Damaged (9 page)

Chapter Nine

Disclosure

W
e sat quietly for some time. I had my arm around Jodie, and she had hers around Julie. My heart was thumping and my mouth was dry. This was the very worst confirmation of my suspicions. The little pieces of evidence had all been pointing this way but I had forced myself not to jump to conclusions and I’d been hoping against hope that what I feared would not be the case. I knew that Jodie had now given me the key to all her suffering, hurt, self-loathing and despair.

I had to continue asking her questions and make the most of this moment when she was willing to talk, but I was holding back. I didn’t want to hear the answers, didn’t want to know the extent of what had happened to this poor child – but my professional, practical side told me that what she said now would be crucial in determining her future, not only in terms of whether she would return to her parents, but also with a view to a possible prosecution. As part of my foster-care training, I’d attended sessions on aspects of sexual abuse. I had learned that the first disclosure is vital, as children rarely lie, and what they said should be recorded verbatim so that it could be used in court. It was important that I handled it properly. My training had told me that I must not lead her, but had to question her in such a way that would let her tell me in her own words what had happened. Unfortunately, I had not been told much more than this and I had certainly never been in a situation like this before. But I had learned how to deal gently with children who revealed experiences of violence and neglect, and I knew that I would have to draw on that now and hope that it was the right way to help Jodie open up.

I looked down at the doll. She had used it to represent herself, and it was no coincidence that she’d given it a name similar to her own. Children sometimes use role play to dramatize things that they can’t express verbally about themselves.

‘Jodie,’ I said, quietly. ‘You’ve been very brave telling me this. I know how difficult it is. Now I want you to try and tell me everything you remember so that I can help you. OK?’

She nodded.

‘Good girl.’ I paused and took a breath. I needed to be careful. I couldn’t lead her otherwise it would invalidate any evidence which might later be used in court. ‘When I came into the room just now you were pretending Julie was you and you were your daddy.’ The term stuck in my throat. ‘If we do that again do you think you can show me what happened? I know it’s difficult, pet.’

She nodded again and I gave her a hug, then took the doll from her arms and lay her on the sofa between us. I put on her pants, and covered them with the dress. If this was to be any use, she needed to show me step by step what had happened, as it would have to stand up under cross-examination.

‘OK. So Julie is now Jodie. Where is she? In the car, bedroom, kitchen, garden? You tell me.’

‘Not the garden, silly,’ she grinned. ‘The bedroom.’

‘Right, so whose bedroom is it?’

‘Mine. Jodie’s bedroom. At home.’

‘And what is Jodie wearing?’

‘Her pyjamas.’

‘So we’ll pretend these are her pyjamas.’ I pointed to the doll’s pants. ‘Is Jodie in bed or hasn’t she got in yet?’

‘In bed,’ she stated categorically.

‘And is the light on or off?’

‘Off.’

‘Now tell me, is Jodie asleep or awake?’

‘Sleep.’ She screwed up her eyes to demonstrate.

‘OK, good girl. So Jodie is asleep in her bed. Now what happens?’

We both looked at the doll. She thought for a moment, then stood and went over to the door. ‘I’m coming in,’ she growled, broadening her shoulders and stamping across the floor, in her interpretation of an adult male.

‘You’re coming into Jodie’s bedroom? Who are you?’

‘The daddy. My daddy. I’m in Jodie’s bedroom now.’

She stomped up to the doll, then hesitated and looked at me.

‘Do you want me to move?’ I asked.

‘Over there.’ She pointed to the far corner of the room, by the door.

I walked into the corner and stood as unobtrusively as I could. I was trying to make sure I remembered every detail, as I would need to write it all down later, as accurately as possible. I watched as she leaned over the doll, lifted up its dress, then roughly pulled down the pants and took them off. There was no self-consciousness, as she parted the doll’s legs, and nuzzled her head deep between the open thighs. She made low grunting noises as she had before, then flattened herself on top of the doll, her head overlapping, face down into the sofa. Her bottom began rising and falling in a rhythmic jerk, and she breathed louder and louder. Her head came up and she let out a long groan before lying completely still. It was an accurate portrayal of sexual intercourse. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach.

The room was quiet. I looked at the raped doll, and tried to hide my revulsion and desperate pity for this poor little girl. No eight-year-old should be able to do this, or know of such things, or have suffered them. I could hardly bear the thought of what she had been through, and was filled with terrible rage towards the animal who’d done this to his own daughter. My eyes stung with tears of anger and sadness, but I blinked them back.

I took a deep breath. This wasn’t a time for my emotions. I needed to be calm and dispassionate for Jodie’s sake. She wasn’t embarrassed, but climbed off Julie and came over to me. ‘Did I do well?’ she asked, unfazed.

I smiled weakly. ‘You’re a brave girl, Jodie.’

But it hadn’t taken bravery. Jodie had shown no self-consciousness or hesitation; it was almost as if this had been part of what Jodie regarded as normal life. I took her hand and led her to the sofa, where we sat side by side, both looking at Julie. I was aware that there were some discrepancies I needed to clarify. I gave her hand a little squeeze.

‘You did very well, Jodie. There are just a few things I’m not sure about. I want you to try and think back and answer my questions. If you don’t know or can’t remember, say so. Don’t guess or make it up, all right?’

She nodded.

I kept hold of her hand, and turned sideways to look at her. Her expression was completely blank. ‘Just now, you were pretending to be your daddy, right?’

She nodded again.

‘And the real Jodie was asleep in bed with the lights off?’

Another nod.

‘If you were asleep, how do you know he came into the bedroom like you showed me? He might have crept in on tiptoe, or even crawled across the floor. You were asleep with your eyes closed, weren’t you?’

She thought for a moment.

‘If you don’t know, or can’t remember, say so,’ I reminded her.

‘I can,’ she said. ‘I was sleep sometimes, and sometimes I was awake.’

‘I understand. Do you remember what he was wearing?’

‘Jeans and top,’ she said without hesitation. ‘He always wears them.’

‘Did he keep them on or did he take anything off?’

‘He took the zip off.’

I assumed she meant he undid the zip, but again I needed to clarify. ‘Can you show me what you mean?’

She stood, undid the top button of her jeans and pulled down the zip.

‘I see. And did he stay like that while he was on top of you?’

‘No. More.’ She dropped her jeans to her ankles, and was about to pull down her pants.

‘OK. Leave them on, just tell me.’

‘His pants down with his jeans,’ she said.

‘Round his ankles?’

‘Yes.’

‘I understand. Pull your jeans up again, good girl.’ I helped her to do up the button, and settled her beside me on the sofa.

‘Was Daddy naughty, Cathy?’ she asked. Her brow creased as she thought about this.

‘Yes he was, Jodie. Very naughty.’ I’m not supposed to make value judgements about the parents, but there was no question in my mind that Jodie had to know immediately that this was very wrong and that she was in no way to blame.

‘Naughty Daddy,’ she said, and thumped her fist hard on her knee. ‘He hurt me. I want to hurt him. See how he likes it.’

I put my arm around her, and drew her to me. I wished I had it in my power to draw out her hurt and heal her. ‘It’s all right, Jodie. You’re safe with me now. It won’t happen again, I promise.’

‘OK, Cathy,’ she said, far too easily appeased. I knew that this placid acceptance and lack of emotion meant that we had come nowhere near the heart of her suffering.

‘Jodie, you said just now he hurt you. Can you tell me how?’ It was a dreadful question, but I knew it was one she would be asked later by the Child Protection Officer, and it was important to get her initial answer on record.

‘He made my tummy sore, here.’ She pushed her hand between the top of her legs. ‘And he wet himself and it tasted horrible.’

‘Tasted? Did he put something in your mouth?’

She screwed up her face and made a spitting motion. ‘When we was in the car, he weed in my mouth.’

I turned away to hide my reaction. I was burning with anger and humiliation, the humiliation which Jodie should have felt, but didn’t. I wasn’t about to tell her it wasn’t wee. There was no point, and the naïve terminology, using the only point of reference she had, not only made it all the more pitiful, but also underlined its authenticity. I had no doubt she was telling the truth.

I turned to look at her again. ‘One last thing, Jodie, I need to know. Did this happen once or lots of times?’

‘Lots, Cathy. Naughty Daddy. Cathy, why are you crying?’

I couldn’t help myself any longer. I was weeping. ‘Because I’ve heard something sad, sweet.’

‘Why is it sad?’

The fact that she didn’t understand the horrendous nature of what had happened to her made it even worse. ‘Because this is a very bad thing, Jodie, and it should never happen to anybody.’

‘Yes. Naughty Daddy,’ she said again. ‘Can I have my lunch now?’

Chapter Ten

Reporting

I
considered cancelling the tutor, but she was probably already on her way. Besides, Jodie was looking forward to seeing her, and I needed the time to phone Jill and tell her what had happened, without being overheard.

My mind was reeling from the disclosures. I couldn’t help replaying them over and over in my mind, hearing and seeing the awful truth as portrayed through the words and actions of an innocent eight-year-old girl. It was hard to get the frightful images she’d evoked out of my mind, and as I went about the homely, normal actions of making lunch the horror of what I had just learned overlaid everything I did. It felt as though an awful poison had been released into the atmosphere, and I couldn’t shake the sense of dread and revulsion that engulfed me.

Jodie, on the other hand, seemed to have recovered quickly, and devoured her sandwiches, crisps and yoghurt, then asked for more.

‘You’ve had enough,’ I said, ignoring the protests that followed.

In the conservatory, I cleared the small table that would act as a desk, and laid out some paper and pencils ready for Nicola’s arrival. Jodie followed me round, excited at the prospect of seeing her tutor again. When the doorbell rang she flew to answer it, but then remembered my warning, and waited for me to join her.

‘Good girl,’ I said, and she gave me a hug.

I’d met Nicola briefly at the pre-placement meeting, and I’d been immediately impressed. Her calm, firm approach was exactly what Jodie needed. Jodie clearly shared my enthusiasm, as she greeted Nicola like a long-lost friend. Nicola seemed pleased to see her too, and she chatted pleasantly to Jodie as she took off her coat and gathered her things together.

We went through to the conservatory, where Jodie clambered into her seat, and started scribbling furiously on the paper I’d laid out. In a good impersonation of Mary Poppins, Nicola delved into her large upholstered bag, and brought out a huge assortment of workbooks, sheets and brightly coloured teaching aids. Jodie was mesmerized.

‘We’ll get started now,’ Nicola said efficiently. ‘I usually take a break halfway through. Perhaps we could discuss her progress then?’

‘That’s fine. I’ll bring some drinks and snacks for half time.’ I checked she had all she needed, then left them to it, grateful to have been relieved of the responsibility, if only for a couple of hours. Upstairs, I closed my bedroom door so I wouldn’t be overheard, then perched on the bed with the phone at my side. I ran through what I was going to say. I hadn’t had time to write up my log notes yet, but it was all still clear in my head, and depressingly vivid. I keyed in the numbers, and the secretary answered.

‘Jill, please. It’s Cathy.’

‘I’ll put you through.’

A click, then Jill’s voice. ‘Hello Cathy, is everything all right?’

‘No. It’s not. Jodie’s been sexually abused. I’m sure of it. She couldn’t make up this lot.’ I quickly ran through the disclosures, explaining how Jodie had used the doll to tell me, and repeating what she’d said almost word for word.

Jill was silent for a second, and then asked, ‘How are you, Cathy? No one had any idea.’

No idea? Knowing what I now knew, it was hard to believe that no one could have guessed what was going on – but I had to give the Social Services the benefit of the doubt. Obviously if anyone had suspected what was happening, Jodie would have been removed earlier. But how could they have missed all the signs, and for so long? Perhaps they’d focused on the obvious physical abuse of knocks and burns and broken bones, rather than a deeper and more vicious evil.

Now that I didn’t have to control my emotions in front of Jodie, I could feel the shock and upset welling up in me. My eyes pricked and my vision blurred as hot tears filled them. I felt such an awful mixture of impotent fury and utter sadness on Jodie’s behalf. Nevertheless, I couldn’t let myself fall to pieces. I had to be strong, for Jodie’s sake. I took a deep breath. ‘I’m upset, obviously. But at least it’s out in the open. And it does explain why she’s so disturbed. In fact, it explains a lot of things – it’s no wonder she wants to hurt herself and has shut herself off from the world. And, Jill, it sounds like it’s been going on for years. She was quite matter-of-fact in the way she described it, as if it was normal.’

There was another pause. I knew Jill was affected by what I had told her. Revelations of sexual abuse are something that anyone in children’s social work will encounter, but they never lose their power to shock and horrify, and Jodie’s story was particularly appalling. The idea that a small child could have been undergoing this kind of ordeal over a period of years was almost too awful to contemplate.

After a moment’s silence, Jill swung into action. ‘Right, I’ll contact Eileen as soon as we’ve finished. We’ll have to look at contact ASAP. I’ll need your notes. Can you write them up while the tutor’s there and email me over a copy?’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Jodie obviously trusts you, Cathy, more than she’s trusted anyone before. She’s been in care for four months and said nothing. What I don’t understand is where was the mother while all this was going on.’

‘I know. From the way Jodie told it, it’s hard to imagine that her mother didn’t have any idea. But I just don’t know. She wasn’t mentioned.’

‘Would Jodie answer a direct question if you asked?’

‘I’m not sure. She told me this, but it was as a result of playing with the doll. I think it was triggered by being in the lift.’

‘The lift?’

‘Yes. When we went shopping, she was scared in the lift, so much so that I had to stop it and take the escalator. It was like she equated the fear to being scared with her father, and I think that may have been the catalyst for the disclosure. Do you want me to ask about her mother?’

‘Yes. But don’t push it. It might all come out now she’s started, or it might take time. See what you can find out and get as much information as you can – obviously, as gently as possible.’ I heard Jill draw her breath in sharply. ‘For Christ’s sake, she’s been on the at-risk register since birth and there’s been nothing! Someone’s head is on the block for this.’

Jill was angry, understandably, just as I was. Although her role was mainly supervisory, Jill cared deeply for the children we fostered. You couldn’t do this kind of work without becoming emotionally involved.

‘You know, Jill,’ I added, ‘she talks a lot of stuff and nonsense with all her imaginary friends. Sometimes it’s hard to get a word of sense out her. But I’ve never seen her so clear and focused as when she was describing this. It was like she was a different person.’

‘Thank goodness she’s with you. Let me get things moving and speak to you later. If there’s anything else call me straight away.’

‘OK.’

I replaced the receiver and leaned back, daunted by the responsibility. Now Jodie had opened up, there was no way I could terminate the placement, whatever she threw at me. Without realizing it, Jodie had invested a lot of trust by telling me. I couldn’t let her feel that her trust had been misplaced. I stood up and went downstairs. As I passed the lounge I could hear Nicola reading a series of short words, which Jodie was repeating in her childish voice; she sounded like a four-year-old.

I continued along the hall to the front room, took the foster carer’s log out of my desk, and started writing up my notes. I wrote quickly, trying to get everything down as accurately as possible, and I’d covered a page and a half when the phone rang. I answered immediately, expecting Jill or Eileen.

‘Hello?’ I said. There was no reply.

‘Hello?’ I said again.

Still nothing. Yet the line was open, someone was on the other end. I listened, and thought I heard a rustle as though someone had jolted the receiver. Perhaps it was a child trying to get through, hesitant, wondering if they had the right number. Perhaps it was my friend Pat, who now lived in South Africa, and phoned once a month – there was often a problem with the connection. I tried once more. ‘Hello?’

The line went dead. I hung up, then dialled 1471. The automated voice spoke, ‘You were called today at 2.20 p.m. We do not have the caller’s number.’

I stood for a moment pondering, then returned to my desk. Could it have been Jodie’s parents? In theory, they shouldn’t have had any of my personal details, but years of fostering had made me naturally suspicious. I finished writing up my notes, then began typing them on to a Word document. A few minutes later I heard Jodie bounding down the hall.

‘Cathy! It’s break time. Where’s me trainers? We’re going to the park.’

‘The garden,’ corrected Nicola, from the back room.

I clicked ‘Save’ then went into the hall and helped her into her trainers and coat. She rushed through to the conservatory and I opened the door to let her out. Nicola joined me at the French windows, and we stood watching Jodie’s uncoordinated efforts to set the swing in motion.

‘Poor kid,’ Nicola said, then she turned to me. ‘Cathy, she said something rather worrying earlier and I think you should know.’ I met her gaze. ‘It was while we were working on the letter T. One of the words I gave her was T for trousers. I showed her a picture of a pair of trousers, and she got very annoyed and wouldn’t look at it. Then she said, “My daddy takes his trousers off. He’s naughty, isn’t he?”’

‘I understand where that’s come from,’ I said, and I briefly explained the nature of Jodie’s allegations, without giving specific details; confidentiality has to be respected, even with the tutor. ‘I’ve alerted her social worker,’ I added. ‘I take it nothing like that’s been said before?’

‘Not to me, but there was that episode at Hilary and Dave’s. I expect they told you.’

‘No.’

‘Oh. Well, I’m not sure exactly what happened, but Dave told the social worker that at times Jodie behaved as though she fancied him. She was flirting, and going into his bedroom when Hilary wasn’t there. I understand they called an end to the placement when she tried to touch him through his trousers.’

‘No, I wasn’t told,’ I said, my voice tight, ‘and I should have been. I’ve got a son of seventeen. It’s very bad social work practice.’

I knew from experience that dealing with Social Services meant coping with an endless series of petty mistakes and failings. The sheer size of the huge machine, and the number of cogs involved, meant that errors were constantly being made. I was used to that, and I could deal with it. I understood that human error happens and that, with so many cases to process, mistakes are made. Nevertheless, I wanted to trust that when something important happened, something that had immediate relevance to a child’s state of mind or health, or the vital decisions being made on that child’s behalf, then people would take care and be extra sure that things were done correctly.

Looking back, I could see obvious instances of sexualized behaviour before today’s revelation: I had seen Jodie with her hands down her knickers, furiously masturbating in public like no normal eight-year-old child would; I’d seen her trying to climb into bed with Adrian and occasionally sidle up to him, try to sit next to him or grin and bat her eyelids at him. Flirting was the word for it, if I’d thought about it properly. The problem was that Jodie took up so much of my time, energy and mental strength that I rarely had the opportunity to stand back and observe her objectively and analyse her behaviour. It was obvious now that she was treating Adrian in a sexual manner because her experiences at the hands of her father had taught to her to view all males as sexual beings first and foremost. Everything was beginning to fall into place. Now I realized that this was part of a pattern, and that others had noticed it too.

If there had been evidence before of sexualized behaviour, why hadn’t anyone begun to come to the obvious conclusion – that someone was sexually abusing Jodie? And why on earth had I not been told about her behaviour towards her previous carer?

I bit back my anger. None of this was Nicola’s fault and I didn’t want to dump my frustrations on her.

After fifteen minutes we called Jodie in from the garden. I helped her off with her trainers, then returned to the front room and continued typing from my log, while Nicola and Jodie returned to their session. Once I’d finished, I emailed the file to Jill. Perfect timing! I’d just turned off the PC, as Jodie marched into the room.

‘We’re done! Come and see me work!’

I went through and admired the letter and number work, then arranged the next session for Thursday, and Jodie and I saw Nicola out. As soon as she’d gone the phone started ringing, and it didn’t stop for the rest of the afternoon. Jill told me the team leader had convened an emergency strategy meeting, with the time and venue to be announced shortly. She would let me know when there was any more information.

Next, Eileen called me. I was glad to hear from her, but I didn’t get quite the response I’d been hoping for. Somehow, she didn’t seem to be too shocked or horrified by what the child in her charge had suffered.

‘I’ve heard what’s happened,’ she said in her flat way. ‘Has Jodie said any more since?’

‘Not much more, but she did make a comment to her tutor today,’ I said, and told her what Jodie had said to Nicola. I reminded myself that social workers often have to retain a bit of distance and put up walls between themselves and their cases, in order to protect themselves from getting too involved emotionally and becoming unable to do their job properly. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help feeling that Eileen just didn’t seem very bothered, or to empathize with Jodie at all.

‘Right,’ said Eileen with a sigh, as she noted down what I’d said. It almost seemed as though the most depressing aspect of all this for Eileen was the amount of extra work it would involve for her.

I took a deep breath and asked about Jodie’s relationship with the previous carer, Dave.

‘It’ll be on the file if there is anything,’ she said, using the same excuse as last time.