by Angela Hart
Miss Heather nodded. ‘I agree,’ she smiled. ‘In fact, you could have taken the words out of my mouth. That’s Lucy to a T.’
There was a session arranged for the following week at the Child and Family centre, for Dean, Wendy and Lucy to have some counselling together, and also to discuss how they thought things were going. Lucy had had a few therapy sessions on her own by now and Wendy and Dean had too, on one occasion taking Gemma with them. It was my understanding that feedback from this session with Lucy would be passed to Social Services. If things were on track, the social workers were hoping they could finally move towards Lucy staying overnight at the family home. Wendy had said no more to me since her outburst about not being able to cope with Lucy for a ‘whole day’ and I took it that she’d calmed down and progress had been made, particularly after the very successful visit home Lucy had when Wendy was at work.
Jess told me that if Lucy stayed overnight and things went well, she would hopefully be able to progress quite quickly to staying weekends, as per the initial plan. Jess was very hopeful that we’d then be well on the way to helping Lucy move home at the end of the summer, as she so desperately wanted to.
‘How do you feel things are going?’
‘Really well,’ I told Jess. ‘Jonathan and I are very pleased with Lucy’s progress. I’d say she’s generally happier in herself since starting school, and she’s less inclined to be irritating or to misbehave than when she first arrived, as she’s got a lot to keep her occupied. Her last visit home helped no end, I’m sure. She had such a lovely time and I think it did wonders for her relationship with Gemma. Come to think of it, she’s been asking me less about when she is going home. I guess she’s less anxious now that things are on track. The bed-wetting only happened a few times, all in the same week, and has stopped now.’
Jonathan came in on the tail end of our conversation. ‘I’d say she’s certainly less anxious,’ he said. ‘There’s good and bad in that, in my opinion. She’s calmer because she’s absolutely certain she’s going home in August, and it worries me because that’s not so far off now, and I know a delay could set her back.’
We also told Jess that Lucy had seemed particularly happy after her last individual visit to her psychologist.
‘She came out in a great mood, chattering about what she wanted to do next time she got to play in her garden at home, and how she was pleased she was friends with Gemma again. That said, I’ve noticed Lucy is generally in a good mood on the days she goes to the Child and Family centre.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Lucy says she likes the fact her school friends are jealous when she gets taken out of school!’
Jess laughed and said this was no bad thing, as sometimes children are embarrassed to be taken out of the classroom and refuse to attend such appointments. ‘Good for Lucy!’ she said. ‘The success of the sessions are key, and if she’s in a receptive mood then it can only be a help.’
Lucy called her daddy when she got home from school on Friday night. It was five days before the joint session at the Child and Family centre. I heard her say, ‘I can’t wait to see you!’ and left her to chat while I went upstairs and helped Maria choose an outfit for a birthday party she was going to that weekend.
By the time I came down Lucy had finished on the phone and was grinning and skipping around the kitchen, looking very excited.
‘Guess what? Daddy said I can go over on Sunday!’
‘Oh, that’s great! That’s something to look forward to, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. I can’t wait! AND I’ll see him next week too.’
She was absolutely thrilled to bits. I wondered what the arrangements were and was just thinking about whether to call Dean and fix a time when the phone rang.
It was Wendy, sounding tired and a bit down.
‘About Sunday,’ she said. ‘I know it’s short notice but can you drop Lucy off and pick her up?’
She explained that they already had some other commitments that day and that the visit would have to be quite short. ‘Dean’s a big softie, you know. Lucy can wrap him round her little finger.’
I told Wendy we could manage both lifts, even though I was thinking it would mean Jonathan and I spending hours in the car and asking my mum to come and babysit Maria either side of the activities she had planned that day. However, if that’s what it took we were prepared to go the extra mile – or miles!
‘Are you sure, Angela? Don’t worry if you can’t. We can always rearrange Lucy’s visit for another time, and we are seeing her next week anyhow.’
‘It’s absolutely fine,’ I said. ‘She’s already looking forward to it.’
Wendy called back at about ten o’clock that night, sounding harassed and very apologetic.
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Look, I’m sorry to do this. Dean shouldn’t have invited Lucy over on Sunday. We’ve got too much on already and now I’m not feeling well. I just won’t be able to cope. I’m sorry to mess you around.’
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry to hear that,’ I said, though my main concern was that Lucy was the one being messed around.
Wendy muttered something about Dean being a ‘typical useless man’. ‘He means well, but you can’t trust them to get anything right, can you?’
Then she rushed off the phone, leaving me with a heavy heart and a dread of having to break this to Lucy the next day.
When I told her over breakfast the next morning she just stared at me for a moment before forcing a smile onto her face.
‘It’s OK,’ she said bravely. ‘I’ll be home all the time soon, anyway.’
12
‘I’ll miss her when she’s gone’
Jonathan and I drove Lucy to the Child and Family centre for the joint session. On the way she said she was going to ask her daddy about the camping trip he hoped to take the family on; she’d mentioned it several times since.
‘I helped cook the sausages last time we went camping. It was fun. Daddy said I was a champion camper. Do you go camping? Do you like barbecues?’
We told her we both love staying on campsites and that we had a touring caravan.
‘Where is it? I haven’t seen it!’
‘We store it in a big garage, not far from where we live. We only get it out when we’re ready to go away.’
‘Oh well, so I won’t get to see it.’
‘You never know, you might. We often go away for weekends and in the school holidays.’ We didn’t have our next camping trip in the diary although we did have a summer holiday booked and were going to stay in a log cabin with Maria.
‘No, I won’t. I’ll be back home. Do you think they will tell me today when I can move back in with Daddy?’
‘We don’t know,’ Jonathan said firmly. ‘We know as much as you, Lucy. Let’s wait and see.’
When we arrived at the centre Lucy was taken into a meeting room immediately. Jonathan and I said we were going to get petrol and would come back and wait in reception.
Lucy waved us off. She had a spring in her step as she entered the room, and we heard the therapist telling her that her family had already arrived.
‘Bless her,’ Jonathan said. ‘She wants nothing more than to go home. I wish her all the luck in the world.’
I smiled. ‘I think we’re getting there, slowly. Let’s hope so. Mind you, I’ll miss her when she’s gone. That part of fostering never gets any easier, does it?’
We were just on our way out the door when the therapist reappeared and called us back. She looked concerned and I wondered what was going on.
‘Lucy’s father would like you to be in the meeting.’
Jonathan and I were not expecting this at all, and I told the therapist this. ‘My manager is in the room. Shall I ask her to step out and explain?’
‘Well, yes, if you don’t mind. We thought it was more of a joint session for Lucy, Wendy and Dean, that’s all.’
It turned out that Dean and Wendy had arrived early, having arra
nged a meeting with the manager before their session with Lucy. I had no idea what had been said, but apparently they needed Jonathan and me to join them, as they had ‘things to say’.
When we walked in the room I thought, You could cut the atmosphere in here with a knife. Dean was scowling, Wendy was sitting with her arms folded defensively across her chest and, to my surprise, Gemma was in the room. As well as the manager of the Child and Family centre there were two therapists present.
Lucy was sitting on the opposite side of the table to her family, flanked by the therapists. Jonathan and I took the two available chairs at the far of the table. Nobody smiled and it felt like everybody stared as we took our seats. I felt self-conscious and on alert. Jonathan and I were well used to attending core meetings, review meetings and placement meetings – all names used for the various routine meetings we have regularly with social workers, teachers and Social Services officials. But this was different. It was unprecedented to be asked to join in a meeting like this, at a therapy centre. Something was wrong, but I had no idea what.
Introductions were made, and the manager looked at Dean.
‘Mr Harrison, can I ask you to repeat what you just told me?’
It sounded like we were in a courtroom rather than an NHS centre. Lucy was hunched over so much her chin was on her chest and she looked like a frightened little mouse, while Gemma was owning her space at the table, elbows planted wide and a high and mighty expression on her face.
‘Yes.’ Dean hissed the word. He looked furious. ‘When Lucy came over for my birthday she called Wendy a fucking bitch. Pardon my French. And she also called her “Wendy the witch”. We can’t have it. I’ll not stand for it any longer.’
‘I didn’t!’
Lucy’s cheeks were flushed. She uncurled herself from her hunched position and jutted out her chin in fury. Then she sprang to her feet and kicked the table leg.
‘Sit down,’ Wendy snapped.
‘No!’
‘You’ll do as I tell you. SIT DOWN NOW!’
Lucy looked both stung and frightened and she sat back down. Meanwhile Dean balled his fists and shook his head.
The manager intervened and filled us in on what we’d missed earlier. Apparently Lucy had used this term to Gemma when the two of them were alone together at Dean’s birthday party.
‘I didn’t like it and I thought everybody needed to know,’ Gemma explained dramatically. ‘It’s not fair on my mum. I don’t want Lucy in the house again. None of us do. She’s just not wanted. It’s better without her!’
‘Daddy, I never said that!’ Lucy gasped. She was still red in the face and looked distraught.
‘Be quiet, Lucy. You’ve said enough. You’ve gone too far this time, causing all this trouble. You’re well out of order, do you hear me? You’re a little liar. That’s what you are.’
‘But I’ll be good, Daddy! I didn’t say those things. Honestly, I didn’t.’
‘You’re such a big liar!’ Gemma spat.
‘I’m not! I didn’t lie. THIS IS SO UNFAIR! YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE ME!’
Lucy was on her feet again and she banged her little fists on the table in temper and frustration. I wanted to go to her, to her calm down. Jonathan instinctively put his hand on my knee, as if to hold me in my seat.
Neither Dean nor Wendy reacted and it was left to one of the therapists to step in and steer Lucy back to her seat. She sat on the edge of the chair, staring at Gemma intently and grinding her teeth.
‘You see, this is what she’s like,’ Wendy said triumphantly. ‘Look at her. She’s like a wild animal when she gets mad.’
The manager interjected, thank God, because if she hadn’t I think I’d have given Wendy a piece of my mind.
‘Clearly, there is a difference of opinion here. Nothing is going to be resolved like this. Please, can everybody stay calm? Angela and Jonathan, have you talked to Lucy about what happened at the party?’
I was very glad to have my say. I explained about the broken clock and about the fact that Wendy had made a few complaints about Lucy afterwards, but that we had ultimately straightened everything out, or so I thought.
‘As I recall, Wendy believed Lucy had been bragging, deliberately interrupting conversations and that she was difficult with her food. This was many weeks ago and I thought we’d moved on. Lucy’s last visit went very well. Milly was out at a dance class, I believe, and Wendy was at work. Dean, the boys, Gemma and Lucy got on very well. They had a great time, in fact, playing happily together in the garden. They all enjoyed Lucy’s visit.’
I shot a look at Gemma, remembering how Lucy had given her a bear hug as they said goodbye.
Gemma was asked why it had taken her so long to speak out about what happened at the party.
‘I didn’t want to upset people, especially Mum, and I didn’t want to snitch on Lucy. But then I didn’t like keeping the secret. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. Now I don’t want Lucy back home. I’m scared of what will happen.’
‘I’m scared too,’ Wendy piped up, unfolding her arms and banging her hands down on the table. Her hair looked blacker than ever and she was wearing dark red lipstick. I thought she looked very intimidating; I dreaded to think what Lucy made of her.
‘I’m very scared, actually,’ Wendy intoned. ‘I think Lucy could harm me. She hates me. It’s obvious. I don’t trust her and what she might do to me. She’s got a screw loose! I don’t want her near my daughter. I don’t want her in the house. She’s a poisonous little madam.’
A feeling of dread came over me; I was in shock.
‘OK, please let’s stop there,’ the manager said with authority, rising to her feet.
It was too late. The words had been spoken. Lucy looked like she might cry and she began protesting pitifully that she had not called Wendy ‘those horrible names’. I felt heartbroken for Lucy. How could a grown woman talk about a little girl like that? And how could another little girl – a girl who had once been Lucy’s best friend – be so hard-faced and unkind?
Jonathan and I had never heard Lucy use the ‘f’ word and I was not certain I believed Gemma’s version of events. It didn’t ring true to me, but of course Lucy had a chequered history when it came to telling the truth and so it was very difficult to know what to believe.
Dean said he wanted to end the meeting there.
‘I’ve had enough of this. I’m going outside for a fag!’
He stood up and walked out of the room. Wendy followed him. ‘Good idea,’ she said. ‘I’m coming with you.’ As she left the room, with Gemma hot on her heels, she shot Lucy an icy look.
‘See the trouble you cause? See what you’re doing to your father, to all of us? You need to learn how to behave young lady.’
The manager thanked us for joining the meeting and I said I’d talk to our support social worker.
‘Lucy was hoping to go home at the end of August,’ I said.
‘Perhaps that’s a little ambitious,’ one of the therapists said.
The family left without saying goodbye.
On the way home I sat in the back of the car with Lucy. She still didn’t cry, but she didn’t speak either. She looked dazed and wounded and she hooked herself on to my arm, as if it were a crutch. I was furious and incredibly sad, all at the same time. I knew I had to be very careful what I said and how I reacted. Kids repeat to family what you say, and clearly it wouldn’t help matters if I were seen to take Lucy’s side, although that is how I felt.
After we all sat in silence for a while I talked to Lucy. I told her that Jonathan and I were upset about what just happened, and I made it crystal clear we had no idea in advance that Gemma was coming to the meeting, or about anything the family had to say. I also reiterated the fact Jonathan and I had not expected to be called in to the meeting with the family. It was very important Lucy was able to trust us and rely on us to protect her and look after her. I also told her she could talk to us and that we were here to support her, and that she could say what
ever was on her mind. She didn’t say a word, and I left it there. We carried on in silence for a while, and then Jonathan put a Sheryl Crow CD on, one of my favourites.
I tried to listen and relax a little but I found it very difficult. What I really wanted to do was vent my anger about how Wendy, Dean and Gemma had carried on in the meeting. I couldn’t help thinking about what I’d like to say to Wendy and Dean, if it were possible.
Why did you tackle Lucy like that? Can you imagine being in her shoes? How do you know Gemma is telling the truth? Even if she is, do you think handling the situation in this way was helpful? Or more likely to damage all the progress we’ve made since the party? Don’t you want her back where she belongs?
When we arrived back at our house Lucy went straight to her room, and she said she wasn’t hungry when I tried to talk to her about dinner a little later on.
‘You can help me if you like? I’m doing macaroni cheese. Maria doesn’t like tomatoes on the top so I usually make two separate ones. How about you?’
‘You know I eat tomatoes. I had them last week. Can’t you remember?’
She said this in an accusatory way. I could tell it wasn’t going to matter what I said or did; for the time being, Lucy’s back was up and she was probably going to be in an aggravating mood.
Dinner was an awkward experience. Lucy stared at Maria and picked at her food.
‘What are you looking at? Angela, will you tell her to stop staring at me?’
‘They’re my eyes. I can do what I like with them.’
‘Lucy, please focus on your food and don’t stare at Maria. She doesn’t like it.’
‘Like I say, they’re my eyes.’
‘Can I get down?’ Maria huffed.
‘Have you had enough to eat?’
‘Yes. She’s put me off my food.’
Lucy was very annoying and irritating for the rest of the evening and it made no difference what anybody said to her, she came back with a retort designed to aggravate. Maria sensibly kept out of the way while Jonathan and I walked on eggshells around her.
