Girl Alone: Part 1 of 3: Joss came home from school to discover her father’s suicide. Angry and hurting, she’s out of control.. Cathy Glass
Don’t worry.’ I threw them a reassuring smile, then gave a brief knock on Joss’s door and, slowly opening it, poked my head round. ‘Can I come in?’ I asked.
‘Suit yourself,’ Joss said moodily.
I went in and drew the door to behind me. Joss was sitting on the edge of her bed with a tissue pressed to her face. She was a slight, petite child who looked younger than her thirteen years, and her usually sallow complexion was now red from anger and tears.
‘Can I come and sit next to you?’ I asked, approaching the bed.
‘Not bothered,’ she said.
I sat beside her, close but not quite touching. I didn’t take her hand in mine or put my arm around her to comfort her. She shied away from physical contact.
‘Why do you always stop me from having fun?’ she grumbled. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘Joss, I don’t want to stop you from having fun, but I do need to keep you safe. I care about you, and while you are living with me I’ll be looking after you like your mother.’
‘She doesn’t care!’ Joss blurted. ‘Not for me, anyway.’ This was one of Joss’s grievances – that her mother didn’t care about her.
‘I’m sure your mother does care,’ I said. ‘Although she may not always say so.’ It was a conversation we’d had before.
‘No, she doesn’t,’ Joss blurted. ‘She couldn’t care a toss about me and Kevin, not now she’s got him.’
Kevin was Joss’s younger brother. ‘Him’ was their stepfather, Eric.
‘I know it can be very difficult for children when a parent remarries,’ I said. ‘The parent has to divide their time between their new partner and their children. I do understand how you feel.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Joss snapped. ‘No one does.’
‘I try my best to understand,’ I said. ‘And if you could talk to me more, I’m sure I’d be able to understand better.’
‘At least you have time to listen to me. I’ll give you that. She never does.’
‘I expect your mother is very busy. Working, as well as looking after her family.’
Joss humphed. ‘Busy with him, more like it!’
I knew that with so much animosity towards her stepfather it would be a long time before Joss was able to return to live at home, if ever. However, we were getting off the subject.
‘Listen, love,’ I said, lightly touching her arm. ‘The reason you were angry just now wasn’t because of your mother or stepfather; it was because I was insisting on some rules. As you know, when you go out I expect you to come in at a reasonable time. The same rules apply to everyone here, including Adrian, Lucy and Paula.’
‘Adrian stayed out later than nine last Saturday,’ she snapped. ‘It was nearly eleven when he got back. I heard him come in.’
‘He’s two years older than you,’ I said. ‘And even then I made sure he had transport home. Lucy and Paula have to be in by nine unless it’s a special occasion, and they only go out at weekends sometimes.’
‘But they don’t want to go out as much as I do,’ Joss said, always ready with an answer.
It was true. Joss would be out every night until after midnight if I let her, as she had been doing with her aunt and previous foster carers.
‘I don’t want you going out every night, either,’ I said. ‘You have school work to do and you need your sleep. It’s not a good idea for a young girl to be hanging around on the streets.’
‘I like it,’ she said. ‘It’s fun.’
‘It’s unsafe,’ I said.
‘No, it isn’t.’
‘Trust me, love, a teenage girl wandering around by herself at night is unsafe. I’ve been fostering for fifteen years and I know what can happen.’ I didn’t want to scare her, but she had no sense of danger and I was very concerned about her unsafe behaviour.
‘I’m not by myself. I’m with my mates,’ Joss said. ‘You’re paranoid, just like my aunt and those other carers.’
‘So we are all wrong, are we, love? Or could it be that, being a bit older and having more experience, we have some knowledge of what is safe and unsafe?’
Joss shrugged moodily and stared at her hands clenched in her lap.
‘I’m still going out tonight,’ she said defiantly.
‘I’ve said you can. It’s Friday, but you will be in by nine o’clock if you are using the bus.’
‘What if I get a lift home?’ she asked.
‘I offered that before and you refused.’
‘Not from you – one of my mates’ parents could bring me back.’
I looked at her carefully. ‘Who?’
‘One of my mates from school, I guess.’
‘Joss, if you are relying on a lift then I would like to know who will be responsible for bringing you home.’
‘Chloe’s parents,’ she said quickly. ‘She’s in my class. She’s a nice girl. You’d like her.’
I continued to look at her. ‘And Chloe’s parents have offered to bring you home?’
‘Yes. They did before, when I was at my last carer’s. You can ask them if you like.’
On balance, I decided she could be telling the truth, and if she wasn’t, questioning her further would only back her into a corner and make her lie even more.
‘All right, then,’ I said. ‘I trust you. On this occasion you can come in at ten o’clock as long as one of Chloe’s parents brings you home.’
‘Ten’s too early if I have a lift,’ she said, trying to push the boundaries even further. ‘Eleven.’
‘No. I consider ten o’clock late enough for a thirteen-year-old, but if you want to raise it with your social worker when we see her on Monday, that’s fine.’
‘It’s not fair,’ she moaned. ‘You always fucking win.’
‘It’s not about winning or losing,’ I said. ‘I care about what happens to you and I do what I think is best to protect you. And Joss, I’ve told you before about swearing and that you’d be sanctioned. There are other ways to express anger apart from swearing and stomping around. Tomorrow is pocket-money day and I’ll be withholding some of yours.’
‘You can’t do that!’ she snapped. ‘It’s my money. The social services give it to you to give to me.’
‘I will be giving you half tomorrow, and then the rest on Sunday evening, assuming you haven’t been swearing. If you do swear, I’ll keep the money safe for you and you can earn it back through good behaviour.’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ she said, and, folding her arms, she turned her back on me.
I ignored her ill humour. ‘Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. I think Lucy wants to talk to you. Is that OK?’
‘I guess.’
I went out of Joss’s room, called to Lucy that Joss was free and then with a sigh went downstairs to finish making the dinner. I knew I’d have another anxious evening worrying about Joss, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have doubts that I’d made the right decision in agreeing to foster her. I was especially concerned about the effect her behaviour could be having on my children. But I hadn’t really had much choice. I was the only experienced foster carer available at the time, and the social services couldn’t place