Damaged, A Baby’s Cry and The Night the Angels Came 3-in-1 Collection. Cathy Glass

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      ‘And apologize to Jodie, please,’ I said, feeling slightly guilty. I knew Paula would feel this was unfair, with good cause, but it was in all of our interests to make it clear to Jodie that you didn’t poke, and you apologized after doing something wrong.

      ‘Sorry, Jodie,’ Paula muttered, without looking up. Jodie was still clutching her side melodramatically, so I decided there was little chance of coaxing an apology out of her, and left it at that.

      ‘Thank you, Paula. That was the adult thing to do.’

      The children left for school, and Jodie helped me to clear the table and load the dishwasher, thankfully without any mishaps. Then we sat down in the living room and I tried to interest her in some games. I decided now might be a good time to broach the subject of her contact. She would be seeing her parents twice a week for an hour at a contact centre, with a social worker present all the time. Meetings with natural parents are generally arranged some time in advance, but my policy was to remind the children only on the day, as mention of it could often unsettle them. In my experience, children tended to play up just before contact so I made the time available for this emotional upheaval as short as possible for all our sakes.

      ‘Jodie,’ I said brightly, ‘you’ll have your bath later this afternoon, because you’re going to see your parents tonight.’

      She looked at me blankly. Had she understood? She carried on playing, mashing stickle bricks together. After a moment, she asked, ‘Am I going in a van?’

      ‘No, the escort will pick you up here in a car, just like when you were at your previous carers. They’ll take you to meet your parents, and then bring you back here.’

      ‘Not going in a van. Hate them. Blimmin’ vans,’ she replied, becoming more animated.

      ‘That’s right, Jodie, the escort will pick you up in a car. I know your dad’s looking forward to seeing you. That will be nice, won’t it?’ Apparently, however, I’d lost her attention, and she returned to her playing, with a puzzled expression on her face. It was hard to tell what she made of the prospect of seeing her mother and father again.

      Jodie was difficult for the rest of the day, as I’d expected. She had two more tantrums before lunch, and caused me a minor panic when she knocked a picture off the wall, smashing the glass, then tried to pick it up. In the afternoon, I kept her occupied with a singalong video in the lounge, while I prepared dinner. At four o’clock Adrian came in warily, and was relieved not to be greeted with a kick from Jodie. He joined me in the kitchen, and told me about his day. It felt like a long time since we’d had the chance to have a chat in peace without screaming, tantrums or violent fits, even though Jodie had been with us less than a week. It was lovely to have a few moments with my son and I knew how it important it was to snatch any opportunity to spend time with my own family in the often demanding first weeks of a new placement.

      Adrian went to take his bag up to his room, and I was pleased to hear him go into the lounge first, to say hello to Jodie. However, my moment of pleasure was short-lived, as I suddenly heard him shout, ‘Oh God! Mum, come in here!’

      I rushed into the hallway, as Adrian marched upstairs. In the lounge, I found Jodie sitting on the sofa with her legs in the air and one hand in her knickers, masturbating.

      ‘Jodie, stop that!’ I said firmly.

      ‘Why?’ she barked.

      ‘If you want to do that, you go to your room and do it. It’s private. Is that clear? Now, either go upstairs or sit properly please, good girl.’

      She glared at me for a few seconds, and I prepared myself for another tantrum, but eventually she pulled her skirt down and sat up straight.

      I was puzzled and disturbed by this new incidence, of this time highly sexualized behaviour. I knew that it was not unusual for very young children to masturbate, even if it wasn’t generally talked about; but by the time a child was eight years old he or she usually had a sense that this was not something to be done in public, even when the child had learning difficulties. Was Jodie intending to be observed? Given that we were always in and out of the lounge, she must have known she’d be seen. Was she trying to shock us, or was it something entirely unconscious? An act of self-comfort, or a physical habit as harmless as sucking her thumb? I didn’t know the answer, but anything that came within the framework of sexualized behaviour had to be noted down. I made a mental note to log it in the diary, and raise it with Eileen the next time we spoke.

      When the girls arrived home from school they were both greeted with a vicious thump, and I wearily told Jodie off. She had another full-scale tantrum, and I again had to restrain her. Eventually, she calmed down, and I finished making the evening meal, which was spaghetti bolognaise. We sat down to eat, and I cut up Jodie’s spaghetti for her.

      ‘Want burger,’ she demanded, pulling a face.

      ‘We’ll have a burger another night. I’ve done this for now.’

      She picked up her plate and hurled it against the wall. It hit the wall with a crack and the plate fell in pieces to the ground. There was a vivid splash of dark bolognese mixed with strings of spaghetti on the wall. It began sliding downwards, before dropping on to the floor. We all looked at it in silence for a moment and then I felt the children gaze at me in shock.

      Anger and frustration rushed through me. I had put up with Jodie’s bad behaviour all day and was worn out with it and her. Now she had thrown a perfectly good meal away, caused a terrible mess and upset us all, for no good reason that I could see.

      ‘Go to your room!’ I snapped. ‘I’ve had quite enough of this for one day!’

      She struggled down from her seat, and as she left the table, punched Lucy in the back of the head, hard, with a closed fist. She stormed out of the room, slamming the door with such force that a piece of plaster fell from the ceiling. Lucy didn’t say anything, but I could see the tears welling in her eyes. I hugged her.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, mortified that I could have caused my children such pain. ‘I think I’ve made a mistake. I shouldn’t have accepted her. This is too difficult for all of us. I’ll speak to the social worker first thing in the morning.’

      * * *

      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 СКАЧАТЬ