The Girl Who Wanted to Belong, Book 5

by Angela Hart

  ‘Why? What did I do wrong? She was mean to me. I was too hot, you know, and Wendy wouldn’t let me take my shirt off, even though I had a vest top underneath. It was boiling. She was horrible. I bet she never told you that! And Gemma was wearing Puma shorts and a Nike top when Wendy said nobody was allowed labels! I think she had it in for me. I think she wanted to wind me up!’

  I focused on the broken clock, the alleged interrupting and the standing on Wendy’s foot while Dean was talking to his guests, plus the issue with the food and the supposed ‘bragging’ about the horses.

  ‘What broken clock? I didn’t even know Gemma had a clock!’

  Lucy dismissed all the other criticisms too, claiming she had no idea she’d interrupted all the time, or stood on Wendy’s foot. She was adamant she ate the same food as the other kids and that they all swapped stories about what they’ve been up to, so how could she be accused of bragging?

  ‘Josh and Liam have started karate. Milly’s doing disco dancing. Gemma’s in a marching band. She went on about that for AGES. So how come they can talk about their hobbies and I can’t? It’s not fair.’

  Lucy was red in the face and looked very angry. She kicked a cupboard and I had to tell her to stop and take a deep breath.

  ‘I HATE Wendy!’ she said, balling her fists. ‘She’s even WORSE than horrible old Val!’

  I told her to take deep breaths and try to stay calm and I suggested that she should stop shouting and to sit quietly for a moment. She ignored me and stomped around the kitchen repeating, ‘I HATE WENDY!’

  I tried to ignore her in the hope she’d burn herself out. I must admit, after listening to what Lucy had to say, my gut feeling was that Wendy seemed to have blown things out of proportion. I didn’t think for one moment that Lucy had behaved impeccably every minute she was at the party, but was she really so bad that Wendy – a mother of a girl the same age as Lucy and stepmother to three other young children – seriously couldn’t cope? It didn’t really add up to me. Most of it sounded like typical stuff a child might do, especially at a party. The broken clock was potentially an issue, but to my mind nothing else seemed to warrant Wendy’s extreme reaction and conclusion.

  When I paid her no attention Lucy eventually stormed out of the room and said she was going to her bedroom.

  I was doing some ironing and still thinking things through when Lucy appeared at the living-room door about twenty minutes later.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, looking very sheepish.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sorry. I lied.’

  ‘You lied?’

  ‘Yes. I lied about the clock. I might have broken it. I didn’t meant to, but I was trying to make the bell go off and the dial came loose in my hand. I tried to put it back on – it looked like it could be fixed back on – but Gemma took it off me and told me not to bother. I didn’t think she was that worried. She just put it back on her bedside table and we went back to the party together.’

  ‘Thank you for telling the truth,’ I said. ‘I’m very pleased you’ve told the truth.’

  Lucy took a step closer. ‘Can I have a cuddle?’

  I wrapped my arms around Lucy and praised her again.

  ‘If the clock is broken then we need to offer to replace it,’ I said. ‘Even if it was an accident, the right thing is to offer to get Gemma a new one.’

  Lucy nodded.

  ‘Can I go on the computer now?’

  ‘Yes, in a minute. As you’re being very honest with me, Lucy, I’d just like to check with you, is there anything else you need to tell me about the party?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘No. I liked it. I didn’t do anything else wrong, I swear. I don’t know why Wendy phoned you like that. It wasn’t like that. She’s made up so many stories! I tried really, really hard to behave myself. We all had a good time.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure there is nothing else you need to tell me? You won’t be in trouble and we can sort things out, but only if I know the truth. I’m pleased with you for being honest.’

  Lucy shook her head.

  ‘Is there any chance that you were trying to annoy anyone or that you did any of the things Wendy said you did, the things that annoyed her?’

  ‘No. I swear. No, I didn’t.’

  ‘What about the interrupting? Or the standing on her foot?’

  Lucy grinned a little mischievously.

  ‘Well, maybe I did interrupt a little bit. But I didn’t mean to annoy anyone. I didn’t stand on Wendy’s foot on purpose though. I definitely didn’t. I wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘OK, thanks again for being honest. Do you think it would be a good idea to say sorry to Wendy for the things you did do?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Good. I’m sure Wendy will appreciate you being truthful, and hopefully next time you see her you can get off to a better start because there won’t be any old arguments hanging over you.’

  ‘Yes. OK. I’ll say sorry.’

  ‘Thank you, Lucy. We’ll call Wendy later. Let’s get you a programme set up, shall we? I thought you could have a go at the history CD-ROM today. It’s a really good one. Do you know anything about the Romans?

  Lucy struggled to concentrate or settle at anything that afternoon. She got fed up of the CD-ROM after about ten minutes, said Julius Caesar was ‘boring’ and asked if she could do something else.

  ‘Can I help you, Angela? What about the garden? Is there anything I can do? I’m bored. Can I go to Diane’s? Can you show me how to make this? What’s this for?’

  I was trying to get all the ironing done and I had several little sewing jobs to do, like replacing buttons and shortening a pair of trousers.

  ‘Can you teach me how to do that? I want to learn to sew. Can I make a pair of trousers too?’

  As ever, Lucy’s enthusiasm for being busy with her hands knew no bounds.

  ‘I didn’t make the trousers,’ I explained. ‘I bought them in a sale and they’re too long so I’m taking them up.’

  ‘Oh. I bet I could do that for you. Can you show me?’

  I set Lucy up with a needle and thread and showed her how to sew on a button.

  ‘Do that to begin with. You need to start with the simple things and work your way up. That’s what my mum taught me.’

  ‘Is your mum good at sewing?’

  ‘Brilliant. Much better than me. She can also knit and crochet and she does embroidery too.’

  ‘Will she teach me?’

  ‘I’m sure she would. We’ll ask her.’

  I was thinking to myself that I’d ask Mum sooner rather than later, in fact, as I was looking for as much help as I could get in keeping Lucy occupied. Mum was away visiting a friend that week, but once she was back I’d invite her over. She was also very good at playing board games and cards with the kids and always had much more patience than me when teaching them the rules, or when games went on for ages. Over the years she even taught some of our foster children how to play chess to a really good level.

  Jonathan and I decided to take Lucy and Maria swimming in the early evening, after the shop was shut. Lucy did more than twenty lengths and I was worn out trying to keep up with her. After we got home and had something to eat Maria was happy to watch a bit of TV and just relax in the living room with us, but Lucy seemed to find it impossible to sit down or concentrate on a programme for more than five minutes. She began to pace around and stare at each of us in turn, as if trying to provoke a reaction. Maria snapped first, inevitably.

  ‘For God’s sake! Stop staring at me!’

  ‘I’m not!’

  ‘Yes you are! Jonathan, can you tell her to stop staring at me?’

  ‘Lucy, please don’t stare. It’s not nice. None of us like it. Why don’t you relax and watch television?’

  ‘I don’t feel like watching television.’

  ‘Well why don’t you find something else to do?’

  ‘Like what? Will you play this with me?’
>
  She took our game of Monopoly down from the shelf at the back of the room.

  ‘No, it’s too late to start that now. A game of Monopoly can go on for hours.’

  ‘Oh, can it? Can I phone my granny then?’

  ‘Yes, of course you can. You can use the phone in the kitchen if you like. Do you remember how to use it? Remember, her number is on the pad next to the phone.’

  ‘Yes, I can do it.’

  Lucy chatted to her granny for about fifteen minutes and seemed to perk up.

  ‘Can I call Daddy now?’

  I said that she could but suggested I would make the call and talk to Wendy first, as she was waiting to hear back about the clock and the other issues she’d flagged up. Ideally I wanted to leave this until the next day because I was tired and in no rush to talk to Wendy, but I couldn’t avoid it if Lucy wanted to call home.

  ‘Do I have to talk to Wendy?’ Lucy asked, eyes narrowing.

  I know how you feel, I thought.

  ‘I think it would be a good idea if you explained what happened to the clock and apologised for that. Also, don’t forget she likes you to call her Mum, will you?’

  Lucy rolled her eyes but agreed.

  Wendy was polite and friendly to me on the phone. I said we would take a small amount out of Lucy’s pocket money each week to pay for a new clock for Gemma.

  ‘Thank you!’ Wendy said. She sounded almost triumphant. ‘I’m glad you’ve got through to Lucy. She needs to know how much trouble she causes. Thanks for supporting me.’

  ‘It’s right that Lucy pays for the clock, as she broke it,’ I said. ‘I’ll put Lucy on now. I’ll speak to you soon.’

  As I stepped out of the kitchen I heard Lucy apologising.

  ‘I’m sorry for annoying you. I’m sorry about the clock. I didn’t realise I was so annoying. I won’t do it again, I promise. I don’t mean it. I’ll try my hardest. Can I talk to my daddy?’

  By the time Lucy had finished on the phone it was time for her to get ready for bed. Maria had already gone up, and I asked Lucy to please be quiet as she got herself ready and used the bathroom.

  ‘I don’t want to go to bed.’

  Lucy stared at me.

  ‘Oh, don’t you? Well that’s a shame, because it’s bedtime. And if you don’t get to sleep at a reasonable time you’ll be too tired to muck out the horses early in the morning.’

  ‘I won’t. I always get up. I never oversleep.’

  ‘I’m not saying you won’t get up, or that you’ll oversleep. But you will be tired. You need your sleep, to make the most of the day tomorrow.’

  ‘What’s the point? I don’t have to do anything after I’ve been to the stables. I don’t have to go to school. Who cares if I’m tired? I don’t.’

  Jonathan was reading the paper, patiently waiting for a moment to intervene.

  ‘Lucy, the fact is that you are eight years old and we are responsible for looking after you,’ he said. ‘You must do as we ask. We’re not asking you to go to bed for the good of our health. You need your sleep and we are taking care of your needs. Now please go up and get ready for bed. It’s been a long day and we’re all tired.’

  ‘I’m NOT TIRED.’

  Lucy stared at Jonathan and then at me. I picked up a magazine and started doing a word-search puzzle.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked accusingly.

  ‘A word search.’

  ‘I mean, why aren’t you telling me off?’

  ‘Well, to be honest, we’ve told you what we want you to do and we’ve told you why. I have nothing else to say. What’s the point in repeating myself?’

  ‘But you can’t just leave me standing here while you do your stupid puzzles and read the paper!’

  ‘Lucy, Angela loves doing word-search puzzles. She doesn’t think they’re stupid, in fact she finds them very relaxing.’

  After about half an hour Jonathan made a cup of tea, sidestepping Lucy who was sitting on the floor next to the door, looking angry and hostile. She was staring at me intently while I refused to be riled and stayed calm and tried to appear completely unperturbed. I assumed Lucy was trying to make me lose my temper or provoke any kind of reaction other than the one I was giving her, but I was determined not to let her win. Jonathan and I had used this tactic before. Another foster carer had told us about the ‘power of indifference’, as she called it, many years earlier. It’s very simple: the child wants to cause trouble and you remain indifferent and don’t let them get to you. If it all goes to plan, the child gets bored and gives up their campaign.

  ‘Aren’t you bothered about me sitting here? Why don’t you send me to bed?’

  ‘I’ve already told you to go to bed. What’s the point in me repeating myself? I’m not going to carry you upstairs, am I?’

  This went on for the next hour or so. Jonathan went to bed eventually, as he had to be up earlier than I did the next day to open up the shop. I remained seated, and I began reading a book from the shelf.

  ‘Are you going to just sit there reading?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t you want to go to bed?’

  ‘I’m not in a hurry. I like reading. It’s been ages since I had the chance to start a new book.’

  I could hear Lucy sighing loudly every time I turned a page but I refused to look at her. I just carried on silently reading. We had a dimmer switch in the living room and Lucy began to fiddle with it, turning it up very brightly then down so low that I couldn’t see the page. I got out of my chair, switched on the table lamp beside me and carried on reading.

  Lucy then began biting her nails and spitting bits of them on the carpet. Nothing I can’t clean up tomorrow, I told myself through gritted teeth.

  ‘I’m bleeding,’ she said.

  I looked up and couldn’t see any blood.

  ‘Look! Don’t you care!’

  Lucy started poking the side of her thumb on the white-painted doorframe, leaving specks of blood. It was a tiny amount, and I thought she’d probably torn a bit of skin around her cuticle as she bit her nail.

  Nothing I can’t clean up tomorrow, I thought again.

  After another twenty minutes of similar behaviour Lucy said, ‘You’re useless, Angela! You can’t even tell me off. What kind of foster carer are you? I’m going to bed, and I’m going to tell my social worker on you.’

  ‘Night night.’

  ‘Don’t you care? I’ll tell her you sat there reading a book while I was bleeding to death!’

  With that Lucy stomped out of the room.

  ‘Make sure you give your hands a good wash,’ I called after her. ‘And don’t forget to clean your teeth.’

  ‘What do you care?’

  ‘I care very much,’ I said. ‘Night night, Lucy.’

  11

  ‘I think she’s a bit of a control freak’

  The following morning Lucy knocked on our bedroom door very early, long before we were due to wake up.

  ‘What is it, sweetheart? Are you OK?’

  ‘I need a clean sheet.’

  My very first thought, in my half-awake state, was to remember her dabbing blood on the doorframe the night before.

  ‘What’s happened?

  ‘Erm. It’s wet.’

  ‘OK, I see,’ I said, instantly relaxing. ‘Don’t worry. We can sort that out very quickly.’

  Lucy had already put a pair of dry pyjamas on but I could still smell urine on her. We went up to her room and I changed the bed as quickly as possible, tucked her in and told her to try to get another couple of hours’ sleep.

  ‘You can have a nice shower in the morning and I’ll put the washing machine on and get all this sorted out. Don’t worry.’

  The bed was undamaged as the children’s mattresses are always covered in waterproof sheets. I reassured Lucy that having an accident like this was not a problem at all. I’ve changed hundreds of wet sheets over the years.

  ‘Do you think she was upset by talking to Wendy last night?
’ Jonathan asked me when I went back to bed. ‘Was that also why she was playing us all up, d’you think?’

  ‘I’d say it’s very likely, but who knows? It could just be coincidence I suppose.’

  I made a note of the bed-wetting and would mention it to Social Services, just to make sure everyone was kept in the picture. I hadn’t been told of any history of bed-wetting, so I thought it was important to pass this on.

  The school situation was still no closer to being resolved. I’d left messages at the Child and Family centre, in the hope that Lucy’s psychologist might be able to put something in writing to support us, but I hadn’t heard back from her yet. I’d also asked the head of Social Services to get involved. Her secretary had asked me to put Lucy’s case in writing, which I’d done, and I was waiting for a reply from her too.

  In the end it took well over a week to hear back from Social Services, and the response was not what I wanted. We were advised to contact the schools directly, which is exactly what we’d already done.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ I said. ‘This is ludicrous!’

  The psychologist then called and told me she would need to talk to her manager before responding but would do so that day. Her helpful letter, supporting Lucy’s need to be in school, arrived about three days later. With nowhere else to turn I decided to try to set up appointments with two other schools, take the letter along and plead Lucy’s case.

  The head teacher of one of the schools, Mr Tripp, called me back within the hour.

  ‘I hear you have a child who needs a place urgently,’ he said. ‘Please tell me the details, Mrs Hart.’

  I explained the situation and read some extracts from the psychologist’s letter.

  ‘Though Lucy is not statemented, in my professional opinion she does have some special educational needs,’ I quoted. ‘She would benefit greatly from being back in a school environment. This will aid her reintegration into the family unit.’

  Mr Tripp sounded kind and wise.

  ‘I can see you’ve been given quite a run-around but have refused to give up,’ he said. ‘Luckily, we do have space in school, and in the circumstances I’m happy for Lucy to start as soon as you can arrange it. It’s very unsatisfactory that you’ve had to go round in circles like this.’