Damaged

  * * *

  Three days passed before I heard anything further, and all the while Jodie remained shuttered and distant. I didn’t even raise the possibility of school any more; there was no point, she was in a world of her own. Somehow, we got through the days. I read to her, cuddled her and tried to tempt her to eat, while Adrian, Lucy and Paula made their own efforts to try and cheer her up.

  I had sat the children down not long after I’d returned from the emergency meeting and told them that Jodie would be leaving us. They didn’t say much but their solemn expressions and quiet acceptance told me that they already knew how serious Jodie’s condition had become. It was always a sad moment when a child left us, but usually it was in the knowledge that they were going forward in a positive way – back to their families, or on to an adoptive family – and they left us better than they had arrived. With Jodie there was no such comfort; despite our best efforts, we had not managed to help her, and no one was unaffected.

  ‘Don’t blame yourselves,’ I said, echoing Jill’s words to me. ‘We’ve done our best. That’s all we can do.’

  But it sounded as hollow to them as it had done to me, and I knew that they shared my sense of failure.

  Four days after the meeting a letter arrived from Ron Graham. Inside the envelope there was a letter for me, and a second envelope, addressed to Jodie. In my letter, Ron introduced himself and wrote that he would phone soon to arrange a visit. In the meantime, would I give Jodie the enclosed? I handed her the envelope as she picked at her lunch. She took it from me suspiciously, then peered at her name on the front. Suddenly her eyes brightened. ‘For me? Who’s it from?’

  ‘You’d better open it and find out. It looks very important.’

  I moved her plate away as she carefully picked open the flap and unfolded the pale yellow sheet. It was typed in bold red print, with a little smiley face in one corner; it was immediately appealing.

  ‘For me?’ she said again.

  ‘Yes. Shall I read it?’

  She held it between us protectively, and I pointed to the words as I read.

  Dear Jodie

  My name is Ron and my wife is called Betty. We have lots of children living with us, in a big house in the country. We sort out their problems and have lots of fun too. We are good at sorting out problems and we’d like to come and tell you about us.

  We look forward to meeting you.

  Bye for now,

  Ron and Betty

  It was a simple but cleverly crafted introduction, and she was thrilled at having a letter of her own. She asked me to read it to her again, and then a third time.

  ‘When are they coming?’ she asked, showing more enthusiasm than she had done in weeks.

  ‘I don’t know yet. They’re going to phone.’

  ‘I hope it’s soon. They sound nice, don’t they, Cathy?’

  ‘Yes, they do, sweet.’

  She tucked the letter back into the envelope, and carried it around with her for the rest of the day. When Adrian, Lucy and Paula arrived home, she got them to read it to her, and they were as surprised by her enthusiasm as I had been. None of us actually said so, but we were all feeling a little bit slighted. How had one letter from strangers succeeded, where months of care from us had failed?

  That night when Jodie was in bed, Ron phoned. I told him about her positive reaction.

  ‘Children like Jodie very rarely form attachments,’ he said, instinctively registering my unspoken feelings. ‘It’s no indictment of you, Cathy.’ He asked about the make-up of my family, and how Jodie had interacted with everyone. He explained the introductory procedure: it started with the letter, and would continue with a visit from him and his wife the following week.

  ‘We never rush the introductions,’ he said. ‘Jodie has put her trust in you, and now we have to transfer some of that trust to us.’

  As he spoke, I was impressed by how much of Jodie’s background he had at his fingertips; he must have read the file from cover to cover, and we were on the phone for over an hour. It was a relief to talk to someone who seemed to know what they doing and to be fully conversant with the case. It made such a difference. Although Jill had done all she could, she was just a small cog in an enormous wheel, with very little power to change anything. She could only make suggestions and ask questions. Eileen, Jodie’s supposedly dedicated social worker, had proved uncommitted, inefficient and, if I was honest, negligent in the handling of the case. After a year she still didn’t seem to know the details of Jodie’s file, neither had she taken the trouble to get to know Jodie, or fulfilled her statutory duties. It was only when I talked to Ron that I felt some of the burden I had carried for so long beginning to lift from my shoulders. I hadn’t realized how lonely I had felt. For so long, it had been Jodie and me struggling along together as best we could while the system ground slowly on, hampered by its vastness and bureaucracy. Now, at last, I felt as though someone was truly interested in her.

  When I asked what I should tell Jodie about their visit, he said to tell her as little as possible, but to write down any questions she had, and to reassure her that they would be answered when Ron and Betty arrived.

  I went to bed feeling happier than I had done in a long while; Jodie had responded positively, and Ron seemed to be sensitive and direct. Perhaps everyone was right, and this was for the best.

  The following morning, when the others had left for school, I told Jodie about Ron’s phone call the night before.

  ‘What’s he want?’ she snarled, pushing away the porridge she’d just asked for.

  I wondered if she understood that Ron was the one who had sent the letter. ‘To find out how you are. He wrote you that lovely letter, remember? They’re going to come and see you next week.’

  ‘Don’t want to. Shut up. Go away.’

  ‘Jodie…?’ I started, but I decided not to pursue it. I’d do as Ron had asked, and take my cue from her.

  She didn’t mention Ron, Betty or the visit for the rest of the day, and remained silent and withdrawn. At bedtime I found the letter torn into pieces, scattered across the floor. It would have been ridiculous to ignore this, as I knew Jodie well enough to realize that this was her way of communicating anger. I gathered together the scraps of paper and sat on the edge of the bed.

  ‘I know it’s difficult, sweet. It’s difficult for all of us. Can you tell me how you’re feeling? What your thoughts are? Maybe I can help.’

  Her face crumpled and she threw herself into my arms. I held her close, her head pressed against my chest, as she cried pitifully.

  ‘What is it, Jodie? Try and tell me, please. I do really want to help.’

  She thought for a few seconds, then blurted out, ‘They’ll do what the others did. I don’t want to. It hurt. You said it wouldn’t happen again.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, no. They’re good, kind people. They’d never hurt you, honestly.’

  But Jodie’s perception was very different to mine. In her world, a new adult usually meant someone new who would abuse and hurt you, with only a handful of exceptions. The idea of any new adult must have been terrifying for Jodie. Ignoring Ron’s advice to say as little as possible, I tried to explain.

  ‘Ron and Betty are like me. They help children who have been hurt, only they can do it better than me. They know the right things to say. They’ve helped hundreds of children, and they want to help you. I’ll be with you the whole time they’re here. All they want to do is to talk. They’re going to tell us about the house where they live, and the other children who stay there.’

  She sniffed. ‘They won’t go in my bedroom, will they? And I don’t want to go in their car.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ I turned her to face me. ‘Look, Jodie, you’ve met lots of new people since you’ve been with me, and none of them has hurt you. I wouldn’t let them come here if I didn’t think it was for the best. You do trust me, don’t you?’

  She nodded. ‘Then please trust me on this, sweet.’ She let me dry her
tears with a tissue, but I wasn’t sure that she’d accepted my assurances. After all, her time with me had been relatively short, compared with the eight years beforehand. In Jodie’s experience, my world was still the exception, not the norm.

  I read her a story, and settled her for the night. As I came out of her room I heard Amy telling Jodie, ‘You can trust Cathy. Really, you can.’

  As the day of the visit drew nearer, Jodie became increasingly unstable. She lapsed in and out of the Reg and Amy characters, and in between she offered little else. Occasionally I saw the real Jodie, and I tried to make the most of it, but she quickly retreated back into her shell, and I was again met with that blank, unrelenting stare. School remained out of the question and, apart from essential shopping expeditions, we hardly left the house.

  On the morning of Ron and Betty’s visit she was no different, and I was anxious that she’d deteriorate further with strangers coming into the house. Betty phoned from the car to say they’d be with us in fifteen minutes, and I warned her of my concerns.

  ‘You’ve done well to see it through,’ she said, as positive and perceptive as her husband. ‘Once we’re in the house, and she’s met us, it will become easier.’

  I wasn’t convinced.

  I returned to the lounge, where I’d started a jigsaw in the hope of trying to entice Jodie into doing something. ‘That was Ron and Betty,’ I said brightly. ‘They’ll be with us shortly. Shall we start this puzzle?’

  To my amazement she slid off the sofa, picked a piece and passed it to me. I put it into position, and the face of a cat took shape.

  ‘Where’s our cat?’ she asked suddenly.

  ‘Toscha’s asleep in her basket by the radiator.’

  ‘Have they got a cat?’

  ‘I don’t know. That’s something we could ask.’

  She passed me another piece, and I snapped it into place. When the doorbell rang, Jodie was still on the floor, to all appearances playing contentedly like any other child.

  I took Ron and Betty’s coats, and showed them into the lounge. They were a well-built couple in their late forties, smartly dressed in country casuals, with warm, likeable faces.

  ‘Hi, Jodie,’ Betty said brightly. ‘It’s very nice to meet you.’ She bent down to examine the jigsaw. ‘That’s good. Do you like puzzles?’

  Jodie nodded.

  ‘This is my husband Ron.’

  Jodie looked up and smiled, as Ron sat unobtrusively in the armchair a short way from her.

  ‘Jodie was wondering if you had a cat,’ I said.

  ‘Not a cat,’ replied Betty, ‘but behind the house is a field with lots of cows.’

  ‘Cows?’ said Jodie, suddenly interested.

  ‘Yes. In the morning you can hear them mooing, and then the farmer comes and takes them for milking. The children love to watch that. Sometimes the cows come right up to the fence, and you can stroke them.’

  ‘Really?’ She was beaming now. I slipped into the kitchen and made some coffee.

  Toscha, hearing new voices, rose languidly from her basket and went in to take a look. I heard Jodie introduce her.

  ‘This is Toscha, but she’s smaller than a cow.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Betty. ‘A lot smaller.’

  Jodie must have seen something in Ron and Betty, because she was so unlike the child I’d described, I felt my account could have been called into question, if there hadn’t been all the other reports.

  I carried the tray through, as Betty helped put the finishing touches to the jigsaw. I sat and admired the result. Jodie passed around the plate of biscuits, then sat beside Betty on the sofa.

  ‘Tell me what other games you like, Jodie,’ said Ron, gently introducing himself into the conversation. He was softly spoken, and could never have been described as intimidating.

  ‘Painting, I like,’ she said, ‘and going to the park.’

  ‘That sounds good.’ He smiled at her, and Jodie smiled back.

  We spent some minutes talking about the park, then Ron subtly drew the conversation to High Oaks, and the activities and outings they did there. He took a leaflet from his pocket: it was a children’s version of the one I’d seen at the meeting, and we gathered around Jodie as we read through it. As Jodie turned the pages, Ron described their daily routine, and mentioned some of the other children. Jodie asked if they had a television, and what time they went to bed.

  Ron and Betty stayed for nearly two hours, talking and playing, and showed us a short video of High Oaks, which included the rooms and the grounds. Once they were satisfied that Jodie was ready, they suggested we make a date to visit High Oaks the following week.

  ‘I want to go now,’ laughed Jodie, jumping up.

  ‘Oh no,’ Betty smiled. ‘We want to have your room ready, so you can see it when you come.’

  This was the first time any of us had mentioned ‘her’ room, or the possibility of her living there, and I watched Jodie to see her response.

  ‘Can Cathy come?’

  ‘For the visit? Of course,’ replied Ron. ‘She’ll bring you in the car, and you’ll both see your room and meet everyone. Then the next time you come, you can stay the night, and Cathy will come home and pick you up the following day.’

  ‘Will I stroke a cow?’ she asked.

  ‘You’ll certainly see one,’ said Betty. ‘Whether you stroke it or not depends on how close it comes to the fence.’

  I smiled to myself. Cows had clearly replaced cats in Jodie’s affections, as surely as Ron and Betty were replacing me. We saw them out and waved goodbye, and Jodie remained lively and excited for the rest of the afternoon. She spent some time painting in the conservatory, and when I came in to check on her she grinned proudly as she showed me her latest work. It was a bright, colourful picture of a big red house, set in a green field, with three brown cows.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  High Oaks

  Aweek later there was an air of hushed expectation as we pulled into the drive at High Oaks, and the imposing manor house came in view. Jodie had spent much of the long drive dozing, or talking to Julie, her life-size doll. As we approached High Oaks she fell silent and pulled herself forward for a better view. We recognized the house from the video, but I was surprised at its size close up. It was enormous, with fourteen bedrooms stretching out over two wings, and an annex to the right, which had once been the servants’ quarters and was now the therapy and ‘quiet’ room. The roof was gabled, dipping over an arched brick porch, which was draped with ivy. I guessed the buildings had been built in the mid-nineteenth century.

  ‘This is very grand,’ I said. ‘We’ll have to make a appointment to speak to you.’

  Jodie grinned, not quite understanding what I’d said, but appreciating that it was special, and that it applied to her.

  I parked behind a line of three cars on the carriage drive and opened Jodie’s door to let her out. She slipped her hand in mine, and we crunched across the gravel towards the oak door. I pulled the brass bell cord, and we heard the bell echo inside.

  ‘Me do it,’ she said, and gave it another three sharp tugs.

  The door opened and Betty appeared, smiling. ‘Do you like our bell, Jodie? We thought about having a modern one fitted, but everyone voted to keep it.’

  Jodie immediately swapped my hand for Betty’s, and I was surprised, as that morning she’d claimed she didn’t even know who Betty was. We walked into the hall, which was decorated by white-painted panels with stencilled rosettes in the centre of each square, giving the space a light, cheery feel. Ron appeared from within the house. ‘Hi Jodie, hi Cathy. Did you have a good journey?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ I answered for us both. Jodie took refuge behind Betty.

  Ron had phoned the previous evening, and I’d updated him on Jodie’s state of mind. There had been no change, and Jodie hadn’t raised the subject of the visit. We’d only discussed it once, the day before, when I’d reminded Jodie that we were going, and Reg had replied t
hat he ‘fucking wasn’t’.

  ‘This way to the lounge,’ said Betty, leading Jodie down the hall. ‘The children are out for a walk, which is why it’s so quiet. They’ll be back later.’

  The lounge was at the back of the house, and it must have been three times the size of ours at home. Through the French windows was a concrete patio area, and beyond that there were swings, a climbing frame, a seesaw and a magnificent tree house. Beyond the fence at the back I could see the field, which was at present empty of cows. The lounge was furnished practically, with four sofas around the walls, as well as two armchairs and half a dozen beanbags, arranged at angles facing the widescreen television.

  ‘We use this room in the evenings and weekends,’ Ron said, ‘when we’re all together. We’ll show you the rest of the house later.’

  Jodie sat next to Betty on one of the sofas and propped her doll between them. I sat on the adjacent sofa, and Ron took the large armchair. We were like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, with the father bear having the largest. Betty offered us a drink, but we declined, having stopped on the motorway for breakfast.

  ‘We have ten children with us at present,’ said Ron, looking at Jodie, ‘and nine carers to help. Clare and Val will be your special adults. You’ll meet them next visit. Betty and I are always here, so is the housekeeper, Shirley. She makes our meals, then we all help clear away. I know you like helping, don’t you, Jodie?’

  She didn’t answer but smiled sheepishly, and inched into Betty.

  Ron continued to explain how the children had turns in choosing what they wanted for the evening meal; meanwhile I glanced around the room. I wondered how they kept it so clean and tidy with so many children, and supposed it must be down to the housekeeper.

  ‘Now, have you thought of any questions?’ asked Ron.