by Angela Hart
We arrived back at Sam’s house at five to nine. It looked like the TV was still on in the front room but there was no sign of anybody, and no noise coming from the house. We didn’t want to cramp Melissa’s style by knocking on the door and bringing her out early, so we waited patiently until nine o’clock. When she still hadn’t emerged a few minutes later I went and tapped on the door. A scruffy-looking youth in a black T-shirt and black skinny jeans answered. He looked about eighteen and I imagined he was Sam’s big brother.
‘Hello. I’ve come to pick up Melissa.’
‘Who’s Melissa?’ The teenager laughed and then another lad came to the door. He looked slightly younger than the first boy – perhaps fifteen – and he was smoking and holding a can of lager.
‘Melissa is Sam’s friend.’
‘Oh, I’m with you now. Our Sam’s not in.’
My heart sank.
‘Do you know where she is?’
‘No idea. Sorry.’ The older boy shrugged apologetically and went to shut the door.
‘Hang on. Is your mum in? I take it Carol’s your mum?’
‘Yeah, she is. I mean, she’s my mum but she’s not in. She’s gone to the club.’
‘OK. Do you know what time Sam went out, or if Melissa was with her?’
‘Sorry, I haven’t got a clue. Our Sam did go out with a couple of mates, that’s all I know.’
‘Melissa has long red hair. Was she with Sam?’
‘Yeah, I think she was with her. There were a couple of them I think. They went out ages ago though. Our Sam never said where they were going.’
I explained that I’d arranged to collect Melissa at the house at nine.
‘If she comes back here, please can someone let me know or get her to ring me so I can collect her?’
I scribbled down my phone number and passed it to the boy. He took it reluctantly and shoved it in his back pocket, saying, ‘I will. I’ll tell Mum if she gets in.’
‘If she gets in?’
‘Yeah, when she goes to the club she doesn’t always come home. She never said what she was doing tonight.’ The boy sniggered and went to close the door. My stomach turned over. Though it was obvious the boy was trying to get rid of me, I stood my ground. I told him my name was Angela and asked him if he could give me any clues at all as to where the girls had gone.
‘Like I said, I’ve got no idea. Sorry. Good luck.’
He was already shutting the door.
Jonathan had got out of the car now and was striding up the path, realising I was having trouble. I shook my head and we both walked back to the car.
‘What do we do now?’ I asked.
‘Only one thing we can do. We’ll have to call the out-of-hours number if she doesn’t show up by ten.’
I put my head in my hands and groaned, asking how we could have been so foolish. Jonathan put his arm round me. ‘Look, it’s not our fault. We gave her boundaries and she’s broken out of them. We’ve done our best.’
We sat outside the house for a short time in case Melissa turned up there, before Jonathan drove us home. He then spent the next forty minutes driving back up to Sam’s house and searching around the town before returning home at around ten.
I called Social Services, and as expected they told me that because Melissa had been missing for over an hour and it was dark, we needed to tell the police. The officer who took my call at our local station sounded very sympathetic and concerned at first. I began to give him all the information I thought might be useful, including a detailed physical description of her, the names of her friends and boyfriends, plus Sam’s address. He patiently logged the details, but once I’d explained that Melissa was in foster care and had a history or going missing I detected a shift in his attitude. ‘I take my hat off to you,’ he said, letting out a despondent sigh. ‘I don’t know how you do it, taking in a kid like that. I know I couldn’t do it.’
He was trying to pay me a compliment I guess, but I didn’t like the way he described Melissa as a ‘kid like that’. It sounded dismissive, and I thought to myself that, at this moment in time, what kind of kid she might be was irrelevant. She was a missing twelve-year-old girl, and we needed to find her, fast, whatever she was like.
The officer said someone would call if there was any news. I asked him if any other children – and specifically Sam – had been reported missing. He said he couldn’t discuss any other child’s disappearance with me, but he could confirm Melissa was the only child reported missing that night.
‘Great,’ I said sarcastically when I put the phone down. ‘It looks like Sam’s mum hasn’t even noticed she’s gone.’
Despite Jonathan’s reassurances that we’d done nothing wrong I did feel an idiot for assuming Carol was going to stay in and supervise the girls; it simply hadn’t occurred to me that she would go out like this, giving the girls free rein to come and go as they pleased. In hindsight it seemed obvious we shouldn’t have made any assumptions about what Carol may or may not do. It had looked like her front room was full of young people and we should not have taken it for granted that Carol was going to keep an eye on them. ‘Maybe Sam is allowed out later than ten?’ Jonathan said. ‘Maybe they’ll turn up back at Sam’s house soon and we’ll get a phone call from Melissa instead of from the police?’
I told him I admired his optimism, but it seemed very unlikely. We waited up for hours, watching the clock and willing the phone to ring. Eventually, when there was still no sign of Melissa at almost one o’clock, we reluctantly tried to get some rest, but sleep didn’t come easily. Subconsciously we were on red alert, and it was impossible to think of anything but Melissa.
I woke at two in the morning. It felt like I’d only been asleep for a few minutes and perhaps I had; my eyes were heavy and my head was buzzing and aching. There was a noise in the garden. I immediately woke Jonathan, which wasn’t difficult; he must have also been in a very light sleep.
‘I’ll go and see what’s going on,’ he said straight away. ‘You stay here.’ He got up and looked out of the window. ‘I can’t see anything, but I’ll go down and put the lights on. You stay warm. Don’t get up.’
I felt sick with worry and was annoyed and frustrated that we were in this situation. We had fully expected to collect Melissa from Sam’s house. Why had she done this? It seemed so unnecessary and selfish. What on earth was she thinking?
Melissa had no key – we wouldn’t give out a house key to a child on such a short-term placement, and particularly not to a girl of twelve with a history of running away. Maybe Melissa was trying to break into the house somehow? Or had she been knocking on the back door? I really wasn’t sure what I’d heard.
I stayed wrapped up in our thick duvet, listening intently as Jonathan went outside. The bedroom curtains illuminated slightly as he switched on the patio and garden lights. Then I heard his footsteps as he explored the garden and side passageway, and a few minutes later I heard him relocking the back door and padding up the stairs.
‘Nothing there. No sign. Maybe it was wishful thinking? Or maybe it was just next door’s cat?’
‘I’m going to check her bedroom,’ I said, unwrapping myself from the warm duvet. Jonathan didn’t stop me, even though we both knew I wasn’t going to find her there.
When I walked into Melissa’s room and turned on the light I saw the list of names I’d seen before. It was on her pillow now, with the top of her duvet partly covering it. I sat on her bed and my weight pulled the duvet down the bed slightly, revealing the note in its entirety. I studied it without touching it. I didn’t want Melissa to think I’d been rooting around in her room and snooping on her, but I did want to read this list again, in case it gave me any clues about where Melissa was and who she was with.
The name Sam was on the list, which I hadn’t noticed before. Beside that name was an equals sign, and next to that it said Sadie. Under that was written Melissa = Maz. Buzz was also there – the name Sonia had told me Kazim’s dad went by.
&n
bsp; ‘Do you think I should call the police and tell them Melissa might be using another name?’
Jonathan rubbed his eyes.
‘What are you talking about?’
I explained about the list. ‘Why not?’ he said. ‘The more information they have the better.’
Another officer eventually took my call; it had taken a while to get through. He told me there was no news and politely listened as I explained about the list I’d found in Melissa’s bedroom. I told him she could be using the name Maz, making it clear this was guesswork on my part. He thanked me, though I had no idea if he was going to act on the information in any way or if he thought I was just a desperate foster carer, clutching at straws.
I woke again at three, then four thirty and finally six o’clock. It was still dark and the house was cold, as the heating had not yet clicked on. I checked the phone for messages but already knew there were none before the digital voice told me, ‘You have no new messages.’
Jonathan had slept just as badly as I had. We both tried to get another hour’s sleep but didn’t succeed.
Jonathan got up and said he was going to make a cup of tea while I lay in bed, my mind wandering to places I didn’t want it to go. What if Melissa was hurt? What if she and Sam had got themselves into a dangerous situation? What if she went missing for days or even weeks, and what if she was never found? I thought I would never be able to live with myself.
11
‘Melissa knows a lot of people’
At 8 a.m. Jonathan drove over to Sam’s house. There was no reply at the door and he put a note through the letterbox giving our phone number again, explaining who we were and asking Carol, or any other member of the family, to give us a call.
Meanwhile I rang the police once more, only to be told they had no news on Melissa. Sam had still not been reported missing: the police confirmed Melissa was still the only missing child on their records over the last twenty-four hours.
This didn’t tell us anything and only served to raise more questions. If Carol had stayed out overnight and the girls had gone off together, it was possible Sam had still not been missed. Or maybe Carol had got back home from her night out, gone to bed and was none the wiser and still sound asleep? Hopefully a member of the family would call soon and we’d get more information.
Having never dealt with a situation like this before, I wasn’t sure exactly how the police would be handling Melissa’s disappearance. Would they be following up on every piece of information I’d given them, making contact with Sam’s family and Melissa’s friends, in an effort to track her down? I doubted it; I realised they hadn’t even asked if we had a photograph of her. I later found out my instincts were correct. With many more years of experience under my belt, I now know that overstretched police forces do not have the resources to actively go looking for missing children. In reality, it’s a question of alerting officers to the disappearance and hoping one of them might spot the child or pick up some useful information when they are out on duty, at least in the very early stages.
At 9 a.m. I began to call Wilf, Doreen and Elaine in turn. They each offered reassurances and said we had done nothing wrong.
‘She’ll turn up,’ Doreen said rather wearily. She didn’t sound overly concerned. ‘She always has in the past. I’m afraid you’ll just have to try to carry on as normal until she does. There really isn’t much point in losing sleep. You need to look after yourselves so you’re fit to care for her when she’s back.’
I guess it was sensible advice, but it felt wrong. Melissa was a little girl. She was missing and we had no idea where she was. She could be lying in a ditch somewhere. She could be drunk or drugged or . . . I had to keep calm. I knew that panicking wasn’t going to help, but even so I couldn’t stop fretting about Melissa and fearing all kinds of terrible things. I could picture her pretty face and her hair tied up with one of the colourful scrunchies she used to secure her ponytail. Her face was sad and frightened and there were no dimples in her cheeks because she wasn’t smiling; that’s the only way I could picture her.
I told Elaine how very worried I was. ‘You shouldn’t think like that,’ she said. ‘She’s choosing to run away and she’ll come back when she’s had her fun.’
‘Fun?’ Jonathan commented when I passed on what Elaine had said. ‘It’s baffling how running away, going missing, having the police called and frightening the living daylights out of your foster carers could be described as fun. I just don’t get it. It seems so strange that a girl like Melissa could do this. How is this fun for anyone?’
Sam’s mother didn’t call, not ever, and we didn’t understand that either. Surely she’d got the message eventually and would realise how worried we were? Wasn’t it obvious that any little piece of information she had might be helpful? We didn’t even know if Sam was home or not, and all kinds of other questions went round and round in my head. I wondered if maybe Sam was missing too, but had not been reported missing to the police. Perhaps, for some reason, Carol didn’t want any involvement with the police?
Whatever the truth, we never heard a thing from the family.
When I spoke to Wilf he listened and sympathised, then sounded me out about taking in another child. Ryan was a ten-year-old boy whose twenty-three-year-old brother had taken his own life, leaving Ryan on his own. I was taken aback at Wilf’s suggestion, given the situation we were in.
‘I don’t know, Wilf. I feel we’ve already got a lot on our plate with Melissa.’
‘I understand completely, but it should only be for a week, until we can move Ryan in with a relative. The poor little lad has already lost both his parents, and now this. The alternative is to put him in a children’s home.’
Of course we said yes. It would be wrong not to take this boy in while we were here and had the space. Besides helping Jonathan run the shop, I wasn’t planning on doing anything or going anywhere while Melissa was missing. When she came back – if she came back – I’d be keeping a very close eye on her. I imagined I’d be staying in as much as possible, to supervise her and be on hand to drop her off and pick her up whenever I could.
Ryan arrived later that morning. He was very small for his age and my first impression was that he seemed like a quiet and thoughtful boy. His social worker dropped him off and did a routine handover, providing me with some contact numbers and basic information about Ryan, such as his date of birth, but little else. It wasn’t until he’d already moved in that I learned an investigation had begun into alleged neglect in his family home. It seemed Ryan’s brother had left a suicide note and had made accusations about their now deceased father and mother.
Ryan was a pupil at one of the local primary schools. We were told he should be encouraged to attend but that the school was aware of his situation, and if he wanted to stay at home for the time being, that was fine. A new school place was being found for him near the relative who was going to take him in when he left our care. Ryan was due to be interviewed by the police and was having counselling, and his social worker said she would be in touch and let me know if Ryan had any appointments during the week he was with us.
‘What would you like to do?’ I asked him when the social worker left.
‘Dunno. Are there any other children living here?’
I explained that we had Melissa living with us, but she was not here at the moment. My mum was due to call in for a cup of tea later on and I told Ryan I was going to bake some scones.
‘Would you like to help me in the kitchen?’
A big smile spread across his face. ‘I’d like that.’
Much to my surprise, I soon discovered that Ryan was quite the little entertainer. He picked up a couple of satsumas from the fruit bowl, covered his eyes with them and swivelled them around in opposite directions.
‘What am I?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘A chameleon!’
I laughed and Ryan looked really pleased. He was easy company and enjoyed helping me bake, and when
my mum turned up he told her some jokes.
‘What do you call a guy with a bald head who loves to eat raisins and biscuits?’
‘I’ve no idea!’ Mum said.
‘Gary Baldy.’
Mum looked bemused and I had to explain the play on the word Garibaldi. Then she laughed a lot, telling Ryan he was very funny.
He beamed when she said that.
Jonathan came into the kitchen for a break from the shop, and I wish I’d taken a photo because his expression was priceless. He looked surprised and delighted that there was such a good atmosphere and we were all having fun. The kitchen was warm and cosy, the smell of baking filled the air, and Ryan was in stitches as he tried, and failed, to get my mum to recite a silly tongue twister.
‘Now look here, young man,’ Jonathan smiled. ‘I’m the one who does the jokes around here.’
‘Go on then!’ Ryan challenged, and Jonathan gamely rattled out some of his old favourites. Ryan groaned at every punchline, which delighted my mum. ‘I’ve been telling Jonathan for years he needs some new jokes,’ she said. ‘We’ve heard them all a million times.’
‘You know what they say – the old ones are the best, Thelma.’
‘No. The old ones are just old and need replacing!’
When Mum was leaving she said what a smashing boy she thought Ryan was. I would never divulge any child’s private details, not even to my mum, and I think she’d have been absolutely flabbergasted at the tragic chain of events that had led Ryan to our door. Looking back, I can see that humour was Ryan’s coping mechanism – to this day, whenever I hear the expression ‘if I didn’t laugh I’d cry’, I think of little Ryan.
After three nights Melissa was still missing. We were in regular contact with the police and Social Services and there had been no sighting of her. We eventually discovered that Sam had also been reported missing, though still nobody from her family had been in contact with us. Wilf advised me to leave the search to the police and not return to Sam’s home or get involved with any of Melissa’s friends. Though this went against my instincts, I agreed to follow his advice.
