The Girl Who Just Wanted to Be Loved

by Angela Hart

  ‘I can’t do that again! I’m not supposed to be late. You’ll get into trouble!’

  ‘Me? No, Keeley, I won’t get into trouble. I have been ready and waiting for ten minutes. I was on time this morning, but you weren’t and I had to wait for you. If the teachers ask me, I’ll have to tell them that, because that is the truth.’

  Keeley smouldered all the way to school.

  ‘Shall I park up and come with you to the office?’ I asked cheerfully when we pulled up outside the school. ‘I don’t mind. I’ve got time, if you think it would help you. I can tell them what the problems were this morning.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ she snapped. ‘I can do it by myself.’

  The next day Keeley got herself ready on time and was well mannered and extremely polite. I praised her and gave her a gold star sticker on her chart, which we’d decided to persevere with for the time being, despite our reservations about how useful this incentive might be. I also made a point of being extra attentive all the way to school, in the hope that she would realise that such good behaviour would earn her much more attention from me than the bad.

  On Saturday Keeley was very excited about going swimming. We had a very good leisure centre nearby which had a kid’s pool and some slides, as well as a large fitness training pool with diving boards of varying heights.

  ‘So you’re quite a good swimmer, are you, Keeley?’ Jonathan asked.

  ‘Not bad. I love swimming. I’ve been with school and had lots of lessons. I was the best in the class, my old teacher said.’

  ‘Great!’ Jonathan replied. ‘Maybe I’ll give you a race!’

  I took Keeley into the female changing area and we arranged to meet Jonathan at the poolside. She got changed by herself without a problem and met me outside the lockers as I’d asked her to, with her bag and towel. I took the belongings off her and placed them in the locker, but as I did so I noticed yet more bruises on Keeley’s body. They were all down her legs as well as her arms, and there must have been about twenty of the tiny black and blue marks on each limb.

  ‘Keeley,’ I said as discreetly as possible, though I was really very alarmed. ‘Look at all those bruises. Where did they come from?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘They’re all right though, they don’t hurt.’

  I shoved my bag and towel hastily into the locker.

  ‘Let me have a proper look,’ I said, panic rising as I stared at the marks.

  ‘Can’t you look later? I’m fine. I want to go and swim now.’

  ‘We can go in a minute . . .’ I began, but before I’d finished my sentence Keeley had given me the slip, and was darting through the door that led to the fitness pool.

  I rushed after her, pacing as rapidly as I could without actually running, but when I went through the swinging door to the poolside I couldn’t see Keeley anywhere. My eyes darted around every square inch of the water and across every single step and the seating area at the far end of the pool before I spotted her. To my dismay, Keeley was charging up the steps leading to the diving boards.

  ‘Keeley!’ I called. ‘Wait for me! Stop there!’

  I had no idea if she had ever dived or jumped off a board before, or how strong a swimmer she was, and I wanted to stop her and at least talk to her before allowing her to launch herself from such a height. Keeley completely ignored me, though, and continued dashing up the steps, not to the first level or to the second, but to the highest board, which was five metres off the ground.

  ‘What the . . . ?’ Jonathan exclaimed. He had heard me shouting and come dashing over to my side. Then we both gaped in horror as Keeley flung herself head first off the top board. It felt like time stood still as we watched her slender little body, dressed in a vibrant yellow halter-neck swimsuit, dropping through the air. Then, all of a sudden, Keeley landed with an ear-splitting, belly-flopping splash in the deep water below.

  Jonathan instinctively jumped in the pool and swam to her side, which was just as well because when Keeley surfaced she was gasping for breath and floundering around. He managed to lead her safely to the steps – thankfully Jonathan is a very strong swimmer, and had done a bit of lifesaving in his youth – and Keeley climbed out of the pool with her legs shaking and promptly burst into tears.

  ‘Keeley, love, are you all right?’ I soothed. ‘Here, shall we go and fetch your towel and you can sit quietly for a few minutes?’

  Keeley nodded and sniffed. Once she was wrapped up warm she stopped crying and gave me a brave smile.

  ‘I’m sorry I scared you, Angela.’

  ‘I’m sorry you scared yourself, sweetheart.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ she said, which wasn’t what I expected her to say at all. ‘I’ve done that loads of time. It wasn’t scary! I just did a belly flop by accident, and it hurt. That’s why I cried.’

  From what I’d seen I was quite sure this wasn’t true, but I didn’t let her know I doubted her word in any way. As ever, I was aware that keeping a dialogue open and encouraging Keeley to talk was very important. If I argued or accused her of telling fibs it could stop her telling me about other, more serious, issues. Safety was very important too, of course, and so I had a word about the dangers of deep water. I think she took this in; the experience had certainly shocked her, and I was sure she wouldn’t want to repeat it or take any more chances any time soon.

  ‘I tell you what, shall we go into the kid’s pool and we can have a go on the slides instead?’ I suggested.

  Keeley nodded, and as we trouped through to the adjacent pool, with Keeley leading the way, Jonathan and I snatched a whispered conversation.

  ‘We can’t let her out of our sight for a second,’ I hissed.

  ‘I know,’ agreed Jonathan. ‘I’ll stay by her side, don’t worry, and we’ll stay in the shallow end. My nerves are jangling, Angela, I don’t know about yours.’

  ‘Mine too. Come on; let’s do our best to have some fun. We can talk to her again later, to reiterate the safety side of things.’

  We did indeed have fun in the pool. There were all shapes of inflatables and floats in the water, a huge sprinkler and even a wave machine. Keeley seemed very happy to stay in the shallow end, or on the slides, and Jonathan made her laugh her head off by chasing her with a giant blow-up dolphin.

  Afterwards we went to the cafe, where I ordered a large cream cake and a mug of coffee. Jonathan, who just had a cup of tea, took the mickey when he saw the size of my cake.

  ‘Comfort food,’ I said, giving him a smile. ‘I think I deserve it after the shock I’ve had,’ I added quietly, out of Keeley’s earshot.

  Keeley tucked into a glass of orange squash and a big slice of chocolate cake, looking completely unperturbed by her experience. Her face was shining, her hair was drying into an amazing set of glossy ringlets and she looked as happy as Larry.

  ‘Would you like to have some extra swimming lessons?’ I asked. ‘Only I can see you like swimming, and maybe you would like to learn more?’

  ‘Yes!’ she said. ‘I’d love that. I don’t need them, but I’d like to have them.’

  ‘OK, sweetheart, I’ll ask at reception on the way out. They usually do courses in the school holidays. We’ll just have to check with Joan and make sure everybody is happy about that, but let’s hope we can fix something up.’

  On the way home my mind was on two things. Firstly, we’d have to find the right moment to talk to her again more thoroughly about safety and the dangers of deep water, and certainly before the next time we took her swimming. Her safety came first, and we had to be sure she understood that she needed to treat the water with more respect and not take any risks. It seemed like she had learned a lesson, but I had to be one hundred per cent sure. Secondly, and more worryingly, I’d have to do something about the bruises on Keeley’s body. There were so many of them, and I’d never seen anything like it before.

  Oh my God, I suddenly thought to myself as Jonathan drove the car. Leukaemia. What if she’s got leukaemia?

>   8

  ‘I’m worried about those bruises’

  ‘Leukaemia?’ Jonathan said, frowning and instantly losing the colour from his face when I shared this terrible thought.

  ‘Yes, it hit me when we were on our way back from the swimming baths. I’ve read about how the symptoms first show themselves. There was an article on one of my magazines a few months back. A mother described how she first noticed something was wrong with her son. It was when she spotted tiny bruises, like pinpoints of blood, scattered around his body. Her description came back to me when I was thinking about Keeley’s bruises in the car, as that’s exactly what her bruises look like.’

  Jonathan scratched the back of his head and I saw tears prick his eyes. Neither of us wanted to say it, but it was impossible not to mention leukaemia without thinking of our nephew, Aiden. He died in 1989, shortly before his seventh birthday. The illness had taken him rapidly, and we still felt his loss acutely; only recently, in fact, Jonathan’s brother had mentioned that Aiden should have been turning twenty-one this year.

  ‘My God, my first thoughts were that she had been pinching herself, you know, in an attention-seeking or self-harming kind of way,’ Jonathan said. ‘I feel absolutely terrible now. It never even occurred to me that she might have some kind of illness, and certainly not something as serious as leukaemia. Surely we can’t be facing that again?’

  I made a doctor’s appointment immediately and explained to Keeley in a roundabout way why I was taking her to the GP.

  ‘I’m worried about those bruises,’ I told her.

  ‘I told you, Angela. They don’t hurt. I’m fine.’

  ‘However you feel, Keeley, it isn’t right to be covered in bruises like that. We need to get you checked over, make sure you are in good health.’

  She shrugged and didn’t argue anymore, and when we went to the doctors a few days later she didn’t kick up a fuss at all.

  ‘What seems to be the problem?’ the rather intense, newly qualified GP asked.

  I explained that Keeley had bruises all over her body. He asked if he could take a closer look and Keeley stripped down to her knickers without complaint, while I tried to hide my alarm and fear. I saw that there were now more bruises than ever; about thirty to forty on each limb, including what looked like new ones down her sides, around the edges of her back and all around her stomach.

  ‘What do you think might be causing this, Keeley?’ the GP asked kindly.

  ‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘They don’t hurt though. I don’t really mind.’

  I had not mentioned the word leukaemia to the doctor or to Keeley, and I soon became very relieved that I hadn’t, as the GP looked at me conspiratorially before speaking again to Keeley.

  ‘This really is quite a curious case of mysterious bruises,’ he said, furrowing his brow. ‘You see, if they were caused by an illness I don’t think they would appear in these patterns. What’s puzzling me is that the bruises are on your arms and legs, and your tummy, but you don’t have them all over your back.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ Keeley asked.

  ‘No. It’s this part, in the middle of the back, where there are no bruises at all.’

  He tapped the centre of Keeley’s back gently with his fingertips and then asked her to turn around, so that I could see the pattern on her back too.

  ‘Do you think you could touch this part of your back, where my finger is now?’ the GP asked.

  Keeley stretched one arm up her back and tried to touch the spot he was pointing at but couldn’t quite reach. Then, using her other arm, she attempted to stretch over one shoulder, but still couldn’t touch the central point in her back. While Keeley was still facing away from us the doctor caught my eye and gave me a look as if to say: ‘Do you see what I’m getting at?’

  I nodded discreetly, realising what the doctor was showing me. The bruises only appeared on parts of Keeley’s body that she could reach, and it seemed very obvious now that she must have been making these marks herself, which is exactly what Jonathan’s gut reaction had been.

  ‘Maybe you could have another think about how you got the bruises?’ the doctor suggested gently. ‘In the meantime, I will arrange for a blood test, just to be on the safe side, but I really don’t think they are caused by any nasty illness.’

  The GP suggested he would phone me after his morning surgery the next day, ‘to see how things are going’. In fact, the purpose of his call was to check if Keeley was still attending therapy to help her deal with the emotional abuse she had suffered, as this was recorded on her medical records. I confirmed that she was still going for monthly sessions and was due to attend one shortly, as she hadn’t been for one since moving in with us.

  ‘Good,’ he replied. ‘I believe self-harm is not uncommon in children like Keeley, but I am no expert in that field. I think this is a job for her therapist. He or she should be best placed to help her deal with it, and I’m pleased she is still having counselling. If she wasn’t I would have referred her.’

  I filled in the necessary paperwork and passed this on to Social Services and to Keeley’s school, but I have no idea what impact this had on her treatment, if any, as Jonathan and I were never given any information at all about Keeley’s therapy sessions.

  The blood test, predictably, returned a negative result, which I used in a positive way, to help encourage Keeley to stop pinching herself.

  ‘Great news,’ I told her. ‘The doctor was right. You aren’t ill.’

  ‘Told you!’

  ‘Yes. Now, let’s see if you can go for a whole week without getting a new bruise, shall we?’

  ‘OK. Will I get a star on the chart?’

  ‘I’ll do better than that. I’ll count the bruises in a week and if there are less than before you can have a new doll. How about that?’

  After that I counted the bruises each week and always bought Keeley a treat if the number had reduced. Sadly, though, Keeley was rarely bruise-free and she never, ever admitted to self-harm, even when I asked her gently, and when she was in a responsive mood, if she might possibly have made the bruises herself, perhaps without meaning to.

  ‘What?’ she always said, looking either insulted or confused if I tried to get her to open up. ‘I don’t know where they came from. I must have fallen over and I can’t remember.’

  ‘You know you can tell me if something else has happened,’ I always said.

  ‘I know, but there’s nothing to tell!’

  One time she added: ‘I used to get bruises more when I was living with my mum.’

  ‘Did you? You used to get bruises more when you were at home with your mum?’

  ‘Yes. She hit me with her slipper when she was mad. She threw me in a room and locked me up too.’

  ‘I remember you told me before that your mum hit you. She hit you with a slipper, did she, and threw you in a room and locked you up?’

  ‘Yes. The box room. It had no carpet and no furniture and the floor was hard and cold. She hit me with a walking stick too sometimes, when she was really mad. It was Eric’s walking stick.’

  ‘Eric’s walking stick?’

  I knew from when I was first given her background history that Eric was Keeley’s maternal grandfather, but I didn’t want to be the one to mention this, so I left a pause. Keeley thought long and hard before she spoke again.

  ‘Eric’s walking stick, yes. He was my granddad. I hated him. He was weird, and he was horrible to me.’

  Of course, I also knew that Eric was suspected of sexually abusing both his daughter and granddaughter, but that nothing had ever been proven and that Keeley’s mum had never seen through a formal complaint to police or even Social Services. Whatever Keeley said on the matter could be extremely important. I tried to keep the conversation going by repeating back what she had said in a gentle, questioning tone, but Keeley clammed up and started staring into space.

  It hadn’t escaped me that Keeley had spoken about her grandfather in the past tense, even though he was
still alive. I made a note of this in my diary, and also when I passed on all the details of these latest disclosures to Social Services, being careful to quote Keeley word for word.

  Afterwards, I thought back over precisely what I had been told by Sandy at the start of the placement, because I was searching for anything that might help me deal with Keeley. However, ‘suspected sexual abuse’ was all Sandy had said, both in relation to Eric and to Keeley’s mother. That was all I knew, and it was very little. I had no idea of the level of abuse or the exact nature of Tina’s accusations against her father. Nor did I know why Tina was suspected of sexually abusing her own daughter. What was the evidence, if any? Had Eric or Tina been falsely accused, or had they got away with serious crimes? I wanted to know, but then again I didn’t. I couldn’t bear thinking about what Keeley may have been through.

  9

  ‘I’m afraid there’s been an incident’

  On the Friday, after school, Jonathan and I took Keeley to the first of her supervised sessions with her mother since she had been in our care, and I for one was dreading it.

  ‘You don’t seem yourself,’ Jonathan commented when we nipped home to change after handing over to our assistant in the shop. My mum had arrived and was now installed with a cup of tea and a crossword book to keep her occupied until the boys returned from school. Then she would help them get dinner, which I’d prepared in advance and just needed heating up, before the boys went off to their separate Friday night activities.

  ‘It’s a bit of a rush all this, on a Friday afternoon. You look a bit harassed, Angela. Are you all right?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ I replied flatly. ‘I’m not sure how I’m going to react to Tina, or how she is going to react to us. More importantly, I am not sure how Keeley will deal with it.’

  Because of the hastily arranged move to her last respite carers, and her move to us, Keeley’s routine had been disrupted and she hadn’t actually seen her mum for a month, which was the longest the two of them had ever gone without contact. However, when I’d mentioned the visit earlier in the week Keeley seemed quite indifferent, and the only comment she made was to quip, ‘I’ll put on a dress then.’