Will You Love Me? (18 page)

‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘See, you
can
do it.’

She smiled, pleased with herself. ‘You like helping kids, don’t you?’ she said, glancing at me before starting the next question.

‘Yes, I suppose I do,’ I said.

‘Why?’

I was slightly taken aback. It seemed a strange question, and wasn’t one I’d been asked before. I was surprised by the candidness of my reply. ‘Well, we all feel better about ourselves when we do something right. I found some of my school work difficult. Not like some kids, who got everything right. I remember sitting in class and keeping my head down, hoping the teacher wouldn’t ask me a question. I can also remember how relieved I was when my parents helped me with my homework and showed me what to do. Like you, I just needed it explained again, so I do the same for my children.’

‘And while I’m here I’m one of your children?’ she asked.

‘Yes, of course, love.’

And I knew from Lucy’s smile just how much that reassurance meant to her, and my heart ached.

As Lucy tackled the next question, I checked on Adrian to see if he needed any help, but he didn’t. Then, telling Lucy to call me if she needed me, I went through to the living room to hear Paula read.

‘Is Lucy’s homework hard like Adrian’s?’ Paula asked.

‘Yes,’ I said, aware that Lucy could hear me. ‘And she’s doing very well.’

Lucy didn’t need my assistance while I was hearing Paula read, so once we’d finished I went through to see how she was getting on.

‘I’ve nearly finished,’ she said. ‘Can you check them?’

‘Yes, of course, love.’

I looked down her answers and saw a couple of errors. ‘Have another look at those two,’ I said, pointing.

‘They’re wrong, aren’t they?’ she said, immediately losing confidence and becoming annoyed with herself.

‘You’ve made a couple of small errors, that’s all. The rest are fine.’

I waited while Lucy corrected them, and then she did the last sum.

‘Well done,’ I said. ‘What’s next?’

‘Science,’ she said with a groan.

She put away her maths book and took out her science book together with a rough notebook. ‘We have to write up a science experiment,’ she said, opening both books.

The previous piece of work in her science book was covered in the teacher’s pencil corrections, and the notes Lucy had made in her rough notebook about the last experiment were littered with spelling mistakes and very poor grammar; I couldn’t see a single full stop. Without making an issue of it, I picked up Lucy’s pencil and began going through the rough draft of the experiment, correcting the spelling and grammar and explaining what was wrong.

‘Thanks,’ she said.

I left Lucy to copy the science experiment into her book under the various headings of ‘Aim’, ‘Apparatus’, ‘Method’ and ‘Conclusion’, while I played a game with Paula and then saw her up to bed. When I returned downstairs Lucy had finished her science homework and was packing away her books.

‘All done?’ I asked.

She nodded. ‘Thanks for your help.’

I then mentioned to Lucy that Jill was coming to see us after school the following day. ‘And Stevie is coming on Friday,’ I said. ‘I expect you’re used to social workers visiting from living with your other foster carers.’

Lucy stopped what she was doing and her face set. ‘You can talk to them, but I’m not. I hate fucking social workers!’ Throwing her school bag on the floor, she stormed out of the room and upstairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

I was shocked by the sudden change in Lucy’s behaviour and the vehemence of her outburst. I’d looked after children before who swore, sometimes at me – many children in care are angry because of the way they have been treated. But a second before Lucy had been sweetly thanking me for helping her with her homework, and now she’d just blown up, and over something quite small.

I gave her a few moments to calm down, but not very long. Not as long as I would have given a child I’d been fostering for many months and therefore knew well and that they could be safely left alone. I was aware that Lucy had locked herself in the bathroom for hours at Pat and Terry’s, and while she couldn’t lock herself in any of the rooms in my house, as all the doors were fitted with safety locks that could be opened from the outside, I was worried she might do some something desperate – possibly barricade herself into her room or even harm herself in anger. As an experienced foster carer I’d dealt with all types of behaviour before and my instinct now told me that Lucy shouldn’t be left alone for long and that I should go up to her.

At the top of the stairs I quickly looked into Paula’s bedroom to see if she had been woken by Lucy’s shouting, but she hadn’t. I then knocked on Adrian’s door, poked my head round and said, ‘You OK?’

‘What’s the matter with Lucy?’ he asked.

‘She’s upset. I’m going to her now. Don’t worry.’

He nodded and, partly reassured, returned to the book he was reading.

Closing his door, I went to Lucy’s room. It was quiet. ‘Lucy?’ I said, giving a small knock on the door. ‘Can I come in?’

More silence, so giving another knock I slowly opened the door. The room was in darkness and it took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust after the brightness of the landing light. Lucy was lying face down on her bed with her face buried in the crook of her arm.

‘Are you all right, love?’ I asked gently, taking a couple of steps into her room.

‘Go away,’ she said, without raising her head. ‘Leave me alone.’ I could tell from her voice that she was crying.

I stayed where I was, a little way from her bed. ‘I can’t leave you alone while you’re upset, love,’ I said gently. I heard her sob. ‘Can you try talking to me and telling me what’s the matter?’

‘I hate social workers,’ she said. ‘And I’m not seeing them.’

‘All right. I won’t force you to see them if you really don’t want to. But they only want to help you. As you know, they have to visit regularly. Jill, to make sure I’m looking after you properly, and Stevie to make sure you’re OK.’

‘She doesn’t care!’ Lucy blurted from beneath her arm. ‘No one does.’

Taking the couple of steps to her bed, I sat on the edge. ‘I care,’ I said.

‘No, you don’t,’ she said vehemently. ‘Fostering is a job to you.’

‘It’s far more than a job,’ I said. ‘Fostering is my life. I love looking after children and it hurts me when I see them upset.’

‘Don’t care,’ Lucy said.

‘I think you do care, or you wouldn’t be crying.’ I placed my hand gently on her shoulder. ‘I know it’s difficult, love. You’ve been through so much, but don’t shut all the hurt inside you. It’ll make it worse. Can you try and tell me what’s really upsetting you? I’d like to help if I can.’ For I felt sure this was more than just the visit of two social workers.

‘No. You won’t understand,’ Lucy said, face down into her arm. ‘You can’t understand unless you’ve been there.’

‘You could try and help me understand,’ I said, my hand still lightly resting on her shoulder. ‘I know you’ve had a lot of changes in your life. I know that some of the people who were supposed to look after you, didn’t. I’m sure there’s a lot more you can tell me.’

There was a long pause when I thought she might be summoning the courage to tell me, but then she said, ‘Not now.’

‘Sure? There’s no rush. I can sit here all night if it helps.’

‘No,’ she said, and shook her head. I knew I shouldn’t pursue it, as she clearly wasn’t ready.

‘All right, another time then,’ I said. ‘Now, let’s dry those tears and get you into bed. Worries are always worse if you’re tired, and you’ve got school again tomorrow.’

Lucy finally raised her head and, sitting up in bed, turned to face me. I wiped her cheeks with a tissue. ‘There, that’s better,’ I said. ‘You’ve got such a lovely face; I don’t like to see you looking sad.’

She gave me the faintest of smiles, her anger gone now. ‘Can I have a hug?’ she asked, as she had the first night.

‘Of course, love. I’m always ready for a hug.’

She slid her arms around me and buried her head in my neck. I held her close. ‘Remember, love, when you’re ready to share your worries with me, I’ll be here ready to listen. It doesn’t matter how busy I am; you say, “Cathy, I have something to tell you and I need to talk.” And I’ll listen. OK?’

‘I’ll remember that,’ she said, and hugged me tighter.

‘So the honeymoon period is well and truly over,’ Jill said, with a knowing laugh, as I finished updating her the following day. ‘That was quick.’

As Lucy had threatened, she’d refused to see Jill and had stormed up to her room when she’d arrived, shouting as she went that she wouldn’t come down until Jill had gone.

‘You could say that,’ I said, returning Jill’s smile. ‘Lucy’s anger is very fierce but short-lived. She recovers quickly, although I think there’s plenty more to come out.’

‘Absolutely,’ Jill agreed. ‘And the longer Lucy’s here, the more secure she’ll feel, so the easier it will be for her anger to come out.’

‘Thanks, Jill,’ I said. ‘But on the positive side, she is sleeping well; she’s made friends with Paula and Adrian, she’s talking to us and I’ve seen her teacher and we’re giving her some extra help to catch up. Lucy was happy for me to help her with her homework.’

‘Excellent. It’s good she wants to learn,’ Jill said. ‘I’ve updated Stevie about the allegations Lucy made against her stepfather and she’ll be talking to Lucy about that on Friday, assuming Lucy will see her.’

‘I’ll try to persuade her,’ I said. ‘I’ll explain that it’s important.’

‘Good. Now the paperwork,’ Jill said. ‘Have you received it?’

‘No.’ Usually the placement and essential information forms came with the social worker when the child first arrived, but because Pat and Terry had brought Lucy this hadn’t happened.

‘I’ll speak to Stevie,’ Jill said, taking out her notepad and making a note. ‘You need those forms. She can post them or bring them with her on Friday.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And Lucy’s eating? How’s that going?’ Jill now asked.

I frowned, concerned. ‘Well, as I said on the phone, she’s eating, but not nearly enough. Lucy’s very slim. She can’t afford to lose weight. I haven’t weighed her because I don’t want to draw attention to it, and anyway it wouldn’t help – not knowing what she weighed before, I won’t know if she’s losing weight. She’s very anxious at the meal table and doesn’t seem to get any pleasure from eating. I always ask her if she likes the food I’m planning to cook. She says she does, but then hardly eats anything.’

‘Does she have school dinners?’

‘Yes, but I’ve no idea if she’s eating them.’

‘No, and at secondary school the staff won’t encourage the children to eat as they do in primary school. I’ll speak to Stevie and see what she knows about Lucy’s eating.’ Jill made another note. ‘I believe concerns were raised about Lucy’s eating by her previous carers,’ Jill said. ‘And Stevie will have a copy of Lucy’s medical. We may need to seek medical help if Lucy’s eating doesn’t improve, and we’ll also need to raise it at her review.’

Jill was referring to the regular reviews that all children in care have. At these meetings, issues such as the child’s health, education and general wellbeing are discussed to make sure everything that needs to be done is being done to help the child.

‘And in the meantime I’ll continue as I have been doing?’ I now asked Jill. ‘I’m giving Lucy a variety of foods in manageable portions and letting her eat what she wants. I haven’t been overtly encouraging her to eat, as I didn’t want to make her feel more self-conscious than she already does.’

‘No, that’s right,’ Jill said, and looked thoughtful. ‘It’s possible Lucy is suffering from an eating disorder, like anorexia or bulimia. I take it she’s not going to the toilet straight after a meal and making herself sick?’

‘No!’ I said, shocked. ‘I’d have noticed, although I’ll obviously keep an eye on her.’

Jill made another note. ‘It might be that, once she feels more settled here, her appetite will improve, but we can’t rule out anorexia, which is more about control than food. Given how little control Lucy has had in her life, you could see how she might use food to gain control. You’ve attended training on eating disorders, haven’t you?’

‘Yes, a while back. I think I need to read up on the subject.’

‘Good idea. Make sure you give Lucy as much control over her food as is practical for an eleven-year-old. Let her help with the preparation and cooking of the food when possible, and allow her to serve herself rather than plate it up for her. If she feels she has control over her food, she’s likely to feel less anxious and may eat more.’

‘Thanks, Jill,’ I said, grateful for her advice. ‘I’ll do that. But isn’t eleven very young to be suffering from an eating disorder? I thought it was teenagers who had the condition.’

‘It’s more prevalent in teenagers – boys and girls – but it’s becoming increasingly common in children, even those under ten. I blame the girly magazines and media, which portray thin girls as beautiful.’

I nodded. I agreed with Jill, for I’d often felt glossy women’s magazines showed unrealistic body shapes as the ideal. Certainly I could never look like those models.

Jill concluded her visit, as she usually did, by reading and then signing my log notes, and I then saw her to the front door.

‘Goodbye, Lucy, Adrian and Paula!’ she called from the hall.

‘Goodbye!’ Adrian and Paula returned from upstairs, but there was nothing from Lucy.

‘No worries,’ Jill said. ‘Tell her I said goodbye and I look forward to meeting her next time.’

I went upstairs and relayed Jill’s message to Lucy, who was now playing with Paula in her room, and she just shrugged. A quarter of an hour later I called everyone downstairs for dinner. Following Jill’s advice, instead of serving the meal onto plates as I usually did, I set the casserole dish in the centre of the table and, warning them that the dish was very hot, I told everyone to help themselves. The result was a very messy tablecloth. Adrian, Paula and I ate our usual-sized portions, and Lucy, who took a very small amount, finished with a clean plate. Whether this was progress or not I didn’t know, but one thing I did know was that the following day, when everyone was at school, I would go online and research eating disorders.