The Girl with the Suitcase

by Angela Hart

  ‘Have you been in here before? Angela? Angela? Do you need the toilet too? What’s that thing over there?’

  ‘It’s a display stand, for a promotion, I think. No, sweetheart, I don’t need the toilet.’

  To be honest, I could have done with going, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Grace appeared so distracted and agitated I didn’t trust her not to go scampering off while I was in the cubicle. There was no way I was taking my eyes off her for a second.

  ‘I’ll wait here,’ I said when it was finally her turn.

  She looked more relaxed after going to the toilet.

  ‘Better now?’

  ‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘Do we have to go back to the shoe shop?’

  ‘Yes,’ I smiled back. Grace’s face fell and she started to sulk and whine.

  Of course we had to take another ticket out of the machine in the shoe shop and wait our turn again, which made her huff and puff dramatically. This time we were seventh in the queue.

  ‘Can we just go? Angela, can we come back another day? Can’t I wear my old shoes? Angela? Is there another shop? This is so boring. This isn’t fair. Why do we have to wait? Why, Angela? Why? School is ages away. I’ve got loads of shoes.’

  I gave up attempting to give her an explanation for each question; she didn’t really want answers. She was just letting me know how fed up she was, and sharing her frustration.

  ‘Grace, we’re not leaving this shop again until you have a pair of school shoes.’

  I was feeling extremely agitated. The shop was even more jam-packed than before and I was starting to worry they’d have nothing left in stock for Grace.

  Count to ten, Angela, I thought. One, two, three, four . . .

  ‘Number 72 please!’

  Finally! Thank God for that.

  I explained that we’d already been measured and just needed to see which styles were in stock in Grace’s size. It was a different assistant, and the young man insisted on measuring Grace’s feet all over again, as that was what he’d been told he must do on his shoe fitter training course.

  Count to ten, Angela! One, two, three, four . . .

  ‘Ow! That’s pinching me. See, I told you already I wasn’t that size. Where’s it gone?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That ball?’

  ‘Grace, let’s just focus on your feet, OK?’

  The young man did an admirable job of keeping his cool with his tricky little customer. I was even more impressed when he emerged from the stockroom with a choice of three different shoes in Grace’s size. None were the ones she’d picked out, but she didn’t seem to notice, or care. She happily tried them all on and did a lap of honour in her favourite pair. The shop assistant was pleased with the fit and Grace said they felt comfortable.

  ‘What d’you think, Angela? What do you think? Do you like them, do you?’

  She’d chosen the least sturdy of all the shoes but I told her they looked great, and that I liked them. I wasn’t going to rock the boat at this stage. They may not last long, but at least she had a new pair of school shoes.

  ‘Really? Do you really think so? I’m not sure.’ She was now standing in front of the mirror, examining her feet from every angle. ‘No. Look at this bit.’ She pointed to a tiny detail on the back of the shoe.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s funny. Weird. No, I don’t like them. What about these?’

  She had picked up a shoe from a completely different range that wouldn’t do for school; it wasn’t even in one of the regulation colours. The assistant politely asked if she wanted to reconsider any of the other styles he’d brought from the stockroom, but she just talked over him.

  ‘What are we doing after this? Angela, what’s happening after—’

  ‘Grace,’ I said, slightly too sharply. I hated to admit this to myself, but she was really winding me up. When I thought about those words – winding me up – they gave me a start. This is what Grace had been accused of so many times, and I told myself I could not be yet another person in her life who viewed her as a so-called ‘wind-up merchant’. At that moment I wanted to be anywhere but in that shoe shop with Grace, but I gave myself a little talking-to and tried to be patient and kind.

  ‘Listen, Grace,’ I said, more softly this time. ‘I’m as fed up as you. This has been much more long-winded than I hoped. I know it’s boring, but this is the only shop that does school shoes in this town. Please pick a pair.’

  ‘OK, I’ll have . . .’ She looked like she was mentally saying ‘dip, dip dip’ as she made up her mind. ‘Those!’ She chose ones with a buckle, which were quite pretty and not bad in terms of durability.

  The dutiful shop assistant insisted Grace had to try both shoes on all over again, so she could take a walk around the shop floor and he could check the fit.

  ‘Can you walk to the water cooler and back for me?’

  Grace didn’t walk, she ran, knocking into people as she did so. At the water cooler she dithered, didn’t look back and started helping herself to a cup of water. I got to my feet; I was really getting annoyed now. I saw her give a sneaky glance in my direction before she filled her cup to the rim and took a long glug of water. Slowly, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand and then skipped back to the fitting area.

  ‘I’m not sure they fit. I can feel my heels lifting.’ The assistant checked the fit very carefully and assured us it was perfect, as there was the correct amount of room for growth. Grace looked slightly disappointed at this news. I couldn’t work her out. One minute she was desperate to leave, the next she seemed to be spinning this out on purpose.

  ‘Mmm,’ she muttered finally. ‘I suppose they’re OK.’

  ‘We’ll take them,’ I said. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘There’s a shoe protector cream that’s recommended for this shoe. Would you like me to get one for you?’

  ‘No, thank you!’ I snorted. My nerves were so frayed I could have screamed.

  ‘Do I have to wear them?’ Grace asked, just as I was presenting my bank card to the cashier.

  ‘Are you joking?’ I thought she was asking if she would have to wear them for school.

  ‘What do you mean, Angela? What’s the joke? No, I’m not messing. Let me carry the bag! Can I put them on again now, and put my trainers in the bag? Can I, Angela? Can I?’

  I had absolutely no idea how her mind worked. All I knew was that mine was blown at this point!

  ‘How was the shopping trip?’ Jonathan asked later.

  I didn’t know where to start.

  ‘I don’t think Grace realises how frustrating she can be,’ I stuttered. ‘I’m sure it’s not deliberate, but then again . . .’

  I really was stumped. Grace had so many good qualities, but she could be incredibly irritating. I didn’t fully understand why she behaved the way she did, but I was determined to get to know her better, and to keep my cool along the way.

  12

  ‘Reach for the stars, Grace!’

  ‘We’re going on a bike ride,’ I explained to Grace. ‘There’s a country park not far away, and I’m going to pack a picnic.’

  Her face lit up. ‘Who’s coming?’

  I said it would just be the three of us, as the other girls who were living with us were out for the day. Grace had tried hard to be friends with the girls and I’d encouraged both of them to remember what it was like when they were settling in with us, and everything was still strange and new. However, despite them all being of a similar age, the two other girls hadn’t really warmed to Grace. She would forget things they told her that were important to them, such as the name of their favourite band or which clubs they belonged to, and it seemed that whenever Grace struck up a conversation she managed to make some sort of blunder and annoy them. Given that the other girls could be moody and unpredictable themselves, even without any provocation, it didn’t take much for Grace to rub them up the wrong way.

  As I’ve said before, children who have suffered trauma in their ch
ildhood, and possibly from birth, have so much to cope with, because their neglected and traumatised brains don’t always work in the way they should. Inevitably, there were things we would never know about what happened to Grace – and the other girls – before they moved in with us, but I knew enough to be aware I must make allowances for their behaviour. In each case, their family lives had fallen apart in one way or another, and they had all been deeply affected by this. All three needed extra help to cope with the aftermath of their disrupted childhood, and I had to remind myself of this all the time.

  I never blamed any of the girls for being tetchy or difficult, but I tried to encourage all three of them to be generally nicer to one other. Routinely, I’d remind them to be kind and respectful and to treat others the way they would like to be treated. Unfortunately, despite me having numerous conversations with them along these lines, the other two girls seemed to struggle when it came to Grace. It was upsetting to witness, because from what I could see Grace didn’t create trouble intentionally. More often, the opposite was true: problems seemed to escalate when she was actually trying very hard to please the girls.

  ‘What are you doing? That looks good. Can I play? What about this? I can do that! I can show you. Look, this is how it goes . . .’ Grace often bombarded them with chatter. She was full of energy and curiosity, and she would touch their belongings or poke her nose into their things without thinking or asking permission.

  I’d recognised that she wasn’t sharp at picking up signals, and she would continue even when it was obvious to anyone watching that her attention was unwelcome. For instance, if one of the girls moved themselves away because Grace was invading her personal space, she would take a step closer in. Inevitably, they lost their temper with her at times.

  ‘She’s doing my head in!’ was the phrase they each used a lot. ‘She’s always in my face!’ was another complaint I heard often. It was such a shame, as all Grace was trying to do was make friends and fit in.

  Anyhow, whenever we had the chance to take Grace out on a day trip when the two girls were otherwise engaged, we took it. It’s always good to try to give each child some one-to-one attention, and Jonathan and I were looking forward to our day out at the country park.

  ‘What time are we going? What shall I wear? Which bike am I riding? Shall I use the purple one again? Is it still in the garage? Shall I, Angela? Do I need a helmet?’

  I answered all her questions and told her that, yes, she could use the same bike she’d ridden last time, as luckily it was the perfect size for her. She excitedly helped me make the picnic.

  ‘Am I allowed tuna in my sandwiches? I like tuna. What about those crisps, are we allowed crisps? Will we get ice cream? Is there a cafe or not? A van, an ice-cream van? Dogs. Are dogs allowed in the park? I hope we see some. I like dogs. Do I have to carry my own packed lunch?’

  The questions went on and on. Though it was quite exhausting to be with Grace when she was in this mood, I loved her enthusiasm. It was far preferable to having a dispassionate, lethargic child who needed cajoling out of their bedroom. We’d known plenty like that, and lots of kids had pulled a face about being treated to trips to theme parks, beaches and caravan sites that we thought they would have relished. It was very disheartening when a child wasn’t excited by anything; I always found it far harder to cope with than an eager and animated child like Grace. She may have been a handful, but at least she was childlike, as a ten-year-old should be. I found her exuberant moods pleasantly infectious and I couldn’t wait to get going.

  Jonathan drove us to the park. I can remember that we both remarked on the fact the windows steamed up in the car as soon as Grace got in. She’d been buzzing around so much getting herself ready, and she must have run up and down the stairs half a dozen times, fetching her hoodie, going back to do her teeth after forgetting the first time, hunting for a sun hat she wanted to wear, and so on. She still hadn’t unpacked properly, which didn’t help. She never seemed to know where anything was and often got agitated as she grappled with the zip of her large suitcase, trying to cram everything back in. All my suggestions about unpacking continued to fall on deaf ears; again and again she said she’d do it, but never did.

  It was already a very warm day, and as Grace strapped herself in the car it felt like an extra radiator had been switched on in the back seat.

  ‘Drink?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes please.’

  I avoided handing out drinks in the car as a rule, to avoid spillages, but with Grace being as active and energetic as she was, she was always in need of a drink. I gave her a small plastic bottle of water and she drank the lot.

  ‘Is there another one? Is there enough for the picnic? What time are we having the picnic? Angela? Are you wearing a bike helmet? How far will we go? Are you good at riding a bike? Jonathan, are you? Have you got your helmet? Are we there yet?’

  ‘No we are not there yet! We’ve got plenty of drinks and we’ll eat around one o’clock. Yes, I always wear a helmet, so does Jonathan, and we’ve been riding our bikes for years. We love cycling in the country park. We’re not fast riders or anything like that. We just like to be out in the fresh air, for fun. How about you?’

  ‘I like it,’ she said vacantly. Though Grace had a habit of firing out lots of questions, she seemed to switch off when she got a string of answers back. She definitely paid more attention when you tackled one thing at a time, and I needed to be more sensitive to this. I resolved to take extra care not just when asking her questions, but also when answering them.

  As soon as we got to the park Grace spotted a boisterous group of boys playing near a large fir tree. It had lots of strong, horizontal branches, and some of the boys began to climb on the branches closest to the ground. A couple of them sat on the widest branch, swinging their legs and rocking the tree for a joke, as if they were trying to shake their friends off. It looked like harmless fun, as they were only a few feet off the ground and the tree looked rock solid.

  ‘Can I go on that tree?’ Grace asked. ‘Can I? I love trees.’

  ‘I don’t see why not. But let’s have our bike ride first, and we’ll come back. Hopefully the boys will have moved on by then. I’m sure Jonathan will have a go too.’

  ‘Try stopping me!’ Jonathan said.

  Grace seemed satisfied with this, and we got the bikes off the rack on the back of the car and all put our helmets on. Jonathan and I had panniers on our bikes, into which we packed the picnic.

  ‘Can I have a piece of cake?’

  ‘Not yet, Grace. Let’s save it for later.’

  ‘Why? I’m hungry.’ She pouted. ‘I hate this helmet!’

  Grace looked all hot and bothered. She unclipped the helmet and threw it on the ground. ‘It’s too small, I’m not wearing it!’

  The helmet was the perfect size; it was just that Grace’s hair was so thick. I realised it must have been quite uncomfortable having all those curls crammed under the helmet in this weather.

  ‘Let’s tie your hair back. That’s the problem.’

  ‘Haven’t got a bobble. Why didn’t you think of this before, Angela? You should have thought about that – you know my hair needs a bobble. Why didn’t you pack one, you know I forget things! Can you hear me?’

  I sighed and took a moment before answering her. This mustn’t descend into an argument.

  ‘Grace, sweetheart. I’m here to help you. Please don’t speak to me like that. And please don’t throw the helmet on the ground.’

  ‘But it’s rubbish! I’m not wearing it!’

  ‘OK,’ Jonathan said. ‘I’ll put the bikes back on the rack. What a shame.’

  He wheeled his bike back to the car and started to lift it onto the rack.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Grace looked startled, and very annoyed.

  ‘Packing up. If you don’t wear your helmet, we can’t have a bike ride. That’s why we came here. No point in staying if we can’t ride our bikes.’

  ‘What? But, what about the
picnic?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ I said. ‘I’ll put it back in the cool box and we can eat it at home.’

  ‘No! I want to ride my bike! I want to stay here!’

  ‘Do you? That’s good. So do I. Jonathan, I think you can take your bike off the rack. Grace wants to stay.’

  ‘Really? That’s great. Put your helmet on then Grace and we can get going.’

  I helped her pull her hair into a little knot at the nape of her neck before putting the helmet back on. She didn’t say a word and we set off, heading along a pretty path lined with trees. The sun was blinking through the treetops and I inhaled deeply. It was a glorious day. Butterflies were fluttering around and I was enjoying listening to birdsong as I glided across the dappled patches of sunshine on the pathway.

  Jonathan was riding alongside Grace and, before long, I heard them chatting about the birds and butterflies. A little later, Grace started singing to herself as she cycled alongside me. She had such a beautiful voice and I complimented her on it, as I had done several times before.

  ‘I wish I could be a pop star,’ she said.

  ‘Maybe you will be.’

  ‘Right, yeah.’

  ‘I bet you when the Spice Girls were your age they wouldn’t have believed they would become such big pop stars, but look at them.’ I paused before adding, ‘If you want something, you should aim for it and try your best. Don’t be put off before you begin, and don’t let anyone else put you off either.’ We turned a corner and I shouted out, ‘Reach for the stars, Grace!’

  She went very quiet. I realised, too late, that I’d probably bombarded her with too much information again. We waited for Jonathan to catch us up, as he’d stopped to adjust his panniers. I recapped slowly, so Grace could digest what I’d said, but she didn’t reply. I glanced at her. She had narrowed her eyes and appeared to have gritted her teeth. She looked to be simmering about something, but I wasn’t sure exactly what. Was it simply that I’d said too much, all in one go, and it had agitated her, or had I hit a nerve, touching on something that bothered her?