The Girl and the Ghosts

by Angela Hart

  ‘Well, I think it’s more about the people left behind. They want to put the flowers on the graves to show their loved ones they still care, even though they have passed away.’

  ‘But dead people can see. Mummy said dead people talk to her.’

  ‘Is your mum psychic or something?’ Dillon asked, flicking his head around.

  ‘Yes. And so is my stepdad. He can see through walls too. And he can talk to ghosts. He’s telepathic. It’s an-noy-ing.’

  Dillon burst out laughing. ‘I don’t think so, Maria,’ he said. ‘It sounds like he’s been winding you up! Nobody can do those things. Ha ha, it sounds like he’s been watching too many spooky films!’

  Jonathan and I looked at each other uncertainly. We didn’t want Maria to be upset, but then again we didn’t want to stop her making any disclosures that might be important for Social Services to know about.

  ‘Well, Dillon, perhaps it’s best not to pass a verdict about something when you don’t know all the facts,’ Jonathan said diplomatically.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Maria said, and then added defiantly, ‘but I know things that would make your hair twirl!’

  ‘Make you hair curl, you mean,’ Dillon said. ‘Maria, you’re so funny!’

  That was the end of the conversation, and Jonathan and I were left feeling confused and uneasy. We thought Maria had seen through Gerry and the claims he made about his so-called special powers, but apparently not. It seemed that whatever nonsense he’d fed to Maria, backed up by Christine and her belief she had a psychic gift, had had a deep and lasting impact on Maria.

  23

  ‘I can’t learn stuff like that’

  Maria was continuing to do well at school, although she still hated PE, which was unfortunate as I had noticed that she’d started to gain a little bit of weight.

  ‘You know what I think Maria needs,’ I said to Jonathan.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘A trampoline.’

  ‘Why a trampoline?’

  ‘Well, it would help her keep fit, which I think she needs to do as she’s still not taking part in PE at school as often as she should. Also, exercise is good for the brain.’

  I read somewhere that a study in America had shown that doing a particular exercise plan for three months had led to a thirty per cent increased blood flow to the part of the brain that’s responsible for memory and learning. I told Jonathan about this study, adding, ‘I know there is nothing wrong with Maria’s memory and learning, but that doesn’t mean she can’t benefit mentally as well as physically from doing more exercise. And as we know, the key to successful exercise is that you need to find something you enjoy, so you do it without it being a chore. I think she’d love it!’

  Jonathan scratched his head. ‘Well, it sounds like you have this all worked out, Angela. And I think it’s a very good idea. Tom and Dillon will love it too, I’m sure, as will whoever else comes along in the future.’

  The final decision on Maria’s care order was now possibly only a matter of weeks away. I really didn’t want to think about her leaving. I would miss her, and I worried about how she would cope with all the inevitable upheaval she would face, whichever way the court decided.

  There was nothing I could do but make the best of the time we still had. The weather was good and I felt that Maria could get great use out of the trampoline while she was still with us. As Jonathan pointed out, it would be a good long-term investment that plenty of other children would benefit from, so we agreed to make the purchase. We ordered a trampoline from a catalogue store and assembled it as soon as it was delivered to the house a few days later.

  ‘If she feels fitter and healthier, it can only help with her self-confidence,’ I said to Jonathan as we sat down on a couple of garden chairs, admired our handiwork and had a welcome rest.

  ‘Yes, I hope so,’ he replied. ‘She still needs help in that area, doesn’t she?’

  We said this because Maria still frequently said things like ‘I can’t do it’, ‘I’m rubbish!’ or even ‘I’m too thick to do that!’ whenever we suggested she try something new or had a go at a task she didn’t readily enjoy. Having Maria learn to crochet with my mum had helped show her that when you put your mind to something you can do it if you want to, however unfamiliar or unappealing it may be, or even if you think you are going to fail. However, I think she was so used to feeling inadequate that she found it hard to change her mindset.

  ‘If you are physically hurt by the people who are meant to be looking after you, I imagine you really lose faith in yourself,’ I said. ‘It must be so difficult.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Jonathan said, very knowingly.

  I looked at him and realised he was remembering his own childhood, growing up on a farm with his three older brothers. Jonathan was the smallest and thinnest of all the boys and his father always treated him like the runt of the family. For instance, when Jonathan wasn’t strong enough to chop the wood his father hit him with a belt and berated him for being a ‘useless weakling’.

  Inevitably, this impacted on Jonathan’s self-esteem, and it wasn’t until he was grown up and had forged a career for himself away from the farm, working in the city, that he truly began to believe in himself.

  ‘The damage lasts a long time,’ he nodded. ‘When you are repeatedly told you are no good you believe it, especially when you are told it by your parents. However they treat you, you know they are in charge and you think they have to be right. It’s how the mind works when you are a child. You accept things that are told to you by figures in authority, even when what they are saying doesn’t seem right or fair. And once your mind has been set it is hard to reverse the negative patterns created in your brain.’

  I squeezed Jonathan’s hand. We’d talked about his past many times, and as we’d become more knowledgeable about psychology and child development through our training, he had learned and understood more about himself and his past. It was painful to think of Jonathan being treated badly by his father, but when I looked at him that day I also felt flooded with optimism. If he could not just get over what had happened to him but also become the loving, sensitive and self-aware foster carer he was, then there was hope for all the children we fostered. Granted, Maria had been subjected to far worse physical and emotional abuse than Jonathan ever had, but that did not mean she couldn’t overcome the difficulties of her early childhood, did it?

  The next time my mum came over I asked her if she might now teach Maria to knit, as a step on from the crocheting she had mastered.

  ‘Of course,’ Mum said. ‘It would be my absolute pleasure!’

  Mum has always had very good relationships with the children we’ve fostered. Perhaps one of the strongest bonds she has had was with a lad called Ian who came to us for respite care when he was fifteen. Ian had a speech impediment that made him anxious and frustrated, and as a result he found it very difficult to make friends. My mother used to sit with him for hours, reading to him, listening and encouraging him while he read to her, and playing board games with him. I think she was the first person who had ever really spent as much time with him as he needed and, as well as helping to improve his self-confidence, she really helped him with his speech too.

  Jonathan took a photograph of the pair of them one day, sitting on the sofa in our house, their heads together, absorbed in whatever they were reading at the time. When Ian gave a copy of it to Mum, she framed it and put it on a table in her living room. And every time we took Ian round to her house with us he would pick it up and show it to us proudly, each time as though it was the first time we’d ever seen it. He’s an adult now, and he still visits Mum regularly.

  Anyhow, after we’d had dinner together that evening Mum offered to teach Maria how to knit.

  ‘I can’t learn stuff like that,’ Maria told her.

  It was clear to me that Maria’s response was almost automatic, as it really wasn’t an accurate thing to say. She’d crocheted various items for her teddies and ha
d even made me a cushion cover, which I put on the cushion on my favourite chair. If she could do that ‘stuff’ then it was obvious she’d be able to knit.

  ‘Oh, why’s that?’ Mum asked, looking confused. ‘If you can crochet I’m sure you can knit!’

  ‘Because I’m stupid,’ Maria answered, twisting a strand of hair around her finger and looking embarrassed.

  ‘Stupid! Who told you that?’ Mum exclaimed. ‘Well, whoever it was, they need to have their head examined.’

  Not having had the training Jonathan and I have had, Mum didn’t always react to things the children said the same way we would have done. But Maria seemed pleased by my mum’s response, even if she wasn’t entirely convinced that what she’d said was true.

  ‘Of course you can learn to knit, Maria,’ Mum insisted. ‘Come on, let’s go in the living room and I’ll show you.’

  ‘No,’ she said, chewing her fingernail anxiously. ‘I can’t do it. I’m too stupid.’

  ‘Maria,’ I said. ‘You are not stupid. You’re nervous. Everyone gets nervous when they try to do something they haven’t done before. I remember being nervous when Mum taught me to knit.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really,’ I said. ‘I’ve been nervous about lots and lots of things when I’ve thought I couldn’t do them or felt a bit scared, but once I’ve got started I’ve generally found that I can do it, even if it’s not perfect.’

  ‘Like what?’ Maria said suspiciously.

  ‘Well, I was a bit scared about sledging. Do you remember I told you that when we went sledging together? And I can still remember the first job interview I ever had to do. I was so nervous before I went that I could hardly breathe, and my dad said, “Just sit there and smile, then take a deep breath and remember that all the people interviewing you have had first interviews themselves. At some point in their lives, they’ve all gone through exactly the same thing you’re going through now – they’ve all been nervous about something at some time. So just remember that you’re not the only one and then do your best. I know you can do it.”’

  Maria hadn’t ever had that sort of encouragement growing up. She was used to her stepfather telling her, ‘You’re no good. You’re a bad person. A waste of space. Can’t you ever do anything right?’ So she believed that she felt the way she did whenever she was faced with something new or potentially difficult because she was stupid and wouldn’t be able to do it.

  Fortunately, having Mum there to reinforce my positive encouragement really helped. She was patient and tolerant and she also offered a story to inspire Maria, about a time when she felt she couldn’t possibly get a Brownie badge she wanted.

  ‘You were a Brownie?’ Maria laughed. ‘That’s so funny! I didn’t think they had Brownies in the olden days!’

  Mum, who was in her seventies, smiled and didn’t take any offence. ‘I think you’re funny, Maria,’ she laughed, ‘and also rather cheeky! The olden days, honestly!’

  It was nice for Maria to see that someone who didn’t have any reason for being involved with her – who wasn’t a family member or a foster carer, for example – actually enjoyed her company. Mum thought the world of Maria, in fact, and when the two of them presented me with a knitted yellow square some time later, it was hard to tell who was the more proud, Maria or Mum.

  The trampoline was a hit too, incidentally. Maria loved it and was soon learning how to do tuck jumps, half-twists, backdrops and straddle jumps.

  ‘Watch this, Angela!’ she’d call to me as I watched from the kitchen window, or when I kept an eye on her as I pottered around the garden, usually doing some weeding or hanging out the washing at the same time.

  ‘Look! You missed it! Watch now! And again! Look, I did it! I’ll do another one!’

  When Jonathan was with me, we would swap amused glances, as if to say, ‘What have we done? No peace for the wicked!’

  24

  ‘Are you jealous or something?’

  Maria continued to have the weekly calls with her mum, or at least they were scheduled to take place – Christine wasn’t always available. When the calls did go ahead as planned Maria still seemed to be on high alert a lot of the time, choosing her words carefully and racking her brain to provide details of her daily life that hopefully wouldn’t bring any criticism. More than once I saw Maria visibly sigh and drop her shoulders in relief when the call ended.

  One day Gerry phoned up, out of the blue. It was around the time of day when Christine was due to speak to Maria, and as I recognised the phone number on the digital display I told Maria she could answer the call. She had been in a really good mood, but the moment she lifted the receiver I saw her shoulders shoot up to her ears and the colour drained from her face.

  ‘Gerry!’ she said, sounding nervous and shocked.

  When Christine called I always pressed the speaker button straight away, as Social Services asked me to do and Maria knew to do the same, but I had no instructions for dealing with Gerry. I didn’t want to antagonise him by taking the phone off Maria or have him hear me tampering with the phone by switching it to speaker mode, and so I decided to just stay close by and listen to Maria’s half of the conversation. That way I felt I was protecting her as best I could without potentially causing trouble.

  ‘Yes,’ Maria nodded. ‘No. No, I didn’t know that. I am not sure I believe in . . . what? How did you know?’

  Maria was as white as a sheet, and I said loudly, ‘Are you all right, Maria?’

  ‘I’ve got to go!’ she said hastily. ‘Bye Gerry!’

  Her little hand was trembling as she replaced the receiver back in its cradle.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked again.

  ‘Fine, all fine!’ she said breezily. ‘Gerry is fine! All good!’

  ‘It’s unusual for him to phone up, are you sure?’

  ‘Oh yes, he’s only looking after me, Angela! Are you jealous or something?’

  I let this go. I had no idea what Gerry had been saying but all the signs were that he was playing with Maria’s young mind, and I wasn’t going to allow myself to be sucked into his games.

  We were looking after another little girl that day, so that her foster carer could go to a funeral. Amelia was a couple of years younger than Maria, and they had seemed to be getting on quite well until the phone call from Gerry.

  The girls had been playing a computer game together, and when Maria went back to it she suddenly started bossing Amelia around, telling her she wasn’t allowed to play the game because she was stupid and she’d break it. ‘You’re too thick to play it,’ Maria told Amelia, then started chanting, in a sing-song voice, ‘Amelia is useless. Amelia’s a fool.’

  When Jonathan and I told Maria to stop calling Amelia names and leave her alone, she ignored us and continued to taunt and tease her, until eventually Amelia got so upset she screamed at her, ‘I am not stupid. Leave me alone. I do know how to play this game. We’ve got it at home.’

  I touched Maria’s shoulder to attract her attention and told her again, ‘Please, Maria, leave Amelia alone.’

  ‘You’re all stupid,’ she shouted, spinning round on her heels and then storming out of the room and up the stairs. ‘Gerry is right! Stupid and jealous and he’s cleverer than you! He knows you talk about me behind my back!’

  Had that been the purpose of Gerry’s call? To slyly try to turn Maria against us in her final few weeks? He would know all too well that Jonathan and I did talk about Maria between us. That was part of our job, to discuss the children in our care, support one another and hopefully share information that would make children’s lives better. I had no idea why he would use this fact to try to undermine us at this stage. Maria would be leaving us soon whatever the verdict of the court, so what was he worried about, and why was he meddling like this?

  ‘Some people are just plain nasty, I’m afraid,’ Jonathan said, when we talked about it later. ‘There is no reasonable explanation why anybody would want to fill Maria’s head with nonsense abo
ut us, or nonsense of any kind. But Gerry is not reasonable, is he? We know that, unfortunately.’

  I discovered later that when Maria went upstairs she told Tom I’d hit her. I didn’t confront Maria about this but just made a note of it in my daily log. Maria’s social worker spoke to her about it the next day, and Maria admitted I hadn’t actually hit her and that she’d just said I had because she was in a bad mood after speaking to her stepfather.

  I can remember my father telling me when I was a child that he was often told as a little boy that ‘children should be seen and not heard’. It was not something he agreed with, and his willingness to sit down and talk to me about anything that was troubling me is something I have always remembered, and it’s something I try to do with all the children we foster.

  What was also very much a factor in raising children when my dad was young was the commonly held belief that children ‘need to be taught to behave’. I suppose that’s true to the extent that there are certain codes of behaviour that are acceptable in the society we live in, which children don’t have any innate knowledge or understanding of, and so have to learn about. But trying to teach children to behave when they have experienced the sort of emotional abuse that Maria had been subjected to, which was reflected in her frequent outbursts of anger, was not the answer. Maria’s behaviour was driven by her emotions, over which she had no control. So before she could be ‘taught to behave’, she had to learn how to deal with her feelings. That is why I didn’t confront her about telling Tom I’d hit her. Instead, I waited for the next opportunity to ask her how she was feeling and to make it clear to her that she could talk to me any time she liked.

  I find the training Jonathan and I did on PACE – playfulness, acceptance, curiosity and empathy – very helpful in situations like Maria’s.