The Girl Who Wanted to Belong, Book 5 Page 7

  7

  ‘I didn’t take them! I don’t know how they got there’

  Dean phoned first thing on Sunday morning, before they set out, to ask if Lucy wanted her bike bringing over. He also asked rather sheepishly if I wouldn’t mind ensuring that Lucy was not wearing her Nike clothing.

  ‘Wendy doesn’t want the other kids asking for designer gear,’ he muttered, sounding apologetic and a little embarrassed.

  Her jogging bottoms and tracksuit top were hardly what you would describe as ‘designer gear’ in my opinion, but I took this on board and assured Dean I would make sure Lucy wasn’t wearing them.

  His question about the bike bothered me, but I didn’t let it show. I remembered very clearly how Lucy had told Jonathan that her stepmother wouldn’t let her have a bike. I tried to recall her words: ‘Wendy said I didn’t deserve a bike because I was too naughty . . . Wendy was just being mean to me.’

  That’s definitely what Lucy had said. I couldn’t let this go and I thought carefully about how I would tackle this.

  Accusing a child of lying is something you have to be extremely cautious about. You have to be crystal clear about the facts before even thinking about suggesting a child has been untruthful, and even then you need to tread very gently because there is often baggage attached to the lies children tell. Nowadays we know that lying – and stealing – are often related to developmental delay, which produces behaviour you would expect in a younger age group. The reasons and causes of developmental delay are manifold and complex. Lies can be shame-based, with the lie shielding the child from the shame of their actions. This is a minefield for foster carers like us, because you need to understand a child’s history in order to even begin to work out why they would act in a particular way – a way that they are sufficiently ashamed of to want to hide with lies. One expert says you should ignore the lie but not the child: they have learned to lie from fear and stress. I always bear this in mind.

  Lucy was busy tidying her room ready to show to her siblings, but when she heard the phone she came charging down the stairs.

  ‘Was that Daddy?’ she asked excitedly. Fortunately she was wearing jeans and a plain T-shirt, so at least that was one issue I didn’t have to tackle right now.

  ‘Yes. He was just asking if you wanted him to bring your bike over. I said yes, because I know you said you like cycling, but do you think he’s got a bit confused?’

  ‘Er, why?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t have a bike? Perhaps he’s got muddled up?’

  ‘Oh, no. I do have a bike, I just forgot. It’s, er, old though. It was second hand. I wanted a new one and Wendy wouldn’t let me, even though Gemma got a brand-new one.’

  ‘OK, well your daddy’s bringing it and I guess you can decide if you want to use it, or ride one of ours. They’re all coming in his van so there’s plenty of room for it.’ Dean’s van had eight seats with seat belts, and even when all the seats were being used there was still plenty of room for storage.

  ‘Good. I’ve made space for my things. I’m going to put Honey on the bed. Honey looks out for the tooth fairy, you know. She didn’t always come when I lost a tooth, but she did sometimes.’

  My heart swelled. Lucy was so sweet and innocent. It was such a shame things had gone so wrong at home for her. I really hoped the visit would go well.

  ‘Shall we make a few biscuits for our visitors?’

  ‘Yes! But first, will you come and have a look at my bedroom?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Lucy showed me around her room with pride. She’d tidied up and made her bed and she showed me exactly where she was going to place her pillow and her teddy when they arrived.

  ‘I want Honey on this side of the bed, so I can hug her!’ she said.

  ‘What a good idea,’ I replied, stepping up close to the bed. As I did so I heard a rustle beneath my feet, and when I looked down I saw that I’d stepped on a chocolate bar wrapper. I bent down to pick it up, only to see several other wrappers that had evidently been pushed under the bed.

  ‘Lucy, what are these doing here?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean we don’t allow eating in the bedroom, and do you remember the other rule?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘You have to ask before helping yourself in the kitchen. Do you remember I told you that?’

  ‘But I didn’t take them! I don’t know how they got there.’

  ‘Well perhaps you could have a think about it. I know they weren’t there yesterday because I vacuumed the carpet and I’m sure I would have seen them.’

  I didn’t want to have a scene just before her family arrived and I certainly didn’t want to upset Lucy by directly accusing her of telling fibs, although there didn’t appear to be any other reasonable explanation. Maria had been at her grandmother’s all day yesterday and, besides, I couldn’t imagine she would have had anything to do with this – why would she?

  There were four chocolate wrappers, all from a six-pack of biscuits that I always bought from the same supermarket. I hadn’t opened the packet yet, so I’d easily be able to see if the biscuits had come from my cupboard.

  ‘Anyway, what sort of biscuits are we making?’ Lucy said. ‘Do you know how to make custard creams? Do you like ginger snaps? My granny loves ginger snaps. She has them every day.’

  I let Lucy change the subject but as she babbled on, asking question after question, I was thinking back and wondering about her eating habits. Was she picking at her main meal because she was having too many snacks and treats that I didn’t know about? I needed to get through to Lucy the importance of telling the truth and sticking to the rules we had in place in the house, as they were there for her benefit, to help keep her healthy.

  ‘Come on,’ I said, when I could get a word in edgeways. ‘Let’s make the biscuits. They’ll be ready just in time if we get started now.’

  Inevitably, there was a wider issue bothering me. In order to help Lucy integrate back into her family it was crucial I knew fact from fiction. As it was, I was becoming increasingly uncertain about the truth of anything Lucy told me. I’d have to talk to her about this, when the time was right. She needed to be truthful. Jonathan and I, plus the therapists and social workers, needed to know exactly what we were dealing with in order to successfully help Lucy move back in with her family.

  When the doorbell rang, Lucy shot from the kitchen to fling open the front door.

  ‘Daddy!’

  She launched herself excitedly at her dad then hugged her little sister Milly, who was almost the double of Lucy, but slightly shorter and with longer blonde hair. The boys gave their sister slightly self-conscious half-cuddles, as you might expect from nine-year-old boys, while Gemma and Wendy shuffled through the door last.

  ‘Hi!’ Lucy said, waving at them and turning away in virtually the same movement.

  Dean introduced Jonathan and me to all the children and Lucy asked if she could show everyone her bedroom.

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I’ll put the kettle on. Who would like tea? Or maybe a cold drink?’

  While I took the drinks order Lucy asked her dad for her pillow and teddy. He looked at Wendy.

  ‘You were sorting that, love, weren’t you?’

  ‘Was I? Oh I’m sorry; there was so much to do this morning, getting everyone ready. I didn’t put them in. You’ll get them next time, Lucy.’

  ‘OK.’

  I could almost feel Lucy’s pain, because I had a pang in my own heart, thinking how disappointing this was.

  ‘I’ve brought your new swimming costume though. I thought you’d want that.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Lucy muttered.

  She stole a glance at me, but I didn’t say a word about the fact I’d just bought Lucy a new swimsuit, or the story she’d told me about Wendy telling her to make do with her old one that didn’t fit. Had Lucy told fibs about this, or was she just confused, having been living out of bags and in various different house
s for weeks on end? I really wasn’t sure, and once again I’d have to find the right moment to broach this topic, and do so very carefully.

  All the children were chatty and friendly and there was a good atmosphere in the kitchen when we had our drinks. There didn’t appear to be any hostility between Gemma and Lucy: they seemed to just rub along, like kids do. The shortbread biscuits we’d made went down well and little Milly asked if Lucy could make some more, when she went home.

  ‘Yes,’ Lucy said. ‘Is that OK, Wendy?’

  Her stepmother looked horrified and for a moment I thought it was the mention of Lucy going home that made her stop and stare at the little girl.

  ‘Wendy? I’m MUM to you. I don’t want to hear you call me Wendy again!’

  Gemma sniggered nervously and Dean shuffled in his seat and looked like he was about to speak, but Lucy jumped in first.

  ‘Yes. I’m really sorry. I just forgot.’

  ‘I expect it’s been a little unsettling for Lucy,’ Jonathan said, rising to his feet. ‘Of course, Angela and I call you Wendy when we’re talking to each other about arrangements and so on, and she’s heard us use your name. I expect that’s the reason.’

  I could tell Jonathan was annoyed with Wendy for making a scene about this, but if you didn’t know my husband like I did you would never have spotted his irritation. Jonathan spoke calmly yet firmly, and he gave the group a nod and a smile when he’d said his piece, as if to draw a line under it.

  The family took Lucy out for lunch and she was buzzing when they dropped her back.

  ‘We had a roast dinner and I had Yorkshire pudding. Do you like Yorkshire pudding? Can you make it? Can you show me how to make it? What did you have for your lunch? Can I phone my auntie?’

  They didn’t come in. I had been worried about how Lucy would react when she had to say goodbye to everyone, but she was as chatty as ever. It might have just been her way of coping, of course, but even so I was pleased to see she remained in a good mood and was upbeat about the visit.

  I told Lucy she could use the phone in the living room so she could talk without being disturbed, but as usual she said she was happy to call her from the kitchen, while I got a few jobs done.

  ‘Auntie Lisa? Yes it’s Lucy here. Yes I saw them today. They all came. Sunday lunch? Everything was BRILLIANT! Yes, Gemma came too. You should have seen the size of the puddings! Wendy, I mean Mum, was fine. It was so good to see everyone. What? I’m going to be here for a bit longer. I like the foster carers. They’re nice. Not long though. I’m going back home in August. Yes, I’ll be going into Year Four, in my old school. No, not long. I can’t wait. I miss everyone.’

  I felt uncomfortable listening to Lucy talk like this. She was so desperate to go home and she was fixated on having a date to aim for. I had too much experience of fostering to share her optimism that she’d definitely be back for the start of the new school year. I wouldn’t believe she was going home on any given date until I’d had it agreed, confirmed and signed off by Social Services, at the very least.

  Wendy could certainly throw a spanner in the works, I thought. The way she spoke about Lucy so cruelly at the core meeting bothered me greatly. I couldn’t imagine Wendy being in any hurry to take Lucy back in, but we’d have to wait and see. Perhaps the counselling would work wonders? I truly hoped so. Lucy’s place was with her family, and she clearly loved her siblings and her daddy very much indeed. That was a great foundation to build on.

  ‘Bless her,’ Jonathan said later that evening, after Lucy and Maria had both gone to bed. ‘I know she was full of beans when they brought her back but, really, it must have been very hard for Lucy, seeing the family driving off, all going home without her.’

  ‘I know. I can’t imagine how difficult it is.’

  ‘I wished they’d remembered her teddy and pillow,’ he added. ‘That was such a shame.’

  ‘Yes, poor Lucy. Can you think back to when you were eight years old? How would you have felt, in her shoes?’

  Jonathan was the youngest of four brothers and the idea made him shudder.

  ‘I can’t imagine it. Devastated by the whole thing, I’m sure.’

  ‘Same here, definitely. It’s good that they came to visit, but at the same time it highlights how she’s been, well, rejected. I hate to say that, but it’s true.’

  We both sighed. It was painful to think about it.

  We also talked about Lucy’s bike. It turned out it was in excellent condition and her dad told us he’d pumped up the tyres that morning so it was ready for her to ride. He also gave us a little toolbox that came with the bike when he bought it new, just a few months earlier, plus he’d brought over her smart and expensive-looking helmet.

  ‘I wonder why she tried to pretend she didn’t have a bike?’

  Jonathan frowned. ‘I think the lie had more to do with her hitting out at Wendy than anything else, don’t you?’

  She’d told me Wendy had said she was ‘too naughty’ and didn’t deserve a bike, so I tended to agree with Jonathan.

  ‘This feud with Wendy is deep-rooted,’ I said. I felt like I was stating the obvious.

  ‘It is indeed, and I suspect there’s an awful lot we don’t know.’

  8

  ‘I’ll be very, very good when I go home’

  On the Monday I had a call about Lucy’s schooling. It wasn’t good news: the head at St Bede’s had decided he could not offer Lucy a place because it seemed that Lucy was not statemented after all. Her previous school had explained that she was given support but it came from a classroom volunteer rather than a paid teaching assistant. The volunteer helped several children with below-average reading skills and there was a question mark over whether or not Lucy was dyslexic, but she had never been officially tested. Her LEA had confirmed there was nothing officially on file stating she had special educational needs, and Mr Morris-Butler had told Social Services that his school was already stretched and could not pay for the extra support Lucy needed without the funding they would have received from the LEA, if Lucy were statemented.

  Jess gave me the news, and I could tell she was fed up and also very busy.

  ‘Are you happy for me to put in a call to another school and make an appointment?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course. I’ll come with you if I can. Thanks, Angela.’

  I told her I’d also call our LEA to see if there was anything they could do, given the circumstances.

  ‘Maybe they could make an exception and provide funding for Lucy without a statement?’ I said. ‘After all, it’s only going to be short term, and if we went down the line of getting Lucy tested and statemented she’d miss even more school.’

  ‘You’re right, and I’m very grateful. Do you know, I’m taking on three more kids today? Crazy, isn’t it? I’ve never been so frantic.’

  I tried to set up a meeting with another primary school but unfortunately they turned us down on the spot after hearing Lucy needed support but had no statement. ‘We’d love to help, but it’s just not possible. All our classroom assistants are flat out and we simply don’t have the budget to take on another member of staff, even on a part-time basis.’

  I called our LEA and stated Lucy’s case, explaining that by now she had already missed more than two months of school.

  ‘I’m sorry but we are not responsible for any support Lucy may need. You need to contact the LEA in the county she came from.’

  ‘I don’t think they will help, because she isn’t living in that area at the moment.’

  ‘It’s still their responsibility. They should be able to help you.’

  I doubted it, and I was right. When I called them I was told it was not their responsibility either.

  ‘Lucy is not living in the county and therefore we’re not responsible. Without a statement we wouldn’t pay for support even in our own county. I suggest that if she’s living with you, you need to look into having her statemented and then your LEA will fund the support she needs.’


  ‘But she’s only going to be with us for a few months, and the statement will take time. It could be half term by the time it comes through. Then we’ll have gone to all that trouble for what could amount to just a few weeks of support.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, there’s nothing we can do.’

  I called Jess, who sounded distracted and exhausted, so I filled her in as quickly as possible.

  ‘I’m at the hospital,’ she said. ‘One of my kids has been involved in an incident. I’ve got to go to the police station next.’

  I could hear ambulance sirens wailing.

  ‘I’m very sorry to hear that. Do you want to call me back when it’s convenient?’

  ‘It’s OK. I’ve got it. Leave it with me, Angela. I’ll talk to my manager and see what we can come up with. Maybe she can convince the LEA to make an exception for Lucy.’

  ‘I think that’s a good idea. Let me know if I can do anything to help.’

  ‘I will. I’ll keep you posted.’

  When I told Lucy we were having trouble finding her a school place she shrugged.

  ‘I don’t mind doing the computer games. Anyway, I’ll be back at my old school soon.’

  I tried to look on the bright side. At least Lucy was willing to do some work at home. Things could be a lot worse; hearing about the child who had ended up in hospital and involved with the police made me count our blessings.

  The following week went well. We went on a couple of good bike rides with Maria when she was in from school and Lucy spent hours doing history and maths challenges on the computer. I bought her a stack of educational books to work through. I sat with her as often as I could, and it was very obvious she struggled with reading.

  ‘The words are jumping around,’ she said. ‘It’s so ANNOYING! All the letters are jumbled up. I’m not doing that. I’m going on to the next page.’

  Not being an expert in this field I allowed Lucy to focus on what she wanted to do and what she could do, rather than leaving her to struggle and get frustrated. However, this was something I would flag up with Social Services. If it was going to take a while for Lucy to be properly tested and statemented, I figured that at least her child psychologist should have as much information as possible to work on.