So I got some good news yesterday… I got a phone call from the Social Services department… and they had returned my interest in becoming a respite foster carer and will be in touch within the next five days to arrange a home visit to see if I qualify with living arrangements!
YAY!!!
Now let me explain about this one. It has not just risen out of nowhere this idea. Admittedly, me moving into a two bed place for the sake of my sister and then having her bugger off has enabled me to be in a position where I can have it happen… but the consideration has been there for years. There are many reasons why I would love to foster children.
1. I’ve been there and I’ve done it. Yep, leaving my mother’s house at 12 inevitably led to me going through the system… and I spent the good part of the next 7 years moving a total of 23 times, if my memory of my records isn’t failing me. I didn’t really have the most stable of childhoods… far from it… but one of the most settled times I had was when I lived with a foster carer called Doreen for a year. I remember being taken to her house for the first night. Up until that point I had been pretty much couch surfing with various relatives, and my aunt Dawn was the one who made me realise that I couldn’t carry on doing it. So naïve as I was, I decided to take myself to a local children’s home I knew of, and almost ‘hand myself in’. Obviously, I had no idea that there was process to be followed, and was swiftly turned away and told to visit the Social Services office the next day. I did, and that night I was placed with Doreen. Doreen was in her 50s, and had a 19 year old son and a 21 year old daughter of her own. Her daughter also had a two year old son, and she also had two other foster children who were siblings who lived with her. These guys became my family for the next year. I thrived at school, made some lifelong friends, as it was the only year of my schooling where I regularly attended (never missed a day!) and got a little piece of childhood. My time at Doreen’s never ended on a bad note… I simply agreed to visit my mother who managed to manipulate me into staying (it lasted a month, and then couch surfing it was again, my place at Doreen’s had been filled), and I am still friends with her biological children to this day. Sadly, she died a little over three years ago.
I know what its like to be thrown into that situation. I lived it and breathed it. And I came out of it not too badly, when I could have walked down a very different path. I would like to be somebody’s Doreen. I want to be the person who has that blind bit of faith in someone, and genuinely just wants somebody to be okay.
2. I have had my fair share of bad experiences. I have pretty much seen most things and done most things… which doesn’t make me some old fart who doesn’t know what they’re talking about.
3. I have never felt strongly about having my own children. Let me explain. I have always wanted children. For a while now, I have had the odd thought about ‘wouldn’t it be nice to be settled down and the like now’… but I don’t think that will happen for me. I can be ferociously guarded when it comes to men, and that doesn’t make for building strong relationships with them. This probably relates to point 2 above, as to why that may be, but that it the way it is. I am also petrified about getting pregnant and giving birth. I cannot think of anything that scares me as much as that. Some of my friends are currently pregnant, or have had children, and it is something that I cannot imagine ever going through without the paralysation of fear from it beforehand! I also have strong feelings towards the view that we don’t need to give birth to a child for it to be ours, there is a lot more that goes into being a parent to somebody other than DNA. I think I would much rather adopt in my future than have my own children anyway.
4. I have had my fair share of experience with kids. Seven brothers and sisters… and an ability to be brilliantly entertained by playing with a toddler for four hours I feel is a gift that should not be wasted.
I am not going into this blind. I understand that I am young, and some people may say too young. But there are women out there who are having children, some of whom I could end up looking after who are younger than me, and may need help. I am mature, and knowledgeable, and I think that I make most decisions after careful thought. I am a person who tries to help everybody, and there are some people who may abuse that trait, and that includes children, but there are also children that need that help. Far too many people are having children with no real concern for their welfare, and there are those that simply cannot cope on their own, and if I can help by giving some time and some care, then why not? What are my alternatives? Going out and spending money on alcohol in places I really would rather not be in? Sit at home doing nothing? Why not spend some of that time by providing a safe and loving environment that some children may be lacking, or may never have received.
I have applied to be a respite foster carer for a start, which means that I would be caring for children on weekends and possibly helping out during school holidays. This will allow me to carry on working for the moment, and allow me to build up my confidence and decide whether I would want to make a more permanent progression towards it as a permanent lifestyle. I have also said that I would be willing to care for a child with difficulties, be those physical or mental, and although this could prove the most challenging of situations I have been in so far, I feel that it would also be the most rewarding.
So fingers crossed guys!
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Tuesday, 6 October 2009
And then it got to this...
So by now you've read the background on the delightful family situation.... as you can tell mine is something of the extraordinary... and the general day to day goings on could give Walford a run for its money...
Back in January, things started to really go down the crapper at my mum's house. The kids were refusing to go to school, and Paige was in her last year at secondary school and seriously screwing up her exams. The boy had completely stopped going, and everything was being blamed on the affair that had been discovered in the summer. Now, don't get me wrong, I know that these things can have serious effects on kids, but the one thing that they need is support and routine. And these things are something my mother has never been able to provide.
The result was that at every opportunity, the eldest two children were walking all over my mother and resolutely refusing to go school because, quite frankly, they couldn't be arsed.
Now, I am the first one to admit that my attendance at school was definitely less than regular. I was expelled from my first secondary school for non-attendance, and there were many incidents during my time at the second when I came close to being booted out again. The difference with me was that I didn't even have a place I could call home. I spent four years moving 17 times between foster carers and friends' houses and really had no support whatsoever. Even though this was my situation, I knew that there was only one way I was ever really going to be able to sort my life out, and that was by getting an education and doing things for myself. I had no one handing me anything on a plate as a kid. If I needed money, I didn't get it unless I worked, and I had a succession of jobs from the age of 14 onwards. With all of this going on, I still managed to walk away from school with 9 GCSEs all A* to C, and 4 A Levels A* to C.
Because of this, I knew that even though you can have hardships going on, there are certain things in life that it is better to throw your energy into during these hard times, rather than giving up on them completely, and I wasn't about to let the kids go down that road.
The school ordered a quick succession of meetings with my mother and as I was a previous pupil and they knew that I played a big role in the kids lives, they wanted me present too. This originally went down well, but when everyone involved realised that I was about to blow the whistle on them and give them a few home truths, well, that didn't go down so well.
My mother was given the facts. Six months had passed since the affair had been discovered and she hadn't moved on a day. She was becoming bitter and twisted, and had a bad habit of discussing every small detail of what was occurring in front of all the children, sometimes even in front of their friends. She wasn't going to work and was at risk of losing her job, and she needed to pull it together and sort it out. The situation was not going to change, and she had to move on and act responsibly for the sake of the children. It wasn't about her anymore, it was about them.
The children were told that they were trying to take every available liberty going and I could see through them. The affair was becoming an excuse for their lack of interest in school, and my mother was encouraging this by lying to the school and providing excuses on days when the kids decided they didn't want to go. This all had to stop.
So the result was this: The boy has steadfastly refused to talk to me since January of this year, as it was the first ever time that I had gone against him in something. I have always supported the children in whatever they have wanted if they have been in the right, but on this occasion he wasn't, so I wasn't going to allow it.
The school decided that the best course of action would be for Paige to be removed to my care for the remainder of the school year, so as to ensure that she attended school and achieved the best possible grades in her exams. This did not go down well with my mother, but everyone knew that the strokes Paige had been pulling with my mother would most certainly not wash with me at all. So it was done.
So I became Mum. And it was a wake up call. I've had my own place for years now, and although I always have people over, and there is never an opportunity to get lonely, I didn't know just how used to having my own space I really was. I had a one bedroom place, and now I had a teenager too, and going from sleeping in a bed with one of the girls on a weekend to sleeping in a bed with my sister every night (who throws her weight and elbows around to no end while sleeping, I can assure you) was alarming. Nothing was mine anymore... clothes, toiletries... you name it. And it became claustrophobic. But I knew what my responsibility was and I was adamant that any inconveniences would be fine in the long run if Paige turned out okay.
So we got to grips with it. Purse strings were pulled in tightly (neither Paige's mother or father felt that they should be financially providing for her if she wasn't living with them) and routines were established. I wasn't there to be a constant whirlwind of barking orders, but there were certain things that had to be done and that was that. Schoolwork was priority and perhaps creating some sort of plan for her to start achieving.
And it all started to work. Paige's attendance at school increased by 80%. She was attending every lesson and completing all outstanding work (some of which had been outstanding for months). And revision for exams was being done. Now I knew that Paige was somewhat behind when it came to her studies, so I knew that we weren't going to get a full sweep across the board when results day came, but we both said that if Paige did her best, then that would be enough.
And then Paige decided that she wanted to stay.
Back in January, things started to really go down the crapper at my mum's house. The kids were refusing to go to school, and Paige was in her last year at secondary school and seriously screwing up her exams. The boy had completely stopped going, and everything was being blamed on the affair that had been discovered in the summer. Now, don't get me wrong, I know that these things can have serious effects on kids, but the one thing that they need is support and routine. And these things are something my mother has never been able to provide.
The result was that at every opportunity, the eldest two children were walking all over my mother and resolutely refusing to go school because, quite frankly, they couldn't be arsed.
Now, I am the first one to admit that my attendance at school was definitely less than regular. I was expelled from my first secondary school for non-attendance, and there were many incidents during my time at the second when I came close to being booted out again. The difference with me was that I didn't even have a place I could call home. I spent four years moving 17 times between foster carers and friends' houses and really had no support whatsoever. Even though this was my situation, I knew that there was only one way I was ever really going to be able to sort my life out, and that was by getting an education and doing things for myself. I had no one handing me anything on a plate as a kid. If I needed money, I didn't get it unless I worked, and I had a succession of jobs from the age of 14 onwards. With all of this going on, I still managed to walk away from school with 9 GCSEs all A* to C, and 4 A Levels A* to C.
Because of this, I knew that even though you can have hardships going on, there are certain things in life that it is better to throw your energy into during these hard times, rather than giving up on them completely, and I wasn't about to let the kids go down that road.
The school ordered a quick succession of meetings with my mother and as I was a previous pupil and they knew that I played a big role in the kids lives, they wanted me present too. This originally went down well, but when everyone involved realised that I was about to blow the whistle on them and give them a few home truths, well, that didn't go down so well.
My mother was given the facts. Six months had passed since the affair had been discovered and she hadn't moved on a day. She was becoming bitter and twisted, and had a bad habit of discussing every small detail of what was occurring in front of all the children, sometimes even in front of their friends. She wasn't going to work and was at risk of losing her job, and she needed to pull it together and sort it out. The situation was not going to change, and she had to move on and act responsibly for the sake of the children. It wasn't about her anymore, it was about them.
The children were told that they were trying to take every available liberty going and I could see through them. The affair was becoming an excuse for their lack of interest in school, and my mother was encouraging this by lying to the school and providing excuses on days when the kids decided they didn't want to go. This all had to stop.
So the result was this: The boy has steadfastly refused to talk to me since January of this year, as it was the first ever time that I had gone against him in something. I have always supported the children in whatever they have wanted if they have been in the right, but on this occasion he wasn't, so I wasn't going to allow it.
The school decided that the best course of action would be for Paige to be removed to my care for the remainder of the school year, so as to ensure that she attended school and achieved the best possible grades in her exams. This did not go down well with my mother, but everyone knew that the strokes Paige had been pulling with my mother would most certainly not wash with me at all. So it was done.
So I became Mum. And it was a wake up call. I've had my own place for years now, and although I always have people over, and there is never an opportunity to get lonely, I didn't know just how used to having my own space I really was. I had a one bedroom place, and now I had a teenager too, and going from sleeping in a bed with one of the girls on a weekend to sleeping in a bed with my sister every night (who throws her weight and elbows around to no end while sleeping, I can assure you) was alarming. Nothing was mine anymore... clothes, toiletries... you name it. And it became claustrophobic. But I knew what my responsibility was and I was adamant that any inconveniences would be fine in the long run if Paige turned out okay.
So we got to grips with it. Purse strings were pulled in tightly (neither Paige's mother or father felt that they should be financially providing for her if she wasn't living with them) and routines were established. I wasn't there to be a constant whirlwind of barking orders, but there were certain things that had to be done and that was that. Schoolwork was priority and perhaps creating some sort of plan for her to start achieving.
And it all started to work. Paige's attendance at school increased by 80%. She was attending every lesson and completing all outstanding work (some of which had been outstanding for months). And revision for exams was being done. Now I knew that Paige was somewhat behind when it came to her studies, so I knew that we weren't going to get a full sweep across the board when results day came, but we both said that if Paige did her best, then that would be enough.
And then Paige decided that she wanted to stay.
Monday, 5 October 2009
So this is where it began....
It should probably be announced that much has changed for me over the last few months…. But first it might be an idea to refer you to a blog entry that was written last summer (2008) when everything first happened….
ADULTERY IS A MOTHERUCKER
So the past three days have been major fun. There I was on Tuesday night, all cuddled up with the Mr Leahy, in bed, chillaxing and watching the garish Big Brother. When my phone rings.
Now, my phone has been a major problem for Mr Leahy (the boyfriend), namely because it is always frigging ringing. No matter what time of the night, my phone will go off, and it is usually some daft bastard of a friend who thinks it is a life or death situation to call me at 1am when they don't quite know how to work their iTunes (no names Daniella). So these days, when me and Mr Leahy are chilling in bed it tends to be kept on silent in the front room. The problem with that is I have a super sense of hearing when it comes to detecting the sound of my phone vibrating its silly little arse off on the side in the front room. That and the fact that my walls aren't even paper thin, they are tracing paper thin, means that when it went off on Tuesday night at half past ten, I heard it. And being the nosey fucker I am (it might just be some gossip that absolutely positively cannot wait until the morning) I went to get it.
Seeing that it was my mother that was ringing was a bit of a surprise.
We DO NOT get on, and to be honest, the only reason I ever really speak to her now I'm older is for the sake of the other kids she has. Combine this with the fact that it was nearly eleven at night and I knew I had to answer it as it must be an emergency. Down the other end of the line was a hysterical woman telling me that she knows that we don't get along but the kids really want to speak to me as Stuart (my stepdad) has been having an affair and she has just kicked him out.
Now my mother is well known for blowing things completely out of proportion, so my first thought was that Stuart had bought a friend a drink in a pub and my mum had found out and read into it that he had been participating in undercover orgies with the Billiards Association in the Eagle pub down the road. So I asked her to put my thirteen year old brother on the phone to try and get the sensible version of the story (because that's the way these things work, take the MOTHER off the phone and put the CHILD on the phone to get the truth). But the Boy (as he is nicknamed) was so choked up and crying that he couldn't even formulate a sentence. Being that the child is my favourite (how wrong, bla bla bla) my mother knows that this is a sure fire way to get me to act, so fifteen minutes later I was pulling up outside the house with the Mr Leahy in tow.
The Boy ran at me, and hugged me and resolutely refused to let go for the rest of the evening, while I tried to make sense of exactly what had happened. The house was full to bursting, my maternal grandmother was standing on the doorstep smoking the life out of a pack of cigarettes (I swear she has the ability to inhale a cigarette whole) cursing to high heaven that all men are bastards and think with their dicks (classy). My mum's old boss Michael, who has become a family friend and now lives across the road was sitting in the front room, deftly defending himself from the fifteen month old who was taking shots at him with a golf club.
Paige, the fifteen year old was red faced, and holding a phone with the vice-like grip of a child with a bag of sweeties. And Tom, the devil spawn child was asking what his 'dickhead dad had fucking done wrong now'. Needless to say Mr Leahy looked like he had been caught in the headlights, and sped off home as soon as I could drag my mum away from the car she was standing next to earbashing him in. It was going to be a long night.
After much time, and much talking (particularly over one another, the women in my family are good at that) it transpired that this all began because my sister had dropped her mobile phone down the toilet. She is so flipping clumsy it is unbelievable, this wasn't the first time and it won't be the last time either. So as a result my stepdad had lent her his handset. Which my sister had found an amount of unsavoury text messages on, which were not from my mother's number. This apparently occurred last week, but she did not know what to do with this news, and so didn't tell anyone.
After much deliberation, she decided to tell the Boy at the beginning of this week, and by Tuesday, the pair had decided that my mother needed to know. So they gave her a sheet of paper with the name and number of the girl on it, which my mother confronted my stepfather with.
My stepfather works for a carpet laying company which has offices in both London and Wales, and as a result he is often required to also work in Wales on a frequent basis. Upon being confronted with this paper, he began to admit that he had been having an affair for the best part of a year, that this Charlotte lives in Wales and that he loves her, want to be with her, and wants a divorce. Needless to say, my mother threw him out on the spot. That is when my good number was called into use. Grrr.
The Boy was inconsolable for the rest of the evening. He refused to leave my side and he slept with me, crying throughout his sleep. My sister, who is often a screaming banshee because she breaks a nail, was horribly quiet and calm. Tom just kept reiterating the fact that his dad had been a knobhead, but didn't really know why, and the baby acquired a new found obsession with my tongue piercing, often giving me a wet wipe and demonstrating how to rub my tongue to get that dirt off it...
Nobody in the house seemed to be doing the sensible thing and trying to get the kids settled. My mother was leaving a barrage of the most horrible voicemails on the phone of this girl, as she had already scared her into switching it off by ringing her and calling her a scrubber and all manner of things. My nan was more interested in trying to convince me to take the day off work, rally the troops around and drive down to Wales for a 'little day trip' with promises of paying for petrol and throwing in sandwiches too. Ghetto gran.
Instead of screaming and shouting, I decided to take the sensible route and try and speak to this girl to get the story on what exactly is going on and what is planned to go on.
It wasn't until the next day that she actually turned her phone back on, and I had already left her a message explaining to her who I was and why I wanted to talk to her. On Wednesday morning, I managed to speak to her, and she tried to convince me that I had the wrong number. When I explained to her that I knew that I hadn't got the wrong number because I had seen the text messages, she promptly hung up.
Here I am, thinking that I am trying to speak to a grown woman about this, and she's putting the phone down. Why is it that I have to be more mature than so many frigging people (including every bloody adult involved in this situation at present). An hour later I get to speak to her again, where I tell her not to put the phone down, and I am simply trying to have an adult conversation with her, which convinces her to talk to me. Well it would do. Using the word adult always perks up the ears of somebody who's only 20 YEARS OLD.
Yes that's right. My stepdad has been having it off with a bird who is even younger than his oldest (albeit step) daughter.
So lovely Charlotte. Lovely young Charlotte. Lovely young, just out of nappies Charlotte. Charlotte is 20. She works in a pub. She lives in Colwyn Bay in Wales. She met Stuart when a mutual friend who also works for the same company as him introduced them. She had been seeing my stepdad for months. She has no kids and still lives at home with her mum. Her dad is not at all happy with the situation, but her mother has said that she will support her if it makes her happy. She did not know that Stuart had a wife and kids, but he had told her that he had a girlfriend. It was only last week that he admitted that he had four children with this woman and showed her pictures. The plan was for her to move to London and live with Stuart and she couldn't help how she felt about him.
How do you explain to a 20 year old girl that she is about to walk into the fiery pit of Hell? How can you explain to her that the wife of the man she 'loves' is a cross between a Rottweiler and a pitbull mastiff when she gets going? How do you tell her that the wifes mother has a mouth more filthy than a coal miner's armpit? How do you let her in on the fact that my family is so wretched that I could only cope with it for 12 years before I left, and I was a daughter, not the harlot who had stolen my mother's man?
I tried in the best way possible to fill this girl in on what her life would most probably be like, if she decides that she is going to go ahead with these foolish plans. Moving to London, with no friends here or family to support her. Having these children come to stay in a place she has to call home, for them to utterly abuse her as I know they will do. How will she feel when a girl who is only five years younger than her comes to stay at her house, does what she likes and calls her a cunt if she even attempts to speak to her. Because that is what Paige will do. Have a thirteen year old boy try and kick her in the fanny every time she walks past her? Because that is what Harrison will do. Be called a whore and a Welsh tart? Because that is what Tom will do.
How do you get a child, because that is what she is, to understand that she is not just in a position to ruin these kids lives, but also her own?
Maybe I should just step back, not get involved, because stressful doesn't even come close to this situation. I am having to become a mother (again) to four kids while theirs sits in a corner crying and wilting.
I think I need a break. Drive on down to somewhere nice, picturesque and quite, maybe oh I don't know Colwyn Bay. I've heard good things. Me, my luggage and a pickaxe...
Allow that to be the backdrop for the oncoming….
So as hinted at in that entry, I had a feeling that I would be called upon a lot by my mother for support and generally the taking over of certain elements of her life… namely the other children. Yet I don’t think I was prepared for what was to come…
ADULTERY IS A MOTHERUCKER
So the past three days have been major fun. There I was on Tuesday night, all cuddled up with the Mr Leahy, in bed, chillaxing and watching the garish Big Brother. When my phone rings.
Now, my phone has been a major problem for Mr Leahy (the boyfriend), namely because it is always frigging ringing. No matter what time of the night, my phone will go off, and it is usually some daft bastard of a friend who thinks it is a life or death situation to call me at 1am when they don't quite know how to work their iTunes (no names Daniella). So these days, when me and Mr Leahy are chilling in bed it tends to be kept on silent in the front room. The problem with that is I have a super sense of hearing when it comes to detecting the sound of my phone vibrating its silly little arse off on the side in the front room. That and the fact that my walls aren't even paper thin, they are tracing paper thin, means that when it went off on Tuesday night at half past ten, I heard it. And being the nosey fucker I am (it might just be some gossip that absolutely positively cannot wait until the morning) I went to get it.
Seeing that it was my mother that was ringing was a bit of a surprise.
We DO NOT get on, and to be honest, the only reason I ever really speak to her now I'm older is for the sake of the other kids she has. Combine this with the fact that it was nearly eleven at night and I knew I had to answer it as it must be an emergency. Down the other end of the line was a hysterical woman telling me that she knows that we don't get along but the kids really want to speak to me as Stuart (my stepdad) has been having an affair and she has just kicked him out.
Now my mother is well known for blowing things completely out of proportion, so my first thought was that Stuart had bought a friend a drink in a pub and my mum had found out and read into it that he had been participating in undercover orgies with the Billiards Association in the Eagle pub down the road. So I asked her to put my thirteen year old brother on the phone to try and get the sensible version of the story (because that's the way these things work, take the MOTHER off the phone and put the CHILD on the phone to get the truth). But the Boy (as he is nicknamed) was so choked up and crying that he couldn't even formulate a sentence. Being that the child is my favourite (how wrong, bla bla bla) my mother knows that this is a sure fire way to get me to act, so fifteen minutes later I was pulling up outside the house with the Mr Leahy in tow.
The Boy ran at me, and hugged me and resolutely refused to let go for the rest of the evening, while I tried to make sense of exactly what had happened. The house was full to bursting, my maternal grandmother was standing on the doorstep smoking the life out of a pack of cigarettes (I swear she has the ability to inhale a cigarette whole) cursing to high heaven that all men are bastards and think with their dicks (classy). My mum's old boss Michael, who has become a family friend and now lives across the road was sitting in the front room, deftly defending himself from the fifteen month old who was taking shots at him with a golf club.
Paige, the fifteen year old was red faced, and holding a phone with the vice-like grip of a child with a bag of sweeties. And Tom, the devil spawn child was asking what his 'dickhead dad had fucking done wrong now'. Needless to say Mr Leahy looked like he had been caught in the headlights, and sped off home as soon as I could drag my mum away from the car she was standing next to earbashing him in. It was going to be a long night.
After much time, and much talking (particularly over one another, the women in my family are good at that) it transpired that this all began because my sister had dropped her mobile phone down the toilet. She is so flipping clumsy it is unbelievable, this wasn't the first time and it won't be the last time either. So as a result my stepdad had lent her his handset. Which my sister had found an amount of unsavoury text messages on, which were not from my mother's number. This apparently occurred last week, but she did not know what to do with this news, and so didn't tell anyone.
After much deliberation, she decided to tell the Boy at the beginning of this week, and by Tuesday, the pair had decided that my mother needed to know. So they gave her a sheet of paper with the name and number of the girl on it, which my mother confronted my stepfather with.
My stepfather works for a carpet laying company which has offices in both London and Wales, and as a result he is often required to also work in Wales on a frequent basis. Upon being confronted with this paper, he began to admit that he had been having an affair for the best part of a year, that this Charlotte lives in Wales and that he loves her, want to be with her, and wants a divorce. Needless to say, my mother threw him out on the spot. That is when my good number was called into use. Grrr.
The Boy was inconsolable for the rest of the evening. He refused to leave my side and he slept with me, crying throughout his sleep. My sister, who is often a screaming banshee because she breaks a nail, was horribly quiet and calm. Tom just kept reiterating the fact that his dad had been a knobhead, but didn't really know why, and the baby acquired a new found obsession with my tongue piercing, often giving me a wet wipe and demonstrating how to rub my tongue to get that dirt off it...
Nobody in the house seemed to be doing the sensible thing and trying to get the kids settled. My mother was leaving a barrage of the most horrible voicemails on the phone of this girl, as she had already scared her into switching it off by ringing her and calling her a scrubber and all manner of things. My nan was more interested in trying to convince me to take the day off work, rally the troops around and drive down to Wales for a 'little day trip' with promises of paying for petrol and throwing in sandwiches too. Ghetto gran.
Instead of screaming and shouting, I decided to take the sensible route and try and speak to this girl to get the story on what exactly is going on and what is planned to go on.
It wasn't until the next day that she actually turned her phone back on, and I had already left her a message explaining to her who I was and why I wanted to talk to her. On Wednesday morning, I managed to speak to her, and she tried to convince me that I had the wrong number. When I explained to her that I knew that I hadn't got the wrong number because I had seen the text messages, she promptly hung up.
Here I am, thinking that I am trying to speak to a grown woman about this, and she's putting the phone down. Why is it that I have to be more mature than so many frigging people (including every bloody adult involved in this situation at present). An hour later I get to speak to her again, where I tell her not to put the phone down, and I am simply trying to have an adult conversation with her, which convinces her to talk to me. Well it would do. Using the word adult always perks up the ears of somebody who's only 20 YEARS OLD.
Yes that's right. My stepdad has been having it off with a bird who is even younger than his oldest (albeit step) daughter.
So lovely Charlotte. Lovely young Charlotte. Lovely young, just out of nappies Charlotte. Charlotte is 20. She works in a pub. She lives in Colwyn Bay in Wales. She met Stuart when a mutual friend who also works for the same company as him introduced them. She had been seeing my stepdad for months. She has no kids and still lives at home with her mum. Her dad is not at all happy with the situation, but her mother has said that she will support her if it makes her happy. She did not know that Stuart had a wife and kids, but he had told her that he had a girlfriend. It was only last week that he admitted that he had four children with this woman and showed her pictures. The plan was for her to move to London and live with Stuart and she couldn't help how she felt about him.
How do you explain to a 20 year old girl that she is about to walk into the fiery pit of Hell? How can you explain to her that the wife of the man she 'loves' is a cross between a Rottweiler and a pitbull mastiff when she gets going? How do you tell her that the wifes mother has a mouth more filthy than a coal miner's armpit? How do you let her in on the fact that my family is so wretched that I could only cope with it for 12 years before I left, and I was a daughter, not the harlot who had stolen my mother's man?
I tried in the best way possible to fill this girl in on what her life would most probably be like, if she decides that she is going to go ahead with these foolish plans. Moving to London, with no friends here or family to support her. Having these children come to stay in a place she has to call home, for them to utterly abuse her as I know they will do. How will she feel when a girl who is only five years younger than her comes to stay at her house, does what she likes and calls her a cunt if she even attempts to speak to her. Because that is what Paige will do. Have a thirteen year old boy try and kick her in the fanny every time she walks past her? Because that is what Harrison will do. Be called a whore and a Welsh tart? Because that is what Tom will do.
How do you get a child, because that is what she is, to understand that she is not just in a position to ruin these kids lives, but also her own?
Maybe I should just step back, not get involved, because stressful doesn't even come close to this situation. I am having to become a mother (again) to four kids while theirs sits in a corner crying and wilting.
I think I need a break. Drive on down to somewhere nice, picturesque and quite, maybe oh I don't know Colwyn Bay. I've heard good things. Me, my luggage and a pickaxe...
Allow that to be the backdrop for the oncoming….
So as hinted at in that entry, I had a feeling that I would be called upon a lot by my mother for support and generally the taking over of certain elements of her life… namely the other children. Yet I don’t think I was prepared for what was to come…
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