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‘Do you have any paracetamol?’ she asked quietly, coming into the kitchen where I was preparing Sunday dinner. ‘I’ve got a dreadful headache.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ I said. ‘And you’ve only got yourself to blame. I’m afraid that type of headache doesn’t get my sympathy.’

‘I know,’ she said, and her hand went to her forehead as she grimaced.

‘Sit down at the table,’ I said, ‘and I’ll get you a paracetamol, and also a cup of tea and some toast.’

She groaned. ‘I can’t eat toast. Can I have a biscuit?’

I guessed she was craving sugar after all the alcohol. I made her a large mug of strong tea, took a paracetamol tablet from a bottle in the medicine cabinet and, tucking the biscuit barrel under my arm, carried them over to the table. Setting them in front of her I returned to the kitchen and continued preparing the vegetables, occasionally glancing in her direction. I saw her swallow the tablet, drink some tea, then dunk a biscuit and begin to chew. It was time to begin my lecture, I thought.

‘Dawn, you know a person can die from too much alcohol. Apart from trying to cross roads in the state you were in, you could have passed out anywhere. Then what would have happened? Fortunately you got home before you crashed out, but next time you might not be so lucky. It’s very silly and very dangerous to get drunk. It’s also illegal to drink or to be sold alcohol at your age. Where did you get the drink?’

‘Me mate bought it,’ she said slowly and grimacing again, clearly finding talking, and probably the sound of my voice, aggravated her headache.

‘Which mate?’ I asked, none too quietly.

She shrugged.

‘She doesn’t sound like much of mate to let you get in that state. How old is she?’

‘He,’ she corrected, rubbing her fingers over her forehead. ‘He’s older than me.’

‘Where did you go to drink? They wouldn’t have served you in a pub – you don’t look anywhere near eighteen.’

‘The park.’

I chopped another carrot, the knife snapping sharply on the wooden chopping board, while Dawn drank the rest of her tea and then asked for another. I refilled the kettle, and she slowly stood and gingerly carried her mug to me.

‘Where did you get the money to buy the drink?’ I asked, aware of the answer, but wanting confirmation, and ammunition with which to approach her social worker.

Dawn looked at me sheepishly. ‘I’m sorry, Cathy. I used my clothing allowance.’

I nodded, and dropping a teabag into her mug poured on boiling water. When I next spoke to her social worker (hopefully on Monday if she was back) I would tell her how the clothing allowance was being spent, and ask if I could stop giving Dawn the money and take her shopping for clothes as I had done when she’d first arrived.

I poured milk into the tea and passed her the mug. ‘Sorry,’ she said again, and returned to sit at the table.

Dawn was always so polite and pleasant when she was at home, but something seemed to take over when she left the house. I thought that ‘something’ was probably her mates, the ‘bad lot’ her mother had spoken of who had got her into trouble before.

‘Dawn,’ I said more gently, as she dunked another biscuit into her tea. ‘These mates of yours: it seems to me that being with them leads to trouble. Can’t you spend some time with girls from your school, who are the same age as you? Natasha sounds nice, and from what your Head of Year said so do the rest of your group. You could invite them here for the evening, or arrange to go to the cinema or ice-skating on Saturday afternoon. I’m sure their parents wouldn’t let them hang around the park on your mum’s estate. In fact I doubt they’d be allowed out after dark at all.’

‘How did you know I was in that park?’ she asked, surprised.

‘I guessed. It’s where all your old friends go, isn’t it?’

She shrugged. ‘I like going there. We have fun.’

‘But what sort of fun, Dawn? There are other ways to have a good time without drinking yourself into oblivion and then throwing up.’

I saw her face set and I knew I had said enough. It was difficult; had she been my own child I would have dealt with it differently, more firmly, and grounded her indefinitely. Indeed, the situation would never have arisen if Dawn had been my child, for there was no way either John or I would have let a girl of her age out alone in the evening unless they were just walking up the road to a friend’s house. But the social worker had said that Dawn could go out Friday and Saturday evenings, so unless we could change Ruth’s mind there was precious little we could do.

‘Why don’t you have a bath and change your clothes?’ I suggested after a moment. ‘Dinner will be ready about four o’clock, and then you’re seeing your mum this evening.’

Dawn nodded. She finished the second mug of tea and pushed back her chair to stand. ‘Where’s Adrian?’ she asked, finally realising that she couldn’t hear him, or see him scampering around the floor.

‘John’s taken him out for a breath of fresh air. They’ll be back soon.’

She hesitated, then looked at me; some of the colour was returning to her cheeks and she didn’t look quite so pale and heavy-eyed. ‘I love Adrian,’ she said quietly. ‘He’s very lucky having you and John. I wish I could start my life over again, and be a baby here. I’d like you and John as my parents.’

‘Oh, love,’ I said, putting down what I was doing and going over to her. ‘It’s not too late. You’re only thirteen – you can start afresh. John and I will give you all the help you need. You’re a good girl. You’ve just got a bit off track – I don’t know why.’

‘Neither do I,’ she said, and she paused. I knew she was about to say something heartfelt, and that she was finding it very difficult. She looked at me, her blue eyes sad and imploring. ‘You and John are the only family I’ve ever had,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I really like being here with you, and I want to try and change and do what’s right. I’ve made a real mess of it so far. Will you help me, so I can be good? I want to be like Adrian will be when he’s my age. I don’t want to do bad things – they just happen. I want you to be proud of me.’

I put my arms around her and hugged her hard. I had to swallow before I spoke because of the lump in my throat. ‘Dawn, love, you’ve no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that. Of course I’ll help you all I can. You’re a lovely girl, and I know if we all work together we can make big changes.’ And I knew at that moment that whatever Dawn threw at us we would deal with it and support her, for if we failed her, her future would mean more of the past, or worse.

‘Love you,’ she said quietly into my shoulder.

‘And you, love.’

Chapter Sixteen

Faking It

‘I
f she’s on the other line, I’ll wait,’ I said. ‘I’ve already left four messages and she hasn’t called back.’

I heard Ruth’s colleague sigh. ‘She might be a while yet. She’s very busy.’

‘No problem. I’ll hold. I do need to speak to her urgently.’ The line hummed as I was put on hold.

It was Wednesday morning and, despite Ruth having returned to the office on Monday, and my leaving two more messages for her to phone me, she hadn’t. I now intended waiting for as long as it took for Ruth to finish her other call, so that she could speak to me.

Ten minutes later Ruth’s voice came on, measured and precise. ‘What can I do for you, Mrs Glass?’

I knew in my head what I wanted to say, and there was plenty of it. I began with the most serious – Dawn cutting her leg and going missing for a week, and then her sleepwalking. I told Ruth how Dawn had used her clothing allowance to buy drink, and continued with Dawn’s truanting and the friendship fall-out that had caused it, and the hope that it had now been sorted. ‘I know,’ Ruth put in. ‘The school left a message.’

‘Good,’ I said. I returned to Dawn’s habitual sleepwalking, emphasising the seriousness and that it was a regular and disturbing occurrence. I described in detail the incident when Dawn had sleepwalked into the kitchen and re-enacted striking a match, calling herself a ‘wicked girl’ and ‘evil child’. I thought for a moment Ruth was going to say something, for I heard her take a breath, but she didn’t; so I continued with my visit to the doctor. I told Ruth that although the doctor hadn’t yet received Dawn’s medical notes, he had suggested counselling, but that we would need Ruth’s permission before going ahead.

‘You’ve got it,’ Ruth said, ‘if that’s what Dawn wants.’

I paused. ‘Dawn says she doesn’t want it at present. But she needs it. John and I can only do so much.’

‘You can’t force Dawn to go for counselling,’ Ruth said, unnecessarily. ‘It has to be her decision.’

‘I know, but John and I were thinking that perhaps you could talk to her and try to persuade her it would help. There’s so much in Dawn’s past we don’t know about. Something has caused her to behave as she does and want to hurt herself.’ I stopped again, hoping that Ruth would pick up this invitation to talk to Dawn and also fill in some details of Dawn’s past, but there was nothing. ‘I appreciate there are confidentiality issues,’ I continued, ‘but can you tell us anything about Dawn that might explain her behaviour and help us deal with it, so that we are better equipped to look after Dawn?’

‘You can’t stop her from going out,’ Ruth said, missing the point – purposely? – and returning to what I had said at the beginning. ‘She’s used to going out and leading her own life. She’s had a lot of freedom in the past and if you stop it all now she’ll buck against it. Her behaviour could get even worse.’

‘I’m not suggesting we stop her going out completely,’ I said. ‘But I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to be hanging around the streets two nights a week. If we’re going to help Dawn we need to try to get her away from her old crowd. Seeing them just leads to trouble. She shouldn’t be arriving home drunk at thirteen!’

There was a moment’s silence at the other end of the phone, before Ruth said, ‘Look, if I say you can stop giving Dawn her clothing allowance so that she doesn’t have so much money on her, will that help?’

I had the feeling that Ruth just wanted to appease me, throw me a small scrap, and finish the phone call. ‘Yes, that would be something. The police said it wasn’t good for runaways to have a lot of money on them. And from the way the officer spoke it seemed they had dealt with Dawn before. Is that so? I know she ran away when she was with her parents, but has she been in trouble with the police before?’

There was another – poignant – silence before Ruth answered tersely, ‘I’m not sure you need to know that, Mrs Glass. It doesn’t affect how you look after Dawn.’ So I assumed the answer was yes. ‘Is Dawn in school today?’ Ruth then asked, changing the subject.

‘Yes.’

‘And she went on Monday and Tuesday?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it? I think you and John need to be more positive. Praise Dawn when she gets home and try to focus on all the progress she has made. I’m sure in time she’ll respond to positive encouragement.’

Ruth’s tone was patronising and what she said was demeaning. Give me some credit, I thought! Of course John and I were positive, and praised and encouraged Dawn. ‘We do already,’ I said bluntly.

‘Good. Well, fingers crossed, then. I’m sure Dawn will improve given time. But she’s had a really rough ride so far and she won’t change overnight.’

And that was it. Ruth finished by telling me to say hi to Dawn, and that she now had to go because there was another call waiting.

I said a curt goodbye and replaced the receiver. I was annoyed. I felt impotent and ineffective, and I thought of all the things I should have said to Ruth or demanded of her; I even wondered if I should have threatened not to look after Dawn if we weren’t given more information or given more support. But that would have been a hollow threat because despite our concerns John was now as committed as I was and we would stick by Dawn, with or without Ruth’s input and support.

That evening while Dawn was in her in bedroom I told John of the conversation I’d had with Ruth, and he too was affronted, to put it mildly. ‘She’s got a nerve!’ he said. ‘I’d like to see her look after Dawn! She wouldn’t give any more information – nothing at all?’

‘Not a thing. She said knowing wouldn’t help us care for Dawn.’

‘It might,’ he said. ‘Knowing what has caused Dawn to behave as she does could help us deal with it.’

‘Perhaps Ruth doesn’t know,’ I offered. ‘She’s already told us there was a four-year gap when no one knew where Dawn was.’

‘But there would be records from when the social services got involved when Dawn was nine. That’s nearly five years ago!’

‘I know,’ I said with a sigh. ‘But whatever is in those records clearly isn’t for our eyes. At least we’ve got her clothing allowance changed.’ I added.

John nodded absently, deep in thought.

When Dawn joined us in the lounge that evening after she had done her homework, I told her I had spoken to Ruth and that she’d said to say hi. I also said that it had been decided that in future I wouldn’t be giving her her clothing allowance and we would be going shopping together, as we had done when she had first arrived. I added that I enjoyed shopping with her. Dawn didn’t say anything, but I could tell from her expression that she wasn’t the happiest bunny in the world, and would rather have had the money in her hand. I ignored her scowl and suggested a game of Scrabble.

‘I’m no good at Scrabble,’ she moaned. ‘I can’t spell.’

‘Well, Scrabble will help your spelling,’ I said brightly. I fetched the game, set out the board and passed around the alphabet tiles.

An hour and a half later, although Dawn hadn’t won (I had), she had clearly enjoyed playing and joining in what was for her a rare family activity. She had entered into the spirit of the game wholeheartedly and it had been lovely to see her so engrossed and competitive. And while I wouldn't have expected Dawn to sit in every night playing Scrabble, it had at least shown her that there was more to family life than meals on the table and pocket money.

* * *

Dawn didn’t go to school on Friday. When I woke her she said she was ill, but couldn’t be more specific. I felt her forehead and it didn’t feel hot, and when I asked her if she felt sick or if anything hurt, she said no. But I gave her the benefit of the doubt and told her to stay in bed. I phoned St James’s School and said that Dawn wouldn’t be coming in, as she wasn’t well, and the secretary kindly wished her a speedy recovery.

It was very speedy!

By ten o’clock Dawn was up, dressed in jeans and sweatshirt, and hungry. I made her a cooked breakfast and then she said she was going out.

‘Out?’ I said. ‘Out where?’

She shrugged. ‘Just out. For a breath of fresh air,’ she added, using the expression I used.

‘Er, no, Dawn,’ I said. ‘You are off school, ill. If you are well enough to go out, then you are well enough to go to school.’

‘No one will see me,’ she said, quick as a flash.

‘I know they won’t, love, because you’re not going out.’

She shrugged, and seemed to accept this, so I continued with the housework, even suggesting that she might like to help me, but she didn’t find this idea very appealing. A short while later I was carrying Adrian upstairs to change his nappy when I heard the front door open behind me. I looked down, just in time to see Dawn disappear out, and the door close behind her.

I stood for a moment stunned, unable to believe what had happened. Dawn had deliberately defied me. Then with Adrian in my arms, I instinctively turned and shot down the stairs, and out of the front door. I flung open the garden gate and went out on to the pavement.

‘Dawn!’ I yelled at her retreating back. ‘Dawn! Come back now!’

She turned briefly, and then continued at a faster pace up the street. I ran back into the house, grabbed my keys from the hall table and opened the car, which was parked on the driveway. I bundled Adrian into his seat in the rear and, jumping into the driver’s seat, I started the engine and pulled from the drive. A few seconds later I was level with Dawn, who was about halfway up our road and heading towards the High Street. She saw me and looked very surprised.

I wound down my window and shouted across the road, ‘Dawn! I told you not to go out. Get in the car now! You’re coming home.’

She continued walking, and I continued slowly in first gear, kerb-crawling directly opposite her.

‘Did you hear me, Dawn?’ I shouted again. ‘You’re not going out! You’re coming home with me!’ Adrian giggled from the rear, believing it was some sort of game. I continued along the road, with my window down, moving at the same pace as Dawn. ‘Dawn! Get in the car. I’m not going home without you!’

She was starting to look embarrassed, and looked even more embarrassed as a couple of lads in their late teens came sauntering down the road towards her. ‘Dawn!’ I yelled again. ‘I’ve told you to get in the car! You’ve missed school and you are not going out!’ She put her head down and hurried past the lads. The boys glanced at me, said something to each other and grinned. If Dawn thought this was embarrassing, it was nothing compared to what awaited her if she continued into the High Street, where there would be lots of people. I was quite determined that Dawn would get in the car and return home with me, no matter how much of a scene I had to cause or how far I had to follow her.

Suddenly she crossed the road in front of the car and I guessed she was heading for the bus stop. She was now on the same side of the road as me, and I leant over and wound down the passenger window.

‘I’m not going home without you!’ I shouted again. Adrian was in fits of giggles now, having never heard me shout before, nor enjoyed such a stop-start ride in the car.

Dawn got to the top of the road and approached the bus stop where three people were already waiting. She glanced at the car and then hovered, clearly uncertain what to do.

I seized the opportunity for my grand finale, and stopping in the kerb, flung open the passenger door. ‘Get in now!’ I demanded. ‘You are not going out. You are supposed to be off school, ill!’

The people waiting stared at Dawn, and then at me, but it was Dawn who felt the most embarrassed. And whether it was from acute embarrassment or the realisation that I really wasn’t going to return home without her, I don’t know, but she hesitated again, glanced up the High Street – presumably looking for the bus – then jumped in and slammed the car door. Adrian whooped with delight.

‘Fasten your seat belt,’ I said, as I checked in the mirrors and pulled out. Adrian babbled away excitedly in the rear. And although my heart was racing and I was wound up, I too could see the funny side of the scene.

I turned left and left again, which took us in a loop back to our road, and I pulled on to our drive. I didn’t say anything until we were in the hall and Dawn was sullenly taking off her shoes. ‘Don’t you ever do that again,’ I said. ‘If I tell you you’re not going out, then you are not going out. Do you understand me?’

She nodded, her face like thunder, and then stamped up the stairs and to her room, slamming the door shut behind her. Having no teenage children of my own and therefore no experience of dealing with them, I didn’t know if I had handled the situation correctly. I had acted instinctively, feeling it was crucial that Dawn did as I said – it was as if she was testing me. But I recognised that had she not done as I had asked and got into the car I would have had even less authority in the future. I knew enough about looking after children from my friends who had older children and teenagers to be aware that children of all ages need boundaries – not only for their safety but to socialise them into society and make them responsible human beings. Enforcing the boundaries can be hard work but it is a sign of caring, and for someone like Dawn, who had just been left to do as she liked in the past, it was essential proof of my level of concern. I hoped that Dawn now knew that when I said something I meant it, and also that I cared enough for her to put myself out and chase her up the street to get her back home safely.

When Dawn reappeared from her room an hour later, she had stopped sulking and was her usual pleasant self.

‘Hi, Cathy,’ she said, coming into the lounge, where I was playing with Adrian. ‘Do you want a game of Scrabble?’

And while I should have been doing other things, I recognised she was offering an ‘olive branch’ of reconciliation. ‘Yes, that sounds good. Let’s take the board into the garden; it’s such a nice day.’

She helped me carry the coffee table out on to the lawn and then she fetched two garden chairs from the shed, while I spread a mat for Adrian under the shade of the tree and littered it with some of his toys. We then spent a very enjoyable couple of hours in competitive play, and taking it in turns to retrieve Adrian from the dubious delights of clods of earth, empty snail shells and stray leaves, all of which were heading for his mouth.