The Saddest Girl in the World (7 page)

I
was feeling pretty pleased with myself when Jill phoned at ten o'clock on Monday morning.

‘Yes, we are doing OK,’ I confirmed. ‘Donna was very quiet and withdrawn to begin with, but she is now talking and starting to join in.’ I told Jill about the beating Donna had received at the hands of her family for not cleaning properly, and also about her frenzied floor scrubbing at our house, and the bag of rags she had brought with her, presumably for this purpose.

‘The poor kid,’ Jill said with a heartfelt sigh. ‘It's just as well she has been separated from her brothers, if they have been bullying her to that extent.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed, and I explained how I was going to give her little jobs to do, so that she could join in and have some responsibility.

‘That's how I would handle it, Cathy. And you're obviously keeping detailed log notes? It sounds as though Edna wasn't aware of some of this.’

‘Yes, my notes are up to date,’ I confirmed, and then I updated Jill. ‘Donna has contact tonight; I think she is seeing her whole family. And school begins again a week on Wednesday.’

‘Thanks. I'll speak to Edna today, and I'll visit you later in the week. If you need me in the meantime, phone.’

‘Will do.’ I paused. ‘Jill, do you think Donna is suffering from this Obsessive Compulsive Disorder? I really don't know much about it.’

‘Neither do I. But I shouldn't think so. There aren't any other symptoms, are there?’

‘Such as?’

‘From what I know of OCD the person repeatedly performs a task in a ritualised pattern. Like insisting a chair or book is in a particular position before they can leave the room. It has to be exactly right to within millimetres; otherwise the person becomes very anxious. The person can move an object dozens and dozens of times before they are satisfied. We all do it to some extent, for example when we return and double check the back door is locked before we go out, although we know it is. But people suffering from OCD take it to obsessive lengths, and it governs their lives.’

‘No, there hasn't been anything like that,’ I said. ‘Just this one incident of cleaning the floor. And what Mary told Edna.’

‘I'm sure it's not OCD. Donna will be fine. You've dealt with it, and she's been able to open up to you and start talking. Well done.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, grateful for the praise.

When Edna phoned an hour later I updated her as I had done Jill. When I had finished Edna was very quiet.

‘Dear me,’ she said at last. ‘I knew those boys got the better of Donna sometimes but I had no idea they were actually whipping her — with a skipping rope?’

‘That's what she said.’

‘No wonder the poor kid didn't settle at Mary and Ray's.’ She paused again. ‘Cathy, as you know we brought Donna and the boys into care because of severe neglect. There was a suspicion of physical abuse but I'd no idea they were all beating Donna, and I have been working closely with that family for over three years now.’ She stopped again and I knew Edna was blaming herself for not spotting the depth of the abuse. ‘Donna had some bruises on her back and legs when she first came into care and had her medical. She told the doctor she had fallen in the garden at home. I expect she was too scared to say anything else.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed.

‘Dear me,’ Edna said again. ‘I'm going to talk to her mother, Rita, and also to Mary and Ray, and those boys. I shall also be keeping a close eye on the family at contact tonight. Donna is such a sweet thing. She wouldn't hurt a fly.’

‘I know, she's lovely,’ I said. ‘Edna, this bag of rags she's brought with her — did it come from home or Mary's?’

‘I really don't know. Why?’

‘It seems a strange thing for a child to bring with her. I mean the rags aren't security blankets or comforters. They're cleaning rags.’

Edna paused. ‘Look, Cathy, I've got a lot of questions I need to put to Mary and Ray, and the boys, after what you have told me. I also need to visit Rita and Chelsea as a matter of urgency. Can I phone you back later?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘I've given you the details for the contact tonight, haven't I?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

There was another pause. ‘What is Donna doing now, Cathy?’

‘She's in the garden with Adrian and Paula.’

‘Good. We'll speak later. Thanks, Cathy. And thank goodness I moved her!’

I hung up and went down the hall and into the lounge, where I looked out of the French windows to check on the three children. They were grouped around the basketball post, taking turns at aiming and throwing. Donna appeared to be in charge and was organising the game, running to retrieve the ball from where it landed and handing it to Adrian or Paula for their turn to take a shot.

I watched for a few moments, and then called, ‘Donna, you make sure you have a turn as well.’ She smiled sheepishly, almost embarrassed, and then passed the ball to Adrian for his turn. Oh well, I thought, if she was happier organising the game rather than joining in, I'd leave them to it, and Adrian and Paula certainly weren't complaining.

Having had a full day out the day before, we were spending today around the house and in the garden. Entrance fees for children's amusement parks are horrendous now, and yesterday's excursion had cost me over £70 — £10 each to get in and then there had been lunch and drinks. Like many parents, I couldn't afford to provide non-stop entertainment throughout the summer holiday; and nor did the children need it — Adrian and Paula were just as happy amusing themselves in the garden on a fine day.

I made a sandwich lunch, and Donna appeared and asked if she could carry the tray outside. I placed the
tray containing the sandwiches and crisps in her outstretched hands, and I followed with a jug of orange squash.

‘I'll fetch Adrian and Paula,’ Donna said helpfully, setting the tray on the table on the patio.

‘Thanks, love.’

I watched her stroll down to the bottom of the garden. She was talking more now she had a role, and it was like having a little mother's helper. ‘Adrian and Paula,’ I heard her call from a distance, as I sometimes did. ‘Come on now, your lunch is ready.’

They both stopped what they were doing and began to run up the garden towards me. I smiled: they had come a good deal quicker than when I called them.

‘Are your hands clean?’ Donna asked as they sat on the benches either side of the table ready for lunch.

Adrian and Paula turned over their hands to show their palms, as too did Donna. ‘I suppose we should really give them a wipe,’ I said, ‘as you are having sandwiches.’

‘Shall I fetch a cloth from the kitchen?’ Donna asked.

I was about to say yes please when I realised that I ought to start implementing my policy of not having children in the kitchen. ‘No, don't worry. I'll fetch it.’

I went into the kitchen, where I took the carton of Wet Ones from the cupboard and tore off three strips. I handed one to each of them and waited until they'd finished wiping their hands and passed the used tissues back to me.

‘Let's have a look?’ Donna said, and Adrian and Paula offered their hands for inspection. I smiled again. Donna was certainly more conscientious than I was, and with far better results, particularly from Adrian, who as a young
boy did not believe that cleanliness was next to godliness — just the opposite in fact!

A few clouds rolled in that afternoon, but the air was still warm, and with the French windows wide open we spent a lazy afternoon in and out of the garden, pleasing ourselves. Donna organised some running races between Adrian and Paula, and then my neighbour's boy, Billy, who had heard all the excitement, climbed up the tree to see over and asked if he could come round and join in. I told him he could but that he had to ask his mother first. Sue came out of her house and said it was fine, but only for a couple of hours as they were going out later. She helped him clamber over the fence and I introduced him to Donna. Billy joined in the hopping race that Donna was organising while I chatted over the fence to Sue.

‘She looks like she's going to be a big help,’ Sue said, nodding to Donna.

‘Yes, although I would like to see her playing more — you know, joining in and having fun. She has been organising the games all day. She always puts herself last.’ I obviously couldn't say anything more to Sue (or any of my other friends and neighbours for that matter) about Donna's situation or background, as these were highly confidential, and Sue appreciated that. She knew I fostered and was used to seeing children suddenly appear and then disappear from my back garden.

During the afternoon I regularly brought out drinks for the children and also offered ice creams from the freezer. Donna didn't want an ice cream to begin with. ‘No, let them have them,’ she said, nodding to Adrian, Paula and
Billy, as if there weren't enough for everyone and they should have first call.

‘Donna, love,’ I said, ‘there is plenty for everyone. I'm sure you would like an ice cream. There's choc ice, raspberry ripple or an ice lolly.’ I offered her the open cartons.

‘Oh all right then, if you insist,’ she said, and I smiled at the quaint adult term she had used. She quickly dipped her hand into the box of choc ices and took one, as though at any moment the offer might be withdrawn or she was doing something prohibited.

I returned the rest of the ice creams to the freezer and then stood for a moment at the kitchen window, watching her. Adrian, Paula and Billy were sitting on the grass in a small circle, eating their ice creams, but Donna was on the bench on the patio a short distance away, almost as if she was overseeing them. I continued to watch her slow measured movements as she gradually peeled down the wrapper of the choc ice and took small bites, savouring each mouthful as if it was the first and last. It was almost as if an ice cream was a forbidden pleasure for her, and she ate as though it was the first time she had ever tasted one — a precious treat that was not likely to be repeated. By the time she had finished, the last of it had melted away and she came into the kitchen to rinse her fingers.

‘Did you enjoy that?’ I asked lightly, as she turned on the tap.

She nodded.

‘I always have ice cream in the freezer in summer,’ I said.

‘Do you?’ She turned to look at me, her expression one of amazement and surprise.

I passed her the hand towel. ‘Yes. And next time we go shopping you can tell me which ice creams you prefer, and choose some food you like.’

‘I like anything, really, Cathy. But not coleslaw.’

‘Coleslaw?’ It was my turn to look surprised, for I would not have associated coleslaw with a child's preference. ‘No, I don't think Adrian and Paula do either,’ I said. ‘I buy it sometimes for myself.’

Donna finished wiping her hands and folded the towel neatly on to the towel rail. She was very methodical and precise when it came to folding items like her clothes or the towel. ‘I always had to eat coleslaw at home,’ she continued. ‘So I'm not too keen on it now.’ I smiled again at the adult phrase ‘not too keen’. She often used such phrases, which sounded quaint on a child's lips.

‘I expect your mum thought coleslaw was good for you,’ I suggested.

She nodded. ‘We had to buy it because it was on the list. But no one liked it, so I had to have it.’

‘Oh, I see,’ I said, not really seeing at all. ‘What, with salad?’

‘No, by itself. I had it for my dinner and tea.’

I looked at her. ‘I'm not understanding you, Donna. You can't just have eaten a tub of coleslaw for your dinner and tea?’

She nodded quite matter-of-factly as if I should have known. ‘When Mum's giro came through she gave me some money to go shopping. There was a list I had to use each week. I took Warren and Jason with me. There was coleslaw on the list because Edna had told Mum it was good for us. But no one liked it, so when we got home with the shopping everyone took what they wanted from the
bags, and there was just the coleslaw left. Warren and Jason are smarter than me, so they got what they wanted from the bags first. Warren always had the custard cream biscuits and Jason had the loaf of bread. Chelsea had the ham and I was left with the coleslaw. Mum didn't eat much. She had beer instead.’

I stared at her, dumbfounded. ‘And that was your dinner or tea?’

‘Both,’ she said.

‘What about on the other days, when you didn't have the giro? What did you eat then?’

‘What was left. Sometimes the tub of coleslaw lasted two days, and the bread did. Warren always ate all the custard creams on the first day, although I told him not to.’

‘Then what?’

‘The neighbours fed us. And sometimes we walked to my aunt's. And when we were at school we had breakfast there, and school dinner.’

‘And no tea?’

‘Not until it was giro day again.’

Bloody hell, I thought. No wonder she liked her food, and ate everything I put in front of her. ‘Well, at least the coleslaw was better for you than Warren's choice of biscuits.’

‘So you know I don't like coleslaw?’ she confirmed.

‘Yes, I know, Donna.’

‘But I like sitting at the table to eat. Do all foster carers have tables and chairs?’

‘Yes, I think so.’ Donna certainly wasn't the first child I'd fostered whose family home had never had a dining table and chairs.

‘You know, Donna,’ I said, ‘that wasn't a good diet. It's a wonder you weren't all ill.’

‘Chelsea said it gave her spots.’

‘She could be right. And Donna?’

‘Yes?’

‘Have you ever had an ice cream before?’

‘Oh yes, of course! Edna bought me one when we came to you for the visit on Friday. It was lovely. I really enjoyed it, and the one you gave me today. That was nice too.’

‘So that was your second ice cream just now?’

She nodded. ‘I've tried lots of new things since I've been in care.’ I smiled sadly. ‘I think I might like being in care, Cathy. People are so nice to me.’

Edna phoned again at 4.00 p.m., having visited Warren and Jason at Mary and Ray's. She asked if she could be overheard and I said no: Donna was with Adrian and Paula, watching children's television in the lounge. She said Warren and Jason had admitted to hitting Donna, and when Edna had questioned them further they'd confirmed that they'd used an old skipping rope. Edna had asked them why they'd been so cruel to their sister and they had said it was because Donna hadn't done what Mum had told her to — clean the house properly. The boys also confirmed that their mother had told them to beat Donna, and when Edna had asked where all this had taken place, they'd said usually in the kitchen when Donna was on her hands and knees trying to clear up the cat shit. My thoughts flipped to the morning when I had found Donna on all fours in the kitchen and she'd pleaded, ‘Don't hit me. I've done my best.’ Edna said that the boys had told her that their mother and Chelsea also regularly hit Donna, and that they wouldn't let her have any new clothes. Edna was obviously appalled and horrified, particularly as Warren
and Jason could see absolutely nothing wrong in what they had done and showed no remorse.