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‘And there’s nothing more you can tell us?’ John asked.

‘Sorry, mate, that’s all I know.’

We thanked him, and he returned to the police car where another office sat with the engine running. ‘Happy New Year,’ John said sardonically as he closed the door.

Upstairs I found Dawn, having dropped her coat on the floor, getting into bed with her clothes and shoes on. ‘I need to sleep,’ she said, lying down and immediately closing her eyes.

Clearly there was nothing to be had by trying to talk to her now, so easing her out of her shoes and leaving her fully clothed, I pulled the duvet over her and came out, leaving the door slightly ajar.

What an end to Christmas, I thought, as I lay on my back in bed staring at the ceiling! What a start to the New Year! And my heart went out to Dawn, who had left us so happy and full of the wonder of Christmas, and had now returned drunk after an argument with her mother.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Why, Dawn?

D
awn slept most of New Year’s Day, only getting up for dinner in the evening, before showering and returning to bed. While we ate, I asked her if she wanted to talk about the argument she’d had with her mother, but she didn’t. I also asked her if she’d had a nice Christmas and what her mother had bought her, but she shrugged and said, ‘It was OK.’

I was disappointed, I had hoped that by giving Dawn a really good time she would have happy memories of Christmas, but it seemed that this one would be no better than the previous one, now blighted by what had happened. I now felt that our pre-Christmas celebrations had completely gone to waste. However, aware it was the start of a new year and we had to be positive, I decided to put it behind us and press on.

I cajoled Dawn into coming to the January sales with me to see if we could pick up some good bargains. Normally Dawn wouldn’t have needed any encouragement to shop, but even when we were in her favourite store and I was pointing out clothes she might like to try on, she was withdrawn and quiet. She hardly uttered a word, avoided all eye contact and stood as far away from me as possible during the whole trip. The distance she was putting between us continued when we got home, and throughout the following two days. I was starting to feel that for some reason she was withdrawing from me, as she had done from Adrian, although I couldn’t for the life of me understand why. Any question, or stab at conversation on my part, was met with a shrug or a nod. This wasn’t like Dawn, for even when she had got into trouble in the past she had quickly bounced back to being her usual chatty and pleasant self. I realised that the week at her mother’s had been a disaster, but I could hardly be held responsible for all of that.

‘Is everything all right?’ I asked her again, over breakfast the next morning. ‘You’ve been very quiet since you came back from your mum’s.’

She shrugged. ‘I guess.’

‘Is there anything you want to talk about?’ I asked, as I’d asked many times before.

Dawn shook her head. ‘No.’

‘It’s your birthday on the sixth of January,’ I said, seizing upon this to try to cheer her up. ‘That’s only three days’ time. Have you thought what you’d like to do to celebrate? It’s your special day, so you must choose.’

She shrugged. ‘Don’t mind.’

‘We could go out for a meal or have a takeaway,’ I suggested, not easily put off. ‘You like Chinese food. And at the weekend, when there’s more time, you could have a few friends round and have a little party.’

‘Don’t mind,’ Dawn said again, no more enthused.

‘Well, how about we have a birthday tea with a takeaway here on the sixth and then you can think about what you want to do at the weekend?’

Dawn nodded, just.

I looked at her carefully. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing you can tell me? I really don’t like to see you like this. ’

She shook her head again. ‘I’m OK. A takeaway sounds good.’ But her flat emotionless voice and slumped shoulders suggested it was far from good.

Dawn returned to school for the first day of the spring term on 5 January, and that evening she went up to her room, where she remained, uncommunicative, only coming down for dinner, which she ate in silence. When I went up to say goodnight I asked her again what was worrying her and she said, ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Dawn, love, it’s your birthday tomorrow. I want you to be happy and have a good time.’

‘I will,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow everything will be fine. I promise you, Cathy.’

I smiled. ‘Good. Now, would you like your presents in the morning before you go to school? Or when you come home, when there’s more time?’

‘When I come home,’ she said, rallying a little.

I paused and looked at her; then, saying goodnight, I kissed her forehead and came out.

The following morning when I woke her for school I said, ‘Happy Birthday’, and Dawn smiled. When she came down for breakfast, John wished her a happy birthday before he left for work, and Adrian added his ‘’appie bir’day, Daw”, which got another smile from Dawn.

I saw her off to school at the door, feeling that things were looking up – she seemed a bit brighter and more responsive. As soon as she had gone I got Adrian dressed and we went into town to collect the birthday cake I had ordered for Dawn. It was iced and had pink and white roses, and
Happy Birthday to a special 14-year-old
written on it in fancy icing. On our return I blew up balloons and hung them in groups of three to go with the birthday banners; John had taken down the Christmas decorations the evening before. I arranged Dawn’s cake on the coffee table in the lounge, together with her cards and presents, which included ones from my parents and brother, ready for when she came home. With her birthday coming so soon after Christmas, it had been difficult for me to know what to buy her, and I’d settled on a rather ornate jewellery box and a silver necklace, plus gift vouchers which she could spend at her leisure. I didn’t know what was in the parcels from my parents and my brother.

By 3.30 p.m. I was ready for Dawn’s return at 3.45. I would order the Chinese takeaway when John got home from work. Adrian had sensed the build-up in anticipation and was busy practising his ‘’appie bir’day, Daw”, which I had told him we would say as we opened the front door. I thought if he got the same reaction from Dawn that he had that morning, when she had smiled openly at him and not immediately run away, we could be well on the way to bridging the gap between them, which would be great.

At 3.40 p.m. Adrian and I were positioned at the bay windows in the front room, looking up the street for the first sign of Dawn. Usually I was busy in the kitchen when she returned home from school, and I left whatever I was doing to answer the door. Now, on her birthday, we were ready and waiting: ready to fling open the door as she came up the path and shout, ‘Happy Birthday, Dawn!’ At 3.50 our gaze was intent on the street, as she was expected any minute. A few lads from the local school sauntered past with their blazers flapping open despite the cold. I glanced upwards: the sky was grey and overcast, and the winter’s night was already drawing in.

At four o’clock we were still watching and waiting, and by 4.15 I was starting to get a little irritated. Usually Dawn was in dead on 3.45, whether she’d been to school or not. There’d only been a handful of occasions when she’d been over half an hour late, and tonight she knew her presents and cards would be waiting for her.

By 4.30 I was struggling keep Adrian amused in the front room, and I was both worried and annoyed. It was nearly dark now and there was still no sign of Dawn. Where on earth could she be? I switched on the light in the hall so that we could still see out of the front room but not be seen. I couldn’t believe she wouldn’t come straight home on her birthday – she knew we were waiting to celebrate it with her. I searched through the reasons that could have made her so late, including the bus breaking down, her staying on at school or dropping in at her mother’s to collect a present. But Dawn knew if she was going to be late she should have phoned me. Then I wondered if she was just spending some time with her friends after school, as it was her birthday, which was understandable, but again she should have phoned.

By 5.15, when there was still no sign of Dawn, I reluctantly drew the front room curtains and took Adrian into the lounge, where his toys were. I was bitterly disappointed in Dawn and also extremely worried. If she wasn’t home by six o’clock, I would have to phone the duty social worker and report her missing. On her birthday! I looked at the coffee table with its cake, cards and presents, all waiting for her return, and wondered again where on earth she could have got to. I now had Barbara’s telephone number – Dawn had given it to me a while back, although I hadn’t previously had cause to use it. Picking up my address book, I keyed in the numbers and listened to it ringing. No one answered. It was now 5.30.

John had said he would try to leave work early for Dawn’s birthday, and I was expecting him shortly after six. Dawn was now over an hour and a half late. Although it was still early evening, I was beside myself with worry, and at the same time annoyed that she was being so thoughtless. I tried her mother’s number again ten minutes later – again, no response. Then at six o’clock I heard the front door open as John returned from work.

‘Where’s the birthday girl?’ he called from the hall. Adrian shot out of the lounge to greet him, and I followed. John knew immediately from my expression that something was wrong.

‘She hasn’t come home,’ I said.

‘I don’t believe it! On her birthday!’ He threw up his hands in despair.

‘I’ve tried her mother’s number, but there’s no answer. Can you look after Adrian while I phone the social services?’

Scooping up Adrian, John went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea while I returned to the lounge to make the call. When the switchboard operator connected me to the duty social worker I gave my name, explained who I was and that Dawn hadn’t come home from school, despite it being her birthday. He thought, as I had, that it was possible she had stayed behind with some friends, and I agreed that that might still be an option. He said to leave it another hour, and if she still hadn’t returned or been in touch to phone the police and report her missing.

I went through to the kitchen and told John what the duty social worker had said. He had given Adrian a snack to keep him going until we had the takeaway, for we still assumed that Dawn would appear at any moment and we would celebrate as we had planned.

At 6.45 p.m. I made sandwiches for John and me, for we were both hungry now, and I also gave Adrian some scrambled egg. It was past Adrian’s usual teatime, and indeed he would be going to bed shortly. We ate at the table in the breakfast room in silence and then went through to the lounge. John took Adrian on his lap while I, with a very heavy heart, picked up the phone and dialled the police station. I was held for five minutes in the usual queuing system; then when the office came on the line, I gave my name and said I was Dawn Jennings’ carer and I had to report her missing.

The officer recognised Dawn’s name. ‘You’ve reported her missing before,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

He told me to hold the line and I assumed he was going to retrieve Dawn’s details, although this hadn’t happened before. Perhaps, I thought, there was a new procedure.

As I waited, listening to the empty line, I was also listening for the front door bell, hoping, willing, that Dawn would return. We would tell her off, yes, but we would accept her excuse and apology, then watch her open her presents and order the takeaway. But instead of the door bell going, the officer’s voice came back on the phone, sounding more formal and sombre.

‘Mrs Glass?’

‘Yes.’

‘We were going to send an officer out to you as soon as one became available. Dawn’s not missing: she’s in hospital. She was admitted an hour ago.’

‘What? What for?’ I stared at John.

‘I don’t know all the details, but I understand her mother found her at her flat when she got home from work. She called an ambulance. I believe Dawn tried to commit suicide.’

I froze and a rushing noise filled my ears as the officer continued. ‘She’s at the general hospital. Her mother is with her.’

I continued to stare at John. ‘Thank you,’ I managed to say to the officer, and I hung up.

‘Dawn’s in hospital,’ I said, immediately standing. ‘She’s tried to commit suicide.’

‘Jesus!’ John said. ‘You go to her; I’ll look after Adrian.’

I was already down the hall, pushing my feet into my shoes and grabbing my coat and bag.

In the car my thoughts raced and my heart thumped wildly. Dawn had tried to commit suicide and was in hospital! I couldn’t believe it. Despite being quiet and withdrawn the previous days, she had left that morning with a smile and a wave, and, I thought, looking forward to the takeaway and opening her presents. She must have been in school, for the secretary hadn’t phoned. So what on earth could have happened since she’d left that morning, to send her spiralling down into abject despair and make her do this? Her mother’s flat was an hour’s bus ride from St James’s School – Dawn must have gone there straight after school. The officer had said she had been admitted to hospital an hour ago, which explained why there had been no answer when I’d phoned Barbara’s flat – they were in the ambulance on their way to hospital. But why? Why today, Dawn? Whatever could have happened?

Then an icy shudder ran down my spine as I remembered Dawn’s words the night before, when I’d gone up to say goodnight: ‘Tomorrow everything will be fine, I promise you, Cathy.’ Had Dawn been planning this? Had she known last night what she was going to do? Is that why everything was going to be ‘fine’ – because she was planning on going to her mother’s and committing suicide? Dear God! I shuddered again and gripped the wheel as her words rung in my ears and the reality hit me. I had said goodnight and left her in bed, thinking she seemed brighter and was looking forward to her birthday, when all along she had been relieved at the prospect of ending her life!

As I pulled into the hospital grounds another thought hit me. If Barbara was with Dawn, would she want me there? I’d only met Barbara once, at the meeting when Dawn had first arrived. John had seen her a few times since, when he’d taken Dawn to her flat, in the summer and again on Christmas Eve. Barbara had been polite with him then, but now she might well hold me responsible for what Dawn had done. And I felt she had every right to hold me responsible, for I was. I had missed all the signs of Dawn’s depression and what she was planning to do. Yes, I’d recognised she had been quiet and I’d tried to talk to her, but a fat lot of good that had done.

I came to a halt in a parking space, switched off the engine and sat staring through the windscreen into the dark outside. My immediate reaction had been to come to Dawn, feeling she needed me, but now I wasn’t so sure. Apart from Barbara blaming me, Dawn might not want me there, preferring to be with her mother at a time like this. But then again if I didn’t go in, Dawn could think I didn’t care.