by Cathy Glass
‘This is Ann, my colleague,’ said Deirdre, dispensing with small talk. ‘And this is Jodie.’
I looked down, but Jodie was hiding behind Ann, and all I could see was a pair of stout legs in bright red trousers.
‘Hi, Jodie,’ I said brightly. ‘I’m Cathy. It’s very nice to meet you. Come on in.’
She must have been clinging to Ann’s coat, and decided she wasn’t going anywhere, as Ann was suddenly pulled backwards, nearly losing her balance.
‘Don’t be silly,’ snapped Deirdre, and made a grab behind her colleague. Jodie was quicker and, I suspected, stronger, for Ann took another lurch, this time sideways. Thankfully, our old cat decided to put in a well-timed appearance, sauntering lazily down the hall. I took my cue.
‘Look who’s come to see you, Jodie!’ I cried, the excitement in my voice out of all proportion to our fat and lethargic moggy. ‘It’s Toscha. She’s come to say hello!’
It worked – she couldn’t resist a peep. A pair of grey-blue eyes, set in a broad forehead, peered out from around Ann’s waist. Jodie had straw-blonde hair, set in pigtails, and it was obvious from her outfit alone that her previous carers had lost control. Under her coat she was wearing a luminous green T-shirt, red dungarees and wellies. No sensible adult would have dressed her like this. Clearly, Jodie was used to having her own way.
With her interest piqued, she decided take a closer look at the cat, and gave Ann another shove, sending them both stumbling over the doorstep and into the hall. Deirdre followed, and the cat sensibly nipped out. I quickly closed the door.
‘It’s gone!’ Jodie yelled, her face pinched with anger.
‘Don’t worry, she’ll be back soon. Let’s get you out of your wet coat.’ And before the loss of the cat could escalate into a scene, I undid her zip, and tried to divert her attention. ‘Gary’s in the lounge waiting for you.’
She stared at me for a moment, looking as though she’d really like to hit me, but the mention of Gary, a familiar name in an unfamiliar setting, drew her in. She wrenched her arms free of the coat, and stomped heavily down the hall before disappearing into the lounge. ‘I want that cat,’ she growled at Gary.
The two women exchanged a look which translated as, ‘Heaven help this woman. How soon can we leave?’
I offered them coffee and showed them through to the lounge. Jodie had found the box of Lego and was now sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor, making a clumsy effort to force two pieces together.
Returning to the kitchen, I took down four mugs, and started to spoon in some instant coffee. I heard heavy footsteps, then Jodie appeared in the doorway. She was an odd-looking child, not immediately endearing, but I thought this was largely because of the aggressive way she held her face and body, as though continually on guard.
‘What’s in ’ere?’ she demanded, pulling open a kitchen drawer.
‘Cutlery,’ I said needlessly, as the resulting clatter had announced itself.
‘What?’ she demanded, glaring at me.
‘Cutlery. You know: knives, forks and spoons. We’ll eat with those later when we have dinner. You’ll have to tell me what you like.’
Leaving that drawer, she moved on to the next, and the next, intent on opening them all. I let her look around. I wasn’t concerned about her inquisitiveness, that was natural; what worried me more was the anger in all her movements. I’d never seen it so pronounced before.
With all the drawers opened, and the kettle boiled, I took out a plate and a packet of biscuits.
‘I want one,’ she demanded, lunging for the packet.
I gently stopped her. ‘In a moment. First I’d like you to help me close these drawers, otherwise we’ll bump into them, won’t we?’
She looked at me with a challenging and defiant stare. Had no one ever stopped her from doing anything, or was she deliberately testing me? There was a few seconds’ pause, a stand-off, while she considered my request. I noticed how overweight she was. It was clear she’d either been comfort eating, or had been given food to keep her quiet; probably both.
‘Come on,’ I said encouragingly, and started to close the drawers. She watched, then with both hands slammed the nearest drawer with all her strength.
‘Gently, like this.’ I demonstrated, but she didn’t offer any more assistance, and I didn’t force the issue. She’d only just arrived, and she had at least compromised by closing one.
‘Now the biscuits,’ I said, arranging them on the plate. ‘I’d like your help. I’m sure you’re good at helping, aren’t you?’
Again she fixed me with her challenging, almost derisory stare, but there was a hint of intrigue, a spark of interest in the small responsibility I was about to bestow on her.
‘Jodie, I’d like you to carry this into the lounge and offer everyone a biscuit, then take one for yourself, all right?’
I placed the plate squarely in her chubby, outstretched hands, and wondered what the chances were of it arriving intact. The digestives pitched to the left as she turned, and she transferred the plate to her left hand, clamping the right on top of the biscuits, which was at least safe, if not hygienic.
I followed with the tray of drinks, pleased that she’d done as I’d asked. I handed out the mugs of coffee as the doorbell rang, signalling our last arrival. Jodie jumped up and made a dash for the door. I quickly followed; it’s not good practice for a child to be answering the door, even if guests are expected. I explained this to Jodie, then we opened it together.
Jill stood on the doorstep. She was smiling encouragingly, and looked down at the sullen-faced child staring defiantly up at her.
‘Hi,’ said Jill brightly. ‘You must be Jodie.’
‘I wanted to do it,’ protested Jodie, before stomping back down the hall to rejoin the others.
‘Is everything all right?’ Jill asked as she came in.
‘OK so far. No major disasters yet, anyway.’ I took Jill’s coat, and she went through to the lounge. I fetched another coffee, and the paperwork began. There’s a lot of form filling when a child is placed with new carers, and a lot of coffee. Gary was writing furiously.
‘I’ve only just completed the last move,’ he said cheerfully. ’Not to mention the three-day one before that. Is it Cathy with a C?’
I confirmed that it was, then gave him my postcode and my doctor’s name and address. Jodie, who’d been reasonably content watching him, and had obviously been party to the process many times before, decided it was time to explore again. She hauled herself up, and disappeared into the kitchen. I couldn’t allow her to be in there alone; quite apart from the risk of her raiding the cupboards, there were any number of implements which could have been harmful in the wrong hands. I called her, but she didn’t respond. I walked in and found her trying to yank open the cupboard under the sink, which was protected by a child lock, as it contained the various cleaning products.
‘Come on, Jodie, leave that for now. Let’s go into the lounge,’ I said. ‘I’ll show you around later. We’ll have plenty of time once they’ve gone.’
‘I want a drink,’ she demanded, pulling harder on the cupboard door.
‘OK, but it’s not in there.’
I opened the correct cupboard, where I kept a range of squashes. She peered in at the row of brightly coloured bottles.
‘Orange, lemon, blackcurrant or apple?’ I offered.
‘Coke,’ she demanded.
‘I’m sorry, we don’t have Coke. It’s very bad for your teeth.’ Not to mention hyperactivity, I thought to myself. ‘How about apple? Paula, my youngest daughter, likes apple. You’ll meet her later.’
‘That one.’ She tried to clamber on to the work surface to retrieve the bottle.
I took down the bottle of blackcurrant and poured the drink, then carried it through and placed it on the coffee table. I drew up the child-sized wicker chair, which is usually a favourite.
‘This is just the right size for you,’ I said. ‘Your very own seat.’
/> Jodie ignored me, grabbed her glass, and plonked herself in the place I had vacated on the sofa next to Jill. I sat next to Gary, while Jill pacified Jodie with a game on her mobile phone. I watched her for a few moments. So this was the child who was going to be living with us. It was hard to make much of her so early on; most children displayed difficult behaviour in their first few days in a new home. Nevertheless, there was an unusual air about her that I couldn’t quite understand: it was anger, of course, and stubbornness, mixed with something else that I wasn’t sure I had seen before. Only time would tell, I thought. I observed Jodie’s uncoordinated movements and the way her tongue lolled over her bottom lip. I noted almost guiltily how it gave her a dull, vacant air, and reminded myself that she was classified as having only ‘mild’ learning difficulties, rather than ‘severe’.
A quarter of an hour later, all the placement forms had been completed. I signed them and Gary gave me my copies. Deirdre and Ann immediately stood to leave.
‘We’ll unpack the car,’ said Ann. ‘There’s rather a lot.’
Leaving Jodie with Gary and Jill, I quickly put on my shoes and coat, and we got gradually drenched as we went back and forth to the car. ‘Rather a lot’ turned out to be an understatement. I’d never seen so many bags and holdalls for a child in care. We stacked them the length of the hall, then the two women said a quick goodbye to Jodie. She ignored them, obviously feeling the rejection. Gary stayed for another ten minutes, chatting with Jodie about me and my home, then he too made a move to leave.
‘I want to come,’ she grinned, sidling up to him. ‘Take me with you. I want to go in your car.’
‘I don’t have a car,’ said Gary gently. ‘And you’re staying with Cathy. Remember we talked about it? This is your lovely new home now.’ He picked up his briefcase and got halfway to the door, then Jodie opened her mouth wide and screamed. It was truly ear piercing. I rushed over and put my arms around her, and nodded to Gary to go. He slipped out, and I held her until the noise subsided. There were no tears, but her previously pale cheeks were now flushed bright red.
The last person left was Jill. She came out into the hall and got her coat.
‘Will you be all right, Cathy?’ she asked, as she prepared to venture out into the rain. ‘I’ll phone about five.’ She knew that the sooner Jodie and I were left alone, the sooner she’d settle.
‘We’ll be fine, won’t we, Jodie?’ I said. ‘I’ll show you around and then we’ll unpack.’
I was half expecting another scream, but she just stared at me, blank and uncomprehending. My heart went out to her; she must have felt so lost in what was her sixth home in four months. I held her hand as we saw Jill out.
Now it was just the two of us. I’d been in this situation many times before, welcoming a confused and hurt little person into my home, waiting patiently as they acclimatized to a new and strange environment, but this felt different somehow. There was something in the blankness in Jodie’s eyes that was chilling. I hadn’t seen it before, in a child or an adult. I shook myself mentally. Come on, I cajoled. She’s a little girl and you’ve got twenty years’ experience of looking after children. How hard can it be?
I led her back into the living room and, right on cue, Toscha reappeared. I showed Jodie the correct way to stroke her, but she lost interest as soon as I’d begun.
‘I’m hungry. I want a biscuit.’ She made a dash for the kitchen.
I followed and was about to explain that too many biscuits aren’t good, when I noticed a pungent smell. ‘Jodie, do you want the toilet?’ I asked casually.
She shook her head.
‘Do you want to do a poo?’
‘No!’ She grinned, and before I realized what she was doing, her hand was in her pants, and she smeared faeces across her face.
‘Jodie!’ I grabbed her wrist, horrified.
She cowered instantly, protecting her face. ‘You going to hit me?’
‘No, Jodie. Of course not. I’d never do that. You’re going to have a bath, and next time tell me when you want the toilet. You’re a big girl now.’
Slowly, I led my new charge up the stairs and she followed, clumsy, lumbering and her face smeared with excrement.
What had I let myself in for?
Chapter Four
A New Little Sister
Foster carers aren’t saints. We’re just ordinary parents with space in our homes and hearts for one more. But as I turned on the shower, and helped Jodie out of her clothes and her soiled underwear, I wondered if my heart was truly big enough. I put her under the shower of hot water and began to sponge her down. My stomach lurched as the heat intensified the smell, and I closed my mouth and tried to breathe through my nose. I cleaned her face and hands, then between the folds of pale skin around her middle. Jodie was pear-shaped, which is unusual for a child, and she had hips like a middle-aged woman. She was docile, though, lifting her arms in the air and making no effort to help. She seemed to enjoy being treated like a baby. I consoled myself that at least the rest of the family weren’t home to witness the new arrival’s house-warming trick.
I couldn’t help feeling puzzled by it – she hadn’t been distressed by her accident at all, and it was unlikely that someone of her age had no bowel control and wasn’t aware of when they were about to do a poo. So had it been deliberate? Surely not. It was probably anxiety.
I helped her out of the bath and wrapped a towel round her. ‘Dry yourself, Jodie, while I put these in the wash.’ I scooped up the soiled clothes and carried them downstairs to the washing machine. I added a few drops of disinfectant to the soap, and turned the dial to 80 degrees. The sound of Jodie talking to herself floated down from the bathroom and I could hear her muttering isolated words and phrases which didn’t string together, and didn’t make any sense.
Returning down the hall, I took the largest suitcase and heaved it upstairs. ‘You OK, Jodie?’ I called, as I crossed the landing.
Silence, then, ‘Yeah,’ before she lapsed into gobbledegook once again.
In her bedroom, I unzipped the case, and picked out joggers, a jumper and underwear, and carried them through to the bathroom. She was standing as I’d left her, wrapped in the towel but still dripping wet.
‘Come on,’ I encouraged, ‘dry yourself. You’re a big girl now.’
She shook her head sulkily, and I started patting her dry. She was like a seven-stone infant, and very cumbersome, and I was sure some of this was due to the rolls of fat.
‘Don’t want those,’ she said, spying the clothes I’d brought in.
‘OK, when you’re dry we’ll find some others. You’ve got lots to choose from. Now come on before you get cold.’
She pulled out of the towel and darted naked along the landing to her room, where she began rummaging through the clothes. She held up a pair of pink shorts and a T-shirt. I tried to explain that they weren’t suitable for the chilly weather, but I might as well have been talking Russian for all the response I got.
‘How about these jeans?’ I said, holding them up. ‘And this blue top is nice and warm. Now find yourself some underwear and get dressed, come on, quickly.’
She held up a pair of knickers and struggled into them, then continued picking over the clothes. She was chattering continuously, but when I tried to join in the conversation she would stare at me blankly, before continuing with her search, and the next unintelligible monologue. Finally, she settled on a pair of black trousers and a grey jumper, and stood waiting for me to dress her. Just to hurry things along, I gave in to this demand, then began clearing up the heaps of discarded clothes, folding and hanging them in the drawers and wardrobe. Jodie had said nothing about her bedroom, and when I asked if she liked it, she responded with a blank, dismissive stare. She picked up a soft toy, and hurled it at the door. ‘Not mine! Don’t want it!’ Her face screwed up in anger.
‘OK, but don’t throw it. I’m sure you’ve got lots of your own. I’ll put these away and find some of yours. You’d prefer that,
wouldn’t you?’ I gathered up the other toys and moved towards the door.
‘Where you going?’ she demanded, her scowl intensifying.
‘To put these away and bring up some of your own toys.’ I smiled and left, aware another scene had been narrowly averted.
I dropped the unwanted toys on to my bed, then went downstairs and opened some of the holdalls. They were filled with clothes, a ridiculous amount; she couldn’t possibly have worn them all if she’d changed three times a day for a fortnight. The next bag I opened was crammed full of small plastic toys: dolls, animals and gifts from McDonald’s. It was like a school fête tombola. I lugged the bag upstairs.
‘Have a look at these,’ I said brightly, ‘while I sort out the rest of your clothes. There’s a toy box under the bed, you can put them in there.’
Her face softened, and we worked side by side for a few minutes, although I sensed the peace was tenuous. I wasn’t wrong. Five minutes later she threw a plastic crocodile into the box, then ran out of the room, and into Adrian’s bedroom next door.
I followed. ‘Jodie, would you like to look around now? We can unpack later.’ She was pressing the buttons on Adrian’s mobile, which he’d left recharging by his bed.
I went over and gently took it from her. ‘We won’t touch that, it’s not ours. This is Adrian’s room.’ She looked at me doubtfully. ‘He’s my son. He’s at school. You’ll meet him later.’
She dropped the phone on the floor, then took a flying leap on to the bed, where she started clumsily bouncing up and down. I reached for her hand. ‘Come on, I’ll show you the other rooms, then fix you some lunch.’
The mention of lunch sealed it, and with another leap she was beside me, floorboards juddering, and then she dashed out, along the landing and into the next bedroom.
‘This is Lucy’s room,’ I said, catching up. ‘She’s fifteen. She’s been with us for two years and you’ll meet her later too.’
She rushed out of Lucy’s room and round to Paula’s, where she spotted Paula’s rag-doll pyjama case propped on the bed.