by Angela Hart
‘It was,’ she said, drying her eyes and taking a deep breath. ‘She’s my sister, after all. Sorry, Angela, I’ll be all right in a minute.’
‘Take your time, love, take your time.’
Vicky blew her nose and pushed her shoulders back and, even though she was pale and her gangly body was so slight she appeared fragile, she had a strong, steely look in her eyes that seemed to be saying: ‘I won’t let this beat me.’
Watching Vicky pull a brave face on so quickly made me think back to her arrival. Her confidence was probably a coping mechanism; it was her way of dealing with the unthinkable by trying to pretend everything was fine.
I wished I could tell Vicky that I was sure she would be back with her sister in the blink of an eye, but of course I couldn’t, and I didn’t even know if that was the best place for her. I was still in the dark about what had gone so awry at Lorraine’s, and about any plans for Vicky’s immediate future.
This sort of uncertainly is not unusual at the start of a placement. Events leading to a child being placed in care can be chaotic and traumatic for all concerned. Finding the child a foster placement is the priority; dealing with the fallout and planning the next move naturally takes second place. Even if I’d spoken to Tricia that morning, the likelihood was that at this stage I would not have got much further than arranging for Vicky to have more of her belongings brought over.
‘I don’t think the baby is due this week,’ she said after a minute or two, turning to look me square in the eyes.
‘What made you think it was?’ I asked.
‘I was only guessing, because Lorraine is absolutely massive. And I wanted it to be this week.’
‘Oh, I see. Do you have any idea how many months pregnant she is?’
‘No. She’s huge though.’
‘Well some women are huge at six months, others at eight months. It’s hard to guess, and I don’t want you to get your hopes up.’
Vicky suddenly brightened up as a thought occurred to her.
‘Do you think if she has a good rest now she’ll have me back before the baby arrives? I mean, if she is only six months pregnant she’s not going to need three whole months to have a rest, is she?’
I looked at Vicky and remembered myself as a child, nagging my dad about how long my mum was going to stay in hospital. Vicky had the same desperate look I must have had, longing for life to go back to normal, whatever ‘normal’ was for Vicky. The fact she had smoked since the age of nine had made me concerned about what her life had been like, and I wished I had more information about her background, to help her move forward.
‘I’ll try to get some information for you tomorrow,’ I said, tugging at her sleeve playfully in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. ‘If only so we can get you out of this tracksuit!’
Vicky laughed, which was a relief. ‘Thank you, Angela,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m ungrateful. It’s very kind of you to have me here, but I’d just rather be at my sister’s.’
3
‘She was always there for me’
It was late afternoon on Friday, a full week since Vicky’s arrival, when a half-empty carrier bag of clothes arrived for her. Apparently Lorraine had dropped it at Social Services earlier in the week, and now Tricia had placed it on the counter in the shop, just as I was about to start cashing up.
‘Sorry, it’s been in my car since Tuesday but I’ve not had a minute,’ Tricia apologised. ‘How’s Vicky doing?’
If I’m truthful I felt like saying, Fine, no thanks to you! but I managed a politer, ‘Fine, thank you. I’m sure she’ll be very grateful to have some more of her clothes.’
‘That’s good. Right then, I’ll be in touch . . .’
‘Hang on a minute, Tricia! Can you spare two minutes?’
During the course of Vicky’s first week I’d ended up buying her some new underwear and toiletries, as well as a new school bag and a fully stocked pencil case. I didn’t mind about the money. Jonathan and I were not wealthy, but we weren’t poor either, and I could afford what I’d spent. Eventually I’d receive the £25 a week allowance that was provided for each foster child at that time, but this typically took a while to work its way through the system. I could deal with that, and I had certainly not gone into fostering for financial gain. What did bother me, however, was that Vicky had been placed in foster care for a full week with one school uniform, a tracksuit that didn’t fit her properly, a toothbrush and a few items of underwear. She had no knick-knacks or school equipment, and absolutely no personal belongings to help her feel more at home in our unfamiliar house.
Vicky had told me that she loved reading and had been in the middle of The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough, which she’d borrowed from the local library. Presumably it was still sitting in her bedroom at Lorraine’s, as I could see that the thin carrier bag Tricia had brought only contained a few items of clothing. I wished Lorraine had been a little more thoughtful with the packing, but then again I scarcely knew a thing about what was going on in her life, did I?
‘I love family sagas,’ Vicky had said to me one evening during the week, completely without irony considering she was in the middle of one herself. ‘Do you like books like that, Angela?’
‘As a matter of fact, I do,’ I said. ‘I love all the Catherine Cooksons. You can read one of those in the meantime if you like. I’ve got a shelf full.’
Her eyes widened and she said she would love to. ‘I used to read a lot more, before.’
As soon as she said this, Vicky immediately went quiet and looked nervous, as if she was remembering something.
‘Really?’ I said, leaving a gap for her to fill, but she didn’t. ‘So you’re a big reader?’
‘I am! I love going to the library. I like the peace and quiet, d’you know what I mean?’
‘Yes I do. Sometimes we all need a bit of quiet time on our own, don’t we?’
Vicky nodded.
I didn’t want to pry, but I wanted Vicky to know I was interested and that she could carry on talking if she wanted to. Now, after many years of training and experience, I know that what you should do is repeat back the last thing the child has said.
‘You used to read a lot more, before?’ is what I ought to have said. That way you are not in danger of putting words into a child’s mouth or leading them to say something they don’t mean. I didn’t know any of this then, but at least I hadn’t inadvertently put my foot in it, as Vicky had not said anything I’d coerced her into saying, or indeed anything I needed to act upon or report to Social Services.
Anyhow, when I asked Tricia if she had two minutes to spare when she dashed into the shop with the bag, she said that she did.
‘Thanks, Tricia,’ I replied. ‘I’m very grateful. Do you have any more information for me about the length of Vicky’s stay? And even if she is not staying long can she please have some personal items from Lorraine, like the book she is in the middle of reading?’
‘I’ll do my best, but I should know more next week, Angela. I have established that Lorraine’s baby is due at the end of August, so for the time being all I can say is that it’s possible, but not definite, that Vicky will be with you for a month or so, until after the baby is born. It seems Lorraine is worn out and she just can’t handle Vicky on top of the pregnancy, and with the school holidays about to start. We are, however, trying to track down other family members.’
‘You mean Vicky’s parents?’ I said.
Tricia rolled her eyes and sniffed rather haughtily. After looking around to check there was nobody else in the shop, she told me quietly, ‘We know where the mother lives because Lorraine has told us, but she’s not answering the door, or returning phone calls.’
‘Oh dear. And the father?’
‘We don’t know anything about her father. The family has never been involved with Social Services before, so we have no file on Vicky.’
‘Can’t Lorraine help you?’
‘All she’s said is that she
’s had enough of Vicky. She’s given me short shrift to be truthful; she just wants shot of Vicky, that’s all she’s saying. Anyway, it’s very early days, and as I say I should know more next week. I have to go now, but please rest assured I’m on the case and doing everything I can.’
As Tricia left the shop I felt quite hopeless. I wanted to be more involved in Vicky’s case and help find the answers we needed, but that simply wasn’t my place. I was in Tricia’s hands, and I had to accept my role and just continue doing my job as best as I could, which was to look after Vicky and provide her with a safe and happy home, for an indefinite length of time.
I was on autopilot as I went through my nightly ritual of feeding and watering the flowers and lifting vases and tubs of stock into the back of the shop at closing time. My mind was focused on Vicky, and the little Tricia had told me about her family. I wanted to know why Vicky’s mother was not answering the door, and what had become of her father. It was very frustrating being so much in the dark, and I also felt saddened. I imagined myself as a thirteen year old, and how I would have felt if I didn’t live with my parents, and then my sibling threw me out. It was unfathomable, it really was. At thirteen I was carefree, and I was cherished. It was 1969 when I was the same age as Vicky – the year Neil Armstrong landed on the moon.
‘Isn’t life amazing!’ my mother had marvelled as we watched the incredible moment unfold on our little black and white television. When Mum saw the fascinating images of the Earth taken from the moon I can remember how she looked at me and exclaimed excitedly, ‘Angela, what a wonderful planet we live on! Aren’t we lucky?’
‘We are!’ I replied joyfully, and I really felt that was true. I was loved and cared for, everything I needed was provided for me, and the amazing planet we lived on was out there, just waiting for me to grow up and explore it to my heart’s content.
When Vicky returned home I gave her the carrier bag Tricia had delivered, saying, ‘I bet you’ll be glad of these,’ but she just wrinkled her nose.
‘I don’t wear any of that stuff,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t even fit me.’
‘How do you know? You haven’t even looked what’s in there.’
‘I just know,’ she shrugged.
Later that evening Vicky got ready to go to the local youth club. She was quite a tomboy and she appeared in the tracksuit again, with her freshly washed fair hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.
‘Do you normally wear that to the youth club?’ I asked tentatively.
‘Yes,’ she said defensively. ‘Lorraine bought it for me. I love it. Don’t you like it?’
With that she hugged her arms around herself, rubbing the sleeves of the tracksuit protectively.
‘Yes, sweetheart!’ I smiled. ‘I just thought you might have wanted a change.’
‘Well, like I said, the other clothes don’t fit me. They’re not even mine.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘They’re all second hand, and they were too small when I got them.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, would you like to come shopping with me tomorrow lunchtime and we’ll get you some clothes that do fit? The weather’s getting warmer and you’re not going to want to wear the tracksuit when it’s hot.’
‘Er, maybe,’ Vicky said cautiously. ‘Can I go now? What time do I have to be back? And please don’t tell me to come in when it’s getting dark, because how do I know when it’s getting dark?’
‘Well that’s a very good point! Now then, if the youth club finishes at 9 p.m., let’s say you need to be home by 9.30 p.m. at the latest’
I’d already discussed this with Jonathan. We were not used to negotiating evening arrangements as Michelle rarely went out, but we both agreed this seemed fair and sensible.
‘That’s fine! Thanks, Angela! See you later then!’
We had offered Vicky a lift but she had arranged to meet her friend Izzy at a bus stop halfway between our house and hers. Then they were going to meet a couple of boys from school and all walk to the youth club together. I gave Vicky £3.50, the same amount of pocket money we gave to Michelle each week, and she swaggered out with a wide grin on her face.
‘See you at half nine!’ she beamed, giving me a thumbs up.
Sure enough, at 9.30 p.m. on the dot, Vicky returned home and Michelle raced down the stairs to let her in. Jonathan and I were watching television in the lounge and Vicky bounded up the stairs, sat between us on the settee and told us all about her evening.
‘They’ve got a new pool table at the club,’ she said. ‘We had a competition and I got to the final after beating loads of boys!’
‘Well done, love! Have you played much pool before?’
‘Yes, loads. I’ve been going to the youth club for ages. I love it there.’
Vicky was certainly a sociable girl, and the next day she was looking forward to going to the teen disco, which was held from 2.30 p.m. to 4.30 p.m. in an upstairs room at one of the nightclubs in town. First, though, I took Vicky down the high street when I had a break from the shop for lunch, hoping to buy her a few new items of clothing. She wasn’t very keen at all, and I assumed it was because she simply wasn’t into clothes, or perhaps because our local shops weren’t particularly exciting. I generally drove about an hour away to the big out-of-town shopping mall when I wanted to have a proper spree, although we did have several independent boutiques in town that I knew were popular with the youngsters, as well as a department store with a teenage section and modest-sized branches of Tammy Girl and C&A.
‘You don’t need to do this, you know,’ Vicky said when she came into the shop to meet me on the stroke of midday, the time we’d agreed.
‘I want to,’ I said. ‘We’ve only got an hour but I’m sure we’ll be able to get a few things. Come on, let’s get going!’
Vicky dragged her feet across town, and when we got to the first boutique she refused point blank to go inside.
‘I can tell already I won’t like anything in there.’
‘Oh well, let’s try the next one.’
This time she barely even stopped to look in the window.
‘No, it’s not for me,’ she said, quickening her pace.
‘Well you choose the next shop then,’ I said. ‘Tammy Girl or C&A?’
‘Er, neither, really. Can we just leave it? Honestly, I’m fine.’
‘Come on, love, just have a look, for me?’
Vicky very reluctantly followed me into C&A, and as we took the escalator to the first floor she looked around nervously.
‘I’ve never been in here before,’ she said.
‘Really? They’ve got quite a good clothes section, for all ages. You’re bound to see something you like.’
Vicky looked increasingly uncomfortable as I led her to the appropriate rails and pulled out a selection of T-shirts, shorts and jeans. I chose unfussy ones I thought would suit an ‘ungirly’ teenager like Vicky, but she claimed she didn’t like any of them.
‘Anyway, they might not fit,’ she added, putting everything I had picked out back on the rails.
‘Well you could try them on,’ I said. ‘The fitting room is just there.’
Vicky looked over at the cubicles I pointed to on the side of the shop floor and seemed bemused.
‘What, in there?’ she said suspiciously.
The cubicles had doors that started three-quarters of the way up the door frames, exposing your ankles to anyone who happened to look over.
‘Are you serious? You have to go in there?’
‘Well they’re not the best changing rooms I’ve ever seen, I grant you, but they’re fine, honestly. I’ve used them many times myself.’
‘I’d rather not. Can we just go?’
‘But we haven’t bought anything, Vicky! Shall I at least just buy a couple of T-shirts and you can try them on at home?’
‘No, thanks, I won’t wear them.’
‘Why not? You’re really short of clothes and these would be really handy.’
‘
I don’t like them. They won’t suit me.’
‘Well why don’t you choose something that will suit you?’
‘I’ve looked. There’s nothing I want’
I told Jonathan about our futile shopping trip when Vicky was at the disco, in her tracksuit.
‘I suppose when you think of it, the famous purple track-suit is the only thing she has to remind her of home,’ he pondered. ‘It’s no wonder she’s so attached to it. Can you imagine moving into a new house and having none of your belongings with you, nothing at all that’s familiar?’
‘I have thought about that,’ I replied. ‘And no, I can’t imagine it, not at all.’
We’d agreed that Vicky could return home from the disco by 6 p.m. at the latest and that we’d go out and buy some fish and chips as soon as Michelle was back too, half an hour later. Michelle always visited her mother for three hours on a Saturday afternoon, returning at 6.30 p.m. By that time everybody was generally tired and hungry, and it had become a tradition for me, Jonathan and Michelle to indulge in a ‘chippie tea! This wasn’t ideal for me as I wanted to drop a dress size in time for our holiday; we were going to Florida the following Easter. Each week I promised I’d only eat a small portion and leave the batter off the fish, though I didn’t always stick to my good intentions!
Jonathan and I had been to Disney World not long after we got married, and ever since we started fostering we had talked about how great it would be to take Michelle there, or any other foster child for that matter When we first broached the subject with Tricia a year or so into Michelle’s placement we’d expected her to be fully in favour of such an opportunity, but the social worker’s many years of experience made her cautious, and actually quite pessimistic.
‘I have to warn you that sometimes the parents don’t like it, and if the child is on a voluntary care order then the parents have every right to refuse to give permission,’ Tricia explained.
A ‘voluntary care order’ means the parent or parents have agreed to put their child in care, rather than having him or her removed, and they retain full parental responsibility. I knew this, of course, but so far it had only really impacted on me on one occasion, when we had a ten-year-old boy staying with us for a fortnight and he needed his mother’s permission to go on a farm visit with the school. By the time I’d got the necessary paperwork signed, all the places had been allocated and he missed out on the trip. It was very frustrating for all concerned, but in Michelle’s case I really couldn’t imagine we’d have a problem. We had started planning the Florida holiday twelve months in advance, plus Michelle’s mother had already agreed to another request, albeit a rather different one. Michelle had a severe overbite and we had asked permission for her to have orthodontic treatment through the dental practice Jonathan and I had used for many years. Her mother agreed and signed the necessary paperwork swiftly and without a hitch, and I pointed this out to Tricia.
