Can I Let You Go?: Part 2 of 3: A heartbreaking true story of love, loss and moving on. Cathy Glass

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      I nodded noncommittally but thought that might be easier said than done.

      ‘Does Lucy’s birth mother have a photograph of her?’ Faye asked, placing another slice of carrot into the casserole dish.

      ‘Yes. She still sees her sometimes.’ I stopped, wondering if this was the wisest conversation to be having and if it might confuse Faye. ‘It was different with Lucy,’ I said. ‘She was much older when she came to me – eleven, not a baby.’

      ‘Why?’ Faye asked.

      ‘Lucy had a very unsettled and unhappy childhood. She had to live in a number of different homes before she came to me. That won’t happen to your baby. It will have a lovely mummy and daddy right from being a baby, which will be much better.’

      Faye nodded. We’d finished chopping the carrots and I now passed her a celery stick to chop, while I took an onion. ‘Same chopping motion,’ I said. ‘And be careful of your fingers. We don’t want finger in the casserole.’

      Faye laughed while I mused, feeling relieved, that not only was Faye now talking about her baby, but also adoption. All it had taken was a few appropriate words of encouragement from her social worker.

      ‘Is Lucy’s mummy …’ Faye began.

      ‘Birth mother,’ I corrected.

      ‘Is Lucy’s birth mother happy that Lucy is living with you?’

      ‘Yes, I think she is. She struggled for a long time to try to look after Lucy, so she’s pleased she’s settled now.’ I felt tears spring to the backs of my eyes, as they always did when I thought of Lucy’s early life and her suffering. I tell Lucy’s story in my book Will You Love Me?

      ‘I won’t struggle, will I?’ Faye asked.

      ‘No, you won’t. You will have your gran and grandpa to look after you. And when you think of your baby, which you will do sometimes, you’ll know it is loved and well cared for.’ I reached for a tissue to wipe my eyes. ‘It must be those onions,’ I said.

      When I served the casserole that evening I told Paula, Lucy and Adrian that Faye had helped me make it and they were very complimentary. Far more complimentary than when I alone made dinner. Their praise and kind comments pleased Faye, and she said she wanted to help me again another time. As it was Friday – the end of the working week – Adrian and Lucy went out in the evening and Paula had a friend over. I asked Faye if she would like to invite Emma, her friend from the day centre, here one time. I explained I could speak to her parents and collect and return her in the car if necessary.

      ‘No,’ Faye said, pulling a face. ‘I don’t want her here.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘She doesn’t like watching the television programmes I do.’

      I kept my smile to myself. Faye was serious. ‘I see. How do you know that?’

      ‘We talk about what we do in the evenings at the day centre. That’s how I know.’

      ‘Well, if she came here you wouldn’t need to watch television. You could do something else, like puzzles, board games, play cards, or we could do some cooking – maybe make a pizza? Or you could sit and chat and listen to music, like Lucy and Paula do.’ I tried to make it sound exciting and enticing. I thought it would do Faye good to see her friend, as she wasn’t going to the day centre. I appreciated how difficult it was for her grandparents with their limited mobility to organize a visit.

      ‘Nah,’ Faye said, sounding like a teenager. ‘I’ll see her when I go to the day centre again. I’d rather watch television.’

      ‘OK. Tell me if you change your mind.’

      On Saturday I took Faye on the bus to see her grandparents, and once I was home again I had a small window of opportunity to spend time with Lucy, Adrian and Paula before I had to leave again to collect Faye. Lucy asked why I didn’t collect Faye in the car and I explained that I had to familiarize her with the route so she could visit her grandparents alone, but that we hadn’t reached that point yet. Going was fine; the correct bus stop in the high street was easy to identify, as was the stop at the other end, because it was in the area Faye knew well. But on the return journey Faye wasn’t recognizing the landmarks in the high street in time to push the bell to signal to the driver she wanted the bus to stop.

      Stan and Wilma greeted me warmly when I arrived at three o’clock to collect Faye, and Wilma asked after my family. Then, as I waited for Faye to put on her coat and shoes, Wilma asked how the visit from the social worker had gone the day before.

      ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Didn’t Faye say?’

      ‘No,’ Stan said. ‘We couldn’t get a word out of her about it.’ I could understand why. It would be uncomfortable for Faye to tell her grandparents that she’d agreed to talk about her pregnancy to me but not to them, so it was easier to say nothing, which was what she tended to do when faced with awkward situations.

      ‘The antenatal appointment yesterday morning went well too,’ I said. ‘Although Faye didn’t say much. Health-wise, everything is as it should be.’

      They nodded, and I knew this was probably as much information as they wanted about the antenatal check-up, preferring to ignore the pregnancy as Faye had been doing, and was still doing with them.

      Before we left to catch the bus back I confirmed that Faye would be visiting them again on Monday – she was seeing them every other day when possible. Stan came with us to the elevator to say goodbye, and then as we descended I asked Faye if she’d had a nice day, as I usually did. She said she had and that their neighbours had ‘popped in for a cup of tea and a chat’ and had spent the afternoon with them. The couple were a similar age to her grandparents and Faye had clearly enjoyed their company.

      As the bus approached our stop I reminded Faye of the landmarks she had to look out for, and with my prompts she pressed the bell in plenty of time. Once home she completed the jigsaw puzzle she’d been doing and we all admired it before packing it away. After dinner she watched television. Paula joined her and presently I heard them chatting. Later, when Faye went for her bath, Paula said to me, ‘Did you know Faye is talking about the baby?’

      ‘Yes. Her social worker explained to her that it’s better to talk about worries than to keep them bottled up when they can upset you.’

      ‘She wasn’t worried or upset,’ Paula said. ‘There was an advert for baby things on the television and it showed a pregnant woman. Faye said, “She’s like me,” and rubbed her stomach.’

      ‘Good. That sounds positive,’ I said.

      But while Faye wasn’t worried or upset by talking about her baby now, I soon learnt that I’d unintentionally upset Lucy. She came to me with a type of frown I hadn’t seen in a long while. ‘Why have you been talking about me to Faye?’ she asked, slightly confrontationally.

      ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘I often mention you and your brother and sister to others, because I’m so proud of you all.’

      ‘Not like that,’ she said a little moodily. ‘You’ve been talking to Faye about me being adopted.’

      ‘Oh, СКАЧАТЬ