Daddy’s Little Princess, Page 2

  In the bathroom, I washed Paula’s face and hands and then helped her into her pyjamas. I took her round to the toilet. She was so tired she wanted ‘a carry’ from the toilet to her bed. I tucked her in, gave her a big kiss and said goodnight.

  ‘Night-night, Mummy,’ she yawned, her little arms encircling my neck. ‘Luv you.’

  I hugged her hard. ‘I love you too, precious. Lots and lots. Sleep tight.’

  By the time I left the room, she was nearly asleep.

  I checked on Adrian who, now changed, was in the bathroom having a wash and brushing his teeth. ‘Straight into bed when you’ve finished,’ I said. ‘I’ll be in to say goodnight in a few minutes.’ He sometimes ‘got lost’ on his way from the bathroom to his bedroom and ended up downstairs playing, but I think even he was tired tonight, and he nodded.

  I continued to Beth’s room. The door was pushed to but not shut. I gave a brief knock before I went in. Although Beth was only seven, I’d be giving her the same privacy I gave all the children. Nowadays foster carers draw up a ‘safer caring policy’, which includes privacy and is designed to keep all family members feeling safe and secure, but back then such matters were left to the carer’s common sense, and common sense told me that even quite young children liked some degree of privacy.

  Beth had changed into her pyjamas and had also taken her clean school uniform out of her case ready for the following morning. It was laid neatly on the end of her bed.

  ‘Well done,’ I said, impressed. ‘You’ve got your uniform ready.’

  ‘I always do it at home,’ she said quietly. ‘But I don’t know where these go.’ Her brow creased. She was holding her dirty washing: underwear, socks and the uniform she’d presumably been wearing that day and had packed in her case. ‘At home I put them in the washing machine, but I don’t know where that is here.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ I said, relieving her of the clothes. ‘I’ll see to it here. I’ll put them in the laundry basket and wash them tomorrow. Come on, let’s go round to the bathroom and then get you into bed. Everything will seem much better in the morning.’ Beth looked very sad and worried.

  She gave a little careworn sigh and then picked up her towel and wash bag. ‘I hope I’ve remembered everything,’ she said anxiously. ‘I didn’t have much time to pack. Jessie was in a hurry.’

  ‘Beth, love, try not to worry,’ I said, touching her arm reassuringly. ‘If you’ve forgotten anything, I’m sure I’ll have a spare here you can use. And if not, we’ll ask your social worker to collect it from home. OK?’

  She nodded, although she didn’t look much happier. I thought she appeared to shoulder a lot of responsibility at home for a child of her age. She looked permanently worried, although given her father was in hospital that was hardly surprising.

  In the bathroom, Beth saw our towels hanging on the towel rail and immediately draped hers over, although a lot more neatly than ours. At the sink I showed her which tap was hot and which was cold. She gave a little nod. Not knowing how good her self-care skills were, I stayed in the bathroom to see if she needed any help. It soon became obvious that she didn’t. Unscrewing the cap on the toothpaste, she squirted a carefully measured amount of paste onto her toothbrush and then returned the cap to the tube, screwing it into place. She put the tube back into her wash bag and then methodically brushed her teeth and rinsed thoroughly. Once she’d finished she placed her toothbrush in the beaker with ours and then turned on the hot and cold water taps, mixing the water in the basin to the right temperature and testing it with her fingers before washing her face and hands.

  ‘Good girl,’ I said, even more impressed.

  ‘It’s too late for a bath, isn’t it?’ Beth asked, glancing at me in the mirror.

  ‘Yes. Just have a hands-and-face wash now. You can have a bath tomorrow when we’re in a better routine. Missing one bath won’t hurt.’

  ‘That’s what my daddy says,’ Beth said, smiling weakly. ‘I hope they’re looking after him in hospital.’

  ‘They will be, love,’ I reassured her.

  I waited while Beth carefully patted her face and hands dry and then returned her towel, neatly folded, to the towel rail.

  ‘Good girl,’ I said again.

  We went round the landing towards Beth’s room and she said she’d use the toilet before she went to bed, as she did at home. While Beth was in the toilet I popped into Adrian’s room to say goodnight and remind him to switch off his lamp. ‘Night, love,’ I said, tucking him in and kissing his forehead. ‘Love you. Sleep tight. And thanks for your help with Beth.’

  ‘She’s all right, for a girl,’ Adrian said, which, coming from a six-year-old boy, was a compliment. ‘Love you too,’ he said. ‘Will Dad be coming home at the weekend?’

  ‘Yes, I hope so.’

  ‘Good, I miss him.’

  ‘I know you do.’

  I gave Adrian another kiss and came out of his bedroom. Beth had finished in the toilet and I went with her into her bedroom. I’d already closed the curtains, and with the Cinderella duvet cover, pillowcase and Disney wall posters, I thought the room looked warm and inviting. Although it obviously wasn’t as good as being at home.

  I dimmed the lights and drew back the duvet ready for Beth to get in, but she stayed where she was and made no move to get into bed.

  ‘Is there anything else you need?’ I asked gently.

  Beth shook her head.

  ‘OK, love, into bed then. It’s very late and you must be tired.’

  I waited, but still Beth didn’t make any move towards the bed. ‘It’s bound to seem a bit strange sleeping here on the first night,’ I said. ‘But I can leave the door open and the light on if you like.’

  ‘No, it’s not that,’ she said, her face clouding.

  ‘What is it then, love? Can you tell me?’

  ‘I’m not used to sleeping alone.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Do you have a cuddly toy in your case that you usually sleep with?’ I thought this was likely, as many children sleep with a ‘cuddly’ toy for comfort so they don’t feel alone at night. I hadn’t seen a soft toy in Beth’s case when I’d taken out her nightwear, but then I hadn’t searched further down in the case.

  ‘No, I don’t have a soft toy,’ Beth said. ‘I don’t need one at home. I cuddle up to my daddy.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Your daddy cuddles you until you fall asleep?’ I said, remembering I’d done this with Adrian when he’d been little, as had John, and that I still did so with Paula sometimes. I could certainly cuddle Beth until she fell asleep, but she needed to get into bed first.

  Beth looked at me seriously and fiddled with the sleeve of her pyjamas. ‘No,’ she said, after a moment. ‘I sleep with my daddy, in his bed.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said again. ‘Not every night, surely?’ For this seemed rather unusual to me for a girl of Beth’s age.

  Beth nodded, almost sheepishly.

  ‘Don’t you have a bed and bedroom of your own?’ I asked. It was possible they didn’t have a second bedroom.

  ‘Yes, I have a bedroom,’ Beth said. ‘But I don’t sleep in it. I don’t like sleeping by myself. I like sleeping with my daddy and he likes me sleeping with him. Can I sleep with you? I don’t want to be alone.’

  The safer caring policy for foster carers now advises that foster children should never sleep in a carer’s bed, and babies and children under two – who can share a carer’s bedroom – must have their own cot or bed. But then there was no safer caring policy so, as usual, I had to rely on my common sense. I wasn’t comfortable with having a seven-year-old who wasn’t a relative sleeping in my bed, apart from it not being fair on Adrian and Paula, who slept in their own beds. I also thought that Beth’s father might not like the arrangement, possibly feeling I was trying to usurp his position as parent. Obviously I didn’t want Beth to be upset, so I needed to find a solution.

  ‘Beth, love,’ I said gently as I perched on the edge of the bed. ‘I can’t reall
y let you sleep in my bed. But I will stay with you and cuddle you until you fall asleep. I’ll leave your bedroom door open and the landing light is always on. If you wake in the night you can call out and I’ll come round straight away.’

  Beth looked at me, unconvinced. But she needed to get into bed and off to sleep, so I thought I might have to be firm. ‘Come on, in you get,’ I said, patting her bed encouragingly. ‘I’ll stay with you until you’re asleep.’

  Reluctantly, Beth climbed into bed and I pulled the duvet up to her chin. I then lay on the bed beside her, on top of the duvet, and put my arm around her to cuddle her.

  ‘How’s that?’ I said.

  ‘My daddy strokes my forehead,’ Beth said. ‘Like this.’ She lightly trailed her fingers over her forehead.

  Many children like having their forehead caressed when they are finding it difficult to go to sleep. It’s soothing.

  ‘All right, close your eyes, and I’ll stroke your forehead,’ I said. ‘It won’t be the same as when your daddy does it, but I’ll try my best.’

  Beth finally closed her eyes and I began gently stroking her forehead. Ten minutes later she was still awake, and her eyes opened. ‘The light’s too bright,’ she said. ‘It’s dark in my daddy’s room.’

  Although I’d dimmed the bedroom light, I got off the bed and switched it off completely, but I left the door slightly ajar so I could see by the light of the landing. I returned to Beth’s bed, lay down and began stroking her forehead again, but ten minutes later her eyes shot open again.

  ‘It’s not the same,’ she said fretfully. ‘My daddy’s under the covers with me. I can feel him nice and warm when he cuddles up.’

  Apart from not feeling wholly comfortable doing this for Beth, I knew that if I began this routine it was going to be difficult to break it later. I didn’t know how long Beth would be staying with me, but I knew I needed to create a practical working routine. I couldn’t spend every evening tucked up in bed with Beth; I had things to do. Then I had a flash of inspiration and I remembered Mr Sleep Bear. Mr Sleep Bear, as I’d named him, was dressed in blue-stripped pyjamas and had been given to Adrian by my mother when he’d been very small. One evening, when Adrian hadn’t been able to go to sleep, I’d tucked the bear into his bed and told him that now he had Mr Sleep Bear with him – who was also very tired – he would go straight to sleep. And he did. After that, whenever Adrian hadn’t been able to go to sleep, Mr Sleep Bear came to the rescue. Adrian had outgrown the bear some years before and Paula had never used him, having a number of soft toys of her own that she took to bed with her.

  ‘I know,’ I said, climbing off the bed. ‘I’ve got just the person to help you go to sleep.’ Beth looked at me, concerned, as well she might. ‘It’s nothing to worry about. I’m going to fetch Mr Sleep Bear. He’s a very special bear who will send you off to sleep. Stay in bed and I’ll get him. He’s in my bedroom.’

  Leaving Beth in bed, I went quickly round the landing to my bedroom and took Mr Sleep Bear from the ottoman where I stored Adrian’s outgrown toys. It was now after ten o’clock and I was tired and still had some clearing up to do. Please work your magic on Beth, I thought as I carried the bear round the landing and into Beth’s room. She was propped up in bed now, wide awake, and looking at me inquisitively.

  ‘This is Mr Sleep Bear,’ I said, sitting him on the bed. ‘He’s very soft and cuddly and he helps children get to sleep. When he’s in your bed you’ll find you will fall asleep very quickly. He can stay with you all night. And if you do wake up, just cuddle up to him and you’ll go straight back to sleep,’ I emphasized. Clearly the child had to believe in the magic to make it work. ‘Now, lie down, good girl, and we’ll get you off to sleep.’

  Beth lay on her back and I raised the duvet to her chin, then tucked Mr Sleep Bear in beside her.

  ‘Will you lie with me until Mr Sleep Bear makes me go to sleep?’ Beth asked.

  ‘Yes, of course, love.’

  I lay beside Beth and she turned onto her side, away from me and facing Mr Sleep Bear. Looping her arms around the bear she drew him to her. ‘Close your eyes,’ I encouraged, ‘and you’ll soon feel very sleepy.’ I certainly did!

  I began stroking Beth’s forehead while she cuddled Mr Sleep Bear. It was only a few minutes before her breathing deepened and her face relaxed in sleep. I stopped stroking her forehead and waited a moment to make sure she was in a deep sleep. Then I carefully got off the bed and tiptoed out of her bedroom, leaving the door ajar so I would hear her if she did wake and call out.

  I was feeling rather pleased with myself as I went downstairs. Beth was asleep, and tomorrow I’d start what promised to be a relatively easy routine with only one school to go to. In the kitchen, I let Toscha out for her evening run and then set about the washing-up. My feeling of well-being continued. Beth seemed a very pleasant child who’d been well brought up, and I was sure she’d get along well with Adrian and Paula. I liked Beth, and the only problem I could foresee was that she was going to miss her father dreadfully. But, of course, I hadn’t spotted the warning signs. That was to come later.

  Chapter Three

  The Photographs

  Beth slept through the night and I woke her for school just after I’d woken Adrian.

  ‘Well done, love,’ I said. ‘You did sleep well.’

  ‘It was Mr Sleep Bear,’ she said, yawning and stretching. ‘He made me sleep.’ I smiled. She looked far more relaxed after a good night’s sleep, but naturally as soon as she woke her thoughts turned to her father. ‘Do you think my daddy will come home today?’ she asked, sitting upright in bed.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ I said gently as I opened the curtains. ‘Jessie will tell us when she has any news, but I think your daddy will stay in hospital for a few days, at least.’

  ‘I hope I can see my daddy soon. I miss him,’ Beth said, climbing out of bed.

  ‘I know you do, love, and Jessie said you can see him as soon as he is well enough to have visitors.’

  ‘What are visitors?’ Beth asked.

  ‘People who go and see a person. You can have visitors in hospital or at home.’

  ‘We don’t have visitors,’ Beth said quite adamantly. ‘It’s just me and my daddy.’ So I thought that the two of them appeared to be very alone in the world, with no relatives or friends who visited, but I didn’t comment.

  I left Beth to get dressed, then I checked that Adrian was out of bed and that it was all right for Beth to be using Mr Sleep Bear, as the bear had originally been his, and he said it was fine. I helped Paula wash and dress and then we went downstairs where I fed Toscha and made Paula breakfast and myself a mug of coffee. Adrian and Beth knew they had to come down for breakfast as soon as they were ready. Beth was down first and she wanted cereal and toast, ‘like I have with daddy’, she said. Paula was already seated on her booster seat at the table eating porridge and Beth sat beside her. Adrian joined us a couple of minutes later and I was pleased I’d asked him if it was all right for Beth to use Mr Sleep Bear as, impressed by the bear’s magic powers, Beth talked about him quite a bit over breakfast. So much so that Paula wanted a Mr Sleep Bear too. Whoops, I thought. We only have one.

  ‘You have Mr Snuggles and Flopsy and Mopsy to help you sleep,’ I reminded Paula, naming some of the favourite soft toys she took to bed.

  ‘And Balo,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’ Crisis averted.

  It was only natural that Beth would want to talk about her father. They were close and she was worried about him and missed him, and her talk soon left Mr Sleep Bear and returned to her father. ‘Will my daddy have breakfast in the hospital?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, definitely,’ I said. ‘And lunch and dinner, and cups of tea in between.’

  ‘Will my daddy get dressed or stay in his pyjamas?’ Having never been in hospital it was a sensible question to ask.

  ‘He may stay in his pyjamas to begin with,’ I said. ‘Then, when he’s feeli
ng a bit better, I expect he’ll get dressed.’ Clearly I didn’t know if this was so, but it seemed a reasonable supposition.

  ‘I don’t think my daddy took his pyjamas with him,’ Beth said, now looking at me anxiously.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m sure your social worker will have thought of that. But if your daddy hasn’t got his things with him, then the hospital will give him what he needs until someone can take his things in.’ Although, of course, if Derek was as alone in the world as Beth had suggested, there may not be anyone to take in what he needed. I made a mental note to ask Jessie about this when she telephoned.

  Beth’s talk of her daddy continued during the whole of breakfast, when we went upstairs to brush our teeth, in the hall while we put on our coats and shoes and in the car on the way to school. Beth’s questions and comments about her father’s welfare were intermingled with little reminiscences of what they did together: ‘Daddy and me cook our meals together … I like to help my daddy … I make him cups of tea … Daddy and me sit on the sofa and watch television … My daddy takes me to school … My daddy helps me with my reading … I love my daddy so much …’ and so on and so on.

  I’d noticed that Adrian had gone quiet in the car and I was pretty sure I knew the reason why. Beth’s continual talk of her father was reinforcing to Adrian that he didn’t see his own daddy as much as he would have liked. While I’d gone to great lengths to reassure Adrian that his father working away couldn’t be helped and that he loved him very much, there was no doubt that Adrian missed him more than he admitted. Paula, that much younger, hadn’t known any different and was used to her father not being there during the week. But Adrian could remember a time when John had returned home every evening after work and they’d spent time together, similar to Beth’s descriptions. As I parked the car near the school and we climbed out, I tried to change the subject, but it didn’t work and Beth continued with her reminiscing. ‘My daddy calls me his little princess,’ she announced proudly.