by Angela Hart
‘Oooh, sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to do that.’
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘Have I annoyed you? Are you cross with me?’
‘No, sweetheart. Accidents happen. Just stay on the chair as you don’t have shoes on and I don’t want you cutting your feet.’
Danielle did as I asked and watched me intently as I swapped my slippers for shoes, and fetched a dustpan and brush as well as a mop and bucket. As I cleaned up the mess it crossed my mind that there was something not quite right about what had happened. Danielle had sounded insincere when she said she didn’t mean to do it, and now she had a strange little smirk on her face. It seemed to me this was not a pure accident, and I wondered if she had done this on purpose, to test me out and see how I would respond. Maybe she wanted me to react angrily, so she had something to complain about to Social Services? I’d come across that scenario on several occasions in the past, when children were still coming to terms with leaving their last carers, wanted to go back to them and were looking for a way out of their new situation.
When the mess was cleared up I fetched Danielle another bowl of cereal, and after she’d finished eating it I showed her where the dishwasher was.
‘We always rinse the plates and bowls and so on before stacking them in the dishwasher,’ I explained. ‘I’ll do it for you today. While I do that, do you think you could put the dustpan and brush and the mop and bucket back in the utility room for me?’
I took her bowl and spoon off the table and began to rinse them in the sink, but Danielle didn’t budge and just stared at the cloudy water in the mop bucket.
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t want them in the kitchen. Someone may trip over them and I’ve finished with them now.’
‘Why don’t you just put them in the corner, over there?
She nodded to one corner of the kitchen, which was right next to the utility room.
‘I could do that, but can you put them in the utility room please, just through the door, there?’
‘OK. I’ll do it later. I’m busy now. I have to clean Scooter’s cage and you’ve held me up, talking to me so much.’
With that she stood up and went upstairs, leaving me feeling dumbfounded. What a lot of fuss had been created, just by Danielle having a bowl of cereal!
I discussed what happened with Jonathan while Danielle was still up in her room, and told him I suspected she was trying to press my buttons, perhaps to give her an excuse to kick out at the situation she was in.
‘You could be right,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time a child has tried that tactic. It’s understandable, I suppose. Anything is possible. It’s good to hear what you’re thinking, Angela.’
It may seem that I was overanalysing the situation, but when you’ve been a foster carer for as long as we have you can’t help but think this way and explore all possibilities. Jonathan has very sharp instincts, probably more so than me, and he is a firm believer that you should listen to your gut feeling. He thought for a moment and added, ‘If you ask me, I’d say that the most likely explanation is that she’s feeling like a fish out of water and was simply testing you. Naturally, Danielle wants to know where she is with you. Perhaps she wants reassurance that you’re not going to fly off the handle if she makes a mess?’
‘That’s probably it,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘We could do with finding out why she first went into foster care when she was so little. She was five, wasn’t she?’
Jonathan nodded. ‘Yes. And it would be helpful to know why she was expelled from school and why she is under a full care order. I wonder what the situation is with her parents?’
‘Quite.’
We were thinking like this because we knew that if she had no school place, the likelihood was that Danielle would be staying with us for longer than just a few days.
The fact Danielle was under a full care order most likely meant that her birth parents were either unfit or unavailable, for whatever reason, to care for their daughter, leading to her being taken off them by Social Services. It’s not unusual to have precious little information at the start of a respite placement, however, and Jonathan and I looked forward to hearing more.
Later on I showed Danielle how to use the shower and told her where we kept the towels she could help herself to.
‘Your dirty laundry can go in the basket by the door in your bedroom,’ I explained. ‘I’m putting the washing machine on in the morning, if you have anything you’d like me to wash?’
We were standing on the landing outside her bedroom when I said this. A little earlier Danielle had taken Scooter downstairs to clean out his cage then gone back upstairs. Then she spent about half an hour alone in her room, telling me she wanted to unpack on her own and have some ‘quiet time’ with her pet.
Now she gave me a somewhat shifty sideways glance as she said, ‘Yes please, can you wash a few things for me? Come on, I’ll get them for you.’
Danielle led me into her room and I was taken aback by what I saw. There were dirty clothes strewn all over the place, books pulled off the shelf and scattered on the floor and the duvet was in a heap in one corner of the room. The bedside lamp was on its side and a neat pile of coat hangers I’d left beside the wardrobe had been dumped on the dressing table, knocking over a couple of little trinket boxes.
Before Danielle had arrived I’d made sure the room was spick and span, as I always do. She had the biggest of our spare bedrooms on the top floor of our town house and I’d made the bed up with a pretty lime-coloured duvet set that matched the wallpaper and curtains. There was a new box of tissues on the dressing table, all the furniture was polished, the mirrors were shining and I’d aired the room so it smelled nice and fresh.
I always enjoy making up the rooms before any child arrives. Often I get comments about how lovely our house is, or how the bedrooms are ‘better than a hotel’. Danielle herself had commented that it was a ‘wicked’ room when I’d first shown it to her, and this had made me smile. It wasn’t that I was particularly house-proud; I wanted everything to be just so because I knew it would make Danielle feel as welcome and comfortable as possible. I think it’s the least I can do for the children who stay, knowing that they are probably feeling very strange and unsettled after being taken into care or moved from another foster home.
‘Goodness!’ I said to Danielle as my eyes scanned the room. Even though I was a bit shocked I tried to keep my tone of voice calm, as I didn’t want to upset Danielle in any way. ‘Do you need some help here, sweetheart?’
‘What do you mean?’ she said, jutting out her chin and giving me a defiant look.
‘What I mean is, it was tidy in here a short time ago and now it’s not. Can I give you a hand to tidy it up? I could show you the best place to put everything.’
Danielle shrugged. ‘Are you angry?’
‘No, sweetheart. Everything is new to you. You need time to settle in, and I can help you.’
‘So you’re not cross?’
‘No. It won’t take long to tidy up. Do you want to find the clothes you want washing and I’ll make the bed, for a start?’
Danielle huffed and puffed as she scooped up her dirty clothes and piled them in the laundry basket.
‘Did you have a look at the books?’ I asked as I slotted them back onto the bookshelf.
Danielle ignored me.
‘Were there any you liked the look of? If not, we have plenty more. I like reading and I’ve collected lots of books over the years. We have a few other bookshelves around the house. I’ll show you later, if you like.’
Danielle scowled and refused to answer me so I carried on tidying up in silence. When the room was back to normal I told her I’d take the washing down to the utility room and explained that after dinner that evening we could watch some television together if she liked.
‘Are there any foods you don’t eat?’
There was no reply.
‘Is th
ere a particular programme you like to watch on TV?’
Still there was no reply.
‘OK, well we’re having pork chops and mashed potato tonight and, if you fancy joining me, later on I’ll be watching some of my favourite soaps that I’ve recorded.’
‘What are we having for lunch?’
‘Soup and sandwiches. There’s plenty to choose from for the fillings. You can help me make them if you like. Do you like chicken soup? What do you like in a sandwich?’
Again, Danielle completely ignored me.
I went down the first flight of stairs and left the washing on the landing near my bedroom on the first floor of the house while I nipped to the toilet. The moment I locked the door I heard footsteps and then a tap on the door.
‘Why?’ Danielle asked.
‘Pardon? Just a minute, I’m in the loo. I’ll be out in a moment.’
‘Why did she say that?’ Danielle said.
‘Hang on, give me a second . . .’
‘Why can’t I go back?’
‘Go back?’
I washed my hands and rushed out as quickly as I could.
‘Right, I’m here now. What did you say? What did you want to talk about?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Did you say, “Why can’t I go back?”’
Danielle looked at the floor.
‘He’s out,’ she said.
‘Who’s out?’ I asked.
‘Scooter.’
‘Scooter? What do you mean? Is he out of his cage?’
‘Yes. The door must have come open by accident and I can’t find him. Will you help me look for him?’
‘Yes, sweetheart. Oh dear, do you think he’s in your bedroom or could he have escaped from there?’
‘No idea,’ Danielle said, giving me what appeared to be a slightly mischievous smile.
‘Right. We’d better start looking on the top floor then, hadn’t we?’
‘Yes. Are you angry, Alison?’
‘No, Danielle. And my name is Angela, remember?’
‘Angela, whatever,’ she said rudely. ‘How come you’re not annoyed?’
‘Danielle, you said it must have been an accident, and as I said to you earlier when the breakfast bowl fell on the floor, accidents happen, don’t they?’
She looked very dissatisfied with this answer.
‘I bet you’ll tell my social worker I let him out on purpose!’
‘No, I will not say any such thing, because that is not what you told me has happened. Scooter seems to have escaped from his cage by accident, hasn’t he? That’s what you told me, and why would I not believe you? Now, let’s stop talking about it and go and find him, shall we?’
Danielle let out a deep sigh. ‘Suppose so,’ she said. ‘And when we’ve found him, can we go back to my forever family?’
I gave her a kind smile and my heart went out to her. I explained that she was staying with us until Social Services decided what was happening next, but that it was not my understanding that she would go back to her forever family. I had to be as honest as I possibly could, as I didn’t want her to have any false hopes.
Danielle tut-tutted and put her hands on her hips as she told me sternly, ‘I’m not happy, you know, An-ge-la.’ She exaggerated the pronunciation of my name and this time it seemed very clear she was trying to provoke a reaction in me, perhaps one that would give her the excuse she wanted to ask Social Services if she could go back to her former foster home. I found this very sad. The placement had broken down and Danielle’s social worker, Susan, had told me that Social Services were looking for a new school for her, and of course she would need to live near to her school. As Susan had explained, we had no idea where this would be, but as Danielle needed to go somewhere that catered for children who had been excluded from other schools I knew this could mean moving many miles away, as those types of schools were not very common and often over-subscribed. I knew Danielle had had this explained to her too by Susan, but she was obviously finding it hard to accept.
‘She’s lost and confused, and I think her default response is to try to create trouble,’ I said to Jonathan that night.
All day, nothing had been easy. Danielle ‘accidentally’ dropped her sandwich on the floor at lunchtime and trod on it, and when we had our dinner she tipped the apple sauce out of the jar by turning it upside down over her plate, instead of using the spoon provided.
‘Oops,’ she said, looking at the huge pile of apple sauce splattered all over her food. ‘I can’t eat that now, can I?’
‘Let’s hope it’s just teething trouble and she starts to settle in tomorrow,’ Jonathan said. ‘I’m sure things can only get better!’
We were both exhausted. We’d hunted all over the house and found no sign of Scooter, and after dinner Danielle had refused to sit with us in the lounge and messed her bedroom up all over again as she supposedly hunted for her pet.
‘I hope you’re right, Jonathan,’ I said. ‘But somehow I can’t say I feel optimistic.’
The last thing Danielle had said to me when I went to say goodnight was, ‘There must be something that annoys you, Angela. Will you tell me what it is or do I have to keep looking for it?’
She said it in a cheeky rather than a menacing way and I tried to laugh her comment off, but it wasn’t really funny. The truth is, I fell asleep that night fretting about what Danielle was going to do next, and feeling impatient to know more about her history so I could do my best to help her enjoy her time with us, rather than seeking to spoil it.
3
‘He might get a knife and stab you!’
Danielle came down to breakfast looking cross and upset.
‘Can I see my forever family again when I’m grown up?’ she asked accusingly.
She was biting her nails and started walking around the kitchen, randomly opening and closing cupboard doors like a much younger child might do. She was also asking nonsense questions and changing the subject so frequently I couldn’t keep up.
‘Would you rather be a cupboard door or a fridge door, Angela? Or what about a cage door?’
‘Oh, now that’s a question I’ve never considered before! I don’t know. What about you?’
‘None. A car door. And I’d say no children in the car!’
‘Why’s that Danielle?’
‘Have you seen Scooter? Do you think he ate the soap and is being sick somewhere?’
‘No. I don’t think so . . .’
‘Scooter! Scooter! Are you eating the cornflakes, Scooter?’She peered in the cupboard containing the cereals and looked behind all the boxes. ‘Angela, what do you think? Can I see my forever family again when I’m grown up?’
‘Sweetheart, I know you must be missing your forever family, and I’m sorry about that.’
‘No you’re not! You get money for having me, so you’re glad I’m here instead of there!’
I took a deep breath. This is an accusation Jonathan and I have had thrown at us several times over the years, one way or another. Lots of children, as well as some parents and extended families, have tried to use the fact we are paid to work as foster carers as a weapon against us. We are paid, of course, but it’s not a fortune and, as I’ve said many times, if money was what motivated us we certainly would not have chosen to be foster carers for all these years.
Unfortunately, in a minority of cases, it seems to be easier for some parents to attack us than it is to face the upsetting reality that they are unable to care for their own children, for whatever reason that may be. Understandably, it’s difficult for parents whose children are in care to see Jonathan and I taking over their parenting role, and the distress they feel at the situation occasionally turns to anger that is vented on us. It took me years not to take this personally. Happily this is not the norm: it’s far more common for parents to be grateful their child is being looked after in care. However, that doesn’t stop the children making accusations of this nature, as Danielle was doing now.
‘Wou
ld you like to go for a walk into town this morning?’ I asked her, deciding it was best to try to steer the conversation away from the subject of money and her forever family.
‘Why?’
‘Just to get a bit of fresh air. It’s not good to be cooped up in the house all day.’
‘What about Scooter? Had you forgotten he was lost or something? We can’t leave him on his own, can we? What if he comes out from his hiding place, looking for us?’
‘I had an idea about that,’ I said. ‘Before we go for our walk, why don’t we put some carrots out for him, in the corner of the kitchen, and we’ll wait to see if he comes out to nibble them?’
I was very pleased to see Danielle’s face suddenly light up and she started clapping her hands together excitedly. Once again I thought how much younger she acted than her years. She then started opening and shutting all the kitchen cupboards again, as well as the fridge and even the freezer.
‘Where are the carrots?’ she demanded. ‘Get the carrots, An-ge-la!’
‘Can you ask nicely, and put the word “please” on the end of your sentence, Danielle?’
‘You didn’t! How can you expect me to?’
‘Can you ask nicely, and put the word “please” on the end of your sentence, Danielle, please?’ I repeated, refusing to be rattled by her cheekiness.
‘Get the carrots, An-ge-la, pleeease.’
Her tone was still quite rude but I decided not to push it. I think I’d made my point and I didn’t want to antagonise her. Instead I took a large carrot out of the vegetable drawer at the bottom of the fridge, gave it a wash and set about chopping it into small batons. I normally encourage children to help with jobs like this, but something stopped me. I had a little warning bell going off in my head, and I realised that, because of her unpredictable nature and her tendency to lapse into childish behaviour, I just didn’t trust Danielle to handle a knife safely, despite the fact she was twelve and should have been more than capable of doing so. It seemed sensible for me to do the job myself, with the least sharp knife I could manage with.
‘That knife isn’t sharp enough,’ Danielle said, watching me hacking the carrot with it rather awkwardly.
