The Saddest Girl in the World. Cathy Glass

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СКАЧАТЬ absolutely no enthusiasm, Donna moved her fingers and began to open the top of the paper bag. Paula and I watched as she dipped in her fingers and gradually drew out a bracelet made from small multi-coloured beads.

      ‘Oh, isn't that lovely,’ I said. ‘What a nice present.’

      Donna cupped the bracelet in the palm of her hand, and I continued to enthuse, grateful for this small cooperation, which I viewed as progress. ‘Can you put it on your wrist and show us?’

      Donna carefully slipped the bracelet over the fingers on her right hand and drew it down so that it settled around her wrist. As she did, I thought of Warren and Jason's parting shot, when they had told Donna not only that were they pleased she was going but not to go back. I felt so sorry for her.

      ‘That's beautiful,’ I said. I could tell that Donna was proud; she supported the wrist with the bracelet with her other hand, as though displaying it to its best advantage. It wasn't an expensive bracelet; it was the type of ‘infill’ present that one child gave another at a birthday party. The beads were painted plastic, strung together on elastic so that the bracelet fitted most-sized wrists. But if Paula thought the gift wasn't as precious as Donna did, she certainly didn't say so.

      ‘That is pretty,’ Paula said, touching it. ‘I like the red and blue ones.’ And I thought if anything typified the gaping chasm between children who had and those who did not, it was the bracelet. In our wealthy society with its abundance of acquirable material possessions, the gap between children from poor homes and those who enjoy all its advantages was widening. Paula had a couple of these bracelets, possibly three, and also a bedroom packed full of similar treasures which she'd received for Christmas and birthday presents, and treats from grandparents; but I knew from the way Donna cradled the bracelet that she certainly did not.

      ‘We will have to find a safe place for it in your bedroom,’ I said. Donna nodded.

      I glanced at the clock again; I really had to start getting all three children upstairs and into bed. There was no way I was going to attempt Donna's unpacking now; it was too late, and we would have plenty of time the following day. ‘Now, love,’ I said, placing my hand on Donna's arm again. ‘We're going to take just what we need for tonight from your bags and sort out the rest in the morning, all right? Once you've had a good night's sleep everything will seem a lot better. I'd like you to come with me into the hall and tell me which bag has your nightwear and washing things.’ Then it occurred to me that Donna probably didn't know what each bag contained, as Edna had said Mary had done the packing that afternoon while Donna had been with Edna. ‘Do you know what's in each bag?’ I asked her.

      Donna shrugged. ‘Wait there with Paula a minute,’ I said, ‘and I'll take a look, unless you want to come and help me?’

      She shook her head, and I left her sitting with Paula, who was still, bless her, admiring the bracelet, while I went down the hall, hoping I wouldn't have to unpack every bag and case to find her night things. I peered in the various carrier bags and found that Mary had put everything Donna needed for the night in one plastic bag, presumably guessing it would be too late for us to unpack properly. Picking up this carrier bag, I returned to the lounge.

      The girls were still together and Donna was slipping the bracelet from her wrist and returning it to the paper bag. ‘I've found what you need for tonight,’ I said. I went over and, opening the bag, showed her inside. ‘Nightdress, wash bag and teddy. Is there anything else you need, love?’

      She shook her head.

      The French windows were still open and Adrian was outside, now at the end of the garden having a last swing before he had to come in. It was nearly 8.30 p.m. and the air temperature was just starting to drop. ‘Adrian,’ I called from the step. ‘Five minutes, and then I want you to come in and get changed.’ He didn't say anything, but I knew he had heard me, for this scenario had been repeated most nights since school had broken up — I had left him playing in the garden, sometimes with the neighbour's children, while I got Paula ready for bed.

      ‘OK, girls,’ I said. ‘Let's go up and get you settled. Are you sure you wouldn't like a drink before you go, Donna?’

      She shook her head.

      With a different child on their first night I would probably have put Paula to bed and spent some time talking to the child and getting to know them before settling them for the night. However, because Donna was not communicating I felt, as Edna had done, that she was exhausted. I was now dearly hoping that I would have Donna's cooperation in going to bed, but I was starting to feel a bit uneasy. If Donna didn't move and ignored my requests, or answered them with a shrug or shake of the head, what was I supposed to do? She was far too big for me to carry upstairs as I might have done with a little one, and if she didn't respond to my cajoling and persuading there was virtually nothing I could do. It crossed my mind that maybe that was how Mary had received the bruise to her arm — perhaps Donna had refused to cooperate despite all their efforts, and Mary and Ray had resorted to physically moving her; but I quickly let that thought go, for if that was so, then I was in big trouble, as I had no ‘Ray’ to help me.

      ‘Right,’ I said, using an assertive tone. ‘I have got all you need for tonight, Donna. The three of us will go upstairs together. Donna, while I help Paula, you can get changed, ready for bed.’ I had said it as though I meant it, as a request not open to debate. Paula immediately stood and came to my side, aware she was going to bed later than usual and not wishing to overstep the mark. Donna remained where she was on the sofa, impassive, head down and once more clutching the little bag with her present. ‘OK, Donna, are you ready?’ I said, and I felt another twinge of anxiety. She still didn't move and I saw Paula look at me questioningly, also worried by Donna not doing as I'd asked.

      ‘Come on, Donna,’ Paula said in her little voice. I looked at Paula and shook my head to indicate to her not to continue. Her request had sounded like a plea and I needed Donna to do as I had asked as a matter of course; I wasn't going to plead with her.

      I took Paula's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, and with Donna's carrier bag in my other hand, I turned away from the sofa, ready to leave the room. There was a limit to how many times I could politely say that I wanted her to go upstairs before I started to look ineffectual and lose my credibility and authority. ‘Right, we're going up now, Donna,’ I said and, still holding Paula's hand, I began slowly and steadily towards the lounge door. As I went I was frantically searching for plan B if she didn't follow me, which vaguely centred around taking Paula up and coming down and trying again. But I knew that was likely to be even less successful than the first time, and I couldn't have Donna sitting down here all night. As a last resort I would have to phone the fostering agency and ask for help, although practically I wasn't sure what they could do either.

      To my great and utter relief, as Paula and I stepped from the lounge and into the hall, Donna stood and began to follow us. I waited for her to catch up and then continued down the hall. I didn't praise her, for I had to give the impression that I expected her to follow my instructions and requests. Although I felt dreadfully sorry for Donna, and my heart went out to her, she was only ten and like all children she had to do as she was told.

      Paula and I went up the stairs first with Donna a step or two behind. At the top of the stairs I said to Paula, ‘You go into the bathroom and do your teeth while I show Donna to her bedroom.’ I wasn't sure what was going to happen next with Donna, and I didn't want Paula being party to any sudden outburst. Donna was so quiet and withdrawn it was unhealthy, and I had the feeling, as I had done when she'd first visited and gone down the garden with Paula, that she was like a tinder box waiting to ignite and go up in flames — you can only suppress so much emotion before something gives. While Edna had reassured me that Donna was ‘a good girl’, social workers, no matter how efficient they are, don't see the child СКАЧАТЬ