Four Waifs on Our Doorstep

by Trisha Merry

  She hung her head and said nothing.

  Saturday came and I drove Stacey to the police station. I sat with her while the policewoman wrote down what Stacey told her, then gave it to Stacey to read and sign, which she did very belligerently.

  ‘Well done,’ I said, squeezing her hand, but she withdrew it within an instant and, without even looking at me, stood up and strode out of the little office, down the corridor and out of the front doors to the car.

  She had been subdued and resentful inside the police station, but as soon as we got back in the car, she kicked off big time, shouting and ranting all the way home.

  I made a pot of tea and poured us both a mug.

  I tried to talk with her about her plans for the weekend, but she refused to play this game, seething silently as she sipped her tea.

  ‘When I’ve had my pocket-money on Saturday, I’m leaving this dump,’ she announced, just as Mike came in, unaware of exactly what had gone on.

  ‘Oh well,’ he joked. ‘I’ll give it to you early, then!’

  She slammed her mug down on the table, with tea going in all directions, stood up and stomped out of the kitchen, past Sam and Carrie in the hall, without saying a word, and straight out of the front door.

  We all watched her striding down the long drive into the distance.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said to the kids. ‘She’s just going walkabout. She’s taken nothing with her, so I’m sure she’ll be back later.’

  But, of course, I was wrong. She didn’t come back that night. She didn’t answer her phone when I rang her and in the end, I was so tired, I just had to go to bed, hoping she would creep in overnight.

  As I began to drift off to sleep, all the troubles I’d had with Stacey for so long, all the heartache and all her frequent, screaming nightmares of her childhood abuse flashed through my mind. I had struggled with her behaviour for so many years, just to get through each day. But no matter what, Mike and I had always been there for her, sticking up for her. We’d never had a night out together since we’d taken the four of them in. We couldn’t leave them with babysitters; they’d never have coped. But that was all part of the deal. We’d never regretted it, never complained. And we still didn’t, because we loved them all.

  24

  The Pit Bull

  ‘This report is not factually accurate. She has names wrong, dates and relationships. She was appalling to the kids. And she was on our side?’

  My written comment to our solicitor

  I got up early the next morning, as usual, and checked in Stacey’s room, but her bed hadn’t been slept in. I remember coming down the stairs thinking: Oh my God. I don’t know where Stacey is, whether she’s hurt – she could be anywhere.

  Then I thought back to the previous day, the police station. Oh no, she’s going to have this on her file, and she’s thinking of going into social work when she leaves school.

  I later found out that she’d reported me to Social Services for frogmarching her down to the police station and forcing her to go in. That wasn’t true as she’d come of her own accord, but they probably wouldn’t have believed me. I was very mithered about that. And then I began to wonder whether perhaps it was all a mistake and the money hadn’t been taken after all. But, of course, I knew it had.

  That was the last we saw or heard of Stacey for a while, and it worried me sick. Why didn’t she answer her phone? Where could she have gone? How would she manage?

  The pile of paperwork for the sale of the agency rose to mountainous proportions. We agreed a six-figure price for the lot, offices and all. Then they decided they didn’t want the two offices. We all signed and they paid us a deposit. We had to pay to get out of the office leases, so that didn’t leave us with much. But we should soon receive the other part of the purchase price, to sort all our finances out at last.

  I phoned around various people and discovered that Stacey had gone straight to stay at the home of her boyfriend’s parents, but weeks went by and still no response to any of my texts or calls.

  First Jamie had gone, and now Stacey. It was this second escape from our clutches, as some people called it, that set the tongues wagging. Just when we were at our lowest, and needed support as a family, we were overrun with professionals. We had tried every conflicting suggestion already, and look where it had got us. Even one or two of our friends were now making comments – ‘Maybe it was something you did’ or ‘Well, they wouldn’t have run away over nothing.’

  I gave them all the same answer: ‘They’ve run away because I won’t let them take drink and drugs in this house. Is that so unreasonable?’ Of course I knew it was a lot more than that, but I was too tired to argue any more. I just thought, before you judge me, look at yourself.

  Finally, after a few months, we found out where she was.

  Jamie phoned me. ‘I saw Stacey,’ he said. ‘I hardly recognised her and she pretended she hadn’t seen me.’

  ‘Where? Is she all right? Was she with anybody?’ I had so many questions and wanted so much to go to her.

  ‘One of her friends told me that she’s heavily into drugs.’

  ‘Oh no!’ My heart sank.

  ‘And she’s sleeping around. She’s homeless and dossing down wherever she can.’

  ‘Where did you see her? I must go and find her.’

  ‘No, Mum, I don’t think you’ll do any good.’

  ‘But I have to do something.’

  ‘Well, this friend says she moves about, so I have no idea where she might be now.’

  ‘If you see her again, tell her we love her and to come home.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘I’m glad you phoned, Jay. At least I know you are settling down now,’ I said. ‘But I still worry about you.’

  The children’s case against the Council was still simmering away in the background and one day I had a call from Katy our solicitor in the case to update me on progress, which seemed to be grinding on very slowly.

  ‘But don’t worry, Trisha,’ she assured me. ‘There are a lot of stages to go through, but we’re making progress. That’s why I’ve called you. Do you remember when I said we would need to prepare a psychiatrist’s report on each of the children for the judge?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I’ve found a lady in London, Dr Boteral. I haven’t used her before, but I know she has experience in this type of case.’

  ‘Good. Will she come to see the children here?’

  ‘No. That would be too expensive, I’m afraid, so she’s given me a couple of dates for you all to go to London.’

  ‘Will she want to interview me too?’

  ‘I don’t know, but probably not as the children are all old enough to answer her questions and speak for themselves, but I assumed you’d want to accompany them?’

  ‘Yes, of course . . . but did I tell you that both Jamie and Stacey have left home?’

  ‘Have they?’ She sounded surprised. ‘They’re still quite young, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes. Jamie is seventeen and Stacey is sixteen. They both rebelled in a big way. Jamie had a bit of a wild time for a while, but he seems more settled now, in his own place. But Stacey went overboard and we don’t know where she is.’

  ‘Do you think any of her friends would know? We do need to include Stacey in this. It seems she was the one who was the most abused.’

  ‘Yes, I think that’s right.’

  ‘Can you try and track her down?’

  ‘No promises, I’m afraid. But I’ll do my best.’

  So we agreed on a date.

  The next thing was to find a way to get a message to Stacey. Jamie was my first thought. He had a mobile phone number for her, but when I tried it the number had been discontinued. I called round some of her old friends and finally found one that said she had Stacey’s current email address. So I gave her all the details, the date, the time and where to meet us.

  ‘Please make sure you tell her this is part of the legal process and the case c
an’t continue without her,’ I said. ‘The solicitor arranged this, and all four of them have to be involved. Tell her it will be a great help to her as well to win the case. She will understand what I mean.’

  As the date came nearer, we waited to hear news that Stacey would come. If not, I’d have to call Katy and cancel the visit.

  Finally, Stacey’s friend texted me to say she’d meet us at the station.

  On the morning of our trip to London, Carrie, Sam and I all dressed up in smart clothes and went to the station to meet Jamie and Stacey.

  Jamie was there waiting for us, with a shirt and tie on.

  ‘You look great, Jay,’ I said.

  ‘I feel a bit stiff and starchy with this tie on,’ he grinned, loosening it. ‘Where’s Stacey? She is coming, isn’t she?’

  ‘Well she agreed to, so I hope she does.’ I didn’t let on, but I wondered whether she would. It would take guts for her to come and join us like this. But one thing I knew: of all of them, Stacey, who could be so fragile in some circumstances, was perhaps the toughest at facing up to things, so I hoped she’d keep her word.

  ‘Just going to the toilet,’ Jamie said anxiously as he crossed the waiting area. I could always gauge how nervous Jamie was by how often he went to the loo.

  The train was up on the board, with three minutes to go. We were all getting tense, waiting for Stacey, with so little time left.

  Finally, just in time, a young girl slouched along towards us.

  ‘That’s Stacey,’ gasped Carrie.

  What a shock! I didn’t even recognise her at first. Of course, I hadn’t seen her since she walked out that day, several months ago. She was overweight, in a mishmash of clothes. She looked like an alcoholic, her face was bloated and the most terrible colour. She stank and her hair looked dreadful. This wasn’t the Stacey we knew.

  ‘Hello,’ she mumbled without eye contact, keeping her distance.

  ‘Hello, Stace,’ I said. ‘I’m glad you made it in time.’

  We dashed onto the platform, just as the train pulled in, all of us together, and on our way to London.

  It was a difficult journey.

  We arrived at the tall, Edwardian, grey-stone building on time and a slim, rather frosty-faced woman greeted us, with the thin hint of a smile on her lips, but her grey eyes were cold and steely. I immediately felt this was the wrong person to be talking to my kids. I knew I had to trust in her professionalism and her reputation as a child psychiatrist, but I suddenly felt very protective of the children.

  Dr Boteral began by speaking to all of us together. She asked a few questions, but right from the start, I didn’t like her manner. She seemed oblivious to the children’s individual needs and, unless I was imagining it, openly hostile towards me. She had the sympathy of a sideboard.

  As always, Jamie found it difficult to sit still and listen for long. Within moments he was fidgeting and anxious. He stood up and she gave him a look.

  ‘Sit down,’ she barked at him.

  Jamie never takes kindly to orders. ‘I need to go to the toilet,’ he said.

  ‘Not now. You stay with the others until I’ve finished.’

  ‘Well I won’t be long,’ he said.

  ‘He does need to go to the toilet quite a lot, I’m afraid,’ I excused him.

  She gave me a stare. ‘Well not today. He’ll just have to wait,’ she said crossly.

  Poor Jamie crumpled back into his seat, moody and unresponsive for the rest of our joint meeting. Then she wanted to see the children individually. They had previously asked me to go in with them, so I asked her if that was all right.

  ‘Oh, if you must!’ She almost spat it out. ‘But I’ll have them each on their own first, then you can join us at the end of each session.’

  She started with Jamie and by the time I got in there, his anger was ready to explode. I don’t know what she said to him but I could see it hadn’t gone well. He dashed out.

  ‘Why did you let him go?’ she asked.

  ‘Because he always needs to go to the toilet more often when he’s upset and he hasn’t had a cigarette since he arrived, so he had to go.’

  ‘Huh,’ she snorted. ‘What nonsense!’

  Stacey was next. When I was called in to join them I found her in tears. Now Stacey had the natural talent of an actress, and could cry at the drop of a hat, but on this day I knew her tears were genuine. I sat next to her on the sofa, took her hand and gave it a squeeze. For that moment, it was as if she was still my little girl and she had never been away.

  Dr Boteral, like a pit bull on the attack, wasted no time.

  ‘Is that for Stacey’s benefit?’ she asked, looking pointedly at our clasped hands. ‘Or mine?’

  ‘Stacey’s,’ I said, as calmly as I could, to conceal my anger at her insinuation.

  ‘So why did you run away?’ she asked, and before Stacey could answer she continued, ‘Was your grandmother cruel to you?’

  ‘D-d-do you mean Trisha?’ she asked through her tears.

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘She’s not my grandmother.’

  ‘Well, whatever she is. Tell me how she made you run away.’

  I’m sure Stacey could normally have come up with lots of things I’d done wrong in her eyes, but in the face of this unexpectedly forthright challenge, she was speechless.

  ‘All right,’ shrugged Dr Boteral. ‘If you won’t answer, I’ll ask her.’

  She tossed her head and turned to me. ‘Why are you refusing to have Stacey back?’

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said in my bolshy voice, ‘but if you had properly read the notes, you would know that Stacey left for her own reasons, following some things she herself had done. And neither I nor my husband have ever refused to have her back. She hasn’t asked us. In fact we have worried about her every day since she left.’

  As I paused, I noticed the woman’s scornful look.

  ‘But she did hurt us all by some of the things she did and several of the extended family would find it difficult to accept her back without any apology. I would have Stacey back and I’m sure my husband would too – he’s always stuck up for her, no matter what.’

  ‘I see,’ said Dr Boteral, narrowing her eyes and making a scrawled note on her pad.

  Stacey gave no impression of having really taken in what I’d said, still tearful from whatever had happened before I came in.

  Next it was Carrie’s turn. This woman gave her a half-smile, as if to a small child, then asked her a complex two-part question expressed in such convoluted language that I knew Carrie would not be able to understand. And Carrie gave me a look to prove it.

  ‘What Dr Boteral means,’ I began to explain, ‘is do you—’

  ‘Shut up!’ interrupted the psychiatrist. ‘I’m talking to Carrie, not you.’

  ‘But please remember, she has the mental age of a small child. She doesn’t understand—’

  ‘Nonsense! I’m sure she can answer for herself.’

  Carrie did try to answer the question, but didn’t know how, so faltered after a few words.

  ‘Come on,’ urged Dr Boteral. ‘Spit it out.’

  At that point, Carrie burst into tears and we had to stop the interview.

  Sam’s session was apparently much the same. He was so young when all the neglect and abuse happened that he genuinely had no memory of it. The things that went on had damaged him, but he couldn’t explain them. Dr Boteral was on the warpath when she called me in, almost shouting that he’d refused to cooperate with her and haranguing me for his poor communication skills.

  At the end, she asked to talk to me on my own.

  ‘It’s all your fault,’ she confronted me. ‘You shouldn’t have taken in children with problems if you weren’t up to dealing with them.’

  ‘Well, to start with, we didn’t know they had so many problems. Nobody said anything about all the abuse they had suffered, nor the severity of their neglect. We weren’t told about any of that.’

  ‘So why did you
take them in? Why did they bring them over a hundred miles to you?’

  ‘They told us it was because we had more experience than anyone else to look after families of difficult children.’

  ‘Huh!’ she exclaimed. ‘Well, they got that wrong, didn’t they?’

  By now I felt she was on the attack, deliberately maligning me.

  ‘No one human being can get things right every time,’ I said in my own defence. ‘And I’m sure I’ve got a lot wrong along the way, but I know I got a lot right too.’ I stood up. ‘Goodbye, Dr Boteral,’ I said and walked out.

  I had been led to believe that we were going to see a respected child psychiatrist who understood children and their carers. But it was clear she didn’t have a clue and, even worse, had set out today to attack and undermine us all.

  As we went out of that building and down the steps I was fearful of what would happen next. Here I was in the big city, with four disturbed children who were now knotted up with repressed rage and frustration. What if they all ran off in different directions? Which one should I run after first?

  Somehow we all arrived back at Euston together. Perhaps it was the promise of a good tuck-in that did it. They filled themselves with hamburgers, at least two each, and I loaded up on more snacks to keep them going.

  The train journey back was more tense and stressful than it had been going. Jamie was full of anger. ‘She wouldn’t even let me out to go to the toilet or have a smoke.’

  Stacey just sat and seethed in a muttering sulk all the way back, cross with us all.

  Carrie was on edge.

  ‘I found her very scary,’ she said to me. ‘She was judging all of us. She made us feel like it was all our fault.’

  ‘Well put, Carrie. That’s exactly how I feel.’ The others nodded too. It was the one point of agreement of the whole day.

  I dreaded to think what that dragon’s report would be like, but I didn’t think it would be good . . . and she was supposed to be on our side!

  25

  A Devastating Allegation