The Girl in the Dark

by Angela Hart

  By day four of Melissa’s disappearance we’d taken in another boy. He was a very sad-faced eleven-year-old who had been sexually abused. The boy was called Marty, he was in his first year of secondary school and would also be with us for a week, coming to us as an emergency placement.

  After Marty arrived we learned he had touched a younger child inappropriately. He’d since had therapy and now knew it was wrong to touch another child as he had done. His social worker said they had no reason to believe Marty would repeat his behaviour; he had only been doing something that had unfortunately been normalised in his home environment. Now he’d received therapy and was having ongoing counselling, he was not considered to be a threat or danger to any other child.

  It’s fair to say that Jonathan and I were put under some pressure from Wilf to take in first Ryan and then Marty. We wanted to help and didn’t want to say no. However, I knew that one of the major factors in the breakdown of Melissa’s placement with Lynne and Nick had been that they had their own children to consider. Melissa had left their house unlocked when she broke out and ran away at night, and I reminded Wilf that this had been the final straw for Lynne.

  ‘It’s a valid point,’ Wilf had said, when he first approached me about Ryan. ‘But when we’re faced with a choice between a foster home and a children’s home, I’d always prefer to place a child with carers like you and Jonathan. Boys like this need to be in a loving environment, and you and Jonathan can provide that. You’re wonderful foster carers. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think you could cope. And it’s only for a week.’ He said more or less the same thing when we discussed Marty.

  I’d told Wilf I appreciated the compliments, especially in the circumstances, with Melissa still missing. He reiterated that her disappearance had absolutely nothing to do with us and that we’d done nothing wrong. ‘You mustn’t blame yourselves in any way. You’re fantastic carers. You’re taking on kids who would otherwise be in children’s homes and you should give yourselves a pat on the back. Girls like Melissa will always find a way to run off if that’s what they want to do. You can only do your best, and your best is extremely good.’

  Ryan and Marty seemed to get along OK, and the social workers were clearly happy to place the boys together. We hadn’t been told to keep an extra close eye on Marty as a result of his history of inappropriate touching, but because of our specialist training we did. We’d learned about how deeply a child is affected by child abuse, and how there can be repercussions for many years, if not throughout a person’s lifetime. I supervised the boys whenever they were together and made a point of regularly checking with Ryan that everything was OK.

  The boys both liked the same computer game, so much so that I had to set limits on their screen time. With neither boy in school – Ryan chose to have the week off and Marty was between school places – we made an effort to keep them as active and entertained as possible. During the day I encouraged them to do some educational CD-ROMs on the computer, as well as playing their favourite computer game, and even though it was cold and drizzly we went on a couple of bike rides and the boys managed to have a good kick-about in the park with Jonathan. Our shop assistant put in some extra hours for us in the florist and I think the bracing, fresh air and change of scene was as refreshing for Jonathan and me as it was for the two boys. In fact, it was at this point that we started to think about taking on even more help in the shop. Though we’d only recently started working as specialist carers, we could already see that it was going to put more demands on our time than mainstream fostering, particularly if we were going to continue to take in children of all ages too.

  As Jonathan and I had always worked so well as a team, both in the shop and with our fostering work, we wanted this to continue. However, with such demanding children, and the fact the kids who were now coming to us were often out of school, it was becoming obvious we’d need extra help in order to do so.

  It wouldn’t be long before an old friend of ours, Barbara, started to help out in the shop too. She was extremely flexible and was available most days of the week if we needed her, freeing us to devote more time to the children. The arrangement worked so well that Barbara eventually replaced our original assistant, who had other commitments and was happy to move on. I don’t think we realised quite how much of a godsend Barbara was; looking back, I can’t see how we’d have managed over the years without her.

  In the evenings Jonathan and I took Ryan and Marty out to the cinema and the local swimming pool, which was also a tonic for us all. When Melissa first went missing I’d anticipated staying at home as much as I possibly could, in case she returned of her own free will. However, Wilf continued to urge us to carry on as normal, pointing out that when she’d been missing overnight in the past Melissa was typically picked up and returned by the police. He reminded us that the police or Social Services would deal with Melissa in the first instance and so there was no need for us to sit by the phone, as she would be perfectly safe with them until she was returned to us. Still, we always made sure we left the answerphone switched on, and if Jonathan and I were both out during the day we left instructions for whoever was working in the shop to pick up the phone and take a message, and we also checked in regularly. In retrospect I wonder how on earth we managed without mobile phones!

  Sonia phoned on day six of Melissa’s disappearance. She had no idea she was missing and was ringing to see if she wanted to go to the park, so I explained the situation and asked if she had any idea where Melissa might be. In accordance with Wilf’s instructions, I hadn’t gone round to Sonia’s to look for Melissa, though I had let the police and Social Services know that Sonia was one of her friends and I’d passed on her address, as I’d done with everyone I could think of who Melissa might contact, including TJ and the handful of other local friends I knew of.

  ‘No, I haven’t seen her at all,’ she said. ‘I’ve got no idea where she could be or who—’

  Sonia stopped talking for a moment, and then she said, ‘Oh, maybe . . .’

  ‘Maybe?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure but I know she was hoping to meet up with a guy, so maybe she’s just with him and has lost track of time or something.’

  Sonia said this as if it was not an unusual thing for a young girl to do, even though Melissa had been gone for six days.

  ‘Was this the one you described as “you-know-who”?’

  ‘Yes, that’s who I’m thinking of.’

  ‘His name’s Tommy, isn’t it?’

  Sonia seemed surprised that I was so well informed.

  ‘Er, yes, that’s right. I wasn’t sure if she’d have mentioned him to you. Anyway, I know she likes him. She asked me for some change for the phone, because she wanted to call him. That’s what she said, but I don’t know any more. Like I say, I haven’t seen her since we went to the park that morning so I can’t tell you anything else. And I might be completely wrong. She might just be with other mates. Melissa knows a lot of people. Lots of people I don’t know.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you know where Tommy lives or what his full name is, or where he works?’

  ‘No. My ex would know, but I’m not speaking to him and anyway I don’t know where he is either.’

  I heard Kazim grizzle. ‘Tommy’s Asian, like his dad – Kazim’s dad, I mean.’ I pictured Sonia looking at her son in his buggy. ‘That’s about as much as I can tell you about Tommy. He’s a bit of a bad lad, but not in a really bad way. I mean, he’s not been in prison or anything like that. One of my other mates used to go out with him.’

  I told her Tommy didn’t sound like an Asian name.

  ‘I don’t think Tommy’s his real name. They like to have nicknames, don’t they?’

  At first I thought the ‘they’ referred to a gang Tommy and her ex were in, but Sonia elaborated, making me realise that wasn’t what she was talking about at all.

  ‘Yeah, all of them do it, don’t they? It makes it easier.’ She listed a few ethnic minorities, using sla
ng words to describe particular ethnic groups. I’d heard most of the terms before but I was uncomfortable with Sonia’s choice of language. The words she used sounded derogatory and racist, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on this.

  ‘What do you mean, it makes it easier?’

  ‘What? Hang on.’

  I heard Sonia feed another couple of coins into the pay phone.

  ‘What do you mean about the nicknames “making it easier”.’

  ‘Oh, just easier for us to pronounce their names. That’s what my ex said anyway. I always called him by his nickname because he said I’d never be able to pronounce his real name. He always was a cheeky beggar. I think he must have thought I was thick or something.’

  ‘What was his nickname, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘Buzz,’ she said.

  I could hear Kazim starting to whine and Sonia said she had to go.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry too much,’ she said. ‘Melissa can handle herself. She’ll be back. Can you tell her to come round to the flat and let me know when she’s home? She’s probably just having a good time, if I know Melissa. I used to be exactly like her. I think that’s why we get on so well.’

  I jotted everything down to tell Wilf later. He’d advised me to do this in the first instance, rather than calling the police every time I picked up a titbit of information that may be useful. I wondered if he was concerned the police might think I was wasting their time. Nobody said it and I have no proof of this, but I had a feeling Melissa’s history had set a precedent for how the police were treating her disappearance; she was a known runaway, and I felt sure that affected how the police were handling her case.

  I said this to Jonathan and he thought I made a good point. ‘You’d think that all missing girls of her age would be treated the same,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘But once you’re labelled a “runner” and have been locked up, it seems to change things. The urgency to find her doesn’t seem to be there, not how you’d expect, anyhow.’

  ‘Yes, unfortunately I think that’s the case. I get the impression the police just see her as a bad girl who’s out of control. It doesn’t seem right to me though. She’s a typical twelve-year-old when she’s at home with us. If anything she seems quite sweet and childish for her age, but I think the authorities have her down as some kind of juvenile delinquent.’

  Jonathan could see how upset and frustrated I was. He gave me a hug and reminded me to take Wilf’s advice and not worry about what I couldn’t control.

  We took the two boys out for a pizza that night. I think we all needed a treat, and the evening ended on a high when Ryan won a colouring competition in the restaurant, walking away with a giant bar of chocolate.

  12

  ‘I’m not staying here’

  Lynne phoned first thing in the morning, when I was making breakfast for Ryan and Marty. Both boys had an appointment that day and we were all up early, getting organised.

  ‘I’ve had a message from Melissa,’ Lynne said.

  My heart leaped. ‘Is she OK?’

  I’d contacted Lynne when Melissa first went missing, and she knew she’d been gone for a week by now.

  ‘I hope so. It was only on the answerphone. She left the message at 2.45 a.m., saying she was in another town and was “fine”. She said she’d come back home soon.’

  Lynne had not heard the call come in and had phoned me as soon as she played the message back that morning. She said she would call the police and Social Services and let them know and I thanked her and said I would also phone my support social worker.

  ‘I wonder why she called you and not me?’

  ‘She sounded a bit vacant, Angela. I wondered if she’d been drinking and got muddled up. She also called herself by a different name, but it was definitely her.’

  ‘What name?’

  ‘Maz.’

  I called Wilf at the office and left a message for him to call me as soon as possible. Ryan and Marty asked if they could play on the computer and I suggested I set them up with an educational game first, and once they’d done that they could play the battle game they both loved. Marty groaned. ‘What’s the point of life?’ he asked. ‘It’s all work, work, work and then you’re DEAD.’

  I glanced at Ryan. His little face was a picture as he no doubt thought about the loss of his brother.

  My mind went back to that wall of shoeboxes we’d been shown on our specialist training course. Though Ryan and Marty were not teenagers with complex needs, the training we’d had was still relevant and very useful. If you were a fly on the wall, looking at these two boys eating their Weetabix and talking about playing their favourite computer game, you would never have guessed at how they’d both suffered in their young lives. Each boy had several shoeboxes missing. I thought it was a miracle they were coping with things as well as they were, able to play, joke and get along with one another with such ease, in such testing circumstances and in unfamiliar surroundings too.

  Marty’s question about the point of life, and why we all have to work, is one I’ve heard in many guises, from various children. I normally respond by talking about how satisfying it is to enjoy the benefits of working hard and building a good life for yourself. I give examples from my own life, or from Jonathan’s. We were both brought up to be grafters, and it’s thanks to the effort we put in to keeping the business going that we were able to follow our hearts and become full-time foster carers.

  ‘What’s the point of life?’ Ryan suddenly repeated back at Marty, screwing up his face. I think he was a bit shocked and wanted to lighten the atmosphere. ‘That’s a pointless question!’

  ‘It’s not!’ Marty retorted. Ryan responded again before I had chance to say anything.

  ‘It is pointless. Listen, I’ve got a better question.’

  Ryan grinned cheekily and I realised he was going to tell one of his jokes.

  ‘What’s your question?’ Marty said, groaning and rolling his eyes.

  ‘Why shouldn’t you write with a broken pencil?’

  ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Because it’s pointless!’

  Marty groaned again, even louder this time, and then the boys went on to chat about something that came on the radio about football.

  Life goes on, I thought.

  As I listened to the two boys chattering away I was struck by how sad it was that they had not had the best start in life. Ryan and Marty would need help and support for years – maybe throughout their lives – and it would not be easy, because many people they encountered would have no idea how difficult their childhoods had been. They may be misunderstood or judged unfairly, and this may undermine their already fragile sense of self and standing in the world.

  It was Jonathan who answered the phone when Wilf called back, returning my call from earlier. I’d gone to have a shower and Jonathan updated me about Melissa as soon as I stepped out of the bathroom.

  ‘The police found her last night, hours before Lynne had listened to the message on her answerphone and contacted them,’ Jonathan said. ‘She’s OK, thank God.’

  He went on to tell me the name of the town where Melissa was picked up. I was shocked. It was a large town in a fairly deprived area many miles away from us. I wondered how she’d got there and why she’d gone so far away. I didn’t know a great deal about the town but I did know it had a large Asian population, which made me think that Sonia’s theory about Melissa hooking up with Tommy might be correct.

  Wilf didn’t have much more information. Everything he knew had been taken down overnight by the out-of-hours social worker and passed on to him when he arrived at work that morning. He’d told Jonathan that the police had picked Melissa up very late at night and she was taken to a relative’s home. She had told the police she ‘used to be in foster care’ but hadn’t mentioned us. The relative she was staying with now lived fairly close to the town Melissa had been picked up in. We could only assume that the reason she’d called Lynne was because the police must have asked her who sh
e used to be in care with. At this stage we had no more details about the relative.

  Wilf said he’d call back as soon as he had any more details. I felt very relieved that Melissa was safe and with a relative, but I can’t say I felt at ease in any way. There were so many unanswered questions.

  A few hours later we heard that Melissa’s aunt and uncle had collected her from the police station, rather than her being taken to their house by the police as we’d first thought. They took a call and drove to pick her up. It was not feasible for Melissa to stay with them, it seemed, and arrangements were being made to bring her back to our house as soon as possible.

  As Ryan and Marty were still with us – both had had their week-long placements extended by several days due to hold-ups with their permanent moves – we couldn’t go and collect Melissa ourselves, as we’d have liked. My mum would usually be happy to babysit for us in situations like this. However, the round trip to collect Melissa was going to take several hours and Mum would have to cancel a long-standing arrangement, which wasn’t fair. Therefore, we agreed that a support worker would collect Melissa from her aunt and uncle’s house and drive her back to us that afternoon.

  Melissa arrived at our door at 4 p.m. Ryan was watching TV upstairs in the lounge and Marty was out with his social worker, due home within the hour. Melissa looked very pale and seemed tired out. She didn’t give me any eye contact and stared at the floor when the support worker accompanied her into our kitchen.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked gently.

  ‘I’m not staying here,’ she said, without peeling her eyes off the kitchen floor.

  I didn’t recognise the tracksuit she was wearing and it looked too big for her. I turned to the support worker.