The Girl Who Wanted to Belong, Book 5 Read online

  Bella called me to tell me that Wendy and Dean had given permission for Lucy to ride a horse at Diane’s. Wendy made the call to the social worker, saying they had no objections at all and apologising for taking so long to get back with an answer – it had slipped their minds, apparently. When I told Lucy the good news she wanted to go to Diane’s immediately.

  ‘Let me phone her and see what she can do.’

  ‘Can you phone now? Shall I get my shoes on?’

  ‘Hang on, let me call her!’

  As it happened Diane was more than happy to have Lucy over within the hour. Lucy was incredibly excited, so much so that she looked fit to burst by the time she was kitted up with an old riding hat that once belonged to Diane’s daughter Clare, who was now thirteen, and some spare boots from another foster child who had outgrown them.

  ‘Can I gallop?’ Lucy asked Diane.

  ‘No! Not yet. I’m going to just walk you around the yard for starters.’

  ‘OK. What do I hold? Can I do this? How do I make her turn? Has she ever thrown anybody off? How do I get down? Has she won any medals? What are those for?’

  As usual, the questioning went on and on. Diane was brilliant with Lucy and after giving her a lesson for about half an hour she agreed that Lucy could come early in the morning to help muck out.

  ‘That’s how you earn your rides,’ she winked. ‘Is that a deal?’

  ‘It’s a deal!’ Lucy said. ‘Yee-ha!’

  Lucy went round to Diane’s most mornings after that. She was always up at the crack of dawn, asking me to take her round before Maria had even gone to school. She offered to walk there herself if I was busy with Maria, but even though Diane only lived a few minutes away I wouldn’t have let Lucy go there on her own at the age of eight. I always took her, and we often went on our bikes.

  ‘If I were you I’d stay in bed,’ Maria muttered to Lucy one morning. ‘You’re lucky. You should make the most of not having to get up for school. I would.’

  Lucy looked baffled. Her idea of hell was to do nothing and stay in bed. She wanted to be on the go all the time.

  We were still in limbo with the school situation, but things were ticking along well at home. Going to Diane’s gave Lucy’s day some structure, and the arrangement whereby the teenage boy Diane was fostering came and did work experience in the shop with Jonathan panned out very well indeed. Matty got on well with Jonathan and came up with some fresh ideas for promotions, which was the area he was interested in working in.

  Lucy spoke to her family regularly on the phone and gave them all her news. She seemed very relaxed when talking to her granny or her aunties, but the phone calls home sometimes appeared to stress her out.

  ‘I only wanted to talk to Daddy tonight but I had to talk to everyone!’ she often complained. I always tried to leave Lucy to it when she was on the phone but she usually chose to follow me around and make the call from whichever room I was in. Sometimes she even sat on the arm of the chair I was sitting in; she didn’t seem to have any idea of how to respect another person’s personal space, and at the same time she wasn’t bothered at all about having privacy to talk to her family. She chatted away freely, even if Maria was around.

  To my ear, the tension between Lucy and her stepmother was always apparent: I could tell when she was talking to Wendy just by the tone of her voice, the things she said and the way she held herself. Her voice flattened, her head went down and she often became monosyllabic. By contrast, when Lucy spoke to her dad she perked up and never failed to sound excited and animated. She told him in detail what she’d been doing and how much she was missing him and looking forward to coming home. She was always happy to talk to her brothers and sister too, but it was hit-and-miss with Gemma. Their conversations usually seemed a bit stilted, and more often than not it sounded to me like Lucy couldn’t wait to get off the phone, or talk to her dad or brothers and sister instead – but mostly only her dad.

  ‘Wendy has been decorating the lounge,’ Lucy told me one day, after a phone call home. ‘She said she’s got new pictures on the wall. When am I going home?’

  For a moment I thought she meant when could she move back in with the family, but thankfully she was only asking about a home visit. I’d been told by Bella that Wendy and Dean had decided it was best if Lucy didn’t visit until they’d all had a few therapy sessions at the Child and Family centre. It seemed sensible, the idea being that progress would have been made and the visit home would be more likely to be a success. Looking further ahead, if the visits home worked out well the next step would be for Lucy to stay the night, as previously discussed.

  ‘I’m not exactly sure when you can go home,’ I said to Lucy tactfully. ‘I think it will be in a few weeks – not too long!’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, sounding disappointed.

  She told me her daddy’s birthday was coming up and she wanted to go home for the party.

  ‘The party?’

  ‘Yes, Daddy told me they’re having a party. Daddy said I could go. I’ll be good, you know. I’ll be good for you and I’ll be very, very good when I go home.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it, Lucy.’

  I smiled but I felt uneasy. Had Dean made a promise he might not be able to keep? I hoped not, because the last thing Lucy needed was to have a carrot dangled in front of her and then see it snatched away. I told Lucy we’d need to wait and hear when the date of the party was, and see if it was possible for her to visit on that day.

  ‘But I can go?’

  ‘I don’t want to make any promises, Lucy. Let’s see what the plans are.’

  She kicked a chair and walked out of the room saying, ‘It’s not fair if I can’t go. It’s just not fair!’

  Unfortunately, after various meetings and letters, Jess’s manager had failed to convince our LEA to fund the support Lucy needed in school and so we were back to square one. Jess was about to go on annual leave for two weeks and so I offered to take over again and do what I could to get Lucy the help she needed in the classroom.

  ‘By all means,’ Jess said. ‘You have our full backing. It seems the LEAs in both counties are happy to pass the buck on to each other, and meanwhile Lucy’s education is suffering.’

  ‘Quite. I’ll have a think about where we can go from here. Leave it with me. I’ll do my best.’

  ‘I know you will: you always do. We need more Angelas in the fostering service!’

  I was very grateful for Jess’s kind words. Encouragement from a caring social worker was just what I needed after hearing the disappointing news. I felt supported and valued, and this energised me. Weeks had slipped by and the end of the school year was now less than two months away, but that was not going to put me off. I was determined that Lucy’s learning was going to be supported as it should be.

  ‘I’ll get her into a school and I’ll get her the help she needs. I won’t take no for an answer,’ I told Jonathan that evening.

  He thought about this for a moment, raised his eyebrows and smiled.

  ‘Isn’t that what you said to me all those years ago, when you first wanted to get into fostering?’

  I laughed, albeit a little wearily. I do have a very determined streak and when I set my mind to something I like to see it through. However, the truth is that Jonathan didn’t need much persuasion when I first suggested to him that we could become foster carers, back in the eighties. An advert in the local paper caught my eye and I called the number to find out more. Jonathan supported me all the way as he could see how interested I was, although I must admit that we both expected fostering was something we’d do for a relatively short time, maybe until we started our own family. We never imagined for one moment that we’d end up fostering dozens and dozens of children over three decades. Nor did we anticipate we would never have children of our own, because of fertility problems. Nevertheless, neither of us ever looked back, and it’s the same to this day.

  9

  ‘I’m allowed to go to the party!’


  The Child and Family sessions were to be held in a modern council building not far from Lucy’s old school. For the first session Wendy and Dean were both to be in attendance. Bella came to our house to give us the details, and she explained to Lucy that the family therapist would talk to all three of them together. She also said that Lucy would sometimes have sessions on her own, either with the family therapist or with her psychologist.

  ‘Will I see Daddy every time I go?’

  ‘I can’t promise that,’ Bella said. ‘You’ll certainly see him at the first session, and after that I think it depends when the slots are available and how the sessions are organised. I expect that sometimes your daddy will go to a session on his own, or with your stepmum, and he might have to go when it fits in with his work.’

  ‘I don’t like calling her stepmum, I prefer to call her Wendy,’ she said sulkily. ‘Can you just say Wendy? Anyway, I can go any time. It’s not like I’m at school! Can’t I just fit in with Daddy?’

  My heart went out to her, as it did so many times.

  ‘Let’s wait and see what’s offered,’ Bella said gently. ‘It’s up to the Child and Family centre.’

  As usual, Lucy’s focus was entirely on her father. Seeing him was her number one priority, and I thought that if she were told to walk over hot coals to see a glimpse of him for just a few moments, she’d have done so willingly.

  Lucy asked if she could go to her daddy’s birthday party, and Bella told her that she would have to wait and see.

  ‘I’m sure Daddy or Wendy will let you know,’ she said.

  Bella and I swapped glances. I knew she felt the same way I did: we wanted Lucy to be invited, but we didn’t want to interfere and cause any unnecessary trouble. Wendy and Dean had to make this call, and I really hoped they would. When I saw Bella out I mentioned that Lucy had also asked Jonathan and me to avoid the words stepmum and stepmother, a request we tried to comply with when possible. Bella said she agreed with this tactic, as there was no point in antagonising Lucy every time Wendy was mentioned.

  On the morning of the first Child and Family session Lucy seemed very excited. I picked her up from mucking out the horses and she was raring to go, getting herself showered and dressed in record time. Then she sat waiting in the kitchen half an hour before we were due to leave.

  ‘I’ll be very, very good,’ she told me. ‘I won’t make Wendy cross with me.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear you’re going to be well behaved, sweetheart. By the way, have you remembered she prefers you not to call her Wendy?’

  ‘Yes. I need to call her Mum. I don’t like calling her Mum, but I will. Mum, Mum, Mum.’

  Lucy drummed her knuckles on her skull as she said, ‘Mum, Mum Mum.’

  While Lucy was in her session Jonathan and I sat outside the Child and Family centre and I called a third primary school on my mobile, asking if I could make an appointment to see the head.

  ‘I’m afraid she’s off sick.’

  I explained what it was about and asked if there was another person I could see in the head’s absence, such as the deputy head.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

  ‘It’s actually very urgent.’

  ‘I’m very sorry but you will have to call back when the head returns.’

  ‘I see. Do you know when she is coming back to work?’

  ‘No, she’s off sick.’

  ‘Yes, I understand. Perhaps I can leave my phone number and you can let me know when she is back?’

  ‘Actually, it’s best if you call us back. I’m not here every day because I job share and I can’t guarantee the other secretary will get the message. If I were you, I’d try again in a couple of days.’

  I was fuming when I put the phone down and I forced myself to count to ten. Jonathan and I have always been very focused on supporting every child in our care with their education, to make sure they get the best foundation in life. We are very vigilant about attendance and lateness. For instance, if we suspect a child is feigning illness to get a day off we don’t let them get away with it, despite the fact it usually creates trouble for us, having to negotiate and cajole an unwilling child. Similarly, if a child misses the bus or is going to be late through no fault of their own we always do our best to help them, giving them lifts and explaining the issue to the school. When we take them out for medical appointments and so on we make sure we return them to the classroom as quickly as possible, so they don’t miss out on lessons. In short, we value education and are very aware how precious it is. To hear this secretary suggest I call back in a ‘couple of days’ was absolutely infuriating.

  ‘What if the head is actually back tomorrow and then I don’t call for another day or two?’ I vented to Jonathan. ‘What is the point in that? That would be even more of Lucy’s education she’ll be missing out on!’

  ‘What are you going to do now?’ Jonathan knows very well how to handle me in this type of situation. Instead of joining in with my complaint and stoking my anger he steered me towards focusing on finding a solution. I told him I was going to call the education welfare officer at the LEA.

  ‘Good idea,’ he said.

  There was no answer at first but I kept trying until I finally got through to someone.

  ‘Sorry, the education welfare officer is out.’

  I asked for the name of the officer.

  ‘Can I leave a message for him to call me when he returns?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I left my number and explained I was fostering an eight-year-old girl who urgently needed a school place, as she had already missed approximately two months of school. Nobody called me back. When I called again I got an answerphone, and so I left a message. Still nobody called me back.

  When Lucy came out of her therapy session she practically bounced over to us.

  ‘Guess what? I’m going home next weekend!’

  ‘Going home next weekend?’

  ‘Yes! It’s Daddy’s birthday, remember? And I’m allowed to go to the party!’

  ‘Daddy’s birthday? And there’s a party?’

  ‘Yes. Wendy has invited all the family over. I can’t stay the night because there’s no room for me. But I’m allowed to go to the party!’

  It was still my understanding, from various conversations and meetings with the social workers, that Lucy would only begin to spend weekends back home when she was much closer to moving back permanently. I wondered where she had got the idea from that there was ‘no room’, but I wasn’t left to think for long because Lucy told me that Milly now slept in the bunk bed with Gemma, and Wendy had got rid of the small fold-up bed that used to be on the floor, as Milly had outgrown it.

  ‘It’s OK though. They’re building an extension on the house. Wendy said they need more space. When the extension is done there’ll be an extra bedroom upstairs, the boys will have a bigger room and there will be another room downstairs, at the back of the kitchen. There’ll be plenty of room for me!’

  Wendy and Dean had already left – apparently they had to dash – and so I told Lucy I’d phone them to talk about the arrangements for the party. I’d call Jess too, to keep her in the loop.

  Lucy cheered as she buckled herself in the car. It was the first time she hadn’t created a fuss over the seat belt, as normally she made out she couldn’t fasten it or asked why she had to bother wearing it.

  ‘Wendy said I’ve got to behave myself and I will. I promised. I’m going to make Daddy a card.’

  Back home, after settling Lucy down with some paper and pens to make the birthday card, I called Wendy, who confirmed in rather a business-like way that Lucy was invited to spend the day at home the following Sunday.

  ‘Are you able to bring her over and her father will bring her back?’

  ‘Yes, that’s fine. Maria is out that day. Jonathan and I can both drive Lucy to you.’

  ‘Great. We’ll see you then.’

  ‘Great. She’s looking forward to it.’

  ‘Well, we we
re meant to have a few sessions before the visit but I suppose we’ll have to stick with this now.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I told Dean it was too early to have Lucy over, but you know how soft he is. I just hope she behaves.’

  When the day of the party came Lucy was beside herself with excitement and anticipation. I’d helped her make some chocolate muffins to take with her, as she said they were her daddy’s favourite. She’d spent all of her pocket money on a poster of her dad’s favourite football team. The birthday card she made was incredibly sweet. She’d drawn a picture of her and her daddy holding hands under a rainbow and two bright suns.

  ‘I want to write “I love you and hope your birthday is a very happy, sunshiny day”,’ she said. ‘Can you write that on a piece of paper so I can copy it?’

  ‘You have a go first on some scrap paper,’ I encouraged.

  ‘No, because the thing is, I want it to be perfect.’

  ‘OK, well how do you think you spell “happy” and “birthday”?’

  ‘Can you just tell me? I’ll only get it wrong.’

  ‘No, have a go.’

  Lucy told me her hand was aching and she didn’t want to waste all her energy on writing words out wrongly and having to re-do them.

  ‘OK,’ I sighed, realising I wasn’t going to win this one. ‘This is how to write your message. Why don’t you copy it out in pencil first and then go over it with the coloured pens? That will help you remember how to spell the words.’

  ‘That’s a good idea!’

  Lucy had no problem with ‘wasting energy’ when it came to copying and she spent ages going over the pencil writing in lots of different colours, but clearly she lacked confidence in her spelling skills.

  I’m going to secure her a school place if it’s the last thing I do, I thought. Lucy can’t afford to lose any more of her education.