Damaged, A Baby’s Cry and The Night the Angels Came 3-in-1 Collection. Cathy Glass
Читать онлайн книгу.
I looked anxiously at Jodie. It was my address but Margaret Brown was the name of Jodie’s mother.
‘No, it’s not. Who’s this?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. My mistake. I’m calling from Ear, Nose and Throat at St John’s Hospital. About Jodie Brown?’
‘Yes. This is Cathy Glass, Jodie’s carer.’
‘Sorry, I’ve just found the note on file. The doctor’s letter is in the post, together with a prescription for some ear drops. Doctor wants a follow-up appointment for Jodie in a month.’
I made the appointment, noted it in my diary, and hung up. I wasn’t happy. I had given specific instructions to the hospital that my details should be kept confidential and, to avoid confusion, should be kept separate from Jodie’s parents’. It was clear this hadn’t happened. This time they had called me asking for Margaret, but next time they might just as easily call Margaret asking for Cathy Glass. All she would then need to do would be to ask the receptionist to confirm her latest address, and she and her husband would be led straight to my door. Then, Jodie and I would have bigger things to worry about than my piggy little eyes.
Eileen returned from her holiday, and Dave was finally able to convene his strategy meeting. Jill attended in my place, and things suddenly started to happen. I was told to make a number of appointments for Jodie. First, she would have to be assessed by a child psychologist, to help the Social Services decide how best to proceed with her case. She would also have to have what’s called a ‘memorandum interview’. This is a videotaped interview with a police Child Protection Officer, which in this case would be the starting point for a criminal prosecution of Jodie’s father and, hopefully, the other abusers too. Jodie would also have to see a police doctor for a forensic medical – an intimate gynaecological examination – to verify her claims.
I immediately started to worry about the forensic medical. It was traumatic enough for an adult to be examined in this way, but for an abused child it could be seen as another assault. I had given Jodie my promise that nothing of that kind would happen to her again, and I was frightened that she would think I’d broken my word and lose her trust in me.
In the meantime, our days had settled into something of a routine. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, Jodie’s tutor would come in the morning, and then in the afternoon we would go out, usually to the park. On Tuesdays and Thursdays we went shopping, although Jodie and I had somewhat differing views about this. Jodie enjoyed shopping more than anything, whereas for me it was perfunctory. Jodie seemed to relish causing a scene in public, aware that there was little I could do in response. These tantrums were designed to bully me into buying her something, but I could never give in, as this would set a precedent by rewarding bad behaviour. However, Jodie had clearly used this technique successfully for years, so I wasn’t expecting her to unlearn it any time soon.
The sessions with Nicola were improving, in terms of Jodie’s behaviour, but she was making little progress in her education. In my view, this lack of progress was only partly attributable to Jodie’s learning difficulties and delayed development and more likely a result of her emotional state. A further problem was that Jodie seemed to have no interest in learning; she could never see the point of any of Nicola’s exercises, and it was very difficult to motivate her, as she apparently had no desire to win approval.
My worries increased one afternoon when I did finally receive a call from Mr Rudman’s secretary: he was dreadfully sorry, but he didn’t feel able to offer Jodie a place.
‘Back to the drawing board,’ I said to Nicola, and spent the second half of her session on the phone, trying to interest another head teacher, but without success.
‘The trouble is,’ Nicola said, ‘she really needs a special school, but unless her statement can be changed to say this, there’s no chance.’
‘How long would it take to get it changed?’
‘Anything up to a year.’
We agreed that this wasn’t an option, so after Nicola left I set out more paper, paint and glue, and spent another hour working through the Yellow Pages. It was demoralizing work, but by the end of it I’d found another head who was willing to look at her statement. The school, Elmacre Primary, was five miles away, through the city traffic, but at least they had a vacancy.
The most enjoyable times I spent with Jodie tended to be our visits to the park. Jodie was less anxious in open spaces, presumably because there were fewer people around. She enjoyed playing on the swings, and I was slowly encouraging her to engage with the world around her, by pointing out pretty flowers and trees, and telling her the names of distinctive birds.
We often bumped into people I knew, and I hoped this kind of friendly contact would be helpful for Jodie. I’d lived in the same area for twenty years, so we would often run into someone I knew on any trip out. I would introduce Jodie, as I do with all the children I foster, but instead of saying ‘Hi’, or smiling shyly, she’d stick out her chin, screw up her eyes, and cackle like a witch. She had recently developed this cackle, and I wondered if it was a defence mechanism, to stop people getting close. If so, it was certainly effective; only the resolute would try and pursue a conversation. Fortunately, most people knew I fostered, so no one was too offended.
Despite my various schemes to broaden her horizons – which had included the zoo, the cinema and a local museum – Jodie seemed only to enjoy the park, specifically the park playground. As soon as we reached the gate, she would rush in, and head straight for the swings. She rarely played with other children, or even acknowledged they were there. This was hardly surprising, as she barely interacted with me. Instead, she would swing up and down, muttering or singing to herself, until it was time to leave. She was the same when we tried to play sociable games at home; she preferred to play by herself, in her own little world.
On the few occasions she did initiate contact with other children, it was usually out of curiosity. She would see a smaller child doing something interesting, or wearing something that caught her eye, so she would walk over and stand in front of them, and stare at their chest; she still had a complete aversion to eye contact. Understandably, the other children would find this quite intimidating, although this didn’t seem to be Jodie’s intention. Nonetheless, it often led to a scene, with the child running to its mother to complain about ‘that girl’.
On one occasion, we were in the playground, and a young father came in with his two daughters. There’s an area in the playground for very young children, as these two were, so that was where they went to play. For some reason, this piqued Jodie’s interest, so she followed them over and stood there watching as they clambered over the castle-shaped climbing frame. I was a few metres away, keeping an eye on her. At one point, one of the girls was coming down the slide, and Jodie went over to watch, and stood a bit too close to the bottom so that she was in the little girl’s way. The girls’ father marched across, put his hands on Jodie’s shoulders and said, ‘Come on now, out of the way.’
I thought this was a little over the top, but I came over quickly and apologized to him. ‘Sorry about that. Come on Jodie, come and play on the swings.’
We turned and walked away, and as we did the man shouted after us, ‘You want to learn to keep your daughter under control.’
This was definitely uncalled for, but I didn’t respond, and Jodie and I carried on playing. A few minutes later a smartly dressed, middle-aged lady came into the playground, and headed purposefully towards us.
‘Excuse me,’ she said to me, ‘this is Jodie, isn’t it?’ She leaned down towards Jodie and smiled. ‘Hello, Jodie, it’s lovely to see you again.’ Jodie looked at her, and carried on swinging lazily. She held out her hand to me. ‘Hi, sorry, I’m Fiona. I used to be Jodie’s teacher.’
I shook her hand. ‘Hello there, I’m Cathy. I’m Jodie’s foster carer.’ I usually wouldn’t