The Saddest Girl in the World

by Cathy Glass

  I went round the landing and knocked lightly on Donna's door. ‘Are you dressed?’ I asked quietly, not wanting to wake Adrian and Paula.

  Donna's small voice came back. ‘Yes, Cath-ie.’

  I went in. She was sitting on the bed, hunched forward, arms folded into her waist and head down. The colourful beads from her bracelet were now strewn across the floor.

  ‘Oh dear, have you broken your bracelet?’ I asked, wondering if this had anything to do with what had just happened in the kitchen.

  She shook her head, and in that movement I saw a small guilt. I was almost certain that the two incidents were somehow connected, and that she had possibly broken the bracelet on purpose.

  ‘Donna,’ I said, sitting next to her on the bed, ‘can you please try to tell me what's going through your mind?’ It was at times like this that I really wished I was a psychiatrist, with a better understanding of what made children tick, rather than a mother and carer who had to rely on intuition, some training, and experience from looking after children.

  Donna shrugged again.

  ‘When we were in the kitchen, why did you think I was going to hit you?’ I asked gently, taking her hand in mine. She didn't resist, and I stroked the back of her hand and waited.

  She shrugged again.

  ‘Come on, love. I want so much to understand and help you. But I can't unless you try to tell me. Why were you cleaning? You didn't accidentally spill something, did you?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘So why did you think I was going to hit you? That worries me.’

  Her mouth opened and closed before she spoke; then eventually she said quietly, ‘My mum did. If I didn't clean well.’

  ‘Your mum hit you for not cleaning properly?’ I asked.

  She nodded.

  Good grief! I thought, but I kept my voice steady as I asked, ‘How often did that happen, Donna?’

  She shrugged again, then after a moment said, ‘Lots. It was my job to clean the house for when Edna came. Mum said if I didn't keep the house clean Edna would take us away.’

  ‘I see,’ I said. ‘Thank you for telling me.’ The logic of trying to clean the house before the social worker made her visit had a dismal ring of truth about it. Edna had said she thought Donna had felt responsible for them being taken into care, and Donna had admitted to me the night before that she blamed herself, but I doubted Edna knew the extent of Donna's sense of responsibility, or that her mother had made her clean, and had hit her for not doing the job properly. I would have to remember as much as possible of what Donna was telling me so that I could write it in my log notes, then tell Edna when I spoke to her. ‘Donna, when you say your mother hit you “lots”, what do you mean? Every month? Every week?’

  ‘Every day,’ she said in a small voice. ‘With a coat hanger.’

  ‘A coat hanger?’ I asked, horrified.

  ‘A wire one. She unbended it so it was long. It hurt.’

  I inwardly cringed and gently rubbed the back of her hand. ‘I'm sure it did hurt, sweet. That was very, very wrong of your mother. No adult should ever hit a child. A mother shouldn't, and I certainly won't.’ Obvious, but not necessarily to Donna, who — from what she was telling me — had been beaten on a daily basis.

  ‘The boys used a skipping rope,’ she added matter-of-factly.

  I stopped rubbing her hand. ‘Your brothers hit you too?’

  She nodded. ‘With the skipping rope. It had a wooden end on it.’

  I stared at her, aghast. ‘Why did they hit you?’

  ‘When I didn't do the cleaning as good as I should. Mum said they could. And they liked it.’ I felt such a surge of anger towards Warren and Jason at that moment that had they been in the room I would have given them a good telling-off, although in reality they were probably as much victims as Donna was, having learned their behaviour in a household that appeared to survive on perverted discipline.

  ‘Donna, love,’ I said, ‘that was so very wrong of them. People don't hit each other, and certainly not members of the same family. Brothers and sisters, mums and dads should take care of each other, not bully them and cause them pain. I will never hit you,’ I said, reinforcing what I had said before. ‘Neither will Adrian or Paula.’ The notion of which seemed slightly ludicrous, given that Adrian and Paula were much smaller than Donna, but then Warren and Jason were only six and seven.

  Donna gave a faint nod, and I continued to look at her downcast profile. ‘What about Chelsea and your dad? Did they hit you?’

  ‘Chelsea did, but not Dad. I looked after him when he wasn't well. I tried to get him to take his tablets, so that he would be well. He was kind to me.’

  Well, at least that was something, I thought. Donna had one ally in a house of abusers, as long as she reminded her schizophrenic father to take his medication. What a horrendous way to live! ‘Did your mother hit your brothers and Chelsea?’ I asked. All the information I gathered would help Edna, and ultimately the judge to decide the long-term care plans for the boys and Donna.

  ‘Sometimes Mum hit my brothers,’ Donna said softly. ‘But not often. Only when the boys were really getting on her nerves. Sometimes Chelsea and Mum had an argument and they hit each other.’

  ‘The boys didn't get hit for not doing things like cleaning?’ I asked.

  Donna shook her head. ‘Mum only hit them when she had been drinking and they got on her nerves. She loves them.’

  ‘I'm sure your mum loves you too, sweet,’ I said, finding not for the first time since I'd been fostering that I had to separate parental love and the way the parent behaved, and also wanting to offer Donna something positive. ‘Mum has got a lot of problems and I don't suppose the drink helped.’

  ‘She always hit me more after drinking,’ Donna confirmed.

  I nodded, and looked from Donna to the floor and all the little coloured beads from the bracelet, which were spread around her feet and into the far corners of the carpet. ‘Why did you break your bracelet?’ I asked gently. ‘I thought you liked it very much?’

  She shrugged. I noticed a small muscle twitch nervously at the corner of her eye. ‘They wouldn't let me clean.’

  I hesitated, trying desperately to piece together the few words she was offering and make sense of her actions. ‘You broke the bracelet because you remembered you weren't allowed to clean? What, at Mary and Ray's house?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Did that make you angry?’

  She nodded again.

  ‘What? Angry with Mary and Ray?’

  Another nod.

  ‘You must have been up very early this morning. You were asleep when I looked in last night, and the bracelet wasn't broken then.’

  ‘I have to get up early to clean the house.’

  ‘Not here you don't,’ I said firmly. ‘I see to the cleaning here. You don't have to do it.’ I then realised I was taking the same route that Mary and Ray had probably taken in not letting her help at all. ‘Donna, you don't have to worry about the cleaning here, but you can help me. I am the adult, and housework is my responsibility, but I can certainly find you some jobs to do.’ I didn't know if I was handling this right, or simply repeating what Mary and Ray had said and thereby going down the same path and getting it wrong. ‘Is that what Mary said?’ I asked.

  Donna nodded. ‘Well, she was right, in that respect. You don't have to clean now, and you certainly won't get hit for not doing it.’

  ‘I do,’ she suddenly blurted. ‘I do have to clean. I do!’ And again I thought of Edna's mention of OCD, for it seemed Donna was admitting to some form of obsession, though whether it was OCD or not I hadn't a clue.

  ‘OK, Donna,’ I said slowly. ‘If I understand you, you feel you need to clean, probably because of all the cleaning you had to do at home. I think this morning you needed to let something inside you come out. Some anger? And I think you broke the bracelet because you remembered that Mary wouldn't let you help, and you took your anger out on the bracelet. Is that
right?’

  Donna nodded, and then, unbelievably, she smiled, her whole face lighting up. ‘Can I help you clean here, Cathy?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, of course you can. But I will find you some jobs to do. I don't want you getting up early and flooding the kitchen again.’ I smiled, and she actually managed a small laugh. I gave myself a mental pat on the back. I might not have been a psychiatrist, but I had managed to get it right this time.

  ‘And I can help you look after Adrian and Paula?’ she asked, still smiling.

  ‘Yes, of course you can, Donna. But remember you don't have to, and it wasn't your fault you and your brothers came into care.’

  She leant towards me and planted a little kiss on my cheek. ‘Thank you for letting me help, Cathy. You're nice.’

  I smiled again, and drawing her to me gave her a big hug. ‘So are you, love.’

  What I didn't know was that my simplistic solution of agreeing to let Donna help had unleashed something which would quickly gather momentum and have far-reaching effects. It would be outside anything I had experience of, or knew how to deal with.

  Chapter Seven

  Runt of the Litter

  I was feeling pretty pleased with myself when Jill phoned at ten o'clock on Monday morning.

  ‘Yes, we are doing OK,’ I confirmed. ‘Donna was very quiet and withdrawn to begin with, but she is now talking and starting to join in.’ I told Jill about the beating Donna had received at the hands of her family for not cleaning properly, and also about her frenzied floor scrubbing at our house, and the bag of rags she had brought with her, presumably for this purpose.

  ‘The poor kid,’ Jill said with a heartfelt sigh. ‘It's just as well she has been separated from her brothers, if they have been bullying her to that extent.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed, and I explained how I was going to give her little jobs to do, so that she could join in and have some responsibility.

  ‘That's how I would handle it, Cathy. And you're obviously keeping detailed log notes? It sounds as though Edna wasn't aware of some of this.’

  ‘Yes, my notes are up to date,’ I confirmed, and then I updated Jill. ‘Donna has contact tonight; I think she is seeing her whole family. And school begins again a week on Wednesday.’

  ‘Thanks. I'll speak to Edna today, and I'll visit you later in the week. If you need me in the meantime, phone.’

  ‘Will do.’ I paused. ‘Jill, do you think Donna is suffering from this Obsessive Compulsive Disorder? I really don't know much about it.’

  ‘Neither do I. But I shouldn't think so. There aren't any other symptoms, are there?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘From what I know of OCD the person repeatedly performs a task in a ritualised pattern. Like insisting a chair or book is in a particular position before they can leave the room. It has to be exactly right to within millimetres; otherwise the person becomes very anxious. The person can move an object dozens and dozens of times before they are satisfied. We all do it to some extent, for example when we return and double check the back door is locked before we go out, although we know it is. But people suffering from OCD take it to obsessive lengths, and it governs their lives.’

  ‘No, there hasn't been anything like that,’ I said. ‘Just this one incident of cleaning the floor. And what Mary told Edna.’

  ‘I'm sure it's not OCD. Donna will be fine. You've dealt with it, and she's been able to open up to you and start talking. Well done.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, grateful for the praise.

  When Edna phoned an hour later I updated her as I had done Jill. When I had finished Edna was very quiet.

  ‘Dear me,’ she said at last. ‘I knew those boys got the better of Donna sometimes but I had no idea they were actually whipping her — with a skipping rope?’

  ‘That's what she said.’

  ‘No wonder the poor kid didn't settle at Mary and Ray's.’ She paused again. ‘Cathy, as you know we brought Donna and the boys into care because of severe neglect. There was a suspicion of physical abuse but I'd no idea they were all beating Donna, and I have been working closely with that family for over three years now.’ She stopped again and I knew Edna was blaming herself for not spotting the depth of the abuse. ‘Donna had some bruises on her back and legs when she first came into care and had her medical. She told the doctor she had fallen in the garden at home. I expect she was too scared to say anything else.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed.

  ‘Dear me,’ Edna said again. ‘I'm going to talk to her mother, Rita, and also to Mary and Ray, and those boys. I shall also be keeping a close eye on the family at contact tonight. Donna is such a sweet thing. She wouldn't hurt a fly.’

  ‘I know, she's lovely,’ I said. ‘Edna, this bag of rags she's brought with her — did it come from home or Mary's?’

  ‘I really don't know. Why?’

  ‘It seems a strange thing for a child to bring with her. I mean the rags aren't security blankets or comforters. They're cleaning rags.’

  Edna paused. ‘Look, Cathy, I've got a lot of questions I need to put to Mary and Ray, and the boys, after what you have told me. I also need to visit Rita and Chelsea as a matter of urgency. Can I phone you back later?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I've given you the details for the contact tonight, haven't I?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’

  There was another pause. ‘What is Donna doing now, Cathy?’

  ‘She's in the garden with Adrian and Paula.’

  ‘Good. We'll speak later. Thanks, Cathy. And thank goodness I moved her!’

  I hung up and went down the hall and into the lounge, where I looked out of the French windows to check on the three children. They were grouped around the basketball post, taking turns at aiming and throwing. Donna appeared to be in charge and was organising the game, running to retrieve the ball from where it landed and handing it to Adrian or Paula for their turn to take a shot.

  I watched for a few moments, and then called, ‘Donna, you make sure you have a turn as well.’ She smiled sheepishly, almost embarrassed, and then passed the ball to Adrian for his turn. Oh well, I thought, if she was happier organising the game rather than joining in, I'd leave them to it, and Adrian and Paula certainly weren't complaining.

  Having had a full day out the day before, we were spending today around the house and in the garden. Entrance fees for children's amusement parks are horrendous now, and yesterday's excursion had cost me over £70 — £10 each to get in and then there had been lunch and drinks. Like many parents, I couldn't afford to provide non-stop entertainment throughout the summer holiday; and nor did the children need it — Adrian and Paula were just as happy amusing themselves in the garden on a fine day.

  I made a sandwich lunch, and Donna appeared and asked if she could carry the tray outside. I placed the tray containing the sandwiches and crisps in her outstretched hands, and I followed with a jug of orange squash.

  ‘I'll fetch Adrian and Paula,’ Donna said helpfully, setting the tray on the table on the patio.

  ‘Thanks, love.’

  I watched her stroll down to the bottom of the garden. She was talking more now she had a role, and it was like having a little mother's helper. ‘Adrian and Paula,’ I heard her call from a distance, as I sometimes did. ‘Come on now, your lunch is ready.’

  They both stopped what they were doing and began to run up the garden towards me. I smiled: they had come a good deal quicker than when I called them.

  ‘Are your hands clean?’ Donna asked as they sat on the benches either side of the table ready for lunch.

  Adrian and Paula turned over their hands to show their palms, as too did Donna. ‘I suppose we should really give them a wipe,’ I said, ‘as you are having sandwiches.’

  ‘Shall I fetch a cloth from the kitchen?’ Donna asked.

  I was about to say yes please when I realised that I ought to start implementing my policy of not having children in the kitchen. ‘No, don't worry.
I'll fetch it.’

  I went into the kitchen, where I took the carton of Wet Ones from the cupboard and tore off three strips. I handed one to each of them and waited until they'd finished wiping their hands and passed the used tissues back to me.

  ‘Let's have a look?’ Donna said, and Adrian and Paula offered their hands for inspection. I smiled again. Donna was certainly more conscientious than I was, and with far better results, particularly from Adrian, who as a young boy did not believe that cleanliness was next to godliness — just the opposite in fact!

  A few clouds rolled in that afternoon, but the air was still warm, and with the French windows wide open we spent a lazy afternoon in and out of the garden, pleasing ourselves. Donna organised some running races between Adrian and Paula, and then my neighbour's boy, Billy, who had heard all the excitement, climbed up the tree to see over and asked if he could come round and join in. I told him he could but that he had to ask his mother first. Sue came out of her house and said it was fine, but only for a couple of hours as they were going out later. She helped him clamber over the fence and I introduced him to Donna. Billy joined in the hopping race that Donna was organising while I chatted over the fence to Sue.

  ‘She looks like she's going to be a big help,’ Sue said, nodding to Donna.

  ‘Yes, although I would like to see her playing more — you know, joining in and having fun. She has been organising the games all day. She always puts herself last.’ I obviously couldn't say anything more to Sue (or any of my other friends and neighbours for that matter) about Donna's situation or background, as these were highly confidential, and Sue appreciated that. She knew I fostered and was used to seeing children suddenly appear and then disappear from my back garden.

  During the afternoon I regularly brought out drinks for the children and also offered ice creams from the freezer. Donna didn't want an ice cream to begin with. ‘No, let them have them,’ she said, nodding to Adrian, Paula and Billy, as if there weren't enough for everyone and they should have first call.