The Girl Who Just Wanted to Be Loved

by Angela Hart

  Keeley’s monthly therapy session took place on a Monday afternoon at 4 p.m., also in her old neighbourhood, and so we would therefore need to ask for permission to take her out of school early that day in order to get her there on time, as well as making the same arrangements for Carl, Phillip and the shop to be taken care of.

  These arrangements were necessary because of the so-called ‘safe caring policy’ we had been taught to follow, which recommended we travel in twos wherever possible. This policy is designed to reduce the risk of a child making a false accusation against their foster carer, and as Keeley had already made various allegations in her past, many of which were not proven, we would try to stick to this advice as much as possible. Once, years earlier, a social worker had recommended that if only one of us could travel with a child we should record in our daily notes what time we set off and arrived at the destination. Jonathan and I weren’t particularly happy with this, as it meant relying on the people at our destination to remember and be able to verify what time we arrived, which didn’t seem very feasible. In any case, we nearly always worked as a team, and it was only the school runs that I ever did on my own, which I felt were safe to do as they were very short and of course the child would be registered on arrival.

  We were given no further details about Keeley’s therapy, so all we knew was that it was to help her deal with the emotional neglect she had suffered in her younger years. I mentioned to the group that Keeley seemed to have problems playing nicely with other children, and that she used bad language at times, and it was suggested by one of the social workers that we could use a star chart to reward good behaviour, and ‘time out’ in her bedroom if Keeley misbehaved. I agreed to try both, though something told me it might be a little ambitious to think Keeley’s complex problems could be tackled with such simple tactics.

  ‘So, is everybody happy?’ Sheila asked brightly, as she signed the necessary paperwork and closed the meeting.

  ‘Yes,’ all the adults responded, nodding and thanking the manager for her time, and for agreeing to prioritise Keeley’s case.

  Keeley eventually moved in about a week later, on a Friday. She was absolutely delighted when we picked her up and drove her to our house with all her belongings filling the boot of my Volvo. She had brought a Now That’s What I Call Music! CD with her and asked if she could play it on the journey, which we said was fine. All the way back to our house she sang her heart out to her favourite songs: Beyoncé’s ‘Crazy in Love’, Jamelia’s ‘Superstar’ and ‘Sleeping With The Light On’ by Busted. She asked for the same tracks to be played over and over again, and Jonathan and I practically knew the lyrics off by heart by the end of the journey. It was a pleasure. Keeley was happy, and her mood was infectious.

  She was extremely excited when she looked around her new school later that day, too, and she was thrilled to bits when I took her to the uniform shop in town the next morning and bought her everything she needed.

  ‘Thank you, Angela,’ she beamed as the lady behind the counter handed her a bulging bag full of new clothes. ‘I love the uniform so much! It’s better than my last one.’

  ‘Goodness me, I don’t often see children so enthusiastic,’ the shop assistant commented. ‘I hope you enjoy your new school.’

  ‘I will,’ Keeley replied sweetly. ‘Thanks for helping.’

  Keeley remained in high spirits all the way back to our house, and she revelled in finding a place in her wardrobe for all her new clothes. She had brought a large collection of dolls of all shapes and sizes stuffed into a large black bin bag. Once she’d put away her uniform she arranged the dolls in neat rows under her window, with the big ones at the back, medium-sized dolls in the middle and all her Barbies and Sindys sitting at the front. Jinty, the ragdoll, presided over them all from her prime spot on Keeley’s pillow.

  ‘Come and see, Angela!’ she called when she’d finished arranging her room.

  ‘Well, I am impressed,’ I smiled. ‘You’ve done a lovely job, Keeley. It looks great in here. Now, would you like to come down to the kitchen with me? I’m getting the dinner ready.’

  ‘OK. Can I bring my colouring?’

  ‘Of course you can. You can sit at the table with it. I’ve got plenty of coloured pencils and felt tips if you need them.’

  ‘Wow! Really? Show me!’

  Keeley had a great big colouring book full of extremely intricate designs, many of which she’d started but not finished. Her work was really neat, though, and once she was installed at the kitchen table she took great delight in chatting to me about which colour pen she was going to use next, while also keeping an eye on what I was cooking.

  ‘It smells lovely, Angela. I’m really hungry. How long will it be?’

  ‘About fifteen minutes. Carl and Phillip will be in then, and I’m sure they’ll be hungry too. They usually are!’

  The mention of the boys didn’t seem to please Keeley. In fact she scowled, and when they appeared in the kitchen soon afterwards she resolutely ignored them. She had met them before, of course, but on her weekend visits she hadn’t had a lot to do with them and had hardly spent any time with them.

  ‘Aren’t you going to say hello to the boys, Keeley?’ I chivvied. ‘They’ve been looking forward to you moving in.’

  ‘No. And I bet you are only saying that.’

  ‘I’m not. The boys have both told me it would be nice to see you again, and have you stay for longer this time, haven’t you, boys?’

  Carl and Phillip both nodded. They were nice lads and had seemed perfectly happy at the news that Keeley was moving in but, like a lot of teenagers, being expressive was not their forte. They didn’t convince Keeley, and she stayed in an uncommunicative mood all through the meal while Jonathan gamely encouraged the boys to chat about their day at school.

  Carl was in Year 10 and had end of year exams coming up, and so he was working hard on his revision. He was a gentle, diligent boy who had been with us for about six months, and he was no trouble at all. He swam for a local club two or three nights a week and often spent the weekend with his father or one of his older brothers who lived close by.

  ‘I think I might have to cut back on the swimming during the exam period,’ he said. ‘It’s taking up too much time.’

  ‘That sounds sensible,’ Jonathan remarked. ‘I’m sure the club will understand. Do you like swimming, Keeley? Perhaps we could take you? The local pool is pretty good.’

  ‘I’ll go if you want me to,’ Keeley replied reluctantly. ‘I’m quite good at swimming. Can you take me, Angela?’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied, glancing discreetly at Jonathan. It wasn’t difficult to notice that Keeley was favouring me over Jonathan, but we both knew that when we did take her swimming, the two of us would accompany her. Jonathan and I were a team, and Keeley was going to have to accept this.

  Phillip said he’s had a boring day at school with nothing to report, other than repeating a familiar mantra: ‘I really hate Mrs Harvey.’ Phillip suffered from dyslexia and his English lessons with Mrs Harvey were an ongoing trial for him, even though he had extra help from a support teacher. I think it’s fair to say he endured school; he rarely said anything positive about it. Most of Phillip’s free time was spent playing football with his friends, and he also loved being in the garage with Jonathan, tinkering with the car, the lawn mower or in fact anything mechanical or covered in grease and oil.

  ‘Do you like English, Keeley?’ Jonathan asked, trying once more to bring her into the conversation. ‘I know Angela used to love English at school, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did indeed. It was always my favourite lesson, and I love reading.’

  Keeley gave me a shy, sideways glance.

  ‘I like books too, Angela. Will you read with me later?’

  ‘Of course. Have you brought some books with you?’

  Keeley seemed to be quite interested in learning generally and she had told me about some of the topics she’d enjoyed in her old school. Studyi
ng food eaten in different countries and looking at photographs and art from around the world seemed to be her favourites. I thought that next time she was in the kitchen with me while I was preparing the dinner I’d encourage her to help. Cooking is something I always like to involve the children in, in any case. It teaches them so many practical skills, and it enables you to talk without having to give each other eye contact, which can help a child to open up if they want to.

  ‘Books? Yes, I’ve got a book about a dancer,’ she said. ‘I think you’d like it, but they wouldn’t,’ she said rather rudely, nodding towards the boys and Jonathan. ‘It’s just for girls, really.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ Jonathan teased. ‘I used to be a famous ballet dancer when I was younger, didn’t you know?’

  Keeley’s eyes widened for a moment and then Carl and Phillip groaned in unison, making her realise this was just one of Jonathan’s silly jokes, which the boys and I were well used to.

  After dinner, the boys went up to their rooms to do their homework while I cleared up. Keeley said she was going to do some more colouring in her bedroom, and she took her book and some pencils and pens from the kitchen table and quietly went upstairs. However, after about ten minutes I heard a commotion coming from the top floor landing.

  ‘Bastard!’ I heard Keeley shout. ‘You’re a total bastard!’

  I shot up the stairs to find Phillip red in the face and clearly very angry indeed. Keeley was standing in front of him with her hands on her hips, looking like a proper little madam.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ Phillip retorted. ‘What did I tell you? Just leave me alone, will you?’

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ I demanded.

  ‘It’s her!’ Phillip shouted. ‘She keeps coming in my room and annoying me. I’ve asked her to stop but she won’t listen!’

  ‘Keeley, what have you been doing?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, in a voice suddenly so soft and gentle I felt sure she was putting it on for effect. ‘It’s him. I just wanted to borrow a rubber and he was nasty to me.’

  ‘Did you knock before you went into Phillip’s room?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No, you didn’t! Angela, she’s come in three times without knocking, and when I asked her to stop she pinched me and said I made her do it. Look!’

  Phillip held out his hand and, sure enough, there was an angry red pinch mark between his thumb and wrist.

  ‘I didn’t do that,’ Keeley insisted indignantly, batting her eyelashes gently and tilting her head to one side.

  Phillip looked like he was about to explode. ‘You did! How can you stand there looking all innocent, saying you didn’t do it? Oh my God, you are such a little liar!’

  ‘Right,’ I said firmly, ‘you go back to your room, Phillip, and I will have a chat with Keeley.’

  He gladly retreated, slamming his door behind him, while Keeley smiled smugly, apparently seeing it as a victory that Phillip had been sent off on his own while she had my one-to-one attention.

  ‘Now then, Keeley,’ I began. ‘I want you to think about how Phillip felt when you went into his room uninvited, when he was trying to do his homework quietly.’

  ‘I only wanted a rubber!’

  ‘That may be true, Keeley, but it was annoying for Phillip to be interrupted, and to have you walking into his room. You invaded his privacy. We need to always knock on each other’s bedroom door if we want to talk to one another, and we’re not allowed in each other’s room. It’s the rule, and I know I have already explained this to you. I remember saying it more than once, in fact.’

  When Jonathan and I started out as carers in the late eighties, foster children were allowed to go into another person’s bedroom as long as they knocked first and were invited in, but rules passed down from Social Services had been tightened up over the years. Now we were regularly reminded on training courses that this was not what is known as ‘safe care’.

  Even as a carer I had to be cautious about when I entered a child’s room. Of course, I had to dust and vacuum and fetch laundry, particularly for younger children, and there were occasions when it was appropriate for me to enter a bedroom, such as when Keeley first moved in and then when she showed me her dolls and put her new uniform in the wardrobe. It would not be feasible for me to never go in the room, but I limited my visits to those that were strictly necessary. When Keeley went to bed at night, I hugged her before she went in the room then stood at the door and said goodnight, making sure she was in bed. I never kissed her or tucked her in, as this was not advisable, or ‘safe’ as Social Services phrase it. It probably sounds hard to anyone not familiar with fostering, but the rules are in place for a good reason. A child like Keeley can be unpredictable, especially at this early stage in a placement. As we had already seen, her words and actions didn’t always appear to ring true, and so I had to protect myself and follow the guidelines to the letter. The same was true of Jonathan, of course, and whenever we had a girl in the house he never entered their room for any reason whatsoever, as it simply wasn’t worth the risk of putting himself in a situation where he may be wrongly accused of something he hadn’t done.

  ‘How would you like it if the boys just walked into your room?’ I asked Keeley, still trying to get through to her.

  Keeley shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal.’

  ‘OK, let me put it like this. What if they kept coming in, time and time again, and then you got annoyed and one of them pinched you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t like it, but I didn’t pinch Phillip!’

  ‘Then why did he say you did, and why did he have that pinch mark on his hand?’

  ‘Dunno. Must have done it himself.’

  ‘Is that really what you are saying? Think carefully, Keeley. You must tell the truth.’

  ‘I’m not lying.’

  I sighed. I felt there was no point in pressing her on this as it was clear she was sticking to her story, and so I changed tack, going on to tell Keeley that I wouldn’t think she was a bad girl, even if she had pinched Phillip.

  ‘If you admit you have done something wrong it does not mean I will view you as a bad person. I say this to the boys, too, and to all the foster children who stay with me. You are not a bad person if you behave badly, do you understand that? I can help you behave better, that’s part of my job, but you have to be truthful. That is the deal.’

  Keeley nodded uncertainly but didn’t reply.

  ‘Right. I think you need some time out to think about this. Stay in your room for ten minutes, please, Keeley, and try to think about how your behaviour tonight made Phillip feel.’

  I walked away quietly, stopping off to see Phillip and assure him that I was dealing with Keeley. He had calmed down by now and was grateful that I believed his version of events, and I told him to let Jonathan or me know immediately should Keeley aggravate him again.

  Unfortunately, after ten minutes of ‘time out’ Keeley bolted down the stairs like a raging bull. She was absolutely furious, had a foul look on her face and began shouting at me to let her out to play.

  ‘No, Keeley, you can’t play out while you are in this mood,’ I said. ‘I don’t want you to upset any of the other children, and when you are shouting and being aggressive that is what is likely to happen.’

  ‘I won’t! I’m not a bad person!’

  I was rather impressed with this swift response. It told me Keeley was a clever girl, but I still wasn’t letting her play out when she was in this mood.

  ‘Keeley, you are upsetting me. I don’t like being shouted at, and I don’t like it when you scowl at me. It’s not nice. As I said to you upstairs, you have to think about how you make other people feel.’

  ‘I have,’ she said indignantly. ‘What do you think I’ve been doing in my room! Durgh!’

  ‘There is no need to be rude, Keeley. What did you think about Phillip? Have you thought about how your behaviour upset him?’

  ‘I don’t care. He was horrible to me.’
/>   It was clear, once again, that it wasn’t going to be easy getting through to Keeley.

  Later that evening I had a discussion with Jonathan about the best way forward, and we agreed that ‘time out’ was perhaps not the answer, as Keeley was a child who responded well to attention, and particularly one-to-one attention. Being sent to her room was probably only going to antagonise her, rather than encourage her to reflect and calm down.

  ‘Perhaps we should start the reward chart in the morning, see if that works?’ Jonathan said, as this was the other method one of the social workers at Keeley’s core meeting had suggested might help with improving behaviour.

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ I replied, though I couldn’t help thinking there had to be a more imaginative way of helping a girl like Keeley. ‘I’ll set it up tomorrow. What have we got to lose?’

  6

  ‘Let’s hope it keeps her out of mischief’

  When Keeley came down for breakfast I explained that we were going to put a star chart on the wall, and that when her behaviour was particularly good she would get a gold star. Once she had earned ten stars she could choose a treat.

  ‘What are the treats?’ she asked cautiously, clearly wondering if this was going to be worth her while.

  ‘Well, I was thinking you could choose a new outfit or accessory for one of your dolls. How does that sound?’

  She smiled and asked if she could have a new set of pens too.

  ‘OK then. When you’ve got ten stars you can choose which treat you want first.’

  ‘Can’t I have both?’

  ‘Yes, if you get twenty stars.’