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