said a quick goodbye and cut the call. I sat on the sofa, staring at the telephone, feeling a complete idiot, which is what I imagined Jessie probably thought of me too. Perhaps even a malicious idiot who was prone to idle gossip. I’d been so convinced that Derek’s relationship with Beth was inappropriate – so too had Marianne and Miss Willow – but now I wasn’t so sure. All the points I’d raised with Jessie had sounded feeble and unfounded, and she’d easily justified them all as normal behaviour. Could all three of us have been wrong? I thought it was possible. Then I realized I’d forgotten to ask Jessie if Beth should telephone her father in the evenings, although given Jessie’s reaction to what I’d said I assumed the answer would be yes, for there was no reason not to telephone Derek; according to Jessie he’d done nothing wrong.
Paula woke a few minutes later and I went upstairs feeling anxious and wretched. I put on a cheerful face as I brought her downstairs and then played with her and read her some stories. But my heart wasn’t in it. I was preoccupied and then I felt guilty for not giving her my full attention. I deeply regretted telephoning Jessie. I should have advised Marianne to telephone her, for I was now convinced she’d have made a better job of explaining her concerns. I wondered if Jessie would telephone Marianne and possibly Miss Willow to substantiate what I’d said, or possibly doubt my abilities as a foster carer. I felt a failure. I’d made a decision and it had been the wrong one.
Beth was out before Adrian at the end of school and the first thing she asked was: ‘Did you speak to my social worker? Can I telephone my daddy?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Goody!’ she cried, and jumped for joy. ‘I love my daddy!’
Adrian came out and I listened to his news on the way home, but my thoughts kept returning to the telephone contact I would have to initiate later. Jessie would have visited Derek by then and told him what I’d said. My stomach knotted and I had little appetite at dinner. Apart from it being very embarrassing to speak to Derek after what Jessie would have told him, I knew he had every right to be angry. I briefly considered writing down the number of the hospital and the ward and letting Beth make the call, but I wasn’t that much of a coward. I tried consoling myself with the reminder that I’d done what I thought was right at the time and had only wanted to protect Beth. If Derek raised the matter, which I was sure he would, all I could do was apologize.
After dinner I gave Paula an early bath and settled her in bed with some toys, as I had done the evening before.
‘Is Beth phoning her daddy again?’ Paula asked.
‘Yes, love. I think she’ll be phoning him every evening while she’s with us.’
‘Can I telephone my daddy?’ Paula asked.
‘He’s at work, love. He’ll telephone if he can.’ I felt for her and hoped John would phone.
Leaving Paula in bed with some toys, I went into my bedroom where Beth was sprawled on the bed, waiting for me, and looking forward to speaking to her daddy. She’d said a few times during the evening that she was hoping her daddy would tell her which day he would be coming home, so she was very excited. My stomach was churning. I sat on the edge of the bed and dialled the hospital and then asked for Ward 3. When I was put through to the ward I asked for Derek, expecting that, as before, he’d be ready and would come to the telephone straight away. But instead of calling Derek to the phone, the nurse who’d answered said to me, ‘Hold the line, please.’ I heard the telephone being set down and then there was a short silence before the nurse came back on the line and said: ‘Derek is asleep.’
I was surprised. ‘Are you sure?’ I asked. ‘It’s seven o’clock and he’s expecting his daughter to phone.’
‘Just a minute,’ the nurse said, and the telephone was set down again. I heard muffled voices in the background and then the telephone was picked up and the same nurse asked: ‘Are you a relative?’
‘No. I’m his daughter’s foster carer.’
‘Derek is asleep and shouldn’t be woken,’ she said. ‘You’ll need to speak to the social worker tomorrow.’
I hesitated, confused. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I’m sorry. As you are not a relative, I can’t tell you any more. You’ll have to speak to his social worker tomorrow.’
Aware something was wrong, Beth was no longer sprawling leisurely on the bed, but had sat upright and was looking at me, concerned.
‘And he can’t come to the telephone to talk to his daughter? Not just for a short while?’ I asked.
‘No. I’m sorry. He’s asleep.’
There was nothing more I could say, so, thanking the nurse, I put down the telephone and turned to Beth. Her face was already crumpling. ‘Why can’t I speak to my daddy?’ she asked, her voice trembling.
‘Because he’s asleep, love, and the nurse didn’t want to wake him.’
‘But he wanted to speak to me. He told me to phone. They should have woken him.’
‘I’m sorry, love. I can’t do any more. I only know what the nurse told me.’
‘Can’t we phone and try again?’ Beth asked, her eyes filling. ‘That nurse might be wrong. Can you speak to another nurse?’
‘The nurse said your daddy was definitely asleep, pet,’ I said, taking her hand in mine. ‘Perhaps he’s had a busy day.’ But Beth didn’t believe this any more than I did. ‘I’ll telephone Jessie tomorrow,’ I said.
Beth burst into tears and I put my arms around her and comforted her. I felt sorry for her. She was so disappointed at not being able to speak to her father. I also felt guilty, for I was sure that in some way I was responsible for Derek ‘being asleep’ and not being able to come to the phone. It seemed too much of a coincidence that Derek hadn’t been able to come to the phone after Jessie’s visit.
I soothed Beth, and when she was feeling a bit better I gently dried her eyes. ‘There, that’s better,’ I said. ‘Now, why don’t you go downstairs and play a game with Adrian, while I read Paula a story? I won’t be long.’
‘Can I come with you?’ Beth sniffed.
‘Yes, of course, if you want to.’
Beth nodded mournfully and I took her hand and we went round to Paula’s room.
‘Beth would like to listen to your story too, if that’s all right?’ I said to Paula.
‘Yes. You can listen,’ Paula said, patting the bed beside her. ‘Have you spoken to your daddy?’ she asked as Beth climbed onto the bed.
I saw Beth’s bottom lip tremble. ‘Not tonight,’ I said. ‘Her daddy was asleep.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Paula said. ‘I don’t speak to my daddy much on the phone.’ I could have wept. Perhaps I was feeling overly sensitive, but Paula’s comment touched me deeply, and I dearly hoped John would remember his promise to telephone during the week.
There wasn’t much room on Paula’s single bed for the three of us, but we managed. Propped up against the headboard, I balanced precariously on the edge of the bed as I read Paula’s favourite stories. Although the books were a little young for Beth, she seemed to enjoy them as much as Paula did. Also, I think she enjoyed the closeness and intimacy of the bedtime story. It’s a lovely way for children to unwind at the end of the day.
‘I’m going to ask my daddy to read me stories in bed when I go home,’ Beth said.
‘Can’t your mummy read you stories?’ Paula asked innocently.
‘She doesn’t live with us,’ Beth said.
‘My daddy doesn’t live with us much either,’ Paula agreed.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I read the next story and continued