by Angela Hart
‘Let’s not have any accidents on the stairs,’ I said, grabbing the banisters.
Danielle turned to face me, hands on hips, and said, ‘You were getting in my way, Angela!’
‘Danielle, please turn round. It’s not safe to stand backwards on the stairs.’
She huffed and did as I asked. Once again I counted to ten in my head – or perhaps it was twenty that time! – and when we were back in the kitchen I returned to the conversation about the laundry, trying to get across to Danielle how important it was to keep clean linen away from dirty laundry.
‘OK,’ she said, raising her eyes to the ceiling. ‘I wasn’t sure what that otter thing was for. What did you say it was?’
‘The ottoman? Oh yes. It’s useful. I always keep it stocked up, so you always know where to find clean sheets and so on.’
‘You’re so organised,’ Danielle said sweetly, giving me a broad smile. ‘If only we were all like you!’
‘I’ve had years of practice,’ I replied. It was difficult to work out if Danielle was paying me a compliment or taking the mickey.
‘More tea?’ I asked, giving her an equally broad smile and helping myself to another biscuit.
I had told the social workers I wanted to make an appointment for Danielle with the doctor, so she could get some help with her wetting problem. I brought this up with Danielle the day after we discussed the laundry, and thankfully she was in a fairly good mood. She’d had a shower and washed her hair, and she was sitting at the kitchen table, eating some crumpets she’d smeared with an extremely thick layer of peanut butter.
‘How are you feeling this morning?’ I asked.
‘I’m not sure. How do you know?’
‘Well, do you feel good? Did you sleep OK?’
Not for the first time I’d heard her pacing around late into the night, but when I finally went upstairs to investigate I saw her light hastily go off.
‘Yes, I slept fine. I feel OK, thanks. I didn’t have a nightmare.’
‘You didn’t have a nightmare?’
‘No. I’m good.’
I made a mental note to try to find out more about these possible nightmares and what caused her to be restless at night. She clearly didn’t want to elaborate now, and so I moved the conversation on.
I explained to Danielle that I was hoping we could improve things for her, in terms of her bed-wetting and incontinence, by going to see the doctor. She didn’t argue, but she didn’t exactly look pleased at the idea, and who could blame her? It was unusual for a child of twelve to have such a problem, day and night, and of course having to talk about this with a doctor could not have been an appealing prospect for her. I tried my best to focus on how it was all for her benefit, and how much better she would feel when the problem was under control – which I was sure it could be – but she didn’t look convinced.
After that we had a pleasant couple of days with Danielle, with very few arguments and largely good behaviour. She happily played dominoes with my mum for hours one afternoon, although I think it worked well largely on account of Mum being incredibly patient.
‘It’s your turn, dear!’ Mum said to chivvy Danielle gently along whenever she took rather too long to go.
‘I’m thinking!’ Danielle said.
I was doing some paperwork at the other end of the dining table as they played, and I had a very good idea what was going on here: the more Mum encouraged Danielle to hurry up, the longer she took to place her next domino. I guessed Danielle wanted to be in control of the game, and thanks to Mum’s good nature she was. Mum wasn’t worried how long the game took or who was ‘in charge’, and perhaps that was why Danielle got on so well with my mother.
Looking at them play, I wished I could get along with Danielle as well as my mum did, but as Jonathan pointed out: ‘Letting Danielle be in control of a game of dominoes is one thing. It’s an entirely different matter when it comes to eating, doing homework, keeping clean and all those other essential things we have to help her with.’
He was right. I couldn’t let Danielle be in charge in her day-to-day life. It was obvious that in her past she’d missed out on being taught some of the basic rules of society – or that perhaps she’d been led to believe that some of the rules she lived by were normal and acceptable, when they were anything but.
At the weekend, thanks to her good behaviour, I was happy to drop Danielle at Mina’s house for the birthday bowling party she had been invited to. She’d spent some of her pocket money buying Mina a card, and I’d given her some extra money to pay for a small gift.
‘Perhaps we’ve turned a corner,’ I said to Jonathan, sighing with relief when Danielle returned from the party. She was full of stories about who scored a strike and what they’d had to eat and drink, and it was great to see her having such a good day.
‘I hope you’re right,’ Jonathan said. ‘Maybe all she needed was to be given more praise and encouragement. Perhaps Miss Powell has boosted her self-esteem by remarking on her good work at tuition? Let’s hope the worst is behind us. It certainly looks promising.’
I really hoped Jonathan could be right. I felt that when Danielle arrived she’d expected not to like us, and it was my guess she imagined she’d be told off and punished for every shortcoming – even the ones she had no control over. She was starting to see that wasn’t the case and that in fact Jonathan and I don’t even use the word ‘punishment’, preferring to talk about consequences, or better still to focus on the positive benefits and rewards that follow good behaviour.
That night Danielle told us she wanted to carry on living with us after all.
‘My friend said I’m lucky to be here,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I’m lucky. But I want to stay.’
I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but this reinforced our hopes we’d turned a corner with Danielle. I felt quietly optimistic.
6
‘How can I be good?’
After Danielle had been with us for just under three weeks we were asked to attend our first full placement meeting with her social worker, Susan, our support social worker, Nelson, a family-aid worker called Deirdre, plus Miss Powell the tuition teacher. This came sooner than we expected – as I’ve said, they normally happen after six weeks – but Jonathan and I were certainly not complaining. Social Services had been very proactive, and even though we still had unanswered questions, we were grateful for all the contact we’d already had with Susan and Nelson in the short time Danielle had been with us.
In hindsight it’s clear Social Services knew what a difficult child Danielle could be to look after, and I don’t blame anyone for not telling us the full extent of how challenging she could be, right from the start. If social workers divulged every alarming detail about the potential problems a new foster child might bring they would have an almost impossible job on their hands in trying to place children with willing carers who had not been put off, or even frightened away.
In any case, over the years Jonathan and I have learned to make up our own minds with regard to what is already on file about a child. We’ve found it’s not always helpful to read everything written. For example, notes from a previous carer, recorded after a placement breakdown, might focus on problems and negative issues, for understandable reasons. Living with the child is actually the best way of finding out what they are really like, and how they are in the present moment.
Susan had paid a visit to our home shortly before the placement meeting, and she sat Jonathan and me down and told us that Danielle had been abused. Sadly, this did not come as a surprise: in fact, it confirmed our growing suspicions. It was clear Danielle had suffered trauma in her life and unfortunately we’ve looked after enough abused children to know when a child has been damaged by physical, sexual or emotional abuse.
From her difficult and sometimes obstructive, rude and erratic behaviour and attitude, it was obvious that Danielle had been emotionally neglected at the very least, and when Jonathan and I went to one of our reg
ular training sessions one afternoon, while Danielle went to the cinema with my mum to watch a rerun of Grease, a penny dropped.
The session was about attachment disorder, and hearing more about this condition made me realise Danielle showed a lot of signs that she suffered with attachment issues. We’d attended training sessions on attachment disorder previously, although I’m going back more than a decade when information was far more limited than it is today. Through our previous training, Jonathan and I already knew that attachment disorder happens when a child’s basic needs are not met at a very early age, typically between birth and the age of five. The child may be left to cry with hunger, pain, discomfort or simply when they want a cuddle. When no adult pays attention and meets their needs, they learn to accept that they are not the priority to the adult or adults and, in severe cases – perhaps when physical or sexual abuse is also taking place – that the adults are a threat to them and cannot be trusted. This affects brain development and causes the child to instinctively deal with everyday life primarily in a way they think will keep them safe.
At this latest training session, Jonathan and I picked up more information, which was new to us at the time. We learned that children with attachment disorder – and particularly a severe form of it, called reactive attachment disorder – develop a deep-rooted habit of manipulating others in order to control their world in a way that will keep them safe from harm – or alive, even. The trainer explained that it is impossible for children suffering from reactive attachment disorder to form the kind of relationships the rest of us take for granted. They are out in the emotional wilderness, effectively, and without normal attachments their ability to trust others, accept boundaries or discipline, develop self-control or take on responsibility for their own actions is hugely impaired. The damage is not completely irreparable, but it takes a lot of work and professional intervention to turn a child around who has suffered such a devastating start in life.
When Susan told us Danielle had been abused my heart sank; having this confirmed was very upsetting, despite our suspicions. I took a breath, composed myself and asked Susan if Danielle had been diagnosed with attachment disorder, or reactive attachment disorder. I don’t know why that was the first thing I asked, as I had a million questions running round my mind. In hindsight, perhaps I was stalling for time, as subconsciously I was putting off hearing the details of Danielle’s abuse.
‘No,’ Susan said. ‘But as you’ve seen, she shows some classic signs – the manipulative behaviour, for example.’
Susan explained that when Danielle was living with her supposed forever family, they raised similar concerns. Danielle had been seeing a therapist, but when her previous carers questioned whether she had attachment disorder, Danielle was examined by a specialist doctor and put under the care of a child psychologist, who was still in the process of assessing and diagnosing Danielle.
‘The psychologist has been abroad on a course so she has missed a session, but ordinarily Danielle attends a session once a month. I will give you further details at the placement meeting,’ Susan told us.
Despite recognising Danielle had been traumatised and recognising she’d suffered some kind of abuse in her early childhood, until this conversation with Susan, Jonathan and I could only guess at the specific type of abuse she had been subjected to. I had mixed emotions when Susan began to give us more details. I desperately wanted to know what had happened to Danielle in her past, so I could understand her and help her in the best possible way, but at the same time I wished I didn’t have to hear this.
It’s always difficult to bear, learning what a child has been subjected to, and it has never got any easier over the years. It’s something I really did not bargain for when I first began to foster. I naively imagined the vast majority of children who needed foster care had lost their parents. I thought being an orphan or perhaps being the child of an unmarried mother who was struggling was the only reason a youngster would be placed in care or put up for adoption. Of course, that was not always the case even back then, and over the years changes in society have meant that nowadays it is very, very rarely the case.
Most children in care in this day and age do have parents and, needless to say, mothers do not give up their children simply because they are unmarried. Sadly, this means the majority of children who find themselves in the care system come from families that are dysfunctional in some way, and it follows that many of those children have suffered trauma in their lives and have behavioural or emotional problems as a result.
‘Danielle was sexually abused,’ Susan said solemnly. ‘She had a dreadful start in life.’
I can still picture Susan clearly, shaking her head and looking very serious as Jonathan and I listened intently.
‘How terribly sad,’ I said. I was sitting on the sofa in our living room and I looked out of the window, out across the park and fields at the back of our house. There were young children playing on the slide and swings and kicking footballs. Innocent, happy little kids, who looked like they didn’t have a care in the world. I thought about the fact Danielle had only been five years old when she was initially taken into care. Clearly she had been abused – sexually abused – at a very young age. What an absolute tragedy. I saw Jonathan swallow hard and clench his jaw. I’d seen him do that many times before: he was suppressing tears.
Susan and Nelson had both been very efficient in fixing up the upcoming placement meeting, and they made sure Jonathan and I could both attend, offering to provide a respite carer if need be, which I said was not necessary, as my mum was very happy to look after Danielle while we were out. Mum and Danielle got on so well, and every time I’d left them alone together Mum had said, ‘She’s been as good as gold!’ They seemed to have a surprising number of things in common. For instance, they liked a lot of the same films and TV shows and, to Danielle’s amazement, my mum was as big a fan of Robbie Williams as she was. They both liked Stevie Wonder and Dionne Warwick too. ‘You couldn’t make it up!’ Jonathan had commented when he heard them talking about their favourite Motown album one day.
On the day of the placement meeting we left Mum and Danielle together at home, happily playing Scrabble. Danielle had never played the game before, and once again Mum’s patience was coming into its own as she explained the rules.
‘But what’s the point in having letters and not words?’
‘Goodness, that’s the whole point, Danielle! Here, let me have a look at your tiles. We’ll play a practice round and see what we can come up with together.’
‘Why are you being so nice to me?’
Mum seemed very amused by the question and she laughed. She had no idea what Danielle’s life had been like or that she had trust and attachment issues, or any other issues for that matter. Refreshingly, Mum simply took the question at face value.
‘What a funny question! Why would I not be nice? I want to have a good game of Scrabble with you. Now come on, let’s get started!’ I smiled. My mum had a wonderful way with Danielle.
The placement meeting was held in an old-fashioned, wood-panelled room within what was once the old town hall. My low heels clip-clopped on the hard oak floor as I crossed the echoey room with Jonathan at my side, and I made a note to myself as heads turned: Wear your soft wedges next time you have to come in one of these big, old rooms, Angela!
Seated around a large oval table in the centre of the room were Susan, Nelson, Miss Powell and a lady I’d never met before. Susan introduced us: this was Deirdre, the family-aid worker who was going to support us with some practical help. I immediately liked the look of Deirdre. She was the sort of person who smiled with her eyes, so you knew she was genuinely pleased to meet you.
Once the introductions were over Susan asked Jonathan and me to sum up how we felt things were going with Danielle.
‘Things are going well at the minute, but generally speaking I’d say it’s up and down,’ I said, glancing at Jonathan as he tipped his head forward in agreement. ‘I feel li
ke whenever we make progress, something unexpected or disappointing happens and we’re back to square one. We’re on an up now. I feel things have improved and I’m optimistic we’ll ultimately make more progress, but I’m not sure how steady that progress will be.’
Jonathan nodded. ‘Some days it feels like climbing a mountain and sliding back down just before you get to the top.’
We both admitted we felt deflated when that happened and, prompted by Nelson, I gave an example.
‘This is a typical scenario, which hopefully will make you see what Danielle is like. I’ve been encouraging her to help me cook and to eat healthy foods. Yesterday she threw herself enthusiastically into making a vegetable curry with me. We all sat down to eat together, but Danielle suddenly said she didn’t like the curry and wasn’t going to eat it. She insisted she wasn’t hungry, although earlier on she’d told me she was starving and couldn’t wait for the rice to be ready. After making a fuss for a while she said her meal had gone cold and asked if she could throw it in the bin and have something else later. She then said she didn’t like the taste at all, even though when we were cooking, earlier on, she said it was delicious.’
I wondered if some of the people in the meeting were thinking, Maybe she really didn’t like it? so I went on, to make sure I’d got my point across. ‘What I’m saying is, it’s difficult to know where you are with Danielle and whether she is telling the truth. I found her breakfast in the bin one day, though she told me she was full up after eating it. I don’t know if she is trying to be difficult on purpose.’
Jonathan explained that one morning Danielle came downstairs and asked us, ‘Who will I be today? The nice Danielle or the nasty Danielle?’
‘I think that gives a good insight into what she is like,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I added. ‘It’s almost as if she doesn’t want things to work. She looks for ways to create trouble, seemingly unnecessarily. I don’t know if she does this in a deliberate, trouble-making way or whether maybe it’s more subtle than that.’
