Читать книгу Damaged, A Baby’s Cry and The Night the Angels Came 3-in-1 Collection - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 17

‘Did the previous carers say anything about defecation as a means of control?’ I asked Eileen, Jodie’s social worker, when she phoned the next day. It was the first time we had spoken since I’d met her at the pre-placement meeting, and I was glad to hear from her. A good social worker can make all the difference on the case, and I was hoping that Eileen and I would have a supportive working relationship. ‘She threatens to make a mess if she doesn’t get what she wants, and she’s done it twice. The first time I put it down to anxiety but the last time was in the car when I wouldn’t buy her all the sweets she wanted. She threatened to soil all over the back seat and then she did it.’

Eileen paused and I was sure that the answer would be yes, although it would probably be qualified. Jodie’s modus operandi was too polished to have started when she came to me; she’d clearly been using defecation as a form of blackmail for a little while.

‘There might be something in the file. Why? Is it going to be a problem?’

The idea that a child threatening to poo herself when she didn’t get her own way and then carrying out her threat not being a problem almost made me want to laugh. I could hear in Eileen’s voice the worry that I might be about to hand Jodie back, and the implication that, if so, I was overreacting a bit. Constant soiling might not seem like a big issue to her, but then she wasn’t the one who had to clean it up.

‘If I’m going to be able to meet this child’s needs,’ I replied, ‘it’s important that I’m given all the relevant information. Could you check and get back to me, please?’

‘I’ll have a look in the file,’ she said, but I doubted she would. If she hadn’t familiarized herself with the case already, there was little compunction to do so now Jodie had been placed with me. I knew from long experience how these things worked.

Eileen changed the subject. ‘Contact has been confirmed for tomorrow,’ she said, using the social-work term meaning a meeting between a child and its natural parents. ‘The escort will collect her at six, if that’s OK.’

‘That’s fine. But why is it so late?’

‘Jodie’s father can’t make it from work any earlier and he’s most insistent on seeing her. He hasn’t missed one yet.’

I heard Eileen’s inference. Clearly she felt that this showed a commitment on his part, which suggested a strong attachment between father and daughter. If all went well over the next few months, and Jodie’s parents could get their lives in order, there was a good chance Jodie would go back to them. Generally, the Social Services try to rehabilitate families wherever possible. The final decision would be made by a judge, at a care hearing in the family court.

‘Was there anything else?’ Eileen asked, clearly hoping there wasn’t.

‘Her behaviour is as stated.’ I’d told her everything that had happened, just as I had Jill, but Eileen didn’t seem to have much in the way of response to any of the reports of self-harm, violent tantrums or anything else. I could feel my heart sinking as I realized that it was unlikely Jodie was going to get the kind of support I’d hoped for from her. ‘Let’s hope we can make a difference,’ I finished.

The next morning, I was woken by Jodie stamping down the stairs at 5 a.m. I was getting used to the disturbed nights – she was calling out for me a couple of times a night and seemed to be suffering from nightmares – and the invariable early starts. I’d had a feeling this would be a pattern with Jodie: in general, the more disturbed children are, the more troubled their nights are and the earlier they rise in the morning. Sometimes that can be because foster children have been used to the responsibility of looking after younger siblings and have quite often had to get their parents up in the morning and make the family breakfast. In other cases, it is because they are on constant alert and consequently unable to sleep much at a time because their survival mechanism is always switched on. So it was no surprise that Jodie was up and about at dawn.

I leapt out of the bed and hurriedly followed; the last thing I wanted was Jodie left alone in the kitchen. I managed to persuade her to go back to bed, but each time I thought I’d settled her, she’d be off again minutes later. By the third time I was fully awake, and there was no point going back to bed. I sat in the living room, trying to read, with one ear alert to what Jodie was up to.

A couple of hours later I heard Paula get up, followed shortly after by Lucy and then Adrian.

I had started preparing breakfast, when I suddenly heard Jodie shouting. Rushing upstairs, I found Paula standing in the bathroom doorway wearing only a towel, while Jodie sat on the landing, glaring at her menacingly.

‘Whatever’s going on?’ I asked.

‘I’m trying to get past, but she keeps kicking me,’ replied Paula, obviously frustrated and vulnerable.

At this, Jodie started screaming and banging the floor with her fists and feet. I waited for her to calm down, then went over and gently lifted her to her feet and guided her towards the stairs.

‘Come on, Jodie, why don’t you help me make you some breakfast? You must be hungry by now.’

She resisted at first, but eventually followed me downstairs, presumably feeling that she’d won this battle, and Paula was allowed to continue getting ready in peace.

Downstairs, Jodie agreed to lay the table, while I boiled the kettle and set out four cups. She’d already been extremely trying this morning, but as I watched her lay the table I was reminded of how difficult her life was. Even in performing this simple task, Jodie’s limitations were obvious. She couldn’t grip the cutlery, because her motor skills were so poor; instead, she clamped the pile to her chest. Predictably enough, on her way to the table she dropped one of the spoons. She grunted in frustration, then dropped the rest of the cutlery on the table, making a loud clang. She picked up the stray spoon from the floor, licked it on both sides, then wiped it on her sleeve, and proceeded to set the places.

It was no surprise that she was so clumsy. Poor motor skills and bad coordination are all part of developmental delay. I was no expert on the matter, but I knew that a lack of stimulation of an infant’s brain could have a severe impact on its growth and development. Even being given a rattle to hold helps a baby learn about how the world works and teaches the muscles and brain to respond, so that it can master its environment. Later on, reading books and playing with jigsaws and puzzles help the brain continue to grow and learn. While I didn’t want to leap to conclusions about what had happened to Jodie in the past, I couldn’t help wondering if neglect and a lack of stimulation had contributed to her acute malcoordination and clumsiness. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time I’d seen it, though never this pronounced.

‘Well done, Jodie,’ I said, with exaggerated enthusiasm. ‘You’ve been a big help’.

She barely responded to my praise, and that too was unusual. It was odd to meet a child who didn’t enjoy approval. She seemed very shut off and far away, and nothing I said seemed to reach her. I’d been expecting something of the sort but the extent of it was beginning to puzzle and worry me.

I poured Jodie some Rice Krispies, and finished making the tea. Paula and Lucy came down together and sat at the table. Jodie’s mood switched immediately, as it seemed to when the other children came into the room. I could see her becoming tense, and her eyes narrowing with anger. She looked up at Paula with an unpleasant grimace, then started poking her in the ribs.

‘Stop that, Jodie!’ I said, but she persisted. Paula tried to fend her off, and then lost her temper, and poked her back. Jodie started screaming, making the most of the minor assault.

‘Paula, you mustn’t do that!’ I said, angry with her for losing control. ‘Now, the pair of you behave!’

‘Sorry, Mum,’ said Paula.

‘And apologize to Jodie, please,’ I said, feeling slightly guilty. I knew Paula would feel this was unfair, with good cause, but it was in all of our interests to make it clear to Jodie that you didn’t poke, and you apologized after doing something wrong.

‘Sorry, Jodie,’ Paula muttered, without looking up. Jodie was still clutching her side melodramatically, so I decided there was little chance of coaxing an apology out of her, and left it at that.

‘Thank you, Paula. That was the adult thing to do.’

The children left for school, and Jodie helped me to clear the table and load the dishwasher, thankfully without any mishaps. Then we sat down in the living room and I tried to interest her in some games. I decided now might be a good time to broach the subject of her contact. She would be seeing her parents twice a week for an hour at a contact centre, with a social worker present all the time. Meetings with natural parents are generally arranged some time in advance, but my policy was to remind the children only on the day, as mention of it could often unsettle them. In my experience, children tended to play up just before contact so I made the time available for this emotional upheaval as short as possible for all our sakes.

‘Jodie,’ I said brightly, ‘you’ll have your bath later this afternoon, because you’re going to see your parents tonight.’

She looked at me blankly. Had she understood? She carried on playing, mashing stickle bricks together. After a moment, she asked, ‘Am I going in a van?’

‘No, the escort will pick you up here in a car, just like when you were at your previous carers. They’ll take you to meet your parents, and then bring you back here.’

‘Not going in a van. Hate them. Blimmin’ vans,’ she replied, becoming more animated.

‘That’s right, Jodie, the escort will pick you up in a car. I know your dad’s looking forward to seeing you. That will be nice, won’t it?’ Apparently, however, I’d lost her attention, and she returned to her playing, with a puzzled expression on her face. It was hard to tell what she made of the prospect of seeing her mother and father again.

Jodie was difficult for the rest of the day, as I’d expected. She had two more tantrums before lunch, and caused me a minor panic when she knocked a picture off the wall, smashing the glass, then tried to pick it up. In the afternoon, I kept her occupied with a singalong video in the lounge, while I prepared dinner. At four o’clock Adrian came in warily, and was relieved not to be greeted with a kick from Jodie. He joined me in the kitchen, and told me about his day. It felt like a long time since we’d had the chance to have a chat in peace without screaming, tantrums or violent fits, even though Jodie had been with us less than a week. It was lovely to have a few moments with my son and I knew how it important it was to snatch any opportunity to spend time with my own family in the often demanding first weeks of a new placement.

Adrian went to take his bag up to his room, and I was pleased to hear him go into the lounge first, to say hello to Jodie. However, my moment of pleasure was short-lived, as I suddenly heard him shout, ‘Oh God! Mum, come in here!’

I rushed into the hallway, as Adrian marched upstairs. In the lounge, I found Jodie sitting on the sofa with her legs in the air and one hand in her knickers, masturbating.

‘Jodie, stop that!’ I said firmly.

‘Why?’ she barked.

‘If you want to do that, you go to your room and do it. It’s private. Is that clear? Now, either go upstairs or sit properly please, good girl.’

She glared at me for a few seconds, and I prepared myself for another tantrum, but eventually she pulled her skirt down and sat up straight.

I was puzzled and disturbed by this new incidence, of this time highly sexualized behaviour. I knew that it was not unusual for very young children to masturbate, even if it wasn’t generally talked about; but by the time a child was eight years old he or she usually had a sense that this was not something to be done in public, even when the child had learning difficulties. Was Jodie intending to be observed? Given that we were always in and out of the lounge, she must have known she’d be seen. Was she trying to shock us, or was it something entirely unconscious? An act of self-comfort, or a physical habit as harmless as sucking her thumb? I didn’t know the answer, but anything that came within the framework of sexualized behaviour had to be noted down. I made a mental note to log it in the diary, and raise it with Eileen the next time we spoke.

When the girls arrived home from school they were both greeted with a vicious thump, and I wearily told Jodie off. She had another full-scale tantrum, and I again had to restrain her. Eventually, she calmed down, and I finished making the evening meal, which was spaghetti bolognaise. We sat down to eat, and I cut up Jodie’s spaghetti for her.

‘Want burger,’ she demanded, pulling a face.

‘We’ll have a burger another night. I’ve done this for now.’

She picked up her plate and hurled it against the wall. It hit the wall with a crack and the plate fell in pieces to the ground. There was a vivid splash of dark bolognese mixed with strings of spaghetti on the wall. It began sliding downwards, before dropping on to the floor. We all looked at it in silence for a moment and then I felt the children gaze at me in shock.

Anger and frustration rushed through me. I had put up with Jodie’s bad behaviour all day and was worn out with it and her. Now she had thrown a perfectly good meal away, caused a terrible mess and upset us all, for no good reason that I could see.

‘Go to your room!’ I snapped. ‘I’ve had quite enough of this for one day!’

She struggled down from her seat, and as she left the table, punched Lucy in the back of the head, hard, with a closed fist. She stormed out of the room, slamming the door with such force that a piece of plaster fell from the ceiling. Lucy didn’t say anything, but I could see the tears welling in her eyes. I hugged her.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, mortified that I could have caused my children such pain. ‘I think I’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t have accepted her. This is too difficult for all of us. I’ll speak to the social worker first thing in the morning.’

* * *

At a little after six the doorbell rang, and a dishevelled young man introduced himself as Jodie’s escort for contact. Jodie bounded down the stairs and left in a cheerful mood, waving goodbye as she walked up the garden path. Was she completely unrepentant, I wondered? Was she even aware of how bad her behaviour had been, or the sad atmosphere which now pervaded the house?

It was the first moment of real peace in almost a week. The children were upstairs doing their homework. I sat in the living room with the television on, although I wasn’t paying attention. Instead my mind was in turmoil. Life with Jodie was not only far from easy, it was well- nigh impossible, and for the first time I was beginning to feel as though I might not be able to reach her. Jodie was the most disturbed, demanding child I’d ever come across; she was so cold and unresponsive, with no desire to be liked. It was not possible to find a way to mediate with her because she had no interest in meeting me halfway. It seemed as if she didn’t want to change but was content to remain in her far-off state, shut into her own world, expressing herself through tantrums and violence. In my experience, human relationships are all about give and take and mutual needs for affection and approval being met. If one party has absolutely no need of anything the other party has to offer, then where can the compromise come? That’s how it was with Jodie. I had never known a child so shut off, or so unseeking of warmth and affection. It seemed that the task I had set myself of caring for Jodie and somehow breaking through the huge barrier of emotional coldness around her had magnified itself a hundred times. I was in a no-win situation. I couldn’t have Jodie stay, because it was unfair on my children; her behaviour was just too disruptive. I couldn’t bear to see their home life and their security undermined and destroyed when they had just as much need of love and stability as Jodie, even if it was less pronounced.

On the other hand, I knew what sending Jodie back now would mean. Not only would it be yet another rejection, and another black mark against her name, turning her into an object of fascinated horror – ‘Six carers in four months! Just think how awful she must be!’ – but it would also condemn her to a children’s home. I knew that a children’s home was not the right environment for Jodie, and also that it would probably mean that her last chance of living in a normal family was gone for good. If I didn’t keep her, then no one else would take her in. And what was the point of being a foster carer if you couldn’t help the most troubled children?

As I sat and worried, I heard three pairs of feet coming down the stairs. Lucy and Paula entered and sat either side of me, while Adrian disappeared to make us a cup of tea. I was touched; the children had come to comfort me about my failure. Adrian returned with a tray of drinks. ‘There you go, Mum,’ he said.

‘Thanks, love.’

Adrian looked at the girls, then cleared his throat. ‘Mum, we’ve been thinking,’ he said, and paused.

‘Oh yes?’ I replied, expecting another request to extend their coming-in time.

‘Yes. We want Jodie to stay, for a while at least. We think we should wait, and see how it goes.’

I couldn’t say anything for a moment while I absorbed this, taken aback by their generosity. Life had been pretty miserable for the last week, and home, far from being a refuge of safety and contentment, had become a place where vicious kicks, punches and sudden attacks, along with spine-curdling yelling, high-pitched screaming and disturbed nights, were just par for the course. Were my children really prepared to put up with this indefinitely, when I had offered to hand Jodie back and restore calm and quiet to our home? Yet again, I was stunned by their extraordinary kindness and maturity when it came to the children we fostered. I looked over to Lucy and Paula. ‘Are you sure?’ I asked anxiously. I didn’t want them to regret this. ‘Is this really what you want? She’ll probably get worse rather than better in the short term.’

‘We all want her to stay,’ said Lucy firmly. ‘We know she’ll get better. And if not we can always kick her out next time!’ She grinned mischievously.

I felt a surge of relief, as well as immense admiration for my children. I know I’m biased, and I’m sure other parents feel the same about their kids, but at moments like these I couldn’t help but swell with pride.

It was after eight by the time Jodie returned from seeing her parents, and she was in high spirits. So were we. We’d had almost three hours’ respite, and we had a new sense of purpose. Jodie proudly showed us the dolls and sweets her father had given her. She also pointedly told me twice he had bought her burger and chips. I smiled. I was used to being played off against the parents of my foster children. No doubt the parents got the same kind of thing themselves. Apart from her boasting, Jodie had nothing else to say about her contact with her parents.

It was well past her bedtime, so with my usual mixture of coercion and repetition I took her up to the bathroom, then saw her into bed. She didn’t want the new dolls, but instead chose a large panda she had brought with her, and snuggled into it. I read her a short story, then said goodnight. I left the light on, came out and closed the door. I was feeling optimistic. Now Jodie had seen her parents, she might start to settle, with the two halves of her life running side by side. I sat in the lounge, and picked up the book I’d been trying to read for a fortnight. It was a comic satire, and it made me laugh out loud. At 9.30 Paula called from the landing that she was ready for me to tuck her in; it was a ritual she wasn’t too old for, as long as her friends didn’t find out.

As I went in, I noticed her rag-doll pyjama case wasn’t on the bed. ‘Where’s Betsy?’ I asked.

She looked at me, with her eyes large and imploring. ‘Don’t be upset, Mum, but I think there’s been an accident.’

‘What sort of accident?’

She nodded at the wardrobe. I went over and slid the door open. Lying at the bottom was Betsy, with her head ripped off, and stuffing falling out of her neck.

‘This isn’t an accident, is it, pet?’ I picked up the dismembered parts. ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’

‘I didn’t want more upset, Mum. It’s only a toy. Really. It doesn’t matter.’

I sat on the bed, reminded once again of how much the family had to put up with. ‘I’m sorry, love. I watched her like a hawk today. The only time I didn’t was when I was in the loo. I’ll try and find another one, but in future you must tell me. I know you feel sorry for her but if there’s any chance of us helping her, she’s going to have to learn. OK?’

She agreed, and we had a big hug, then I left her reading and continued my night-time rounds. I knocked on Lucy’s door, and waited for her shout of ‘Come in!’ She was in her pyjamas, propped on the pillows.

I sensed immediately that something was wrong. ‘Not you as well?’ I said.

She opened her bedside cabinet, and took out her makeup box. I looked at the congealed mess of black mascara, blue eye shadow and beige foundation.

‘It’s my fault,’ she said quickly. ‘I shouldn’t have left it on the bed.’

‘Of course you should! You have every right to leave your things out in your room. I’ll speak to her first thing in the morning.’ I repeated what I’d told Paula – that I’d replace it, but she had to tell me immediately if it happened again, so that I could deal with it at the time. It seemed that Jodie hadn’t taken my explanation about privacy very much to heart.

She took my hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Cathy, was I this naughty when I first arrived? I don’t remember.’

‘No. You had your moments but I wouldn’t have expected any different. You’d had a lot of moves but you soon settled. What we’re seeing in Jodie is severely disturbed behaviour.’

She looked away. ‘I know I shouldn’t say this, but sometimes she gives me the creeps. When she stares at me, it’s so cold I think she could kill me.’

‘It’s OK. I understand. She hasn’t had much love and I’m hoping we can change that. Now off to sleep. You’ve got your science exam tomorrow, haven’t you?’

She grinned sheepishly. ‘I will, and thanks for looking after me. I do love you, you know that, don’t you?’

It was the first time she’d said it, and ironically it had taken the hatred of a disturbed child to cement our relationship. ‘I love you too, sweet. You’re a good girl. Jodie couldn’t have a better example.’