by Angela Hart
Red tights! Don’t forget script 4 Friday. New goggles?? Paula – lift after school. Bicarb of soda – cookery Tue. MEET MRS RIVERS 3.15 THURS!!!
‘Can you help me, Angela? Can you watch me? Can you sew this on to here? Can you teach me how to do that?’
Grace never stopped, but she was happy that way. I loved watching her perform and she made even more friends through the theatre group. There was never one best friend; everybody liked Grace and she got invited to all the parties, as well as to treats and events when a child was only allowed to invite one or two friends.
At the end of the netball season she won the players’ player of the year award, which she was genuinely surprised about and proud of. I can remember Jonathan commenting that her exuberance and enthusiasm seemed to rub off on other people. My mum often made similar observations. ‘She lights up a room,’ she said more than once. ‘What a lovely gift to have.’
Grace volunteered to wear a cuddly bear costume around the streets to promote her latest show, which the theatre group was putting on at the main playhouse.
‘You’re brave in this warm weather,’ I smiled. It was May, and the weather was great.
‘It’s all for a good cause, Angela!’
The theatre was donating part of its profits to charity and Grace was keen to sell as many tickets as possible. Several adults supervised Grace and her friends and I offered to carry one of the collecting tins. I must admit, after a couple of hours of tramping around the town my feet were killing me and I was longing for a sit down and a cold drink! Most of the others in the group had had enough too, but Grace’s enthusiasm and energy never waned. She was relentless, approaching everybody she possibly could, engaging members of the public of all ages in chatter, making them laugh and effortlessly charming money from their purses in exchange for tickets.
‘Aren’t you tired? Aren’t you hot? Don’t you need a break?’ The adults, and some of the other youngsters, took it in turns to ask her these questions.
‘No! Why stop now? We’re on a roll! Onwards and upwards!’ She marched on while the rest of us smiled at her pluck and joie de vivre and continued to support her until the shops closed and the town emptied out.
Colette had stopped attending the regular placement meetings we had with social workers and she no longer shared lifts with Barry when Grace made her visits home. This meant I had not seen her for a long time. There were some occasions when I felt it would have really pleased Grace if her mum had put in an appearance, such as when she was in a show or a swimming competition, but Colette never came to anything, even when I knew Grace had mentioned a particular event and invited her along. ‘You can come if you want,’ I’d hear her saying on the phone. It seemed a shame her mum never took her up on any of these offers, but that was the way it was. Grace never complained about this, though slowly but surely I noticed that she stopped mentioning such things on the phone.
It felt to me like Colette had drawn a line in the sand. She saw Grace on her contact visits to the family home – there had been two more, about six weeks apart, since her visit in February – and that was it. There had been no further mention of Grace moving back in; that topic seemed to have been long forgotten. As for whether Grace’s ADHD diagnosis had a positive impact on how her mother treated her, unfortunately I didn’t see or hear any evidence of this. Barry had been the one to share the news with Colette, and her reaction had been to say, ‘See! I knew she wasn’t right!’ This upset me. I’d hoped the diagnosis would soften Colette’s attitude to Grace but it seemed the opposite had happened, and she had used Grace’s ADHD as ammunition, to prove she had been right all along about her daughter’s difficult behaviour.
At the end of May, Barry mentioned to Grace that they needed to arrange her next home visit for early June, but she complained bitterly. She knew that the aim was for her to have a contact visit with her family approximately every six weeks and we’d achieved this over the past few months, but Grace was having none of it this time. Barry had to really coax Grace in order to get a date in the diary.
‘But it’s Paula’s party. Do I have to go? There’s a swimming gala that weekend too. It’s not fair! Can’t I go the week after, or the week after that?’
Barry eventually managed to get Grace to make a visit home about nine weeks after her previous visit. She told me over and over again she wasn’t looking forward to it.
‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy it once you’re there, sweetheart. It’s a while since you’ve seen your family.’
Grace complained that she was fed up with the long journey and the inconvenience of packing bags and missing all the stuff that was going on with her friends.
‘What’s the point?’ she moaned, as she threw her pyjamas and toothbrush into a bag.
She was stony-faced when she set off in Barry’s car, and angry and exhausted when she came back.
‘Mum’s so annoying!’ Grace snapped. She told me that on both the Friday and Saturday nights her mum had played loud music when she was trying to sleep.
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Yeah. I was trying to get some sleep and I couldn’t. It went on for hours.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, sweetheart.’
‘Well, she wasn’t sorry! She doesn’t care!’
Grace looked slightly shocked by what she’d said and I noticed she tried to backtrack.
‘But she’s, like, got a lot on her plate. And everyone’s got to let their hair down, haven’t they?’
Almost as an afterthought, Grace told me that Colette had split up with Malcolm. I wasn’t sure if this was a permanent split or not, as his two boys were still living in the house. Grace also told me she heard that Cameron was also a ‘druggie like Lee’, which I had to report to Social Services. I made sure I explained this was potentially hearsay from Grace as I had no proof it was true, but I had to let the authorities know.
That night, as she was getting into bed, Grace blurted out, ‘Mum’s worse than Dad!’
She rarely spoke about her dad, but on the odd occasion when she had I’d noticed she spoke generously about his past behaviour. The general impression I had built up was that she viewed her dad as a kind of lovable rogue whose heart was in the right place, but who just couldn’t control his addiction to alcohol. I’m not sure how accurate this was, or if Grace was looking back through rose-tinted glasses. I suspect the latter.
Grace yawned and began to tell me that her father once locked her in the car outside the pub, telling her, ‘Don’t move, or I’ll belt you.’ She said he left her alone for what felt like hours, in blazing heat, and she was scared. Grace said she was crying when he returned, and when they got home he smacked her legs, even though they were sunburned.
She had never once mentioned drugs or the fact he died from a drug overdose. In fact, I don’t recall her ever saying anything at all about his death, or openly referring to the fact he had passed away.
I listened and let her talk for as long as she wanted without interrupting. She didn’t expand on why she had suddenly said her mum was worse than her dad.
‘I’m tired. I’m going to sleep now.’
I wished her goodnight and her eyes were closed before I’d left the room. I think she was probably asleep before I got downstairs.
‘I don’t want to go home again for a while,’ she said the morning after, when we had breakfast together.
‘Don’t worry. We don’t have to fix anything up again just yet.’
‘No, but I’ll still have to go! I can’t put it off forever, you know, Angela!’
Grace then proceeded to pick an argument with the other girls in the house, bickering about which ‘greedy guts’ had eaten the last of her favourite cereal and, audaciously, accusing the others of causing trouble on purpose. It was such a shame to see this as, on the whole, all three girls had been getting along fine for a long time.
‘Grace,’ Jonathan said. ‘Please don’t be rude. That was not a kind thing to say. Can yo
u please say sorry?’
‘What? Me? You mean me say sorry? What about her?
Grace ran out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. She stormed upstairs and remained in a sulky mood for the rest of the day.
When she reappeared she demanded sweets and crisps and fizzy drinks, telling me I was mean for not giving her everything she wanted because ‘my mum lets me’. I was upset by Grace’s behaviour, and by what she reported from home.
When Grace was rude or badly behaved we didn’t ever ground her. Experience with other kids had shown us that this didn’t help and only served to make the child feel even more upset, alienated or angry. Instead, we tried to talk to Grace calmly, and we always encouraged her to keep up with all of her activities, whatever mood she was in, because if she wasn’t busy she was invariably much more difficult to handle.
‘I think secondary school will be great for Grace,’ Jonathan said, trying to look for a positive.
I hoped he was right. She had started to talk excitedly about her new school – she had got into her first choice, the one with the sporty reputation – and I hoped she’d respond well to all the new challenges it would bring.
‘Let’s hope it’s the making of her. She’s such a hard little worker and deserves every success.’
Around this time I had a chance conversation with a friend I’d known for years. She used to live in Colette’s area and went to school with her. She told me several things about Colette’s upbringing that I found distressing, but eye-opening. I learned that Colette had not had an easy life at all, having been shockingly abused in her childhood. Though this did not excuse how she treated Grace, I was left feeling a lot more sympathetic and understanding towards Colette than I had been at the start.
Nowadays, with many more years of fostering and life experience under my belt, I often think of Colette when I meet the parents of other children we foster. It’s easy to feel angry or bitter towards a parent, especially when you have a damaged child on your hands whose pain has been caused or exacerbated by their mum or dad’s behaviour, or both, but I try never to judge. Everybody has a story, and you never know all the details of their journey through life. I felt very sorry for the way Colette’s life had turned out; it seemed to me that she had never managed to break out of the dysfunctional world she herself had grown up in, which was a great shame. It reminded me of a child who had been in a placement with a friend and carer from my support group – her mother had been in care and it turned out her grandmother had also been brought up in care. I struggled to understand why this would happen when I was new to fostering. I’d thought, wouldn’t they fight tooth and nail for their child not to go into care? Thankfully, with the help of my friend, when this child grew up she was able to bring up her own children without even a hint of them needing to go into care.
18
‘It wasn’t comfy sleeping on the sofa’
One day, Colette phoned out of the blue. Grace had started at secondary school and had thrown herself into it with great enthusiasm, which was wonderful to see.
‘I like it, Mum,’ Grace said in a reassuring voice. ‘Yes, everything is good. Yes, OK. Yes, that would be good.’
‘Everything all right?’ I asked afterwards.
Grace was frowning and seemed a little puzzled.
‘Yes, Mum just wanted to find out how school was.’
‘That’s good. You sure you’re OK?’
‘Yes. She was nice to me. Very nice.’
‘That’s great!’
‘Yes, it is,’ Grace said, looking as if she couldn’t quite understand why her mother had been so nice on the phone. Prior to this, Colette had gone through one of her phases of keeping a very low profile. She had not even phoned to wish Grace good luck at the start of her new term, even though she must have known what a big step it was for her daughter to start secondary school. I figured there must have been a reason; Colette must have had other things to deal with. Thankfully, Grace didn’t seem to expect a call or anything else from her mum in that period of time, so she had not been disappointed, at least as far as I could tell.
‘Mum wants to see me soon. She said she was sorry she hadn’t phoned for a while. She said she missed me.’ Grace emphasised the word ‘missed’ and narrowed her eyes. She looked deep in thought and unsure how to react. My heart went out to her in that moment. She obviously didn’t expect her mum to be interested in her new school, and she hadn’t anticipated that her mum would be the one to orchestrate a visit home and say she missed her, as this was not normally how things worked. Usually, Barry organised the visits, and sometimes we had trouble getting hold of Colette when Grace tried to call her to finalise arrangements. I thought what a pity it was that Grace had such low expectations of her mum, but I also felt a surge of optimism. I’d never known Colette to be so proactive; hopefully this would be good news for Grace going forward.
As the weekend of the next contact visit approached, Grace started to complain about the amount of homework she had to get through, the length of the journey to and from her mum’s house and the fact she was going to miss a rehearsal with her theatre group, which was putting on a panto.
‘I’m not sure I can go,’ she said.
Here we go again, I thought. This is just what happened last time.
I tried to come up with positive things to say, but the more we talked about the visit the more Grace scowled and grumbled and sulked.
‘It’s been a while since you saw everyone. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it once you get there.’
‘That’s what Barry said. And Jonathan! Have you all been talking about me behind my back?’
‘No, sweetheart. The fact is, we all care about you and have your best interests at heart. We all hope you’ll enjoy seeing your family.’
She groaned and sighed dramatically. ‘I don’t have any choice, do I?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. Though Grace liked to say her piece when she was resentful about something, at the end of the day she was a pretty compliant kid. I don’t think it entered her head that she could point blank refuse to go, as some children would have tried to get away with.
Grace looked frazzled when she got into Barry’s car. She waved forlornly from the car window and I felt very sorry that her life had to be organised this way. It would have been easier if her family home was closer to ours, but unfortunately this was the way things had panned out, and we just had to get on with it.
I missed Grace when she was gone and found myself wondering what she was doing at various times of the day. I hoped she was managing to relax and enjoy herself with her family. I’d got very used to Grace’s ways by now, and it was odd not to have her around, chattering nineteen to the dozen, helping with the chores while simultaneously getting under my feet and needing lifts here, there and everywhere.
It moved me to tears when Barry dropped her back at our house, because Grace ran up to me and gave me a big hug. She didn’t do this often, and this time she clung on to me.
‘Are you OK, Grace? How did it go?’
‘Can I go to my room?’
‘Of course you can. I’ve got the dinner on and I’ll give you a shout when it’s ready.’
Grace didn’t reply when I called her later, so I went up to her room and tapped on the door.
‘Grace? Dinner’s ready.’
‘Oh, er, yeah.’
‘Are you coming down? I’m about to serve up.’
She came to the door and when I looked at her I could tell she was feeling miserable. Her chin was down, there was no spark in her eyes and she was hunched over. Even her voice gave away her emotions; it sounded deeper than normal, as if she was choked up. I was afraid that Lee or Lily had been mean to her, or perhaps even Colette, despite the fact she had been so pleasant to Grace on the phone and had been proactive in fixing up the visit.
‘What is it, sweetheart?’
‘I’m tired. It wasn’t comfy sleeping on the sofa. And Lee woke me up in the morning. And . . .’
‘And?’
‘I don’t like Lily’s boyfriend.’
‘Lily has a boyfriend?’
‘Yes.’ Grace yawned and rubbed her eyes. They looked red and I wasn’t sure if this was from tiredness or because Grace had been crying, though she rarely shed a tear.
‘You slept on the sofa?’
‘Yes! Didn’t you hear me? That’s what I just said!’
‘I thought it was. Would you like to tell me anything else about the weekend, because I’d like to hear more about it? And I’m sorry you weren’t comfy on the sofa.’
She pushed past me and ran down the stairs, then sat at the dinner table with a face like thunder.
‘What’s the matter, Grace?’ one of the other children asked.
‘Nothing.’
‘Are you sure? Are you OK? You look a bit, like, cross.’
Grace banged her fist on the table. ‘Grrr! Just all leave me alone, will you?’
Jonathan intervened and reminded Grace to be polite, pointing out that the other child was only being kind and showing concern. Grace didn’t reply and ate her food silently, then went back to her bedroom. She didn’t speak to anyone that night, and the next day she was moody and monosyllabic.
Unfortunately, this was a pattern that repeated every couple of months, whenever Grace went to the family home. She also had plenty of angry and sulky episodes when she was at home with us, and at school, but the deterioration in her moods was always far more noticeable and extreme whenever she had stayed at her mum’s house.
After one particularly tetchy visit, Grace told me that the reason she had to sleep on the sofa was because Lily was allowed to have her boyfriend staying overnight in her room. Prior to this, Grace had always shared her sister’s bedroom. By this time, Lily was nearly sixteen and Grace was twelve.
‘Mum said I was ungrateful,’ Grace said. ‘But I only said the sofa wasn’t comfy. All she cares about is Lily! It’s a joke! Lily gets away with murder and I only have to make one tiny mistake or say the wrong thing and I’m carpeted!’
