Eileen returned from her holiday, and Dave was finally able to convene his strategy meeting. Jill attended in my place, and things suddenly started to happen. I was told to make a number of appointments for Jodie. First, she would have to be assessed by a child psychologist, to help the Social Services decide how best to proceed with her case. She would also have to have what’s called a ‘memorandum interview’. This is a videotaped interview with a police Child Protection Officer, which in this case would be the starting point for a criminal prosecution of Jodie’s father and, hopefully, the other abusers too. Jodie would also have to see a police doctor for a forensic medical – an intimate gynaecological examination – to verify her claims.
I immediately started to worry about the forensic medical. It was traumatic enough for an adult to be examined in this way, but for an abused child it could be seen as another assault. I had given Jodie my promise that nothing of that kind would happen to her again, and I was frightened that she would think I’d broken my word and lose her trust in me.
In the meantime, our days had settled into something of a routine. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, Jodie’s tutor would come in the morning, and then in the afternoon we would go out, usually to the park. On Tuesdays and Thursdays we went shopping, although Jodie and I had somewhat differing views about this. Jodie enjoyed shopping more than anything, whereas for me it was perfunctory. Jodie seemed to relish causing a scene in public, aware that there was little I could do in response. These tantrums were designed to bully me into buying her something, but I could never give in, as this would set a precedent by rewarding bad behaviour. However, Jodie had clearly used this technique successfully for years, so I wasn’t expecting her to unlearn it any time soon.
The sessions with Nicola were improving, in terms of Jodie’s behaviour, but she was making little progress in her education. In my view, this lack of progress was only partly attributable to Jodie’s learning difficulties and delayed development and more likely a result of her emotional state. A further problem was that Jodie seemed to have no interest in learning; she could never see the point of any of Nicola’s exercises, and it was very difficult to motivate her, as she apparently had no desire to win approval.
My worries increased one afternoon when I did finally receive a call from Mr Rudman’s secretary: he was dreadfully sorry, but he didn’t feel able to offer Jodie a place.
‘Back to the drawing board,’ I said to Nicola, and spent the second half of her session on the phone, trying to interest another head teacher, but without success.
‘The trouble is,’ Nicola said, ‘she really needs a special school, but unless her statement can be changed to say this, there’s no chance.’
‘How long would it take to get it changed?’
We agreed that this wasn’t an option, so after Nicola left I set out more paper, paint and glue, and spent another hour working through the Yellow Pages. It was demoralizing work, but by the end of it I’d found another head who was willing to look at her statement. The school, Elmacre Primary, was five miles away, through the city traffic, but at least they had a vacancy.
The most enjoyable times I spent with Jodie tended to be our visits to the park. Jodie was less anxious in open spaces, presumably because there were fewer people around. She enjoyed playing on the swings, and I was slowly encouraging her to engage with the world around her, by pointing out pretty flowers and trees, and telling her the names of distinctive birds.
We often bumped into people I knew, and I hoped this kind of friendly contact would be helpful for Jodie. I’d lived in the same area for twenty years, so we would often run into someone I knew on any trip out. I would introduce Jodie, as I do with all the children I foster, but instead of saying ‘Hi’, or smiling shyly, she’d stick out her chin, screw up her eyes, and cackle like a witch. She had recently developed this cackle, and I wondered if it was a defence mechanism, to stop people getting close. If so, it was certainly effective; only the resolute would try and pursue a conversation. Fortunately, most people knew I fostered, so no one was too offended.
Despite my various schemes to broaden her horizons – which had included the zoo, the cinema and a local museum – Jodie seemed only to enjoy the park, specifically the park playground. As soon as we reached the gate, she would rush in, and head straight for the swings. She rarely played with other children, or even acknowledged they were there. This was hardly surprising, as she barely interacted with me. Instead, she would swing up and down, muttering or singing to herself, until it was time to leave. She was the same when we tried to play sociable games at home; she preferred to play by herself, in her own little world.
On the few occasions she did initiate contact with other children, it was usually out of curiosity. She would see a smaller child doing something interesting, or wearing something that caught her eye, so she would walk over and stand in front of them, and stare at their chest; she still had a complete aversion to eye contact. Understandably, the other children would find this quite intimidating, although this didn’t seem to be Jodie’s intention. Nonetheless, it often led to a scene, with the child running to its mother to complain about ‘that girl’.
On one occasion, we were in the playground, and a young father came in with his two daughters. There’s an area in the playground for very young children, as these two were, so that was where they went to play. For some reason, this piqued Jodie’s interest, so she followed them over and stood there watching as they clambered over the castle-shaped climbing frame. I was a few metres away, keeping an eye on her. At one point, one of the girls was coming down the slide, and Jodie went over to watch, and stood a bit too close to the bottom so that she was in the little girl’s way. The girls’ father marched across, put his hands on Jodie’s shoulders and said, ‘Come on now, out of the way.’
I thought this was a little over the top, but I came over quickly and apologized to him. ‘Sorry about that. Come on Jodie, come and play on the swings.’
We turned and walked away, and as we did the man shouted after us, ‘You want to learn to keep your daughter under control.’
This was definitely uncalled for, but I didn’t respond, and Jodie and I carried on playing. A few minutes later a smartly dressed, middle-aged lady came into the playground, and headed purposefully towards us.
‘Excuse me,’ she said to me, ‘this is Jodie, isn’t it?’ She leaned down towards Jodie and smiled. ‘Hello, Jodie, it’s lovely to see you again.’ Jodie looked at her, and carried on swinging lazily. She held out her hand to me. ‘Hi, sorry, I’m Fiona. I used to be Jodie’s teacher.’
I shook her hand. ‘Hello there, I’m Cathy. I’m Jodie’s foster carer.’ I usually wouldn’t mention that I was a foster carer, for fear of embarrassing the child, but in this case it seemed safe to assume that Jodie’s teacher would know she had been taken into care. ‘How long did you teach Jodie for?’
‘A year,’ Fiona replied. She smiled at Jodie. Jodie looked back at her, blankly. Did she even recognize her? I wondered.
‘I must say,’ Fiona continued, ‘it’s nice to see Jodie looking so well, and so clean. It looks like you’re doing an excellent job.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ I replied. ‘Yes, we’re plodding along, aren’t we, sweet?’
Jodie nodded her head, not really understanding.
‘How long has she been with you?’ asked Fiona.
‘A few months now. She had a number of carers before me, but it looks like she’s settled now.’
‘Oh good. I’m sure that’s just what she needs. Well, I’ll let you get on and enjoy your afternoon. Jodie, it was really lovely to see you, and nice to meet you, Cathy.’
She left, and I stood on the grass verge, watching Jodie play. The father of the young girls started walking towards me, and my anxiety level rose.
‘Excuse me,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to bother you. I just wanted to apologize for my tone.’
‘Oh, right,’ I said, relieved. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter.’
‘I overheard you say you were a foster carer, but I’d just assumed she was your daughter.’
‘Not to worry. Sorry we were in the way.’
He smiled apologetically, and walked back to his girls.
As we walked home, I marvelled at the double standards. As a foster parent, you often have to deal with strangers who are quick to blame you for a child’s difficult behaviour. If they find out you’re fostering, however, they suddenly take a very different view. But why do they feel the need to criticize in the first place? Being a parent of any kind is difficult enough, without having to deal with strangers’ condemnation.
A few days later, I received a call from the headmaster of Elmacre: he said he was very sorry, but they couldn’t offer Jodie a place. My spirits sank, but he then explained that he had a colleague at a different school who might be able to offer a place. The colleague was Adam West, of Abbey Green School, and he had now been given my details and would shortly be in touch. I thanked him effusively, and with a grin on my face relayed the good news to Jodie.
‘Not going,’ she replied. ‘Hate school. Hate you. Hate everything.’ She stuck out her tongue, and stamped down the hall.