Cut

  Dawn was on the doorstep with her shoulder leaning against the bell button. She straightened and the ringing stopped. ‘Hi,’ she said, grinning inanely and waving one hand. ‘Hi! It’s me! I’m home!’

  ‘You’re drunk,’ John said.

  ‘Am I?’ she grinned again, then leant forward and tried to navigate the step. ‘Oops! I’m h-a-p-p-y,’ she slurred. ‘I’m happy!’ she shouted. She lifted one leg and tried the step again, nearly falling flat on her face.

  John and I caught her, and taking an arm each, manoeuvred her up the step and into the hall. ‘Ooooh, thanks.’ She hiccupped, then tried to kiss John’s cheek. John stepped back just in time as Dawn threw up all over the new carpet.

  There was no point in trying to talk to Dawn or lecture her while she was in this state, so John and I helped her upstairs to bed. She giggled and talked loudly the whole way – saying nothing of any sense, just the incoherent ramblings of someone who was very drunk. We kept telling her to ‘ssshhh’ and ‘be quiet’, as Adrian was asleep and she would wake him.

  ‘Issss he?’ she slurred. ‘Bless-hisss-little-cotton-socks.’

  We steered her into her bedroom, and eased her onto the bed. John took off her shoes, but we left her in her clothes. We turned her onto her side and propped the pillows down her back to keep her in place, so that if she was sick again she wouldn’t choke on her vomit.

  ‘I’ll get a bucket,’ John said, and went downstairs to the kitchen. He returned with the plastic bucket we used for washing the car and put it by the bed.

  ‘Whzz-dat-for?’ Dawn slurred.

  ‘To be sick in,’ I said.

  Her eyes were already starting to close. ‘Roooom keeps moving,’ she sighed, and then she fell asleep.

  John and I waited for a moment but Dawn was in deep sleep. We came out and left her bedroom door wide open so that we would hear if she was sick again or started to choke.

  Downstairs I set about clearing up Dawn’s vomit. John offered to do it, but I said he could do the next one, if she was sick again and missed the bucket.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said dryly. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

  Ten minutes later, I was warm from the labour of scrubbing, and all that remained on the carpet was a large wet patch, which I hoped would dry without leaving a water mark. The overpowering smell of pine disinfectant pervaded the house.

  There wasn’t a ‘next one’ – not that night, at least – so John escaped another clean-up. We checked on Dawn when we went to bed, and she was still on her side, fast asleep, and lightly snoring. We left her bedroom door open, and also left our door unlocked and open, for we were more concerned about the possibility of her choking than sleepwalking.

  Amazingly we all slept through, and when Adrian woke at 6.30 a.m., I picked him up and the three of us went in to check on Dawn. The bucket was empty and she hadn’t been sick again. She was on her side, exactly as we had left her – her mouth open, breathing slowly, and still sleeping peacefully. ‘We’ll have to give her a drink more often,’ John quipped with a smile.

  I now closed her door, for I thought it was highly unlikely she would be sick again or choke, and left her to sleep it off. I looked in on her at eleven o’clock and then again at one. Dawn didn’t surface until 3.00 p.m. that Sunday, when she finally staggered downstairs, still in the same clothes, and looking absolutely dreadful – deservedly so I thought. Her face was white, her eyes were red and puffy, and her hair, which she had spent so long styling the evening before, was matted and stuck out all over her head.

  ‘Do you have any paracetamol?’ she asked quietly, coming into the kitchen where I was preparing Sunday dinner. ‘I’ve got a dreadful headache.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ I said. ‘And you’ve only got yourself to blame. I’m afraid that type of headache doesn’t get my sympathy.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, and her hand went to her forehead as she grimaced.

  ‘Sit down at the table,’ I said, ‘and I’ll get you a paracetamol, and also a cup of tea and some toast.’

  She groaned. ‘I can’t eat toast. Can I have a biscuit?’

  I guessed she was craving sugar after all the alcohol. I made her a large mug of strong tea, took a paracetamol tablet from a bottle in the medicine cabinet and, tucking the biscuit barrel under my arm, carried them over to the table. Setting them in front of her I returned to the kitchen and continued preparing the vegetables, occasionally glancing in her direction. I saw her swallow the tablet, drink some tea, then dunk a biscuit and begin to chew. It was time to begin my lecture, I thought.

  ‘Dawn, you know a person can die from too much alcohol. Apart from trying to cross roads in the state you were in, you could have passed out anywhere. Then what would have happened? Fortunately you got home before you crashed out, but next time you might not be so lucky. It’s very silly and very dangerous to get drunk. It’s also illegal to drink or to be sold alcohol at your age. Where did you get the drink?’

  ‘Me mate bought it,’ she said slowly and grimacing again, clearly finding talking, and probably the sound of my voice, aggravated her headache.

  ‘Which mate?’ I asked, none too quietly.

  She shrugged.

  ‘She doesn’t sound like much of mate to let you get in that state. How old is she?’

  ‘He,’ she corrected, rubbing her fingers over her forehead. ‘He’s older than me.’

  ‘Where did you go to drink? They wouldn’t have served you in a pub – you don’t look anywhere near eighteen.’

  ‘The park.’

  I chopped another carrot, the knife snapping sharply on the wooden chopping board, while Dawn drank the rest of her tea and then asked for another. I refilled the kettle, and she slowly stood and gingerly carried her mug to me.

  ‘Where did you get the money to buy the drink?’ I asked, aware of the answer, but wanting confirmation, and ammunition with which to approach her social worker.

  Dawn looked at me sheepishly. ‘I’m sorry, Cathy. I used my clothing allowance.’

  I nodded, and dropping a teabag into her mug poured on boiling water. When I next spoke to her social worker (hopefully on Monday if she was back) I would tell her how the clothing allowance was being spent, and ask if I could stop giving Dawn the money and take her shopping for clothes as I had done when she’d first arrived.

  I poured milk into the tea and passed her the mug. ‘Sorry,’ she said again, and returned to sit at the table.

  Dawn was always so polite and pleasant when she was at home, but something seemed to take over when she left the house. I thought that ‘something’ was probably her mates, the ‘bad lot’ her mother had spoken of who had got her into trouble before.

  ‘Dawn,’ I said more gently, as she dunked another biscuit into her tea. ‘These mates of yours: it seems to me that being with them leads to trouble. Can’t you spend some time with girls from your school, who are the same age as you? Natasha sounds nice, and from what your Head of Year said so do the rest of your group. You could invite them here for the evening, or arrange to go to the cinema or ice-skating on Saturday afternoon. I’m sure their parents wouldn’t let them hang around the park on your mum’s estate. In fact I doubt they’d be allowed out after dark at all.’

  ‘How did you know I was in that park?’ she asked, surprised.

  ‘I guessed. It’s where all your old friends go, isn’t it?’

  She shrugged. ‘I like going there. We have fun.’

  ‘But what sort of fun, Dawn? There are other ways to have a good time without drinking yourself into oblivion and then throwing up.’

  I saw her face set and I knew I had said enough. It was difficult; had she been my own child I would have dealt with it differently, more firmly, and grounded her indefinitely. Indeed, the situation would never have arisen if Dawn had been my child, for there was no way either John or I would have let a girl of her age out alone in the evening unless they were just walking up the road to a friend’s house. But the social wor
ker had said that Dawn could go out Friday and Saturday evenings, so unless we could change Ruth’s mind there was precious little we could do.

  ‘Why don’t you have a bath and change your clothes?’ I suggested after a moment. ‘Dinner will be ready about four o’clock, and then you’re seeing your mum this evening.’

  Dawn nodded. She finished the second mug of tea and pushed back her chair to stand. ‘Where’s Adrian?’ she asked, finally realising that she couldn’t hear him, or see him scampering around the floor.

  ‘John’s taken him out for a breath of fresh air. They’ll be back soon.’

  She hesitated, then looked at me; some of the colour was returning to her cheeks and she didn’t look quite so pale and heavy-eyed. ‘I love Adrian,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s very lucky having you and John. I wish I could start my life over again, and be a baby here. I’d like you and John as my parents.’

  ‘Oh, love,’ I said, putting down what I was doing and going over to her. ‘It’s not too late. You’re only thirteen – you can start afresh. John and I will give you all the help you need. You’re a good girl. You’ve just got a bit off track – I don’t know why.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ she said, and she paused. I knew she was about to say something heartfelt, and that she was finding it very difficult. She looked at me, her blue eyes sad and imploring. ‘You and John are the only family I’ve ever had,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I really like being here with you, and I want to try and change and do what’s right. I’ve made a real mess of it so far. Will you help me, so I can be good? I want to be like Adrian will be when he’s my age. I don’t want to do bad things – they just happen. I want you to be proud of me.’

  I put my arms around her and hugged her hard. I had to swallow before I spoke because of the lump in my throat. ‘Dawn, love, you’ve no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that. Of course I’ll help you all I can. You’re a lovely girl, and I know if we all work together we can make big changes.’ And I knew at that moment that whatever Dawn threw at us we would deal with it and support her, for if we failed her, her future would mean more of the past, or worse.

  ‘Love you,’ she said quietly into my shoulder.

  ‘And you, love.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Faking It

  ‘If she’s on the other line, I’ll wait,’ I said. ‘I’ve already left four messages and she hasn’t called back.’

  I heard Ruth’s colleague sigh. ‘She might be a while yet. She’s very busy.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll hold. I do need to speak to her urgently.’ The line hummed as I was put on hold.

  It was Wednesday morning and, despite Ruth having returned to the office on Monday, and my leaving two more messages for her to phone me, she hadn’t. I now intended waiting for as long as it took for Ruth to finish her other call, so that she could speak to me.

  Ten minutes later Ruth’s voice came on, measured and precise. ‘What can I do for you, Mrs Glass?’

  I knew in my head what I wanted to say, and there was plenty of it. I began with the most serious – Dawn cutting her leg and going missing for a week, and then her sleepwalking. I told Ruth how Dawn had used her clothing allowance to buy drink, and continued with Dawn’s truanting and the friendship fall-out that had caused it, and the hope that it had now been sorted. ‘I know,’ Ruth put in. ‘The school left a message.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. I returned to Dawn’s habitual sleepwalking, emphasising the seriousness and that it was a regular and disturbing occurrence. I described in detail the incident when Dawn had sleepwalked into the kitchen and re-enacted striking a match, calling herself a ‘wicked girl’ and ‘evil child’. I thought for a moment Ruth was going to say something, for I heard her take a breath, but she didn’t; so I continued with my visit to the doctor. I told Ruth that although the doctor hadn’t yet received Dawn’s medical notes, he had suggested counselling, but that we would need Ruth’s permission before going ahead.

  ‘You’ve got it,’ Ruth said, ‘if that’s what Dawn wants.’

  I paused. ‘Dawn says she doesn’t want it at present. But she needs it. John and I can only do so much.’

  ‘You can’t force Dawn to go for counselling,’ Ruth said, unnecessarily. ‘It has to be her decision.’

  ‘I know, but John and I were thinking that perhaps you could talk to her and try to persuade her it would help. There’s so much in Dawn’s past we don’t know about. Something has caused her to behave as she does and want to hurt herself.’ I stopped again, hoping that Ruth would pick up this invitation to talk to Dawn and also fill in some details of Dawn’s past, but there was nothing. ‘I appreciate there are confidentiality issues,’ I continued, ‘but can you tell us anything about Dawn that might explain her behaviour and help us deal with it, so that we are better equipped to look after Dawn?’

  ‘You can’t stop her from going out,’ Ruth said, missing the point – purposely? – and returning to what I had said at the beginning. ‘She’s used to going out and leading her own life. She’s had a lot of freedom in the past and if you stop it all now she’ll buck against it. Her behaviour could get even worse.’

  ‘I’m not suggesting we stop her going out completely,’ I said. ‘But I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to be hanging around the streets two nights a week. If we’re going to help Dawn we need to try to get her away from her old crowd. Seeing them just leads to trouble. She shouldn’t be arriving home drunk at thirteen!’

  There was a moment’s silence at the other end of the phone, before Ruth said, ‘Look, if I say you can stop giving Dawn her clothing allowance so that she doesn’t have so much money on her, will that help?’

  I had the feeling that Ruth just wanted to appease me, throw me a small scrap, and finish the phone call. ‘Yes, that would be something. The police said it wasn’t good for runaways to have a lot of money on them. And from the way the officer spoke it seemed they had dealt with Dawn before. Is that so? I know she ran away when she was with her parents, but has she been in trouble with the police before?’

  There was another – poignant – silence before Ruth answered tersely, ‘I’m not sure you need to know that, Mrs Glass. It doesn’t affect how you look after Dawn.’ So I assumed the answer was yes. ‘Is Dawn in school today?’ Ruth then asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And she went on Monday and Tuesday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it? I think you and John need to be more positive. Praise Dawn when she gets home and try to focus on all the progress she has made. I’m sure in time she’ll respond to positive encouragement.’

  Ruth’s tone was patronising and what she said was demeaning. Give me some credit, I thought! Of course John and I were positive, and praised and encouraged Dawn. ‘We do already,’ I said bluntly.

  ‘Good. Well, fingers crossed, then. I’m sure Dawn will improve given time. But she’s had a really rough ride so far and she won’t change overnight.’

  And that was it. Ruth finished by telling me to say hi to Dawn, and that she now had to go because there was another call waiting.

  I said a curt goodbye and replaced the receiver. I was annoyed. I felt impotent and ineffective, and I thought of all the things I should have said to Ruth or demanded of her; I even wondered if I should have threatened not to look after Dawn if we weren’t given more information or given more support. But that would have been a hollow threat because despite our concerns John was now as committed as I was and we would stick by Dawn, with or without Ruth’s input and support.

  That evening while Dawn was in her in bedroom I told John of the conversation I’d had with Ruth, and he too was affronted, to put it mildly. ‘She’s got a nerve!’ he said. ‘I’d like to see her look after Dawn! She wouldn’t give any more information – nothing at all?’

  ‘Not a thing. She said knowing wouldn’t help us care for Dawn.’

  ‘It might,’ he said. ‘Knowing what
has caused Dawn to behave as she does could help us deal with it.’

  ‘Perhaps Ruth doesn’t know,’ I offered. ‘She’s already told us there was a four-year gap when no one knew where Dawn was.’

  ‘But there would be records from when the social services got involved when Dawn was nine. That’s nearly five years ago!’

  ‘I know,’ I said with a sigh. ‘But whatever is in those records clearly isn’t for our eyes. At least we’ve got her clothing allowance changed.’ I added.

  John nodded absently, deep in thought.

  When Dawn joined us in the lounge that evening after she had done her homework, I told her I had spoken to Ruth and that she’d said to say hi. I also said that it had been decided that in future I wouldn’t be giving her her clothing allowance and we would be going shopping together, as we had done when she had first arrived. I added that I enjoyed shopping with her. Dawn didn’t say anything, but I could tell from her expression that she wasn’t the happiest bunny in the world, and would rather have had the money in her hand. I ignored her scowl and suggested a game of Scrabble.

  ‘I’m no good at Scrabble,’ she moaned. ‘I can’t spell.’

  ‘Well, Scrabble will help your spelling,’ I said brightly. I fetched the game, set out the board and passed around the alphabet tiles.

  An hour and a half later, although Dawn hadn’t won (I had), she had clearly enjoyed playing and joining in what was for her a rare family activity. She had entered into the spirit of the game wholeheartedly and it had been lovely to see her so engrossed and competitive. And while I wouldn't have expected Dawn to sit in every night playing Scrabble, it had at least shown her that there was more to family life than meals on the table and pocket money.

  * * *

  Dawn didn’t go to school on Friday. When I woke her she said she was ill, but couldn’t be more specific. I felt her forehead and it didn’t feel hot, and when I asked her if she felt sick or if anything hurt, she said no. But I gave her the benefit of the doubt and told her to stay in bed. I phoned St James’s School and said that Dawn wouldn’t be coming in, as she wasn’t well, and the secretary kindly wished her a speedy recovery.