Damaged, A Baby’s Cry and The Night the Angels Came 3-in-1 Collection. Cathy Glass
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That’s what I would have done. Where were they when they were watching?’
‘In my bedroom.’
‘And the car? You once said something about a car? Who was in the car, Jodie?’
‘Mummy and Daddy. Mummy took the pictures of Daddy and me. It’s a very big car. We was in the back. It was dark. I don’t like the dark. The camera made it light up. Will he be told off, Cathy?’
‘I sincerely hope so, sweet. All of them. I’ll tell your social worker, and she’ll tell the police. The police will want to talk to us, but don’t worry, I’ll be with you.’
I was still holding her hand and stroking her forehead, reluctant to let go. It was well after seven, and I should have been waking the others for school. ‘Is there anything else you want to tell me now? You’ve been very brave and it’s important you tell me if there is.’
She shook her head. I cuddled her for some time, then gently eased her into bed, and tried to focus my mind.
‘Cathy?’ she said suddenly.
‘Yes, sweet?’
‘Did your daddy do those things to you?’
‘No. Absolutely not,’ I said. ‘Never in a million years. He’s a good, kind man. Most adults are.’
‘And Paula and Lucy’s daddy?’
‘No. Paula’s daddy never hurt her. Lucy’s daddy hit her, which is why she’s here. But he didn’t hurt her like that.’
‘Was it my fault, Cathy? I didn’t want to. Mummy said I was lucky. She said it was because he liked me so much. She said I should belt up and enjoy it. She said I was Daddy’s girl.’
‘She was wrong, Jodie. Parents cuddle their children to show their love. They don’t hurt them. And it wasn’t your fault, Jodie. Don’t you ever believe that.’ I gave her another hug, then she asked for the television, and for the first time since arriving she seemed content to stay in bed while the others got up.
I left her room and stood for a moment on the landing, trying to compose myself. I was ice cold and trembling with rage. I could see Jodie being held down by her father. I could see the others watching. I could hear their laughter. It was little wonder she was in the state she was. I knew now where her anger had come from, and I now shared it. I had not wanted to believe it could be any worse than Jodie’s father subjecting to her to the vile acts she had described, but now, to my horror, I realized that it was much, much worse than anyone had suspected. She had been the victim of the most awful kind of abuse I could imagine, where not just one of her parents subjected her to the most degrading treatment any child could suffer but where both of them were complicit, and so were other adults. I could feel the nausea churning in me as I realized that it was not only her parents, in their position of precious care and trust, but many others who had conspired to turn Jodie’s world into a nightmare of suffering and perversion; they had reversed everything that should be good in a child’s life, turning it into something so deeply wicked and evil that I couldn’t find the words to describe what I thought of it.
No wonder the poor child had cut off the world around her. No wonder she had no sense of being able to relate to other people, when all she had experienced was cruelty and pain. No wonder she tried to beat herself, maim herself and smeared herself with filth – what else had she ever known?
Somehow I made breakfast, and saw Adrian, Lucy and Paula off to school. As soon as they were gone, I phoned Jill and told her everything.
‘It’s worse than we thought,’ I said. ‘Much worse.’
As I reported what Jodie had said, I could sense Jill taking in the scale of what had happened. She breathed in sharply as I told her that Jodie had been abused by a circle of complicit adults, photographed and watched and jeered at.
‘Oh my God, Cathy. I can’t believe what that child has been through. This should be enough to start a police prosecution,’ she said. ‘I know it must have been awful to hear all this from her, but you’ve done a great job.’
I didn’t feel like I’d done a good job. I felt as if I’d been party to Jodie’s suffering. I felt ashamed to be an adult.
‘Do we know how long it’s been going on?’ she asked.
‘I think quite a while. She asked if my father did it to me, and was surprised he didn’t. The way she describes it, it sounds like it was the norm, part of everyday life, and it’s only now she’s realizing it’s wrong.’ I paused. ‘Jill, at what age can a child be raped?’
‘Any age. There are cases as young as six months.’
I cringed.
‘Cathy, this has all the hallmarks of a paedophile ring. Was she ever shown the photographs?’
‘Not as far as I’m aware. She didn’t say.’
‘OK, write it all down when you have a chance. Eileen’s on annual leave…’
‘Again?’
‘Yes, so I’ll speak to Dave Mumby. They’ll want a forensic medical and a police memorandum interview. I’ll get back to you. How are you coping, Cathy?’
‘A damn sight better than Jodie. Bastards!’
There’s a joke among foster carers that goes like this: How many social workers does it take to change a light bulb? Thirteen. One to find the bulb, and the other twelve to hold a meeting to discuss how best to change it. It’s not much of a joke, admittedly, but it does encapsulate how we often feel about the inability of Social Services to take action when it’s most needed.
Following Jodie’s latest disclosures, Dave Mumby wanted to set up a meeting, but not until Eileen could be present, which wouldn’t be until well into the following week, as she was indeed on annual leave. As Jodie’s social worker, Eileen had a statutory obligation to visit Jodie in placement every six weeks, and yet the two had still never met. Although Eileen phoned every now and then to get a report on Jodie’s progress, I got the impression that it was more to save herself the trouble of having to visit us than any real interest in the case. Perhaps she had a very busy workload – but then, so did all social workers – or maybe she was better than most at not getting too personally involved in a case. Whatever it was, it not only saddened me that Jodie didn’t have a social worker to take an interest in her and champion her cause, but it was also highly unprofessional. I wondered if Dave Mumby, her team manager, knew.
Jill reported back to me that the nature of the meeting meant that I wouldn’t have to attend, and she would represent us both. In the meantime, she said, Dave had asked if I could focus my attention on finding Jodie a school, as her parents had made a formal complaint about her lack of education. Jodie had left her previous school when she was taken into care, and the speed of her various moves, then her behaviour, had precluded finding her a new one.
I was flabbergasted. Jodie’s parents would now know what they were accused of. When a child makes an accusation, the parents are always informed of the nature of the allegation. Moreover, when all contact between Jodie and her parents was abruptly stopped, the reasons would have been given. I was doubly amazed that Dave was acting upon this as a priority, while delaying the meeting.
Jill suggested that I try Harvestbank, which was a local primary school with a good record for taking children with learning and behavioural difficulties. Jodie already had a Statement of Educational Needs, which is a document outlining the child’s particular needs, completed after he or she has been assessed by an educational psychologist. Jodie’s needs were severe enough that her statement authorized funding to pay for a full-time assistant in whichever school accepted her. This meant, in theory at least, that a school might have an additional incentive to take her, if they were short on funds.
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