by Angela Hart
‘Yes indeed,’ he said. ‘I see what you’re saying. We don’t know how reliable this information is, do we?’
‘Exactly. It could be clutching at straws, but I sincerely hope Social Services will do everything in their power to find out what became of him. Even if Vicky’s father has passed away as she suspects, she ought to know, and at least she might find out more about him, something that hasn’t come from her mother.’
I jotted down some notes in my diary so as not to forget any details, and I passed all the information I had gleaned to Tricia at the next available opportunity. I wasn’t officially required to keep a diary but I liked to do so. I wanted to ensure I gave accurate information to Social Services and it also helped me remember key dates and events, as I also took plenty of photographs of Vicky that I eventually put into albums for her, along with dates and captions. I did the same for Michelle, and other children we had staying.
Nowadays social workers put together ‘life story’ books for kids in foster care, which are like a biography, dating back to the child’s birth. The books include information about the child’s place of birth, pictures and details of their former homes and schools, names of relatives and so on. Social workers need to be specially trained to compile life stories, as they can bring to the forefront issues that can cause stress or behavioural difficulties, while foster carers are now asked to keep what are known as ‘memory books’ for the children, which include photos and keepsakes like concert tickets, party invitations and school certificates, to help the child remember their time with you. Such records were unheard of back in the late eighties though, but I felt it was only natural to take photos and keep some kind of scrapbook for the children, just as I kept souvenirs and photographs of my own life.
Whatever happened next, I wanted Vicky to remember her time with us. It was part of her childhood and, no matter how short her stay, it should not be forgotten.
8
‘Vicky can go to hell!’
‘I saw James today!’ Vicky beamed. ‘He’s grown loads already! He’s so cute, Angela! You should see his tiny fingernails.’
‘Oh that’s great! I didn’t know Lorraine was up to seeing you yet?’
‘If you ask Carl then apparently she’s not, but I called round when he was at work, just on the off chance, when I was on my way to meet my friends.’
‘Oh! And Lorraine was OK with that?’
‘Totally! She was pleased to see me.’
‘Well that’s lovely. I’m glad that worked out. And so Lorraine’s doing well now?’
‘She’s great! I think Carl’s a bit overprotective. Lorraine even asked me if I wanted to babysit, so of course I said yes! I’m going back tomorrow, so she can get to the shops and that.’
I was very pleased for Vicky, although I was slightly concerned about her being left in charge of such a new baby. She was about to turn fourteen in a few weeks’ time, but nevertheless Vicky was a very young girl with no experience of looking after a newborn.
‘Are you sure you’re happy to be left alone with your nephew?’ I asked. ‘You’ve never done it before and it could be harder than you think.’
‘I’m completely fine! Lorraine said she won’t be long, not even an hour, and she’ll feed and change him before she goes out.’
‘Right, then. Promise you’ll phone me if you’re worried about anything, won’t you? You have the shop number and the house number in your purse, don’t you?’
‘Yes, Angela!’ Vicky said, turning on her fake American accent. ‘Interrogation over? Permission to visit my nephew granted?’
I mimicked the American solider salute Vicky often made.
‘Permission granted, officer Vicky!’
She set off to Lorraine’s with a spring in her step the next day, but unfortunately she returned in a terrible mood and with a face like thunder about an hour later.
‘Vicky, love! Whatever is the matter?’
She had barged through the shop door with such force the open/closed sign on the back of it was swinging precariously and the bell hanging overhead had rung out like a warning siren instead of making its usual gentle tinkle.
‘Nothing. Leave me alone!’ she shouted.
I was behind the counter, serving a middle-aged gentleman who was buying some red roses for his wife’s birthday.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ I said to the customer, as he’d nearly jumped out of his skin when Vicky stormed in.
‘It’s quite all right,’ he said stony-faced as he shot a look at Vicky and then began fumbling for his wallet, no doubt hoping to pay as quickly as possible so he could make his exit.
‘What are you looking at?’ Vicky suddenly snapped, very rudely indeed. She had her hands on her hips and was scowling aggressively at the gentleman. ‘Well? I said, what are you gawping at?’
‘Vicky! That’s very rude! Goodness me! Go straight up to your room, right now!’
Turning to my customer I said, ‘I’m terribly sorry. I can’t apologise enough.’
‘Well I’m not sorry!’ Vicky shouted as she made her way to the back of the shop. ‘I hate people who poke their noses into other people’s business! Nosy parker!’
The poor gentleman was speechless.
‘That is enough, Vicky. Go to your room immediately!’
‘Don’t worry, I’m going! I’ll just GO TO HELL, shall I? AND YOU CAN TOO!’
‘Vicky!’
I heard the door between the shop and the house slam, leaving me shocked and red-faced as I dealt with my dumbfounded customer. I told him to have the bunch of flowers on the shop and offered my humblest apologies.
The man took the flowers and shuffled out without saying a word, leaving me fuming and deeply embarrassed. The minute Jonathan arrived back I dashed through to the house and found Vicky in her bedroom, blasting out extremely loud ‘acid house’ music.
‘Vicky! What on earth is the matter? What’s going on?’
I hammered on her door, because I would never go into a child’s bedroom without their permission, and after a minute or so she begrudgingly shouted, ‘Come in then, if you really have to!’
‘Right, Vicky!’ I shouted. ‘Turn that music down and let’s talk. You were extremely rude back there and I’m grounding you for a month! I don’t care what has happened, you cannot speak to me or to our customers like that. It is completely out of order!’
‘A month?’ she said, jaw dropping as she turned down the volume on her stereo. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Totally serious, Vicky. You are not going out for a month, unless it’s something I want you to do, of course.’
‘But I’m back at school soon! It’s nearly the end of the school holidays! I’ll miss out on loads!’
‘I don’t care what is going on! You should have thought of that before you were so disrespectful. My customer didn’t know where to put himself. I never want to see that kind of behaviour from you again.’
‘Yes, but a MONTH?’
‘Yes a MONTH! What has happened, anyhow? What made you behave that way?’
‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter. All you care about is GROUNDING me!’
‘That’s unfair and untrue. Now what is going on? Did something happen at Lorraine’s, or on the way home? Have you fallen out with Carl? Did he stop you seeing the baby again?’
Vicky thought long and hard before steeling herself to answer.
‘If you must know, Lorraine told me she went to visit our mother.’
Vicky looked very uneasy at the mention of her mother.
‘I see,’ I said softly, leaving Vicky space to carry on.
‘Lorraine thought she ought to show her the baby. I won’t be going anywhere near her if I have babies! Lorraine must need her head testing!’
‘Is that why you’re so cross and upset?’
‘No, not just that. It was all fine for them, apparently, but not for me! Lorraine said that my mum was really pleased to see her. It had been a long time. But my mum had a message for
me.’
‘Did she?’
‘Yes she did. The message from my mum was: “Vicky can go to hell. As far as I’m concerned I only have one daughter, and that’s you, Lorraine.”’
A mass of emotions swamped me. I immediately felt guilty for grounding Vicky, I was appalled and angry at Lorraine’s insensitivity in passing this dreadful message on, but most of all I was utterly horrified that the words had been spoken in the first place.
‘Vicky! That’s absolutely terrible.’
‘I know,’ she shuddered. ‘I hate my mum. She’s a witch. D’you know what? When I was living with her I was so scared I thought she was going to murder me.’
‘Murder you?’
‘Yes, I’m deadly serious. I don’t know what I’ve done to her, but she hates me. She used to say, “It’s all your fault.” She’s gunning for me, I tell you, Angela. This is why I don’t want to go to that review thing. I know she can’t harm me there, but I’m terrified of even being in the same room as her.’
I had the date and time of the review in my diary now and I was starting to get a bit stressed about it myself. I certainly sympathised with Vicky, though of course I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be in her shoes. It was a very upsetting and unusual situation indeed.
‘Look, you said it yourself, sweetheart. Your mum can’t harm you there, can she? I’ll sit beside you the whole time, and . . .’
‘Can’t you just say I’m grounded?’ Vicky blurted. ‘So I can’t go!’
‘You know that’s a silly thing to say.’
‘Well you grounded me! Oh my God! I hate my life! Can you just leave me alone now please, Angela?!’
She stood up and turned her music back on, but thankfully not as loud as earlier.
‘We’ll talk again, Vicky,’ I said. ‘But until I say so, you are grounded. I’m very sorry about what you heard today, but you have to learn not to take things out on other people.’
As I was walking down the stairs Michelle was making her way up them, looking downhearted.
‘Hello, love!’ I said as brightly as I could muster. ‘How are you?’
‘Very, very fed up!’ she grumbled.
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that. What’s the matter?’
‘My mum’s changed her mind about Florida.’
‘Oh no! But she’s already agreed to everything!’
‘She says she doesn’t like the set-up in the hotel.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I showed her the brochure you gave me. We are all sharing one room, aren’t we?’
‘Sort of. It’s a family room with an interconnecting door. You’ll have your privacy without being on your own.’
‘Well she doesn’t like it. She’s told me to tell you to cancel it.’
‘It’s too late for that! Honestly, I’m sure we’ll be able to sort this out. Leave it with me, Michelle. Don’t worry about it; she can’t just cancel like this.’
‘Well she can, and she has. She’s told Tricia and everything. I suppose I’d be worried if my child was going to the other side of the world with people I hardly knew.’
‘Is that what she said? Jonathan and I are not exactly strangers, Michelle, are we? We’re your foster carers and you’d lived with us for two years! As I say, leave it with me.’
At that moment Vicky appeared on the landing above us and invited Michelle into her bedroom to listen to some music.
‘OK,’ Michelle said, ‘what are you listening to?’
‘Acid house. Do you like it?’
‘Ooh I’m not sure. I’ll come up.’
By the time I’d reached the ground floor of the house the music was blasting out so loudly I could feel it thudding in my chest, so I darted back upstairs and banged on Vicky’s door again.
‘Vicky! What did I say! Turn it down!’
‘Well what am I supposed to do, being stuck in?’ she retorted.
‘I don’t know, but turn it down!’
‘You’re so boring!’
I didn’t argue back as the volume did go down and I’d had enough for the time being. All I wanted to do was sit down, have a cup of tea and a biscuit and gather my thoughts, but the phone rang just as I was going into the kitchen.
‘What now!’ I said out loud, grabbing the receiver and barking ‘Hello?’ impatiently.
‘Hello, is that Mrs Hart?’
‘Yes it is.’
‘Hello! I just wanted to introduce myself. My name’s Hayley Jenkins. I’ve taken over from Tricia as your social worker.’
‘Oh! Thank you for phoning. I didn’t know Tricia was leaving.’
‘No, another foster carer just said the same thing. I don’t know why she didn’t tell you. Tricia’s moved to another post outside the county.’
I found myself feeling upset about this. Though I didn’t always appreciate Tricia’s abrupt manner I’d got to know her quite well over the past two years, and I understood that she behaved so brusquely at times because of the pressure she was under, and not because she was impatient or didn’t care.
‘Well that’s come as quite a surprise,’ I said. ‘If you speak to her again please send her all my best. I’m sorry I didn’t have the chance to say goodbye.’
Hayley wanted to arrange to come over and visit us, and I explained that we ran the shop and Jonathan and I would prefer to see her after hours if at all possible.
‘That’s fine!’ she said brightly. ‘I know you have the florists and I suffer from terrible hay fever, so I’d rather keep well away from the shop in any case.’
I had a good feeling about Hayley. She sounded younger and more enthusiastic than Tricia, and when I met her in person a few days later I discovered she was only in her early twenties and was newly qualified. She also happened to be the physical opposite to Tricia too, with slick blonde hair and a tall, slender figure, and she was dressed in a smart suit as opposed to the slacks and baggy jumpers Tricia favoured.
‘It’s so nice to meet you, Angela!’ Hayley beamed, shaking my hand enthusiastically.
‘And you. This is Jonathan, my husband.’
‘Lovely to meet you. It’s great that you are both foster carers, I have to say. There are a lot fewer men than women prepared to put themselves forward. I think you have a great arrangement, what with running the business together too.’
Jonathan was used to being overlooked by Tricia and he warmed to Hayley immediately. Once the pleasantries were over, however, we were disappointed to discover there was nothing further to report in terms of tracking down Vicky’s father, or about Lorraine’s situation. All Hayley had wanted to do at this stage was make our acquaintance, see how Vicky was getting on and make sure we were happy to carry on fostering her for the time being.
‘Can I meet Vicky now?’ Hayley asked.
‘Yes of course! I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see her but she’s upstairs in her room. She’s grounded, as it happens. Can you go and fetch her, Jonathan?’
‘Thanks. Didn’t Tricia normally see Vicky when she visited you then? I would have thought that was to be expected?’
As Jonathan climbed the stairs I explained that in the six weeks Vicky had been with us Tricia had never made an appointment at the house like this. Instead, we’d spoken on the phone or she’d dropped into the shop if she happened to be passing, where she had seen Vicky briefly on one or two occasions.
‘How are you, Vicky?’ Tricia had asked at one such chance encounter. ‘Happy here?’
‘Er, yes. I like Angela and Jonathan.’
‘Great! Any problems, Angela?’
‘No, not that I can think of right now . . .’
‘Good. I’ll put this down as a visit . . .’
Hayley kept her counsel as I described Tricia’s methods, but I could tell from the look on her face she wasn’t very impressed by this set-up. She then inevitably asked me why Vicky was grounded, and so I explained the full story.
‘To tell the truth, I know I’ve made a mistake i
n grounding her for a month. It’s only been a few days and she’s already been making a terrible nuisance of herself in the house. I’ve reached the point where I think I’m going to have to un-ground her for everybody’s sanity!’
I made light of it but this was no joke. Vicky had got so bored being in the house all day long that she’d caused all kinds of havoc. First she’d decided to use some rhubarb from my mother’s garden to make a crumble, but she’d tried to ‘bake’ it in a metal tray in the microwave instead of the main oven, and our microwave was now broken and waiting to be taken to the tip. Next she’d used a tea tray instead of a baking tray to grill some cheese on toast, and the tray had melted and filled the kitchen with choking smoke.
‘Do you like having me around so much?’ Vicky had said sarcastically one evening, and then she proceeded to follow Jonathan everywhere he went, just like a little shadow, as she could think of nothing better to do.
‘What are you doing, Jonathan?’ she babbled incessantly. ‘Can I help? Do you want to play a game?’
She was so irritating that even Michelle had snapped, ‘Go and read your book!’ at one point.
‘Finished it!’ she chimed. ‘But I can’t go to the library for another one because I’m grounded!!!’
When Jonathan brought Vicky into the lounge to meet Hayley I couldn’t help but admire her nerve. Vicky was wearing a bright red oversized sweatshirt with the slogan ‘Let Me Out!’ emblazoned in yellow lettering on the front.
‘Where on earth did you get that, Vicky?’ I asked.
‘It’s one of Lorraine’s old maternity tops. Do you like it? I think the slogan is very appropriate for someone who’s grounded!’
Hayley laughed, and while the atmosphere was light and warm the social worker impressed me by slipping the review into the conversation, and making it sound very safe and manageable to Vicky.
‘So we’ll see each other next Tuesday. It’ll be a chance to get out the house for a while, Vicky!’
‘I don’t want to go, actually.’
‘I can understand that. Nobody likes those things. I’d rather be painting my toenails, believe me, but I’ve got to be there. We’ll all support each other, won’t we? It’s for your benefit, Vicky, just remember that and it will help you get through it. You won’t come to any harm, we can promise you that, and afterwards you’ll be glad you’ve done it.’
