Damaged Read online

  ‘I’m going to have a look in your mouth first, Jodie,’ she said. ‘Say aaah.’

  Jodie opened her mouth wide. Dr Pratchet placed the spatula on her tongue, and the two women peered in. I could guess what they were looking for. If Jodie had been forced into oral sex, there was a chance she might have contracted a sexually transmitted disease in her mouth, but I hadn’t seen any sores or white thrush spots when I’d helped brush her teeth.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Dr Pratchet. ‘Well done.’

  Jodie closed her mouth, and grinned at me. I smiled back reassuringly.

  ‘Now, can I listen to your chest?’

  Linda gently lifted up Jodie’s jumper, waiting for Jodie to give permission by raising her arms, and Dr Pratchet listened with her stethoscope. I felt reassured: they certainly knew how to put a child at ease. I relaxed a little.

  ‘Excellent,’ she said again. ‘You’re doing very well. Aren’t you a big girl?’

  Jodie beamed, as though she’d just won a medal, but I was aware we were approaching the next stage of the medical, and I was praying for Jodie’s continued cooperation. The doctors wouldn’t force her to go through with it, but without this evidence there would be little chance of a prosecution.

  ‘Can you lie down on the couch for me?’ asked Linda, patting the bed.

  Jodie flopped back in her cumbersome way and cackled loudly.

  ‘We need to have you further this end,’ said Linda, and eased her down, so that her legs hung over the edge. Dr Pratchet switched on the lamp.

  ‘Would you like to come and hold her hand?’ Linda asked, looking over at me.

  I manoeuvred my chair so that I was sitting beside Jodie’s head, and held her hand. I was pleased to be doing something. Dr Pratchet passed Linda a blanket, and she covered Jodie’s body.

  ‘I’m going to slip off your trousers and pants,’ she said, and discreetly removed them under the blanket. ‘Good girl. Now let your legs go floppy, and I’ll put them in the right position.’

  She raised Jodie’s knees. It was an ungainly, vulnerable position, but with the blanket covering her she at least retained some dignity.

  Linda joined Dr Pratchet at the foot of the couch, and both women put on rubber gloves and began the examination. I stroked Jodie’s forehead and held her hand tight. Her cheeks flushed, and she bit her bottom lip.

  ‘Won’t be long,’ I said, ‘then we can go home.’

  The women began discussing what they saw. I recognized the word ‘lesion’, but none of the other terms were familiar. Their tone was flat and professional, revealing nothing.

  ‘It hurts,’ said Jodie. I squeezed her hand, willing them to hurry up.

  Dr Pratchet suddenly straightened. ‘All done. You’ve been a very brave girl. You can get dressed now.’

  I breathed a sigh of relief and helped Jodie sit up and dress, while the two women shed their gloves into the bin.

  ‘We’ll send the report to the social worker,’ said Linda. ‘You can reassure Jodie she’s quite normal.’

  This was all we would be told for now. The social worker would eventually pass on to me anything I needed to know. Jill had said that this could take anything from ten days to a month. I thanked them warmly, took Jodie’s hand, and we walked out into the winter afternoon sunshine.

  ‘You were very brave,’ I told her. ‘You won’t have to go through that again. It’s over now.’

  ‘I wished it was a man,’ she said, giving a little hop beside me.

  ‘What? Doing the examination?’ I was surprised. Surely a man performing that kind of procedure was the last thing Jodie would want, after what she’d been through. ‘Why?’

  ‘Ladies hurt more than men,’ cos they haven’t got a willy.’

  I stopped and turned to her as the significance of her words sank in. ‘What do you mean? What ladies? How do they hurt you?’

  Her brow furrowed, as she searched through her limited vocabulary to try and explain. ‘My mum and Aunt Bell, they had to use things because they haven’t got willies.’

  ‘Use things? What, on your private parts?’

  ‘Yes. Like the doctors. They poked things inside me.’

  I froze. Oh please, no. How much more could this child have endured? ‘What things, Jodie?’

  ‘Spoons, like the one the doctor put in my mouth. Only it was silver.’

  ‘Are you saying that Mum and Aunt Bell put a metal spoon in your private parts?’

  She nodded. ‘It was cold. Daddy warmed it in his hands first. He was kind sometimes, wasn’t he, Cathy?’

  It was too much. I could no longer hide my anger with the people who’d done this to her. ‘No, Jodie, he wasn’t. He was wicked. They’re animals. All of them. I hope they rot in hell!’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nosy Cow

  I sat at my desk writing, logging in my diary the vile details of Jodie’s sexual degradation. I felt sick to my core. The active involvement of Jodie’s mother in the abuse was such an appalling inversion of the maternal role and everything we feel mothers should be. We foster carers were supposed to be non-judgemental but there is a cut-off point and, for me, this was it. I could hardly bear to record Jodie’s childish conclusion that, because her father had warmed the object used to defile her, this act of kindness made him less culpable.

  As soon as Jill received my emailed report, she phoned. ‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘It’s a wonder the poor child’s functioning at all with all this.’

  ‘She isn’t really. And she’s functioning less with every new disclosure.’ As I said it, I realized the truth. On a day-to-day basis, there were ups and downs, bad days and better days; but if I stood back for a moment and considered it all carefully, I could see that in reality it was a steady decline. Jodie was getting worse. ‘I’m out of my depth, Jill.’

  Jill could hear the rising panic in my voice. She said soothingly, ‘OK, don’t worry. You’re seeing the psychologist next week, aren’t you?’

  ‘Monday.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask her for some strategies to help? I know that’s not why she’s there, but she might be able to offer something. It’s worth a try.’

  ‘Thanks, Jill. That’s a good idea.’ I felt a small vestige of comfort. ‘I’ll see what she says.’

  Jill was right. The psychologist had been appointed by the court to assess Jodie as part of the ongoing care proceedings, and it wasn’t her role to advise me, or to offer therapy for Jodie. Still, it was a glimmer of hope – surely she would have some idea of what I might do.

  The bureaucratic wheels were grinding slowly on, as Jodie’s case worked its way through the system. Jodie had been brought into care under an Interim Care Order, which meant that the court would decide at a later date whether to return her to her family, or to issue a Full Care Order. The psychologist would meet Jodie a number of times before filing her report, as this was a crucial part of the court’s decision-making process.

  The court had set dates for two ‘direction hearings’ in January and March, which would be followed by a ‘final court hearing’ in May. The purpose of the direction hearings was to allow the judge to consider the evidence that had been presented so far, so that he or she could take interim decisions in the child’s interests, without having to wait for the final court proceedings to be resolved. Throughout the process, the guardian ad litum would meet with all the parties and provide the judge with an objective assessment, making recommendations in the best interests of the child. In practice, judges tend to be guided by the guardian ad litum, and usually follow his or her recommendations.

  If a Full Care Order was granted at the final hearing, the local authority would become Jodie’s de facto guardian, and Social Services would place her either with a long-term foster family, or into a residential care home, or, if she was very lucky, they might find a family to adopt her. However, given Jodie’s age, aggression and learning difficulties, this last option was extremely unlikely.

  Before the first meeting
with the psychologist, Jodie was scheduled for the police memorandum interview. This interview, as well as being part of the care proceedings, would also be used in the police investigation, with a view to prosecuting Jodie’s parents and any other abusers. Jodie would be interviewed by specially trained police officers from the Child Protection Unit, and I hoped that she would be as forthcoming with them as she had been with me.

  We arrived for our appointment with the Child Protection Officers in good time, which gave Jodie a chance to peer into the police cars parked outside the station. I pressed the buzzer for entry, then gave our names to the PC on reception. He came out from behind the desk and showed us through to a special suite. As we walked in, I felt reassured: the suite was clearly designed to set a child at ease. The room was brightly furnished, with a big red sofa, lots of toys and colourful Lion King-themed wallpaper. Two WPCs in civilian clothes stood and introduced themselves.

  ‘Hello, you must be Jodie,’ one said brightly. ‘My name’s Kelly, and this is Harriet.’

  Jodie grinned while I shook their hands.

  ‘Coffee?’ Harriet asked.

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘And squash for Jodie?’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  Harriet left the room while Jodie brought a jigsaw from a toy box and the three of us began assembling it. Harriet returned with the drinks and a packet of biscuits. We sat for a while, as the WPCs tried to engage Jodie’s attention, asking her about her hobbies, her favourite television programmes and so on. Jodie, however, remained oblivious to their chat, preferring to sit in the corner exploring the toy boxes. After a while, Kelly got on her hands and knees and tried to join in with Jodie’s games, but this too was only partially successful. I didn’t think Jodie was being deliberately hostile, it was just that she didn’t see the need to interact, even though I had explained the importance of our visit both that morning and the night before.

  Explaining to Jodie what was going to happen had been a delicate process. I had tried to make it clear that some nice, kind people would be asking her questions about the things she had told me had happened to her, but there was not much more I could add without being in danger of prejudicing any eventual court case. I couldn’t say, ‘You must tell the police the naughty things that Daddy did to you,’ in case I was in any way putting ideas into Jodie’s head. All I could do was ask her to tell the truth. If it came out in the interview that I had put any detail in her head, then it could be used by the opposing barrister in an effort to disprove Jodie’s claims.

  I hoped that Jodie had understood how important it was to be frank and honest with the officers but, as ever, it was hard to tell what she had absorbed. I crossed my fingers that she was in a compliant mood, as she had been in the medical, and hoped she would enjoy being the centre of attention. Many foster children are like this: before they come into care they’ve often been neglected and ignored, so when they are given lots of attention and a host of professionals involved in the case is brought into their lives they can sometimes become little stars. On occasions, Jodie could thrive on being at the centre of things, so I hoped that this would work in her favour today.

  Another ten minutes passed, then Kelly suggested we make a start. She touched Jodie’s arm softly and said, ‘We’re going to go through to what’s called an interview room in a minute. I know Cathy’s told you all about it. It’s just through there.’ She pointed to the door.

  Jodie looked up. ‘Is Cathy coming?’

  ‘Yes, to begin with, and then she’ll come back and wait in here, and we’ll have a chat in there. Now, while we have our chat, a very nice man is going to video us, so we can remember everything we talked about later on. Does that sound OK to you?’

  Perhaps Jodie had lost interest in the toys for suddenly, very obligingly, and to my great relief, she stood up and took hold of Kelly’s hand. ‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘I want to be in the video.’

  I followed them out of the door and into the next room, where a young policeman, also in civilian clothes, greeted us.

  ‘Hello, Jodie,’ he said. ‘I’m John. I work the camera. Do you want to come and have a look?’

  The interview room was small and bare, with three plastic chairs, a central light, and a blackout blind over the only window. I was surprised how austere it was; I’d imagined it would be more child-friendly.

  John showed Jodie and me where the camera was mounted, and where he would be standing, hidden from view by a screen. ‘We’re going to make a video of you, and record what you’re saying. Is that OK, Jodie?’

  I remembered the photo I’d taken of Jodie when she’d first arrived at my home, and how she’d tried to take off her clothes. Would she be upset now at this strange man wanting to video her? She hadn’t been bothered when I’d explained it to her earlier, and so far at least she seemed unfazed, as she nodded her assent.

  ‘Can you sit in this chair?’ Kelly said, helping her up, while John discreetly moved behind the screen.

  ‘Cathy’s going to wait in the room next door now, while you stay with us, all right?’ Harriet said.

  Jodie wriggled in her chair and gave a little wave, and I left the room. As her carer, I was not allowed to be present during the interview, in case it affected her testimony. Memorandum interviews have to be done under controlled conditions, in order for them to be admissible as evidence in court.

  I returned to the bright, cheerful suite, which seemed such a contrast to the small, dark interview room. I sat down, but I found I couldn’t relax, so I decided to pop outside for a cigarette. The wind was piercing, and I took shelter in a doorway, furtively puffing while I worried about what was going on in the interview room. What Jodie said now was crucial because without her evidence on tape there would be little chance of a prosecution. At her age and with her learning difficulties, there was no way she could go into a witness box to testify. The adversarial nature of our legal system, even in child abuse cases, would mean that she could be cross-examined by a barrister. There was no way she would be able to cope with that, and what child of less than ten who had been through what she had could? As a result, it was little wonder so few cases came to court, let alone ended with a successful prosecution of the abusers. I smoked only half the cigarette, then stubbed it out, and felt only half-guilty. I pressed the buzzer to re-enter the station, then made my own way to the suite. I paced, then sat, and paced again. Twenty minutes passed, then the door opened and Kelly stuck her head round.

  ‘We’re giving it another ten minutes, then we’re going to call it a day. We’ve not had much luck, I’m afraid.’

  I nodded, my heart sinking, as Kelly returned to the interview. I wandered over to the window, which looked out over the courtyard at the rear. I watched as a patrol car pulled in, and two uniformed officers climbed out, sharing a joke. As a foster carer, I often have dealings with the police, not only with child protection issues, but also with runaway teenagers, or those who’ve committed offences. Theirs was a difficult job, and I’d always had the utmost respect for the police, particularly the Youth Offending Team, who have to have the patience of saints.

  A sense of depression engulfed me. I could imagine that if Jodie hadn’t opened up by now, she was unlikely to. I knew what she was like when she didn’t want to talk. There was no forcing the issue – she was as immovable as a mountain. She had just a few short minutes left to tell the police what they needed to hear if there was any hope of punishing the people who had made her suffer so terribly.

  While I waited, I wondered, not for the first time, about Jodie’s brother and sister. Had they been made to suffer in the way that Jodie had? I hoped not, but it was unlikely that I would ever find out. I was only given information that was strictly relevant to Jodie and all I knew was that her siblings were with other carers now. My hope was that, because they were so much younger than Jodie, they might have escaped what Jodie had gone through.

  A short while later I heard Jodie’s voice outside the door
. It opened and she bounced in. ‘We did the video,’ she grinned. ‘It was really good.’ She rushed over to the toy box.

  I looked up hopefully at Harriet and Kelly, who shook their heads. Harriet motioned for me to join her, while Kelly helped Jodie into her coat.

  ‘She wouldn’t talk, I’m afraid,’ said Harriet. ‘She kept telling us how she wanted to rip her father’s head off, but she wouldn’t say why, or give any details. We won’t try again while she’s so young, but we’ll keep the file open for the future. Hopefully one day she will be ready.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, unable to hide my disappointment. ‘I’m sorry she wasn’t more cooperative, but it isn’t altogether surprising.’

  ‘No. Certainly not, not with everything that’s gone on. I dealt with that family years ago. God knows why she was left there so long.’

  I was intrigued but the police woman didn’t say any more and confidentiality would not allow her to. Clearly the police had been involved with the family at some level but it could have been for anything from parking offences to petty crime or drug dealing. Nevertheless, I had the feeling that Harriet had formed the impression that something had been going on in the house … but I would never know for sure.

  I buttoned up Jodie’s coat, and the two WPCs saw us out. As soon as we turned the corner, Jodie’s good mood disappeared.

  ‘Cathy, is the monster going to come? Is it going to come and do what they said?’ Her questions were breathless and anxious. ‘I think that monster’s coming. He’s under my bed and he wants to chew up my hands while I’m asleep.’

  ‘No, sweetheart, it’s not, I promise. Why do you think that?’

  ‘My dad and Uncle Mike said if I ever told anyone, it was going to come.’ The anxiety in her voice rose higher until she was ranting. ‘It’s going to chew my arms and legs off! That’s what’s going to happen!’