by Angela Hart
Danielle’s eyes were blazing and bulging and I swapped glances with Deirdre.
‘Danielle, why don’t you run over to that picnic bench,’ Deirdre said, pointing to a spot about twenty or thirty metres ahead of us. ‘Shout and scream, run wild and free, get it all off your chest.’
To my surprise Danielle did begin to run ahead towards the bench, but she didn’t make a sound, at least not to begin with. Deirdre, Jonathan and I kept a close eye on her.
‘I hope this does some good,’ Jonathan said. He sounded tense and anxious and I could tell he was in two minds about how this would work out, just as I was.
‘I think it will,’ Deirdre said. ‘I know it seems like a rather desperate situation, but I think this is better for her – and you and me – than being stuck indoors, waiting for her to blow. If she has a proper blow-out here, in the open air, where she can’t harm anyone or herself, maybe she will have a good night’s sleep at my house and things will begin to settle down.’
We all watched from a safe and suitable distance as Danielle sat at the picnic bench. I could see she was talking to herself – or was she? We were too far away to hear what she was saying, but from her mannerisms it looked for all the world like Danielle was talking to another person. Of course, there was nobody there, and then suddenly it looked like she was starting a full-blown argument. She was on her feet, waving her arms around, looking agitated and apparently shouting at an imaginary person. A thought struck me. Is Danielle schizophrenic?
I thought about the way she sometimes turned and spoke to an apparently empty space in a room, and the way she blamed another, unnamed person for telling her to do things. She made me do it. That’s what Danielle had said, more than once. I didn’t know much about schizophrenia, but I did know that sufferers could hear voices. I wondered if this was what happened to Danielle, and if it explained why she apparently played different versions of herself – versions she didn’t seem to have much control over. What was it I had said to Jonathan one time? It’s like she plays different characters when she chooses. But she wasn’t playing, was she? Suddenly a penny dropped. I didn’t think she had any choice, because maybe her personality was split, beyond her control?
I wanted to share this thought with Jonathan but it was the wrong time, with Deirdre being there and all three of us needing to keep watch over Danielle. Even though Deirdre and I were close colleagues and friends, I never shared my ideas with her as freely and openly as I did with Jonathan. Also, there is an unwritten understanding that foster carers like Jonathan and me have to stick strictly within our remit. Our job is to care, not diagnose. I knew from experience that even if our opinions or hunches did turn out to be correct, medical experts and other professionals and specialists generally don’t welcome such intervention from foster carers. Deirdre, I’m sure, would not have minded me sharing my thoughts, but I wouldn’t have expected her to act on what I said, and I instinctively felt it was best not to speculate about such a serious mental health issue. After all, Danielle was under the care of a psychologist. I had to trust that she was in good hands, and that if such a diagnosis were to be made, we’d be told about it, if and when it was appropriate.
I watched closely as Danielle stood bolt upright and began circling the wooden picnic table. Then she bent at her knees and grabbed hold of the attached slatted seat on one side, as if she were trying to lift the whole structure in the air. The table didn’t budge and I wasn’t surprised; I knew this park well and all the picnic tables, bins and benches had always been concreted deep into the earth or tethered very firmly into the ground with wires and hooks.
The next minute, Danielle threw her head back and let out an almighty howl. It sounded primal, and I thought this was a good thing. Danielle truly was venting her anger, and this was why we had brought her here in the first place. Maybe this was exactly what she needed? I sincerely hoped so.
Moments later, Danielle made another attempt to shift the table. All three of us watched in amazement as she put all her might into it, and somehow managed to slightly shift the wooden legs out of their fixings in the ground.
‘Oh God,’ Jonathan said, looking at Deirdre, who was gasping in alarm. ‘I’d better go over. She’ll have that clean out of the ground.’
‘Surely not?’ I ventured, because it seemed such an impossible task.
Nevertheless, Danielle was having another go, and I had to admit it looked like Jonathan was right. He began to walk quickly towards Danielle, but by the time he reached her she had let out a guttural growl and put everything she had into another attempt at lifting the table out of the earth. Just as Jonathan reached her, she succeeded, up-ending the table with such force that it landed upside down, on its tabletop, with an almighty thud.
Deirdre and I walked over now. Jonathan was picking the table up, and Danielle was standing with her hands on her hips, looking satisfied with her work.
‘There. Is that what you wanted?’ she seethed.
She looked accusingly at all three of us. We were shocked by the strength she had demonstrated; this picnic bench was not meant to move an inch, let alone be hauled out of the ground and flung upside down.
‘How do you feel?’ Deirdre asked calmly.
‘How do you think I feel? I’m tired, I’m cross and I’M STILL ANGRY. SO THIS WAS A COMPLETE WASTE OF TIME.’
As she shouted a dog walker appeared through the trees in the distance. The lady looked over, no doubt alarmed to hear shouting in what was normally such a quiet and remote spot. Danielle spotted her looking over and stepped a few paces in her direction. Still with her hands on her hips, Danielle shouted at the top of her voice, ‘WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT, FUCKING NOSY COW?’
‘Danielle,’ I said, ‘please stop shouting. Please don’t be rude.’
Deirdre and Jonathan also implored her to stop and we all called our apologies over to the dog walker, but Danielle carried on. Next she made a run in the direction of the woman and began sticking two fingers up to her, with both hands waving furiously in the air.
‘WHY DON’T YOU FUCK OFF? WHY DOESN’T EVERYONE JUST FUCK OFF AND LEAVE ME ALONE?’
Deirdre, Jonathan and I all made further apologies to the dog walker while we tried to coax Danielle into calming down.
What a mess, I thought. We brought her here to vent her anger and now we’re trying to shut her up. You couldn’t make it up. We also thought she couldn’t do any harm out here, and look what’s happened. I’m going to have to phone the park ranger now and offer to fix this table.
‘Danielle, have you remembered you are staying at my house tonight?’ Deirdre said firmly. ‘We need to go now.’
I suspect Danielle may have taken this as a veiled threat that if she didn’t stop this unruly behaviour, her overnight stay with Deirdre might be in jeopardy. I say this because Deirdre’s words had an instant effect on Danielle. She stopped in her tracks and a softer look crept over her face. It was like she’d felt sunlight on her face; everything about her seemed to soften and lighten up. It was quite remarkable.
‘OK, come on,’ Danielle said, letting out a sigh and even giving Deirdre a half-hearted smile.
Danielle agreed to link arms with Deirdre and walk back to the car. She did so calmly and without trying to trip anyone up or cause any trouble at all.
‘Here you go,’ I said when we reached the car, swiftly spreading an old cover on the wet half of the back seat. I did this as discreetly as possible so as not to embarrass Danielle, but it seemed I could do nothing right.
‘Oh, look at you, little Miss Organised,’ she scoffed sarcastically, although thankfully she got in the car without further ado.
I found myself looking forward to her spending the night at Deirdre’s. I was at the end of my tether, though I desperately wished I wasn’t, because regardless of the difficulties and upset Danielle had caused, I still wanted to help her turn her life around.
20
‘Am I coming back to you?’
Even with Daniell
e gone for the evening, I still couldn’t sleep. The empty house seemed noisier than it ever was when we had several children living with us. It felt like I heard every creak in the pipes, gurgle of water in the immersion tank or whisper of wind on the windowpanes. Scooter had gone with Danielle to Deirdre’s house though I imagined I could hear his wheel squeak, and the pad, pad, pad of Danielle’s feet on the floorboards above our room as she went to check him, or whatever it was she did when she wandered around at night, switching her light on and off, claiming she was unable to sleep.
Before we went to bed, Jonathan and I had inevitably talked at length about Danielle. I shared my theory about schizophrenia and Jonathan nodded sagely.
‘She said to me once that she was two people,’ he said. ‘I thought it was just one of her nonsense conversations, because she was firing out all sorts of random thoughts, as I recall.’
‘When did she say that?’
Jonathan thought long and hard.
‘It was after she watched a film with your mum, about a set of twins. I know, it was The Parent Trap, that one with Lindsay Lohan. Like I say, I didn’t think too much of what she said. And I guess lots of teenagers think that way, when they are trying to find out who they are. Plus, with Danielle being so prone to nonsense talk . . . In hindsight, I wish I’d mentioned it to you.’
‘No, you mustn’t think like that. We can’t possibly analyse every word a child says, and besides, it wouldn’t have made much difference. We don’t have any power over what mental health care Danielle might receive, do we? Nothing would have changed.’
Jonathan was still picking over his thoughts and recollections.
‘Danielle did have such erratic behaviour, didn’t she? I mean, it was unbelievable how beautifully she could behave with your mum, and how she could suddenly change, seemingly at the flick of a switch.’
‘Yes, it was completely unbelievable,’ I said. ‘Baffling, really baffling. But maybe this was the reason? Maybe she had more mental health problems than we could have imagined?’
It suddenly struck me as sad – and possibly prophetic – that we were talking about Danielle in the past tense. The placement was not officially over, of course. Nothing was yet decided about how long she would be in the children’s home, or whether she ultimately might be able to come back to us. However, I had to admit it seemed increasingly untenable, the more I thought about it. How could we possibly go back to how we were before, especially if she had a serious mental health condition, as I feared she might?
Deirdre collected more of Danielle’s belongings the next day, and she explained that the medical assessment was going to be arranged as soon as Danielle was settled in the children’s home. In the meantime, Jonathan and I agreed to take care of a young brother and sister whose mother had been sectioned.
‘It should only be for a few days,’ Nelson said apologetically.
‘It’s absolutely fine,’ I said. ‘I’m looking forward to it, we both are. It’s not normal for Jonathan and me to have an empty house.’
‘Thanks, Angela. You and Jonathan could have been forgiven for wanting a break.’
‘Not at all.’
Before he rang off I asked Nelson if he had any details about why the children’s mother had been sectioned. As I’ve said before, I usually wait to be given such information, trusting Social Services to divulge whatever details they see fit, at the appropriate time. In the circumstances, however, I felt I wanted to be as prepared as possible to care for these two youngsters. They were eight and nine; very young, yet old enough to have some understanding of what had happened to their mum.
‘She tried to take her own life, and not for the first time,’ Nelson said. ‘The children were not present. As far as they are concerned their mum is ill and has to have a short stay in hospital. They’re an entertaining pair. I’ve met them, and I think you’ll like them. We’re making arrangements for them to live with their father long-term, but he’s currently abroad on business.’
Kim and Mikey were indeed a breath of fresh air. They arrived looking like they were coming on holiday, wheeling brightly coloured travel bags and wearing brand-new baseball caps. The vast majority of children who come to us arrive with carrier bags, bin bags or tatty holdalls and rucksacks containing the bare minimum of clothing. Many don’t have a toothbrush or a hairbrush, and often their clothes are old and worn out, too small or in need of a good wash. Kim and Mikey, however, had neatly packed bags and even had a toilet bag each, containing all the essentials.
‘Have you got a games room?’ Mikey asked politely. ‘We have, at home.’
He was just a little subdued, as all kids generally are when they first arrive, but he gave me a little smile and I could tell he was a naturally friendly boy.
‘We’ve got loads of games,’ I said. ‘Shall we have a look?’
‘Yes, can we?’ Kim said, also giving me a smile. She told me she was eight, ‘but I’m only eleven months younger than my brother’.
‘Goodness, you’re practically twins!’
‘Urgh!’ Mikey said. ‘I’m glad we’re not. I wouldn’t want to look like a girl!’
My mention of twins immediately made me think of Danielle, and the conversation I’d had with Jonathan about her having two lives, or a possible split personality. I couldn’t help it. She was on my mind all the time. Danielle’s image flashed vividly into my head, and I instantly felt a pang of sadness and fear. Everything about Danielle had become fraught and difficult, I realised. Despite the good moments, for so much of Danielle’s time with us it had been like walking on eggshells, which was such a shame.
Looking at Kim and Mikey, who were managing to be as upbeat as possible despite the considerable upheaval they’d just gone through, made me see just how bad things had become with Danielle. Here were two primary-age kids in a strange house, yet making the best of things while their mum was in hospital. This situation was obviously difficult for them, but I could see they were doing their best, and I felt comfortable and optimistic around them already – more than I did on far too many occasions when I was around Danielle. In short, Kim and Mikey were a reminder of normality. Life should not have been as difficult as it had become with Danielle. Jonathan and I had been struggling so much; perhaps too much, and for far too long.
Kim and Mikey scampered after me to explore the games cupboard.
‘Can we play this? And this? I love this one. How long are we staying? Can we play ALL of the games?’
‘We’ll do our best,’ I smiled, thinking I’d better phone my mum, as she was the one who had the time and patience to sit and work her way through our considerable collection of board games.
I had a phone call a couple of days later, from Danielle.
‘Am I coming back to you?’ she asked.
My heart sank. She sounded nasty and accusatory, and she made my mood plummet.
‘I don’t know, Danielle. I don’t know what is happening, I’m afraid. We hope it can work out. We would love to have you back, but of course we would need to know things were going to work well with you in the house again. I guess you need to make a big effort towards coming back, if that’s what you want.’
I didn’t mention the medical assessment as I had no idea how much, or how little, Danielle knew about this, or what effect it might have on her future with us.
‘Do you know what the fucking head of this shitty children’s home said to me today? She told me I wasn’t allowed to smoke. Who the fuck does she think she is? Fucking nerve of the woman.’
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘I can see that you’re not making the effort you need to, to improve your behaviour.’
‘I fucking well am! I fucking hate it here! Even your house is better than this shithole. The other kids hate me. I’ve told them all to fuck off and leave me alone.’
‘I have to go now, Danielle. I hope you can calm down and I hope you can make the changes you need to make.’
The following morning Nelson called to tell me Kim and M
ikey would be leaving the next day. Their father had returned home and all the necessary arrangements had been made for them to move into his house on a permanent basis. The children were very accepting of this, which I was pleased about; their social worker had paid them a visit to talk through the details.
‘How have they been?’ Nelson asked me.
‘Little angels,’ I said, wincing a little as I realised I sounded like my mother! ‘Honestly, they have been a wonderful breath of fresh air. After all the struggles with Danielle, it’s been a pleasure to have a couple of well-behaved kids around. There have been no dramas or arguments. They’ve had us run ragged, of course, and I can’t remember the last time I played so many games and judged so many skipping contests or football and dance challenges, but it has been lovely to have them.’
‘I guess they’ve reminded you why you became a foster carer in the first place,’ Nelson said, astutely.
‘Yes!’ I smiled. ‘Restored my faith!’
As soon as I put the phone down I realised I didn’t actually mean what I’d just said. I made that remark – ‘restored my faith’ – as it seemed like a fitting response to Nelson’s comment, but the reality was that challenging children, like Danielle, were the reason I devoted my life to being a foster carer. Kids like Kim and Mikey did not need the care Danielle did. They ultimately had their own family members to look after them, and they didn’t need specialist care. Danielle was a different kettle of fish entirely. What would happen to her if foster carers like Jonathan and me didn’t take her in? She’d be destined to spend her entire childhood in a children’s home or one of the specialist units that are dotted around the country. I desperately wanted her to come out of the children’s home, and despite the unpleasant phone call I’d had with her, I found myself hoping the doctors would hurry up and do her medical assessments, and that she’d be given the all-clear to come back to us. We could have a fresh start, perhaps with some safeguards in place? That’s what I wanted and hoped for.