Читать книгу Damaged, A Baby’s Cry and The Night the Angels Came 3-in-1 Collection - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 20

Iconsidered cancelling the tutor, but she was probably already on her way. Besides, Jodie was looking forward to seeing her, and I needed the time to phone Jill and tell her what had happened, without being overheard.

My mind was reeling from the disclosures. I couldn’t help replaying them over and over in my mind, hearing and seeing the awful truth as portrayed through the words and actions of an innocent eight-year-old girl. It was hard to get the frightful images she’d evoked out of my mind, and as I went about the homely, normal actions of making lunch the horror of what I had just learned overlaid everything I did. It felt as though an awful poison had been released into the atmosphere, and I couldn’t shake the sense of dread and revulsion that engulfed me.

Jodie, on the other hand, seemed to have recovered quickly, and devoured her sandwiches, crisps and yoghurt, then asked for more.

‘You’ve had enough,’ I said, ignoring the protests that followed.

In the conservatory, I cleared the small table that would act as a desk, and laid out some paper and pencils ready for Nicola’s arrival. Jodie followed me round, excited at the prospect of seeing her tutor again. When the doorbell rang she flew to answer it, but then remembered my warning, and waited for me to join her.

‘Good girl,’ I said, and she gave me a hug.

I’d met Nicola briefly at the pre-placement meeting, and I’d been immediately impressed. Her calm, firm approach was exactly what Jodie needed. Jodie clearly shared my enthusiasm, as she greeted Nicola like a long-lost friend. Nicola seemed pleased to see her too, and she chatted pleasantly to Jodie as she took off her coat and gathered her things together.

We went through to the conservatory, where Jodie clambered into her seat, and started scribbling furiously on the paper I’d laid out. In a good impersonation of Mary Poppins, Nicola delved into her large upholstered bag, and brought out a huge assortment of workbooks, sheets and brightly coloured teaching aids. Jodie was mesmerized.

‘We’ll get started now,’ Nicola said efficiently. ‘I usually take a break halfway through. Perhaps we could discuss her progress then?’

‘That’s fine. I’ll bring some drinks and snacks for half time.’ I checked she had all she needed, then left them to it, grateful to have been relieved of the responsibility, if only for a couple of hours. Upstairs, I closed my bedroom door so I wouldn’t be overheard, then perched on the bed with the phone at my side. I ran through what I was going to say. I hadn’t had time to write up my log notes yet, but it was all still clear in my head, and depressingly vivid. I keyed in the numbers, and the secretary answered.

‘Jill, please. It’s Cathy.’

‘I’ll put you through.’

A click, then Jill’s voice. ‘Hello Cathy, is everything all right?’

‘No. It’s not. Jodie’s been sexually abused. I’m sure of it. She couldn’t make up this lot.’ I quickly ran through the disclosures, explaining how Jodie had used the doll to tell me, and repeating what she’d said almost word for word.

Jill was silent for a second, and then asked, ‘How are you, Cathy? No one had any idea.’

No idea? Knowing what I now knew, it was hard to believe that no one could have guessed what was going on – but I had to give the Social Services the benefit of the doubt. Obviously if anyone had suspected what was happening, Jodie would have been removed earlier. But how could they have missed all the signs, and for so long? Perhaps they’d focused on the obvious physical abuse of knocks and burns and broken bones, rather than a deeper and more vicious evil.

Now that I didn’t have to control my emotions in front of Jodie, I could feel the shock and upset welling up in me. My eyes pricked and my vision blurred as hot tears filled them. I felt such an awful mixture of impotent fury and utter sadness on Jodie’s behalf. Nevertheless, I couldn’t let myself fall to pieces. I had to be strong, for Jodie’s sake. I took a deep breath. ‘I’m upset, obviously. But at least it’s out in the open. And it does explain why she’s so disturbed. In fact, it explains a lot of things – it’s no wonder she wants to hurt herself and has shut herself off from the world. And, Jill, it sounds like it’s been going on for years. She was quite matter-of-fact in the way she described it, as if it was normal.’

There was another pause. I knew Jill was affected by what I had told her. Revelations of sexual abuse are something that anyone in children’s social work will encounter, but they never lose their power to shock and horrify, and Jodie’s story was particularly appalling. The idea that a small child could have been undergoing this kind of ordeal over a period of years was almost too awful to contemplate.

After a moment’s silence, Jill swung into action. ‘Right, I’ll contact Eileen as soon as we’ve finished. We’ll have to look at contact ASAP. I’ll need your notes. Can you write them up while the tutor’s there and email me over a copy?’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Jodie obviously trusts you, Cathy, more than she’s trusted anyone before. She’s been in care for four months and said nothing. What I don’t understand is where was the mother while all this was going on.’

‘I know. From the way Jodie told it, it’s hard to imagine that her mother didn’t have any idea. But I just don’t know. She wasn’t mentioned.’

‘Would Jodie answer a direct question if you asked?’

‘I’m not sure. She told me this, but it was as a result of playing with the doll. I think it was triggered by being in the lift.’

‘The lift?’

‘Yes. When we went shopping, she was scared in the lift, so much so that I had to stop it and take the escalator. It was like she equated the fear to being scared with her father, and I think that may have been the catalyst for the disclosure. Do you want me to ask about her mother?’

‘Yes. But don’t push it. It might all come out now she’s started, or it might take time. See what you can find out and get as much information as you can – obviously, as gently as possible.’ I heard Jill draw her breath in sharply. ‘For Christ’s sake, she’s been on the at-risk register since birth and there’s been nothing! Someone’s head is on the block for this.’

Jill was angry, understandably, just as I was. Although her role was mainly supervisory, Jill cared deeply for the children we fostered. You couldn’t do this kind of work without becoming emotionally involved.

‘You know, Jill,’ I added, ‘she talks a lot of stuff and nonsense with all her imaginary friends. Sometimes it’s hard to get a word of sense out her. But I’ve never seen her so clear and focused as when she was describing this. It was like she was a different person.’

‘Thank goodness she’s with you. Let me get things moving and speak to you later. If there’s anything else call me straight away.’

‘OK.’

I replaced the receiver and leaned back, daunted by the responsibility. Now Jodie had opened up, there was no way I could terminate the placement, whatever she threw at me. Without realizing it, Jodie had invested a lot of trust by telling me. I couldn’t let her feel that her trust had been misplaced. I stood up and went downstairs. As I passed the lounge I could hear Nicola reading a series of short words, which Jodie was repeating in her childish voice; she sounded like a four-year-old.

I continued along the hall to the front room, took the foster carer’s log out of my desk, and started writing up my notes. I wrote quickly, trying to get everything down as accurately as possible, and I’d covered a page and a half when the phone rang. I answered immediately, expecting Jill or Eileen.

‘Hello?’ I said. There was no reply.

‘Hello?’ I said again.

Still nothing. Yet the line was open, someone was on the other end. I listened, and thought I heard a rustle as though someone had jolted the receiver. Perhaps it was a child trying to get through, hesitant, wondering if they had the right number. Perhaps it was my friend Pat, who now lived in South Africa, and phoned once a month – there was often a problem with the connection. I tried once more. ‘Hello?’

The line went dead. I hung up, then dialled 1471. The automated voice spoke, ‘You were called today at 2.20 p.m. We do not have the caller’s number.’

I stood for a moment pondering, then returned to my desk. Could it have been Jodie’s parents? In theory, they shouldn’t have had any of my personal details, but years of fostering had made me naturally suspicious. I finished writing up my notes, then began typing them on to a Word document. A few minutes later I heard Jodie bounding down the hall.

‘Cathy! It’s break time. Where’s me trainers? We’re going to the park.’

‘The garden,’ corrected Nicola, from the back room.

I clicked ‘Save’ then went into the hall and helped her into her trainers and coat. She rushed through to the conservatory and I opened the door to let her out. Nicola joined me at the French windows, and we stood watching Jodie’s uncoordinated efforts to set the swing in motion.

‘Poor kid,’ Nicola said, then she turned to me. ‘Cathy, she said something rather worrying earlier and I think you should know.’ I met her gaze. ‘It was while we were working on the letter T. One of the words I gave her was T for trousers. I showed her a picture of a pair of trousers, and she got very annoyed and wouldn’t look at it. Then she said, “My daddy takes his trousers off. He’s naughty, isn’t he?”’

‘I understand where that’s come from,’ I said, and I briefly explained the nature of Jodie’s allegations, without giving specific details; confidentiality has to be respected, even with the tutor. ‘I’ve alerted her social worker,’ I added. ‘I take it nothing like that’s been said before?’

‘Not to me, but there was that episode at Hilary and Dave’s. I expect they told you.’

‘No.’

‘Oh. Well, I’m not sure exactly what happened, but Dave told the social worker that at times Jodie behaved as though she fancied him. She was flirting, and going into his bedroom when Hilary wasn’t there. I understand they called an end to the placement when she tried to touch him through his trousers.’

‘No, I wasn’t told,’ I said, my voice tight, ‘and I should have been. I’ve got a son of seventeen. It’s very bad social work practice.’

I knew from experience that dealing with Social Services meant coping with an endless series of petty mistakes and failings. The sheer size of the huge machine, and the number of cogs involved, meant that errors were constantly being made. I was used to that, and I could deal with it. I understood that human error happens and that, with so many cases to process, mistakes are made. Nevertheless, I wanted to trust that when something important happened, something that had immediate relevance to a child’s state of mind or health, or the vital decisions being made on that child’s behalf, then people would take care and be extra sure that things were done correctly.

Looking back, I could see obvious instances of sexualized behaviour before today’s revelation: I had seen Jodie with her hands down her knickers, furiously masturbating in public like no normal eight-year-old child would; I’d seen her trying to climb into bed with Adrian and occasionally sidle up to him, try to sit next to him or grin and bat her eyelids at him. Flirting was the word for it, if I’d thought about it properly. The problem was that Jodie took up so much of my time, energy and mental strength that I rarely had the opportunity to stand back and observe her objectively and analyse her behaviour. It was obvious now that she was treating Adrian in a sexual manner because her experiences at the hands of her father had taught to her to view all males as sexual beings first and foremost. Everything was beginning to fall into place. Now I realized that this was part of a pattern, and that others had noticed it too.

If there had been evidence before of sexualized behaviour, why hadn’t anyone begun to come to the obvious conclusion – that someone was sexually abusing Jodie? And why on earth had I not been told about her behaviour towards her previous carer?

I bit back my anger. None of this was Nicola’s fault and I didn’t want to dump my frustrations on her.

After fifteen minutes we called Jodie in from the garden. I helped her off with her trainers, then returned to the front room and continued typing from my log, while Nicola and Jodie returned to their session. Once I’d finished, I emailed the file to Jill. Perfect timing! I’d just turned off the PC, as Jodie marched into the room.

‘We’re done! Come and see me work!’

I went through and admired the letter and number work, then arranged the next session for Thursday, and Jodie and I saw Nicola out. As soon as she’d gone the phone started ringing, and it didn’t stop for the rest of the afternoon. Jill told me the team leader had convened an emergency strategy meeting, with the time and venue to be announced shortly. She would let me know when there was any more information.

Next, Eileen called me. I was glad to hear from her, but I didn’t get quite the response I’d been hoping for. Somehow, she didn’t seem to be too shocked or horrified by what the child in her charge had suffered.

‘I’ve heard what’s happened,’ she said in her flat way. ‘Has Jodie said any more since?’

‘Not much more, but she did make a comment to her tutor today,’ I said, and told her what Jodie had said to Nicola. I reminded myself that social workers often have to retain a bit of distance and put up walls between themselves and their cases, in order to protect themselves from getting too involved emotionally and becoming unable to do their job properly. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help feeling that Eileen just didn’t seem very bothered, or to empathize with Jodie at all.

‘Right,’ said Eileen with a sigh, as she noted down what I’d said. It almost seemed as though the most depressing aspect of all this for Eileen was the amount of extra work it would involve for her.

I took a deep breath and asked about Jodie’s relationship with the previous carer, Dave.

‘It’ll be on the file if there is anything,’ she said, using the same excuse as last time.

I felt like saying, ‘Well, read the bloody file then!’ but settled instead for a repeat of the more diplomatic, ‘I’d be grateful if you could give me any relevant background information. It’s even more important now.’

I put the phone down, frustrated. Really, this wasn’t something I should have had to tell her. Why hadn’t Jodie’s social worker familiarized herself with the case by now? She obviously still hadn’t read the file – neither had she been to visit Jodie yet. They barely knew each other and good social work practice said that she should be establishing a relationship with the child for whom she was legally responsible. Nor had she offered to come round now, to offer her support to Jodie and demonstrate her concern.

Thank goodness for Jill. She seemed to appreciate the gravity of the situation and phoned again to tell me that the strategy meeting had been convened for later the same morning. Because Jodie wasn’t in school, and it was too short notice to find a babysitter, Jill said she would go in my place, and let me know the outcome.

Sally, the guardian ad litum appointed by the court to represent Jodie’s interests, phoned next. I’d liked Sally right from the start: she showed exactly the right mix of professionalism and concern that reassured me that the right steps would be taken for Jodie. She called to hear from me in person the details of what had happened to Jodie – and she said how sorry she was, and how dreadful that the abuse had not been discovered before. She had to be objective, of course, but it was clear that Jodie’s case had touched her, and I appreciated her showing that. Once again, I repeated the details of Jodie’s disclosures. Sally thanked me for all I was doing, and gave me her home telephone number in case anything else should emerge.

Finally, the phone stopped ringing. I put the kettle on, and tried to settle Jodie with play dough, but she was having none of it. She was high on the frenzy of activity, rightly believing that it related to her. Luckily, Paula and Lucy arrived home from school, and they distracted her long enough to allow me to collect my thoughts.

A little while later, the phone rang again. It was Jill.

‘Hi, Cathy. I’m just calling to let you know the outcome of the strategy meeting. Contact with both of Jodie’s parents has been suspended with immediate effect, until further notice. Can you tell Jodie please?’

‘So she’s not seeing her mum either?’ I asked, surprised.

‘No. Until they know more, they’re playing safe.’

‘All right. I’ll explain to her. Goodness knows how she’ll take it.’

‘As we said earlier, it would be great if you could try and find out where the mother was while the abuse was taking place.’

‘I’ll try.’

‘Between you, me and the gatepost, this looks like one hell of a balls-up by Social Services. All hell’s broken loose while they try and find out how this could have happened.’

I hung up and looked at the clock; it was already 5.30, and I hadn’t even thought about dinner yet. I wearily went through to the conservatory, where Paula and Lucy were doing a good job helping Jodie model the dough. I decided to deal with the contact first, as I didn’t want her to feel in any way responsible for not seeing her parents.

‘I need to have a chat,’ I said to the girls. ‘I’ll explain later.’ They took my meaning and left. ‘Thanks for your help,’ I called after them.

‘I’ll explain later,’ Jodie repeated. I heard the girls laugh.

I squatted down beside her and began talking to her about being safe, keeping safe, and how safe she felt with me.

Obligingly she said, ‘I wasn’t safe with my daddy, was I, Cathy?’

‘No you weren’t, pet. And because of that, Eileen feels it would be better if you didn’t see either of your parents for a while, until it’s all sorted out.’

‘OK, Cathy,’ she said, not in the least perturbed. ‘I’ll tell her.’ Then she stood up, and started a conversation with herself, in which she told Jodie she wasn’t seeing Mummy or Daddy because she had to be safe.

That was too easy, I thought. It’s not normal. After all, she’d been with them for eight years. I’d dealt with many children who’d been neglected or even abused, and no matter what they’d been through, they always had some emotional connection with their parents. I’d never seen a reaction like this before. I moved on to the second matter of Mum’s presence during the abuse. Jodie sat down again, and picked up a lump of multicoloured dough.

‘Jodie, you know what you were telling me earlier? Can you remember where your mummy was while your daddy was in your bedroom?’

‘It’s a cat!’ she exclaimed, pulling the dough into an elongated pear shape.

‘Is it? That’s nice.’ I leaned closer. ‘Jodie, when your daddy was in your bedroom doing naughty things, where was your mummy?’

She shrugged and curled her tongue over her top lip in concentration.

‘Was she in the house, Jodie, or out? Did you tell her what he was doing?’

‘I told her,’ she said, thumping the dough with the palm of her hand. ‘I told her. I said I want a cat. Get me one now.’ Then she was off, in search of Toscha. I didn’t pursue it. I’d have to wait until she was ready.