Cathy Glass - Another Forgotten Child

‘You’ll feel much better once they’re all gone,’ Lucy said to Aimee. ‘All that nasty itching will stop.’ For even in the few minutes since Lucy had come in Aimee had been scratching her head, as she had been doing on and off since arriving.

‘Me mum didn’t do it properly,’ Aimee said to Lucy. ‘The social worker gave her the bottle but it didn’t work.’

‘Don’t worry, mine always works,’ I said positively, aware that the most likely reason for the lotion not working was that its application had been interrupted by Aimee kicking her mother, as had been stated in the referral.

‘See you later, Aimee,’ Lucy said, disappearing up to her room to relax after her day at work.

‘Come on,’ I said to Aimee. ‘Let’s get rid of those nasty lice. The lotion smells but it won’t hurt you.’

As I led the way upstairs I wondered what plan B would be if Aimee refused to have the lotion applied or if she got angry, as she had done with her mother, and kicked me. Clearly I couldn’t forcibly apply the lotion, but nor could I not apply it. A bad infestation of head lice requires more than combing or brushing to get rid of it – not that she’d allowed her mother to do that either. Adopting my usual approach of being so positive that there was no room for refusal I went into the bathroom, took down the bottle of lotion, unscrewed the cap and then turned to Aimee, ready to apply the lotion.

‘Good girl, lean over the sink so it doesn’t run in your eyes,’ I said. ‘We’ll soon have you feeling better.’

There was a moment’s hesitation when Aimee looked at me, clearly deciding if she was going to do as I’d asked or not. ‘Come on, be quick,’ I encouraged. ‘Then we can have our dinner.’

There was another hesitation before Aimee took the couple of steps to the basin and bent her head over. ‘Good girl,’ I said. ‘Now stay as still as you can while I put on the lotion.’ I began separating out the hair at the back of her head and on her crown and liberally applying the lotion.

Quite often the only indication a child has head lice is the minute white eggs that are glued by the adult head lice to the root of the hair, close to the scalp, where they incubate and hatch; very rarely does one actually see head lice, as they fix themselves to the hair and camouflage themselves. But now as I massaged the lotion into Aimee’s hair and scalp head lice began appearing, drawn out by the toxic lotion. There were dozens and dozens, grouped in clusters, large adult lice that had been allowed to breed untouched for months. It was disgusting and my stomach churned. There were so many that they were crawling over each other in the thickest parts of her hair. It was one of the worst cases of head lice I’d ever seen and must have caused her untold misery. There were sores and scabs on Aimee’s scalp where she’d been scratching and had broken the skin. I thought the lotion would sting the open sores but she didn’t complain; she just stood with her head bent over the sink, quiet and still. ‘Good girl,’ I said repeatedly as I continued to apply the lotion. ‘This will feel much better.’

‘It does already,’ Aimee said, which I could appreciate. Although it would take two hours for the lotion to kill all the lice, and the lotion would need to stay on overnight to kill the eggs, many lice were already coming out and dying and therefore not biting her scalp, which must have given her considerable relief.

Once I was sure all areas of her hair and scalp had been saturated in the lotion I praised her again and said she could stand up straight now, and I washed my hands in the sink.

‘We need to leave the lotion on overnight,’ I said. ‘It will have dried by bedtime and I’ll comb your hair with a special fine-tooth comb before you go to bed. Then in the morning we’ll wash your hair before we go to school.’

Aimee nodded and I smiled. ‘You were a very good girl standing there all that time,’ I said pleased (and surprised) by her cooperation.

‘That’s OK,’ she said amicably. ‘I wish me mum had done it. Can I play in me bedroom now?’

‘Yes, of course, if that’s what you’d like to do. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.’

I saw Aimee into her room and made sure she was all right. She wanted to play with the box of games I’d put in there. ‘It’s a nice room,’ she said, squatting down on the floor by the toy box. ‘I like me bed. I’ll be comfortable in here.’

‘Yes, you will, love,’ I said, touched. I would have liked to put my arms around her and given her a hug, but I knew I would have to wait until she was ready and came to me for a cuddle.

I went downstairs, pleased that things were going smoothly so far. As I neared the foot of the stairs the phone began ringing and I picked up the extension in the hall. It was Jill, my support social worker, calling from her mobile.

‘Has Aimee arrived?’ she asked.

‘Yes, and I’ve treated her head lice without a problem. But Jill, I’ve never seen so many. It must have been months since she was last treated, if at all. There are sores and scabs on her scalp from where she’s been scratching. It’s a wonder they weren’t infected.’

‘Poor kid,’ Jill said. ‘Make a note in your log and obviously tell Kristen when she phones. That’s shocking neglect. What’s Aimee doing now?’

‘Playing in her room.’

‘Good. I’ll phone tomorrow to arrange a visit. I hope you have a good evening.’

‘And you.’

Having said goodbye to Jill, I went into the kitchen to continue with the evening meal. I was feeling pretty confident and buoyed up that things were going well, given Aimee’s history of violence towards her mother. I knew that Paula, shyer, quieter and more introverted than Lucy, and also concentrating on her exam work, would say hello to Aimee in her own time. When I called the girls down for dinner I heard Paula’s bedroom door open first and her footsteps go round the landing and into Aimee’s room. I heard Paula introduce herself and then they came downstairs together, with Lucy following a few steps behind.

I was aware just how grubby and smelly Aimee was and had she arrived earlier I would have given her a bath before dinner, but now I felt she should eat first, as it was getting late. I therefore suggested she just gave her hands a wash before we ate.

‘Why?’ Aimee asked.

‘It’s hygienic to wash your hands before a meal,’ I said. ‘It gets rid of all the germs and stops you from getting sick.’

‘I ain’t never sick,’ Aimee said. ‘So I don’t need to wash me hands.’

Ignoring this questionable logic I led the way to the kitchen sink, where I turned on the taps and told Aimee to give her hands a quick wash. She looked at the running water and then at me and I saw the same hesitation loaded with determination as I’d seen before in the bathroom. ‘Come on, be quick, good girl,’ I said. More hesitation and then she pushed her hands under the running water just long enough to wet them. It was better than nothing and I held out the towel for her to dry her hands on, but she ran them down the sides of her (filthy) joggers instead.

‘This is your place,’ I said to Aimee, showing her to the dining table, where Lucy and Paula were already sitting.

Aimee stared at the table and her chair but made no attempt to pull out the chair and sit. ‘Sit down, good girl,’ I said. ‘Then I can bring in the hot dinner.’

‘I can’t!’ Aimee said, slightly annoyed and glaring at me.

‘Why not?’

‘There ain’t enough room.’

I looked at the dining table with its six chairs, only four of which were being used. Of course there was plenty of room. I saw Lucy and Paula looking questioningly at Aimee too.