The Girl With Two Lives Read online

  Nelson called to tell me Susan would fix up a meeting with Danielle as soon as possible, and that the police had already been contacted.

  ‘Is there anything at all you need me to do?’

  ‘Just keep hold of any potential evidence, clothes and suchlike.’

  I’d already washed all of the clothes Danielle had been wearing the night before. As she’d been sick, I’d put absolutely everything she had on straight in to soak. Danielle herself had made sure this happened, as she was worried about ruining her brand-new skirt and top. She’d also had a shower before bed, and again this morning. I’d taken the clothes out of soak and put the washing machine on first thing, and now Danielle’s clothes were churning in the tumble dryer, because it was raining outside so I couldn’t peg them on the washing line.

  I looked at the drizzle on the kitchen window and sank into a chair, feeling as miserable and grey as the weather.

  13

  ‘I think we’re all doing well. We’re on a roll!’

  Thankfully, the ‘rape’ episode was soon over. Danielle confessed to her social worker, Susan, that she invented the story, but not before the police had started to investigate and Shelby and Mina had each had visits from two police officers. The girls were not happy, because neither of them had been where they were supposed to be that evening, and had subsequently got into trouble with their families, who also did not welcome having the police at their doors unnecessarily.

  Unfortunately, the girls’ friendship never really recovered after that. Danielle flatly refused to discuss with me why she made the false claim, but she did say it was ‘all sorted’ after her subsequent session with her psychologist, which was brought forward. There was no remorse or explanation, and the only time she ever mentioned it again, she was very defensive.

  ‘You don’t need to worry about me, Angela. I’m not a crackpot! It was her that made me say it.’

  ‘It was her? She made you say it?’

  ‘Don’t you have a stupid idea in your head sometimes? Like there’s a crazy mad person in your head telling you what to do or say?’

  ‘I think we all have daft thoughts and ideas, Danielle. But I don’t have anyone telling me what to say.’

  ‘Oh no, nor do I. I’m not crackers, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t think you’re crackers, Danielle.’

  She beamed and I thought silently to myself, It’s a wonder you’re functioning as well as you are, given all you’ve been through.

  Susan told me she had talked to Danielle about the impact on the unfortunate homeless man she had falsely accused of rape. It turned out he had a sound alibi: he was captured on CCTV at the coach station during the time of the alleged attack, and so fortunately he was spared the ordeal of having to defend himself against the spurious allegation.

  One day, when I saw an opportunity, I reiterated to Danielle how terrible it must have been for the man to have had a lie told about him. I was trying to teach her the importance of telling the truth and considering the feelings of others, but she didn’t seem to take this on board at all.

  ‘What’s he got to lose? He’s a tramp. He’s the lowest of the low. Nobody would believe him anyway, it’s just as well he was on CCTV! He got lucky. I never got that lucky!’

  ‘You never got that lucky?’

  ‘No. Nobody believed me, did they?’

  She was looking up to the ceiling and appeared to have zoned out. That was the end of the conversation. I made a note of Danielle’s comments and reported them to Nelson, who duly recorded it in his Social Services file.

  ‘When she was little, do you think she was told nobody would believe her and she was the lowest of the low?’ I said to Jonathan that night.

  ‘It’s entirely possible,’ he said, shaking his head.

  As soon as we knew Danielle was staying with us for at least another six months we had asked her if she’d like to enrol in a club or society. This is something we encourage every child to do who is living with us for more than respite or short-term care.

  ‘Archery,’ she said straight away. ‘Can I do that?’

  ‘Gosh, I’ve never come across an archery club before, but I can certainly look into it. Do you have any other ideas, in case that doesn’t work out?’

  ‘Judo. Or curling. Or ice hockey.’

  I realised she’d watched a TV programme the night before about the Olympics, which focused on some of the more unusual sports.

  ‘Right,’ I said, thinking judo was the most likely club to be available on our doorstep. ‘Let me make a few calls.’

  As I expected, there were no archery, curling or ice hockey clubs in our town, but there was a judo class held in the hall of one of the local schools on a mid-week evening. When I told Danielle she could go for a taster lesson to see if she liked it she cheered.

  ‘Yes! I’ve always wanted to learn how to have proper fights!’

  ‘It’s not exactly fighting, Danielle. Judo is a martial art.’

  ‘Same thing.’

  ‘No, it really isn’t.’

  ‘Whatever!’

  When the mobile library pulled up in the next street later that day I shot over to see if they had a book about judo. Luckily they had two, so I borrowed them both.

  ‘Have a look at these,’ I said. ‘That way you’ll be well prepared before your class. And you can learn a bit about the history of judo as a martial art.’

  ‘Thanks!’ she beamed. ‘You’re the best, Angela! I’d never fight you.’

  ‘I should hope not,’ Jonathan said, having just walked into the room on the tail end of the conversation.

  ‘You mean it wouldn’t be good if I knocked Angela out?’ Danielle said in a teasing tone, looking at Jonathan.

  ‘Certainly not,’ he replied, widening his eyes in mock horror. ‘How could you even say such a thing?’

  We all gave a little laugh, but to be truthful I didn’t find the chat very amusing. Even though Danielle spoke in a jokey way, she had a steely glint in her eye, at least when she looked at me.

  ‘Did you spot that?’ I asked Jonathan later.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Honestly, I thought she was just in a silly mood, saying things in the nonsense kind of way she does sometimes.’

  We still had an issue with Danielle treating Jonathan and me differently. She definitely favoured him, and I had begun to suspect she fancied him. She craved his approval and attention, and at times she actively sought to cause trouble between Jonathan and me, though she didn’t ever succeed. We’d started to make a point of telling her things about ourselves, such as how long we’d been together and what our wedding was like back in the seventies, so she could be in no doubt about the strength of our relationship and commitment to each other.

  ‘Don’t you get bored of each other?’ she asked me one day.

  ‘No, of course not! We’d be lost without each other.’

  ‘What if one of you met someone else? Would your heart break?’

  ‘Yes, but neither of us have any intention of going off with somebody else. We love each other very much.’

  ‘Urgh! That’s gross! If I were Jonathan I’d get fed up of living with a bossy boots!’

  ‘Excuse me!’ I said, trying to laugh this off and nip the conversation in the bud before it turned into anything more uncomfortable.

  For a welcome month or so we at last entered something of a ‘honeymoon period’ with Danielle. As I’ve said before, this usually happens at the very start of a placement, when a child is settling in and doesn’t yet feel comfortable enough to rock the boat. We hadn’t enjoyed the luxury of this when Danielle first moved in, but now she knew she was with us for a lengthier stay she finally seemed to be calmer and better behaved than before, and it was heartening to see.

  For example, my mother went with her to the cinema most weeks because they liked the same kind of films, and she never failed to come back enthusing about Danielle being a ‘delight’ and a ‘pleasure to be with’. The judo
classes were a roaring success too. Danielle couldn’t wait to get there every week, and she made some new friends who she started to go to a different youth club with. This was very good news, as Shelby and Mina soon disappeared off the scene completely after the rape episode.

  Even the bed-wetting got better, eventually. When Danielle didn’t make progress with the pads, the nurse gave her an alarm system to use in bed at night, as promised, which was ultimately more effective. This meant Danielle had to wear what was effectively an adult nappy attached to the alarm, and it rang out whenever she wet herself. She went through a phase of switching off the alarm then going back to sleep instead of going to the toilet, and subsequently wetting the bed. This was followed by a frustrating week or so when she disconnected the alarm before she went to bed, so it was neither use nor ornament. Finally, after I talked to her many times about how the system was designed to help her, not hinder her, she started to see the benefit and use the alarm properly.

  I praised Danielle every time she was dry, and I said that if she kept up the good work I would buy her a holdall she wanted for judo, with the club logo on the side. It was expensive and quite a luxury to have, as Danielle had plenty of bags she could use for judo, but it seemed to work as a good incentive. When she’d been dry at night for two whole weeks I bought her the holdall, complete with a new water bottle that fitted in a pouch in the side pocket. She reacted as if it was Christmas morning.

  ‘Angela, this is the best present I’ve ever had!’

  ‘Really? I’m so pleased.’

  The next day, when she came back from a trip to the swimming baths with Deirdre, Danielle handed me a small box of chocolates.

  ‘Gosh, what’s this for?’ I said. ‘And how did you know these were my favourites?’

  ‘It’s to say thanks for being kind. And I didn’t know they were your favourites. But I do know you like all chocolates, don’t you?’

  ‘That’s true enough!’ I laughed. By now Danielle was well aware that I lived in a constant state of watching my weight and either being on a diet or feeling guilty that I wasn’t.

  ‘We’ll open those tonight, when EastEnders is on.’

  ‘Yes!’ Danielle cheered. ‘You’re ace, Angela.’

  She continued to have occasional accidents in the daytime and the odd slip-up at night, but on the whole fantastic progress had been made and I was very pleased for her.

  Danielle’s tuition gradually increased and she now had a total of three sessions at a new centre out of town, with a different tutor, Mrs Blake, who was older and more experienced than Miss Powell. Mrs Blake seemed to get more out of Danielle than Miss Powell, and Danielle would come home chatting about all the things her new tutor had said. She also seemed very keen to please Mrs Blake, which was a good sign.

  ‘I’d like to be clever like Mrs Blake,’ Danielle said one day.

  ‘You are a clever girl, Danielle. We all have our talents. You have a great imagination, for one thing. And you know a lot about films, and martial arts.’

  For her latest homework Danielle had done a piece of writing about her judo classes, and it was really quite impressive. She’d copied out lots of facts from the library books I’d borrowed for her, and she’d done some super illustrations. Danielle’s writing was still very juvenile for her age, in terms of content as well as style and appearance, but nevertheless I could see she was making progress and she deserved praise for that.

  ‘I don’t know what job I’m going to do when I’m grown up,’ she said one day. ‘I don’t know what I’m going to be really good at. Did you always want to be a foster carer, Angela?’

  ‘No, but it was something I was interested in from when I was a young girl, because I knew a family who fostered when I was little, and I wished that we could foster too.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘My mum and dad used to run the flower shop, and Mum said she wasn’t cut out for fostering and didn’t have the required patience.’

  ‘That’s not true! Your mum would have been brilliant!’

  ‘I think so too, but the shop was harder to run in the old days, before we had computers and the choice of suppliers and delivery systems we have today. Mum was always working flat out and had to put in much longer hours than I do. She was always tired at the end of the day, and as a result she didn’t really have the patience she has today. I’d say she was pretty stressed out a lot of the time.’

  Danielle seemed fascinated to hear this.

  ‘Thelma? Stressed out? Ha ha, I can’t imagine that. She’s always so calm and everything. Wow. So how did you get into fostering?’

  ‘Well, I began when I was in my thirties. Before that I’d worked for a bank for a long time, ever since I left school. Then, when Jonathan and I took the florist over from my mum, I saw an advert and it got me thinking about fostering again. I answered the advert, Jonathan was happy to do it with me and, well, the rest is history!’

  ‘Did you do it because you didn’t have your own kids?’

  ‘No. When we started fostering we hoped we would have children, but it just didn’t happen that way.’

  ‘Is that because Jonathan is a Jaffa?’

  ‘A Jaffa? What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s seedless.’

  She said this with great seriousness. I wanted to laugh but of course I couldn’t.

  ‘Oh my goodness, I’ve never heard that one before. Actually, I wouldn’t use that expression if I were you, Danielle; it’s not very kind, and besides, there are lots of reasons couples can’t have children. Like I said, it just didn’t happen for us.’

  ‘Oh. Are you sad about that?’

  ‘No. I consider myself very lucky. I love being a foster carer, and who knows if I’d have carried on if I did have a family of my own? I think things happen for a reason.’

  ‘That’s scary.’

  ‘Scary?’

  ‘Yes, because bad things happen, and what’s the reason? Tell me that, Angela.’

  ‘You make a very good point, Danielle. I suppose a better way of putting it would be to say that I think we all have to make the most of what life throws at us. We can’t predict the future and we can’t control everything that happens to us, but the important thing is to look at life in a positive way, and look for the good in things, rather than have regrets.’

  ‘I like that,’ she smiled. ‘You’re very clever, Angela.’

  Fitting in all of Danielle’s classes and commitments had become quite a task, especially as she was now doing an average of three sessions a week with the family-aid worker, Deirdre, too. However, I wasn’t complaining. As far as I could see Danielle had never been happier, and she clearly benefitted from having a packed timetable to follow as her behaviour was so much better than it had been when she had more time on her hands.

  The fact that Danielle was seeing Deirdre more regularly brought me an unexpected bonus. Deirdre had started to stay for a cup of tea or a chat with me whenever she had time, and we became friends as well as colleagues. In all my years as a foster carer I’ve never shared confidential information about a child or the job of a carer with my friends or any members of my family, including Mum. It’s not ethical, and in any case I’ve always thought it was unnecessary, having Jonathan by my side. I felt I didn’t need anyone else to chat to about my role and the children in my care, because Jonathan and I unload on each other all the time, and we truly share the job of caring for every child who stays with us. We have a great partnership, and without my husband’s support I am sure I would have stopped fostering years ago.

  When Deirdre started to become a friend I realised what a help it was to have a fresh pair of ears listening to my worries and concerns, and how useful it was to share ideas and thoughts with a fellow professional who had a very good understanding of our situation. Support social workers like Nelson also perform this role to a certain extent, but by now Deirdre knew Danielle far better than any of the social workers. She spent an average of twelve hours a week
with Danielle, one-to-one, and their relationship had become quite tight-knit. Deirdre completely got it when I asked her advice or reported a mystifying conversation I’d had with Danielle. She never told me what to do, but she guided me and offered words of encouragement, and ultimately gave me faith that I was doing my best by Danielle, which was what mattered most.

  On her thirteenth birthday I threw a little party at the house for Danielle. She invited three of her new friends, my mum came over, Deirdre turned up for a short while and Iris and Kenneth popped in too. Danielle had seen her ‘Granny and Pops’ a few times by now. On the first occasion Jonathan and I took her over to their bungalow and we all had tea and cakes, and after that I dropped Danielle off so she could enjoy a short visit on her own, which Social Services fully supported.

  ‘Granny and Pops!’ Danielle always shouted, running up and hugging them both. Iris and Kenneth were marvellous with her, doing jigsaws, playing board games and always showing a genuine interest in everything she was doing. Whenever Danielle stepped into their living room – which was just as colourful and inviting as their garden – I noticed that she seemed to revert to being several years younger than she was, taking on a very childlike way of playing and completely losing herself in the games and puzzles. There was never any tension with Danielle when she was in Iris and Kenneth’s company, and she was always polite and respectful. It was a joy to see her like that.

  Granny and Pops arrived at the party carrying two large, shiny pink balloons in the shape of a ‘13’, and the way Danielle reacted was heart-stopping.

  ‘Arghhhh! Wow! Thank you SOOOOO much! You are both LEGENDS! They are the best balloons I’ve ever seen! Thank you, Granny and Pops!’

  ‘Steady on,’ Kenneth chortled. ‘Anyone would think we’d given you the Crown Jewels.’

  ‘These are better than the Crown Jewels. What even are the Crown Jewels?’

  My mother, a proud and staunch Royalist, took up the reigns on this one and told Danielle all about the collection at the Tower of London.

  ‘I’d love to see all those sparkling diamonds,’ Danielle said, eyes widening. I made a mental note of this. A trip to London would be another great incentive when the time was right and I wanted to encourage her in some way.