by Angela Hart
I didn’t know what to think and I didn’t understand why Danielle was clinging on to her forever family when the placement had broken down and she had left their home. In fact, I was struggling to get a handle on Danielle for lots of reasons. One minute she was seemingly being very open and childlike with me, the next I didn’t have a clue if she was telling lies, or what games she might be playing. Now it seemed she was acting more like a manipulative teenager than a vulnerable young girl, and I was growing increasingly confused by her behaviour.
What was very clear, even in the absence of any further information from Social Services, was that Danielle had a lot of issues. I imagined she must have suffered some kind of trauma in her life, perhaps a very serious one. Just going into care at the age of five was traumatic enough, whatever the reason behind it. What’s more, Danielle’s basic manners were poor for a twelve-year-old, and her personal hygiene left a lot to be desired. Communicating with her was like walking a tightrope: you just never knew whether you’d manage to hold on until the end of a conversation, or whether she’d plummet into a world of confusing nonsense at any minute, trying to pull you in with her.
The rude way Danielle had spoken to me at various points in the day could easily have provided good reason for me to stop her going to the youth club, but I felt this was not the way to play things with her. My instincts told me that any consequences we were going to introduce to try to improve this young lady’s behaviour would have to be very well thought out, and Jonathan agreed. We could see we’d have a battle on our hands if we didn’t deal with things in the right way, and we both felt we had to find out more about what had happened to Danielle in the past before we could put the best strategy in place to help her move forward.
Jonathan and I went together to drop Danielle off at youth club at 7 p.m. We both felt quite frazzled by that point in the day. Danielle had made dinner time rather unpleasant, saying the Parmesan cheese smelt like sick and pretending to throw up and making vomiting noises when she was eating her spaghetti Bolognese.
‘Danielle, I have to remind you to keep your mouth closed when you’re eating. It’s not nice to see the contents of your mouth, or to hear you talk that way while we are eating.’
‘Well why are you looking at me? I didn’t ask you to look at me, or listen to me!’
She looked at me in the way a teacher might look at a petulant child, raising her eyebrows as if to say: ‘Well? What’s the explanation?’
I ignored this and told Danielle we’d been thinking about taking her out to a carvery we liked, where you could refill your plate as many times as you wanted.
‘I’d like that,’ she said. ‘What’s a carvery?’
I explained how you could choose the type of roast meat you wanted and help yourself to unlimited potatoes, vegetables, Yorkshire pudding and gravy.
‘Can you cut your own meat and have more?’
‘No, that’s the only thing you can’t help yourself to.’
‘Well why did you say you can refill your plate as many times as you wanted if you can’t have more meat?’
‘Look, it would be good to take you there, Danielle. I think you’d really enjoy it. The food is delicious, but first I need to be sure you can display good table manners.’
‘I can,’ she said. ‘But sometimes I just don’t want to!’
‘Thank God she’s going out for a couple of hours!’ Jonathan whispered to me later, as we cleared up the plates. ‘I don’t think my nerves can take much more!’
When we pulled up at the youth club we saw Mina and Shelby waiting outside, which is what the girls had arranged between themselves.
‘OK, Danielle, we’ll be back at 9 p.m. to collect you,’ I said as we got out of the car to see her off. ‘We’ll be right here.’
We’d parked right in front of the building where the youth club was held and I made it clear we’d be in the same spot later. As Danielle had a mobile phone I also made sure I had her number and she had ours, as well as the home phone number. Then I handed Danielle £2.50, which was enough for her entrance fee and to buy a drink and a snack. She said thank you very politely, and Jonathan and I watched as the three girls went inside the hall, chatting happily and linking arms. Danielle was wearing clean clothes and I hoped to goodness she stayed dry while she was out.
‘Fingers crossed she has a good time,’ Jonathan said. ‘With a bit of luck this will do her the world of good. It must be so unsettling for her, suddenly being with us, and being out of school.’
‘I agree. It’s impossible to put yourself in her shoes. Being in foster care is tough enough, as we’ve said so many times. But when a child thinks they have found a new home for life and everything is set up . . .’
Jonathan finished my sentence. ‘And then that goes wrong. Well, it’s no wonder she has issues.’
The two of us returned to the youth club together to collect Danielle at 9 p.m. but after waiting outside until the last children emerged, it suddenly dawned on us she wasn’t coming out.
I went inside the hall, where a lady I’d known for many years was folding away the table that is always put up in the entrance. Two people generally sit there, signing the kids in and out and taking the money on the door.
‘Jan,’ I said, ‘I’ve come to collect a young girl and she’s not here. Did you see her?’
I described Danielle and her two friends and gave their arrival time so Jan could check her register.
‘Sorry, Angela, they didn’t sign in,’ she said, scouring the list of names in her book. ‘We didn’t have many in tonight so even if they came in without signing in, I’d have noticed them. So sorry, Angela, the three girls weren’t here.’
My heart fell to my feet. What an idiot! Why didn’t I make sure I saw them sign in?
I looked at Jonathan, who was already on his mobile, calling Danielle. It went straight to voicemail.
‘Where is she?’ I said.
We had experience of kids going missing for days, not coming home until the early hours and even of taking calls from hospitals and the police, telling us to come and collect a child in our care who had been taken to A & E or been arrested. It was par for the course, unfortunately, but I hadn’t seen this coming. Danielle was twelve years old and had a naive side to her that worried me greatly. Her behaviour could be erratic and she was volatile too. We’d known her for such a short time and I had no idea what she was capable of.
‘Look,’ Jonathan said, calmly. ‘Danielle knows her way to our house from town. Let’s go home and see if she’s decided to walk back with her friends.’
I agreed. It was still light and there was no point in raising the alarm and calling Social Services just yet, as Jonathan might well be right. With a bit of luck, we might even see the three girls in town together as we navigated the one-way system back to our house, as it took you on a convoluted route around our small town.
My eyes were on stalks the whole way home as Jonathan drove around the town. There was no sign of Danielle, and when we got back to the house I called her name as soon as I opened the front door.
‘Danielle? Are you here? Can you hear me?’
Danielle didn’t have her own key but I’d explained to her, as I do to all the children staying with us, that if they were ever locked out by accident they could always collect an emergency key from my mother, whose house was very close by.
We felt it was a sensible back-up plan, and my mum was happy to help. She had been passed by Social Services to be a babysitter for any children in our care and I had written down Mum’s address and home phone number for Danielle on her first day with us, just in case she needed it.
I was aware I was clutching at straws but I hoped Danielle had fetched the key from Mum and I’d find her sitting in her bedroom, innocently playing with Scooter. Still calling her name, I ran to the top floor of our house and pushed open Danielle’s bedroom door. The room was empty and exactly as she’d left it. There was no message on the answerphone either, or on my mobile, and I knew tha
t Mum would have tried to contact me if she’d given Danielle a key or had had a call or a knock on the door from her.
‘She’s not here!’ I called down to Jonathan.
He didn’t reply, and as I walked towards the last flight of stairs leading to the hallway I realised why. Jonathan had remembered Danielle had called one of her friends shortly before she went to the youth club, and while I was checking the bedroom he had phoned the last number dialled from our home phone.
‘Thank you very much indeed!’ Jonathan was saying, smiling at me and giving me the thumbs-up. ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Bashir. Oh, yes, I can see them pulling up. Thanks again. Much appreciated. Bye now.’
Jonathan looked at me with relief etched on his face.
‘Mina’s father is bringing her home. The girls decided to watch a film at Mina’s instead of going to the youth club, because there were hardly any other kids there they knew, apparently, and they didn’t fancy it.’
‘Great,’ I sighed, throwing open the front door to see Danielle stepping out of Mina’s dad’s white van.
Jonathan went out to say thank you to Mr Bashir while I waited at the door to greet Danielle.
‘Hi, Angela!’ she smiled breezily.
‘Come on in,’ I said, not looking best pleased.
‘What’s your problem?’
‘Please don’t speak to me in that rude way, Danielle. My “problem” is that I’ve been worried about you. We made an arrangement to collect you from the youth club but you didn’t go, and didn’t tell us what you were doing or how you were getting home. When we phoned your mobile it went straight to voicemail.’
‘Oh!’ she said, looking genuinely surprised. ‘I didn’t think of that. What time is it?’
‘Quarter to ten. I was very worried when I discovered you didn’t sign in at the youth club.’
‘But why?’ She was chewing her lip now and looking confused. ‘I was with Mina and Shelby. Does it matter that I was in Mina’s house instead of in the youth club? And it’s not even THAT late. What’s the big deal?’
‘Yes it does matter, because Jonathan and I were worried when we got to the youth club and there was no sign of you, and you didn’t answer your phone. If you look at it from our point of view, we haven’t seen you since we dropped you off at 7 p.m., and that’s nearly three hours ago. We need to know where you are, that you are safe and how you are getting home. It’s very important, for your safety. Do you understand?’
Danielle nodded.
‘Yes. Sorry. It won’t happen again. My mobile was dead. I forgot to charge it before I went out.’
She gave me a sweet smile and apologised to Jonathan when he reappeared.
‘Right, I’m tired,’ she then announced. ‘I’m going straight to bed.’
Jonathan and I both said goodnight politely as she headed up the stairs. I was just thinking to myself, All’s well that ends well, when Danielle suddenly stopped dead, turned to face us and put her hands on her hips.
‘Do you want to know why it won’t happen again?’ she shouted. ‘Because I’m not staying here. I’m going back to my forever family. At least they know how to look after me properly. They wouldn’t be so useless! It wouldn’t take them nearly three hours to realise I was missing! And they don’t even get paid!’
Danielle span around and stomped off as fast as she could to the top floor of the house, slamming her bedroom door after her. Jonathan put his arm around me. I didn’t have to tell him how I felt, because I knew he was feeling equally bruised and deflated.
‘This is not easy,’ I said eventually, when we sat alone together in the kitchen, drinking tea and eating toasted teacakes. ‘You certainly need a very thick skin to be a foster carer!’
I plastered my teacake with butter and Jonathan raised an eyebrow cheekily. We were both trying to keep hold of our sense of humour. It’s often a saving grace when things get tough; although the reality was that we were both feeling the strain quite acutely that night.
‘Comfort eating, Angela?’ Jonathan teased.
‘Yes, and don’t look at me like that because I think I need it! Seriously, this is really not easy at all, is it?’
‘No, it’s not. It’s a challenge, but do you know what?’
‘Go on.’
‘I really do hope Danielle can stay for a while, because I want to help her.’
‘Yes. I totally agree with you, Jonathan. That’s exactly how I feel.’
We sat in comfortable silence for a while, sharing the knowledge that come what may, helping children like Danielle was our role in life – a role we embraced, despite the difficulties we faced. We had never encountered a child quite like Danielle before, and we acknowledged this and agreed we needed as much help and advice from Social Services as we could get.
I called Nelson first thing on Monday morning, explaining all about the different issues we’d had to deal with, such as Danielle’s rudeness and apparent duplicity, her poor manners and hygiene problems, and the fact she said she had contacted her forever family and wanted to use their surname. I also described the youth club drama, plus yet another difficulty we’d encountered over the weekend: Danielle wet the bed.
I must have spoken to Nelson for a full five minutes, as there was so much to get across to him, even though Danielle had only been with us for a matter of days.
‘I think you need to introduce a star chart,’ Nelson said straight away. ‘Give Danielle five stars to begin with, but take a star away if she misbehaves. The deal is that if she keeps hold of all her stars for the day, she gets a small treat or she can bank it, and put it towards a bigger reward at the end of the week. In addition, if she not only holds on to her stars but also is particularly well behaved, she gets extra stars. You can give her twenty pence per star, up to £1 a day.’
Jonathan and I were more familiar with giving stars out for good behaviour rather than taking stars away for poor behaviour. My immediate reaction was to feel uncomfortable about penalising a child like this, but I trusted Nelson’s professional advice and assumed he knew a good deal more about Danielle and her past history and personality than we did.
When a child is in emergency respite care, foster carers like us are often given very limited information about a child’s background and the problems they have encountered historically. The child deserves the right to privacy, and Social Services generally operate on a ‘need to know’ basis. Therefore it’s wise to follow advice from a social worker, especially in the very early stages of a placement.
Nelson went on to say he had some good news. He told me that arrangements had been put in place for Danielle to start having two hours of tuition, once a week, at an education centre in town. This was the best Social Services could offer for the time being, while efforts were being made to find Danielle a permanent school place.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Let’s hope Danielle’s behaviour will improve when she has other things to focus on.’
‘I hope so,’ Nelson replied. ‘And good luck with the star chart. It can work really well. I hope it does for you, Angela.’
I thanked Nelson and felt reassured by our chat. I hadn’t found out any more detail about Danielle’s past history, or the previous foster carers, but Nelson’s positivity and the fact he didn’t seem unduly concerned by anything I’d told him put my mind at rest.
‘Hopefully this star chart will get things on track,’ I said to Jonathan optimistically. ‘It’s such early days for Danielle. Maybe she’s just having a few teething problems. I’m sure things will improve soon, and we might even get the honeymoon period, you never know!’
This so-called honeymoon period generally happens at the start of a placement, when a child is on best behaviour, trying to settle in and wanting to create a good impression. Often, once a child has gone through this stage, things get trickier as they flex their muscles and begin to push the boundaries. However, as we know all too well, there are no hard and fast rules in fostering, and no two placements are the s
ame. Danielle was certainly not in a honeymoon period, but I lived in hope.
Jonathan smiled. ‘I love your optimism, Angela,’ he replied. ‘I think you were at the front of the queue when it was being dished out!’
5
‘I’m very pleased with what you’ve achieved’
‘If I’m still here, can I go bowling with my friends at the weekend? It’s Mina’s birthday.’
‘That sounds like a nice treat, and I’d love for you to go bowling, Danielle. The answer is yes, as long as you behave well between now and then.’
‘I’m always well behaved!’ she said, smiling audaciously.
I’d introduced Danielle to the star chart but unfortunately it wasn’t going very well. She had been rude to me the night before when I caught her drawing with a felt-tip pen on the upholstered seat of one of our dining chairs. I took a star away and she became very angry.
‘I don’t know what you’re making a fuss about,’ she had snarled. ‘It’s only a few scribbles. You’re looking for an excuse to tell me off!’
Now she had come down to breakfast smelling of urine after getting dressed without taking a shower, even though I’d talked to her several times about personal hygiene and she was going to her first tuition session that day. When I asked her to go back upstairs and shower she accused me of making a drama out of nothing and told me to keep my nose out of her business.
‘Danielle, I can’t ignore this,’ I said gently. ‘I’m not making a fuss for the sake of it. I want you to smell fresh and you need to be dry and comfortable. I wouldn’t want your friends, your tutor or anyone else to notice you not smelling good. You need to have a shower every morning, and if you have an accident in the day you need to have another wash and put on fresh clothes.’
‘I don’t care though, Angela. Nobody cares! It’s none of your business.’
‘It is my business and I do care about you, Danielle. There’s a practical side to this too. I need to wash your clothes and your bedding if they get wet.’
‘Why?’
‘Because if they stay wet they will smell and rot and we’ll have to throw them away.’