by Cathy Glass
‘Donna, love,’ I said, ‘there is plenty for everyone. I'm sure you would like an ice cream. There's choc ice, raspberry ripple or an ice lolly.’ I offered her the open cartons.
‘Oh all right then, if you insist,’ she said, and I smiled at the quaint adult term she had used. She quickly dipped her hand into the box of choc ices and took one, as though at any moment the offer might be withdrawn or she was doing something prohibited.
I returned the rest of the ice creams to the freezer and then stood for a moment at the kitchen window, watching her. Adrian, Paula and Billy were sitting on the grass in a small circle, eating their ice creams, but Donna was on the bench on the patio a short distance away, almost as if she was overseeing them. I continued to watch her slow measured movements as she gradually peeled down the wrapper of the choc ice and took small bites, savouring each mouthful as if it was the first and last. It was almost as if an ice cream was a forbidden pleasure for her, and she ate as though it was the first time she had ever tasted one — a precious treat that was not likely to be repeated. By the time she had finished, the last of it had melted away and she came into the kitchen to rinse her fingers.
‘Did you enjoy that?’ I asked lightly, as she turned on the tap.
She nodded.
‘I always have ice cream in the freezer in summer,’ I said.
‘Do you?’ She turned to look at me, her expression one of amazement and surprise.
I passed her the hand towel. ‘Yes. And next time we go shopping you can tell me which ice creams you prefer, and choose some food you like.’
‘I like anything, really, Cathy. But not coleslaw.’
‘Coleslaw?’ It was my turn to look surprised, for I would not have associated coleslaw with a child's preference. ‘No, I don't think Adrian and Paula do either,’ I said. ‘I buy it sometimes for myself.’
Donna finished wiping her hands and folded the towel neatly on to the towel rail. She was very methodical and precise when it came to folding items like her clothes or the towel. ‘I always had to eat coleslaw at home,’ she continued. ‘So I'm not too keen on it now.’ I smiled again at the adult phrase ‘not too keen’. She often used such phrases, which sounded quaint on a child's lips.
‘I expect your mum thought coleslaw was good for you,’ I suggested.
She nodded. ‘We had to buy it because it was on the list. But no one liked it, so I had to have it.’
‘Oh, I see,’ I said, not really seeing at all. ‘What, with salad?’
‘No, by itself. I had it for my dinner and tea.’
I looked at her. ‘I'm not understanding you, Donna. You can't just have eaten a tub of coleslaw for your dinner and tea?’
She nodded quite matter-of-factly as if I should have known. ‘When Mum's giro came through she gave me some money to go shopping. There was a list I had to use each week. I took Warren and Jason with me. There was coleslaw on the list because Edna had told Mum it was good for us. But no one liked it, so when we got home with the shopping everyone took what they wanted from the bags, and there was just the coleslaw left. Warren and Jason are smarter than me, so they got what they wanted from the bags first. Warren always had the custard cream biscuits and Jason had the loaf of bread. Chelsea had the ham and I was left with the coleslaw. Mum didn't eat much. She had beer instead.’
I stared at her, dumbfounded. ‘And that was your dinner or tea?’
‘Both,’ she said.
‘What about on the other days, when you didn't have the giro? What did you eat then?’
‘What was left. Sometimes the tub of coleslaw lasted two days, and the bread did. Warren always ate all the custard creams on the first day, although I told him not to.’
‘Then what?’
‘The neighbours fed us. And sometimes we walked to my aunt's. And when we were at school we had breakfast there, and school dinner.’
‘And no tea?’
‘Not until it was giro day again.’
Bloody hell, I thought. No wonder she liked her food, and ate everything I put in front of her. ‘Well, at least the coleslaw was better for you than Warren's choice of biscuits.’
‘So you know I don't like coleslaw?’ she confirmed.
‘Yes, I know, Donna.’
‘But I like sitting at the table to eat. Do all foster carers have tables and chairs?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ Donna certainly wasn't the first child I'd fostered whose family home had never had a dining table and chairs.
‘You know, Donna,’ I said, ‘that wasn't a good diet. It's a wonder you weren't all ill.’
‘Chelsea said it gave her spots.’
‘She could be right. And Donna?’
‘Yes?’
‘Have you ever had an ice cream before?’
‘Oh yes, of course! Edna bought me one when we came to you for the visit on Friday. It was lovely. I really enjoyed it, and the one you gave me today. That was nice too.’
‘So that was your second ice cream just now?’
She nodded. ‘I've tried lots of new things since I've been in care.’ I smiled sadly. ‘I think I might like being in care, Cathy. People are so nice to me.’
Edna phoned again at 4.00 p.m., having visited Warren and Jason at Mary and Ray's. She asked if she could be overheard and I said no: Donna was with Adrian and Paula, watching children's television in the lounge. She said Warren and Jason had admitted to hitting Donna, and when Edna had questioned them further they'd confirmed that they'd used an old skipping rope. Edna had asked them why they'd been so cruel to their sister and they had said it was because Donna hadn't done what Mum had told her to — clean the house properly. The boys also confirmed that their mother had told them to beat Donna, and when Edna had asked where all this had taken place, they'd said usually in the kitchen when Donna was on her hands and knees trying to clear up the cat shit. My thoughts flipped to the morning when I had found Donna on all fours in the kitchen and she'd pleaded, ‘Don't hit me. I've done my best.’ Edna said that the boys had told her that their mother and Chelsea also regularly hit Donna, and that they wouldn't let her have any new clothes. Edna was obviously appalled and horrified, particularly as Warren and Jason could see absolutely nothing wrong in what they had done and showed no remorse.
‘Cathy,’ Edna said, ‘I asked the boys separately if they hadn't thought what they were doing was wrong, and that it hurt Donna, and do you know what they said? That because Donna was so stupid she wouldn't feel it!’
‘She's not stupid,’ I erupted. ‘And she certainly felt it, although she probably didn't ever say so. And Edna, do you know what the poor girl had to eat when there was money for food? The stuff no one else wanted!’ I told her about the coleslaw and the shopping, although I didn't point out that the coleslaw had been at Edna's suggestion. ‘I persuaded her to have an ice cream today,’ I said. ‘It was only the second one she'd ever had in her life. The first one you bought her when you visited us. She's ten years old and living in an affluent society, for goodness sake! And I know not having ice cream doesn't amount to child abuse, but it is indicative of the miserable, deprived existence she led. I expect the boys enjoyed an ice cream when there was the money for treats!’
Edna was silent for some moments. ‘I know, Cathy. I remember when I bought her that ice cream she was so grateful. What I didn't know was the level of deprivation and also about the abuse that had been aimed at Donna. Warren called her the runt of the family. Now where on earth did a boy his age learn a term like that?’
‘I haven't a clue, but from what I'm picking up on here it sums up how they treated her — like the runt of the litter.’
We were both quiet. I knew I shouldn't have exploded: it sounded as though I was blaming Edna, who, bless her, undoubtedly had done her best, but apparently she hadn't been able to see through the united front presented by the rest of this dysfunctional travesty of a family.
‘I'm going to see Rita and Chelsea tomorrow,’ Edna said after a while. ‘They weren'
t in today when I called. I pushed a note through their letterbox saying I would call back tomorrow. How has Donna been this afternoon?’
‘She has been organising games for Adrian and Paula,’ I said. ‘And also the boy from next door, who came to play.’
‘Good. I'll see you later briefly when you bring Donna to contact.’
‘Yes,’ I said, and, still subdued from what I'd heard, I replaced the receiver. I then checked in the lounge, where the three children were watching cartoons.
I left them for another fifteen minutes, then told Donna to have a quick wash and change into some clean clothes, ready for contact. At 4.45 p.m. I bundled everyone into the car — with some protest from Adrian, whose programme I had interrupted — and drove to the social services office in Brampton Road. It wasn't the social services' main office but a large Victorian detached house that was used as overspill, and housed the Children and Families team. I pulled onto the driveway and left Adrian and Paula in the car while I took Donna into the small reception area that had once been the hall. I gave our names to the receptionist and she phoned through to Edna, who appeared almost immediately through the security-locked inner door.
‘Hello, Cathy, Donna,’ she said with her warm encouraging smile. ‘I hear you've had a lovely time in the garden today, Donna. And also that you went out for the day yesterday?’
Donna nodded shyly.
‘Your mum and brothers are already here,’ she continued to Donna. ‘Dad won't be coming today, as he's not feeling so well.’ I thought I heard Donna give a little sigh and so too, it seemed, had Edna, for she threw me a pointed glance. ‘I shall be supervising contact as usual, Donna, so there is nothing for you to worry about.’ Then, looking at me, Edna said, ‘I'll see you at six thirty. Thank you for bringing Donna.’
‘You're welcome. See you later, Donna.’ I left the building and drove home, where Adrian managed to finish watching his programme before it was time to return for the end of contact.
Donna didn't say much in the car coming home and I knew Edna would tell me if anything had emerged at contact that I should know about. Once home, I began the bath and bedtime routine — Paula first, then Donna and Adrian.
As I said goodnight to Adrian, and was about to leave him reading, he said, ‘Mum, I need to ask you something.’
‘Yes, love.’ I returned to beside his bed. ‘What is it?’
‘Is Donna in charge of us?’
I looked at him carefully. ‘What do you mean exactly?’
‘Well, in the garden today she kept bossing us around and telling us to do things like she was our mother, only not like you do,’ he added quickly. ‘It was all right to begin with, when she was organising a game, but then she wouldn't let up. She kept telling us and Billy what to do. Paula said she was in charge.’
‘No, of course Donna isn't “in charge”. I'll have to explain to Paula.’
‘And will you tell Donna? I don't want her to keep telling me what to do the whole time,’ Adrian added.
‘Yes, I understand. I'm sorry. You should have said something to me sooner.’
‘It was difficult with her being there the whole time.’
‘I'll keep an eye on it tomorrow and if necessary I'll speak to her, OK?’
‘Yes.’
I kissed him goodnight again and came out feeling that perhaps he was overreacting, being a bit sensitive to having a child living with us who was the same age, physically bigger and in some respects more mature. But I would watch more closely tomorrow. I had already noticed that Donna could be a little forceful in her desire to organise. When she had been helping me with some chores in the house I had found that more than once she'd tried to take over and tell me how it should be done. And whereas, as an adult, I could laugh it off and subtly direct her to doing something as I wished, at his age Adrian obviously didn't have such resources and had taken it personally. Well, that was how I saw it — until the following morning.
Chapter Eight
Dirty
It was raining in the morning and I suggested we went to the cinema for the eleven o'clock show to see the new Walt Disney film. Adrian, Paula and Donna were upstairs, taking turns in the bathroom to brush their teeth and have a wash while I cleared away the breakfast things. Suddenly there was a cry from Paula, and Adrian came flying down the stairs.
‘Mum! Come quick! Donna's hit Paula!’
I dropped the tea towel and flew out of the kitchen, along the hall and upstairs. Paula was in the bathroom, standing beside the basin with her toothbrush in her hand and tears streaming down her face. Donna was standing beside her.
‘Whatever's happened?’ I asked, taking Paula and cradling her in my arms.
‘She hit her!’ Adrian said, coming in behind me.
I looked at Donna, who was standing expressionless in front of me. ‘Did you hit her?’ I asked sternly.
‘She did!’ Adrian yelled from behind me.
‘All right, Adrian. I want to hear it from Donna or Paula.’
Donna said nothing and I looked at Paula. ‘Did Donna hit you?’
She nodded, tears still running down her face.
‘Where?’
Paula stretched out her left hand and I saw a large red mark on the back of it. ‘Did you do this, Donna?’ I demanded.
She nodded slowly, not at all abashed. She looked sad, but then Donna always looked sad, even when she was playing, apart from the couple of times she'd smiled yesterday. ‘Paula wouldn't do as I told her,’ Donna said at last. ‘I told her to do her teeth properly and she didn't.’
‘That's no reason to hit her!’ I said. ‘No one in this house hits anyone, ever. I'm surprised at you, Donna! You know how much hitting hurts! Now go to your room while I see to Paula, and then I want to talk to you.’
She hesitated, and in that hesitation I saw the first sign of resistance, an insolence, a ‘take-me-on-if-you-dare’ look, and I thought of the bruise Mary had received to her arm — from a similar incident, perhaps? ‘Now! Donna!’ I said, and I held her gaze.
There was another second's hesitation, and my heart pounded as I felt a cold shudder of fear. She was nearly as tall as me and sturdy. I knew that if she'd wanted to she could have done real damage — to people and property. Gone was the downtrodden-victim look and in its place I saw insolence and determination. Then she stamped her foot and pushed past me, knocking into me as she went. She stomped round the landing and then slammed her bedroom door shut. Paula was holding on to me tightly and Adrian was very still and pale.
‘It's all right,’ I reassured them both. It was one of the few times I'd actually felt threatened by a foster child, and clearly Adrian and Paula had felt so too. I had looked after children before who had kicked and screamed and tried to thump me when they'd been very upset, but they'd been smaller and more easily contained. Again, my thoughts went to Mary and Ray, and the two of them having to struggle with Donna to remove her from their bathroom, after she had done what? I needed to find out. Was this a new development, or a repetition of something that had happened at Mary and Ray's?
I continued to hug Paula, then I put my arm round Adrian and drew him to my side. ‘It's OK,’ I reassured them once more. ‘I'll speak to Donna and make sure it doesn't happen again.’ Although in truth I wasn't at all sure how I was going to do this. I didn't know what I was dealing with; Donna had suddenly turned on Paula and for no apparent reason.
‘All right, love?’ I asked Paula gently, easing her from me and looking at her. She had stopped crying, but her hand was still red. ‘That was very naughty of Donna. I'm going to tell her off,’ I said, reinforcing the point. I didn't want Paula or Adrian believing that hitting was in any way acceptable. I'd known foster carers whose own children's behaviour had deteriorated in line with a foster child's, rather than the foster child following the example of the carer's ‘well brought up’ children.
I gave Paula and Adrian another hug, and Adrian said, ‘I'm fine now, Mum.’
‘Good boy.
Will you look after Paula for a bit while I speak to Donna?’
He took her hand. ‘Come on, Paula, you can play on my Gameboy.’ Which was a real treat for Paula — to be allowed access to the much-coveted ‘Super Mario’ leaping over obstacles. Pacified, Paula trotted round the landing with Adrian and into his bedroom.
I took a moment, and then went round to Donna's room. I was feeling far from composed. I was going to speak to Donna, and then I wanted to talk to Mary and Ray and try to find out more. If I had a child in my house who could threaten my children, I needed to know exactly what I was dealing with. Edna had dismissed Mary and Ray's failure to look after Donna, as I had done, as it being too much for them to look after three children, with the inherent suggestion that Mary and Ray could have handled it better. Now I had big doubts and I was wondering if I had done them something of a disservice.
Donna's door was shut right to from her having slammed it. I drew myself up, took a deep breath and, knocking briefly on the door, opened it and went straight in. She was sitting on the bed, looking morose, with her arms folded across her chest and rocking back and forth.
‘Donna,’ I said firmly, ignoring the pang of pity I now felt for her at seeing her so dejected. ‘I need to talk to you.’ I didn't sit next to her but stood a little way in front. I wanted to keep the height and distance between us, just in case she went for me. ‘Donna, you need to understand that in this family, as in most other families, we don't hit each other. I don't hit you or Adrian or Paula or anyone. And children do not hit each other. Do you understand?’
She didn't say anything. Her eyes were trained on the ground and she continued to rock back and forth. In a different situation I would have immediately gone and comforted her, for she looked so lonely and unloved, but now I needed to make sure that she understood her behaviour was totally unacceptable. Although Paula had recovered, and the injury was relatively minor, it had nevertheless been an assault, which would have hurt Paula emotionally, and reduced her trust not only in Donna but in other children. And with Donna twice the size of Paula, who was to say that another attack wouldn't be a lot worse? I needed to keep everyone safe.
