by Patsy Whyte
Late one Saturday afternoon, I turned up at her door. She was heavily pregnant with a second child, David. It hardly seemed five years had passed since we last met. I knew she was married but I wasn't allowed to go to the wedding. She smiled and invited me inside. We sat in the living room drinking cups of tea and reminiscing, making up for all the lost years.
I popped in to see her regularly over the coming weeks, sometimes staying over the weekend if I wasn't going out dancing. Returning back to the university, one Sunday, I discovered to my horror I had forgotten to take the plug out of the sink and to turn off the tap. Water overflowed and soaked the carpets and seeped out through the bottom of door and into the corridor. When the alarm was raised, the caretaker used a spare key to get into my room. But it was too late. The damage was done.
The carpets were soaking wet and had to be thrown out. The manageress was fed up with me always sleeping in and now had the excuse she was looking for. So she fired me. Once again, Mrs Strachan got an unexpected telephone call. By the time she came to collect me, she already made arrangements for me to stay at the YWCA at the Spital in Old Aberdeen. The YWCA was barely a stone's throw from the children's home I left less than a year before. This was my fifth move since then and the stress of it all was beginning to tell. I was sinking into depression.
The YWCA was a cold and friendless place, where I slept most days until dinner time. The lady in charge grew sick of me always lying in bed and often came through and started shouting at me, calling me a lazy good-for-nothing. I should be ashamed of myself, she said, but I didn't care about other people's opinion of me.
I couldn't shake myself out of the lethargy which left me with little enthusiasm for life. Mrs Strachan wanted to take me to the doctor because she was convinced I needed iron tablets. She stopped being disappointed in me and started to take a real interest in my welfare, sometimes giving me one of her jumpers because my room was so cold, and running me in her car to job interviews.
Doreen, who was several years older than me, lived in the room next to mine and asked me one afternoon if I'd like to come shopping in the city centre for something to do. I jumped at the chance. We went into Marks and Spencer admiring all the different dresses and outfits on display. Taking one or two off the racks, she held them against her smallish frame and asked me if they suited her and if I liked the colour. I said I did and then she went to try on some blouses, making comments every so often.
"That blouse makes me look too fat", she said, emerging from the changing room and pressing me for my opinion.
"You're anything but fat", I replied. "You're a twig. I wish I was as skinny as you."
My weight had shot up since leaving the children's home and I was struggling to shift the extra pounds. Satisfied with the clothes she picked, Doreen headed over to the counter to pay for them.
The smartly dressed assistant said, "Will madam be paying by cash or cheque?"
"By cheque", replied Doreen.
She wrote out a cheque to pay for the goods which came to quite a lot of money.
With a rather smug look on her face, Doreen turned to me and said, "Fancy going to the pub?".
Not realising you could get a drink in the afternoon, I told her I had no money.
"Don't worry about that. We'll go over to the bank across the road and cash a cheque."
I stood outside the bank and waited for her to return.
"See, no problem!", she said, waving a £20 note in her hand, which was a small fortune.
I was beginning to wonder where all the money was coming from for I knew she didn't have a job. We arrived back at the YWCA a few hours later, feeling rather merry after downing a good few vodka and oranges at a grotty little pub around the corner from the bank. I went to my room to sleep off the effects and a short time later an argument between Doreen and her room mate Cathy brought me to my senses.
"No, it's nothing like that!"
"Then you tell me what the hell is going on!", thundered back Cathy. "Get out the way. I'm phoning the police!"
The door slammed shut and the room fell silent. I went back to sleep. I was suddenly awakened again, this time by the loud sound of banging on my room door. Half awake, I opened it to see two policemen and before I had the chance to ask what they wanted, they told me to come down to the police station to answer a few questions.
"What's going on?", I said.
"Just come with us. We need you to help us with our enquiries."
I still wasn't any the wiser sitting in the back of the police car being driven to the police station. I was ushered into a little room where two detectives were sitting waiting for me. I confirmed my name and address and then one of them asked me if I had stolen the cheque book belonging to Catherine Simpson.
"No. I've not stolen anything", I said, looking puzzled and feeling a little frightened.
"Did you go out with with Doreen Skinner this afternoon?"
"Yes", I replied, but before I could explain further, he fired off another question.
"Did you use the cheque book to buy items of clothing?"
"No, no, it was Doreen", I replied in a nervous, faltering voice. "I didn't know it was stolen. I thought it was hers".
More questions followed until they seemed satisfied I was completely innocent and I was driven back to the YWCA. By this time I was boiling mad, looking to confront Doreen for dragging me into such a situation. I thumped hard on her door but Cathy refused to open it, shouting Doreen was at the police station, not in the room. There was no answer either when I knocked the following day, still feeling angry over the whole affair. A resident seeing me knocking asked me what was wrong. When I told her what happened, she told me Cathy had dropped all the charges.
"Why, when she stole her cheque book? Why would she let her away with it?"
The resident laughed.
"You must be the only one here who doesn't know. They're lovers, lesbians."
I was amazed. I never knew there was such a thing, a woman loving another woman. But it explained everything, how Cathy had jumped to the wrong conclusion when I went out with Doreen shopping. She was jealous of me. And that's why they were arguing after we returned from the pub. She wanted to get her own back and lied to the police about the cheque book to get her into trouble, even although she'd given her permission to use it. Now, I felt, she was out to get rid of me, although I didn't know what her plan was until a little later. Personal items started disappearing out the rooms. At the same time, she began to spread rumours pointing the finger at me and saying I was not to be trusted.
It all came to a head when I returned from my sister's house. The girl I shared my room with warned me the girls in the hostel had plans to beat me up. She told me to be on my guard. They were deadly serious. I knew it was true because they'd been giving me the cold shoulder for days. Whenever I tried to talk to any of them, they ignored me, so I knew something was going on.
Now I needed help. The only thing I could think of was to telephone Margaret, a friend I went out dancing with. I asked her to go over to my sister's house to tell her to get here fast. Margaret sounded worried and promised she would. Then she'd be over herself with Lottie. But they arrived too late.
A group of girls were already hiding in the foyer, listening, waiting until I finished telephoning. They followed me as I made my way up the stairs to my room. At the same time, another group of girls suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. I was cornered, trapped like a rat on the small landing in the middle, unable to go up or down.
The ring leader was Trish, a fat blonde girl, who a few days ago wanted to borrow my silk dress and matching hot pants. I knew she would have struggled to fit into them, so I said no. It wasn't the answer she was looking for. Now it was pay back time. She looked down at me, menacingly, trying to intimidate me with her weight and height, egging the other girls on.
I was frightened. There seemed no way out. Suddenly, a voice inside my head boomed out, Faint! I obeyed instantly, without thinking,
and flopped to the floor, banging my head off the cold stone landing. As I pretended to be unconscious, with my eyes shut, I heard them panicking and blaming each other.
"I knew this was wrong, so stupid", said one girl, angrily.
"Oh God, is she OK?", screamed another.
A third girl rounded on Trish, shouting at the top of her voice, "It's all your fault, it's all your fault!"
All thoughts of beating me up vanished. The girls were full of regrets and the recriminations were flying up and down the stairs. They argued amongst themselves, unable to decide what to do next. Then I felt someone shaking me, calling my name, hitting me gently on the face, trying to bring me round. I still kept up the pretence even although the back of my head was throbbing. After a few seconds, I slowly opened my eyes. Two girls helped me to my feet. Then they supported me under each arm and guided me slowly up the stairs to my room and onto my bed.
Just at that moment, Lottie and Margaret walked into the room pushing their way through the the girls crowding around my bed, ready to have a go at them. But the girls were now apologising profusely, trying hard to make amends. Lottie told them all to get out and they quickly disappeared. Only Trish remained. This was my opportunity. There was no way I was letting her off with this. Before she realised what was happening, I was out my bed and on my feet. I grabbed her clothes and twisted them around her neck, shoving her hard up against the wall.
"You ever try that again and I'll put your head right through this wall", I screamed out, inches from her face.
Now the boot was on the other foot. There were no friends to hide behind. She looked petrified as I gripped her even more tightly, choking the life out of her. I had no intentions of beating her up or doing her any real harm. I just wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine. She was off the moment I loosened my grip, running out the room like a scared witless rabbit. But my moment of triumph was short-lived. In stormed the YWCA manageress, ranting and raving. Not only was I a good-for-nothing. I was also a trouble maker and she wasn't having my sort living here.
"I want you out, tomorrow. I'll be phoning your social worker."
Sure enough, Mrs Strachan turned up the next day with no smile to greet me. There was only silence between us as she watched me packing up my belongings. The silence continued as we drove back to her office once again. I never made any effort to explain what happened. There was no point. I don't think she would have believed me anyway. Everyone assumed I was the guilty party. The silence was finally broken.
"I'm at my wits end with you. I've nowhere else to put you", she snapped. "The only place left is an approved school, in Glasgow. Is that what you want?"
"No."
"What do you want me to do with you?"
Mrs Strachan sat hunched over her desk, her head between her hands. She looked ground down, bereft of ideas, at the end of her tether.
"No more hostels, no more social workers, no more, no more, I've had enough!", I cried out. "I just want to be on my own."
My outburst took her completely by surprise and she sat straight up. It was as if she was suddenly transformed, energised, a different person all of a sudden.
"Is that what you really want?"
"Yes", I said, emphatically.
Mrs Strachan thought for a moment.
"Right, if you can prove to me you can get a job, and keep it for a month, and not get into any kind of trouble, I'll set up a children's panel and see if we can get you removed from care. Would that make you happy?"
"Yes", I said, nodding enthusiastically.
"But first we need to get you somewhere to live."
"It's OK", I reassured her. "My friend Margaret's mum will let me stay with them."
"If you're sure, then that's all right with me."
Margaret's mum was a lovely woman and had no problems offering me a place to stay. I took the first job I found, which was in another fish factory. Even although I didn't much like it, I stuck it out. I made sure I kept my nose clean and avoided anything which might land me in trouble. It felt like a breath of fresh air living in a normal family atmosphere, something I'd never known before. This certainly helped me feel so much better about myself.
Mrs Strachan appeared bright and early on the day of the panel hearing. She explained in detail what was to happen and how best to behave. I waited outside nervously until I was called in and told to sit down. There were a dozen people seated around a long oval table, men dressed smartly in suits and also several well dressed ladies. They were all reading copies of a report containing everything about me, my life history, stretching back to the very first home I was brought up in.
An elderly man addressed me. He reminded me of a minister with his holier-than-thou attitude.
"Where are you living now?", he said.
"At my friend's mum's house", I answered back.
"I see you're working. Are you sticking the job?"
"Yes", I answered meekly.
He turned a few pages of the report and muttered to himself. He seemed to be in charge of the panel.
"You've never been in any trouble with the police?"
"No, sir."
"It's very important you keep your job and make something of your life", he said.
The other panel members nodded. That was about as much as they contributed to the proceedings.
Looking around the table, he added, "If we're all in agreement, I believe there's no reason for Patricia continuing to be in care."
The rest of the panel murmured their approval and the meeting was closed. I was free, at last, amazed by the power wielded by these unknown faceless people who neither knew me or had ever met me before. Mrs Strachan was so happy for me and relieved to be no longer responsible for my welfare. She suggested going to the pub to celebrate but forgot for a moment I had only just turned 16.
Chapter Eighteen
I think I hated Dundee the moment I stepped off the bus. Maybe it had something to do with being back in the city so soon after running away. I remembered how exhausted and hungry I felt as I walked with Sadie through the streets. The memory was still raw.
It was dark and raining hard and I had no idea where I was going. All I had with me was my battered brown suitcase and a few shillings in my purse and the name of the street where my mum and dad lived. It was my sister Lottie who suggested I go and live with them. But I can't say I was keen on the idea. There were too many painful memories to confront. The thought of living with two strangers who were alcoholics filled me with dread.
I was over the moon after the children's panel hearing. But I was also a little scared. Now there was no one to bail me out if things went wrong. Quickly, I dismissed such negative thoughts and wasted no time saying goodbye to Mrs Strachan. I headed back to Margaret's house where her mum looked shocked as she watched me throw my belongings into my case.
After only a few minutes my case was packed and I thanked her and was off. I knew she expected me to stay with her, but there was no way I was going to hang about, just in case I landed back in care again. I wanted to get as far away from Aberdeen as I could. So I borrowed some money from Lottie. There was enough for the ticket to Dundee and a little bit left over.
I jumped into the first taxi I saw and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper Lottie gave me with the name of the street mum and dad lived in. The taxi stopped at the top of the street a few minutes later. The middle aged taxi driver sounded nervous.