The Girl Who Wanted to Belong, Book 5

by Angela Hart

  ‘Take a seat,’ she sighed, ushering us to sit around a child-sized table on tiny chairs.

  The pretty young teacher looked exhausted; she had dark circles under her eyes and when she sat down she hunched over the desk and couldn’t suppress a yawn. It looked to me like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders: I didn’t envy her at all, dealing with a class of thirty-one seven- and eight-year-olds all day long as she did. In that moment I felt very sorry that Lucy had added to her burden.

  Lucy had been to the toilet and she joined us at the little table. She didn’t say hello; she just sat and stared at the tub of pencils in the centre of the desk, refusing to give anyone eye contact.

  ‘I’m afraid to say that Lucy has been involved in a number of incidents this week. She has been calling other pupils rude names, using bad language and refusing to stay quiet when asked.’

  Miss Heather looked down at the notes she had made.

  ‘On four occasions I’ve had to keep her in at break time. When we did work with compasses she scratched marks on the table and damaged the cover of her textbook. When we worked with marbles Lucy dared another pupil to swallow one.’

  Now it was Lucy’s turn to yawn and she did so loudly, failing to cover her mouth. Miss Heather asked her to put her hand over her mouth next time she yawned and Lucy sighed, gave the faintest nod and gazed out of the window.

  ‘This could have been a very dangerous situation, had one of the other children not alerted me to what was going on with the marble,’ Miss Heather continued. ‘When I’ve spoken to Lucy about her behaviour she has been rude to me and used inappropriate language. It seems to me that Lucy is unhappy and doesn’t want to learn. I want to help change that, but when I’ve put incentives in place – such as earning more time as the pet monitor or gaining stars to win some “golden time” in the games corner – Lucy has not seemed interested.’

  ‘That’s because I’m not,’ Lucy piped up. ‘I’m not staying in this school anyway. I don’t care about your stupid pets or your crappy gold stars and golden time!’

  ‘Lucy!’ I said. ‘Please don’t use language like that and please do not be rude. Miss Heather is trying to help you, just like Jonathan and I are trying to help you.’

  ‘I said I don’t care. I hate this school. I want to go back to my old school. I don’t want to be here. I want to go home!’

  Miss Heather gave me a sympathetic look. She could see Jonathan and I had a lot on our plate and she probably imagined Lucy’s comment would be mortifying for us. The truth was, I wasn’t hurt by Lucy’s words because I was concerned only with her feelings, not ours. We’ve had so many children tell us they want to go home and they don’t want to be with us, and who can blame them? When I was a child I wouldn’t have wanted to live in any other home but my own and I hated it when I had to go and stay with someone else for a while when my mother was ill. I missed my mum like mad and those feelings are still very strong in my memory. I never take it personally when children say they don’t want to be with us, or even that they hate us both, and our home.

  Jonathan changed the subject. ‘We find that Lucy enjoys using her hands and being outdoors, isn’t that right, Lucy?’

  Lucy nodded at the table.

  ‘I wonder, Miss Heather, if there is anything Lucy could work towards that she does enjoy? I mean, if golden time or pet monitor time isn’t the right incentive, perhaps she could earn time helping in the school garden or greenhouse, or something like that?’

  Miss Heather looked unsure. I imagined she had expected us to support her by putting some sanctions in place at home, perhaps, rather than suggesting rewards. Nevertheless, she listened carefully.

  ‘What do you think, Lucy?’ Miss Heather asked. ‘Would you like to earn greenhouse or garden time instead of golden time?’

  The greenhouse was a popular new addition to the school and all the classes took turns using it for projects like growing seeds and learning about bugs. Miss Heather said that the caretaker and a couple of volunteer parents were in the process of putting together shelving and storage units to help keep it neat and tidy. She suggested Lucy could help them, if her behaviour improved.

  ‘I’ll try,’ Lucy said. ‘But I don’t do bad behaviour on purpose, you know. I just get bored. I don’t like being in the classroom.’

  In the circumstances this seemed as good a response as we were going to get. Miss Heather looked quite relieved, I think, and Jonathan and I gave her an appreciative look. ‘We all want what is best for you, Lucy,’ he said. ‘I’m glad we are all working together on this.’

  Lucy managed a small smile before saying goodbye to her teacher. Fingers crossed, I thought. I wanted this to work but I must admit I had my concerns. Knowing her home with us was temporary – however long temporary may be – made it extremely difficult for her to apply herself and settle into this school, especially as she still had no SEN teacher supporting her. The fact the end of term was now looming and the summer holidays were in sight didn’t help either: even the best-behaved kids start to lose focus at this point in the school year. For Lucy, it was doubly hard.

  I took a call from Wendy a few days later, telling me she had instructed a solicitor to ‘fight the authorities’ over the funding for Lucy’s education. My initial reaction was to be happily surprised, and impressed. Good for you, I thought, thinking perhaps I should hold fire on writing to our MP as I intended to, should Mr Tripp not resolve the problem. In the next breath Wendy revealed her motive.

  ‘I don’t want Lucy coming home when it suits Social Services. It has to suit all of us and she is not welcome, not at the moment. She needs to stay in St Joseph’s and your LEA needs to pay for her.’

  Talk about a sting in the tail, I thought.

  Wendy’s words sounded so cruel but I didn’t tackle her about this. I simply told her I was grateful she was fighting for Lucy’s funding, as her education was very important. I mentioned that we’d been called in to talk to Miss Heather, because I thought the fact the teacher was struggling with Lucy’s behaviour might help support Wendy’s case with the LEAs. However, instead of taking this information from me with good grace, Wendy used it to spit, ‘I’m not surprised, little madam!’

  I told Jonathan I felt like piggy in the middle, and it was not a comfortable place to be.

  There were some things I instinctively didn’t tell Wendy, such as Lucy’s reaction to finding out Gemma had lied, because this would only stoke up trouble. ‘It’s so tricky,’ I said. ‘It would be easier not to tell her anything at all, but that would cause trouble too.’

  ‘It would. You did the right thing telling her about us going to school because that information has to go in Lucy’s notes and we have no idea what goes back to the family after we’ve let Social Services know what’s going on. We are stuck in the middle, but I guess that’s our job.’ With a jokey smile he added, ‘I’d prefer to call us diplomats rather than piggies in the middle.’

  He was right about our role, and I realised Lucy’s case was quite unlike any other we’d dealt with before. We were not just looking after the child, we were part of the team helping the whole family to reunite, and so our relationship with Wendy and Dean – and the kids, to a lesser extent – was extremely important. It could make or break Lucy’s return home this summer.

  ‘I guess we also have no idea what might go back to the family after Lucy talks to her granny and aunties on the phone,’ I said.

  ‘Exactly. Regardless of how Wendy behaves, we have no choice but to be civil with her and share key news.’

  I didn’t write to our MP, having decided that the diplomatic thing was to see how Wendy got on first, with the help of the solicitor.

  One evening we had a barbecue in the garden. My mum came and I invited Diane and her family over to say thank you for everything they did for Lucy. She was still enjoying her riding lessons and Diane gave her far more time than we ever paid for, as well as continuing to let Lucy help with the mucking out whenever
possible.

  ‘Lucy’s a pleasure to have around,’ Diane said. ‘She’s a smashing little worker. Don’t know how I’ll manage without her when she moves back home!’

  It seemed Lucy had informed Diane that she was definitely going home once the schools broke up for the summer. I didn’t say anything, because maybe she would, and in any case I would never talk about a child’s personal care plan.

  The barbecue was really enjoyable. Lucy helped Jonathan light the fire and keep an eye on the burgers and kebabs, and we all had a game of giant Jenga and garden-sized pickup-sticks, which a friend had given me when she moved from a large house into a flat that only had a small patio. Lucy showed great dexterity and won several rounds of both games, beating Maria hands down.

  ‘Stupid game,’ Maria muttered, but that was the closest we came to having any cross words.

  The sun was warm, the food was delicious and we all ate mounds of strawberries Mum had bought in town.

  ‘Why didn’t you grow them yourself?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘I’m trying,’ Mum said. ‘But the birds have got through the netting this year. I don’t think I’m having much luck!’

  Lucy offered to go over and have a look at Mum’s strawberry patch.

  ‘We’re growing them in the greenhouse at school,’ she said. ‘I can teach you how to do it, if you like.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Mum said graciously, resisting the urge to tell Lucy she’d been growing strawberries for decades, with so much success she normally produced pounds of strawberry jam at the end of the season.

  That evening Lucy was expecting a call from her daddy. He told her he was working across town and would call when he got home, but the phone never rang. Lucy asked if she could phone him, in case he’d forgotten.

  ‘Of course,’ I said, although I had a nagging voice in my head telling me this might not be a good idea.

  Jonathan shot me a wide-eyed look as if to say, ‘This could be asking for trouble,’ but what could I do? I couldn’t refuse to let Lucy call home, though I could stall for time.

  ‘Why don’t you give your gran a call first? It might be that your dad is late home from work.’

  ‘But then I might be on the phone when he gets in.’

  It was a fair point but I managed to convince her it was best to give her dad more time and that she could call him straight after she’d finished speaking to her gran. Thankfully, she agreed. To my relief she had a fairly long chat with her gran, telling her all about the barbecue and what she was doing at school with the greenhouse work. As usual I tried to leave her to talk privately but Lucy insisted on making the call from the kitchen while I was unloading the dishwasher.

  I couldn’t help notice that when Lucy spoke about school she gave nothing but good news.

  ‘My teacher’s lovely. I like Miss Heather lots! She’s got lovely blonde hair. She never tells me off. She gives me all the best jobs too. She says I’m doing very well and I’m a very good girl, but I still want to go back to my old school.’

  Lucy ended the call by telling her gran, ‘I love you too.’

  She was beaming when she came off the phone.

  ‘I love my gran! She’s the best granny in the whole wide world. I’m phoning Daddy now.’

  ‘Shall we leave it just a bit longer, in case he’s still not back?’

  ‘No. I’ll just try him now.’

  I couldn’t stall her any more, and no sooner had Lucy dialled the number but her dad was on the line.

  ‘Are you OK? Have you had a busy day at work? Oh. I see. Where have you been then? I like it there. Can you take me there when I come home? Oh. OK bye. Love you!’

  The call lasted for about thirty seconds and Lucy looked crestfallen when she put the phone down.

  ‘Everything OK?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, trying to smile but not quite succeeding. ‘He didn’t go to work today. He must have got muddled up when he told me he was working. They went to the picnic fields, the ones by the stream, where you can go fishing for tiddlers. I love it there. Daddy promised he’d take me next time! Daddy said he couldn’t wait for me to go home. Daddy says he misses me. They all miss me. We’re going to go to the picnic fields the next time I go home.’

  I felt incredibly sad. It was so obvious Lucy wasn’t telling the whole truth, as she simply hadn’t been on the phone long enough for all of those things to have been said. Dean had clearly been in a huge rush to get off the phone and I didn’t know what was true and what wasn’t, but hurt and disappointment etched on Lucy’s face spoke volumes.

  ‘Ow!’ she said suddenly, and began rubbing her eyes.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I think I’ve got something in my eyes.’ She rubbed them again and I saw that they were bright red and glassy-looking.

  ‘Let me have a look, sweetheart.’

  Her face started to crumple and her lip wobbled.

  ‘No! Leave me alone.’

  She stomped up to her bedroom and I realised she had been trying not to cry. Moments later the phone rang again.

  ‘I think it would be better if Lucy didn’t call us, for the time being.’

  The words stung me, and I felt so glad that Lucy was out of earshot.

  ‘Why, Wendy?’

  ‘Because we are all getting over the recent upset, that’s why.’

  I wanted to remind Wendy that the ‘upset’ had been largely created by Gemma when she made up lies about Lucy, but my conversation with Jonathan, about us being diplomats in the middle, was fresh in my mind.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Good. We all need some time. We don’t need any aggro. Me and Dean think it’s best for everyone if we don’t have any contact with Lucy until the next placement meeting, when there are professionals there to sort all this out.’

  ‘Right. I’ll let the social workers know the situation.’

  Wendy didn’t like this and asked me why I had to be so fussy about reporting ‘every little spit and comma’ of what was going on to Social Services, especially as this placement meeting had now been booked and was only about ten days away.

  ‘It’s my job, and the fact you are cutting contact, even for a short time, is important information.’

  I knew the blunt way I said this would not please Wendy but I wanted her to know that I was not going to just accept her making up rules behind the backs of the social workers. I felt very protective towards Lucy and I had to stand up for her rights.

  We ended the call on a civil note, with Wendy reluctantly accepting what I said and saying as politely as she could muster, ‘We look forward to seeing you at the placement meeting, and thank you for understanding.’ I didn’t understand, but I let this go.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Jonathan asked when he walked in the kitchen, carrying the blackened barbecue grill and a large cooking fork.

  I filled him in and his jaw dropped open.

  ‘What on earth? This is so unfair. Have they forgotten that it was Gemma who caused the so-called “aggro”? How are they going to repair their relationship if they insist on demonising Lucy and cutting her off?’

  I shook my head. I had no words. Wendy was clearly a very controlling woman by nature, but why did she have to be so unkind with it? And why did Dean let her call all the shots when his relationship with his own daughter was at stake?

  14

  ‘My throat hurts. Thanks a lot!’

  Lucy wet the bed again that night but didn’t tell me. When I stripped the sheets off, a small, curved knife fell to the floor, making me jump in surprise as it hit my ankle. I’d never seen the knife before and I wondered where it had come from and, more importantly, what Lucy was doing with it in her bed.

  Jonathan was in the shop and as soon as I’d put the washing machine on I went in to see him.

  ‘Do you recognise this?’

  ‘No. Never seen it in my life before. It looks expensive, doesn’t it?’

  On inspection the steel handle had an intricate design on it, and
when I looked closer I realised the pattern was made up of tiny horseshoes.

  ‘Diane,’ I said. ‘It must have come from Diane’s place. Look – it must be used on the horses.’

  Jonathan nodded and suggested it might be a special kind of knife used to clean out horseshoes, because of the shape. I thought he was probably right, though I knew next to nothing about looking after horses. We both agreed we’d sit Lucy down after school and ask her to tell us all about it. She’d gone to school in a bad mood with a very grumpy expression on her face and I wasn’t looking forward to the conversation, but we had to get to the bottom of this: it was a knife, after all, and she’d had it in her bed. Like all foster carers Diane was trained to be very vigilant about keeping sharp or dangerous objects out of reach of children and I was certain she wouldn’t have given permission for Lucy to bring the knife home. My suspicion was that Lucy had helped herself to it, but we’d have to see what she said and, as ever, be very careful not to make any accusations based on opinion not fact.

  I had another call from the school that day. Lucy was being kept behind for kicking a younger boy in the shins. I was asked to collect her ten minutes later than usual, and to call into the classroom to have another word with Miss Heather.

  ‘You don’t need to be Einstein to work out the pattern,’ Jonathan commented.

  ‘I know. The worse things are with her family, the worse Lucy’s behaviour is.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘FT=LP squared.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘You know. E=mc2. The theory of relativity. Except in Lucy’s case it’s Family Trouble equals Lucy’s Problems squared.’

  ‘OK, Einstein,’ I laughed. ‘But I’m not sure “squared” has it covered. More like multiplied by a hundred, I’m afraid.’

  We often have silly conversations like that as a way of diffusing our angst about a situation, but there was nothing remotely amusing about Lucy’s predicament. We both knew that she was only going to be truly happy when she was finally accepted back into her family’s life, and loved and nurtured unconditionally.