by Angela Hart
‘Will it be OK if I see my friends while I’m staying here? I’ve stayed with some other foster families around here, you see. I’ve got quite a few friends in the neighbourhood.’ We knew about her stay with Lynne, of course, but we knew nothing about her previous foster home or homes. All we knew was that she’d been with Lynne for about a month, and in foster care for approximately a year in total.
I told Melissa I knew Lynne, though I kept quiet about the fact we attended support meetings with her and had been privy to what had gone on during Melissa’s placement. It was unusual to know so much about another carer’s foster child. Lynne had done nothing wrong – everything that was said at the support meetings was in the strictest confidence and stayed within the group – but I didn’t want Melissa to feel her privacy had been invaded in any way.
Melissa explained where her home town was, which was more than an hour away by car. I wondered if she’d been moved out of her own area for a specific reason, or simply because there was a shortage of foster carers, and particularly specialist carers, where she came from, given that Social Services generally try to keep children in their local area if possible.
Earlier on I’d seen Wilf and briefly met Melissa’s social worker, Doreen. They did a routine handover shortly after Melissa arrived. We filled in all the usual paperwork, but neither social worker gave me any further information on Melissa’s history. I got the impression they were both mightily relieved to have moved Melissa in with us, and who could blame them? Signing off the placement as swiftly as possible was uppermost in their minds.
The one thing Wilf did make time for was to discuss the fact that, despite Melissa’s history of running off, we could not keep her in the house against her will. All we could do was talk to her about sticking to our rules, ask her to be respectful, try to get her on our side and hope for the best. If she was late coming back and we became worried about her whereabouts, we were to report her missing to Social Services. If it was daytime we were advised to wait two hours before calling the office. If it was after 5 p.m. we had to call the out-of-hours team – at night, when it was dark, we were only to wait an hour before phoning in if we became worried, and the emergency social worker would log it and most likely advise us to call the police straight away.
Doreen told us Melissa had a support worker called Elaine who would be in touch. I was given her number and told to expect a call. Her role was primarily to transport Melissa to and from her home town and family. She’d known Melissa throughout her time in care, and I said I was looking forward to speaking to her.
‘I’m so grateful to you and Jonathan – this is a huge weight off my shoulders,’ Wilf said, thanking me once again as I saw him out. When Melissa was out of earshot he whispered, ‘I wanted to do a cartwheel in the office when I heard you were happy to have her! Thank God she’s out of that unit. Totally unsuitable for her. Thank you again. Must dash but I’ll be in touch.’
Doreen rushed off too, talking about how busy she was and how ridiculously large her caseload was. ‘Good luck. I hope she behaves,’ were her parting words, spoken rather witheringly. I got the impression Doreen did not have a huge amount of confidence in Melissa’s ability to stay on the straight and narrow.
I asked Melissa whereabouts her friends lived in the neighbourhood and she told me one of them was the daughter of one of her former carers. When she told me their names – the mother was called Anne-Marie and the daughter was Imogen – I realised I knew who they were. The family had been coming in the shop for years and I’d spoken to Anne-Marie about fostering several times when we discovered we were both carers. Her daughter, it turned out, was exactly the same age as Melissa and they’d been in the same class at school for a while, the previous year.
I agreed that Melissa could go and visit Imogen, who lived within walking distance of our house.
‘Am I allowed to use your phone?’
‘Of course. Help yourself. There’s one just there, I’ll show you how it works.’
Moments later I heard Melissa excitedly talking to her friend. ‘Great, isn’t it? Yes, I’m literally round the corner. See you soon!’
Before Melissa went out I asked her to pose for an instant photo.
‘I hate having my picture taken. What d’you want one for?’
‘We always like to have a photo of every child who stays with us. I keep them all in an album, a bit like the one I brought to show you at the unit.’
‘I didn’t see any pictures of other kids.’
‘No, and I wouldn’t show your picture to other children either. It’s just for us.’
This was only partly true. In fact, Wilf had advised us to take a photo in case Melissa went missing and we needed to show it to the police.
She pulled a face but then agreed to smile for the camera. She had small dimples in her cheeks, I noticed, and as I pressed the button I told her she looked really great and it would make a lovely, happy picture.
‘It’ll be developed in a minute or two,’ I said.
‘Really? I’ve never seen one of those cameras before.’
The picture popped out and Melissa said she was surprised how good it was. ‘I quite like that,’ she said.
‘You should. You look really lovely.’
As she was leaving the house I asked Melissa to pass on a little note and my phone number to Anne-Marie and ask her to give me a call, having explained that I knew her and we hadn’t spoken in a while. In reality we rarely spoke and didn’t know each other well, but I thought it would be wise to keep the channels of communication open. Most of all I wanted to make sure Melissa was doing as she’d said, and actually going to visit Imogen.
‘No problem!’ she said breezily.
Melissa went out at 7.20 p.m. and I asked her to be home by 9 p.m. and no later. It was a very dark night so I asked if she wanted Jonathan and me to walk with her. Not surprisingly she baulked at that suggestion, albeit politely.
‘I’m not scared of the dark! It’s only five minutes away anyhow. I’ll be fine. See you later! I’ll be on time, I promise.’
The route she would take was well lit with streetlights and I told myself not to worry. Allowing a twelve-year-old out alone at this time of night in the winter was not something I liked to do, but from experience I knew Social Services would endorse this, and Wilf had made clear that they would not support me keeping her in against her will.
Jonathan and I had both had a word with Melissa about our house rules, explaining they were there for her benefit. We asked for politeness and punctuality and told her firmly but kindly that she could see her friends provided she stuck to the times we agreed and always let us know where she was, and who she was seeing. I told her that 9 p.m. would always be the latest she was allowed out alone and she seemed perfectly accepting of this.
‘Fair enough,’ she said. ‘Thanks!’
I wondered if we were being duped by her pleasant, amenable manner. We’d have been fools not to think that, despite her promise, which seemed genuine, she might come back late or even go missing. Nevertheless, we had to let her go and hope for the best.
Jonathan and I stood at the door together, watching Melissa walk away. She was whistling happily – I remembered how this whistling had grated on Lynne when she caught Melissa walking off into the night – and now there was a jaunty spring in her step. ‘You’ve got our number,’ I called after her. ‘Ring if there’s any problem. And don’t forget to give my note to Anne-Marie!’
‘OK! Bye! Have a good evening! Go in and shut the door, it’s freezing!’
Jonathan and I sat in the lounge, warming ourselves in front of the gas fire. ‘It’s hard to believe she’s the same girl Lynne described,’ Jonathan said.
‘I know. She seems absolutely lovely. Mind you, Lynne did say she was a nice girl . . .’ I paused and Jonathan and I both said at the same time, ‘when she wasn’t running away.’
I wrung my hands and questioned how we were going to cope if, and most likely when, she
got up to her old tricks.
‘We can’t think like that,’ Jonathan said. ‘We can only deal in the here and now. Our house is a home, not a detention centre. We can only do our best.’
4
‘My stepdad was a scumbag’
‘Angela? It’s Anne-Marie. I got your note.’
My heart was in my mouth and I realised how tense I was.
‘Thanks for calling. Is everything OK?’
There was a pause. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. The girls are together and they’ve gone to the corner shop. Melissa told me she’s only just arrived at yours and I guess you’d like to hear how she got on when she was staying with us?’
‘Yes, today’s the first day of her placement. She’s with us for five weeks, as far as we know. I’ve only just found out she lived with you before.’
Anne-Marie gave me a potted history of Melissa’s stay. It was the previous year, when she was eleven going on twelve, and she stayed for about six months.
‘Everything was fine until she got a boyfriend and wanted to be out with him all the time,’ Anne-Marie said. ‘She wasn’t running away, but she started coming back later and later and she also began smoking and drinking, or at least experimenting with both.’
‘I see.’
‘We never met the boyfriend,’ Anne-Marie went on. ‘He wouldn’t come to the house, she always went out to meet him. There was a gang of them who all hung around together, and I know some were a few years older. I wasn’t happy about this, but you know what it’s like. I couldn’t stop her seeing her friends, or boyfriend. All I could do was try to talk sense into her, which mostly I did. She was never missing long enough for me to call the police and thankfully she didn’t get Imogen involved, not for a long time, anyhow. Imogen was heavily into her dancing and was out every night rehearsing.’
Anne-Marie explained that the placement started to break down after Melissa was caught smuggling alcohol into her bedroom. She said she’d been given it by her boyfriend and then Imogen confessed she had had a drink of vodka with Melissa when they had walked to a youth club disco together one Friday night. Things quickly unravelled when Imogen started seeing a friend of Melissa’s boyfriend. ‘I said I wanted to meet Imogen’s new boyfriend or they couldn’t go out but the girls said it was “babyish” to do this. I grounded them both. Imogen accepted it but Melissa didn’t. She complained to her social worker and after that the placement broke down completely and she asked to be moved. She was a good kid, but very easily influenced by that gang of friends she had. I didn’t want her dragging Imogen into any more trouble and I agreed it was best for Melissa to move on.’
Anne-Marie said Melissa and Imogen had kept in touch on and off. She told me she wasn’t very happy about this but she trusted her daughter not to get involved with Melissa’s crowd of ‘undesirables’, as she called them. Anne-Marie reassured me she had given the girls the ‘witches’ warning’ to come straight home from the shop tonight.
‘Imogen’s got her head screwed on now. I know she won’t do anything daft. She has a lovely new boyfriend and she’s not interested in that gang, thank God. I hope Melissa isn’t still in with them. Oh, I can hear the girls coming in. I’ll get off the phone and I’ll make sure I send Melissa back on time. Good luck, Angela.’
The line went dead. I sensed that Anne-Marie felt a bit sorry for me for having been landed with Melissa, but she was older now – just like Imogen – and hopefully a bit wiser too.
Jonathan and I had looked after kids who’d dabbled with cigarettes and alcohol before, and having boyfriends, pushing the boundaries and finding out who your friends were, and who to trust, was all part of growing up, wasn’t it? I’ll just have to be extra vigilant, I thought. At least I was forewarned; I’d never had access to so much information from previous foster carers before, and it was extremely useful.
Melissa returned home on the dot of 9 p.m. She was in a chatty mood and accepted my offer of a cup of tea. Jonathan was watching something on TV and Melissa and I sat in the kitchen together.
‘Did you have a good time?’
‘Yeah. I like Imogen, but I know her mum isn’t keen on me.’
‘Anne-Marie isn’t keen on you?’
‘No, I guess she must have told you about that stuff with the drink? I didn’t want to get Imogen into trouble or anything. I didn’t think Anne-Marie would go mental like she did. It was only a sip of vodka, it’s not like we were drunk or anything.’
I gently made a point about the fact the girls were only twelve at the time of the incident. I didn’t want to come across as too judgemental in case I put Melissa off talking, so I stuck to the facts and reminded her that it was illegal for children to drink alcohol.
‘I know, but it’s no big deal, is it? I’ve been having a drink and smoking since I was a lot younger.’
She held my gaze and I could tell Melissa wanted to get something off her chest. I stood up to put the kettle on again, as I’ve often noticed that children find it easier to talk when you are pottering around and not looking them in the eye.
‘You’ve been having a drink and smoking since you were a lot younger?’
She nodded and let out a long, care-worn sigh.
‘My stepdad was a scumbag. When Mum was at work he had his mates around all the time. I’d get in from school to find men passed out drunk on the floor. There’d be fag ends and empty cans and bottles all over the place. The whole flat stank of booze and smoke. He told me and my stepsister we could have a drink and a fag if we didn’t tell Mum about his parties and helped him clear up.’
‘Melissa, I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been difficult for you.’ I kept my tone calm and was careful not to be drawn into passing comment on her stepfather. Even when children volunteer to talk frankly and make stinging criticisms of their family like this, it’s never a good idea to join in, or even assume their story is true. You have to just listen and show support in an impartial way, and try to create an environment in which they feel able to disclose whatever they want to.
‘Yeah, it wasn’t a good situation. He abused one of my little cousins and after that we found out he’d been in prison for being in some weird sex gang. My mum had a breakdown. She totally lost the plot. She lives in Australia with my nan now. He’s back in prison.’
‘I really am very sorry to hear this.’
‘It’s all right. It’s in the past now. He got a long sentence. It’s over. I hope he never gets out.’
Though it’s impossible to be sure, my gut instinct was that Melissa was telling the truth. She spoke calmly and quite dispassionately, whereas I’ve noticed that children who are inventing tales are more inclined to inject drama and outrage into their storytelling. That’s a generalisation, of course, but more often than not I’ve found it to be an accurate observation.
Before Melissa went to bed, she asked if she could use the phone to call her boyfriend. I was concerned this might be the same boy she used to see when she lived with Anne-Marie, or another member of that gang, and I was worried she might be plotting a night-time flit. I suggested it was a bit late.
‘I’ll only be a few minutes, please can I? I promised him I would ring today.’
‘I’d rather you left it until the morning.’
‘But I promised I’d call today and let him know I was OK. Please?’
She gave the sweetest smile and I reluctantly agreed she could make a brief call. It was the days before mobile phones, and she slipped out of the kitchen to make the call from the landline in the hallway. True to her word, she was only on the phone for a few minutes.
‘Everything OK?’
‘Yeah. He’s fed up in there so I think I cheered him up!’
‘In where?’
‘The unit.’
Without prompting, Melissa explained that she used to go out with this boy, Oz, several months earlier. It was a coincidence they’d ended up in the same children’s unit, where she’d been locked up. She said he’d done nothi
ng wrong and, like her, he would be out of there soon. Without pausing for breath she then went on to tell me she had another boyfriend in the unit, Degsy. This perplexed me as she’d only been in there for a few days. I didn’t hide how I felt and I frowned to show my concern and confusion.
‘It’s OK, he’s not really my boyfriend, but he sort of was in there. I like them both. Don’t look so worried – it’s nothing serious! I know how to handle myself. I’m off to bed now, night!’
She tripped up the stairs, whistling as she went, like she didn’t have a care in the world.
After Melissa had gone up the stairs I put everything she’d said into my notes for Social Services, which I’d pass on to Wilf. He would then hand over any relevant information to Melissa’s own social worker, Doreen, or I’d tell her myself if she phoned us first, or paid a visit. It was second nature to me by now to scribble out notes. Any information that may be important to Social Services in dealing with a child’s case has to be shared, and I always wrote important conversations down as soon as possible afterwards, so I could remember as much detail as possible. I still do that to this day.
Jonathan joined me in the kitchen and I brought him up to speed. ‘Poor girl,’ he said. ‘If all that’s true about her childhood it’s remarkable she’s such an upbeat character.’
We spoke in whispers, even though Melissa’s bedroom was on the top floor and we were on the ground level. This was instinctive, as we’d had instances where kids had appeared, as if by magic, at the door, having come down for a glass of water then started wandering around or, in some cases, because they were deliberately trying to eavesdrop. The layout of the house did generally work in our favour, however, with all the kids’ bedrooms out of earshot at the top.