Читать книгу Damaged, A Baby’s Cry and The Night the Angels Came 3-in-1 Collection - Cathy Glass, Cathy Glass - Страница 25

Iwas woken at around 2 a.m. by screams from Jodie’s room. I pulled on my dressing gown, and staggered along the corridor, feeling like I’d only just gone to sleep. I gave the door the usual quick knock, and went straight in. Jodie was lying in bed, holding the duvet over her head, clutching it tightly with her fingers. I sat on the edge of the bed, and Jodie stopped screaming. ‘What’s the matter, love?’ I asked.

‘It’s the eyes!’ she moaned, terrified.

‘What eyes, sweet? Come out from under there so I can give you a hug.’

‘No! They’re everywhere. The eyes in the walls, staring at me.’

I put my hand on the duvet where her feet were, to try and comfort her. ‘Jodie, love, I know you’re scared, but it’s your imagination. There are no eyes here. No one’s watching you. Please give me a hug.’

‘They’re here!’ she shouted back. ‘I can see them, coming at me! I’m not stupid. Make them stop, Cathy!’

‘Jodie, shush,’ I said firmly. ‘Now come out from under there, and I’ll show you. There’s nothing there, I promise. I’m here with you, and I wouldn’t let anything happen to you, would I? I’m here to protect you, that’s my job, isn’t that right?’

She fell silent for a second, and then loosened her grip on the duvet. I eased it down, and she clambered up and hugged me.

‘Now look, Jodie. You see, there’s nothing there.’ I walked over to the wall, and rubbed my hand across it. ‘See? There’s no one here.’ I sat back down on the bed. Jodie’s cheeks were red, and her forehead was hot and sweaty. She was genuinely scared; whatever these visions were, they were very real to her. What had started as straightforward nightmares had gradually developed into something closer to hallucinations. Increasingly now, when I went in to her room to comfort her, I would find her in a strange state that seemed somewhere between sleeping and waking; sometimes it would seem as if she were awake but still trapped inside her nightmare. I couldn’t tell if she was truly aware of what was happening but it seemed that whatever she was seeing was taking on a greater reality.

‘Will you read me a story?’ she asked.

‘Yes, OK, but then you have to go to sleep, all right?’

‘All right.’

I read her the story, and put her to bed, but at four o’clock she was screaming again. I went back and resettled her, but an hour later she started up again. There was no chance of getting her back to sleep now, which meant there was no chance of me sleeping, so I went downstairs for a cup of coffee and a much-needed cigarette. I stood on the patio in my dressing gown and slippers. It was still dark and I knew the sun wouldn’t be up for another half hour. I smiled to myself, as I wondered how many other mums knew exactly what time the sun came up.

It was a cold autumnal day. Summer had now passed us by and Jodie had been living with us for over six months. It was hard to remember a time before Jodie now, or a life that was lived without this intensity. Jodie and her problems occupied me constantly, and there was little in my life that wasn’t filled with looking after her and her needs. Now that the weather had turned cold, it was becoming quite a challenge to persuade Jodie to wear suitable clothes. Later that day, we left the house to go shopping, but as I went to close the door I realized I’d forgotten my own gloves. I left Jodie on the doorstep, while I popped inside to retrieve them. Suddenly the door slammed and Jodie was running up the hall towards me.

‘Whatever’s the matter?’

‘My dad. He’s outside!’

‘What? Where is he?’ I felt a rush of fear. It was far from unlikely that Jodie’s parents had been able to track me down, if the usual mistakes and errors had been made. I had a particular dread of seeing Jodie’s father; I wasn’t scared for myself – I didn’t feel that I was in great danger from him – but I was terrified that Jodie’s safe place in my home could be contaminated and threatened if she ever laid eyes on her father while she was here. And what was more, I never wanted to set eyes on him myself. The very thought of him made me feel physically sick. ‘Where did you see him, Jodie?’

‘In his van. Driving up the street.’

‘Go in the living room and stay put.’ I walked outside, drawing the door to behind me. I looked out from the doorstep but couldn’t see a van. I walked up the path and on to the pavement, peering up and down the street. I knew from what Jodie had said before that her father drove a white van, but I couldn’t see any vans at all. I looked up and down but there were definitely no white vans. I looked once more and then, seeing nothing, I went back inside, relieved.

‘It’s OK, Jodie, there’s no van. He’s not there. He doesn’t know where we live, so I’m sure it wasn’t him. It must be someone else’s van.’ I gave her a hug. ‘Shall we go to the shops now, or do you want to wait a bit?’

‘I’ll come,’ she said passively.

I reassured her again and, holding her close, led the way to the car. As we drove into town I watched her in the rear-view mirror, as she anxiously kept watch in every direction, presumably looking for vans.

I parked in the multi-storey and bought a ticket for two hours. As we entered the shopping mall, we were immediately transported into a fairyland of illuminated trees, sparkling foil garlands and a giant Father Christmas booming ‘Ho ho ho!’ I felt a surge of panic, as I compared the stores’ festive preparations with my own. I’d done nothing yet, and as I counted up the weeks I realized we were only six away from Christmas Eve. I picked up a basket, and we made our way round the department store.

Jodie was as ever an enthusiastic if not discerning shopper, and she happily grabbed any gaily packaged parcel that came within reach. While we shopped, I talked to her about Christmas and told her about the little traditions that she could expect with us, like decorating the house and the tree, the family service at our church on Christmas Eve, and the pillowcases we all hang on our doors before going to bed. I told her about the glass of sherry and the mince pie that we leave out for Santa, along with carrots for the reindeer. Jodie listened with mild interest but contributed nothing of her own experiences. She didn’t even mention her last Christmas with her parents, which is usually very poignant for children in care. Instead she grasped the material aspect of the festival and started telling me a long list of all the presents she wanted this year, which was, in a nutshell, anything brightly coloured – preferably pink and sparkly.

‘What did you get last Christmas?’ I asked, interrupting her.

‘Shoes,’ she said. ‘Black ones for school. But they wasn’t wrapped.’

‘And what did you do on Christmas Day? Did you play games?’

She nodded. ‘We went up the pub and played darts. Mum had lots of beer and fell over so we had to go home. They went to sleep, so I put a pizza in the oven and after that they felt better.’

I sighed. What a miserable Christmas – and to think that Jodie had assumed responsibility for her parents like that, particularly with her problems! I’d quickly guessed that she had taken a big portion of running the home on to her seven-year-old shoulders. For all her malcoordination and poor motor skills, she’d told me once how to mix a baby’s bottle and she knew how to cook fish fingers in the oven. But if her Christmas was joyless, it was no worse than others I’d heard of from my foster children who’d never known the excitement and pleasure of waking up on Christmas morning to bursting pillowcases and presents under the tree. ‘Well, Christmas will be very different this year, Jodie, and I know you’re going to enjoy it.’

‘Will I, Cathy?’ she said, and her face lit up.

‘Yes. I promise.’ As we carried on shopping, I resolved that she would have the best Christmas I could possibly give her – it would be one way that I could try and restore a piece of her childhood to her. I couldn’t wait to see her pleasure on the day itself, even if it was over a month away.

I found presents for my nieces and nephews, then spotted a pair of Winnie the Pooh slippers which would go into Paula’s sack. Not wishing to have the surprise ruined, I discreetly placed them at the bottom of the basket, and distracted Jodie while I paid. I did the same with the other stocking fillers, including a Tweenies jigsaw for Jodie, and some fancy hair conditioner that Lucy had mentioned. I would be doing all my shopping with Jodie this year, so it would have to be furtive and piecemeal, but it would be worth it.

When we arrived home, Lucy and Paula had just beaten us in. They were in the hallway, removing their coats and unloading their schoolbags.

‘We’ve been to Christmas,’ Jodie shouted excitedly.

‘Shopping,’ I added. ‘I’ve made a start.’

‘Yes, shopping,’ Jodie repeated. ‘And my daddy was naughty, he took his clothes off and weed on me.’

The girls laughed uncomfortably. Neither of them knew what to say.

‘Jodie,’ I said, ‘we went shopping this afternoon. What your daddy did happened more than a year ago. Don’t link the two. It’s confusing.’

But she often did this, running past and present together in a continuum of now. Right from the start she had had no conception of time, but her inability to distinguish between past, present and future seemed to be getting worse.

‘Do you want to play a game?’ asked Paula.

Jodie stared blankly back.

Paula persisted. ‘Let’s all do a jigsaw together!’

‘What about Barbie?’ asked Lucy. ‘I’d love to play with your Barbie dolls.’

‘No!’ snapped Jodie. ‘My dolls! Cathy, can I watch a video?’

‘Wouldn’t you rather play with the girls, Jodie?’ I asked. ‘I’m sure that would be much more fun, and I know the girls would like to hear all about your day at the shops.’

Jodie sighed, exhausted by my unreasonable demands. ‘Please, Cathy,’ she pleaded. ‘I been good?’

I reluctantly agreed, and let her take one of her Early Years videos upstairs. The girls went up to their rooms, and I could see they were a little hurt. Of course, they had no particular desire to play Barbie dolls with Jodie, but no one likes being rejected. Paula and Lucy had been trying to spend more time with Jodie, and to become her friends, but she was impossible to break through to. Most children, no matter how bad their behaviour, do essentially want to be liked, and to feel the approval of those around them. Jodie, on the other hand, simply couldn’t have cared less. When the girls wanted to play with her, she wasn’t pleased or flattered, and it didn’t even occur to her that she might hurt their feelings. She was completely oblivious.

Her relationship with Adrian was even more distant. Because of the nature of the abuse she had suffered, Jodie regarded all males in sexual terms, and would try to flirt with them, or rub provocatively up against them. There was nothing deliberate about this, it was simply the kind of behaviour which had characterized her relationships with men in the past, and it was going to take an awfully long time to reverse this pattern. As a result, Adrian found her very difficult, and tended to just stay out of her way.

As I began peeling the potatoes for dinner, I heard loud thumps coming from upstairs. I was about to climb the stairs, ready to go up and deal with yet another scene, when I realized what the noise was. Jodie’s video contained song and dance routines for the children to join in with. Jodie was simply dancing along to her video.

As I returned to the kitchen, I felt immensely sad. Given the choice between playing with my daughters or watching a video on her own, Jodie had had no hesitation in choosing the video. It wasn’t even that she didn’t like the girls; if she had the option of being alone or of spending time with anyone, Jodie would always choose to be alone. Her history had taught her that the company of others could only bring pain and rejection, and this lesson had isolated her from the world.

My fear was the effect that this awful legacy was likely to have on the rest of her life. Jodie’s hostility, defensiveness and delayed development meant that she really had nothing going for her. She wasn’t pretty, bright or talented. She wasn’t kind, warm or vulnerable. She was still overweight, despite my efforts, although her weight had stabilized. She was rude, unpleasant, aggressive, violent, and she had absolutely no desire to be liked by anyone. It was a mixture that was bound to alienate her and she had no tools to win other people over, nothing at her disposal to make others wish to be around her, or to win her affection.

As far as I could tell, not one person had ever taken an interest in Jodie in her entire life, except those that had wanted to hurt her. Not one person had ever loved her. But as I listened to her clumsy, arrhythmic stomping coming from upstairs, I felt more drawn to her than ever. Surely it wasn’t too late for her? She was only eight years old, for goodness’ sake. Could her entire life really be mapped out?

I hoped fervently that there was time to heal her broken personality, and I longed to put her back together again so that she could have another chance at the childhood that had been so cruelly taken from her. I was determined to try my very best for this child and if love, attention, kindness and hard work could do anything, I would not stop until she was better.