Nicola came to give Jodie her last lesson before Christmas, and the following day the girls’ school and Adrian’s college both broke up. Suddenly, the five of us were together all day. However, I use the term ‘together’ loosely, for although we were under the same roof, togetherness was avoided, and not only by Jodie. Adrian, Paula and Lucy spent most of their time in their rooms, and when they did come down they were met with a kick, a punch or a volley of ‘What you doing? Get out. It’s my house now’ and so on. Her attitude to the others had not softened much in her time with us. Illogically, the more attention I gave her, the more jealous she was of the others.
I explained to Jodie over and over again that we all lived together, as a family, but she wasn’t open to reason. Even so, although she didn’t want the family, it seemed that she did want me. Her possessiveness had been consolidated by the weeks when there had been just the two of us during the day, and I was starting to resent it. She demanded my constant attention, and I saw that she was doing what no other child had done before: undermining the fabric of our family. Normally, I would have dealt with this by trying to put some distance between us, but this was virtually impossible with Jodie, because of the high level of her needs.
Jodie’s hostility and aggression had a powerful effect on everyone in the house and created an unpleasant atmosphere. Even when she was up in her room, we could feel it in the house, like a malevolent presence. At dinner, on the occasions when we did all eat together, I would have to carry the conversation, as the children had become inhibited by Jodie’s endless snapping and kept quiet. We were even looking at each other less, because if any of us looked in Jodie’s direction this was liable to set her off. One glance could quickly lead to a tantrum, and no one wanted to be responsible, however indirectly, for ruining yet another meal.
We were also communicating with each other less, as the nature of Jodie’s abuse meant that we were limited to a very narrow range of conversation. We couldn’t, for instance, discuss Lucy’s new boyfriend, even though he was pretty much the only thing on her mind. In fact, men of all ages had become effectively taboo in our house; we were even wary of discussing pop stars on TV.
With the girls at home, I became acutely aware of the physical distance that Jodie had created between herself and the rest of the family. In the first few months after her arrival, Jodie had needed lots of hugs and comfort, but recently she had cut out almost all physical contact, even when she woke screaming in the night. I was always hugging and kissing the girls, and to a lesser degree Adrian, and this made it immediately apparent how isolated Jodie had become. I tried to remedy this, of course, but when I tried to hug her before she went up to bed, or asked her to sit next to me on the sofa, she would make a joke of being disgusted, and either shake her head or simply run away.
I was always upset when she did this, because it was clear that she was terribly sad and lonely, and I wanted nothing more than to show her the affection and love that my children took for granted. I’m no psychologist, but my guess was that the legacy of abuse had tarnished physical contact in her mind, and made it uncomfortable and frightening. It was an awful catch-22: Jodie needed affection more than anyone I’d ever known, but the means by which affection is communicated would only contribute to her anxiety.
Sally, the guardian ad litum, came to visit and asked to spend some time alone with Jodie. I left the two of them in the lounge, and took the opportunity to spend some time with Lucy and Paula, while Adrian was out with his friends. Jodie had been disruptive and aggressive all morning, and I found Paula sitting despondently on her bed. ‘I wish I was back at school,’ she admitted. ‘I’m dreading Christmas. She’ll ruin it.’
‘No she won’t. We won’t let her. And we may find it’s just what she needs to open her heart. I know it’s difficult, but she can’t keep this up for ever.’
‘Can’t she? She’s done a good job so far. I daren’t even bring my friends home because of how she is.’
I was taken aback. My usually sociable daughter was now too embarrassed to bring friends home. I went over and hugged her. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. How about you arrange a sleepover when she’s away on respite? Videos, midnight feast, the lot?’
She brightened a little. ‘OK, Mum. I’m sorry.’
‘No need to apologize. I understand.’
I went into Lucy’s room, but the second I mentioned Jodie’s name she turned on me.
‘It’s all we ever talk about. Jodie, bloody Jodie. I’m sick to death of her. I wish she’d never come. You won’t change her, Cathy, whatever you do. Surely you can see that by now? She’s evil. She’s needs a bloody priest, not a carer.’
I wondered if Sally had noticed the tension in the house, for as she was about to leave she paused in the hall and placed her hand on my arm. ‘Cathy, you’re doing a really good job, but make sure you and your family don’t suffer. These children can play havoc with your emotions. Remember, her damage isn’t your responsibility. You can only do so much.’
I found Sally’s words comforting. It was nice to hear someone say something positive and to recognize what was going on. I respected Sally – she managed to combine professionalism with an ability to empathize that made me feel she understood.
Later that afternoon, Eileen phoned. ‘Hello, Cathy,’ she said, in her flat, plodding way. ‘We’ve got a bit of a problem.’
‘Oh yes?’ I replied, unperturbed. I was used to social workers telling me ‘we’ had problems. It usually meant that something unpleasant was coming my way.
‘When we sent a copy of the doctor’s letter to Jodie’s parents, someone forgot to blank out your details, so I’m afraid they sent them your name and address.’ As usual, she didn’t sound very sorry at all. I was furious. I’d been worrying about the Ear, Nose and Throat department being indiscreet, but meanwhile the Social Services had been handing out my details. I thought back to the silent phone call I’d received when Nicola had been with us; could that have been Jodie’s parents?
‘I see,’ I said. ‘That’s really going to make Jodie feel safe! I can’t say I’m surprised, though. When did it happen?’
‘I’m not sure exactly. We only found out when Jodie’s mother phoned today, demanding contact. She threatened to come to your house if we didn’t arrange it. Obviously, we told her that was unacceptable, but I thought you should know.’
‘Thanks,’ I said tersely. ‘And what did she say? Is she still planning on coming round?’
‘I don’t think so. She only mentioned it once. But don’t worry, if she does come round we’ll apply for an injunction straight away.’
Yes, I thought, but an injunction’s only a piece of paper. I’d had angry parents turning up on my doorstep before, and I knew waving a scrap of paper at them wouldn’t have had much of an effect. If a child is on a Voluntary Care Order, or we’re working towards rehabilitating the child so that he or she can go back home and the parents are cooperating, then there’s no problem in them knowing where the child and I live. Indeed, sometimes contact takes place in my house. But that clearly wasn’t the case here, far from it. It was blindingly obvious that the highest level of care should have been taken to protect my details and that hadn’t happened.
Eileen was impervious to my frustration, and there wasn’t much I could do about the situation now. An injunction was as useful as locking the stable door after the horse had bolted.
‘Right,’ I said stiffly. ‘Thanks for letting me know.’ And ended the call.
I was angry, of course, but, as I’d said to Eileen, I wasn’t terribly surprised. While the care proceedings are in progress, there are a huge number of documents flying around, between the parents, solicitors, social workers, the guardian ad litum and others. The present system relies on someone in the office at Social Services remembering to blank out the confidential details from every document, so it’s inevitable that there will be mistakes. In my experience, about 50 per cent of parents are given my address at some point, which in my view is unacceptable.
As a result, when there is a breach of confidentiality, we as a family have to take special precautions. My children always look through the spyhole before answering the door, and if it’s someone they don’t recognize, they don’t open it; instead, they fetch me. Foster children don’t answer the door at all. On top of this, we have an expensive alarm system, a Chubb lock, and I always look up and down the road before leaving the house. After a while it becomes second nature, and we have all learned that we simply have to accept the risks. Thank goodness that, apart from some nasty verbal confrontations, none of us has been placed in real danger.
My patience with Eileen, however, was stretched to the limit a few days later. For reasons known only to themselves, Social Services decided to call a meeting to discuss Jodie’s mother’s threat to come round, and they wanted Jill and me to attend. We marvelled that they had the time, so close to Christmas. And what were we going to discuss in any case? No one could take back the information now that it had been released; taking out an injunction forbidding Jodie’s parents to come near my property would have been pointless; the only other option was to move Jodie to new carers, which was clearly in no one’s interests – especially not Jodie’s. And who would take her anyway, with her complex needs, and at such short notice?
The meeting went as I had expected. We discussed all the possible options, before deciding on the sensible course: namely, to do nothing. I was relieved to get out of there and was just shaking my head at the monumental waste of time we had all been through when Eileen caught up with me in the corridor.
‘Cathy, just before you go, can I give you this? It’s a Christmas present for Jodie. Her father asked me to pass it on to her.’
I stared at her, astonished, as she held out a well-used Tesco carrier bag.
‘I’m not sure it’s really appropriate, Eileen,’ I said, with forced diplomacy and reminding myself of my professionalism. ‘Contact has been suspended, and present-giving is usually classified as contact, particularly in a case like this. Jodie feels very hostile towards her parents at the moment, understandably.’
‘Oh, right,’ she replied, mulling this over. ‘Do you want me to give it back then?’ As she said this, she pulled the unwrapped present out of the bag, presumably to show me how harmless it was, and that I was being over-cautious. It was a bright pink, long-sleeved T-shirt, with ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’ printed on the front in big sparkly letters. Eileen looked at it, then held it up. ‘So you don’t think Jodie would like it?’ she said.
I was almost lost for words as I looked at her holding up a T-shirt that was just about the most bitterly ironic thing I’d ever seen.
‘Eileen,’ I said, slowly and deliberately, ‘Jodie has been sexually abused by her father, probably for most of her life. I don’t think a T-shirt calling her daddy’s little girl is very appropriate, do you? If I gave her this, Jodie would be terrified by the sight of it.’
The penny dropped. ‘Oh, yes. Right, I take your point. We’ll give it back then. Have a lovely Christmas!’
By the time I reached my car, I was still shaking my head in astonishment.