Where Has Mummy Gone?: Part 1 of 3: A young girl and a mother who no longer knows her. Cathy Glass

in here!’ I called. I was in the kitchen peeling vegetables for dinner, and Melody was sitting at the table colouring in while the head-lice lotion took effect. I’d given her a bath – her first in months, she told me – and she was now dressed in clean clothes from the spares I kept. The lotion had a dreadfully pungent smell and needed to be left on for an hour, but I knew from using it on other children that it was very effective.

      ‘This is Melody,’ I said, introducing her to Lucy.

      ‘Hi, how are you? Don’t look so grumpy, you’ll be fine here.’ Having been neglected herself before coming to me as a foster child, Lucy could relate in a special way to the children we fostered. She had an easy manner with them and most of the children formed an attachment to her before they did me.

      ‘I’m not grumpy,’ Melody said. ‘I don’t like this stuff on my hair. My mum never put it on.’

      ‘That’s why you had head lice. That will kill the little buggers.’

      ‘Lucy,’ I admonished, ‘I’ve just told Melody not to swear.’

      ‘Ooops,’ Lucy said, and theatrically clamped her hand over her mouth. ‘Sorry.’ And for the first time I saw Melody smile. ‘Nice picture,’ Lucy said, going over and admiring Melody’s colouring in. Then to me she added, ‘I’m going to my room now, Mum.’

      ‘Fine, love. Did you have a good day at school?’

      ‘I guess.’

      ‘I want to go with you,’ Melody said, clearly finding Lucy’s company far more interesting than mine.

      ‘Not until the lotion is washed off. It’ll make my room smell.’

      I glanced at the clock. ‘Only fifteen more minutes,’ I said.

      ‘That’s not fair,’ Melody moaned. ‘I want to go with you now.’

      ‘I’m flattered,’ Lucy said. ‘But you can’t until you’ve had your hair washed. See you later.’ Throwing her a smile, she left the room.

      When I think back to how Lucy was when she first arrived, I feel so proud of all she’s achieved. I’m proud of Adrian and Paula too, of course, but Lucy had a shocking start to life and could so easily have gone off the rails. She had a lot of catching up to do, but she didn’t let her past hold her back. Her self-confidence has developed immeasurably; she is happy, has a good circle of friends, eats well and is achieving at school. I couldn’t love her more if she’d been born to me, and I feel very lucky that I have three wonderful children and am allowed to foster more.

      No sooner had Lucy disappeared upstairs than Paula came home. She had a different nature to Lucy and was quieter, more placid and could easily let things worry her.

      ‘Hi, Paula,’ I called. ‘Come and meet Melody.’

      ‘Hello,’ Paula said, coming in.

      ‘Are you Lucy’s sister?’ Melody asked.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘You got any more sisters?’

      ‘No.’ Paula smiled.

      ‘Good day?’ I asked her as I always ask my children when they first come home.

      ‘Yes, but I’ve got tons of homework. I’m going to start it now before dinner.’

      ‘OK, love. I’m nearly finished here, then I’ll wash Melody’s hair, so we’ll eat around six o’clock.’

      Paula poured herself a glass of water and, giving Melody a small smile, left.

      ‘Where’s she gone?’ Melody asked.

      ‘In the front room to start her homework,’ I said.

      ‘Can I go?’

      ‘No, she needs quiet to concentrate. You will see her at dinner when we’ll all eat together.’ I put the chicken casserole in the oven. ‘Now, let’s wash your hair, then you can see Lucy.’

      Melody didn’t object, probably because she knew she’d only spend time with Lucy once her hair was washed. We went to the bathroom where I thoroughly washed her hair. As I was rinsing it I heard my son Adrian arrive home. ‘Hi, Mum!’ he called from the hall. At sixteen, he was now six feet tall, although of course to me he’d always be my little boy.

      ‘I’m in the bathroom, washing Melody’s hair!’ I called down.

      ‘OK. I’ll say hi to her later.’ I heard him go through to the kitchen. When he came home from school he always fixed himself a drink and a snack to see him through to dinner.

      ‘You got any more kids?’ Melody asked, head over the bath as I continued to rinse her hair.

      ‘No, that’s it. Just the four of you.’

      ‘I’m not your kid,’ came her sharp retort.

      ‘OK, but while you’re living with me I’ll look after you as if you are.’ There was no reply.

      With her hair thoroughly washed, rinsed and nit-free, I towel dried it and then brushed out the knots. She complained throughout that I was pulling, although I was as gentle as I could be. I then dried it with the hair dryer and it shone. It looked quite a few shades lighter now all the grease and grime had been removed. I don’t think it could have been washed for many months.

      ‘Can I go into Lucy’s room?’ Melody asked as soon as I’d finished.

      ‘Yes, but don’t forget to knock on her door first.’

      She dashed around the landing and banged hard on Lucy’s door – not so much a knock, more a hammering.

      ‘Hell! Open the door. Don’t break it down!’ Lucy’s voice came from inside.

      ‘Can I come in?’ Melody yelled.

      ‘Yes! If you’ve had your hair washed.’

      ‘I have!’

      She disappeared into Lucy’s room and that was the last I saw of her until I called everyone for dinner. Lucy knew that while Melody was with her she should leave her bedroom door open as part of our safer-caring policy, and to call me if there was a problem. All foster carers have a safer-caring policy and follow similar guidelines to keep all family members feeling safe. One of them is not to leave a foster child in a room with someone with the door closed. Leaving the door open means I and others can hear what is going on, and the child can come out easily whenever they want. There’s no knowing what a closed door might mean to an abused child, and Adrian knew that any girl we fostered wasn’t to go into his room at all, for his own protection. Sadly, many foster families have unfounded allegations made against them and they are very difficult to disprove.

      Once dinner was ready I called everyone to the table and showed Melody where to sit. For us, it was a lively, chatty occasion as usual, when we shared our news as we ate. It’s often the only time we all sit down together during the week and it’s a pleasant focal point for us. Indeed, foster carers are expected to eat at least one meal a day together, as it bonds the family. At weekends we sometimes had breakfast together too. But Melody stared at us overawed as she ate.

      Like many children who come from disadvantaged backgrounds, she wasn’t used to sitting at a table or using a knife and fork, having relied largely on snacks. She struggled to use the cutlery I’d set, so I quietly slipped her a dessertspoon to help with the casserole. She ate ravenously, all the while keeping a watchful eye on us. I’d seen the same vigilant awareness – a heightened state of alert – before in children I’d fostered who’d had to fend for themselves. They constantly watch those around them for any sign of danger. Children who’ve been nurtured and protected don’t do this, as experience has taught them that those they know can be trusted. It would take time for Melody to trust us.

      I served rice pudding for dessert. It was a winter favourite