight of the world on her shoulders. Now it was being lifted, and, lighter of heart, you could see the sunny child she could become.

‘And, you know what, Mike,’ she babbled on, having shown him all her pictures, ‘Auntie Vicky might even move in with us! And then everything will be just perfect – she’ll be just like Mary Poppins. She’ll do all the cleaning and the cooking – well, once I’ve shown her how to do it, anyway. And then I won’t have to do a thing, hardly. Not a thing! Won’t I, Casey?’

I laughed at her analogy, even though privately I was thinking
whoah there!
, starter guns and jumping them springing immediately to mind. But now was not the time to quash her hopes. Who knew, anyway? From what Chelsea had said that was a distinct possibility. Instead I stroked her hair, mindful that that bald patch still existed. ‘You’re just like a mini Mary Poppins yourself, love. Practically perfect in every way.’ I scooped her up for a hug then. I did need to say
something
. ‘Hey, but you know, Abs, let’s not even try to imagine how things might be
just
yet. We need to speak to your aunt first, don’t we? Make sure that she’s able to help.’

But Abby was having none of it. She wanted this too badly. This meant everything. This would mean that she and her mum could go home. ‘Oh don’t worry about that, Casey,’ she told me, throwing her arms around me. ‘Mummy said Aunt Vicky will love me. And that’s because I can charm the birds!’

‘Well, it’s certainly looking positive, by the sound of it,’ Mike said, once Abby had skipped off, at his suggestion, to get her paints and her sketch book, and perhaps make a picture to give to her aunt the next day.

I filled him in on what Chelsea had said, which to my mind made all the difference. ‘And if they’re already at that stage, I think we’re right to feel positive.’

‘Well, I’m still keeping everything crossed – and so should you. You know how these things can change at the last minute.’

We both did – and well. In that case, though, the change had been the best we could hope for; our last foster child, Spencer, was headed right up to the last minute for the last place I wanted him to go: a residential unit, a place where they send out-of-control teenagers. And he’d been younger than Abby, even – just nine years old. Going home had been out of the question for poor Spencer. Or so we’d thought. Within a fortnight things had taken a dramatic turn, and he’d ended up living happily with his mum.

He still was, and, God willing, would continue to do so. So was it too much to ask that things turn out well for Abby too? I hoped not, and, actually, though I understood Mike’s caution, I thought it would, at least in the sense that her aunt would now be there for her. Nothing I’d seen or heard made me anxious about that.

But that was only half the picture. Not even half the picture really. Sarah still had MS – a particularly nasty type, too, and would presumably continue to deteriorate. And Abby herself, for all our temporary euphoria, still had a complex set of psychological issues, none of which – no matter how much we might pretend otherwise – could be instantly magicked away.

Abby’s very excitement gave me cause for concern. It seemed all so black and white, and why wouldn’t it? She was a child – she didn’t deal in grey areas, in much the same way as she hadn’t a few days earlier. If Sarah came home, then, as night followed day, she’d get better. This was the thing Abby had hung on to since she’d been with us. And why wouldn’t she think that anyway – over the years her mum had been ill many times, and each time there would be a corresponding well period. So she could process what she’d seen in hospital by applying the same logic. She was ill, but soon she wouldn’t be. And then all would be well.

It was this more than anything that concerned me: that, actually, Vicky didn’t quite know what she was taking on in Abby. Sarah herself didn’t seem to have the first clue, come to that – and that posed another problem: that, in the haste to reconcile the family, the severity of Abby’s condition might get sidelined, which might make her worse, which might throw everything else into disarray. And this could also – I’d done enough reading for me to know this might be true – make her OCD more entrenched, and possibly permanent. It was such an insidious and tenacious thing to have.

I couldn’t sleep that night. Mad, given how tired I was – but it was like I was in overdrive now. This was a situation that would very soon be out of my hands, but if there was one thing I could do it was to focus on Abby, and do the best I could – assuming Vicky wanted my input about her niece – to give her as much helpful information as I could.

Mike was snoring, too, which was pretty much the decider to get up. I struggled to get back to sleep at the best of times when Mike was snoring, and with my head so full of thoughts it would be impossible tonight. So, instead, I went downstairs, poured myself a glass of water and turned on the laptop, determined to do anything I could to make it easier for them.

I spent a good couple of hours sitting bleary eyed at the kitchen table, making notes, jotting down web addresses, stacking up the printer queue with things to print out in the morning, as well as collating my notes, updating them and jotting down anything I thought might be useful. And while I was reading a web page, specifically aimed at children with OCD, I came across an article that seemed particularly useful – it was all about support groups for young carers. Clicking onto a link, I was thrilled to find that there were such groups sprinkled all over the country – and that they held regular meetings that young carers could attend, both to share their experiences and also to meet new friends just like them; friends who, unlike all the ‘childish’ ones Abby knew, understood and empathised with each other’s problems.

It was an eye opener for me too – the numbers were really something. It seemed that thousands of these young kids spent most of their lives looking after a parent, which left them little time or inclination for socialising. After a little more research, I was even more excited to find that there was actually such a group only about a mile from where Sarah and Abby lived. I couldn’t quite believe that they had lived the way they had for so long, when a support network had been practically on their doorstep. If only Sarah had done things differently. It just all felt so sad.

The following morning, if not exactly refreshed, I felt rested. And with a to-do list that Abby herself would have been proud of, I also felt ready both to gather the fruits of last night’s furious labour, and catch up generally with my mounting piles of paperwork. If this placement was to end soon – which was beginning to look likely – I needed to be sure all my notes were in order and that anything new I had of Abby’s, such as her forthcoming appointment with the psychologist, needed to be put into her file. All that done, I phoned both Bridget and John, to update them, and to confirm that we’d meet Sarah at the hospital around five – Vicky,
en route
now, would already be there. And of course to ask if either had heard anything else. But they had nothing new to report other than that Vicky had set off and she would be at the hospital with Sarah from about 1 p.m. that afternoon. According to Bridget, she was very much looking forward to meeting me later.

But, of course, I’d forgotten about Kieron.

‘Hello, love,’ I said when he suddenly appeared in the kitchen, having bellowed out his usual hello. Though I was always pleased to see him, I hadn’t been expecting him, and as it was out of character for Kieron to do
anything
without planning it I was confused to see him now. I said so.

‘Am I losing the plot?’ I asked as I automatically reached for the kettle. ‘Or is there something I should have remembered about today?’

Kieron pulled his hoodie off and carefully slipped it over a chair back, before pulling it out and sitting down on it himself. He glanced up at the clock. ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘I just thought I’d come early. I’ve had nothing on today at the youth club, and Lauren’s in college, so I thought I’d wander down, that was all.’ He eyed the open laptop. ‘You’re not busy, are you?’ He looked at me anxiously.

‘As if!’ I laughed. ‘Never too busy for my lovely boy, you know that!’ Which was not only the required response, but also true. Early, though? Early for what? I was confused now. There was clearly something he was early for. What had I forgotten?

And then the penny dropped. Shit! I’d forgotten about the café shift. With everything else that had been going on I’d completely forgotten that I’d arranged – and with both Donna and Kieron, hence his arrival – that Abby would spend a couple of hours helping out down there tonight.

‘Oh, love,’ I said, grabbing mugs from the cupboard, ‘I’m such an idiot. We’ve got to go to the hospital when Abby gets home – to see Sarah. It’s only just come up, all this, and it’s all been such a big deal that I’d completely forgotten about you picking Abby up.’

I explained what had happened in the last forty-eight hours, and how it looked like Abby’s Cinderella story was to have a happy ending, with Auntie Vicky playing the role of Fairy Godmother. And as I explained things I watched Kieron’s face begin to change. By the end he was looking positively gloomy.

I sat down and brandished coffees and placed a hand over his arm. ‘Hey, why the long face?’ I asked, ‘as the barman said to the shire horse …’ This at least raised a hint of a smile in him.

He shrugged. ‘It’s just sad,’ he said simply. ‘I’m going to miss her.’

‘Oh, love,’ I said. ‘But you knew she’d be leaving.’

‘I know, and I spoke to Riley and she did say about this auntie …’ He sat and pondered. Then shrugged again. ‘I just feel sad.’

Looking at Kieron, you wouldn’t know. Well, you might, but you probably wouldn’t. You wouldn’t fully appreciate, not unless you knew him like I did, that for all that he looked so normal – so tall, blond and, yes, ridiculously handsome – he was actually different, in myriad ways, from most of us. Even I forgot that sometimes, like in the last few Abby-centred weeks. I’d been so touched by how positive an effect knowing him had had on her that I had neglected to consider what their friendship meant to
him
.

As with lots of things about Asperger’s, it had slipped under the radar. Of course he’d be sad. He found it difficult to make friends, too – how could I forget that? And though he had a great group of close friends, and a wonderful, caring girlfriend, making a connection with another human being, however unlikely, in terms of age, and then losing it again –
God, Casey
, I thought,
of course he’s bloody sad!

‘I know,’ I said, ‘and I can see that, and I know how much you’re going to miss her. I’m sure she’ll miss you as well.’

He sipped his drink. ‘It’s hard,’ he said having clearly thought. ‘All this fostering. It really was kind of like …’ he trailed off, and I could see he was trying to articulate something.

‘Kind of what?’ I coaxed.

‘Kind of like having my own little sister. We really got on, Mum. And, bloody hell, it was sooooo good –’ now he grinned at me – ‘having a sister not bossing
me
around, for a change!’

I laughed. ‘Hey, don’t be too down. I have a suspicion about Abby. Now she’s got a big brother in her life and a part-time job at Truly Scrumptious, I suspect we’ll still be seeing plenty of her, don’t you?’

And I wasn’t just saying that either. I believed it. It could be arranged – assuming all parties concerned wanted it to, at any rate. No, we didn’t know what would happen to the family long term, but, as of right now, Sarah didn’t live so very far away.

‘Anyway,’ I finished, ‘Abby’s going to be here soon. So perhaps before you leave for work you can let her know when your next shift is. I’m guessing she’ll be keen to do one. She’s not even had a chance to get her birthday chef’s kit out yet. And, love, remember what I always say –’

‘What? Not “Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Mum. You
always
say that.’

‘No,’ I tutted, ‘good proverb though that is. No, I was thinking more that “endings aren’t always necessarily endings”. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.’ I paused. ‘Though, obviously – here’s another for you – don’t smoke.’

It didn’t make a blind bit of difference, obviously, but an hour and a half later, at the hospital, seeing the three of them together for the first time, and seeing how alike they all were, kind of did.

Fairer than her younger sister, Vicky was even more like Abby than her own mother was, and I could tell straight away what a strong bond aunt and niece would have – from the aunt’s point of view it was already a given.

And Vicky had an air of older-sister authority which, though it might have contributed to the break-up between her and Sarah, straight away convinced me would now serve them all well.

‘Abby!’ she greeted her niece, leaping up as we entered. ‘Oh, sweetheart, I am so glad to see you again!’ But she didn’t overdo it. She seemed to have a sixth sense that, for all Abby’s excitement, facing this virtual stranger in the flesh would be a very different matter. So, instead of overwhelming her with hugs and kisses, she let Abby take the lead. Which she did, formally extending her right hand towards her aunt’s. Vicky shook it with a warm smile but equal formality.

‘Very pleased to meet you too,’ Abby said shyly.

Vicky turned to me then. ‘And you must be Casey,’ she said, extending her own hand to shake mine now while Abby went to hug her mother. ‘I owe you such a debt of thanks, I really do. And I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you had the guts to stand up to my sister.’