Damaged (21 page)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Assessment

O
n Monday morning I washed and dressed Jodie, then watched as she sat at the kitchen table, staring into space. Eventually I threw away the porridge she hadn’t touched, tucked a packet of crisps into my bag and helped her on with her coat and shoes. I had told her we were going to see Dr Burrows, but she was as lifeless as ever. I helped her out of the house, strapped her into her seatbelt and turned up the volume on her favourite singalong cassette. As we drove to the clinic she stared straight ahead at the seat in front of her, and said nothing. She was completely unreachable, and I wondered if she even knew where she was.

We arrived at the clinic and I gave our names to the receptionist, who told us to go straight through to the consulting room. I knocked and entered; Dr Burrows was arranging crayons on the child-size table. As soon as Jodie saw the doctor, her previous lethargy vanished and she erupted into a violent tantrum.

‘Don’t want to! Go away!’ She kicked the small plastic chairs across the room.

‘All right, Jodie,’ Dr Burrows soothed. ‘There’s nothing to be worried about. I’m here to help you.’

‘Don’t want your help! Piss off!’ Jodie covered her ears, screwed up her eyes and screamed for all she was worth.

The doctor motioned for me to do nothing, so I stayed where I was, as the cry reverberated around the walls in an agonizing crescendo. Eventually she ran out of breath, and the scream ended as abruptly as it had begun. She lowered her hands and darted to the table, throwing it against the wall. She overturned the toy boxes, kicked the contents across the floor, then turned to the filing cabinet, which had one drawer half open. Dr Burrows intercepted her.

‘No. You can’t go in there,’ she said calmly, placing herself between the filing cabinet and Jodie. ‘That’s mine and contains important papers. Not in there.’

To my surprise, Jodie accepted this, but her unspent anger turned inwards, upon herself. She grabbed a clump of her hair and tore it out. At this, I got up and restrained her. It might not have been the correct approach in the doctor’s eyes, but I wasn’t prepared to stand by and watch her harm herself. I held her wrists, then crossed her arms, enfolding her as I did at home. She struggled, spat and then finally went limp. I led her over to the sofa and put my arms around her. Whether Dr Burrows approved or not, I couldn’t tell. She sat opposite, and the room was quiet. I looked at the mess; the floor between us was covered in debris, a sea of destruction.

We sat in silence, then Dr Burrows leaned towards Jodie. Her voice was soft and low, and she was searching for eye contact. ‘I know you’re hurting, Jodie, and I want to try and stop that hurt. You let Cathy help you. Will you let me help you too? It would be really good if you did.’

It was a relaxed, non-threatening approach, which I was sure had worked with countless children before, but although Jodie was quiet, it was a silence I recognized as being withdrawn.

Dr Burrows gave me a reassuring smile, then repeated her request. Jodie didn’t move, and gave no indication that she’d even heard. The psychologist tried again, this time rephrasing it. ‘Jodie, Cathy has told me about how brave you’ve been; you’ve had an awful lot to deal with. But I think you’re finding this problem is too big to fix on your own. That’s why Cathy’s here, and that’s why I’m here too. Will you let me help you?’

Jodie continued staring at some indistinct point a yard or so ahead, remaining as closed off and removed as ever.

Dr Burrows sat back, and opened the notepad on her lap. ‘Cathy, perhaps you could tell me how Jodie’s been since we last met. I know you’ve been worried about her.’

I assumed this was a strategy to encourage Jodie to share her feelings, so I explained that she’d been doing extremely well, but that horrible memories from her past had been making her unhappy. I gave a couple of examples, to make it clear to Jodie that Dr Burrows knew her history and that she could be trusted. I said that the whole family was very worried; Adrian, Lucy and Paula cared a great deal for Jodie, and didn’t like to see her upset. Dr Burrows leaned forward again.

‘I see lots of children who are upset and angry because of things that have happened. It’s not their fault. I know ways to help. I help them get rid of some of the hurt, so they can be happy again. I’d like to help you, Jodie.’

The nature of our visit appeared to have changed from assessment to therapy, but unless Jodie engaged, and the pathway of communication opened, it would all be in vain.

‘I’d like you to help us,’ I said, hoping the ‘us’ might spark Jodie’s confidence, but she remained inert, staring straight ahead. Dr Burrows made another note in her pad.

‘Would you like to play a game, Jodie?’ she asked. ‘I could bring in the doll’s house.’

I looked at Jodie hopefully, but she made no move.

‘How about a drawing? You drew a lovely picture on your first visit. I’ve still got it.’

Jodie didn’t even look up.

‘I tell you what.’ The doctor rose from her chair. ‘Before we do anything, Cathy and I are going to put these toys back in the boxes. We’d like you to help us, please.’

I took my cue, slipped my arm from Jodie and joined the doctor on the floor. Presumably the aim was to engage Jodie in physical collaboration, in the hope that it would ease her into saying something. But as we repacked the toy boxes and picked up the crayons I could see out of the corner of my eye that Jodie wasn’t even looking at us, perhaps wasn’t even aware of us. A few minutes later we finished, and returned to our seats. Dr Burrows made some more notes in her pad, while I sat with my arm around Jodie. I couldn’t begin to guess what she was writing, but I supposed to her professional eye there were indicators, and possibly even a diagnosis, despite Jodie’s non-cooperation.

She closed her pad and smiled kindly. ‘That’s enough for today. Thank you both for coming. I’ll be in touch.’

I was taken aback, and wondered if this was another ploy to spark Jodie into communication. The psychologist stood up. ‘I’ll see you again soon, Jodie.’ The session was definitely finished.

I looked at Jodie, who was still motionless, wearing the same impenetrable stare.

‘OK, sweet, we can go home now.’ I took her hand and lifted her from the chair, as the doctor opened the door. As we walked out into the daylight I had an awful sense of foreboding.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Therapy

M
y sense of foreboding persisted through the following day. Jodie and I sat on the sofa as I read her one of her favourite rhymes by Shirley Hughes. ‘Bathwater’s hot, seawater’s cold. Ginger’s kittens are very young, but Buster’s getting old.’ In the past she had turned the pages eagerly, repeating the words, enjoying the pleasant sound of the rhyme. Now she seemed impervious; deaf and mute.

Jodie’s disturbance had reached a new level and I knew that what I could offer was grossly inadequate. There was something frightening as well as deeply saddening about watching her distress. How far could a personality fracture before it was impossible to put it back together? Where would all her misery and hurt take her in the end? It seemed as though it was leading her to a place of darkness and silence where, finally, no one would be able to reach her. I knew she needed help urgently. But what kind of help? And how could I comfort her?

I put the book down and held her close, as I replayed the previous day’s session with Dr Burrows in my head. I hadn’t expected a miracle cure, but I had hoped for at least a hint of progress. Instead the session had only served to demonstrate how disturbed Jodie was, and how powerless even the psychologist was to reach or help her. I stroked a few strands of hair from her forehead, and looked at her pale, unresponsive face. Was it possible that she would be trapped like this forever?

‘I feel so helpless, Jodie,’ I whispered. ‘I wish I could do something. I wish I was a fairy godmother and I could wave a magic wand so all your troubles would go away.’

I looped my arms under her shoulders, eased her on to my lap and rocked her gently. She remained impassive. My gaze drifted to the window as a rogue snowflake floated past. It was followed by another, and then another. They drifted down as if from heaven, and then melted as they touched the patio.

‘Look, Jodie!’ I raised her head towards the window. ‘It’s trying to snow and it’s April!’

She looked up, and her eyes seemed to focus for a second.

‘Shall we go outside and have a look? You like snow, don’t you? Please look.’

But the moment passed, and she turned her head back to the floor, showing no emotion or recognition.

I put her to bed at seven and, with the girls at their piano lessons and Adrian coming home much later, I had the house to myself. I tried to read, but I couldn’t concentrate. I put on a CD of classical music, but it only made me sad. In the end I sat watching TV, keeping the volume low so I could hear if Jodie stirred. I went to bed early and, as I lay awake, I prayed for the first time in thirty years.

In the morning I fancied there was some small improvement. Jodie came downstairs on her own, and managed a few spoonfuls of Weetabix. Sadly, though, it didn’t last. Half an hour later she was curled foetally on the sofa again, silent and withdrawn.

Jill phoned at 9.30. The new team leader had called an emergency planning meeting for 11.00, and my presence was required. She didn’t know exactly why the meeting had been called, but said it suggested things might be starting to move. Dr Burrows may have recommended that therapy start immediately. Alternatively, if we dared hope, new evidence might have emerged that would finally put Jodie’s abusers behind bars. Jill’s colleague, Lisa, had offered to babysit, and would arrive in about an hour. Finally, some action, I thought. I looked down at Jodie, and felt my hopes begin to rise.

Lisa arrived in good time, and I introduced her to Jodie, who did at least manage to look in her direction. I showed her where the coffee and biscuits were, then left, as she began reading a Barbie magazine to Jodie. I’d changed into my smart ‘meetings’ suit, and my spirits continued to lift as I drove to the Social Services. Perhaps something good was going to come out of this; finally other people had begun to understand what I had known for some time – that the extent of Jodie’s troubles was extraordinary and that she needed specialist help and immediate therapy. Someone had to know how to unlock her and restore her to life.

I parked in the multi-storey car park nearby, and took the lift down to the street with ten minutes to spare.

The ornate stone building, which had once been the old town hall, was now surrounded by high-rise flats, and retained only the façade of its previous gentility. I heaved open the double doors and walked in. As usual, it was full. People of all ages and nationalities were sitting, standing or pacing as they waited anxiously for their numbers to appear on the electronic display suspended from the ceiling. As I walked through the mêlée a toddler grabbed the hem of my skirt, before his mother whisked him back on to her lap, smiling an apology.

I approached the reception desk. ‘Cathy Glass,’ I said, as the receptionist slid the glass partition just far enough to hear. ‘I’m here for the eleven o’clock meeting in respect of Jodie Brown. I’m her carer.’

With stoic resignation she ticked my name off a printed list, then handed me a stick-on security pass, with ‘Visitor’ printed in large black letters. I pressed it on to my coat.

‘Room seven,’ she said. ‘Through the double doors, up the stairs, and it’s on your left.’ The partition slid shut before I or anyone else could poke a head in.

I knew the layout of the building, having attended many meetings here in the past. Room seven was one of the largest, and as I climbed the stairs I realized that it was also where Jodie’s pre-placement meeting had taken place almost a year earlier. It was hard to believe that it had been so long. I thought back to that day and cringed at my cavalier assumptions at the time. Back then I had been in no doubt that all any child needed was care, firm guidelines, encouragement and attention, and I had had no doubt that this Jodie would end up as another success. I had been so confident that I would reach Jodie just has I had reached so many troubled children and helped to put them back on the road to recovery and as normal a life as possible. But for once my tried and tested methods had failed me. At least I wasn’t alone in not being able to reach the source of Jodie’s torment. Nevertheless, I wondered if anyone in room seven would show their disappointment.

Jill, Sally and Gail, the new team manager, were already seated along two sides of the polished mahogany table. They smiled as I walked in, and Gail introduced herself. I exchanged a ‘Good morning’ with Sally, and sat next to Jill.

‘We’re just waiting for Dr Burrows and Mary from finance,’ Gail said. ‘Eileen’s on leave, I’m afraid. And Jodie’s headmaster won’t be coming, but he has submitted a report.’

I slipped off my coat, draped it over the back of my chair, and took heart from the fact that finance had been invited. Usually, finance people were only present when funding needed to be found. And funding would be required in order to embark on therapy.

‘How is she?’ Jill asked quietly.

‘Pretty much the same. But once she’s in therapy I’m sure things will start to improve.’

‘Let’s hope so,’ she smiled.

The door opened and Mary rushed in, clutching a thick wad of papers; she apologized for being late. She sat opposite me, and I was dying to ask how much therapy their budget would stretch to, but I knew it would be poor protocol to do so before the meeting had even started. Gail and Mary spoke quietly between themselves, discussing a different case. Then the door opened again, and Dr Burrows appeared carrying a briefcase, looking more like a city worker than a psychologist in her smart grey suit. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, but the cab was late.’

Gail waited for her to sit down, and then opened the meeting. She thanked us all for coming, minuted the date, the time, and the names of those present, and then asked us to each introduce ourselves.

After the introductions she looked down the length of the table. ‘We’re here to assess the present situation with regard to Jodie, and to decide how best to proceed. I think it would be helpful to start with you, Cathy, then, Sally, if you could go next. I’ll read out the school’s report, and perhaps if you would conclude, Dr Burrows.’

We murmured our agreement.

I’d rehearsed what I was going to say during the drive over. I was going to be positive about Jodie’s initial progress, without minimizing her need for help. I took a deep breath, and began.

‘As you know, Jodie showed very challenging behaviour when she came to me, to such a degree that she had been through five carers in four months. She was extremely aggressive and confrontational, and suffered from delayed development. She had poor bowel control and very low self-esteem. She exhibited sexualized behaviour towards men and women.

‘Over time, she settled into our household routine and began to respond to the clear boundaries I set, and the positive encouragement. As her anxiety decreased she became less violent and was learning to manage her anger. However, as she began to feel safe she started to disclose. The extent of the sexual abuse she has suffered at the hands of her family is horrendous.

‘As the disclosures continued, her progress halted, and she became increasingly disturbed. Since that time she has suffered from night terrors, vivid hallucinations, and her personality seems to be fragmenting.

‘Over the last two weeks, as you know, Jodie’s condition has deteriorated further, and faster. Despite all my encouragement and reassurance, she now spends large parts of the day in bed, and takes virtually no interest in what is going on around her. She rarely speaks or eats, and I often find her crying silently to herself. In January she joined the Abbey Green Primary School, where she was supported by a full-time assistant. Initially she made some progress, but since her deterioration she’s been unable to attend. She’s missed more than three weeks in total.’

I looked them in the eye as I spoke, and saw concern and disquiet reflected back. ‘I admit I am at a loss to know how to reach Jodie, and help her come to terms with her experiences. In my view she needs the help of a professional psychotherapist. Given our earlier success, I’m optimistic that once therapy has begun we can resume making progress.’

Gail thanked me, and handed over to Sally, the guardian ad litum. Sally listed the dates when she’d visited, and praised my success in gaining Jodie’s trust, which had allowed her to disclose. She said that while she hadn’t had the chance to observe Jodie recently, she had been in close contact with Dr Burrows and Eileen, and was thus fully abreast of the current situation. She’d seen Jodie’s parents, and made them aware of how badly Jodie had been affected by the disclosures. Jodie’s father had been unmoved and was still adamant that Jodie was making it up, but Mrs Brown had broken down in tears. She said nothing more about Jodie’s parents – and with her professionalism, there was no question that she would – but there was an inference that there was not much doubt of their joint culpability in what had happened to Jodie.

I felt no sympathy on hearing that Jodie’s mother had broken down; my immediate reaction was that it was a sham, to cover up her own guilt. I had no doubt that what Jodie had told me was the truth. There was no other way a child of her age could know the things she knew and describe the things she had described; and I only had to look at her disintegration to know that what she had said had happened.

I could hardly bear to think about her parents. I hated the thought that they were free to continue their daily lives and whatever degradations they got up to, while their daughter was imprisoned inside the pain and suffering they had caused. What they had inflicted on Jodie had condemned her to a life sentence.

‘Jodie is a very badly damaged child,’ Sally concluded, ‘and my recommendations will be wholly in line with Dr Burrows’ findings.’

There was silence, as Gail made a note, then she took a sheet from her file and read out the headmaster’s report. At the time of writing, Jodie had attended a total of seventy-two days, and Mr West had based his observations on both her academic ability and how she interacted with her peers. At present she was learning to sequence the alphabet and the numbers up to twenty. She had no sight vocabulary but had been working on a target of learning five new words a week. Her concentration was very limited, and she was being encouraged to spend longer on tasks, and to work independently. She had found difficulty in making friends, largely due to her erratic and strange behaviour. The test results showed she was at about the average level of a four-year-old in terms of reading and writing. His concluding sentence summed it up perfectly:

‘Jodie’s education and social development are being severely restricted by her experiences, and until these have been addressed I feel her achievements will be negligible.’

Gail filed away the report, and I felt my pulse quicken as Dr Burrows opened her file. She would be the final speaker, and after she had given her recommendations Mary would do her sums and then funding would be confirmed, so that we could start Jodie on the path to recovery. I only hoped it would be adequate. My feeling was that she needed at least two one-hour sessions a week.

‘As you know,’ Dr Burrows began, ‘I have been appointed by the court to assess Jodie in respect of the full care proceedings. While this was originally intended to determine the feasibility of her returning to live at home, what has come out since confirms that returning home is impossible, so I am now addressing the issue of her present mental health.’ She proceeded to give a clinical appraisal of Jodie’s condition, making reference to our last two appointments. I appreciated that Dr Burrows’ presence and her report indicated just how seriously everyone was now taking this matter. The psychologist was only supposed to submit her comments at the final proceedings later in the year, but she had stepped outside her remit from the court to give her analysis earlier. What she had observed about Jodie had caused her such concern that she knew immediate action had to be taken – hence her presence at this meeting, despite her extremely busy schedule.