by Angela Hart
I explained that we had two other children in the house and I’d need to get my mum over to sit with them if we were both to collect her, which was what we’d prefer to do. PC Jones said that was fine; they had nobody available to bring Melissa to us but they would certainly keep her safe until we arrived.
Melissa was in a stark room with two female officers who were busy doing paperwork under the glare of a large fluorescent strip light. They both looked tired and stressed, while Melissa was slumped in her seat, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled down over the top half of her face. She pushed it up and peeped at us from beneath the navy-blue shield. Her green eyes looked slightly bloodshot and she had mud splattered on her trainers and tracksuit bottoms.
The older of the two female officers thanked us for coming. Then, looking over the rim of her glasses at Melissa, she warned her, ‘Right young lady, you stay out of trouble. We don’t want to see you in here again. We’ve got quite enough to do already.’ She spoke to her in a forceful but reasonably friendly way; firm but fair, I thought.
Melissa peeped anxiously at Jonathan and me and thanked us for collecting her. Then she stood up and shuffled towards the door. She’d taken her hood down now and she stifled a yawn as she ran her fingers through her matted ponytail. I tried to engage her in conversation as the two of us stepped into the corridor. Meanwhile Jonathan hovered back: he wanted to ask the officers if there was anything they could tell us about Melissa’s disappearance, as we’d been given almost no information.
‘What have you been told?’ the younger officer asked.
‘Nothing, except that she was picked up by a patrolling officer in the town.’
‘OK. She was picked up at the taxi rank at the corner of the market square. Congregated with a gang of youths including two other MPs. The time was . . .’ she consulted some paperwork ‘. . . 06.28 and, yes, she was brought into the station by one of our patrolling officers.’
‘MPs?’
‘Missing persons. Both teenagers. Both also returned home this morning. A successful resolution all round. Thank you for coming to collect Melissa, and good luck with her. She’s not a bad kid.’
Both officers had resumed their paperwork before Jonathan had walked out of the door. He met Melissa and me in the corridor and we all walked to the car together. She muttered that she was sorry and then blamed one of her friends for the fact she’d gone missing after the junior disco.
Here we go again, I thought. This is sounding like last time, when she said she only stayed in that flat overnight because her friend didn’t want to stay there on her own.
‘One of the girls is going out with a taxi driver and he offered us a lift home from the disco. He took us for a spin and then we kinda lost track of time. Sorry.’
‘Have you been drinking?’
She didn’t look drunk but I could detect alcohol on her breath and stale cigarette smoke on her clothing and hair. She also had black rings under her eyes.
‘Just a bit, but that was hours and hours ago. I’m fine now. I’m just tired. Can we stop talking about it? I’m fine, honest.’
I said we’d stop talking for now, but that we’d need to have a chat later, after she’d had some rest.
‘OK, that’s fine.’
Melissa slept in the back of the car. When we got home she opened her eyes just long enough to see her way up the stairs and into her bedroom, where she collapsed in a heap on the bed. I gave her a pint of water in case she was dehydrated, encouraged her to try to drink as much as she could then left her to go to bed and get some sleep.
I checked on Melissa every few hours. Each time, she was sound asleep with the duvet pulled up right over her head. She didn’t wake up until mid-afternoon, when she sidled into the kitchen in a crumpled tracksuit and said she was really hungry. We’d had a roast at lunchtime and there was plenty left over, but she said she didn’t fancy it. Instead, she made herself a bacon and cheese sandwich. She smothered it in brown sauce and mayonnaise and devoured it in a flash, washing it down with a large glass of milk. It looked revolting but she said it was delicious, and then asked if she could have a packet of crisps. I’d run out so she settled for a slice of apple pie and custard.
Despite sleeping for most of the day, Melissa still looked extremely tired and said she felt ‘wiped out’. As soon as she’d eaten she went back to bed. I wondered if she’d taken drugs because she seemed a bit spaced out. I made a note of this to pass on to Social Services the next day.
I’d called the out-of-hours social worker number when we got back from the police station to make sure they knew Melissa had been found. Nowadays there are Social Services policy and training documents that are pages and pages long, complete with intricate instructions – flowcharts even – that explain in fine detail each and every step that has to be taken when a child in care goes missing. Back then, however, things were different. There were far fewer rules and regulations about the procedures the various professionals had to follow, and as a result there was also a far greater risk that a crucial link in the chain might break. For this reason, I always called the out-of-hours duty social worker if the police called me with news, just to be sure Social Services were fully up to speed and their records were updated.
After imposing on my mum to babysit early that morning we had invited her to stay for Sunday lunch with us. She happily accepted, and while Melissa was still sleeping Mum had played some board games with the boys. This meant Jonathan and I could cook together and get some jobs done, which we were grateful for.
The weather brightened up a bit in the afternoon and Ryan and Marty did some football drills and shooting practice in the garden. Jonathan then explained that he’d won some sporting trophies and shields in his younger days and that they were now gathering dust on a shelf in the garage. The boys were very keen to see them, which Jonathan was really pleased about.
Both boys talked about starting back at school the next day, and we got the impression they were quite looking forward to it. Melissa was finally returning to school too, on the same day. She was meant to have started sooner but the date had been pushed back to this Monday, because she’d been missing.
The plan was that Marty and Melissa would have taxis collecting them, and I was going to walk Ryan to his primary school. As he was in his final year and the journey was straightforward on foot, on the second day I’d let him walk by himself or with his friends. I had reminded Melissa about the arrangements, but she had looked uninterested.
‘Whatever,’ she shrugged.
Once again I dared to hope that her return to school would be a turning point for her, but I have to admit I was now less optimistic than I had been.
‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy it once you’re back. You’re tired today and I understand you may not be feeling up to it, but I think you’ll be fine in the morning.’
‘I suppose.’
I had encouraged Melissa to talk about her disappearance on Saturday night but she resolutely refused to give any details or further explanation. I told her that we were confused about the phone call we’d received from the person who had claimed to be Rosie’s mum.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought Rosie’s mum was collecting us. If she had, I wouldn’t have got in Marco’s taxi, would I?’
She yawned and rubbed her eyes. I told her I’d found out that it was never the plan for Rosie’s mum, Claudia, to collect her from the junior disco and that I could only imagine that someone must have pretended to be Claudia, because what other explanation was there.
‘What do you mean?’ Melissa looked genuinely confused. ‘I’m going to my room. I can’t deal with this. Sorry, Angela, but my head’s aching. I need to go back to bed. Like you say, I’ve got school tomorrow. At this rate I won’t be able to cope. Can I have a painkiller?’
I supervised her while she took one headache tablet, gave her a fresh glass of water and let her go back up to her room. Melissa’s story didn’t stack up. I wasn’t sure if she
was being honest about expecting Claudia to collect her, but I could tell I wasn’t going to get any closer to the truth today, if ever at all.
To my surprise, Melissa appeared in the kitchen shortly after seven the next morning, looking bright and breezy and with a wide smile on her face. She’d got up as soon as I tapped on her door at twenty to seven, had a shower and was already dressed in her school uniform. What a difference a day makes, I thought.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Good, thanks. I’m looking forward to seeing my mates again.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ I said. To tell the truth, I wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or not that she was going to be mixing with all her old friends again. I wondered if it might be better if she started afresh with a completely new group of friends, in a completely new school, but I kept that thought to myself.
‘Yeah, I’m sorry I’ve caused you and Jonathan so much hassle. I didn’t mean to. I honestly didn’t plan for things to work out how they did on Saturday night.’
‘Thanks for saying that. Today’s a new day and a fresh start. I’m sure you’ll feel better once you’ve settled back into school again.’
‘Yeah, I reckon I will. Thanks.’
It was a wet morning but the taxis arrived on time for both Marty and Melissa, and it was just after nine by the time I’d returned from taking Ryan to school on foot. We’d huddled under umbrellas and Ryan couldn’t resist splashing in a few puddles. It didn’t matter: his school shoes were sturdy and he’d arrived at school dry, and in very good spirits.
Jonathan was in the shop when I arrived home and I made myself a coffee and sat down at the kitchen table, snatching a few minutes to myself. There were no messages for me, and I sighed with relief. Everything had worked like clockwork for a change, and knowing that all three children would be safely in school by now was comforting. I generally find that children do so much better when they have a routine and are being educated as they should be. Their self-esteem grows, they tend to have more confidence and they usually eat and sleep better. Their overall behaviour often improves too, because they are tired when they get home and don’t have the time and energy to challenge you as much as they do when they are bored and spending too much time in the house. Having said that, with younger children sometimes the opposite is true: they behave like angels at school and turn into little devils the minute they are out of the gates and feel able to let off steam. I remember one little boy in particular. At parents’ evening his teacher complimented him, and us, on his impeccable behaviour.
‘I wish they were all like him,’ she said. ‘Is there a secret you can share with me, Mr and Mrs Hart?’
Jonathan and I were speechless. This child had a habit of rampaging around the house, shouting and kicking doors. He never listened to us when we asked him to stop and calm down, and often the best we could do was make sure he was not harming himself while we allowed him to vent his pent-up tension. Invariably, he’d stop after about ten minutes of intensive protest, then flake out on the sofa and drink a large glass of water, panting like a puppy and seemingly feeling so much better. When we told the teacher this – out of earshot of the little boy, who had lapped up her praise – she was surprised but not entirely shocked, as she recalled that this was a pattern of behaviour she’d learned about at teacher training. It was not uncommon, but she’d never come across such an extreme example as this little boy.
I sipped my coffee and thought how nothing beats being in a warm and cosy kitchen in the winter, hands wrapped around a hot mug while rain trickles down the window panes. I wondered what all the kids were doing at school and looked forward to hearing all about it. Inevitably, I couldn’t help thinking more about Melissa than the boys. She’s such a worry, I thought. She’d be in her first lesson by now. She’d looked very smart in her uniform. I pictured her with her hair all neatly plaited and her shoes freshly polished, as they had been. I really hoped she was settling back in quickly. Maybe she would start to move in some different circles now she’d had a break? Maybe she would find a boyfriend of her own age, or even find herself so busy with her studies that she stopped being so boy mad? I dared to hope so, but I couldn’t push my fears completely out of my head.
It was playing on my mind that Melissa had had a pregnancy scare – whether or not it was a genuine one – at such a young age. It seemed wrong that the authorities appeared to have no real strategy in place for dealing with this. As far as I could see, Melissa had been treated in exactly the same way as a girl over the age of consent would have been. How was that allowed to happen? She was twelve, and people in authority knew she was seeing older boys. It didn’t seem right at all that more questions weren’t asked by Social Services or the GP, and I had an uncomfortable feeling every time I thought about it. As foster carers our only power was words, as Jonathan and I had conceded on more than one occasion. I’d spoken to Melissa about the pregnancy scare when it happened and I would talk to her again, if and when I saw the opportunity. That was all I could do. I had absolutely no evidence that Melissa had had sex with a boy over the age of sixteen, and it was next to impossible to stop a couple of underage kids from experimenting sexually with each other if that’s what they wanted to do when they were out of your sight.
Valentine’s Day was coming up. It was always one of our busiest times in the florists; we had lots of special displays to put up and orders coming out of our ears. I finished my coffee, quickly did a few household chores and went through to the shop to help Jonathan.
‘Well this is a rare treat,’ he joked when I fished under the counter for my work apron and asked him what I could do to help.
‘What do you mean, a rare treat?’
‘I’ve barely seen you in here. You’ve been skiving of late, Mrs Hart.’
I laughed. Jonathan was pulling my leg, of course; the truth was I’d been so busy with Melissa, Marty and Ryan being at home full time – or practically full time, in Melissa’s case – that it had been impossible for me to put in the hours I normally did in the shop.
I always loved the build-up to Valentine’s Day and this year was no exception. I enjoyed putting the finishing touches to the window display, going through the order book and seeing which bouquets needed making up, and reading the messages customers wanted on their gift cards. Some of them were sweet and tender while others were funny and cheeky.
‘This is a treat for me, more like,’ I said. ‘It’s heart-warming, reading all these lovely messages. Just the tonic I need!’
During the course of the morning we had some good news. One of our relatives was getting married and we were invited to the wedding, which would be in a beautiful village church. The venue for the reception was a former stately home set in rolling countryside. I immediately started thinking about my outfit, and the fact the occasion would give me a great incentive to lose some more weight. I’d been on a diet for several months and had lost a stone, but my goal was to lose another stone and a half. Picturing myself looking trim in a new dress on the lawn of the stunning mansion house was exactly the goal I needed.
‘Do you know, I think I might buy a fitness video,’ I said to Jonathan as I tidied a large drawer full of coloured ribbons. I’d been to some step aerobics classes in the previous few months and really enjoyed them, but I’d missed a lot of sessions recently because of our fostering commitments. It was never easy to get out on a regular basis in the evenings. We often had to ferry the children to their various clubs, and I didn’t like to leave Jonathan in sole charge unless it was unavoidable. Unfortunately, men are at greater risk than women of having malicious allegations thrown at them by unhappy children, and we’re constantly taught to minimise the likelihood of this happening by sticking together as much as possible. Fortunately this suited us both, and still does.
I think the job of fostering would be a million times harder if Jonathan and I didn’t work so well together. We’ve known other couples to buckle under the pressure of running a business a
t the same time as fostering demanding children, but Jonathan and I have always seen the world in the same way, and we’ve always been prepared to roll our sleeves up and do whatever it takes. I can’t think of a single time when we’ve disagreed about anything to do with our fostering commitments, and knowing we can rely on each other for support has definitely helped us to carry on fostering year after year.
‘A fitness video?’ Jonathan said. ‘Sounds like a great idea. If I buy myself a leotard and a pair of leg warmers can I join in?’
We both laughed and then looked up to see an embarrassed-looking teenager standing in front of us. For a moment I thought he’d heard Jonathan’s jokey remark, but I realised he was probably blushing because he was feeling self-conscious, as he was ordering Valentine flowers for his girlfriend. He was crimson by the time he’d agonised about what to write on the card, finally settling on ‘Happy Valentine’s Day with love from Timbo XXX’
‘Love Is in the Air’ came on the radio a few minutes later. The shop was empty now and I began swaying from side to side as I swirled a shiny white ribbon around a bouquet of red roses.
‘Shall we ask your mum to babysit so we can go out for a meal for Valentine’s?’ Jonathan asked.
‘Yes, I’d love that,’ I said, though I must admit that my first thought was about Ryan, Marty and Melissa, and whether I really wanted to leave them for a whole evening. Was it fair on my mum, and what if Melissa pulled one of her stunts and ran off somewhere?
‘I’m glad you said that, because I’ve already booked us a table.’
‘Really? That’s lovely, thank you. Which restaurant?’
‘Your favourite – where else? You know how busy they get. I didn’t want to miss out.’
‘Lovely! I guess the diet will have to go on hold until February 15th!’ As I spoke I was still worrying about leaving my mum babysitting, but I told myself not to spoil Jonathan’s treat. I knew it was the right thing for us to go out; we’ve been told so many times by social workers and fostering professionals that carers must make time for themselves in order to thrive in the job. Besides, Mum would enjoy it. Whenever she babysat she always told us that seeing the different kids we had staying with us kept her young, and we hadn’t come across any child who didn’t take to my mum straight away.