Cut (21 page)

The following day was 5 November, a Friday, and Bonfire Night. John and I had decided that Adrian was too young to go to a firework display, as he would be frightened by the loud bangs and flashing crackling lights. Dawn said she wanted to go to a firework display which was to be held in a park fifteen minutes’ walk away. The entrance fee was
£
4 and I gave her this, plus extra to buy a burger and a hot drink. Seeing her off at the door, I wished her a good time and told her to be back by 9.30 p.m. at the latest, for I knew the display finished at 9.00.

Dawn returned early, at 8.45 – in a police car. We recognised one of the two officers from the last time Dawn had been brought home by the police. The officer said they had picked her up, together with two lads, for causing a nuisance in a street near the park. Apparently they had been throwing lighted fireworks in people’s dustbins and watching the lids fly off. While this was no more than high jinks to them, as the officer pointed out it had damaged the dustbins and was also very dangerous. John and I apologised to the officers, and once they had gone, told Dawn off and lectured her about the dangers of the misuse of fireworks. She admitted that she had spent the money I had given her for the entrance fee on buying fireworks, then immediately apologised and said she had let us down, again. We agreed she had, and we stopped her from going out on Saturday, which she accepted without complaint.

It was exhausting and frustrating dealing with Dawn’s behaviour, and we no longer had the comfort of the forthcoming psychiatrist’s appointment. But John and I still believed that at some point, when Dawn realised that we would always be there for her no matter what she did, she would stop rebelling, begin to come to terms with her past and settle on a more even track.

Christmas was approaching and I was looking forward to it for a number of reasons. It would be Adrian’s first proper Christmas, as he had only been ten weeks old the previous one and clearly wouldn’t remember it. I also hoped it would give Dawn a boost to be part of a family Christmas. Judging from what she had told me of her past Christmases, it would be her first real one for many years, for like our visit to the seaside her last recollection of having a good Christmas was before her parents had divorced when she had been five.

However, at the beginning of December, as the fervour towards the twenty-fifth increased with earnest, a phone call from Ruth put paid to my hopes. ‘Barbara wants Dawn home with her,’ Ruth said. ‘From Christmas Eve to the first of January.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

Christmas Comes Early

‘W
hy?’ I asked, shocked. ‘Whatever for?’

‘Mike’s away, and Barbara doesn’t want to be alone over Christmas and the New Year,’ Ruth said.

While I could appreciate Barbara’s need for company over the festive season, I was bitterly disappointed. Christmas is such a family time and, if I was honest, I viewed Dawn more as a member of our family than she was of Barbara’s, although I respected that Dawn was her daughter and therefore Barbara had a right to lay claim to her.

‘Ask Dawn what she wants to do,’ Ruth said. ‘If she wants to stay with you, I’ll tell Barbara she’ll visit her for Christmas Day only.’

This would still limit my plans for giving Dawn a really special Christmas, but it was better than nothing.

‘And what about her father?’ I asked. ‘Is Dawn going to see him too?’

‘No,’ Ruth said. ‘He will be spending it with his partner and baby.’

‘OK,’ I said dejectedly. ‘I’ll ask Dawn what she wants to do.’

Later, when I told Dawn about her mother wanting her for Christmas, I could tell she was struggling with the decision, clearly having divided loyalties.

‘Look, Dawn,’ I said after a while. ‘She is your mother, and if that is where you feel you should be over Christmas then I’ll give you a little Christmas here before you go.’

‘Oh, will you?’ she cried, clearly relieved. ‘And you won’t mind if I go?’

‘I’ll mind because I’ll miss you, but I do understand, love.’

‘Thanks, Cathy. You’re terrific!’ Throwing her arms around me she planted a big kiss on my cheek.

So that’s what we did. We had a mini Christmas on the weekend before Christmas. School had broken up, the decorations and tree were in place, and on the Saturday evening (21 December), instead of going out and getting up to mischief, Dawn stayed in and hung her pillowcase on the end of her bed. Once she was asleep I crept into her room and took the pillowcase into my room where, careful not to wake Adrian, I filled it with the wrapped presents I had hidden in my wardrobe. I carried the bulging pillowcase back to her room and propped it beside her bed, making sure she wouldn’t trip over it if she sleepwalked.

Dawn slept well that night and in the morning I didn’t have to wake her. We heard her cries of glee at 6.45 a.m. as Adrian began to stir. ‘Cathy! John! Come quickly. Look! Father Christmas has been.’

John and I smiled as we put on our dressing gowns and, collecting Adrian from his cot, went to Dawn’s room. I don’t think she actually believed Father Christmas had been, but she was like a young child, accepting of and embracing all the magic Christmas had to offer. Her face was a picture of awe and delight as she sat up in bed and delved into the pillowcase, bringing out the gifts one at a time. She studied each present first, turning it in her hand, savouring the anticipation, before slowly removing the paper. For her, as with children (and many adults), the unwrapping of the present was as exciting as receiving the actual gift.

I perched on the edge of the bed while John stood to one side holding Adrian, and we watched as she unwrapped and admired the gifts. They weren’t all expensive presents – many were ‘stocking fillers’ – but I had bought Dawn the wristwatch, denim shirt and shoulder bag she wanted; together with cassettes for her Walkman, a chocolate selection box, bubble bath, a photograph album and a bracelet, which she wasn’t expecting. I could have wept as she looked, eyes big with wonder, at each unwrapped gift for some moments before placing it carefully on the bed beside her, as though unable to believe what she saw. She thanked us over and over again, and said how lucky she was, and how did Father Christmas know what she wanted? Dear, sweet, innocent Dawn, I could, and did, forgive her everything, and I thought if only I could have had her five years earlier how different things might have been.

Once all her presents were open and the pillowcase was empty, she sat in bed overawed, and gazing at the presents which surrounded her. I asked if I could take a photograph of her for the albums – hers and mine – and she agreed. I fetched my camera and then stood at the end of her bed and looked through the lens. She sat in a nest of wrapping paper and gifts and smiled up at me with pure joy, and I knew it was an image that would stay in my mind’s eye for ever.

‘Merry Christmas, love,’ I said, after I had taken the photograph.

‘Merry Christmas,’ Dawn said, and we laughed in conspiracy, for the outside world had to wait another three days before they started their Christmases.

We dressed, and I made a cooked breakfast. Then we went through to the lounge, where more presents awaited Dawn under the tree. And while I had been in the kitchen three presents had appeared of which I had no knowledge.

‘It looks like Father Christmas has been in here too,’ I said.

Dawn smiled. ‘Merry Christmas and thanks for everything. It’s not much but I hope you all like them.’

‘That’s very sweet of you, Dawn,’ I said. ‘I’m sure we will. Thanks, love.’

John took the present that Dawn had put under the tree for Adrian and passed it to him. I took a photograph as he opened it, and while Dawn didn’t sit next to him, or even help him, as she would have done in the past, she didn’t put a huge distance between them as she had been doing. Pulling off the last of the paper, Adrian revealed a soft toy.

‘It’s a panda,’ Dawn said. ‘Do you like it, Adrian?’

Adrian grinned and nodded. ‘Dank u,’ he said before rubbing his face in the soft fur of the toy.

‘He does, very much,’ I said, and Dawn smiled, pleased.

She watched as John and I opened our presents from her – perfume for me and aftershave for John.

‘That’s lovely, Dawn,’ I said, and going over I kissed her. ‘Thanks, love. We’ll smell delightful now.’ John thanked her too.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Dawn said sheepishly. ‘But I used my clothing money to buy the presents.’

‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s very generous, and much better than spending it on beer.’

She looked sideways at me for a moment, unsure if I was joking, and then realising I was, laughed.

There were presents under the tree for Dawn from my parents, brother, my neighbour Sue, and my good friend Pat, who had met Dawn a few times when she had come to the house. Adrian couldn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to open any more presents – at fourteen months the concept of a pre-Christmas Christmas for Dawn’s sake was a bit beyond him. We kept him amused with the discarded wrapping paper while Dawn opened her presents: makeup in a presentation box, a set of teenage novels, a music voucher, and a denim skirt from my parents which I had chosen to match the shirt and bag Dawn had had from Father Christmas. Dawn said she would thank everyone the next time she saw them, which would be in the New Year.

With the other presents (for John, Adrian, me and our Christmas guests) remaining unopened under the tree until the twenty-fifth, we played games, as we would be doing again on Christmas Day. I popped into the kitchen every so often to see how the chicken was doing, and later as I set the vegetables to boil, John and Dawn laid the table.

At two o’clock we sat around the table with its festive cloth, pulled the crackers, put on our paper hats and tucked into the Christmas dinner with all the trimmings – roast chicken with stuffing, roast potatoes and parsnips, carrots, peas and sweetcorn, with lashings of thick gravy. Christmas music played on the hi-fi in the background as we ate, and John told us of his Christmases as a child in Norway where has father had worked. Adrian’s paper hat, which was far too big, slipped further and further down until if finally covered his face and stopped him from eating, and I took it off. He was in his high chair and made a good attempt at feeding himself with a combination of small fork and fingers. John and I didn’t open a bottle of wine as we would be doing on Christmas day for we felt it was putting temptation in Dawn’s way and she was really too young to be drinking alcohol.

We had a rest from eating after the main course, and returned to the lounge for a couple of hours. Adrian dropped off to sleep on the sofa, and we played card games, and then Cluedo, which Dawn won. Adrian woke just as I was giving Dawn a chocolate off the tree for a prize and protested so loudly that I gave him a chocolate too.

It was Sunday and Dawn had told her mother she wouldn’t be making her usual evening visit as she would be with her for all the following week. Dawn had therefore been with us continuously since coming home at 9.30 p.m. on Friday, and while I knew it wasn’t an ordinary weekend, with our mini Christmas, she had been so relaxed and happy that I wished I could have curtailed her going out more often, for I was sure the gang she hung around with was largely responsible for the trouble she got into.

We had cold chicken sandwiches for tea, and then once Adrian was in bed John, Dawn and I set about the washing up. We were amazed at how much there was considering there was just the four of us, yet there was a cosy, homey feel in the warm kitchen as John washed, Dawn wiped and I put away the pots, pans, cutlery and crockery – a comfortable family feeling that encompassed Dawn and which I hoped would be repeated more often in the future.

Once the kitchen was clear, we returned to the lounge with a cup of tea and slice of Christmas cake each – I had bought a small cake, as I had the Christmas pudding, with a larger one in the cupboard for Christmas Day, when there would be eleven of us.

Before Dawn went up to bed, carrying her presents, she thanked us again. ‘It’s been great,’ she said giving us both another kiss. ‘My best Christmas ever!’ While I was pleased, I also thought this was a little sad, for Adrian, like many children, would grow up anticipating and enjoying these Christmases every year, almost as a right.

When I went to say goodnight to Dawn she had put her presents in two neat piles on the floor so that she could see them from her bed.

‘’Night, love,’ I said. ‘Merry Christmas.’

‘Merry Christmas, and thanks for giving me a good time. Now I won’t be so disappointed on Christmas morning.’

‘Have you been disappointed by Christmas in the past, then, Dawn?’ I asked gently, sitting on the edge of her bed.

She nodded, and her face clouded. ‘But I won’t think of that now. I don’t want to be sad again. I’m happy now and I want to stay happy for as long as possible.’ Throwing both arms around me she hugged me for all she was worth.

On the morning of Christmas Eve John took Dawn with her suitcase to her mother’s for the week. Barbara was in and awaiting Dawn’s arrival and – perhaps because Mike was away – Barbara seemed really pleased to see her daughter, John said. She welcomed her in and wished John a Merry Christmas, and said he could collect Dawn any time on 1 January, although not too early, as they would be celebrating the New Year together.

As I began the last of the preparations for our second Christmas – collecting the pre-ordered turkey and shopping for fresh vegetables – the house was strangely quiet and empty without Dawn, and I closed her bedroom door against the reminder of her vacant bed. Adrian missed her too and kept saying, ‘Daw’? Daw’?’ as he went from room to room looking for her. For although Dawn hadn’t given him any attention in the last five months she was still a member of our family and her sudden vanishing was inexplicable to Adrian at his age.

‘Dawn will be back soon,’ I reassured him, and myself.

Our Christmas went as planned. On Christmas morning my parents, my brother, John’s brother and his family, and an elderly aunt of mine who had never married and would have been alone over Christmas arrived, and we had drinks and mince pies. We chatted, and swapped presents as the turkey browned in the oven, and then ate ourselves to a standstill. After dinner we played silly games – charades, consequences, and sardines – and the noise and excitement grew as the day went on.

I thought about Dawn more than once during the day and hoped she was having a nice time with her mother. It was after midnight by the time everyone left, but all the hard work had been worth it, and we’d gone through two reels of film, photographing Adrian’s first real Christmas.

John had taken the week off work between Boxing Day and New Year and we spent most of it socialising, visiting old friends and distant relatives whom we only had the chance to see at this time of year. A last-minute invitation saw us at an impromptu gathering next door at Sue’s for New Year’s Eve. There were twenty of us, all with babies or young children, whom we carried upstairs as they fell asleep, settling them in the main bedroom. The adults and older children saw in the New Year with party poppers and a rowdy chorus of ‘Auld Lang Syne’. A little after one o’clock I lifted Adrian from the travel cot upstairs and, thanking Sue, we said our goodbyes, and left to the shouts of Happy New Year reverberating down the road.

I quickly settled Adrian in his cot and, happily exhausted, John and I climbed into bed, leaving our bedroom door unlocked for the eighth night in a row and looking forward to another night of unbroken sleep.

It didn’t happen.

Shortly after 5.00 a.m. we were woken by the door bell. Throwing on our dressing gowns and wondering what on earth was the matter, we stumbled downstairs to find Dawn with her suitcase on the doorstep with a police officer in tow.

‘It’s New Year’s Day!’ John said, utterly amazed.

‘Tell me about it,’ the officer said dryly. ‘I believe this young lady is living with you?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Come in, Dawn. Whatever has happened?’

Tired, and clearly worse for drink, Dawn came into the hall, as John lifted in her suitcase. ‘What’s happened?’ I asked again, glancing between the officer and Dawn, who was now halfway up the stairs.

‘I need to go to bed,’ she said, continuing upstairs.

I looked at the officer.

‘Her mother phoned us an hour ago and said she was throwing Dawn out on to the street. They’d been drinking heavily and had argued. Doubtless Dawn will be able to give you more details when she’s recovered. I need to be going. It’s been a busy night and it’s not over yet.’