The Saddest Girl in the World (18 page)

M
y only criticism of the holiday was that it wasn't long enough and before we knew it we were at the airport again for the return flight. But as well as giving us all a wonderful break, the holiday had helped to strengthen our bond as a family. There had been no major disagreement or incidents, despite us all being together for the most part of seven days. I'd only had to tell Donna once not to boss Paula, when I'd asked Paula to get out of the pool, as it was time to get changed for dinner, and Donna had shouted, ‘Get out of the pool now!’ But she had quickly apologised.

I felt Donna was more accepting of her role as simply that of a child and I didn't anticipate having to continually watch her any more when she was with Paula and Adrian as I had done in the past. I also hoped there would be no more of the violent outbursts of anger which had culminated in Donna trashing her room. I wasn't expecting an angel, for Donna had suffered a lot in her past, but she was making more attempt to talk to me, and I hoped she would therefore be able to verbalise her anger rather than taking it out on her room.

The following Monday saw us back in the routine, and me with a suitcase full of washing to be done. The children had wrapped the model camels they were going to give their friends as presents, and we took them with us to school. The children looked incredibly healthy: their faces glowed from the sun and fresh air, and we were all a shade darker. The weather wasn't quite as cold as it had been when we had left England, but we wrapped up warmly on that first morning — it was taking a while for us to acclimatise. I saw Donna into the breakfast club, and Mrs Bristow, the head, was waiting for her.

‘Come here and tell me all about your holiday,’ she said, and she gave Donna a big hug. ‘You do look well!’

I didn't have time to chat with Mrs Bristow, as I had to take Adrian and Paula to school, so I left it to Donna to tell the head all about our holiday, which she'd started to do immediately. ‘We had loads to eat,’ I heard her say as I left the breakfast club, ‘and a camel ride, and swimming in the pool and sea.’

A similar reception greeted Adrian and Paula, first from their friends, all wanting to know if they'd had a good time, and then, when the bell rang and the staff came out into the playground, from their class teachers. I said goodbye, and returned home, where I set the washing machine going. I sorted the mail, which I'd opened but hadn't dealt with, then finished unpacking the cases. Edna and Jill phoned to ask how the holiday had gone, and I was able to tell them that it had truly been a holiday for us all.

In the afternoon, half an hour before I was due to leave to collect the children from school, Edna phoned again. And unlike her previous call when she'd asked brightly
about our holiday, her voice now sounded strained and anxious.

‘Cathy, Donna has contact tonight,’ she said, going straight into what she had to say. ‘And I've just had a phone call from Rita, telling me she's pregnant.’ She paused and, whereas I would normally have offered congratulations on hearing the news of an expected baby, now I didn't know what to say. ‘It's due in August,’ Edna said. ‘Two months after Chelsea's baby is due. I've told Rita not to say anything to the children tonight at contact, but she might.’

‘So you don't want me to tell Donna before we go?’ I asked.

‘No. Hopefully Rita will do as I've asked. I've tried to explain to her how traumatic the news will be to the children, particularly to Donna. She's likely to see it as the final rejection.’ I knew what Edna meant: Rita's children had been taken into care and now she had set about replacing them, like a worn-out pair of shoes. ‘I want time to prepare Donna for this,’ Edna said again. ‘And also to be certain that Rita is pregnant. She's phoned me before with these “phantom pregnancies”.’

‘Has Chelsea's pregnancy been confirmed then?’ I asked. ‘It hadn't when the Guardian told me.’

‘Yes, last week. I'm trying to persuade Chelsea to listen to my advice so that there's a chance she'll be able to keep the baby.’

‘Good.’

‘Mrs Bajan will find out at some point about Rita, assuming she is pregnant. I know she will be upset. I might tell Mrs Bajan myself before Rita does.’ I assumed Edna meant that Donna's gran would be upset because the
baby might be mistreated as her other grandchildren had been, but there was a different reason for Edna's comment. ‘Mr Bajan can't be the father because he is still in hospital,’ Edna said. ‘Rita hasn't been anywhere near him all the time he's been in.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘There's a strong possibility,’ Edna continued, ‘that Rita's baby (if there is one) has the same father as Chelsea's. There's a man living on the estate who sees himself as some sort of Casanova and goes round impregnating single women. He's been seen going in and out of Rita's house.’ I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Anyway, Cathy, once Rita's pregnancy is confirmed, I'll talk to Donna. There's no point in upsetting her if there is no need.’

‘Thank you, Edna. Is Chelsea still attending contact? Donna never talks about contact when she comes home.’

‘Sometimes. When Rita has run out of money. She knows that because Chelsea is still a minor I can give her additional allowances, and I'm not likely to refuse to. When Rita is broke, Chelsea appears at contact and asks for money.’ She paused and I heard her sigh. ‘What a mess! All the support I have put into that family and it's come to this. Sometimes I wonder how efficient I am at my job.’ I thought Edna sounded tired and worn out, which was hardly surprising given her workload. She would probably be dealing with another fourteen child protection cases, and being so conscientious, it was obviously taking its toll.

‘You do an excellent job, Edna,’ I said. ‘I'm sure you have made a big difference to a lot of people. I couldn't begin to imagine what Donna's life would have been like
had she not come into care. And her brothers are doing well, aren't they?’

‘Yes, I suppose so, put like that.’ But her voice still sounded flat. ‘Perhaps I'm getting too old for this job,’ she said. ‘Or possibly I'm in need of a holiday. I haven't had a proper one in years. When I take time off from work, I end up writing reports. My hubby is always going on at me to take a holiday. Perhaps I should follow your example.’

‘You should, Edna. It wasn't until I got back, feeling so relaxed, that I realised how much I had needed one. Book it tonight!’

She laughed. ‘OK, Cathy. I'll speak to my hubby. See you later at contact.’

T
hrust straight back into our routine, I collected the children from school, gave Donna her evening meal and then took her to contact. The children were still talking about our holiday, reliving the highlights and looking forward to seeing the photographs, which I'd yet to send off to be developed. I hoped that Donna would have the chance to talk about her holiday at contact. I knew Edna would obviously be interested, but it was highly doubtful that Rita would. I had worked with parents in the past who'd derived much pleasure from their children being taken on holiday while in care, and selflessly enjoyed hearing about something that they'd never had the opportunity to experience. However, this wasn't to be so here.

When I collected Donna from contact, Edna came up to me and said quietly, ‘Rita ignored Donna for the whole evening, apart from telling her news!’ I glanced at Donna, who was sitting in the back of the car with Adrian and Paula; unsurprisingly, she looked dejected and morose.

‘Not only did Rita tell her that she was pregnant,’ Edna said, shaking her head sadly, ‘but she told the boys, so that Donna could hear, that the baby would be beautiful, not like Donna.’

I cringed, shocked and appalled, and I looked seriously at Edna. ‘Edna, I really think it's time to be reducing contact. I'm sure it's doing Donna more harm than good. How is she supposed to improve when she is subjected to this type of comment three times a week?’ I stopped myself from saying more because I could see that Edna was blaming herself.

‘I know,’ Edna said, looking as dejected as Donna. ‘I'm going to speak to the Guardian and see about an application to court.’ Because Donna was in care under an ICO Edna couldn't change the level of contact that had been set by the judge without making an application to the court, which meant appearing before the judge and giving good reasons why the contact should be reduced. Parental rights in respect of contact are taken very seriously by the court, sometimes, I feel, to the detriment of the child, who may be trying to move on from the past. There was no point in saying anything further. Edna was as aware as I was of the negative impact contact was having on Donna; whether or not the judge agreed remained to be seen.

I said goodbye to Edna and got into the car. Edna usually spoke to Adrian and Paula, but now she was too preoccupied to ask about their holiday.

‘All right?’ I asked Donna, turning in my seat to look at her. She shrugged and, with her head down, wrung her hands in her lap. Adrian looked at me questioningly, for the contrast in the Donna who had gone into contact bubbling with her news of the holiday and the dejected child who now sat next to him was obvious to all. Donna still yearned for, and sought, her mother's praise and acceptance, and Edna had told me more than once that it was
crucifying to watch Donna trying to ingratiate herself to her mother.

I started the car and headed for home. Adrian and Paula were silent during the journey, sensing and respecting Donna's unhappiness. I had decided that once I had Paula in bed I would try talking to Donna about what her mother had said this evening, and also about some of the issues from her past. I had tried talking to Donna before when she'd returned from contact obviously upset, but I'd come to realise that she preferred to be left alone, and she usually sat in her room for half an hour to unwind. Sometimes she tore up paper, and on four previous occasions she'd trashed her room. But since the bonding of our holiday I felt more confident in approaching her and hoped she would feel able to confide in me.

I parked the car on the driveway, got out and opened the child-locked rear doors. The children followed me up the path to the front door and I unlocked it and let us in. Paula squatted in the hall to take off her shoes. Then suddenly, without any warning Donna let out an almighty roar and thumped Paula in the chest. Paula fell backwards and banged her head on the edge of the partially open front-room door.

‘Donna!’ I yelled as I went to Paula, who was struggling to right herself. ‘My God, are you all right?’ I drew Paula to me. Her eyes were watering and she had one hand clutching her head and the other on her chest. I took her onto my lap as Donna ran upstairs. Adrian closed the front door and then stood, looking horrified, his face white. Donna's bedroom door slammed shut; then there was quiet.

I quickly examined Paula's head. There was an angry red lump on the back of it where it had hit the edge of the door, but thankfully the skin wasn't broken. I gently eased up her jumper to reveal a red mark where Donna had thumped her in the chest. As I comforted her, my heart pounded and my anger rose. Donna had hit Paula with such force that she could have easily broken a bone, and I knew at that moment that such an incident must never be allowed to happen again, and I cursed myself that it had happened at all.

I held Paula to me and soothed her. Suddenly the silence in Donna's room was replaced by banging and crashing as she started trashing her room.

‘Adrian, will you look after Paula for a moment, please,’ I said tightly. ‘I need to see Donna.’ Adrian took Paula by the hand, and easing her off my lap, led her along the hall and towards the lounge.

I went upstairs, my heart thudding and my body tense. I was furious with Donna. What the hell did she think she was doing! Damage to property was one thing, but damage to my child was something else! I went round the landing to Donna's room. The sound of her screaming and breaking things grew louder. Without knocking, I threw open the door and went straight in. She had her back to me and was throwing everything that came to hand.

‘Donna!’ I yelled at the top of my voice. ‘What the hell do you think you're doing? How dare you! How dare you hit Paula! Stop that now!’ My chest tightened and my pulse raced as my voice drowned out Donna's screaming. ‘I won't have you doing that!’ I shouted. ‘Do you hear me? I won't have you hitting Paula! How dare you!’ I was right in her room now, only a couple of feet in front of her. I was
hot and shaking with anger. I had never been so angry in my life. ‘Do you hear me, Donna?’ I yelled again. ‘How dare you hurt Paula!’

She suddenly stopped screaming and throwing things, and turned to look at me, shocked by my outburst.

‘How dare you!’ I cried again. ‘She's only little! You have hurt her. I won't have it, Donna! Do you understand me! I won't have it in this house!’

She stood very still and stared at me.

I stared back. ‘You didn't like it when your brothers hit you. And now you've done it to Paula! I've had enough, Donna. We've just returned from holiday and you've done this! You've gone too far now! You've overstepped the mark!’ Fuming, I came out and slammed the door. I needed to put some distance between us before I said something I would regret.

I stood on the landing, my heart pounding and my breath coming fast and shallow. I felt hot and sick. I'd never shouted at anyone like that, ever, let alone a child. Foster carers aren't supposed to shout at the children they look after, and I hadn't, not in all the years I had been fostering, until now.

All manner of things went through my mind as I moved away from Donna's door and round the landing and began going downstairs. How could she have taken it out on Paula like that? Why wasn't I getting through to her? Why couldn't she talk to me instead of unleashing her anger on a child of six? Could I really continue looking after her with the possibility of Paula being hurt again? Was there something wrong in the way I was treating Donna? Why hadn't she made the progress I'd anticipated? I had been so hopeful that we'd turned a
corner during our week away, and now this had taken us back to square one, or further. I would have to tell Jill and Edna what had happened, and admit to my outburst, and perhaps also admit defeat. For if this was the point we had come to after eight months, I didn't see how I could be the right carer for Donna. What she needed I didn't know, but clearly it was more than I could offer.

I arrived at the bottom of the stairs, still shaking and with tears forming at the back of my eyes. I went along the hall and into the lounge. Adrian and Paula were sitting together on the sofa, Adrian with his arm round Paula. They were both very pale and looked frightened; they had never seen me so angry or shout like that. I went over and made room between them on the sofa. I put an arm round each of their shoulders and we sat in silence, while I slowly calmed down.

They were as shocked as I was by my shouting, and it is for this reason that foster carers shouldn't shout. It is frightening for a child to witness an adult out of control (and in the case of foster children, very likely replicating the behaviour they've been moved from at home). The fostering family is supposed to set a good example of what family life should be like; if foster carers lose the plot and started ranting and raving, what sort of message does that send out? But I was only human, and I had been furious, not only because of Donna's treatment of Paula, but that after all this time of looking after Donna it appeared I'd done her no good whatsoever.

We sat in silence for some moments as I cuddled Paula and Adrian, and my thoughts slowly settled. It was still quiet upstairs, and I wondered what Donna was doing. I
would have to go up and check on her soon, in case her anger turned inwards and she tried to harm herself.

‘Are you all right now?’ I asked Paula gently. ‘Your head isn't cut, but there is a lump. It will be sore for a few days.’

‘I'm all right,’ she said quietly. ‘Are you?’

‘Yes, love.’ I slid my arms from their shoulders, and again parted her hair and examined her head. The red lump hadn't swollen any larger, but it had obviously hurt a lot. I eased up her jumper again and saw that the red mark on her chest was fading. Donna's attack could have been a lot worse, I told myself, but that was no consolation at all.

‘What's the matter with Donna?’ Paula asked in a small voice.

‘She's angry with her mother and unfortunately she's taking it out on us. I'm sorry, love.’

‘It's not your fault,’ Paula said.

‘I should have realised she was so angry when we came in. I am wondering if Donna wouldn't be better off living with another family.’ But even as I said it I knew that wasn't the answer, though what the answer was I'd no idea. I had tried my best, tried to integrate her into the family, and used my well-tested strategies to help her come to terms with her past and hopefully move her on to a better future, and apparently I'd failed.

‘Is Donna all right?’ Paula asked, her concern for her foster sister outweighing her own hurt.

‘I'm going to check,’ I said. ‘Will you be OK here for a minute, while I try to talk to her?’

Paula nodded. ‘Good girl. And thanks, Adrian.’ I moved to the edge of the sofa and stood, but before I got any further we heard Donna's bedroom door open, followed by
her footsteps on the stairs. I glanced at Paula, who was looking anxious, clearly thinking that if Donna was still angry she might hit her again. ‘It's all right,’ I reassured her. ‘You stay on the sofa with Adrian.’ I walked to the lounge door and stood in the entrance, where I waited as Donna appeared. She came slowly towards me along the hall, her shoulders slumped forward and head hung down. Her slow lumbering gate reminded me of when she'd first arrived, when she appeared to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders and even breathing was too much effort.

She stopped a little way in front of me and slowly raised her head. Adrian and Paula were silent in the room behind me. Donna looked at me with large woeful eyes, so full of pain and suffering that the sight of them made my heart sting, despite what she'd done. Yet although I now felt desperately sorry for Donna my concern lay with Paula, who sat on the sofa behind me, hurting from the pain Donna had inflicted, and with her trust in Donna gone.

‘Yes?’ I said to Donna.

She opened her mouth to speak, and slowly, laboriously the words came out. ‘I need to say sorry to Paula,’ she said, her gaze falling from me to the floor. ‘I need to say sorry. I want to say sorry to Paula so she will love me again. I don't want her to hate me like my family does. I want you all to love me. Please don't stop loving me, Cathy. I need you to love me.’

Tears immediately stung the back of my eyes, and I heard Paula leave the sofa behind me. I was still in the doorway to the lounge, blocking Donna's entrance, and protecting Adrian and Paula, although there seemed no
need to now. Donna's anger was spent and I knew Paula was in no danger. Paula came past me and put both her arms around Donna's waist and hugged her tight.

‘I still love you, Donna,’ she said. I looked at Paula, that much smaller than Donna, with her arms clasped tightly around Donna's waist. ‘Don't worry, Donna,’ Paula said. ‘We won't stop loving you. This family isn't like that.’

If ever I'd needed an example from a child, it was now, and Paula had given one. No, I thought, our family isn't like that. I glanced at Adrian, who, like me, was watching Paula and Donna framed in the doorway, holding onto each other.

‘Come and sit down, both of you,’ I said at last, ‘and then we can talk.’

I saw Paula give Donna a final squeeze; then, taking her hand, she led her to the sofa, exactly as she had done when Donna had first visited and Paula had led her down the garden to the swings.

Emotional scenes happen in any loving family, but even more so in a family that fosters, where dealing with distressing issues is a part of everyday life. Yet as I looked at Paula, so small beside Donna, but taking the lead and comforting her, I didn't think I had ever felt so emotional. Paula, vulnerable by her unreserved and childish love, and Donna, rendered as vulnerable by her desperate need to be forgiven and loved.

‘I'm sorry, Paula,’ Donna said again, her head resting on Paula's, and tears on her cheeks, as Paula cuddled up to her.

‘Don't cry, Donna,’ Paula said. ‘You hurt my head but I forgive you. I still love you.’

I saw Adrian's face cloud over, even though he was trying to do what he saw as the ‘man thing’ and view this female emotion with dispassion. Yet while my heart lurched, and I was deeply touched by both Donna's and Paula's words — and I could have gone over and encircled them both and told them that everything would be all right — I knew that if we were to continue as a family I would have to make sure Donna's rage didn't touch Paula again. Paula was a child and couldn't see further than Donna's present apology and unhappiness, as I could.