Thrust 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.
I crossed to Paula and Donna, who were side by side on the sofa, and drawing up the footstool, I perched on it, just in front of them. Donna had her eyes lowered, her head still resting on Paula's as they hugged each other tightly. I gently eased Paula's arm away.
‘Donna, I need to talk to you.’ Paula sat back and took one of Donna's hands in hers. Slowly Donna raised her head and looked at me, her cheeks and eyelashes wet from crying. ‘Dry your eyes, love,’ I said, passing her the tissues. I waited while she took a tissue from the box, wiped her eyes and blew her nose. Paula followed suit. I took hold of Donna's other hand. ‘Donna,’ I said, gently but firmly, ‘I know you're sorry now, and I'm pleased you have apologised to Paula. But love, we have to make sure it never happens again.’
‘I won't hit Paula again, I promise.’ She sniffed and wiped her tears.
‘I know you won't, not while you're like this. But your anger can get the better of you, and then you don't know what you're doing and you're out of control. This evening you were very angry with your mother, but instead of telling me, or letting it out somehow, it all built up until it had to come out like an explosion. I was very angry with you just now, Donna, but I didn't hit you. Something stopped me getting close to that, and that something would always stop me from striking someone. We have to help you do that.’
‘I didn't mean to hit Paula,’ Donna said, her face crumpling.
‘No, I know. That's what I am saying. You were very angry and she was the first person you saw.’ I paused. ‘Donna, can you think of a way that would allow you to control your anger and stop it from happening again?’
Donna was quiet, thinking about what I'd said. Adrian and Paula were quiet too.
‘I will have to try to talk to you,’ Donna said at last.
‘Yes, that's important, and talking before it builds up. Also letting your anger out in other ways like those we have talked about helps. I know you're hurting inside, because you have been treated badly. Edna has talked to you about finding a counsellor, but it won't be until after the court case in May. Donna, do you think it makes it worse by seeing your mother three times a week?’ It wasn't a question I would have asked a very young child because it would have been asking them to make a value judgement about their family, which wasn't right. But I felt Donna was old enough, and had enough insight, to give her opinion. Indeed the Guardian had already asked Donna about her feelings towards her family, although I hadn't been in the room to hear her answers.
Donna shrugged.
‘Edna thinks, as I do, that it might be better if the contact was reduced. You would still see your mother and Chelsea but not so often. You see your brothers every day at school. Mrs Bristow says you have lunch with them in the canteen.’
‘I'd rather see my dad,’ she said.
‘Your dad is still in hospital, but as soon as he comes out I'm sure Edna will arrange for you to see him, perhaps on another evening, separately from your mother.’ I paused, scanning my thoughts for what to say next. It was difficult. The truth was that Donna badly needed therapy to help her to come to terms with her anger and her past, and I was no therapist.
Suddenly she looked at me, as though seeing something for the first time, or perhaps viewing it from a different angle. ‘Cathy, I think it would help me if I stopped wanting my mum to love me so much. I get angry because I try so hard to get her to love me, and when she doesn't, it hurts and makes me angry. I don't know why Mum doesn't love me. I haven't done anything wrong. I was the one who did all the housework at home, and I tried to stop us going into care. But I was blamed for everything, even those things that weren't my fault. I think there is no point in loving my mum any more. She hates me and she will always hate me. I am right, Cathy, aren't I?’
What could I say? How could I agree with a child that her mother hated her, apparently had always done so and was very likely to continue doing so in the future, and for reasons that no one understood? But in some ways that was what Donna needed to hear, put less severely, so that she could start to come to terms with her past and hopefully move on to a better future.
‘Donna, love, you are a good person and your mother has treated you very badly. I don't know why, and neither does Edna. Sometimes in families it happens, though fortunately not very often. Your mother didn't treat your brothers very well, nor Chelsea, but her treatment of you was far worse. Your brothers love you, and so do your dad and gran. You need to remember that: it is important. Some children I look after have never had anyone love them. Your mother is very silly for not loving you as much as she could. It was bad of her to treat you as she did. But it has nothing to do with you as a person, or anything you did or didn't do. It could just have easily have been Warren, Jason or Chelsea she picked on. Sadly it was you. Her comments tonight about the baby were part of all that. I don't know whether she will ever change. But you have your whole life ahead of you, and it will be a good life because you are a good person, Donna.’ I finished as I had started, for festering within Donna was the feeling that she was bad and to blame, and her badness had brought it all on. Although my simplification of the situation was grossly inadequate, it was the best I could offer.
Donna slowly nodded. ‘I'm sorry, Paula,’ she said again. ‘I'm really sorry for hurting you. Do you still love me?’
Paula's little voice came out from where she was snuggled into Donna's side. ‘Yes, I love you, Donna.’
‘I'm sorry, Adrian,’ she said, looking at him as he squirmed slightly at the surfeit of emotion. ‘Do you still love me?’
He nodded and grunted.
Donna looked at me. ‘And you, Cathy? Can you love me like my mum should have done? I love you like a daughter.’
I swallowed the lump in my throat and blinked back my tears. ‘Yes, love. I'm sure we can all put this behind us and move on.’ We had to. I couldn't give up on Donna now, and I was sure Adrian and Paula wouldn't have wanted me to either.