Donna maintained her vow of silence, if that is what it was, for the whole of the weekend. Not having slept well on Friday night, I rose early on Saturday morning, and went downstairs for a coffee. At 8.00 I heard movement coming from Donna's bedroom and I went up, knocked on her door and entered.
She was in her nightdress, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the carpet. I asked her if she had slept well and if she needed anything, and was met with the same shake of the head. I left her to get dressed, and she finally came down at nearly 10.00, by which time Paula and Adrian had long since eaten their breakfasts and were playing in the garden. I asked Donna what she would like for breakfast and gave her the options — a choice of cereal, toast or egg and bacon. But there was no response other than a shrug, so, unable to decipher her preferred menu, I gave her the safe bet of cornflakes, followed by toast and honey, with a drink of juice, which she ate slowly and in silence, alone at the table. I had taken my coffee to the table as I gave her the breakfast, but she seemed so uncomfortable with my presence that eventually I busied myself in the kitchen and left her to eat alone. When she had finished, I told her to go and brush her teeth and have a wash, which she did without comment, while I cleared away her breakfast things.
If I had thought it was hard work the previous evening, it got steadily worse during the day, and not wishing to be unkind, it was like having a zombie in the house. Her downcast face, her stooped shoulders, her slowly lumbering gait would have suggested depression had she been an adult, and I thought that if she didn't improve over the weekend I would phone Jill and Edna first thing on Monday and suggest I take her to the doctor.
After Donna had finished in the bathroom I told her we would unpack her things. I had already carried up all the bags and boxes and stacked them on the landing. I now pulled the large suitcase into her bedroom and, setting it on the bed, opened it. ‘We'll hang up these clothes in the wardrobe,’ I said, and I began unfolding her jeans and joggers and draping them on to the hangers. Then I took the jumpers and T-shirts and laid them in neat piles in the drawers of the wardrobe. Donna stood by in silence, her head slightly lowered and her arms loosely folded in front of her, watching me but not helping, although I encouraged her often.
It was obvious which clothes Mary and Ray had bought — they were new — and which had come with her from home — a selection of worn and faded joggers and T-shirts which not even a jumble sale would have taken. I stacked the old clothes at the bottom of the wardrobe, although clearly she would be wearing the new ones, and those I bought for her. There is a great temptation for foster carers to throw out all the rough stuff children bring with them when they come into care, but these are familiar things for the child in an otherwise unfamiliar and strange environment, and it is important they are kept until the child feels comfortable about letting them go; which was why Mary had packed them and sent them with Donna.
There were two pairs of plastic trainers with the toes out and the laces missing, which I placed at the bottom of the wardrobe, leaving the new trainers and sandals beside her bed. There were a few pieces of very old school uniform — a bobbled sweatshirt and a torn T-shirt, both with the school's logo, and a badly stained skirt. Donna had come into care right at the end of the summer term, so Mary and Ray hadn't replaced her school uniform; I would do so at the start of the next term. There were half a dozen pairs of new pants and socks, and a few pairs of white faded grey, which I packed at the bottom of the wardrobe. There was a badly stained and ripped anorak, which I assumed had been Donna's coat before coming into care, and also a new lightweight summer jacket, which I hung in the wardrobe. As I worked, separating and sorting the clothes, Donna continued to stand a little way from me, either shaking her head or nodding if I asked her something that required a yes or no answer, or shrugging if my question needed a choice.
I talked as I worked, and continually sought her opinion and advice on where things should go, in the hope of getting her to join in. ‘Shall we put this in here? This is a pretty top — where did you get it from? We'll make this the drawer for your underwear,’ and so on, but there was absolutely no response. Once the suitcase was empty, I heaved it on to the top of the wardrobe out of the way and asked Donna to bring in the last of the bags and boxes from the landing, which she did. These appeared to contain her personal things — two worn books, a torn magazine, a bare and grubby doll, a new story CD, and a crayoning book with felt-tip pens. I told Donna I would leave her to put those things away, and I opened the empty drawers, and also pulled out a store-away box from under the bed.
One of the carrier bags which I had looked in and put to one side seemed to contain an assortment of what looked like old rags. I now picked it up, and I felt Donna watching me from under her lowered eyes as I pulled it open for a closer look. There were a couple of very old vests and pieces of what looked like torn-up sheets. I wondered if these were comforters — I'd had children of Donna's age and older arrive with chewed and torn security rags and blankets which they obviously needed to keep with them until they were no longer needed. But these were very dirty and I thought that Mary would have washed them if Donna had to have them close to her, and one smelled distinctly of disinfectant.
‘What are these for?’ I asked lightly. But there was no reply, not even a shrug. ‘Shall I get rid of them?’ Donna shook her head rigorously, with more enthusiasm than she'd shown in response to any of my previous questions. ‘I'll put the bag in the wardrobe then,’ I said. I slid open the door at the bottom of the wardrobe, which was a separate compartment, and placed the bag inside. I had a feeling that Donna was still watching me intently, although for the life of me I couldn't imagine why this bag of old and dirty rags was of any importance to her.
‘I'll leave you to unpack that last box,’ I said, ‘then come down, and we'll have a drink and a snack before we go to the shops.’
I went downstairs, where I made up some fresh lemonade, dropped in some ice cubes and prepared a plate of cheese on crackers, which I placed on a tray. I called Donna, who came down straight away, and I carried the tray into the garden, where Adrian and Paula joined us at the table on the patio. As they gathered round the table I poured the lemonade and placed the cheese and biscuits in the centre for everyone to help themselves. Adrian and Paula delved in and then watched as Donna finally, slowly and laboriously took one. I saw Adrian and Paula surreptitiously watch her, and whereas Paula had been all over Donna the day before she was now slightly guarded and kept a small distance between them. If I was finding Donna's unremitting silence daunting and unnerving, how much worse must it have been for a child of Paula's age? Paula was used to trusting and reaching out to people, and usually made friends easily with the children who stayed with us, even those who were noisy and rude. This was something completely new to her, as it was to Adrian and me.
The day was heating up quickly and I wanted to get what I needed from the shops before the car became uncomfortably hot. The quick trip to the supermarket that I had mentioned to Edna the day before, which had seemed very positive when Edna had told me that Donna liked shopping and liked to help, now loomed as something else to overcome with one-sided conversation and a large measure of patience. Once we had finished the snack I bundled everyone into the car, showing Donna where to sit and checking her seatbelt was on. At their ages, all three children had to be on booster seats by law and in the rear of the car, and there wasn't an awful lot of room. Paula, the smallest, was in the middle, with Donna and Adrian either side. There was the usual elbowing between Adrian and Paula when they first got in and fastened their seatbelts. Once they were settled, I started the car, fed in the sing-along cassette and began the ten-minute journey to the supermarket. Normally Paula would have joined in the catchy rhymes but she sat, as did Adrian, in unnatural silence, further intimidated, I thought, by Donna's withdrawn and now close presence.
At the supermarket I took a small trolley and went up and down the aisles, dropping in what we needed. Adrian and Paula, as usual, chose a couple of ‘treats’ each, which was their reward (or bribe) for enduring another shopping trip. Donna, despite Edna's assurance of her liking shopping, walked beside the trolley, head down and taking no interest whatsoever. I repeatedly asked her if she liked this or that, lingering at the displays of unhealthy but tempting biscuits and crisps, but there was nothing beyond a shrug, or on one occasion a brief nod. Even at the ice-cream cabinet she barely raised her eyes, and certainly didn't express a preference. Over the years I've taken many children to the supermarket and I have experienced many different reactions — from a child stealing when I wasn't looking to a full-scale tantrum (often) when I wouldn't buy all the sweets that had been demanded — but never before had I experienced complete and utter silence and indifference.
Arriving home, I gave everyone a carrier bag and we made one journey into the house and took them through to the kitchen. Adrian and Paula went straight out into the garden, while Donna hovered, arms loosely folded in front of her and head hung down. I asked her if she would like to help me unpack. She shrugged without looking up and continued to stand, a haunted silhouette in the doorway of the kitchen.
‘Donna, love,’ I said at last, ‘you can do what you like, play in the garden, help me, or look at a book, but find something to do until lunchtime, pet.’ She moved away and, head down, shuffled off. Presently I saw her appear in the garden and sit on the bench on the patio, watching Adrian and Paula playing in the sandpit. I viewed the fact that she had actually gone outside as a positive sign, and I watched her for a few moments longer; then I stopped unpacking the bags and went to offer some encouragement.
‘Donna, would you like to play in the sandpit too?’
She shook her head.
‘What about the swings?’
The same shake of the head.
‘Do you want a bat or ball, or a bicycle out of the shed?’
Nothing, so I returned inside and finished the unpacking.
I made sandwiches for lunch and, with a packet of crisps for each of us, carried the tray outside to the table. We ate under the sunshade and in silence. Adrian and Paula were even quieter now — the unhealthy and oppressive silence was contagious, and like a smog it seemed to hang in the air.
‘I thought we would spend the rest of the day in the garden,’ I said. ‘Then tomorrow shall we have a day out somewhere?’
‘Sure,’ said Adrian, without his usual enthusiasm and suggestions of where we could go.
Paula looked up at Donna for her input and predictably was met with nothing. Paula continued eating her egg sandwich and crisps in silence, and as soon as she and Adrian had finished they scuttled off; I remained where I was at the table, opposite Donna. I looked at her. Here we were in the garden on an idyllic summer's day, surrounded by flowers in all their colourful glory, with a gentle breeze faintly stirring the trees, and Adrian and Paula without a care in the world, and Donna was in abject and withdrawn misery. I reached out and touched her hand.
‘Donna, love,’ I said gently. ‘You are going to have to start talking to me some time. It's too lonely for you otherwise.’ She withdrew her hand from mine and shrugged. ‘I know it's difficult for you, sweet, but you can trust me. I want to help you, but I need you to start talking to me. Adrian and Paula were looking forward to you coming to live with us, and they want to be friends with you.’
She shrugged again and, leaving the rest of her sandwich, got up from the bench and went to sit in the lounge. I sighed. My prognosis of a good night's sleep making all the difference now seemed laughable. And if I was honest, part of me was becoming irritated by her continual rejection of my best efforts, for I was sure she had some control over this unrelenting front she was hiding behind. I knew she was suffering, but she must have been talking at Mary and Ray's; otherwise they would have raised the alarm and Edna would have certainly told me. I could only assume that it was as a result of being separated from her brothers, and having to move, but how on earth I dealt with it was another matter. I decided the best course of action was to carry on as much as was possible with normal family life and include Donna, but not expect her to participate, in the hope that eventually she would feel comfortable enough to drop the barriers and join in. If nothing had changed by Monday morning, I would phone Jill and Edna and ask for help.
I took Paula and Adrian to one side and tried to explain the position to them, because I couldn't just ignore Donna's persistent silence: it was like ignoring the elephant in the room. ‘Carry on as normal,’ I said. ‘Talk to Donna but don't expect her to reply or join in.’ They said they would try, but clearly it was difficult for them. Later Paula made a few brave attempts to include Donna in her play but with no success.
That evening I ran a bath for Donna while she stood by me in silence, and then I left her to wash and change into her nightdress. I said goodnight and told her that the following day we would go out somewhere. I kissed her goodnight, said sleep tight, came out and pulled the door to. I consoled myself that while Donna wasn't engaging with me at any outward level at least she was cooperating and doing what I was asking. The day before I had been worried that she might stubbornly refuse to do anything, which would have been even more difficult, if not impossible to deal with.
Sunday evening approached. We had spent the day at a small adventure park, where Donna had sat and watched Paula and Adrian enjoying themselves with all the other children but not joined in once. I knew I would have to phone Jill and Edna first thing in the morning. I would ask them how to handle the situation because clearly my strategies were not working. I began the bedtime routine, and I left Donna to change into her nightdress and have her wash and do her teeth while I went downstairs and wrote up my log notes. Paula was already asleep and Adrian was getting changed into his pyjamas in his bedroom.
When I heard the bathroom door open and Donna return to her bedroom, I went upstairs to say goodnight. She was in bed with her arm around the teddy and had closed the bedroom curtains. I was half inclined to say a brisk goodnight and come out, for I was finding it difficult not to take her refusal to speak to me personally. I felt very frustrated and not a little hurt that she was making no attempt to communicate at all. But something stopped me from taking this line, and instead I went to her bed and knelt beside it.
I stroked her forehead and she didn't pull away. ‘Donna, love,’ I said, ‘I know you are hurting but you must start talking to me. I can't help you if you don't.’ I paused and continued to stroke her head. I really didn't know what else to say. ‘I'm here to help you, and we all want to see you happy. Can you tell me what the matter is?’
She shook her head.
I hesitated, stopped stroking her head, and stood. ‘OK, love, you get off to sleep.’ I moved away, but as I went to the door I heard her voice, so faint I could have missed it.
‘Cath-ie,’ she said, pronouncing the two syllables separately. At last! I thought, and I could have jumped for joy.
I immediately returned to the bed. ‘Yes, love? What is it?’
‘I'm sorry, Cath-ie,’ she said in a small voice.
I knelt down again and stroked her forehead. ‘There is no need to be sorry, pet. All I want is for you to be happy. Will you try to talk to me tomorrow?’
She nodded.
‘And to Paula and Adrian? They would like that.’
She nodded again.
‘Is there anything you want to tell me now?’ She looked at me for the first time since arriving, her big brown eyes doleful and full of pain. She was an attractive girl, her light brown skin soft and flawless, but her pleasant features were dulled by her inner turmoil. ‘Yes?’ I encouraged.
‘It's my fault,’ she said quietly.
‘What is, sweet?’
‘It's my fault my brothers and me came into care.’
‘No, it's not, love,’ I said, gently but firmly. ‘Not at all. And being in care is not a punishment. It's to help your mum and give her a rest.’
‘Mum says it's my fault. She said I should have tried harder.’
‘Harder at what?’
‘Looking after the house, and Warren and Jason. I did my best, but it wasn't good enough. And Mary and Ray didn't want my help.’
I continued to stroke her forehead. ‘Donna, at your age, love, you should not be responsible for looking after the house or your younger brothers. That is the adult's responsibility. It was nice of you to help, but it was your mother's job to look after you, just as Mary and Ray are looking after your brothers now, and I will look after you. Do you understand?’
She nodded.
I paused. ‘Is that what's bothering you, or is there something else?’
She gave a slight shake of her head.
‘All right, love, we'll talk about this more tomorrow, but I'm very pleased you felt you could tell me.’ I smiled and she looked directly at me again and, although she didn't return my smile, I thought I saw a slight lifting of the dreadful melancholy that had frozen her expression into sadness.
‘Night then, love.’ I kissed her forehead.
‘Night, Cath-ie,’ she said, again separating the second syllable.
I came out and with huge relief went into Adrian's room to say goodnight.
‘Donna's talking,’ I said.
‘Cool. Now she can play with Paula.’ I wasn't sure if this was a comment on Donna's progress or that Paula had been taking up rather a lot of his time recently.
I said goodnight to Adrian and, with my usual warning about not reading until too late, came out and went downstairs. I went into the lounge, where I wrote up my log notes with considerable relief and some small satisfaction that I had got there in the end and Donna was finally talking.
That night I slept very well, after sleeping badly the previous two, and when I went downstairs it was just after 7.00 a.m. At the end of the hall, I was surprised to find the door to the kitchen slightly open — I usually made sure all the downstairs doors were shut before I went to bed. I tentatively pushed the door wider open and went in. As I did, I started and did a double take. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Donna was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor for all she was worth. She was using the rags that had been in the carrier bag in her bedroom.