The Girl and the Ghosts Read online

  Contents

  1 ‘Just a few days’

  2 ‘I am not eating that’

  3 ‘I dont want it to be dark’

  4 ‘I don’t like being hurt’

  5 ‘So, what’s Maria told you?’

  6 ‘Can I still see you?’

  7 ‘There are heads in the clouds’

  8 ‘They’re making it all up’

  9 ‘I don’t want to see him’

  10 ‘Break things in the house’

  11 ‘It’s unusual for a girl so young . . .’

  12 ‘He made my skin crawl’

  13 ‘I don’t need to tell her’

  14 ‘It doesn’t make any sense’

  15 ‘I’ve got the gift’

  16 ‘Are you looking forward to coming home?’

  17 ‘He can see me’

  18 ‘I’m going home’

  19 ‘Can I see Nanny?’

  20 ‘I want to live with you, Angela’

  21 ‘Every clown has a silver lining’

  22 ‘Dead people talk to her’

  23 ‘I can’t learn stuff like that’

  24 ‘Are you jealous or something?’

  25 ‘I wonder how Maria will take it’

  26 ‘Gerry used to play this game’

  27 ‘I thought it was him!’

  28 ‘We’ll take legal action’

  29 ‘It makes it all worthwhile’

  30 ‘You don’t care about me!’

  31 ‘It’s just the way I am’

  32 ‘It didn’t seem fair’

  33 ‘I don’t care’

  34 ‘Something is very wrong’

  35 ‘I don’t want to talk about it’

  36 ‘Two packets . . . and some more’

  37 ‘Oh, that man!’

  38 ‘Why does life have to be so hard?’

  39 ‘Maybe it’s for the best’

  40 ‘Maria’s got something she needs to tell you’

  41 ‘Anything is possible . . .’

  Epilogue

  The Girl Who Just Wanted to be Loved

  Terrified

  The Girl with No Bedroom Door

  1

  ‘Just a few days’

  It was early on a Thursday afternoon when my support social worker phoned to ask us to take in a little girl called Maria. What sticks in my mind about that day was the amount of rain we’d had and the fact that flooding had been forecast for the outskirts of our town.

  My husband, Jonathan, was loading up the delivery van in the pouring rain while I checked the list of orders for the afternoon’s flower deliveries.

  ‘Great weather for ducks,’ he said, standing for a moment in the open doorway, dripping onto the doormat, before picking up another armful of flowers and heading back out into the deluge.

  As soon as he had closed the door behind him the phone rang.

  ‘Afternoon, Angela. How are you?’

  It was the familiar voice of Jess, our support social worker.

  ‘Great, apart from all the rain!’ I said cheerfully.

  ‘It’s not great news for the festival, is it?’ Jess said, as she knew I’d been involved in organising the annual event in the town and was preparing flowers for the parade floats.

  ‘No, not good at all. If the weather’s as bad as they say it’s going to be, it will definitely have an effect on the number of people who attend. It’s such a pity when so many people have put so much effort into organising it.’

  I liked Jess. She was only in her mid-twenties but she was one of the best support social workers we’d ever had. She always made an effort to chat and find out what else was going on in my life outside fostering. The empathy and people skills she effortlessly displayed were priceless in her work, particularly when it came to dealing with the unique needs of each of the children she was responsible for.

  ‘What she lacks in terms of years of practical experience she more than makes up for with her understanding personality,’ Jonathan had commented one time, and he was spot on.

  There was only one customer in our flower shop when Jess phoned, a woman I knew who was choosing some dried-flower arrangements to decorate the cake competition tent at the festival that Saturday.

  I try never to be overheard when discussing fostering, which Jess understood, so as it was our part-time assistant Barbara’s day off I carried on chatting to Jess about the weather and the festival until Jonathan came back in.

  He appeared and realised immediately, from the neutral tone of my voice as I spoke to Jess, that the call was foster carer rather than florist related. So, when I nodded my head in the direction of the door that led into our house, where I could continue the conversation in private, he raised his thumb to indicate that he’d understood.

  Closing the door to the shop behind me, I went into the kitchen and sat down. It had been a very busy morning and it was a relief to take the weight off my feet for the first time in the last three hours.

  ‘OK, I can talk properly now,’ I told Jess down the phone.

  ‘Great, thanks Angela,’ she said kindly.

  I knew how busy she was too – I have never met a social worker who has enough hours in the day – and I was impressed by her patience. I can’t imagine she had any real interest in the floral displays I described to her, but she knew me well enough to know I’m not the type to babble on about things unnecessarily, and that I was only making polite conversation because there was a customer in the shop.

  ‘So, I have a little girl called Maria. She’s only seven and I’d only need you to have her for a short while. Just a few days.’

  ‘Well, we do have room,’ I said. ‘I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll just have to check with Jonathan. What else can you tell me?’

  ‘Well,’ Jess said, giving a little laugh. ‘It’s short notice – for a change! I’d need you to take her today.’

  ‘Today?’ I said with a question in my voice.

  It wasn’t unusual to take in a child at very short notice like this, because once a decision has been made that a child is going into foster care then immediate action often needs to be taken, particularly if the courts have intervened and made an order.

  The question in my voice had more to do with Maria’s circumstances. I wondered why the seven-year-old needed our help, and my immediate thought was, Poor thing, I hope she’s all right. I knew Jonathan would feel the same way, but we had a rule that we took all fostering decisions together.

  Though Jonathan and I had been working for many years as specialist carers for teenagers who needed a bit of extra support above and beyond mainstream foster care, we did take in younger children if the need arose, and if we had space. As it was we had two teenage boys living with us, which left us with one spare bedroom. At this point in time – the first half of the nineties – we were passed to take in up to three children at any one time, so I couldn’t see any reason not to help Maria.

  ‘What can you tell me about her?’ I asked.

  I heard the rustle of paperwork.

  ‘In a nutshell, Maria’s school contacted Social Services today because they were concerned about some quite severe bruising they noticed on her arms. It turns out there is bruising on her back too. She’s been in foster care before, about eighteen months ago, but was returned to her mother. I’ve tried the same foster carer but unfortunately she doesn’t have enough room at the moment for Maria.’

  Jess mentioned the name of Maria’s previous foster carer, who was a woman I knew well from the support groups for carers that Jonathan and I attended every couple of months. But before I had a chance to ask how Maria’s placement went previously, Jess said, ‘I have to be honest, there was a problem last time. Nothing major though.’

  ‘W
hat happened?’

  ‘It was just that Maria wasn’t getting on very well with the foster carer’s daughter, who’s about the same age as she is. It wasn’t necessarily Maria’s fault. The thing is, Maria can be a bit moody.’

  Jess paused. While I said, ‘I see . . .’, and waited for her to tell me more, I thought about the two children who were already staying with us – Tom and Dillon – and about the possible impact Maria might have on their lives, even for a few days.

  ‘When I say moody,’ Jess went on, ‘I mean she has a temper and a tendency to throw things when she doesn’t get what she wants. But, as I say, it’s nothing serious. The only reason I feel it was difficult during the previous placement was because the two girls were the same age and they fell out on a regular basis. And as the children you’re already fostering are older, I really don’t think that will be an issue.’

  ‘Thanks for being honest,’ I said. ‘I trust your opinion, and I’m sure it’ll be fine, though of course as I say I’ll have to check with Jonathan.’

  ‘Thank you, Angela! You’re a star! The child protection team picked Maria up directly from her school earlier today and they’ve got an Emergency Protection Order. They have her sitting in their office at the moment, so I have to find somewhere for her to stay tonight.’

  ‘Right. Give me a few minutes and I’ll call you back.’

  I could already feel the twinge of slightly nervous excitement I always get during that first phone conversation, when I’m asked if we can take on a new placement. I was already anticipating how Maria would fit in and was looking forward to meeting her and helping her settle.

  When I went back into the shop, Jonathan was carefully wrapping up the flowers that had eventually been chosen by the customer who had been there when the phone rang.

  ‘So, is it a girl or a boy, and how old?’ Jonathan asked as soon as we were alone in the shop.

  My husband knew from the animated look on my face, and the way I was itching to talk to him, that our social worker had been asking us to look after another child. I filled Jonathan in as quickly as I could and he gave a thin, sad smile.

  ‘Bruises?’ he said. ‘And a moody temperament? Poor little girl. Of course we can manage a few days.’

  I gave Jonathan a kiss on the cheek. ‘I knew you’d say that. It’s exactly what I thought.’

  We were well aware that the few days could run into weeks or even longer, but we didn’t need to discuss this. We’d looked after dozens of children who had arrived like Maria, emotionally or physically damaged, or both. We’d do whatever it took to make her feel loved and cared for while she was in our home.

  ‘Tom and Dillon will be fine with it too, I’m sure,’ Jonathan added. ‘They’ve always been really good with the little ones we’ve had on respite care.’

  Tom and Dillon – both aged fourteen – had emotional problems rooted in family break-ups and childhood traumas, so of course we had to consider the impact it would have on them to have a seven-year-old girl under the same roof. They were good lads though, well-natured and kind-hearted despite the bad hands they’d been dealt in life, and I agreed with Jonathan that both boys would be tolerant of a little girl of seven, even one with a tendency to be a bit ‘moody’ in the way Jess had described to me.

  When I phoned Jess back and confirmed we would take Maria, she sounded relieved. ‘Thank you so much, Angela,’ she said. ‘I’m really grateful. If you hadn’t agreed, I don’t know what I would have done, as there are no other vacancies in the area. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’

  2

  ‘I am not eating that’

  Jonathan and I had just shut the shop when Jess arrived with Maria, who was a little waif of a girl with a mass of tangled mousy-blonde hair.

  ‘Hello,’ I smiled. ‘Come on through to the house.’

  I introduced myself and Jonathan, but Maria could barely look at us. Instead, she stared at the floor, and then fixed her gaze on a display of flowering plants in the shop.

  ‘They’re pretty, aren’t they?’ I said.

  Maria nodded her head shyly. As she did so her hair fell forward over her face but she didn’t push it back. This meant all I could see was one pale blue eye, nervously looking up at me.

  Once we were in the kitchen Jonathan busied himself with making a pot of tea. He offered a cup to Jess and me and asked Maria what she would like.

  She whispered, ‘Nothing,’ watching Jonathan with her one visible, unblinking eye.

  Jonathan was still wearing the apron he’d had on in the shop, which he always wore to protect his clothes when he was loading the van or carrying tubs or boxes of flowers around.

  ‘Sorry about this,’ he smiled at Maria, pointing at his apron apologetically. ‘You’re probably thinking I look a bit silly. It’s not a skirt though, I promise! It’s just an old apron I wear in the shop.’

  As Jonathan continued to do his best to distract Maria and engage with her in some way while he made the tea, I chatted to Jess on the other side of the kitchen, out of earshot of Maria.

  I was hoping to get some more details about Maria’s circumstances – ideally everything Jess knew that she was able to share – but I knew from experience that when an initial placement meeting comes at the end of a busy day like this, it doesn’t always happen.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to rush through the initial placement meeting, as there’s another emergency I have to deal with,’ Jess said, which didn’t surprise me. ‘I’ve got my favourite job today – duty social worker! So I’ll fill you in tomorrow with what information we have, if that’s OK, Angela?’

  It was more of a statement than a question so I nodded and agreed. In any case, I wanted to join Jonathan in his efforts to help Maria to settle in.

  Jess hitched her large handbag onto her shoulder and passed me Maria’s file to read later. She also completed some standard paperwork so that I had the contact details and emergency numbers for Maria’s family and the social workers involved in her case. There was a backpack belonging to Maria, which Jess had placed in the hallway on her way in.

  ‘Maria’s grandmother helped me get some of her things together,’ Jess explained, nodding towards the small denim bag. ‘It should be enough for tonight. Then, hopefully, I’ll collect some more tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s fine. Don’t worry,’ I told her. ‘I know how busy you are.’

  Raising my voice, I looked across at Maria and said cheerfully, ‘We’ll be OK, won’t we, Maria? Do you think you’ll be happy to stay here with us for a few days?’

  Maria tilted her head to one side, which made her hair shift off her face so that I could see both her eyes looking at me quizzically. She studied me for a moment, as if she was very seriously considering the question. Then she nodded, took a couple of steps towards me and put one of her very small hands into mine.

  Jess apologised for having to leave so quickly. She was good at interacting with children of all ages and had a way of putting them at ease, but when Jonathan saw her out Maria barely gave her a second glance when she said goodbye.

  ‘Well, come on then, Maria,’ I said after taking a slurp of my tea. ‘I’ll show you around the house, shall I?’

  She nodded and very nearly smiled, and then Jonathan reappeared from the hallway.

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a drink first?’ he asked kindly. ‘We’ll be having our evening meal soon. But maybe you’d like some orange juice or milk, or a glass of water?’

  ‘I want Coke,’ Maria said, suddenly fixing him with a steady, determined stare. ‘And crisps.’

  I gently explained to Maria that we didn’t keep Coke in the house.

  ‘We only have fizzy drinks on special occasions, like when we are on holiday or when we go out to eat,’ I said.

  She furrowed her brow and curled her lip, so I tried to lighten the atmosphere.

  ‘If we did have bottles of Coke in the house, they wouldn’t last five minutes!’ I laughed.

  I
then explained to her that we had two teenage boys in the house, Tom and Dillon, who loved fizzy drink a little bit too much.

  ‘Crisps,’ she blurted. ‘I want crisps.’

  I told Maria that she could have a packet of crisps after dinner if she was still hungry.

  ‘I want crisps now.’

  ‘I’m sorry sweetheart, but you’ll ruin your dinner. If you’re really hungry you can have a piece of fruit to keep you going. Would you like that?’

  ‘No, I want crisps!’

  Maria now had an angry look in her eyes.

  Jonathan leaned in to her just a little, being careful not to invade her personal space.

  ‘Shall I let you into a secret?’ he said. ‘Angela loves crisps, maybe even more than you do. She would love to eat crisps before her dinner but she can’t. It’s not good for her diet, you see, and she’s always on a diet!’

  Maria eyed me up and down.

  ‘It’s true!’ I laughed.

  ‘Well I’m not on a diet,’ she said.

  ‘I know that, Maria,’ replied Jonathan. ‘I’m not either, but we all have to stay healthy, don’t we? Eating crisps before dinner is not good for anybody.’

  For a moment I thought Jonathan’s little ploy had worked and I tried to chivvy Maria along to the kitchen door so we could go on a tour of the house.

  ‘Come on then,’ I said breezily. ‘Let’s go on up . . .’

  ‘I want Coke.’ Maria’s eyes narrowed and the expression on her face was sullen as she repeated the words, very slowly this time.

  ‘Well, sulks don’t work with me,’ I told her cheerfully but forcefully, heading to the hallway. ‘So if you don’t want juice, milk, water or any fruit, I’ll show you where your bedroom is. Come on!’

  If I’d had to guess what Maria’s response would be, I think I’d probably have said she’d dig her heels in and refuse to be cajoled out of her sulk. However, to my surprise she followed me up the stairs, bringing her little bag with her.

  Before opening her bedroom door, I showed Maria the storage box on the landing where I keep towels, spare clothing, extra bedding and so on, for boys and girls of different ages. As I handed Maria a clean, fluffy white towel to place in her room, she bent her head over it, inhaled deeply and said, ‘It smells nice, like flowers.’