by Angela Hart
As we were collecting her from school I’d assumed that Keeley would go to the session in her uniform. I didn’t question her though when she mentioned getting changed, as it seemed a positive thing to do, to make an effort and wear a dress for her mum.
‘Do you want me to help you choose a dress?’ I asked.
‘No, it’s OK. I know which dress she likes me in. She bought it for my birthday.’
‘OK. You’ll probably have to get changed before you leave school, can you do that? We need to head off straight from there you see, as we’ve never been to this contact centre before and we need to give ourselves plenty of time to get there.’
Keeley wrinkled her nose. ‘No, I’ll just get changed in the car,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you the dress to bring.’
‘OK, if you’re sure that’s what you want to do.’
‘It is. It’s fine.’
When she moved in, Keeley had arrived with two suitcases full of clothes, ranging from the jeans and leggings and pretty tops that she generally favoured to a large collection of dresses. Her favourite was the red and white polka-dot one she was wearing when we first met her, which really suited her, and she also had a denim tunic that she loved to wear, although she preferred trousers most of the time. To my surprise the dress she wanted to wear, which her mum had bought for her birthday, was a strappy, vibrant pink number that was shimmering with sequins and would not have looked out of place in a junior ballroom dancing competition.
‘Gosh, that’s posh!’ I exclaimed, trying to say something positive but probably not sounding very genuine, as the outfit didn’t seem suitable for the occasion at all.
Keeley shrugged. ‘It’s all right. My mum likes it better than I do.’
‘Well, perhaps you’d be more comfortable in something else?’ I tentatively suggested. ‘I’m sure your mum would understand if you just went in your uniform, if you wanted to.’
‘No, she might go mad. And she’ll only kick off if I turn up in trousers. It’s OK, I’ll put this on, it’s fine.’
Keeley waited until the very last minute to put on the dress, asking Jonathan to park in the quietest corner of the car park outside the contact centre, so she could change discreetly. It was a warm evening and I was relieved that in the event she didn’t look too out of place; thankfully, eight-year-old girls tend to be able to pull off most outfits.
The social worker in charge of the contact session met us just inside the entrance of the building. He was a shy-looking man in his late twenties we’d never met before, and he took us directly to the large room where the session was taking place. The usual routine for such visits is that Jonathan and I are briefly introduced to the parent or parents and then we wait outside while the social worker supervises the session.
Tina had not yet arrived. Keeley was very quiet and said nothing as the social worker made polite small talk and invited us all to sit at a table at the back of the room and make ourselves comfortable. Jonathan and I sat down but Keeley chose to stay standing near the door, where she stared into space and played with her hair, twirling it absent-mindedly around her fingers. She had worn it plaited for school that day, but she’d taken the plaits out in the car and her hair was flowing down her back, which I was actually quite glad about, as at least it covered her bare shoulders.
Tina arrived ten minutes late. Her long hair was platinum blonde; she was chewing gum loudly and dressed in extremely tight white trousers, platform sandals, a crop top and large, gold-hooped earrings. I knew she’d had Keeley when she was young, but I hadn’t expected her to be this young. She looked like a teenager, though I later found out she was twenty-three and had had Keeley when she was fifteen.
As soon as Tina entered the room she swooped on her daughter and completely ignored the rest of us. She didn’t offer any apology for being late either, which we would have appreciated. I tried to tell myself this was understandable, as after all Tina had not seen Keeley in several weeks, but nevertheless I still felt quite put out. I don’t like bad manners under any circumstances, and Jonathan and I had got to our feet when Tina came in. We both smiled at her and the social worker even walked towards her and held out his hand, preparing to make the introductions, but Tina didn’t acknowledge any of this at all.
Jonathan and I were left feeling slightly embarrassed, not knowing if we should now leave the room or wait for Tina to say hello. We decided to wait, as we didn’t want to be rude and simply walk out. The social worker crossed the room and went and hovered by Tina and Keeley, presumably deciding that he would give Tina a few minutes to be reacquainted with her daughter before attempting to make the introductions again.
After she’d fussed over Keeley for a minute or two we all watched as Tina lifted her daughter in the air and spun her around excitedly.
‘It’s so good to see you, babe!’ Tina shrieked, planting a big kiss on Keeley’s lips.
I glanced at Jonathan and knew he was thinking exactly the same thing as me: that kiss seemed a little inappropriate. It was clear that Keeley didn’t enjoy it either, as she was now wiping her mother’s bright red lipstick off her mouth with the back of her hand.
The social worker looked on with a rather worried expression on his face, and he then stepped forward once more and had a quiet word with Tina.
‘I’ll say hello to them people in a minute!’ she said loudly, curling her lip in a way that reminded me of Keeley.
‘Shall Mummy give you a lovely big cuddle?’ Tina then giggled, gazing at Keeley and using a tone of voice that would have been more appropriate with a toddler than an eight-year-old. ‘I’ve missed you, babe. Come here, come and have a cuddle!’
Keeley gave her mum a half-hearted smile, and with that Tina lifted her daughter in the air again, this time encouraging Keeley to hold on tight by wrapping her legs around her waist. First Tina hugged her daughter in this position, and then she started to spin her around. It was only then that I noticed that Tina’s hands had disappeared up the back of Keeley’s sparkly dress. She wasn’t moving her hands or anything like that, and she was in full view of the social worker, Jonathan and myself, but nevertheless it was uncomfortable to witness, not least because Tina clearly didn’t think this behaviour was inappropriate at all. Fortunately, Keeley didn’t seem worried, or at least she didn’t struggle or ask her mum to stop.
After that Tina finally put Keeley down and clomped over in her high heels to say hello to Jonathan and me.
‘Nice to meet you, Jeremy and Angela,’ she said, chewing her gum loudly as she spoke.
‘It’s Jonathan and Angela,’ I replied brightly, ‘and we’re very pleased to meet you too.’
‘Cool,’ she muttered, immediately turning her attention back to Keeley.
I indicated to the social worker that Jonathan and I would now step out of the room, though Tina clearly wasn’t bothered if we were present or not, and started chatting loudly to Keeley while we were making our way to the door.
‘Granddad’s been round,’ she said excitedly. ‘He says to send his love.’
‘That’s nice,’ Keeley smiled sweetly. ‘Send mine back, won’t you?’
This of course was completely at odds with Keeley’s reaction last time her grandfather’s name was mentioned, which worried me somewhat. Jonathan’s expression betrayed his concern too, and we locked eyes as we left the room. Something wasn’t right about this, but of course we weren’t in a position to interfere at this moment in time.
Once we were in the waiting room I made a mental note to log this in my diary. I felt something so inconsistent might be important information for the social workers and Keeley’s therapist, and so I would make a point of writing it down and telling Sandy about it. I was very concerned about why Keeley appeared to pretend to her mother that she liked her grandfather. Was she worried about upsetting her mum if she told her what she had told us, which was that Eric was ‘weird’, and ‘horrible to me’? Or was she frightened that her mother might be angry and fly off the handle i
f Keeley said anything against Eric? It was impossible to know, given that Eric was suspected of sexually abusing both Tina and Keeley, and that Tina had physically abused Keeley and may have also sexually abused her.
Foster carers are not encouraged to express personal opinions and we have to keep our own points of view to ourselves in our written notes and calls to Social Services, but I felt this amounted to more than mere suspicion on my part. Keeley’s words were in total contrast to those she’d used before about her grandfather, and I couldn’t let this go. Besides, I had learned from experience that it’s best to write down most things, even if you are not sure how significant they may be. On several occasions an event that hadn’t seemed important turned out to be very relevant, and I was glad I’d erred on the side of caution and written it down on the day.
Three days after seeing her mother, Keeley had her first therapy session during her time with us. As planned we arranged cover in the shop and my mum came over to help with the boys so that Jonathan and I could collect Keeley from school early and take her on the thirty-mile drive.
Jonathan waited in the car while I went into the school. We were a little early and imagined I would have to sit and wait in reception for a few minutes until Keeley was brought from her classroom, but to my surprise she was already sitting in the front office with her jacket on, and her school bag in hand.
‘You’re keen!’ I smiled, but Keeley just looked at the floor.
‘I’m afraid there’s been an incident,’ the deputy head, Mrs Tiller, said, appearing from her office door adjacent to the reception area.
‘Oh,’ I said, crestfallen. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?’
‘Do you have five minutes, Mrs Hart?’
I said that I did, and the deputy head told Keeley to continue waiting in the receptionist’s office while Mrs Tiller and I had a ‘little chat’ in the privacy of her office.
‘I’m sorry to say that Keeley has let herself down very badly indeed,’ Mrs Tiller began, looking disappointed. ‘During her last lesson she stabbed another pupil in the back with the sharp end of a compass. The boy in question had to be taken to the nurse’s office as he was bleeding. The nurse is still dealing with him now, and we have had to phone the boy’s parents and make them aware of the situation.’
‘I’m very sorry to hear this,’ I said, feeling my heart sinking. ‘Keeley seemed to be in a fine mood this morning. In fact, as I recall she came to school with a spring in her step. I don’t know what can have gone wrong.’
‘Perhaps it is the fact she has her appointment?’ Mrs Tiller offered generously, and I added that Keeley had seen her mum on Friday, too, which might have also affected her.
‘Both things could impact on her mood and behaviour, of course,’ Mrs Tiller agreed. ‘Nevertheless I will have to discipline her in school. I have taken five minutes off her playtime for the rest of the week, and she is being moved to the desk in front of the teacher in all of her classes until further notice.’
‘OK, I’ll support you in those moves, of course. I’ll also talk to Keeley and ask her to think about how she made this boy feel by hurting him in that way.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Hart. I understand you have a difficult job on your hands at times and I appreciate your support. I will deal with the boy’s parents and ensure Keeley apologises to him tomorrow, and hopefully that will be the end of the matter.’
‘I hope so,’ I said as I got to my feet and went to fetch Keeley. ‘I’ll also make the necessary reports to Social Services.’
‘Of course. We will do the same. Thank you for your time.’
Keeley said nothing as we crossed the car park together and she completely blanked Jonathan as she strapped herself in the back seat of the car. However, once we were on our way she began to talk. This is not unusual; often a child feels more comfortable opening up when they are in the car and not having to give you eye contact.
‘It wasn’t my fault, Angela,’ was her opening line.
Jonathan flicked me a glance. Clearly, Keeley was directing this to me and not Jonathan. He gave me a subtle nod, which I understood to mean that he would keep quiet and let me tackle the conversation.
‘Tell me what happened,’ I replied.
‘Gladly!’ she chimed, almost triumphantly. ‘It was Miss Fraser’s stupid fault. Bitch!’
‘Keeley! You are already in trouble. Please don’t make matters worse by using bad language. That is very rude indeed. Now please tell me, without swearing, why you think that Miss Fraser is responsible for the fact that you stabbed another child in the back so hard that he bled!’
I’d kept a stiff upper lip when talking to the deputy head, but now my emotions were coming to the surface and I was feeling upset and extremely concerned. Keeley must have stabbed her classmate with quite some force, which was very worrying indeed.
‘I’ll tell you why it’s her stupid fault, Angela! Miss Fraser was making me do the stupidest work ever. EVER!’
‘What do you mean, the stupidest work? What were you doing.’
‘Literacy.’
‘And what’s wrong with literacy. I thought you enjoyed it. What were you doing, reading or writing?’
‘Writing.’
‘Well you like writing. What were you writing about?’
There was a long pause and then Keeley blurted out the words ‘family trees’ as if she was spitting out poison.
‘I see,’ I said, my mind racing. I knew that this was a topic that regularly appeared on the curriculum for primary school children, and I also knew that teachers and classroom assistants were trained to handle the subject sensitively, particularly when it came to children from broken homes, those who had lost a parent or those who were adopted or in foster care.
‘So what did Miss Fraser say to you, when she explained about family trees?’
‘She told me, “Do as much as you can, Keeley.”’
‘And what did she say to the other children?’
‘The same, I suppose.’
‘So why were you so upset and cross?’
‘It was the way she said it. She had a funny look on her face. She was making fun of me, I know it! And that stupid boy started laughing. He deserved what he got!’
‘OK, Keeley,’ I said, taking this in calmly and slowly. My heart bled for her, and what I really wanted to do was stop the car and give her a great big hug.
‘The thing is, I know Miss Fraser, and I am sure the very last thing she would want to do is make fun of you.’
‘So how come that dickhead laughed?’
‘Keeley,’ I sighed. ‘What have I said about your language?’
‘I don’t care what you’ve said! I don’t care what anybody says, including the stinking teachers. And so what if it’s just my mum and me on my family tree? So fucking what!’
Keeley now had her arms folded sharply across her chest and was staring defiantly out of the window.
‘What about your grandfather?’ I ventured. ‘Shouldn’t he be on the family tree, as he’s your mum’s dad, isn’t he?
Jonathan’s eyes widened and he shot me another glance, this time one that told me I might have said too much, or the wrong thing. I had thought about my question, though, and hadn’t just blurted it out carelessly. The fact was that Keeley did have a grandfather and, whatever he had done – which remained unproven – he was a member of her small family. In my opinion, erasing him from the family tree was quite a dramatic statement, and not something that should go unchallenged.
Unfortunately, Keeley went red in the face and suddenly made a rather alarming sound that reminded me of my food blender when I’ve over-packed it, and the blades are fighting to turn.
‘Ggrrrrhhhhh! What about my grandfather?’ she growled. ‘Ggrrrrhhhhh! Wouldn’t you like to fucking know! Ggrrrrhhhhh! Well I’m not telling you. You can all get stuffed, fucking nosy parkers!’
Jonathan and I didn’t rise to this, though we both desperately wanted to find out more.
Keeley ignored me and pointedly returned her gaze out of the car window. I will have to make a note of all this later, I thought. Jonathan was probably right; it was a question too far. I would quote myself verbatim in my log, and report exactly how this conversation came about.
As our journey continued I had what felt like a hundred questions grinding around my brain. What exactly had Keeley’s grandfather done to her? When had he done it, and for how long? What did her mother know, and what else had she done to Keeley that we didn’t already know about?’
I wondered if Keeley would ever tell and, more importantly, would she ever be able to move forward in her life? Would she ever grow up into the happy, beautiful girl she surely was deep down?
10
‘It’s like living with Jekyll and Hyde’
We had no idea what happened in the therapy session. We waited outside the clinic for the forty-five-minute appointment and of course didn’t ask any questions afterwards. We understood that what happened in therapy stayed in therapy, and it would have been inappropriate and unprofessional of us to fish in anyway at all about what Keeley or her therapist discussed.
To our surprise and relief, Keeley emerged in a much happier and more responsive mood, behaving as if nothing had happened at school or in the car. She acknowledged Jonathan politely and even thanked him for driving, and then she began chatting about the carnival bonnets and asking me if we were ready to start painting them, which we were. I decided to enjoy her good mood while it lasted, and didn’t mention the events of earlier in the day again.
When we got home Keeley went up to her bedroom to change out of her uniform. Jonathan and I saw my mum out and then snatched a few minutes together in the kitchen.