by Cathy Glass
But it didn’t. During the six-week summer holiday Dawn was brought home, worse the wear for drink, by the police on three occasions, having been found outside the notorious Queen’s Head pub cheering on a fight. And her guilty conscience seemed to be fuelling the ramblings in her sleepwalking, which often included Dawn telling herself she was wicked and evil.
* * *
Dawn returned to school for the autumn term on 4 September and continued with her part-time education. She managed to attend the whole first week, but given that school hadn’t gone back until the Thursday that wasn’t exactly a runaway achievement. The following week she went in four days.
When the secretary phoned me on Tuesday to say that Dawn hadn’t arrived, she greeted me like an old friend – ‘How are you, Cathy? Did you have a nice summer?’ – before telling me that Dawn wasn’t in school. Then she asked if I could sign and return Dawn’s report slip as soon as possible, as it was supposed to have been handed in on the first day back.
‘What report slip?’ I asked, guessing the answer.
‘The one attached to Dawn’s report that was sent home with her at the end of term.’
‘It didn’t arrive, I’m afraid. I’ll speak to Dawn and find out where it’s got to.’
‘Dustbin, probably,’ the secretary said with a small laugh. ‘She’s not the only one. I’ll send a copy in the post addressed to you.’
I thanked her and we said goodbye.
When Dawn wandered in at 3.45 p.m., I asked her where her school report for last year was.
‘I left it on the bus,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t very good anyway.’
‘But I would have liked to have seen it, Dawn, and there was a tear-off slip for me to sign.’
‘Sorry, it won’t happen again.’
‘No worries. The secretary is going to send me a copy.’
‘Oh,’ said Dawn.
‘Yes, “oh”. Although I doubt it will hold any surprises.’ I paused and looked at her. ‘Dawn, you are a bright girl, but you are throwing away your education. Where have you been today?’
She gave me one of her usual shrugs, followed by the usual answer: ‘Just hanging around. I couldn’t face school today.’ I thought that if I avoided every situation I didn’t feel like facing then we wouldn’t have any clean or ironed clothes and there would be no food in the fridge. But then I wasn’t thirteen with all Dawn’s problems.
No longer having the sanction of stopping her going out on Tuesday, I said she would be grounded on Friday if she didn’t go to school, which got her in the rest of that week at least.
Two weeks into the term, Dawn’s sleepwalking escalated for no obvious reason and we were up four nights out of seven. One night we found her in the kitchen with the cutlery drawn open and a knife pressed into the soft flesh of her arm. John grabbed the knife and we quickly examined her arm. It wasn’t bleeding. Fortunately she’d used a fish knife, which wasn’t sharp, and had done no real harm other than leaving an indentation in her skin, which soon faded.
The following day John stopped off on the way home from work and bought another lock, which he fitted to the kitchen door after Dawn had gone up for her bath. Before we went to bed John locked the kitchen door and we took the key up with us.
That night we were woken in the early hours by the sound of Dawn rattling the kitchen door and trying to get in.
Hurrying downstairs, I thought I would try to talk to her – try to talk her through whatever it was she wanted to do while sleepwalking, as the books had suggested and I’d tried before. But when Dawn said in her slow, heavy, sleep-induced voice, ‘I want to cut,’ meaning she wanted to self-harm, I realised it was impossible. I couldn’t say, ‘OK, Dawn you’ve cut yourself, it’s dripping with blood, now let’s go back to bed.’ I just couldn’t say it, so instead I said, ‘It’s all right, love. There’s nothing for you to worry about. Time to go to bed.’ I turned her round and steered her upstairs and into her room, where she slept until I woke her for school.
Adrian had his first birthday on 12 October and I invited my parents, brother, some friends with similar aged children and my neighbour, Sue, to a little party. It was a Sunday afternoon and Dawn was with us until she left at six o’clock to see her mother. She was very helpful, passing round the plates of sandwiches I had made for the buffet and refilling glasses, but again I noticed she stayed well clear of Adrian. Even when she gave him his birthday present she dropped it into his lap and then went to a far corner of the room while we all watched him open it. And when John took group photographs Dawn didn’t want to be in them to begin with and, once persuaded, positioned herself as far away from Adrian as possible.
My mother noticed the difference in Dawn too, and asked me quietly in the kitchen, ‘What’s the matter with Dawn? She used to be all over Adrian like a rash. Now she runs away, as if she’s scared of him.’
I agreed, and said I didn’t know what was the matter. Although we had told my parents of the burglary, we hadn’t said anything of our suspicions of Dawn being involved, as it could have worried them. Yet I now began to wonder if stealing Adrian’s money was really the reason for Dawn’s rejection of him. Four months had passed since the break-in, and it seemed a bit drastic if she was still punishing herself for a relatively minor crime. But what else could be causing it? I’d no idea, and Dawn certainly wasn’t going to tell me, although I tried repeatedly to get her talking about her thoughts and feelings.
By the end of October John and I had our hopes once more pinned on Dawn seeing the psychiatrist on 4 November.
When the day came, I kept Dawn off school for the whole day – she didn’t resist – and I drove her to the hospital for her 1.30 p.m. appointment. I had asked her again that morning if she would like me to come into the hospital with her and wait outside the consultation room, but she didn’t. So having dropped her off at the main entrance and watched her go in, I returned home for half an hour before setting out to collect her. I had Adrian with me in the car, and I hovered with the engine running at the ‘drop off and collection’ parking space until Dawn appeared. She gave me a little wave and smiled when she saw us, which I took as a positive sign.
‘Was it useful?’ I asked hopefully, as we pulled away.
‘No,’ she said bluntly. ‘And I’ve told him I don’t want to go again.’ My spirits fell as our lifeline disappeared. ‘He said if I changed my mind, I could call and book another appointment. He told me to think about it and I said I would.’ Which I had to accept.
Although Dawn was only thirteen and had been referred to the psychiatrist after a suicide attempt, it was ultimately her decision whether she entered therapy or not. I had done all the persuading I would, for I sensed that any more pressure was likely to do more harm than good, and possibly strengthen her resolve not to go.
The following day was 5 November, a Friday, and Bonfire Night. John and I had decided that Adrian was too young to go to a firework display, as he would be frightened by the loud bangs and flashing crackling lights. Dawn said she wanted to go to a firework display which was to be held in a park fifteen minutes’ walk away. The entrance fee was £4 and I gave her this, plus extra to buy a burger and a hot drink. Seeing her off at the door, I wished her a good time and told her to be back by 9.30 p.m. at the latest, for I knew the display finished at 9.00.
Dawn returned early, at 8.45 – in a police car. We recognised one of the two officers from the last time Dawn had been brought home by the police. The officer said they had picked her up, together with two lads, for causing a nuisance in a street near the park. Apparently they had been throwing lighted fireworks in people’s dustbins and watching the lids fly off. While this was no more than high jinks to them, as the officer pointed out it had damaged the dustbins and was also very dangerous. John and I apologised to the officers, and once they had gone, told Dawn off and lectured her about the dangers of the misuse of fireworks. She admitted that she had spent the money I had given her for the entrance fee on buying fireworks
, then immediately apologised and said she had let us down, again. We agreed she had, and we stopped her from going out on Saturday, which she accepted without complaint.
It was exhausting and frustrating dealing with Dawn’s behaviour, and we no longer had the comfort of the forthcoming psychiatrist’s appointment. But John and I still believed that at some point, when Dawn realised that we would always be there for her no matter what she did, she would stop rebelling, begin to come to terms with her past and settle on a more even track.
Christmas was approaching and I was looking forward to it for a number of reasons. It would be Adrian’s first proper Christmas, as he had only been ten weeks old the previous one and clearly wouldn’t remember it. I also hoped it would give Dawn a boost to be part of a family Christmas. Judging from what she had told me of her past Christmases, it would be her first real one for many years, for like our visit to the seaside her last recollection of having a good Christmas was before her parents had divorced when she had been five.
However, at the beginning of December, as the fervour towards the twenty-fifth increased with earnest, a phone call from Ruth put paid to my hopes. ‘Barbara wants Dawn home with her,’ Ruth said. ‘From Christmas Eve to the first of January.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
Christmas Comes Early
‘Why?’ I asked, shocked. ‘Whatever for?’
‘Mike’s away, and Barbara doesn’t want to be alone over Christmas and the New Year,’ Ruth said.
While I could appreciate Barbara’s need for company over the festive season, I was bitterly disappointed. Christmas is such a family time and, if I was honest, I viewed Dawn more as a member of our family than she was of Barbara’s, although I respected that Dawn was her daughter and therefore Barbara had a right to lay claim to her.
‘Ask Dawn what she wants to do,’ Ruth said. ‘If she wants to stay with you, I’ll tell Barbara she’ll visit her for Christmas Day only.’
This would still limit my plans for giving Dawn a really special Christmas, but it was better than nothing.
‘And what about her father?’ I asked. ‘Is Dawn going to see him too?’
‘No,’ Ruth said. ‘He will be spending it with his partner and baby.’
‘OK,’ I said dejectedly. ‘I’ll ask Dawn what she wants to do.’
Later, when I told Dawn about her mother wanting her for Christmas, I could tell she was struggling with the decision, clearly having divided loyalties.
‘Look, Dawn,’ I said after a while. ‘She is your mother, and if that is where you feel you should be over Christmas then I’ll give you a little Christmas here before you go.’
‘Oh, will you?’ she cried, clearly relieved. ‘And you won’t mind if I go?’
‘I’ll mind because I’ll miss you, but I do understand, love.’
‘Thanks, Cathy. You’re terrific!’ Throwing her arms around me she planted a big kiss on my cheek.
So that’s what we did. We had a mini Christmas on the weekend before Christmas. School had broken up, the decorations and tree were in place, and on the Saturday evening (21 December), instead of going out and getting up to mischief, Dawn stayed in and hung her pillowcase on the end of her bed. Once she was asleep I crept into her room and took the pillowcase into my room where, careful not to wake Adrian, I filled it with the wrapped presents I had hidden in my wardrobe. I carried the bulging pillowcase back to her room and propped it beside her bed, making sure she wouldn’t trip over it if she sleepwalked.
Dawn slept well that night and in the morning I didn’t have to wake her. We heard her cries of glee at 6.45 a.m. as Adrian began to stir. ‘Cathy! John! Come quickly. Look! Father Christmas has been.’
John and I smiled as we put on our dressing gowns and, collecting Adrian from his cot, went to Dawn’s room. I don’t think she actually believed Father Christmas had been, but she was like a young child, accepting of and embracing all the magic Christmas had to offer. Her face was a picture of awe and delight as she sat up in bed and delved into the pillowcase, bringing out the gifts one at a time. She studied each present first, turning it in her hand, savouring the anticipation, before slowly removing the paper. For her, as with children (and many adults), the unwrapping of the present was as exciting as receiving the actual gift.
I perched on the edge of the bed while John stood to one side holding Adrian, and we watched as she unwrapped and admired the gifts. They weren’t all expensive presents – many were ‘stocking fillers’ – but I had bought Dawn the wristwatch, denim shirt and shoulder bag she wanted; together with cassettes for her Walkman, a chocolate selection box, bubble bath, a photograph album and a bracelet, which she wasn’t expecting. I could have wept as she looked, eyes big with wonder, at each unwrapped gift for some moments before placing it carefully on the bed beside her, as though unable to believe what she saw. She thanked us over and over again, and said how lucky she was, and how did Father Christmas know what she wanted? Dear, sweet, innocent Dawn, I could, and did, forgive her everything, and I thought if only I could have had her five years earlier how different things might have been.
Once all her presents were open and the pillowcase was empty, she sat in bed overawed, and gazing at the presents which surrounded her. I asked if I could take a photograph of her for the albums – hers and mine – and she agreed. I fetched my camera and then stood at the end of her bed and looked through the lens. She sat in a nest of wrapping paper and gifts and smiled up at me with pure joy, and I knew it was an image that would stay in my mind’s eye for ever.
‘Merry Christmas, love,’ I said, after I had taken the photograph.
‘Merry Christmas,’ Dawn said, and we laughed in conspiracy, for the outside world had to wait another three days before they started their Christmases.
We dressed, and I made a cooked breakfast. Then we went through to the lounge, where more presents awaited Dawn under the tree. And while I had been in the kitchen three presents had appeared of which I had no knowledge.
‘It looks like Father Christmas has been in here too,’ I said.
Dawn smiled. ‘Merry Christmas and thanks for everything. It’s not much but I hope you all like them.’
‘That’s very sweet of you, Dawn,’ I said. ‘I’m sure we will. Thanks, love.’
John took the present that Dawn had put under the tree for Adrian and passed it to him. I took a photograph as he opened it, and while Dawn didn’t sit next to him, or even help him, as she would have done in the past, she didn’t put a huge distance between them as she had been doing. Pulling off the last of the paper, Adrian revealed a soft toy.
‘It’s a panda,’ Dawn said. ‘Do you like it, Adrian?’
Adrian grinned and nodded. ‘Dank u,’ he said before rubbing his face in the soft fur of the toy.
‘He does, very much,’ I said, and Dawn smiled, pleased.
She watched as John and I opened our presents from her – perfume for me and aftershave for John.
‘That’s lovely, Dawn,’ I said, and going over I kissed her. ‘Thanks, love. We’ll smell delightful now.’ John thanked her too.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Dawn said sheepishly. ‘But I used my clothing money to buy the presents.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s very generous, and much better than spending it on beer.’
She looked sideways at me for a moment, unsure if I was joking, and then realising I was, laughed.
There were presents under the tree for Dawn from my parents, brother, my neighbour Sue, and my good friend Pat, who had met Dawn a few times when she had come to the house. Adrian couldn’t understand why he wasn’t allowed to open any more presents – at fourteen months the concept of a pre-Christmas Christmas for Dawn’s sake was a bit beyond him. We kept him amused with the discarded wrapping paper while Dawn opened her presents: makeup in a presentation box, a set of teenage novels, a music voucher, and a denim skirt from my parents which I had chosen to match the shirt and bag Dawn had had from Father Christmas. Dawn
said she would thank everyone the next time she saw them, which would be in the New Year.
With the other presents (for John, Adrian, me and our Christmas guests) remaining unopened under the tree until the twenty-fifth, we played games, as we would be doing again on Christmas Day. I popped into the kitchen every so often to see how the chicken was doing, and later as I set the vegetables to boil, John and Dawn laid the table.
At two o’clock we sat around the table with its festive cloth, pulled the crackers, put on our paper hats and tucked into the Christmas dinner with all the trimmings – roast chicken with stuffing, roast potatoes and parsnips, carrots, peas and sweetcorn, with lashings of thick gravy. Christmas music played on the hi-fi in the background as we ate, and John told us of his Christmases as a child in Norway where has father had worked. Adrian’s paper hat, which was far too big, slipped further and further down until if finally covered his face and stopped him from eating, and I took it off. He was in his high chair and made a good attempt at feeding himself with a combination of small fork and fingers. John and I didn’t open a bottle of wine as we would be doing on Christmas day for we felt it was putting temptation in Dawn’s way and she was really too young to be drinking alcohol.
We had a rest from eating after the main course, and returned to the lounge for a couple of hours. Adrian dropped off to sleep on the sofa, and we played card games, and then Cluedo, which Dawn won. Adrian woke just as I was giving Dawn a chocolate off the tree for a prize and protested so loudly that I gave him a chocolate too.
It was Sunday and Dawn had told her mother she wouldn’t be making her usual evening visit as she would be with her for all the following week. Dawn had therefore been with us continuously since coming home at 9.30 p.m. on Friday, and while I knew it wasn’t an ordinary weekend, with our mini Christmas, she had been so relaxed and happy that I wished I could have curtailed her going out more often, for I was sure the gang she hung around with was largely responsible for the trouble she got into.
