The Saddest Girl in the World

by Cathy Glass

  I went through the two times table again with Donna that evening — just the two of us, seated in the lounge. She was fluent up to 5 × 2 but then stumbled on 6 × 2, 7 × 2, 8 × 2 and 9 × 2, picking up the rhythm again for the last three. And so we continued for the rest of the week, chanting the table in the car and at home at any opportunity. It had turned into something of a game, with Donna now asking if we could run through it just one more time, which I always did, although secretly I was sick of the sound of it, as I'm sure Adrian and Paula were. But I wasn't doing it solely so that Donna knew her table but also to prove to her that she could do it, which would raise her confidence and help her learning and self-esteem in general.

  On Thursday evening, the day before she was going to be tested at school, she stumbled a few times on the first run-through, and then managed it word perfect. I praised her immensely and said, ‘Donna, there is something I want to try now. Don't worry if you can't do it but just have a go. I'm going to ask you questions on the tables, jump around and see if you know the answers. You have done so well learning them, so let's see how well you can do these.’ I began easily with 2 × 2 and she gave the correct answer of 4; then I asked 5 × 2 and she answered 10. I returned to 0 × 2, then 3 × 2 and so on, until I had covered the easy ones; then I began on those that had caused Donna problems.

  ‘6 × 2?’ I asked.

  ‘12.’

  ‘Excellent! 8 × 2?’ She didn't know, and I saw her confidence immediately tumble. ‘Don't worry,’ I said. ‘Go back to the last one you do know and say the table from there in your head. You know 5 × 2.’

  ‘10,’ she said.

  ‘So in your head, go on from there.’

  Half a minute later she had come up with the right answer of 16. I clapped and said, ‘Great! Excellent!’ I knew that in the test she might not have time to go through the whole table to supply the answer, and I hoped she wouldn't panic and forget the lot, so I said, ‘If Miss Adams asks you one and you can't remember, don't worry, just leave a space and go on to the next one, which you will know.’

  On Friday in the car going to school instead of reciting the table I dotted around with the questions: ‘3 × 2? 6 × 2? 11 × 2?’ I had already primed Adrian and asked him not to answer, and as I glanced in the rear-view mirror I could see him sitting with his lips pursed tightly to stop the answers from spilling out. I smiled at him. Donna couldn't remember 7 × 2 or 9 × 2, and took some moments to go through the whole table in her head until she could supply the answer. With lots of praise and wishes of good luck, I saw her into school and returned to the car, with some relief that I wouldn't have to listen to the two times table again until Paula had to learn it in a year or so.

  As I opened the door and got in Adrian and Paula were giggling.

  ‘What's the matter with you two?’ I asked with a smile.

  ‘Listen to Paula,’ Adrian said.

  Paula laughed, and then in a bright clear voice she recited the two times table from beginning to end, word perfect. Without learning difficulties, and having listened to the tables in the car, her brain had automatically picked up and stored the information effortlessly. It highlighted the huge work Donna, or any child with learning difficulties, had to put in to achieve the same result.

  ‘Well done,’ I said to Paula. ‘I expect it will be the three times next week!’

  That evening when I met Donna from school the question that was burning on my tongue was answered as soon as I saw her. Her slow laborious way of walking was nowhere to be seen, and she bounded to my side.

  ‘I got them all right!’ she said, her face lighting up.

  ‘You did? All of them!’

  ‘Yes. And when Miss Adams jumbled up the questions I answered them!’

  ‘That's absolutely fantastic!’

  Beth Adams was just behind Donna and clearly wanted to speak to me. She stepped round the other children, who were filing out and meeting up with their parents in the playground. ‘Donna has done amazingly well,’ she said. ‘She could write the table, recite it and answer all the questions. She has earned two house points for her team.’

  We both praised Donna again, although Donna hardly needed our praise; having achieved something she had thought was impossible was praise enough.

  I could tell that Beth Adams was pleased, and astounded. ‘It's the three times table next week,’ she said. ‘I've put the work sheet in Donna's bag.’

  ‘Thank you. We'll make a start on it over the weekend.’ I did some quick mental arithmetic myself and calculated that if we had to learn one table a week, by the time we got to twelve it would be past Christmas and into the New Year!

  We left, as usual, through the staff exit and crossed to the car, where Adrian and Paula were waiting. As Donna got in, without being asked, she said. ‘I got them all right!’ Adrian and Paula were as pleased as she and I were.

  Learning the two times table typified Donna's ability to learn, and also mild learning difficulties in general. She wanted to learn and could learn, but it just took her a bit longer.

  That evening when I took Donna to contact the first thing she said when Edna met us in reception was, ‘I've learnt my two times table, and I was tested, and got them all right! I got two team points.’ Edna knew the significance of this and was truly and genuinely in awe of Donna's achievement. She praised her immensely, and then thanked me for all the hard work I had put in. I later learnt that Beth Adams had asked Donna how she had learned her tables so well, and Donna had told her what we had done. Beth Adams had then phoned Edna and told her of my input, and also that Donna was starting to learn in other areas with a newfound confidence. I was so very pleased.

  However, I also learnt that when Donna had gone into contact that evening, and had told her family of her success, her mother and Chelsea had ignored her and turned their backs. Edna had said, ‘Rita, Donna's got some good news. Listen to her.’ Donna had repeated her news, and Rita had shrugged, while Warren and Jason said, ‘Easy peasy,’ and laughed. It was Edna who told me this, not Donna: she had just accepted yet another rejection.

  Chapter Twelve

  Working as a Family

  By the first week in November I was beginning to feel that Donna was making some real progress, and things were going pretty well. Although she still found it almost impossible to play with Adrian and Paula, preferring to watch them or amuse herself, I was finding I could relax a little and be less vigilant when she was in a room with Paula. Donna didn't appear to be trying to dominate and chastise Paula as much as she had done in the past.

  The first week in November was a busy one for ‘official’ visits: Jill and Edna both paid their six-weekly visit, in the evening after school, Jill on Tuesday and Edna on Thursday. I had been in regular contact with both of them since they had last visited — Jill by telephone, and Edna when I saw her briefly before and after contact. Their visits were therefore more perfunctory than they might have been otherwise — just to see Donna at home and make sure everything was going all right. When Edna visited she also took the opportunity of telling me that Warren and Jason still hadn't said anything to Mary and Ray about the ‘punishment’ (if that was what it was) that they had received in their mother's bed, although, like Edna, Mary and Ray were convinced that the boys were hiding something, and felt that it would take time before they trusted them sufficiently to confide in them. The boys might have been unwilling to betray their mother, as they had been her favourites and they appeared to have a stronger bond with her than Donna did, presumably because their treatment at her hands had been less severe, or their silence might have been based on fear — no one knew at this stage.

  The Guardian Ad Litem phoned that week as well and made her first visit the following Tuesday. Her name was Cheryl Samson. She was appointed by the court for the duration of the case and her role was an important one. As the Guardian for the boys and Chelsea as well as Donna, she would visit all the parties involved in the case a number of times, then write a detailed
report for the judge, stating her findings and what she believed to be in the long-term best interest for the children. Her final recommendation as to where the children would live permanently would be vital to the judge when he made his decision at the final court hearing in May the following year. Cheryl was an experienced Guardian and quite forthright in her manner. When she arrived she spent some time talking to Donna and me together, and then me alone. She had met all members of Donna's family and was also in regular contact with Edna.

  ‘Donna has been completely rejected and victimised by Rita,’ Cheryl said to me, ‘to an extent I have never seen before. She has been a scapegoat, blamed for all the family's ills. Why, I don't know, but Rita can't even look at her when they are in the same room. I'm not sure how much good contact is doing Donna, and I shall be looking to reduce it as we approach the final court hearing.’

  ‘For the boys as well?’ I asked. If it was just Donna's contact that was reduced it could have appeared to her a further victimisation by singling her out again.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Cheryl agreed. ‘I can't see there is any way they can return to live at home, so contact needs to be reduced for all the children. Rita can't get off the drink and drugs and she is refusing any help. Edna has put in so much support but there has been no improvement in the home. I do not want Donna and the boys to follow in Chelsea's footsteps. Chelsea is just fifteen and we've now found out she's pregnant!’

  ‘Oh no! Really?’

  Cheryl nodded. ‘Rita announced it to Edna yesterday after contact, as though it was something to be proud of. Edna has been trying to persuade Chelsea to go into foster care for some time, and Rita told Edna she couldn't move her now she was pregnant. But she's wrong on that count. I want Chelsea moved into a mother and baby unit, assuming she is pregnant and it's not a ruse of Rita's making. Chelsea says she doesn't know who the father is; apparently there's a choice of three.’

  I didn't comment; it wasn't for me to pass judgement on Chelsea's morals, although of course it was illegal to have sexual intercourse with a girl under sixteen. ‘Will Chelsea keep the baby?’ I asked. I remembered that when I had seen Chelsea outside the school gates on that first day of term she'd appeared grubby and uncared for, barely able to look after herself, let alone a baby.

  ‘We'll give her a chance and monitor her closely, which is another reason why I want her in a mother and baby unit.’

  I nodded. ‘It's Donna's birthday on the sixteenth of November and she would like a bowling party,’ I said, lightening the subject. ‘We are going to ask her brothers to come, but what about Chelsea? Should we invite her?’

  ‘It's a nice thought, but Chelsea is sure to turn up with Mum, so I think the answer is no. Edna will arrange a birthday tea for Donna at contact, so Chelsea will have the chance to celebrate Donna's birthday then, if she has a mind to.’ I knew what Cheryl meant: judging from the reception Donna had been receiving from Chelsea and Rita at contact it was hardly likely they were going to put much effort into celebrating Donna's birthday. One of the reasons I had suggested we invited Chelsea was to try to forge a better relationship between her and her sister, but I would be guided by the Guardian. I couldn't risk Rita, with her bad attitude towards Donna, turning up at the party and possibly ruining it.

  ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Is there anyone else in the wider family I should invite? Cousins?’

  ‘No. I should keep it to your family, Donna and the boys. And there's her special friend Emily at school?’

  ‘Yes, that's right. We shall be inviting Emily. Donna doesn't find it very easy to make friends, so there will just be the seven of us, including me.’

  Cheryl smiled. ‘She'll enjoy it. I doubt she will have had a party before, of any description. I don't think she even had presents on her birthday and Christmas last year.’ Which unfortunately was true for many of the children I fostered.

  On Sunday I helped Donna to write some colourful birthday invitations; on each one she had to fill in the name of the person invited, the time and the venue, and sign it. I had already booked the bowling alley for Sunday 15 November, the day before Donna's birthday. The package they offered included an organiser/entertainer, two games of bowling for each child, a party tea and a ‘goody bag’ to take home. I had asked Donna sometime before, when I had first brought up the subject of her birthday, what she had done for her last birthday, and she had shrugged and said she didn't know, from which I had guessed that it was nothing, or something so insignificant as not to merit being treasured as a fond memory. Now as we worked side by side on the table in the annexe, and I watched her slide the invitations into the envelopes and then address them with so much care and precision, I casually brought up the topic again.

  ‘You are doing a really good job there, Donna,’ I said. ‘Have you ever written birthday invitations before?’

  She shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Not all families have birthday parties, but we do,’ I said. ‘It's nice to have fun.’ She didn't say anything but concentrated on meticulously sliding the next invitation, which was to Warren, into the envelope. ‘I think it helps you to remember your birthday if you do something a bit special. It is an important day, after all.’

  ‘I can remember my last birthday,’ Donna said stoically. ‘Very well. I had to do the washing.’

  I glanced sideways at her. ‘Oh yes?’

  ‘Mum said as it was my birthday everyone could have clean clothes. Dad wasn't there, but Mum, Chelsea and the boys all went and changed and brought me their dirty washing. Then Mum went round the house and gathered up all the clothes and rags that were lying around, and the stuff from her wardrobe, and dumped it in the kitchen. I spent all day washing. We didn't have a washing machine like you do, and it took ages in the sink. Then I had to try and get it dry, 'cos no one had any more clean clothes, and we didn't have a washing line. Mum hit me with a wet towel when I couldn't get it dry, and then told Chelsea and the boys to hit me.’

  I looked at her and swallowed hard. Donna had said it so matter-of-factly she could have been telling me how she'd poached an egg; she was now carefully filling in her name on the next invitation, making sure she didn't make a mistake. I couldn't speak for the lump in my throat and I waited for the moment to pass.

  ‘How do you spell Adrian?’ she asked glancing up at me.

  I swallowed again, and spelt it out. ‘Donna, love,’ I said, placing my hand on her arm and trying to raise a smile, ‘one thing I can guarantee is that you won't be doing any washing on your birthday this year, or at any time in my house.’

  She smiled sadly.

  When she'd finished writing the invitations I asked Donna again if there was anyone else in her class or the school whom she wanted to invite to her party, but there wasn't; she then gave me my invitation, and Adrian and Paula theirs. We smiled and thanked her. Donna would give out Emily's and her brothers' invitations at school the following day. I opened my invitation and said I would be happy to come to her party and she smiled.

  However, at bedtime when I tucked Paula into bed she said in a subdued and embarrassed voice, ‘Mum, I don't want to go to Donna's party. Do I have to?’

  I looked at her, surprised — that wasn't like her. ‘Why not?’ I asked. ‘What's the matter? There's only us and Warren, Jason and Emily going.’

  ‘Nothing's the matter. I don't want to go,’ she said quietly.

  I sat on the bed. ‘Paula, there is something the matter. You must have a good reason for not wanting to go to something as important as Donna's birthday party?’

  ‘I don't like her,’ she said and she looked at me, half-expecting to be told off. This was totally out of character for Paula, and I knew there must be something badly worrying her. I settled myself on the bed for a long chat. Paula wasn't easily fazed, but when something did trouble her it became ingrained and took a while to uncover.

  ‘What made you say you didn't like Donna?’ I asked gently. ‘I know she doesn't play with you, but she hasn't hit you aga
in, has she?’

  Paula shook her head. ‘She didn't hit me.’

  ‘So what has made you feel like this?’ There was a long pause. ‘Come on, Paula, I need to know so that I can put it right. This is important for all of us. If something is going on you must tell me.’

  There was another long pause before Paula eventually said, ‘Adrian doesn't like her either.’

  I was taken aback, and also a little annoyed that I wasn't getting any closer to the root cause of the problem. Clearly there had been a conversation between Adrian and Paula that I hadn't been party to. ‘Why doesn't Adrian like Donna?’ I asked.

  ‘Same reason as me.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘She doesn't like us.’

  I gave an inward sigh. I was going round in circles, and I was starting to wonder if it was just a childish falling out, although I couldn't remember an incident taking place that could have led to them ‘falling out’; indeed Donna hardly interacted enough with Adrian and Paula for there to have been a tiff.

  ‘What makes you think she doesn't like you, Paula?’ I asked. ‘I'm sure Donna does like you.’

  ‘No she doesn't,’ Paula said adamantly.

  ‘Well, tell me why you think that and I'll try to put it right. I can't do anything unless you tell me. How long have you both felt like this? And why haven't you said anything before?’

  ‘You are always too busy with Donna, and you like her. We didn't want to make you upset.’ And I had a sinking feeling, not for the first time since I'd started fostering, that I really wasn't getting it right after all, and I hadn't seen what was going on under my own nose.

  ‘Look, love,’ I said, ‘I am never too busy to listen to you and Adrian. I thought you knew that. I like Donna, and I feel very sorry for her because of her past, but that doesn't mean I love you less. I had no idea that Adrian and you felt this way, and you should have said something sooner — at bedtime. We always have a chat at bedtime. Now, love, can you please tell me why you think Donna doesn't like you, so that I can do something about it. I know she hit you, but that was a while ago and I thought you'd forgiven her. Has something else happened recently that I should have known about? Has she said or done something to make you think she doesn't like you?’