The Saddest Girl in the World Read online

  ‘What are these for?’ I asked lightly. But there was no reply, not even a shrug. ‘Shall I get rid of them?’ Donna shook her head rigorously, with more enthusiasm than she'd shown in response to any of my previous questions. ‘I'll put the bag in the wardrobe then,’ I said. I slid open the door at the bottom of the wardrobe, which was a separate compartment, and placed the bag inside. I had a feeling that Donna was still watching me intently, although for the life of me I couldn't imagine why this bag of old and dirty rags was of any importance to her.

  ‘I'll leave you to unpack that last box,’ I said, ‘then come down, and we'll have a drink and a snack before we go to the shops.’

  I went downstairs, where I made up some fresh lemonade, dropped in some ice cubes and prepared a plate of cheese on crackers, which I placed on a tray. I called Donna, who came down straight away, and I carried the tray into the garden, where Adrian and Paula joined us at the table on the patio. As they gathered round the table I poured the lemonade and placed the cheese and biscuits in the centre for everyone to help themselves. Adrian and Paula delved in and then watched as Donna finally, slowly and laboriously took one. I saw Adrian and Paula surreptitiously watch her, and whereas Paula had been all over Donna the day before she was now slightly guarded and kept a small distance between them. If I was finding Donna's unremitting silence daunting and unnerving, how much worse must it have been for a child of Paula's age? Paula was used to trusting and reaching out to people, and usually made friends easily with the children who stayed with us, even those who were noisy and rude. This was something completely new to her, as it was to Adrian and me.

  The day was heating up quickly and I wanted to get what I needed from the shops before the car became uncomfortably hot. The quick trip to the supermarket that I had mentioned to Edna the day before, which had seemed very positive when Edna had told me that Donna liked shopping and liked to help, now loomed as something else to overcome with one-sided conversation and a large measure of patience. Once we had finished the snack I bundled everyone into the car, showing Donna where to sit and checking her seatbelt was on. At their ages, all three children had to be on booster seats by law and in the rear of the car, and there wasn't an awful lot of room. Paula, the smallest, was in the middle, with Donna and Adrian either side. There was the usual elbowing between Adrian and Paula when they first got in and fastened their seatbelts. Once they were settled, I started the car, fed in the sing-along cassette and began the ten-minute journey to the supermarket. Normally Paula would have joined in the catchy rhymes but she sat, as did Adrian, in unnatural silence, further intimidated, I thought, by Donna's withdrawn and now close presence.

  At the supermarket I took a small trolley and went up and down the aisles, dropping in what we needed. Adrian and Paula, as usual, chose a couple of ‘treats’ each, which was their reward (or bribe) for enduring another shopping trip. Donna, despite Edna's assurance of her liking shopping, walked beside the trolley, head down and taking no interest whatsoever. I repeatedly asked her if she liked this or that, lingering at the displays of unhealthy but tempting biscuits and crisps, but there was nothing beyond a shrug, or on one occasion a brief nod. Even at the ice-cream cabinet she barely raised her eyes, and certainly didn't express a preference. Over the years I've taken many children to the supermarket and I have experienced many different reactions — from a child stealing when I wasn't looking to a full-scale tantrum (often) when I wouldn't buy all the sweets that had been demanded — but never before had I experienced complete and utter silence and indifference.

  Arriving home, I gave everyone a carrier bag and we made one journey into the house and took them through to the kitchen. Adrian and Paula went straight out into the garden, while Donna hovered, arms loosely folded in front of her and head hung down. I asked her if she would like to help me unpack. She shrugged without looking up and continued to stand, a haunted silhouette in the doorway of the kitchen.

  ‘Donna, love,’ I said at last, ‘you can do what you like, play in the garden, help me, or look at a book, but find something to do until lunchtime, pet.’ She moved away and, head down, shuffled off. Presently I saw her appear in the garden and sit on the bench on the patio, watching Adrian and Paula playing in the sandpit. I viewed the fact that she had actually gone outside as a positive sign, and I watched her for a few moments longer; then I stopped unpacking the bags and went to offer some encouragement.

  ‘Donna, would you like to play in the sandpit too?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘What about the swings?’

  The same shake of the head.

  ‘Do you want a bat or ball, or a bicycle out of the shed?’

  Nothing, so I returned inside and finished the unpacking.

  I made sandwiches for lunch and, with a packet of crisps for each of us, carried the tray outside to the table. We ate under the sunshade and in silence. Adrian and Paula were even quieter now — the unhealthy and oppressive silence was contagious, and like a smog it seemed to hang in the air.

  ‘I thought we would spend the rest of the day in the garden,’ I said. ‘Then tomorrow shall we have a day out somewhere?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Adrian, without his usual enthusiasm and suggestions of where we could go.

  Paula looked up at Donna for her input and predictably was met with nothing. Paula continued eating her egg sandwich and crisps in silence, and as soon as she and Adrian had finished they scuttled off; I remained where I was at the table, opposite Donna. I looked at her. Here we were in the garden on an idyllic summer's day, surrounded by flowers in all their colourful glory, with a gentle breeze faintly stirring the trees, and Adrian and Paula without a care in the world, and Donna was in abject and withdrawn misery. I reached out and touched her hand.

  ‘Donna, love,’ I said gently. ‘You are going to have to start talking to me some time. It's too lonely for you otherwise.’ She withdrew her hand from mine and shrugged. ‘I know it's difficult for you, sweet, but you can trust me. I want to help you, but I need you to start talking to me. Adrian and Paula were looking forward to you coming to live with us, and they want to be friends with you.’

  She shrugged again and, leaving the rest of her sandwich, got up from the bench and went to sit in the lounge. I sighed. My prognosis of a good night's sleep making all the difference now seemed laughable. And if I was honest, part of me was becoming irritated by her continual rejection of my best efforts, for I was sure she had some control over this unrelenting front she was hiding behind. I knew she was suffering, but she must have been talking at Mary and Ray's; otherwise they would have raised the alarm and Edna would have certainly told me. I could only assume that it was as a result of being separated from her brothers, and having to move, but how on earth I dealt with it was another matter. I decided the best course of action was to carry on as much as was possible with normal family life and include Donna, but not expect her to participate, in the hope that eventually she would feel comfortable enough to drop the barriers and join in. If nothing had changed by Monday morning, I would phone Jill and Edna and ask for help.

  I took Paula and Adrian to one side and tried to explain the position to them, because I couldn't just ignore Donna's persistent silence: it was like ignoring the elephant in the room. ‘Carry on as normal,’ I said. ‘Talk to Donna but don't expect her to reply or join in.’ They said they would try, but clearly it was difficult for them. Later Paula made a few brave attempts to include Donna in her play but with no success.

  That evening I ran a bath for Donna while she stood by me in silence, and then I left her to wash and change into her nightdress. I said goodnight and told her that the following day we would go out somewhere. I kissed her goodnight, said sleep tight, came out and pulled the door to. I consoled myself that while Donna wasn't engaging with me at any outward level at least she was cooperating and doing what I was asking. The day before I had been worried that she might stubbornly refuse to do anything, which would have been even more
difficult, if not impossible to deal with.

  Sunday evening approached. We had spent the day at a small adventure park, where Donna had sat and watched Paula and Adrian enjoying themselves with all the other children but not joined in once. I knew I would have to phone Jill and Edna first thing in the morning. I would ask them how to handle the situation because clearly my strategies were not working. I began the bedtime routine, and I left Donna to change into her nightdress and have her wash and do her teeth while I went downstairs and wrote up my log notes. Paula was already asleep and Adrian was getting changed into his pyjamas in his bedroom.

  When I heard the bathroom door open and Donna return to her bedroom, I went upstairs to say goodnight. She was in bed with her arm around the teddy and had closed the bedroom curtains. I was half inclined to say a brisk goodnight and come out, for I was finding it difficult not to take her refusal to speak to me personally. I felt very frustrated and not a little hurt that she was making no attempt to communicate at all. But something stopped me from taking this line, and instead I went to her bed and knelt beside it.

  I stroked her forehead and she didn't pull away. ‘Donna, love,’ I said, ‘I know you are hurting but you must start talking to me. I can't help you if you don't.’ I paused and continued to stroke her head. I really didn't know what else to say. ‘I'm here to help you, and we all want to see you happy. Can you tell me what the matter is?’

  She shook her head.

  I hesitated, stopped stroking her head, and stood. ‘OK, love, you get off to sleep.’ I moved away, but as I went to the door I heard her voice, so faint I could have missed it.

  ‘Cath-ie,’ she said, pronouncing the two syllables separately. At last! I thought, and I could have jumped for joy.

  I immediately returned to the bed. ‘Yes, love? What is it?’

  ‘I'm sorry, Cath-ie,’ she said in a small voice.

  I knelt down again and stroked her forehead. ‘There is no need to be sorry, pet. All I want is for you to be happy. Will you try to talk to me tomorrow?’

  She nodded.

  ‘And to Paula and Adrian? They would like that.’

  She nodded again.

  ‘Is there anything you want to tell me now?’ She looked at me for the first time since arriving, her big brown eyes doleful and full of pain. She was an attractive girl, her light brown skin soft and flawless, but her pleasant features were dulled by her inner turmoil. ‘Yes?’ I encouraged.

  ‘It's my fault,’ she said quietly.

  ‘What is, sweet?’

  ‘It's my fault my brothers and me came into care.’

  ‘No, it's not, love,’ I said, gently but firmly. ‘Not at all. And being in care is not a punishment. It's to help your mum and give her a rest.’

  ‘Mum says it's my fault. She said I should have tried harder.’

  ‘Harder at what?’

  ‘Looking after the house, and Warren and Jason. I did my best, but it wasn't good enough. And Mary and Ray didn't want my help.’

  I continued to stroke her forehead. ‘Donna, at your age, love, you should not be responsible for looking after the house or your younger brothers. That is the adult's responsibility. It was nice of you to help, but it was your mother's job to look after you, just as Mary and Ray are looking after your brothers now, and I will look after you. Do you understand?’

  She nodded.

  I paused. ‘Is that what's bothering you, or is there something else?’

  She gave a slight shake of her head.

  ‘All right, love, we'll talk about this more tomorrow, but I'm very pleased you felt you could tell me.’ I smiled and she looked directly at me again and, although she didn't return my smile, I thought I saw a slight lifting of the dreadful melancholy that had frozen her expression into sadness.

  ‘Night then, love.’ I kissed her forehead.

  ‘Night, Cath-ie,’ she said, again separating the second syllable.

  I came out and with huge relief went into Adrian's room to say goodnight.

  ‘Donna's talking,’ I said.

  ‘Cool. Now she can play with Paula.’ I wasn't sure if this was a comment on Donna's progress or that Paula had been taking up rather a lot of his time recently.

  I said goodnight to Adrian and, with my usual warning about not reading until too late, came out and went downstairs. I went into the lounge, where I wrote up my log notes with considerable relief and some small satisfaction that I had got there in the end and Donna was finally talking.

  That night I slept very well, after sleeping badly the previous two, and when I went downstairs it was just after 7.00 a.m. At the end of the hall, I was surprised to find the door to the kitchen slightly open — I usually made sure all the downstairs doors were shut before I went to bed. I tentatively pushed the door wider open and went in. As I did, I started and did a double take. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Donna was on her hands and knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor for all she was worth. She was using the rags that had been in the carrier bag in her bedroom.

  Chapter Six

  Amateur Psychology

  ‘Whatever are you doing?’ I asked, amazed. Donna was in her nightdress, and the floor was awash with puddles of water and the sopping wet rags, which were dotted around her.

  She didn't answer, but continued rubbing one of the rags back and forth across the floor.

  ‘Donna?’ I said again. I began walking across the wet and now slippery tiled floor, with my bare feet squishing on the tiles. ‘Donna?’ I went right up to her. She must have heard me, and seen me out of the corner of her eye, but she kept on scrubbing furiously. Both of her hands clutched the rag in front of her and she rubbed it backwards and forwards as though her very life depended on it. In different circumstances I might have seen the funny side of it — a child frantically mopping up a spillage before I could see it, with their well-meant intentions making it a lot worse. But not now. This was no spillage — there was too much water and Donna's work was all-consuming and frantic.

  ‘Donna?’ I said again, more firmly; then I placed my hand on her shoulder, hoping to break the motion. My hand jerked back and forth in time with her frenzied cleaning. ‘Donna, stop now,’ I said loudly. ‘You don't have to do this.’

  ‘I do,’ she said, and she continued, now pushing the cloth round and round. The water sprayed against my ankles. I thought she must have tipped the washing-up bowl full of water over the floor, for there was far too much water for it to have come from the wet rags alone. She must have left her bedroom and come downstairs very quietly, for normally I heard a child out of bed and on the landing.

  ‘Donna, I want you to stop. Now!’ I said, and again I touched her shoulder.

  ‘No! I must clean,’ she said, her voice rising in panic. ‘I must! I must! I have to clean the kitchen floor.’

  ‘No,’ I said, raising my voice above hers. ‘You don't have to. Stop it, now! And you are not supposed to be in the kitchen. It isn't allowed.’ Which was true: it was a house rule that I didn't have young children in the kitchen, for safety reasons, but I hadn't yet explained the house rules to Donna.

  Gradually the frantic scrubbing grew less frenzied, and then came to a halt. Her hands on the rag became still, but she remained on all fours, bent over the rags. ‘Don't hit me,’ she said. ‘I've done my best.’

  I stared at her, horrified. ‘Of course I'm not going to hit you. I don't hit anyone, and certainly not a child.’ I continued to look at her, as I tried to understand what was happening. Keeping my voice even, I said, ‘Donna, I want you to stand up, and dry yourself. We need to talk.’ My firmness masked my anxiety, as I continued to search for a reason that could have brought Donna down here in the early hours to do this.

  I took the hand towel from the rail by the sink and held it out. ‘Now please, Donna, stand up and dry your hands and legs. You're soaking.’ The front of her nightdress was sopping wet where it had trailed in the water; it dripped as she stood. I passed her the towel and she slowly wiped
her hands, then bent down and wiped her knees. I watched her: the frenzied movements of her scrubbing had vanished and she had once more resumed her slow lethargic manner. She finished wiping off the excess water from her legs and handed back the towel. Although her legs and hands were dry, her nightdress was still dripping. ‘I think we had better get you changed first before we talk,’ I said.

  She shrugged.

  I reached out and took her hand, and she allowed me to lead her from the wet and slippery floor of the kitchen, across the carpet of the annexe and into the hall. I let go of her hand as I led the way upstairs. Adrian and Paula were still asleep — it was just before 7.30 a.m. I went into Donna's bedroom, took a set of clean clothes and underwear from her wardrobe and laid them on the bed. ‘Get dressed, please,’ I said. ‘I'll be back in a minute. Leave your nightdress in the laundry basket on the landing.’

  Donna didn't say anything but made a move towards the clothes. I came out, pulling the door to behind me. I went to my bedroom, where I quickly dressed and ran a brush through my hair. My morning routine having been disrupted, I would have to shower later, after I had spoken to Donna. What had been going through her head to make her rise at the crack of dawn and creep downstairs with her bag of rags and start the ritualised cleaning, I couldn't begin to guess. It hadn't been proper cleaning, as if she had wanted to make a difference; nor had it been a small task, as Adrian and Paula sometimes performed, which I would have to admire with great delight — ‘Look, Mum! We've tidied the toy box!’ No, Donna's work had been a frenzied attack, almost as if she was acting out something, which hadn't been aimed so much at accomplishing a task as releasing something in her. Edna's almost throwaway comment came back to me — ‘Mary thinks she might have OCD.’ I knew very little about OCD, other than that it was an obsessive need to do something over and over again; was this how it manifested itself ?