A Baby’s Cry Page 10

  I switched off the light in the cupboard and closed the door; then, leaving Paula and Ellie still holding hands in the hall, I went into the sitting room, where Harrison was now asleep. I lifted him from his bouncing cradle and took him down the hall, where I settled him in his pram. When I returned, Adrian, Paula and Ellie were in the kitchen and asking for a drink, with Ellie apparently having walked past the cupboard without a problem. One demon exorcized, I thought, but how many others lurked in that poor child’s mind I could only guess.

  I made the children a drink and a snack – they wanted a toasted cheese sandwich – which they ate at the table, while I looked at the notes Ava had given to me. Ellie’s routine was similar to Adrian’s and Paula’s in the evening, with dinner, bath and bed. Ava said Ellie was usually in bed by 7.30 and reminded me she slept with the light on because she was afraid of the dark. Ava wrote that Ellie was a good eater and liked most food but not Marmite or anything very spicy, which I fully appreciated, as many young children don’t like strong flavours. She said Ellie could take care of her own toileting, which was what I would have expected for a child of Ellie’s age. Contact with Ellie’s mother was at the family centre on Wednesday, from four o’clock to six o’clock. At the foot of the page Ava had written the contact details for Ellie’s doctor and social worker in case I needed them in an emergency. Ava had signed off: I hope you all have a good week. Thanks for everything. Ava.

  I folded the paper and put it safely in my ‘fostering folder’, where I also kept my log notes. Although Ellie was only staying for a week I would still keep log notes, which I would hand to Jill when Ellie left. She would pass them to Ellie’s social worker, who would put them on file at the social services. These records are kept and the child has a right to see them when they are adult.

  Once the children had finished their snacks Ellie and Paula went up to Paula’s room to play while Adrian went into the garden to ride his bike. Harrison was asleep in the pram, so I took the opportunity to go upstairs and unpack Ellie’s suitcase, putting her clothes in the wardrobe and drawers in what would eventually be Harrison’s bedroom. When I’d finished I came out and looked in Paula’s bedroom before going downstairs. The girls were sitting on the floor in front of the doll’s house, playing quietly. Paula was doing most of the talking but Ellie appeared to be involved and enjoying the game.

  After lunch, as the weather was good, I suggested we walk to our local park and the children agreed. The park was busy, as it was a Saturday in mid-summer. I stood in the children’s play area and rocked Harrison in his pram while Adrian, Paula and Ellie played on the apparatus. I noticed how timid and cautious Ellie was in her play. She went up to the swings or play equipment and spent some time watching other children playing before she was tempted to have a go herself. Even then she was very wary. Children who have been abused or neglected often have little self-confidence. Adrian and Paula, on the other hand, like most nurtured children, were confident in their playing, as they were in most things. Indeed Adrian had to be reminded sometimes to be careful, especially on the swings, which he worked far too high for my liking.

  I was watching Paula as she ran back and forth across the rope bridge on the mini assault course, beckoning to Ellie to follow her. But Ellie had been standing at one end and watching for some minutes now, letting other children pass her and have a turn. I could see she wanted a go but daren’t take that first step on to the rope bridge, which swayed but was only a foot or so above the ground.

  I pushed the pram across to the assault course and parked it to one side; then I offered up my hand to Ellie and she took it. ‘Come on. You can do it,’ I said encouragingly.

  Gripping my hand she hesitated and then tentatively stepped on to the bridge, and slowly walked across.

  ‘Well done,’ I said. ‘Now you’ve done it once you’ll be fine to do it again.’

  And the smile on Ellie’s face showed just how pleased she was with her achievement. Ellie, like most abused children, would gradually recover her confidence, although it would take years of love, support and possibly therapy. Emotional scars often run the deepest.

  When we arrived home the children watched some television while I gave Harrison his bottle and then made dinner. Ellie was subdued, as she had been for most of the day, but had said she was all right each time I asked her. We ate around the table in the extension and then after dinner Ellie asked if she could have her sweets.

  ‘Of course, love,’ I said. ‘Ava told me you had them after dinner.’

  Ellie went into the sitting room (going past the cupboard under the stairs), where she’d left her Cinderella bag, and returning to the table took out a packet of Haribo mixed sweets. She carefully opened the packet and before she took a sweet herself she offered the packet to each of us, which was really touching.

  ‘Good girl,’ I said. ‘It’s nice of you to share.’ Often when children have been badly neglected or abused they’re over-protective of their possessions and have to be taught to share.

  I continued to watch Ellie as she took out the two sweets she was allowed for herself, and then carefully refolded the top of the packet and tucked it into her Cinderella bag.

  ‘Ava buys me a packet of sweets every week,’ Ellie explained quietly. ‘But I have to make them last, so I just have two a day.’

  ‘That’s very sensible,’ I said. ‘But as you have shared them with us they won’t last as long, so I’ll buy you another packet when that one runs out.’

  Ellie looked appreciatively at me from across the table and then said in her quiet gentle voice: ‘That’s very kind of you, Cathy. Thank you. Everyone has been so nice to me since I came into foster care. I am lucky.’

  I could have wept.

  That evening, although I’d followed Ava’s routine for Ellie, including a bedtime story, and leaving the light on in her room and her bedroom door open, Ellie was unsettled. When I’d said goodnight to her I’d told her to call me if she needed anything and she called me often, although when I went into her bedroom she didn’t seem to need anything apart from another hug and goodnight kiss. Then she got out of bed a couple of times and came downstairs. The first time she asked for a drink of water but didn’t appear very thirsty when I gave it to her; the second time she didn’t really want anything and I took her back to bed and then sat with her until she fell asleep. It was nearly 10.30 by then and as I finally came out of Ellie’s room, Harrison woke. I went into my bedroom and fed and changed him but he wouldn’t settle. I guessed this was probably because he was aware there was someone new in the house and his routine was as a result a little different. Eventually he was asleep at 11.30 and then woke again at 2.30 for a feed. Then Ellie woke an hour later with a nightmare.

  I heard her scream and was straight out of bed, rushing round the landing in my nightdress and into her room. Ellie was sitting upright in bed but not fully awake, so I eased her back down on to the pillow, tucked her in and then sat on the bed, stroking her forehead, until she fell asleep again. By the time I returned to my bed it was 4.30 and I was wide awake. I lay on my back, forcing my eyes to close and willing myself to go to sleep, aware that in just over an hour Harrison would be awake again for another feed.

  It was probably because I was so tired that I didn’t immediately understand what Ellie was trying to tell me the following day.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Pure Evil

  It was Sunday afternoon and Adrian and Paula were out with their father. In the morning Ellie and I had walked to the corner shop for a newspaper and we were now having a relaxing day. Ellie seemed more at ease with me than she had done during her visit or when she’d arrived the day before, and was talking to me more. I’d opened the French windows and she was wandering in and out, familiarizing herself with the house and garden. After lunch I spread a blanket on the ground under the shade of the tree. Harrison was in his bouncing cradle, watching the leaves stir gently overhead; I was flicking through the newspaper, and Ellie was stroking T
oscha, who was stretched leisurely beside her, enjoying the attention and showing her appreciation by purring loudly.

  ‘Cats can make a lot of noise,’ Ellie announced after a while.

  ‘Yes,’ I said absently, while still reading. ‘She’s purring because she’s happy you’re stroking her.’

  A few moments passed as Ellie continued stroking and petting Toscha, and I read; then Ellie said: ‘Cats make a horrible noise if they’re hurt.’

  ‘They do,’ I agreed, glancing up. I remembered an incident when, not realizing Toscha was behind me, I’d accidentally stepped back and trodden on her paw. ‘I think it’s called a yowl.’

  ‘They have claws,’ Ellie said. ‘Not like us.’

  ‘No, we have nails.’

  A minute or so passed, during which I closed the paper and opened the colour supplement, before Ellie said: ‘Cats can scratch you if they are angry.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘But Toscha won’t scratch you. She’s only ever scratched once and that was when Adrian was younger and pulled her tail.’ I turned the page of the colour supplement.

  ‘Did you take away Toscha’s claws when she scratched Adrian?’ Ellie then asked.

  I looked up and smiled. ‘No, you can’t take away a cat’s claws. They’re joined on and are part of the cat, like your nails are part of you.’

  Ellie met my gaze. ‘Shane did,’ she said, referring to her mother’s boyfriend. ‘He took our cat’s claws away when she scratched him.’

  I looked at her, puzzled. ‘You mean he cut her claws?’ I asked.

  Ellie shook her head. ‘No. Mum and me had a cat called Mog. It was our cat, not Shane’s. He didn’t like Mog and he was horrid to her. When Mog scratched him, he took her nails away.’

  ‘I’m sorry, love,’ I said. ‘I don’t understand.’ I was still looking at Ellie, who was concentrating on Toscha as she rubbed behind the cat’s ears, which Toscha loved. Ellie didn’t look at me as she spoke but concentrated on lovingly petting Toscha; and her gentle kindness seemed to highlight the shocking horror of what she now described.

  ‘Mog scratched Shane with her claws,’ Ellie began, ‘because he pulled her whiskers. He grabbed Mog by the neck and told Mum to get the pliers. Mum was crying and said she didn’t know where they were. I was crying because he’d just hit me. Shane shouted to Mum that the pliers were in his toolbox. I didn’t know what pliers were. He said if Mum didn’t get the pliers he’d do the same to her when he’d finished with the bloody cat. Mum went into the kitchen and came back with some metal things, which she gave to Shane.’

  Ellie paused, as though summoning the strength to continue, while her hand moved slowly over Toscha’s fur and down her back.

  ‘Shane put Mog on the floor and turned her over so she was on her back,’ Ellie continued quietly. ‘But she kept struggling to get the right way up. He knelt on her with his knee so she couldn’t move. Mog was struggling and making a lot of noise. Then he held her front paw and pulled out her claw with the pliers. Mog screamed and then he did it again and she was screaming all the time. There was blood all over Mog’s fur and on Shane and on the floor. Mum was screaming and begging him to stop, but he didn’t. When he’d pulled all the claws out of one paw he started to do it to her other paw. I felt sick and angry. I was crying and shouting at him to stop. I couldn’t do anything to help Mog, so I ran into the toilet and shut the door. But I could still hear Mog screaming and Mum crying. Even when I put my hands over my ears I could still hear them. I can hear them now sometimes.’

  Ellie stopped and her hand grew still and lightly rested on Toscha’s head. It was as though a shard of pure evil had pierced the beauty of the garden that afternoon; the air chilled, the birds stopped singing and nothing seemed to move. I stared at Ellie, my heart racing and nausea rising in my throat. I didn’t want to believe what I’d heard but I knew immediately from the simple child-like language she’d used and the look on her face that it was true.

  ‘I can still hear them screaming sometimes,’ Ellie said again. ‘I could hear them last night and they’re coming again now.’ Taking her hand from Toscha’s head she pressed both hands to her ears, as if trying to block out the sound of her mum and the cat screaming.

  I quickly moved across the blanket and took Ellie in my arms. She didn’t say anything, but with her hands covering her ears she rested her head against my chest. I held her tightly. If a child fell over and hurt themselves I instinctively found the words to comfort and reassure them, but presented with such barbaric cruelty I couldn’t think of anything that would come close to reassuring Ellie. What she had told me was so shocking that I was out of my depth. All I could do was hold her. The two of us sat in silence under the shade of the tree on that glorious summer’s afternoon with Ellie trying to block out the sound of her mother screaming and her cat being tortured.

  After a while Ellie slowly took her hands from her ears and put them around my waist. ‘It’s gone,’ she said quietly. ‘I can’t hear them now, but it will come back again. It always does. Only before I didn’t know why I heard the screaming, and now I do.’

  I held Ellie close to me. ‘Have you told Ava what Shane did?’ I asked gently after a moment.

  ‘No. I didn’t know. I’ve only just remembered why she was screaming. Ava’s cat is different to Mog. Toscha looks the same as Mog.’ Being with Toscha had therefore triggered the memory of Shane’s cruelty; previously Ellie had only heard screaming without knowing its source. This can happen with post-traumatic stress: a buried memory is released by something similar, which results in a flashback.

  ‘We didn’t see Mog again,’ Ellie said sadly, her head still resting on my chest and her arms around my waist. ‘Mum said she’d gone to heaven, but I think Shane took her away.’ I guessed the poor cat had died, for I doubted she could have survived the trauma of having her nails pulled out, and that Shane had probably disposed of the body.

  ‘Mog will be at peace now. She won’t suffer any more,’ I said, as much for my benefit as Ellie’s. Ellie was sad but seemed to be coping with the recollection calmly – better than I was. She was relatively composed, while I was still reeling from the shock of what she’d told me. Perhaps Ellie had found some release in identifying the cause of the screaming that had plagued her; or possibly she’d become slightly desensitized from seeing this and other abuse, which can happen. I tried to imagine how Adrian and Paula would have reacted to witnessing such cruelty but I couldn’t – my mind recoiled.

  ‘Shane is a very cruel and wicked person, Ellie,’ I said at last.

  ‘Mum says he’s evil.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed, wondering why on earth her mother stayed with him.

  ‘He did other bad things,’ Ellie said. ‘He cut Mum with a big knife and he burnt me with his cigarette. When I was naughty he locked me in a cupboard in the dark.’ I already knew this, although Ava had said it had been Ellie’s mother who’d locked her in the cupboard. Given Ellie’s loyalty to her mother it was possible she was transferring the blame to Shane, but I didn’t know. ‘It’s because of him I’m in foster care,’ Ellie added.

  ‘Yes, you’re safe in foster care,’ I said.

  I was still holding Ellie, and she now raised her head and moved slightly away so that she could stroke Toscha again. I felt I hadn’t really been much help but at least Ellie had been able to tell me. ‘Has Shane always lived with you and your mum?’ I asked presently, as Ellie stroked Toscha and normality began to return. Had I been Ellie’s permanent foster carer I would have known more about Ellie’s background but as a respite carer – just looking after Ellie for a week – and in line with guidelines on sharing confidential information I had been told only what I needed to know.

  Ellie shook her head. ‘No, it was just me and Mum, and we were happy. Then when I was four Shane came to live with us and it was horrible. He was horrible and he made Mum horrible too.’

  From what Ellie said, therefore, it appeared that Ellie’s mother had successfully loo
ked after Ellie for four years until Shane had moved in, so it seemed that in some ways Ellie’s mother was a victim too – terrorized by an abusive partner and possibly behaving in a way she wouldn’t otherwise have done. But allowing a child to be caught up in domestic violence is considered an abuse in itself. The courts take a firm line with mothers who fail to protect their children, often not returning the child to the mother even when the abuser has left the home.

  ‘I love my mum, but I hate Shane,’ Ellie added.

  I nodded. ‘Ellie, I’m going to tell Ava and your social worker what Shane did so that they can help you, all right?’

  ‘Will they be able to stop the screaming in my head?’ she asked, glancing up from Toscha. ‘It makes me cry when I hear Mog and Mum scream. I want them to stop.’

  ‘Yes. There is a person called a psychologist at the hospital who can help you. Some of the children I’ve looked after have been to her. She’s a very nice lady and you see her once a week and do lots of nice things, like painting and making models, but at the same time she helps you to get rid of the bad memories and the screaming.’ The referral would need to be made by Ellie’s social worker and I knew there was a waiting list, so it would be some weeks before Ellie could begin therapy. Also therapy is sometimes purposely delayed if there is a court case pending and the child’s evidence could be diluted by issues explored in therapy.

  Harrison was now restless in his bouncing cradle, so I lifted him out and laid him on the blanket next to me, where he grinned and kicked his feet happily. Presently Toscha finally had enough of being petted and, stretching and yawning, slowly stood and sauntered off down the garden. Ellie also stood and went to play in the sandpit. I hoped she didn’t tell Adrian and Paula what she’d told me about Shane torturing her cat. I knew how upset they’d be and I wanted to protect them. They’d been told horrible things before by children we’d fostered and had been upset for a long while afterwards, as I had. Although I recognized that Adrian’s and Paula’s upset from hearing cruelty described was little compared to that of the abused child who’d been there or had it done to them.