Damaged, A Baby’s Cry and The Night the Angels Came 3-in-1 Collection. Cathy Glass
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this indefinitely, when I had offered to hand Jodie back and restore calm and quiet to our home? Yet again, I was stunned by their extraordinary kindness and maturity when it came to the children we fostered. I looked over to Lucy and Paula. ‘Are you sure?’ I asked anxiously. I didn’t want them to regret this. ‘Is this really what you want? She’ll probably get worse rather than better in the short term.’
‘We all want her to stay,’ said Lucy firmly. ‘We know she’ll get better. And if not we can always kick her out next time!’ She grinned mischievously.
I felt a surge of relief, as well as immense admiration for my children. I know I’m biased, and I’m sure other parents feel the same about their kids, but at moments like these I couldn’t help but swell with pride.
It was after eight by the time Jodie returned from seeing her parents, and she was in high spirits. So were we. We’d had almost three hours’ respite, and we had a new sense of purpose. Jodie proudly showed us the dolls and sweets her father had given her. She also pointedly told me twice he had bought her burger and chips. I smiled. I was used to being played off against the parents of my foster children. No doubt the parents got the same kind of thing themselves. Apart from her boasting, Jodie had nothing else to say about her contact with her parents.
It was well past her bedtime, so with my usual mixture of coercion and repetition I took her up to the bathroom, then saw her into bed. She didn’t want the new dolls, but instead chose a large panda she had brought with her, and snuggled into it. I read her a short story, then said goodnight. I left the light on, came out and closed the door. I was feeling optimistic. Now Jodie had seen her parents, she might start to settle, with the two halves of her life running side by side. I sat in the lounge, and picked up the book I’d been trying to read for a fortnight. It was a comic satire, and it made me laugh out loud. At 9.30 Paula called from the landing that she was ready for me to tuck her in; it was a ritual she wasn’t too old for, as long as her friends didn’t find out.
As I went in, I noticed her rag-doll pyjama case wasn’t on the bed. ‘Where’s Betsy?’ I asked.
She looked at me, with her eyes large and imploring. ‘Don’t be upset, Mum, but I think there’s been an accident.’
‘What sort of accident?’
She nodded at the wardrobe. I went over and slid the door open. Lying at the bottom was Betsy, with her head ripped off, and stuffing falling out of her neck.
‘This isn’t an accident, is it, pet?’ I picked up the dismembered parts. ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner?’
‘I didn’t want more upset, Mum. It’s only a toy. Really. It doesn’t matter.’
I sat on the bed, reminded once again of how much the family had to put up with. ‘I’m sorry, love. I watched her like a hawk today. The only time I didn’t was when I was in the loo. I’ll try and find another one, but in future you must tell me. I know you feel sorry for her but if there’s any chance of us helping her, she’s going to have to learn. OK?’
She agreed, and we had a big hug, then I left her reading and continued my night-time rounds. I knocked on Lucy’s door, and waited for her shout of ‘Come in!’ She was in her pyjamas, propped on the pillows.
I sensed immediately that something was wrong. ‘Not you as well?’ I said.
She opened her bedside cabinet, and took out her makeup box. I looked at the congealed mess of black mascara, blue eye shadow and beige foundation.
‘It’s my fault,’ she said quickly. ‘I shouldn’t have left it on the bed.’
‘Of course you should! You have every right to leave your things out in your room. I’ll speak to her first thing in the morning.’ I repeated what I’d told Paula – that I’d replace it, but she had to tell me immediately if it happened again, so that I could deal with it at the time. It seemed that Jodie hadn’t taken my explanation about privacy very much to heart.
She took my hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Cathy, was I this naughty when I first arrived? I don’t remember.’
‘No. You had your moments but I wouldn’t have expected any different. You’d had a lot of moves but you soon settled. What we’re seeing in Jodie is severely disturbed behaviour.’
She looked away. ‘I know I shouldn’t say this, but sometimes she gives me the creeps. When she stares at me, it’s so cold I think she could kill me.’
‘It’s OK. I understand. She hasn’t had much love and I’m hoping we can change that. Now off to sleep. You’ve got your science exam tomorrow, haven’t you?’
She grinned sheepishly. ‘I will, and thanks for looking after me. I do love you, you know that, don’t you?’
It was the first time she’d said it, and ironically it had taken the hatred of a disturbed child to cement our relationship. ‘I love you too, sweet. You’re a good girl. Jodie couldn’t have a better example.’
Jodie had been living with us a little over a week when her eighth birthday arrived. I’d got so used to thinking of her as eight already because that’s how the Social Services had always referred to her, but in fact she was on the tail end of seven years old when she arrived. Jodie celebrated her birthday with her parents at the next contact session and spent her actual birthday with us.
When she got back from her birthday celebration with her parents, Jodie was loaded down with more bags of big, cheap, glittery toys of the kind that would last five minutes, and hold her interest for half that time. But if the amount was anything to go by, Jodie was certainly used to getting plenty of what she wanted. Even so, just as with the new things she had brought back from her previous contact sessions, the novelties and toys didn’t hold much charm for her. It seemed she liked getting them, but after a moment or two they had no worth or meaning.
I asked Jodie what she would like to do for her birthday and she announced that she would like to go bowling, which surprised me. Bowling didn’t seem to be something that a child with such bad coordination would enjoy much, but it was her birthday and if that was what she wanted, then that was what we would do. Bowling it was. As Jodie wasn’t at school, there were no friends to ask along, so it was Jodie, Paula, Lucy, Adrian and me.
First, we opened her presents at home. I’d put a lot of thought into what to get her. I could tell she liked dolls’ things, and she seemed to treasure her life-size doll, Julie, so I bought her a doll’s car seat, just like the real thing, and a doll’s high chair. She unwrapped her presents without the excitement I would usually have expected in a child, examined them and then pushed them to one side without any further comment. I felt vaguely hurt, and rather mystified. It wasn’t that she didn’t like them – it was just as though nothing had any value for her, and I couldn’t understand why. But I quickly put the anti-climax of the gifts behind us, and we all left for bowling.
As I’d suspected, Jodie couldn’t bowl to save her life, but she seemed to have a good time anyway, although she did her usual stomping about, hands on hips, ordering everyone around. But there were no tantrums, either in the bowling alley or later in McDonald’s, which was where she wanted to go for dinner. But then, as it was her birthday, we were all obediently doing what she wanted and she rewarded us by not throwing a screaming fit or landing a punch or two. We all went home, satisfied that Jodie’s birthday had gone as well as it possibly could.
One morning, after Jodie had been with us for a fortnight and the day after a contact session with her parents, I left her playing in her room until everyone had gone to school. She wasn’t happy about this, but I needed to establish some sort of working routine, and a peaceful breakfast would be a good start. Once the others had left for school, I went up and told Jodie she could get dressed, and asked her what she wanted for breakfast.
‘Nothing. Hate you,’ she snarled and poked out her tongue.