Skin Deep

The effect was almost instantaneous. The screaming stopped as abruptly as it had apparently begun. And much as I was concerned about this vulnerable little thing apparently deciding I was her new mummy, my hunch at that moment was that it was the right word to choose. I continued in my Barbie voice. ‘Oh that’s much better, Flip,’ I trilled. ‘Now, why don’t we tell this new mummy what’s wrong?’

To my surprise, Flip immediately launched herself straight into my arms, and with such force that I nearly fell backwards on the bed. More bizarre was that she giggled then, all fear forgotten. ‘It’s you, Mummy!’ she said. ‘I forgotted what you looked like an’ I was frightened.’ She raised her eyes towards mine. ‘I am a silly sausage, aren’t I?’

I laughed, more out of sheer surprise than seeing any humour in the situation. ‘Yes, you are a bit of a silly sausage, sweetie,’ I agreed, stroking her hair. ‘Did you have a nasty dream?’

Flip lifted her head again, and shook it. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said, seeming to be struggling to remember. ‘I know,’ she said brightly. ‘I need a picture by my bed, don’t I? Could I have a photo picture of you? In a frame? So I can put it by my bed? Then I’ll remember.’ She paused. ‘And a mirror? Can I have a mirror as well?’

‘What, now?’ I asked, bemused by this unexpected shopping list. ‘Tell you what,’ I said, gently disentangling her from me and passing her the doll. ‘If you and Pink Barbie get back into bed and go back to sleep, I promise I’ll get you those things tomorrow for you, okay?’

But she clearly wasn’t ready to hop back into bed yet. ‘Could you just take me to the toilet then?’ she asked. ‘Just to look in the mirror?’

What, now? I thought. This was something I’d never come across before, and I was intrigued. What on earth was wrong? I stood up, holding my arms out to her. ‘Come on then, miss,’ I said, ‘But quietly. And then straight back to bed, before Tyler wakes up.’

Indeed, it was a miracle he hadn’t already, I mused, as Flip threw herself at me, this time straight onto my hip, curling her legs around my waist like a little koala bear. She planted a kiss on my cheek. ‘Thanks, Mummy,’ she said.

Once in the bathroom, and with the door closed so the light wouldn’t spill out into Tyler’s adjacent room, I held Flip in front of the mirror above the sink. What struck me most forcibly was the intentness of her expression as she traced a finger around both her eyes, then down her nose and then around the curve of her narrow chin. I then had to struggle with my own troubled expression as a single tear fell from her left eye and slid noiselessly down her cheek. She turned away from the mirror then and buried her face into my neck. ‘I’m still ugly, Mummy, aren’t I?’ she said.

I continued to hold her where she was. ‘Flip, you’re not ugly, not at all, sweetie. You’re very, very pretty. Look. Look at your beautiful wavy hair. It’s just like Pink Barbie’s, isn’t it? And those lovely lips – just like a rosebud – they look just like Barbie’s too.’ I kissed her forehead, thinking wryly how this was so entirely off message. Girls, in the main, needed to know that beauty was only skin deep; that being beautiful on the inside was the only thing that really mattered. But not in this case. This was something different. This was a deep-rooted canker. I wondered where – or whom – she’d absorbed it from. ‘Now,’ I whispered, ‘one thing I do know for sure is that pretty girls need their beauty sleep. Have you heard about beauty sleep?’

Flip shook her head. ‘Is it a special sleep that makes you pretty?’

I nodded. ‘Even prettier. You are already very pretty. But a good night’s sleep makes you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and that is especially beautiful. Now, then. Are we ready to go back to bed?’

Flip’s mouth bloomed into a smile. ‘You mean like a squirrel? Now you’re the one being a silly sausage, Mummy, aren’t you?’

Quite possibly, I thought ruefully, as I slipped back under my own duvet some ten minutes later. Mike was fast asleep, and, having looked in on him en route, I could see why Tyler hadn’t woken up; he’d fallen asleep with his earphones in, listening to music, as per.

It took me a good while to get back to sleep myself, my head full, as it invariably was when we took on a new foster child; of all the questions that popped up about the multitude of whys and wherefores and how we’d go about unlocking the mystery behind whatever psychological muddles lay behind her challenge in living an easy life. And, in this case, physiological muddles also. That much about FAS I already knew. But what, if anything, could be done about it?

Over the next few days I began to at least gain more understanding about the problems our latest foster child was facing. Night terrors and what seemed to be unfathomable bouts of screaming seemed to be as much a part of Flip as was her ADHD; another common manifestation of her FAS.

All these letters, I thought, lined up like ducks in a row, but where the numbers were concerned things were rather less tidy; there seemed no clear consensus on either the quantity or timing of the medication she’d arrived with, and it seemed to me that nailing that was a priority.

‘Definitely,’ Ellie agreed when she made her visit the following Friday, by which time Flip had been with us for ten days. ‘You’re currently giving her two a day, right? First thing and teatime?’

I agreed that I was. ‘Not that it seems to have much of an observable impact on her mood or behaviour, I have to say,’ I added. ‘Or maybe the impact of her FAS overrides all that?’

Ellie frowned apologetically. She clearly knew as well as I did – or at least thought I did – that the pills should have some effect, and fairly quickly, too. Most people who spent time around kids with ADHD knew that. When they didn’t have their meds the term ‘all hell broke loose’ had serious resonance. ‘It’s still early days with the meds,’ she said. ‘Or so I’m told. And I’m really sorry it falls on you and Mike, Casey. But it’s really a case of trial and error till a routine is re-established. School will help with that, won’t it? And everything, you know, settles down after a bit …’

‘Settle’ and ‘down’ being the operative words. Because it seemed the night terrors weren’t confined to the night-time. Flip could ‘lose it’ – and properly lose it – seemingly without warning in the daytime too. Only the previous day she’d gone into some sort of major meltdown in the living room, leaving both Tyler and me dumbfounded.

‘They’d been sitting there watching TV, not six feet from me,’ I explained to Ellie. ‘Weren’t even talking to each other; just sitting there, opposite ends of the sofa – watching a nature programme, I think it was – when suddenly she was screaming at the top of her lungs.’

‘Something she saw on the screen?’ Ellie suggested. ‘A big spider, perhaps? Something like that?’

I shook my head. ‘Not a spider. It was a lion that set her off, apparently. A lioness, actually, carrying a cub in her mouth. Which completely freaked her out. And I mean freaked her out; it was almost as if she was having some sort of fit; she’d thrown herself on the floor, still clutching her doll, thrashing about, limbs flailing, the lot. And she was really thrashing about, too – took me a good while to get a proper hold of her, let alone calm her down. And even she couldn’t articulate quite why it had set her off the way it had. So it’s not like a phobia, nothing like that. It can come out of nowhere.’

And could do so at school, too, I reflected gloomily. Ellie shook her head and sighed sympathetically. ‘Well, there’s nothing in her notes, as you know,’ she said. ‘So perhaps this is a new thing. You know, with all the upheaval. And being separated from her mum, of course. Or perhaps it’s just a new manifestation of the ADHD. I guess all you can do is keep on recording everything; see if there’s any pattern to it, any obvious triggers.’

Along with the episodes of soiling, the night waking, the obsession with being so ‘ugly’, the myriad little ways the strangeness of our little house-guest was becoming ever more apparent. I was at least forming a picture of sorts, however dispiriting the colouring-in part. ‘Will do,’ I said. ‘Early days. I’m sure there’s a lot still to learn. We’ll get there – try our best to, at any rate.’

‘And you’re doing a great job,’ Ellie reassured me, smiling a bright, encouraging sort of smile, which couldn’t help but remind me of just how young and inexperienced she was, even as she affected the role of sage supporter. ‘Casey, I know you’ll do your best,’ she said. ‘You and Mike both.’ She grinned. ‘Trust me, you came highly recommended. So we have no concerns. None. And Flip seems to love it here. You all got a very big thumbs up, I can report. As did your cooking. And her room. So that’s positive, isn’t it?’ she finished brightly.

I couldn’t help but laugh. This, too, was a part of the process. The business of ‘bedding in’ – with both the child and the social worker that came with her. And one of the key things that happened during every home visit was that the social worker spent time alone with the child privately. This was a necessity, obviously, because it gave the child a voice; a chance to share their own thoughts about the place where they’d been billeted – to comment on how they felt about aspects of their care.

It was a dialogue that invariably had to be adapted to a child’s age and stage. An older child might well be able to articulate their feelings easily, but a little one might need a simpler schema to work with; a question-and-answer format that could elicit, say, a thumbs-up or thumbs-down response. And it wasn’t just valuable for the child. As a foster carer myself I knew what many of us were like. If given a thumbs-up, thumbs-down or halfway-between selection, we’d err towards the ‘up’ almost every time. That was the nature of the job – and perhaps the psychological make-up of the majority. You didn’t go into fostering if you were generally beset by negativity; that a person tended towards the positive was probably an essential to do the job. You definitely had to see hope where others didn’t.

Which made us unreliable witnesses. Given the opportunity to tell it like it was, I knew for a fact that the majority of us didn’t. We’d make light of problems if we could, wanting to try to deal with them ourselves, and only when things got really bad did we want to ask for help. Silly, really, and definitely not in anyone’s best interests, but definitely also par for the course.

Which meant that social workers, who didn’t always get a chance to see the extent of a child’s idiosyncrasies for themselves, sometimes failed to hear the full extent of them either. Today, however, Ellie was in luck because just as she was preparing to leave, having given me my pep talk, Tyler blew into the kitchen like the proverbial East Wind.

‘Casey, you best go outside,’ he said. ‘Go and see to her. I think she’s going Loony Tunes again.’

‘Tyler!’ I admonished, while Ellie slipped her files into her bag. ‘What have I told you about using expressions like that in this house? What do you mean, exactly? What’s Flip actually doing?’

‘Three guesses,’ he suggested as we both followed him out into the back garden. ‘Only much worse,’ he threw over his shoulder.

He wasn’t wrong. Flip, who as far as we’d known had been playing in the garden with Pink Barbie while we’d chatted, was squatting on the grass, holding the doll above her, swooping it back and forth like a boy would do with an aeroplane. She was also singing. Singing lustily, at the top of her voice. But it wasn’t the song – ‘Under the Sea’, from The Little Mermaid – that stopped me in my tracks. It was the fact that her hair and face, and that of the doll, were covered in what looked like something I hoped that it wasn’t but which I feared, from Tyler’s tip-off, that it more than likely was. ‘Flip!’ I shouted. ‘Is that poo that you’re covered in?’

Flip looked up as if surprised and then smiled and waved at me. She then put the Barbie – and I cringed – close to her ear. Then she spoke. ‘Yes, it’s Mummy, Barbie! Look! Wave to Mummy.’

Barbie waved. Tyler wrinkled his nose. Ellie tapped me on the shoulder. ‘Erm, Casey,’ she said, ‘I’ve got a meeting I really shouldn’t be late for. So unless you need me – and just say, because it’s absolutely no problem – I think I’d better get going and leave this to you.’

Would I do any different in her shoes? Probably not, I conceded. ‘No, no,’ I said, ‘you get off. We’ve got this one covered. No problem.’

‘No problem?’ squeaked Tyler, sharp enough not to have missed my royal ‘we’.

I turned back to Flip. ‘Come on, miss. Indoors, please. Time for a bath. Honestly, Flip, how many times?’ I added, as she ambled across the grass. ‘Why would you poo in the garden again? You know you must use the toilet. Come on. Inside.’

Tyler stood back, making a big show of retching as he did so. ‘Urgh! You’re disgusting, Flip! Urrrrgh!’

I shared his sentiments. Up close and personal the smell was indeed disgusting, encouraging Ellie all the quicker to say goodbye and head for the front door. I changed my mind then. Perhaps the bath indoors needed to be preceded by an al fresco soaking. It was another scorcher and we had the hose and paddling pool out, after all.

‘It wasn’t Flip, it was me, Mummy!’ she said in a squeaky voice, brandishing the doll. ‘It wasn’t Flip. Flip’s a good girl an’ she knows to go to the toilet. I’m sowwy, Mummy.’

Great, I thought, ruing the fact that the other night I’d unwittingly given this diminutive plastic goddess a voice. I could see Tyler opening his mouth to offer his own take on the subject too.

‘We can talk about all that in a bit,’ I said to both of them. ‘Now come on over here, miss,’ I said, directing Flip towards the coiled hose with a carefully placed finger. ‘I think you and Pink Barbie need a bit of jet wash.’

Tyler cottoned on then. ‘She’s not getting in the paddling pool!’ he shouted after us, his voice indignant. ‘I’m not fishing that stuff out as well as all the flies!’

I had a re-think. ‘No, of course I wasn’t going to put her in the paddling pool,’ I lied, the words ‘creek’ and ‘paddle’ springing instantly to mind as I herded her across the lawn and told her to stay put.

Tyler handed me the hose with an air of resignation. ‘I knew she’d be trouble,’ he sighed.

Chapter 5

To say I was relieved when the start of September came around was a bit of an understatement. It wasn’t the fact that I had two full-on children in the house particularly; I’d obviously dealt with that many times before. It was that having our very own Minnie the Minx around – as Tyler had taken to calling Flip – was physically and emotionally draining, and I was exhausted.

Flip simply didn’t seem to have an off switch. She chattered on ceaselessly, about anything and everything, from the minute she woke up to the minute she went to sleep. And if she had no actual human available to chat to, she chattered on to Pink Barbie instead.

‘Mummy, why is the sky blue? Mummy, what are leaves made of? Why do they taste nasty and peas don’t? Where do clouds live when they go home at night? Why has the daddy got silver bits in his hair?’ The stream of never-ending questions (not to mention the answering of them, which invariably threw up even more questions) was beginning to take its toll, even if it did at least point to a healthily enquiring mind, and even if the Mike-centred questions did make me giggle. Where we used to stay up until around 11 o’clock, we found ourselves clock watching from eight, when Flip went to bed, and would follow her and Tyler (who would be back to bed at nine on school days) as soon as we were confident they would be asleep – so keen were we to get our heads down ourselves. We knew we had to; the small-hours screaming sessions could start at any time, and seemed to be happening two nights out of three, and at least that way I was sure to get some sleep in before they started and I had to begin the laborious process of settling Flip back down again.

No, she needed to be back in school, badly. Though I’d had a fight on my hands to get her placed where I wanted her, because Ellie’s manager felt it best that she return to her old school, thereby making the transition into care less traumatic. I disagreed. ‘I just don’t see that,’ I’d argued, when Ellie had popped over at the end of August. ‘She’s already made that transition. And from what I can see in her notes, she was barely attending anyway; I certainly get no sense that she’s pining for a gang of girlfriends. She’s mentioned no one, and it seems clear to me that she’s not really formed any real attachments. To my mind, it makes more sense for her to have a fresh start at the local school.’

It was also a lot closer, which was a big consideration too. It made no sense to cart her several miles there and back every day – no sense for either of us. Plus if she did make some friends, they’d be local as well, which meant she’d at least have the option of seeing them out of school too.

Thankfully, Ellie agreed with me. ‘Leave it with me,’ she’d said firmly. And within a matter of no more than 48 hours she’d not only got her hands on Flip’s school files for me to look through, she’d also spoken to the school Special Educational Needs Co-ordinator (Senco) there, a lady called Sonia, who’d said she’d be more than happy to chat to me and answer any questions she could. For a relative rookie, Ellie was proving to be a pretty good ally, clearly unafraid to state her case.

And Sonia was extremely helpful too.

‘Oh, I’m so pleased that someone has acted at last,’ she said after I introduced myself. ‘Well, perhaps not in the best of circumstances, but you know what I mean. That poor mite was such a worry for me. You know, it was almost as if she were bringing herself up,’ she explained. ‘Some days she’d turn up for school half starving. And I mean really hungry – give her a biscuit and she’d wolf it down like an animal; I often got the impression that she might not have had a single thing to eat since her school dinner the lunchtime before.’

‘She certainly seems to love her food,’ I said. ‘Though I’m not sure where she puts it.’ Despite her eating like the proverbial horse, Flip was no less scrawny than when she’d come to us – no doubt a result of using up so much nervous energy.

‘Oh bless her. Such a terrible business. And there would always be some excuse; Mummy was asleep, Mummy was ill, Mummy was out … And we reported everything, naturally, not least because she’d turn up at school at such odd times as well. Mid-morning, mid-afternoon – well, when she turned up at all, that was. You know, one day she fetched up at half past four in the afternoon, seemingly oblivious – and, of course, there were only a handful of us left. It was only luck that someone glanced out and saw her crossing the playground. By the time I got there, she’d hung up her bag and coat on her peg and was just sitting there in her seat, smiling. I honestly don’t think she had the slightest idea what time of day it was.’

Which all seemed to fit. Sonia paused. ‘Well, until I explained to her that school had finished and that everyone had gone home. Soon as I told her that she burst into tears and it took an age to calm her down. Said she’d come in specially because she wanted to do some drawing. I feel dreadful about sending her away that day, I really do.’

I didn’t doubt it. For all that Flip had come into our lives like a small fizzing tornado, the thing that screamed most loudly at me – louder than she did – was her extreme vulnerability. No, it was absolutely right that she come to our local school, where I’d only ever be ten minutes away.

Not only that, our local primary was the school that Levi attended, and that little Jackson was starting at this term as well. It really made no sense to send her anywhere else, so I was glad when John confirmed, after stating my case to social services as well, that they’d agreed she could be educated in our area, even if it was slightly reluctantly.

A trip into town to get a new uniform was therefore a priority, as Flip would need the whole kit and caboodle, including a pair of shoes. It would also give me an opportunity, thankfully aided and abetted by Riley, to make my first foray out into the wider world with our new charge, who thus far had only ventured as far as Kieron and Lauren’s, when I’d popped over with her to drop some milk and a loaf of bread round for the pair of them, as their flight back from holiday brought them back in the wee hours.

No, this trip would be something of a learning curve, I reckoned, giving me an opportunity to observe how she managed out in the wider world and whether the business of her wandering off was one I needed to be hyper-vigilant about. Not that we were short of pairs of watchful eyes. As well as Riley, who was driving (she being the one with the people-carrier), we also had Levi and Jackson with us, plus Tyler, who needed a new uniform as well. He was starting in year 8 – he’d be 13 in no time at all now – and, as boys often do, he seemed to have grown three or four inches in as many weeks. Well, if not quite that, certainly in less than as many months. Needless to say, with Marley-Mae in her buggy, we were all but mob-handed. And with the lads being lads, somewhat rowdy.

‘Ha-ha! Girls have to wear PE knickers,’ Levi pointed out to Flip as we browsed through the list in the school uniform section of the department store. ‘Big black ones. HUGE black ones,’ he added helpfully. ‘Really baggy.’

Although Levi and Flip were almost exactly the same age, the huge social and intellectual gap between them was often apparent. Flip immediately began to fret about this nugget of information. ‘But I don’t wanna do PE. Or wear them knickers. What if I need a poo?’

Levi grinned widely. ‘Ha-ha!’ he said, laughing. ‘Mum, she said poo! She said she might need a poo in PE!’ Then something else seemed to occur to him. ‘I hope you’re joking,’ he told her, ‘because you can’t say things like that at school. People will laugh at you,’ he added, looking suddenly anxious. ‘And at me,’ he said, as if becoming aware of a worrying possibility. ‘Mum, she’s not gonna be in my class, is she?’

Riley and I exchanged glances as Flip beamed at a now concerned-looking Levi, then threw her arms around his neck. ‘I think I will be in your class,’ she said, as he wriggled free from her clutches. ‘It’ll be good, won’t it? We’ll be just like a real brother and sister!’

She then turned and patted Jackson. ‘An you can be my brother too,’ she said, pinching his cheek, while Levi watched them, clearly appalled.

He wasn’t the only one. ‘God,’ Tyler said, with some feeling, looking at me. ‘I am so glad I don’t have to be a part of this. You’re all right, Flip,’ he said, as her attention turned towards him. ‘And if anyone asks, I’m the black sheep of the family, okay? No relation.’

Which set Marley-Mae off on an impromptu rendition of her current favourite song, so that anyone who hadn’t heard our arrival in the school uniform department could be assured of at least noticing our exit.

Having lunch in town with five children and a buggy is never easy; not if you want it with a modicum of decorum and your coffee served in mugs rather than cardboard. Fortunately, there was a big friendly café just off the high street, which just so happened to be run by my younger sister, Donna, and was invariably the obvious choice. So, with the kit part done (and just the shoes, and the caboodle part, presumably, left to deal with) we headed there to get everyone fed.

Less fortunately, it was busy and there was no large table left, so the logical thing seemed to be to spread across two adjacent ones. ‘There you are, boys,’ Riley told them, as she unbuttoned Jackson’s jacket. ‘You boys can have a boys’ table – you’re officially in charge, Tyler – and we girls can have a nice quiet one next door.’