by Angela Hart
‘I packed them last night,’ she told me. ‘Before I went to bed. I told you: I’ll be going home tomorrow. I know it’s the court case and my stepdad said the judge is going to do what he’s told him to do.’ She flashed me another bright, tight-lipped smile, and then, before I had a chance to say anything, asked quickly, ‘What’s for tea?’
‘Macaroni cheese.’
‘Great!’
This time her grin was genuine when she added, ‘I’m so hungry I could eat a house.’
19
‘Can I see Nanny?’
It was mid-afternoon the following day when Maria’s social worker phoned and told me the result of the long-awaited court hearing.
‘We’ve got an interim care order. I don’t know how Maria’s going to take the news. Do you want me to tell her, or would you rather do it yourself?’
‘I’ll do it,’ I said, wondering how she would take it and thinking how careless it was of Gerry to claim he could accurately predict the outcome.
‘I must admit, now I’ve heard the news, I’m relieved that she’s not going home today,’ I found myself saying. ‘I think Maria’s going to be upset, although I don’t know for sure. She says it’s what she wants to do, but her expression doesn’t always match her words. Sometimes it’s difficult to tell what the truth is.’
To be honest, I was really struggling to take the news in myself. We’d waited more than six months for this and it was a momentous day. Of course, we’d have the eight weeks it took for reports to be compiled following the decision to impose the interim care order – and possibly some four-week extensions if needed – before a final decision about whether Maria would ultimately be placed under a full care order would be made. Social Services would continue the process they’d already begun of gathering information from their discussions with Maria’s mother, grandparents, teachers, and Jonathan and me, and other details from doctors who had examined Maria. It was still possible she might go home, but now the interim care order was in place this seemed less likely to happen.
My feeling was that Maria would be taken into care long term, but of course that was only my gut instinct. Every case is unique and you never know what evidence is going to be put before the court. Jonathan and I had been surprised by court decisions in the past and so, despite the ruling that day, I had to accept that Maria’s future was still hanging in the balance. But, for now, Maria would continue to stay with us.
I felt quite anxious as her taxi pulled up, bringing her home from school, that afternoon. She bounded into the house energetically, saying, ‘Well, he was right, wasn’t he? I’m going home, aren’t I?’
‘Maria, sweetheart . . .’
She could tell from my tone of voice and expression that the result was not the one she expected. Her bottom lip dropped and she looked crushed. Perhaps I’d been wrong to think Maria was putting on an act about how excited she was to go home? What she said next surprised me, however.
‘But . . . how can Gerry have got it wrong?’
‘Well, you never know what a court is going to decide until the decision is announced.’
‘But Gerry knew. Gerry has powers.’
‘I’m afraid nobody has the power to influence a court, Maria.’
‘But he said! He knows, he knew, he had the power!’
‘Maria, you’re not going home for the time being, sweetheart,’ I said, closing the door behind her as she stepped into the kitchen.
She sat at the table looking shocked and confused.
‘What’s going to happen?’
‘Well, Social Services asked the judge for what’s called an interim care order.’
‘Yes, I know,’ she said, as I’d explained the options to Maria in advance. She narrowed her eyes slightly and looked at me with an expression on her upturned face that I couldn’t read.
‘Well, the judge did make an interim care order, which means that you’ll be staying with Jonathan and me for the time being while . . .’
Suddenly, Maria started jumping up and down, clapping her hands and grinning as she chanted in a sing-song voice, ‘I’m staying with you! I’m staying with you!’
‘Jonathan and I are really pleased that you’re going to be staying with us for a bit longer,’ I told her. I was touched, but also confused by her obvious delight and apparent change of heart about going home.
‘So, can I stop going to church now?’ She paused for a moment, with her hands pressed together in front of her, mid-clap. ‘And can I see Nanny?’
‘I’ll have to ask about church,’ I said. ‘But you can certainly see your nanny!’
I was delighted and relieved that at long last Maria wanted to see Babs again, and she wanted to see her grandfather too.
‘What’s changed your mind?’ I asked. ‘I know your nanny and granddad will be so pleased to see you!’
‘Nothing.’ Maria shrugged and looked evasive. ‘I just want to see them now. OK?’
When Jonathan came into the kitchen a little while later, Maria told him excitedly, ‘I’m not going home after all. I’m staying with you and Angela! And I’m going to see my nanny and granddad again.’
‘We’re really glad you’re not leaving us, just yet. Aren’t we, Angela?’ Jonathan said. ‘And it’s great that you want to see your grandparents. I’m sure your nanny and granddad will be over the moon.’
‘Can we phone Nanny now?’ Maria was already moving towards the door as she spoke.
‘Yes, of course, love,’ I said. ‘I’ll find the number.’
‘What was all that about?’ Jonathan asked me later that evening, after Maria had talked on the phone to her grandparents and arranged to see them the next day. ‘Why has she been refusing even to speak to them for all this time and now suddenly she can’t wait to see them?’
‘I’m really not sure,’ I told him. ‘I’m as bemused as you are.’
Jonathan sighed and then added, ‘I sometimes think life would be so much easier if we were able to read people’s minds – or even to “read between the lies”, as Maria put it the other day, remember?’
‘I do,’ I said, but then I frowned.
‘What is it?’ Jonathan asked.
‘Oh, I might be over-thinking things, but Maria said something about Gerry having powers.’
‘Powers?’
‘Yes. He seemed to convince her that he could influence the judge to make the decision go his and Christine’s way. But now Maria has seen that his powers didn’t work, she seems a lot more relaxed. It’s like it’s freed her up to be true to herself.’
‘Interesting,’ Jonathan said. ‘That would certainly help explain her change of heart. Perhaps it’s something we need to ask her more about, when the time is right.’
I agreed, but I imagined this might take some time, as Maria had enough to deal with for one day.
However, at bedtime Maria asked me to help her unpack her bags and reorganise her room, and as we did so she started to talk. It’s often the case that a child will open up when they don’t have to give you direct eye contact, like when they are in the back of the car and you are driving, for example, and Maria focused on her toys and clothes as she started to chat in the softly lit bedroom.
‘When Gerry told me he had special powers I believed him,’ she said sadly.
‘You believed Gerry?’
‘Yes. The contact lady was there, at the centre. You know, that one called Jackie?’
Jackie was the contact worker who’d described Maria’s family as ‘lovely’ and hoped they’d be reunited soon. I felt she was woefully naive and easily taken in by Christine and Gerry, and I was always wary when she was in charge of a contact session.
‘Yes, I know Jackie,’ I said.
‘Well, Mummy was showing Jackie some photos of a trip she’d been on, and while Jackie wasn’t looking Gerry told me that I shouldn’t forget that he had special powers. He said he had used his special powers to make sure the judge would say no to that care order Social Services wan
ted, what’s it called again?’
‘The interim care order?’
‘That’s it.’
‘And Jackie wasn’t looking?’
‘No, she was busy looking at the photographs.’
Such a basic distraction tactic wouldn’t have worked with Bessie, the contact worker who normally supervised the contact sessions. Bessie was aware of every word spoken and every glance exchanged during any contact session. But Jackie was less experienced, and seemingly more easily fooled by the family’s pretence of friendly innocence, and she had apparently missed Gerry’s strange and inappropriate claims completely.
Over the next few weeks Maria randomly made more revelations, all of which I reported to Social Services.
‘I’m so happy I can see Nanny again!’ she said again one day, after arrangements were made over the phone for the two of them to meet up. I was delighted too, and of course Babs was thrilled to bits.
‘I knew she’d come round,’ Babs told me. ‘Like I said. Kids, hey? But I knew my little Maria would come round, bless her heart.’
‘Well I’m very pleased,’ I said. ‘I thought it was such a shame when you didn’t see each other. Puzzling, too. Still, all’s well that ends well.’
After I’d put the phone down I turned round to see Maria standing behind me. It made me jump, as I didn’t expect to see her there.
‘It was a shame,’ she said. ‘I missed Nanny.’
‘I’m sure you did. I know you love your nanny.’
‘I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.’
‘You didn’t want anything bad to happen to her?’
‘No. Gerry said if I spoke to her again something bad would happen. Gerry said . . . Oh, never mind.’
‘Never mind?’
I said this quizzically, making it clear that I did mind and would like her to tell me what Gerry had said.
Maria took a deep breath, closed her eyes and blurted out, ‘He said he would kill Nanny if I spoke to her again!’
She then burst into deep sobs that made her gasp for air.
‘Sweetheart! Can I give you a hug?’
Maria nodded through her sobs and I gave her a big cuddle. It was a shocking moment and I had no doubt that Maria was telling the truth about what Gerry had said. It all made sense now, and as I held Maria close and let her sob into my jumper I thought about how she’d hidden at the department store, how she seemed scared of even seeing Babs and why she’d supposedly had such a sudden change of heart about her grandmother.
‘What an evil, sinister man,’ I said to Jonathan later, when I was certain Maria was out of earshot.
‘Disgraceful,’ he said. ‘Remember what I said the first time I met him? He made my skin crawl. I’ve never had such a bad reaction to somebody. What a terrible thing to say to a young girl. It’s absolutely wicked.’
The next day, when Maria was relaxed and sitting in the kitchen drinking a glass of milk, I made it plain to her that she could talk to me whenever she wanted to, and that if anything was worrying her she could talk to me about it. She nodded nervously.
‘He won’t know, will he, because of his powers?’
I reassured her that nobody has powers like that, to know what other people are doing when they are in a different place.
‘I don’t even believe in God,’ Maria said, and then asked me if she could do some crocheting, as she was making a scarf for one of her teddy bears.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I thought you’d given up on it because you haven’t done any for a while.’
‘No,’ she said sadly. ‘I just didn’t want Mum to know I was doing it, because she said it’s only for old biddies to do.’
‘Old biddies? Gosh, we’d better not let my mum hear that! She’d be horrified!’
Maria laughed as I said, ‘Come on, let’s get you set up in the lounge . . .’
When I was alone with Jonathan we talked about the fact Maria still seemed a little uncertain about Gerry’s powers and the claims he made. She had clearly sussed out that he had no power over the judge at the family court, but she still seemed anxious about refuting his powers completely.
‘It’s hardly surprising, is it?’ Jonathan said. ‘I mean, if you’ve grown up with someone for years and you’re told one thing, it’s very difficult to forget all that overnight, isn’t it?’
‘Of course, you’re right. We’ll just have to keep reinforcing the message that nobody has special powers like the ones Gerry claims to have.’
This is what we did over the next few weeks. If there was a cartoon on the TV featuring a superhero, or if we saw a poster or an advert where somebody was displaying a superhuman skill, I made a point of talking about how this was ‘fiction’ and not real life.
‘Are books all lies?’ Maria asked one night.
She was reading a book about a magic kingdom, which she loved.
‘Lies is not the right word. Authors have a fantastic imagination, which they use to tell stories. It’s great entertainment for us, as we can escape into a fantasy world when we read a good book. The writers are not pretending their stories are real. They are fiction, not lies. There’s a big difference.’
Maria thought about this, and then she mentioned the fact her mum was supposedly ‘psychic’.
‘Do you think Mum is lying?’ she asked. ‘Or can she really talk to “the other side”, like she says?’
This was a tricky one, and I chose my words carefully.
‘I think your mum really believes she has some psychic skills, and your grandmother believes your mum has a “gift” too. They are not lying about what they believe in.’
Maria looked a bit nonplussed and didn’t take this conversation any further. My gut feeling was that Christine’s ‘gift’ was very different from Gerry’s supposed ‘powers’, because as far as I was aware she had never used her ‘psychic skills’ to scare or threaten Maria. Still, I made a note of Maria’s questions, as I wanted Social Services to be aware of what was going on in her head.
Several days later Jonathan and I were driving along the road the church was on, with Maria in the back of the car. All of a sudden the penny dropped about what Maria had said more than once. ‘He sees everything I do,’ she had said. ‘He can see me.’
I’d naturally thought she’d been talking about God, but now I realised she was talking about Gerry. The reason she’d been so compliant about going to church and doing her Bible study was that she thought he could see her, and that he would know if she didn’t turn up or put the effort in.
‘There’s the church,’ I said, as I wanted to see how Maria would react as we drove past.
‘I don’t believe in God any more,’ she repeated.
‘You don’t?’
‘I never did. I did it because he made me!’
Maria then looked all around her, as if she was checking Gerry’s face wasn’t going to appear at one of the car windows.
‘You can’t see me,’ she whispered. ‘You can’t see me, can you?’
She threw her head back and I saw a wide, genuine smile appear on her face.
Eventually I learned from Maria that Gerry had apparently ‘proved’ his omniscience many times, by saying things to her like, ‘Now let me see. You arrived at school at 8.30 this morning and played outside at ten o’clock. Then you ate your lunch in a room at the end of a long corridor that has two windows high up on the wall.’
Maria was too young to realise that the reason he knew those things was that he had been to the school, had seen the corridor and the dining room, and had a general idea of the break times. But because she already lived in an almost permanent state of anxiety when she was at home with her family, it had been easy for Gerry to convince her that he really was watching her all the time, just like he said he was.
As foster carers, Jonathan and I always try to give people the benefit of any doubt when it comes to their motives for doing things that might appear to be inexplicable. We knew, for example, that whenever Maria�
��s grandparents did something that wasn’t helpful to her in the long term, it wasn’t because they didn’t love her. It was simply because their affection for her and their desire for an easy life sometimes clouded their ability to see what was best for her.
Maria’s mother’s motivation, on the other hand, was often more self-centred than misguided. But it was impossible to find anything positive in Gerry. What he’d done was absolutely wicked, and I dreaded to think what damage his sinister mind games had done to Maria, and what the repercussions would be in years to come. It was hardly any wonder she had been anxious, disruptive, run away and had trouble at school. She had spent years of her young life thinking everything she did, everything she said, and even every thought she had could be seen or heard or somehow picked up by Gerry. It was enough to send a person insane, and was one of the cruellest tricks you could play on a vulnerable young girl. The fact that even the ethical, forgiving folk at Maria’s church didn’t have a good word to say about Gerry actually said it all.
20
‘I want to live with you, Angela’
Unfortunately, even once Maria had seen through Gerry’s lies, she found it impossible to stop believing them. The claims he made about his special powers had been so deeply ingrained in Maria that her automatic response was still to believe every word Gerry said and react accordingly.
‘Gerry told Colin to tell me that he put memories in my head,’ she said one day.
I was so incensed that I said, ‘Pardon?’ rather abruptly rather than using my usual technique of echoing back what Maria had just said.
‘Yes. You know about the bruises and the broken bone.’
‘The bruises and the broken bone?’
‘Yes. I can’t remember how I got them. I thought I did but . . .’
‘But?’
‘But now I don’t know. If he put the memories there, how do I know if they are true?’
I was getting confused myself here, and I took a deep breath and said to Maria, ‘Listen, sweetheart, people don’t have special powers and people can’t put memories in other people’s heads.’