The Girl and the Ghosts Read online

  When we were alone later Jonathan sighed deeply and unloaded about how he had felt in the company of Gerry.

  ‘I can’t imagine how Maria was able to live in that environment,’ he said, shuddering. ‘We were in Gerry’s company for less than half an hour and it completely unnerved me.’

  ‘And me. I felt scared, actually. I mean, when he was stalking around it felt like he might erupt at any minute.’

  Jonathan nodded. ‘I hate to say it because I prefer to look for the good in people, but I get the sense that he’s someone who hasn’t any boundaries, and that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do if he felt like it. I can’t see any good in him at all I’m afraid – in fact he made my skin crawl like nobody ever has before.’

  Hearing this made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up because Jonathan is not given to making statements like that. He has a naturally generous nature and being critical of a person is not something he does easily or lightly.

  ‘Poor Maria,’ I said, and I also gave a shudder. ‘I can’t imagine how she lived with Gerry. It must have been awful. I know it’s not up to us, but I really hope she doesn’t go back there.’

  13

  ‘I don’t need to tell her’

  Christine failed to turn up for Maria’s next placement meeting – held approximately six weeks later – despite all the complaints she continued to make about how her daughter was being cared for by Jonathan and me, the school and Social Services in general. Christine’s excuse was that she couldn’t get into town, which was where the next meeting was being held because of how the first meeting had gone at her house.

  ‘That wasn’t true,’ Babs revealed to me afterwards, in her usual gossipy fashion. Despite the fact Maria was still adamant she didn’t want to see her nanny, I continued to see Babs, as she would often call round when Maria was at school. On this occasion Babs had popped into the flower shop, supposedly shopping for a gift for a friend, although she didn’t actually buy anything.

  ‘Christine was actually in town at the time when the meeting was taking place,’ Babs informed me. ‘She told me there wasn’t any reason why she couldn’t attend. I’m afraid she was just being her usual awkward self!’

  This was not a good situation and I felt a pang of worry in the pit of my stomach. Maria’s life was already complicated, and she didn’t need her mother being disruptive and uncooperative like this. What was she trying to achieve? It didn’t make sense to me, because what good was this behaviour to Maria?

  I tactfully mentioned the fact Babs had not seen Maria for a while, as I’d done several times, but Babs gave the same response she always gave. ‘Kids!’ she said, shrugging her shoulders and raising her eyebrows. ‘I don’t know what goes on in Maria’s head, but she’ll come round, all in her own good time!’

  Most children of Maria’s age would not have been aware the placement meetings were even happening, let alone who attended, but she always asked me and wanted to know exactly what was going on.

  ‘Did Mummy go to the placement meeting?’ she asked me directly. ‘Claire said there was another meeting. I asked her, last time she came to see me.’

  ‘Did you? Well, your mum couldn’t make the meeting I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘And I’m reading my Bible.’

  ‘I know you’ve been reading your Bible, sweetheart,’ I said. ‘I’m sure your mum and Gerry would be pleased. Perhaps you could tell your mum all about it next time you talk on the phone?’

  Unfortunately, her mum’s phone calls had dwindled and she hadn’t heard from her for weeks, but I was hopeful there would be another call soon.

  ‘She already knows I read it every single night, it’s OK. I don’t need to tell her.’

  This seemed a slightly odd thing to say, but I didn’t press Maria. I left it, and that night I found Maria poring over her Bible. She seemed to have got more and more engrossed in it as each week passed, and most nights she read it in favour of her fiction.

  She told me she loved her Bible classes too, and I believed her, because of the way she behaved when she attended them. Sometimes she was in a temper about something on the way to her classes, but as soon as she entered the room where they were held she became extremely calm and behaved impeccably. It was as if a switch had been flicked, which was then sometimes flicked back again as soon as the class was over. It was unnerving to witness. Maria would emerge from the class looking the image of sweetness and light, and as soon as she was alone with Jonathan and me again she would usually kick off and have a tantrum, often picking up from exactly the same point where she had left off an hour earlier.

  ‘Do you think she’s scared of the people at church?’ I asked Jonathan after the same thing had happened a couple of times. ‘They all seem very nice and they’ve gone out of their way to fit in with what suits us best, but Maria seems to be afraid of letting them see her behaving badly.’

  ‘I was wondering the same thing,’ Jonathan said. ‘They are really good with her though, and they do genuinely seem to want to do whatever is in her best interests. Maybe some gentle questioning would be in order.’

  The following Saturday, when I picked her up after church, I asked Maria if she’d enjoyed the service.

  ‘It was OK,’ she said. ‘I like it when we sing the songs. The piano’s a bit rubbish though, and the lady who plays it has really short fingers. She crashes down on the keys as if she’s trying to break them!’

  ‘Well, at least your Bible study seems to be going very well and I’m glad you seem interested. It’s funny, isn’t it, how much easier it is to do something we find interesting than something like . . .’

  ‘Maths,’ Maria interrupted, and we both laughed. Then her expression became serious again as she added, ‘But I have to do the Bible study whether I like it or not, you know. He sees everything I do.’

  I assumed Maria was talking about God, and I allowed her the space to say something else if she wanted to, but she then changed the subject and asked if we were doing anything later on in the day.

  ‘Actually, yes! We’re having a barbecue. My mum’s coming over. Would you like that?’

  ‘Yes!’ she said. ‘Can we do toasted marshmallows?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. Come on, let’s get to the shops.’

  Maria helped me prepare for the barbecue, and when my mum arrived she ran up to her and started chatting away. They’d got to know each other by now and seemed to get along well, even though my mum always did that typical thing of saying how she was growing so quickly, and asking how she was getting on at school.

  ‘I don’t like maths or PE, but I like reading and writing,’ Maria said this time.

  ‘I know all about your reading!’ Mum said, as she’d babysat once or twice when Jonathan and I had to go to training evenings. Mum had been passed by Social Services to do this many years earlier and it was a great help to us. She generally enjoyed herself too, playing cards and board games as well as reading with the younger children. She was particularly impressed by Maria’s reading skills, and she had also started to teach Maria to crochet, as one night Mum had brought a pattern and some wool with her and Maria was really interested to learn.

  ‘But tell me, Maria, why don’t you like PE? I used to love it when I was girl.’

  Maria giggled. ‘I bet you did those funny old-fashioned things, like hockey.’

  ‘I did, actually! Don’t you play hockey?’

  ‘No. We do netball. But mostly we have to do gymnastics, and I hate it. I think it’s stupid the way the girls have to prance around the gym “doing gymnastics”.’

  She said the last two words with exaggerated sarcasm, in what I assumed was supposed to sound like her PE teacher’s voice. ‘And while we “do gymnastics” in one gym, the boys are in another gym using the trampoline. Why can’t we do that too? It’s racism, and it’s not fair. I hate PE.’

  ‘Discrimination, I think you mean, dear.’

  ‘Dis-crim-in-ation,’ Maria copied. ‘T
hat’s it. We should all be in the same nest!’

  ‘I agree, you should all be in the same boat,’ Mum said sensitively, not wanting to correct Maria’s language twice in such a short space of time.

  Jonathan was listening to all this, and he could see that Maria was getting a little hot under the collar, so he tried to do something about it.

  ‘I used to love PE when I was a young boy,’ he said. ‘I was quite good at it too. In fact, I could stand on my hands for at least five minutes.’

  ‘Can you do it now?’ Maria asked him excitedly, having just learned to do a handstand herself for a second or two before toppling over. ‘Go on, Jonathan, do it! Do it!’

  ‘OK. Stand back and I’ll show you.’ Jonathan put the barbecue fork down on the table beside him and rubbed his hands together. Then, with a look of intense concentration on his face, he ran across the grass for a few steps, crouched down, put his hands under his toes and said, ‘See. I’m standing on my hands.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’ Maria looked puzzled for a moment, and then the penny dropped. ‘Jonathan, you’re silly!’ she said, before getting to her feet and showing him how to do a proper handstand.

  I thought Jonathan had managed to prevent Maria getting herself into a bad mood about school and all the things she didn’t like, but unfortunately it wasn’t that easy. After she’d performed her handstand, and a cartwheel just for good measure, she plonked herself down and started to complain once more about PE.

  ‘I don’t like PE or any of the subjects. I don’t like school at all,’ Maria said.

  Mum raised an eyebrow and I knew she was itching to remind Maria that she liked English, but over the years Mum had learned not to intervene with the children as much as she felt naturally inclined to. Mum was never party to the problems and issues any of the children had and we never discussed anything about their backgrounds or their private lives, but she understood very well that the children we fostered often needed careful and sensitive handling.

  The truth was things hadn’t been going well at school for Maria, and I’d been called up to the school several times by the extremely patient head teacher. The problems usually centred around what the teachers described as ‘temper tantrums’, but on several occasions Maria had climbed out of windows or bolted out of the main doors, causing panic and prompting teachers or classroom assistants to give chase.

  One of the issues I discussed with the head teacher was tiredness. Maria often complained to me that she had trouble sleeping, although fortunately the nightmares she’d had at the age of seven seemed to have stopped. I explained to the head teacher that the journey to school by taxi took forty-five minutes, which meant Maria had to get up earlier than most children, and so it was perhaps no wonder she was tired.

  ‘And unfortunately, children who have suffered trauma in their life often experience sleep problems,’ I added, ‘as I’m sure you are aware.’

  The head nodded. ‘As well as being prone to hyperactivity, mood swings, disruptive behaviour, temper tantrums and perhaps even depression.’

  It was my turn to nod. ‘Indeed,’ I said, feeling very glad he understood. Not all teachers I have encountered are so well informed, and in the past I’ve had to fight against primary-school children being excluded because of their poor behaviour, arguing that it is not their fault and the very last thing they need is to have their routine and education taken away.

  In view of all the trouble Maria had been getting into at school, we feared the worst when Maria’s form teacher phoned one day.

  ‘How are you?’ I said anxiously.

  ‘Fine,’ the teacher replied breezily, which came as a pleasant surprise. ‘It’s nothing to worry about, Mrs Hart. I’m ringing because an outing has been arranged for the class that involves a walk through a country park.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘And the thing is, because Maria has been doing a lot of running off, bolting out of the classroom and so on, we wondered if either you or Mr Hart would be able to come on the trip with her, as an extra pair of hands?’

  I said we could certainly arrange that, and Jonathan and I decided that he was the best person for the job, as he was faster on his feet.

  When the day came, Maria was actually quite excited to have Jonathan with her, and her behaviour was impeccable.

  ‘Funny, isn’t it?’ the teacher mused. ‘You never know which Maria is going to turn up, do you?’

  Jonathan smiled. ‘Angela and I have said the same ourselves. I’m pleased you seem to know her so well.’

  From that point on, whenever there was any extra-curricular activity or a sports day, Jonathan or I attended as a ‘class helper’, although in reality Maria was our sole focus. One of the teachers had let slip that had we not been willing to assist, Maria would not have been allowed to take part in some activities. I accepted that the school had to put Maria’s safety first, just as we did, but it was still quite upsetting to think that such a young girl might be left out because of her behaviour, which was largely no fault of her own.

  14

  ‘It doesn’t make any sense’

  Another issue soon arose, and this one involved Babs. I still hadn’t got to the bottom of why Maria wouldn’t talk to her nanny or visit her like she used to. This was bothering me, particularly as it had gone on for months and reached the point where Maria was refusing to even speak about her grandmother. For instance, if I mentioned that Babs had called in for a cup of tea or that I’d bumped into her in town, Maria would blank me and pretend she hadn’t heard what I was saying. I knew Babs had been ill with flu for several weeks and when she was finally better I thought it might be a good time to try to nudge Maria into seeing her grandmother again.

  One afternoon, after the taxi had brought Maria home from school and we were sitting together in the kitchen while she drank a glass of milk, I discussed the fact Babs had been poorly and I asked Maria if she’d like me to call her nanny and arrange a visit. Of course, I hadn’t forgotten what the social worker had said to me about there being a good reason Maria could not live with her grandparents and brother Colin, but I had to trust Social Services’ decision that visits to the home were safe, and I felt Maria’s relationship with Babs in particular was an important one to maintain.

  ‘Would you like me to give your nanny a call and fix up a time for a visit?’ I asked.

  At first Maria ignored me, but I carried on. ‘I know she’d love to see you, and I’m sure it would cheer her up, after she’s been ill. Or you can phone her yourself if you’d rather.’

  ‘No thanks,’ Maria said, staring straight ahead and wiping the white moustache off her top lip with the back of her hand.

  I was disappointed by her answer, but didn’t say anything more about it until the next day, when I said, casually, ‘Just let me know if you want to phone your grandparents at any time, won’t you, sweetheart? I’m sure they’d be glad to hear from you.’

  ‘I’m fine thanks,’ she said, almost irritably this time and in a tone of voice that indicated quite clearly that she didn’t want to talk about it.

  I hadn’t ever seen Maria interact much with her grandfather, but her relationship with her nanny had always been close. I simply couldn’t understand her apparent indifference to my suggestion that she might like to contact her. What was even more difficult to understand was Maria’s reaction when we saw her grandmother in town one day.

  It was a Saturday morning and, after picking her up from church, Jonathan and I had taken Maria into town to buy her some new shoes. I was just about to push open the door of the small, family-run department store Jonathan and I have been going to for years, when I saw Babs and Colin walking along the high street towards us. Colin spotted us at almost the same moment, and I was struck by the delighted expression on his face when he saw his little sister. He smiled and said hello, but instead of answering him and without even acknowledging her grandmother, let alone giving her a hug as she used to do when she greeted her, Maria suddenl
y darted into the store as fast as her legs would take her.

  Babs looked surprised, and then hurt, and I was completely bemused. Jonathan immediately dashed after Maria, and when I got through the door, followed by Babs and Colin, I could see that Maria was crouching down behind a counter. She was clearly trying to hide, but you could see the top of her head.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said to Babs and Colin. ‘I don’t know what she’s doing. Do you want to wait while I . . . ?’

  ‘No, it’s all right, Angela, love,’ Babs replied. ‘Kids, hey! Maybe I could drop by your house tomorrow to see her?’

  ‘Of course,’ I answered. ‘We’re going out in the afternoon. But come and have a cup of coffee late morning, if you can.’

  Maria was still crouching behind the counter, pretending to be reattaching the Velcro strap on her trainers, when I caught up with her. She seemed upset, and she kept looking around her, almost as though she was holding her breath waiting for something really bad to happen.

  ‘Didn’t you see your grandmother and Colin?’ I asked gently.

  ‘Yes.’ She sighed as she said it, the way she often did when she was annoyed or uncomfortable.

  ‘Didn’t you want to talk to them?’

  ‘No. I don’t have to if I don’t want to. It’s my choice.’

  Baffled by her response, but not wanting to force her into a confrontation, I answered, simply, ‘Yes, I suppose it is. Well, I think the department we want is on the first floor. Come on, let’s go . . .’

  Maria stood up cautiously, looking over her shoulder and staying very quiet as we made our way to the escalator.

  ‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ Jonathan said later. ‘I mean, it wasn’t a game, was it? She was serious.’