The next day, Jill phoned to arrange her last visit before Christmas. We chatted for a while. Jill asked me if Jodie ever mentioned her brother and sister. ‘Occasionally,’ I replied, ‘in the context of something she’s telling me about home.’
‘She doesn’t ask to see them?’
‘No, she doesn’t.’ And it suddenly occurred to me how unusual this was. The bond between siblings in care is often strengthened by separation, so even if the children aren’t seeing their parents, Social Services usually make sure that contact is arranged between the brothers and sisters. ‘Are there any plans for them to keep in touch?’ I asked.
‘Not at present. There were concerns about Jodie’s treatment of them. I think they had reason to believe that she could be a bit heavy handed with them, which is why they all went to separate carers.’
I could imagine that. Jodie often lashed out when she was frustrated. ‘What about Christmas cards and presents?’ I asked.
‘We can certainly pass them on, if she wants to send them.’
That afternoon, I asked Jodie if she wanted to go Christmas shopping to buy presents for her brother and sister.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t want to.’
‘How about sending a card? I’ll help you write it if you like.’
‘No. Hate them.’
‘Why do you hate them, Jodie?’
She thought for a moment. ‘Mum liked them more than me. She took them away when Dad came into my bedroom.’
‘OK, pet, I think I understand.’ I wasn’t sure exactly what she was telling me but it was quite possible that the younger ones had been protected in some way from what Jodie went through. No wonder she would resent them. Perhaps she’d even hit out at them because she was jealous of their escape and wanted to punish them. It was conjecture, of course, but I hoped for the other children’s sakes that they had been left alone.
Not only was Jodie cut off from her parents, she was also isolated from her siblings. With no grandparents in the picture, and abusers for aunts and uncles, this meant we were the only family she had. I thought of my own children, and the extended family who wouldn’t hesitate to step in and look after them if anything happened to me. This wasn’t such an issue now, but it had been a real concern in the past. My husband had left when Adrian was Jodie’s age, and in darker moments I had welcomed the safety net of knowing that were I to fall under a bus they would be loved and cared for just the same. Jodie, on the other hand, had no one in the world but us.
Instead of shopping, Jodie wanted to do some painting, so I covered the table with paper, and set out the paints, brushes and a pot of water. I tied Jodie’s apron around her, and left her for a few minutes to work on her masterpiece. When I came back to check on her, I was impressed. Jodie had produced a number of pictures which actually looked like something.
‘Do you like them, Cathy?’ Jodie asked proudly.
‘I really do. These are excellent, Jodie. Can you describe them for me? Tell me what they are?’
‘All right. This one is a house.’
‘That’s very nice. And those are the windows, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, windows. This one’s a car. And this one’s my dog, stupid old dog.’
I jolted to attention. At the pre-placement meeting, I had been told that Jodie had set fire to her dog, and had nearly burned her house down in the process. It was this incident that had finally led to her and her siblings being taken into care. ‘I see,’ I replied. ‘Can you tell me more about the picture?’
‘Yes I can. This is our dog, Sam. He’s a big brown dog, always woofing.’
‘And why did you say he was stupid, Jodie?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied impatiently.
‘There must be a reason why he’s stupid. You can tell me.’
‘He’s all ugly and burnt. He’s horrible.’
‘Oh dear. How did he get burnt?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice light and relaxed. We were still standing side by side, looking at the pictures, and I was anxious not to put pressure on her. Jodie shook her brush in the water, then tested it on the paper. Finding it was still not clean, she dipped and shook it again.
‘Jodie, can you tell me how Sam got burnt? I promise I won’t be angry.’
‘Jodie did it,’ she muttered. ‘I put all the bog roll on him, then used Mum’s lighter. He was jumping and jumping, and woofing, and started running around, and everything was burning.’
‘Where were your mum and dad when you did this?’
‘They were at Uncle Mike’s.’
‘Were you on your own?’
‘No, Ben and Chessie was there.’ Jodie’s sister’s name was Chelsea, but she had trouble pronouncing it. ‘I was looking after them.’
‘So what happened next?’
‘I picked up Chessie, and took her and Ben in the garden, and the stupid dog came and started rolling in the dirt. It looked all ugly, with its hair hanging off, and it stinks. And it made a lot of noise. I went in the hall and dialled 999, and the firemen came and put it out.’
‘That was sensible, calling the firemen. You saved Chelsea and Ben.’
‘Yeah,’ she said, grabbing a fresh sheet of paper.
‘Jodie, can you tell me why you wanted to hurt your dog?’
‘Wasn’t my dog,’ she snapped. ‘Daddy’s dog. I told you.’
‘Oh, right. Can you tell me why you wanted to hurt your daddy’s dog?’
Her brow furrowed in concentration. Gradually, her face hardened, and her fist clenched around the brush. ‘I hate him. I hate them, and I wanted to burn the house down and get out. It’s a horrible house.’ She thumped the table. ‘And I want my daddy arrested. He’s horrible, he sat on my face. They should arrest him, kill him!’
‘But why set fire to the dog, Jodie? Why not burn the curtains or the sofa if you wanted to burn the house down and get out?’
‘You are silly. I get smacked if I mess up the settee. Can I have a biscuit now, Cathy?’
While I got her a biscuit, I wondered if Jodie had set the dog alight as a way of punishing her father by hurting something he loved. Or perhaps, despite all her learning difficulties and developmental delays, Jodie had worked out a way to get herself out of that house. The frightening thought was that if she hadn’t done what she did, she might still be there, undergoing that vile degradation day after day.
In the days that followed, Jodie became increasingly distant. I renewed my efforts to draw her into the heart of our family, but she remained fiercely resistant, acting as if she needed no one and could manage alone. I’d seen this kind of behaviour before – self-sufficiency is not unusual in abused or neglected children, as they’ve often had to be resilient in order to survive – but Jodie took it to a new level. Any expression of care or concern from us was met with outright rejection, or sneered ridicule. She wanted no part of the daily support or interaction that made up family life, and erected barriers to emphasize her separateness. One afternoon, Paula and Lucy joined us for a shopping trip, but Jodie refused to walk with us, instead she walked six paces in front or behind, and barely spoke a word. The next day, I took Jodie to the cinema to see Lilo and stitch, and she pointedly sat two seats apart from me. She only rejoined me when the lights went down, as she was scared of the dark. She’d never been to the cinema before and she didn’t show much excitement either before or afterwards. It was another sign of how dulled and desensitized she was. She basked in her loneliness, and I was completely at a loss to know how to break through.
My only hope was that Christmas would strengthen our relationship. After all, there’s nothing more family oriented than Christmas.