by Angela Hart
‘I wasn’t aware she hadn’t been doing homework on time or bringing in the right books and equipment,’ I said, explaining that I always checked with Grace what she had to do.
‘That fits,’ Mrs Lacey said. ‘I believe her when she says she forgot, or that she thought it was due in the next day. She is a very willing pupil and I don’t think she’s avoiding homework on purpose. I can see that she gets frustrated when she forgets things.’
‘All of this sounds very familiar,’ I said. I told Mrs Lacey Jonathan and I had discussed whether Grace should be assessed by an expert but she said we should hold fire and see how she responded to some extra help and support first. This seemed wise; it was not yet half term and Grace was still finding her feet.
I asked Mrs Lacey what more we could do at home to support Grace. Like all her fellow Year 6 pupils, Grace had a basic school planner that she was expected to fill in herself, noting down what work needed to be done and when. There was space for notes about important dates, when she needed to bring in her PE kit and so on. I regularly checked the planner but Grace had been writing things down on the wrong day, or forgetting to note them down at all. I discovered she had been given several slips and letters for me, including one about a school trip, but had failed to pass them on.
Mrs Lacey agreed to give Grace extra reminders and to provide me with a copy of her timetable, the basic homework timetable (even though this often changed according to what had been done in class) and the school events diary so I could help keep Grace on track. We both recognised that it would be wrong to intervene any more. The whole point of keeping a planner in Year 6 was to help prepare the child for secondary school and, ultimately, we needed to help Grace to help herself.
‘How’s she getting on with the other children?’ I asked.
‘Fantastically,’ Mrs Lacey said. ‘She’s very popular. She seems to have formed a lot of friends already, and she has a smile for everybody, adults included.’
I’d witnessed how Grace not only interacted well with the other kids but said hello to mums in the playground who worked as dinner ladies and classroom assistants too. She was also the kid who always had a bit of banter with the lollipop lady up the road.
‘Here she comes! How are you today young lady?’ Beryl would grin.
‘Good, thank you Beryl! How are you?’
‘All the better for seeing you!’
Though I’d seen it for myself, it was great to hear from Mrs Lacey that Grace was such a sociable child. I thanked the teacher for her time and left the classroom feeling positive and well supported by the school.
Unfortunately, there was one fly in the ointment, on the social side of things. Jill now avoided me on the school run and, if we did happen to cross paths, she swooped in with some excuse or other, chivvying Briony along. It pained me on Grace’s behalf to see this, but luckily she didn’t seem to notice this was happening. There was so much going in those early weeks of school that I don’t think she gave it a second thought. She was living in the moment, and she always seemed to find someone else to chat to on the walk to school.
For my part, I had never been ‘in’ with any school cliques. This was inevitable, I suppose, given that I looked after children who went to various different schools and often came and went within a school year, or after a very short time. I was friendly enough and was always polite to other parents in the playground, and I had a couple of foster carer friends who I knew from support groups and got on well with, but on the whole I didn’t loiter for longer than I needed to at the school gate. I liked it this way. In the circumstances, losing Jill as an acquaintance was no great loss to me. Grace was the priority, and as long as she and Briony were allowed to continue their friendship at school and disco dancing without any interference from Jill, as presumably they would be able to, then that would have to do.
Happily, despite being in separate forms, I gathered that the girls did often play together on their breaks and they had a few friends in common. I gave Jill credit for this; even though the fact Grace was a foster child had clearly bothered her, at least she hadn’t poisoned her daughter’s mind against Grace.
‘When’s Briony coming for tea?’ Grace asked one morning. ‘We’ve been waiting ages!’ The girls were still partners in the disco dance club, which I was pleased about, but even so I didn’t imagine Jill was going to let her daughter come to our house, and I assumed she wouldn’t be inviting Grace to theirs any time soon.
‘I’m not sure, sweetheart. I’ll talk to Jill.’
I said this before I’d thought about it, but what was the alternative? I couldn’t ask Grace to talk to Briony herself; that wasn’t fair. And I couldn’t tell Grace it wasn’t happening now, because I was still willing to have Briony over, if Jill was. Maybe she’d be OK now she’d got over the initial shock?
I took the bull by the horns when I saw Jill in the school car park after the dance club one evening. Grace was already strapped into the back seat of my car, and I asked her to give me a minute as I walked over to Jill’s car, just a few metres away. I hadn’t spoken to her since the conversation about Grace being in care.
‘Jill,’ I said, ‘can I have a word?’
She was leaning into the boot and didn’t turn around, even though I was sure she’d heard me. I’d seen her put Briony’s bag in and it looked to me like she was now making a meal of rearranging the contents of the boot. I walked up behind her.
‘Jill?’
She turned around and jumped in an overly dramatic way.
‘Oh! Sorry, I didn’t hear you!’ she said, blushing and looking nervous. I didn’t believe her for one moment.
‘It’s OK. You did have your head in the boot! Listen, Grace has asked me if it’s still OK for Briony to come to tea.’
‘Has she?’
‘Yes.’
‘Er, I’m not sure. We’re very busy. We’ve got my in-laws staying and there’s a lot going on. Can I get back to you?’
‘Of course.’
I walked away with a heavy heart. I was so disappointed and upset with Jill. Not only was she prejudiced against a young girl who was in care, but she didn’t have the guts to face me, or the truth.
I knew exactly how this was going to play out. Poor Grace would keep asking and I’d have to say I was waiting for Jill. We’d just have to sit this one out and see what happened.
For the harvest festival, Grace was joining a select group of children from the choir to visit the old folks’ homes in the area, delivering hampers and singing two songs celebrating the harvest. That morning she tied her hair up in two high bunches that looked like pom-poms on top of her head and fixed each one with a pretty sunflower hair bobble. She looked fantastic.
‘Grace!’ I said. ‘The old folk are going to be thrilled to bits to see you and hear you sing.’
‘Do you think so? Do you, Angela?’
‘Of course. You look so full of life. Just perfect!’
This was true. Since she moved in with us, Grace had gained some weight and was now a very healthy size. Her hair was shinier than ever, her skin was glowing and she appeared more self-confident.
‘Thanks. You know what, when I lived with my dad I didn’t have enough to eat. I’m so happy to give food to the poor! Harvest festival is cool.’
Grace was looking in the mirror in the hall when she said this.
‘You didn’t?’
‘No. I wish someone would take hampers to children who don’t have enough to eat. Why is it just for the old folk? I would do that, I would. I’d sing to them too, so they weren’t frightened.’
‘That’s lovely, Grace. You’re a very kind girl.’
Her face suddenly contorted into a frown.
‘When am I going home?’
‘For a visit?’
‘Yes. Duh! I know I’m not moving home until I’ve finished primary school.’
I gently reminded her that this was not something that had been decided, and the chances were she would be stayi
ng with us for longer, which we hoped she would. Even though Colette had made remarks to Grace about her going home when she went to secondary school, that was not the plan, and I didn’t believe it was what Colette really wanted in any case, not while Grace was still so young. Social Services wanted and expected her to stay on with us, and Jonathan and I were totally on board with this. Grace was making such good progress, and everybody wanted this to continue.
‘We love having you here, Grace. I hope you’ll stay. Anyhow, shall we call your mum tonight and see if we can fix up your next visit?’
‘Yes, yes, yes!’
Colette had not been exactly forthcoming with dates for Grace’s next home visit and it was time to put this right. They had spoken two or three times on the phone, but the conversations were generally short and Grace was uncharacteristically quiet during the calls, and afterwards.
‘How was that?’ I’d ask.
‘Great!’ she’d say enthusiastically, but I was never sure this was her genuine reaction.
We decided that Grace would call her mum after dinner that night, and she could tell her all about the harvest festival.
Grace was full of beans as she burst out of the playground following her afternoon at the old folks’ home. She couldn’t wait to tell me all about her day. The local paper had been along and taken photos of the residents with their hampers. One old lady was also called Grace, she told me.
‘They loved the harvest song. I want to do it all over again!’
Just as we were about to leave the school grounds, one of the part-time teaching assistants from Grace’s class came rushing over to me.
‘Mrs Hart, glad I’ve caught you! I’ve been trying to catch you all week.’
Mrs Blythe was a middle-aged woman who had worked at the school for many years. She was quite matronly and old-fashioned and I knew she had a reputation for sometimes talking out of turn. This stemmed from the fact that one time she’d discussed a statemented child’s reading levels with another parent and was reported to the head. To be honest, it had sounded to me like the whole thing had been blown out of all proportion. I didn’t know Mrs Blythe well, but in my experience she was always well-meaning and caring.
‘Oh, hello. I’ve just been hearing all about the harvest festival. It sounds like it was a big success.’
‘Yes, yes. It really was. Now then, I just need to ask you something about the school trip.’
After various shenanigans with Grace forgetting to bring home letters and permission slips, and then Social Services having to get involved to give the green light for her to go away with the school, everything was finally booked. Year 6 was going camping in their last term. This was a long way off, but Social Services agreed that we should go ahead and book it in the hope and expectation that Grace would still be with us. Colette had not raised any objections and Grace was now really looking forward to her first camping holiday. We had a payment booklet and had made the first instalment, and Grace kept this in a safe place on her dressing table.
‘No problem, what is it?’ I asked Mrs Blythe.
‘Can I ask you to fill in this form?’
She thrust a piece of paper at me and explained she needed health details from all the pupils, and that Grace had failed to bring hers back by the deadline.
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll do it as quickly as possible. Grace, do you remember having one of these?’
‘What? No, what is it?’
‘A health form for the school trip.’
‘Oh, no.’
Grace’s attention had waned. She had a habit of dashing out of school full of energy, but her ability to focus or concentrate rapidly drained and she would hit the wall, becoming suddenly tired and uncommunicative. Once we got home and she’d recharged her batteries with a drink and a snack her energy levels would typically soar again, and she’d be off pogo-ing or running around the garden or the playing field.
‘Sorry, Mrs Blythe. I’ll have a look at it tonight, will that be OK?’
‘Yes, thank you, Mrs Hart. I need it by tomorrow. I imagine she might be one of the ones we need to keep an eye on.’ Mrs Blythe said this in a patronising voice and alarm bells started ringing in my head. I was grateful that Grace had wandered off to kick a stray ball at the wall.
‘Why do you say that, Mrs Blythe?’
‘Grace is in care, isn’t she? I imagine there are a few things we need to know about.’ Mrs Blythe gave me a sanctimonious look. ‘Night terrors? Nits and worms, that sort of thing? We’ll need every child to be free of nasties. Does she wet the bed?’
‘No!’ I cut in sharply, desperate to silence Mrs Blythe in front of other kids and parents who were milling around. Anyone could be listening. This was such an inappropriate place to have this conversation, and so uncalled for. I was outraged and could feel my blood rising. I was still trying to come to terms with the way Jill had behaved once she discovered Grace was in care. But surely Mrs Blythe knew better, after all her years in this job?
‘I don’t believe there are things you need to know about,’ I said forcefully. ‘Grace is in excellent health.’ I folded the form up and put it in my bag. ‘But like I said, I’ll fill it in tonight. Thank you. Goodbye.’
Grace hadn’t heard a thing, thank goodness. I was going to report this to the head by phone first thing the next day. I didn’t want Mrs Blythe to make the same crass error of judgement with any other foster child, or to treat any child differently because they were in care.
After dinner that evening, Grace phoned home. Jonathan was passing through the hallway when she was speaking to her mum and he heard her talking excitedly about the choir and the harvest festival.
‘When can I come home?’
There was a pause and Grace called out to Jonathan, who was just about to walk into the kitchen.
‘Is Angela there? My mum wants to talk to her.’
‘Sorry Grace, she’s nipped upstairs. Shall I talk to your mum?’
‘OK!’
Colette seemed taken aback that Jonathan, rather than me, was the one making the arrangements for the weekend visit. She said she’d call back when I was around but he insisted he could deal with it.
‘I couldn’t rely on my fella to make any arrangements!’ she hooted. ‘Not unless he was fixing up a night with the boys down the local!’
They agreed on a date and then Jonathan tried to make some small talk, as he thought Colette might like to hear a bit more about how Grace was getting on.
‘Grace loved the harvest festival,’ he said. ‘And she’s got such a lovely singing voice.’
‘Is she behaving though?’
‘Yes. She’s doing really well.’
‘Well, miracles do happen! Let’s see how long that lasts. My neighbour fosters kids. Honeymoon period and all that? I hope it lasts, and I take my hat off to you.’
‘We are enjoying having Grace living with us.’
‘Yeah? Well that’s good to hear. Look, I’ve gotta go now, sorry.’
‘Shall I put Grace on to say goodbye?’
‘No, no need. There’s my doorbell. Lee? Cameron? Can you get that? Bleedin’ hell! Sorry, I’ll pick her up on the Saturday morning, ten for half ten. See you in a couple of weeks.’
The line went dead.
‘Is Mum still there?’ Grace asked.
Jonathan had to tell her that her mum had had to dash as there was somebody at the door.
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Didn’t she say?’
‘No, she didn’t know.’
Graced sighed and ran upstairs.
‘That just about sums it up,’ Jonathan commented later. ‘Poor Grace. Rarely gets to speak to her mum, and when she does, what does Colette do? Rushes off the phone.’
‘It’s such a shame,’ I said. ‘But I’ve been thinking. Grace has come on leaps and bounds since she’s been here. Hopefully Colette will be pleasantly surprised when she sees her again. Things may start to improve between th
em, at long last.’
16
‘It’s not my fault!’
Grace was subdued when she returned from her weekend visit home, and very tired too. She told us she didn’t go to bed until two in the morning and her mum and stepdad had gone out and left her stepbrothers in charge. Grace didn’t want to talk about what the family did all weekend, and it took several weeks before she mentioned the visit again.
‘Lily thinks she’s my mum,’ she said out of the blue one day. ‘She bosses me about and tells me what to wear. She treats me like a baby.’
Grace went on to say that Lily had not only told her what to wear but she’d forced her to change into certain outfits. ‘And, she put on a stupid voice, like she was pretending to be Mum.’
Grace put a hand on her hip, stuck out her chest and wagged her finger as she demonstrated how Lily behaved.
‘Grace, you’re a wind-up merchant! Grace, do you hear me? Grace, put this dress on, now! Or I’ll get Lee to beat you up!’
It made me feel very uncomfortable to hear all this. I know a lot of big sisters like to mother their younger siblings, but it sounded like Lily was using her power over Grace to bully and belittle her. On top of that, she was using Lee as a threat to Grace, when she was clearly already very wary of him.
‘You know why we can’t have you living with us, don’t you, little Gracie? Look at Mummy while I’m talking to you. It’s because you’re a naughty girl. Now do as I say, bad girl! Put this on! Put that on!’
In addition, Grace said that Lee had stolen her entire weekend bag almost as soon as she’d arrived. She had to hunt all over the house for it until she finally found it in his bedroom, thrown in the bottom of a cupboard.
‘I used to think he was weird for taking my clothes. I mean, what does he want with them? Now I know he’s just a bastard! He’s just a wind-up. He doesn’t even want them – he just wants to take them! I hate him!’
I thought about this long and hard as I wrote my notes for Social Services, and I discussed it with Jonathan at length. From what Grace said, it seemed Lee hadn’t actually helped himself to any clothes this time; he’d just hidden the whole bag. I was questioning his motivation, while Grace thought she had all the answers.