Will You Love Me? (21 page)

‘Yes, I like stir-fry,’ Paula said.

‘So do I,’ Lucy agreed.

Holding the leaflet between us, we gathered together the ingredients needed and then completed the rest of our shopping. That evening, all four of us, including Adrian, made the stir-fry, and working together as one family was fun and rewarding in itself. I would like to say that Lucy ate heartily that night, having chosen and cooked the food, but she didn’t. While she’d been happy preparing the food, as before, when it came to eating it her anxieties returned and she ate very little. I knew from my research that this behaviour was typical of many who suffered from eating disorders – they are happy to prepare and cook the food, but not eat it. I was worried, and decided that if Lucy’s eating didn’t improve soon I’d put it to Stevie that we should seek medical advice sooner than she’d suggested.

That evening, Pat, Lucy’s previous foster carer, telephoned as promised, but Lucy refused to come to the phone.

‘Are you sure you won’t speak to Pat?’ I asked Lucy.

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t take it personally,’ I explained to Pat. ‘Lucy’s had a lot of changes in her life and is feeling a bit rejected right now.’

‘Not by us, I hope,’ Pat said defensively. ‘It wasn’t our fault she had to move.’

‘I know, and I’ve explained that to Lucy. She doesn’t blame you.’ But of course, deep down, as far as Lucy was concerned, having to move from Pat and Terry’s was just another rejection.

Lucy was in the living room and out of earshot, so I took the opportunity to see if I could find out more information about Lucy that might help me look after her better. ‘Pat, I know Lucy didn’t talk to you much,’ I said, ‘but I understand you raised concerns about her eating. Stevie mentioned it to me, as I have concerns too.’

‘Yes, I took Lucy to my doctor,’ Pat said. ‘But when I told Stevie she went on at me something awful. Apparently I should have got her permission first.’

‘What did the doctor say?’

‘That Lucy might be borderline anorexic, and that we should try to talk to her about her feelings. But Lucy didn’t want to talk to us. How do you get on with Stevie?’

‘I’ve only met her once,’ I said, not wanting to be drawn into a conversation about Lucy’s social worker. ‘Can you tell me anything else about Lucy or what the doctor said?’

‘Not really. Would Lucy see Stevie?’ Pat now asked.

‘No.’

‘She wouldn’t see her here either,’ Pat said. ‘Stevie made me feel it was my fault, but when Lucy decides she’s not doing something there’s no changing her mind.’ I didn’t respond. ‘Oh, well, best be off then,’ Pat said. ‘Give Lucy our best wishes.’

‘I will,’ I said. ‘And thanks for everything.’ For I doubted we’d hear from Pat again.

When I told Lucy that Pat sent her best wishes, she gave one of her dismissive shrugs. However, I was now realizing that shrugging, far from being a sign that Lucy didn’t care, was an indication of just how much she did care and was hurting; not wanting to be hurt again, she pretended it didn’t matter.

Sunday was bitterly cold (though it didn’t snow again), so I suggested a trip to the cinema. Lucy had been to the cinema a couple of times before with a previous foster carer and was eager to go again. The four of us had a lovely afternoon laughing at the cartoon and eating popcorn. Little outings such as this help bond a family and create a sense of family unity. Interestingly, in the dark and with her mind on the film, Lucy forgot her anxiety about eating and absent-mindedly ate a large hotdog. However, that evening she ate very little at dinner – just a couple of mouthfuls – which she didn’t enjoy. Ignoring her eating habits any longer seemed like ignoring the elephant in the room, and later, when I went to say goodnight to her, I said, ‘Love, I am concerned that you’re not eating enough. You won’t get fat, you know.’ My research had mentioned that those suffering with eating disorders often obsessed about putting on weight.

‘It’s not that,’ Lucy said, a little tersely, as though something similar might have been said to her before. ‘I’m just not hungry. I didn’t have meals before.’

‘Before you came into care you mean?’

‘Yes.’

I nodded. ‘I think you need to try to get into the habit of eating. Will you try to eat just a little bit more? I’m sure Mr Bunny would want you to.’

She smiled. ‘OK. I’ll try, for Mr Bunny.’

‘Good girl.’

I kissed her goodnight and came out.

On Monday Lucy began taking the bus to and from school. I gave her the bus fare, checked she had the school books she needed and then waved her off at the door. When I returned from taking Paula to school I phoned the office at Lucy’s school to let them know that Lucy would be using the bus in future. Most schools like to know their pupils’ means of transport to and from school as a safety precaution, in case they don’t arrive, and also to try and reduce the instances of truanting. The school receptionist made a note in their records.

The week went well and I thought I saw a slight improvement in Lucy’s appetite, so I crossed my fingers, hoped for the best and quietly thanked Mr Bunny. On Sunday, my parents came for dinner and met Lucy for the first time. All the children I foster love my parents, and Adrian and Paula adore their nana and grandpa. They are the archetypal grandparents: kind and very generous. My father often tells silly jokes and loves to play board games, and my mother has endless patience for reading the children stories and listening to their news. As my mother and I cleared away the dinner things, my mother commented that Lucy seemed a lovely child, but what a sad life she’d led. While confidentiality had prohibited me from telling my mother about Lucy’s past, Lucy had easily confided in her that she’d had to move lots of times and had lived with some horrible people, and that she didn’t have a proper mummy or daddy. ‘She gets on very well with Paula,’ my mother added.

‘She does,’ I agreed. ‘And Adrian, although at his age he tends to be out with his friends more.’

That evening, after my parents had left, I overheard Lucy telling Paula that she was very lucky to have a nice gran and grandpa, as she didn’t have any.

‘I know,’ Paula said. ‘And while you’re here they are your gran and grandpa too.’

‘That’s good,’ Lucy said. ‘I like them nearly as much as I like you.’

Now we were in a weekday routine, the weeks slipped by and very soon Lucy had been with us for over a month. It was March and spring was just around the corner. On many levels, Lucy had fitted easily and successfully into my family, and I knew Adrian and Paula felt that too. However, the more relaxed and at home Lucy felt, the more easily she let go of her anger and frustration. While it was positive that she was able to express herself, what wasn’t so positive was her mode of expression: objects hurled across her bedroom and often broken in temper. Triggers that caused her to flare up included any mention of her social worker, an unkind word or a snub from a pupil at school, a lengthy or difficult piece of homework, general frustration, and sometimes there was no obvious reason at all – she’d just arrive home from school, bursting with anger and pent-up frustration, go upstairs and trash her room.

I spent hours talking to Lucy about her feelings, reassured her that hurting was to be expected and made some suggestions for managing her anger. Then, when her behaviour didn’t improve, I stopped some of her privileges, and some of her pocket money to pay for breakages (with the social worker’s permission). And finally, exasperated, I told her I was very disappointed in her behaviour and that she needed to find other ways to express her anger.

‘Don’t care!’ Lucy shouted. But of course she
did
care and, when she’d calmed down, she was always very sorry.

I showed Lucy how to take out her frustration and anger by pummelling a pillow, rather than breaking objects, which she tried. She pummelled the pillow on her bed and then trashed her room. I knew Lucy had some control over her actions, because while most of the objects in her room had at some time all been thrown, Mr Bunny had escaped.

‘I’m sure Mr Bunny isn’t impressed by your behaviour, Lucy,’ I said, when yet again the contents of her shelves lay strewn across her room.

‘Yes, he is!’ she retorted. ‘He’s on my side.’

And sometimes it felt like we were on warring sides – opposing armies in a battle of wills.

‘You know why Lucy’s behaving like this and testing the boundaries?’ Jill said, when I updated her yet again.

‘To see if I really care or if I will reject her like everyone else has,’ I replied.

‘Exactly. She’s making you prove that you care by pushing you to the limit.’

‘I know, Jill, and I’ve told her I care many, many times. Don’t worry, we’ll work through this. We have to.’

Seeing my resolve strengthen, Lucy upped the testing and became the most obnoxious, argumentative child I’d come across in a long time. Teenagers can be confrontational and challenging, but Lucy, aged eleven, perfected the art, and I now appreciated where some of the comments from her previous carers had come from. Cooperation had vanished and Lucy questioned everything I did or asked of her, often refusing to do even the simplest of tasks, like getting up in the morning or having a wash and cleaning her teeth at bedtime. When she refused to have a bath for three nights in a row, I stopped her watching television, and when she refused to do her homework I stopped her from going on the PlayStation, which of course led to accusations that I hated her, and she stamped off upstairs and trashed her room. Gone was the quiet, undemanding and convivial child who’d first arrived. Lucy constantly looked for new ways to provoke me. ‘Don’t like your smelly house!’ she said one day. ‘Don’t like you or your children.’ Which I ignored.

‘Why is Lucy being horrible to us?’ Paula asked one bedtime. ‘I don’t like it. I want the old Lucy back.’

‘Lucy’s angry, love,’ I said. ‘She’s had a difficult life and now she feels settled she’s letting go of her anger. Try not to worry. She’s not angry with you.’ And indeed, when Lucy wasn’t in a bad mood she played nicely with Paula, and Adrian too.

But Paula did worry, and not for the first time since I’d begun fostering I was concerned about the impact this was having on my children. Adrian, that bit older, seemed able to ignore Lucy’s outbursts and unkind words and rise above them as I did, but Paula – two years younger than Lucy – looked up to her and was hurt. I hoped that at some point Lucy’s behaviour would peak and then we’d turn a corner. In the meantime, I continued with my strategy of always making time to talk to and listen to Lucy, rewarding her good behaviour and sanctioning her bad behaviour. At the end of March we celebrated Adrian’s birthday and then, at the beginning of April, it was Paula’s birthday. Lucy was pleasant on both occasions, but once our visitors had left she reverted to her obnoxious behaviour, and I wondered how much longer this could go on. Then something happened, something unplanned that completely changed everything, almost overnight.

Chapter Seventeen

Progress

‘I wouldn’t ask but we’re desperate,’ Jill said. ‘I know we agreed you’d wait until Lucy had been with you for longer and had calmed down before you fostered another child, but Lucy’s taking her time to calm down, and none of our other carers are free. It would only be for two weeks’ respite and David’s very sweet. It’s just while his mother is in hospital.’

‘I really don’t know, Jill,’ I said again, wishing she hadn’t asked. Although I had the space in my house to foster another child, I had my hands full with Lucy, and David was sure to be upset at being separated from his mother. ‘Will I have to take him to visit his mother in hospital as well?’ I asked, feeling this would be impossible with everything else that was going on.

‘No, his aunt will take him,’ Jill said. ‘She can’t look after him during the day because she works full time, but she can take him to the hospital in the evenings and at the weekend. David won’t give you any trouble,’ Jill added. ‘And we’d be very grateful.’

‘When do you need to know by?’ I asked.

‘Now, please. His mother would need to bring him to you tomorrow morning, before she goes into hospital.’

‘And there really is no one else?’

‘No.’

‘All right, I’ll do it,’ I said. ‘Although I have big reservations.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ Jill said, with a confidence I didn’t feel. ‘And you never know, it might do Lucy some good. Give her someone else to focus on for a change, rather than herself.’ Although Jill was highly sympathetic to Lucy, as I was, I think she was starting to lose patience and felt that maybe Lucy was revelling in all the attention her outbursts evoked. ‘Thanks, Cathy.’

We said goodbye and I went straight upstairs to the spare bedroom and made up the bed with a fresh duvet cover and pillowcase. That evening over dinner, I explained to Adrian, Paula and Lucy that David would be coming the following day to stay for two weeks while his mother was in hospital. Adrian and Paula were very enthusiastic, probably because a well-behaved three-year-old would be light relief after Lucy’s recent tantrums. Lucy looked at me, amazed by the news, shocked even, and then became confrontational.

‘You’re fostering another child as well as me?’ she asked disparagingly.

‘That’s right, love. Just for two weeks.’

‘Are you allowed to?’

‘Yes, of course. I’m approved to foster two children or a sibling group of up to three. Don’t worry. It won’t affect my care of you.’

Lucy scowled, while Paula and Adrian wanted to know more about David. ‘Why’s his mother having to stay in hospital?’ Paula asked, concerned.

‘She’s got to have an operation, and she’ll need time to recover afterwards,’ I said. Jill had told me that Beth, David’s mother, was having a hysterectomy, but Paula didn’t need to know that.

‘Hasn’t David got a gran and grandpa to look after him?’ Adrian asked, which is what would have happened to Adrian and Paula had I had to stay in hospital.

‘Unfortunately not,’ I said. ‘David’s grandparents are dead.’

‘That’s sad,’ Paula said.

Then Lucy asked, or rather demanded, ‘What about his dad? Hasn’t he got a dad who can look after him?’