Will You Love Me?: The story of my adopted daughter Lucy: Part 2 of 3. Cathy Glass
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СКАЧАТЬ to the phone. I’m sure it will help if she hears I’m not an ogre.’

      Pat gave a little snort of laughter. ‘Jill said you were very good with older children.’

      ‘That was sweet of her,’ I said. ‘Now, is your phone fixed or cordless?’

      ‘Cordless.’

      ‘Excellent. Take the handset up with you, knock on Lucy’s bedroom door, go in and tell her again I would like to talk to her. But this time, leave the phone on her bed facing up so she can hear me, and then come out. I might end up talking to myself, but I’m used to that.’

      Pat gave another snort of nervous laughter. ‘Fingers crossed,’ she said.

      I heard Pat’s footsteps going up the stairs again, followed by the knock on Lucy’s bedroom door and the slight creak as it opened. Pat’s voice trembled a little as she said: ‘Cathy’s still on the phone and she’d like to talk to you.’

      There was a little muffled sound, presumably as Pat put the phone on Lucy’s bed, and then I heard the bedroom door close. I was alone with Lucy. This was my chance to talk to her, to try and connect with her and reassure her. Maybe my only chance.

      I took a deep breath and said gently: ‘Hello, love. It’s Cathy. Can you hear me, pet?’

      I paused. Although I wasn’t expecting a reply straight away, I wanted to give her the chance. I pictured the handset on the bed, presumably near enough for Lucy to hear. I wondered if she’d looked at the phone as my voice had come through.

      ‘I know how dreadful this is for you,’ I began, my voice gentle but hopefully loud enough for her to hear. ‘I know how you must be feeling at having to move again. You’ve had so many moves, Lucy. I think you’ve coped remarkably well. I don’t think I would have coped as well as you have.’

      I paused again and listened for any response, but there was none, not even a sigh or a sob. For all I knew she might have stuffed the phone under her pillow so she didn’t have to listen to me, but at least she hadn’t severed the call; the line was still open.

      ‘I’d like to tell you a bit about myself and my home,’ I continued. ‘So it won’t seem so strange to you when you arrive. I live in a house about a twenty-minute drive from where you are now, so you’ll be able to go to the same secondary school, which is good. You don’t want to change schools again. I have two children: Adrian, who is thirteen, and Paula, who is nine. They are both looking forward to meeting you and having you stay. Paula is planning lots of games for you to play with her. There’s just the three of us, as I’m divorced, so they’ll be four of us in the family when you arrive. Five including our cat.’ I paused again, but there was nothing.

      ‘I’ve got your room ready,’ I said. ‘But I’m sure you’ll want to change things around to suit you, which is fine. You’ll be able to put posters and pictures on your bedroom walls to make it look nice. Just as you want it. As well as the bed, there’s a wardrobe and drawers for your clothes, plenty of shelf space for your cuddlies and a toy box. There’s also a small table, which you can work at if you need quiet for your homework, or you can do your homework downstairs if you wish. I’ll always help you with your school work if you want me to, just like I help Adrian and Paula. We have quite a big garden with some swings. We like to go out in the garden when the weather is fine. We also like playing games. Adrian and Paula are playing a board game now. Do you like playing games, love?’

      I stopped and waited, hoping for a reply, but none came. Was Lucy listening? Had I caught her attention? Or was she still in denial, refusing to acknowledge me, and perhaps sitting with her hands pressed to her ears not having heard a word I’d said. I waited a moment longer and then continued.

      ‘So, Lucy, I’m wondering what else I can tell you? I’m sure you’ve got lots of questions. Our cat is called Toscha. You’ll like her. She’s very gentle and loves being stroked. The only time she ever scratched anyone was years ago when Adrian was little and he pulled her tail. Cats don’t like having their tails pulled and Adrian learnt his lesson. He never did it again. Paula sometimes puts a doll’s bonnet on Toscha and pushes her around the garden in her doll’s pram. She does look funny.’

      I stopped. I thought I’d heard a faint sound, possibly a movement. I waited, not daring to breathe, my pulse throbbing. Then I heard another noise and I stood perfectly still. I had the feeling Lucy had picked up the phone; I thought I heard the faintest sound of breathing. I waited a moment longer to see if she would speak, then, lowering my voice, I said softly: ‘Hello, Lucy.’

      A pause, and then an almost inaudible: ‘Hello.’

      Relief flooded through me. I could have wept. Her little voice sounded so very sad. ‘Well done, love,’ I said. ‘You’re being very brave. I know how difficult this is for you. Pat does, too. How are you feeling?’

      Another pause, and then a very slight: ‘OK, I guess.’

      I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. I wished I could reach out and hug her.

      ‘We’re all looking forward to meeting you,’ I said. ‘Adrian, Paula, me and Toscha. Can you think of any questions you’d liked to ask?’

      Silence; then her small voice again: ‘What’s the name of the game Adrian and Paula are playing?’ So she had been listening.

      ‘It’s called draughts, love. Do you know the game?’

      A very quiet: ‘I think so.’

      ‘You play it on a board with round pieces, and you take the other person’s pieces by hopping over them. It’s easy to play and good fun.’

      ‘I don’t know many games,’ Lucy said quietly.

      ‘We’ll teach you. We have a cupboard full of games. When you arrive I’ll show you where everything is and you can choose a game to play. Adrian and Paula are always playing games when they’re not at school.’

      ‘Do they watch television, too?’ Lucy asked quietly.

      ‘Oh yes, too much sometimes. Do you have a favourite television programme?’

      A small pause, then a tiny: ‘Not really. I watch what everyone else watches.’

      ‘So, what do you like to eat?’ I now asked. ‘And I’ll make sure I’ve got some of your favourite foods in ready for tomorrow.’

      ‘I don’t mind,’ Lucy said, in the same small, self-effacing voice that made me want to cry. ‘I don’t really have any favourite food. I don’t like eating much.’

      Although I was pleased that Lucy was now talking to me, she seemed so sad and far too compliant – probably a result of having to continually fit in with other families. I was also concerned about her last comment in respect of not liking to eat, for the referral had said she was underweight and had raised the possibility of an eating disorder.

      ‘What else can I tell you about us?’ I now asked.

      There was a pause, and then Lucy asked the one question I’d been dreading. ‘If I come to you, will I have to move again?’

      I took a breath. ‘What did your social worker tell you?’ I asked.

      ‘She said my mum would have to go СКАЧАТЬ