Damaged: The Heartbreaking True Story of a Forgotten Child

‘I can’t. I haven’t got the keys.’ I realized the absurdity of this conversation. ‘Jodie, get into bed and go to sleep before you wake the whole house.’

‘No. Don’t want to.’ She made towards the door.

I caught her lightly round the waist and gently drew her to me. ‘Come on, good girl, into bed and I’ll tell you a story. We’ll go to the park in the morning. When it’s light.’

She struggled for a moment, then flopped against me. I eased her into bed, and drew the duvet up to her chin. I looked at her little head on the pillow, blonde hair falling over her face. I perched on the bed and stroked her forehead until her features relaxed. ‘Jodie, you must be hurting very badly inside to cut yourself. Is there anything you want to tell me?’

But her eyes were already heavy with sleep. ‘Story,’ she mumbled. ‘Free ’ickle pigs.’

‘All right.’ I continued to stroke her forehead, and began the story which I knew by heart. Her eyes closed and her breathing deepened. I kissed her cheek, then quietly came out and closed the door.

At five o’clock I was woken by a loud crash. I threw on my slippers and dressing gown, and staggered to her door, disoriented from lack of sleep. I gave a quick knock and entered. ‘Jodie! Whatever are you doing?’

She was up and dressed, with a football in her hand, and the contents of the shelves strewn across the floor.

‘Put that away,’ I said crossly. ‘You don’t play ball in here.’

‘I do.’ She clutched it protectively to her chest.

I went to take the ball from her, but she gripped it tighter. I was annoyed with myself, as I should have known it would only make her more defensive. I changed tack. ‘OK, Jodie. You put it down and get back into bed. If you can’t go to sleep, sit quietly and look at a book. I’ll tell you when it’s time to get up.’

I didn’t wait for a reply, but came out and closed the door. Without a full-scale confrontation, I hoped she might do as I’d asked. I waited and listened. The room fell silent, so I returned to bed, and propped myself on the pillows. Five minutes passed, then I heard her door open, and then another. I ran along the landing in my nightdress and saw Adrian’s door open. I rushed in and found her trying to climb into bed with him.

‘Jodie! Come away,’ I cried. ‘Not in there.’

I eased her off. She was a big girl, and a dead weight without cooperation. Adrian groaned and turned over. I put my hands under her arms, and manhandled her out on to the landing. She plonked herself down on the floor, folded her arms, and set her face into a scowl. I took a deep breath, and knelt down beside her.

‘Jodie, you can’t stay here, pet. Come into your bedroom and we’ll put the television on. Everyone else is asleep.’

She thought about this for a moment, then threw herself on to all fours and started crawling towards her room, her hands and feet thumping on the floorboards. I followed her in, relieved that I’d had even this much cooperation. She sat on her bedroom floor, cross-legged, staring expectantly at the blank screen. I switched the TV on, and flicked through the channels. It was too early even for children’s programmes, but the football seemed to capture her interest.

‘Keep the volume down,’ I whispered, ‘then you won’t wake the others.’

I wrapped the duvet around her shoulders, then returned to my room for my dressing gown and slippers. I went downstairs and turned the central heating on. It wasn’t worth going back to bed. I wouldn’t be able to sleep now – my thoughts were going nineteen to the dozen and my head was buzzing with everything that had happened.

I made a cup of coffee, and took it into the lounge. Jodie’s room was directly above, and all was quiet. I sat on the sofa, resting my head back, and took a sip. Suddenly, the calm was shattered by a man’s voice, booming loud with distortion. I gasped – the racket was bound to wake the whole house. I rushed upstairs to her room, and instinctively turned off the TV.

‘It’s mine,’ she shrieked, and lunged at me with her hands raised into claws. ‘I want it. Get out! Get out of my fucking bedroom!’

I took her by the shoulders, and held her at arm’s length. ‘Jodie, calm down and listen to me. I told you to keep the volume low. Everyone is asleep and you’ll wake them up with this noise. When you’re calmer, we’ll put it on again. Do you understand?’

She made eye contact. ‘I want the TV.’

‘I know, but shouting and swearing won’t get it.’

I was too tired to give her a lengthy lecture. ‘Now sit down and I’ll switch it on, but keep the volume low.’

She resumed her cross-legged position on the floor, and I turned the TV on. I tucked the remote into my pocket, and returned to the lounge. I sat and yawned, as the sun rose on a crisp spring morning. Our first night together was over.

Chapter Six A Very Troubled Child (#ulink_35c45a3e-b5c0-5ac8-9f0e-4d788c21a6e9)

‘You mustn’t thump, kick, bite or push,’ I said, for the third time that morning. ‘Not Lucy, Paula, me or anyone. It hurts. It’s bad. Do you understand?’

She said nothing. It was nearly 11.30 on Saturday, the day after Jodie had arrived, and the girls had come downstairs after their weekend lie-in. Lucy was greeted with a kick from Jodie.

‘I don’t want to have to tell you again, Jodie. Do I make myself clear?’

She pulled a face and stomped off down the hall.

‘Sorry, Lucy,’ I said. Lucy shrugged. We all knew there was not much to be done about Jodie’s vicious behaviour except to keep reinforcing that it was bad and that she mustn’t do it.

A moment later Jodie reappeared, her fists clenched and flaying the air. ‘It’s them! I’ll kick you to death! Get out! I hate you all!’

Her eyes blazed as she tried to kick Paula this time, who deftly stepped out of the way. I went towards her, and avoided the kick aimed at me. ‘Jodie,’ I said evenly, ‘Jodie. Calm down and come here.’

She screamed, then dropped to her knees and started thumping her face and head viciously. She badly wanted to hurt herself. As Jodie pounded her head with her fists, I knelt down behind her and took hold of her arms, crossing them in front of her body. She was still screaming, and her legs were thrashing, but with her arms enfolded she couldn’t harm herself or me. I held her close, so that her back was resting against my chest. The screaming and thrashing reached a peak, and then eventually subsided. I waited patiently until she was calm, then slowly relaxed my hold.

‘OK?’ I asked gently, before I finally let go.

She nodded, and I turned her round to face me. We were both still on the floor. Her cheeks were red and blotchy, and she looked surprised, probably because I’d managed her anger, rather than fleeing for safety into another room. A moment later I helped her up, then took her into the kitchen, where I sponged her face and gave her a drink. She was calm now, calmer than I’d seen her since she first arrived. I hoped she’d got something out of her system.

Paula reappeared in the kitchen. ‘Jodie, would you like to do a jigsaw puzzle with me?’ she asked casually.

‘That’s a lovely idea,’ I said, amazed at Paula’s resilience and generosity. She understood that Jodie’s violent behaviour wasn’t directed at her personally; Jodie wanted to strike out at the whole world because she was hurting so much, and whoever was standing in her way would bear the brunt of her pain. Paula could sense this, and was prepared to forget and offer friendship and time. I was very proud of her.

‘Shall we go to the cupboard and choose one?’ Paula asked.

We found a jigsaw and went through to the lounge, where Paula and Jodie settled down to assemble the puzzle. I left them to it and returned to the kitchen to prepare lunch. I could hear Paula suggesting where the pieces should go, and Jodie replying, ‘That’s it, my girl. You can do it.’ She was like a little old woman, but at least she was relating to Paula in a positive way.

With her short attention span, it didn’t take long for Jodie to become bored, so Paula laid out some paper on the kitchen table, and tried to help her paint, while I made a cup of tea. Jodie could barely grip the paintbrush, and couldn’t grasp the concept of painting a picture ‘of ’ something.

‘What’s that you’re painting, Jodie?’ Paula asked.

‘Dark.’

‘Is it a sheep, or a horse? That looks a bit like a big horse.’

Jodie didn’t respond, intent on her clumsy project.

‘Maybe you could paint the sky with this nice blue?’

‘No. Black,’ Jodie said.

Despite Paula’s encouragement, Jodie continued to paint nothing but large, dark splodges, with no interest in the other colours, and no apparent desire for the paintings to represent anything. I’d seen this before; children who have been abused and are hurting sometimes only use very dark colours. It’s as if their senses have shut down and they don’t notice anything about the world around them, so they don’t see colours and shapes in the same way normal children do.

We ate lunch in relative calm, although it felt more like dinner to me, having been up for so long. The peace lasted into the afternoon, and I thought now would be a good time to take the photograph of Jodie that was required for the Social Services’ records. I fetched my camera, and explained to Jodie why I was taking it.

‘Is it all right to take your picture, sweet?’ I asked. It was important to give Jodie as much control as possible, to increase her feeling of stability and security.