Cut (12 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Easier to Cut

D
awn didn’t return the next day, nor the day after, although I willed and prayed for her to do so. The next day was Thursday, and the police and duty social worker phoned in the late afternoon to ask if we’d heard anything from her, which we hadn’t. The police said they had checked the local hospitals and no one matching Dawn’s description had been admitted or visited casualty. I wasn’t sure if this made it better or worse. Dawn had been missing for three whole days now and I was thinking that something dreadful must have happened to her, for I was sure she would have returned by now or at least phoned if it hadn’t. She had little money and no clothes, and I began to imagine her lifeless body lying undiscovered in a wood or lake. During those days I continued something of a routine for Adrian, but Dawn was constantly in my thoughts and overshadowed everything I did. No matter what I turned to to occupy me, I was always listening out, hoping against hope that the door bell or phone would ring and bring news of Dawn. But it didn’t.

When I opened the mail on Friday morning it included a statement from the accounts department at the social services saying that the fostering allowance was now being paid into our bank account, which I thought was cruelly ironic. It had taken over three months for the payments to start and they had finally begun the week Dawn went missing. It was like rubbing salt into an open wound, although it was just the system being slow. I made a mental note to phone the accounts department and tell them Dawn wasn’t here, for clearly we had no right to the allowance if we weren’t looking after her. I then began morbidly speculating about what I would do with all Dawn’s belongings if she didn’t come home, visualising having to pack up all her things and then give them to her social worker or mother. It was a truly dreadful week, and John and I felt that we had been left to cope with it alone. Apart from the one phone call from the duty social worker on Thursday there had been nothing from the social services – no offer of support or even a reassuring word.

The school secretary at St James’s phoned on Friday morning and asked if Dawn was still missing, and I had to swallow hard before I replied, ‘Yes.’ The secretary said that the police had visited the school the day before and had spoken to the Head of Year, and also to Dawn’s class. The police officer had asked the class if anyone had any idea where Dawn could be, which no one did. He said he’d leave a telephone number with the class teacher, where he could be contacted if anyone remembered anything that might help.

During that weekend John and I decorated the bathroom, more as a displacement for our anxieties than out of any real desire to see it finished. We worked in silence and took little pleasure from the result. The following day and Dawn would have been missing for a whole week.

* * *

On Monday evening, as John and I sat at the table, with Adrian in his high chair, finishing our evening meal, the front door bell rang.

‘I’ll get it,’ I said with no enthusiasm, believing it was a salesperson seeking new business. ‘You finish your dinner. I’ve had mine.’

I went down the hall to the door, wondering why canvassers always managed to call at dinner-time. Double glazing, wall cavity insulation, offers to re-tarmac the drive – we’d had them all at dinner-time. But as I opened the door my heart missed a beat and I struggled for my next breath.

‘Dawn!’ I cried. ‘My God! You’re home! Where have you been? Thank goodness you’re safe!’ I grabbed her hand and, drawing her into the hall, threw my arms around her and hugged her tight.

I felt Dawn’s arms tightly around me and I thought she was as pleased to see me as I was to see her.

‘Dawn,’ I said after a moment, releasing her and standing back. ‘Where have you been, love? Are you all right? We’ve been worried sick.’

She smiled, her pleasant open features unmarred by anything she had experienced or suffered. ‘I’m sorry, Cathy. I hope you haven’t been too worried.’

I hesitated, taken aback. ‘Well, yes, love, we have. John and I have been very worried, and Adrian’s missed you.’ Which was true. Although Adrian wasn’t old enough to be talking yet, he’d continually looked around the rooms as though expecting to see another person besides John and myself.

‘Did he really miss me?’ Dawn asked, smiling again.

‘Yes, love. We all have. Now come through. John’s just finishing his dinner with Adrian.’

Dawn dropped her school bag in the hall and then retrieved her slippers from where she’d left them under the coat stand nearly a week before. It was then I noticed she wasn’t wearing her school uniform, as she had been when she’d left. She was now dressed in slim-fitting jeans and a black jumper, neither of which I had bought for her.

‘You’ve got some new clothes,’ I said lightly, as we went down the hall.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I haven’t lost my school uniform. It’s in my bag.’ And I was immediately struck by the inappropriateness of what she said – Dawn had cut her arm and had gone missing for a week, and she thought I would be worried about a lost uniform! It was a gross misconception, but I didn’t comment.

‘Come in and say hi to Adrian and John,’ I said as Dawn hesitated outside the breakfast room door. I was aware we had some serious talking to do, but for now I was just pleased to have Dawn safely back and hoped that John would save the lecture for later too.

Following me in, she said a subdued hello to John, and then went straight to Adrian. Adrian grinned, clearly recognising her, and Dawn began chucking him under the chin and coochi-cooing. ‘How are you?’ she asked. ‘Have you missed me? Have you been a good boy?’

‘He’s crawling now,’ I said, returning to my seat at the table and taking a sip of my water. ‘Do you want something to eat?’

‘No thanks.’

I looked at John opposite, and motioned for him not to say too much, for I could see he was taken aback, as I was, by the ease with which Dawn had strolled in, apparently without a care in the world, and was virtually continuing where she had left off.

‘How have you been, Dawn?’ John asked stiffly, finishing the last of his dinner.

Dawn looked up from Adrian and smiled politely. ‘I’m good, thanks.’

I met John’s gaze and shook my head, again saying we must leave talking until later.

‘I’m going to shower and change,’ John said, pushing back his chair.

‘Can I have a bath later?’ Dawn asked.

‘Of course, love, after John has finished. Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat? We’ve had our dinner but I can do you some pasta or a fry-up.’ John threw me a glance as he left the table, suggesting that perhaps I was being too accommodating after all the worry Dawn had caused us, but clearly the poor girl couldn’t go hungry.

‘No thanks, Cathy,’ she said. ‘I’ve had something. I think I’ll go to my room for a bit, if that’s OK?’

I nodded. ‘As you like. We’ll have a chat later when I’ve seen to Adrian.’

She smiled, and went out after John. I heard them both go upstairs without speaking; then John went into the bathroom and Dawn went to her room, and I heard both doors close.

I sat back in my chair and sighed, relief and concern flooding through me. I was so happy to see Dawn again, safe and well, that part of me just wanted to leave what had happened and move on. But there were questions that had to be asked, and reassurances and explanations that had to be given. Dawn needed to appreciate just how much trouble and worry she had caused John and me, for so far nothing Dawn had said had suggested she had the slightest idea what we had been through. I still didn’t know what had caused her to cut and then run away, and I needed to hear her promise she wouldn’t do it again.

I stood, and went to Adrian, and lifting him from his high chair gave him a big squeeze. ‘You won’t ever cause us this much worry, will you, little man?’

Adrian babbled his baby talk – ‘Da, da, da, mmmmm’ – and then I could have sworn he said, ‘No.’

At eight o’clock, when John had showered and changed and was in the lounge, and I had settled Adrian for the night, I knocked on Dawn’s bedroom door.

‘Come in,’ she called brightly.

I opened the door and stuck my head round. She was on the bed listening to her Walkman. She took out one earphone so that she could hear me. ‘I’d like you to come down now, please, Dawn, so we can have a chat. After that you can have your bath.’

She obligingly took out the other earphone and switched off the Walkman. ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ she said. ‘I need to go to the toilet first.’

‘OK, love.’

John and I sat in the lounge, and a couple of minutes later Dawn appeared. ‘Is Adrian in bed?’ she asked, sitting cross-legged on the floor, as she did sometimes.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘He tires himself out now he’s crawling.’

‘I haven’t seen him crawl yet.’

I smiled. ‘You will do tomorrow. There’s no stopping him.’

Dawn was apparently relaxed and chatty, although I could feel the tension rising in me. I glanced at John and wondered which of us would begin what we needed to say. John cleared his throat and, folding the newspaper, laid it to one side.

‘Dawn,’ he said evenly. ‘I don’t think you realise the extent of the worry you have caused us. You left the house to go to school on Tuesday morning and we haven’t seen or heard from you since. Cathy found blood on your pillow and was beside herself with worry. She had to report you missing to the police.’ I let out a small gasp and my hand instinctively shot to my mouth.

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I haven’t phoned the police to tell them Dawn’s back.’ In all the fervour of Dawn’s return I’d completely forgotten, and, apparently so too had John.

Dawn looked at us. ‘There’s no rush,’ she said. ‘I can’t imagine they’re trying to find me – they didn’t before.’ The leisurely manner in which she said it, coupled with her lack of concern for what had been happening in her absence, didn’t go unnoticed.

‘Dawn,’ John said firmly, his voice rising slightly. ‘Quite apart from our worry, do you have any idea of the amount of police time that has been wasted by you going off? The police went to your school, and searched our home. I think you owe us an explanation, and apology.’

‘Sorry,’ Dawn immediately said. ‘I didn’t think you would be worried.’

John looked at me, absolutely astounded.

‘Of course we were worried,’ I said. ‘We didn’t know where you were or how you were coping. We’ve been out of our minds with worry and have thought about nothing else all week.’

Dawn looked at us, genuinely surprised. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘I didn’t realise. Mum and Dad never used to worry – they knew I’d come back.’ And I thought that that was probably the truth of the matter and also the explanation for Dawn’s apparent indifference to our feelings – she really hadn’t thought we would be worried when she disappeared because her parents hadn’t worried.

‘Dawn,’ I said. ‘John and I care for you a great deal, and when you vanished without saying anything, and then I found blood on your pillow, we were worried sick.’ I paused, hesitating to ask the next question because I didn’t want to make her feel cornered. ‘Where have you been, Dawn? Can you tell me?’

She shrugged despondently. ‘Just hanging out with me mates.’

‘What? All week?’ John asked. ‘Which mates? Where?’

Dawn gave the same shrug. ‘My old crowd. Over on Mum’s estate. There’s always someone there to hang out with – they don’t go to school.’

‘What, none of them?’ John asked. ‘Do they work?’

‘They’re not old enough. They just hang out until the police pick them up.’

‘And what do the police do?’ I asked, shocked.

‘Search them for drugs and booze, and knives, then take them to the station, and phone their parents.’ Dawn’s casual appraisal left John and me astonished; we were catching a glimpse of a different world, which clearly had also been her world. I noticed that Dawn talked of ‘them’ and didn’t include herself, although clearly she had been part of the group, and apparently still was.

‘But where did you eat and sleep, Dawn?’ I asked.

‘At me mates’ houses. We crept in when their parents were out or had gone to bed. I spent all day and night on Wednesday at one mate’s house and her dad was in the whole time and didn’t know. He was downstairs with his cans of Special Brew and didn’t hear a thing.’ And I now understood why the police had searched all of our house, including our bedroom. Dawn flashed a small smile, almost pleased with her accomplishment.

‘It’s not funny, Dawn,’ John said. ‘It’s not a game. You’ve wasted a lot of people’s time and caused untold worry.’ But to Dawn that’s exactly what it appeared to be – a game, no doubt goaded on by her mates, and apparently with precious little consequence for any of them.

‘Your new clothes, Dawn?’ I asked. ‘How did you get those?’ But I thought I already knew the answer.

‘My clothing allowance,’ she said, looking slightly concerned. ‘I hope you don’t mind, Cathy, but I’ve spent the lot. I couldn’t stay in my school uniform and the same knickers all week.’ And I acknowledged the police officer’s caution about ‘runaways’ not having too much money, but of course the decision to give Dawn a clothing allowance hadn’t been ours but Dawn’s social worker’s.

‘Dawn,’ I said gently, after a moment. ‘Whatever made you do it, love? When I said goodbye to you on Tuesday morning you seemed fine. Then the school phoned to say you hadn’t arrived and I went up to your room and found blood all over your pillow. Is your arm all right?’ I’d been wondering about Dawn’s cut arm since she had returned. The black jumper she was now wearing was long-sleeved. I was approaching the subject with care, aware that the last time I had talked to her appeared to have made her do it again.

‘My arm?’ Dawn asked, looking at me questioningly.

‘Yes. Didn’t you cut your arm?’

She shook her head. ‘No, not my arm this time. I cut my leg. But it’s OK. It’s healed up. I put the pillow under my leg so that it wouldn’t make too much mess on the bed. Was that right?’