Girl Alone: Joss came home from school to discover her father’s suicide. Angry and hurting, she’s out of control. (17 page)

I looked at her, a pale and frightened child. ‘There’s no need to thank me,’ I said. ‘You’re not to blame. You’re a victim.’

‘But if I’d done what you’d said and stayed in more and found some other friends, none of this would have happened.’

I couldn’t disagree. In my heart of hearts I’d known that something like this might happen, but what else could I have done to prevent it? It was a question that not only I, but also the social services and all those involved in Joss’s care would be asking ourselves in the future. Joss was a vulnerable thirteen-year-old, and together we’d failed to protect her.

Joss was silent as I drove to the police station, and other than offering a few impotent words of reassurance I was quiet too. It was nearly midnight and there was little traffic on the roads, although some late-night revellers were hanging around on street corners in the town. An ambulance sped by with its light flashing and siren blaring. Ten minutes later I was parking in the side road adjacent to the police station, anxious and desperately worried for Joss.

‘I hope Mum comes,’ Joss said as I cut the engine.

‘I am sure she will if she can,’ I said. I could appreciate that despite everything that had happened between Joss and her mother, she would want her with her in a crisis.

‘You’ll stay with me if she doesn’t come, won’t you?’ Joss said, her eyes filling again.

‘Yes, of course. Try not to worry. I’ll be with you.’

We got out and Joss linked arms with me for support as we walked round to the front of the police station and then up the steps to the main entrance. Arriving at the security-locked glass door I pressed the button for the bell. Through the glass I could see into the brightly lit reception area where a young male police officer stood behind the counter, working on some papers. He looked at us and then released the security lock. I pushed open the door and we went in. The second door opened automatically into the reception area. There was only one other person in reception – a young man with long hair, sitting on one of the chairs. I approached the counter while Joss waited to one side.

‘How can I help you?’ the officer asked, still holding his pen and his elbow resting on the counter.

‘My name is Cathy Glass,’ I began quietly, so the man waiting couldn’t hear. ‘My fostering agency, Homefinders, telephoned this station a short while ago to say we were coming. Joss, the girl I’m fostering, has been sexually assaulted.’ I felt my pulse rise.

‘Is this the young lady?’ he asked, straightening and looking past me to Joss.

‘Yes.’

‘What’s her full name?’

I told him.

‘Take a seat, please, and I’ll find out who is dealing with this.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

We went over to the steel-framed chairs as the officer disappeared through a door behind the counter. Joss sat beside me. The young man opposite kept his gaze down and away from us. Distant voices could be heard coming from elsewhere in the building and a police officer’s radio sounded. A couple of minutes passed and then the bell on the main door rang, making Joss start. The three of us looked out to see a middle-aged man, poorly dressed and who could have been sleeping rough, gesticulating through the glass that he wanted to be let in. Clearly we couldn’t do that. The man opposite us shrugged and looked away, while I pointed to the empty reception desk. The man outside banged on the glass and then went away as two uniformed officers let themselves in.

As the officers passed through reception the first one said a polite ‘Good evening’, then paused as he recognized Joss and added a playful, ‘Not you again!’

It wasn’t appropriate, but he wasn’t to know why we were here, and I caught a glimpse of the Joss who was well known to many of the officers from all the times she’d been in trouble.

Joss forced a smile. ‘Yeah. It’s me,’ she said.

They disappeared through a door at the rear of the station and we were left to our thoughts again. Joss concentrated on the floor and chewed her bottom lip as the man opposite sat with his arms folded and legs outstretched, staring straight ahead.

‘Hopefully it won’t be too long,’ I said to Joss after a while, touching her arm reassuringly – although in truth I had no idea how long it would take, as this was new ground for me.

A couple of minutes later the officer who had been on reception reappeared. ‘Come through,’ he said, releasing a lock on the small gate in the counter. We went through and he locked it again behind us.

‘You can wait in the suite,’ he said. ‘It’s more comfortable in there. The interviewing officer is on her way.’

I thanked him and we followed him down the corridor, past closed and open doors on either side; some were signed as interviewing rooms while others led to offices. At the end of the corridor he opened a door on the right and stood aside to let us in.

‘Make yourselves comfortable. Would you like a drink?’

‘No, thank you,’ I said. Joss shook her head.

‘Give me a shout if you need anything,’ he said. ‘Ann, the interviewing officer, should be with you in about half an hour.’

‘Thank you,’ I said again.

He went out and closed the door behind him.

It was a pleasant room – if a room designated for victims of sexual assault could be described as such – and I could see why the officer had said we’d be more comfortable in here. As well as being private, it was designed to try to put those waiting at ease. Furnished like a living room, it had a fitted carpet, a sofa and an easy chair with scatter cushions, and a coffee table with some reading material on it. The walls had been painted a light beige. Yes, it was like a small living room, except for the examination couch – which, although partially shielded from the room by a movable screen, was a chilling reminder of why we were here and what was to come. Jill had said that the interviewing police officer would be specially trained and sensitive to the victim’s ordeal, but it didn’t stop me from worrying about what lay ahead. Joss would be interviewed and then examined by a doctor. She sat beside me, a frightened child. I put my arm around her and we leant back on the sofa.

She snuggled into my side and we were silent for some time. There was one small window in the room, very high up, suggesting the room could previously have been a standard interview room. The air felt stuffy, although not exactly warm, and the room was quiet save for the occasional voices and footsteps that drifted in from the corridor outside.

Ten minutes or so went by and Joss yawned. ‘How long do you think they’re going to be?’ she asked. ‘I’m so tired.’

‘Hopefully not much longer,’ I said. ‘Joss, when the police officer interviews you, you know you must tell the truth. All of it.’

‘Yes,’ she said quietly.

‘Even the things you don’t tell me, like how much you’ve had to drink tonight, and if you’ve been smoking dope. They won’t blame you, but they will need to know all the details.’

‘OK,’ she said quietly, and began sucking her thumb.

Another five minutes passed and I thought Joss might be asleep on my shoulder, but then I heard her breath catch and she began to cry again. ‘I want to go home,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to stay here any more. I’m tired. Can we go now, please, Cathy?’

‘Oh, love,’ I said, holding her close. ‘It’s important we stay and tell the officer what happened while it’s fresh in your memory. And the doctor needs to see you.’

‘We can come back tomorrow. I want to go to bed now.’

I could appreciate that, exhausted and traumatized, Joss just wanted her bed, but from what Jill had said, if we left now and came back tomorrow valuable DNA evidence could be lost.

‘Why don’t you stretch out on the sofa and try to have a little sleep,’ I suggested. ‘I’ll sit on the easy chair.’

‘No. I want you to stay next to me,’ she said, clutching my arm.

‘All right, love.’

I stayed where I was and held her close. How dearly I wished I could turn back the clock and undo all that had happened to her that evening – indeed, undo all the bad that had happened to her in the last four years, starting with her father’s death. Joss had already suffered so much, and now this. Would she ever get over it? I doubted it.

Another five minutes passed and more footsteps sounded along the corridor. They stopped outside the door and we heard the duty officer say, ‘They’re in here.’

The door opened and Linda came in. Joss immediately stood and rushed into her mother’s arms and wept.

‘Is everything all right?’ the officer asked me, looking concerned.

I nodded. ‘She’s very upset.’

‘Ann shouldn’t be too long now,’ he said. ‘Do you need anything?’

‘No, thank you.’

He nodded stoically and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Linda and Joss stood in the middle of the room, clutching each other and crying openly. ‘Oh, Joss,’ Linda said. ‘Whatever happened?’

‘I’m sorry, Mum. I’m so sorry,’ Joss wept.

‘I knew something like this would happen,’ Linda said through her tears. ‘As if we haven’t had enough upset in our lives, and now this.’

It was pitiful to see and I felt my own eyes fill. I stood and went over to them. ‘Come and sit down,’ I said, touching Linda’s arm.

‘Thanks, Cathy. I’m sorry.’ Then to Joss, ‘Come on, love. Let’s go and sit down.’ She put her arm around her daughter and led her to the sofa, where they sat side by side. I took the easy chair, while Joss rested her head on her mother’s shoulder and snuggled into her as she had done previously with me.

‘It’s going to be all right,’ Linda said, trying to comfort and soothe her daughter. ‘We’ll get through this. You’ll see.’ She reached down into her handbag and took out a packet of tissues. Taking one out, she turned to face Joss and began wiping the tears from her eyes as the mother of a young child would. ‘We need to be strong and face this together,’ Linda said. ‘We can do it, just as we’ve faced other bad times.’ It was heartbreaking to watch.

As Linda continued to wipe away Joss’s tears and comfort her, I could see the mother and daughter bond that had been there before Linda had remarried and their relationship had gone so horribly wrong. It crossed my mind that perhaps this catastrophe, this appalling attack on Joss, might lead the way to them building the bridges they desperately needed to regain what they’d had. Sometimes it takes a tragedy to steer families back on course.

Linda wiped her own eyes, and now Joss was calmer they sat back together on the sofa. Linda put her arm around her daughter and Joss relaxed against her.

‘They said the interviewing officer has been delayed,’ Linda said to me. ‘Apparently she’ll be about another twenty minutes.’

Joss groaned. ‘I want to go, Mum.’

‘Not until you’ve given your statement,’ Linda said. ‘I want that bastard prosecuted.’

I was pleased Linda recognized how important it was Joss stayed and that she was being firm with her. We sat quietly for a while and then Linda began making light conversation, probably as a displacement for her own anxiety. She said how nice Jill had been when she’d telephoned and that she must be very supportive and a great help with fostering. I said she was and we talked a bit about fostering. Then Linda looked at her watch and said, ‘It’s nearly quarter to one, Cathy. Why don’t you go home? I can stay with Joss.’

Because Joss was in care under a Section 20, I could leave her with her mother. Had she been the subject of a Care Order from the court, I would have had to stay with her.

‘I don’t mind waiting,’ I said.

‘It’s OK. You go,’ Joss said. ‘Mum can stay with me.’

‘Go and get some sleep,’ Linda said. ‘I’m grateful for all you’ve done.’ So with that, I thought they would prefer it if I left.

‘All right, if you’re sure,’ I said, moving to the edge of my seat. ‘Phone me when you’ve finished and I’ll come and collect Joss.’

‘There’s no need. I have my car,’ Linda said. ‘I’ll bring her back afterwards.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Take care.’ I didn’t know what else to say. I smiled weakly and left the room.

I walked down the corridor and to the rear of the reception.

‘You going?’ the duty officer asked.

‘Yes. Joss has her mother with her now.’

He unlocked the small gate and I went out. The middle-aged man we’d seen earlier through the glass door was now inside and sitting on one of the chairs. His clothes were badly stained and he smelt unwashed, but as I walked past him he tipped his hat and said a polite ‘Good evening’.

‘Good evening,’ I said, and continued to the door, which opened automatically.

I stepped out into the cool night air and made my way to my car.

Remorse, guilt and regret can befall anyone at any time, but never more so than in fostering, with the sensitive and emotionally charged situations we often have to deal with. As a carer looking after children with challenging behaviour, I’d often found myself regretting something I’d said or done, a decision made or not made, and then beating myself up about the outcome until I eventually took the lesson from the mistake and moved on. I was grateful Linda wasn’t blaming me for what had happened to Joss, as I certainly felt responsible. Linda had placed her faith in me, given me responsibility for her daughter, and I’d failed her and Joss miserably. If there was anything to be learned from what had happened I couldn’t see it as I drove through the now deserted streets, sinking deeper into a gloom of guilt and regret. I had two daughters of my own and certainly wouldn’t have allowed them out as Joss had been allowed out. True, they didn’t want to go out and challenge the boundaries as Joss had, but if they did I would pin them to the floor rather than allow them to place themselves in danger.

As I parked on the drive and cut the engine I was at an all-time low. What had happened to Joss would blight her life for many, many years to come. She would never forget it and I felt responsible. I let myself in and saw the light flashing on the answerphone. I pressed play and heard Jill’s voice, flat and emotionless: ‘Cathy, can you phone me when you return, please.’ The message was timed at 12.55, ten minutes previously.

I mechanically slipped off my shoes, hung my jacket on the coat stand and went through to the kitchen where I poured myself a glass of water and drank it straight down. It was quiet upstairs, so I assumed Adrian was still asleep, and the girls wouldn’t return from their sleepovers until the following day. At least they hadn’t had to go through this with Joss and me. I went into the living room. Toscha was still curled up on the sofa. As I sat beside her she looked at me as though expecting to be taken through to her bed in the kitchen, where she spent the night. I picked up the telephone from the corner table and dialled Homefinders’ number. It rang and then there was the usual few seconds’ delay as the call was transferred to the agency’s out-of-hours service, then Jill answered.