by Angela Hart
‘I know, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. When I get my pocket money, can I have it in change, so then I’ll always be able to use the phone box if I need to let you know where I am?’
We gave every child who stayed with us weekly pocket money and I always gave it out on the same day of the week. I didn’t make exceptions to this, as I wanted to teach the kids to do a little bit of budgeting and only spend what they had. Melissa was getting £4 on Saturday and she was very happy with this. She promised me that she wouldn’t be late on purpose and would only call and tell me she was late if she really couldn’t help it.
‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘But you need to learn to stick to the times we’ve agreed. I don’t want you to be late back again, whatever you’re doing.’
‘OK, that’s fair,’ she shrugged. ‘Anyway, I hope Elaine is late because I’m starving and I’ve hardly got time to eat!’
Melissa was in luck because Elaine was running twenty minutes late – she’d had a problem with her car – and they eventually set off for the afternoon at about 2 p.m. Before they left I’d told Melissa to put any washing she had in the laundry bin in her room, and after I’d finally had my lunch and Jonathan was back in the shop I went up to fetch it. In the summer and on dry days I always do the washing in the morning so I can hang it out on the line to dry, but in winter I do it whenever it’s convenient and dry it in the tumble dryer. In those days I also used the laundrette from time to time, particularly when I had a lot of bed linen to do. I liked to support our local precinct shops (sadly the laundrette has closed down now) and it also made life easier, as the bedding came back not only washed and dried, but ironed too.
I glanced at the clock and saw it was two thirty. I didn’t fancy trudging out in the cold that day and decided there was plenty of time to get Melissa’s washing done at home before she returned. I climbed the stairs and went into Melissa’s bedroom, where I immediately noticed a hand-written list of names. It had fallen on the floor beside her laundry bin and I couldn’t avoid seeing it. The list was on a piece of brightly coloured paper, with stars and hearts drawn alongside the different names. At a glance I could see about twenty names on the list, and they all seemed to be boys’ names. Oz and Degsy leaped out as they were highlighted with fluorescent yellow pen. I noticed Tommy’s name, which had a heart and a kiss beside it, and TJ was there too. It looked like the sort of list any young girl might make, maybe when she ranked boys she fancied. There were also some names of pop stars like Michael Jackson, David Bowie and Gary Barlow. I’d heard her listening to Take That music and I assumed all the singers she’d listed must be her favourite artists.
I felt like I was prying when I allowed my eyes to sweep down the list, but at the same time I told myself I needed to know as much as possible about Melissa and the company she was keeping. I had to be very vigilant, particularly after the pregnancy drama. I needed to keep encouraging Melissa to talk openly with me, and I also needed to keep my eyes and ears peeled for any signs that she might be getting herself into trouble or putting herself at risk, and if so who she was mixing with. I saw that at the bottom of the page it said Ozzy Osbourne and Tom Jones. I was surprised she had those two names on the list; they were not the singing idols you’d expect a young girl to be interested in.
Vicky, the girl who’d lived with us long-term until the previous year, called round later in the afternoon, while Melissa was still out. I invited her to stay for dinner that evening, as I did as often as I could. She accepted and said she’d like to meet Melissa.
‘What’s it like having a girl of that age living with you?’ Vicky said. ‘I thought I might have put you off forever!’
Vicky had been slightly older – thirteen going on fourteen – when she first arrived with us. She would turn eighteen later this year and was blossoming into a lovely young woman.
‘We survived!’ I smiled. ‘Although there were days when you lived with us when I thought “never again!”’
Vicky laughed. ‘I don’t know how you and Jonathan coped. I was a nightmare, wasn’t I? How do you start all over again with another girl? It must be like Groundhog Day.’
I cast my mind back. Vicky had been neglected and abused by her mother and it was the memories of her traumatic childhood that made her freeze in terror, turning her from a seemingly self-assured teenager into a silent, white-faced statue.
‘You weren’t that bad,’ I smiled. ‘You’d had a tough time. I don’t see fostering as being like Groundhog Day at all, because each child is so very different. I think you’ll like Melissa, she’s a nice girl.’
Of course, I never discuss the details of any child’s life with anybody else. Vicky knew this and didn’t ask me anything about Melissa’s history.
‘I look forward to meeting her,’ she said.
Vicky was helping me in the kitchen when Elaine dropped Melissa home. The support worker said the two visits they’d made that day had been successful but she didn’t elaborate and didn’t stop to chat, even though I offered her a cup of tea. ‘I’d love to but I’ve been running late all day and I’ve got to dash. I’ll be in touch. Have a good evening.’
I introduced the girls to one another and left them chatting while I took a phone call in the hall. When I walked back into the kitchen Melissa was telling Vicky about the people she’d been to see that day.
‘I get on OK with my auntie but I couldn’t live with her. She’s a proper nag, and her stepson is a weirdo.’
‘What’s up with him?’ Vicky asked.
I kept quiet and busied myself at the sink. It was obvious I could hear every word she was saying but my presence didn’t appear to affect how Melissa spoke. She carried on talking, seemingly unguarded.
‘He looks at me in a funny way and says things about wanting to “do it” with me. It’s disgusting. He’s my fucking cousin!’
I had to interject now. I reminded her not to swear and made a mental note of what she’d said.
‘Sorry, Angela. Sometimes I just forget where I am. I’m really sorry.’
Vicky offered to lay the table. She looked a bit shocked and embarrassed at what Melissa had said and she changed the subject, asking her if she played netball or went to the local youth club like she did when she was younger.
‘No. I’m not really into sports. I used to go to the youth club disco at the community centre with my mate Imogen, but I got bored of it. I think we outgrew it.’
‘Oh,’ Vicky said. I could tell she was thinking twelve was a young age at which to outgrow the youth club, which was for kids up to the age of sixteen.
The two of them went into the dining room with the cutlery and the salt and pepper. Meanwhile I thought back to what Melissa had told me about Sonia, because this latest conversation reminded me of it.
Her stepbrother had once said to her, ‘I’d shag you if you weren’t family.’ That’s what she’d told me. I could remember Melissa saying those words, very clearly, and now she was accusing her cousin of making similarly inappropriate remarks about having sex with her. I had no idea if this was an odd coincidence or not. What I did know was that I was alarmed that such a young girl spoke about sex in this way. If you added to this the fact Melissa had had a pregnancy scare and appeared to have a collection of ‘boyfriends’, it was highly concerning. I wondered if she was truly as sexually precocious as it appeared, and if so, why?
I was becoming increasingly puzzled by Melissa, and felt I couldn’t really work her out. On the face of it she seemed like a very normal, pleasant young girl. If you didn’t know her background you’d have said she was very young for her age. For one thing, she had some very childish traits, like the way she enjoyed playing in the park and drawing hearts and stars in bright-coloured pens. Even the way she dressed seemed to highlight how young she was. Though she favoured sweatshirts and tracksuit bottoms, she never looked streetwise. In fact, it was the opposite. Most of her clothes had some kind of childish design on them, whether it was a picture of a butterfly, a
print of a pretty flower or a cute Disney character. Her collection of hair accessories also belied her age: she had glittery bobbles, fluorescent bows and some hairgrips embellished with little painted daisies, toadstools and shooting stars.
I went up to my bedroom and quickly scribbled down some notes for Social Services while everything was fresh in my mind. I did this because I had a strong feeling that something was off about the way Melissa spoke so casually about shocking sexual remarks. A girl her age should not be discussing such things in such a seemingly blasé manner. I also had alarm bells ringing about that list of names, though I wasn’t sure why. It could have been totally innocent, but maybe this was something the police needed to know about, if and when Melissa ran away again. I had to let Social Services know the list existed, just in case.
We are always told to stick to facts only and not express personal opinion in our notes for Social Services. However, on this occasion I couldn’t help noting down that what Melissa said felt wrong and worried me, and that I had concerns about the list and who might be on it, though I wasn’t sure if this was relevant to her case. Maybe I was running the risk of appearing to have an overactive imagination? I didn’t care. I felt I owed it to Melissa to do everything in my power to safeguard her. That was what mattered, above all else.
10
‘Who’s Melissa?’
When Jonathan joined us around the dinner table the conversation turned to snooker and pool. Vicky had been a dab hand when she lived with us, and Jonathan reminded her about how she used to beat the boys at the youth club. Melissa looked impressed and said she’d never played, but she’d like to.
‘We’ve got a table stored in the garage,’ Jonathan told her. ‘We could get it out if you like. I’d love to have a game myself.’
‘That sounds great,’ Melissa said. ‘Although, thinking about it, my friend Sam has got a pool table already set up in her mum’s conservatory. I’ve just remembered. I think I’ll ask her if we can have a game. I never thought it would be much fun.’
Vicky encouraged this. ‘Yes you should. I used to love it so much, especially when I thrashed the boys!’
Immediately after dinner Melissa asked if she could use the phone, to call her friend Sam.
‘It’ll be great if I can go round there and have a game,’ she said. ‘And it’ll save you having to get your table out.’
‘It’s no trouble,’ Jonathan said. ‘As I said, I’d enjoy a game myself, and I know Vicky would love to join in too. Mind you,’ he joked, ‘we don’t want to be thrashed, do we?’
‘No we don’t! Can I call Sam?’
We agreed that she could, and minutes later Melissa bounced into the kitchen looking like the cat who’d got the cream.
‘Guess what? Sam said I can go over tonight! Is that OK?’
Jonathan and I gave each other a look.
Here we go again, I thought, and I knew Jonathan was thinking the same thing. It was difficult to tell if Melissa was genuinely enthralled by the idea of playing pool, or whether this had simply given her a good excuse to go out. Nevertheless, we said she could go to her friend’s house, as long as she told us where Sam lived, didn’t go anywhere else and was home by nine.
‘Nine? But she lives on the other side of town. It’s quite a long walk so can I come home a bit later?’
‘No, if that’s the case we’ll drop you off and pick you up.’
Before Melissa had a chance to reply Vicky interjected.
‘Do you remember that time you grounded me?’ she said, bursting out laughing.
We remembered it well. We were very new to fostering when Vicky first came to live with us. After she got into trouble one time – for being rude in front of a customer in the shop, as I recall – we told her she was grounded for a whole month. Within days we realised it was a big mistake as she drove us mad, moping around the house bored to tears, getting under our feet.
‘How could I forget?’ I smiled. ‘And do you remember that top you wore?’
‘Oh my God, yes I do!’
I explained to Melissa that Vicky wore an old maternity sweatshirt of her sister’s that had the words ‘Let Me Out!’ emblazoned on the front. She walked around in it when her social worker visited, saying how ‘very appropriate’ the slogan was for someone who was grounded.
After that experience, Jonathan and I learned that grounding children is not the best way of disciplining them, and in subsequent years it was not something that Social Services encouraged in any case. The thinking now is that stopping kids from doing a club or activity, or going on a trip, is probably only going to have a negative outcome. The children lose out on exercise, socialising with friends and learning new skills, which of course are all very important parts of life for healthy, growing kids. I agree with this in principle, and it’s what we are still taught in training and practise to this day. However, in Melissa’s case, the fact we could not stop her leaving the house seemed only to create problems, given that she was going out and mixing with the wrong crowd rather than taking part in enriching activities with her friends.
The word ‘punishment’ was becoming outdated in the nineties too. Jonathan and I have never liked the word and have never used it, and ‘penalising’ or ‘punishing’ a child by sending them to their room or docking stars off a chart, for example, are no longer acceptable ways of disciplining a child who has suffered trauma. Modern experts say these tactics can make already vulnerable children feel unloved, unwanted or ashamed. Foster carers are instead taught to use ‘natural consequences’ that don’t have a detrimental effect on a child’s wellbeing or self-esteem. A good example is that if a child calls you ‘stupid’ and subsequently asks you for a lift, then you may want to say, ‘I’m terribly sorry, but I’d be concerned for your safety if a stupid person, as you feel I am, were to drive you around.’ Next time, hopefully, the child will think twice about insulting you, having faced the consequences of their rudeness.
With Melissa, it was difficult to know what to do to encourage her to stick to the boundaries we put in place. Previous foster carers had tried everything they could think of to keep her safe and nothing had worked. I was concerned that if she was late again and we said she had to stay in, or asked her to come home earlier than nine, then she might rebel and run away. There wasn’t a lot we could do, given the fact Social Services would not let us keep her in against her will. Driving her to and from her friend’s house seemed like the best idea in the circumstances.
Thankfully, Melissa agreed to us taking her and collecting her from Sam’s house. She made no fuss about this at all and we were pleased. It seemed like the best way of keeping Melissa safe and making sure she didn’t go missing.
After we’d all eaten, we dropped Vicky off at her flat on the way to take Melissa to Sam’s house.
‘Good luck at pool,’ Vicky called as she got out of the car. ‘I look forward to hearing all about it next time!’
Melissa gave her a thumbs-up. I was pleased the girls had got on, and also that Melissa had seen we’d stayed in touch with Vicky and got on well with her. I wanted Melissa to know we cared very deeply about the children who came to live with us, and that even after they’d moved on they were all welcome in our home. Some children don’t have a family to go back to after a spell in care, or they don’t ever manage to reconnect with their parents or other relatives. It means that sometimes Jonathan and I end up being the closest they have to any kind of stable family base, and we make sure every child knows we will always be there for them, come what may.
‘You can drop me at the top of the road if you like,’ Melissa said casually as we approached Sam’s address. ‘Here’s perfect. It’s a narrow street and it’s fine just here.’
She sounded insistent, which didn’t go unnoticed and made us feel wary.
‘It’s no bother at all,’ Jonathan said, carrying on and pulling up right outside the house, even though the road actually was extremely narrow and pitted with potholes. ‘There you are, Me
lissa. And I’ll park up right here at nine o’clock when we come back to collect you.’
‘OK, thanks!’
She jumped out of the car and tried to wave us off before she knocked on the door.
‘Bye!’ we said. Jonathan started the engine but didn’t move an inch until we saw her go inside the house.
There were thin net curtains in the front room and from the dark street we could see silhouettes of several people milling around. They looked like a group of teenagers mucking about, but we couldn’t be sure of that. There was a television on: we could see a bright but blurred glare spilling through the curtains, and when the car door had opened we caught the sound of a dull bass beat punching through the dank evening air.
‘Do you think this is a good idea?’ I said as Sam’s front door opened and Melissa disappeared inside.
Seconds later – before we’d pulled away – the door opened again and a woman came out. She was wearing fluffy boots and was puffing on a cigarette. She walked to the gate at the side of the house and pulled out the bin, dragging it down the drive.
Instinctively, I darted out of the car.
‘Are you Sam’s mum?’
‘Yes,’ she said brightly. ‘And you must be . . .’
‘We’ve just dropped Melissa off.’
I didn’t want to say we were her foster carers in case Melissa had chosen to keep quiet about the fact she was in care.
‘Right, of course. Our Sam’s got a few mates round.’
‘Thanks for having her.’
I explained that we were coming back to collect Melissa at nine, and Sam’s mum nodded in a vague way and said that was absolutely fine by her.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Nice to have met you. I’m Angela.’
‘Nice to meet you too, love. I’m Carol.’
Jonathan and I enjoyed a couple of hours to ourselves. Having met Sam’s mum and knowing Melissa was at her friend’s house, we didn’t fret about her. It was only when we felt free of worry that we realised how stressed we’d been every time Melissa had gone out. She’d only been staying with us for just over a week but it felt like much longer. Neither of us had slept well since she’d arrived and we both admitted we felt exhausted.
