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.
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