by Angela Hart
For Jonathan’s part, he was the youngest of four brothers, raised on a farm. He was a small, short-sighted boy and unfortunately his father gave him a hard time, treating him like the runt of the family. Melissa looked genuinely saddened when I told her that, and said how mean it was. Jonathan rose above it, I reassured her. He worked hard and moved away to the city after doing his A levels at eighteen. I explained how he went on to carve out a great career for himself, working in logistics, while I also left home after my A levels and went to work in a bank in the same city. We thoroughly enjoyed spreading our wings and lived life to the full.
‘My mother always told me that the world was my oyster,’ I said to Melissa. ‘Life was not always perfect and I certainly wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth. Nor was Jonathan. But we both made the best of everything, always worked hard and took opportunities. It doesn’t matter who you are or where you come from, we can all be what we want to be and we can all change our lives for the better. There is something great out there that everybody can do. What are your dreams for the future, Melissa?’
‘Like I said, I want to work with kids, that’s it really. I think I’d be good at it.’ She paused and looked thoughtful. ‘Also, I want to be a mum myself one day, but not yet. I want to be a great mum and have a lovely big family.’
At this point she started to cry.
‘Can I give you a hug?’
‘No. I’m all right.’
I let the silence linger, hoping she would be the one to fill it. I imagined she was crying over her own family. Her mum was on the other side of the world and her stepfather was in prison, at least that’s what she had told me. I’d heard nothing about her real father.
She quickly wiped her eyes, stood up abruptly and took a deep breath in. ‘Sorry to cry. I’m going to try to get some sleep now. I’m fine, don’t worry.’
I told Melissa there was no need to apologise for crying and that she could talk to me about anything, any time she liked. We climbed the stairs together, and I walked up to the top landing and said goodnight to her as she closed her bedroom door.
Jonathan was awake again when I got back into bed and I told him what had gone on. We both lay there for a while, listening. Melissa was clearly not in bed as we could still hear her shuffling around. Her door creaked open and I heard the sound of the toilet flushing. Then there was more padding about, and I realised her footsteps were getting closer.
‘What’s she doing?’ Jonathan hissed.
‘I don’t know.’
It sounded like she’d gone into the living room, which was along from our bedroom, on the middle floor of the house.
‘I’m going to see,’ I told him.
I pulled on my dressing gown and tiptoed along the landing. I could hear Melissa talking quietly and urgently, and realised she was on the phone.
‘Yeah, I’ll be there. Yeah, I’ll bring her. Why does he have to come? OK.’
I pushed open the door.
‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘My foster carer is here. I’ll see you then. Bye.’ She hung up and immediately apologised for using the phone without permission.
‘It’s the fact you’re using it at this time in the morning I’m bothered about,’ I said. ‘Who on earth were you talking to at this time?’
‘Just my boyfriend.’
‘TJ?’
‘No, not TJ. It’s Degsy.’
‘Degsy?’
‘You know, I’ve told you about him before. He’s one of the boys from the unit.’
‘I’m surprised you got through to him at this hour. Surely you can’t phone the unit in the middle of the night?’
‘Oh no, he’s not in there any more. He’s out, I know the number where he stays. He’s always awake in the night. I said I’ll see him tomorrow. Is that OK? Sorry, I should have checked first.’
‘I don’t want to interfere, Melissa, but it sounds like you might be getting yourself into a tricky situation.’
‘Why? Will Jonathan be annoyed about this?’
‘No, what I mean is, seeing more than one boy at the same time. Are you sure it’s a good idea? I thought TJ was your boyfriend?’
‘I’m OK. I know what I’m doing, honest. I’m gonna go and have a coffee with Degsy tomorrow afternoon, that’s all.’
I steered her back to bed and said we’d talk about it in the morning.
I already didn’t like the sound of this Degsy boy. What had he been in the unit for and why was he always awake in the night?
Melissa got up at ten the next day and seemed anxious and distracted as she got herself ready for the appointment with the GP.
The surgery was close by and I walked there with her. The swelling and pain in her hand had almost disappeared now. I hoped we wouldn’t be wasting the GP’s time over it, although I was still grateful he was seeing her, from a more general point of view. With longer-term placements we’re obliged to take children for routine medical and dental check-ups, plus eye tests and any other health appointments the children may need. I always find it reassuring to have the children seen by a range of medical professionals, as I don’t think you can ever be too vigilant when it comes to a child’s health. With such a short placement we were not required by Social Services to take Melissa for any routine check-ups, so I was going to make the most of this opportunity. I’d decided I was going to ask the doctor what advice he could give about the dangers to teenagers of smoking, alcohol and drugs. I wasn’t going to divulge anything personal about Melissa, but I hoped she’d take notice of whatever advice the experienced GP might offer.
Melissa had shown herself to be quite unfazed when talking about topics many teenagers would have blushed at or hidden from, and so I wasn’t concerned about her reaction if the doctor decided to ask her direct questions. I’d known Dr Peters for many years, and he understood my role as a foster carer and was always helpful and supportive.
‘So what seems to be the problem?’ the smiling GP asked.
Melissa explained about the swelling she’d experienced on her hand. Dr Peters looked at it and manipulated each of her dainty fingers in turn, then her thumb, asking if she felt any pain.
‘No, but I have got stomach-ache,’ she volunteered.
‘Stomach-ache?’
‘Yeah. I thought it was because I took painkillers for my hand and they didn’t agree with me, but I think I might be pregnant.’
She said this without flinching, in a surprisingly confident voice. I looked at her in alarm and the doctor raised his bushy eyebrows. I imagined he must have been as taken aback as I was, though we both managed to keep our composure very well in the circumstances.
Melissa was dressed in a jumper with candy stripes on it and had a shiny ribbon in her hair, tied in a pretty bow. With her soft skin and pink lips she looked like a little doll that day; I could hardly believe what I’d just heard.
‘Well if that’s the case, we’ll need to do a urine sample,’ the GP said calmly. ‘How pregnant do you suspect you may be? Have you done a test?’
He looked at me and I looked at her, letting the doctor know this was all news to me.
‘I’ve only missed two periods.’
I felt nauseous myself now. Surely this wasn’t happening? What if Melissa was pregnant? Who had she been sleeping with? And what other secrets was she keeping?
8
‘I’m only doing my job’
To my huge relief it turned out Melissa wasn’t pregnant after all. When Dr Peters told us the result of the urine test he was kind and sensitive and started to give Melissa a gentle talk about reproduction and contraception. He used very basic language – so basic I wondered if he doubted whether she’d had sex at all. Perhaps he thought she might be an incredibly naive twelve-year-old, maybe one who thought you could get pregnant simply by kissing her boyfriend?
It did seem unbelievable that Melissa had had sex at her age, particularly as she looked younger than ever on the day we went to the doctors. Unfortunately, my gut feeling
was that she had had sex, and that her pregnancy scare was genuine.
In the circumstances we didn’t get on to talking about the perils of drugs, smoking and alcohol with the GP as I’d planned to do. Dr Peters wished us both the best of luck and said he’d leave Melissa in my ‘capable hands’. Of course, I’d be reporting everything to Social Services. It’s possible the doctor himself would flag up to the authorities that a twelve-year-old girl had been in his surgery saying she might be pregnant, but I got the feeling he was leaving it to me to deal with Social Services, as he knew I would. Dr Peters didn’t ask who the father might be, or the age of Melissa’s boyfriend. She was not in need of any medical attention and she was in my care, which automatically meant she was under the Social Services radar. Therefore, I suspect that that was the end of the matter for the pleasant but somewhat apathetic GP; I noticed that he was already opening the next patient’s file before we’d left the room.
‘I’m sorry for causing a fuss,’ Melissa said afterwards. ‘And for not telling you what I was worried about, before we went to the doctor.’
She looked genuinely apologetic, as she had done on previous occasions, and she said she’d decided not to meet Degsy for a coffee that afternoon as planned.
‘I don’t feel like it now. I’ll let him know. Can I phone him?’
‘Yes, of course.’
I told her I was very glad she’d let me accompany her to the GP and reiterated that she could talk to me about anything she wanted.
‘Thanks, but I don’t want to talk about it any more. It was a mistake, sleeping with that boy. I feel stupid now. I didn’t really want to do it but all my mates are having sex and I would have felt daft to say no.’
I talked to her about being her own person and looking after herself emotionally, as well as from a sexual health point of view. I mentioned sexually transmitted diseases and talked about HIV and AIDS. I didn’t want to frighten Melissa, but if she was sexually active I had to make sure she was well aware of all the risks she was taking. I was very grateful for the HIV and AIDS training we’d under-gone on our specialist foster care course. In the wake of the Government’s hard-hitting ‘Don’t die of ignorance’ campaign in the eighties, training, education and raising awareness of HIV and AIDS were still a high priority. I felt very well informed and able to speak with some authority about the risks of unprotected sex, and I hoped that if all else failed this might just be the thing to make Melissa sit up and take notice.
She seemed to listen to me, and so I took the opportunity to say as much as I could about the choices she was making. ‘You’re a lovely girl, Melissa. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do with a boy. You are worth more than that. Be proud of who you are and believe in yourself. You never, ever have to put yourself in a compromising position. You’re far too young to be having sex. Nice boys will respect you for saying no. Good friends won’t judge you either.’
I realised I couldn’t assume TJ was the boy she might have had sex with. In fact, I was wondering if it might be Degsy, as she’d originally arranged to see him after the doctor’s appointment. I made it clear to Melissa that she could tell me anything she wanted to about which boy it was, but she was looking at her feet by the time I broached this subject, and I was worried I was starting to sound like I was delivering a monologue. My instinct was that Melissa wouldn’t tell me who it might be, and that she would possibly become defensive and shut me out if I probed too much, but I did make sure I talked to her about the fact it was illegal for a boy over sixteen to have sex with an underage girl.
‘I know that, but it’s the boy who’d get done for it,’ she said flatly.
I reiterated that the most important thing was that she was safe and protected and not doing anything against her will.
‘I’m on your side,’ I told her. ‘I’m here to help you.’
I needed to continue to encourage her to trust me and talk to me about whatever she wanted, or whatever was worrying her.
Elaine, Melissa’s support worker, tapped quietly on the front door. ‘Hello,’ she said in a thin voice, not much louder than a whisper. ‘I’m Elaine. I hope it’s still a good time for me to pop in?’
I thought this was an odd thing to say, as we’d spoken on the phone just a short time earlier.
Though her main role was to transport Melissa to supervised visits to family and friends, she had suggested she pop in as she had another appointment close to where we lived. When she phoned in advance to confirm the arrangements I told her I was looking forward to meeting her and was very glad she was coming to see Melissa.
‘I think she needs all the support she can get,’ I said.
It would be up to Melissa what she told her support worker and whether she mentioned the pregnancy scare, but I hoped she would, and I encouraged her to do so.
‘We’re all here to support you, Melissa. Of course, Elaine can only help you with things she knows about, so I’d make the most of her visit if I were you.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said to Elaine now, ‘we’ve been expecting you. Come on in, it’s freezing out there.’
She was a wiry and pasty-skinned woman who looked to be in her fifties. I noticed her nose was very red and her lips were chapped. She stepped into the house apologising for dripping rain from her long woollen coat onto the wooden floor in our hallway. She immediately began taking off her sensible flat, black shoes, which looked soaked through.
‘Sorry about this. I used a car park that was full of potholes this morning and I stepped straight in a puddle. I’m already full of cold and that was all I needed!’
I took Elaine up to the lounge and called Melissa down from her bedroom. She came immediately.
‘Hi,’ Melissa said, giving a slightly half-hearted wave of her hand as she entered the lounge and saw Elaine perched rather uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa.
‘Hello, Melissa. How are things?’
‘Er, fine. How are you?’
‘Well I was just saying I stepped in a puddle this morning and I’ve got a cold. What terrible weather we’re having, but we mustn’t complain, must we?’
Melissa smiled politely, shuffled her feet and asked if she could get anyone a drink. I wasn’t sure if she was putting off talking to Elaine, was already bored by the meeting or genuinely wanted to make herself useful.
‘Thanks, Melissa, but I can do the drinks while you talk to Elaine,’ I said. ‘Tea or coffee?’
They both asked for a cup of tea and I went to the kitchen. When I returned with a pot on a tray shortly afterwards they were sitting in silence. Elaine was reading some paperwork and Melissa was studiously examining her fingernails, which looked like tiny seashells, baby pink and uneven. I wanted to give her a big cuddle and tell her everything was going to be all right. I wanted to tell her she just had to listen to the adults, stop trying to grow up too fast and stay away from people who were a bad influence on her.
‘Would you like me to leave you two to talk privately?’ I volunteered. ‘I can leave the tea here for you to help yourselves, if you like?’
‘Pardon?’ Elaine said. ‘Oh no, no bother. We’re nearly done here. If only I could find a pen that works!’
Elaine shook the biro she was trying to use then gave up on it and started fishing in her cavernous handbag. She pulled out old tissues, a glasses case and a blunt pencil, complaining that she went through pens ‘like nobody’s business’.
‘Here, you can use this one,’ I said, handing her the reliable pen I always kept beside the telephone in the lounge.
Melissa looked at me and, after checking that Elaine was engrossed in her paperwork once more, rolled her eyes in an exaggerated way and gave a little smirk. It was clear she wasn’t particularly impressed with Elaine, which was a shame. Not every child gets a support worker, and a good one can have a hugely positive influence on a child. Typically, support workers are people who work on a part-time, ad-hoc basis and are perhaps semi-retired and matched to just a few child
ren. When a child moves from one foster care placement to another, as Melissa had, their role can be vital. Along with the child’s social worker, the support worker may be one of the few adults with whom the child has had consistent, long-term contact. This means they can be an invaluable source of support, offering wisdom, kindness and steady guidance. I was therefore disappointed Melissa didn’t seem to have a great bond with her.
I poured the tea and told Elaine to help herself to milk and sugar. She did so, slopping milk and sprinkling sugar across the tray.
‘Oops sorry, I’ve made a bit of a mess, silly me. I really should give up sugar in my tea in any case . . .’ She fished in her bag again and pulled out a crumpled tissue, which she used to dab the base of her mug.
Melissa excused herself politely, saying she needed the toilet. She did another discreet eye-roll in my direction on her way out, as if to say, ‘What is she like?’
I was concerned that Elaine might drink her tea and disappear. I thought she wasn’t here to talk about potholes, old biros or spilt milk and I sensed I had to swiftly steer the conversation back to Melissa in order to make the most of this visit. After all, Melissa needed every ounce of support and backup we could get for her, and I wanted Elaine to help in any way she could.
I told Elaine how much Jonathan and I liked Melissa’s company, that we thought she was a lovely girl and we wanted to do all we could to protect her. Then I explained that Jonathan and I felt conflicted.
‘What do you mean, conflicted?’
‘I mean, we’re doing everything by the book, in terms of following Social Services guidelines. We’re letting her go out and we’re doing our best to impose reasonable rules and boundaries, but is that enough?’
Annoyingly, Elaine looked distracted and began scrabbling around in her handbag yet again. She pulled out another crumpled tissue and blew her nose loudly.
‘I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about. You’re doing a good job and you and your husband are both specialist carers. I’d say Melissa’s landed on her feet. She’s lucky to be here, and very fortunate that you’re willing and able to have her. As we’ve seen, other carers have not been able to deal with her.’
