The Saddest Girl in the World Page 12

  ‘She can clean my room,’ Adrian said to me with a cheeky grin.

  ‘Absolutely not,’ I said. ‘That's your job.’ But I knew Donna would have done it if he'd asked.

  Apart from the times when Donna tried to tell Paula what to do or chastise her, she remained very quiet and compliant — too much so, I thought. Her voice was always flat and expressionless, even when there was a treat to be enjoyed, as though she didn't dare express any excitement or pleasure. I was sure, as Mary had been, that Donna was internalising a lot of her pain, frustration and anger, and that at some point it would explode.

  I was right, and it happened in October, during the week's half-term holiday from school.

  Donna's contact continued during half term, so I had to make sure that when we went out for the day on Monday, Wednesday and Friday we were back home relatively early. On Tuesday, when we weren't constrained by contact times, I took the opportunity of having a full day out, and we visited a theme park, which was about an hour's drive away. It was an excellent day, and I knew that Donna had enjoyed it as much as she could enjoy anything, although she hadn't said much and had needed a lot of persuasion to go on the rides.

  On the way home Donna reminded me that she had contact the following day. ‘I know, love,’ I said. ‘Don't worry, I won't forget.’ She then said that her dad would be going and that he had been there on Monday. Her father had made intermittent appearances at contact, about every fourth one. I had never met Mr Bajan, but I knew he was the only one in the immediate family who hadn't abused Donna, and that his illness — paranoid schizophrenia — prevented him from taking a more prominent role in her life.

  ‘He hasn't been taking his medication,’ Donna said reflectively a short while later. ‘I told him on Monday to take it. Otherwise Edna will have him locked up.’ Donna was referring to her father being sectioned under the Mental Health Act, which seemed to happen a couple of times a year when he stopped taking his medication and began behaving irrationally and sometimes violently.

  I glanced at Donna in the rear-view mirror. ‘Edna doesn't have him locked up,’ I said. ‘When your dad doesn't take his tablets he can't cope, so he is taken into hospital. The doctors make sure he has his medicine and then he is well enough to go home again. Don't you worry: I'm sure Edna or your mum will tell him.’

  Donna didn't say anything more in the car, but having been responsible for making sure her dad took his medication when she had been at home, she had clearly recognised the signs of him not having taken it, and this was proved the following day.

  On Wednesday I took Donna to contact at 5.00 p.m., and I had just returned home when I got a phone call from Edna saying she was terminating contact immediately, and could I collect Donna straight away? Edna spoke quickly and anxiously — a sharp contrast to her usual calm and reassuring manner. She said she'd called the police and an ambulance for Mr Bajan, and that I should wait in the car outside the social services offices and Donna would be brought out to me. I told Adrian and Paula that Donna's father had been taken ill at contact, and we were going to collect her early, and to put on their shoes, which they had only just taken off. With mounting anxiety and no idea what to expect, I drove back to the offices in Belfont Road. As I turned into the road I saw two police cars and an ambulance parked on the forecourt at the front of the building. I pulled into the kerb a little way back and turned off the engine.

  ‘Why are the police here?’ Adrian asked.

  ‘I think it's in case the ambulance crew need help,’ I said, leaving it at that. I knew that sometimes schizophrenics could suffer from delusional hallucinations and become violent, but to talk about that to the children would have been frightening.

  We sat in the car for about ten minutes, and I was expecting to see Donna appear at any minute with Edna. Instead, after another few minutes the front door of the building suddenly burst open and, as we looked, two uniformed police officers came out, followed by another two, with a man I took to be Donna's father struggling between them. They were holding an arm each. He was a large man and appeared to be very strong. He was shouting and struggling, and trying to fight off the demons that clearly plagued him. ‘Fuck off ! Fuck off ! I've told you! I'll have you crucified like him!’ he yelled. He pulled and wrenched from side to side, and it was clear that it was all the officers either side of him could do to restrain him and stop him from breaking free. The officers were talking to him quietly, perhaps trying to reassure him, but I doubted he could hear over the noise of his shouting and wailing.

  Behind them came the ambulance crew: two paramedics, one male and one female. There was no sign of Edna, Donna, Rita, Chelsea or the boys, all of whom had attended contact. Adrian, Paula and I watched, mesmerised and horrified by the scene. The female paramedic opened the ambulance doors and lowered the steps.

  ‘Oh no! On no! Oh no!’ Mr Bajan wailed. It was truly pitiful and frightening to watch. He struggled and cried out, pulling back from the steps of the ambulance. I thought that when he was well he would have the same dignity as his mother, for despite his illness he seemed a proud man and was smartly dressed in grey trousers and an open-neck shirt.

  Adrian was at his side window, enthralled and appalled by what he was witnessing. Paula had slunk low in her seat with her hands pressed over her ears. ‘He'll be all right. Don't worry,’ I said, trying to reassure them, although I could feel my own heart racing; it was very upsetting. A young couple walking along the street hesitated, and then ran past the end of the forecourt.

  Mr Bajan continued shouting as the two police officers guided him to the foot of the ambulance steps, ready to climb up, and then he set up the most dreadful wail. I could see his face contorted with pain and anger as he tried to fight off his internal tormentors. His skin ran with sweat and his eyes bulged. No wonder in bygone days it was thought the mentally ill were possessed. The poor man looked as though he was at the mercy of some unseen evil spirit that was hell-bent on destroying him and would stop at nothing to achieve it.

  The other two officers helped, and it took all four of them to slowly manoeuvre Mr Bajan up the two steps and into the ambulance. The paramedics followed them in and closed the rear doors. I don't know what happened then; I assumed he was sedated, because a few minutes later the rear doors of the ambulance opened and all four police officers came out, together with the female paramedic, and it was quiet inside. She closed the ambulance doors and said something to the police officers; then she went to the driver's door of the ambulance and got in. Two of the officers got in one of the police cars, while the other two returned inside the building. The ambulance and police car pulled away from the forecourt and left with their blue lights flashing and sirens wailing.

  ‘Cor,’ Adrian said, impressed by the ambulance, as any boy his age would be.

  I turned again to Paula in the back. ‘It's OK, love. You can take your hands down now.’

  She slowly lowered her hands from her ears. ‘I don't like shouting,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘No, I know. It's all right now. Mr Bajan was very upset and they are taking him to the hospital. The doctors will make him better.’

  We sat in subdued silence for another ten minutes; then Edna appeared with Donna. She saw my car and, as she came over, I got out and stood on the pavement. I could see that Edna was maintaining a calm façade for Donna's sake, but her anxiety showed in her face. She was talking quietly to Donna as they approached, and Donna looked deathly pale.

  ‘I'll phone you later,’ Edna said to me, ‘when I've finished here. Donna's very upset and I think she just needs to get home now.’ She touched Donna's arm, and I opened the rear door of the car and waited while she got in. ‘I'll speak to you later, Cathy,’ Edna said again anxiously. ‘I've still got the boys, Rita and Chelsea inside.’

  ‘All right, Edna. Don't worry.’

  She returned into the building as I got into the car.

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked Donna gently.

  She shru
gged. Paula and Adrian were looking at her with sympathy and concern.

  ‘Let's get home,’ I said, and I started the engine.

  Donna didn't say anything during the twenty-minute journey home. She sat beside Paula, with her head down and hands clasped tightly together in her lap. When we arrived home and I opened the front door, she went straight up to her bedroom. A minute later I heard a loud bang come from her room, quickly followed by another and another. Telling Adrian to stay with Paula in the lounge, I shot upstairs. Donna was screaming now at the top of her voice; giving a brief knock on her door, I opened it.

  She was darting around her bedroom, screaming, and picking up anything and everything that came within reach and hurling it against the walls. ‘Donna!’ I said loudly. ‘Stop that.’ She glanced at me but continued screaming and throwing everything that came to hand — the portable CD player, her crayons, books and games, her teddy and the china ornaments she'd started collecting with her pocket money. I stayed by the door, not daring to go further in, in case her anger turned on me. She pulled the sheet off the bed and ripped it, her teeth gritted, her face set hard. ‘Donna!’ I said again. ‘Stop! Donna, now!’ She went to the curtains and yanked one down with such force that the rail came out of the wall in a shower of plaster. ‘Donna! Stop it! Do you hear me!’ My heart was pounding and my mouth was dry.

  Suddenly she froze, the screaming stopped, and she dropped to her knees and began sobbing uncontrollably. She was bent forward, clutching her head in her hands and rocking back and forth.

  I slowly went in and towards her as her sobbing grew. I knelt beside her, and then tentatively placed my hand on her shoulder. Her head was down and she was rocking and crying. I began lightly rubbing her back. ‘It's OK, love,’ I soothed. ‘I understand. It'll be all right now.’ She continued to rock and cry, and I slowly slid my arm around her shoulders. Gradually the sobbing eased. ‘Donna, look at me, love,’ I said gently and, placing my hands on hers, I slowly lowered them from her face. Her eyes were red and swollen and her breath was coming fast and shallow. ‘Everything is all right now.’ I drew her to me and she allowed her head to rest on my shoulder.

  ‘I told Dad to take his tablets,’ she said between sobs. ‘I told him on Monday. Mum doesn't tell him. She's useless. She only thinks about the boys. He needs to take his tablets. It's my fault.’ Her body stiffened and she was digging her nails into the palms of her hands.

  ‘Donna, love, I know you told him, but it's not your fault. Your daddy is a grown man. Somehow he will have to find a way to remember to take his tablets. The doctors will help him work it out.’

  She gave a dismissive shrug and I felt pretty impotent. I knew from what Edna has said that periods of Mr Bajan not taking his medication had been a pattern of their lives, and with no one at home now to remind him to take them, it was a pattern that was likely to continue. Schizophrenia is a controllable disease, thanks to modern medicine, and it was so sad that Mr Bajan's life and the lives of his children continued to be blighted by something as simple as remembering to swallow some tablets.

  ‘Will I get it, and be like him when I'm older?’ Donna said suddenly. She had stopped rocking and turned to look at me.

  ‘No, love. Absolutely not.’

  ‘Mum says it's in his family, and I'll end up as loony as him. She says I already am, and sometimes I think she's right. I think and do weird things.’

  ‘No,’ I said firmly again. ‘You won't. There's nothing wrong with you, Donna, and there won't be.’

  ‘Mum says I'm a nutter already,’ Donna said. ‘She says I should be locked up like him.’

  I stopped myself from vilifying her mother. ‘Donna, that was a very unkind thing for her to say, and it certainly isn't true. Trust me, you are doing fine, and once your dad starts taking his tablets again he will be fine too.’

  She seemed to accept this, and I thought that the next time I spoke to Edna I would ask her to reinforce to Donna what I had said. For it is often the case with a medical condition that if you believe you are suffering from it, you can start to imagine the symptoms developing.

  ‘Has that been worrying you?’ I asked gently. ‘That you might develop the illness your dad has?’

  She nodded. ‘Mum says I have it, and that's why I'm so odd.’

  ‘And does she say that about Warren and Jason too?’

  ‘No.’

  Which I thought was interesting, considering they were supposed to have the same father and therefore the same possible genetic susceptibility.

  ‘Donna, it was a very unkind thing to say, and it certainly isn't true. You are one of the healthiest people I know, and Edna says so too. You have been through so much at home and now you are doing really well.’

  ‘You know Mum didn't want me, Cathy?’ she said. ‘I was an accident. She tried to get rid of me by poking a knitting needle inside her, but it didn't work.’

  I inwardly recoiled, and I wondered if Donna knew exactly what she was saying, but I wasn't about to explain abortion to a ten-year-old. ‘That was a cruel thing to say,’ I said. ‘And I'm pleased it didn't work because otherwise I wouldn't have you here now. I like looking after you and I'm very glad you are living with us.’

  She looked at me again, her eyes round and imploring. ‘Are you? Are you really?’ She was surprised.

  ‘Yes, darling, I am. You are a lovely person and I know you are going to do very well.’ I was pleased Donna was finding it easier to talk to me, and I hoped that by talking about her worries and what had happened she would start to find some release. I glanced around at the debris of her trashed bedroom.

  ‘Mum had a hot bath and drank a bottle of gin as well,’ Donna added, ‘when the knitting needle didn't work. Why did she do that, Cathy?’

  I hesitated. Donna clearly knew more than the average ten-year-old, but even so I didn't want to go into the gory details of abortion. ‘She was trying to have what's called a termination,’ I said. ‘But I would like to leave telling you more about that until you are older. It would be easier then. Is that OK?’

  She nodded, and then let out a little laugh.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked, surprised that anything could be funny in what she had just told me.

  ‘Mum said it didn't work because there wasn't enough hot water. Chelsea had taken it all, so I guess I have to thank her for saving me. And Chelsea doesn't even like me!’

  I marvelled at Donna's adult ironic humour. ‘Well done Chelsea, I say! Donna, you are a lovely person and whatever happened in the past is gone. Things will be much easier for you now, and that will help you get better at everything.’ I put my arms around her and hugged her. She didn't return the hug, but neither did she immediately move away. We sat quietly for some time until she finally eased away.

  ‘I'm tired, Cathy,’ she said. ‘Can I go to bed? I'll clear up in the morning.’

  ‘Yes, love. Have an early night. And Donna, next time you feel really angry we'll find another way of letting it out. Like hitting a cushion hard, or running round and round the garden. It does help.’

  She nodded. ‘I'm sorry. I liked my bedroom.’

  ‘OK, love. Now take your nightdress into the bathroom and get washed and changed while I find you a new sheet. The curtains will have to stay as they are for tonight. I'll see if I can fix the rail back on the wall tomorrow.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said again, and taking her nightdress from under her pillow she went through to the bathroom.

  I took a clean sheet from the airing cupboard and replaced the old one, which having been ripped in half would be consigned to the rag bag. I collected together all the broken pieces of ornaments and dropped them in the waste-paper basket, which I then put out on the landing ready to take downstairs. I didn't think Donna would use the broken china to self-harm, but I wasn't taking any chances. Although some of her anger had come out I knew there was still a long way to go before she was free of all the hurt, anger and rejection that must still be boiling inside her. I checked th
ere was nothing sharp left in the room, looking under the bed, on the shelves and in the drawers. The portable CD player was miraculously still working, and the crayons and other things could be cleared up tomorrow. I left the curtain hanging off the rail; I'd have to fetch the stepladder from the shed in the morning and see if I could fix the bracket onto the wall with filler.

  When Donna returned from the bathroom I tucked her into bed and kissed her goodnight. ‘All right now, love?’ I asked before I left.

  She nodded. ‘Night, Cathy. Will you say goodnight to Adrian and Paula for me?’

  ‘Will do, love. Sleep tight.’ I came out and closed the door.

  I carried the waste-paper basket with the broken china downstairs and tipped the contents into the kitchen bin. I then went into the lounge, where I spent some time talking to, and reassuring, Adrian and Paula that Donna was all right, and so too would her father be now that he was in hospital.

  At 8.00 p.m., just as I'd returned downstairs from seeing Adrian and Paula into bed, the phone rang. It was Edna, still at the office in Belfont Road. ‘How is she?’ she asked, sounding exhausted. I told her about Donna venting her anger on her room, and what she had said about her worries of mental illness, and her mother telling her about terminating the pregnancy. Edna listened in silence, occasionally tutting and sighing in dismay.

  ‘Rita tried to blame Donna tonight for Mr Bajan's behaviour,’ Edna said. ‘Rita said, “Look what you've done now. It's your fault, you silly cow.” I stopped her before she said anything else. I knew Mr Bajan hadn't been taking his medication as soon as he walked into contact. He was speaking on a toy mobile phone — you know, the ones that play ringing noises when you press the buttons. He said he was talking to God, only I don't think God could have got a word in edgeways over his continuous babble. Warren and Jason carried on playing; they're used to their father's behaviour. Rita and Chelsea told him he was a nutter and silly old fool and laughed at him. Donna was the one who tried to talk to him and look after him. I stopped the contact immediately.’