Cathy Glass - Damaged

We ate lunch in relative calm, although it felt more like dinner to me, having been up for so long. The peace lasted into the afternoon, and I thought now would be a good time to take the photograph of Jodie that was required for the Social Services’ records. I fetched my camera, and explained to Jodie why I was taking it.

‘Is it all right to take your picture, sweet?’ I asked. It was important to give Jodie as much control as possible, to increase her feeling of stability and security.

She shrugged, which I decided to take as consent. Paula moved to one side, so I had just Jodie in the picture. I looked through the lens, and framed her head and shoulders against the wall, centring her in the viewfinder.

‘You can smile, Jodie,’ I said. She was looking very stern.

I saw her mouth pucker to a sheepish grin, then an arm came up, and she disappeared from view. ‘Very funny, Jodie. Come on, stand still.’ I was still looking through the lens. Then her other arm came up, and with it her jumper.

I lowered the camera. ‘Jodie, what are you doing?’

‘Taking off my clothes.’

‘Why?’ asked Paula, and quickly pulled Jodie’s top back into place.

She didn’t answer. She was staring at me, but not scowling, so I quickly took the photograph and closed the camera. ‘Jodie, we don’t normally take our clothes off for a photograph,’ I said. ‘Why did you do that?’

She took a piece of the jigsaw and tried to place it. ‘Want to,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘Want to. My clothes.’

‘I know, sweet, but why take them off for a photograph? I didn’t ask you to.’

She turned to Paula. ‘You helping, girl, or not?’

I smiled at Paula, and nodded for her to continue. I went over to my filing cabinet under the stairs and unlocked it. I wasn’t going to jump to conclusions about Jodie’s behaviour, but I had to make a note of it in the log. I took out the desk diary that the fostering agency had supplied and settled down to write everything that had happened so far. The ‘log’ is a daily record of a child’s progress, and is something that all foster carers keep. It is used to update the social workers and to monitor the child’s progress, and it’s sometimes used as evidence during care proceedings in court. I was assiduous about keeping it up to date because I knew only too well how one incident could blend into another and how disturbed nights could all seem the same after a while. Detail was important: only with careful notes could a pattern of behaviour start to emerge. I made a note of exactly what had happened: the self-harming in the night and the strange detachment; the lashing out at other people and violent tantrums marked by Jodie’s desire to hurt herself; and this strange and unsettling response to having her photograph taken. Why had she started to take her clothes off?

I was resolute that I would not rush into any hasty judgements. I needed to accept Jodie exactly as she was for the time being and then see what came from the pattern of her behaviour. I was uneasy, though, and also found it cathartic to be able to put it down on paper.

With the other two out for the day, Paula and I took it in turns to entertain Jodie throughout the afternoon, but despite this, and for no apparent reason, she threw another full-scale tantrum. I allowed her to continue for a few minutes, hoping it would run its course. When it didn’t, and the high-pitched screaming became intolerable, I enfolded her in my arms as I had before, until she had calmed down. Later, I made another note of Jodie’s erratic behaviour in the log. I was doing a lot of writing.

Our first weekend with Jodie was an exhausting and disturbing experience. Although none of us said anything, it was obvious that we were all thinking the same thing. But it was early days and we all knew from experience that children can settle down after an initial bout of odd behaviour.

‘She’s a very troubled child,’ I said to Jill when she phoned the following Monday to see how things were going. I told her about the self-harming and the violent and aggressive tantrums.

‘Yes, that is bad,’ said Jill. ‘It’s very disturbed behaviour, particularly in such a young child. Do you think you can cope with her?’

‘I’m determined to try,’ I said. ‘She’s hardly been here five minutes. I want to give her as much of a chance as possible. Besides, we knew she was not going to be easy from the start so we can’t be surprised if she’s a handful at first. I’m keeping detailed notes of everything that happens, though.’

‘Good. We’ll just have to monitor it and see how it goes. You’re definitely the best person she could possibly be with, so as long as you’re happy, I know she’s in safe hands.’

I listened out for Jodie – she was occupied watching a Tiny Tots video – and then went through my log for Jill, trying to think of something positive to say. ‘She eats well. Actually, she gorges. I’m having to limit her intake. She nearly made herself sick yesterday. Apart from a healthy appetite, she doesn’t have much else going for her at present, I’m afraid.’

‘Do you think she can be contained within a family, Cathy? If she can’t, the borough will have to start looking for a therapeutic unit, and they’re few and far between. I have every faith in your judgement.’

I appreciated the compliment, but it was small comfort. I was already exhausted. I was worried about whether or not I’d be able to see this through and the prospect of failing before I’d even begun did nothing for my stamina. ‘She’s got contact with her parents tomorrow and her tutor’s coming for a couple of hours next week. Perhaps a familiar face might help settle her. She’s been seeing her tutor since September.’

‘OK, Cathy, we’ll see how it goes. I’ll update Eileen. What are you going to do with her today?’

‘Retail therapy. Courtesy of Tesco’s.’

Jill laughed. ‘I’ll give it a wide berth.’

Jodie apparently loved food shopping, unlike the rest of my family who could think of nothing worse than a trip to the supermarket. She was in her element, pushing the trolley up and down, telling me what we should or shouldn’t buy. In fact, she was so enthusiastic I had to limit her exuberance, and return some items to the shelves.

This wasn’t unusual; children in care often seem to feel that all their problems can be solved by a bottomless purse. Children I’d looked after often had a desperate need for material goods. In the homes they had come from money was often short, and when there was any it was frequently spent on drink, drugs or cigarettes. When I started buying my foster children little treats, they would often find it very exciting and pleasurable: treats were something they had very little experience of. But I always had to be careful about managing their expectations, as they could very quickly become demanding and assume they’d be given anything they wanted. Jodie was a different case, though; from the looks of her luggage and her weight, treats had never been in short supply – which meant that she was used to getting anything she fancied. I hoped it wasn’t going to be too much of a struggle restricting her to a sensible limit, but experience was already teaching me to expect a battle.

‘Three packets of cereal is plenty,’ I said. ‘Choose one you’d like and we’ll put the others back.’

She wanted them all, of course, and every packet of biscuits, and every dessert in the freezer cabinet, so I was spending as much time taking things out of the trolley as I was putting them in, but at least she was occupied and content.

It took nearly two hours to complete the weekly shop, and as we finally reached the check-out Jodie spotted the display of sweets, tantalizingly placed at the side of the aisle. I started unloading the trolley on to the belt, and told her to choose a bar of chocolate as a treat, because she’d been such a good girl and helped.