Cut (8 page)

‘How long has Dawn been harming herself?’ John asked, slowly recovering.

‘About two years,’ Barbara said. ‘One of the older kids she got in with showed her how to cut. It became a regular Friday night activity, didn’t it, Dawn?’

Dawn grinned sheepishly and looked embarrassed, but I viewed what Barbara had said in a positive light. If the cutting was something Dawn had been doing simply to be in with an older group (albeit quite a disturbed one by the sound of it), then it was hopeful that when removed from that influence Dawn would stop it. The alternative was that her need to harm herself was because of psychological illness, which would be far more difficult to deal with, and more worrying.

‘Is there anything else we should know?’ John asked Barbara hesitantly.

Barbara again glanced at Ruth before speaking, as though seeking her permission. ‘Hide your matches, or lighters if you smoke. Dawn was playing with matches and caused a fire.’

There seemed to be no end to the horrors Barbara was now disclosing about her daughter. John and I looked to Barbara and Ruth for further explanation.

‘It was nothing much,’ Ruth said dismissively. ‘Dawn was with a friend and the two of them were playing with matches and caused a fire. Dawn now understands how dangerous it is to play with matches and has learned her lesson.’

I noticed that Barbara and Dawn both watched Ruth intently as she spoke, as though they were waiting to see exactly what she said – or admitted to, maybe? Was there more? Were details being omitted that only they were party to? I wasn’t sure, but I had the feeling there might be. How or what to ask I’d no idea.

‘So, let’s draw up the contract of good behaviour,’ Ruth said, changing the subject. ‘It’s getting late and I’m sure we would all rather be at home than in this meeting.’ I glanced at Adrian, who had now fallen asleep on John’s lap, as Ruth delved into her bag and took out a journalistic writing pad and a pen. John and I were still quiet, shocked and coming to terms with what we had learned.

Dawn, on the other hand, now suddenly found a new enthusiasm. Finally taking her feet off the table and unfolding her arms, she leant forward. ‘I’d like to go out on Friday and Saturday evenings, please,’ she said, and the three of them looked at John and me.

We were silent for a moment. Then John slowly said, ‘Yes. But you are only thirteen. Where would you be going?’

Dawn shrugged.

‘You can always bring friends home for the evening,’ I suggested.

‘She’d rather be out,’ Barbara said. Ruth nodded.

‘Out where?’ John asked again.

‘Just out,’ Dawn said.

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to be hanging around the streets,’ I said.

‘You can’t curtail all Dawn’s movements,’ Ruth said. ‘She’s used to leading her own life.’

I felt there were some peculiar group dynamics going on in the room in which John and I weren’t included. Clearly there had been a previous conversation between Dawn, Ruth and Barbara; and Dawn’s mother and social worker seemed to be in quiet collusion. We were all supposed to be working together for the good of Dawn, yet Ruth now seemed to be suggesting we perpetuate some of Dawn’s previous unsafe behaviour – the very behaviour that had brought her into care.

‘We are not suggesting we curtail all Dawn’s movements,’ John said decisively. ‘But I wouldn’t have a daughter of mine out on the streets. At a friend’s house, yes, or going to the cinema – we could drop Dawn off and pick her up.’ I nodded.

Ruth sat forward a little, and poising her pen over her pad began to write. ‘Let’s say that Dawn can go out on Friday and Saturday evenings, assuming she has been going to school, but she has to be in by nine-thirty.’ Clearly this decision was a fait accompli, and nothing John and I could have said would have made any difference.

‘Can we make it ten o’clock?’ Dawn asked.

‘No,’ Ruth said. ‘Nine-thirty is late enough.’ Dawn pulled a face. John and I glanced at each other.

‘I think nine-thirty is too late,’ John said.

‘’We’ll try it and see how it goes,’ Ruth said, dismissing any discussion. ‘Now, contact with mum,’ Ruth continued. ‘Obviously Dawn wants to see her mother regularly. And the best evening for Barbara is Sunday.’

‘Wouldn’t during the day be more convenient?’ I queried. I remembered that Jack had gone to his father’s for Sunday lunch and stayed the afternoon, which had worked very well.

‘I spend time with my partner, Mike, during the day on Sunday,’ Barbara said. ‘Dawn can come to me at six.’

My suggestions again dismissed, my sympathy flared for Dawn, who had just heard her mother effectively say that she would rather spend time with her partner than her.

‘Dawn has caused problems in the past between Mike and me,’ Barbara added. ‘Mike doesn’t want to see her. He’ll be gone by the time she arrives.’

My initial surge of empathy for Dawn was heightened, but I could hardly tell Barbara that I thought her loyalties were misplaced. Dawn seemed unmoved by her mother’s rejection and I guessed she was already well aware of her mother’s partner’s hostility towards her. Ruth’s pen was on her notepad again. ‘So shall we say six o’clock to nine, then?’ she said, writing as she spoke.

‘Six to eight,’ Barbara said. ‘I have to be up early for work the following morning.’

I again glanced at Dawn, who appeared to accept this without upset, although obviously I didn’t know what she was thinking.

‘And what about Dawn’s father?’ John asked. ‘Will Dawn be seeing him?’

‘No,’ Ruth and Barbara said together.

‘I’ve spoken to Dawn’s father,’ Ruth clarified. ‘And he doesn’t want contact at present. Dawn is aware of the reasons.’

There was a moment’s silence before John asked, ‘Are we to know the reasons?’

Ruth shook her head without looking up from her notepad. ‘No, there are confidentiality issues which I’m not at liberty to discuss.’

I felt the collusion in the room rise to a new level as Dawn and her mother both looked at the floor and Ruth concentrated on her notepad. John shifted uneasily beside me on the sofa.

‘Do you want us to bring Dawn to you for the visit and then collect her?’ I asked Barbara.

Barbara and Ruth looked at Dawn, who shook her head.

‘No,’ Ruth said. ‘Dawn can use the bus, but make sure she has enough money for the return bus fare. We don’t want her using lack of a bus fare as an excuse for not returning.’ Ruth glanced up from her notepad at John and me. ‘Is there anything else that needs to go into the contract of good behaviour?’ she asked.

‘I can’t think of anything,’ I said quietly.

‘Keeping her bedroom tidy?’ Ruth suggested.

‘Dawn does that already,’ I confirmed.

‘Good. Well, I’ll just add that Dawn undertakes to attend school every day,’ Ruth said. Which to my ears made school attendance sound like an option rather than a legal requirement.

Ruth finished writing and, quickly closing her notepad, returned it to her bag. ‘I’ll type this up and give everyone a copy for signing,’ she said. ‘Thanks for coming.’ She immediately stood.

Barbara also stood. ‘I must go. I have work tomorrow.’ She threw John and me a small smile. As she passed Dawn she said simply, ‘Goodbye, Dawn. See you on Sunday.’ And without attempting to kiss or hug her daughter she left the room. We heard her footsteps receding down the tiled floor of the corridor.

John and I stood. Adrian stirred in John’s arms but didn’t wake. Ruth was by the door, holding it open, and Dawn went out first. John followed. As I passed Ruth she touched my shoulder and I held back.

‘Just wanted to say that mum has problems showing affection to Dawn,’ Ruth said, ‘but I’m sure she cares for her.’ I nodded. ‘Dawn lived with both her parents from birth to the age of four, when they divorced. Then there was a gap of five years. Since the age of nine Dawn has lived partly with her mum, and partly with her dad and his partners. But it hasn’t worked out. Neither of Dawn’s parents has a strong relationship with her, although I think they have tried their best.’

I shook my head sadly. ‘I see. But when you say there was a gap, what do you mean?’

‘No one knows where Dawn was between the ages of five and nine. Mum says she was living with dad, and dad says she was with mum. Social services weren’t involved until Dawn was nine and started getting into trouble with petty thieving.’

I glanced down the corridor to where John and Dawn were standing. Dawn was peering into John’s arms at Adrian, who was apparently awake. ‘Won’t Dawn miss seeing her dad and his baby?’ I asked. ‘She seems very fond of her half-sister.’

Ruth closed the door to the sitting room behind us and made a move down the hall. I knew instinctively that the conversation was at an end, and that nothing more would be forthcoming. ‘It’s not appropriate for Dawn to see her father and his new family,’ she said curtly; then she went ahead to join John and Dawn.

Adrian was wide awake now and grinning widely.

‘Nice baby,’ Ruth said as I caught up.

‘I help look after him,’ Dawn said, coochi-cooing at Adrian.

‘Well, just you be careful,’ Ruth warned. ‘Babies are delicate. They don’t bounce.’ Ruth continued to lead the way out of the reception hall and into the car park, where we said goodbye.

John strapped Adrian into his car seat and Dawn climbed into the back beside Adrian. I turned in the passenger seat to look at her. ‘Dawn, you do know you have to be careful with babies, don’t you?’ I said, for something in Ruth’s warning to Dawn had unsettled me.

Dawn smiled and nodded. ‘I wouldn’t hurt a baby. It was an accident.’

‘What was?’ I asked, with a start. ‘What accident, Dawn?

‘Nothing.’ She shrugged.

I returned my gaze to the front as John started the engine. He pulled out of the car park and drove us home while Dawn kept Adrian amused.

Chapter Ten

A Different Person

‘
A
re we talking about the same child?’ John said to me as soon as we were alone. We had driven home with the only sound being that of Dawn talking to Adrian in the rear of the car. Dawn was now in bed, as was Adrian. John and I were sitting in the lounge with a mug of tea each, finally able to voice our concerns, of which there were plenty. ‘Do you think there’s another side to Dawn that we haven’t seen yet?’ John asked.

‘Yes, I suppose there must be. Although I think she’s changed since she’s been with us and is far more settled and happier now. But those scars! Imagine her cutting into her arm like that! It’s horrendous. And I felt such a fool for not seeing them.’

‘I don’t think either of her parents had much time for Dawn,’ he said.

‘No. And Ruth told me that there is a big gap in Dawn’s history, between the ages of five and nine, when no one seems to know where she was!’

‘What?’ John frowned, puzzled. I told him what Ruth had told me of Dawn’s past, and his frown deepened. ‘Did Ruth tell you anything else? She wasn’t very forthcoming at the meeting.’

‘Only that Barbara couldn’t show her daughter affection, and that neither of her parents have a close relationship with Dawn.’

‘That was pretty obvious,’ John sighed. ‘But even so, drinking, smoking, staying out all night, truanting and slashing her arm. I can’t believe it’s the same girl.’

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘I’m sure she’s different now.’

We both sat quietly for some moments, contemplating what we had learned that evening. It was after ten o’clock and normally I would have been in the bath by now, but I felt exhausted and I was finding it difficult to drag myself from the sofa and go upstairs.

‘Why do you think Dawn’s father doesn’t want to see her?’ John asked, leaning forward to place his empty mug on the coffee table.

‘I don’t know, but I hope it’s nothing to do with Dawn’s treatment of their baby.’

John’s gaze immediately darted to mine. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Something Dawn said as we were getting in the car tonight. Didn’t you hear her?’ He shook his head. ‘She said she wouldn’t hurt a baby, that it was an accident.’

‘What was an accident?’

‘That’s what I asked her, but she didn’t answer. Perhaps she’s a bit over-enthusiastic with her dad’s new baby, as she can be with Adrian, and perhaps her stepmother doesn’t like it? Or maybe Dawn’s sleepwalking put them on edge? I mean it’s pretty scary. It’s a pity we didn’t have a chance to discuss it in private with Ruth or Barbara.’

‘Even if we had,’ John said dryly. ‘I doubt Ruth would have told us much. It would have been another “confidentiality issue”. I must say I didn’t find her attitude very helpful.’

‘No,’ I agreed.

When I finally hauled myself upstairs to bed, I fell into an immediate and deep sleep. Adrian obligingly didn’t wake until 4.30 a.m., and as I fed him by the light of my bedside lamp, John stirred, then got up and, unlocking our door, went along to the toilet. A second later he called out and I could hear the anxiety in his voice, and also the edge of protection.

‘Dawn’s bedroom door is open and she’s not in bed! Stay there, I’m going downstairs.’

The landing light went on and John’s footsteps sounded on the stairs. I felt my tension rise as I remained propped up on my pillow, feeding Adrian, and straining my ears for any sound. Then I heard John’s voice again, coming from the hallway below.

‘This way to bed, Dawn. Come on, up you go,’ he encouraged.

I listened as two sets of footsteps slowly came up the stairs and then turned on to the landing. A silence followed, and I guessed John was steering Dawn into her bed. I heard her bedroom door close. Then John went to the toilet, the landing light went off and he reappeared.

‘I found her sitting on the bottom stair,’ he sighed as he climbed back into bed.

‘I wonder if she tried our bedroom door first before going downstairs? I didn’t hear her.’

‘No, but at least we know she can safely navigate the stairs,’ he said.

‘It’s very worrying, though. I mean she could have easily tripped and fallen.’

‘But what are we supposed to do? We can’t lock her in her room!’

‘Perhaps she’ll stop sleepwalking if she tried our door and found she couldn’t get in,’ I offered.

‘Hopefully,’ John said.

It was an optimism we had expressed before and, as before, it was soon to prove unfounded.

The following night when Adrian woke at 4.30 a.m. for his feed, John woke too and immediately went to check on Dawn.

‘She’s gone again!’ he called, and once more he found her sitting on the bottom stair. While I fed Adrian, John steered Dawn back to bed and she slept through until morning. We didn’t, though. We both slept fitfully, listening out for any sound of Dawn, and the following morning we were again exhausted.

‘I really think I’m going to have to do what the books suggest and try to talk Dawn through whatever it is she’s getting up to do.’ I said to John as he dressed for work. ‘It’s almost as if she has some unfinished business. Perhaps once she’s been reassured, or done whatever it is she has set out to do, she’ll stop sleepwalking.’

‘Fine,’ John said a little sharply, tetchy from lack of sleep. ‘We’ll try it next time. But I’m not leaving our bedroom door unlocked. It’s too risky. Particularly as it seems Dawn’s unfinished business has something to do with Adrian.’

‘OK, next time, if there is a next time, I’ll get up and try to talk to her. That book said sleepwalkers often divulge

things while sleepwalking that they wouldn’t normally do. If I can find out what’s bothering her, then maybe I can help.’

With so little background information on Dawn, John and I were trying to deal with her sleepwalking in any way we could, using common sense and what we had read. Had Dawn’s social worker been more proactive and forthcoming we would have raised the matter with her, and hopefully would have found out what was worrying Dawn. And even had some advice. As it was, with virtually no involvement from Ruth, we felt that Dawn was solely our responsibility and her problems were ours to deal with. We were treating Dawn, and dealing with her, as parents, and I wondered what I would have done if Dawn had been my own daughter. Spoken to my doctor, I thought, which is what I decided to do if Dawn continued sleepwalking for much longer.

Dawn completed a full week at school and therefore, according to Ruth’s instructions, was allowed out on Friday and Saturday evenings, and as the contract of good behaviour stated, she had to be home by 9.30 p.m. John and I didn’t know where Dawn went or who she was with, and it wasn’t an arrangement either of us approved of, or was happy with. As John had said at the meeting (and I completely agreed with him), we wouldn’t have allowed our own daughter to simply go out without us knowing where she was going or who she was with. And although it was now April and the days were growing longer, it was still pitch black by 8.00 p.m.

Before Dawn went out she spent some time upstairs getting ready, washing her hair and changing into fresh clothes, then came down to say goodbye. We asked her where she was going, and who she was going to meet, but she said she ‘hadn’t plans’. John again offered to give her a lift in the car but she said, politely, ‘No thanks, no need. I’ll be fine.’

This was in the days when only a few business people owned mobile phones and neither John, Dawn nor I had one. Once Dawn left the house, therefore, we had no way of contacting her to make sure she was all right. I told her if she got stranded and needed a lift home to phone us from a call box, and to this end I made sure she had some twenty-pence pieces for a public phone. However, this was small comfort, and on both Friday and Saturday evenings John and I sat in the lounge, ostensibly watching television, while most of our attention was focused on the hands of the carriage clock.

When the bell rang at dead on 9.30 p.m., I immediately answered the door, and we were both extremely relieved to see Dawn back safely. I praised her for getting home on time, and also asked her if she had had a good evening.

‘Yes, thanks,’ she said, but she offered nothing else.

She sat with us in the lounge for half an hour and then went up to bed at ten o’clock.

On Saturday night when she came home John and I thought we could smell smoke on her clothes, and I took the opportunity to say a few words to her about smoking in general.

‘It’s better never to start,’ I said. ‘It can easily become a habit, and before you know it you’re addicted.’ I was speaking from experience, for I had smoked, albeit only a few a day, before having Adrian. I’d given up as soon as I’d found out I was pregnant, and I didn’t intend starting again.

Dawn nodded and said she wouldn’t start smoking, and I accepted what she said. Perhaps she hadn’t been smoking; perhaps she’d been in a smoky environment or with someone who had been smoking. I knew that to confront or lecture her wouldn’t do any good and would probably put her on the defensive.

On Sunday we went to my parents for lunch and as usual our visit was very pleasant and relaxing. Once we had started fostering both our parents had quickly become as enthusiastic and committed as we were. My parents always made such a fuss of us, and we all enjoyed Mum’s cooking, particularly her homemade apple pie, which I promised to try to make when I had time. They went out of their way to chat to Dawn and make her feel welcome, as they had done with Jack. Unfortunately we had to leave early, as Dawn was seeing her mother in the evening.

Again, we offered Dawn a lift to her mother’s, but Dawn politely refused. I gave her the return bus fare, plus some extra for emergencies. I had already given her a
£5
weekly clothing allowance. She thanked me, and I said I’d see her at about nine o’clock – Dawn would be leaving her mother’s at eight and it was about fifty minutes on the bus.

I was less worried about Dawn going to her mother’s than I had been on Friday and Saturday, when I hadn’t known where she was. Although I still wasn’t happy with a thirteen-year-old girl travelling alone on the bus after dark, there was nothing I could do about it. Ruth had made the decision.

* * *

Dawn arrived home early from seeing her mother – it was only 8.30 p.m. I answered the door and asked her if she’d had a nice time and if her mum was OK.

Dawn shrugged. ‘Mike was there. They were still eating, and I had to go to my bedroom until they’d finished. He came back again at seven thirty, so I left.’

I was astounded. Barbara was only seeing her daughter for two hours a week. Couldn’t she have arranged her Sunday evening better? What a rejection – to send Dawn to her room, while Mike finished eating, I thought! Clearly Mike’s relationship with Dawn was far worse than we had been led to believe, and I wondered why.

‘That was a disappointment,’ I said as Dawn hung her coat on the hall stand.

‘Not fussed,’ Dawn said, and she changed the subject.

Clearly Dawn didn’t want to talk about it, and she came through and sat in the lounge with John and me for half an hour. Then, with school the following morning, she went up to the bathroom and to bed.

When I went up to say goodnight at 9.30 p.m. she was already asleep. The sleeve of her pyjama top on her left arm had ridden up and the scar lines from her cutting were visible. I hadn’t broached the subject of her self-harming with her yet, clutching to the hope, that like the rest of the behaviour her mother had described, it was a thing of the past. If Dawn mentioned it, I would obviously talk to her and listen, for I suspected that her cutting had probably been a cry for help, and listening to her worries might be all that was needed.

I switched off Dawn’s light and came out, closing her bedroom door. John and I were in bed at 10.30 p.m. and hoped to have an unbroken night’s sleep. With Adrian now on three small meals a day, he needed less breast milk, and on Saturday had slept until nearly 6.00 a.m. I knew the time was fast approaching when he would stop needing me for this purpose, and the nurse at the clinic had said I should start introducing cow’s milk into his trainer beaker and gradually wean him.

If John and I were looking forward to an unbroken night, it was a lame hope. At 2.00 a.m. we were both wide awake, staring into the darkness and listening. Something had woken us and it wasn’t Adrian – he was still fast asleep in his cot.

‘Is Dawn out of bed?’ I whispered to John.

‘Not sure. I’d better take a look.’ Quietly unlocking our bedroom door, he went out on to the landing. He returned a few seconds later. ‘She’s sitting on the bottom stair again,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll take her back to bed.’

‘Let me try talking to her,’ I said quietly. ‘See if I can find out what’s bothering her.’ For while I didn’t relish the thought of leaving the warmth and comfort of my bed after only three hours’ sleep, if I could find out what was worrying Dawn and stop her from sleepwalking, this small discomfort would be a good investment.

‘I’ll come too,’ John said.

He unhooked our dressing gowns from the back of the door and passed mine to me. We padded along the landing and John put the landing light on so that there was enough light to see Dawn but not to startle her. We went down the stairs and stepped round her, then with John standing to one side in the hall, I squatted down on my heels so that I was at eye level. Her hands were in her lap and she was staring straight ahead, her eyes fixed and glazed, as though staring through me.

‘Dawn?’ I said quietly. ‘Dawn, it’s Cathy. What’s the matter, love? Is there something worrying you?’

There was no movement, no blink of the eyes or facial expression to suggest she could even hear me.

‘Dawn?’ I said again. ‘It’s Cathy. I want to help you. Can you tell me what’s worrying you?’

John was standing motionless in the hall behind me and we both concentrated on Dawn, watching for the slightest sign that she had heard me or was receptive to my words. But there was nothing.