by Angela Hart
The phone rang once again, and it was another one of our relatives, cooing over the beautiful wedding invitation she had also received in the post that day. With no mobile phones back then, we always diverted calls from the house into the shop whenever Jonathan and I were both on duty in the florists. This was a blessing and a curse: we were nearly always contactable, which was essential for our fostering work, but it also meant that friends and relatives often interrupted our working day. On this occasion I didn’t mind at all. My elderly aunt was very excited and I enjoyed talking to her about the wedding, although I eventually had to stop the flow of chatter about bridesmaids and flowers to politely explain we had several customers browsing in the shop and I ought to go and help Jonathan.
I put the phone down and was chuckling and saying, ‘Thought she was never going to stop talking!’ when it immediately rang again.
‘That’ll be another excited wedding guest!’ Jonathan quipped.
I was smiling when I answered the phone, giving the name of our shop and brightly asking how I could help.
‘Hello. I’m calling from Ridgebrook School. I’m trying to get hold of Mrs Hart. Is this the correct number for her?’
A lump bulged in my throat and the smile froze on my face.
‘It’s Mrs Hart speaking. How can I help?’
Jonathan turned to look at me: he said later he could tell immediately that something was wrong. I indicated that I’d step out of the back of the shop to continue the call on the wireless handset and he nodded. This was a routine we’d been through on countless occasions before, given that we often took calls from schools, Social Services, social workers and support workers when we were in the shop. All our fostering colleagues knew their phone calls would be diverted through if one of us was not at home, and we told them to always leave a message if a shop assistant was on duty and we were both out. The system worked well. Additionally, all the social workers we worked with knew to come into the florists if they called at the house and there was no answer at our door. Many took this opportunity whenever they were passing, because they didn’t want to miss the chance of making an extra check on how things were going, although it has to be said that some were less generous with their time than others. We had the feeling certain social workers saw ‘popping in’ to the shop when it suited them as an easy way of ticking off one of their routine visits. ‘I’ll put this down as a visit’ was the phrase that typically gave them away, though I’m happy to say this was not the norm, and most of our social workers gave us as much of their time as they could possibly afford in their busy schedules.
‘It’s Mrs Bishop. I’m the attendance officer at Ridgebrook. Melissa has failed to attend her second lesson this morning.’
The words choked all the joy out of me; it felt like I’d stepped out of sunshine and into the teeth of a storm.
18
‘Girls love bad boys, don’t they?’
Doreen had explained to me that Melissa’s school attendance would be very closely monitored because of her previous record. She had to be signed in to every lesson, rather than simply being registered at the start of morning and afternoon sessions like the other pupils. If she failed to turn up for a timetabled lesson, her teachers had been instructed to alert the office immediately. She was also to stay in at lunchtime, as in the past she had a habit of simply not returning after being allowed out of school for lunch.
‘She’s not turned up for her second lesson? Is she still on the school premises or do you mean she is missing?’
I already knew the answer before Mrs Bishop said, ‘I’m afraid she is missing. There is no sign of her on the premises. We believe she has walked out of school, during the changeover between periods one and two.’
Mrs Bishop went on to explain that the school was on a split site and Melissa had to cross the quadrangle to get from the science block to the music department; it’s possible she simply carried on past the music room and exited via the service entrance at the back of the building. The gates had been deliberately left open as it was bin collection day, apparently.
I didn’t know the set-up at Ridgebrook School at all; Doreen had been the point of contact and had made all the arrangements for Melissa to return there. As we were only looking after Melissa on a short-term placement, and the school was some distance away, we were told there was no necessity for us to visit or meet the teaching staff before Melissa started back there. I regretted this now. I wished I’d had the chance to check the school out for myself, if only so I didn’t feel the way I did now, not even being able to picture the buildings and the layout of the school, and feeling completely in the dark about the surrounding area and where Melissa might have gone.
Though I was angry and upset that this had happened – and so quickly – I tried hard not to blame the school. Jonathan and I had failed to keep Melissa in the house and we only had three children to look after. Ridgebrook School had more than a thousand pupils to keep tabs on and, unfortunately, we’d learned that when a child is determined to escape, there is a good chance they will succeed.
In the early nineties most schools didn’t have any of the sophisticated security measures they have in place today. Door entry controls and CCTV now routinely used to safeguard children – both by keeping kids inside and accounted for, as well as keeping intruders out – were virtually unheard of in state comprehensive schools. It meant that if a child set their mind on sneaking off the premises undetected, it really wasn’t very difficult for them to succeed. The only way to ‘catch’ truanting kids was retrospectively, when the register was taken and a teacher then raised the alarm if a child failed to show up to a lesson, which is exactly what had happened with Melissa. There was another flaw in the system too, in my opinion. In those days schools tended to rely heavily on detentions or suspensions for tackling truanting. The emotional support, counselling or mentoring that a truanting child may be offered today was far less common – it was a case of meting out a punishment or exclusion, or threatening kids with expulsion, rather than attempting to get to the bottom of why they were skipping school in the first place. When we’d discussed Melissa’s return to school with Doreen, the social worker had touched on the subject of detentions and suspensions and was clearly not sold on using them as sticks to tackle truanting. She had commented that she believed the detentions Melissa had had in the past had made her rebel further, while the suspensions were sometimes welcomed by her. ‘What d’you do with a child who runs away from school?’ Doreen had said cynically.
‘I don’t know, what d’you do with a child who runs away from school?’ Jonathan had replied, seeing where she was going with this.
‘Tell them they’re not allowed to come in for a week, and then watch them whoop with delight.’
This turn of events had taken me completely by surprise. Melissa had done a very good job of convincing me she was looking forward to returning to school, and I’d also seen how she was interested in her schoolwork. I really hadn’t thought she would run away from school, at least not on the very first morning. Besides, when she went missing from home, it wasn’t because she was avoiding things. From what I’d seen, she ran away because she was running to something, not away from it. In my opinion, what she was running to was the real problem; that was what we needed to get to the bottom of. She was running to be with friends, boyfriends, parties and goodness knows what else. She wanted to grow up fast. Often she ran at night, and in Lynne’s experience she usually ran under cover of darkness. Who would she be with on a Monday morning? I’d been naive, of course, but I had not expected Melissa to disappear from the school premises after one lesson, and in broad daylight too. She’d given me the distinct impression she was going to make a go of settling back into school and I’d trusted her. How wrong I’d been.
I asked Mrs Bishop exactly how long Melissa had been missing. She reiterated that Melissa hadn’t been seen since the end of her first lesson, when she apparently told her friends she was going to the toilet. T
hough only about fifteen minutes had passed since then I was aware she could have travelled miles in that time if one of her friends or boyfriends had picked her up in a car or van.
In true British style I politely thanked Mrs Bishop for phoning and letting me know what the situation was, though by the end of the call I really felt like screaming. It was incredibly frustrating that Melissa had been able to slip away undetected like this. She was a child who was on the radar, with a history of absconding from school, and she’d escaped after only one lesson. One lesson! It wasn’t even break time or lunchtime. Surely it should not have been so easy for her to simply walk out of the gates? Why didn’t a large comprehensive school have a better system in place to keep tabs on kids at risk of absconding? I knew the reasons and reminded myself not to blame the school. Melissa simply couldn’t be monitored every second of the day. She was a schoolgirl, not a prisoner. The school had put a ‘return to school’ plan in place for her and nobody had done anything wrong, apart from Melissa. I really did not blame the school, but still I couldn’t help feeling the way I did.
I let Wilf know what was happening. We left it for almost two hours before calling the school back to check if they’d heard any more, and then phoning Social Services and the police to report Melissa missing.
The afternoon dragged horribly. I felt like my bubble had well and truly burst and I felt so foolish for daring to hope Melissa’s return to school was going to help turn her life around.
‘I don’t know what we expected,’ I lamented to Jonathan. ‘By the sound of it she’s walked out of school as easily as she walked out of our house and got in TJ’s van.’
‘I know. It shows what an impossible task it is to stop a runaway from running.’
I agreed, but of course could take no comfort from this.
I spoke to Doreen and Elaine, who once again offered sympathy, told us not to worry and reiterated that this was nobody’s fault but Melissa’s. Neither was as surprised as I was that this had happened so soon.
‘I’m sorry this is happening to you,’ Doreen said. ‘She’s such a silly girl. Why can’t she learn? I guess it’s an age-old problem. Girls love bad boys, don’t they? I’m assuming she’s gone off with another boy. That always seems to be what’s behind her escape acts.’
Elaine said, ‘I can’t understand Melissa at all. How can she do this to you when you’ve been so kind? I don’t understand it. She has no idea which side her bread is buttered, does she? Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help.’
I appreciated their support and their kind words, but I certainly wasn’t looking for any sympathy, or compliments for that matter. It was very upsetting and unsettling for us to be in this situation, but I was focused only on Melissa’s wellbeing, not mine or Jonathan’s. As supportive as Doreen and Elaine were, whatever anybody thought about us as carers was completely secondary at this moment in time. I wanted Melissa to be found and I wanted to stop this from happening again. That was all I could think about, but how could we make her see sense and stop running?
As usual I let off steam talking to Jonathan.
‘Sometimes it feels like Social Services are more interested in adhering to policies than anything else. Nobody will lose their job over this. The social workers have done nothing wrong. We’ve done nothing wrong. The school has followed Melissa’s return to school plan to the letter, as far as we know. Everyone’s in the clear. Melissa is the only one at fault. We can all just sit back and wait for her to return, knowing we’ve done nothing wrong. How marvellous—not!’
Jonathan was drumming his fingers on the counter, his eyes darting around the shop, making sure no customers were in earshot.
‘I feel totally useless,’ he whispered back. ‘It’s not even as if we can go out and look for her. We don’t even know the area around Ridgebrook, and as you say she could have got into a friend’s car and travelled to goodness knows where.’
He looked up as a woman we’d known for years approached with a lovely selection of flowers she wanted gift-wrapped.
‘Thank you, Mrs Carter. You’ve chosen well. Is there a special occasion?’
‘Yes. My daughter’s moved into her new house today.’
‘Congratulations! It doesn’t seem five minutes ago when she was still at school. I remember her coming in here in her Brownie uniform.’
‘The Brownies! Yes, Caroline was an Imp, and how fitting that was. She was such a cheeky little thing, always up to no good! She used to have me run ragged and worried sick! I thought she’d never grow out of it, but they all settle down in the end, don’t they?’
‘Yes, they do,’ I said, thinking to myself, I’m not sure that’s true of everybody, unfortunately.
‘Are you still fostering?’
‘Yes, we are.’
‘Really? Good for you. How many children have you got staying with you at the moment?’
Jonathan hesitated. ‘Er, three.’
Mrs Carter chuckled. ‘You don’t sound too certain!’
Jonathan laughed and I gamely joined in as we shared a look that said, ‘There’s a good reason for that.’
I spoke to Wilf about Melissa’s taxi. I was worried about it making a wasted journey to the school that afternoon and wanted to warn the taxi firm that Melissa might not be there. He told me to call the cab office direct and explain the situation. He said to tell them they would still be paid by Social Services regardless of whether Melissa showed up or not. We certainly wouldn’t cancel it, just in case she did happen to turn up.
When I made the call a very chatty woman called Gaynor answered the phone. ‘It isn’t a problem, darling. Happens all the time, and it’s always the girls. I don’t know what they get up to, little madams! It’s the parents and carers I feel sorry for. You must be worried sick when they bunk off like this. Of course, the kids don’t care, do they? They go off and have their fun and come back when they’re hungry or have run out of money. Still, I was no angel at that age. Blooming kids! All right, darling, I’ll let the driver know and I’ll make sure he checks in with me. If she shows up, d’you want me to give you a bell?’
‘That would be great, thank you.’ I gave her our number.
‘No problem at all, my love. Always happy to help. And don’t you worry too much. They always turn up.’
The way Gaynor made this sound so commonplace concerned me, prompting me to ask some questions. ‘How common is it, if you don’t mind me asking?’
Gaynor sounded happy to continue our chat. I explained that I’d been fostering for several years and had never encountered this problem before, despite the fact many of the children who stayed with us had been taken to and from school all over the surrounding areas by taxi.
‘Like I say, happens all the time these days. It never used to. It seems to be certain schools – Ridgebrook is just one of them – and it’s like it goes in waves.’
‘Waves? How do you mean?’
‘I mean, like one school has a spate of truancies, then all of a sudden it’s a different school all the kids are bunking off from. I think once one girl starts doing it her mates think it’s smart to follow suit. It’s what kids do, isn’t it? It’s usually the big comps that have the biggest problems, but that’s hardly surprising. Too easy for the kids to walk out and not be noticed. And if they’re near the town, that’s even worse.’
‘Yes, I can imagine. More temptations, I suppose.’
‘Exactly right, my love. No point bunking off school if you’re stranded in the countryside, is it? But if you can go to the shops and all that, or hang around the arcades, then the problem’s always gonna be worse. Stands to reason, doesn’t it?’
I explained that I didn’t know the area around Ridgebrook School but was aware it was fairly close to the town.
‘Close to the town? You’re not wrong there. It’s a hop, skip and a jump to the shopping arcade, and that place is like a rabbit warren. Go in there and you could be lost all day, even if you didn’t want to be! An
yhow, darling, I’ll give you the heads up if your girl turns up. I’ll tell the driver what’s what and he’ll be there on time regardless, just in case.’
‘Thanks. And I’ll call you if we hear any more in the meantime.’
The day dragged after that, and I was watching the clock and the phone non-stop. I called the taxi firm at quarter past four, not long after I’d collected Ryan and we’d walked home together. By then it was obvious Melissa was not going to turn up for her lift home, and Gaynor confirmed that the driver had checked with the school office before leaving with an empty cab, after waiting for almost half an hour. I said I’d give them plenty of notice about the following morning, so Melissa’s taxi to school didn’t show up unnecessarily.
‘All right darlin’,’ Gaynor said. ‘I won’t cancel it until you give me the word. If I don’t hear, the cab will be there. Best to look on the bright side, eh? I bet she’ll be back tonight when her stomach’s rumbling!’
Ryan heard me on the phone and asked if everything was OK. I simply told him Melissa hadn’t met her taxi after school.
‘Oh,’ he said, narrowing his eyes. ‘Do you think she didn’t like the driver? Maybe she’s getting a lift off a friend?’
‘We’ll see.’
‘But she’s coming back tonight, right?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that, Ryan.’
‘That sucks,’ he said. ‘You’re a really nice lady, Angela, and I think it’s mean of Melissa to make you worried.’
This touched me and I thanked him for his thoughtful words. Kids have a habit of taking you by surprise – in good and bad ways – and I was really grateful for Ryan’s unexpected show of support.
