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

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      The doctor opened an A4 folder, and pulled out a bundle of papers. ‘Jodie’s eight and a half now? And she’s been with you since the third of April?’

      I could tell that the doctor was well aware of the contents of Jodie’s file and knew exactly why we were there. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

      ‘How is she generally? Eating? Sleeping? Behaviour?’

      I gave her a brief summary of Jodie’s state: that she ate well but her nights and general behaviour were becoming increasingly difficult.

      ‘And does she understand why she’s here?’

      ‘I’ve explained she’s going to have a medical, and you will need to look at her private parts to make sure she’s OK.’

      She nodded, and I assumed she approved of my explanation. ‘Apart from what Jodie’s said, have you noticed any other indicators? Soreness, a rash, discharge?’

      Foster carers can’t afford to be squeamish. ‘No, but she does soil herself a lot. It’s not deliberate, as it used to be. It’s more that she doesn’t seem to quite make it to the toilet in time. Or if she does, she’s not very good at cleaning herself up. I’m often changing her and washing her so it wouldn’t necessarily be obvious.’

      ‘Quite,’ Linda Marshall agreed.

      Dr Pratchet made a note and then looked up at Jodie. ‘OK, we’re going to start by measuring and weighing you, Jodie. Do you think you could jump on those scales?’

      ‘Jump’ was not the best choice of word, as Jodie took it literally. With a resounding leap, she threw herself on to the platform. The sprung metal plate clanged and shud dered.

      ‘Gently,’ I said redundantly.

      Linda read out the results and Dr Pratchet noted them down. ‘Good girl. Now, can you climb on to this couch for me? It’s a bit high; do you need some help?’

      Jodie, oblivious to what lay in wait and eager to demonstrate her agility, scrambled up. She sat with her chubby legs dangling over the edge, grinning at me proudly. I watched as Dr Pratchet opened her desk drawer and removed a stethoscope and a wooden spatula. Looping the stethoscope around her neck, she tucked the spatula into her coat pocket. I shuffled my chair back to allow her to pass. I could feel my anxiety level rising fast.

      ‘I’m going to have a look in your mouth first, Jodie,’ she said. ‘Say aaah.’

      Jodie opened her mouth wide. Dr Pratchet placed the spatula on her tongue, and the two women peered in. I could guess what they were looking for. If Jodie had been forced into oral sex, there was a chance she might have contracted a sexually transmitted disease in her mouth, but I hadn’t seen any sores or white thrush spots when I’d helped brush her teeth.

      ‘Excellent,’ said Dr Pratchet. ‘Well done.’

      Jodie closed her mouth, and grinned at me. I smiled back reassuringly.

      ‘Now, can I listen to your chest?’

      Linda gently lifted up Jodie’s jumper, waiting for Jodie to give permission by raising her arms, and Dr Pratchet listened with her stethoscope. I felt reassured: they certainly knew how to put a child at ease. I relaxed a little.

      ‘Excellent,’ she said again. ‘You’re doing very well. Aren’t you a big girl?’

      Jodie beamed, as though she’d just won a medal, but I was aware we were approaching the next stage of the medical, and I was praying for Jodie’s continued cooperation. The doctors wouldn’t force her to go through with it, but without this evidence there would be little chance of a prosecution.

      ‘Can you lie down on the couch for me?’ asked Linda, patting the bed.

      Jodie flopped back in her cumbersome way and cackled loudly.

      ‘We need to have you further this end,’ said Linda, and eased her down, so that her legs hung over the edge. Dr Pratchet switched on the lamp.

      ‘Would you like to come and hold her hand?’ Linda asked, looking over at me.

      I manoeuvred my chair so that I was sitting beside Jodie’s head, and held her hand. I was pleased to be doing something. Dr Pratchet passed Linda a blanket, and she covered Jodie’s body.

      ‘I’m going to slip off your trousers and pants,’ she said, and discreetly removed them under the blanket. ‘Good girl. Now let your legs go floppy, and I’ll put them in the right position.’

      She raised Jodie’s knees. It was an ungainly, vulnerable position, but with the blanket covering her she at least retained some dignity.

      Linda joined Dr Pratchet at the foot of the couch, and both women put on rubber gloves and began the examination. I stroked Jodie’s forehead and held her hand tight. Her cheeks flushed, and she bit her bottom lip.

      ‘Won’t be long,’ I said, ‘then we can go home.’

      The women began discussing what they saw. I recognized the word ‘lesion’, but none of the other terms were familiar. Their tone was flat and professional, revealing nothing.

      ‘It hurts,’ said Jodie. I squeezed her hand, willing them to hurry up.

      Dr Pratchet suddenly straightened. ‘All done. You’ve been a very brave girl. You can get dressed now.’

      I breathed a sigh of relief and helped Jodie sit up and dress, while the two women shed their gloves into the bin.

      ‘We’ll send the report to the social worker,’ said Linda. ‘You can reassure Jodie she’s quite normal.’

      This was all we would be told for now. The social worker would eventually pass on to me anything I needed to know. Jill had said that this could take anything from ten days to a month. I thanked them warmly, took Jodie’s hand, and we walked out into the winter afternoon sunshine.

      ‘You were very brave,’ I told her. ‘You won’t have to go through that again. It’s over now.’

      ‘I wished it was a man,’ she said, giving a little hop beside me.

      ‘What? Doing the examination?’ I was surprised. Surely a man performing that kind of procedure was the last thing Jodie would want, after what she’d been through. ‘Why?’

      ‘Ladies hurt more than men,’ cos they haven’t got a willy.’

      I stopped and turned to her as the significance of her words sank in. ‘What do you mean? What ladies? How do they hurt you?’

      Her brow furrowed, as she searched through her limited vocabulary to try and explain. ‘My mum and Aunt Bell, they had to use things because they haven’t got willies.’

      ‘Use things? What, on your private parts?’

      ‘Yes. Like the doctors. They poked things inside me.’

      I froze. Oh please, no. How much more could this child have endured? ‘What things, Jodie?’

      ‘Spoons, СКАЧАТЬ