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‘I think I’d better buy you another set,’ I said. ‘Hopefully your social worker can get the skirt and jumper when she speaks to your mum and dad. They’ll do as spares. And I’ll wash those clothes you’re wearing. You will have to wear your other pair of jeans and the jumper for school tomorrow. Don’t worry, I’ll come in and explain.’

‘Thanks, Cathy,’ Dawn said with a smile. ‘I get fed up with being told off. If it’s not me mum or dad going on at me, it’s the school.’

I unzipped the wash bag, which contained a flannel, toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, which Dawn said had been given to her at the teenage unit. ‘When do you usually have your bath or shower?’ I asked. ‘In the morning or evening?’

‘I don’t mind,’ she said agreeably.

‘It’s probably best in the evening – about eight o’clock. John showers in the morning and I usually have my bath before I go to bed.’ I thought that as Dawn had had no routine she would appreciate having one established; it was also practical, as clearly all three of us had to use the bathroom.

‘That’s fine, Cathy,’ she said, and again smiled openly.

I took a towel from the airing cupboard and showed Dawn through to the bathroom, where I made sure she had everything she needed. I went downstairs briefly, and then returned when I heard the bathroom door open. Dawn was ready and had changed into her pyjamas. It was nine o’clock, and I said I thought she should get straight off to sleep now, as she had to be up early for school. As with everything John or I had so far suggested, she readily agreed. I drew her bedroom curtains as she climbed into bed; then I said goodnight.

‘Will you give me a kiss?’ she asked, as she had done John.

‘Yes, of course, love.’

She snuggled her head into the pillow and I leant over and kissed her cheek. ‘Did your mum and dad always kiss you goodnight?’

‘No, they were always too busy.’ Her face fell.

‘I’d better make up for it, then,’ I said, and leaning over, I gave her a second kiss on the cheek.

She smiled. ‘Thanks, Cathy.’ Night.’

‘’Night, love. Sleep tight.’

I came out and closed her bedroom door. Although Dawn was thirteen she was like a much younger child in many respects, and my heart went out to her.

Downstairs, John and I sat together on the sofa with Adrian lying contentedly in the crook of his arm. ‘She seems a good kid,’ John said. ‘Very eager to please and fit in.’

‘Yes,’ I said thoughtfully, ‘she does – almost a bit too eager.’ John glanced sideways at me. ‘I mean Jack was good, but do you remember all those debates we had about coming in time and not hanging around the streets, and doing his homework, not to mention hygiene?’ John

nodded. ‘Dawn has accepted everything we’ve said. Don’t you think she’s a bit too compliant? It seems odd, particularly when her social worker is clearly exasperated by her behaviour.’

‘It’s early days yet,’ John said. ‘But she is probably just grateful to have a home at last. It doesn’t sound like she’s had much of one before, from either parent.’

‘No, you’re probably right. I’ll have to buy her some clothes tomorrow, and a whole new school uniform. She’s got nothing with her, and doesn’t seem to have much at her parents’ flats either.’

‘Have you got enough money?’ John asked, mindful his salary wouldn’t go into our joint account for another week.

‘I’ll write cheques. By the time they clear, they’ll be covered.’ With only John’s wage and the expense of the house and the baby, we had to be careful with money. Now most social services make an initial payment towards the cost of clothes for foster children, in addition to a weekly allowance. Then, foster carers received occasional payments, which barely covered the cost of the child’s food, let alone anything else, and many often received nothing at all.

I fed Adrian again, as usual, at 10.30 p.m.; then John winded him and settled him in his cot while I had my bath. All was quiet in Dawn’s room and I silently opened her bedroom door to check she was all right. She was curled on her side and fast asleep. I came out, quietly closing the door behind me. Aware that Adrian would be waking at about 3.00 a.m. for a feed, John and I were both in bed and asleep by eleven o’clock. But when I woke, it wasn’t to Adrian’s cry.

Chapter Four

Apparition

T
he room was dark, save for the faintest glimmer of light coming through a crack in the curtains from the streetlamp. Assuming I had woken because I had heard Adrian waking for his feed, I stayed where I was, nestled in the small of John’s back, listening for Adrian’s next cry. Then I heard a noise, one I couldn’t place. I turned to look at the bedside clock and, as I did, I screamed. Across the room, beside Adrian’s cot, was a shadow.

I sat bolt upright. ‘My God! What are you doing here?’

I switched on the bedside lamp as I got out of bed. John was immediately awake, out of bed, and switching on the main light.

‘Dawn?’ he said as we crossed to her. ‘What are you doing?’

My scream and the light had woken Adrian and he let out a sharp cry. I picked him up and looked at Dawn, my heart thumping wildly and my mouth dry. She was in her pyjamas, eyes open and staring at me. But something in her look said that she wasn’t seeing me: her eyes were glazed and unfocused, and her face was set and expressionless.

‘Dawn?’ I said, and looked at John. He was pale from the shock of suddenly waking to find someone in our room. ‘Dawn?’ I tried again. But there was nothing – no movement of her face or body, not even a blink. Nothing to say she could hear or see me, or that she was even aware of our presence.

I cradled Adrian close to my chest and glanced at the bedside clock. It was 1.30 a.m. Dawn remained standing perfectly still and staring straight ahead. She could have been made of stone for all her lack of movement and her fixed staring eyes.

‘Dawn?’ John said. Then he moved his hand slowly up and down in front of her face. She didn’t blink or move a muscle but remained staring, unfocused. I felt my stomach tighten.

‘Is she sleepwalking?’ John said quietly.

‘I don’t know.’ His expression mirrored mine in fright and concern.

We both looked at Dawn, into her face and eyes. To have someone standing in front of you, apparently awake, but not seeing or hearing, not outwardly functioning at all, was the most chilling experience I have ever had. She was like a breathing statue, or a ghost. Devoid of all expression and movement, she was like the walking dead.

Adrian was still close to my chest, and the comfort of being held had sent him back to sleep. I could have returned him to his cot but I still held him protectively; something told me I needed to protect him – from what I couldn’t have said.

‘What shall we do?’ I asked John. I continued to gaze, mesmerised, into Dawn’s lifeless eyes.

‘Take her back to her bed?’ John suggested.

‘I suppose so, but how?’

I had never personally seen, known or heard of anyone sleepwalking, although I had seen it portrayed in horror films and psychological thrillers. Whether it was from those, or something I had once read, I didn’t know, but I thought that it could be harmful to abruptly wake a person when they were sleepwalking.

‘Dawn?’ I said very quietly. ‘Dawn, can you hear me?’

There was nothing, just the same lifeless stare.

‘Dawn, I think you should go back to bed,’ John said softly, as impotent as I was to know what to do next.

There was still nothing from Dawn – no response or indication that she could hear, or that any of her senses were working. ‘She must have been able to see to have walked round the landing and come into our bedroom,’ I whispered to John.

He nodded. ‘Dawn, go back to bed,’ he said, lightly touching her arm. That touch, the feel of John’s hand on her arm, appeared to reach Dawn and kick-start her into action. Still not blinking or showing any facial expression, and standing very upright, she gradually began to turn.

John and I watched with a mixture of awe and horror as, very slowly and like a robot, she completed the turn so that she was facing away from the cot. Taking regular and mechanical steps she began to cross the bedroom towards the door. John and I followed in silence a couple of steps behind, Adrian still nestled in my arms, asleep.

We followed Dawn out of our bedroom and on to the landing. I watched, dumbfounded, as Dawn navigated the right turn on the landing, and then paused at the top of the stairs. For a moment I thought she was going to try to go downstairs, and my breath caught in my throat. But after a brief hesitation she continued the few steps into her bedroom. John and I stood at her bedroom door and watched as she slowly crossed her room without bumping into anything and then got into bed. The room was at the back of the house and, without any glow from the street lamps outside, very dark. We could see her profile as she sat upright in bed for a few seconds and, then pulling up the duvet, lay down.

‘Just a minute,’ John whispered to me, and he went on to the landing and switched on the light. There was now enough light for us to see most of her room, including the bed. Gingerly, I followed John across the room, half expecting Dawn to sit up and stare at me with those lifeless, glazed eyes. But she was lying flat on her back with her eyes closed and breathing evenly, apparently asleep. John and I stood by her bed for a moment looking down at her; then, moving away, we crept out of her room. John closed her door and we returned to our bedroom.

‘Christ!’ John said as we entered. ‘Whatever was that all about?’

I shook my head and shivered, but not from cold. I lay Adrian in his cot and tucked him in. He murmured and waved his little fist in the air but stayed asleep. I kissed him goodnight and returned to bed. John closed our bedroom door and joined me. We lay side by side, propped up on our pillows, for a few minutes without saying anything. There was no way I could go back to sleep. I could still feel my heart thudding from the shock I’d had, and I guessed John felt the same.

‘Whatever was that all about?’ John said again after a moment, rubbing his hand over his forehead.

‘Do you think she
was
sleepwalking?’ I asked, glancing at the bedroom door. ‘I hope she doesn’t do it again.’

‘The social worker didn’t say she had done it before, did she?’ he asked at length.

‘No, but she didn’t say much at all. Perhaps it’s the first time. Perhaps Dawn is worried by her first night somewhere new. Sleepwalking is caused by anxiety, isn’t it?’

John shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea. I don’t know anything about it.’

‘Neither do I.’

We didn’t really know what to say to each other. The episode was completely outside anything we had experience or knowledge of, as I am sure it is for most people. ‘I don’t suppose she will do it again,’ I offered, as much for my own benefit as John’s.

Eventually, in the soothing half light, my eyes began to close. But no sooner was I asleep than I heard Adrian cry for his 3.00 a.m. feed. As I woke my gaze immediately went to the bedroom door. It was still shut, and I breathed an audible sigh of relief. I looked at John, still propped up on his pillow and asleep. Careful to wake him, I got out of bed and, collecting Adrian from his cot, returned to bed to feed him. Sometimes John heard Adrian cry and other times he didn’t, depending on how deep a sleep he was in and how tired he was. Now he was exhausted, not only from his day at work but from a broken night’s sleep. I felt pretty exhausted too, and the worry of what had happened stayed with me.

As Adrian suckled contentedly, blissfully unaware of the previous drama, I allowed my head to rest back on the cushioned headboard, and my eyes closed. Five minutes later I felt Adrian stop suckling, and I put him on the other breast. Again, my head slowly inched back as I began to doze.

Suddenly I was awake again, and my heart started pounding. I thought I heard a noise. With Adrian still feeding, I watched the door, my ears straining for any noise that suggested Dawn was out of bed, but no sound came from the carpeted landing. Then I jumped as the door handle slowly began to lower.

‘John,’ I said, and shook his arm. He was immediately awake. ‘Look! The door.’ He sat upright and we both stared, horrified, at the door. The handle moved down as far as it would go and then the door slowly opened.

Dawn appeared, her head held upright and her open eyes staring straight ahead. Her face was expressionless, as it had been before, and she looked even paler in the half light coming from the lamp. John and I sat motionless in bed, as Adrian continued to feed. We watched, transfixed, waiting to see what she was going to do next.

Dawn stood still for a moment, almost as though she was getting her bearings, although her eyes didn’t move. Then slowly, with the same mechanical robot-like steps, she began to cross the room. She navigated her way round the end of our bed and stopped in front of Adrian’s empty cot.

I consider myself level headed and not easily spooked, but at that moment, tired from lack of sleep and seeing Dawn’s ghost-like figure in the half light, I reacted emotionally. ‘She’s come to get my baby!’ I cried.

‘Stay there,’ John said firmly to me. He got out of bed and went to Dawn. She was now standing in exactly the same position as she had been before – in front of the cot, expressionless and very still.

‘Dawn,’ John said. ‘Go back to your bed.’ There was no reaction. He placed a hand lightly on each of her shoulders, and slowly began to turn her away from the cot. She didn’t resist. Once turned, and facing towards the door, she began to walk of her own accord. John followed a step or two behind, and I watched as she went out of the door and on to the landing.

‘No, into your bedroom,’ I heard John say a moment later, so I thought she must have paused at the top of the stairs, as she had done before. A minute passed, when I assumed Dawn was getting into bed, then I heard John close her bedroom door. He reappeared, and shut our door firmly.

‘She went straight to sleep again,’ he said with a sigh, and climbing into bed. ‘This is ridiculous! We can’t have this at night. I don’t feel safe in my own home.’

I looked at him. His brow was creased with worry. And although I couldn’t have said why, I didn’t feel safe either. We knew very little about Dawn, and nothing about sleepwalking. To have a stranger, albeit a girl of thirteen, come into your bedroom like a zombie in the middle of the night and go to your baby’s cot was neither safe nor normal.

Adrian had finished feeding, and I changed his nappy and tucked him into his cot. John was propped up on his pillows, deep in anxious thought. I returned to bed, and lay down beside him. Neither of us spoke. Exhausted, and beside ourselves with worry, we remained on guard, listening for the slightest sound coming from the landing. I saw 4.00 a.m. come and go, and then at some point we must have both fallen asleep.

When I woke I did so with a start, and my eyes went straight to the bedroom door. It was still shut. I turned to look at the bedside clock. It was 7.30 a.m. We had overslept!

‘John,’ I said rubbing his arm. ‘It’s seven thirty. John, wake up.’

‘Damn!’ he said, dragging himself up. ‘I’ve got a meeting at eight thirty.’ He heaved himself out of bed and went straight into the bathroom to shower.

I pulled back the duvet and hauling my feet to the ground, staggered to Adrian’s cot. He was awake, chuntering, and wondering where his 7.00 a.m. feed had got to. He grinned when he saw me.

‘Hello, my little man,’ I said, and picking him up, I gave him a hug. ‘Time for breakfast.’

Following my usual routine, although half an hour late, I took him into bed and fed him. As he suckled, I could have easily gone back to sleep. I felt absolutely exhausted, and the anxiety of the night hadn’t left me. It was quiet in Dawn’s room, so I guessed she was still asleep – hardly surprising, given the amount of time she had spent wandering around. Again I wondered why she had done it and whether she had done it before. Was it because she was in a strange house? Why she had gone to Adrian’s cot I had no idea, and it still unsettled me. However, now that it was morning and the winter sun was making a brave attempt to light up the room, things somehow didn’t seem quite as bad as they had done during the night.

John reappeared from his shower and quickly began to dress. ‘I should just make it,’ he said buttoning up a clean shirt and then opening the wardrobe for his suit. ‘I’ll grab a coffee before I go into the meeting. I’m knackered! What a night! Will you be all right alone today? I’ll phone as soon as I come out of the meeting.’

‘Yes, don’t worry about me,’ I said. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m going to take Dawn to school.’

Had I known what lay in wait for us in the months ahead, I would have answered ‘No, I won’t be all right, and neither is Dawn.’