either. I was becoming as desensitized as her. I read her the Topsy and Tim story, then said goodnight and went downstairs. I made a note of the conversation in my log, then stepped outside for a cigarette. As I stood there in the freezing night air, I wondered if there was a course I could take in basic psychotherapy. I decided not. If I made an amateur attempt to help Jodie, it would probably do more harm than good. All I could do was continue along the same lines as I had been, using a common-sense approach which restated normality, but did little or nothing for the profound psychological damage that had already been done. Not for the first time since Jodie’s arrival, I felt completely inadequate.
On Sunday morning Jodie was buzzing with energy, and I had to deal with a barrage of questions about school. Would she have homework? Was there playtime? Did the teacher have a husband? A daddy? Would it rain? Adopting my usual policy of trying to burn off some of her nervous energy, I took her out on her bike.
‘It’s so cold,’ I remarked, pulling up my collar. ‘I think it could snow again.’
‘What’s snow?’ she asked, as we climbed the hill. I tried to remind her as best I could, telling how much she had loved it earlier in the month when it had snowed over three days, but Jodie suddenly decided that she wanted snow immediately, and became angry when I couldn’t or, according to her, wouldn’t produce it. A full-scale tantrum ensued, and she lay prostrate on the pavement, banging her fists and demanding snow for a good fifteen minutes. It would have been comical if I hadn’t been so cold. When we got back to the house, I sat her in front of a video until dinner was ready. She was just as hyperactive after dinner, and had another tantrum when I wouldn’t go out to buy her some ice cream. I managed to persuade her to take a bath, and this calmed her down enough for bed at seven. Tomorrow would be her first day at school for more than a year, and I was praying that it would be a good one.
Jodie was up and down all night, but in the morning she was bright and excited, whereas I was just exhausted. She changed into her school uniform, and we only had one small hiccup when she demanded to wear her lacy tights, but I eventually managed to dissuade her.
We arrived at school early, so we sat in the car for a while, listening to the radio. Although Jodie was excited, I could tell she was also a little nervous, and I was nervous too, on her behalf.
I held Jodie’s hand as we walked up to the school gates. I gave it a squeeze, and we entered the school building. Mrs Rice came and met us in reception. Because of Jodie’s learning difficulties, it had been arranged that I would hand her over to Mrs Rice every morning, and she would hand her back at the end of the day. I gave Jodie a hug, and watched anxiously as Mrs Rice led her down the corridor.
As soon as I arrived home, the phone rang. It was Jill; she’d received the notes I’d emailed on Sunday about Jodie’s granddads, and she’d already spoken to Eileen. They had checked the records, and confirmed that there were definitely no grandparents on the scene; it was done with such speed that I wondered if Eileen’s manager had spoken to her. Jodie’s maternal grandmother was alive, but had fallen out with her daughter years ago, and there was no contact between them. Jodie had never known her grandfathers on either side. There was a pause, as Jill waited for me to come to the obvious conclusion.
‘They’re in the same category as the so-called uncles, paedophiles in the guise of family members?’ I said. Jodie had previously described some of her other abusers as uncles and aunts, but it appeared that these were not actual relatives; rather, they were friends of Jodie’s parents, who had been described as family members as an easy way of introducing strangers into the home environment.
‘We think so. It looks as though Jodie’s parents must have been part of a network. The police are running a check now for registered offenders,’ Jill replied. ‘If the names Wilson or Price come up on their list for the area they’ll take them in for questioning. But I have to be honest, Cathy, I’m not optimistic. If these people haven’t been convicted before, they won’t be on the list. There’s another thing too. Eileen’s had the results of the forensic medical back.’
‘Yes?’
Jill lowered her voice. ‘It confirms that Jodie’s been penetrated, but without DNA, or third-party evidence, there’s not enough for a criminal prosecution. She has been abused, but to get a conviction you need to prove who was responsible.’
‘Who on earth do you think must have been responsible? Isn’t it clear that Jodie’s telling the truth? The forensic result just confirms everything she’s been saying.’ I sighed. ‘So what now?’
‘We keep going, and hope something comes up. Eileen’s realized that Jodie’s due for an LAC review – it’s actually overdue. Is it all right if we have it at your house? She’s suggested Thursday afternoon at two o’clock.’
‘Yes, that’s fine.’
‘Eileen wants Jodie to be there. I know … an afternoon off school when she’s just started, and I know she won’t be able to contribute anything. But Eileen’s suddenly one for the rule book, and she is within her rights to insist.’
I felt the mixture of anger and frustration that so often seemed to dog me when dealing with Eileen. ‘OK, I’ll pick her up from school at lunchtime,’ I said, and, after a quick goodbye, hung up.
LAC stands for Looked After Children, which is the official term for children in care. A LAC review is a regular meeting, required under the Children’s Act, and attended by all those involved in the child’s case. The purpose of the meeting is to report on the child’s progress and decide on any actions which need to be taken. Jodie’s parents wouldn’t be present, of course, because contact had been suspended, but the guardian ad litum, the child’s social worker, her team leader, the headmaster, Jill, Jodie and myself would all be there. However, since Jodie was still functioning at the level of a four-year-old, her presence was likely to offer little more than disruption.
With Jodie at school, I vowed to make the most of my first free day in months. I sat on the sofa and started to plan my day. Three hours later I woke up, and as I came to I chided myself for the time I’d wasted. It was now 12.45, and I had less than two hours before I’d have to make the return journey to school. I rushed to the supermarket, but by the time I got home I realized I’d have to give up my fantasy of reading in peace for an hour. Still, I comforted myself, I must have needed the sleep. I was getting so little at night, and that was broken every few hours by Jodie’s night-time torments. No wonder I couldn’t keep my eyes open the minute I had the opportunity to relax.
I arrived back at the school and waited by the gates, exchanging smiles with a few of the other mothers. Had they heard about Jodie already, I wondered? How would the other children have described her? Mrs Rice appeared, with Jodie jumping up and down beside her, and told me Jodie had had a good day. This was confirmed in the car, as Jodie wouldn’t stop talking all the way home. She told me over and over again about all the children in her class, most of whom were now her new best friends – and she wanted all of them to come round for tea, just like Paula’s friends did.
Adrian, Lucy and Paula were already in when we got home, so Jodie had a new audience for her excitable monologue, and they listened with patience. It continued throughout dinner to the extent that I had to remind her to eat, which was definitely a first. She settled easily that night, as she was physically and emotionally exhausted, and I did much the same.
Just after midnight I was woken by the sound of Jodie sobbing on the landing. I pulled on my dressing gown, hurried out of my room and found her lying on the carpet
