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

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СКАЧАТЬ was a different matter. These children were struggling to produce a handful of legible lines, and their work was full of corrections. Nonetheless, even the weakest of these was well above Jodie’s standard. Jodie could barely write her own name.

      ‘Would you like to join your table now?’ Mrs Smith called to Jodie, from across the room. ‘The spare chair beside Mrs Rice is your place.’ Her request was gentle but firm. Jodie, who apparently wasn’t quite ready, sized her up. I could see Jodie had one of her take-me-on-if-you-dare expressions, and my heart was in my mouth. Not now, Jodie, I thought, please let’s not have a refusal and a tantrum on your first visit.

      Now the other children were looking too; presumably they were used to responding immediately to any request from their teacher. Jodie stared at Mrs Smith, but then, to my relief, she lowered her gaze and plodded heavily over, flopping in her chair with a dramatic sigh.

      Mrs Rice gave Jodie a pencil and paper. I crept round the edge of the room and perched myself on a stool by the window. The classroom overlooked the playground, and an older class was in the middle of a P.E. lesson. The room was quiet save for the occasional scraping of a chair and the hushed voice of Mrs Rice giving assistance to her group. I noticed that there were more boys than girls, and wondered whether, with their friendships already established, the girls would allow Jodie in. The poor girl needed to make friends just as much as she needed the education, and children can be very forgiving if they feel it’s justified.

      The children finished their essays, and Mrs Smith asked who would like to read one out. Half a dozen hands shot up, including Jodie’s. A boy called James was chosen first, and he’d written about the night-time adventures of a fox called Lance. The story had a clear structure, and used lots of adjectives, and when he was finished the other pupils gave him a big round of applause. Next came Susie, whose story cleverly centred around the observations of a wise owl, from his vantage point high up in the trees. I gathered, from the content of the essays, that they’d been told to write about nocturnal animals. Susie was given her round of applause, and the teacher said they had time for one more. Jodie’s hand flew up again, waving for all she was worth.

      Mrs Smith exchanged a glance with Mrs Rice. ‘Come on then, Jodie. Let’s hear yours.’

      I cringed with embarrassment; I could see she’d only produced a handful of scribbles. ‘Class, this is Jodie,’ said the teacher. ‘She’ll be joining us from Monday.’

      Jodie stood up, and proudly held the paper at eye level, as she’d seen the others do. She pretended to read loudly and confidently, but her story was simply a string of unrelated words, punctuated by the occasional ‘owl’ and ‘fox’, with nothing intelligible in between.

      ’I saw the fox, to see, and I say don’t, and the fox was him, and he … No. And then the owl. Where he was … He got far, and Mr Owl. Watch it. I told you, over there. So the fox went and in the night, you see, I said! Then they went. Then the fox was at night and the owl, but he was not, and I said. So I go to fox, and the owl …’

      Fortunately Jodie was oblivious to the nonsense she was producing. I looked at the blank stares of the other children, and prayed they wouldn’t laugh. After a couple of minutes, with no end in sight, the teacher thanked Jodie and told her to sit down. There was no applause, but neither was there any sniggering, and for that I was truly grateful. Jodie didn’t appear to notice anything amiss at all – in fact, she was full of high spirits and rather triumphant.

      The last hour was given over to self-chosen activities, during which the children worked on any aspect they liked of the topics covered during the week. I walked round the classroom once more. Some of the children were on the computers, adeptly cutting and pasting, while others were devising crosswords, stories, or producing pictures to complement their writing. Jodie was drawing a series of large boxes, and colouring them orange, blue, green, red and yellow. She explained to me that these were the class’s different groups. I praised her, impressed that she’d picked up this much, then I wrote the names of the colours beneath them for her. Five minutes before the bell, the children packed away their things, and sat on the carpet in front of the teacher. They chanted, ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Smith!’ and the teacher wished them a happy weekend. As they collected their bags and coats and filed out, the teacher asked Jodie how she’d enjoyed her first afternoon.

      ‘Brilliant,’ she said. ‘I want to come every day. For ever and ever!’

Chapter Twenty-Three Granddad

      One of the remarkable things about Jodie that I had noticed right from the start was that she had absolutely no conception of time. She would discuss events from years ago as if they were happening right now. Equally, if we had something planned for a few weeks’ time, she would expect it to happen immediately. The day after the school visit she wanted to go again, and no matter how many times I explained to her that schools didn’t open on Saturdays, she couldn’t understand. Instead, she was convinced it was my fault.

      ‘It’s Saturday,’ I explained, for the fifth time. ‘No one goes to school on Saturdays. Be a good girl and take off your uniform, and we’ll hang it up ready for Monday.’

      ‘No! Don’t want to! Shut up! It’s mine and I’m going!’ She sat cross-legged on the floor, with her arms folded, angry and defiant.

      I crouched down. ‘I know it’s yours, sweet, and so are all these other lovely clothes. How about you wear your new lacy tights, as we’re going to see Grandma and Granddad later.’ I took the tights out of the drawer, and placed them with a skirt and jumper on the bed. ‘It’s up to you, but they’ll look very smart with your denim skirt.’

      I left the room, came downstairs and made breakfast. Half an hour later Jodie appeared in the clothes I’d laid out.

      ‘Well done, Jodie. That’s a wise choice.’

      Every situation had to be handled with infinite care, if there was to be any chance of cooperation. I couldn’t simply say, ‘Put on your shoes, it’s time to go.’ Jodie would have to believe that it was her decision, and that she was in control. I knew where this had come from. When Jodie was being abused she had had no control over anything, so now she needed to be constantly in charge, just to feel safe. Unfortunately for me, the result of this was that even the simplest request would be met with a stubborn refusal, unless she could be persuaded that she herself had made the decision. I had to use diplomacy and coercion if I wanted anything done, and it could be very draining.

      A visit to Grandma and Granddad’s was just what we all needed, to smooth away some of the tensions within the family, and boost our morale. Jodie thought the world of my parents, as did Adrian, Lucy, Paula and all the other children we had looked after. Mum and Dad were in their early seventies, and they were the archetypal grandparents, with endless patience, and all the time in the world to indulge their grandchildren.

      As we arrived, Jodie was on good form, and greeted my parents warmly. We all went into the living room, when Jodie caught sight of my parents’ dog, Cosmo, a rather sad, passive, old rescue greyhound. Jodie suddenly screamed, then rushed across the room and started whacking him with her fists. The poor dog yelped, but Jodie was on top of him and he couldn’t move. Dad and I rushed over and pulled her off, and I asked her what on earth she was doing.

      ‘It looked at me!’ she shouted, still glaring at the frightened dog. She had never shown any fondness for animals but she had a particular aversion to dogs. Perhaps it was because of her father’s dog, or that, in the pecking order she was used to, the dog was the one she could kick and hurt without any fear of reprisal. She certainly never had any empathy for anything more vulnerable than СКАЧАТЬ