Escape From Evil - Cathy Wilson [40]
For a start, it didn’t seem like we were all part of a foster-care production line. There were two parents, two of their own children and then two of us fosters. I shared a room with the family kids, rather than the other foster girl, and went to bed when the others did. There were no weird rules, no special treatment for the actual family kids. So when the family sat down to eat breakfast, we all had the same thing – porridge. The problem was, every one else seemed to love it. I thought it was revolting, but we were allowed to stir in one teaspoon of malt syrup to make it taste nicer. The big game was to try to sneak another spoonful in when the mother wasn’t looking. That made break fast a little more fun.
It took me a while to realize that, however tasteless I found the porridge, it was actually a treat to have someone cooking for me. Not only that, but my washing was done and although we all chipped in with a few chores, the flat was spotless. It was nice to have a break from doing all that myself.
I shouldn’t have to mention it, but, considering my past experiences, I was also aware that no one tried to touch me inappropriately. It’s terrible that that counts as a plus.
The other girl and I were so welcome as part of this couple’s family that at the end of the week, when their own children were given a couple of pennies as pocket money, so were we. I’d never got pocket money from Mum before – this was a new experience for me. The only proviso, the mother said, was ‘You have to buy liquorice with it. I’m not having you all getting rotten teeth, not while you’re under my roof.’
She was paranoid about tooth decay and so we were only allowed to shop at one particular sweet shop, where she knew the owner and would be told if we bought anything other than liquorice. I wasn’t a huge fan of the aniseed flavour, but just going to the shop on a Friday was a treat for another reason.
The first time we set off for the little sweet shop I didn’t pay attention to the streets. The other kids knew where we were going – that was good enough for me. But when we arrived I thought, I know where I am! I may have lost track of directions in the car, but, unless I was very much mistaken, we were only ten minutes from home! As soon as the other three kids came piling out of the shop, I said, ‘I’m just going for a walk – I’ll see you later,’ and I ran off down the street.
The look on Mum’s face was a picture. Once she’d got over the shock of it being me and not the police or those men, she couldn’t stop smiling.
We had a lovely time, but after about half an hour Mum packed me back out the door before I was noticed as being missing. She didn’t want more trouble with the law.
‘I’ll come back next Friday!’ I promised.
‘You’d better!’
And I did. I think I was at my new home for twenty-eight days, so that was three or four clandestine visits back to Mum. I didn’t care whether she was tired, slurring or full of beans. I just cuddled her tightly and listened as she said, over and over, that she was sorry.
‘I’m going to sort everything out, Cathy,’ she said. ‘I’m going to make everything all right.’
And I truly believed she meant it.
In 1977 my grandfather had the option of taking early retirement from work. If he did he was entitled to a lump sum of £4,000 plus a reduced pension for the rest of his life. Grandpa was a busy person; he loved having something to do. He really wanted to stay on at Wills Tobacco, but more than that, he really needed the money. Because Grandpa had a plan.
After I’d been taken into care again, Mum had reached a water shed moment. She’d confided things to Granny, who in turn had told Grandpa. I don’t think she could have told him everything. Grandpa never even knew about the meals Granny used to bring us every other day. As a former army man, he acted swiftly. He said, ‘We have to put some distance between you and