Terrified Page 16

  ‘I won’t grieve for her!’ she said loudly, suddenly becoming more animated and passionate than I’d seen her in days. ‘She hated me! I’m glad she can’t hurt me any more!’

  ‘I hear what you’re saying, Vicky,’ I said calmly. ‘And I’m sorry you’re going through this. Let me talk to Hayley before you make any decisions, though. We don’t even know if the funeral has been arranged yet. I’ll try to get some details, then we can work out what to do.’

  I’d heard nothing all week from Hayley, so once Vicky had gone upstairs and was out of earshot I went into the hall and called the main office number, as I wanted to get some news before the weekend.

  ‘Hayley’s away until next Tuesday,’ I was told by a curt receptionist. ‘Can you call back then?’

  ‘No!’ I said. ‘This is becoming urgent. This is not the first time I’ve phoned. I’ve been trying to get hold of Hayley all week, actually.’

  ‘I see. Can anybody else help?’

  After explaining who I was and why I was calling the receptionist told me it really would be best for me to wait until Hayley was back at work on the following Tuesday.

  ‘But what if the funeral is early next week?’ I said, incredulous at being asked to wait a further four days. ‘We need some warning and I want some advice. I don’t think this is fair on Vicky. She has literally been told nothing, except for the fact her mother is dead. I absolutely must speak to somebody else in the office. Is Stuart Williams there? Or could I speak to the duty social worker?’

  ‘Mr Williams may be available. Hold the line, please.’

  I was left listening to a dreadful muzak version of ‘Greensleeves’ for twelve long minutes, and then Stuart Williams came on the phone.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Hart. I’m sorry you weren’t aware that Hayley is on annual leave.’

  ‘No, I wasn’t aware of this, and I’m not very happy about it. We’ve had no news since Monday, and it is almost a week since Vicky’s mother died. I really don’t think it’s acceptable. Vicky has not even been told how her mother died and is now starting to speculate.’

  ‘I see and I’m sorry you feel this way, but I’m afraid no date has been set for the funeral and there really is no more news yet. Had there been, you would have been informed, naturally.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, realising I had been a little rash in my judgement of Hayley. Like Tricia, she was a caring and diligent social worker who was also incredibly busy, and was entitled to take a few days off. ‘Vicky herself has given me some information, as it happens,’ I went on.

  ‘Right. Do you want me to take the details then?’

  ‘Yes, I think that would be a good idea, as Hayley is away.’

  ‘Fine. Please fire away.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Vicky has informed me that her mother took a lot of pills that didn’t come from the doctor.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Hart. I’ll make sure this is placed on record. Will that be all?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. And can you please ask Hayley to contact me as soon as she is back in the office?’

  ‘Indeed. Have a good weekend, Mrs Hart.’

  ‘Thanks. You too.’

  I put the phone down and found myself scowling at the receiver. Mr Williams meant well, but I was feeling very protective of Vicky and couldn’t help thinking: ‘How would you like it if you were in Vicky’s shoes? How can she have a good weekend?’

  In the event, Vicky was very accepting of the fact there was no news; in fact, I think she was relieved that, for the time being at least, she didn’t have to make a decision about the funeral, or indeed learn the details of how her mother had died. I was privately wondering whether Brenda may have taken her own life, perhaps accidentally, with an overdose. I imagined Vicky might be having similar thoughts, as this was not beyond the realms of possibility, given what we knew about her mother’s behaviour and lifestyle. I said nothing, of course; there was enough going on as it was.

  I’d explained to Vicky about Michelle’s departure by now, seizing the moment when she was sitting in the lounge watching television one evening during the week. I’d broken the news very gently, because Vicky was still in a semi trance-like state at that point, but I felt I couldn’t put it off any longer. Vicky hadn’t asked a single question about Michelle’s whereabouts, and even when I told her what had happened she didn’t seem that surprised, which made me wonder how much she had taken in.

  ‘It’s not a good idea,’ Vicky had mumbled. ‘I don’t like the sound of Michelle’s mother, or her boyfriend. She should have stayed here.’

  That was about as much as I got out of Vicky at first, but several days later, on Sunday afternoon, when we were sitting side by side on the settee after watching a film, Vicky started talking very frankly about Michelle.

  ‘I think Michelle’s mum’s a bit stupid,’ Vicky said.

  ‘That’s not a very kind thing to say. Why do you say that?’

  ‘She lets Michelle have sex in the house with her boyfriend, and he’s a nutcase as well.’

  ‘Oh!’ I said, gasping audibly. ‘Did Michelle tell you this?’

  ‘Yes. Her mum encourages her. They did it every weekend you know, when Michelle went round there. She told me everything. Her mum knew and let them. It’s so weird! And do you know who her boyfriend is?’

  ‘No! I didn’t even know she had a boyfriend, and I certainly didn’t know she was having sex. She’s fourteen, for goodness’ sake!’

  ‘I know. She made me promise not to say anything when she was living here or I would have told you, Angela.’

  ‘Well I’m astonished, Vicky! So who is the boyfriend? Do I know him?’

  ‘Probably. It’s that weirdo, Jeremy Brown.’

  ‘Jeremy Brown? That name rings a bell . . .’

  ‘Yes, he’s the brother of that guy Jason who used to DJ at the Saturday disco. You were right about Jason, by the way. He’s a total creep. He tried it on with Izzy, you know, but thankfully she told him where to get off.’

  I felt like a searchlight went on in my head and I scoured my brain for the few snippets of information I had previously gathered about Jeremy Brown.

  ‘Oh God, Jeremy Brown!’ I suddenly blurted out. ‘No! He’s the one who was questioned for having underage sex! The drug dealer!’

  ‘Well I don’t know about the drugs stuff,’ Vicky replied, ‘but he’s the underage sex one. He never got done for it, mind you. I don’t know who the girl was he was accused of sleeping with, but I know he got away with it. Anyway, Michelle’s mum just lets them have sex in her house so he’s laughing now, isn’t he? He’s allowed to stay the night and everything. I think it’s just so weird. He’s twenty-four, you know?’

  I really couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and I wanted to drive straight over to Maureen’s house and have it out with her. I started to frantically piece things together, and I began to wonder if Maureen had snared Michelle back with the promise that she would be able to do as she pleased, and live in a house without rules, just because she could, or perhaps because she had an ulterior motive I might never know about. I felt furious with Maureen for being so irresponsible, but most of all I felt very sorry indeed for Michelle. She was still a child, and a very young and impressionable girl at that. What’s more, she could be in very real danger of getting pregnant. As if reading my mind, in her next breath Vicky recalled the conversation the three of us had had about teenage pregnancies, when Michelle said she’d like to have a baby when she was young.

  ‘No wonder Michelle went red when you talked about those girls getting pregnant,’ Vicky remarked. ‘I bet you thought she was just shy; that’s probably what she wanted you to think.’

  ‘Well I don’t know what to think,’ I said, recalling how Michelle had commented that if she did have a baby she could put the child in care if she couldn’t cope.

  ‘You don’t think she’s pregnant, Vicky, do you?’ I asked, desperately hoping this was not going to be the next bombshell.

  ‘I h
onestly don’t know, but apparently her mum told her that she could live back home if she ever was. She said she could afford to keep her then, because she’d get extra benefits, or something like that.’

  ‘When did Michelle tell you all this?’

  ‘Er, just over the last couple of weeks, I suppose.’

  ‘You knew she was planning to leave?’

  ‘She mentioned it a couple of times, but I thought it was all just talk to be honest. I told her not to. I told her she’d be mad to, but it was like something had changed. I got the feeling her mum had been nagging her about it.’

  I wanted to cry, I really did. I didn’t know what was true and what was speculation, but whichever way you looked at it Michelle was not in a good situation. If what Vicky had recounted was true, Maureen was failing Michelle in a very reckless and dangerous way.

  I shared everything Vicky had told me with Jonathan as soon as I got the chance later that evening, and he looked visibly shaken and upset.

  ‘Do you know what’s the hardest thing of all, listening to this?’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s knowing we can’t intervene. We have a duty to report this to Social Services, of course, but beyond that we can’t do a single thing to help Michelle, can we? Honestly, Angela, I can’t bear this.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ I conceded. ‘But look at it like this. At least we have given Michelle two good years. Hopefully her time with us will stand her in good stead for the future, once she’s old enough to reflect, and to stand on her own two feet.’

  ‘I think that’s a very positive way of looking at things, Angela, but it doesn’t help Michelle in the here and now, does it? Really and truly I don’t think I can do this any more. It’s just terrible feeling so powerless.’

  However positive I tried to remain about fostering, I couldn’t argue with anything Jonathan said. It was a dreadful state of affairs. I couldn’t get Michelle out of my mind. She was a lovely, gentle girl by nature; the thought of her with this man, who may or may not be a drug dealer on top of being someone who apparently slept with underage girls, was abhorrent.

  The fact I could do nothing to help but pass messages to Social Services felt wholly inadequate and was hideously frustrating. I called the out-of-hours number and reported everything Vicky had said to the social worker on duty. I wanted to act swiftly, and with Hayley still away this seemed like the best course of action.

  ‘It’s logged,’ I was told curtly after I’d passed on all I’d heard. ‘Thanks for the call.’

  ‘What will happen now?’

  ‘I can’t answer that, but your call has been logged and will be dealt with in the appropriate manner.’

  ‘Does this mean Hayley will deal with it when she’s back on Tuesday? It’s just that I think this requires urgent attention.’

  ‘I’ll note your comments and, as I say, your call has been logged and will be dealt with . . .’

  ‘In the appropriate manner? Yes, I got that. OK, thank you.’

  I had another sleepless night, and all through Monday I was counting the hours until Hayley was back at work the next day, when I could unload all the questions and worries and alarming details that were cramming my head.

  I phoned the office just after 9 a.m. on Tuesday morning and Hayley answered the call immediately.

  ‘Good morning!’ she breezed. ‘Sorry I missed your calls last week. I was on leave.’

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘Anyway, first things first. There’s some good news. A letter has arrived from Vicky’s father.’

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘Basically, Vincent is delighted we’ve got in touch and he’s very happy to write to Vicky directly, with a view to re-establishing contact.’

  ‘I see. How do we know it’s safe for her to be in contact with him? I mean, we don’t know him from Adam, do we?’

  I wouldn’t normally have been so forthright but my patience had been tested over the previous week and I wasn’t in the mood to beat around the bush.

  ‘I understand your concerns, Angela. There are standard checks I can make, and the Army has given him a glowing reference, which is reassuring. He left with a bravery commendation, in fact.’

  Hayley went on to tell me the name of the town where Vincent lived, which I estimated was about five hours away from us by car, and she then explained the procedure from here on in. Vincent would not be given our home address; all his correspondence would arrive via Social Services addressed to Vicky, and I should encourage Vicky to let me read her replies to him in the early stages, to check she was not giving away any sensitive information that she might later regret, should things not work out.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve asked him why he’s been off the scene for nearly fifteen years?’ I sniffed.

  ‘No,’ Hayley replied. ‘It’s best not to judge though, Angela. Sometimes the facts surprise you.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ I said. ‘I’m just feeling particularly protective today, that’s all.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘You haven’t heard the message I left at the weekend, about Michelle?’

  ‘No. Weekend calls would be dealt with by one of my colleagues and I haven’t caught up with them yet. What is it?’

  I unloaded everything I’d heard about Michelle’s boyfriend and Hayley listened very cautiously.

  ‘You do understand, Angela, that I can’t keep you informed of Michelle’s situation any longer?’

  ‘I know that, but I’m entitled to pass this information on, aren’t I?’

  ‘Of course, just as any member of the public would be.’

  ‘Well as long as you investigate this thoroughly, that’s the most important thing. Jonathan and I care very much about Michelle and we would like to know that she is safe and happy and being properly looked after.’

  ‘I will act on this information promptly and professionally,’ Hayley said, suddenly sounding as robotic as the weekend duty social worker had. ‘I can assure you of that, Angela. At the moment it is hearsay, of course, so needless to say please do not discuss this with anybody.’

  ‘There is no way I would!’ I said indignantly.

  ‘Thank you, Angela. And how is Vicky getting on?’

  I explained how we’d called the doctor out for advice in dealing with her shock, and I reiterated the information I’d given to Stuart Williams, about the pills Vicky had talked about, as Hayley had clearly not caught up with her manager yet either.

  ‘Most urgently, Vicky is worrying about the funeral now, of course,’ I went on. ‘Is there any more news?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hayley replied. I heard the rustle of papers and she told me it was at the main crematorium, at 10 a.m., one morning the following week. I reached for my diary and to my dismay I realised the funeral was on the same day as Vicky’s fourteenth birthday.

  ‘Oh no!’ I exclaimed. ‘I just don’t believe it,’ explaining the dilemma.

  ‘That’s unfortunate,’ Hayley said in a well-meaning tone. ‘Now, will that be all for the time being?’

  I could tell from the way she spoke that Hayley had been distracted by something, which reminded me of the way Tricia used to behave, and of course the way Stuart ‘will that be all’ Williams typically conducted himself at meetings. It was as if the pressure Hayley was under had ground her down, sapping her natural bubbliness and compassion. She was clearly extremely busy and needed elsewhere, but I felt I had a hundred more questions for her.

  ‘Actually, no, that’s not all,’ I replied hastily. ‘Do you think Vicky should be encouraged to go to the funeral?’

  ‘She doesn’t have to,’ Hayley replied patiently. ‘It’s her choice. It’s usually a good idea though, for closure.’

  ‘What if I took her? Do you think that would be appropriate?’

  ‘Entirely, if she’s happy with that. I’m sure Lorraine will be there, but she might not want Vicky tagging along with her. Right then . . .’

  �
��Just one more thing before you go! Do we know any more about how Brenda died?’

  I was beginning to feel like an over-zealous cub reporter grilling a reluctant interviewee. There was a pause and I heard Hayley rifle through paperwork once more.

  ‘Yes, here it is. Alcohol. She had various drugs in her system too, but ultimately it was alcohol poisoning.’

  ‘So she didn’t kill herself?’

  ‘No, well, she didn’t commit suicide, if that’s what you mean. Her death certificate will say acute alcohol poisoning, or words to that effect. If Vicky wants to know this detail you should tell her. I’m sure you’ll handle it well; just remember what I said before. Stick to the facts and don’t be drawn into any speculative discussion.’

  ‘Fine. Thanks for your time. Is it OK for me to tell Vicky about her father or will you do that?’

  ‘I’m happy for you to tell her. I’ll drop his letter through your door later, I’m passing your house.’

  ‘Great. Thanks.’

  When I put the phone down I felt irritated and rather overwhelmed. It didn’t seem right that, because of the pressure and time constraints Hayley was under, I’d had to pull the details of Brenda’s death and funeral out of her like that. Not only that, the important breakthrough in the search for Vicky’s father had been reduced to a hasty footnote in the conversation. Finding her dad after all this time was a monumental event in Vicky’s life, yet because of the number of cases Hayley was expected to deal with she would have to post his precious correspondence through our door on the way to another appointment.

  When a large brown Social Services envelope with my name on the front duly landed on our doormat just before 6 p.m. that evening I was even more dismayed when I looked inside and realised that the postmark on Vincent’s letter dated back to the previous week, meaning it had probably sat on Hayley’s desk for some days while she was on leave.

  Inside the brown envelope was a note to me, in Hayley’s handwriting.

  ‘Angela, the letter is addressed to me – feel free to read it before talking to Vicky. She can keep this, I have taken a photocopy.’

  I walked up the stairs, sat on my bed and tentatively opened Vincent’s letter. It felt wrong that I should be reading this before Vicky herself, but I knew it was the right thing to do, as I needed to know what was being said in order to be able to talk to her and guide her through the next steps. Vincent had written on smart white notepaper in neat, black handwriting. It looked as if he had taken great care in preparing the letter, even though it was clear from the timings that he must have replied very quickly to Hayley’s initial correspondence.