The Girl Who Just Wanted to Be Loved

by Angela Hart

  She looked very nervous, though she pulled a wide smile.

  ‘What’s up, babe?’ Tina asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Keeley said unconvincingly.

  ‘You sure? Come here, give us a cuddle!’

  Keeley obediently went up to her mum, and Tina lifted her daughter aloft.

  ‘Why haven’t you got a pretty dress on today, babe?’

  Keeley looked very worried now. She had worn a dress to every one of the supervised contact sessions we’d had so far, as her mum always made a point of telling her how much she wanted to see her in all the sparkly, glittery frocks she had given her. The collection in Keeley’s wardrobe had expanded since she’d move in: not only had she arrived with a suitcase full of dresses, but every few weeks Tina gave Keeley a carrier bag stuffed with more dresses to choose from, often more flamboyant than the last lot. They were never new and I assumed they came from charity shops. Some were so shimmery and clingy that I had to encourage Keeley to wear a cardigan over the top, or some tights, to try to tone down the glamorous look. The style didn’t seem at all appropriate for an eight-year-old girl, especially on an ordinary Friday afternoon. On several occasions I’d tried to gently suggest that perhaps Keeley might be more comfortable in her jeans or leggings, but she always brushed this aside, often quite forcefully.

  I was therefore as surprised as Tina was to see Keeley in her leggings and sweatshirt on this particular day, and I was interested to hear what she would say when her mum asked her why she wasn’t wearing a dress.

  ‘All my dresses are in the wash,’ Keeley said brazenly, which made Jonathan and I share a look. He raised an eyebrow and I widened my eyes ever so slightly. We both knew it was a complete lie. She would have had to have worn at least half a dozen dresses a day to get through her collection between washes, but of course we didn’t point this out.

  ‘Really? But you’ve got loads, babe,’ Tina said.

  Before Keeley could answer I stepped in.

  ‘Would you like to come through to the kitchen?’ I said, steering Tina out of the hallway, where the four of us were still standing.

  ‘OK, thanks,’ she smiled. ‘Nice house you’ve got here. Is Keeley behaving herself for you?’

  ‘We are enjoying having Keeley with us,’ I said. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Tina?’

  ‘No, thanks, have you got any lemonade or cola?’

  We never have fizzy drinks in the house as over the years we’ve had children staying with us who have suffered from ADHD, autism and a whole range of hyperactivity problems that might potentially be aggravated by fizzy drinks. We stopped buying them many years ago, as it simply wasn’t worth the risk of having them in the house.

  ‘Sorry, no,’ I said, ‘but I do have fruit juice or squash.’

  ‘Nah! No, thanks! We don’t like that, do we, Keeley?’ Tina said, wrinkling her nose. She was looking at her daughter rather than me as she spoke, which struck me as really quite rude. I told myself not to get annoyed, though. I knew Tina’s mental age was below her actual age, and I had to accept that it was not her fault that she behaved this way.

  I heard Keeley agree that she didn’t like fruit juice or squash, although I knew this wasn’t true, and she was obviously just trying to please her mum. The visit carried on in a similar vein. Jonathan and I sat down quietly at one end of the kitchen table while Tina and Keeley occupied the other, with Tina focusing her attention entirely on her daughter.

  A report on this would have to be completed, with notes of all the conversation that took place. We would rather not have had to intrude like this, but of course it was the rule that the visit was supervised, and Jonathan and I felt that at least if we stayed in the kitchen we could potter around a bit, which we took turns doing.

  Tina talked to Keeley about television programmes she had seen and about how much money she had saved up for Christmas, so that she could buy Keeley loads of presents. Then she went on to describe a new jacket she had bought that she was highly delighted with, and exactly which outfit she was going to wear for bingo that night.

  ‘D’you like this colour, babe?’

  Tina waved her fingernails under Keeley’s nose. Her nail varnish was fluorescent orange, to match her tight top and the sequin-studded belt she wore around the waist of her cropped white jeans.

  ‘Yes,’ Keeley said politely.

  ‘Do you want me to paint yours next time I see you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Keeley said. ‘Me and Angela have done some painting, you know.’

  ‘Did you, babe?’

  ‘Yes. We made bonnets for the carnival. Do you want to see mine?’

  ‘No, you’re all right, babe. I need to go to the toilet.’

  With that Tina turned to me to ask if she could visit the bathroom.

  I was disappointed that she hadn’t shown interest in Keeley’s painting, but again I had to concede that Tina wasn’t being unkind or uncaring; she had her problems, and I had to keep that uppermost in my mind.

  I directed Tina to the downstairs toilet along the hallway, and while her mum was out of the room Keeley closed her eyes and lay her head on the table.

  ‘Are you OK, sweetheart?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, just tired.’

  ‘Do you want a drink?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘What would you like, water or orange?’ I asked, as Keeley tended to choose one of the two.

  ‘Oran—’ she started, and then changed her mind. I realised she had remembered agreeing with her mum that she didn’t like fruit juice or squash. ‘Just water.’

  When Tina returned she asked if she could see Keeley’s bedroom, which we all knew she would want to do, as this had been put forward as one of the main purposes of the visit.

  ‘No problem.’ I smiled. ‘Come on, Keeley, do you want to lead the way?’

  Keeley nodded and scampered up the stairs with Tina, Jonathan and I in her wake. I’d asked Keeley in advance to make sure her room was tidy, and I was pleased to see it was looking very spick and span, with all her dolls lined up in neat rows, the bed made and no clutter or clothes on the floor. Keeley positioned herself in front of the wardrobe as soon as she went in the room, no doubt to stop her mum from looking inside and spotting all her dresses hanging up, washed and ironed.

  ‘Do they make you tidy up?’ Tina whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ Keeley said quietly.

  ‘But do they treat you good, babe?’

  ‘Yes,’ Keeley said. ‘They do.’

  ‘That’s good, but listen, babe, come here, I’ve got a secret to tell you.’

  Jonathan and I were standing in the doorway of the bedroom, as we had to supervise Tina at all times when she was with Keeley. It was an awkward scenario, as even though the bedroom was fairly big and Tina and Keeley were now sitting on the bed several metres away and talking very quietly, we could hear every word being spoken.

  ‘What?’ Keeley asked.

  She looked nervous at the prospect of hearing a secret from her mum, and I think Jonathan and I held our breath at the same time as Keeley did.

  ‘It’s about your dad.’

  ‘Dad?’ Keeley said. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You do remember him, don’t you, babe?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s good. He has been in touch, you see. And he’d like to see you.’

  ‘Really?’

  Keeley put her hand over her mouth, as if stifling a shriek.

  ‘Yes, babe. And then, if you wanted to, you could go and live with him!’

  ‘Great!’ Keeley squeaked, her eyes widening, although I could tell she was not exactly brimming over with enthusiasm. Her face was etched with concern, and who could blame her? She hadn’t seen her father since she was six years old, and two years is a very long time in the life of a little girl.

  Tina’s revelation was certainly a surprise to Jonathan and me too: it had only been a matter of days since we’d heard mention of him being tracked down at all. Keeley hadn
’t even been aware of this much. None of the social workers had enlightened her, because of course nobody wanted to raise any false hopes, in case the search came to nothing or her father didn’t want to know.

  I felt very strongly that I wanted to intervene, as I felt it was now Tina who was potentially raising false hopes. Whatever happened next, there was clearly a long way to go before Keeley might be going to live with her dad, and I didn’t think it was appropriate to be talking about this possibility so lightly at such an early stage. I held back, though. This was something I’d have to discuss with the social workers and then with Keeley, once I was armed with all the facts. Interfering now might aggravate Tina and upset Keeley and would have been wrong of me, so I kept quiet.

  Tina left shortly afterwards, when a contact officer collected her by car. As usual she picked Keeley up and swung her around, and she planted a big kiss on her lips when she said goodbye.

  ‘Love you, babe!’ she said.

  Keeley wiped her lips.

  ‘Bye, Mum. I hope you have fun at bingo.’

  ‘Thanks, babe! If I win I’ll buy you a big present. What d’you want?’

  Keeley thought about this for a moment.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘Nothing, really.’

  She looked quite forlorn as she said this, but Tina didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Don’t be daft! There must be something you want!’

  ‘Not really. You might not win, anyway.’

  When Tina had gone Keeley was in a very bad mood and the parting smile she’d given her mum slipped straight off her face.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me about my dad, Angela?’ she ranted once Tina had been driven away.

  ‘Keeley, I didn’t know he had been in touch,’ I said truthfully. ‘I will talk to Social Services on Monday and find out exactly what is going on.’

  ‘You hate me, don’t you?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because you are keeping me here!’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You are a sad old woman and you just want to keep me here instead of letting me live with my family! You are a selfish old bag, just like your mum!’

  I was completely taken aback. This attack was totally uncalled for, and I was doubly insulted that Keeley had dragged my mother into this. Of course, I should not have risen to an argument, but I was so incensed I couldn’t help answering her back.

  ‘How dare you insult my mother and me! I have done nothing but my best for you, Keeley. I am not keeping you here because I’m selfish! I’m a foster carer, and I’ve taken you into my home because I care about you and want to help you.’

  ‘Liar! You get paid to look after me, don’t you? That’s the real reason you do it, isn’t it? You just want me here so you can get more money. Doesn’t your shitty little shop earn enough money?’

  ‘That is complete and utter nonsense and extremely rude. And I’ll have you know that the business does very well, thank you. I do not foster for the money. I foster because I want to. But if you don’t want to be here, then that’s the end of it. I am not holding you here against your will, am I? I’ll tell Social Services you want to leave, if that’s what you want.’

  ‘Fine!’

  ‘And why are you insulting my mother? What has she ever done wrong?’

  ‘She’s selfish! She just wants her own way all the time. You make a big fuss of her when she comes round and you ignore me.’

  ‘I do not,’ I said, and then I bit my tongue. I hadn’t spotted this before, but Keeley must have felt jealous of my mother, in the same way that she wanted Jonathan and the boys off the scene much of the time, so she could have my undivided attention.

  I felt slightly calmer once I’d made this realisation, but with the calm came a great, crashing wave of guilt. I thought about the PACE model Sandy had introduced me to and I felt ashamed of myself. Where were the playfulness, acceptance, curiosity and empathy in my reaction? I’d handled Keeley’s outburst really badly, but in the heat of the moment, and with my mum being criticised so callously, I hadn’t been able to help myself.

  ‘What’s happening?’ I said to Jonathan that night.

  ‘Well, we both know what’s happening. Keeley needs to be in a single placement. We’re not going to win with her here like this, are we? We know that, deep down. This isn’t the best place for her.’

  ‘You’re right. I don’t want to let her down, but . . .’

  ‘But what?’

  ‘I’m not sure I can take much more.’

  ‘I feel exactly the same, Angela. It’s a very difficult situation.’

  ‘I know,’ I sniffed, ‘but for the time being, and for however long, she is living with us and we have to do better.’

  At that moment Keeley walked into the kitchen.

  ‘Can I have a glass of milk?’ she asked quite aggressively.

  ‘No, you can’t!’ I retorted. ‘Now go back upstairs, right now. I asked you to go to bed half an hour ago, so what are you doing still up?’

  ‘I told you, you hate me! You don’t want me here.’

  ‘That’s rubbish. Go to bed!’

  Keeley turned on her heel and stomped up the stairs, while I dissolved into tears.

  25

  ‘You BITCH! I’m gonna get you!’

  I spoke to Sandy on the Monday and passed on everything that had happened since the meeting, and I was told that it was true Keeley’s father had been found, and that he wanted to see her. Everything had happened very quickly, it seemed, and Sandy had been on annual leave on the Friday, and was only just processing all the information herself.

  ‘Would you be able to bring Keeley to a supervised contact session to meet him one afternoon next week, after school?’

  ‘Next week? So soon? Gosh, yes, of course. Are you happy for me to tell Keeley all of this?’

  ‘Yes, Angela. I’ve spoken to Joan this morning. She’ll talk to Keeley in due course, but we’re both happy for you to discuss the meeting with her. I guess the fact Tina has already mentioned it should help. It won’t be a huge shock, and by the sounds of it Keeley will be quite happy to go along.’

  It turned out that Keeley’s father, Frankie, had recently returned to the area after working away for more than a year, and had been tracked down after rejoining a club he had previously been a member of. He lived on his own and had no other children, and he was apparently very keen to be reunited with Keeley. The following Tuesday was suggested as the best day for the meeting to take place, which suited me and Jonathan, and I agreed to make the usual plans to cover our commitments at home and in the shop.

  I told Keeley all of this once she was home from school later that day, and she punched the air with delight.

  ‘Yippee! I’m going to live with my dad!’ she began chanting, running around the kitchen excitedly. ‘I’m going to live with my dad!’

  ‘Keeley, you’re going to meet him, but that’s all we know so far. It might not be possible for you to move back in with him. There’s a lot to think about first and I don’t want you to be disappointed. We’ll have to see what happens.’

  ‘You’re just saying that because you’re jealous! You don’t want me here anymore but you don’t want him to have me either!’

  I took a deep breath, and at that moment the boys walked in together.

  ‘I’m going to live with my dad, losers!’ she taunted. ‘You’ll be stuck here, but I’m going to live with my dad!’

  The boys looked at me and asked if this was true.

  ‘We don’t know yet,’ I said. ‘Do we, Keeley?’

  ‘Well, I’m going to meet him, aren’t I? Why would he want to meet me if he didn’t want to know me? I’m going to live with him, I’ll show you! You’re all just jealous!’

  ‘As I say, we’ll have to see what happens,’ I said, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Carl and Phillip grinning as they gave each other a victory fist-pump before taking off their shoes and heading upstairs.

>   ‘Did you remember it’s swimming lessons at school tomorrow?’ I said to Keeley, deliberately changing the subject. ‘And that you need to use the waterproof bag?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t need you to remind me!’

  ‘That’s good. Make sure you pack your bag in good time tonight, so you have everything you need.’

  Keeley rolled her eyes.

  ‘Nag, nag, nag, that’s all Angela does,’ she said to the wall.

  ‘Angela isn’t nagging,’ I said, crossing the kitchen and talking in a singsong voice to the same patch of wall. ‘Angela is just trying to make sure Keeley has everything she needs and has remembered to pack a waterproof bag, because Angela likes to look after Keeley, and do the best for her.’

  Keeley gave me a sideways look, unsure how to react to my talking to the wall too. She opened her mouth to speak but then said nothing; I’d matched her at her own game, and I hoped I’d made a point.

  Ever since the school swimming sessions started up we’d had a weekly spat about the fact Keeley refused to pack her costume and towel in the waterproof swimming bag I’d bought for her. After each session she came home with her books and pencil case wet through.

  ‘I’m glad you’ve remembered,’ I went on, turning to look at her now. I tried to make eye contact but she scowled and looked straight past me.

  ‘Of course I have. I’m not stupid, you know. I don’t know where the waterproof bag is though.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Right then, shall I give you a carrier bag to put your wet things in?’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘So your books and pencil case don’t get wet like they did last week.’

  ‘They didn’t get wet.’

  ‘They did, Keeley.’

  She reluctantly took the swimming kit in the carrier bag the next day, but when I collected Keeley from school I found she had no swimsuit in the bag.

  ‘Did you leave your costume at the pool by accident?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then where is it?’

  ‘You’re stupid, Angela! I’m wearing it, of course!’

  When I looked at Keeley again I could see the bright yellow colour of her costume underneath her school polo shirt.