by Cathy Glass
‘I’ve been giving Dawn pocket money,’ I said looking at Ruth. ‘A little each day, as you suggested. And I’ve bought Dawn new clothes.’
Ruth nodded. ‘In your fostering allowance is an amount for clothing. A child of Dawn’s age would normally be given the money to choose her own clothes. Although I appreciate the allowance isn’t much and you will have to add to it.’ Which I thought was choice.
‘We haven’t had an allowance at all yet,’ I said bluntly. I didn’t want to discuss money in front of Dawn, but as Ruth had raised the matter I felt it was appropriate to set the record straight.
‘No,’ Ruth agreed. ‘It takes a few months to go on the system before it’s paid. But you will get it, and Dawn would appreciate having it to buy her own clothes.’
‘As long as it doesn’t go on drink or fags,’ Barbara added.
Again, John and I stared in amazement at Barbara and her portrayal of Dawn. ‘She got in with a bad lot before,’ Barbara qualified. ‘Older kids who showed Dawn all kinds of new tricks.’
I glanced sideways at Dawn, who remained impassive: arms folded, feet up and, if I was being unkind, almost revelling in her dubious achievements and being the centre of attention.
‘I’m sure she won’t now,’ I said, feeling the need to say something positive. ‘Dawn’s made a nice new friend at school – Natasha. She’s just started at the school and Dawn has been looking after her and helping her to settle in.’
Dawn nodded. Ruth and Barbara looked at Dawn but didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to make of Barbara. At one level she was sensible and level headed, not aggressive or loud. But she was quick to point out Dawn’s wrongdoings, and there appeared to be an emotional distance between her and her daughter – a void, even – and little warmth or respect between them.
There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence before John spoke. ‘Barbara, is there anything you can tell us about Dawn that would help us to look after her? I think that would be useful.’
Barbara looked sideways at Ruth and then at us. ‘I’m not sure what else I can tell you. I tried with Dawn but I don’t understand her. If you can get her to go to school and come home on time, that would be something. And keep her away from the knives. She’s a cutter, you know.’
‘A cutter?’ I asked. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand; what do you mean.’
‘She cuts herself,’ Barbara said, again glancing pointedly at Ruth. ‘Haven’t you seen the scars on her arms?’
I stared at Barbara, amazed. John was staring too. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I haven’t. What scars?’
‘Show her what you’ve done, Dawn,’ Barbara said.
The three of us looked at Dawn as she slowly unfolded her arms and then pulled up the sleeve of the jumper on her left arm. I gasped. There were a dozen or so pink scar lines, an inch or more long, evenly spaced and running from her wrist to her elbow on the upper side of her arm. Some were more recent than others.
‘I’m surprised you haven’t seen them,’ Barbara said, as John and I continued to stare, horrified, at Dawn’s arm, struggling to understand what we were being told.
‘Did you do that to yourself, Dawn?’ I asked after a moment. She nodded. ‘With what?’
‘Kitchen knives, pen knives, broken bottles,’ Barbara said. ‘Anything she can get her hands on.’
I felt my pulse rise and my stomach churn as my gaze remained on Dawn’s scarred arm. ‘But why?’ I asked at length. ‘Why do you want to hurt yourself, love?’
Dawn shrugged, and then began running her forefinger along the scar lines, toying with and examining them.
‘There’s research going on in the field of self-harm,’ Ruth said, quite matter-of-factly. ‘There are different theories but no one knows for sure. One line of thought says it could be attention seeking. It rarely leads to suicide.’
Dawn pulled her sleeve down to cover her arm and I looked at John, who was clearly as shaken as I was. It was a bit of a drastic way to gain attention, I thought.
‘I take it she hasn’t done it with you yet?’ Barbara said.
‘No, she hasn’t,’ I said adamantly.
‘We would have known, obviously,’ John added.
‘Not necessarily,’ Barbara said. ‘Cutters can be very good at hiding it, and you hadn’t seen the scars, had you?’
Which was true, and I then realised that I hadn’t seen the scars was because I had never seen Dawn’s arms. Obviously at her age she bathed and changed in private, and with it being winter she was in long-sleeved day clothes and nightclothes.
‘That’s why she doesn’t do PE at school,’ Barbara said. And I remembered that Dawn hadn’t done PE the previous week because it was timetabled on one of the days she had played truant. ‘Her school know about her cutting,’ Barbara added. ‘Her dad phoned and told them.’
Dawn pulled a face.
Clearly Ruth was aware of all this and I thought that she should have told us. If I had discovered the scars or, heaven forbid, had walked in on Dawn cutting herself, I would have been horrified, and probably would have panicked. Now I knew, although I really couldn’t get my mind round anyone deliberately harming themselves, I would obviously be careful that Dawn didn’t have access to anything sharp, and I would also try to talk to her – something must be making her want to hurt herself so badly, and I doubted she was doing it purely for attention. Then with a jolt I remembered the chopping motion that Dawn had made on her arm while sleepwalking. Could Dawn have been re-enacting her self-harming while sleepwalking? Following the advice in the books – that it would make the person more anxious to be told of their sleepwalking – John and I had decided not to mention Dawn’s sleepwalking at the meeting unless Barbara or Ruth did, so I didn’t say anything; and in the light of what we had just learned, Dawn’s sleepwalking seemed the least of our worries.
‘How long has Dawn been harming herself?’ John asked, slowly recovering.
‘About two years,’ Barbara said. ‘One of the older kids she got in with showed her how to cut. It became a regular Friday night activity, didn’t it, Dawn?’
Dawn grinned sheepishly and looked embarrassed, but I viewed what Barbara had said in a positive light. If the cutting was something Dawn had been doing simply to be in with an older group (albeit quite a disturbed one by the sound of it), then it was hopeful that when removed from that influence Dawn would stop it. The alternative was that her need to harm herself was because of psychological illness, which would be far more difficult to deal with, and more worrying.
‘Is there anything else we should know?’ John asked Barbara hesitantly.
Barbara again glanced at Ruth before speaking, as though seeking her permission. ‘Hide your matches, or lighters if you smoke. Dawn was playing with matches and caused a fire.’
There seemed to be no end to the horrors Barbara was now disclosing about her daughter. John and I looked to Barbara and Ruth for further explanation.
‘It was nothing much,’ Ruth said dismissively. ‘Dawn was with a friend and the two of them were playing with matches and caused a fire. Dawn now understands how dangerous it is to play with matches and has learned her lesson.’
I noticed that Barbara and Dawn both watched Ruth intently as she spoke, as though they were waiting to see exactly what she said – or admitted to, maybe? Was there more? Were details being omitted that only they were party to? I wasn’t sure, but I had the feeling there might be. How or what to ask I’d no idea.
‘So, let’s draw up the contract of good behaviour,’ Ruth said, changing the subject. ‘It’s getting late and I’m sure we would all rather be at home than in this meeting.’ I glanced at Adrian, who had now fallen asleep on John’s lap, as Ruth delved into her bag and took out a journalistic writing pad and a pen. John and I were still quiet, shocked and coming to terms with what we had learned.
Dawn, on the other hand, now suddenly found a new enthusiasm. Finally taking her feet off the table and unfolding her arms, she leant forward. ‘I�
��d like to go out on Friday and Saturday evenings, please,’ she said, and the three of them looked at John and me.
We were silent for a moment. Then John slowly said, ‘Yes. But you are only thirteen. Where would you be going?’
Dawn shrugged.
‘You can always bring friends home for the evening,’ I suggested.
‘She’d rather be out,’ Barbara said. Ruth nodded.
‘Out where?’ John asked again.
‘Just out,’ Dawn said.
‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to be hanging around the streets,’ I said.
‘You can’t curtail all Dawn’s movements,’ Ruth said. ‘She’s used to leading her own life.’
I felt there were some peculiar group dynamics going on in the room in which John and I weren’t included. Clearly there had been a previous conversation between Dawn, Ruth and Barbara; and Dawn’s mother and social worker seemed to be in quiet collusion. We were all supposed to be working together for the good of Dawn, yet Ruth now seemed to be suggesting we perpetuate some of Dawn’s previous unsafe behaviour – the very behaviour that had brought her into care.
‘We are not suggesting we curtail all Dawn’s movements,’ John said decisively. ‘But I wouldn’t have a daughter of mine out on the streets. At a friend’s house, yes, or going to the cinema – we could drop Dawn off and pick her up.’ I nodded.
Ruth sat forward a little, and poising her pen over her pad began to write. ‘Let’s say that Dawn can go out on Friday and Saturday evenings, assuming she has been going to school, but she has to be in by nine-thirty.’ Clearly this decision was a fait accompli, and nothing John and I could have said would have made any difference.
‘Can we make it ten o’clock?’ Dawn asked.
‘No,’ Ruth said. ‘Nine-thirty is late enough.’ Dawn pulled a face. John and I glanced at each other.
‘I think nine-thirty is too late,’ John said.
‘’We’ll try it and see how it goes,’ Ruth said, dismissing any discussion. ‘Now, contact with mum,’ Ruth continued. ‘Obviously Dawn wants to see her mother regularly. And the best evening for Barbara is Sunday.’
‘Wouldn’t during the day be more convenient?’ I queried. I remembered that Jack had gone to his father’s for Sunday lunch and stayed the afternoon, which had worked very well.
‘I spend time with my partner, Mike, during the day on Sunday,’ Barbara said. ‘Dawn can come to me at six.’
My suggestions again dismissed, my sympathy flared for Dawn, who had just heard her mother effectively say that she would rather spend time with her partner than her.
‘Dawn has caused problems in the past between Mike and me,’ Barbara added. ‘Mike doesn’t want to see her. He’ll be gone by the time she arrives.’
My initial surge of empathy for Dawn was heightened, but I could hardly tell Barbara that I thought her loyalties were misplaced. Dawn seemed unmoved by her mother’s rejection and I guessed she was already well aware of her mother’s partner’s hostility towards her. Ruth’s pen was on her notepad again. ‘So shall we say six o’clock to nine, then?’ she said, writing as she spoke.
‘Six to eight,’ Barbara said. ‘I have to be up early for work the following morning.’
I again glanced at Dawn, who appeared to accept this without upset, although obviously I didn’t know what she was thinking.
‘And what about Dawn’s father?’ John asked. ‘Will Dawn be seeing him?’
‘No,’ Ruth and Barbara said together.
‘I’ve spoken to Dawn’s father,’ Ruth clarified. ‘And he doesn’t want contact at present. Dawn is aware of the reasons.’
There was a moment’s silence before John asked, ‘Are we to know the reasons?’
Ruth shook her head without looking up from her notepad. ‘No, there are confidentiality issues which I’m not at liberty to discuss.’
I felt the collusion in the room rise to a new level as Dawn and her mother both looked at the floor and Ruth concentrated on her notepad. John shifted uneasily beside me on the sofa.
‘Do you want us to bring Dawn to you for the visit and then collect her?’ I asked Barbara.
Barbara and Ruth looked at Dawn, who shook her head.
‘No,’ Ruth said. ‘Dawn can use the bus, but make sure she has enough money for the return bus fare. We don’t want her using lack of a bus fare as an excuse for not returning.’ Ruth glanced up from her notepad at John and me. ‘Is there anything else that needs to go into the contract of good behaviour?’ she asked.
‘I can’t think of anything,’ I said quietly.
‘Keeping her bedroom tidy?’ Ruth suggested.
‘Dawn does that already,’ I confirmed.
‘Good. Well, I’ll just add that Dawn undertakes to attend school every day,’ Ruth said. Which to my ears made school attendance sound like an option rather than a legal requirement.
Ruth finished writing and, quickly closing her notepad, returned it to her bag. ‘I’ll type this up and give everyone a copy for signing,’ she said. ‘Thanks for coming.’ She immediately stood.
Barbara also stood. ‘I must go. I have work tomorrow.’ She threw John and me a small smile. As she passed Dawn she said simply, ‘Goodbye, Dawn. See you on Sunday.’ And without attempting to kiss or hug her daughter she left the room. We heard her footsteps receding down the tiled floor of the corridor.
John and I stood. Adrian stirred in John’s arms but didn’t wake. Ruth was by the door, holding it open, and Dawn went out first. John followed. As I passed Ruth she touched my shoulder and I held back.
‘Just wanted to say that mum has problems showing affection to Dawn,’ Ruth said, ‘but I’m sure she cares for her.’ I nodded. ‘Dawn lived with both her parents from birth to the age of four, when they divorced. Then there was a gap of five years. Since the age of nine Dawn has lived partly with her mum, and partly with her dad and his partners. But it hasn’t worked out. Neither of Dawn’s parents has a strong relationship with her, although I think they have tried their best.’
I shook my head sadly. ‘I see. But when you say there was a gap, what do you mean?’
‘No one knows where Dawn was between the ages of five and nine. Mum says she was living with dad, and dad says she was with mum. Social services weren’t involved until Dawn was nine and started getting into trouble with petty thieving.’
I glanced down the corridor to where John and Dawn were standing. Dawn was peering into John’s arms at Adrian, who was apparently awake. ‘Won’t Dawn miss seeing her dad and his baby?’ I asked. ‘She seems very fond of her half-sister.’
Ruth closed the door to the sitting room behind us and made a move down the hall. I knew instinctively that the conversation was at an end, and that nothing more would be forthcoming. ‘It’s not appropriate for Dawn to see her father and his new family,’ she said curtly; then she went ahead to join John and Dawn.
Adrian was wide awake now and grinning widely.
‘Nice baby,’ Ruth said as I caught up.
‘I help look after him,’ Dawn said, coochi-cooing at Adrian.
‘Well, just you be careful,’ Ruth warned. ‘Babies are delicate. They don’t bounce.’ Ruth continued to lead the way out of the reception hall and into the car park, where we said goodbye.
John strapped Adrian into his car seat and Dawn climbed into the back beside Adrian. I turned in the passenger seat to look at her. ‘Dawn, you do know you have to be careful with babies, don’t you?’ I said, for something in Ruth’s warning to Dawn had unsettled me.
Dawn smiled and nodded. ‘I wouldn’t hurt a baby. It was an accident.’
‘What was?’ I asked, with a start. ‘What accident, Dawn?
‘Nothing.’ She shrugged.
I returned my gaze to the front as John started the engine. He pulled out of the car park and drove us home while Dawn kept Adrian amused.
Chapter Ten
A Different Person
‘Are we talking about the same child
?’ John said to me as soon as we were alone. We had driven home with the only sound being that of Dawn talking to Adrian in the rear of the car. Dawn was now in bed, as was Adrian. John and I were sitting in the lounge with a mug of tea each, finally able to voice our concerns, of which there were plenty. ‘Do you think there’s another side to Dawn that we haven’t seen yet?’ John asked.
‘Yes, I suppose there must be. Although I think she’s changed since she’s been with us and is far more settled and happier now. But those scars! Imagine her cutting into her arm like that! It’s horrendous. And I felt such a fool for not seeing them.’
‘I don’t think either of her parents had much time for Dawn,’ he said.
‘No. And Ruth told me that there is a big gap in Dawn’s history, between the ages of five and nine, when no one seems to know where she was!’
‘What?’ John frowned, puzzled. I told him what Ruth had told me of Dawn’s past, and his frown deepened. ‘Did Ruth tell you anything else? She wasn’t very forthcoming at the meeting.’
‘Only that Barbara couldn’t show her daughter affection, and that neither of her parents have a close relationship with Dawn.’
‘That was pretty obvious,’ John sighed. ‘But even so, drinking, smoking, staying out all night, truanting and slashing her arm. I can’t believe it’s the same girl.’
‘No,’ I agreed. ‘I’m sure she’s different now.’
We both sat quietly for some moments, contemplating what we had learned that evening. It was after ten o’clock and normally I would have been in the bath by now, but I felt exhausted and I was finding it difficult to drag myself from the sofa and go upstairs.
‘Why do you think Dawn’s father doesn’t want to see her?’ John asked, leaning forward to place his empty mug on the coffee table.