I parked in the multi-storey car park nearby, and took the lift down to the street with ten minutes to spare.
The ornate stone building, which had once been the old town hall, was now surrounded by high-rise flats, and retained only the façade of its previous gentility. I heaved open the double doors and walked in. As usual, it was full. People of all ages and nationalities were sitting, standing or pacing as they waited anxiously for their numbers to appear on the electronic display suspended from the ceiling. As I walked through the mêlée a toddler grabbed the hem of my skirt, before his mother whisked him back on to her lap, smiling an apology.
I approached the reception desk. ‘Cathy Glass,’ I said, as the receptionist slid the glass partition just far enough to hear. ‘I’m here for the eleven o’clock meeting in respect of Jodie Brown. I’m her carer.’
With stoic resignation she ticked my name off a printed list, then handed me a stick-on security pass, with ‘Visitor’ printed in large black letters. I pressed it on to my coat.
‘Room seven,’ she said. ‘Through the double doors, up the stairs, and it’s on your left.’ The partition slid shut before I or anyone else could poke a head in.
I knew the layout of the building, having attended many meetings here in the past. Room seven was one of the largest, and as I climbed the stairs I realized that it was also where Jodie’s pre-placement meeting had taken place almost a year earlier. It was hard to believe that it had been so long. I thought back to that day and cringed at my cavalier assumptions at the time. Back then I had been in no doubt that all any child needed was care, firm guidelines, encouragement and attention, and I had had no doubt that this Jodie would end up as another success. I had been so confident that I would reach Jodie just has I had reached so many troubled children and helped to put them back on the road to recovery and as normal a life as possible. But for once my tried and tested methods had failed me. At least I wasn’t alone in not being able to reach the source of Jodie’s torment. Nevertheless, I wondered if anyone in room seven would show their disappointment.
Jill, Sally and Gail, the new team manager, were already seated along two sides of the polished mahogany table. They smiled as I walked in, and Gail introduced herself. I exchanged a ‘Good morning’ with Sally, and sat next to Jill.
‘We’re just waiting for Dr Burrows and Mary from finance,’ Gail said. ‘Eileen’s on leave, I’m afraid. And Jodie’s headmaster won’t be coming, but he has submitted a report.’
I slipped off my coat, draped it over the back of my chair, and took heart from the fact that finance had been invited. Usually, finance people were only present when funding needed to be found. And funding would be required in order to embark on therapy.
‘How is she?’ Jill asked quietly.
‘Pretty much the same. But once she’s in therapy I’m sure things will start to improve.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ she smiled.
The door opened and Mary rushed in, clutching a thick wad of papers; she apologized for being late. She sat opposite me, and I was dying to ask how much therapy their budget would stretch to, but I knew it would be poor protocol to do so before the meeting had even started. Gail and Mary spoke quietly between themselves, discussing a different case. Then the door opened again, and Dr Burrows appeared carrying a briefcase, looking more like a city worker than a psychologist in her smart grey suit. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, but the cab was late.’
Gail waited for her to sit down, and then opened the meeting. She thanked us all for coming, minuted the date, the time, and the names of those present, and then asked us to each introduce ourselves.
After the introductions she looked down the length of the table. ‘We’re here to assess the present situation with regard to Jodie, and to decide how best to proceed. I think it would be helpful to start with you, Cathy, then, Sally, if you could go next. I’ll read out the school’s report, and perhaps if you would conclude, Dr Burrows.’
We murmured our agreement.
I’d rehearsed what I was going to say during the drive over. I was going to be positive about Jodie’s initial progress, without minimizing her need for help. I took a deep breath, and began.
‘As you know, Jodie showed very challenging behaviour when she came to me, to such a degree that she had been through five carers in four months. She was extremely aggressive and confrontational, and suffered from delayed development. She had poor bowel control and very low self-esteem. She exhibited sexualized behaviour towards men and women.
‘Over time, she settled into our household routine and began to respond to the clear boundaries I set, and the positive encouragement. As her anxiety decreased she became less violent and was learning to manage her anger. However, as she began to feel safe she started to disclose. The extent of the sexual abuse she has suffered at the hands of her family is horrendous.
‘As the disclosures continued, her progress halted, and she became increasingly disturbed. Since that time she has suffered from night terrors, vivid hallucinations, and her personality seems to be fragmenting.
‘Over the last two weeks, as you know, Jodie’s condition has deteriorated further, and faster. Despite all my encouragement and reassurance, she now spends large parts of the day in bed, and takes virtually no interest in what is going on around her. She rarely speaks or eats, and I often find her crying silently to herself. In January she joined the Abbey Green Primary School, where she was supported by a full-time assistant. Initially she made some progress, but since her deterioration she’s been unable to attend. She’s missed more than three weeks in total.’
I looked them in the eye as I spoke, and saw concern and disquiet reflected back. ‘I admit I am at a loss to know how to reach Jodie, and help her come to terms with her experiences. In my view she needs the help of a professional psychotherapist. Given our earlier success, I’m optimistic that once therapy has begun we can resume making progress.’
Gail thanked me, and handed over to Sally, the guardian ad litum. Sally listed the dates when she’d visited, and praised my success in gaining Jodie’s trust, which had allowed her to disclose. She said that while she hadn’t had the chance to observe Jodie recently, she had been in close contact with Dr Burrows and Eileen, and was thus fully abreast of the current situation. She’d seen Jodie’s parents, and made them aware of how badly Jodie had been affected by the disclosures. Jodie’s father had been unmoved and was still adamant that Jodie was making it up, but Mrs Brown had broken down in tears. She said nothing more about Jodie’s parents – and with her professionalism, there was no question that she would – but there was an inference that there was not much doubt of their joint culpability in what had happened to Jodie.
I felt no sympathy on hearing that Jodie’s mother had broken down; my immediate reaction was that it was a sham, to cover up her own guilt. I had no doubt that what Jodie had told me was the truth. There was no other way a child of her age could know the things she knew and describe the things she had described; and I only had to look at her disintegration to know that what she had said had happened.
I could hardly bear to think about her parents. I hated the thought that they were free to continue their daily lives and whatever degradations they got up to, while their daughter was imprisoned inside the pain and suffering they had caused. What they had inflicted on Jodie had condemned her to a life sentence.
‘Jodie is a very badly damaged child,’ Sally concluded, ‘and my recommendations will be wholly in line with Dr Burrows’ findings.’
There was silence, as Gail made a note, then she took a sheet from her file and read out the headmaster’s report. At the time of writing, Jodie had attended a total of seventy-two days, and Mr West had based his observations on both her academic ability and how she interacted with her peers. At present she was learning to sequence the alphabet and the numbers up to twenty. She had no sight vocabulary but had been working on a target of learning five new words a week. Her concentration was very limited, and
she was being encouraged to spend longer on tasks, and to work independently. She had found difficulty in making friends, largely due to her erratic and strange behaviour. The test results showed she was at about the average level of a four-year-old in terms of reading and writing. His concluding sentence summed it up perfectly:
‘Jodie’s education and social development are being severely restricted by her experiences, and until these have been addressed I feel her achievements will be negligible.’
Gail filed away the report, and I felt my pulse quicken as Dr Burrows opened her file. She would be the final speaker, and after she had given her recommendations Mary would do her sums and then funding would be confirmed, so that we could start Jodie on the path to recovery. I only hoped it would be adequate. My feeling was that she needed at least two one-hour sessions a week.
‘As you know,’ Dr Burrows began, ‘I have been appointed by the court to assess Jodie in respect of the full care proceedings. While this was originally intended to determine the feasibility of her returning to live at home, what has come out since confirms that returning home is impossible, so I am now addressing the issue of her present mental health.’ She proceeded to give a clinical appraisal of Jodie’s condition, making reference to our last two appointments. I appreciated that Dr Burrows’ presence and her report indicated just how seriously everyone was now taking this matter. The psychologist was only supposed to submit her comments at the final proceedings later in the year, but she had stepped outside her remit from the court to give her analysis earlier. What she had observed about Jodie had caused her such concern that she knew immediate action had to be taken – hence her presence at this meeting, despite her extremely busy schedule.
I looked along the table at the others, as they took detailed notes. The doctor drew to a close.
‘It is therefore my recommendation that Jodie requires nothing less than intensive, long-term therapy with a paediatric psychotherapist experienced in child sexual abuse.’
Thank God, I thought. All we need now is the funding.
‘What level of therapy do you have in mind?’ Gail asked. Mary slid her calculator in front of her.
‘Jodie has learning difficulties,’ said Dr Burrows, ‘and functions at the level of a much younger child. As a result she has difficulty in engaging with concepts and retaining them. In view of this, and the severe nature of her condition, I do not think even a high level of sessional therapy would be of any help. It is therefore my professional opinion that for therapy to have any effect in Jodie’s case it must be constant and immediate. I therefore recommend the best chance of recovery would be in a therapeutic residential unit.’
I heard the last two words, but it took a moment to sink in. The room fell silent, as the others finished writing. I could feel my pulse pounding in my neck, and my stomach churning. Jill touched my arm.
‘Thank you, Dr Burrows,’ Gail said. ‘That was very helpful.’
I could feel their eyes on me, as I stared down at my notepad.
‘Cathy,’ said Sally, ‘how do you feel about this? I know you’ve become very close to Jodie.’
I lifted my head and swallowed. My voice was uneven, and I was struggling to hold back the welling tears. ‘It’s difficult. I wasn’t expecting this. I was hoping that once Jodie started regular therapy we’d be able to see her through.’ I paused for a second. ‘To be honest, I feel it’s all been for nothing.’
Sally looked at Dr Burrows, who gently shook her head.
‘Even before this present crisis,’ said the doctor, ‘I doubt Jodie could have functioned successfully in a normal family. She’s deeply traumatized, and it’s affecting all aspects of her life. Very few carers would have invested as much as you have, and it’s to your credit that she’s come this far.’
Gail, Sally and Jill all muttered their agreement.
I shrugged despondently. ‘Would it not be worth trying sessional therapy for, say, six months?’
They looked again at Dr Burrows.
She looked over at me sympathetically. ‘In my opinion, no. Not only would it not be effective, but it could exacerbate her condition. Jodie’s personality is disintegrating, and the longer it’s left, the more profound the long-term damage may be.’
I said nothing.
‘What time scale are you looking at?’ Gail asked.
‘If I make a recommendation immediately, she could be in within a month.’
I flinched.
‘Do you have somewhere in mind?’ Gail continued.
The doctor delved into her briefcase, and brought out some coloured pamphlets which she distributed along the table.
‘It’s called High Oaks, and it’s run by Dr Ron Graham and his wife Betty. They’re practising child psychologists. You may have heard of them. They’re well respected in their field.’
Jill opened the pamphlet between us, and I stared at the first page. All I could see were blocks of fuzzy print, juxtaposed with pictures of smiling children. I blinked and tried to focus.
The doctor continued her explanation. ‘They’ve been established for twelve years and have built up an excellent reputation. It’s a lovely old manor house set in an acre of wooded parkland on the outskirts of Cambridgeshire. The Grahams live on site, together with a support staff of highly trained therapists. The children are taught by qualified teachers who come into the schoolroom in the morning. They cover all the curriculum subjects up to GCSE. The afternoons are given over to recreational activities and one-to-one therapy. At weekends they do what other families do, outings to the cinema, swimming and so on, and of course they take them on holiday. I’ve had close links with the Grahams since they first opened, and they have a very high success rate. Ninety per cent of the children eventually move on to live in a family. But of course it doesn’t come cheap.’
‘How much?’ Gail asked.
‘It depends on the package, but for someone with Jodie’s needs it will be approximately four thousand pounds a week. I would make an initial recommendation for three years, but of course that would be under regular review.’
I glanced up, Mary tapped some figures into her calculator and showed the result to Gail, who made a note.
‘Would she be able to receive visitors?’ Jill asked, knowing that’s what I would have asked if I had been thinking straight.
‘Absolutely,’ replied Dr Burrows. ‘In fact, it’s essential. If a child has no family then High Oaks arranges for a befriender. It’s very important that the children maintain ties with the outside world.’
‘And Cathy, you’d want to continue contact?’ asked Sally.
‘Yes, of course,’ I responded automatically.
Gail looked along the table. ‘We’ll have to take it to panel, but as it’s your recommendation it’s likely to be approved. Is there anything else?’
Dr Burrows leaned forward. ‘Only to thank Cathy for all she’s done, and the offer of contact in the future.’
The others concurred, and immediately began gathering together their papers. They dispersed quickly, leaving Jill and me alone. I placed my hands palm down on the table, and took a deep breath.
‘How am I going to explain this to Jodie? She trusted me, and now I’ve got to tell her she’s going. She’ll think I’ve rejected her like the others. What’s that going to do for her mental health?’
Jill touched my arm. ‘I know, I’m so sorry, Cathy. Listen, I wouldn’t say anything to her just yet. In my experience, these organizations tend to have a set procedure for introductions. I’ll contact High Oaks and see how they want to handle it. We’ll take it from there.’
I sighed and stood up. ‘OK. I’d better be getting back, she’ll wonder where I am.’
Jill joined me in the corridor. ‘It may not seem like it now, but it is for the best. You couldn’t have done any more. You’ll be keeping in touch, so she’ll know you haven’t rejected her. And who knows: three years down the line…?’
‘Yes, I know what you’re saying. I understa
nd that it’s for the best. The question is, will she?’
I walked out of the building fighting my feelings of failure. Jodie was going to leave me in a worse condition than she’d arrived in – that was a first for any child who’d been placed with me. I could tell myself all I liked that it wasn’t my fault, but it was hard not to feel that it had all been a waste of time – all those sleepless nights, the endless draining days of tantrums and violence, the scenes in public, the awful mealtimes, the disruption to my children’s lives. Now, after everything we’d suffered, Jodie was going to be moved on again.
I knew intellectually that Jodie needed proper help and intensive therapy of the kind I simply couldn’t offer, not with all the love, kindness and common sense in the world. But still, I felt like I’d let myself down. And, most importantly of all, I’d let Jodie down.
How could I tell her that she had to leave?
Chapter Thirty
Green Grass and Brown Cows
That night, while the rest of the house slept, I took out the photo album containing pictures of all the children I’ve fostered; I call it my Rogues’ Gallery. I flicked through the photographs. Some of them were posed, others captured unaware, on an outing to the coast or running round the garden. There were children of all ages and races, from little Jason who was only two days old when he arrived, to Martha, an angry and defiant seventeen-year-old, who went on to become a doctor.
I’d lost contact with some of them, but many still wrote to me and phoned. Four of them had stayed with me for a year or more, and all four now visited regularly, and had become part of our extended family. As I turned the pages, remembering the children’s various personalities and problems, there wasn’t one that I felt I’d failed. At least, not until now. There were no pictures of Jodie yet, but when I did come to add them I knew they would be the last. Whatever aptitude or ability I’d had seemed to have been lost. My confidence was shattered and I decided I wouldn’t foster again.