Cathy Glass - Daddy’s Little Princess

HarperElement

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London SE1 9GF

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First published by HarperCollins Publishers 2014

Copyright © Cathy Glass 2014

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2014

Cover photograph © www.abitofsas.com/Getty Images (posed by model)

Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

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Source ISBN 9780007569373

Ebook Edition © MARCH 2014 ISBN: 9780007569380

Version: 2017-01-17

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

In the Beginning

Chapter One: Close to Tears

Chapter Two: Mr Sleep Bear

Chapter Three: The Photographs

Chapter Four: Inappropriate

Chapter Five: Marianne

Chapter Six: My Concerns Grow

Chapter Seven: Guilty

Chapter Eight: Wise Owl

Chapter Nine: Sexualizing the Innocent

Chapter Ten: Calm Before the Storm

Chapter Eleven: Ignorance

Chapter Twelve: Very Upset

Chapter Thirteen: Two-Parent Family

Chapter Fourteen: The Meeting

Chapter Fifteen: Loyal to Abuser

Chapter Sixteen: Are You Happy Here?

Chapter Seventeen: Special Present

Chapter Eighteen: Sudden Turn of Events

Chapter Nineteen: Dr Jones

Chapter Twenty: He’s Mine!

Chapter Twenty-One: The Telephone Call

Chapter Twenty-Two: Icing on the Cake

Chapter Twenty-Three: She Must Hate Me

Chapter Twenty-Four: A New Friend

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Decision

Chapter Twenty-Six: The Visit

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Postcard

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Couple in the Playground

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Exclusive sample chapter

Cathy Glass

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

About the Publisher

To write this book – Beth’s story – I need to go back in time, to when Adrian was six and Paula was just two. I had only been fostering for a few years, and back then foster carers were given little in the way of training or support, or background information on the child. They were ‘thrown in at the deep end’ and left to get on with it, either swimming or sinking under the strain of it all. Looking back now, I shudder to think of some of the unsafe situations my family and I were placed in, and I also wonder – with the benefit of hindsight from years of fostering and training – if I would have handled situations differently. Some, maybe, but not with Beth. I am sure I would have made the same decisions then as now, for some behaviour is never acceptable and has to be stopped to save the child.

I was starting to think that they weren’t coming after all. Beth’s social worker had telephoned me during the afternoon and had said she would bring Beth to me at about ‘teatime’. It was now nearly seven o’clock – well past teatime – and Adrian, Paula and myself had eaten. I’d make Beth something fresh to eat if and when she arrived. It was a cold night and little Beth would be upset enough at being parted from her father without arriving tired and hungry. I knew that plans in social care often change unavoidably at the last minute, but I thought the social worker might have telephoned to let me know what was going on. A little while later I told Paula it was time for her to go to bed. We were in the living room, at the rear of the house, snug and warm, with the curtains closed against the cold, dark night. Paula and Adrian were sitting on the floor; Paula had been building a castle out of toy bricks and Adrian was poring over a large, beautifully illustrated book on vintage cars and motorbikes he’d been given as a Christmas present three weeks previously. Toscha, our lazy, lovable cat, was curled up on her favourite chair.

‘I thought that girl was coming?’ Adrian said, glancing up from his book.

‘So did I,’ I said. ‘Perhaps her father isn’t as ill as they thought and she was able to stay at home. I hope so.’

Adrian, aged six, had some understanding of what fostering meant from having children stay with us previously, while Paula, aged two, wasn’t really old enough to understand, although I’d tried to explain that a girl aged seven who was called Beth might be coming to stay with us for a while. All I knew of Beth, other than her age, was that she lived with her father and that he was now ill and likely to be admitted to a psychiatric hospital. That was all the social worker had told me when she’d telephoned and I’d hoped to learn more from her when she arrived with Beth.

I rose from where I’d been sitting on the sofa and went over to Paula to help her pack away the toy bricks. ‘Bedtime, love,’ I said again.

‘I thought that girl was coming?’ Paula said, repeating Adrian’s comments. She was at an age where she often copied her older brother. I heard him give a little sigh.

‘I don’t think she will be coming now,’ I said to Paula. ‘It’s rather late.’

But just as I began collecting together the plastic building bricks, the doorbell rang, making us all jump. Both children looked at me expectantly.

‘Perhaps it is them after all,’ I said. ‘Stay here and I’ll go and see.’

With my husband, John, working away I was cautious when I answered the door after dark. Leaving Adrian and Paula in the living room, I went down the hall and to the front door where I first peered through the security spy-hole. The porch light was on and I could make out a woman and a child. Reassured, I opened the front door.

‘Sorry we’re so late,’ the woman immediately apologized. ‘I’m Jessie, Beth’s social worker. We spoke on the phone. You must be Cathy. This is Beth.’

I smiled and looked at Beth, who was standing close to her social worker. She wore a grey winter’s coat buttoned up to the top. She was pale, but her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were puffy from crying. She clutched a tissue in one hand, which she pressed to her nose.

‘Oh, love,’ I said. ‘You must be very tired and worried. Come in.’

‘I want my daddy,’ Beth said, her eyes filling.

‘I understand,’ I said, touching her arm reassuringly. Jessie eased Beth over the doorstep and then brought in a very large suitcase.

‘We stopped off at Beth’s house to get her clothes,’ Jessie explained as I closed the front door. ‘It took longer than I expected. Beth wanted to change out of her school uniform, and then we had to pack. She was worried about washing her clothes and the food in the fridge spoiling. I’ve told her not to worry, that you’ll wash her clothes here, and the house will be fine.’