Daddy’s Little Princess. Cathy Glass

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      ‘Yes, just for a short while, until her daddy is better,’ I confirmed.

      ‘Jenni would like Beth to come and play. We don’t live far from them. She could stay for tea. We’ve asked Beth before, but her father wouldn’t let her. I think he’s over-possessive.’

      Not knowing the woman or the reasons for Derek’s decision not to let Beth go to Jenni’s house, I wasn’t about to agree – either that Derek was over-possessive or that Beth could go to tea. Derek had clearly had his reasons for not letting Beth go, and it wasn’t for me to overturn his decision.

      ‘That’s very kind of you,’ I said. ‘I’ll ask Beth’s father if it’s OK and then we’ll arrange something.’ Which seemed a fair reply to me.

      ‘Yeah, sure,’ she said, with a small shrug, and went off to talk to another mother. Her daughter followed. I hoped I hadn’t offended her.

      ‘Would you like to play at Jenni’s house if your father agrees?’ I now asked Beth.

      ‘I play with Jenni at school,’ Beth said.

      ‘Yes, I know, that’s nice, but Jenni’s mother is asking if you’d like to go and play at her house. I’ll need to ask your dad first.’

      ‘My daddy will say no,’ Beth said evenly. ‘He doesn’t want me going there.’

      Parents of young children have the responsibility for deciding whom their children associate and play with outside of school. Derek – for whatever reason – had decided that Beth shouldn’t see Jenni and Beth had accepted that. As Beth’s foster carer, it wasn’t for me to question his decision. That was until Beth added: ‘I can’t play with children when I’m not at school. At home I play with my daddy.’

      I looked at Beth carefully. ‘Do you ever have friends back to your home to play?’

      ‘No,’ Beth said.

      ‘Have you ever been to a friend’s house to play?’

      ‘No,’ Beth said again.

      I was now thinking that Jenni’s mother may have been right when she’d said that Beth’s father was over-possessive, but I also knew it was not for me to criticize. Beth’s social worker had said that Derek had been doing a good job of raising his daughter, and there was nothing to suggest Beth wasn’t happy at home – far from it; she doted on her father.

      The klaxon sounded and Adrian – now back to his normal, happy self – ran over to say goodbye. He gave Paula and me a quick kiss, called, ‘See ya later!’ to Beth and joined his friends who were lining up ready to go into school.

      ‘I’ll wait here for you at the end of school,’ I said to Beth.

      We said goodbye and she walked over to where her class was lining up and began chatting to some of the girls. Beth seemed a sociable child and clearly had friends at school, it was just that she didn’t socialize with them outside of school, as most children her age did.

      I wasn’t anticipating going into the school; there was no need. Jessie had informed the school that Beth was staying with me and the school already had my contact details from Adrian attending. The lines of children began filing into the building and I turned to leave. Then Miss Willow, Beth’s teacher, ran over. ‘I understand Beth is staying with you?’ she said, arriving at my side a little out of breath.

      ‘Yes, that’s right, until her father is better.’

      ‘Do you think we could have a chat this afternoon after school?’ she asked.

      ‘Yes, of course,’ I said.

      ‘Thank you. See you later.’ She ran back to her class to lead them into the building. Whatever was all that about? I wondered.

      I returned home, cleared up the breakfast things and then spent some time playing with Paula and looking at picture books with her. Paula still had a little nap mid-morning and while she slept I took the opportunity to unpack the rest of Beth’s case. It was a very large suitcase and was taking up space in her room. I’d briefly opened it the evening before when I’d taken out Beth’s nightwear and wash bag, and Beth had also done some unpacking that morning after breakfast. I now began removing the rest of her clothes, hanging and folding them in the wardrobe and drawers. Although I didn’t take much notice of what I was unpacking, there seemed to be a lot of flimsy, frilly clothes more suitable for summer than the middle of winter.

      Having taken out the clothes, I now found a towel stretched over the remaining items that felt hard to the touch. I lifted the towel to find lots of framed photographs hastily wrapped in newspaper. Foster children often bring a couple of photographs of their family with them; indeed, I encourage them do so as they take comfort in seeing pictures of their family when they can’t be with them. I usually frame the photographs and set them on the shelves in their room so they can see them from the bed at night. However, Beth’s photographs were already framed, and there were a lot of them. I was up to ten and still counting. Little wonder the case had been heavy, I mused. I guessed she’d stripped their living room of photographs, for the frames were lacquered wood and more like the ones you’d find displayed in a living room than in a child’s bedroom. I removed the newspaper from each picture and set them to one side. All of them so far were of Beth and her father, and I could now put a face to Derek. I already knew he was nearly fifty, and I now saw that he was of average height and build, with grey hair and blue-grey eyes. I wondered if I’d find a photograph of Beth’s mother, but they were all of Beth and her father.

      Having emptied the case, I took it through to my room where I heaved it up and on top of my wardrobe, out of the way. I returned to Beth’s room and set about arranging the photographs on the bookshelves. There were fifteen photographs in all, of various sizes, some portrait shape and some landscape. Beth and her father were posing for the camera and smiling in all of them, and they had clearly enjoyed many days out. The photographs included shots of them on the beach, at the zoo, the funfair, the castle and a museum, as well as at home. The last one was taken at Disneyland. Lucky girl, I thought. Beth was dressed up as a fairy-tale princess and her father was dressed as the handsome prince. I arranged the photographs over three shelves and stepped back to admire my handiwork. I thought Beth would be pleased when she saw the display.

      Yet as I stood there gazing at their photographs, I began to feel slightly uncomfortable. I couldn’t say why, but all those pictures of Beth and her father with their arms around each other, and smiling at each other or into the camera, unsettled me. Then Paula woke from her nap and, shaking off my feeling of disquiet, I went into her room to get her up.

      That afternoon Jessie telephoned. She said she’d spoken to a nurse on Derek’s ward and he’d had a comfortable night. She asked me to tell Beth. Jessie also said it was too early to say how long Derek would be in hospital or when Beth could see him, but asked me to telephone the hospital over the weekend so that Beth could talk to her father.

      ‘Yes, of course,’ I said, and I wrote down the telephone number of the hospital, which Jessie now gave to me.

      ‘Derek’s on Ward 3,’ Jessie added. ‘He’s very anxious about Beth, so hearing from her should help. Could you telephone Saturday and Sunday, please?’

      ‘Yes. It will help reassure Beth too,’ I said. ‘They’re very close and she’s naturally worried about him, although I’ve reassured her he’s being well looked after.’

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