Jodie ignored me, grabbed her glass, and plonked herself in the place I had vacated on the sofa next to Jill. I sat next to Gary, while Jill pacified Jodie with a game on her mobile phone. I watched her for a few moments. So this was the child who was going to be living with us. It was hard to make much of her so early on; most children displayed difficult behaviour in their first few days in a new home. Nevertheless, there was an unusual air about her that I couldn’t quite understand: it was anger, of course, and stubbornness, mixed with something else that I wasn’t sure I had seen before. Only time would tell, I thought. I observed Jodie’s uncoordinated movements and the way her tongue lolled over her bottom lip. I noted almost guiltily how it gave her a dull, vacant air, and reminded myself that she was classified as having only ‘mild’ learning difficulties, rather than ‘severe’.
A quarter of an hour later, all the placement forms had been completed. I signed them and Gary gave me my copies. Deirdre and Ann immediately stood to leave.
‘We’ll unpack the car,’ said Ann. ‘There’s rather a lot.’
Leaving Jodie with Gary and Jill, I quickly put on my shoes and coat, and we got gradually drenched as we went back and forth to the car. ‘Rather a lot’ turned out to be an understatement. I’d never seen so many bags and holdalls for a child in care. We stacked them the length of the hall, then the two women said a quick goodbye to Jodie. She ignored them, obviously feeling the rejection. Gary stayed for another ten minutes, chatting with Jodie about me and my home, then he too made a move to leave.
‘I want to come,’ she grinned, sidling up to him. ‘Take me with you. I want to go in your car.’
‘I don’t have a car,’ said Gary gently. ‘And you’re staying with Cathy. Remember we talked about it? This is your lovely new home now.’ He picked up his briefcase and got halfway to the door, then Jodie opened her mouth wide and screamed. It was truly ear piercing. I rushed over and put my arms around her, and nodded to Gary to go. He slipped out, and I held her until the noise subsided. There were no tears, but her previously pale cheeks were now flushed bright red.
The last person left was Jill. She came out into the hall and got her coat.
‘Will you be all right, Cathy?’ she asked, as she prepared to venture out into the rain. ‘I’ll phone about five.’ She knew that the sooner Jodie and I were left alone, the sooner she’d settle.
‘We’ll be fine, won’t we, Jodie?’ I said. ‘I’ll show you around and then we’ll unpack.’
I was half expecting another scream, but she just stared at me, blank and uncomprehending. My heart went out to her; she must have felt so lost in what was her sixth home in four months. I held her hand as we saw Jill out.
Now it was just the two of us. I’d been in this situation many times before, welcoming a confused and hurt little person into my home, waiting patiently as they acclimatized to a new and strange environment, but this felt different somehow. There was something in the blankness in Jodie’s eyes that was chilling. I hadn’t seen it before, in a child or an adult. I shook myself mentally. Come on, I cajoled. She’s a little girl and you’ve got twenty years’ experience of looking after children. How hard can it be?
I led her back into the living room and, right on cue, Toscha reappeared. I showed Jodie the correct way to stroke her, but she lost interest as soon as I’d begun.
‘I’m hungry. I want a biscuit.’ She made a dash for the kitchen.
I followed and was about to explain that too many biscuits aren’t good, when I noticed a pungent smell. ‘Jodie, do you want the toilet?’ I asked casually.
She shook her head.
‘Do you want to do a poo?’
‘No!’ She grinned, and before I realized what she was doing, her hand was in her pants, and she smeared faeces across her face.
‘Jodie!’ I grabbed her wrist, horrified.
She cowered instantly, protecting her face. ‘You going to hit me?’
‘No, Jodie. Of course not. I’d never do that. You’re going to have a bath, and next time tell me when you want the toilet. You’re a big girl now.’
Slowly, I led my new charge up the stairs and she followed, clumsy, lumbering and her face smeared with excrement.
What had I let myself in for?
Chapter Four A New Little Sister
Foster carers aren’t saints. We’re just ordinary parents with space in our homes and hearts for one more. But as I turned on the shower, and helped Jodie out of her clothes and her soiled underwear, I wondered if my heart was truly big enough. I put her under the shower of hot water and began to sponge her down. My stomach lurched as the heat intensified the smell, and I closed my mouth and tried to breathe through my nose. I cleaned her face and hands, then between the folds of pale skin around her middle. Jodie was pear-shaped, which is unusual for a child, and she had hips like a middle-aged woman. She was docile, though, lifting her arms in the air and making no effort to help. She seemed to enjoy being treated like a baby. I consoled myself that at least the rest of the family weren’t home to witness the new arrival’s house-warming trick.
I couldn’t help feeling puzzled by it – she hadn’t been distressed by her accident at all, and it was unlikely that someone of her age had no bowel control and wasn’t aware of when they were about to do a poo. So had it been deliberate? Surely not. It was probably anxiety.
I helped her out of the bath and wrapped a towel round her. ‘Dry yourself, Jodie, while I put these in the wash.’ I scooped up the soiled clothes and carried them downstairs to the washing machine. I added a few drops of disinfectant to the soap, and turned the dial to 80 degrees. The sound of Jodie talking to herself floated down from the bathroom and I could hear her muttering isolated words and phrases which didn’t string together, and didn’t make any sense.
Returning down the hall, I took the largest suitcase and heaved it upstairs. ‘You OK, Jodie?’ I called, as I crossed the landing.
Silence, then, ‘Yeah,’ before she lapsed into gobbledegook once again.
In her bedroom, I unzipped the case, and picked out joggers, a jumper and underwear, and carried them through to the bathroom. She was standing as I’d left her, wrapped in the towel but still dripping wet.
‘Come on,’ I encouraged, ‘dry yourself. You’re a big girl now.’
She shook her head sulkily, and I started patting her dry. She was like a seven-stone infant, and very cumbersome, and I was sure some of this was due to the rolls of fat.
‘Don’t want those,’ she said, spying the clothes I’d brought in.
‘OK, when you’re dry we’ll find some others. You’ve got lots to choose from. Now come on before you get cold.’
She pulled out of the towel and darted naked along the landing to her room, where she began rummaging through the clothes. She held up a pair of pink shorts and a T-shirt. I tried to explain that they weren’t suitable for the chilly weather, but I might as well have been talking Russian for all the response I got.
‘How
