Damaged (22 page)

I looked along the table at the others, as they took detailed notes. The doctor drew to a close.

‘It is therefore my recommendation that Jodie requires nothing less than intensive, long-term therapy with a paediatric psychotherapist experienced in child sexual abuse.’

Thank God, I thought. All we need now is the funding.

‘What level of therapy do you have in mind?’ Gail asked. Mary slid her calculator in front of her.

‘Jodie has learning difficulties,’ said Dr Burrows, ‘and functions at the level of a much younger child. As a result she has difficulty in engaging with concepts and retaining them. In view of this, and the severe nature of her condition, I do not think even a high level of sessional therapy would be of any help. It is therefore my professional opinion that for therapy to have any effect in Jodie’s case it must be constant and immediate. I therefore recommend the best chance of recovery would be in a therapeutic residential unit.’

I heard the last two words, but it took a moment to sink in. The room fell silent, as the others finished writing. I could feel my pulse pounding in my neck, and my stomach churning. Jill touched my arm.

‘Thank you, Dr Burrows,’ Gail said. ‘That was very helpful.’

I could feel their eyes on me, as I stared down at my notepad.

‘Cathy,’ said Sally, ‘how do you feel about this? I know you’ve become very close to Jodie.’

I lifted my head and swallowed. My voice was uneven, and I was struggling to hold back the welling tears. ‘It’s difficult. I wasn’t expecting this. I was hoping that once Jodie started regular therapy we’d be able to see her through.’ I paused for a second. ‘To be honest, I feel it’s all been for nothing.’

Sally looked at Dr Burrows, who gently shook her head.

‘Even before this present crisis,’ said the doctor, ‘I doubt Jodie could have functioned successfully in a normal family. She’s deeply traumatized, and it’s affecting all aspects of her life. Very few carers would have invested as much as you have, and it’s to your credit that she’s come this far.’

Gail, Sally and Jill all muttered their agreement.

I shrugged despondently. ‘Would it not be worth trying sessional therapy for, say, six months?’

They looked again at Dr Burrows.

She looked over at me sympathetically. ‘In my opinion, no. Not only would it not be effective, but it could exacerbate her condition. Jodie’s personality is disintegrating, and the longer it’s left, the more profound the long-term damage may be.’

I said nothing.

‘What time scale are you looking at?’ Gail asked.

‘If I make a recommendation immediately, she could be in within a month.’

I flinched.

‘Do you have somewhere in mind?’ Gail continued.

The doctor delved into her briefcase, and brought out some coloured pamphlets which she distributed along the table.

‘It’s called High Oaks, and it’s run by Dr Ron Graham and his wife Betty. They’re practising child psychologists. You may have heard of them. They’re well respected in their field.’

Jill opened the pamphlet between us, and I stared at the first page. All I could see were blocks of fuzzy print, juxtaposed with pictures of smiling children. I blinked and tried to focus.

The doctor continued her explanation. ‘They’ve been established for twelve years and have built up an excellent reputation. It’s a lovely old manor house set in an acre of wooded parkland on the outskirts of Cambridgeshire. The Grahams live on site, together with a support staff of highly trained therapists. The children are taught by qualified teachers who come into the schoolroom in the morning. They cover all the curriculum subjects up to GCSE. The afternoons are given over to recreational activities and one-to-one therapy. At weekends they do what other families do, outings to the cinema, swimming and so on, and of course they take them on holiday. I’ve had close links with the Grahams since they first opened, and they have a very high success rate. Ninety per cent of the children eventually move on to live in a family. But of course it doesn’t come cheap.’

‘How much?’ Gail asked.

‘It depends on the package, but for someone with Jodie’s needs it will be approximately four thousand pounds a week. I would make an initial recommendation for three years, but of course that would be under regular review.’

I glanced up, Mary tapped some figures into her calculator and showed the result to Gail, who made a note.

‘Would she be able to receive visitors?’ Jill asked, knowing that’s what I would have asked if I had been thinking straight.

‘Absolutely,’ replied Dr Burrows. ‘In fact, it’s essential. If a child has no family then High Oaks arranges for a befriender. It’s very important that the children maintain ties with the outside world.’

‘And Cathy, you’d want to continue contact?’ asked Sally.

‘Yes, of course,’ I responded automatically.

Gail looked along the table. ‘We’ll have to take it to panel, but as it’s your recommendation it’s likely to be approved. Is there anything else?’

Dr Burrows leaned forward. ‘Only to thank Cathy for all she’s done, and the offer of contact in the future.’

The others concurred, and immediately began gathering together their papers. They dispersed quickly, leaving Jill and me alone. I placed my hands palm down on the table, and took a deep breath.

‘How am I going to explain this to Jodie? She trusted me, and now I’ve got to tell her she’s going. She’ll think I’ve rejected her like the others. What’s that going to do for her mental health?’

Jill touched my arm. ‘I know, I’m so sorry, Cathy. Listen, I wouldn’t say anything to her just yet. In my experience, these organizations tend to have a set procedure for introductions. I’ll contact High Oaks and see how they want to handle it. We’ll take it from there.’

I sighed and stood up. ‘OK. I’d better be getting back, she’ll wonder where I am.’

Jill joined me in the corridor. ‘It may not seem like it now, but it is for the best. You couldn’t have done any more. You’ll be keeping in touch, so she’ll know you haven’t rejected her. And who knows: three years down the line…?’

‘Yes, I know what you’re saying. I understand that it’s for the best. The question is, will she?’

I walked out of the building fighting my feelings of failure. Jodie was going to leave me in a worse condition than she’d arrived in – that was a first for any child who’d been placed with me. I could tell myself all I liked that it wasn’t my fault, but it was hard not to feel that it had all been a waste of time – all those sleepless nights, the endless draining days of tantrums and violence, the scenes in public, the awful mealtimes, the disruption to my children’s lives. Now, after everything we’d suffered, Jodie was going to be moved on again.

I knew intellectually that Jodie needed proper help and intensive therapy of the kind I simply couldn’t offer, not with all the love, kindness and common sense in the world. But still, I felt like I’d let myself down. And, most importantly of all, I’d let Jodie down.

How could I tell her that she had to leave?

Chapter Thirty

Green Grass and Brown Cows

T
hat night, while the rest of the house slept, I took out the photo album containing pictures of all the children I’ve fostered; I call it my Rogues’ Gallery. I flicked through the photographs. Some of them were posed, others captured unaware, on an outing to the coast or running round the garden. There were children of all ages and races, from little Jason who was only two days old when he arrived, to Martha, an angry and defiant seventeen-year-old, who went on to become a doctor.

I’d lost contact with some of them, but many still wrote to me and phoned. Four of them had stayed with me for a year or more, and all four now visited regularly, and had become part of our extended family. As I turned the pages, remembering the children’s various personalities and problems, there wasn’t one that I felt I’d failed. At least, not until now. There were no pictures of Jodie yet, but when I did come to add them I knew they would be the last. Whatever aptitude or ability I’d had seemed to have been lost. My confidence was shattered and I decided I wouldn’t foster again.

* * *

Three days passed before I heard anything further, and all the while Jodie remained shuttered and distant. I didn’t even raise the possibility of school any more; there was no point, she was in a world of her own. Somehow, we got through the days. I read to her, cuddled her and tried to tempt her to eat, while Adrian, Lucy and Paula made their own efforts to try and cheer her up.

I had sat the children down not long after I’d returned from the emergency meeting and told them that Jodie would be leaving us. They didn’t say much but their solemn expressions and quiet acceptance told me that they already knew how serious Jodie’s condition had become. It was always a sad moment when a child left us, but usually it was in the knowledge that they were going forward in a positive way – back to their families, or on to an adoptive family – and they left us better than they had arrived. With Jodie there was no such comfort; despite our best efforts, we had not managed to help her, and no one was unaffected.

‘Don’t blame yourselves,’ I said, echoing Jill’s words to me. ‘We’ve done our best. That’s all we can do.’

But it sounded as hollow to them as it had done to me, and I knew that they shared my sense of failure.

Four days after the meeting a letter arrived from Ron Graham. Inside the envelope there was a letter for me, and a second envelope, addressed to Jodie. In my letter, Ron introduced himself and wrote that he would phone soon to arrange a visit. In the meantime, would I give Jodie the enclosed? I handed her the envelope as she picked at her lunch. She took it from me suspiciously, then peered at her name on the front. Suddenly her eyes brightened. ‘For me? Who’s it from?’

‘You’d better open it and find out. It looks very important.’

I moved her plate away as she carefully picked open the flap and unfolded the pale yellow sheet. It was typed in bold red print, with a little smiley face in one corner; it was immediately appealing.

‘For me?’ she said again.

‘Yes. Shall I read it?’

She held it between us protectively, and I pointed to the words as I read.

Dear Jodie

My name is Ron and my wife is called Betty. We have lots of
children living with us, in a big house in the country. We sort
out their problems and have lots of fun too. We are good at
sorting out problems and we’d like to come and tell you about
us
.

We look forward to meeting you
.

Bye for now
,

Ron and Betty

It was a simple but cleverly crafted introduction, and she was thrilled at having a letter of her own. She asked me to read it to her again, and then a third time.

‘When are they coming?’ she asked, showing more enthusiasm than she had done in weeks.

‘I don’t know yet. They’re going to phone.’

‘I hope it’s soon. They sound nice, don’t they, Cathy?’

‘Yes, they do, sweet.’

She tucked the letter back into the envelope, and carried it around with her for the rest of the day. When Adrian, Lucy and Paula arrived home, she got them to read it to her, and they were as surprised by her enthusiasm as I had been. None of us actually said so, but we were all feeling a little bit slighted. How had one letter from strangers succeeded, where months of care from us had failed?

That night when Jodie was in bed, Ron phoned. I told him about her positive reaction.

‘Children like Jodie very rarely form attachments,’ he said, instinctively registering my unspoken feelings. ‘It’s no indictment of you, Cathy.’ He asked about the make-up of my family, and how Jodie had interacted with everyone. He explained the introductory procedure: it started with the letter, and would continue with a visit from him and his wife the following week.

‘We never rush the introductions,’ he said. ‘Jodie has put her trust in you, and now we have to transfer some of that trust to us.’

As he spoke, I was impressed by how much of Jodie’s background he had at his fingertips; he must have read the file from cover to cover, and we were on the phone for over an hour. It was a relief to talk to someone who seemed to know what they doing and to be fully conversant with the case. It made such a difference. Although Jill had done all she could, she was just a small cog in an enormous wheel, with very little power to change anything. She could only make suggestions and ask questions. Eileen, Jodie’s supposedly dedicated social worker, had proved uncommitted, inefficient and, if I was honest, negligent in the handling of the case. After a year she still didn’t seem to know the details of Jodie’s file, neither had she taken the trouble to get to know Jodie, or fulfilled her statutory duties. It was only when I talked to Ron that I felt some of the burden I had carried for so long beginning to lift from my shoulders. I hadn’t realized how lonely I had felt. For so long, it had been Jodie and me struggling along together as best we could while the system ground slowly on, hampered by its vastness and bureaucracy. Now, at last, I felt as though someone was truly interested in her.

When I asked what I should tell Jodie about their visit, he said to tell her as little as possible, but to write down any questions she had, and to reassure her that they would be answered when Ron and Betty arrived.

I went to bed feeling happier than I had done in a long while; Jodie had responded positively, and Ron seemed to be sensitive and direct. Perhaps everyone was right, and this was for the best.

The following morning, when the others had left for school, I told Jodie about Ron’s phone call the night before.

‘What’s he want?’ she snarled, pushing away the porridge she’d just asked for.

I wondered if she understood that Ron was the one who had sent the letter. ‘To find out how you are. He wrote you that lovely letter, remember? They’re going to come and see you next week.’

‘Don’t want to. Shut up. Go away.’

‘Jodie…?’ I started, but I decided not to pursue it. I’d do as Ron had asked, and take my cue from her.

She didn’t mention Ron, Betty or the visit for the rest of the day, and remained silent and withdrawn. At bedtime I found the letter torn into pieces, scattered across the floor. It would have been ridiculous to ignore this, as I knew Jodie well enough to realize that this was her way of communicating anger. I gathered together the scraps of paper and sat on the edge of the bed.

‘I know it’s difficult, sweet. It’s difficult for all of us. Can you tell me how you’re feeling? What your thoughts are? Maybe I can help.’

Her face crumpled and she threw herself into my arms. I held her close, her head pressed against my chest, as she cried pitifully.

‘What is it, Jodie? Try and tell me, please. I do really want to help.’

She thought for a few seconds, then blurted out, ‘They’ll do what the others did. I don’t want to. It hurt. You said it wouldn’t happen again.’

‘Oh, sweetheart, no. They’re good, kind people. They’d never hurt you, honestly.’

But Jodie’s perception was very different to mine. In her world, a new adult usually meant someone new who would abuse and hurt you, with only a handful of exceptions. The idea of any new adult must have been terrifying for Jodie. Ignoring Ron’s advice to say as little as possible, I tried to explain.

‘Ron and Betty are like me. They help children who have been hurt, only they can do it better than me. They know the right things to say. They’ve helped hundreds of children, and they want to help you. I’ll be with you the whole time they’re here. All they want to do is to talk. They’re going to tell us about the house where they live, and the other children who stay there.’

She sniffed. ‘They won’t go in my bedroom, will they? And I don’t want to go in their car.’

‘No, of course not.’ I turned her to face me. ‘Look, Jodie, you’ve met lots of new people since you’ve been with me, and none of them has hurt you. I wouldn’t let them come here if I didn’t think it was for the best. You do trust me, don’t you?’

She nodded. ‘Then please trust me on this, sweet.’ She let me dry her tears with a tissue, but I wasn’t sure that she’d accepted my assurances. After all, her time with me had been relatively short, compared with the eight years beforehand. In Jodie’s experience, my world was still the exception, not the norm.

I read her a story, and settled her for the night. As I came out of her room I heard Amy telling Jodie, ‘You can trust Cathy. Really, you can.’

As the day of the visit drew nearer, Jodie became increasingly unstable. She lapsed in and out of the Reg and Amy characters, and in between she offered little else. Occasionally I saw the real Jodie, and I tried to make the most of it, but she quickly retreated back into her shell, and I was again met with that blank, unrelenting stare. School remained out of the question and, apart from essential shopping expeditions, we hardly left the house.

On the morning of Ron and Betty’s visit she was no different, and I was anxious that she’d deteriorate further with strangers coming into the house. Betty phoned from the car to say they’d be with us in fifteen minutes, and I warned her of my concerns.

‘You’ve done well to see it through,’ she said, as positive and perceptive as her husband. ‘Once we’re in the house, and she’s met us, it will become easier.’

I wasn’t convinced.

I returned to the lounge, where I’d started a jigsaw in the hope of trying to entice Jodie into doing something. ‘That was Ron and Betty,’ I said brightly. ‘They’ll be with us shortly. Shall we start this puzzle?’

To my amazement she slid off the sofa, picked a piece and passed it to me. I put it into position, and the face of a cat took shape.

‘Where’s our cat?’ she asked suddenly.

‘Toscha’s asleep in her basket by the radiator.’

‘Have they got a cat?’

‘I don’t know. That’s something we could ask.’

She passed me another piece, and I snapped it into place. When the doorbell rang, Jodie was still on the floor, to all appearances playing contentedly like any other child.

I took Ron and Betty’s coats, and showed them into the lounge. They were a well-built couple in their late forties, smartly dressed in country casuals, with warm, likeable faces.

‘Hi, Jodie,’ Betty said brightly. ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’ She bent down to examine the jigsaw. ‘That’s good. Do you like puzzles?’

Jodie nodded.

‘This is my husband Ron.’

Jodie looked up and smiled, as Ron sat unobtrusively in the armchair a short way from her.

‘Jodie was wondering if you had a cat,’ I said.

‘Not a cat,’ replied Betty, ‘but behind the house is a field with lots of cows.’

‘Cows?’ said Jodie, suddenly interested.

‘Yes. In the morning you can hear them mooing, and then the farmer comes and takes them for milking. The children love to watch that. Sometimes the cows come right up to the fence, and you can stroke them.’

‘Really?’ She was beaming now. I slipped into the kitchen and made some coffee.

Toscha, hearing new voices, rose languidly from her basket and went in to take a look. I heard Jodie introduce her.

‘This is Toscha, but she’s smaller than a cow.’

‘That’s right,’ said Betty. ‘A lot smaller.’

Jodie must have seen something in Ron and Betty, because she was so unlike the child I’d described, I felt my account could have been called into question, if there hadn’t been all the other reports.

I carried the tray through, as Betty helped put the finishing touches to the jigsaw. I sat and admired the result. Jodie passed around the plate of biscuits, then sat beside Betty on the sofa.

‘Tell me what other games you like, Jodie,’ said Ron, gently introducing himself into the conversation. He was softly spoken, and could never have been described as intimidating.

‘Painting, I like,’ she said, ‘and going to the park.’

‘That sounds good.’ He smiled at her, and Jodie smiled back.

We spent some minutes talking about the park, then Ron subtly drew the conversation to High Oaks, and the activities and outings they did there. He took a leaflet from his pocket: it was a children’s version of the one I’d seen at the meeting, and we gathered around Jodie as we read through it. As Jodie turned the pages, Ron described their daily routine, and mentioned some of the other children. Jodie asked if they had a television, and what time they went to bed.

Ron and Betty stayed for nearly two hours, talking and playing, and showed us a short video of High Oaks, which included the rooms and the grounds. Once they were satisfied that Jodie was ready, they suggested we make a date to visit High Oaks the following week.