Читать книгу Damaged, A Baby’s Cry and The Night the Angels Came 3-in-1 Collection - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 19

We sat quietly for some time. I had my arm around Jodie, and she had hers around Julie. My heart was thumping and my mouth was dry. This was the very worst confirmation of my suspicions. The little pieces of evidence had all been pointing this way but I had forced myself not to jump to conclusions and I’d been hoping against hope that what I feared would not be the case. I knew that Jodie had now given me the key to all her suffering, hurt, self-loathing and despair.

I had to continue asking her questions and make the most of this moment when she was willing to talk, but I was holding back. I didn’t want to hear the answers, didn’t want to know the extent of what had happened to this poor child – but my professional, practical side told me that what she said now would be crucial in determining her future, not only in terms of whether she would return to her parents, but also with a view to a possible prosecution. As part of my foster-care training, I’d attended sessions on aspects of sexual abuse. I had learned that the first disclosure is vital, as children rarely lie, and what they said should be recorded verbatim so that it could be used in court. It was important that I handled it properly. My training had told me that I must not lead her, but had to question her in such a way that would let her tell me in her own words what had happened. Unfortunately, I had not been told much more than this and I had certainly never been in a situation like this before. But I had learned how to deal gently with children who revealed experiences of violence and neglect, and I knew that I would have to draw on that now and hope that it was the right way to help Jodie open up.

I looked down at the doll. She had used it to represent herself, and it was no coincidence that she’d given it a name similar to her own. Children sometimes use role play to dramatize things that they can’t express verbally about themselves.

‘Jodie,’ I said, quietly. ‘You’ve been very brave telling me this. I know how difficult it is. Now I want you to try and tell me everything you remember so that I can help you. OK?’

She nodded.

‘Good girl.’ I paused and took a breath. I needed to be careful. I couldn’t lead her otherwise it would invalidate any evidence which might later be used in court. ‘When I came into the room just now you were pretending Julie was you and you were your daddy.’ The term stuck in my throat. ‘If we do that again do you think you can show me what happened? I know it’s difficult, pet.’

She nodded again and I gave her a hug, then took the doll from her arms and lay her on the sofa between us. I put on her pants, and covered them with the dress. If this was to be any use, she needed to show me step by step what had happened, as it would have to stand up under cross-examination.

‘OK. So Julie is now Jodie. Where is she? In the car, bedroom, kitchen, garden? You tell me.’

‘Not the garden, silly,’ she grinned. ‘The bedroom.’

‘Right, so whose bedroom is it?’

‘Mine. Jodie’s bedroom. At home.’

‘And what is Jodie wearing?’

‘Her pyjamas.’

‘So we’ll pretend these are her pyjamas.’ I pointed to the doll’s pants. ‘Is Jodie in bed or hasn’t she got in yet?’

‘In bed,’ she stated categorically.

‘And is the light on or off?’

‘Off.’

‘Now tell me, is Jodie asleep or awake?’

‘Sleep.’ She screwed up her eyes to demonstrate.

‘OK, good girl. So Jodie is asleep in her bed. Now what happens?’

We both looked at the doll. She thought for a moment, then stood and went over to the door. ‘I’m coming in,’ she growled, broadening her shoulders and stamping across the floor, in her interpretation of an adult male.

‘You’re coming into Jodie’s bedroom? Who are you?’

‘The daddy. My daddy. I’m in Jodie’s bedroom now.’

She stomped up to the doll, then hesitated and looked at me.

‘Do you want me to move?’ I asked.

‘Over there.’ She pointed to the far corner of the room, by the door.

I walked into the corner and stood as unobtrusively as I could. I was trying to make sure I remembered every detail, as I would need to write it all down later, as accurately as possible. I watched as she leaned over the doll, lifted up its dress, then roughly pulled down the pants and took them off. There was no self-consciousness, as she parted the doll’s legs, and nuzzled her head deep between the open thighs. She made low grunting noises as she had before, then flattened herself on top of the doll, her head overlapping, face down into the sofa. Her bottom began rising and falling in a rhythmic jerk, and she breathed louder and louder. Her head came up and she let out a long groan before lying completely still. It was an accurate portrayal of sexual intercourse. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach.

The room was quiet. I looked at the raped doll, and tried to hide my revulsion and desperate pity for this poor little girl. No eight-year-old should be able to do this, or know of such things, or have suffered them. I could hardly bear the thought of what she had been through, and was filled with terrible rage towards the animal who’d done this to his own daughter. My eyes stung with tears of anger and sadness, but I blinked them back.

I took a deep breath. This wasn’t a time for my emotions. I needed to be calm and dispassionate for Jodie’s sake. She wasn’t embarrassed, but climbed off Julie and came over to me. ‘Did I do well?’ she asked, unfazed.

I smiled weakly. ‘You’re a brave girl, Jodie.’

But it hadn’t taken bravery. Jodie had shown no self-consciousness or hesitation; it was almost as if this had been part of what Jodie regarded as normal life. I took her hand and led her to the sofa, where we sat side by side, both looking at Julie. I was aware that there were some discrepancies I needed to clarify. I gave her hand a little squeeze.

‘You did very well, Jodie. There are just a few things I’m not sure about. I want you to try and think back and answer my questions. If you don’t know or can’t remember, say so. Don’t guess or make it up, all right?’

She nodded.

I kept hold of her hand, and turned sideways to look at her. Her expression was completely blank. ‘Just now, you were pretending to be your daddy, right?’

She nodded again.

‘And the real Jodie was asleep in bed with the lights off?’

Another nod.

‘If you were asleep, how do you know he came into the bedroom like you showed me? He might have crept in on tiptoe, or even crawled across the floor. You were asleep with your eyes closed, weren’t you?’

She thought for a moment.

‘If you don’t know, or can’t remember, say so,’ I reminded her.

‘I can,’ she said. ‘I was sleep sometimes, and sometimes I was awake.’

‘I understand. Do you remember what he was wearing?’

‘Jeans and top,’ she said without hesitation. ‘He always wears them.’

‘Did he keep them on or did he take anything off?’

‘He took the zip off.’

I assumed she meant he undid the zip, but again I needed to clarify. ‘Can you show me what you mean?’

She stood, undid the top button of her jeans and pulled down the zip.

‘I see. And did he stay like that while he was on top of you?’

‘No. More.’ She dropped her jeans to her ankles, and was about to pull down her pants.

‘OK. Leave them on, just tell me.’

‘His pants down with his jeans,’ she said.

‘Round his ankles?’

‘Yes.’

‘I understand. Pull your jeans up again, good girl.’ I helped her to do up the button, and settled her beside me on the sofa.

‘Was Daddy naughty, Cathy?’ she asked. Her brow creased as she thought about this.

‘Yes he was, Jodie. Very naughty.’ I’m not supposed to make value judgements about the parents, but there was no question in my mind that Jodie had to know immediately that this was very wrong and that she was in no way to blame.

‘Naughty Daddy,’ she said, and thumped her fist hard on her knee. ‘He hurt me. I want to hurt him. See how he likes it.’

I put my arm around her, and drew her to me. I wished I had it in my power to draw out her hurt and heal her. ‘It’s all right, Jodie. You’re safe with me now. It won’t happen again, I promise.’

‘OK, Cathy,’ she said, far too easily appeased. I knew that this placid acceptance and lack of emotion meant that we had come nowhere near the heart of her suffering.

‘Jodie, you said just now he hurt you. Can you tell me how?’ It was a dreadful question, but I knew it was one she would be asked later by the Child Protection Officer, and it was important to get her initial answer on record.

‘He made my tummy sore, here.’ She pushed her hand between the top of her legs. ‘And he wet himself and it tasted horrible.’

‘Tasted? Did he put something in your mouth?’

She screwed up her face and made a spitting motion. ‘When we was in the car, he weed in my mouth.’

I turned away to hide my reaction. I was burning with anger and humiliation, the humiliation which Jodie should have felt, but didn’t. I wasn’t about to tell her it wasn’t wee. There was no point, and the naïve terminology, using the only point of reference she had, not only made it all the more pitiful, but also underlined its authenticity. I had no doubt she was telling the truth.

I turned to look at her again. ‘One last thing, Jodie, I need to know. Did this happen once or lots of times?’

‘Lots, Cathy. Naughty Daddy. Cathy, why are you crying?’

I couldn’t help myself any longer. I was weeping. ‘Because I’ve heard something sad, sweet.’

‘Why is it sad?’

The fact that she didn’t understand the horrendous nature of what had happened to her made it even worse. ‘Because this is a very bad thing, Jodie, and it should never happen to anybody.’

‘Yes. Naughty Daddy,’ she said again. ‘Can I have my lunch now?’