Damaged, A Baby’s Cry and The Night the Angels Came 3-in-1 Collection. Cathy Glass
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that we were limited to a very narrow range of conversation. We couldn’t, for instance, discuss Lucy’s new boyfriend, even though he was pretty much the only thing on her mind. In fact, men of all ages had become effectively taboo in our house; we were even wary of discussing pop stars on TV.
With the girls at home, I became acutely aware of the physical distance that Jodie had created between herself and the rest of the family. In the first few months after her arrival, Jodie had needed lots of hugs and comfort, but recently she had cut out almost all physical contact, even when she woke screaming in the night. I was always hugging and kissing the girls, and to a lesser degree Adrian, and this made it immediately apparent how isolated Jodie had become. I tried to remedy this, of course, but when I tried to hug her before she went up to bed, or asked her to sit next to me on the sofa, she would make a joke of being disgusted, and either shake her head or simply run away.
I was always upset when she did this, because it was clear that she was terribly sad and lonely, and I wanted nothing more than to show her the affection and love that my children took for granted. I’m no psychologist, but my guess was that the legacy of abuse had tarnished physical contact in her mind, and made it uncomfortable and frightening. It was an awful catch-22: Jodie needed affection more than anyone I’d ever known, but the means by which affection is communicated would only contribute to her anxiety.
Sally, the guardian ad litum, came to visit and asked to spend some time alone with Jodie. I left the two of them in the lounge, and took the opportunity to spend some time with Lucy and Paula, while Adrian was out with his friends. Jodie had been disruptive and aggressive all morning, and I found Paula sitting despondently on her bed. ‘I wish I was back at school,’ she admitted. ‘I’m dreading Christmas. She’ll ruin it.’
‘No she won’t. We won’t let her. And we may find it’s just what she needs to open her heart. I know it’s difficult, but she can’t keep this up for ever.’
‘Can’t she? She’s done a good job so far. I daren’t even bring my friends home because of how she is.’
I was taken aback. My usually sociable daughter was now too embarrassed to bring friends home. I went over and hugged her. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. How about you arrange a sleepover when she’s away on respite? Videos, midnight feast, the lot?’
She brightened a little. ‘OK, Mum. I’m sorry.’
‘No need to apologize. I understand.’
I went into Lucy’s room, but the second I mentioned Jodie’s name she turned on me.
‘It’s all we ever talk about. Jodie, bloody Jodie. I’m sick to death of her. I wish she’d never come. You won’t change her, Cathy, whatever you do. Surely you can see that by now? She’s evil. She’s needs a bloody priest, not a carer.’
I wondered if Sally had noticed the tension in the house, for as she was about to leave she paused in the hall and placed her hand on my arm. ‘Cathy, you’re doing a really good job, but make sure you and your family don’t suffer. These children can play havoc with your emotions. Remember, her damage isn’t your responsibility. You can only do so much.’
I found Sally’s words comforting. It was nice to hear someone say something positive and to recognize what was going on. I respected Sally – she managed to combine professionalism with an ability to empathize that made me feel she understood.
Later that afternoon, Eileen phoned. ‘Hello, Cathy,’ she said, in her flat, plodding way. ‘We’ve got a bit of a problem.’
‘Oh yes?’ I replied, unperturbed. I was used to social workers telling me ‘we’ had problems. It usually meant that something unpleasant was coming my way.
‘When we sent a copy of the doctor’s letter to Jodie’s parents, someone forgot to blank out your details, so I’m afraid they sent them your name and address.’ As usual, she didn’t sound very sorry at all. I was furious. I’d been worrying about the Ear, Nose and Throat department being indiscreet, but meanwhile the Social Services had been handing out my details. I thought back to the silent phone call I’d received when Nicola had been with us; could that have been Jodie’s parents?
‘I see,’ I said. ‘That’s really going to make Jodie feel safe! I can’t say I’m surprised, though. When did it happen?’
‘I’m not sure exactly. We only found out when Jodie’s mother phoned today, demanding contact. She threatened to come to your house if we didn’t arrange it. Obviously, we told her that was unacceptable, but I thought you should know.’
‘Thanks,’ I said tersely. ‘And what did she say? Is she still planning on coming round?’
‘I don’t think so. She only mentioned it once. But don’t worry, if she does come round we’ll apply for an injunction straight away.’
Yes, I thought, but an injunction’s only a piece of paper. I’d had angry parents turning up on my doorstep before, and I knew waving a scrap of paper at them wouldn’t have had much of an effect. If a child is on a Voluntary Care Order, or we’re working towards rehabilitating the child so that he or she can go back home and the parents are cooperating, then there’s no problem in them knowing where the child and I live. Indeed, sometimes contact takes place in my house. But that clearly wasn’t the case here, far from it. It was blindingly obvious that the highest level of care should have been taken to protect my details and that hadn’t happened.
Eileen was impervious to my frustration, and there wasn’t much I could do about the situation now. An injunction was as useful as locking the stable door after the horse had bolted.
‘Right,’ I said stiffly. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’ And ended the call.
I was angry, of course, but, as I’d said to Eileen, I wasn’t terribly surprised. While the care proceedings are in progress, there are a huge number of documents flying around, between the parents, solicitors, social workers, the guardian ad litum and others. The present system relies on someone in the office at Social Services remembering to blank out the confidential details from every document, so it’s inevitable that there will be mistakes. In my experience, about 50 per cent of parents are given my address at some point, which in my view is unacceptable.
As a result, when there is a breach of confidentiality, we as a family have to take special precautions. My children always look through the spyhole before answering the door, and if it’s someone they don’t recognize, they don’t open it; instead, they fetch me. Foster children don’t answer the door at all. On top of this, we have an expensive alarm system, a Chubb lock, and I always look up and down the road before leaving the house. After a while it becomes second nature, and we have all learned that we simply have to accept the risks. Thank goodness that, apart from some nasty verbal confrontations, none of us has been placed in real danger.
My patience with Eileen, however, was stretched to the limit a few days later. For reasons known only to themselves, Social Services decided to call a meeting to discuss Jodie’s mother’s threat to come round, and they wanted Jill and me to attend. We marvelled that they had the time, so close to Christmas. And what were we going to discuss in any case? No one could take back the information now that it had been released; taking out an injunction forbidding Jodie’s parents to come near my property would have been pointless; the only other option was to move Jodie to new carers, which was clearly in no one’s interests – especially not Jodie’s. And who would take her anyway, with her complex needs, and at such short notice?
The meeting went as I had expected. We discussed all the possible options, before deciding on the sensible course: namely, to do nothing. I was relieved to get out of there and was just shaking my head at the monumental waste of time we had all been through when Eileen caught up with me in the corridor.
‘Cathy, just before you go, can I give you this? It’s a Christmas present for Jodie. Her father asked me to pass it on to her.’
I stared at her, astonished, as she held out a well-used Tesco carrier bag.
‘I’m not sure it’s