The Girl Who Wanted to Belong, Book 5 Read online

  Love and kisses,

  Mummy xxx

  Lucy frowned and looked like she was concentrating hard, as if trying to remember something.

  ‘What does she mean about promises?’ I asked.

  She shrugged, gave a brave smile and said, ‘I know Mummy would buy me everything in the world if she could.’

  ‘It’s nice of her to think about Christmas already, isn’t it?’ I said. It wasn’t even October yet; Lucy and I had recently been talking about a Halloween party she was invited to.

  ‘Yes. I don’t know what I want for Christmas.’ Lucy put her arms around me. ‘I want a cuddle. I want to see Daddy.’ She then asked me when we could go cycling in the country park again, what we were having for dinner, how many sleeps until Halloween, what was I going to do with the letter now, and was I going to make her an outfit for Halloween or were we going to buy one?

  I answered her questions, telling her that the letter was hers and it was up to her what she wanted to do now.

  ‘Do I have to write back, or will you do it for me? Can you just send her a message when I have decided what I want for Christmas?’

  ‘I think it would be nice if you wrote back yourself, whenever you feel ready. I can help you if you’d like me to.’

  ‘OK. Can I use your nice pen? And shall I tell her to send the present to Daddy’s house because I’ll be back home for Christmas?’

  ‘You can use my pen, of course. And no, don’t put your dad’s address.’

  ‘Why not?

  I tactfully explained that it wasn’t polite to give out another person’s address and she accepted this. Lucy thought for a moment before asking, ‘Do you know how much money she has to spend?’

  ‘No I don’t, Lucy, but I think it would be polite to ask for something that isn’t too expensive. It’s not about the cost of something, it’s the thought that counts.’

  I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging smile, but Lucy pulled a disgruntled face.

  ‘I bet she’s got loads of money!’ She said this in quite an accusatory tone. Then she got to her feet and stomped up the stairs, shouting as she went, ‘She must have LOADS because she didn’t buy me presents last year! And she doesn’t spend any petrol money as she doesn’t come to see me.’

  22

  ‘It’s lucky I like Angela or I’d be even more annoyed’

  Cedella came round to talk to Lucy about the fact that she was going to be staying with us for a while longer. I was grateful for this; I felt the news was best coming from her social worker, so that Lucy could see this was an official plan and hopefully be more inclined to accept it. I sat quietly in the corner of the living room while Cedella did the talking, so Lucy could ask me questions if she wanted to.

  ‘How much longer?’ she scowled.

  ‘Possibly until after the wedding.’

  Cedella chose her words carefully and didn’t give an exact date because there were several factors that could impact on the length of Lucy’s extended placement. Obviously, Wendy and Dean might have a change of heart and want Lucy back sooner, or they might go the other way and delay her return further still. There was also Lucy’s birth mother to consider. Now Noreen had been contacted and had expressed a wish to see Lucy again, Social Services would be looking into the feasibility of Lucy living with her mother, even if only temporarily or part time, rather than staying in full-time foster care: it’s always preferable for a child to be with one or both parents, if at all possible, or even a close family member.

  ‘Can I still see Daddy?’ Lucy asked. That was clearly the main thing on her mind.

  ‘Yes, you can still go for visits and your family can visit you too.’

  ‘OK. So why can’t I go home sooner? I don’t understand. Wait, the wedding isn’t until . . . Easter time. I’ll be nine then! I will have been here LOADS longer than everyone said. It’s not fair!’

  Cedella gently explained that there were still a ‘few things’ to sort out first.

  ‘You mean the extension? Isn’t my bedroom ready?’

  ‘The building work is still going on, and we want to make sure everything – and everyone – is ready for you to move back in, OK?’

  ‘But why’s it taking so long? I’m ready NOW. I don’t mind about the builders being in. I could help them. I want to go home NOW!’

  ‘I know you do, Lucy, but you’re staying here for the time being, with Angela and Jonathan.’

  Lucy folded her arms and said huffily, ‘I’m not happy about all this waiting. It’s lucky I like Angela or I’d be even more annoyed and you know I can get very annoying!’

  Lucy eventually replied to her mum’s letter, saying she would like a Ninja Turtle cuddly toy or a new riding hat for Christmas. She didn’t ask anything about when they might see each other and only gave one piece of news: ‘I like horses and riding horses.’ Lucy usually loved using coloured pens and had a habit of adding little drawings or patterned borders to whatever she produced on paper, but the note was very short and plain, written only in black pen and with no pictures. I helped by writing out what she wanted to say so she could copy it but even so it had taken her several weeks to reply.

  I knew Lucy struggled with the written word but I thought the way she responded said more about how she felt about her mother than her writing skills; it seemed to me that Lucy was quite indifferent to being back in contact with her mum. Jonathan pointed out that if Noreen left when Lucy was only four it was possible she had very few memories of her mum – or maybe none at all. Perhaps that explained it; even the promise of a Christmas present didn’t seem to have particularly excited or motivated her to make an effort with the letter, although from what she’d said before it seemed promises about presents had been broken in the past. Maybe that was why she was in no rush to tell her mum what she wanted this year – perhaps she simply didn’t want to be disappointed again?

  After finishing copying out the note Lucy hurriedly stuffed it in an envelope. ‘What do I write on the front? Mummy or her name? Er, what is all of her name? What’s her address? I don’t know where she lives. Do you know where she lives? She didn’t put her address on her letter. Is Cedella going to post this back, or what? I haven’t put my address on here. Should I? Which one? Shall I put Daddy’s, in case I’m allowed home sooner? I might be back with Daddy at Christmas . . . Or will I really have to wait until after the wedding? It’s too long! This is all so ANNOYING!’

  Lucy pulled a sulky face and my heart went out to her. It was upsetting to think she didn’t even know her mum’s full name. I didn’t know Noreen’s surname either. I wasn’t sure if she’d ever been married to Dean or had since remarried, or if she still used her maiden name. I told Lucy I’d give the letter to Cedella to send on and that Social Services had the address, so there was no need to worry. I also said there was no need to put any address of her own on it.

  ‘Just put Mummy on the front. Cedella will put it in another envelope and sort everything else out for you.’

  Lucy was already getting to her feet as she scribbled ‘Mummy’ hastily on the envelope.

  ‘Done! Can I go to Diane’s now?’

  It was November now, and Lucy hadn’t seen her family for almost two months. She still talked regularly and relentlessly about when she was going home, how great her daddy was and how much she missed him. I was bowled over by her resilience and patience. On the whole she was behaving well, keeping out of trouble at school and only occasionally lapsing into the aggravating behaviour we’d seen before. The horses kept her busy, and she’d joined a football team and a swimming club, both of which she thoroughly enjoyed taking part in every week.

  She phoned home every Wednesday as agreed, passing on her news and patiently talking to every member of the family who was put on the phone, although she only really ever wanted to talk to her daddy. Sometimes there were unexplained gaps in the contact, when weeks went by with nobody picking up or returning her calls. She didn’t complain. On one occasion she came off the
phone and punched the air.

  ‘Are you celebrating something?’ Jonathan asked.

  ‘Yes. Daddy and Wendy aren’t getting married any more.’

  Milly had apparently told her about a ‘big row’ during which Wendy had threatened to get the builders back to build a wall through the middle of the house, so she and Gemma could live on one side and Dean, the twins and Milly on the other.

  ‘They aren’t getting married any more?’

  ‘No. That’s good, isn’t it? And guess what? They can’t build a wall so Wendy and Gemma are going to have to move out, and so I can move back in . . . that’s what’s going to happen.’

  As this had been reported to Lucy by Milly we knew to take it with a pinch of salt; it sounded likely there’d been a row, but the fall-out from it and the implications for Lucy smacked more of wishful thinking on her part than anything else.

  ‘Well,’ I said cautiously, ‘it sounds like a lot to have happened since you last spoke. I guess we’ll have to wait and find out more, from your daddy or from Wendy.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Lucy said slowly. Then her eyes narrowed and she added suspiciously, ‘Milly could be lying, because the builders haven’t finished, so why would Wendy have to get them back? They can’t have finished, because if they had I’d have moved back in.’

  ‘Like I say, let’s wait and see, sweetheart.’ It appeared Lucy had convinced herself the building work was the main barrier – or the only barrier – to moving back in, but of course this wasn’t true. She was in denial about the other issues, which I found worrying.

  The next day Wendy was on the phone first thing, informing us the family wanted to come over on Sunday to take Lucy out for a roast. There was no hint that there was any problem between her and Dean, and in fact she said everyone was ‘doing very well, thank you’. Jonathan took the call and told me Wendy sounded a little business-like and bossy, which wasn’t unusual, but otherwise seemed perfectly fine.

  ‘She told me that all six of them were planning to come over, if the timing was OK for us and Lucy, and she said she was looking forward to it. She even said the visit was “overdue” and apologised for not fixing something up sooner. What d’you make of that?’

  ‘Who knows? If there was a row with Dean, maybe it was about the fact he hasn’t seen his daughter for so long? Perhaps Wendy’s had no choice but to finally agree to see Lucy? Maybe that was why she sounded a bit formal, because she’s been forced into this and is going through the motions of saying and doing all the right things?’

  ‘It’s a very good theory. I mean, it’s such a long time for Dean not to have seen Lucy. Whatever trouble there’s been, he loves her to bits. He must miss her.’

  I thought back to Lucy’s last visit home, when things supposedly went so wrong at the play centre and she ended up accused of telling lies about Wendy threatening to hit her at bedtime. I say ‘supposedly’ went wrong because we never had got to the bottom of exactly what went on that weekend: as far as we knew Lucy’s version of events remained at odds with Wendy’s, because the subject was never revisited with Lucy or with us.

  ‘Well, whatever’s prompted Wendy to fix up this lunch, hopefully it’s a step in the right direction, though I can’t say I’m exactly brimming with optimism.’

  Jonathan felt the same and said he found it frustrating that we never quite knew where we were with Wendy, feeling compelled to second-guess her like this.

  When I told Lucy all the family were coming to take her out her little face lit up and then fell in the space of a few seconds.

  ‘Daddy! Yes! I can’t wait. But you mean all of them . . . Wendy and Gemma too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you think Daddy is going to tell me about them moving out? Is that why they’re coming? Will this be the last time I see them?’

  I explained that Jonathan had spoken to Wendy quite briefly on the phone. ‘She said nothing about any trouble or plans for her and Gemma to leave,’ I said cautiously, being sure to stick to the facts.

  ‘So I still can’t move home yet? It’s not fair! I hate Wendy! Milly said they were going. Are they? Why are they even bothering coming to see me?’

  ‘Lucy, let’s wait and see. I don’t want you to get your hopes up or be disappointed in any way . . .’

  Lucy ran out into the garden and began rampaging around. It was a cold, windy day and she had no coat on. I let her run off some of her negative energy for a few minutes then called her in when she started kicking the wall and howling. She ran through the back door leaving a trail of mud across the kitchen floor and telling me she hated me and hated my house. Then she kicked off her shoes and ran up to her bedroom. After ten minutes I went to see if she had calmed down and invited her to come down to the kitchen for a hot drink and a chat. She told me to go away but then appeared sheepishly at the kitchen door about ten minutes later.

  ‘Sorry about the mud,’ she said, looking at the steaming mop in my hand and the clean floor. ‘Sorry you had to mop up after me, Angela.’

  ‘Thanks for the apology. I can see that what Milly said on the phone has got you a bit wound up, Lucy. How about you clean up your shoes in the utility room while I get you a drink?’

  The last time I’d suggested to Lucy that she clean her shoes she’d been in a bad mood and told me it was my job, but I could see she was in a much more receptive mood now and I thought that if she was busy doing something it might be easier for her to talk to me, if she wanted to get things off her chest.

  ‘OK,’ she said. ‘I need to do my football boots too. Can I still go to training?’

  ‘Yes, sweetheart. I think it will do you good to go to football tonight.’ There was a time, earlier on in our fostering careers, when Jonathan and I were taught to ‘ground’ children and take away privileges like after-school clubs and sporting activities if they misbehaved. Thinking had changed over the years and this approach was largely considered old hat, especially for kids like Lucy who were better behaved when they were occupied. Now it’s understood that children in foster care have typically been through some kind of trauma in their lives, and the events that have led to them being placed in care impact on their mental health and general behaviour. I could see that Lucy acted out to vent her frustration at her uncertain family situation, and to stop her socialising and getting exercise at football club as a result would have added to her stress and irritation.

  ‘Thanks,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry I was horrible to you.’

  I told her it did make me sad when she said unkind things to me, but that I appreciated her apology. That was the end of the matter as far as I was concerned: Lucy had a big day on Sunday to prepare for, and I wanted her to be in the best possible frame of mind.

  The family didn’t arrive at the time we’d agreed to take Lucy out for lunch and she got herself into quite a state, asking me every five minutes why they were late, what could have happened, if I knew which way there were driving and so on. I tried not to look concerned and kept repeating the same phrases, ‘I’m sure there’s a good explanation. I’m sure they’ll be here soon.’ After about half an hour I tried Wendy’s mobile – at Lucy’s insistence – but it was switched off. I didn’t like to try Dean’s phone as I assumed he’d be driving. Lucy said I was ‘mean’ not to phone her daddy. ‘You’ve got loads of money. You get paid to look after me. I bet you don’t want to phone him because it costs too much money!’

  I explained to Lucy that it wasn’t a good idea to phone someone while they were driving, to which she replied, ‘I bet Daddy’s run out of petrol. I know you and Jonathan get petrol money paid when you drive me home but my daddy doesn’t get any mileage. It’s not fair. I bet he’s run out of petrol!’

  Jonathan and I would not have discussed the fact foster carers receive ‘mileage’ to cover the cost of driving children around. Lucy’s remarks left me wondering who had put this word and idea in her head. Had someone in the family complained about the cost of travelling to see her? It sounded
like it to me, but I didn’t want to continue this conversation; it was getting us nowhere.

  I suggested Lucy did some science topic work on gears and engines that she’d brought home from school and seemed very interested in – anything to keep her occupied – but she told me, ‘Nobody does homework on a Sunday. My daddy told me that. It’s not allowed!’ I didn’t argue; now was not the time or the place, even though Lucy had done homework on Sundays before.

  Jonathan was replacing some tiles in our bathroom and Lucy asked if she could help. I said I’d prefer her to do something less messy, so she was clean and tidy when the family finally arrived, but when I explained this she became cross and started following me around, clipping the backs of my heels like she used to, invading my personal space and talking non-stop.

  ‘Why can’t I? What if they take another hour? What am I supposed to do? I can’t play out, because it’s raining – look outside. I can’t go to Diane’s, can I? So what am I supposed to do?’

  ‘What about doing a game on the computer, or building something with the Meccano or Lego? Or maybe you could do some colouring or watch something on TV.’

  ‘It’s boring. All that’s boring. I want to help Jonathan.’

  ‘How about you help me then? I’m making a cottage pie for tomorrow’s dinner.’

  ‘Why would I want to do that? I’m going out for lunch. Why are you making that today? What are you doing that for? Why don’t you make it tomorrow?’

  In the end Lucy ground me down so much I had a headache. To her delight, Jonathan suddenly called down and asked if she wouldn’t mind holding the grouting bucket for him while he was up the ladder, and she was off like a shot. I wished he’d heard me telling her I would prefer her not to help him on this occasion, but it was too late. I told her to be careful not to get messy or dirty.

  Inevitably, the family arrived within a few minutes. Lucy ran to the door, a sprinkling of tile dust in her hair and on her clothing and with an old grout-stained rag stuffed in her pocket.