The Girl Who Wanted to Belong, Book 5 Page 5

  ‘Oh, yes. I just forgot.’

  I was starting to feel quite anxious about the meeting. I wanted it to run smoothly and for Lucy to have the reassurances she craved from her family, about being able to go home when everything had settled down. I knew that these meetings didn’t always run to plan, however. It would be a big day for Lucy, and I found myself thinking about it a lot, and hoping it would go well and not upset or disrupt Lucy too much at this early stage in her placement.

  As planned, after breakfast Lucy sat at my laptop and had a go at the science CD-ROM. It kept her attention for a short time and she said she liked the challenges. There wasn’t a great deal of reading to be done on level one – it was an educational game that mostly involved dragging different ingredients into jugs and effectively playing matching pairs. When she reached level two and had to read sets of instructions on the screen she lost interest and said it was boring. I suspected she was struggling with the text and asked if she needed any help.

  ‘No. I know what to do but I don’t want to play any more.’

  She abandoned the laptop and built a large model of a robot out of Lego before going outside to do some target practice with a football in the garden. She was a good shooter and she also turned out to be very adept at ‘keepy-uppys’, explaining that she had won a sponsored challenge at school the year before for doing the highest number of keepy-uppys in her class.

  ‘Watch me! Look at this! Can you keep count for me?’

  ‘Well done. Yes, go on. One, two, three, four . . . Never mind. Start again. You’re doing brilliantly! I’ll be back out in a few minutes. I’m just going to fetch the washing to hang on the line. I can see you from the kitchen window.’

  ‘Can’t you watch out here? Can you count again? Look! Watch me!’

  Despite the fact she was happy and occupied doing the keepy-uppys Lucy still wanted me to stay close, cheering her on.

  ‘Am I good? Do you want a competition? Can you do this? Watch me score a goal! Do you reckon I will get this one in from here?’

  When Jonathan took his mid-morning tea break from the shop the two of us flopped on the garden bench and watched Lucy practise her skills. We clapped when she scored a goal and called ‘well done!’ and ‘brilliant!’ every time she hit the targets she set herself with her keepy-uppys.

  She asked if she could have a look in our garage and her eyes immediately fell on the collection of bikes we kept there. We’d acquired several over the years and they were in varying states of repair.

  ‘Which is your bike, Jonathan? Why has it got a flat tyre? Why don’t you repair it? I could repair it. Do you want me to repair it? Do you go biking when your bike is working? Which one is Maria’s? Why doesn’t she go to her granny’s on it? Why doesn’t she live with her granny? Was her bike new or second hand? Why is that one so dirty? Do you ride through mud? Where do you go?’

  Jonathan did his best to provide the answers, and before changing the subject Lucy ruefully told him she would love to have a bike of her own but her stepmother wouldn’t let her have one. She claimed Wendy said she didn’t deserve a bike because she was ‘too naughty’. ‘I wasn’t naughty,’ she insisted. ‘Wendy was just being mean to me.’

  ‘So you like riding bikes?’ Jonathan asked.

  ‘Yes! I’m a good bike rider. I love bike riding. Can I ride one of these?’

  ‘Yes, when I’ve got time we’ll see which one suits you best and get it cleaned up and ready for you. Maria loves cycling in the country park, we all do. We must do that together. It’ll be fun, and you’re right, all the bikes could do with a spruce up, especially now the weather is so nice. I’ll sort it out. You’ve inspired me, Lucy!’

  She beamed.

  The snooker table was the next item in the garage to capture Lucy’s attention. ‘Who does that belong to? Why is it standing up against the wall? Why don’t you play with it? How long have you lived here? Can you teach me how to play? My daddy plays pool in the pub.’

  At lunchtime Lucy ran over to me in the kitchen as I was making sandwiches and gave me a big hug.

  ‘I’m happy, very happy,’ she said. ‘I love you!’

  I was taken aback. It’s unusual for a child to say this after just a few days and I wasn’t expecting it at all.

  ‘I care for you very much too, Lucy,’ I replied. ‘You’re such a nice girl. I’m so pleased you’re staying with us.’

  In the afternoon we walked to the dentist, as I’d explained we would. Lucy chatted the whole way there, asking questions about everything and anything we encountered on our route, and about her appointment.

  ‘Who lives there? Why is there a traffic triangle thingy here? What’s the dentist like? Will I have to have my teeth pulled out?’

  Lucy could not remember the last time she had a dental appointment, and the dentist was not impressed with her teeth. He advised her to brush twice a day and to cut down on sweets. She already had four fillings and was told that she needed to be extra careful about her teeth now all her adult teeth were nearly through.

  Afterwards she told me, ‘Wendy took Gemma to the dentist but she never took me. She bought Gemma a toothbrush with a battery and a flashing light on it. I wanted one but she said no. Granny buys me toothbrushes sometimes, nice ones, not big, horrible scratchy ones.’

  When we went shopping on the way home I asked Lucy if she’d like to choose a new toothbrush in the chemist, as the one she had with her looked quite old and probably needed replacing. She loved this and picked one that had a spaceman on the handle and beeped when you’d cleaned your teeth for two full minutes. It was a pleasure shopping with her. She was interested in everything and was polite to the cashier when she made conversation about the fact that ‘in her day’ they never had such fun toothbrushes.

  We picked up the food shopping before heading home, and Lucy helped me prepare the lasagne I was making for dinner, as I’d mentioned to her first thing that morning. I was doing a simple recipe I’d made a hundred times and so it didn’t take long.

  ‘Can we make pudding?’

  ‘I was going to do ice cream and fruit. You can chop the fruit and make a fruit salad if you like? Here, I’ve got a few kitchen gadgets I think you might like. I’ll show you how to use them.’

  I dug out a melon-baller, and a lemon zester and I even found one of those pineapple-corers in the back of the cupboard. I hadn’t used it for years and I never normally bothered with any of those things when I made fruit salad, but I had a good idea Lucy would like them. I was right, and with my supervision she had great fun preparing the fruit salad. I even had a small can of glacé cherries, and I opened it and suggested she could pop a few on top, to finish off her creation.

  ‘I can’t wait for Jonathan and Maria to see this,’ she said.

  Despite all the preparations and Lucy’s interest in helping to make the meal, she still didn’t eat a great deal.

  ‘I’m sure you’d like some fruit salad, after all the hard work you put into making it.’

  ‘No thanks, just ice cream.’

  Jonathan and I swapped glances and Maria grinned.

  ‘Why would you want to spoil a perfectly good bowl of ice cream with fruit?’ Maria asked cheekily.

  The two girls giggled and I didn’t mind joining in. It was good to see them connecting like this, even if the very large bowl of fruit salad sitting on the table hardly had a dent in it.

  In the evening I phoned my neighbour who kept horses. I’d known Diane for years, first as a customer in our shop and then through fostering, as she’d become a foster carer a few years earlier. We often went to training sessions together and were good friends now. Diane was a naturally helpful and positive person and she always had a tip to share or an article she’d read that she wanted to show the group, in case it might be helpful.

  I explained that we had Lucy staying with us and asked if I could pop round with her to see the horses. Diane was more than happy to help and reassured me that she had had all the nece
ssary health and safety certificates she was required to obtain before letting any children interact with the horses, adding that all her dogs had been checked as well: she loved animals and also had three Border collies. The horses had been ‘risk-assessed’ by Social Services, which allowed her foster children to be able to assist with cleaning out stables and grooming the horses. They could ride only if they had permission from their legal guardian. Lucy was on a voluntary care order, otherwise known as a Section 20 order, meaning she’d been taken into care by agreement rather than by court order and Dean therefore maintained his parental rights. This meant that if Lucy wanted to ride one of the horses, I’d need to check with her social worker and we’d have to ask permission from her father. I thanked Diane and told her that for the time being I was sure Lucy would be happy just to visit and perhaps give the horses some carrots, if they were allowed them. We arranged to go over the following afternoon, and this turned out to be a really good move.

  Lucy’s face lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw the horses. Diane – a lifelong Abba fan – had three beautiful animals called Frida, Benny and Agnetha.

  ‘How old are they? What do they like to eat? Can I give them some food? Do they wear horseshoes?’

  Lucy’s eyes were absolutely everywhere. Diane enthusiastically gave Lucy a tour of the stables, showing her where the hay and water were kept and explaining the routine the horses had and what needed to be done each day to keep them healthy, clean and well exercised.

  ‘Can I come and help you? Can I ride them? Do they do jumping or racing?’

  Diane explained that Frida, a beautiful dapple-grey mare, was the best horse for young children to ride, as she was the smallest and had a very calm and laid-back temperament. Diane’s teenage daughter Clare took part in gymkhanas regularly on her horse Agnetha, and the family had a horsebox and often travelled all over the country for competitions.

  ‘I’d LOVE to do that. Angela, can I? Am I behaving myself well enough? Am I being good enough?’ Her eyes were shining with excitement and expectation.

  Diane gave me an understanding smile when Lucy asked those questions. Most children would not ask questions in that way, but as a foster carer you are constantly surprised by the things the kids come out with. Diane was well used to this and, like me, she probably imagined that other adults in Lucy’s life had told her she needed to behave well, and better, if she wanted things to go her way.

  ‘I think you’re behaving very well,’ I told Lucy. ‘But let’s take it one step at a time, shall we? What do you say, Diane?’

  ‘I agree. Why don’t you help me walk Frida around the yard? I’m sure she’d like to stretch her legs.’

  It was a perfect visit and Lucy didn’t want to leave. I spoke to Diane about asking Social Services and Dean for permission for her to ride some time, and she was all for it.

  ‘Happy to help,’ she said. ‘By the way, can I ask you a favour in return?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I have a teenager staying with me who needs to do some work experience. Matty’s interested in retail. Any chance he could help out in the shop?’

  I agreed, of course. That’s often how it goes with foster carers. We always help each other out if we can, because ultimately we’re helping the children, which is what it’s all about.

  The following day we finally had a visit from Lucy’s new social worker. She was a newly qualified young woman called Bella, who spoke with a strong Scottish accent.

  Lucy stared at her when she spoke, but Bella was not fazed.

  ‘Some people find my accent a wee bit hard to follow,’ she smiled. ‘I won’t be offended if you have to ask me to say things twice.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Bella. It’s very good to meet you, Lucy.’

  Lucy stared and I wondered if she was going to ask Bella to repeat her answer, but she didn’t. ‘Billa,’ Lucy said, as if trying to commit the name to memory.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. It sounds like “Billa” in my accent I suppose, but you spell it B, e, l, l, a. It’s short for Isabella.’

  Lucy looked confused and said she wasn’t good at spelling.

  ‘Will you be at the meeting with my daddy? I want to go home. I miss him. Can you tell him that? Can you tell him two times, or three times or four times!’

  Bella took this in her stride and patiently explained what would happen at what she called the ‘core meeting’.

  ‘We’ll all get together. That’s me, you, Angela, Jonathan, their support social worker, Jess, plus your daddy and stepmother, Wendy. We’ll all have a chat about what’s going to happen over the next few months, so we can work together to help you move back home.’

  ‘Does it have to be months? That’s a long time. I think it’s all fine now. I think I can go home quicker than that. How quick can it be?’

  ‘This is what we’re going to work out. How are things going here, with Angela?’

  I slipped out of the living room so they could talk privately, as social workers normally prefer this, and as I walked away I heard Lucy telling Bella, ‘I love Angela. Jonathan’s nice. But I still want to go home because I miss Daddy.’

  I returned with a tray of drinks to find Bella smiling broadly.

  ‘I can’t believe how much you’ve packed in since Lucy arrived. I’ve heard all about the swimming with Maria, the football with Jonathan, the shopping and cooking, the science game and the Lego and, of course, horses!’

  I had a good feeling about Bella. There was a great atmosphere in the room and Lucy looked animated.

  ‘I’ve told Bella I can ride Frida if she’ll let me.’

  ‘I see. Yes. I was going to talk to Bella about that but you’ve beaten me to it, Lucy!’

  ‘Where there’s a will there’s a way,’ Bella grinned.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘It means that when someone really wants something they will find a way to make it happen,’ the social worker said. ‘And I think you are someone who knows what they want, which is no bad thing.’

  Lucy smiled. ‘I am,’ she said. ‘I want to go home.’

  I hoped very strongly that she’d get her wish sooner rather than later, and I was now feeling more optimistic about the core meeting and looking forward to hearing what strategies would be put in place to help reunite the family.

  ‘Lucy’s not a bad girl at all,’ I said to Jonathan that evening. ‘I can’t imagine how things have gone so wrong at home. It’ll be interesting to meet Wendy and Dean, and find out more.’

  6

  ‘She frightened me to death’

  On Friday morning, as we all got ready to attend the core meeting, Lucy was very chirpy and excited. She had spoken to her daddy on the phone the night before and told him she couldn’t wait to see him.

  ‘I want to give you a big hug!’ she squealed.

  I guessed her dad had told Lucy he was going to put her stepmother Wendy on the phone next, because I then heard her say, ‘It’s OK, I’ll see Wendy, I mean Mum, tomorrow. No, it’s fine. I don’t need to talk to her now. Oh, OK then.’ The tone of Lucy’s voice had quickly changed from animated to what could only be described as wary.

  ‘Hello, er, Mum,’ she said flatly. ‘Yes I’ve been good. I’ve been busy and Angela is really nice. So is Jonathan. They’ve got a flower shop, you know. I still want to come home. I don’t want to stay here. I miss Daddy, and, well, everyone. See you tomorrow. Bye.’

  Buckled in the back of the car on the way to the Social Services office in town, Lucy seemed to only be thinking about her daddy. She started to tell us all kinds of things about him.

  ‘I can’t wait for you to meet him. My daddy is tall and thin with curly brown hair. He’s got blue eyes and always has a suntan. He planted trees at the mayor’s house once, and by the big new centre. His hands are big and he’s always trying to scrub the mud out from under his nails, but he never can!’

  I imagined she meant the town hall, as s
he went on to tell us her dad worked as a gardener for the local town council and had met the mayor ‘loads of times’.

  ‘I bet your garden at home is lovely,’ I said. ‘It sounds like your dad has very green fingers.’

  ‘No. The mud is always brown.’

  Jonathan chuckled and explained what it meant to be green-fingered.

  ‘Oh! Wendy would have taken the mickey if she heard me say that. I’m glad I didn’t say that in front of her.’

  Lucy stared out of the window for a minute or two.

  ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

  ‘Yes! That’s the building there.’

  The second the car was stationary Lucy unplugged her seat belt and tried to get out, but the child lock was on her door and she couldn’t open it.

  ‘There’s my dad’s van!’ she said, pulling the handle of the car repeatedly. ‘Can we go in? He’s in there already. Can you unlock the door? Quick! Can you do it now? I want to get out!’

  Her little face was shining in anticipation and she practically launched herself out of the car the second we unlocked her door.

  The three of us walked into reception.

  ‘Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!’

  ‘Lucy-lu, how are you?’

  Her father scooped her into his chest and gave her a giant hug while Lucy giggled with delight.

  ‘I want to come home! I’ve missed you. How is everyone?’

  ‘Well, Mum is right there.’

  Lucy’s dad nodded to his right, where Wendy stood looking slightly frosty and aloof. Nevertheless she pulled on a smile as she spoke to Lucy.

  ‘Hello Lucy,’ she said. ‘You been behaving yourself for these nice people?’

  Lucy glanced at Jonathan and me and took a step closer to us. It looked quite obvious to me that she wanted to avoid having to give her stepmother a hug.

  ‘Hi. Yes. Er . . .’

  Lucy shyly turned to me and I took my cue and introduced myself and Jonathan to Wendy and Dean. They were both polite and friendly as we said our hellos, though Dean was noticeably warmer than Wendy. He thanked us for having Lucy, and for bringing her to the meeting.