Girl Alone: Joss came home from school to discover her father’s suicide. Angry and hurting, she’s out of control.

by Cathy Glass

  When I answered the phone at 7.50 and heard Joss’s voice I was very relieved. ‘Oh, Joss. I’m so glad you’ve phoned,’ I said. ‘I’m not angry with you, but I am worried. Where are you?’

  ‘At Chelsea’s.’ I could hear rap music and loud voices in the background. ‘I thought I should phone you and let you know I’m not coming home tonight. I’m staying at Chelsea’s.’

  My spirits fell.

  Children in care, like any other children, can occasionally stay overnight at a friend’s house, providing the carer approves and is satisfied the child will be safe. The litmus test for the carer is: would I let my own child stay there overnight? And in this instance I certainly would not.

  ‘Not tonight, love,’ I said. ‘You haven’t got any of your things with you.’

  ‘Chelsea’s got night clothes I can borrow,’ Joss said. I heard the two of them laugh and I could guess why: Chelsea was twice the size of Joss, so Joss would look ridiculous in Chelsea’s clothes. ‘I want to stay,’ she said.

  ‘Is Chelsea’s father there?’ I asked.

  There was silence, some whispering and then Joss said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can I talk to him, please?’

  More silence and whispering and then Joss said, ‘He’s sleeping, and we’re not allowed to disturb him.’

  ‘Are Zach and Carl there?’

  ‘Not sure,’ Joss said.

  Then Chelsea’s voice came on the line, ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Glass, I’ll look after Joss for you.’ There was more laughing and then the phone went dead.

  I tried calling back a few times but no one answered, and then I telephoned Homefinders

  ‘Joss isn’t missing,’ I told Trisha. ‘She’s at the flat of a friend, Chelsea. She wants to stay the night, but I’m not happy with that. I’ve been to the flat and there appears to be no parental control. I found her drinking and smoking cannabis with two much older lads. I’m going to collect her now.’

  ‘All right, Cathy. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll make a note and update Jill in the morning. If there’s a problem call me. I’m on duty all night.’

  ‘Thank you. I will.’

  Lucy was out for the evening but Adrian and Paula were in. I told them that I was going to collect Joss and to let Lucy know where I was if she was back before me. I said I’d be about half an hour and called goodbye as I left.

  As a foster carer I’d had to collect children before from places they weren’t supposed to be, or where they’d stayed too late, or even from the police station, so I wasn’t particularly fazed by the prospect of collecting Joss again from Chelsea’s flat. I was more concerned that she was there at all. I assumed I’d find the two of them with Zach and Carl, smoking and drinking, as I had before. Joss would be angry with me, but so be it. She was my responsibility and I was doing what I thought was right to protect her.

  Fifteen minutes later I was parking on the main road a little way from the parade of shops where Chelsea lived. It was 8.30 p.m. so still reasonably light in early August. The evening was mild and there were others walking along the streets. The off-licence was open and doing a good trade, but the rest of the shops in the parade were closed and shuttered. As I approached the building I could hear rap music coming from one of the flats above the shops, although none of the windows at the front were open. I went round to the rear and began up the metal stairs where it became immediately obvious the music was coming from Chelsea’s flat. The upper windows were wide open. Pity the poor residents of the other flats, I thought, some of whom had their windows open. One door I passed had a child’s tricycle outside on the landing, and I wondered how the poor child slept if this music blasting out was a regular occurrence.

  The chipped blue door to Chelsea’s flat was shut, so I tapped on it loudly with the small rusty door knocker. No one answered; I doubted they could hear me over the music. I tried pushing the door and to my surprise it opened.

  The small kitchen, previously littered with takeaway boxes, empty beer and drink bottles and unwashed pans and dishes, was now heaving with young people. There was evidently a party going on. The guys and girls draped over each other in the kitchen, drinking and smoking, were in their teens or early twenties. A couple of them looked at me disinterestedly as I entered, before returning to each other. I scanned the room for Joss but she wasn’t there, so I continued towards the living room, edging around the cramped, sweating bodies and blinking from the smoke. The epicentre of the party was in the living room and, in contrast to the kitchen where everyone was standing or leaning against someone or something, they were all sitting in here: on the old sofa or the stained mattress, or just cross-legged on the floor. Cans of beer were everywhere and the unmistakable smell of cannabis hung thickly in the air. I couldn’t see Joss but I could see Carl. He was sprawled on the sofa with a beer in one hand and a joint in the other. He had his top off, revealing a large serpent tattoo winding across his stomach and disappearing around his back. He saw me and, waving his beer can towards the stairs that led off from the far corner of the room, he shouted, ‘She’s upstairs.’

  I stepped over and around the legs and bodies on the floor and headed towards the foot of the stairs. No one took much notice of me; they were too high or drunk. I wondered how long this had been going on. It was only 8.30. Thank goodness I’d come when I had. The need to get Joss out of there as soon as possible overrode my growing sense of unease for my own safety.

  There was a door at the top of the stairs. I pushed it open and stepped into a small landing where three doors, all closed, led from it. A pile of dirty clothes was dumped at one end, presumably waiting to be washed. I opened the first door on my right. It was the bathroom, where a young man stripped to the waist was on his knees, throwing up into the toilet. In other circumstances I would have made sure he was OK, but right now I just wanted to find Joss and get out of there. I closed the door and went to the next one. It opened into a bedroom, which was littered with piles of rubbish. My eyes immediately went to the double bed against the wall where a middle-aged man sat propped up, with Chelsea on one side and Joss on the other. He had his arm around Joss and all three of them had an open can of beer; Chelsea was smoking a joint.

  ‘Oh, shit!’ Chelsea said, seeing me, while Joss stared at me, horrified.

  ‘Hello, lovely lady,’ the man said, grinning inanely and making no attempt to move. ‘Who might you be?’

  I took a step into the room.

  ‘This is Joss’s foster carer,’ Chelsea said quietly, stubbing out the joint into an already overflowing ashtray.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ he said, stupefied. ‘Would you like a beer?’

  ‘No. I’ve come to take Joss home. Who are you?’ With long hair, a stubbly chin, tattoos and his shirt open to the waist, revealing a large medallion against a hairy chest, he looked like an old rocker.

  ‘Dave,’ he said, still grinning. ‘They call me Dave the Rave.’

  ‘He’s my father,’ Chelsea said, moving slightly away.

  ‘Really.’ I was shocked. ‘Do you know how old Joss is?’ I asked him.

  ‘Old enough, I guess.’ He grinned.

  ‘Thirteen! Your daughter is only fifteen. Neither of them should be drinking or smoking. You want to be ashamed of yourself.’

  He took a swig of his beer, but had the decency to remove his arm from around Joss.

  ‘We’re going home now,’ I told Joss.

  ‘But I don’t want to,’ she protested.

  ‘Now,’ I said. ‘Or I’ll call the social services and the police and ask for their help. I’m sure they’d be interested to know what is going on here.’

  ‘Do as your foster carer says,’ Dave said, suddenly alert. ‘I don’t want any trouble.’

  Joss glared at me but got off the bed.

  ‘Leave that here,’ I said to her, referring to the can of beer she still held.

  She set the can down angrily on what had once been a dressing table but now, like everything else in the room, was
covered with rubbish, filth and grime.

  I turned, and Joss followed me out.

  ‘Bye!’ Chelsea called.

  Joss didn’t reply.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ she hissed as I opened the door at the top of the stairs. The noise and smoke coming from below hit me.

  ‘Because this isn’t a suitable place for young girls,’ I said, and began downstairs.

  ‘You’ve shown me up in front of everyone. I’ll never live this down,’ Joss said.

  ‘Better that than leave you here,’ I said.

  As we picked our way across the living room, Carl shouted above the music, ‘Is it your bedtime?’

  ‘Ignore him,’ I said to Joss.

  She followed me out of the living room and through to the kitchen. I breathed a sigh of relief once we were outside. ‘Whatever do you see in that lot?’ I asked, walking quickly, my heart still racing.

  ‘They’re my friends,’ she said defensively.

  As we neared the bottom of the metal staircase, Zach appeared from around the corner with an armful of beers, presumably having been to the off-licence. He looked surprised to see us. ‘Are you off?’ he asked Joss, ignoring me.

  ‘She’s making me,’ Joss complained.

  I think Joss was expecting Zach to commiserate, possibly protest and take her side against me, because she looked rather taken aback when he said, ‘See you around, then,’ and continued up the stairs.

  We walked in silence to my car, but I could feel Joss’s hostility radiating towards me. Once we were in the car, I said, ‘Why were you upstairs with Chelsea’s father?’

  ‘We were talking.’

  ‘Joss, it’s completely inappropriate. A man of his age, lying on the bed half dressed with his arm around you and encouraging you and Chelsea to drink and smoke.’

  ‘He wasn’t encouraging us,’ Joss said, trying to defend him.

  ‘He didn’t stop you,’ I said. ‘And as a parent he should be setting an example.’

  ‘Don’t have a go at Dave!’ Joss snapped. ‘I like him – he listens to me.’

  ‘Joss, I always listen to you whenever you want to talk, but I won’t always tell you what you want to hear. Responsible parents guide their children. They show them the best path and help them make the right decisions. It’s a wonder the social services haven’t taken Chelsea into care.’

  ‘They tried,’ Joss said, ‘but she wouldn’t go. Chelsea’s got more sense.’

  I put the key into the ignition, started the engine and pulled away. Joss was angry with me for removing her from the flat, but I had no doubt I’d acted correctly. ‘I don’t want you going to Chelsea’s again,’ I said as I drove. ‘If you want to see her, you invite her to our house.’

  Joss didn’t reply.

  ‘How often do they have those parties?’ I asked after a few moments.

  ‘Dunno,’ Joss said. ‘When Dave’s around, I guess. About once a week.’

  ‘And they start in the afternoon?’

  ‘They aren’t planned. People just drift in with beer and then someone puts the music on and it all takes off.’ I could hear the excitement in her voice, the lure of the prohibited and risqué. Of course the scene at Dave’s was attractive to an impressionable thirteen-year-old who had lost her way in life. It was enticing, but she was vulnerable – easy pickings for the likes of Dave, Zach and Carl.

  ‘Who supplies the drugs?’ I asked.

  Joss didn’t reply. I glanced at her. ‘Dave?’

  ‘Dunno,’ she said with a shrug. So I thought it might be.

  Once home, I asked Joss if she wanted anything to eat, but she didn’t. She poured herself a glass of water and went up to her room. I took the opportunity to telephone Trisha at Homefinders. I was still thinking that perhaps I should call the police and hopefully they would raid the flat. It concerned me that, while I’d taken Joss out, Chelsea was still there, and who knew how many of the other teenagers there were underage? But when I told Trisha what I’d found at the flat she said to leave it to her – she’d speak to the social services and they’d take any necessary action. She also said she’d update Jill the following morning.

  I went upstairs and checked on Joss. She was still angry with me. ‘I’m just doing what I believe is right to keep you safe,’ I said.

  She turned her back on me, so I came out. A while later I heard her go to the bathroom and when I checked on her again she was asleep.

  I knew Joss would go to Chelsea’s again – the attraction of what was going on there would make any family outing or home entertainment I could offer pale into insignificance. I also knew she wouldn’t tell me if she went there, and I couldn’t trail her twenty-four seven. But Chelsea’s flat would be the first place I’d look if Joss went missing, and it was the address I’d give to the police. I couldn’t stop her going, which was a huge concern, but then, ironically, two days later Dave helped me out.

  Joss came home that evening in a foul mood. ‘You’ve ruined my life!’ she said as soon as I opened the front door. ‘I hate you. You’ve taken Chelsea away from me. She’s not my friend any more.’

  ‘How is that?’ I asked, perplexed.

  ‘You coming to Dave’s like that and making a fuss. He’s worried now that you’ll cause him trouble and call the police. He’s told Chelsea I’m not to go there any more. He’s banned me from his flat!’

  I didn’t say I was pleased, because I could see how unhappy Joss was by this exclusion. ‘Joss, if Chelsea is a good friend, this won’t end your friendship,’ I said. ‘You will find other things to do and other places to go. And you know you can bring her here any time.’

  ‘It’s not the same, I’ve told you!’ Joss thundered. ‘You’ve ruined everything. I hate you.’

  Sometimes as a parent or carer you have to be very thick-skinned and stand your ground when you know you are doing the right thing.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Failed to Protect Her

  On the days in the summer holidays when Paula, Lucy, Adrian and Joss didn’t have an activity planned, I arranged some days out – to the coast, the zoo, a museum, a wildlife centre and the Tree Top Adventure Park again. Although Joss initially moaned about going – preferring to ‘hang out’ with her ‘mates’ – she always enjoyed herself once we were on our way. And to her credit she also continued attending ice skating, so earned back her lost pocket money. When she came home on the Monday of the final week of the ice-skating course she said they were putting on a little show on the last day, Friday, and asked me if I would like to go. I was touched that she wanted me there. She’d asked her mother, but she couldn’t get the time off work, and Kevin was attending a full-time play scheme. I said I’d be delighted to go and that I’d take plenty of photographs and have a set printed for her mother and brother.

  Paula was free that Friday morning, so we both went to see the show. All the summer ice-skating classes had combined to put on the show and it was very impressive. When the organizer introduced the event he pointed out that some of the participants had only been skating for four weeks and the youngest participant was only three years old. Joss proved to be a competent skater and had developed her skills since the time we’d all gone skating. She could now skate backwards, turn with ease and make a small jump. After the show Paula and I congratulated her and said how much we’d enjoyed the display. I suggested to Joss that she might like to continue going to classes when school returned – in the evenings or at weekends, but she didn’t immediately jump at the opportunity.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t want you wasting your money if I changed my mind and didn’t go.’

  ‘I’m sure you would go,’ I said. ‘You’ve enjoyed it. But it’s your decision.’

  It was now the end of August, and the start of the new school term was a week away. I’d bought everyone their new uniforms and shoes, and to be honest I was quite relieved that Joss would soon be back at school. I’d know where she was, and with most of her days oc
cupied there should be less opportunity for her to find trouble. We were still waiting for the police to visit in connection with the car she’d set on fire, and while Joss was blasé about it – ‘They know they can’t prove anything,’ she said – it weighed heavily on my mind.

  Although Joss had been, and still was, going out far more than I would have liked, I felt that, overall, the summer holidays hadn’t been too bad. She’d been late back a number of times and had clearly been drinking and smoking, but as far as I knew she hadn’t got into more trouble with the police, and neither had she gone missing overnight as she had done many times at her previous carers. Where and when she met up with Chelsea I didn’t know, and Joss didn’t say – she never mentioned her now. Occasionally she volunteered that Zach and Carl had brought her home in the car, so I assumed Chelsea had been with them.

  Amelia came to visit at the very end of the summer holidays for one of her statutory visits. Jill had been updating her, so I filled her in on the last few days, emphasizing all the positives. As usual Amelia wanted to speak to Joss alone, so I left them in the living room to talk in private. When they’d finished Joss came to find me. ‘You can go in now – she’s done with me,’ Joss said, and went up to her room.

  ‘Thank you for all you’re doing for Joss,’ Amelia said as I sat down, ‘but try not to be so critical of Joss’s friends. I know they’re not your choice, but criticizing them is upsetting for Joss.’

  ‘What have I said?’ I asked, realizing they must have been discussing a comment I’d made.

  ‘When you collected Joss from Chelsea’s flat you made it clear you didn’t approve of her friends.’

  ‘I didn’t approve of what was going on in the flat and the people Joss is associating with,’ I said. ‘I can’t stand by and say nothing. I’m also worried that Chelsea is living in that environment. I think my fostering agency passed on my concerns?’