Damaged (8 page)

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At a little after six the doorbell rang, and a dishevelled young man introduced himself as Jodie’s escort for contact. Jodie bounded down the stairs and left in a cheerful mood, waving goodbye as she walked up the garden path. Was she completely unrepentant, I wondered? Was she even aware of how bad her behaviour had been, or the sad atmosphere which now pervaded the house?

It was the first moment of real peace in almost a week. The children were upstairs doing their homework. I sat in the living room with the television on, although I wasn’t paying attention. Instead my mind was in turmoil. Life with Jodie was not only far from easy, it was well- nigh impossible, and for the first time I was beginning to feel as though I might not be able to reach her. Jodie was the most disturbed, demanding child I’d ever come across; she was so cold and unresponsive, with no desire to be liked. It was not possible to find a way to mediate with her because she had no interest in meeting me halfway. It seemed as if she didn’t want to change but was content to remain in her far-off state, shut into her own world, expressing herself through tantrums and violence. In my experience, human relationships are all about give and take and mutual needs for affection and approval being met. If one party has absolutely no need of anything the other party has to offer, then where can the compromise come? That’s how it was with Jodie. I had never known a child so shut off, or so unseeking of warmth and affection. It seemed that the task I had set myself of caring for Jodie and somehow breaking through the huge barrier of emotional coldness around her had magnified itself a hundred times. I was in a no-win situation. I couldn’t have Jodie stay, because it was unfair on my children; her behaviour was just too disruptive. I couldn’t bear to see their home life and their security undermined and destroyed when they had just as much need of love and stability as Jodie, even if it was less pronounced.

On the other hand, I knew what sending Jodie back now would mean. Not only would it be yet another rejection, and another black mark against her name, turning her into an object of fascinated horror – ‘Six carers in four months! Just think how awful she must be!’ – but it would also condemn her to a children’s home. I knew that a children’s home was not the right environment for Jodie, and also that it would probably mean that her last chance of living in a normal family was gone for good. If I didn’t keep her, then no one else would take her in. And what was the point of being a foster carer if you couldn’t help the most troubled children?

As I sat and worried, I heard three pairs of feet coming down the stairs. Lucy and Paula entered and sat either side of me, while Adrian disappeared to make us a cup of tea. I was touched; the children had come to comfort me about my failure. Adrian returned with a tray of drinks. ‘There you go, Mum,’ he said.

‘Thanks, love.’

Adrian looked at the girls, then cleared his throat. ‘Mum, we’ve been thinking,’ he said, and paused.

‘Oh yes?’ I replied, expecting another request to extend their coming-in time.

‘Yes. We want Jodie to stay, for a while at least. We think we should wait, and see how it goes.’

I couldn’t say anything for a moment while I absorbed this, taken aback by their generosity. Life had been pretty miserable for the last week, and home, far from being a refuge of safety and contentment, had become a place where vicious kicks, punches and sudden attacks, along with spine-curdling yelling, high-pitched screaming and disturbed nights, were just par for the course. Were my children really prepared to put up with this indefinitely, when I had offered to hand Jodie back and restore calm and quiet to our home? Yet again, I was stunned by their extraordinary kindness and maturity when it came to the children we fostered. I looked over to Lucy and Paula. ‘Are you sure?’ I asked anxiously. I didn’t want them to regret this. ‘Is this really what you want? She’ll probably get worse rather than better in the short term.’

‘We all want her to stay,’ said Lucy firmly. ‘We know she’ll get better. And if not we can always kick her out next time!’ She grinned mischievously.

I felt a surge of relief, as well as immense admiration for my children. I know I’m biased, and I’m sure other parents feel the same about their kids, but at moments like these I couldn’t help but swell with pride.

It was after eight by the time Jodie returned from seeing her parents, and she was in high spirits. So were we. We’d had almost three hours’ respite, and we had a new sense of purpose. Jodie proudly showed us the dolls and sweets her father had given her. She also pointedly told me twice he had bought her burger and chips. I smiled. I was used to being played off against the parents of my foster children. No doubt the parents got the same kind of thing themselves. Apart from her boasting, Jodie had nothing else to say about her contact with her parents.

It was well past her bedtime, so with my usual mixture of coercion and repetition I took her up to the bathroom, then saw her into bed. She didn’t want the new dolls, but instead chose a large panda she had brought with her, and snuggled into it. I read her a short story, then said goodnight. I left the light on, came out and closed the door. I was feeling optimistic. Now Jodie had seen her parents, she might start to settle, with the two halves of her life running side by side. I sat in the lounge, and picked up the book I’d been trying to read for a fortnight. It was a comic satire, and it made me laugh out loud. At 9.30 Paula called from the landing that she was ready for me to tuck her in; it was a ritual she wasn’t too old for, as long as her friends didn’t find out.

As I went in, I noticed her rag-doll pyjama case wasn’t on the bed. ‘Where’s Betsy?’ I asked.

She looked at me, with her eyes large and imploring. ‘Don’t be upset, Mum, but I think there’s been an accident.’

‘What sort of accident?’

She nodded at the wardrobe. I went over and slid the door open. Lying at the bottom was Betsy, with her head ripped off, and stuffing falling out of her neck.

‘This isn’t an accident, is it, pet?’ I picked up the dismembered parts. ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’

‘I didn’t want more upset, Mum. It’s only a toy. Really. It doesn’t matter.’

I sat on the bed, reminded once again of how much the family had to put up with. ‘I’m sorry, love. I watched her like a hawk today. The only time I didn’t was when I was in the loo. I’ll try and find another one, but in future you must tell me. I know you feel sorry for her but if there’s any chance of us helping her, she’s going to have to learn. OK?’

She agreed, and we had a big hug, then I left her reading and continued my night-time rounds. I knocked on Lucy’s door, and waited for her shout of ‘Come in!’ She was in her pyjamas, propped on the pillows.

I sensed immediately that something was wrong. ‘Not you as well?’ I said.

She opened her bedside cabinet, and took out her makeup box. I looked at the congealed mess of black mascara, blue eye shadow and beige foundation.

‘It’s my fault,’ she said quickly. ‘I shouldn’t have left it on the bed.’

‘Of course you should! You have every right to leave your things out in your room. I’ll speak to her first thing in the morning.’ I repeated what I’d told Paula – that I’d replace it, but she had to tell me immediately if it happened again, so that I could deal with it at the time. It seemed that Jodie hadn’t taken my explanation about privacy very much to heart.

She took my hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Cathy, was I this naughty when I first arrived? I don’t remember.’

‘No. You had your moments but I wouldn’t have expected any different. You’d had a lot of moves but you soon settled. What we’re seeing in Jodie is severely disturbed behaviour.’

She looked away. ‘I know I shouldn’t say this, but sometimes she gives me the creeps. When she stares at me, it’s so cold I think she could kill me.’

‘It’s OK. I understand. She hasn’t had much love and I’m hoping we can change that. Now off to sleep. You’ve got your science exam tomorrow, haven’t you?’

She grinned sheepishly. ‘I will, and thanks for looking after me. I do love you, you know that, don’t you?’

It was the first time she’d said it, and ironically it had taken the hatred of a disturbed child to cement our relationship. ‘I love you too, sweet. You’re a good girl. Jodie couldn’t have a better example.’

Chapter Eight

Julie

J
odie had been living with us a little over a week when her eighth birthday arrived. I’d got so used to thinking of her as eight already because that’s how the Social Services had always referred to her, but in fact she was on the tail end of seven years old when she arrived. Jodie celebrated her birthday with her parents at the next contact session and spent her actual birthday with us.

When she got back from her birthday celebration with her parents, Jodie was loaded down with more bags of big, cheap, glittery toys of the kind that would last five minutes, and hold her interest for half that time. But if the amount was anything to go by, Jodie was certainly used to getting plenty of what she wanted. Even so, just as with the new things she had brought back from her previous contact sessions, the novelties and toys didn’t hold much charm for her. It seemed she liked getting them, but after a moment or two they had no worth or meaning.

I asked Jodie what she would like to do for her birthday and she announced that she would like to go bowling, which surprised me. Bowling didn’t seem to be something that a child with such bad coordination would enjoy much, but it was her birthday and if that was what she wanted, then that was what we would do. Bowling it was. As Jodie wasn’t at school, there were no friends to ask along, so it was Jodie, Paula, Lucy, Adrian and me.

First, we opened her presents at home. I’d put a lot of thought into what to get her. I could tell she liked dolls’ things, and she seemed to treasure her life-size doll, Julie, so I bought her a doll’s car seat, just like the real thing, and a doll’s high chair. She unwrapped her presents without the excitement I would usually have expected in a child, examined them and then pushed them to one side without any further comment. I felt vaguely hurt, and rather mystified. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them – it was just as though nothing had any value for her, and I couldn’t understand why. But I quickly put the anti-climax of the gifts behind us, and we all left for bowling.

As I’d suspected, Jodie couldn’t bowl to save her life, but she seemed to have a good time anyway, although she did her usual stomping about, hands on hips, ordering everyone around. But there were no tantrums, either in the bowling alley or later in McDonald’s, which was where she wanted to go for dinner. But then, as it was her birthday, we were all obediently doing what she wanted and she rewarded us by not throwing a screaming fit or landing a punch or two. We all went home, satisfied that Jodie’s birthday had gone as well as it possibly could.

One morning, after Jodie had been with us for a fortnight and the day after a contact session with her parents, I left her playing in her room until everyone had gone to school. She wasn’t happy about this, but I needed to establish some sort of working routine, and a peaceful breakfast would be a good start. Once the others had left for school, I went up and told Jodie she could get dressed, and asked her what she wanted for breakfast.

‘Nothing. Hate you,’ she snarled and poked out her tongue. ‘Bugger off.’

‘That’s a pity,’ I said, ignoring the swear word, ‘because I like you, and I’m looking forward to our day together.’

She stared at me as though I’d finally lost it. ‘Why? Why do you like me?’

‘Because underneath that angry Jodie is a kind and happy Jodie waiting to come out. Now get dressed and come down for breakfast.’

And she did. Without arguing. I gave her lots of praise and mentally awarded us both a gold star.

The tutor was coming to give Jodie her lessons but she wasn’t due until 1.30, so in the morning we went shopping to replace Paula’s pyjama case and Lucy’s makeup. In the car, I explained to Jodie where we were going and why. She didn’t comment, and I wasn’t looking for a confession, so I restated our rules regarding other people’s bedrooms and property and left it at that. I found what I was looking for in the department store, then took the escalator to the top floor, and headed for the café. We both had a piece of apple cake, and sat by the window, looking down on the street below. We could have been any normal mother and daughter on a day out, and I wondered, not for the first time, what had happened to knock Jodie’s life so far off course. She seemed much more deeply damaged than Gary had led me to expect in the case history he’d given at the pre-placement meeting. Whenever I wondered what had happened to her, I put a mental stop on myself. Not only was it unprofessional to make assumptions but I knew that it was far too early to see any patterns in her behaviour. As it was, Jodie kept me so busy that it was impossible to stand back and see the bigger picture. At least I would get a couple of hours to catch up on paperwork while she was with her tutor that afternoon.

We finished our drinks, then had a look around the shops on the first floor. I could see Jodie was flagging, so we decided to call it a day, and walked over to the lifts. I showed Jodie how to push the button, and explained to her how the lift worked. By the time it arrived, there were a number of people waiting, but we were the first in line. We walked in, and stood at the back. Jodie held my hand, but as the doors started to close she pulled my arm and started shouting, ‘No! Make it stop! Don’t want to!’

I quickly leaned in between two women and pushed the button to reopen the doors, apologizing as I led Jodie out. I bent down and put my hands on her shoulders. ‘What’s the matter, Jodie? There’s nothing to be scared of.’

‘Don’t want to,’ she moaned. ‘I’m not going in there!’

‘That’s OK, we don’t have to if you don’t want to. We’ll just take the escalator instead.’

We walked over to the escalator, and Jodie gripped my hand as we descended. ‘I’ll take my dad in there,’ she said, her face crumpling.

‘What, in the lift?’

She nodded. ‘I’ll scare him. See how he likes it. I’ll show him.’

‘Why do you want to scare him, Jodie?’

But she just shrugged. She had closed down again, and the door that had briefly opened on her past had slammed shut.

Jodie recovered quickly from her fright, and by the time we returned home I was feeling positive again. I praised her over and over, telling her what a nice time I’d had, and how much I had enjoyed her company. She said she was hungry, so I left her playing with Julie, her life-size doll, and went into the kitchen. She wanted peanut butter in her sandwich, and I spread it thinly. I was determined to do something about her weight. I set the plate on the breakfast bar and poured a glass of squash, then started towards the lounge to tell her it was ready.

Something made me hesitate before going in. Perhaps it was the quiet. I couldn’t hear the usual babble that accompanied everything Jodie did. I looked round the half-open door, and froze. She was still playing with Julie, but had pulled the doll’s dress up, and was licking between its naked legs. She was making low, grunting noises as if from pleasure, and seemed totally oblivious to my presence. I walked in and Jodie looked up.

‘That looks a strange game, Jodie,’ I said evenly. ‘What are you doing?’ I knew that showing any alarm or surprise was not the way to go, and telling her off would be counterproductive. Besides, I needed to know if she understood what she was doing.

She glanced down between the doll’s legs, then up again at me. There was no embarrassment. ‘Kissing,’ she said, with a grin. ‘She likes kissing, she does.’

‘Isn’t it an odd place to kiss her? We usually kiss each other on the cheek.’

She looked surprised. ‘But you haven’t got a man. Mans kiss here’ – she pointed to Julie’s naked crotch – ‘and girls here.’ She jabbed her forefinger at her cheek.

I went over and sat on the floor beside her. I needed to stay calm, so that Jodie would too, and to keep her talking for as long as I could. I had to find out what she’d seen, deal with it, and inform the social worker. She wouldn’t be the first child to have watched an adult video, or slept in the parents’ bedroom with no partition – I hoped that this was all it was, Jodie acting out something she had seen when she wasn’t supposed to. I would log it down in my notebook, though, in case any other kind of picture emerged. I tried to remain professional: calm but direct.

‘Jodie, can you tell me how you know men kiss there?’

She shrugged. ‘Just know. Girls like it and men do it. Mummies, daddies and girls.’

‘And were you pretending Julie was a mummy or a girl?’

‘Don’t know. A lady.’

‘OK, so if Julie was the lady, who were you pretending to be?’

‘The man!’ She frowned, impatient at my slowness.

‘Any man? Or were you thinking of one?’

She hesitated, screwing up her brow. ‘Don’t know. A daddy. A big big daddy.’

I couldn’t read anything into this. All men were daddies to her, as they are to many young children. I needed to steer her round to describing what she had seen, and where, but before I could get any further she suddenly jumped up and started kicking the doll viciously.

‘It’s her fault!’ she shouted, her eyes blazing. ‘It’s her fault! I told her no! Now look what you’ve done! I told you to keep your big mouth shut!’

I flinched as the doll’s plastic head clattered against the radiator. She was shouting at Julie as if repeating something that she’d heard. I took her arm, picked up the doll, and led the three of us to the sofa. ‘Come on, sweet, calm down. There’s no point in hurting Julie.’

She cradled the doll in her lap, and stroked her head, whispering words of comfort, trying to make her better. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘You’re safe with me. Sshh. Sshh. It was wrong of the man, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ I said, not sure if she was talking to the doll or me. ‘What the man did seemed very wrong.’ I paused. ‘Jodie, sometimes we see things that we don’t understand. It looks like people are hurting each other and it can make us very unhappy. Did you see a man kissing a woman there?’ I pointed to the doll’s legs. ‘What we call our private parts?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where did you see this? On television?’

‘In the bedroom and the car,’ she replied clearly.

‘The car? I don’t understand. Was there a television in the car?’

She shook her head.

‘But you saw this in a bedroom and a car?’

She nodded.

‘Whose car was it?’

‘The man’s. It was a big van.’

I paused. ‘Was it a film, Jodie, or was it real?’

She screwed up her eyes, as though blotting out the image. Her reply was barely audible. ‘Real. He was there. The girl and the daddy.’

‘And who was the girl? Do you know her name?’

She crushed the doll’s face into her chest. ‘Jodie. Me. Jodie’s bedroom. Daddy’s car.’

‘Your daddy?’

‘Yes.’