by Angela Hart
Sadly, over the years, I heard that Michelle had found it much more difficult to break away from her past. She had placed her baby daughter in care after falling out with her mother and had ended up in a homeless hostel when she was just eighteen. She cut Jonathan and I out of her life completely after she left us so abruptly, which was a source of pain to us for a very long time. Michelle eventually married, very unhappily, then divorced, and her daughter went on to have a baby when she was still in her early teens. Thankfully, I’ve heard more recently that Michelle has finally found the happiness she deserves: she is a doting grandmother and has settled down with a new partner who treats her well.
Vicky was in her twenties when she met her husband, Keith, through work. They eventually found jobs together at a busy seaside hotel, which happened to be close to the resort where Jonathan and I had taken Vicky on her first ever caravan holiday. We met her there a few times when we were on our travels, and it was always good to see her. Vicky invariably looked happy and healthy, and we would have a great time together, reminiscing about the day she threw ice over Jonathan, or the trips and barbecues we shared at the coast.
Keith is a kind and caring man, and when he and Vicky eventually married and had their two girls we were guests of honour at both the wedding and the christenings, which were very memorable occasions. Vicky continued to visit regularly even once she was a very busy mum, which I really appreciated.
‘Angela, I would never, ever come back without coming to see you,’ she said once, when I thanked her for making the effort. ‘You are the reason it’s even possible for me to come back.’
‘That’s kind of you to say,’ I replied. ‘But I only did what any foster carer would have done.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘That’s not true. You have done so much more. You could have waved me off at the age of sixteen and never seen me again, but you didn’t.’
I’ve had so many people say to me over the years that they couldn’t possibly be a foster carer, because they would find it too upsetting to say goodbye to children over and over again. That always raises a wry smile, because in my experience fostering is not short term at all. It’s a life-long relationship, if the foster child wants it to be, and I have kept in touch with many of the fifty children I have fostered over the years.
After that day in the garden, when Vicky told me about her mother’s cruelty, she began to reveal more secrets of her past, bit by bit and often when I least expected it.
One winter’s afternoon, out of the blue, she told me that her mother would get drunk and have sex with her ‘gentlemen callers’ during the daytime, not caring what Vicky saw or heard. Alf, the next-door neighbour, would take Vicky’s mother upstairs for what he called his ‘payment in kind’ after delivering alcohol and pills, or bags of second-hand clothes for Vicky.
Another time Vicky told me that even though she was afraid of being put outside in the dark, in her nightie, and of being dispatched around the estate in the cold at night, she was infinitely more afraid of being in the house alone with her mother.
‘Sometimes I could just look at my mother the wrong way and she’d snap. She didn’t need an excuse, but sometimes she would invent one anyhow. “You’re late!” she’d shout, because if I’d gone out to the library or to see a friend she always told me to be in before it was dark. I always did my best, but sometimes dusk would be falling, which my mother used as an excuse to lose her temper with me.’
The secrets keep coming, to this day. Quite recently, Vicky and I took the girls to the cafe in the park. Vicky finished her glass of Coke and then went very quiet and contemplative.
‘You know what, Angela? Sometimes my mother would finish her drink, smash the glass and start cutting her fingers, telling me I had to watch. “Look what you made me do!” she’d say. “I never wanted you! Look what you’ve done to me!” When her fingers were bleeding she’d threaten to cut her wrists, or cut me. “Come here!” she’d yell. “Get here now.” I remember telling you some of this before, Angela, but I didn’t tell you the whole story. I’d have to go over to her because if I didn’t I thought she’d slash her wrists, but as soon as I was close enough she’d grab my hair and drag me across the floor. Afterwards I’d have sores on my scalp and red streaks in my hair, but I didn’t know if the blood was hers or mine.’
Vicky always tries to end such conversations on a positive note, usually by thanking her lucky stars that she has survived and created such a lovely life for herself. In all the years she has never discussed with me how she felt about her father’s custody battle with her mother or his attempts to put her on the ‘at risk’ register. Vincent passed away a few years ago, but even his death did not prompt any such discussion from Vicky. I still wonder what she thinks about her missing files, and how their loss inevitably altered the course of her life, but Vicky has never referred to their disappearance, and she has never expressed any bitterness or regret. Despite the knocks she had in life, she is a naturally sunny person with a generous heart and a kind spirit – a lesson to us all, in fact.
‘What you’ve achieved is nothing short of remarkable,’ I said to Vicky the last time she spoke about her past.
‘Thanks, Angela,’ she said, a wide smile spreading across her face. ‘I could say the same to you! You turned my life around, and I will never be able to thank you enough.’
Vicky was not the first of my foster children to say something of this nature to me, and this is the reason I have carried on, year after year, and am still a foster carer today, with Jonathan continuing to support me every step of the way.
The compliment was incredibly special coming from Vicky though. My heart swells with pride each time I see her or think of her, and I feel very fortunate to still be part of her life, watching her flourish.
You’ll enjoy Angela’s short story
The Girl With No Bedroom Door
Out May 2016
And her next book
The Girl Who Just Wanted To Be Loved
Out August 2016
First published 2016 by Bluebird
This electronic edition published 2016 by Bluebird
an imprint of Pan Macmillan
20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com
ISBN 978-1-5098-0550-1
Copyright © Angela Hart 2016
Cover images: girl © Justin Paget/Corbis, background © Shutterstock
The right of Angela Hart to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.
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