Another Forgotten Child (18 page)

As I had estimated, we arrived home at seven o’clock and with Aimee on the sofa beside me we phoned straightaway, but as soon as Susan answered and Aimee said ‘Hello, Mum,’ she began – at Aimee.

‘You’re late phoning,’ she said. ‘I’ve been waiting for ages for you. I’m not well, and this has made me feel worse. Where have you been?’

Aimee’s previous enthusiasm for telling her mother all about her trip to the cinema vanished, and she looked at me to give her mother the explanation.

‘Susan, Cathy here,’ I said, moving closer to the mic in the phone. ‘I’m sorry we’re phoning a bit later than usual but I took Aimee to the cinema to see –’

‘I’m not talking to you,’ she snapped rudely. ‘This phone call is between me and my daughter.’ Then, addressing Aimee: ‘Aimee, don’t phone late again, do you hear? It makes me ill. I’ve been in bed all day.’ And Susan continued telling Aimee about her stomach cramps, diarrhoea and sickness, which according to her had been made worse by our later-than-usual phone call.

Clearly I didn’t know if Susan had been unwell that day or if us phoning slightly later than usual had compounded her illness, but the result was instant and effective. Aimee gave up all thoughts of telling her mother what a good time she’d had at the cinema and, feeling guilty for upsetting her, listened, sympathized and then apologized.

‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ she said. ‘I should be at home to look after you. Tell the social worker you need me there.’

‘I will.’

Most emotionally responsible parents wouldn’t worry their children with their own ailments but make light of them or not mention them at all, but Susan was emotionally immature and very needy, probably as a result of her own upbringing. She treated Aimee as a confidante or surrogate mother figure and offloaded. So that after another ten minutes of listening to her mother’s symptoms and suffering (which were really quite minor) Aimee was sad and anxious.

‘Will you be all right alone tonight?’ she asked fretfully.

‘I’ll manage. Craig’s coming later. He’ll look after me.’

I saw the colour drain from Aimee’s face at the mention of her abuser and she also looked very confused. ‘Why’s he coming?’ she asked in a small voice.

‘To look after me, silly. You know how he looks after me.’

I didn’t know what game Susan was playing but it was a cruel one, for here she was telling her daughter that her abuser was a good man who looked after her when she was ill, while her daughter wasn’t there for her. I saw the confusion, upset and rejection on Aimee’s face and decided it was time to step in. Lowering my voice away from the mic I said quietly to Aimee, ‘Tell your mother you went to the cinema and then say goodnight.’

‘Bye, Mum. I hope you’re better soon,’ Aimee said, omitting her news.

‘Are you going already?’ Susan asked, her voice rising.

‘Yes. Cathy says I have to.’

‘Why? What’s it got to do with her?’

Aimee looked at me, very worried, and didn’t know what to say.

‘Susan,’ I said, again moving closer to the mic, ‘as you know I’ve been asked to monitor these calls and intervene if necessary. I don’t think it’s appropriate to be talking about Craig, given the allegations that have been made against him, and the police investigation. It’s also upsetting for Aimee. So if you’d like to say goodbye we’ll phone again tomorrow at the usual time. You can discuss my decision to shorten this call on Monday with your social worker.’

‘You bet I will! When I find out who the new social worker is.’

‘Say goodbye to your mum,’ I now said to Aimee so that Susan could hear.

‘Bye, Mum,’ Aimee said. ‘Please don’t let Craig come round. I don’t like him. He’ll hurt you.’

‘Don’t be so silly – of course he won’t hurt me,’ Susan said. ‘He’s my friend. Make sure you phone on time tomorrow. Goodbye.’ And she hung up.

Aimee sat beside me on the sofa, confused, sad and upset. I could see she didn’t know what to think about Craig and her mother, and was riddled with guilt and self-doubt. Susan would make a complaint next week that I’d cut short the call but I knew my action had been justified – to protect Aimee. I reasoned that if I couldn’t end a call when I saw fit there was no point in monitoring these phone calls, and I hoped the new social worker would agree and support my decision.

‘It’s my fault Mum has to see Craig,’ Aimee said after a moment.

‘Of course it’s not,’ I said firmly. ‘Your mum is an adult. She makes her own decisions about who she sees. You’re not responsible for her.’

‘But if I’d looked after her better when I was at home I wouldn’t be in care. If I’d cleaned the house and cooked and gone to school when I should, I would be at home with Mum and she wouldn’t need Craig to look after her. I shouldn’t have told you about Craig – it’s made Mum upset.’

Susan had succeeded in punishing Aimee and making her feel guilty for disclosing Craig’s abuse.

‘Aimee, love,’ I said, turning to her on the sofa, ‘you are not responsible for your mother and you did right to tell me what Craig did to you. Parents should protect their children and look after them. It’s not the child’s job to cook and clean and get to school. It’s the parents’ job, and unfortunately your mother couldn’t do it, which is why you’re here with me. I’m sorry your mother feels she has to see Craig, and I can understand why you’re worried, but it is your mother’s decision. It’s a pity she mentioned Craig on the phone and when I speak to the new social worker I will explain what has happened. All right?’

Aimee shrugged despondently, any residue of delight in our outing to the cinema completely gone.

‘Come on, cheer up,’ I said. ‘Can I give you a hug?

Aimee shook her head.

‘Can I hold your hand, then?’ I asked, feeling the need to offer her some physical comfort.

She gave a small nod and I gently lifted one of her hands, which was resting on her lap, and took it between mine. It was the first physical contact I’d had with Aimee apart from washing her hair, and her hand felt stiff and resistant. Children who have been physically abused are very wary of physical contact, as experience has taught them it usually hurts. I continued to gently stroke Aimee’s hand as she stared straight ahead; then she slid her hand from mine and asked if I’d read her a bedtime story.

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Choose some books from the shelf.’

She left the sofa and gathered a selection of young children’s storybooks from the bookshelf, which I read with her sitting next to me on the sofa. After we’d finished I told her it was time for her bath and I began the bedtime routine. She was still subdued and for the second night in a row didn’t object to washing or cleaning her teeth. And while this made life easier for me, I hated seeing her so quiet and withdrawn and would have preferred the feisty child who objected to everything. I asked her a few times what was wrong and she said, ‘Nothing.’

I finally tucked her into bed and said goodnight. She was lying flat on her back and staring at the ceiling. And just for a moment as she stared, unseeing and distant, I caught another glimpse of Jodie who, as a result of horrendous abuse, withdrew so far into herself she became impossible to reach. It had been dreadful to witness and I knew it must never happen to Aimee.

Chapter Sixteen

Serious Allegation

I didn’t sleep well that night. Thoughts of Jodie flashed through my mind and I checked on Aimee three times, but she was always fast asleep. It was a long night and I was very relieved when Aimee woke the following morning and sprang out of bed, her usual objectionable self. ‘I ain’t having me hair washed today!’ were her first words – she was aware I always gave her hair a good wash and fine-tooth comb on a Sunday morning.

‘Aimee, before we debate the merits of washing your hair, there’s something I need to say to you.’

‘Yeah?’ she said quizzically, standing by her bed. ‘You know you can talk to me.’

I smiled at the phrase I sometimes used, sounding quaint when spoken by a child. ‘Aimee, I wanted to make sure you know that you can talk to me about anything that’s worrying you. It often helps to talk about the things that worry us, to share a problem. And I won’t be shocked or upset.’

‘Like what?’ she said, eyeing me cautiously.

‘Well, I don’t know exactly,’ I said, perching on the bed. ‘Only you know what could be worrying you. But I think things could have happened before you came into care, which you now realize were bad and could be worrying you. I want you to feel you can tell me. I don’t want you to keep worries to yourself and “bottle them up” because that can make them worse. I also want you to remember that whatever happened before you came into care wasn’t your fault. Do you understand?’ Abused children often blame themselves, feeling they should have stopped the abuse, or that they deserved it because they were naughty, or even encouraged it by being ‘a tease’.

‘Can I have egg and bacon for breakfast?’ Aimee said, changing the subject.

‘Yes, but will you remember what I’ve told you? And try and share any worries you have with me or another adult you trust, like your teacher?’

‘I’ll try,’ she said. ‘Egg, bacon, beans and fried bread, please.’

‘Fine. Would you like your hair washed before or after your breakfast?’ I asked, relying on the closed choice.

‘After,’ she said, not realizing she’d agreed to a hair wash.

‘Excellent.’

And that is what we did. I cooked Aimee the breakfast she wanted and once she’d finished eating she kept her part of the bargain and allowed me to wash her hair – with, of course, her usual protestations, which I didn’t mind. The old Aimee was back and I was pleased.

However, when Adrian and his two friends arrived just after one o’clock it soon became obvious I was going to have to keep a watchful eye on Aimee to make sure they weren’t embarrassed.

‘Cor, they’re nice,’ Aimee said, sighing, as the lads stepped into the hall and we greeted each other. ‘Much better-looking than me mum’s men.’

Lucy and Paula had heard Aimee’s remark and looked at me, worried, but I didn’t think Adrian and his friends had heard. But once we were in the sitting room Aimee snuggled herself cosily in between the lads on the three-seater sofa and then gazed up at them adoringly.

‘Aimee, come and sit with me or the girls,’ I said, going over. I took her hand and led her off the sofa. ‘There’s not enough room for four on there.’ Aimee was about to object but thought better of it, and joined Paula and Lucy on the two-seater sofa. The girls knew why I’d moved Aimee, and Adrian might have done too, while his friends simply thought I’d moved her to give them more room.

I made drinks and then we all sat in the sitting room while the dinner cooked and chatted – about the lads’ trip to the Lake District, university, and what the girls and I had been doing. Aimee sat between Lucy and Paula and tried to join in the conversation. Most eight-year-olds would find adult conversation boring and prefer to be off playing, but Aimee, having never been allowed a carefree childhood, was used to living on the edge of her parents’ adult word. I was slowly teaching her to play as a child should but there was still a long way to go.

When I had to leave the room to check on dinner I suggested to Aimee that she might like to come with me and help, but she wanted to stay in the sitting room. Lucy and Paula knew to watch her if I wasn’t in the room, and when dinner was ready I set a place at the table for Aimee between Paula and me, and on the opposite side of the table to the lads. But she had clearly taken a fancy to Adrian and stared at him adoringly throughout the meal. I would like to say it was the adoration of a younger sibling towards an older brother but it was more than that. Aimee batted her eyelids and threw him flirtatious looks designed to catch his attention, which Adrian either ignored or didn’t see. Every so often I said, ‘Come on, Aimee, concentrate on your meal,’ to redirect her attention, but whenever she regained concentration it was short-lived.

I knew that Aimee had watched a lot of adult films before coming into care and she’d said she’d seen her mother go with men in return for drugs, so it was possible she was imitating what she’d seen, but it was also possible Aimee’s sexual awareness was a result of sexual abuse. Clearly Aimee had secrets and had been living in an environment where she could have been sexually abused, but I wouldn’t know for sure unless she told me.

After we’d finished eating everyone helped clear the table, and a short while later Adrian said he and his friends should be going, as they had a lengthy drive to university and the temperature was set to drop to freezing that night. The girls and I went to the front door to see them off and we kissed each other goodbye. Aimee, as part of our family, was included in this and the lads bent down so that she could reach their cheeks to kiss them goodbye, which she did appropriately. But once they’d gone she then spent the next hour with a silly grin on her face talking about the ‘three big boys’ she’d kissed. I knew that taken out of context and repeated to a third person her comments could sound highly inappropriate, so eventually I said, ‘Aimee, in our family we always kiss each other goodbye on the cheek. It’s nothing to be silly about, so just forget it.’

‘I’m not silly,’ Aimee said. ‘I know about kissing. I kissed lots of men at me mum’s.’

‘Did you?’ I asked with assumed nonchalance, pausing from what I was doing.

‘Who were they?’

‘My mum’s friends. We did lots of kissing.’

‘What, on the cheek?’

‘Sometimes, and sometimes we kissed on the mouth like this.’

I looked at Aimee and she parted her lips and demonstrated a lingering open-mouthed kiss on the back of her hand. ‘Who did you kiss like that?’ I asked.

‘Can’t remember,’ she said, perhaps now realizing it wasn’t appropriate for men to kiss a young girl like that.

‘Are you sure you can’t remember?’

She nodded. ‘My mind’s a blank.’

‘Well, if you do remember, please tell me,’ I said. ‘A grown man shouldn’t kiss a young girl like that.’

I’d have to note this in my log, for clearly if what Aimee had said was true, adults kissing a young girl in this manner was another abuse. Adrian was due to return home from university for Christmas in three weeks’ time and I hoped that by then Aimee would have learnt how to behave appropriately when around him so that I wouldn’t have to watch her the whole time. It is always difficult fostering a child who is sexually aware beyond their years and has come from a background where sexual abuse was possible. You want to give the child love and affection and make sure they felt included in the family but at the same time you are aware you have to protect your own family. For this reason all foster carers have a document called ‘A Safer Caring Policy’, which includes how to kiss, touch and hug the foster child appropriately. It’s sad that this is necessary, but children who are sexually aware or have been sexually abused view affection very differently from the average child, so that even the most innocent gesture can be misinterpreted.