Cut (13 page)

Our silence said it all: John and I were shocked and horrified. Dawn had admitted to cutting herself so easily, as if it was a normal occurrence and all she needed to be concerned about was limiting the extent of the mess on the bed.

‘You need to see a doctor,’ John said.

Dawn didn’t say anything but sat quietly, cross-legged and apparently unfazed.

‘Dawn,’ I tried again, aware that I still had to make phone calls to the police and duty social worker. ‘Why did you do it? What made you so distressed that you needed to hurt yourself? What was it that you couldn’t tell me? Do you know?’

She looked away, and for the first time since she had arrived home, her face dropped, and she actually looked sad. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly.

‘Can you tell me, Dawn? I would really like it if you could.’

She drew a deep breath and concentrated on the carpet, rubbing her fingertips over the weave. ‘Natasha, that girl at school. I was her friend, and then she made new friends, and she didn’t want to be with me any more. I was angry and upset. So I cut my leg. Cutting takes away the pain and anger.’

I looked at her; John looked too. ‘But why didn’t you try to talk to me?’ I asked. ‘I would have understood how upset you were and maybe I could have helped.’

‘I know, Cathy. I’m sorry. You have both been so kind to me. But I’m no good at talking about my feelings. The hurt builds up inside me until I can’t stand it any more. I have to cut to let it out. Cutting helps. It makes me feel better and puts me in control. It’s easier to cut than talk.’

The three of us went quiet. Dawn had taken the first step in talking about her feelings, and had admitted to something she felt deeply; she had obviously found it very difficult to speak of it, and possibly hadn’t spoken of it before. John and I were reeling from what she had said – a sane, rational appraisal of what outwardly appeared to be the irrational act of a disturbed mind.

‘Next time will you try talking to me rather than hurting yourself?’ I asked.

‘I’ll try,’ Dawn said amicably.

‘What about a counsellor?’ John asked. ‘Would that help?’

Dawn shook her head. ‘Wouldn’t think so.’

‘All right, love,’ I said slowly. ‘At least you have told us now. But I don’t want you running off again like that.’

‘No, I won’t,’ she agreed, too readily. ‘Can I have my bath now?’

‘Yes, if there’s nothing else you want to talk about.’

‘Not really. I’ll go straight to bed after my bath. We didn’t get much sleep at me mate’s.’

‘Does your mate have a name?’ John asked.

‘I’d rather not say,’ she said sheepishly. ‘I don’t want them getting into trouble.’

She uncrossed her legs and, getting up from the floor, came over and kissed us both goodnight. As soon as she had gone upstairs I picked up the phone to call the duty social worker and the police, while John went into the kitchen to pour us both a strong drink. The duty social worker said he would make a note on Dawn’s file, and the police officer said he would take Dawn off the missing persons register, ‘until the next time,’ he added.

‘Hopefully there won’t be a next time,’ I said.

‘Hopefully,’ he repeated, but I knew from his tone he believed otherwise.

I had more faith in Dawn.

Chapter Fifteen

Family

T
he following morning I woke Dawn at 7.15 a.m., and told her it was time to get up for school. She opened her eyes and looked at me, surprised, perhaps thinking that after what she had told about her friendship problems she wouldn’t be going to school today. But I thought there was nothing to be gained by putting it off – we needed to deal with the problem, and of course I intended to help.

‘I’ll take you to school in the car,’ I said. ‘And I’ll speak to your Head of Year.’

‘No, it’s OK,’ Dawn said, hauling herself upright. ‘I’ll go by myself. I’ll be fine, really.’

‘I think it’s better if I come with you on your first day back. It’s bound to be a bit strange seeing everyone again, particularly as the police have been in.’ Indeed I would have thought it would have been cripplingly embarrassing to face her class for the first time, but apparently it was not so to Dawn.

‘Couldn’t you phone instead?’ she asked. ‘I will go to school, I promise.’

I looked at her carefully. ‘Why don’t you want me to come in with you, Dawn?’

‘I don’t want a fuss.’

I couldn’t see how my having a quiet word with Jane Matthews could be construed as ‘a fuss’, but aware that Dawn needed to know that I trusted her, I agreed to phone instead of taking her, and left her to get dressed.

When she came down to breakfast I asked her how her leg was and if she wanted me to check that it was healing properly. I was concerned that it must have been quite a large cut to produce the amount of blood that had been on her pillow and, although the previous evening Dawn had said that it was healing, I would have felt happier having a look to make sure.

‘It’s fine,’ Dawn said, and began eating her toast. Clearly she wasn’t going to show me, and I thought that the scar on her leg, like the ones on her arm, were private to her. She wore black tights under her skirt, and her school blouse and jumper were long-sleeved. I wondered if, when the summer came and it was hot, she would still keep her arms and legs covered. The book we had read said that self-harmers often kept themselves covered up even in hot weather.

‘Dawn?’ I asked hesitantly as she ate and coochi-cooed at Adrian in his high chair. ‘What did you use to cut yourself?’ I was anxious that whatever it was could still be with her or somewhere in the house. I had checked her school bag the night before when I had taken out her crumpled school uniform and put it in the laundry basket, but there was nothing else in there apart from her books, pencil case and sweet wrappers.

Dawn looked at me guiltily. ‘A razor blade,’ she said. ‘I took one of John’s from the bathroom cabinet. I’m sorry. I’ll buy him a new one.’

I felt the same shock and confusion that I had the night before when Dawn’s concern had been about losing her school uniform and the mess on the bed, rather than the actual cutting. Now Dawn saw her problem as one of taking something that didn’t belong to her. And I of course felt guilty that I hadn’t thought to remove John’s razors from the bathroom cabinet.

‘There’s no need to replace it,’ I said quietly. ‘John’s got plenty.’ As soon as we’d finished breakfast I would remove the razor and blades, and after Dawn had gone to school I would scour the house for any other sharp objects we might have overlooked, although there was a limit – I could hardly lock away all the cutlery in the kitchen drawer. And taking little comfort, I thought that at least the razor blade had been clean, unlike the cans and bottles her mother had said Dawn had used to cut herself in the past.

I gave Dawn her bus fare and lunch money, and saw her off at the door at 8.15 a.m. At 8.30, with Adrian exploring the corners of the lounge for anything he hadn’t yet discovered since he’d started crawling, I phoned St James’s School. Jane Matthews, Dawn’s Head of Year, was in the staff room and I was put through. I said immediately that Dawn had returned home the night before and was now on the bus going to school. I explained that the reason for Dawn’s truanting appeared to be a friendship problem: that being responsible for, and being friends with, Natasha had been Dawn’s lifeline, and that when Natasha had made new friends Dawn had felt excluded from the group.

Jane Matthews was sympathetic but said exactly what I had anticipated: ‘I’ll do what I can, but I can’t force Natasha, or anyone to be friends with Dawn. I thought Dawn had been included in that group and they were all friends together. Dawn might have over-reacted or used it as an excuse for not coming to school.’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But Dawn was upset enough to run away for nearly a week.’ I hadn’t told Jane about Dawn cutting herself; I didn’t think she needed to know, and it wouldn’t have helped Dawn to have this added to her school notes. The school knew that Dawn had previously cut herself: her mother had mentioned at the meeting that Dawn’s father had phoned the school and told them.

‘I’ll speak to Dawn,’ Jane finished by saying, ‘and also to that group of girls.’

‘Thank you so much. I’d very much appreciate that.’

When Dawn returned home at the end of school she said she’d had a good day. Natasha was her friend again, and so too were the other girls in the group. I praised Dawn, and also silently praised Jane Matthews, for clearly whatever she’d said to the girls had worked. But at the same time I recognised how fragile Dawn was and how little ability she had to cope with life’s downers. To have slashed her leg and gone missing for a week after a friendship falling-out obviously wasn’t normal or healthy, and not for the first time I wondered what could have possibly gone so badly wrong in Dawn’s past to have made her so vulnerable and defenceless.

The week progressed without major incident. Dawn went to school each day, returned home on time, did her homework before and after dinner, and then in the evening sat with John and me in the lounge or went to her room to listen to her Walkman. John’s razor and razor blades were now in a drawer in our bedroom; John took the razor into the bathroom each morning and returned it to the drawer straight afterwards, and disposed of the old blades in the dustbin outside. I had also removed the nail scissors from the bathroom cabinet.

In the middle of Wednesday night we were woken by the sound of Dawn’s bedroom door slamming shut, having been caught by the wind from her open bedroom window. We immediately got out of bed and went out to the landing, where we found Dawn about to go downstairs. We turned her round and steered her back to bed, where she slept until morning. As usual she didn’t remember sleepwalking, and when I asked her if she had slept well she said politely, ‘Yes thanks, Cathy, did you?’

I phoned Dawn’s social worker on Thursday morning; two weeks had passed and she was due back from holiday. I had a lot to tell her, and John and I had agreed that in the light of recent events we would ask for more information about Dawn. But a colleague of Ruth’s answered and said that due to ‘family reasons’ Ruth had extended her holiday by another week and wouldn’t be back in the office until the following Monday. I left another message asking her to call me as soon as possible.

On Friday evening Dawn spent an hour getting ready to go out and then asked for her pocket money and clothing allowance. Mindful that she had used her clothing money to fund her running away, I gave her the pocket money but said, ‘I’ll give you your clothing allowance tomorrow. The clothes shops are all closed now, so you don’t need it tonight.’

Dawn hesitated and looked as though she was about to argue the point but then thought better of it.

‘Have a nice time,’ I said. ‘See you at nine thirty.’

While Dawn was out, John and I spent a relaxing evening catching up on the week, mainly talking about Adrian’s progress and various issues John had had to deal with at work. Dawn appeared at exactly 9.30 p.m., and when I asked her if she’d had a good time, she said politely, ‘Yes thanks, Cathy,’ but as usual she didn’t offer any details. In some respects I felt it was like having a house guest or lodger staying with us rather than caring for a child of thirteen – we knew so little about Dawn or her life outside the house. John and I provided shelter, regular meals and money, but precious little else.

I hoped that with time Dawn would start to integrate more into our family life, and allow us to have some part in hers. Although Dawn visited my parents with us, if we suggested other family outings she always found some excuse: something she had to do, like homework, washing her hair or tidying her room. I would have expected this distance from an older teenager, but not someone of thirteen. We couldn’t force Dawn into family outings, but her not going limited our outings. John and I didn’t feel comfortable about leaving Dawn alone in the house as she wanted; indeed we weren’t even certain if it was legal to do so at her age, even for short periods. ‘You go,’ Dawn said when we’d suggested a visit to a local water mill. ‘I’ll be fine here, I’ve plenty to do.’ We couldn’t persuade her, so none of us went.

On one occasion when it was a fine day John suggested we all went for lunch in a lovely pub garden we knew that held barbecues. ‘Why don’t you two go and I’ll look after Adrian here,’ Dawn said helpfully. Clearly this was out of the question, and once again we were forced to change our plans, careful not to hurt Dawn’s feelings after her offer to look after Adrian. A couple of times Dawn agreed to come with us to the park with Adrian, but more often she didn’t want to, and either John or I stayed at home with Dawn while the other one took Adrian out. It was a pity, because not only was Dawn missing out on these aspects of family life, but John and I were not going out with Adrian as a family as much as we would have liked at weekends.

On Saturday I gave Dawn her clothing allowance, but she didn’t go shopping during the day; nor did she want to come shopping with me, which I had suggested. At 6.30 p.m., after dinner, she began getting ready to go out for the evening. She didn’t wear a lot of make-up, which I was pleased about, but she always spent a long time washing and blow-drying her hair, and then choosing what to wear. More often than not she ended up in a pair of jeans and long-sleeved sweatshirt, but that was what most girls her age wore. She said, ‘Have a nice evening,’ before she left, and John and I wished her the same.

At 9.30 p.m. there was no sign of Dawn, and nor was there any sign of her at ten o’clock, or at 10.30.

‘I don’t believe it!’ John said angry and worried. ‘She’s never run away again!’

I watched the carriage clock on the mantelpiece, aware that before long one of us was going to have to phone the duty social worker and the police to report Dawn missing, with all that that entailed! At 10.50 the door bell rang and didn’t stop – one long ring as someone pressed it and didn’t let go. John and I shot down the hall, aware it would wake Adrian.

‘I’ll open the door,’ John said, and I waited just behind him.

Dawn was on the doorstep with her shoulder leaning against the bell button. She straightened and the ringing stopped. ‘Hi,’ she said, grinning inanely and waving one hand. ‘Hi! It’s me! I’m home!’

‘You’re drunk,’ John said.

‘Am I?’ she grinned again, then leant forward and tried to navigate the step. ‘Oops! I’m h-a-p-p-y,’ she slurred. ‘I’m happy!’ she shouted. She lifted one leg and tried the step again, nearly falling flat on her face.

John and I caught her, and taking an arm each, manoeuvred her up the step and into the hall. ‘Ooooh, thanks.’ She hiccupped, then tried to kiss John’s cheek. John stepped back just in time as Dawn threw up all over the new carpet.

There was no point in trying to talk to Dawn or lecture her while she was in this state, so John and I helped her upstairs to bed. She giggled and talked loudly the whole way – saying nothing of any sense, just the incoherent ramblings of someone who was very drunk. We kept telling her to ‘ssshhh’ and ‘be quiet’, as Adrian was asleep and she would wake him.

‘Issss he?’ she slurred. ‘Bless-hisss-little-cotton-socks.’

We steered her into her bedroom, and eased her onto the bed. John took off her shoes, but we left her in her clothes. We turned her onto her side and propped the pillows down her back to keep her in place, so that if she was sick again she wouldn’t choke on her vomit.

‘I’ll get a bucket,’ John said, and went downstairs to the kitchen. He returned with the plastic bucket we used for washing the car and put it by the bed.

‘Whzz-dat-for?’ Dawn slurred.

‘To be sick in,’ I said.

Her eyes were already starting to close. ‘Roooom keeps moving,’ she sighed, and then she fell asleep.

John and I waited for a moment but Dawn was in deep sleep. We came out and left her bedroom door wide open so that we would hear if she was sick again or started to choke.

Downstairs I set about clearing up Dawn’s vomit. John offered to do it, but I said he could do the next one, if she was sick again and missed the bucket.

‘Thanks,’ he said dryly. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

Ten minutes later, I was warm from the labour of scrubbing, and all that remained on the carpet was a large wet patch, which I hoped would dry without leaving a water mark. The overpowering smell of pine disinfectant pervaded the house.

There wasn’t a ‘next one’ – not that night, at least – so John escaped another clean-up. We checked on Dawn when we went to bed, and she was still on her side, fast asleep, and lightly snoring. We left her bedroom door open, and also left our door unlocked and open, for we were more concerned about the possibility of her choking than sleepwalking.

Amazingly we all slept through, and when Adrian woke at 6.30 a.m., I picked him up and the three of us went in to check on Dawn. The bucket was empty and she hadn’t been sick again. She was on her side, exactly as we had left her – her mouth open, breathing slowly, and still sleeping peacefully. ‘We’ll have to give her a drink more often,’ John quipped with a smile.

I now closed her door, for I thought it was highly unlikely she would be sick again or choke, and left her to sleep it off. I looked in on her at eleven o’clock and then again at one. Dawn didn’t surface until 3.00 p.m. that Sunday, when she finally staggered downstairs, still in the same clothes, and looking absolutely dreadful – deservedly so I thought. Her face was white, her eyes were red and puffy, and her hair, which she had spent so long styling the evening before, was matted and stuck out all over her head.