by Angela Hart
Jonathan shared my worries but reasoned that Social Services would not move Keeley anywhere unsuitable; they would only move her if the right single placement became available. That was the hope, although deep down we both knew we had no control over this, and there were no guarantees.
‘It wouldn’t be in anybody’s interests to move her into another placement with other kids,’ Jonathan went on, trying to put both his own mind and mine at rest. ‘I think we should just be honest at the placement meeting. We need to explain that, from our experiences, we think Keeley would be better off in a single placement where she can receive one-to-one care, but that for the time being we are managing as well as can be expected, and we are very happy to keep Keeley with us until the right placement is available.’
I reluctantly agreed with this. I cared deeply for Keeley and I had more to give, but we had three children who all deserved excellent care, and if Keeley had a better chance of receiving this in a different foster home, we would of course fully support this.
Following the heart to heart I’d had with Phillip I later spoke to Carl, who unfortunately provided me with a further catalogue of Keeley’s misdemeanours. The bathroom seemed to be creating the most problems, as for some reason Keeley appeared to be hell bent on preventing the boys from using it as much as she possibly could, even though she still wasn’t showering properly herself.
‘One time I walked in on her by accident,’ Carl reluctantly admitted. ‘I thought the bathroom was empty, but when I went in she was sitting on the floor chewing gum and playing with her dolls. Not only that, it was Phillip’s chewing gum that he’d “lost” from his school bag.’
‘I see,’ I said, making a mental note to remind Keeley to properly lock the door when she was in the bathroom, ‘and what did Keeley say when you saw her like that?’
‘She shouted at me to get lost because she was having a shower. I argued and said she wasn’t showering, instead she was sitting there chewing gum, but she wouldn’t move. In the end I had to wait about half an hour for her to come out.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? I could have helped, and you could have used my bathroom instead of being forced to wait.’
Carl shrugged. Like Phillip, I think he was embarrassed to be locked in a losing battle with a little girl. He was not a confrontational person by nature, and so he had been trying to get on with things as best he could. However, I could tell from the way he spoke that this had led to a great deal of resentment.
‘She’s one of those people you can never win with,’ he lamented. ‘Do you know what I mean?’
I knew exactly what he meant, though I didn’t say it.
‘I’m pleased you’ve told me this,’ I said. ‘It’s important that Jonathan and I know what is going on, so we can help everybody live together with the minimum of trouble and arguments.’
The mention of Jonathan’s name prompted Carl to speak again.
‘She said something about Jonathan,’ he said, looking worried. ‘I know it’s not true. I told her she needs to be careful about making up lies.’
‘What did she say? Don’t worry, Carl, I won’t tell her you told me.’
He swallowed hard and shifted in his seat.
‘OK, thanks, Angela. She said, er, she told me that Jonathan hurt her.’
‘Did she now, in what way?’
I felt like cold water had been pumped into my veins, and I braced myself for what Carl might say next. When you have a child who has been physically abused or sexually abused, their experiences can give them ideas that other children wouldn’t even dream of, or they can bring past experiences into their current situation and conflate the two. For example, one child we had staying with us used to deliberately cross and uncross her legs in front of Jonathan, flashing her underwear to try to provoke a reaction, as this is something she had been encouraged to do at home, when her mother had men in the house. Jonathan had to tell the girl to stop each time she did it, and he always removed himself from the scene as quickly as possible. Then he had to report the situation to Social Services, as much to protect himself as to keep the girl’s file up to date.
‘Keeley showed me some bruises on her arm, and she said Jonathan had done them,’ Carl told me.
‘Did she say how?’
‘She said she was crossing the road at the retail park and he grabbed her arm really hard for no reason and pushed her onto the pavement.’
‘I see.’
‘I know Jonathan wouldn’t hurt her,’ Carl said apologetically, ‘and anyway she’s always got bruises, hasn’t she?’
I didn’t want to discuss her bruises with Carl, but unfortunately this was still true. Even though Keeley had far less marks than in the beginning, she was never bruise free, and this was something I had to constantly keep an eye on and report on. Jonathan was convinced that the number of bruises she had seemed to correlate to her levels of anger and discontentment and her outbursts of bad behaviour, and I think this was true, although it was quite hard to tell. She had been lucky enough to have joined a form at school which was taken for weekly swimming sessions, so I never did book her in for lessons at our local pool, having decided I would wait until her school course was over before I took her swimming again. This meant I never saw all her limbs at once, so it was difficult to know from one day to the other how many bruises she had.
Keeley would still never admit that she made the bruises herself. On her legs, I noticed they were sometimes in neat, circular patterns that looked very deliberately placed, but Keeley continued to claim she either had no idea how she got them, or that she must have bashed herself by accident.
Occasionally, when I thought Keeley was doing well and hurting herself less, I asked her if I could count the bruises so I could reward her if she had less than the last time I counted. When I suspected she might have more than last time I avoided counting because it would have been counterproductive, as I didn’t want to create a scene and I certainly didn’t want to punish her in any way for the self-harm.
‘Thanks, Carl,’ I said, being very careful not to say anything negative about Keeley, or to accuse her of anything I couldn’t prove. ‘I’m glad you told me that. I’ll deal with it, and I won’t mention your name. You don’t need to keep any secrets from me. You can trust me to handle Keeley. Please don’t hold anything back that you think you should share in future.’
After the conversation with Carl I thought back to a week or so earlier, when Keeley had started to misbehave near to the supermarket in the retail car park, as I think this must have been where her concocted and exaggerated story had come from. Keeley had offered to take the trolley back after we put the shopping in the boot of the car and so Jonathan went with her, which she wasn’t happy about as she clearly wanted to mess about. She then wheeled the trolley in circles and tried to jump on the back of it, and Jonathan had inevitably told her off, because it was dangerous to do that around so many cars.
‘You’re always a spoilsport!’ she complained, and then she rooted herself to the spot and refused to budge.
‘Keeley, we’re in a car park!’ Jonathan implored. ‘Please stop this! It’s not the time to mess about.’
Just then a car started to back out of a space rather too quickly, heading in Keeley’s direction. Jonathan was worried the driver hadn’t seen her, and so he instinctively took hold of Keeley’s arm and pulled her to the safety of the kerb. Jonathan had the trolley in one hand by now and he did pull her a little bit awkwardly if the truth were told, but he certainly wasn’t gripping Keeley’s arm tight enough to cause a bruise.
‘Stop! You’re hurting me!’ she cried, in an echo of the way she’d accused me of hurting her arm at the crazy golf course, when she misbehaved on our weekend break to Wales and I feared she might lash out with her golf club.
Thankfully, on this occasion, there were no passers-by listening or giving sceptical looks, so at least Jonathan didn’t have to suffer that humiliation. Nevertheless, this incident was logged in my n
otes for Social Services, complete with a verbatim account of what was said.
‘I’m not hurting you, Keeley!’ Jonathan had hissed. ‘I’m trying to stop you from getting hurt!’
‘You are hurting me! STOP!’
‘I’m not! And I can assure you that I would not have touched your arm at all if you hadn’t been in danger!’
Keeley sulked all the way home and was in a foul mood for the rest of the day, which put Jonathan and I in a bad frame of mind too. The fact she had complained to Carl about this on top of everything else, and made Jonathan out to be the villain of the piece, was incredibly frustrating.
22
‘Can I have another cuddle?’
Keeley was getting ready for bed when I had that conversation with Carl. I thought about what I would say to her, and I decided that I would leave it until I found the right moment, perhaps the following day, when she was going to her first theatre group class and may be in a more responsive mood. I always find that sleeping on a situation helps, as you can see things clearer the next day. Also, if you feel angry, you may say something you regret.
I was very pleased that Ellie, her best friend from school, had also decided to join the group. I arranged with Ellie’s mum, Hazel, that I would pick the two girls up from school and take them to the club. In turn, Hazel said that if they enjoyed it she would take them the following week.
Keeley and Ellie came out of school that afternoon skipping, giggling and babbling ten to the dozen, as they often did. I gave them a drink of juice and a snack each in the car, and they talked excitedly about what the club would be like, and what songs and dances they already knew. It was a joy to listen to them. Anybody witnessing this scene would not have believed that Keeley was the same girl who could be so rude and troublesome, and who had suffered the emotional abuse she had.
The principal of the theatre school, Mrs Crowther, invited me to stay for the first session and she was wonderful with the girls. The group had just started work on a new production that they were putting on later in the year. The parts hadn’t been cast yet and Mrs Crowther was encouraging all the children to show off their singing and acting skills. Keeley and Ellie were given song sheets and very happily joined in with a chorus.
‘Super, girls!’ Mrs Crowther said, clapping. ‘Let’s hear it again from the top. And off we go!’
All the children were enthused by Mrs Crowther. She had been on the stage in the West End in her day and, even though she must have been well into her sixties by now, she hadn’t lost any of her exuberance, which was energising just to witness.
‘Can Ellie come for tea?’ Keeley asked afterwards. ‘Pleeeeaaasee, Angela!’
Both girls pleaded with me in the car, and so when we got to Ellie’s house I asked Hazel if it was OK.
‘Of course!’ She smiled at the girls, who had run up to the front door together to plead in unison. ‘It’s lovely to see you two getting on so well. How was the theatre group?’
‘Really good!’ they chorused.
‘You don’t want to go again, do you?’ Hazel teased.
‘We do! We do! And next week can Keeley have tea at our house?’ Ellie begged.
‘I think that’ll be absolutely fine, if it’s all right with you, Angela?’
‘I’m sure that can be arranged,’ I smiled. ‘As long as you can manage all three?’
Ellie had a little brother who was just over a year old, and he was wedged on Hazel’s hip as she stood at the door.
‘Oh yes, I’m sure I can.’ Hazel smiled. ‘Jake loves being fussed over and I’m sure he’ll get plenty of attention with two girls in the house!’
Keeley was on a full care order with us, rather than a voluntary care order, which would have meant her mother retained parental responsibility and I might have needed to check with Social Services before allowing her to go to another person’s house. As it was, with Keeley I was trusted to make day-to-day judgements like this, about whose house she was allowed to visit and which clubs she could join. This isn’t always the case and the rules can alter depending on the different social workers and parents you are dealing with. Similarly, when it comes to sleepovers, some social workers will tell you that they are happy for you to make the decision, depending on how well you know the other family, and if you trust them. Other social workers are adamant that permission can only be granted for an overnight stay if all of the adults in the hosting family have been police checked. This, of course, is easier said than done. It can be awkward asking someone you don’t know very well if they would mind going to the trouble of being police checked, and some people view it as an imposition and an inconvenience they would rather do without, especially when there is only a kids’ sleepover at stake. It can sometimes work in the foster carer’s favour, as if you don’t want a child to go for a sleepover you can use the fact a police check is required as a very good excuse, which I have done on occasions in the past.
Anyhow, I was very confident I was doing the right thing in agreeing that Keeley and Ellie could spend time in each other’s houses. It’s a wonder I didn’t have my heart in my mouth, knowing Keeley as I did, but I really didn’t. I’d never seen her looking as happy and carefree as when she was in Ellie’s company and she was in such a good mood that afternoon, I actually felt more relaxed than I ever had with her.
Once we were back at our house, Keeley took Ellie over to the rec with a pile of dolls, which they pushed enthusiastically on the swings and launched down the slide, and I watched from the living room window as they joined in with a skipping game with a few other girls from the neighbourhood, some of whom Ellie already knew. I gave the girls their tea before Carl and Phillip got in as they were both really hungry, and the two of them sat at the kitchen table tucking into bowls of pasta, still chattering away and full of fun.
Jonathan came in from the shop as I was serving up two bowls of strawberry ice cream.
‘Ooooh, good timing!’ he joked. ‘Both for me, are they? Thanks, Angela.’
‘No, they’re ours!’ Keeley giggled.
‘Did somebody speak?’ Jonathan said as he picked up both bowls and two spoons and sat at the table, pretending to be about to tuck in.
‘Let’s get him!’ Keeley said. ‘Come on, Ellie!’
Keeley ran around the table and pinned Jonathan’s arms to his sides while calling, ‘Go on, Ellie! Get our ice cream! Nobody can steal our ice cream!’
Ellie slid the two bowls to the other end of the table while Jonathan put up a pretend fight.
‘OK, I give up! I surrender!’ he said after a minute or two of wriggling in his seat, acting as if he were trying but failing to break free from Keeley’s stronghold. ‘But I’ll get you next time! No bowl of ice cream is safe from me! I’ll win next time!’
When it was time to take Ellie home, both girls groaned but then put their shoes on willingly, climbing into the car and buckling their seatbelts without a fuss. It was so refreshing to get through such mundane tasks without a battle, and I felt almost euphoric when I dropped Ellie off.
‘They’ve had a lovely time!’ I told Hazel. ‘It’s been a real pleasure to have Ellie over.’
‘That’s great to hear,’ Hazel replied. ‘They do seem to get along really well. I’ll speak to you nearer the time about the arrangements, but take it that I’ll do the lifts and Ellie can come here for tea next week.’
The girls cheered and burst into a little impromptu chorus they’d learned at the theatre group.
‘I think we’ve got a pair of proper drama queens here,’ Hazel commented and I thought that, for once, it was fantastic to hear that term being used in a positive way about Keeley.
‘Maybe Keeley being a “drama queen” is the way forward,’ I said to Jonathan that night.
‘You could be right, Angela,’ he replied, knowing exactly what I meant. ‘I never thought I’d be agreeing with a statement like that, but I think we might be on to something. It certainly seems to suit her to be on a stage, singing and dancin
g.’
At bedtime I praised Keeley to the hilt for her good behaviour, and I gently talked about how lovely it was to see her enjoying herself rather than having fall-outs. I certainly didn’t want to burst her bubble after such a good afternoon, but then again I couldn’t ignore the issues I’d discussed with Carl. I’d promised him I would talk to Keeley when the time was right, and I felt this was the moment, as she was in such a responsive mood.
‘I bet you feel much happier when you are having fun and being a good friend,’ I said.
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Maybe you could try and be better friends with the boys? I know they are older and you don’t have things in common like you do with Ellie, but you might be surprised how well you get on with them, if you try.’
‘Maybe,’ she said.
‘And the same goes for Jonathan, too. He is on your side, Keeley, and he cares very much about you.’
‘Does he?’
‘Of course he does. You know, when he pulled you onto the kerb that day in the retail park?’
‘Yes.’
‘He did that because he was very worried that you may be hit by the car. Your safety was the most important thing in that moment, and Jonathan was looking out for you, because he cares and wants the best for you.’
‘OK,’ she said quietly.
I left it at that, and when I said goodnight to Keeley at her bedroom door she asked me for an ‘extra big cuddle’, which of course I provided.
‘Thanks for a good day, Angela’ she said.
‘You are welcome, Keeley. Night night.’
‘Can I have another cuddle?’
‘Of course!’
She hugged me tight and then got into bed and curled up under her quilt, looking angelic with her shiny curls splayed all over the pillow.
‘Sleep tight, Keeley. See you in the morning.’
23
‘I wish I could just live with Angela’