Damaged

by Cathy Glass

  When we arrived home, Lucy and Paula had just beaten us in. They were in the hallway, removing their coats and unloading their schoolbags.

  ‘We’ve been to Christmas,’ Jodie shouted excitedly.

  ‘Shopping,’ I added. ‘I’ve made a start.’

  ‘Yes, shopping,’ Jodie repeated. ‘And my daddy was naughty, he took his clothes off and weed on me.’

  The girls laughed uncomfortably. Neither of them knew what to say.

  ‘Jodie,’ I said, ‘we went shopping this afternoon. What your daddy did happened more than a year ago. Don’t link the two. It’s confusing.’

  But she often did this, running past and present together in a continuum of now. Right from the start she had had no conception of time, but her inability to distinguish between past, present and future seemed to be getting worse.

  ‘Do you want to play a game?’ asked Paula.

  Jodie stared blankly back.

  Paula persisted. ‘Let’s all do a jigsaw together!’

  ‘What about Barbie?’ asked Lucy. ‘I’d love to play with your Barbie dolls.’

  ‘No!’ snapped Jodie. ‘My dolls! Cathy, can I watch a video?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you rather play with the girls, Jodie?’ I asked. ‘I’m sure that would be much more fun, and I know the girls would like to hear all about your day at the shops.’

  Jodie sighed, exhausted by my unreasonable demands. ‘Please, Cathy,’ she pleaded. ‘I been good?’

  I reluctantly agreed, and let her take one of her Early Years videos upstairs. The girls went up to their rooms, and I could see they were a little hurt. Of course, they had no particular desire to play Barbie dolls with Jodie, but no one likes being rejected. Paula and Lucy had been trying to spend more time with Jodie, and to become her friends, but she was impossible to break through to. Most children, no matter how bad their behaviour, do essentially want to be liked, and to feel the approval of those around them. Jodie, on the other hand, simply couldn’t have cared less. When the girls wanted to play with her, she wasn’t pleased or flattered, and it didn’t even occur to her that she might hurt their feelings. She was completely oblivious.

  Her relationship with Adrian was even more distant. Because of the nature of the abuse she had suffered, Jodie regarded all males in sexual terms, and would try to flirt with them, or rub provocatively up against them. There was nothing deliberate about this, it was simply the kind of behaviour which had characterized her relationships with men in the past, and it was going to take an awfully long time to reverse this pattern. As a result, Adrian found her very difficult, and tended to just stay out of her way.

  As I began peeling the potatoes for dinner, I heard loud thumps coming from upstairs. I was about to climb the stairs, ready to go up and deal with yet another scene, when I realized what the noise was. Jodie’s video contained song and dance routines for the children to join in with. Jodie was simply dancing along to her video.

  As I returned to the kitchen, I felt immensely sad. Given the choice between playing with my daughters or watching a video on her own, Jodie had had no hesitation in choosing the video. It wasn’t even that she didn’t like the girls; if she had the option of being alone or of spending time with anyone, Jodie would always choose to be alone. Her history had taught her that the company of others could only bring pain and rejection, and this lesson had isolated her from the world.

  My fear was the effect that this awful legacy was likely to have on the rest of her life. Jodie’s hostility, defensiveness and delayed development meant that she really had nothing going for her. She wasn’t pretty, bright or talented. She wasn’t kind, warm or vulnerable. She was still overweight, despite my efforts, although her weight had stabilized. She was rude, unpleasant, aggressive, violent, and she had absolutely no desire to be liked by anyone. It was a mixture that was bound to alienate her and she had no tools to win other people over, nothing at her disposal to make others wish to be around her, or to win her affection.

  As far as I could tell, not one person had ever taken an interest in Jodie in her entire life, except those that had wanted to hurt her. Not one person had ever loved her. But as I listened to her clumsy, arrhythmic stomping coming from upstairs, I felt more drawn to her than ever. Surely it wasn’t too late for her? She was only eight years old, for goodness’ sake. Could her entire life really be mapped out?

  I hoped fervently that there was time to heal her broken personality, and I longed to put her back together again so that she could have another chance at the childhood that had been so cruelly taken from her. I was determined to try my very best for this child and if love, attention, kindness and hard work could do anything, I would not stop until she was better.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Spider’s Web

  It was a beautiful, crisp winter morning in early December; the sun was a soft golden ball in a clear sky. Jodie’s usually pale cheeks were glowing red from the cold and the exertion of riding her bike. Every so often she stopped to flip back her scarf, part of a set I’d bought: a lilac hat, scarf and gloves with a fluffy trim. Only prolonged coercion had stopped her from wearing them in bed. Finally I’d done something right!

  I set a brisk pace as we approached the park gates, and my mind was racing. I was anxious, and for once my worries were not entirely down to Jodie. The previous day we had visited Abbey Green School, and met the headmaster, Adam West. Although the visit had gone well, Mr West had said that he wouldn’t be able to offer Jodie a place until funding had been approved, which might take three months. Jodie would have to continue with Nicola, her tutor, in the meantime, but this clearly wasn’t meeting her needs. Jodie desperately needed not only education, but also the routine of school, and the company of other children.

  I paused by the entrance to the park, and called Jodie back. Strung between two shrubs was a large spider’s web, still in the shade, sparkling white with dew.

  ‘Look at this, Jodie! A spider’s web. Isn’t it beautiful?’ I said. ‘Like one of those decorations we saw in the shops.’

  ‘Beautiful,’ she repeated. ‘Really beautiful.’

  ‘And can you hear that rustling in the undergrowth? I bet that’s a bird.’ We stood very quietly and listened. Moments later we were rewarded, as a large blackbird with a fiery orange beak quickly hopped across the path. Jodie’s face beamed.

  ‘Beautiful. Really beautiful,’ she said again, and I knew the phrase would be repeated for the rest of the day.

  We made four laps of the park, then headed back. I always felt better after a walk, and for Jodie the energy release was essential, otherwise she’d be hyperactive for the rest of the day. She waited at the park gates, and we crossed the road together, then she sprinted ahead to the top of our road. Arriving at the gate, she heaved her bike up the step. To a stranger watching her who didn’t know anything of her past, she could have been any normal child arriving home, cheeks flushed from the cold air, looking forward to the warmth of home and the comfort of a hot drink. Just for a moment, I pretended to be that person, so that I could briefly enjoy the pleasure of seeing Jodie as she could be, if all of our efforts paid off.

  We took off our coats, and I wheeled her bike through to the conservatory. I heated some milk and made us both a mug of hot chocolate. We sat either side of the kitchen table. I passed Jodie the biscuit tin and she dived in, grinning.

  ‘One,’ I said. ‘You had a cooked breakfast.’ I took a sip of my drink and set it down. She followed suit.

  I took a deep breath. Now was the moment that I had to broach the subject that had been on my mind all morning. The innocence of our park trip was about to be sullied with the darkness of the adult world that Jodie had been so brutally exposed to. ‘Jodie,’ I said.

  She met my gaze, the blue-grey eyes blank as usual.

  ‘I need to explain something. Can you listen carefully?’

  She nodded.

  ‘When we’ve finished our drinks, we’re going out in the car. Do you rememb
er Eileen?’

  She wouldn’t remember her, of course, even though Eileen had finally made her first visit. A few weeks before, she had come round to introduce herself. Jodie was unlikely to recall it and I could hardly blame her, as it had been a flying visit, to say the least. After a few uncomfortable minutes, Eileen had made her excuses and gone on her way. She clearly wasn’t at ease with Jodie.

  Jodie looked blank at my question, so I carried on. ‘Eileen’s your social worker, you remember? Well, Eileen wants you to have something called a medical, where a doctor will examine you, but there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be with you.’

  In an ideal world Eileen would have come around herself to explain to Jodie what was going to happen, but I’d given up expecting anything like that.

  ‘Will you, Cathy? That’s nice.’ She dunked her biscuit, then began licking off the melted chocolate.

  ‘The doctor will have a look at you, to make sure you’re OK. Do you remember that you had a medical when you first came into care? It will be like that, but this will be a bit more thorough.’

  ‘Will I have to take me clothes off, Cathy?’ she said, more interested in the biscuit than the conversation.

  ‘Yes. But it will be a nice lady doctor. She’s used to children, so there’s nothing to worry about. She’s going to look at your body, particularly where Daddy and Uncle Mike hurt you. You know, what we call our private parts.’

  I waited for a reaction: fear, horror or outright refusal, but there was nothing. She finished her drink, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and stood up, leaving me wondering if she’d fully understood.

  ‘If you think of any questions,’ I added, ‘tell me and I’ll explain.’

  Strapped in the back seat, she resumed chattering about anything and everything, including medicals in general. Had I ever had a medical? Had Lucy and Paula? Did they have to take their clothes off and show their private parts? Did Adrian? I stopped that line of questioning, and switched on the radio. A bouncy pop song came on.

  ‘My mum likes this song,’ she said. ‘She likes the boy singer. We listen to it in the pub.’

  ‘You used to listen to it in the pub,’ I corrected her. As usual, Jodie seemed unable to distinguish between then and now but I was trying to point out the difference whenever she muddled them up, in the hope that she would begin to put what was finished behind her. I worried that she was still existing emotionally in the bad place she had come from, and if that was the case she was unlikely to begin her recovery. ‘We don’t go to the pub now. That was in the past.’

  ‘Why, Cathy? Why can’t we go to the pub?’

  ‘I don’t think it’s the right place to take children. I prefer the park for an outing.’

  ‘My mum thinks it’s right, so does my daddy, and my auntie Bell.’

  ‘I dare say.’

  ‘Cathy, is my mummy having a medical and showing her private parts?’

  ‘No. Not as far as I know.’

  She paused, as though weighing this up. Then her voice piped up again. ‘She should. My daddy does naughty things to her as well.’

  I glanced in the mirror. It was a throwaway comment, but loaded with connotations, as many disclosures are. ‘How do you know that, Jodie?’

  She shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Just do.’

  She had shut down again, and I knew there was no point in pursuing it. I was sure that she meant that she had seen her father and mother having sex and it was no surprise that she couldn’t distinguish between that and what happened to her. When she said it was ‘naughty’, did that mean she was starting to accept that what had happened to her was wrong? Or was she just repeating back what I had said to her? It was so hard to know with Jodie how much she understood and accepted.

  The rest of the journey passed with Jodie singing along to songs on the radio, many of them near word perfect. I always found this unreasonably irritating: how could she remember these daft lyrics, but not her ABC?

  The medical centre was housed in a purpose-built bungalow and offered a range of paediatric services. I’d been there before with other foster children for general health checks, but never for a forensic medical; I couldn’t help feeling very apprehensive because I had a fair idea of what was in store for her. I knew that the police didn’t do this very readily with young children who are likely victims of abuse, because it can seem like another form of assault. I had talked it over with Jill earlier and she had reassured me that if Jodie put up any resistance or seemed distressed, the doctors would stop immediately. There was no question of forcing her to go through with it.

  It was always a struggle to find a parking space, but I spotted a gap at the kerb, and anxiously tried to parallel park, while a van waited impatiently behind.

  ‘You been here before?’ Jodie asked, releasing her seatbelt.

  ‘Yes. For eyesight and hearing tests.’

  ‘Did they look at your private parts?’

  ‘No, sweet. Stay put, and I’ll let you out.’

  I went round and opened her door. She jumped on to the pavement and I took her hand. I had no idea which department we wanted and the entrance board didn’t seem to cover private parts. I approached the receptionist.

  ‘Jodie Brown,’ I said. ‘We’ve a forensic medical booked for twelve-thirty.’

  She glanced at the appointment list. ‘Oh yes. We’re waiting for the police doctor. Take a seat over there. She shouldn’t be long.’

  I steered Jodie to a small recess with four plastic chairs, and a box of well-used toys and books. A door led off, with a sign that read ‘Consulting Room One’, and a small metal plate marked ‘Vacant’. Jodie brought me a pop-up book of Cinderella. I had just opened it and begun to read, when a smartly dressed woman walked over. She was in her late fifties, with bright red lipstick and horn-rimmed glasses.

  ‘Cathy?’ she smiled. ‘I’m Linda Marshall, the police doctor. And you must be Jodie?’

  She wasn’t what I was expecting at all, and from the look on Jodie’s face I gathered she wasn’t what she was expecting either. With her red plaid suit, sheer black stockings and high stilettos, she wouldn’t have looked out of place at a department store beauty counter.

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ I answered for us both.

  Jodie eyed her suspiciously. ‘Are you a doctor?’ she barked.

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered conspiratorially. ‘But children tell me I don’t look like one. Shall we go in?’

  Jodie immediately dropped my hand and took hold of the doctor’s. I followed them into the consulting room. There, a young woman in a white medic’s coat was sitting behind a small desk, looking much more like the kind of doctor we had expected. She came round the desk and shook my hand.

  ‘Hello there, I’m Dr Pratchet,’ she said. ‘I’ll be carrying out the examination today, with the help of Dr Marshall here. Do sit down.’

  I took the only available chair and looked around. A long reclining couch with leg rests dominated one side of the room. At its foot was a large spot lamp on an adjustable metal stem, which was switched off for the moment. I shuddered, aware of what was in store.

  Dr Pratchet returned to her desk, and Linda Marshall perched on the edge of the couch. Jodie went straight for the toy box in the corner, which she upturned, spilling its contents across the floor. I shot her a warning glance.

  ‘I’d like to ask you a few questions first,’ Dr Pratchet said. ‘You’re all right playing there for a few minutes, aren’t you, Jodie?’

  Jodie grinned at me, holding out a toy she’d found. ‘Look, Cathy!’

  ‘Yes, it’s a jack-in-a-box, like the one at home. Put it back when you’ve finished, good girl.’

  The doctor opened an A4 folder, and pulled out a bundle of papers. ‘Jodie’s eight and a half now? And she’s been with you since the third of April?’

  I could tell that the doctor was well aware of the contents of Jodie’s file and kn
ew exactly why we were there. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘How is she generally? Eating? Sleeping? Behaviour?’

  I gave her a brief summary of Jodie’s state: that she ate well but her nights and general behaviour were becoming increasingly difficult.

  ‘And does she understand why she’s here?’

  ‘I’ve explained she’s going to have a medical, and you will need to look at her private parts to make sure she’s OK.’

  She nodded, and I assumed she approved of my explanation. ‘Apart from what Jodie’s said, have you noticed any other indicators? Soreness, a rash, discharge?’

  Foster carers can’t afford to be squeamish. ‘No, but she does soil herself a lot. It’s not deliberate, as it used to be. It’s more that she doesn’t seem to quite make it to the toilet in time. Or if she does, she’s not very good at cleaning herself up. I’m often changing her and washing her so it wouldn’t necessarily be obvious.’

  ‘Quite,’ Linda Marshall agreed.

  Dr Pratchet made a note and then looked up at Jodie. ‘OK, we’re going to start by measuring and weighing you, Jodie. Do you think you could jump on those scales?’

  ‘Jump’ was not the best choice of word, as Jodie took it literally. With a resounding leap, she threw herself on to the platform. The sprung metal plate clanged and shud dered.

  ‘Gently,’ I said redundantly.

  Linda read out the results and Dr Pratchet noted them down. ‘Good girl. Now, can you climb on to this couch for me? It’s a bit high; do you need some help?’

  Jodie, oblivious to what lay in wait and eager to demonstrate her agility, scrambled up. She sat with her chubby legs dangling over the edge, grinning at me proudly. I watched as Dr Pratchet opened her desk drawer and removed a stethoscope and a wooden spatula. Looping the stethoscope around her neck, she tucked the spatula into her coat pocket. I shuffled my chair back to allow her to pass. I could feel my anxiety level rising fast.