Daddy’s Little Princess Page 14

  ‘I play snap with my daddy,’ she said wistfully.

  ‘That’s nice,’ I said. ‘Did you play snap with him when you visited him at the hospital?’

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘What games did you play?’ I now asked, mindful of Marianne’s comment that Jessie had stopped Beth from playing a game of kiss chase.

  ‘I can’t remember,’ Beth said emphatically.

  I didn’t question her further. I wouldn’t have raised the matter had Beth not mentioned playing snap with her father, but now I felt sure she wasn’t telling me something. Her expression, the way she couldn’t meet my eyes and the decisiveness of her denial suggested she could remember what she’d played with her father, but wasn’t going to tell me.

  On Wednesday evening John telephoned, and although he didn’t have much time to talk it was lovely to hear from him – and, of course, Adrian and Paula were delighted to talk to their father. He also said a few words to Beth. But after he’d gone, Beth asked me, ‘How come they can speak to their daddy but I can’t speak to mine?’

  While the two situations were obviously very different, I could appreciate how unfair it must appear to her, but there was little I could say beyond reassuring her that I hoped to learn more at the meeting on Thursday. Presently, Beth said she was going to her room and disappeared upstairs. I didn’t go after her. She wasn’t upset and I could hear her moving around in her room and her bedroom door was open, so I wasn’t worried. Fifteen minutes later she came downstairs, having changed her dress to the one she’d worn the Friday before when she’d visited her father in hospital. She’d also applied similar lashings of thick make-up, including bright-red lipstick, mascara and scarlet eye shadow. She’d painted her nails luminous turquoise. Adrian took one look and burst into laughter, while Paula, remembering when Beth had been similarly dressed, innocently asked, ‘Are you going to see your daddy tonight?’

  ‘No. I’m not allowed to,’ Beth said. ‘But no one can stop me looking nice for my daddy. It makes me feel closer to him.’

  It was pitiful and sad, and Adrian, now appreciating that she was striving to be closer to her father, stopped laughing. Beth spent the rest of the evening in her finery, flouncing around haughtily with an air of sophistication. I didn’t like what she was wearing, but I didn’t say anything. She looked much older with all the make-up, but not in a nice way. I was pleased when it was time for her bath and she could wash it all off. I used acetate on cotton wool to remove her nail varnish.

  ‘When I get home from school tomorrow, I’m going to put it all on again,’ Beth said to me, a little defiantly.

  I let her comment go. I thought that if this made her feel closer to her father and lessened her sense of loss, then there was little harm in it. She wouldn’t be going out like that while she was living with me. Although how her father could find this endearing – his little daughter all tarted up – I’d no idea.

  On Thursday – the day of the meeting – I made an early lunch for Paula and me, and then at twelve fifteen I changed into a smart pair of black trousers and a cream blouse. I’d explained the arrangements to Paula – that she was going to play with Vicky for the afternoon, and I’d collect her from Kay’s or I’d meet her in the playground, depending on when my meeting finished. I’d also told her that if I wasn’t back in time Kay would collect Adrian and Beth from school when she collected her own son and look after everyone until I arrived.

  ‘Yes, it’s all right, Mummy, I understand,’ Paula said sweetly, reaching up to kiss my cheek.

  After I’d taken Paula to Kay’s – about five minutes away – I continued to the council offices in town. I parked in one of the visitors’ bays and went into reception. Jessie hadn’t told me which room the meeting was to be held in, so I asked the receptionist. She checked on her list of scheduled meetings and told me Jessie had booked Room 3.

  ‘It’s on the first floor,’ she said. ‘Up the stairs and down the corridor on your left.’

  I thanked her and, having signed the visitors’ book, began up the wide balustraded staircase. I knew from the previous meetings I’d attended in the council offices that the meeting rooms on the first floor were small compared to the larger committee rooms on the second floor, so I assumed there wouldn’t be many of us at the meeting. The door to Room 3 was closed, so I knocked and then gingerly pushed it open and went in. The room was empty, but I was five minutes early. It was hot and airless, but I knew better than to try and open a window. The building was old and most of the windows had either been jammed or painted shut, or, having been forced open, didn’t close properly and remained draughty in winter. A small oblong table stood in the centre of the room with a chair at each side. Two more chairs were stacked in a corner. That was the only furniture in the room. I took off my coat and draped it over the back of a chair at the table and then sat and waited. I found the quiet rather pleasant after the busy morning I’d had. Paula had been very excited at the thought of playing with Vicky and had chatted gaily (and loudly) for most of the morning, planning the games she’d play with Vicky. Now all I could hear was the occasional creek of the radiator and the muted footsteps of those walking along the carpeted corridor outside the room.

  At ten minutes past two, just as I was thinking of going down to reception to check I had the right room, the door opened and Jessie burst in carrying a pile of folders.

  ‘Sorry to have kept you,’ she said, flustered. ‘It’s been one of those mornings!’

  I smiled. ‘Don’t worry,’ I said.

  She sat in the chair opposite and dumped the folders on the table in front of her, then hooked her shoulder bag over her chair. ‘God, it’s hot in here,’ she said, glancing at the windows. ‘I take it none of them open.’

  ‘I daren’t try,’ I said. ‘But I doubt it.’

  Jessie laughed. The state of the windows in the building was a commonly shared joke. ‘OK, let’s make a start then,’ she said. ‘My manager is hoping to join us later. She’s in a meeting.’ She took her notepad from the top of the pile of folders and unclipped the pen.

  ‘Is it just us and possibly your manager?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. I needed you to come as I have to clarify some of the things you’ve told me. Let’s start with the photographs. I’ll see them for myself next week when I visit, but I want to hear what you have to say.’

  I was taken aback. Why was she asking about the photographs now? I thought I was coming for a meeting, but it seemed it was more of an interview and I felt ill prepared.

  ‘You mean the framed photographs that Beth has in her bedroom?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, the ones she brought with her from home.’

  ‘They are all of Beth and her father,’ I said, not really understanding what Jessie wanted from me.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Jessie said a little impatiently, pen poised over her notepad. ‘You said you thought they were inappropriate. Can I have the details?’

  I shifted in my chair. ‘I’m sorry. I’m confused,’ I said. ‘I thought when I raised this with you before you said I was mistaken and there was no reason to be concerned about the photographs or any of the other issues.’ I felt my cheeks flush hot.

  ‘I didn’t say you were mistaken,’ Jessie said defensively, glancing up at me. ‘But at the time we didn’t have enough evidence to act.’

  ‘And do you now?’ I asked, with unease.

  ‘Possibly. One of the reasons you are here is so I can gather evidence.’ She met my gaze. There was a moment’s silence as the obvious question hung in the air between us: what had changed to make her act now?

  Jessie lowered her pen and sat back slightly in her chair. ‘I’ll explain,’ she said. ‘When I took Beth to see her father at the hospital, I stayed with them for most of the time – not because I had any concerns then, but because I wasn’t sure if Beth would want to stay the whole hour, or if Derek would find her visit too upsetting and have to cut it short. As a result I was able to observe the way they respond to
each other, and I was shocked. Some of their behaviour is simply not appropriate for a father and his daughter.’

  I stared at Jessie and felt my pulse quicken.

  ‘Beth flirts with her father,’ Jessie continued. ‘And he does nothing to stop it. In fact, he encourages her. She kisses and cuddles him in a manner that can only be described as provocative or seductive. He allowed her to go round giving kisses and cuddles to some of the other male patients. I stopped that. I also stopped Beth from organizing a game of kiss chase with the other men. She had no idea it was wrong. She gives her affection far too freely and appears to be sexually aware beyond her years. She shows signs of sexualized behaviour. I arranged a meeting with the psychologist who’s been treating Derek, and we’ve agreed that, combined with other concerns raised, there were grounds to act, which is why I stopped contact.’

  I shivered despite the heat of the room. ‘So you think Beth’s been abused?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s possible,’ Jessie said.

  ‘By Derek?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Jessie said again, and then looked down at her notepad. ‘Can we start with the photographs,’ she said.

  A large knotted ball had settled in the pit of my stomach. I felt sick. Poor Beth, I thought. Whatever had she been through? And how long had it been going on? Yet while I felt dreadfully sorry for Beth, I also felt vindicated. I had spotted something was wrong, as had Marianne and Miss Willow, and I’d been right to contact Jessie and voice my concerns. Pity she hadn’t believed me then, I thought.

  I began by telling Jessie why the framed photographs made me feel uncomfortable: because of the way Beth and her father were posing, and because Beth was wearing make-up, which made her look much older. ‘They look more like boyfriend and girlfriend than father and daughter.’ I said. ‘They’re not touching sexually. It’s more the overall impression. You’ll see it for yourself when you visit next week. It’s difficult to put into words, but there’s an intimacy in the way they are looking at each other that isn’t appropriate for a father and daughter.’

  ‘And the photograph Beth keeps under her pillow?’ Jessie asked. ‘I heard her tell her father that she sleeps with his picture, so it feels like he’s there in the bed with her.’

  I nodded. ‘It’s the largest of the framed photographs and also the most intimate. She kisses it goodnight and then sleeps with it under her pillow. It appears to have been taken while they were on holiday. Beth and her father are in their swimwear. They’re kneeling in the sand, facing each other, and have their lips pursed ready to kiss. I persuaded myself that there was nothing wrong with the photograph, or the others,’ I added reflectively as Jessie wrote.

  When she’d finished writing she looked up at me. ‘Beth told her father you’d taken some photographs of her.’

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘He’s unhappy about that.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, amazed. ‘They’re family photographs, in the park and on outings. I’ve given Beth a set.’

  Jessie made a note. ‘I’ll need to see those photographs when I visit,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said with a stab of unease. I felt that I too was being investigated.

  ‘Is there anything else you can tell me about the photographs that Beth brought from home?’ Jessie asked.

  ‘No, I don’t think so,’ I said. ‘There’s fifteen of them and I’ve arranged them on the shelves in her bedroom, but you know that already.’

  Jessie nodded. ‘Now to the telephone calls. I appreciate you stopped staying with Beth when she phoned her father, but can you tell me what you heard when you were present?’

  If only I’d made some notes, I thought, as I tried to think back and remember. Having been reassured there was nothing wrong, I’d put the details from my mind. However, once I started to remember, the phone calls seemed even more significant now, in the light of Jessie’s investigation.

  ‘Beth sprawls on my bed to speak to her father, more like a teenager talking to her boyfriend than a little girl talking to her father,’ I said. ‘She smiles and laughs almost seductively, and twiddles the flex around her fingers. She changes out of her school uniform when she comes home and chooses a pretty dress to wear just to make the telephone call. She always told her father in great detail what she was wearing. He wanted to know everything – the dress, the petticoat and any accessories she was wearing. Beth often says she likes to look nice for her daddy, and he appears to encourage her. Sometimes, when she was describing what she was wearing, she’d lower her voice and flutter her eyelids in a sexy way. I remember once he asked her if she had clean knickers on, which made her laugh. It doesn’t seem funny now.’

  ‘No,’ Jessie said sombrely. ‘It certainly doesn’t.’

  I waited until Jessie had finished writing and then I continued. ‘There was always a lot of giggling from them both,’ I said. ‘Derek used to tease Beth and sometimes he’d talk in a high-pitched voice to make her laugh. He called her his “little princess” or “Daddy’s little princess”. Beth often says, “I’m Daddy’s little princess.” Many of her dresses are very frilly, as though she’s dressing up as a fairy-tale princess.’

  ‘What Beth was wearing when I took her to the hospital wasn’t appropriate,’ Jessie said, looking at me. ‘You know that?’

  ‘Yes. I apologized at the time. Beth chose her own clothes and put on the make-up without me knowing. There wasn’t time to do anything about it or you would have been late going to the hospital.’

  Jessie nodded. ‘Anything else you can tell me about their telephone calls?’

  ‘They used to tell each other how much they missed each other, especially in bed at night. You know Beth sleeps with her father in his bed?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jessie said, her voice flat.

  ‘They used to blow lots of kisses down the telephone and say they loved and missed each other, which sounded OK. But then Derek would add something like, “I miss holding you in my arms and feeling your little warm body,” or, “I can’t wait until I’m home and can tuck you up in bed beside me again.” None of which seemed right.’

  I waited again until Jessie had finished writing. ‘Anything else?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think so. Not with the telephone calls, but there’s the way Beth behaves towards my husband, John.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ Jessie said, concentrating on her notepad.

  At that moment the door opened and a woman came in. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Sorry I’m late.’ I guessed it was Jessie’s manager.

  ‘Laura,’ she said, introducing herself and pulling over a chair to sit down. ‘I’m the team manager.’

  ‘This is Cathy, Beth’s carer,’ Jessie said, introducing me.

  I smiled at her. ‘Hello.’

  ‘Don’t let me interrupt,’ Laura said. ‘Jessie can fill me in later.’

  ‘Your husband, John?’ Jessie said to me. ‘You have concerns about the way Beth behaves towards him?’

  ‘Yes, although I’d convinced myself there was nothing wrong. It’s difficult to put into words, but Beth is very familiar towards him. Physical, tactile,’ I said, searching for the right word. ‘I’m sorry, this part of fostering is new to me. I haven’t looked after a sexually abused child before.’

  ‘We don’t know for certain that Beth has been sexually abused,’ Laura put in. ‘Although the indicators are there.’

  I nodded and continued. ‘Beth is too “easy” with John, more so than my children would be with the daddy of one of their friends. She is very physical, touching, hugging and kissing him at any opportunity. At bedtime on the first weekend she was with us she asked him to lie on her bed and cuddle her like her father did. Although part of me said it was because she was missing her own father, it didn’t seem right to me, so I stopped it, as you know.’

  ‘Because it made you feel uneasy?’ Jessie asked.

  ‘Yes. Instinctively, I felt it wasn’t right.’

  ‘And now?’ Laura asked. ‘How does Beth b
ehave towards your husband?’

  ‘He wasn’t able to come home the following weekend, but he did last weekend. To be honest she was the same towards him, although she didn’t ask him to lie on her bed. I’ve established a bedtime routine where she has a story downstairs and then I take her up and she goes to sleep with a cuddly toy.’

  ‘Good,’ Laura said as Jessie wrote.

  ‘Beth’s always trying to get John’s attention,’ I said. ‘Sometimes she even flirts with him.’

  ‘Does Beth behave like this towards other males?’ Laura asked. ‘For example, towards your father, or your son.’

  ‘Good grief, no!’ I said, shocked. ‘Adrian’s only six, and my father is in his seventies.’

  ‘So her behaviour is only directed towards your husband, who is in the role of father?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ I said. ‘Although I hadn’t really thought about that before.’

  Neither woman replied. Laura concentrated on the table as Jessie made a note. It was to be many weeks later before I found out the significance of Laura’s questions about John.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Loyal to Abuser

  The meeting finished at 2.30 p.m., with Jessie making an appointment to visit Beth on Monday after school. Jessie told me that I shouldn’t say anything to Beth about their suspicions of abuse, and that she would explain to her on Monday why she couldn’t telephone or see her father. Laura thanked me for attending the meeting and I left the room first, hurrying out of the building to my car. My thoughts were in turmoil and my stomach churned. I realized that I’d convinced myself Derek and Beth’s behaviour towards each other was normal, when in fact it was indicative of abuse. I felt guilty. I thought I should have been more insistent with Jessie and stood my ground when I’d originally reported my concerns, but it was difficult to know what else I could have said or done. As a foster carer, my authority was very limited and I didn’t feel I had the expertise or confidence to persist. I felt I’d let Beth down, but then again, Jessie hadn’t acted on Marianne’s or Miss Willow’s concerns either.