The Girl Who Just Wanted to Be Loved

by Angela Hart

  I spoke to Keeley’s social worker and she readily agreed to put us in touch with Mandy, who was very happy to see Keeley again. I was pleased and relieved. In the past we’d experienced situations where children had wanted to see their former foster carers but the feeling wasn’t mutual, and we had to gently explain to the kids that it wasn’t possible.

  Mandy and I arranged to meet in a local soft play centre, roughly halfway between our houses. Keeley was enjoying being on school holidays and was really excited, and when she spotted Mandy and the children she bounded over to them, chattering away happily and disappearing with the girls onto one of the big slides.

  ‘That was easy!’ I remarked.

  ‘It was, wasn’t it?’ Mandy smiled. Her son was a toddler now and was planted on her lap, eating a Marmite sandwich. Mandy stroked his hair and explained that she was taking a break from fostering for a while, which I assumed was because she had her hands full with her own children.

  ‘I can’t say I blame you,’ I smiled. ‘I think you’ve probably got enough to do, looking after your three!’

  Mandy looked puzzled and for a second I wondered if my remark had been a bit clumsy, and that maybe she thought I was suggesting she couldn’t cope, which of course wasn’t what I meant at all.

  ‘I did look after another girl after Keeley,’ Mandy said apologetically, ‘but it kind of put me off, to be honest, you know, what happened with her.’

  She gave me what appeared to be a knowing look but I wasn’t sure if she was referring to something that happened with Keeley or with the other girl she fostered. I obviously barely knew Mandy and so I didn’t want to pry into something that wasn’t my business.

  ‘I’m not sure I do know . . .’ I said cautiously.

  At that moment Mandy’s two daughters and Keeley arrived back, breathless and excited, asking if they could go on the bigger slide that you needed a rope mat for.

  ‘Yes, if you’re careful,’ Mandy told her girls. ‘Are you happy for Keeley to go on, Angela?’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine.’

  ‘Yippee!’ all three girls cheered. ‘Can you sign the form, Mum?’ Mandy’s oldest daughter asked.

  The rule was that an adult had to give permission for children under the age of eight to use the slide, and so Mandy had to go and provide a signature for her two girls. She followed them to a desk near the slide, taking Danny with her, and I watched as she stood in a queue of parents.

  My mind was whirring now. Had something bad happened with Keeley when she was living with Mandy, and if so why hadn’t I been told about it? I knew the Social Services system well enough by now to realise that not every piece of information about a child filters through to the foster carer. Some children have files of records stretching to hundreds and hundreds of pages, and very often a social worker simply doesn’t have the time to read through the full history when they take a child onto their caseload. Each social worker can be responsible for about twenty children at any one time, so reading every word written on each child is an almost impossible task. A summary or chronology would be extremely useful in each file, but this is rarely provided, again because of the time constraints on social workers.

  Very occasionally I’ve suspected that Social Services have been deliberately selective with the information made available to foster carers, and particularly specialists like Jonathan and me. They ultimately have the best of intentions, of course, but I’ve wondered if they have held back on providing every scrap of information for fear of putting carers like us off, and being left with a child they cannot place. I don’t blame them for this. The priority is placing the child in a foster home and the child’s needs must always come first, and if a social worker can’t place a child with a mainstream carer their options are already limited. There is also a school of thought that if you give the foster carer too much detail they might pre-judge what will happen when a youngster moves in, rather than discovering for themselves how to deal with a particular child. Again, I accept this is a valid reason for social workers to hold back a little when passing on a child’s history because, after all, taking a child into your home is a journey of discovery and, as with any journey, it is best to embark on it with an open heart and mind.

  However, we had an extremely good relationship with Sandy, and I didn’t think for one minute that she would have withheld any important information from us deliberately. She’d told us all she knew about Keeley’s background and the emotional abuse, and she’d gone the extra mile trying to help provide us with information about attachment disorder, hoping it might help.

  Mandy reappeared, interrupting my thoughts.

  ‘Sorry about that, Angela,’ she said, taking her seat next to me while Danny trundled around pushing a plastic tractor. ‘Now, where were we?’

  ‘You were saying how you’ve given up fostering for the time being, because of what happened?’

  ‘Ah, yes. I think you’ve been brave to take Keeley on, Angela. Have you got other foster children living with you, or children of your own?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, knots tightening in my stomach. ‘Two boys, foster children.’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Teenagers.’

  ‘OK, well I guess that’s better than little ones, I suppose. I would have thought they’d have found a single placement for a girl like Keeley though, wouldn’t you?’

  I realised that Mandy was talking as if she expected me to understand what she was referring to, but clearly I didn’t.

  ‘Mandy,’ I said. ‘I think there is something I don’t know about. This thing that happened, I’m not aware of it. I wasn’t even sure at first if you were talking about Keeley or the other girl you had in foster care after her.’

  Mandy looked absolutely astonished.

  ‘You mean you didn’t read my report?’

  ‘What report?’

  ‘The very long and detailed report I provided to Social Services when I told them I could no longer look after Keeley!’ she exclaimed.

  Mandy ran her fingers through her short blonde hair and tears pricked her eyes.

  ‘I put a lot of time and trouble into that report, because I felt very strongly indeed that Keeley needed to be in a single placement.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mandy, but this is the first I’ve heard about a report. Can you tell me what was in it?’

  ‘Oh my God! I spent hours writing it up. I did such a detailed report on Keeley after she left my care! It must be buried somewhere in her file. Or maybe they didn’t want you to see it. What on earth could have happened to it? I’m going to have words about this. What is it they say about foster carers being like mushrooms?’

  ‘Pardon?’ I spluttered.

  I was feeling incredibly anxious now and just wanted to know what had happened to make Mandy write a report, and ultimately step away from fostering.

  ‘Haven’t you heard that one, Angela? The saying is that foster carers are like mushrooms. Keep them in the dark and feed them shit!’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘yes, I think that does ring a bell. But listen, Mandy, right now I’m more concerned with what you wrote, and what went on, than what has happened to the report. Please can you tell me what the issue was when you fostered Keeley?’

  ‘I can,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘But I hope you’re ready for this, Angela, and I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.’

  Before Mandy told me what the ‘bad news’ was I had to wait another five minutes, because Danny tripped and banged his lip on the tractor and needed a cuddle. Once he’d cheered up, Mandy then encouraged him to explore the small ball pool within sight of our table, as she clearly didn’t want to have this conversation in front of him.

  ‘Danny was just over a year old when Keeley came to live with us,’ she said, watching her son intently as she spoke. ‘And I think she must have been jealous of the attention he got.’

  Mandy started to get upset and I handed her a napkin from the table.

  ‘Take your time,’ I said.
‘I’m in no rush.’

  Tears dripped from her eyes.

  ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, Angela. I didn’t expect to have to pick over all this again. I thought I’d got it all over with when I wrote the report. That’s why I put so much effort into putting it all down on paper, so I didn’t have to go over it ever again!’

  ‘Shall I go and get us a cup of coffee and a biscuit?’ I offered. ‘Or do you just want a minute to yourself?’

  ‘No, it’s all right. I’ll tell you now, before the girls come back again. Sorry.’

  She dried her eyes and blew her nose.

  ‘I don’t know exactly when it started, but the thing is, Keeley began to pinch Danny, when I wasn’t looking. I feel so guilty because I didn’t spot it straight away. I have no idea how many times she did it, or when it actually started, but he’d had a lot of marks on him by the time I worked it out.’

  ‘I see,’ I sighed, giving Mandy a sympathetic look.

  I desperately wished there was some mistake, that this could not possibly have happened, but unfortunately all I could think about was how Keeley had pinched herself and others during the time she’d been living with us. My mind flicked back to baby Jake too, Ellie’s brother. Surely Keeley could not have harmed him too?

  There was more than a ring of truth to what Mandy was saying, and I felt very sorry for her indeed. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for her to discover her baby son had been hurt; it’s every mother’s nightmare to put their child in any kind of danger, particularly when they are so young and vulnerable.

  ‘Did she hurt him?’ I asked, dreading the answer. ‘I mean, obviously she hurt him if she pinched him, but how bad was it?’

  ‘It was very bad. I found him crying in his cot one day and Keeley was standing over him. Danny had a nasty big bruise on his arm and several down each leg. I started to watch him like a hawk after that. I couldn’t let him out of my sight for a second when Keeley was in the house, even when Danny was asleep. It was really stressful, as I’m sure you can imagine.’

  We’d looked after children of all ages in our time as foster carers, including babies and very young children, and I knew how taxing it was looking after such little ones in the best of circumstances. When the baby is sleeping it really should be a time for the parent or carer to get some rest too. Being on high alert at all times when Keeley was in the house must have been incredibly draining.

  ‘It must have been very tough,’ I said, searching for any words at all that might offer comfort. ‘You must have been so upset.’

  ‘Upset, yes, and anxious too. Honestly, Angela, if I went to the toilet I carried Danny’s basket in with me, even if it meant he woke up. It was ridiculous, but I couldn’t take the risk, could I? I couldn’t trust Keeley at all.’

  ‘I understand, and I’m really sorry to hear that.’

  ‘It got worse, I’m afraid. One day we were going shopping and I put Danny in the car first, strapped in his baby seat in the front. I didn’t realise it, but Keeley had already climbed into the car too. I think she must have hidden on the back seat, because I didn’t see her as I strapped Danny in.’

  My heart was pounding as Mandy began to tell this story. I could already imagine several endings, none of them happy.

  ‘I nipped back into the house and called all three girls to come and get in the car, and of course only my two appeared. When I got back to the car Danny was screaming blue murder. I must have left him for less than a minute, but Keeley had pinched his arm so hard he was bleeding, bless his little heart.’

  Mandy was fighting back tears, but she went on.

  ‘As I’ve said, I was so concerned about Keeley’s behaviour I wrote a very long report and asked for it to be put on her file. I also made it known that I thought she should be in a single placement, so that this could absolutely not happen to anybody else.’

  I thought about how Keeley had behaved towards Carl and Phillip, and the children in the neighbourhood. I have to admit my heart was always in my mouth whenever Keeley went out to play on the rec. More often than not she came home complaining about the other children’s behaviour or claiming they had been nasty to her. It was the same at school. Keeley appeared to have a skin as thick as a rhino, because after repeatedly rubbing the other kids up the wrong way and causing arguments she would come out fighting every time, blaming everybody but herself when things went wrong. As Jonathan had said more than once, she was no angel.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ I said to Mandy, ‘and I’m very grateful you came today. I’m surprised you did, to be honest.’

  ‘Well, if the truth be told I was interested to find out how you were coping. I was thinking, in the future, that maybe I’d go into specialist caring, when my kids are a lot older, of course. I miss fostering, and I’m really interested in how the mind works in a child like Keeley. That’s what spurred me on to write such a long report.’

  Before we parted company Mandy went on to confide in me that she had actually felt very low towards the end of Keeley’s placement, which was another reason she was taking a break from fostering.

  ‘I was worried I was getting depression,’ she said. ‘That really bothered me. Obviously, nobody wants to be depressed, but I was also concerned that if I ended up having to take anti-depressants I’d have to tell Social Services, and they might not let me foster anymore. I didn’t feel much better after the last girl stayed with us, so in the end I thought it was better to make the decision myself to have a break and start again when the time is right.’

  I told Mandy I understood how she felt. I’d been there myself once, feeling on the verge of depression. This was not because of fostering, but when bereavements in my family, many years earlier, had put me at a low ebb. I’d talked to the GP about dealing with stress, but taking anti-depressants was something I had wanted to avoid and thankfully did, for the same reason as Mandy.

  I liked Mandy a lot and appreciated her honesty. In fact, even though we had only just met it felt as if I’d known her for a long time, and it was very useful and ultimately quite therapeutic for me to talk to somebody other than Jonathan who had an insight into Keeley’s behaviour. I didn’t think twice about sharing with her the fact I’d had low moments too, because I wanted to make her feel better and to know she was not alone. I also tried to offer some encouragement to help restore Mandy’s faith in fostering, as I wanted us to part on a positive note.

  ‘I’ve found a good way to engage with Keeley is through arts and crafts,’ I told her. ‘She really enjoys working with her hands and having one-to-one time. It seems to really help. Did you find that at all?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mandy said, adding quite bitterly: ‘I wrote about that in the report too, but what a waste of time that was!’

  ‘What were your experiences then? What worked?’

  Mandy thought quite hard about this.

  ‘We did finger painting and she loved that. It quickly progressed to whole hand painting and she made loads of pictures that we put on the walls in the kitchen and in her bedroom. I even feel bad about that though.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, one day she got paint on the curtains in her room because she didn’t wash her hands properly as I’d asked her to. I lost my temper and went absolutely mad with her. My husband said I was way too hard, but it was very out of character, Angela. I’m normally very calm and understanding. I’m the type of person who mops up spills and gets on with it. With Keeley it was different. I wasn’t myself in the end. It was definitely the right thing to end the placement.’

  ‘It sounds like you made a good decision,’ I said. ‘I don’t think you should feel guilty at all. You did your best, and I can see you are the sort of person who would always go the extra mile. I mean, look at you here today! Lots of people would have made excuses, but you’re here.’

  Mandy smiled.

  ‘Thanks, Angela’ she said. ‘I’m really pleased I made the effort. It’s been lovely to meet you, and I’m very glad you know
about that report now. At least you have the specialist training, and you have your husband’s support too. I guess that’s why they’ve taken a chance in not putting Keeley in a single placement. I’m sure you can deal with her very well between you, despite having the boys too. It looks like you are doing a great job.’

  ‘Thanks, and please don’t worry about us, Mandy. We’re doing all right and I’ll be extra vigilant after today, so thanks again.’

  The children had a wonderful afternoon without a single tiff, and when we finally said our goodbyes I’m happy to say that Keeley was smiling like an angel.

  ‘You make sure you look after yourself, Angela,’ Mandy said.

  ‘I will,’ I smiled confidently, because I wanted Mandy to go home feeling she had done all she could for Keeley, and for me.

  When I look back now, however, I can see that Mandy was looking out for me as much as I was looking out for her. She didn’t want me to go through anything like the trauma she had suffered and she was trying to protect me, because she knew exactly how tough it was to care for Keeley.

  29

  ‘Don’t let her drag you down, Angela’

  I called Sandy and relayed Mandy’s news about the report, plus the information she’d given me about the effect Keeley’s placement had on her personally. I was very calm as I spoke and I didn’t show any anger or annoyance. Looking back, I was feeling worn out and really quite deflated. I didn’t see the point in jumping up and down and screaming and shouting about this because what was done was done and, quite frankly, I didn’t have the energy. The report was old news now, and it didn’t really change anything, at least not for Jonathan and me. We asked ourselves, would we have refused to take Keeley in had we read this before? Probably not; she had nowhere else to go. Would we have changed how we cared for her? It’s unlikely; we practised ‘safe caring’ as vigilantly as we possibly could in any case. All I asked of Sandy was that, if Keeley didn’t go to live with her father, any subsequent carer be made aware of this report, a duplicate copy of which Mandy would supply if the original wasn’t located by Social Services.