The Girl Who Wanted to Belong, Book 5 Page 21

  At that precise moment there was a loud bang from upstairs as she slammed shut her bedroom door and shouted, ‘Shut up Maria, you’re a big fat cow!’

  Jonathan and I looked at each other and got to our feet.

  ‘No peace for the wicked,’ he said wryly.

  21

  ‘You’ll have to ask Lucy about that’

  The countdown to the visit was tense, not least because it coincided with Lucy settling into her new school year. Every day of those first two weeks of term was a struggle. Lucy kicked off about anything and everything: the colour of the milk when she poured it on her cereal (‘It’s stale!’), the ‘disgusting’ school shoes I’d bought her, which she’d tried on and seemed perfectly happy with in the shop, and even the way I stood in the playground (‘It’s embarrassing. You’re not meant to wait there!’) She refused to go to bed on time, got up at six o’clock every day and woke the whole house, had a row with Diane’s daughter Clare, calling her ‘spoilt and stuck up’ and told Jonathan he was ‘gay’ for working in a flower shop. ‘My daddy grows trees and makes whole big gardens and parks,’ she said, scowling disparagingly at Jonathan as he prepared a little hand-tied bouquet.

  That was one thing that never changed: Lucy continued to idolise her father and she sang his praises at every opportunity.

  Lucy began her counselling at the CAMHS centre in our town. After the first session I asked her how it went and she replied, ‘Good. But only because it meant I missed school.’ Then she started humming loudly and kicking her feet on the back of my car seat.

  She still didn’t get to speak to her dad or any other member of the family before her visit home. It was radio silence, except when I called Wendy a few days before to make absolutely certain they had remembered the date and were expecting Lucy: I was not leaving anything to chance and I was ready to fight Lucy’s corner if I heard any more excuses.

  When we arrived at the house and got out of the car we could hear shouting coming from the front room. It sounded like Wendy and Milly, and possibly Gemma, but I wasn’t sure as it stopped as soon as we walked up the front path. Lucy looked a little apprehensive when we knocked on the door, and I kept a close eye on her. She brushed down her clothes, as if removing invisible crumbs, then pulled her shoulders back a little. When the door opened and it was Gemma, Lucy smiled bravely and said hello.

  ‘Hi,’ Gemma mumbled. Turning, she called to Wendy flatly, ‘She’s here.’

  Wendy appeared and it seemed she was trying her best not to look flummoxed.

  ‘You’ve made good time. Do you want to come in?’

  She was looking at both Jonathan me and hadn’t even acknowledged Lucy, who was standing right beside me. I looked down at Lucy and only then did Wendy address her. ‘Hi love,’ she said. ‘Come in.’

  Lucy didn’t move. Jonathan said we weren’t stopping and asked what time we should collect Lucy the next day.

  ‘Twelve sharp,’ Wendy said, quick as a flash.

  ‘That’s fine. OK Lucy, in you go, sweetheart. Jonathan and I will collect you tomorrow. Have a good time!’ I handed over her little overnight bag.

  I could hear Milly in the background calling to her daddy and brothers to come downstairs. Lucy then stepped in the house. She didn’t turn and say goodbye to us, but that was fine; we didn’t mind.

  ‘Bless her,’ I said. ‘It’s a big day and a lot to take in.’

  ‘I know. I just hope she can relax and be herself – or at least be the good Lucy we know and love.’

  We drove off with anxious hearts. Wendy was clearly not in the best of moods, Dean didn’t even greet his daughter at the door and I had a feeling this could go either way.

  It seemed like a very long twenty-four hours, while Lucy was with her family. On the drive to collect her the next morning I felt very nervous, wondering how they’d all got on. When we pulled up I saw the curtains twitch in the living-room window and Wendy opened the front door before we’d even got out of the car. By the time we’d reached the house Lucy was standing behind Wendy on the doorstep, and the rest of the family was packed into the narrow hallway, ready to wave Lucy off. Dean was at the back, with Milly on his shoulders.

  ‘Thanks for picking her up,’ Wendy said, nudging Lucy forward.

  ‘Have you had a good time?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask Lucy about that.’

  I didn’t have a good feeling about that comment at all.

  Dean shouted, ‘Bye love!’ down the hallway and all the kids joined in. Lucy handed Jonathan her holdall and then slipped back inside the house, pushing past Gemma and her brothers to give her dad a last cuddle. In the meantime, Wendy handed me a letter and gave me a hard-faced look. ‘Please read this,’ she said very seriously. ‘You need to know this.’

  Lucy didn’t see the letter or hear what Wendy had said, and when she emerged from the house she said they’d all had the ‘best time’ and gave everyone big smiles and waves as we headed to the car. The kids all waved back, looking happy and relaxed.

  I put the letter in my jacket pocket. I desperately wanted to read it, but at the same time I was afraid of what it said. It’s like a grenade, waiting to go off, I thought. I’m not usually a dramatic person, but that’s truly what went through my mind.

  Lucy started chattering. She told us that they went to town because her daddy’s van wasn’t in the garage after all. They all had fittings for their wedding outfits – I didn’t bother querying the fact I thought the appointment had been changed – and Lucy told us the wedding was taking place the following spring. Lucy was a flower girl while Gemma and Milly were bridesmaids, which I already knew from Wendy, while the twins were pageboys. She said she was pleased about being a flower girl because the bridesmaids’ dresses were ‘too frilly’ and she liked her much plainer one. Apparently, Wendy had told Lucy she wasn’t to have her hair cut before the wedding as she wanted all the girls to have the same style on the day, with flowing ringlets.

  ‘Do I have to?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, sweetheart. If that’s what Wendy wants.’

  When a child is on a voluntary care order we’re not allowed to have their hair cut without asking permission from the parents, so I felt it best to be clear on this from the start, to avoid any dramas later on.

  Lucy sighed and went on describing her stay, giving lots of detail and barely pausing for breath. After the fitting the family visited an indoor adventure play centre. Lucy said they were all given pocket money and she spent all of hers playing on one of those ‘claw’ machines in the foyer, trying and failing to pick up a prize from the mountain of goodies in the glass case. She wasn’t allowed a drink from the cafe, she said, because she’d spent all her money. Wendy and her daddy ‘weren’t very pleased’ about that, but Lucy said she didn’t know the money was for a drink too. Gemma met two school friends at the play centre. ‘She wouldn’t let me join in,’ Lucy sulked. ‘And I got sent to bed early because I had an argument with Gemma. She was mean – it wasn’t fair.’

  ‘You got sent to bed early?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘And guess what?’

  ‘What?

  She bit her lip and had a look of deep concentration on her face.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know there was a picture of baby Tia’s christening on the wall?’

  I remembered it well – the family photograph with Lucy’s face obscured, where it looked like she was tagged on the end, like an afterthought.

  ‘Yes, I do remember it, sweetheart.’

  ‘It’s not there now. There’s a picture of Daddy, Wendy, Gemma, Milly, Josh and Liam. They had it done on holiday, by the pool. Gemma’s got my Spice Girls cap on. Can we listen to some music?’

  ‘Of course. What would you like?’

  ‘I don’t mind. You choose.’

  Jonathan put on a pop mix CD he knew was Lucy’s favourite. I found myself feeling very protective of Lucy, to the point where I even hoped the Spice Girls weren’t on the CD
, in case it reminded Lucy of Gemma wearing her cap on the family holiday, while she wasn’t even there. It was as if Wendy had replaced Lucy with her own daughter, and there was no room for the two of them in the new family set-up. I can remember that thought hitting me, and how painful it was to think about. I hoped I was very wrong.

  When we got home Lucy went to her room and I retreated to mine. Jonathan stood over my shoulder as I opened Wendy’s letter. Her writing was very untidy and littered with spelling mistakes.

  Here is a summery of what happened this weekend. Lucy will tell you a different story, no douwt, because she can’t seem to tell the truth. But this is it.

  As soon as you left she started playing too roughly with Milly, like pushing her around in the garden and kicking balls at her on purpous. I was willing to accept she was over excited about the visit but mind you all the kids were excited. Nobody else was naughty.

  She was rude in the wedding shop. It was embarrasing. Showed no interest in her dress and pulled a face when I told her what hairstyle I wanted all the girls to have. She told Gemma she didn’t like her dress and made Gemma feel upset. Now Gemma not keen on dress, thanks a lot Lucy for doing your best to sabowtage my wedding!!!

  In the play centre I said don’t waist all your money on them machines. Dean said the same. She ignored us and then kicked up a stink when we wouldn’t give more money for the cafe. She knew the rules. She is not capable of sticking to rules. Either that or she just likes causing trouble.

  Lucy met some girls she used to go to school with. She wouldn’t let Gemma join in. When I asked her to let Gemma play Lucy got annoyed so I told Gemma to play with Milly for a bit. Lucy then treid to join in with Gemma and Milly but they were on a seesaw for two people at a time. Lucy tried to break them up. This made her father and me angry. We said Lucy would got to bed early for that.

  At bedtime Lucy refused to go to bed before the other kids. I told her to sleep on the floor in the girls’ room but she refused and wanted to stay up with the other kids and watch a film. I said she’d lost that priviledge and she needed to take her punishment for her bad behavoir at the play zone. She called me a witch and a bitch and a fat cow. I told her to repeat this to her dad but she refused and said I had made it all up.

  This morning Dean asked her why she said those nasty things about me. Lucy said I’d tried to hit her, which was another lie. Dean asked why couldn’t she get on with me and why is she always causing trouble and making up stories??? She said she doesn’t know and she can’t help it. She said she tries but can’t help herself. It’s like a patherlogical problem, if you ask me. She has serious issues.

  My conclusion is she needs to carry on having mental health therapy on her own and stay with you, indefinitely. She shows you and Jonathan more respect that she shows us. She can behave when she wants to but she CHOOSES to cause trouble between me and Dean. We will have her to visit for family occasions and she can come to the wedding but we CANNOT have her here regularly. This weekend has taught us that it is nor feesible to have Lucy living with us full term. She needs to stay in care. Dean agrees. I cannot take responsibility for Lucy on a full time basis, not now. Not ever.

  Jonathan and I stayed silent for a moment before I said, ‘I wonder why she shows us more respect?’

  ‘Could it be that we show Lucy more respect than they do?’

  ‘I think it could.’

  I felt a lot of bitterness towards Wendy – and Dean, to a lesser extent – but my overriding feeling was one of sorrow for Lucy. She had reluctantly accepted she was staying longer with us than first planned, but how would we explain this to her? How could we tell her she might be in care for a lot longer than she imagined?

  ‘This is terrible news,’ Jonathan said. ‘Of course she can stay here for as long as it takes, but how long do you suppose that will be?’

  ‘No idea, and that’s the problem. That’s going to be very tough for Lucy to deal with.’

  We went on to talk about the money situation at the play centre.

  ‘I wonder why they didn’t give Lucy a set amount of money to spend on what she wanted, and keep back the rest of the money for drinks and snacks?’ I said. ‘She’s only eight. She needs help with managing her pocket money.’

  ‘I know. It’s almost like she’s being set up to fail.’

  I didn’t disagree.

  I spoke to Jess the next day, who sounded very disappointed and said she’d arrange another meeting and invite Wendy and Dean along, to work out a strategy.

  ‘Things may settle down,’ she said. ‘Wendy obviously wrote that note in the heat of the moment. Let’s hope this isn’t as bad as it seems.’

  I told her that of course I wouldn’t say anything to Lucy about the future, not until the dust had settled and firm decisions were made.

  ‘That’s wise. Let’s get a meeting organised as soon as possible. How is Lucy?’

  I said she was the same as ever, which was true. She had phoned her granny and chatted happily for ten minutes, telling her all the good things about the visit home, and none of the bad. In the evening she had a strop because she’d left her favourite T-shirt at her daddy’s, and then she did her annoying trick with the taps again, setting them so they made a noise and aggravated Maria.

  ‘Then at bedtime her mood improved,’ I told Jess. ‘She hugged me and told me she loved me, and she said she liked her bedroom in our house, and that she didn’t want to be in her old bedroom again anyhow. “Gemma’s welcome to it,” she said. “I’ll have my own room when all the building is done.”’

  Jess called me a few days later. We’d had more bedwetting and some trouble at school and Lucy had scratched our neighbour’s car with her bike and tried to pretend she had no knowledge of it, not realising she had been seen by another neighbour.

  ‘Hi Angela, how are you?’

  ‘I’m fine but I’m afraid Lucy’s behaviour has spiralled downwards again since the weekend. I’ve still said nothing about the letter from Wendy, of course, and she hasn’t asked anything about her next visit home. Have you got anywhere with Wendy and Dean?’

  ‘Yes and no. They’ve refused to attend a meeting, saying there is “no point”. The good news is that, on reflection, they are not completely ruling out having Lucy home full time in the future. However, they would like her to stay with you and Jonathan at least until after the wedding next spring – they’re talking about six to nine months. Wendy has written a letter stating their wishes, which she’s posted to the office today, I believe. They want to be in phone contact with Lucy once a week – on a Wednesday evening – and they will be in touch with you directly to invite her to visit on family occasions and at Christmas. They will also visit her at your house. As Lucy is on a voluntary care order we do of course support all contact. Are you happy with that?’

  Happy wasn’t the word I’d have chosen, I said, but I told Jess that it was fine, and we’d be very pleased to continue caring for Lucy, as we’d grown very fond of her and enjoyed looking after her.

  Jess went on to discuss a few other formalities that she would take care of and asked me if I had any questions.

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Thanks for all this.’

  ‘No, thank you, Angela. Lucy’s situation would be a lot worse if you and Jonathan were not so kind and accommodating.’

  ‘Funny isn’t it,’ I said to Jonathan later, after relaying my conversation with Jess. ‘We’ve come across so many parents over the years who have fought tooth and nail for increased contact hours, and Wendy and Dean are the opposite – they seem to be doing their best to keep her at arm’s length and prolong her stay with us.’

  ‘Funny isn’t the word I’d have chosen,’ Jonathan said, referencing my words to Jess. I laughed half-heartedly. ‘No, more like incredibly sad and frustrating.’

  The next day I heard from Cedella, telling me she’d made contact with Lucy’s birth mother. Noreen had written back to Social Services to say she was ‘very happy’ to hear Lucy’s
news and be back in touch with her daughter, and in her reply she had included a short note for Lucy.

  ‘She would like to see Lucy and I’m going to set up a meeting. It’s early days and who knows what will come of it.’

  Cedella dropped the note into the shop when Lucy was at school and asked if I wanted her to come back later, to talk to Lucy before or while she read it. I said I was happy to explain things and deal with it, and that I’d be in touch.

  ‘OK and good luck,’ Cedella said, knowing how sensitive this could be for Lucy. ‘And thank you, Angela. I know you’ll handle it well.’

  Lucy was in a good mood when she got home from school and I sat her down with a mug of hot chocolate and gently explained how Social Services had written to her mummy, to let her know she was staying with us, and that she had written back and sent Lucy a note. All of this was news to Lucy, as there had been no point in telling her Social Services was attempting to make contact with her mother in case it came to nothing. Lucy didn’t say anything and just looked thoughtful.

  ‘Would you like to read it now?’

  ‘Yes please. Can you stay with me?’

  ‘Yes, sweetheart.’

  Lucy opened the sealed brown envelope cautiously. It looked recycled. It was one of those with a transparent window on the front and it had been stuck down with a piece of Sellotape. Lucy’s name was written in thick black marker pen on the front, and underlined two times.

  The note was short and written on a sheet of lined paper ripped neatly from a pad. Lucy studied it and then passed it to me. ‘Can you read it out? I can’t read her writing.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘OK. Here goes.’

  Dear Lucy,

  How are you? I think about you lots. I want you to know that. I miss you, my little princess, but Mummy has lots of things to sort out in her life. Sorry I live so far away. I’d like to see you again and hopefully we can see each other soon!!! I heard you are doing well. I’d proud of ya!

  Christmas is coming, HO HO HO! I’ve already started shopping. What do you want? Write and tell me and I will get it for you. I promise this time to keep my promise!