Cut

  I know the feeling, I thought. ‘Well, I wish you luck,’ I said. ‘And thanks for seeing me.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’

  We said goodbye and I left, passing a couple of very late students going in. Although I hadn’t learned any more about Dawn’s background, I had at least made contact with the school, and they now knew I wanted to help Dawn with her school work.

  I returned home, fed Adrian and while he had his nap, did the housework. Then I sat on the sofa with my lunch and soon found I was beginning to doze. The phone rang. It was John, making a quick call between meetings.

  ‘How are you all?’ he asked.

  ‘OK, apart from being tired. Dawn doesn’t remember a thing about last night and when I asked her, she said she’d slept well. I took her to school and met the Head of Year.’

  ‘Good. And how’s Adrian?’

  ‘Asleep.’

  ‘Well, when he wakes, tell him his daddy sends his love.’

  ‘I will. Are you home at the normal time tonight?’

  ‘Should be. See you later then. Love you.’

  ‘And you.’

  I collected Dawn as arranged at the end of school and took her shopping. We bought a new school uniform and a pair of school shoes first, then some casual clothes – joggers, a pair of jeans, a skirt, two jumpers, T-shirts and underwear. I wrote the cheques but didn’t dare add up the accumulated amount. If Dawn’s social worker didn’t produce any more clothes from Dawn’s mum or dad, I would have to add to Dawn’s wardrobe gradually. But for now Dawn had three changes of casual clothes and a complete school uniform. Dawn thanked me profusely as I bought each item and I was really touched. Adrian was in his stroller as we shopped and Dawn pushed him for most of the time. I had fed him before I had left home and he had his boiled water in the shops.

  When we arrived home, Dawn hung her new clothes in her wardrobe while I fed Adrian. I settled Adrian in his recliner in the kitchen while I made dinner. Dawn helped me prepare the vegetables and then watched television in the lounge until John came home. The three of us, watched by Adrian, ate together at the table. John asked Dawn about her day at school, as I had done, and she gave the same reply: ‘It was good, thanks.’ He also asked, as I had done, if she had any homework and received the same reply: ‘No.’

  We accepted this as the truth; having made contact with the school I assumed they would let me know if homework wasn’t done, or was handed in late.

  Dawn had a bath at 8.00 p.m. and then came downstairs to say goodnight. Half an hour later when I went up to check on her she was fast asleep – on her side and looking very peaceful. I bathed Adrian and then, following our usual routine, I fed him and John settled him in his cot while I had my bath. After so little sleep the night before, we were both grateful to be in bed at 10.30 p.m., but while neither of us said so, I think we were both feeling pretty apprehensive about what the night might have in store.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll sleep well tonight,’ I said as we drifted off to sleep. ‘She’s as exhausted as we are.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said John, ‘I hope so.’ And followed it with a snore.

  At 2.45 p.m., when Adrian woke for his feed, my eyes went straight to our bedroom door, and it was still shut. Likewise when the alarm went off it was still closed. I finally put the incident of the night before behind us. Clearly, I thought, Dawn had been unsettled by her first night in a strange bed and, having now got used it was now going to be fine.

  Chapter Seven

  Deceived

  Two weeks passed and Dawn appeared to be settling in. I saw her off at the front door to catch the bus to school at eight o’clock each morning, and welcomed her home at 3.45 each afternoon. She had a drink and a snack when she first got in, and then spent some time playing with Adrian under my (not conspicuous) supervision, before going to her room to do her homework. Each night John, Dawn and I ate together. John and I always asked Dawn about her day at school, and if she needed any help with her homework, which she never did. She said she found the work ‘quite easy’ now she had ‘got down to it’.

  On the Thursday morning of her third week with us, I was doing my usual tidying up when the phone rang. It was Jane Matthews, the Head of Year.

  ‘Is Dawn ill?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ I said, surprised. ‘Why? Is she saying she is feeling unwell?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mrs Glass. Dawn isn’t here to ask. She hasn’t been in school all week.’

  ‘What? Are you sure?’ I gasped.

  ‘I’m absolutely positive. The last time Dawn was in school was on Friday morning. We haven’t seen her since.’

  I paused in disbelief. ‘And you don’t know where she is?’

  ‘No. And I take it you don’t either?’

  I was silent as I grappled with what I was being told, and my thoughts raced over the preceding week. ‘But Dawn has been leaving the house to catch the bus to school each morning, and returning at the end of school. She’s even been doing her homework!’

  I heard a small cynical laugh. ‘Then the only thing she hasn’t been doing is attending school! I wonder if she’s been setting the homework herself – ten out of ten for inventiveness if she has!’

  Now I came to think of it, John and I hadn’t actually seen Dawn doing her homework. We had trusted her when she had gone to her room each evening and then reappeared later saying she had done it. Accepting her word, we had never asked to see the completed work. But I realised that if I told Jane Matthews this she would think me very naïve. ‘She’s been lying to us then,’ I said in dismay.

  ‘It certainly sounds like it. And I am now wondering about the dental appointment she had last Friday.’

  ‘What dental appointment?’

  There was another cynical snort. ‘I needn’t wonder any longer! Dawn came into school last Friday morning with a letter from you saying she had to leave school at twelve o’clock for a dental appointment, and wouldn’t be returning in the afternoon. Can I now assume it was a forgery?’

  My heart sunk further. ‘Yes. I didn’t write it. There was no dental appointment,’ I confirmed in disbelief. Then immediately began to add worry to my feelings of incredulity and bitter disappointment. ‘I hope Dawn is all right. Where do you think she could be?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but I’m sure she can take care of herself. My guess is she’ll stroll in at her usual time as if she has just returned home from school.’

  My thoughts flashed to the previous afternoons when she had done just that – smiling sweetly, and answering my questions as to whether she’d had a good day. She had replied positively, and with details of her day at school, all of which I now knew she had made up. For a second I wondered if there was a rational explanation, for I still couldn’t believe Dawn would have lied to me so extensively and with such conviction. But what explanation could there be?

  ‘Thank you for telling me,’ I said lamely. ‘I’ll speak to Dawn as soon as she comes home.’

  ‘Can we expect to see Dawn in school tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, most definitely, even if I have to bring her myself.’

  ‘And in future if Dawn is genuinely absent could you phone the school secretary and let us know? I’ve put a note on her file that if she doesn’t arrive then the school secretary is to phone you. That way we won’t be duped again.’

  ‘Yes, I will.’

  ‘I’ll notify Dawn’s social worker,’ Jane Matthews finished by saying. ‘And I’ll look forward to Dawn gracing us with her presence tomorrow.’

  ‘Yes. Thank you. Goodbye.’

  I assumed Jane had to tell Ruth, but I felt as if I was being reported for doing something wrong, which in a way I was – for unwittingly allowing Dawn to play truant.

  Jane Matthews had been light and almost flippant in her approach to Dawn’s behaviour, presumably from years of being a teacher and having to deal with similar situations; perhaps it was a coping mechanism. However, as I put down the phone, I was still reeling from the shock. How c
ould Dawn have lied to us all week, and so convincingly? And forge a note from me! Clearly I had been too naïve and trusting, but the little details Dawn had given me of her day at school and the new friends she had made had been so plausible. I hadn’t for one moment doubted her. Why should I? There had been no reason. I had even suggested to Dawn that she might like to invite her new friend, Mandy, home to dinner one evening. Was there a Mandy? Did she even exist? And what had Dawn been doing in her bedroom for the two hours each evening when she had said she was doing her homework? There was no television in her room, and her music hadn’t been on.

  I returned to the lounge, where Adrian was dozing in his recliner. I sat on the sofa, staring into space and thinking. I considered phoning John and telling him, but I didn’t like to disturb him at work. He was highly committed and had a lot of responsibility, and I only ever phoned if it was an emergency – the last time had been when I had gone into labour. Sometimes he phoned me in his lunch hour and I dearly hoped he would do so today. I really needed to offload what had happened, my sadness that Dawn had abused my trust and my concern for her safety.

  The afternoon passed with my heart heavy, and my thoughts chasing in all directions. I worried about what Dawn had been doing all week when she should have been in school, and what she was doing now. Where could she be? A day can be a long time if you aren’t gainfully occupied. Was she wandering the streets? Sitting in the library or a coffee shop? Or had she gone somewhere, or met someone I didn’t know about? It was the middle of winter and bitterly cold, and I worried if she was managing to keep warm, and whether she’d had anything to eat. I had given her money for school dinner, but £1.50 wouldn’t buy much outside the subsidised school canteen.

  At 2.15 p.m. the phone rang and I quickly snatched it up, hoping it was Dawn, confessing all and asking me to collect her, or even John phoning late. But it was Ruth, Dawn’s social worker.

  ‘Has she appeared yet?’ she asked bluntly.

  My sense of responsibility and guilt for Dawn’s absence soared. ‘No, she hasn’t. Do you know where she could be?’

  ‘No. We never do.’

  ‘She’s vanished for a whole day before, then?’ I asked. Ruth and Jane Matthews had said Dawn had missed school but neither had given any details.

  ‘When she was with her mother. It seems she’s up to her old tricks again. It’s a pity – I thought she might have settled with you.’

  ‘She has settled,’ I said defensively. ‘Dawn is very settled at home. I’m sure there’s an explanation. There must be.’

  Ruth said nothing, but her silence said it all. She clearly thought me naïve, and my confidence in Dawn misplaced. ‘We can but hope,’ Ruth added dryly. ‘Doubtless she’ll stroll in when it suits her with a very good explanation. Whether it’s true or not I’ll leave it to your judgement. Have you given her pocket money?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All of it?’

  ‘Yes. Was that wrong?’

  ‘It might be better in future if you gave her a little at the end of each day, as part of a reward system. We’ll discuss it. I’ve set up a meeting for next Tuesday so that you and your husband can meet Dawn’s mother. Bring Dawn with you and we can draw up a contract of good behaviour.’

  ‘All right, next Tuesday,’ I said, more concerned with Dawn’s safety than a meeting.

  ‘It’s at the teenage unit at seven o’clock.’

  ‘We’ll be there,’ I confirmed. ‘Shall I phone you when Dawn comes home?’

  ‘Only if there’s a problem. Otherwise we’ll discuss it at the meeting.’

  We said goodbye and I hung up. I took my diary from my handbag and made a note of the meeting. I couldn’t settle to anything for the rest of the afternoon. I watched the clock, wondered where on earth Dawn could be, and rehearsed what I was going to say to her when she did come home. It crossed my mind that possibly I should leave confronting her until John came home so that I had his moral support, but I dismissed the idea. I couldn’t carry on as normal, chatting to Dawn as though nothing had happened, knowing what I did. Although of course that was exactly what Dawn had done – carried on as normal and pretending she had been in school all week.

  Adrian was unsettled too. I was so preoccupied that I hadn’t played with him as much as I usually did and neither had I taken him out for our usual ‘breath of fresh air’. By 3.30 p.m. I was pacing the room with Adrian in my arms and waiting for Dawn to return. At 3.45, dead on time, the front door bell rang, and my stomach churned. I braced myself as I went to the front door. I still hadn’t formulated what I was going to say, but I knew I would be saying it sooner rather than later.

  I opened the door. ‘Hello, Dawn, come in. It’s freezing out there.’ I gave a brief tight smile.

  ‘I know,’ she said, shivering. ‘I’m so cold.’ As usual she gave Adrian a kiss on the cheek.

  I closed the door and looked at her. She was perfectly relaxed and at ease, as if she had just returned from a normal day at school. She dropped her school bag in the hall and then unzipped her jacket and looped it over the hall stand. Normally I asked her how her day had been, but today I didn’t. I couldn’t set her up for another lie, for doubtless she would have said, as she had been saying, ‘Good, Cathy,’ and then added some detail, which now I knew would be a lie.

  ‘Dawn,’ I said sombrely. ‘When you’ve got yourself a drink and a biscuit, I need to talk to you.’ I felt my anxiety level rise.

  She looked at me, apparently completely innocent and without any hint of guilt. ‘Is everything OK, Cathy?’ she asked concerned. ‘You look serious.’

  ‘Yes, it is serious, Dawn. I’ve had some rather bad news. Get yourself a drink and then come into the lounge, please.’

  ‘I don’t want a drink. I’ll come in now.’ She headed towards the lounge, and as I followed with Adrian in my arms, I clung to the last unrealistic hope that there was a plausible explanation.

  She sat in the armchair and I sat on the sofa with Adrian in my lap.

  ‘You look unhappy,’ Dawn said. ‘I hope it’s nothing I’ve done?’

  I met her gaze. ‘Dawn, Mrs Matthews phoned me today. I think you can guess what she told me.’

  For a moment her face registered astonishment and she looked as though she was about to say ‘No’, but then thought about it and, looking down, said a quiet ‘Yes.’

  ‘You haven’t been going to school all week, have you?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Cathy. You have been so good to me. I’ve let you down badly, haven’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you have. And not only because you haven’t been going to school. It’s the lying and deceit that I find most hurtful. And that letter you wrote on Friday pretending it was from me, saying you were going to the dentist – that was very dishonest. Why haven’t you been going to school?’

  She raised her head and looked at me, her face sad and her eyes filling. ‘I’m sorry, Cathy. Really I am, but school is a bad place for me. I hate it. I can’t make any friends. I feel so alone.’

  I immediately felt a stab of sympathy. ‘Is that why you haven’t been going – because of not having any friends?’ I continued to look at her.

  She nodded, and then sniffed.

  ‘There’s no need to cry. We just have to get this sorted and find a way forward.’

  She rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. ‘I haven’t been at that school long, and everyone already has their own friends. No one wants to let me into their group. I’ve tried to be friends but no one wants to know. I feel so alone when everyone is laughing and talking at breaktime. I think they’re laughing at me – Johnny-no-mates. I nearly told you, Cathy, but I couldn’t. I thought you would think me silly.’

  ‘I would never think you silly, Dawn. I’m just sorry you didn’t feel you could tell me.’ I was so relieved that there was a genuine reason, and one that was understandable, that I could have forgiven Dawn anything at that point. I also felt very sorry for her, and sad that she had bee
n suffering all this time in silence. ‘Thank you for telling me,’ I said at last. ‘But if you had told me sooner I could have helped you.’

  ‘How?’ she said. ‘You can’t force other kids to be my friend.’

  ‘No, but I can speak to your Head of Year and make her aware of the problem. I’m sure she will be able to offer something. At present she just thinks you’re playing truant. And, Dawn, it’s so important to talk about your problems. You know what they say – a problem shared is a problem halved.’ She nodded. ‘I’m always here to listen to you and help in any way I can. But Dawn, love, you won’t make friends if you don’t go to school, will you?’ She nodded and sniffed again. ‘Now dry your eyes and come over here and give me a hug.’

  She took a tissue from the sleeve of her school jumper and wiped her eyes, then came over and sat beside me on the sofa. With Adrian on my lap I put my arm around Dawn’s shoulders and gave her a big hug. ‘I know making friends can be difficult, especially when you’re new to the school. But running away from a problem never helps. At some point it has to be confronted and dealt with.’

  ‘I know, Cathy. Thank you for being so understanding. Will you speak to the school and explain?’

  ‘Yes. Tomorrow I’ll come in with you and see Mrs Matthews. I’m sure she’ll be able to help.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said again. ‘You’re so kind. My mum didn’t care a toss.’

  ‘Didn’t she?’

  Dawn shook her head sadly but clearly didn’t want to say any more.

  ‘So you promise you won’t miss school again?’ I said, easing my arm from her shoulders to resettle Adrian on my lap.

  ‘I promise,’ she said.

  ‘And one last thing, Dawn, before we put all this behind us.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Where have you been going when you haven’t been in school?’

  She shrugged. ‘Just wandering around. In and out of the shops, McDonald’s, anywhere that was warm. It was horrible. I really wanted to come home to you, but I daren’t.’