Damaged: The Heartbreaking True Story of a Forgotten Child. Cathy Glass
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.’
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