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

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СКАЧАТЬ full of Jodie’s suffering, and I half expected her to wake again any minute. I hadn’t seen anything like this before in any child I’d looked after, and it had left me stunned and drained. I leaned heavily against the work surface, and watched the clock on the oven tick over another minute. Toscha purred around my legs, uncertain if it was time for breakfast. I poured her a saucer of milk, then made myself a mug of tea.

      My thoughts went to the packet of cigarettes on top of the broom cupboard. I’d put them there when I was giving up, six months ago. I had managed to quit by only having one when it was essential, and making them difficult to reach. I dragged the breakfast stool into place and climbed up. I felt a stab of guilt as I opened the packet and slid one out. The matches were in the childproof cupboard under the sink; I had thrown all the lighters away. I unlocked the back door and stepped outside. I’d never smoked in the house.

      The night was cold and clear. I couldn’t see the moon, but the deep black sky was a blanket of twinkling stars. The cold air was a relief from the heavy atmosphere which now pervaded the house. The match flared in the darkness, as though highlighting my transgression. I held it to the tip and inhaled. I felt that old familiar rush, at once intoxicating and reassuring, then another surge of guilt, but I inhaled again, concentrating on the ritual, allowing myself to think of nothing else. By the time I’d finished, I wasn’t sure if I felt better or worse.

      Returning inside, I put the matches back in the cupboard, and secreted the cigarettes in a more accessible drawer. It was still quiet upstairs, so I went into the lounge and switched on the television. There was ice hockey on Channel Five. I turned the volume down and gazed absently, while my thoughts travelled faster than the puck. Whatever had that child suffered? I could only begin to guess. And who was this ‘her’ whom she had told? Her mum? An aunt? A teacher at school? I was amazed that nothing had been picked up before. Jodie had been on the at-risk register since birth, so she should have been visited by social workers every couple of months. I couldn’t believe that none of them noticed anything untoward in her relationship with her father, as it sounded like the abuse had been going on for years. Surely her mother must have known – but that was another avenue that I couldn’t bear to go down yet. At some point I must have dropped off, for suddenly the ice rink had been transformed into a weather map, and dark rain clouds were covering most of southern England. The clock in the corner of the screen said it was nearly 6.30, and the house was still silent. Perhaps telling me about the abuse had proved cathartic for Jodie; perhaps she’d be less disturbed as a result. I crept upstairs, and took the opportunity for a long, relaxing shower. As the hot water drummed on to my neck and shoulders, I felt the tension dissipate, and prepared myself for a new day.

      As I dressed, I felt rejuvenated and ready for action. I hung up the towels, and heard Jodie stir. Within minutes she was off, screaming abuse and trashing her room. I went in and tried to resettle her. When this failed, I told her off, and when that failed, I ended up having to remove the television as a punishment.

      Fearful of the damage she might do if left unattended, I allowed her downstairs to breakfast with Lucy and Paula, which turned out to be a massive error of judgement. From the moment she sat down, she tormented the girls by poking and kicking, digging her spoon into their breakfasts, and generally making herself disagreeable. Paula left most of her Weetabix, in a bid to escape, while Lucy finally gave her a tap on the hand and flounced off to finish her toast in her bedroom. By the time Adrian appeared, my nerves were in tatters, and my morning serenity had all but vanished.

      ‘What you staring at?’ she demanded as he sat down. Jodie seemed to have a particular fear of being looked at, and was never happy if she felt she was being observed, getting upset with whoever was looking at her. I’d noticed when she arrived that she avoided eye contact and preferred to look at people’s chests when they were talking to her. Similarly, she’d never been able to relax, always jumping if someone walked into the room as if she was on constant alert and ready to take flight if she had to. I hadn’t really thought about it before, but now, in the light of what she’d told me, everything took on a sinister significance.

      Adrian shifted awkwardly and concentrated on his breakfast.

      I saw her grin, that ghoulish contortion of her face, then quick as a flash she scooped up a handful of porridge, and hurled it at him.

      ‘Jodie! Stop that!’ I cried, and took her bowl away. ‘That was naughty. Now I’ve got to clean his blazer. Look at the mess you’ve made.’

      She sneered. ‘That’s what you’re here for. To clean and cook. Get on with it, bitch.’

      Adrian couldn’t believe what he’d heard, and neither could I.

      ‘I beg your pardon?’ I said. She looked as if she was about to repeat it so I interrupted. ‘Don’t you dare say that. If you think I’ve got nothing better to do than clean up after you, you’re very much mistaken. You’ve lost your television today, and if there’s any more it’ll be for the rest of the week.’

      I washed her hands, sponged down Adrian’s blazer, then cleared away the breakfast things. I didn’t speak to Jodie or make eye contact with her. I wanted her to feel my disapproval. I appreciated that she had suffered a great deal in her life, but the only hope for her future was for her to try and understand how to function in a normal family and in society. She had to learn what behaviour was acceptable and what kind of treatment of others was entirely wrong.

      Only when I’d loaded the dishwasher and seen Adrian, Lucy and Paula off to school did I make the peace. ‘No more swearing or throwing things around. Do you understand? It’s naughty, and you’re not a naughty girl.’

      ‘No. I’m sorry, Cathy,’ she said, temporarily chastened.

      ‘OK. Would you like me to read you a story now?’

      ‘Yes please, Cathy.’

      I gave her a hug, and we went into the lounge, where she picked up half a dozen books and dumped them on my lap. We sat side by side on the sofa, and Jodie asked for another hug. I put my arms around her, and thought now might be a good time to ask her about her mum, as she was subdued and reasonably cooperative.

      ‘Before I start, Jodie, I want to ask you something about last night. You remember you were upset and I came into your room?’ She looked at me blankly, which was nothing unusual, so I decided to continue. ‘You said you told someone about what Daddy was doing? You said you told her to make him stop.’ She was still looking at me, and her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to remember. ‘Jodie, who was it that you told? Can you remember? I know it was a woman because you said “her”.’

      She pulled slightly away, and took the top book off the pile. ‘Free ’ickle pigs. I told the free ’ickle pigs, and they blew my house down.’

      I smiled inwardly at this quite witty diversion. ‘No, you didn’t. Now be sensible. It’s important.’

      ‘Can’t remember. Can’t. Really, I can’t, Cathy.’

      ‘OK darling, let’s read.’

      That afternoon, I phoned Jill, and told her I hadn’t had any success. ‘She genuinely doesn’t seem to remember. I’ll have to wait until she’s ready.’

      ‘OK. You’re doing everything you can, Cathy. This is not unheard of. In some cases, when a child is emotionally traumatized, the brain can shut down to protect the child from the horrendous memories. Once the child feels safe again, they may be able to release a bit more, but only to the extent that the brain feels able to cope with it.’

      It sounds like a mechanism I could do with, I СКАЧАТЬ