The Girl and the Ghosts

by Angela Hart

  ‘Oh, I think I know who Maria’s family is,’ one of the church elders said, looking downhearted. ‘She has a stepfather called Gerry, if I’m not mistaken?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘That man!’ she lamented. ‘He shouldn’t be allowed to be a member of our church!’

  ‘Shouldn’t he?’

  ‘No! He’s so rude!’ she stuttered, then checked herself. ‘In any case, we will all welcome Maria. Her stepfather will not affect things there; please be assured of that.’

  It was decided that Jonathan and I would hand Maria over to an appointed person who would be waiting at the door to collect her at church each Saturday. I was told we were very welcome to stay, or that if we left the church and came back we could step inside at the end of the service and wait for Maria to be brought to us. Bible classes took place on a Thursday after school, and similar arrangements were made for these too.

  It was a lot of preparation, especially as we didn’t know how long it would be needed for, but it was very necessary, to meet Gerry’s wishes. I wanted to have everything in place and make sure the plans would run smoothly, and after visiting the church I felt I’d done my best and was ready to fully support Maria.

  The day arrived for Maria’s return, and I found myself feeling anxious and nervous. She had just turned nine by this time – it was hard to believe that so much time had passed since her first stay with us, when she was seven. I’d made up the bedroom using the same set of bedding she’d chosen on her previous stay, as I felt it might be nice for her to have something familiar and to know I’d remembered which duvet cover she had picked out. I’d also checked there were plenty of books in the bedroom that suited her age group, as I expected she’d still be an avid reader. Foodwise, I’d learned that Jonathan and I didn’t actually eat any of the meat that was classed as ‘unclean’ in any case, so that was one less thing to worry about.

  I couldn’t really work out why I felt as worried as I did when everything was organised, and I was really looking forward to seeing Maria and welcoming her into our home again. Then a question from my mother made me realise why I had these feelings.

  ‘How lovely!’ my mum had exclaimed when I told her Maria was coming back. Mum had only met Maria briefly last time, but she remembered her name and knew I’d kept in touch with her grandmother, Babs, on and off.

  ‘What sort of a girl is Maria? What’s she like?’

  ‘Well,’ I started, and then I didn’t know what to say next. In that moment I realised I could give my mum one of any number of answers here. I thought of how sweet Maria could be, when she was baking or reading, for example. Then I thought of the tantrums she had when she wanted the crisps and fizzy drinks that I wouldn’t give her. I also remembered how she avoided the stair carpet, and how she seemed to put on a bit of an act sometimes, when I imagined she thought Gerry or her mum wanted her to behave in a certain way.

  ‘That’s a very good question, Mum,’ I finally said. ‘She’s a lovely little girl, but one whose character is complicated to explain. You never really know which Maria you’ll get. She could be stroppy and difficult, and she could be absolutely lovely. Charming but challenging is perhaps another way of describing her. It’ll be interesting to see how, or if, she’s changed.’

  I hoped and prayed that, despite her experiences, Maria’s positive characteristics were winning through as she got older.

  When I heard a car pull up outside I looked out of the window and saw Maria, Christine and Gerry. My heart sank at the sight of Gerry behind the wheel, but to my relief he stayed in the car while Christine brought Maria to the house. Jess was in her own car behind them, as she had to accompany them and have an initial placement meeting with Jonathan and me.

  ‘Angela!’ Maria smiled when I opened the front door.

  She looked as if she was going to hug me, but then she stopped herself and stood back.

  ‘Come on in. Jonathan and I have been really looking forward to seeing you. How are you?’

  ‘Good,’ she smiled.

  Christine marched into the kitchen without being asked, in the same way Babs had done many times. She seemed in good spirits though, and when I suggested that Maria might like to go upstairs and take her bags to her room Christine said, ‘I’ll give you a hand, if that’s OK. I’d like to see your room, babe.’

  By now Jonathan had come through from the shop, said his hellos and put the kettle on.

  ‘You’re not going to sing that Maria song again are you?’ she said in an exaggerated groan.

  ‘I might!’ Jonathan said. ‘If the mood takes me!’

  Maria giggled, and I was pleased to see that the ice seemed to have been broken very easily. In fact, it felt as though Maria had barely been away. She didn’t even look much different, apart from the fact her hair was a bit longer and she’d grown an inch or so.

  Christine and I made polite conversation as we climbed the stairs with Maria while Jess stayed in the kitchen with Jonathan. Maria, I was pleased to see, stepped normally on the stair carpet and chatted about a book she was reading.

  ‘Don’t know where I got her from!’ Christine quipped. ‘I’ve never read a book in my life!’

  I smiled as politely as I could, even though I was not impressed by this remark as it wasn’t encouraging to Maria. When we reached the bedroom Maria busied herself with taking things out of her bags and looking around to see what had changed. We’d had quite a few children staying with us for short respite stays since Maria was last with us, and she spotted immediately that a few things were different, like the bedside table, which we’d replaced as it had become a bit tatty, and there was a new blind on the window as the old one had been broken by a rather heavy-handed boy.

  When she spotted the duvet cover she grinned. ‘You know I like that one!’ she said. ‘That’s clever!’

  Again I gave a rather subdued smile. I wanted to make much more of a fuss of Maria than I was, but I felt restricted with Christine there, and I didn’t want to do anything that she might take exception to.

  Christine, however, clearly felt able to speak her mind and say exactly what she wanted, as she suddenly blurted out, ‘They’re making it all up, you know.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Social Services. None of it’s true, what they’re saying we did to Maria. Those social workers are just trying to make me look bad. They don’t like me because I tell them what I think and refuse to play their stupid games. I hate them all. Anyway, Maria will tell you that what they’re saying about us is all lies, won’t you?’

  She poked her daughter’s arm with her index finger and Maria nodded and looked at the floor.

  ‘Well, you don’t need to worry about Maria, at least,’ I said. ‘We’ll look after her.’

  My heart really went out to Maria when Christine went to leave shortly afterwards. She’d accepted a cup of tea but didn’t seem interested in chatting with her daughter or enjoying the time with her. Instead she made small talk about a programme she’d seen on television. The worst thing of all was that, as she said goodbye, leaving Jess, Jonathan and me to finish the initial placement meeting without her, Maria took a step towards her mum, apparently hoping for a hug, but Christine just pulled a face and raised her elbow, as if to shake her daughter off. It was heartbreaking seeing the expression on Maria’s face change from nervous expectation to hurt, then to sadness and acceptance of her mother’s irritable rejection.

  Later, when I went upstairs again with Maria to help her finish her unpacking, she seemed to have a sudden thought. She pounced on one of the bags, almost ripping it open before pulling things out and scattering the floor with sweatpants, T-shirts and all the other items of worn and torn clothing it contained.

  ‘It might be better to put things away as you get them out,’ I said, tentatively. ‘Is there something I can do to help? Or would you prefer to do it yourself?’

  ‘I’m looking for something,’ she said, distractedly, tipping the contents of a small b
lack plastic bag onto the floor next to where she was crouching, then sitting back on her heels and adding, with a sigh, ‘But it’s not here.’

  I would have asked what the ‘something’ was, but I didn’t have time to say anything in response before Maria leapt to her feet and started throwing the contents of the bag around the room, shouting, ‘It’s not fair. I hate them.’

  ‘Is there something I can do to help?’ I asked again, catching a sock as it flew past my head.

  ‘I’m looking for Benji,’ she snapped, kicking the already cracked casing of a computer game and sending it skidding across the floor. ‘He’s like a . . . what do you call those things? A soft toy. He’s my favourite one. Nanny bought him for me. I was going to call him Patch, because he’s got a patch over one eye. Then Granddad said he was like a dog called Benji, in a film. Mum knows I don’t like going anywhere without him. But he’s not here!’

  ‘Well, that explains why you’re upset,’ I said. ‘I think I’d be upset if I had a favourite soft toy and couldn’t find him. Maybe you could phone your mum? I expect she just forgot to put him in the bag. But don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll drop him round for you. Maybe put your things away first though. It would be a shame if anything got accidentally damaged.’

  As I said this I felt a pang. The clothes and belongings Maria had brought with her were not in good condition, and everything looked shabby, old or damaged in some way.

  ‘Will you help me?’ Maria said sweetly. ‘Then we can do it quickly and I can phone Mum?’

  In one of the training courses Jonathan and I had been on, it was mentioned how important a child’s personal possessions can be, especially the things they bring from home. It doesn’t matter if the clothes that are packed up for them are too threadbare or too small to be worn, as was the case with several of the items of clothing in Maria’s bag. What might look to anyone else like a bag full of rubbish could actually be a bag full of memories of home for a child. So, we leave it to them to sort through the contents and decide what they want to do with everything, and only ever help if they ask us to. I would always wait for a child to ask me to wash an item of clothing too, as even the smell of their clothes might remind them of home.

  For some children, of course, all their memories of home are horrible ones, and sometimes a bag of clothes gets dumped in the large store cupboard in the hallway and is never looked at again. When that happens, we might eventually ask the child if there’s anything in the bag they want to keep, but not until they’ve been with us for a substantial amount of time – possibly as much as a few years. Sometimes they say, ‘No. Just throw it all away.’ But sometimes a pebble from a beach, a toy car with no wheels or a doll with one arm can have special significance and be very important to a child.

  For Maria, however, it seemed that the only thing she really wanted was Benji.

  I helped her unpack and we made the room neat and tidy. Then she phoned Christine, who assured Maria she would drop the toy round ‘soon’.

  ‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘Would you like to choose another soft toy from the basket to have in bed with you?’

  ‘No thanks,’ she said. ‘I only like Benji.’

  Maria went to bed without a fuss after reading for a while. She didn’t seem to have progressed very far with her reading but was nevertheless enjoying a book about a magic kingdom, which seemed to have really captured her imagination.

  ‘Do you believe in magic?’ she asked me.

  ‘Now there’s a question. I believe magical things can happen, yes, I do.’

  ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’

  ‘No, Maria, I don’t think I do. I like ghost stories though!’

  ‘Do you know my mum can talk to ghosts?’

  I remembered Maria had said something about psychics before, and that Babs had told me Christine was psychic.

  ‘Your mum can talk to ghosts?’

  ‘Yes, she has special powers. She spoke to Great-Grandma once. She told me all about it.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Yes. Night night, Angela. I’m tired.’

  Maria turned on to her side and snuggled under the duvet. I set the night light for her and said goodnight.

  Bless her, I thought. It seemed so inappropriate to involve such a young girl in talk like that. As a girl myself I remember being quite scared of any mention of the supernatural or claims that you could communicate with the ‘other side’. There was a medium called Doris Stokes who was quite famous many years ago, and I remember being fascinated but also quite alarmed by her. I heard her on the radio one time and it made me wonder if I was going to suddenly hear from an ancient relative who had died many years earlier. I couldn’t get the thought out of my head, and I avoided hearing Doris Stokes speak after that.

  When I told Jonathan about the conversation I’d had with Maria he sighed. ‘And to think Christine has been telling you that Social Services is “making it all up”. I think it’s so irresponsible to put these ideas in a young child’s head. I don’t believe a word of it, but even if I did I would never discuss such things with a child. It makes you wonder what else Christine and Gerry have been saying to poor Maria.’

  9

  ‘I don’t want to see him’

  Christine didn’t drop Benji round as she’d promised and although Maria phoned her mum several times over the next few days and Christine always said, ‘Yeah, yeah, I’ll drop him round next time I’m in town,’ she never did. So eventually, when it became apparent that, despite knowing how precious and comforting Benji was to her daughter, Christine wasn’t actually going to bother, I told Maria, ‘Don’t worry, we can ask your nanny to get him for you next time she sees your mum. Shall I give her a call later?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maria said. ‘But you speak to her. I don’t want to.’

  It was a comment I found very strange in view of how close she had been to Babs in the past.

  ‘You don’t want to?’

  ‘I said, I don’t want to.’

  Maria fixed me with a cold stare which told me not to pursue this, but I made a mental note to find out more about what had gone wrong between Babs and her granddaughter too.

  At the weekend, Jonathan and I drove Maria to church as planned, which seemed to go well, and as a treat afterwards we took her to McDonald’s. We had just parked the car in the busy car park when Maria said, ‘There’s something wrong with my door. It won’t open.’

  A few years earlier, when I was looking after an autistic girl, I had forgotten to put on the child lock and she opened the door of the car when it was moving. Fortunately, she was strapped into her seat, but it gave everyone a terrible shock and Jonathan had to do an emergency stop. I put it down to experience and considered it a lesson well learned. I had never repeated the mistake, which is why Maria could not unlock the car door herself.

  ‘There’s a child lock on the door so that it can’t be opened by mistake,’ I explained to Maria. But her confusion had already turned to anger and she wound down the window, leaned out and opened the door from the outside.

  ‘Please don’t open the door like that,’ I said, undoing my seatbelt. ‘It’s much safer if you let us do it. We wouldn’t want you to—’

  But before I could finish what I was about to say Maria jumped out of the car and ran at full pelt across the car park. As she did so another car that had just turned into the car park had to slam on its brakes.

  ‘Maria!’ I screamed.

  It was a horrible moment. She froze on the spot and the colour drained from her face as the car, driven by a young lad who had music blasting from his speakers, stopped inches away from her. I was at her side moments later, apologising to the driver who had also turned white, and taking hold firmly of Maria’s hand.

  ‘Honestly, sweetheart, the door was locked for a reason, to keep you safe. I will always let you out; there was no need to do that. Please don’t do that again, and please never run in a car park or anywhere near cars. It’s our job to keep you safe, so plea
se help us.’

  ‘I was perfectly safe with my mum,’ she snapped back at me, fixing me with an angry, sulky stare. ‘I didn’t have to come and live with you again. It’s all Social Services’ fault, making up stories and telling lies about Mum.’

  Something Jonathan and I have often noticed, with other children too, is that sulks that occur on the way in to McDonald’s tend not to last very long, and Maria’s subsided completely when I asked her to choose which meal she would like. It was a decision that took her ages to make, mainly because she wanted the toy that came with the child’s meal but with an extra-large adult’s meal to accompany it! In the end, she had the child’s meal with a Coke, followed by a McFlurry, by which time child locks on cars and sulking about being told off were distant memories.

  The following day we chose as a family to go to a water park. Maria couldn’t swim so she was a bit sulky again when she thought that was all we were going to be doing. But her face lit up when she saw all the different water slides, and she had a great time sliding down them and plopping like an excited porpoise into the shallow water at the bottom. She got on well with Tom and Dillon too, which was a pleasure to see.

  ‘What a great day we’ve had,’ I said to Jonathan when we got home quite late that afternoon. ‘There were only a few sulks, which thankfully didn’t last long. Things are looking up!’ I obviously spoke too soon, and that evening the sulking returned for what seemed to be no reason, or at least no reason we could put our finger on.

  The first thing we knew about it was when Maria stripped her bed, threw all the bedding into the hall and began to scream, ‘I want to go home and live with my mum.’

  ‘Social Services have to do what’s best for you,’ I told her when she stopped screaming long enough to draw breath. ‘But you may well be able to go home once all their checks have been completed. In the meantime, try not to worry about it. You’ll see your mum soon, and the rest of the family.’