The Girl With Two Lives

by Angela Hart

  We’d seen the incontinence nurse by now, who was a lovely older lady, very tactful and compassionate and clearly very experienced at her job. Her manner didn’t seem to make any difference to Danielle, however, who was uncooperative throughout the appointment. As when we visited the GP, I understood it must have been difficult for Danielle. When she was asked to provide a urine sample, she claimed she couldn’t do it.

  ‘There’s nothing coming out!’ she wailed from behind the toilet door.

  I was not surprised about this, as she’d insisted on going to the toilet while we waited for the appointment, even though I said she should hold off in case she had to give a sample. Her response had been, ‘Are you trying to make me wet myself? I never know what to do! One minute you’re nagging me to go to the toilet and not wet myself, and now you’re telling me not to, AN-GE-LA!’

  In the end we got her to drink four plastic cups of water and try again, and she managed to produce a small splash that the nurse said was just about sufficient. The sample was needed to rule out any urine infections, and thankfully Danielle didn’t have anything in her system that might have affected her ability to control her bladder: in other words, there was no obvious physical reason for Danielle being incontinent, which is what I had assumed, given her history. Her problem was psychological, which was not surprising after the traumatised childhood she’d had.

  The nurse gave Danielle some sensible advice about not drinking too many fluids close to bedtime or before she was likely to be in a situation where she couldn’t get to a toilet quickly. We were given a spare mattress protector, and Danielle was issued with several packets of large pads, to help keep her dry in bed. If the problem persisted, the nurse said she would look into providing us with a sensor system, which would wake Danielle with an alarm attached to an adult-sized nappy if she wet the bed, to help train her into better habits.

  Danielle hated the large pads, and I’m not surprised. The nurse told me privately that sometimes they do the trick purely because girls of Danielle’s age are so against wearing them, as they are so bulky it feels very uncomfortable and demeaning, like wearing a nappy.

  ‘I hope that’s how it goes with Danielle,’ I said. ‘It would be brilliant to get her out of this cycle without having to use the alarm and have the full-size nappies.’

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t banked on what Danielle would do with the pads. Throwing them out of the window was clearly not something I anticipated at all – how could I?

  ‘You’re evil!’ she had told me when we left the nurse, which perhaps should have given me some warning as to how she was going to respond to the pads. ‘How can you expect me to wear those big bulky things? It’s so embarrassing. How old do you think I am? And anyway, who says I don’t like being wet?’

  I didn’t rise to it.

  ‘Danielle, this is for your benefit. If you do as the nurse advises, hopefully we can get over this issue and it will soon be a thing of the past. If this doesn’t work we can use the alarm, but I think you can do this if you try your best.’

  ‘Hmph!’

  Before my neighbour came round I’d already found wet pads all over the place, unfortunately. When cleaning Danielle’s bedroom I’d discovered them hidden under her pillow, stuffed down the back of the radiator and stashed under a pile of clothes on the floor. The bathroom had become another hiding place. The pads turned up in the shower cubicle, at the bottom of the cylindrical container I kept the toilet brush in and lying on the windowsill, sodden through and stinking. She also put them in the ottoman, on top of the clean laundry, which meant I had to rewash it all. Thankfully, I already kept the towels and linen Jonathan and I used in our bedroom, and had done ever since I discovered Danielle putting wet bath towels and soiled clothing in the ottoman. Now, I had taken to packing all the other stored bed linen and towels in clear plastic storage bags to make sure everything stayed clean and dry. This also protected the linen when Danielle put her wet bath and hand towels in there; this had become another of her regular bad habits that she just didn’t seem to be able to break, no matter how many times I tackled her and tried to educate her about it.

  Throwing the pads out of the window was a new problem, however. Danielle must have hurled them with some force to have scattered them around next-door’s garden the way she had. And when she ran out of wet towels she’d obviously decided to hurl an unused one.

  I took a deep breath and went to see Danielle in her room.

  ‘Come in,’ she huffed when I knocked on the door. ‘What is it NOW?’

  I explained about the neighbour’s visit and Danielle looked crushed and angry, all at the same time.

  ‘You don’t understand anything, do you, Angela?’

  ‘You can talk to me, Danielle. I’d like to understand and I’d like to help you. Really, I’m on your side and there’s nothing I’d like more than to help you. I’m sure you can sort this out, if you keep trying.’

  ‘You just don’t understand. You just don’t understand. She doesn’t understand, does she?’ Danielle was on her feet, padding around her room, directing this question at the walls.

  ‘Angela doesn’t know anything.’

  ‘I’d like to understand,’ I said. ‘I’d like to help you.’

  ‘Well I can’t help it, can I? I can’t help it when I wet myself.’

  She refused to speak about the matter again, and I told her that she needed to dispose of the pads correctly before I’d let her out to youth club again. I would never have penalised her for wetting, but she was old enough to know that it was not acceptable to stash and throw urine-soaked pads around the place as she had been doing.

  ‘OK, OK, keep your hair on, Angela! I’ll do what you say. What choice do I have, living in this prison?’

  I bit my lip as I tried not to show I was getting annoyed.

  By now we’d had several more incidents of Danielle wetting through chairs, and one day she’d also soaked the back seat of the car. Over the last few weeks I’d spent hours cleaning and drying out the upholstery, and as a result I decided to cover one of our living-room chairs discreetly with an absorbent sheet the nurse had given to us. I put a throw over it and also covered the other chairs to match, so as to limit the embarrassment factor for Danielle. I then encouraged her to use that particular seat in the living room, to stop the furniture getting ruined any more.

  ‘I’d like to help you find out why you can’t help it,’ I said, thinking about what she’d said to me. ‘I really would. I want to help.’

  ‘It’s not a big deal! I just can’t be bothered going to the toilet! You wouldn’t, if you were me.’

  ‘If I were you, I’m sure I wouldn’t like to feel wet in the day or to have wet clothes and to run the risk of being smelly. I’d want to sort it out.’

  ‘Well bully for you, Angela! You’re better than me. You think you are so perfect. I really can’t be arsed with you!’

  I told her off for being rude and using language like that, but I left it there. I knew there were psychological reasons behind Danielle’s problems with wetting and I didn’t want to alienate her on the subject or make her shut down completely. She had an appointment with her child psychologist coming up and I was very pleased she was under the care of an expert. I would keep Social Services informed of Danielle’s progress with her wetting, and hopefully between us we could help her solve this problem.

  If she wins this one, she’ll feel so much better, I thought. She can do it, I know she can. And when she has this victory under her belt, we’ll tackle the next problem, and the next.

  I knew by now that any progress we made would not be steady. There would inevitably be setbacks as well as successes, but we’d get there in the end. I was sure of it.

  10

  ‘We must be gluttons for punishment!’

  When Hatty arrived back from her holiday she arranged to collect Danielle and take her out on another day trip, this time to a wildlife park. When I told Danielle this she punched the air
in delight. She’d been on several trips and outings with the family-aid worker, Deirdre, by now and always seemed to be better behaved and in a more responsive mood when she had been kept busy and entertained, and had some physical exercise.

  Deirdre had taken Danielle on long walks in the countryside and to the local swimming pool, and she had lost a bit of weight and was looking trimmer and healthier. She seemed happier in her own skin as a result, which was fabulous to see. Her hair was never greasy any more. Instead, she washed it regularly and had begun to experiment with fancy hair clips; she’d acquired quite a collection of pretty hairbands too. It was always great to see Danielle’s full face, with her hair pinned back. Her extremely dark eyes looked more exotic than marble-like nowadays and on some days, like today, she had a positive spring in her step.

  ‘I love Hatty!’ Danielle declared. Narrowing her eyes, she added, ‘It can’t be true what they say about her.’

  ‘What they say about her?’ I repeated back quizzically.

  ‘Glennis and Mike. They hate her.’

  I waited, raising my eyebrows and hoping Danielle would continue. Fortunately, she was in a talkative mood and did expand a little after I repeated back, ‘They hate her?’

  ‘Yes. The thing is, Hatty didn’t like it when they stopped me seeing Granny and Pops.’

  ‘Granny and Pops?’

  ‘They were my first foster carers. I miss them.’

  ‘Ah yes, I’ve heard about Granny and Pops. I heard they were marvellous.’

  Danielle nodded and then told me that she wanted to see them.

  ‘I asked Glennis the other night if it would be all right, now I wasn’t living with her and Mike.’

  ‘You asked Glennis?’

  ‘Yes, I called her on my mobile like I did last time, and we had a nice chat. It was when you were in the bath, I think. Jonathan was watching some cricket on the telly. It was boring. You don’t mind, do you?’ She fixed me with a stare.

  This was a tricky question and I didn’t have the answer, because I still didn’t have a clear picture about exactly what had gone on with Danielle’s previous carers.

  ‘What did Glennis say, when you asked about Granny and Pops?’ I asked.

  ‘She says it’s fine for me to see Granny and Pops now, so that’s good.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Well I think it would be nice for you to see Granny and Pops too. Leave it with me.’

  I couldn’t say I was happy about Danielle claiming to have called Glennis again – I had a lot of unanswered questions about her and Mike – and I was relieved when Danielle ended the conversation there. I made a note of what Danielle had said, to pass on to Nelson, just as I had when Hatty spoke on the subject. I didn’t know for sure if Danielle had been in touch with Glennis as she claimed, but nevertheless I wanted Nelson to be up to date, and I wanted advice about how to handle this situation.

  The next time I spoke to Nelson I filled him in and asked if he had any more information about Glennis and Mike. I knew there was nothing I could do to prevent Danielle from calling them from her own mobile phone if that was what was happening, but still I wanted Nelson’s professional opinion on the issue.

  ‘Sorry, Angela, no news on that front yet, but I promise I’ll get on to it. I’ve been making it my priority to look into your concerns about whether Danielle was a fire-starter, and it’s good news.’

  ‘Thank heavens for that.’

  ‘Exactly. Danielle is not a fire-starter. There’s no history of pyromania or fire-starting or anything of that nature. And just to reassure you, there is nothing missing from her records: it was just a filing error that made me question the inconsistencies with the dates.’

  ‘OK. Thanks. But what about her burning another girl’s PE kit? Do you know any more about that?’

  ‘It didn’t happen, Angela. I don’t know why Danielle said that because it’s not true. She was in trouble at school for cutting and ripping another girl’s PE kit, which she did more than once, and when she was on a final warning she damaged the school playing field. Danielle was one of a group of girls who let off some fireworks that scorched the field.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’d like to say I’m pleased about that, but it’s not that great, is it? And I wonder why she told an unnecessary lie like that?’

  ‘A symptom of attachment disorder, maybe?’ Nelson said with a question in his voice. He knew I’d mentioned my concerns about this to Susan, but there had been no feedback from the psychologist as yet, at least none that had been shared with Jonathan and me.

  ‘I went on a course the other day and learned some very interesting things about attachment disorder,’ Nelson continued.

  He told me he had learned about ‘crazy lying’, which was a phrase I’d never come across at that time. He explained that kids with reactive attachment disorder often tell lies that are ridiculously obvious or unnecessary, and they do this because they want to feel in control of a situation, after having felt so out of control when they were being traumatised in their earlier childhood.

  ‘Crazy lying is basically a response to stress,’ Nelson said. ‘It’s very hard to stop a child with attachment disorder lying. All you can do is concentrate on relieving the stress in a child’s life, by giving them love and security and so on – all the things you do best.’

  ‘Very interesting,’ I said. ‘Thank you. I’ll look this up. It certainly seems to fit.’

  I liked Nelson a lot. Some social workers are so busy and stressed themselves that they don’t make time to have conversations like this, but I always find it very helpful to share knowledge and ideas. I think it’s essential, in fact, as new research comes out all the time and can be very useful.

  ‘No worries. I think it’s fascinating. Hope it helps. I’ll be in touch again soon.’

  To my surprise, within an hour of me having this conversation with Nelson he called back, with news about Danielle’s schooling.

  My heart leaped: I was desperate for Danielle to get some proper schooling. The tuition she had with Miss Powell was nowhere near enough for a child her age, and I felt she was missing out on far too much of her education.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I asked. ‘I hope it’s good news?’

  Nelson explained that, after failing to find a place in a suitable day school, Social Services were now looking at boarding schools. This took me by surprise as I had not even considered boarding school might be an option.

  ‘I’ve just had a call from Susan. Potentially, would you have Danielle at weekends and holidays, if she were to take up a place as a boarder? There’s no need to answer me now, of course, as I know you’ll need to think about this and discuss it with Jonathan.’

  ‘Right. I see. I’ll talk to Jonathan as soon as he’s free. He’s just with the accountant, but they should be nearly finished.’

  ‘Thanks, Angela. Fingers crossed. By the sounds of it, this could be the only way Danielle’s going to get back into a school environment.’

  My gut reaction was that I would certainly be prepared to care for Danielle part-time like this, if that’s what it took to get her into school. I realised it would mean Jonathan and I might have to turn down another full-time placement in the future, to accommodate Danielle at weekends and holidays. We were only passed to care for up to three children at any one time, and Danielle would count as a full place even if she were a boarder. This was not a problem though. Danielle’s needs came first, and even though I also realised I’d miss having her around full-time – hard work though she was – I felt this could be just the breakthrough Danielle needed.

  As I predicted, Jonathan shared my view; he didn’t hesitate at all when I told him what Nelson had asked.

  ‘We must be gluttons for punishment!’ he joked.

  ‘No doubt about it,’ I smiled. ‘But seriously, I’m up for the challenge. I feel there’s a lot we can do for Danielle, and now we’ve come this far I want to carry on helping her.’

  We’d used the word challe
nge before, because that was how we viewed Danielle. She wasn’t a problem, she was a challenge, and that’s a big difference. We felt we could turn things around and she most definitely was not a lost cause.

  ‘Yes, it’s the right thing to do, Angela, if that’s what’s required. She needs as much stability as she can get. We’ll do all we can for her.’

  Jonathan’s words were so true. Danielle had been in care since the age of five. Her father was in prison and she’d lost two sets of foster carers she had wanted to stay with. As for her mother, I had heard no mention of her whatsoever. Danielle’s luck had to change, and if we could be part of that process, it would be our pleasure.

  On the morning of the trip to the wildlife park with Hatty, Danielle waited excitedly in the kitchen.

  ‘Where is she?’ she asked. ‘Will she be here soon?’

  ‘She should be here in five minutes.’

  ‘Well what’s keeping her? Honestly, some people!’

  I laughed. The longer she stayed with us, the more I noticed Danielle had this quirky trait of making herself sound like a disapproving curmudgeon at times. I think she may have been mimicking a character on one of the soaps we watched on TV, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t mind it at all: in fact it made me smile, and I found it endearing, as long as she didn’t overstep the mark.

  ‘Honestly, Danielle, you are funny sometimes!’

  She didn’t reply, and her brain seemed to switch into a different mode, provoking behaviour I’d seen many times before. She suddenly started wandering around the kitchen, examining packets, poking her nose into cupboards and drifting into a dialogue that was so nonsensical I realised it would be silly to even attempt to answer her in any logical fashion.

  ‘Why does anyone like this marmalade?’ she asked. ‘If I had a million pounds I’d buy all the marmalade in the world and throw it in a big lake so nobody could have any more. What would you do, Angela?’