The Saddest Girl in the World

by Cathy Glass

  ‘Yes. And thanks again for everything, Cathy. I've loved being here. Adrian and Paula are very lucky.’

  My heart lurched. ‘I feel very lucky to have known you, Donna. It's been a privilege looking after you. But this isn't goodbye. You promised to keep in touch, and I shall look forward to hearing all your news. Marlene thinks she's very lucky too.’ Donna smiled, and then yawned. ‘Goodnight love, sleep tight.’

  ‘Night, Cathy.’

  I kissed her forehead and, coming out, swallowed the lump in my throat. Saying goodnight to Donna for the last time was one of those heartfelt moments that I knew would stay with me for ever.

  The following morning Donna was up early and very excited. ‘It's like going on holiday,’ she said, taking her presents downstairs and packing them in the case I had left open. Adrian and Paula were up and dressed earlier than was usual on a Saturday and joined in Donna's excitement, although I could see they were putting on brave faces to mask their sadness at Donna leaving. We had pancakes for breakfast — Donna's favourite — and I then put her nightwear and wash bag into the case and zipped it shut. The four of us loaded the car, arranging and rearranging the bags and boxes until they all fitted in. By the time we'd finished, the boot lid only just closed and the passenger seat was full, as were the foot wells. The children would also have some of the smaller bags on their laps; any more luggage and I would have had to have made two trips.

  Before we set off, I checked Donna's bedroom for anything that could have been missed; then we gathered in the lounge, where I presented Donna with her present from Adrian, Paula and me. As she carefully peeled off the wrapping paper I took the final photograph — of the jeweller's box appearing, and her face lighting up.

  ‘It's a proper watch!’ she exclaimed. ‘An adult one! Thank you so much. That's great!’

  ‘You're very welcome, love,’ I said. ‘I thought that now you can tell the time you should have a decent watch.’ It was a nice watch: I had chosen it carefully from the jeweller's, a ladies' watch not a child's, set in a silver bracelet. Donna put it on her wrist and we all admired it.

  ‘I'm going to keep it in the box for now,’ she said, carefully sliding it off and returning it to the box. ‘I don't want it getting scratched.’

  ‘You won't be able to tell the time with it in there,’ Adrian teased.

  ‘Typical boy!’ Donna returned.

  We piled into the car and Donna sat with the present held protectively in her lap. As I drove, I repeatedly glanced in the rear-view mirror at her. I was reminded of when she'd first arrived, clutching the present from Mary and Ray. How different she was now: brighter, more upright, more confident and happy, and much taller. She must have grown four inches in the time she'd been with us; I'd had to replace her jeans and shoes every couple of months. All three children were quiet as I drove to Marlene's, gazing out of the windows, and I saw that Paula was holding Donna's hand.

  Marlene must have been looking out for us, for as soon as we drew up outside her house at 11.00 a.m., the front door opened and she came out, smiling and waving.

  ‘Hi!’ she called. ‘Welcome. I hope you're hungry. I've made Donna's favourite — pancakes for us all.’

  I smiled, and so too did the children. ‘I'm sure you can all manage another one,’ I said quietly to them.

  We unloaded the car; with all five of us helping it didn't take long. We carried the boxes, cases and bags through the hall and straight up to Donna's bedroom. Marlene wheeled the bike into the conservatory. By the time we'd emptied the car, Donna's room was full.

  ‘I know what we shall be doing today,’ Marlene said to Donna.

  ‘Unpacking,’ Donna said, and she put her arms around Marlene's waist and gave her a big hug. Marlene beamed, so very pleased.

  We sat around the table in the lounge and Marlene served us pancakes, with a choice of toppings — syrup, icing sugar, ice cream, honey and grated chocolate. I managed to eat one, Paula and Donna two, and Adrian three.

  ‘These are amazing,’ Adrian said, helping himself to more ice cream and chocolate. I agreed. ‘They're different from the ones you make,’ he added (for ‘different’ read ‘better’), and I agreed again.

  I knew it wasn't in anyone's interest to prolong our leaving, so once we'd finished our ‘second breakfast’, I said we had better be off. We all helped to clear the table, leaving the plates and cutlery in the kitchen sink, then we began a slow path down the hall and to the front door. Our goodbyes needed to be quick and positive, with the reminder that we would phone in two weeks. It had been decided at the planning meeting that I should allow two weeks before phoning, so that my call didn't unsettle Donna while she was still bonding with Marlene in the early days. After that it was up to Donna (and Marlene) how often she wanted to phone.

  ‘Right then,’ I said positively, as I stood by the front door with Adrian and Paula beside me. ‘We'll leave you to get on with your unpacking. I'll phone in two weeks, Donna.’

  Marlene smiled and nodded, while Donna gave a half nod. She was standing next to Marlene, with her eyes lowered and her shoulders slightly hunched forward.

  ‘Come on, love,’ I said. ‘I want to see a big smile and have a hug before I go.’

  Without raising her eyes, Donna came to me and, putting her arms around me, hugged me hard.

  After a moment I gently eased her away and looked at her. ‘Where's that lovely smile then?’

  She looked into my eyes and managed a smile, but I could see her eyes welling.

  Paula stepped forward and threw her arms around Donna's waist and gave her a big squeeze. ‘I'll miss you,’ Paula said.

  Donna kissed her cheek. ‘I'll miss you too.’

  I glanced at Adrian and he pulled a face. ‘I don't do girly cuddles,’ he said. ‘But I'll shake your hand, Donna.’ Marlene and I smiled as Donna and Adrian shook hands.

  ‘Take care,’ I said to Donna and Marlene, and I opened the front door.

  ‘And you,’ Marlene said. Donna was concentrating on the floor again.

  ‘Come on then,’ I said to Adrian and Paula, for no one was moving.

  I stepped out of the front door with Paula holding my hand and Adrian following a little behind. I didn't look back as I went down the path; only when we were in the car, and I had opened the windows so that we could wave, did I look at them. Marlene and Donna were framed in the doorway, standing side by side. Marlene had her arm around Donna's shoulders, and Donna was wiping the back of her hand across her eyes. I started the engine and, stifling my own tears, gave a little wave, and gradually pulled away. Paula and Adrian waved from their windows until the house was out of sight; then I raised the windows.

  As I pulled to the T-junction at the end of the road, I glanced in the rear-view mirror. Adrian and Paula were silent and close to tears. I saw how empty the back seat looked without Donna in her usual place by the window. ‘I've got to stop at the shops on the way home,’ I said, ‘then I thought we would go to the cinema.’ Aware we were all going to need something to cheer us up, I'd already booked the tickets.

  ‘Good,’ Adrian said with no real enthusiasm.

  ‘I wish Donna was coming,’ Paula said. ‘I miss her.’

  ‘I know, love.’

  We went home after the supermarket shopping, as the film didn't start until 5.00 p.m., and as I entered the hall, I saw that the light on the answerphone flashing, signalling a message. Paula and Adrian, still subdued, took off their shoes and coats and went into the lounge, while I pressed ‘play’ on the machine. The message was from Jill, timed half an hour before: ‘Hi, Cathy, I hope the move went all right. I'll phone on Monday to catch up. And Cathy, we've had a referral through for a five-year-old boy. They are looking for a foster home for him in a week's time. I'll tell you more on Monday. Have a good weekend. Bye, and thanks for all you did for Donna. It's much appreciated.’

  I deleted the message, and began down the hall and towards the lounge. By Monday I might be able to consider taking a new
child, but not yet. Now, I just needed time with Adrian and Paula, and we all needed time to reflect on Donna. We would have to adjust to being a family of three again before we could consider welcoming a new child. I knew that for the next few days we would be sharing many fond memories of Donna and her time with us — a collective healing process, as we remembered all the good times that had made up our family life. Only then could we begin to consider the five-year-old boy, whose problems would doubtless be very different from Donna's, but no less urgent and demanding. Wouldn't it be lovely, I thought again, if I could wave my magic wand and make every child wanted and cared for, and every parent capable of caring for and loving their child? But practically, all I could do was the best for the children I looked after, and hope I gave them something positive to take with them. And if Donna had learned something from my family, so had our lives been enriched from knowing her: to have suffered the abuse and degradation she had done and not be consumed by hate said a lot about her. I doubt I would have fared so well.

  Epilogue

  Eight years have gone by since Donna moved, and we are still in contact with her. She is nineteen now, a very attractive girl who braids her hair and wears a little makeup and likes fashionable clothes. When I first phoned her, after the two weeks, she was pleased to hear from me and sounded settled, and she had lots of news about her home and family. Paula and Adrian spoke to her too, mainly about school and their respective cats — Toscha and Harris. I also talked to Marlene, who confirmed that Donna was doing well, and that there had been no major problems. We said goodbye and Marlene and Donna promised to keep in touch.

  It was six months before we heard from them again; Marlene made the call and spoke to me first before she passed the phone to Donna. Marlene apologised for not phoning sooner but said that they'd had a bit of a ‘rocky time’. She explained that Donna had been in therapy for four months and it had unleashed a lot of painful memories, which had resulted in her becoming unsettled and angry — she had twice trashed her bedroom. Marlene said that although Donna was still in therapy (and would be for some years) she was a lot calmer now, and was slowly coming to terms with the hurt and rejection from her past. Marlene felt that the worst was behind them. I said that I understood, and I was pleased to hear from her now, as we had often talked about Donna and wondered how she was doing. I could hear the warmth in Marlene's voice as she spoke of Donna, and also the concern about what had been a very worrying period.

  When Donna came to the phone it was so lovely to hear her voice again. She sounded older, more mature and also very positive. She told me all about her home life, school and the holiday she was going on with Marlene in August to Barbados. As she spoke she referred quite naturally to Marlene as ‘Mum’, and her extended family as aunts, uncles and cousins. She talked a lot about Kerry, Marlene's niece who was the same age as Donna, and said Kerry had become her ‘second best friend’ after Emily. When we had finished speaking I passed the phone to Adrian and Paula, and between us we were on the phone for nearly two hours, catching up with all Donna's news.

  After that phone call Donna (and Marlene) continued to phone us every couple of months, and we began seeing them twice a year. We took it in turns to visit each other's houses, and one Christmas we all went to a pantomime together. Now Donna is nineteen she visits us alone, although she still lives with Marlene, who always sends her warmest wishes.

  Donna is a lovely girl who has now managed to let go of a lot of her anger, and much of her negative self-image, helped by therapy and Marlene. She smiles a lot, looks you in the eyes when she speaks and only occasionally hunches her shoulders forwards — when something really bothers her. Her self-effacing and placid nature has continued, though, but this has become a positive attribute. It's like a breath of fresh air to be with Donna. She is a warm, gentle and caring person who speaks slowly and takes life in her stride. Nothing seems to faze her, for as she says, ‘I've seen the worst of life and now it just gets better and better.’ And I think some of that is to do with her new boyfriend, Robert, whom she brought with her last time she visited. He is a tall and good-looking lad whom she met at college, where Donna is studying to be a nurse and Robert a mechanic. I liked Robert, and was touched that Donna had wanted us to meet him. He treats her with much respect and they clearly think a lot of each other. How much of her past she has told him I don't know.

  And what of Donna's family — the family who were responsible for so much of her unhappiness? I know only what Donna has told me. The supervised contact three times a year was stopped when Donna was fourteen, at her request, although Donna now visits her mother, whom she refers to as Rita, once a year. Rita's baby stayed in foster care until the court process was complete, and then she was adopted by a childless couple in their thirties. Donna has never seen the child, although the adoption order stipulates that the child should be made aware of her natural family when she is of a suitable age. Chelsea's baby, Cindy, despite all the support and help, both in the mother and baby unit, and when Chelsea moved into her flat, was eventually taken into care. Chelsea couldn't parent the child alone and moved back in with her mother, where Cindy quickly became badly neglected. When the social worker went with the police to remove the baby, Cindy was nowhere to be seen. Eventually, after searching the house and garden a second time, they found Cindy hidden under a pile of filthy rags in a crumbling shed at the bottom of the garden.

  A year later Chelsea was pregnant again, and then she suffered a miscarriage after being beaten up by the person she claimed was the father of the baby. She moved out from her mother's house and hasn't been seen or heard of since. Rita is still drink and drug dependent, and Donna says the house is filthy and there is never any food there because Rita drinks and doesn't eat. Donna said the last time she visited, Rita looked like an old woman. From what Donna had learnt in her nursing studies, she thought that Rita would be dead in a year if she didn't stop drinking. Donna has never taken Robert to meet Rita and has no plans to.

  Donna sees her brothers once a year, around Christmas time. They were found adoptive parents together and are doing very well, both at home and at school. Donna doesn't say much about them; I think her visits are more to stay in touch rather than prompted by any deep sibling bond. Whether Warren and Jason have suffered any remorse or guilt for the way they treated Donna when they were little, I don't know, but they were old enough at the time to remember that dreadful period. It would be nice to think that at some point in their lives they apologise to Donna, although Donna doesn't bear them any grudge. She wouldn't: it would never enter her head to bear anyone a grudge, such is her gentle and forgiving disposition.

  When the supervised contact stopped, Donna began visiting her dad at his flat, first accompanied by Marlene and then for the last three years going alone. Edna found Mr Bajan a council flat before she retired, and he lives by himself and has no contact with Rita. Donna visits him every two weeks, on a Sunday, and cleans and tidies his flat and cooks him dinner. He knows exactly where his tablets are in the kitchen cupboard, and remembers to take them each morning and night. He has had only two relapses in the last eight years, and he joined his mother on a trip to Barbados for one winter. Donna also visits her gran, Mrs Bajan, who is not in the best of health. Donna takes three buses every month to spend a day with her. She cleans and tidies her flat and makes sure she has enough food in the fridge. Donna loves her gran and dad; together with Marlene they are her family, and the most important people in her life.

  Therapy and having Marlene as her mother have helped Donna along the path to becoming a well-adjusted and successful adult. Donna tells me that just occasionally, if she is frustrated by something or someone, she goes to her bedroom and quietly tears up a magazine, and then clears it up. She and Marlene laugh about it, and if tearing up paper helps then there is no reason for her to stop it. We all need some release from life's little downers, and on the scale of things, shredding paper is no great problem; I might try it some time.

 
Donna will qualify as a nurse in two years' time and is looking forward to starting work and earning a wage. She officially came out of care when she reached the age of eighteen and therefore no longer has a social worker. She still sees a therapist every so often, at her request, when she feels she needs to talk to someone outside the family. Although she has made new friends at college, she is still in contact with Emily whom, together with Kerry, she regards as her ‘best buddy’. Emily left school at sixteen and works as a sales assistance in a department store. Donna, Emily and Kerry go out together in the evening and also on extended shopping expeditions; being the age they are, they love to shop. They have also discussed the idea of renting a flat together when Donna and Kerry finish their education and start earning.

  Despite the years that have passed, Donna vividly remembers the time when she lived with us, and has many fond memories. She also remembers the hurt and trauma she was going through inside at that time, and how I continually encouraged her to let it go by talking. She has thanked me more than once for being so patient and understanding, and has also apologised to Paula and Adrian for being so ‘horrible’, as she puts it. I have reassured her that there is no need either to thank me or to apologise, and that she wasn't horrible, just a child in crisis. Paula and Adrian have only good memories of her time with us, especially of Christmas and our holiday together. We still look at the photographs, and remember — Donna, who was once the saddest girl in the world, but blossomed into a wonderful young woman. Well done, love.