Damaged, A Baby’s Cry and The Night the Angels Came 3-in-1 Collection. Cathy Glass
at all – in fact, she was full of high spirits and rather triumphant.
The last hour was given over to self-chosen activities, during which the children worked on any aspect they liked of the topics covered during the week. I walked round the classroom once more. Some of the children were on the computers, adeptly cutting and pasting, while others were devising crosswords, stories, or producing pictures to complement their writing. Jodie was drawing a series of large boxes, and colouring them orange, blue, green, red and yellow. She explained to me that these were the class’s different groups. I praised her, impressed that she’d picked up this much, then I wrote the names of the colours beneath them for her. Five minutes before the bell, the children packed away their things, and sat on the carpet in front of the teacher. They chanted, ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Smith!’ and the teacher wished them a happy weekend. As they collected their bags and coats and filed out, the teacher asked Jodie how she’d enjoyed her first afternoon.
‘Brilliant,’ she said. ‘I want to come every day. For ever and ever!’
One of the remarkable things about Jodie that I had noticed right from the start was that she had absolutely no conception of time. She would discuss events from years ago as if they were happening right now. Equally, if we had something planned for a few weeks’ time, she would expect it to happen immediately. The day after the school visit she wanted to go again, and no matter how many times I explained to her that schools didn’t open on Saturdays, she couldn’t understand. Instead, she was convinced it was my fault.
‘It’s Saturday,’ I explained, for the fifth time. ‘No one goes to school on Saturdays. Be a good girl and take off your uniform, and we’ll hang it up ready for Monday.’
‘No! Don’t want to! Shut up! It’s mine and I’m going!’ She sat cross-legged on the floor, with her arms folded, angry and defiant.
I crouched down. ‘I know it’s yours, sweet, and so are all these other lovely clothes. How about you wear your new lacy tights, as we’re going to see Grandma and Granddad later.’ I took the tights out of the drawer, and placed them with a skirt and jumper on the bed. ‘It’s up to you, but they’ll look very smart with your denim skirt.’
I left the room, came downstairs and made breakfast. Half an hour later Jodie appeared in the clothes I’d laid out.
‘Well done, Jodie. That’s a wise choice.’
Every situation had to be handled with infinite care, if there was to be any chance of cooperation. I couldn’t simply say, ‘Put on your shoes, it’s time to go.’ Jodie would have to believe that it was her decision, and that she was in control. I knew where this had come from. When Jodie was being abused she had had no control over anything, so now she needed to be constantly in charge, just to feel safe. Unfortunately for me, the result of this was that even the simplest request would be met with a stubborn refusal, unless she could be persuaded that she herself had made the decision. I had to use diplomacy and coercion if I wanted anything done, and it could be very draining.
A visit to Grandma and Granddad’s was just what we all needed, to smooth away some of the tensions within the family, and boost our morale. Jodie thought the world of my parents, as did Adrian, Lucy, Paula and all the other children we had looked after. Mum and Dad were in their early seventies, and they were the archetypal grandparents, with endless patience, and all the time in the world to indulge their grandchildren.
As we arrived, Jodie was on good form, and greeted my parents warmly. We all went into the living room, when Jodie caught sight of my parents’ dog, Cosmo, a rather sad, passive, old rescue greyhound. Jodie suddenly screamed, then rushed across the room and started whacking him with her fists. The poor dog yelped, but Jodie was on top of him and he couldn’t move. Dad and I rushed over and pulled her off, and I asked her what on earth she was doing.
‘It looked at me!’ she shouted, still glaring at the frightened dog. She had never shown any fondness for animals but she had a particular aversion to dogs. Perhaps it was because of her father’s dog, or that, in the pecking order she was used to, the dog was the one she could kick and hurt without any fear of reprisal. She certainly never had any empathy for anything more vulnerable than she was.
‘But it didn’t mean any harm,’ I said firmly, as my dad stroked the poor animal, then let him out into the garden. ‘Now behave yourself. We said we were going to have a good day, didn’t we?’
Jodie nodded sullenly.
‘I tell you what,’ my father said. ‘Why don’t you help me feed the fish? They haven’t been fed yet, because they were waiting for you to arrive. We can all do it together, if you like. How does that sound?’
Jodie liked that idea, so she took Paula’s hand, and the two of them followed my father into the garden while Cosmo watched from a safe distance. Adrian and Lucy, who considered themselves too mature for this kind of entertainment, sat in the living room, listening to their mp3 players, which had so far kept them mute since Christmas.
I joined Mum in the kitchen, and helped her prepare lunch, as we caught up on the latest news. As usual, I was soon doing most of the talking, and it was mainly about Jodie. I found it very cathartic to discuss abnormal behaviour in the context of my mother’s very normal existence, and it helped that my mother was a good listener.
‘Anyway,’ I said at last, ‘hopefully we’ll turn a corner soon. So tell me, what have you two been up to?’
She recounted the various hobbies and interests which filled their very active retirement. Eventually the girls and my father streamed in through the kitchen door, while Jodie loudly enthused about the Golden Orbs which had come to the surface to feed. Mum and I served lunch, and I seated Jodie between the two of us. Her plate was piled high with chicken, roast potatoes, three vegetables and gravy.
‘I wish I lived here,’ she said, gazing adoringly at Grandma. Mum believes everyone needs ‘feeding up’, even when it’s obvious they really ought to be on a diet.
As the meal progressed, I noticed Jodie taking more than a passing interest in my father, who was seated opposite her. She watched him intently, as he peered down through his spectacles at his plate, then over them to retrieve his drink or to talk to one of us. I assumed she was wondering about the way he used his spectacles, which were only for close focusing. Mum offered us second helpings, and I limited Jodie’s. She sulked at this, resenting the fact that my father had filled his plate, but he needed it: age had thinned him down, rather than piling on the pounds.
‘Granddad?’ she asked suddenly, setting down her cutlery.
He looked up over his glasses. ‘Yes, dear?’
‘Are you Cathy’s daddy?’
‘That’s right. She’s my daughter.’
She thought for a moment, clearly trying to work something out. ‘So, you’re their granddaddy?’ She pointed at Adrian and Paula. I smiled at Lucy, hoping she wouldn’t be offended at Jodie’s faux pas.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Dad replied. ‘Well done.’
She glowed at the praise, and I was impressed that she’d finally made the connection, which she’d struggled with since she first met my parents. ‘So if you’re their granddad,’ she said, still watching him, ‘did you do naughty things with your willy to them when they was little, like my granddaddy did to me?’
Everyone fell silent. My father stopped eating and looked at me.
‘Jodie! Of course not!’ I said sharply. ‘I’ve told you before, normal families don’t do those things. Granddad is a good man. Now finish your dinner, we’ll talk about this later.’
Jodie, blissfully ignorant of the shocking impact of what she’d said, picked up her knife and fork, and carried on eating contentedly.
My parents