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I gasped, and stared in horror at Barbara as she continued.

‘It was touch and go for a while, but the baby survived, although he needs more skin grafts on his arm. The police have interviewed Dawn and Tina a number of times, and the file is still open. Arson is a very serious crime. Tina is blaming Dawn, and Dawn is accepting the blame, although she’s not giving any details. I think she’s probably protecting Tina. Tina’s mum wants nothing more to do with her daughter and Tina is living at the teenage unit. Once, when Dawn stayed with her father, his wife found Dawn trying to strike a match while sleepwalking. Dawn was very upset and anxious and kept muttering about saving a baby, as though she was going to recreate the scene and try to change the outcome. Well, that’s what they thought at least. They have a young baby, so you can see why they don’t want Dawn in the house any more. And for the same reason you should have been told – it’s too dangerous.’

Barbara fell silent and I continued to stare at her, only too aware of the danger we had all been placed in, especially Adrian. With horror, I remembered the night we had found Dawn in the kitchen sleepwalking and trying to strike a match, and all the times she had sleepwalked to Adrian’s cot before John had fitted a lock on our bedroom door. In sleep, had she been led by her subconscious to seek out Adrian, and the matches, in order to try to recreate the night of the fire, and then stop what had happened, as Barbara now suggested? Supposing Dawn had found the matches and lit one? Or John hadn’t fitted the locks to the bedroom and kitchen doors? What then? I shuddered; it didn’t bear thinking about.

Then my thoughts turned to Dawn and the dreadful burden she had been carrying, alone, and suffering for in silence: both of her time in Ireland and whatever had happened there, and the fire that had nearly taken the baby’s life and for which she was accepting full and silent responsibility.

‘What a dreadful, dreadful mess,’ I said at last. ‘No wonder Dawn has been behaving is the way she has. If only she could have talked to someone.’

Barbara nodded. ‘Dawn badly needs help to come to terms with everything that has happened, before it’s too late. I’m useless, and I feel so guilty that I can hardly bear to be in the same room as her.’

I continued to look at Barbara. ‘You know, Dawn used to be all over Adrian when she first came to live with us. Then last summer she suddenly withdrew from him. Since then she won’t have anything to do with him.’

‘Perhaps it’s her way of protecting him,’ Barbara said sadly. ‘Dawn is naturally a loving child, and is very sweet and caring, especially to those younger or more vulnerable.’

‘I’m sure what happened to the baby must have been a horrendous accident,’ I said.

Barbara nodded. ‘Dawn was interviewed again by the police last summer, when you were away and she was staying with me. That’s when they told her that Tina was blaming her and the police file would remain open. They said if they found sufficient evidence they would prosecute her. I have to say the police were very heavy handed. I’m not minimising what happened to the baby: it was awful, and the child is still suffering. But it was an accident, and Dawn can’t blame herself forever.’

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘She can’t. And she’s been carrying all this around with her, plus whatever happened in Ireland, and punishing herself by cutting, and trying to end her life. No wonder she’s in such a state.’

‘Exactly,’ Barbara said, and I saw her bottom lip tremble and her eyes fill. ‘And of course, I am to blame.’

We were both silent for some minutes. Then I leant forward and, placing my hand on Barbara’s, I said, ‘Thank you for telling me all this. John and I will obviously do all we can to help get Dawn the care she needs. Since she’s been with us we’ve grown very fond of her – in fact we love her.’

‘I know you do,’ Barbara said quietly, ‘which is why I’ve told you.’

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Last Smile

I
drove home almost on autopilot, absorbed in my thoughts and overwhelmed by what Barbara had told me. I was very sad and felt very sorry for what Dawn had suffered, but I was also angry that Ruth hadn’t told us. Our lack of knowledge had placed us all in danger and, while I realised that confidentiality had to be respected, it should never have been at the expense of the safety of my family, which included Dawn. It was only our instinctive feeling that locks should be placed on the kitchen and bedroom doors, and the matches put away, that had saved us. It wasn’t Dawn’s fault; I certainly didn’t blame her. Goodness only knew what had happened to the poor kid in Ireland during her ‘missing’ years to send her on the downward spiral that had eventually led to the fire at Tina’s house. Then I remembered the conversation Dawn and I had had when we had been feeding the ducks. Believing Dawn was feeling guilty about plundering Adrian’s moneybox, I had told her we had to learn from our mistakes and forgive ourselves: Dawn had asked ‘even if it’s something really wicked?’ and had not been reassured when I’d said yes. My words now seemed simplistic and naïve in the light of what I now knew had been crucifying her.

By the time I returned home, John had put Adrian to bed and was in the shower. I poked my head round the bathroom door and reassured him that Dawn was comfortable and that Barbara was with her. I said I was taking Dawn’s overnight things, as they were keeping her in for a few days, and that I would come straight home again.

‘I’ve got a lot to tell you,’ I said. ‘Barbara has told me so much. And could you phone social services please, and tell them Dawn’s in hospital?’ John said he would.

I went into our bedroom, where Adrian was asleep in his cot, and I gazed down on him. So small and innocent, so vulnerable and precious: I’d never have forgiven myself if he’d been hurt. I leant over and gave him a goodnight kiss; then I went through to Dawn’s room. I gathered together her nightdress, wash bag, Walkman and cassettes, and packed them into a holdall. Downstairs I took her birthday cards from the table in the lounge and packed those too. I thought she could open them with Barbara, and then display them on her beside cabinet in the ward – a token of the birthday she had missed. I would take her presents when I visited the following day.

When I returned to the hospital that evening with Dawn’s overnight bag, I found she hadn’t gone to the ward but was still in the cubicle, fast asleep, with Barbara sitting at her bedside. I gave Barbara Dawn’s belongings and she thanked me.

‘You’ve done so much for Dawn,’ she said, her eyes misting again. ‘I dread to think what would have happened if she hadn’t come to you.’

I smiled sadly. ‘It’s nice of you to say so, Barbara. But I’m not sure we’ve really done her much good at all.’

I looked at Dawn, propped high on her pillows, eyes closed, face relaxed and with both wrists heavily bandaged. She looked so peaceful in sleep, as though she hadn’t a care in the world – until her subconscious kicked in, I thought, and plunged her into the depths of hell.

‘We’ll all pull together and make sure Dawn gets the help she needs,’ I said positively to Barbara. ‘The poor kid certainly deserves it.’

Barbara nodded, and thanked me again. I left, confirming I would come back the following afternoon.

When I got home, John was in the lounge, having just poured himself a Scotch. Dawn’s unopened presents and unlit birthday cake lay on the coffee table, like a shrine to her absence. I flopped down on the sofa and sighed.

‘Do you want a drink?’ John offered.

I shook my head. ‘No thanks. Perhaps later. Let me tell you what’s happened first. It’s pretty awful.’

I began by saying that I thought Dawn could have been planning her suicide attempt, and told him what she had said to me the night before about everything being fine tomorrow. I told him how Dawn had gone to her mother’s straight from school, and that her mother had come home from work and had found Dawn in the kitchen with her wrists cut. I recounted what Barbara had said about Dawn’s past – the ‘missing’ years in Ireland, which had completely changed Dawn, and the fire at Tina’s flat. By the time I got to last summer and Dawn’s interview with the police, where they had said Tina was blaming her, and Dawn, by her silence, had appeared to accept responsibility, John’s face was ashen.

‘Jesus!’ he said. ‘It all makes sense now: a dreadful sickening sense. Her sleepwalking to Adrian, her re-enactment of the fire with the matches – it was as though she was trying to purge her conscience. Whatever happened to her in Ireland? Has anyone tried to find out?’

I shook my head. ‘Not as far as I know, and whenever Barbara phones her uncle, he just hangs up. I don’t think the social services are following it up.’

John nodded slowly and thoughtfully. ‘So Barbara thinks she’ll be able to get Dawn the help she needs now?’

‘She’s going to speak to Ruth first thing tomorrow, and I’ve told Barbara we’re behind her and will do all we can.’

‘Absolutely,’ John said. ‘Dawn should have had help sooner. And as for Ruth not telling us – that’s criminal!’

The following afternoon I packed Dawn’s birthday presents in a large carrier bag; then I sliced half the birthday cake, put the slices in a polythene container and packed that too, together with a few paper plates. I drove to the hospital with Adrian, having told him we were going to see Dawn.

Dawn was in the children’s ward now, and when we went in I found her sitting up in bed and talking to girl about the same age, who was in dressing gown and slippers. Dawn’s birthday cards were strung across her bedhead, and as soon as she saw me she smiled. I thought she looked brighter and more relaxed.

‘Hi, Cathy,’ she called, as I went over. ‘This is Susie, my new friend.’

‘Hello, Susie,’ I said. ‘How are you?’

‘Good, thanks.’

‘Cathy is my carer,’ Dawn explained, so I assumed she had told Susie she was in care. ‘And this is Adrian,’ she added proudly, spreading her arms wide to receive him.

‘Be careful he doesn’t hurt your wrists,’ I said as I placed him on the bed next to Dawn.

Adrian snuggled up beside her and she kissed his head. Surprised and delighted by her acceptance of him, I thought Dawn probably felt it was safe in hospital to allow him near her. Susie was perched on the bed, and I sat in the chair. ‘I’ve brought your presents,’ I said, delving into the carrier bag and setting them on the bed.

‘Oh goodie!’ Dawn said, smiling, while Susie made a move to go.

‘Why don’t you stay and watch Dawn open her presents?’ I suggested. ‘You can have a piece of birthday cake as well.’

‘Yes, stay, please,’ Dawn said. ‘It will be like a little party.’

Susie smiled and perched on the bed again. She and I watched while Adrian helped Dawn unwrap her presents. The other children on the ward also looked over, and so too did their visitors. A nurse passed the end of the bed on her way to another child. ‘Happy birthday for yesterday,’ she called.

‘Thanks,’ Dawn said, and she smiled.

A lump rose in my throat as I looked at Dawn, propped up in bed with her bandaged arms and carefully unwrapping her presents. It reminded me of our pre-Christmas Christmas – she was so child-like and innocent in the pleasure, and I held and savoured every moment.

‘That’s lovely,’ she exclaimed after opening each one. ‘Thank you so much. And will you thank John, and your brother, and Gran and Grandpa?’

‘Of course, love. You’re very welcome.’

When all the presents were open I delved into my bag again and pulled out the paper plates and polythene box containing the sliced birthday cake. ‘I haven’t brought all your cake,’ I said. ‘I thought it would go stale here. And I didn’t bring any candles because I didn’t think we would be allowed to light them on the ward. We’ll save those for another day.’

‘But we can still sing “Happy Birthday”,’ Susie said.

‘Of course. It’s a must.’

‘Oh no.’ Dawn groaned with embarrassment.

Adrian clapped with glee at the prospect of at last being able to sing the song he had been practising so hard the day before.

I set out four paper plates, and then placed a slice of cake on each one.

‘Only a small piece for me, please,’ Susie said. ‘I’ve just started chemo again and it makes me feel a bit sick.’

‘Sure love,’ I said, and my heart went out to her. She was about the same age as Dawn and having to battle against cancer for what sounded like the second time. What some kids had to go through, I thought, and I felt very humble beside her courage.

With the cake on our plates Susie and I began to sing ‘Happy Birthday’, with Adrian adding what he could. Then the girl in the bed opposite and her visitors joined in. Soon everyone on the ward was singing, including the nurse who was taking the blood pressure of the child in the bed next to Dawn’s. By the time we got to the final rousing last line I was blinking back the tears. ‘Hip hip,’ someone shouted, and we all responded – ‘Hooray!’ Everyone clapped, and I swallowed hard. ‘Happy birthday, love,’ I said leaning forward and kissing Dawn’s cheek.

‘’appy bir’day, Daw’,’ Adrian added.

We ate our cake, and I wished I’d brought the whole cake in and given everyone a slice, but I hadn’t envisaged the embracing warmth of the others on the ward. The nurse came over and asked to see Dawn’s presents. Dawn proudly showed her the jewellery box, silver necklace and gift vouchers, and a handbag from my mother and a huge box of chocolates from my brother.

‘Lucky girl,’ the nurse said.

Dawn smiled, but didn’t say anything, and I thought she looked a little sad. Once we’d finished our cake, I gathered up the plates and brushed the crumbs off the bed. Susie left us a little while later, as her parents had arrived. Adrian was still curled into Dawn, making the most of her company, and she had her arm round him.

‘It’s nice to see you two friends again,’ I said lightly.

Dawn nodded and kissed his head, but she still looked sad. ‘Has Mum told you about me, about what happened to the baby?’ she asked, subdued.

I nodded. ‘Yes, she has, love.’

‘I can’t bear to think about it. We didn’t mean to, but it was still our fault. Cathy, I’ve done the most dreadful things, and made a right mess of my life.’

I took her hand and gently rubbed her fingers, which jutted from the end of the bandage. ‘You’ve had a pretty rough ride, love, but I understand a lot more now your mum has told me.’

‘She says I probably won’t be coming back to live with you – that I need to go somewhere I will be kept safe and given help. I’ll be sad to go, but I suppose it’s for the best. I can’t keep on like this.’

‘We’ll make sure you get the help you need. Your mum said she was going to speak to Ruth, but nothing has been decided yet. Don’t worry yourself now, love. Just rest and get better.’

‘I will, Cathy. I will be all right.’

I visited Dawn in hospital the next afternoon, and she was still quiet and subdued, perhaps reflecting on the things that had happened to her, although she was pleased to see Adrian and me.

The following morning the phone rang and it was Barbara. She said they were going to move Dawn that afternoon and she asked me to pack her belongings. I was taken aback by the suddenness of the move, although I wasn’t surprised that Dawn was going. She couldn’t have continued as she was, and John and I had recognised for a long while that she needed professional help – more than we could offer.

‘Where is she going?’ I asked Barbara.

‘Ruth’s found her a special teenage psychiatric unit where they can keep her safe and give her therapy and counselling. Ruth says it’s a big house standing in its own grounds, and all the residents have their own rooms. It sounds very nice.’

‘I see,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘You’ve done very well to get things moving so quickly. Will we be able to visit her?’

‘Not to begin with. Ruth said they like to give them time to settle in and stabilise. Then they take it at the child’s pace. Not even I will be able to visit to begin with. Apparently the house is on the outskirts of a village over a hundred miles away. Ruth said there aren’t many of these homes and this is one of the best.’

‘I see,’ I said again. ‘Well, Dawn, deserves the best.’ I paused. ‘What time are you coming?’

‘Ruth and I are collecting Dawn from hospital at twelve noon, so we will be with you just after twelve-thirty.’

‘I’d better get packing, then,’ I said quietly. ‘It’s already eleven o’clock.’

I replaced the receiver and, taking Adrian upstairs with me, heaved a large suitcase from the top of my wardrobe and carried it through to Dawn’s room. I had soon filled the case with Dawn’s many clothes, and continued with a number of holdalls, wrapping her ornaments and anything that could break in newspaper before I packed them. To begin with I concentrated on the task, putting aside my own thoughts and feelings – about the fact that very soon Dawn wouldn’t be with us any more. It was nearly a year since she had arrived, but in many ways it seemed a lot longer, with the bond that had formed between us and what we had overcome together, as a family.

But as I neared the end of the packing and saw Dawn’s empty shelves and cupboards, and the cases and bags lined up by the door, I sat on the bed and cried. Dear Dawn, how badly I would miss her! I had come to see her as my daughter, and while I knew she was leaving us to get the help she needed, it wouldn’t make the loss any easier, and we couldn’t even visit her. Adrian, seeing my tears, toddled over, and climbing on to my lap, kissed my wet cheeks.

‘It’s all right, love,’ I said, pulling a tissue from my pocket. ‘Mummy’s sad.’

‘Sad,’ he repeated. ‘Mummy sad.’

I wiped my eyes and looked at him. How could I possibly explain to him that Dawn was leaving, and the reasons why? It was impossible. ‘Dawn’s going,’ I said at last. ‘We will have to say goodbye to Dawn.’