by Angela Hart
I wanted to give Danielle’s bedroom a good clean while she was away, and I’d promised her I’d give Scooter’s cage a freshen up too, and change his straw.
‘You’d better do a good job,’ Danielle had said when she left. ‘If he’s dead when I get back, I swear I’ll kill you, Angela!’
She laughed and raised her fist. ‘You mark my words,’ she said, pretending to square up to me. ‘You’d better take good care of him or there’ll be BIG TROUBLE!’
‘You know you can take him with you, if you like.’
‘Nah, he can stay here. It’s only a couple of nights. Not worth it.’
Danielle was very accepting of the fact she was having a two-night stay in respite care, with a family she’d never met before, on the other side of town. We were told the carers she was staying with had two teenagers of their own, and Danielle cheekily commented that she thought it would probably be ‘more fun in their house than yours’.
‘I hope you’re right,’ I said. ‘I hope you do have fun. Now, remember your manners and try to be on best behaviour. I know you can do it. We’ll see you on Sunday. I’ll do a roast for when you get back. My mum’s coming over so we can play some games afterwards if you like. What do you think?’
‘Wicked,’ she said, albeit rather flatly.
When I opened Danielle’s bedroom door later that morning an overpowering stench of urine hit me. It was so strong it made my eyes sting and I walked straight to the window and opened it as wide as I could, to air the room out. Her bed was soaked and she hadn’t bothered to strip it, and her wet pyjamas were lying on the carpet.
I pulled on my rubber gloves, stripped the bed and put all the rest of the dirty laundry I could find into a pile by the door, ready to wash. There were clothes strewn everywhere, and as I tidied up I discovered several sodden pads stashed randomly around the room. One pad was on top of a hairbrush on the dressing table, with a wet skirt on top of it; another was on the bookshelf, seeping its contents onto a collection of well-thumbed Roald Dahl books.
In one corner of the room I found what looked at first glance like a pile of tatty blue ribbons. I didn’t recognise them, but when I bent down to have a closer look I realised this was – or had been – one of my favourite blouses. This gave me such a shock I actually gasped and put my hand over my mouth. The blouse had gone missing a few weeks earlier, after it had been in the wash. I’d searched everywhere, and I couldn’t work out how it had got lost in between the washing line and the ironing pile.
I cast my mind back: Danielle had helped me bring in the washing that day, and she had been in a very bad mood. She dropped several items on the grass and trod on them, seemingly deliberately, so I had to rewash them. I’d told her off, and then she’d had a go at winding Jonathan up, switching the electric lawnmower off from the socket inside the utility room while he was on the other side of the garden. I always keep the ironing in the utility room, and now it was looking very much like Danielle had taken my blouse that day, hidden it in her room and, for reasons best known to herself, decided to cut it up. How she’d got hold of scissors I had no idea, unless she’d bought a pair with her pocket money or taken them from a friend’s house.
I felt so deflated, and then I made another worrying find: a cup filled with what looked like a mixture of several different toiletries. There was definitely some orange blossom hand cream in there as I could smell it, and I guessed some of my nail polish remover might be in there too. This was another thing I’d lost recently, and when I looked in Danielle’s bin I found the empty bottle. I had a very bad feeling about this mixture. I know lots of kids like to muck about with ‘potions’; I’ve seen plenty of girls trying to make their own perfume or mix up some ‘medicine’ for their dolls. But given what Danielle had done with the handwash on the trip with Deirdre, I couldn’t help looking on the black side. Why had she put the mixture in a cup? Had she been planning to drink it, was she just trying to alarm me and use this as another cry for help or had she actually consumed some of it, but not enough to make her ill?
I made a note of all of this, for myself and for Social Services. What a nightmare, I thought. I wondered if we’d even be able to carry on looking after Danielle if she was so badly behaved and manipulative, and so apparently determined to derail her own life.
I got a text message as I was heading downstairs with the large pile of stinking washing.
Can I come and see u tonite? Got new girlfriend.
Wd like u 2 meet. Jonny X
Jonny was a boy who’d stayed with us for several stints of respite care in the past. His family had a lot of problems, and when he was coming up for sixteen they lost their home. Jonny’s parents and little sister ended up in a B & B, while he came to us for a month or so until Social Services found him accommodation of his own.
Yes. Be lovely to see you. What time?
He suggested 8 p.m.
‘That all right with you, Jonathan?’ I asked, after popping into the shop.
Barbara was there, so I didn’t discuss what I’d found in Danielle’s room. That would have to wait.
‘Yes, it will be lovely to see Jonny. But what a pity. Perhaps I won’t get to see The Devil Wears Prada after all!’
‘Ha ha. Pity, that, isn’t it?’ I said sarcastically. ‘There’s always tomorrow night!’
I hoped the visit would cheer us up, as we certainly needed it. Jonathan had been as shocked and disheartened as I was when I told him about my blouse and the state of Danielle’s room. It spoilt our Chinese meal because I told him everything while we ate, as it was the first chance I got that day. It was the last thing either of us needed at the end of a busy day.
Happily, we did indeed brighten up when Jonny arrived. It was great to see him, and his girlfriend was very sweet and clearly besotted with him. Jonathan and I were delighted to hear that Jonny had got himself on to a good apprenticeship, and he had a flat in one of the better blocks of ‘halfway house’ council housing for teenagers on the outskirts of town. He also told us his family had been rehoused and were ‘doin’ good’.
‘Don’t know ’ow they stuck it in that ’orrible B & B,’ he commented. ‘I was lucky I could come ’ere. You an’ Jonathan ain’t ’alf ’elped me out over the years. I’ll pay yer back one day. Don’t know ’ow, but I make that a promise!’
‘There’s no need for that, Jonny,’ I smiled. ‘It’s just great to see you.’
Jonathan nodded. ‘This is all the payback we need. It’s brilliant to see you looking so well, and to hear how you’re getting on. We really appreciate the visit.’
We meant every word. It was a real tonic, and a very timely one too.
The next morning the phone rang, very early. I reached for it in a half-awake daze, wondering who was calling at this time and what had happened.
‘Angela?’
‘Danielle?’
I glanced at the clock: it was just after 5 a.m.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes. I mean no. I’m missing you.’
‘Sweetheart, we’re missing you too.’
There was silence on the other end of the phone.
‘Er, what did you do yesterday?’ I asked, sitting myself up.
‘Played on the Xbox with Jamie and Harry.’
‘Jamie and Harry?’
‘They live here. They’re the real kids, not a fake kid like me.’
I was more awake now and I suspected Danielle was playing the sympathy card. As much as I felt sorry for her, I knew it wouldn’t help matters if I played along, and so I skirted over this ‘fake kid’ remark.
‘Are you getting on well with the boys?’
‘Yes, kind of. I think Harry fancies me, and he’s cute. He tried to kiss me.’
‘He tried to kiss you? Did you want him to kiss you?’
‘Dunno really.’
‘Well don’t do anything you’re not happy with, Danielle. Do you hear? You do not have to kiss anybody you don’t want to kiss. It’s up to you to decid
e. How old is Harry?’
‘Same age as me.’
‘OK.’
‘What are you making for lunch tomorrow, Angela?’
‘Roast beef. Mum’s doing a rhubarb pie.’
‘I think Harry’s dad makes Harry’s mum foster kids for the money, you know.’
‘So you’re OK?’ I said, again trying to avoid being sucked into an unhelpful conversation.
‘Yes, I’d just rather be at home with you and Jonathan. I know you only look after me because you care. I’m looking forward to coming back.’
‘Me too. We do care, very much. We’ll see you tomorrow.’
Jonathan was wide awake now and had managed to hear most of the conversation, as I held the phone between us.
‘I swear she’s like two entirely different people,’ he said, rubbing his eyes. ‘When she’s like this, you wouldn’t recognise her as the same girl we’ve been dealing with at times, would you?’
‘Not really,’ I said. ‘It’s like she plays different characters when she chooses, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, that’s exactly right. And I suppose that’s not so surprising, when you think of it. I mean, if I’d had the start she had, I think I’d try to reinvent myself.’ Jonathan yawned. ‘Should we say anything to Social Services, about Harry?’
‘I don’t think so. It’s Saturday morning and it’s hardly an emergency, is it? He’s only thirteen, and there’s nothing wrong with a boy fancying a girl, is there?’
The phone rang again.
‘Hello, Danielle.’
‘Hello, Angela. Can I speak to Jonathan?’
‘No, sweetheart, it’s very early in the morning and we’re both trying to get some sleep.’
‘But I miss him.’
‘You’ll see both of us tomorrow. Now I think you should try to have a bit more sleep. I’m going to hang up now, and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.’
‘OK. But I just want to ask you something.’
‘What?’
‘What about Scooter?’
‘Scooter is fine. I cleaned out his cage. You’ll see tomorrow. Have a good day. Bye, Danielle.’
I hung up.
‘I was hoping for a lie-in!’ Jonathan said. ‘If that rings again, I think we should ignore it, don’t you?’
As he spoke my mobile beeped, signalling I had a text message.
Night night X
I sent the same message back and switched off my phone, and then of course I couldn’t get back to sleep. I lay in bed thinking about whether this weekend would help turn things around. I wanted to help switch on Danielle’s new life. I wanted her to have a fantastic future, but could she? Jonathan was right. She was the girl with two lives – and which one would she take into adulthood? What was it she had said? I want to be the good Danielle but sometimes the bad Danielle won’t let me. I wanted to be optimistic and I tried to tell myself good would prevail. She needed help and support and a lot of care and love, and if she got that, then the good Danielle would win the day, surely?
Danielle was in a very odd mood when she returned to our house on the Sunday. She rushed up to Jonathan and me with a huge smile on her face, telling us how pleased she was to be back.
‘Is all my stuff still in my room?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said.
I was thinking that I’d have to pick my moment to talk to her about my blouse and everything I’d had to clean up in her room. Now certainly wasn’t the time; she needed to settle back in first.
‘Are you sure you’re not messing with me, Angela?’
‘Of course not! Of course your stuff is in your room.’
‘I’ve heard it all before,’ she said, jutting out her chin and shaking her head.
I let that go; I didn’t know what it was all about.
‘Can I help you with anything for the lunch?’
Suddenly Danielle was being extremely pleasant and helpful. It was like a switch had just been flicked in her brain.
‘Yes, that would be great. Can you lay the table? There will be four of us, with Mum.’
‘No, I don’t want to do that. Can I cook something?’
‘How about you lay the table first, and then you can help me make the Yorkshire puddings?’
‘OK, if you insist. If it’s not one thing it’s another!’
She took a handful of cutlery into the dining room and then I heard her say an exaggerated, ‘Oops!’, as she’d done on several other occasions, typically when she was seeking attention. It took me back to when she first arrived and ‘accidentally on purpose’ – as I believe – smashed her cereal bowl on the floor.
‘Everything all right?’ I called through, keeping an even tone in my voice.
‘Well, not exactly.’
She said this in a weird, faraway voice – exactly the kind of voice you’d put on if you were trying to spook someone.
I thought, Honestly, what’s she done now?
I went through to the dining room, half expecting to see the knives and forks scattered across the floor or the salt spilt on the table. The sight that greeted me was far worse, and not one I’d anticipated at all. It took my breath away. Danielle was ashen-faced and standing statue-still, holding out her left arm with her palm facing upwards. On the inside of her wrist were four thin trails of blood, all in a neat line. In Danielle’s right hand was my large roasting fork. It was the sharpest fork I owned, and when we weren’t having a roast I always kept it in the locked cupboard with the cooking knives.
‘Oh my God, Danielle!’ I said. ‘What’s happened here?’
I grabbed a napkin from the dresser and blotted away the blood. Danielle continued to stand rooted to the spot, with her arm held out in front of her.
‘Sorry,’ she said, dead-eyed. ‘It wasn’t my fault. She made me.’
‘Who made you?’
‘She did.’
Danielle’s performance would not have looked out of place in a creepy horror film. She was in a zombified, trancelike state, and fresh blood was oozing from the inside of her wrist.
‘Let’s get you cleaned up properly, come on.’
I took the roasting fork off her very carefully and put it on the table, and then Danielle let me lead her to the downstairs toilet, where I washed her arm. I then told her to sit down on the closed toilet seat.
‘I’m going to get the first-aid kit,’ I said. ‘Stay there.’
I had a first-aid kit in the kitchen so I was back in a flash, pulling on protective gloves as I have to do. Danielle did not appear to have moved, and she was staring at me intently.
‘This might sting a bit,’ I said. ‘But you’re going to need it.’
I applied antiseptic cream and was relieved to see she’d already stopped bleeding. The wounds were not deep – they were more like scratches than cuts – and the white antiseptic cream stayed in place, sealing the skin.
‘You know that boy, Harry?’ she said, using a mumbling voice. ‘He tried to feel me up.’
‘He tried to feel you up?’
‘Yes, and I let him. I quite fancy him. I told him that next time I stay at his house, I’ll let him have sex with me. What would happen if I got pregnant?’
My head pounded; this was too much. I had to have strong words with her about this.
‘Danielle, when you have sex with someone . . .’ I started.
I suddenly thought about her past, and I stopped talking. I was going to say something like, ‘it has to be special and you both have to be sure it’s what you want.’ But given what had happened to her, I knew I had to tread very carefully. The very last thing I wanted was to set her off on a dark train of thought at this point in time.
In the end I said something like, ‘You are worth more than just letting a boy feel you up.’
‘You are a smart, wonderful girl,’ I added. ‘You should wait until you meet someone special before you even think of doing anything at all. You are only thirteen.’
She nodded solemnly. ‘Sorry. Shall we
make the puddings now?’
‘What?’
‘The Yorkshire puddings, Angela. REMEMBER? Durgh! Is there anybody there?’
‘Oh yes, come on. Let me put a big plaster on your arm first.’
Jonathan had gone out to pick up a few bits of shopping and to collect my mother on the way back. He’d been gone for less than twenty minutes and he couldn’t believe what had happened in his absence.
‘We’ll have to report all of this first thing in the morning,’ he said. ‘I hate to say it, but I think we have to seriously consider whether this arrangement is tenable or not.’
I bit my lip. I was finding this the toughest placement we’d ever had, but I didn’t want to give up.
‘I don’t want to fail. Danielle would be devastated if we had to tell her we couldn’t let her stay any longer.’
‘I know, Angela. I don’t want to fail either, and I certainly don’t want to add to Danielle’s unhappiness. But maybe we don’t have a choice. Maybe we are out of our depth.’
The words made me shudder, but I had to face facts. My doubts and fears about the placement were growing, and I had a horrible feeling creeping around my heart that wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard I tried to stay positive and optimistic. It felt like anything could happen with Danielle, and that was a very disturbing thought.
16
‘I. Want. To. Forget. Geddit, Angela?’
‘I’ve spoken to Danielle’s psychologist,’ Susan said. ‘I’ve gone through all the issues you’ve reported to date and asked for her opinion, in case there is anything she can tell us that might help.’
‘Thank you, that’s good to hear. We want to give Danielle all the help we can. What did the psychologist say?’
I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I was a little disappointed when Susan gave me her reply.
‘She said that if Danielle makes any sort of disclosure or says anything you feel may be leading up to a disclosure, you are to repeat back to her what she has said. So, for example, if she says a boy tried to feel her up, you repeat, “A boy tried to feel you up?” with a questioning tone in your voice.’