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

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СКАЧАТЬ right.’

      I read her the story, and put her to bed, but at four o’clock she was screaming again. I went back and resettled her, but an hour later she started up again. There was no chance of getting her back to sleep now, which meant there was no chance of me sleeping, so I went downstairs for a cup of coffee and a much-needed cigarette. I stood on the patio in my dressing gown and slippers. It was still dark and I knew the sun wouldn’t be up for another half hour. I smiled to myself, as I wondered how many other mums knew exactly what time the sun came up.

      It was a cold autumnal day. Summer had now passed us by and Jodie had been living with us for over six months. It was hard to remember a time before Jodie now, or a life that was lived without this intensity. Jodie and her problems occupied me constantly, and there was little in my life that wasn’t filled with looking after her and her needs. Now that the weather had turned cold, it was becoming quite a challenge to persuade Jodie to wear suitable clothes. Later that day, we left the house to go shopping, but as I went to close the door I realized I’d forgotten my own gloves. I left Jodie on the doorstep, while I popped inside to retrieve them. Suddenly the door slammed and Jodie was running up the hall towards me.

      ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

      ‘My dad. He’s outside!’

      ‘What? Where is he?’ I felt a rush of fear. It was far from unlikely that Jodie’s parents had been able to track me down, if the usual mistakes and errors had been made. I had a particular dread of seeing Jodie’s father; I wasn’t scared for myself – I didn’t feel that I was in great danger from him – but I was terrified that Jodie’s safe place in my home could be contaminated and threatened if she ever laid eyes on her father while she was here. And what was more, I never wanted to set eyes on him myself. The very thought of him made me feel physically sick. ‘Where did you see him, Jodie?’

      ‘In his van. Driving up the street.’

      ‘Go in the living room and stay put.’ I walked outside, drawing the door to behind me. I looked out from the doorstep but couldn’t see a van. I walked up the path and on to the pavement, peering up and down the street. I knew from what Jodie had said before that her father drove a white van, but I couldn’t see any vans at all. I looked up and down but there were definitely no white vans. I looked once more and then, seeing nothing, I went back inside, relieved.

      ‘It’s OK, Jodie, there’s no van. He’s not there. He doesn’t know where we live, so I’m sure it wasn’t him. It must be someone else’s van.’ I gave her a hug. ‘Shall we go to the shops now, or do you want to wait a bit?’

      ‘I’ll come,’ she said passively.

      I reassured her again and, holding her close, led the way to the car. As we drove into town I watched her in the rear-view mirror, as she anxiously kept watch in every direction, presumably looking for vans.

      I parked in the multi-storey and bought a ticket for two hours. As we entered the shopping mall, we were immediately transported into a fairyland of illuminated trees, sparkling foil garlands and a giant Father Christmas booming ‘Ho ho ho!’ I felt a surge of panic, as I compared the stores’ festive preparations with my own. I’d done nothing yet, and as I counted up the weeks I realized we were only six away from Christmas Eve. I picked up a basket, and we made our way round the department store.

      Jodie was as ever an enthusiastic if not discerning shopper, and she happily grabbed any gaily packaged parcel that came within reach. While we shopped, I talked to her about Christmas and told her about the little traditions that she could expect with us, like decorating the house and the tree, the family service at our church on Christmas Eve, and the pillowcases we all hang on our doors before going to bed. I told her about the glass of sherry and the mince pie that we leave out for Santa, along with carrots for the reindeer. Jodie listened with mild interest but contributed nothing of her own experiences. She didn’t even mention her last Christmas with her parents, which is usually very poignant for children in care. Instead she grasped the material aspect of the festival and started telling me a long list of all the presents she wanted this year, which was, in a nutshell, anything brightly coloured – preferably pink and sparkly.

      ‘What did you get last Christmas?’ I asked, interrupting her.

      ‘Shoes,’ she said. ‘Black ones for school. But they wasn’t wrapped.’

      ‘And what did you do on Christmas Day? Did you play games?’

      She nodded. ‘We went up the pub and played darts. Mum had lots of beer and fell over so we had to go home. They went to sleep, so I put a pizza in the oven and after that they felt better.’

      I sighed. What a miserable Christmas – and to think that Jodie had assumed responsibility for her parents like that, particularly with her problems! I’d quickly guessed that she had taken a big portion of running the home on to her seven-year-old shoulders. For all her malcoordination and poor motor skills, she’d told me once how to mix a baby’s bottle and she knew how to cook fish fingers in the oven. But if her Christmas was joyless, it was no worse than others I’d heard of from my foster children who’d never known the excitement and pleasure of waking up on Christmas morning to bursting pillowcases and presents under the tree. ‘Well, Christmas will be very different this year, Jodie, and I know you’re going to enjoy it.’

      ‘Will I, Cathy?’ she said, and her face lit up.

      ‘Yes. I promise.’ As we carried on shopping, I resolved that she would have the best Christmas I could possibly give her – it would be one way that I could try and restore a piece of her childhood to her. I couldn’t wait to see her pleasure on the day itself, even if it was over a month away.

      I found presents for my nieces and nephews, then spotted a pair of Winnie the Pooh slippers which would go into Paula’s sack. Not wishing to have the surprise ruined, I discreetly placed them at the bottom of the basket, and distracted Jodie while I paid. I did the same with the other stocking fillers, including a Tweenies jigsaw for Jodie, and some fancy hair conditioner that Lucy had mentioned. I would be doing all my shopping with Jodie this year, so it would have to be furtive and piecemeal, but it would be worth it.

      When we arrived home, Lucy and Paula had just beaten us in. They were in the hallway, removing their coats and unloading their schoolbags.

      ‘We’ve been to Christmas,’ Jodie shouted excitedly.

      ‘Shopping,’ I added. ‘I’ve made a start.’

      ‘Yes, shopping,’ Jodie repeated. ‘And my daddy was naughty, he took his clothes off and weed on me.’

      The girls laughed uncomfortably. Neither of them knew what to say.

      ‘Jodie,’ I said, ‘we went shopping this afternoon. What your daddy did happened more than a year ago. Don’t link the two. It’s confusing.’

      But she often did this, running past and present together in a continuum of now. Right from the start she had had no conception of time, but her inability to distinguish between past, present and future seemed to be getting worse.

      ‘Do you want to play a game?’ asked Paula.

      Jodie stared blankly back.

      Paula persisted. ‘Let’s all do a jigsaw together!’

      ‘What about Barbie?’ asked Lucy. ‘I’d love to play with your Barbie dolls.’

      ‘No!’ СКАЧАТЬ