The Girl With Two Lives

by Angela Hart

  ‘It’s not the best news, I’m afraid, Angela.’

  It was Deirdre on the phone. Days and days had gone by. Danielle had had her medical assessment, and all was not well.

  ‘Danielle is not good, mentally,’ Deirdre told me. ‘They want to keep her in the children’s home, for the time being.’

  I hadn’t heard from Danielle since she had phoned me in a temper. Deirdre was now making arrangements to collect the rest of Danielle’s belongings. I was shocked and upset at the latest turn of events.

  ‘Is this it? Is this . . . the end of the placement, do you think?’

  Deirdre told me, in her kind and sensitive way, that she was not sure, and it was not up to her to tell me such a thing.

  ‘I’ve been liaising with Social Services, of course, and I’m sure Nelson will be in touch with you very shortly, Angela. Please don’t for one moment think you have done anything wrong. This is a process we need to go through.’

  ‘Thanks, Deirdre. I understand. Thank you.’

  I said goodbye and hung up. I had a lump in my throat and I was really quite stunned at the speed of events. I knew that when Danielle spent the night at Deirdre’s before she went into the children’s home she was calm and well-behaved. That had given me some hope, but now I was starting to accept that it might not be possible to manage Danielle’s mental health with care, love, patience and goodwill alone. It was looking increasingly likely that she’d need a level of specialist care Jonathan and I were not equipped to provide. We were highly trained in dealing with disruptive and challenging behaviour, but we are not medics and there was only so much we could safely do. We had to accept this; any decisions about Danielle’s future were completely out of our hands, and all we could do was wait for news and instructions.

  When Nelson called shortly afterwards, my spirits sank even lower. He explained that Social Services had made a decision on Danielle, and she would not be returning to stay with us, not now, and not ever.

  ‘I understand,’ I said. I felt so choked, and my voice was low and heavy.

  I did understand, but the news was extremely hard to take. I’d been clinging on to the hope that things could turn around, but now there was no hope left. This was the end of the road, and all I could do was console myself with the fact that Social Services had Danielle’s best interests at heart, and I had to trust this was the right decision for her.

  Nelson explained that Jonathan and I would need to attend a disruption meeting.

  ‘As you know, a disruption meeting happens when a placement breaks down. The main purpose of it is to establish that all procedures have been carried out correctly.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ Nelson reassured. No doubt he could hear the pain in my voice.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Who else attends the meeting?’

  Nelson went through a long list, including Social Services managers, Danielle’s psychologist, the head of the children’s home, her social worker, Susan, plus Deirdre and one of Deirdre’s colleagues. I felt daunted at the prospect of attending this meeting, and I felt very thankful Jonathan would be by my side.

  When I told him the news, he gave me a huge bear hug.

  ‘I know how you feel,’ he said. ‘I feel the same. We’ve never been in this situation before, have we?’

  We hugged in silence for a while and then Jonathan spoke again, holding my head in his hands and looking me in the eye.

  ‘It’s important to remember we have not changed and we have done nothing wrong. We have never had to care for a child like Danielle before, and perhaps we never should have. Perhaps these medical assessments should have taken place sooner. Who knows?’

  ‘I think you’re right, but it’s still hard.’

  The disruption meeting was arranged very swiftly, and it was an even more daunting experience than I’d feared. It was intimidating to be in a room with so many experts and officials. Twelve people in total were in attendance, and the meeting was conducted with forensic efficiency and attention to detail. Jonathan and I were asked to contribute precise, factual details of Danielle’s behaviour, that is all. Our opinion was not asked for, but we didn’t expect any more or less.

  It was now very obvious to Jonathan and me that the authorities knew a great deal more about Danielle than they had ever shared with us. Though it wasn’t stated overtly, we could both see that Danielle had clearly been a top-priority case ever since she entered the care system at the age of five. We’d never heard of so many reports being written, assessments being made and of such a high level of intervention from senior managers and social workers. The physical size of Danielle’s bulging case file was alarming, and I was reminded of what Hatty had said to me, many months earlier. When I first met Danielle, she was described to me by a person in a very senior role at Social Services as one of the most damaged children she had ever come across in her thirty-year career.

  Fortunately, the meeting concluded in a positive way, at least in terms of how Danielle’s case had been managed. It was agreed that nobody involved in Danielle’s care – myself and Jonathan included – could have acted in a way that would have prevented the breakdown of this placement. This was comforting on a professional level, but devastating in terms of what this meant for Danielle’s future. If all of the people in this room could not have done any more, what was going to happen next?

  When we left the meeting Jonathan looked ashen white.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ I asked.

  ‘What’s the future for Danielle now?’

  ‘You just read my mind. That’s exactly what I was thinking.’

  21

  ‘Will you always keep in touch?’

  Susan collected the last of Danielle’s things from her room and I gave it a thorough clean, ready for the next child, whoever that might be. I put Scooter’s cage on the worktop in the utility room. He’d come back to us after Danielle spent the night at Deirdre’s, as he was not allowed in the children’s home. When I looked at him scampering around in his wheel, running fast and with so much determination but getting nowhere, I felt a pang of sorrow.

  Was that what we had done with Danielle? Had we always been going nowhere, despite all the effort and energy we put in to caring for her, trying to turn her fortunes around?

  I tried not to let myself despair, but it was very difficult. I was thinking about Danielle all the time, wondering how she was and what was going to happen next. Once a placement has broken down Social Services have no obligation to keep you informed about what is going on, but Susan had said she would keep us posted nonetheless, and thankfully Danielle had told her social worker she wanted to keep in touch with us. I knew Hatty, Deirdre plus Iris and Kenneth would also let me know if they heard anything, and each time the phone rang my heart leapt.

  ‘Angela, it’s Nelson.’

  ‘Hi, Nelson. Is there news about Danielle?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of, I’m afraid. I was ringing about another child, actually.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’

  Nelson asked if we would take in a teenage boy who was waiting to move into supportive lodgings – the halfway house type of accommodation that was very common then, where Social Services placed children aged over sixteen who were ready to leave foster care and live semi-independently. Incidentally, Jonathan and I thought sixteen was far too young to move out of foster care, but nevertheless that was how Social Services did things.

  ‘Gary is sixteen. He’s only been in foster care for a couple of months but hasn’t settled. We thought he’d be happier with you and Jonathan, if you’re willing to have him? I know Danielle has only just left, but it will only be for a few weeks. Gary’s supportive lodgings will be available before the end of the month. He’s a shy boy, very quiet.’

  I couldn’t help smiling to myself.

  ‘Let me talk to Jonathan. I’ll call you right back.’

  Of course we said yes. I think Nelson’s call gave us both a boo
st, in fact.

  Even though we’d been reassured by everybody involved that we had not failed with Danielle in any way, it was taking time for us to accept the truth. Jonathan and I were hurting, and we were both feeling quite low and bruised.

  Gary moved in the following day. His social worker told me he had not felt at ease with the teenage girls who were also in his last placement, and it wasn’t too difficult to see why. Even with Jonathan and me, Gary obviously found it hard to make eye contact, and he was naturally reserved and seemed a little lacking in self-confidence. It couldn’t have been easy for a young lad like him to live with teenage girls he didn’t know.

  I thought back to when I was sixteen, and tried to imagine how I would have felt in Gary’s shoes. I wasn’t a particularly shy teenager, but nevertheless I understood how big a deal it must be for any young person to live with teenagers of the opposite sex who they don’t know. I hoped Gary would feel more at home with us; it seemed a sensible idea from Social Services, to place him with Jonathan and me.

  ‘I’ll show you up to your room and let you unpack your things,’ I told Gary. ‘Take your time. When you’re ready, come down and I’ll show you what’s what around the house. We’re having sausage and mash for tea, do you like that?’

  ‘Yes. Thanks.’

  To my surprise, Gary appeared in the kitchen just ten minutes later and asked if he could help me prepare the dinner. I thought this must have taken a fair amount of courage on his part, and I was pleased to see him.

  ‘Thanks, Gary. That’s very kind. I can’t remember the last time I had an offer like that!’

  ‘I love cooking. I want to be a chef, did you know? I’m on a catering course at college.’

  Nelson had told me Gary was at college but I didn’t know what he was studying.

  ‘Sounds like it’s my lucky day,’ I said, smiling. ‘Good for you. Now then, what would you like to do? Potatoes?’

  ‘Don’t mind. I’ll do the spuds if you like, and I’m not bad at gravy. I could do onion gravy, if you want?’

  ‘Sounds delicious. Let me get you what you need.’

  Gary asked if we could have the radio on while we cooked, and he told me all about college and explained he was also a big music fan. When Jonathan came into the kitchen later he found us both listening to Rihanna’s ‘Umbrella’ as we prepared the food. Gary was telling me about all the different kinds of music he liked, and I was tapping my foot and enjoying the song as I chopped the vegetables.

  ‘Something smells good,’ Jonathan said. ‘And you’re looking happy, Angela.’

  ‘Well, it’s not every day I have such a willing helper in the kitchen.’

  Jonathan grinned. Welcoming another young person into our home was just what I needed and Jonathan could see that: it was written all over my face.

  Gary was no trouble at all. As the week went on he kept his room tidy, helped as much as he could in the kitchen and got himself up and out to college independently. He even cleaned out Scooter’s cage, and he knew his way around the washing machine and assumed it was up to him to iron his own shirts.

  ‘I’m very impressed,’ I said as I set up the ironing board for him and showed Gary how to use our rather old-fashioned steam iron. I’d been promising myself a new one for a while, but hadn’t got round to buying one yet.

  ‘I’m sure you’re going to be fine in your new flat. You’re very self-sufficient already.’

  ‘Needs must,’ Gary muttered shyly, looking at his feet.

  ‘Needs must?’

  ‘Yeah. Er, didn’t they tell you why I had to go into foster care?’

  I had simply been told there had been a family breakdown that had left Gary homeless. He didn’t wait for my reply before he elaborated.

  ‘I assumed they would have told you everything. Oh well. What happened was, my dad went on the run, from the police. When he went, I had to learn fast.’ He shrugged and walked off to fetch some water for the iron.

  ‘You’ve done really well!’ I called after him, and to my surprise he turned around, looked me in the eye and gave me a rather self-conscious smile and thumbs-up.

  During Danielle’s second weekend in the children’s home Jonathan and I took her out for a meal while Gary was out with a friend. She’d asked to see us, and Social Services were happy for us to arrange the outing.

  I was shocked when I saw Danielle, because she reminded me of how she looked when she first arrived at our door. Her weight had crept back up, she had greasy hair, smudged eye make-up and her clothes looked grubby. She didn’t smell great either; I recognised the stale whiff of dried urine. I’d been very worried about how she would manage with her wetting problem in the children’s home, and now I was even more concerned.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked, trying not to show my dismay. Danielle and a member of staff had met me at the entrance door to the children’s home while Jonathan parked the car.

  ‘Good. I’m good, Angela. And you know why, don’t you? I’m going to live with my dad again. That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘Live . . . with your dad?’

  I didn’t know what to say. I knew her father was in prison and would be for many more years to come.

  ‘Yes. Well, I mean I’m coming back to live with you and Jonathan. Is that right? And my brother will be there.’

  She looked at Jonathan, who was now walking towards us. Her face was filled with confusion.

  ‘No, sweetheart, you’re not coming back to live with us,’ I said.

  ‘So where did I get that from? She told me that, I’m sure of it. Oh well. Can we go to that place where you can get refills of your salads and ice cream?’

  ‘Hi, Danielle, good to see you!’ Jonathan said. He’d only heard the end of the conversation and he added, ‘Ah yes, I know you like that restaurant. That’s where we thought we’d go. I like it too. Come on, let’s get going. I’m starving!’

  ‘Me too! I could eat a horse. I haven’t got a brother, have I, Angela?’

  Danielle searched my face with her eyes. They were twitching around in her eye sockets a little erratically, and I wondered if she had been given some medication.

  ‘No, Danielle,’ I said. ‘You haven’t got a brother.’

  ‘No, I thought not. Have you, Angela?’

  I swapped a glance with Jonathan, who gave me a worried look.

  ‘I did have a brother, but unfortunately he passed away many years ago.’

  ‘Oh. That’s sad. But at least you had a brother. It’s more than I ever had!’

  I thought about my brother, Andrew. He had died of cancer when he was just forty-seven years old. Jonathan and I hadn’t been fostering for very long when it happened, and it was such a terrible time. It seemed like I’d lost Andrew a lifetime ago, even though it was less than twenty years earlier.

  A wave of sadness washed over me. I didn’t blame Danielle one bit for the rather insensitive way she spoke to me about my brother; clearly, she was not in the best place mentally. It seemed that Danielle was confused one minute then lucid and normal the next, and Jonathan and I were both alarmed by the state she was in.

  As we all got in the car she said, ‘You know my judo exam is next Wednesday, don’t you? I’ve asked if I can go and take it, and the children’s home said I’m allowed to go. Can you take me please? We just need to check with Susan, that’s all.’

  I was surprised Danielle had remembered the date, because to be perfectly honest I’d forgotten myself; the judo exam was the last thing on my mind. She’d missed quite a few sessions because of everything that had gone on recently and it seemed extremely unlikely she’d be able to continue doing judo at the same club, if at all. Nevertheless, I was pleased Danielle wanted to do the exam and I told her I’d do my very best to make it happen for her. This put a big smile on her face and when we arrived at the restaurant she seemed to be in a very good frame of mind.

  ‘I’ll get my money’s worth,’ she joked as she went back for a second and then a third bowl
of salad, followed by two ice creams with every topping you could imagine.

  As we ate our meal Danielle told us she didn’t like any of the other children at the home. It was a fairly small children’s home, with less than ten other youngsters in residence.

  ‘They all hate me. They say I get special treatment, but what they don’t realise is that I need special treatment. I deserve it. I wish these people would understand. It’s common sense, honestly!’

  It was difficult to know what to say to Danielle. I felt very protective of her and wanted to treat her in the same way I had done when I was her foster carer, but at the same time, as we sat in that restaurant, I found myself consciously acknowledging my role had changed. I was not her foster carer any more. I didn’t want to say anything that might make Danielle resent me or make her feel alienated. She was volatile and unpredictable, and I did not want to give her any reason to turn against me. More than anything, I wanted to be a friend and ally now, because I felt that was what she needed me to be.

  In the end I just said, rather blandly, ‘I think all the children in the home probably deserve special treatment.’ She ignored me and told Jonathan she thought he was looking good that day. She did this in a slightly flirtatious way, which both of us immediately picked up on.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, deadpan. ‘That’s very kind.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘If we’ve all finished, shall we have a little stroll down by the river to walk off our food?’

  ‘Can we get an ice cream from the van?’

  ‘No!’ Jonathan and I chorused in unison.

  ‘Ha ha, only joking,’ Danielle chuckled. ‘And you two haven’t changed, have you?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘You always did say exactly the same thing to me without consulting each other first!’

  When we dropped Danielle off later she was still in good spirits, thank goodness.

  ‘See you soon,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait to be back at your house. I can’t wait to see Scooter either. Is he still in my bedroom? It will be so good when I move back home.’

  ‘Danielle,’ Jonathan said, ‘you do know that you won’t be living in our house again, don’t you?’