Chapter Twenty-Four
Rejected

It was a little after 9.30 a.m. on Saturday, and Paula,

Alice and I had just finished breakfast. Lucy had spent the night at her friend’s and I was going to collect her at 11.00, while Adrian had already left for football practice. Paula was upstairs in the bathroom, brushing her teeth. Alice was helping me clear the breakfast things from the table when she made her announcement. I knew immediately she was feeling rejected.

‘Of course you have a mummy,’ I reassured her. ‘It’s just that it isn’t possible for you to see her at present. Think of all the happy memories you have of you and your mummy, and have a look at that lovely photograph on the shelf in your bedroom. Mummy is still out there, and she’s thinking of you.’

Alice concentrated on handing me the breakfast plate, which looked huge in her tiny hands, before she answered. ‘No,’ she said almost defiantly. ‘I don’t have a mummy, not any more.’

‘You do, love. She’s ill, and we’re hoping she’ll get better and be well enough to see you soon. I can understand why you’re angry with her, but try not to blame her – you’ll make yourself unhappy.’

Alice shrugged and changed the subject, and I knew she hadn’t accepted what I’d said. I’d looked after children before who, for many reasons, had been unable to see their parents and, feeling rejected, dealt with it by rejecting the parent(s) to the point where they no longer existed. It was an understandable but unhealthy form of denial, and it was often very difficult to persuade the child out of it. It was especially difficult for Alice to accept being separated from her mother, for she was very young and had had a good relationship with her. I could only hope, as with so many losses, that given time, or when Alice began seeing her mother again, the damage done by the separation could be undone, although it would take patience and a lot of reassurance. But feeling that her mother had rejected her was only a short step away from Alice feeling the same rejection from her grandparents, whose contact with her was so limited.

That evening when we phoned her nana and grandpa, Alice was clearly set on punishing them by making them feel sorry for her.

‘I haven’t done anything all day,’ Alice said in a feeble voice when her nana asked her for her news and what she had been doing.

‘Nothing?’ her nana said. ‘You must have done something, Alice.’

‘No,’ Alice said, scowling. ‘I haven’t.’

‘Tell Nana about how we went to the park, and your new shoes,’ I encouraged.

But she didn’t. Alice sat beside me on the sofa, her face glum and her lips tightly shut against anything that might have been reassuring for her grandmother to hear, while her nana continued to talk and prompt Alice, trying to elicit some good news. After a while, when the most Alice had said was a grunted ‘No’ and I could hear Mrs Jones growing anxious, I took the phone from its cradle, cutting off the speaker, and said, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Jones, Alice is feeling rather rejected at present. I’ve been talking to her and have reassured her you love her very much, but I know she’s finding the separation very difficult.’

Mrs Jones was obviously concerned, and very disappointed that Alice didn’t want to talk to her, but she was also very understanding. She suggested she put on Grandpa. ‘Alice is sure to want to talk to him about the football,’ she said. ‘Did Alice watch it?’

‘Oh yes, and so did Brian the Bear.’

Mrs Jones gave a small laugh. ‘Thank you, Cathy. I’ll just fetch Martin.’

Before I returned the phone to speaker I said to Alice, ‘Your grandpa is coming to the phone. Please make sure you talk to him. It’s upsetting for your nana and grandpa if you don’t talk to them; they look forward to your phone calls.’

But of course upsetting them, and therefore punishing them for not seeing her more often, was exactly what Alice was doing. When Mr Jones came on the line and began talking about the football, the skill of a winning goal and how pleased Brian the Bear must have been, he was met with the same stony silence and the occasional grunted ‘No’.

‘Alice, answer your grandpa,’ I said, but Alice was resolute in her withdrawal and punishment. Eventually I took the phone from its cradle and apologized to Mr Jones.

‘Is she all right?’ he asked, very concerned. ‘She sounds upset.’

‘She’s missing you both,’ I said. ‘But she’s had a good day. I’ll have another chat with her when we’ve finished. I think she’s blaming you and your wife for not seeing her more often. You have contact next week and I’m sure when she sees you she will be fine, but for now I think it’s probably best to end this phone call. I appreciate how upsetting it must be for you to hear her sounding so sad.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Mr Jones confirmed. ‘Can I just say goodnight to her?’

‘Of course.’

I returned the phone to its cradle. ‘Say goodnight to your grandpa,’ I said.

‘Goodnight, Alice, love,’ Grandpa said. ‘See you on Wednesday.’

Alice forced a very small and dejected, ‘Goodnight,’ and that was it – no kisses were sent or caught.

I said goodbye and, severing the line, turned to Alice: ‘Look, love, I know you’re hurting, but it isn’t nice to punish your nana and grandpa by not talking to them. It’s not their fault they can’t see you more often, and it must be very upsetting for them to listen to you sounding so sad. You’re not sad most of the time, are you? We’ve had a nice day.’

‘I am sad,’ Alice said. ‘You don’t know. I’m sad inside, but I don’t always tell you. I smile and laugh but inside I’m sad.’ Her face puckered and I put my arm around her and, drawing her to me, hugged her.

‘I do understand, love, honestly I do, but try not to hurt your nana and grandpa. It will just make you unhappy.’

First thing on Monday morning, after I’d taken Alice to nursery, I phoned Kitty. I asked her why Alice’s contact with her grandparents had been set so low, and if it was possible to increase it, as Alice was finding the separation more difficult to cope with the longer it went on. Kitty said contact had been set low in preparation for Alice going to live with her father and Sharon, which had been expected to take place within a month of Alice coming to me. She also said it would be inadvisable to increase the contact now, because if Alice went to live with her father (which was still the care plan) then contact with her grandparents would be reduced further – to about once a month, and then three times a year. I knew from looking after other children that this type of reduction in contact was usual, and was designed to encourage the child to bond with the family they were going to live with – that is, their permanent, forever family – and reduce their dependence on any previous family or care giver. All very well in theory, but it wasn’t always so easy in practice.

I also asked Kitty if she thought it was at all possible to establish some telephone contact between Alice and her mother if I carefully monitored it, and Kitty said it was something she was already considering. Kitty said she had been trying to meet Leah so that she could assess if Leah was stable enough to have telephone contact and would know what was appropriate conversation if phone contact was started. It wouldn’t be appropriate, for example, for Leah to talk endlessly about how unhappy she was, criticize Chris or give Alice false hopes of her being able to live with her again. But to date Kitty hadn’t been able to meet Leah, as Leah had failed to keep the three appointments Kitty had set up. Although this wasn’t encouraging news, I felt that at least Kitty was on Alice’s case, was sensitive to Alice’s needs and was doing her best for Alice.

When Alice saw her nana and grandpa at contact the following Wednesday she immediately forgot her anger and ran into their arms. I had thought she would but I was nevertheless relieved and pleased, as were her grandparents. They had a lovely time although, as usual, an hour simply wasn’t long enough and all three were very sad at parting.

But while face-to-face contact with her grandparents remained very positive, the telephone contact continued to be variable. Sometimes Alice would chat happily to her nana and grandpa and at other times she refused to speak to them or answered a sombre ‘No’ to their questions. If Alice had been unresponsive I always spoke to Mr and Mrs Jones and reassured them that Alice was otherwise well and happy. They thanked me and said they understood, although I could hear the great sadness, loss and disappointment in their voices.

But more worrying than Alice refusing to speak to her grandparents on the phone was that Alice remained resolute in her assertion that she didn’t have a mummy; she even told her nana and grandpa she didn’t at one contact, which made them very upset. By then Alice had completely stopped talking about all the happy memories she had of her mother and indeed never mentioned her. Her mother’s photograph, which had sat at the front of the shelf, lost its favoured position and was now in a straight line with the photograph of her grandparents and the one of her father and Sharon – all having equal status at the back of the shelf.

I supposed that in terms of Alice transferring her affection from her mother and grandparents to her father and Sharon (as was intended by the limited contact and in line with the care plan) this ‘realignment’ could be viewed in a positive light, and might have been had the care plan been continuing as it was supposed to. But, perversely just as Alice’s attachment to her mother and grandparents might have been diminishing so that she would be in a better position to transfer her affection to those she was in regular contact with and would likely be going to live with, it was noted by the contact supervisor that ‘Sharon’s enthusiasm for Alice seems to be wearing thin.’

‘What do you mean “wearing thin”?’ I asked Kitty when she told me over the phone. ‘Alice isn’t a new toy where the novelty wears off.’

‘No, but that’s what the supervisor has noted. I suppose you can’t really blame Sharon, as it’s all been going on for so long. Sharon had expected Alice to go and live with them months ago, and we’re still a way from that. Their parenting assessment isn’t complete yet, and I’m still waiting for the results of some other enquires I’ve made. I take it Alice hasn’t said anything to you about Sharon losing interest?’

‘No, but she has never talked much about her.’

‘I’m going to meet Chris and Sharon next week and see what’s going on. I’m also still trying to find out exactly what happened last August. Mr and Mrs Jones are adamant that Chris reappeared in Leah’s life and was responsible for getting her into drugs, which led to her breakdown. They claim he assaulted her. Chris denies it and says he saw Leah only once, and that was in the street. I wonder if it’s worth asking Alice what she remembers of last summer? She’s smart, and at her age she should have some recollection of a year ago. Do you think you could bring up the subject? Don’t push it if she seems reluctant or can’t remember.’

‘I’ll try,’ I said. ‘Although I’m not sure how productive it will be. As you know, Alice refuses to talk about her mother now, even about the happy times.’

‘Try approaching it from another angle,’ Kitty said, thinking aloud. ‘Ask Alice if she remembers seeing her dad last summer. If she does, see if you can find out when, where and how often. I would ask her, but I’ve only been in her life a short while, and she trusts you.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ I said.

‘Thanks, Cathy. If Alice says anything that is relevant, can you write it down and send me a copy, please?’

‘Yes, of course.’

I didn’t hold out much hope of Alice telling me anything if it was connected with her mother. Alice was dealing with her pain and loss by burying all memory of her mother and the years she had lived with her. I didn’t see why mentioning her father would make a difference. But as it turned out, Alice was not only able to remember seeing her father the previous summer, but willing to tell me of the traumatic events that were to change the course of her life.