The Saddest Girl in the World

by Cathy Glass

  ‘Donna,’ I said. ‘Would you like to say hello to your mother and Chelsea and then we must go.’

  Donna shrugged, and still didn't turn. Rita prodded her sharply again in the back. ‘D'you hear what your carer said? Say hello to your mother and your sister, you little shit.’

  That was it: I'd had enough. Politeness and diplomacy were never going to help Donna when it came to her mother. We needed to just get out of the shop, and fast. ‘Come on, Donna,’ I said more firmly. ‘We're going now.’ I touched her arm, and took a step to go, but Donna didn't move. She remained staring at the jewellery box she still held in her hand.

  ‘There!’ Rita exclaimed. ‘She don't even do what you tell her. Waste of fucking space, that kid! Come on, Chels, don't waste your time on that turd.’ Giving Donna another, harder, prod in the back, Rita lumbered off, followed by Chelsea, who threw Donna a look of hate and disgust.

  I stood beside Donna and watched the pair of them leave the shop, then I sighed with relief. My heart pounded and I felt upset by what had happened, and Donna must have been feeling far worse than me.

  ‘Are you all right, love?’ I asked quietly.

  She nodded and carried on examining the jewellery box, once again hiding and internalising her pain and sense of rejection.

  ‘I think Paula will like this,’ she said after a moment, turning the box over to look at the base.

  I took a breath and looked at her. ‘Yes, Donna, I'm sure she will. But we've just had an awful scene with your mother and you are not saying a word. I know what you must be feeling. I feel some of it too. You must be very upset, angry and also, I think, a bit frightened.’ I spoke quietly, for there were shoppers all around us, moving down the aisle in the space Rita and Chelsea had left.

  Donna slowly closed the lid on the jewellery box and turned and met my eyes. ‘I am, Cathy. They make me upset and angry, but they won't change. I'm having fun choosing a present for Paula with my money, and I won't let them spoil it. I won't let them spoil my fun any more.’

  I held her gaze and my heart went out to her. She was worth a thousand Ritas, and her response to her mother of not letting her upset her had proved it, and touched me deeply. Donna had been able to rise above her mother in integrity, compassion and everything that makes us socialised human beings, and I felt very humble beside her. ‘All right, love. I understand.’ I said. ‘That's very sensible of you.’

  We continued shopping and Donna bought the jewellery box for Paula, and then a book for Adrian, both of which she wrapped with great excitement when we arrived home. If Donna could hold on to her philosophy and rationalise her mother's words and actions, then her future looked a lot brighter. So often abuse in childhood goes on to blight the adult, souring and diminishing anything they achieve. It took a very courageous person to put the past behind and move on, and I hoped Donna had what it took.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Question

  Adrian's and Paula's birthday parties were a great success. Adrian's was all boys and they spent an hour and a half playing football, organised by the coach, had a party tea provided as part of the package, then finished with games, also organised by the coach. Donna, Paula and I watched the football, although Donna could have joined in if she'd wanted to; Paula was a bit too young. We all sat down and joined in the tea, and afterwards Donna and Paula joined in the games. Paula's party was a more sedate affair and required a lot more organisation on my part than Adrian's had, where all that had been required of me was to arrive, watch and enjoy, then pay.

  For Paula's I made sandwiches with the crusts cut off, cooked mini pizzas, arranged cocktail sausages on sticks, squirted cream on the individual jellies I had made, and limited the number of chocolate biscuits the children ate so that no one went home feeling sick. I organised games with prizes — Squeak Piggy Squeak, Pin the Tail on the Donkey, Musical Chairs (or rather pillows and cushions, because we didn't have ten dining-room chairs), and then followed this with a sing-along — ‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm’ and ‘The Farmer's in his Den’ — before lighting the candles and bringing in the cake. Donna joined in as best she could, for although her ability to play had improved, she still couldn't completely throw herself into games with a child's uninhibited pleasure. She came to me more than once during the party worried about the mess that was being made — ‘There's a drink been spilt,’ she said anxiously, or ‘There's popcorn on the carpet.’

  ‘Don't worry,’ I reassured her, as I always did. ‘I'll clear it up later. It's a party and I'm not worried about a bit of mess.’ I wasn't, for compared to Adrian's party the previous year, which he'd had at home, I was getting off lightly: I had found pieces from the party-poppers lodged in corners of the bookshelves and behind sofas for weeks afterwards; one hadn't been discovered until I'd moved a cabinet to make room for the Christmas tree, eight months later. But Donna's anxiety about mess stemmed from her role of domestic drudge at home, and the guilt that had been heaped on her by her mother, who had made her feel that it was because Donna had failed in her duties she and her brothers had been taken into care. Not that Donna viewed being taken into care as a bad thing now — far from it — but the guilt remained, and would do for a long time to come.

  Donna's school work improved dramatically in the summer term. Her reading age went up by two years, from seven to nine. She was still four years behind the average child of eleven, but relieved of the burden that she'd carried at home with its continual degradation, she'd gained confidence in her ability to learn and was going from strength to strength. Mrs Bristow, the head, and Donna's class teacher, Beth Adams, were delighted, and I think surprised — more so than I was. I had looked after children before who had been badly underachieving at school simply because of their appalling home lives. There's nothing left over for studying and learning if you're worried about where your next meal is coming from or when you'll receive the next beating, or worse.

  The final court hearing was expected to last for five days and was scheduled to begin on 25 May. Although Donna was aware of the date, largely because her mother was cursing about it at contact, Donna appeared unaffected by its approach. Edna had explained to Donna, as I had, that the hearing would be when the judge made his decision in respect of the best place for her and her brothers to live while they were children. Chelsea was also part of the care proceedings, but I didn't have any details other than that Edna and the Guardian wanted her away from Rita and living in a mother and baby unit. In practice, however, given Chelsea's age and opposition to anything Edna suggested, this was going to be highly unlikely, unless Chelsea had a change of heart and cooperated, for clearly no one could force her to move, even if it was for her own good.

  The Friday before the court hearing was due to begin was a dramatic one for news. Edna phoned in the morning to advise me of two developments. Firstly, that Rita had withdrawn her application to the court to have the boys returned to her, so she was no longer contesting the case. She had never made an application for Donna to be returned, but for whatever reason had now decided she no longer wanted to ‘fight’ for the boys return.

  ‘I would like to think that Rita has finally seen good sense,’ Edna said. ‘I have spent months talking to her, trying to persuade her that it was best for the boys to remain in care. Perhaps I succeeded, or perhaps she realised there was too much evidence against her and has finally listened to her solicitor.’ Or perhaps, I thought uncharitably, with the baby due in three months she's lost all interest in the boys, who were now hard work and not as immediately appealing as a vulnerable baby.

  ‘And Cathy,’ Edna continued, ‘I have a piece of news of my own that I want to tell you before you hear it from anyone else.’ She can't be pregnant too, I thought, for Edna was in her late fifties! ‘I've decided that when I've finished with this case I shall be taking early retirement.’

  ‘Oh Edna! I am sorry.’

  She laughed. ‘I'm not.’

  ‘No, I didn't mean … I'm just sorry to be losing
you.’

  ‘Thank you, Cathy. But I've been a social worker for twenty-eight years and I think I've done my bit. Things have changed so much, and I'm getting too old to be up to midnight writing reports. My husband retires this year — he's a bit older than me. We want to enjoy our retirement and spend time with our children and grandchildren in Scotland. Do you know, Cathy, I haven't seen them in over a year?’

  ‘I understand perfectly, Edna. But it will be a great loss.’

  ‘That's nice of you. I will see Donna and the boys through to permanency before I fully retire. I've got a couple of other cases that are nearing the end, so I'll be coming in part-time for a few months.’ Conscientious to the last; I could see only too well why Edna was taking early retirement. But I did wonder how easy she would find it to adapt, for social work had been her life, as looking after children had been the greater part of mine. ‘And, Cathy,’ Edna continued, ‘I've stopped contact for tonight and next week. It will be too much for Rita to handle with the court case. I don't want her anger spilling over. Will you tell Donna, please?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I'll phone you with the outcome as soon the court's made its decision and approved the Care Plan; then I'll come round and see you. I don't think the hearing will last the five days set aside now that Rita isn't opposing the case.’

  We said goodbye, and I wasn't expecting to hear from Edna again until the following week. However, she phoned again at 6.00 that evening.

  ‘Chelsea has had her baby, early,’ Edna said. ‘A little girl. Could you tell Donna, please? She's an aunty now.’ I could hear warmth in Edna's voice, for although the social situation the baby had been born into was far from perfect, the birth of a baby is special and always welcomed, whatever else may be going on.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘Are Chelsea and the baby well?’

  ‘They are now. They're in hospital.’ Edna paused. ‘Don't tell Donna these details, please, but Chelsea gave birth at home. I didn't hear about it until the police phoned me. A neighbour heard Chelsea screaming early this morning and thought she was being assaulted. She called the police, and when the police and ambulance crew arrived they found Chelsea on the kitchen floor with the baby, still attached by the umbilical cord.’

  ‘Good grief ! Poor kid,’ I said, horrified. ‘Chelsea must have been very frightened. Where was Rita?’

  ‘Upstairs in bed, sleeping off last night's drink.’

  My heart went out to Chelsea, who at fifteen had given birth to her first child alone and on the cold kitchen floor.

  ‘I'll try to visit Chelsea after court on Monday,’ Edna said. ‘I've told the hospital to keep her and the baby there for as long as possible. They've said they won't discharge her while the baby is so small. It was just five pounds. It will give me a chance to persuade Chelsea to go into a mother and baby unit. I've reserved a place for her. Chelsea can't return home with the baby: the place is filthy. The police said there was cat pooh all over the downstairs, even in the kitchen where Chelsea had given birth!’

  I cringed. ‘How absolutely dreadful! Do you want me to take Donna to visit Chelsea and the baby in hospital?’

  Edna paused. ‘Not yet. Let's get the court case over with, and then I'll set up a separate contact for Donna to see Chelsea and the baby. If you were to go to the hospital in visiting hours with Donna, Rita is sure to be there, so I think it's better to wait.’

  ‘OK, Edna. Shall I buy a card for Donna to send?’

  ‘Yes, that would be nice. Chelsea is on Maple Ward at the General.’

  I jotted it on the notepad by the phone. ‘I'll tell Donna the news, and when you see Chelsea, please pass on my best wishes.’

  ‘I will, Cathy. Take care and I'll phone you next week.’

  A new baby, a new life, but what a way to start it — born on a filthy kitchen floor! If Chelsea went into a mother and baby unit, then she would stand some chance of being able to look after the baby and keep her. Mother and baby units teach mothers (and fathers if they are parenting) to change nappies, bath the baby, make up bottles and generally look after the baby, as well as how to play with and nurture them. The staff are always on hand to give assistance, as well as monitor the young mother's progress. Only when they are satisfied that the mother knows how to parent the baby safely does the girl leave. The girls are usually found a council flat if there is no suitable home for them to return to, and the staff from the unit, as well as the social worker, continue to visit and monitor mother and baby for as long as is necessary.

  It was difficult to know how to pitch the news to Donna, as it was likely to produce conflicting emotions. While the birth of a baby is a joyous event, given the way Chelsea had treated and rejected Donna I was half expecting Donna to be angry. I should have had more faith in Donna, for when I told her, she took the news with stoicism. ‘That's nice,’ she said, briefly pausing from the jigsaw she was helping Paula to complete. ‘I hope Chelsea will be happy now and look after the baby well.’

  ‘She will do,’ I said, and I explained to Donna that Chelsea would be receiving a lot of help, both in hospital and then on her discharge, at a mother and baby unit. ‘If you want to see Chelsea and the baby, Edna will arrange it in a couple of weeks. In the meantime you can send a congratulations card.’

  ‘OK, Cathy,’ Donna said, glancing up again. ‘I'll think about that. Thank you for telling me.’

  I sat on the sofa and picked up the newspaper, which as usual had remained unread during the day. As I scanned the front page for any news that wasn't doom and gloom, Donna added succinctly (and I could have said with great insight), ‘She's a bit of a tart, that Chelsea. I always thought she'd end up in trouble with the boys.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said as I raised the paper to cover my smile. ‘I'm pleased you won't be following in her footsteps then.’

  ‘What's a tart?’ Paula asked.

  ‘A pastry with jam in,’ I said.

  ‘And it can also mean a girl who is free with the boys, and doesn't respect her own body,’ Donna added. And I thought that Donna had come a long way in the time she'd been with us; I couldn't have imagined Rita or Chelsea phrasing it so delicately.

  We'd had no more incidents of Donna chastising, bossing, bullying or in any way trying to hurt Adrian and Paula, and I was once again finding that I could safely leave the three of them in a room without having to be continually vigilant. Donna was trying to find other outlets for her anger: she sometimes pummelled a cushion when frustrated, and she was also talking to me more. With no contact for the whole week there was less reason for her anger to build up and then explode. All of which was beginning to confirm my thoughts of offering to foster Donna long term — that is, to suggest she become a permanent member of our family.

  One of the documents before the judge was the Care Plan, and this would detail the arrangements the social services were planning if the Full Care Order was granted: that is, where and with whom Donna and her brothers would live. If the Care Plan was upheld by the Guardian it was likely the judge would agree to it. Sometimes the Guardian's recommendations were different from those of the social services, and in some cases the children were returned home against the advice of their social worker. But I knew this wouldn't be so here. Both Edna and Cheryl Samson had agreed that the children should not return to Rita's care because, put simply, Rita couldn't look after them, had neglected and abused them, and in all probability would continue to do so.

  What I didn't know was what the long-term plans were for where Donna would live. She was eleven and would be in foster care until she was eighteen; so too would the boys, although being that much younger there was a chance that they might be found adoptive parents. Donna was too old to be considered for adoption — most adopters want young children, who are less likely to be emotionally damaged. Sometimes relatives come forward and offer a permanent home to the child, and they are assessed as to their suitability. If they are suitable then this is usually considered the best optio
n for the child — that is, to live with a member of the extended family; it is known as kinship caring.

  But as far as I knew no one had come forward to look after either Donna or the boys. Donna's father unfortunately wasn't in any position to look after her, although when he was well he appeared to have a lot of love for Donna, as she did for him. Likewise Donna's gran, Mrs Bajan, was a kind and loving person, but she was not in the best of health, and also spent long periods during the winter with her family in Barbados. Edna had already said that Mrs Bajan didn't feel she could look after any of the children permanently but wanted them to stay with her during some of their school holidays. There was an aunt, whom I had only met once on that first morning at school, but Donna and the boys hadn't seen her since, and no mention had been made of her, so I guessed she wasn't a candidate to look after any of the children. I was almost certain that the court would say the boys should stay together and that Donna should continue to be fostered separately long term. If they were reunited and fostered as a sibling group there was a strong possibility that the problems that there'd been initially between them would resurface. Donna was settled and was achieving, as were the boys.

  The question that I considered, therefore, was that if Edna asked if I could look after Donna permanently (which I thought she might) would I agree? And I already knew my answer. I'd always felt very protective of Donna, and in recent months that protectiveness had turned into a strong bond which was quickly turning to love. I was very proud of Donna and what she had achieved, and I wanted to be there for her as she continued her journey through childhood to become an adult. Obviously I would have to ask Adrian and Paula, as it was a life-changing decision and would affect us all. And of course. Donna would be asked, but I was pretty certain I knew what her answer would be. But all this rested on the outcome of the court case and the judge's decision in the final hearing.