The Girl Who Just Wanted to Be Loved

by Angela Hart

  ‘Phillip, why didn’t you come and get me when this started?’ I asked, though as I’d already started to realise, as a teenage boy, he was finding it very hard to admit a little girl was tormenting him. He saw it as an affront to his machismo, and he didn’t want to admit defeat.

  ‘I was just trying to get my work done, Angela. I couldn’t be bothered coming all the way downstairs, it’s so annoying and a waste of my time. She kept promising she wouldn’t come in again and then she did. Oh my God. I’m so sick of this. Can I have a lock on my bedroom door, please?’

  This was something I had actually been thinking seriously about, and had discussed with Jonathan. We’d never done it before, but with Keeley persistently breaking the rules we were feeling extremely uncomfortable. We have always been very carefully about sticking to the fostering guidelines we’d been taught, but now Keeley was making it impossible for us to do so. We were regularly reminded in training about the possible risks involved in allowing access to bedrooms, and some of the stories made the hair on the back of our necks stand up. Allegations of theft were scenarios we could easily guess at, but there were other, more shocking examples too. One little girl had taken matches from a teenager’s room without him knowing, and then started a fire in the garage. A male carer had been accused of deliberately walking in on a young teenager while she was undressing. He was ultimately cleared of any wrongdoing, but needless to say we did not want to find ourselves in a stressful and dangerous situation like that. Fostering was not just a job to us, it was our lives, and we had to be one hundred per cent safe and transparent in everything we did, every single day.

  When Joan arrived I discussed putting locks on the doors. After hearing why, she didn’t hesitate in saying she thought this was a sensible idea, and that she would arrange for us to receive the formal permission required from Social Services to sanction our request. The locks on the outside of the doors would only be used when the rooms were empty, to stop someone going in when we weren’t there, and we would also be allowed to put a simple bolt on the inside at the bottom of the boys’ doors, so that when they were in their room Carl and Phillip could secure their door shut without being actually locked in, which would have been a fire risk. There would be no lock on the inside of Keeley’s door, as she was too young to be locking herself inside a room.

  I was relieved to have Joan’s support and I told her this. Then I asked Keeley to come downstairs, which she did willingly. In fact, when Keeley came into the lounge she looked like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She had Jinty in her arms, and she started talking very sweetly to the social worker about dolls and teddy bears.

  ‘Did you have a favourite doll, when you were little?’ she asked Joan, who had kindly remarked what a pretty dress Jinty was wearing.

  ‘Yes, I did, Keeley. She was called Tilly-Jo and she had red plaits. I’ve still got her somewhere. I think she’s in my loft.’

  Keeley giggled and hugged her doll. ‘I’d never put you in the loft, Jinty!’ she whispered in her cloth ear. It was extremely hard to believe that this was the same little girl who was capable of displaying such bad behaviour as we’d seen in Wales, and at other times.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you enjoying playing with your doll,’ Joan said, ‘but I’ve been hearing that you haven’t been behaving so nicely all the time, have you, Keeley?’

  Keeley shook her head sadly from side to side.

  ‘Do you know why you have been causing trouble and swearing?’

  Again Keeley shook her head, and now big tears formed in her eyes and began dripping down her cheeks.

  ‘Here, have a tissue,’ Joan said kindly, fishing one out of her handbag. ‘I’m not here to make you cry, or to make you feel bad. I’m here because I want to help you, and Angela wants to help you. Everybody will be happier if you behave better, so is there anything you can tell us that might help us to help you?’

  Keeley shrugged and looked at the floor. ‘I don’t mean it,’ she said eventually. ‘I don’t like being naughty.’

  ‘OK,’ Joan said gently. ‘I’m sure you don’t. How about we draw up a contract? I would like you to agree to three things, Keeley. How does that sound?’

  ‘What?’ she said, looking worried.

  ‘They are not difficult things. First, no bad language. Second, if you feel like you are going to lose your temper, count to ten and go and sit quietly on your own before you react, and thirdly, think about how other people around you are feeling, and if you are making them feel bad, then again you must stop, count to ten and walk away.’

  Joan had clearly thought this through before she arrived, which impressed me, and she handed Keeley a piece of paper with the three points clearly set out.

  ‘If you can do these things before my next visit, I think you will deserve a big treat, what do you think, Angela? I think it will also make it much easier for Angela to continue being your carer, which is what you want, isn’t it, Keeley?’

  Keeley nodded, and I readily agreed to provide a treat if and when appropriate.

  ‘Thanks for your help, Joan,’ I said, feeling a surge of gratitude for having her professional support, and a structure of sorts in place.

  However, when Joan had gone I was left feeling a bit uneasy, and I wasn’t immediately sure why.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Jonathan said as he leafed through the telephone directory, looking for a place to buy locks for the bedroom doors.

  ‘I’m not sure Joan’s contract is going to help,’ I found myself fretting. ‘In fact, I’ve got a horrible feeling it’s not going to solve Keeley’s problems at all.’

  ‘Why not? We’ve had contracts with kids before and they are usually very useful.’

  ‘Yes, but this one is really just a more official version of the star chart and time out. The only difference is that she’s effectively being asked to put herself in time out. I know Joan is very experienced and she’s seen good results with these types of contracts, but I can’t help thinking that Keeley is just not going to get it. What’s more, I can see she’s very fond of me, and I know she likes it here. I’m not sure how it’s going to affect her, thinking that if the contract doesn’t work the placement may not be able to continue.’

  ‘You may be right, but we don’t know, do we?’ Jonathan said reasonably. ‘I do think you’ve got a point comparing it to the star chart and time out, but the idea that Keeley’s bad behaviour might cause the breakdown of the placement could be just the thing that makes her turn a corner. We’ll have to cross our fingers and hope for the best.’

  We had the placement meeting the following week, at which everything we’d discussed with Sandy, Joan and Keeley was reiterated, agreed by Sheila Briggs and recorded on file. All three members of the Social Services staff praised our efforts, acknowledged the work we were doing and wished us luck in implementing the strategies discussed, and finally making better progress with Keeley.

  It gave us a lift to know we had this professional backing, and that we were appreciated, but unfortunately our spirits didn’t stay raised for long. We had an extremely difficult week after the locks were fitted to the bedroom doors, because Keeley decided to find new ways to irritate the boys, and particularly Phillip.

  The first trick she pulled was to steal some raw vegetables from the fridge, break off little bits and stick them in his shoes or his school bag.

  ‘Keeley! I know this is you! Leave me alone!’ he said, tipping curled-up bits of peppers, onions and carrots onto the hall floor in exasperation.

  ‘What?’ she said, giving her best ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ gaze.

  ‘I’m watching you!’ he snapped. ‘I really mean it, Keeley. I’m gonna catch you in the act and you’ll be sorry!’

  When I tackled Keeley I got the usual denial and indignant ‘what would I do that for?’ response, but one day I found the remains of the vegetables she’d broken up in her bedroom, behind her door. I had told her I was cleaning her room that day and so I had to assume she h
ad either forgotten about the vegetables or wanted to be found out. When I spoke to her after school, I came to the conclusion it was probably the latter.

  ‘Keeley,’ I said. ‘I found the same vegetables you have been putting in Phillip’s shoes, in your bedroom.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, nobody could have put them there except you. The boys can’t have gone into your bedroom as you have the locks outside of the door which I lock every day. I am the only person who goes into your room, when I tell you I am going to clean and tidy it for you, and I certainly didn’t put them there.’

  ‘Angela, I’ve got no idea how they got there,’ she scowled defiantly. ‘I think you’re just trying to get rid of me!’

  ‘Get rid of you? No, I am certainly not trying to get rid of you, Keeley. The last thing I want is for you to have to move out, but please remember what Joan said. If your behaviour doesn’t improve it might be impossible for you to stay, as we can’t have the boys being aggravated and upset like this. It’s not fair.’

  I felt a pang in my chest as I said this. As I’d feared, the contract strategy had backfired. Instead of encouraging good behaviour it had made Keeley feel tested and insecure. In fact, the only message the contract seemed to have given her was that if she didn’t behave she might have to leave. It was a stick, not a carrot, and I felt terribly guilty for even agreeing to use it. Keeley was a vulnerable little girl, and it just seemed awful to have put her in this position. I thought of all the lovely things about her. Keeley was brave and resilient. She had a sense of fun, a love of learning and a sweet and loving nature, given the right circumstances. It was my job to provide the environment in which her good qualities would grow and she would flourish, but could I honestly do that? I had three children to care for, not just one, and I had to think about the boys as well as Keeley. They deserved to feel safe and comfortable and happy, just like Keeley did, but was it possible for all three to live in harmony under one roof?

  ‘Can’t they move out, if they don’t like it?’ Keeley said, using her sweet voice now.

  ‘No, they can’t. They like it here and they want to stay. The best thing would be if you could all get along nicely.’

  ‘I’d rather just live with you, Angela,’ she said.

  ‘That’s a nice compliment to me, Keeley, but you know that can’t happen. We all have to get along, that’s the way it is. The boys aren’t going anywhere, and nor is Jonathan.’

  ‘Pity,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Nothing. I didn’t say anything.’

  The next day an almighty row erupted when Carl went to have a shower and discovered that ‘someone’ had put his hair wax all over his sponge.

  ‘It wasn’t me, you dickhead!’ Keeley shouted when he confronted her. ‘You’re a lying bastard, you did it yourself to get me into trouble! You’re trying to get rid of me too. You all hate me!’

  When I intervened Keeley accused me of taking sides and favouring the boys, even though I chose my words carefully and didn’t accuse her of anything I couldn’t prove.

  ‘Why don’t you count to ten and go and sit in your room quietly and think about this,’ I suggested, which was met with another angry rant.

  ‘I told you! You’re just trying to get rid of me, Angela! You hate me like everybody else. You just want me out of your sight!’

  Later that evening I asked Keeley to take a shower.

  ‘No, I won’t,’ she shouted. ‘You’ll probably accuse me of doing something else I didn’t do if I go in the bathroom.’

  ‘Why would I do that, Keeley? I don’t like having unnecessary arguments, actually. I am asking you to have a shower tonight because your hair needs washing and you have had PE in school today, so you need to wash. That is the reason.’

  ‘I don’t believe you. It’s a trick.’

  ‘It’s not a trick. It’s for your benefit, not mine, and I certainly am not asking you because I want to aggravate you. Why on earth would I do that?’

  ‘You just would, to get rid of me.’

  I realised I was on a hiding to nothing here. Keeley had never been brilliant at showering properly. She often emerged from the bathroom with damp but unwashed hair, or grubby feet and fingernails that she clearly hadn’t washed thoroughly. I’d talked to her about this many times and offered her endless encouragement, complimenting her when she did smell fresh and talking to her about how much better a person feels when they are clean. Nothing worked, and this time I decided to completely change tack.

  ‘You know what, Keeley,’ I said with a sigh. ‘It’s probably not worth you having a shower anyway, because you don’t do it properly.’

  ‘I do!’ she argued.

  ‘No you don’t.’ I replied calmly.

  ‘I do!’ she insisted, getting more animated and annoyed with me. ‘I’ll prove it, and you can’t stop me!’

  With that she flounced off to the shower and had what was probably the most thorough wash she’d had in all her time with us. It was a small victory, though I still wasn’t at all sure I was winning the war; in fact, I was feeling as if I was only just keeping my defences up.

  I discussed this with Jonathan later that evening, and he recounted a small success story he’d also had with Keeley, that he hadn’t got round to sharing until now. She had been playing in the back garden while he was in the shed, looking for some tools to do the bedroom locks. Keeley clearly decided she would try to disrupt whatever Jonathan was doing, and she started knocking on the shed windows and doors and running away.

  Jonathan thought she probably expected a similar reaction to the one the boys typically gave her whenever she knocked on their bedroom door or the bathroom and ran away. This stunt, which she pulled frequently, inevitably got their backs up, which was just what she wanted to achieve. (Another of her habits, incidentally, was to turn the bathroom light off and on repeatedly when one of the boys was in the bath or the shower as, very inconveniently, the switch was on the landing.)

  Anyhow, on this particular occasion Keeley’s plan to cause irritation completely backfired, because instead of telling her to stop annoying him by knocking on the shed, Jonathan didn’t react at all for about five minutes. Then, when Keeley was distracted – for some reason she was stuffing lumps of gluey paper into the cracks in the patio – he nipped out of the shed and hid behind a tree. The next time Keeley went and tapped on the shed window he leaped out from behind the tree shouting: ‘Who goes there!’ in his best pantomime baddie voice. Keeley squealed in surprise and Jonathan laughed.

  ‘What were you hiding there for?’ she asked, giggling and jumping up and down excitedly. ‘You made me jump out of my skin!’

  ‘I don’t know, Keeley. I just felt like it. What were you tapping on the window for?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just felt like it. It’s not a crime, is it?’

  ‘No, what can be wrong with knocking on an empty shed?’

  Clearly, we’d hit on something here. If we could call Keeley’s bluff or use distraction techniques and humour to dissipate her plans when she was trying to aggravate and annoy, we might just be able to turn a corner in terms of her behaviour.

  14

  ‘Everything was fine until he came in!’

  It was the carnival at the weekend, which I was really looking forward to, as so far the bonnet making had proved to be the best antidote of all to Keeley’s bad behaviour, and I hoped this would be a satisfying and fun day.

  ‘There’s a fancy dress competition open to all the children,’ I told her. ‘If you like I can make you a costume.’

  ‘Can I go as anyone?’ she asked.

  ‘Not quite. The theme is fairy tales. You can go as any character you like from a fairy tale.’

  She thought carefully about this, fetched her felt-tip pens and some paper, and started writing down some ideas. Cinderella and Snow White were top of the list, but then she suddenly started shouting, ‘I know, I know! I want to be the cat out of Dick Whittington.�
� It turned out that Keeley had seen this pantomime performed at a local theatre the previous Christmas and so she knew the story well, and had loved the character of the cat. I was quietly pleased, as although I’m always willing to have a try at making things, I’m not a natural dressmaker or artist, and at least a black cat was an easy costume to make.

  Keeley was absolutely thrilled to bits with my efforts and she joined in enthusiastically when we made a cardboard mask complete with pipe cleaner whiskers. I added some ears to a hairband and sewed a tail onto a black leotard I picked up in the charity shop. With her long, black curls to compliment the outfit Keeley looked really good, and I asked her if she would let me take some photographs so she could remember the day. I explained that she could put the photos up in her bedroom if she wanted to, and that they could ultimately go in the memory book that I would put together for her, to help her remember her time with us. She was delighted with this idea, and I will never forget how she posed and pouted for the camera.

  ‘Do another one like this, Angela!’ she called, making every possible cat shape she could think of and curling her wrists up to make her hands dangle like paws. She was a natural performer, I realised, and I asked Keeley if she fancied finding out about a popular theatre group that was run locally for kids. I knew the lady who ran it, and offered to have a word with her.

  ‘Oh, I’d really like that,’ Keeley said, eyes widening. ‘I’d love to be on stage. Would you come and watch me?’

  ‘Of course I would. I’ll find out when the group meets, and let’s see if we can sort something out.’

  Keeley was equally delightful when we put the finishing touches to the bonnets, just before we set off to the carnival. Jonathan fetched us a basket full of beautiful spring flowers, which we tied to the brightly painted hats using floristry tape and ribbon. They looked a picture, and the girls we’d made them for were thrilled to bits when we handed them over. I’d made an extra one for Keeley, as promised, and we carried it with us in a cardboard box, ready for her to put on when the fancy dress competition had finished.