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Fighting back tears, I got out and, with my head down against the cold night air, I quickly crossed the car park to the Accident and Emergency entrance. I hadn’t brought any of Dawn’s clothes or her wash bag with me; it hadn’t occurred to me as I’d dashed from the house. If Barbara and Dawn didn’t want me there, I would leave and return to the house for what Dawn needed and bring her things in. What would happen after that I’d no idea, for clearly staying with us wasn’t helping Dawn, and perhaps this was Dawn’s way of telling us.

Chapter Twenty-Five

A Dreadful Burden

A
s the hospital doors swished closed behind me, I blinked against the sudden brightness of the fluorescent lights after the dark outside. The seating area was directly in front of me, and a dozen or so people were waiting to be seen. I walked past the seated area, and over to reception on the far right. A woman at the computer looked up as I approached.

‘Dawn Jennings was admitted earlier this evening,’ I said, my voice shaking. ‘I’d like to see her. I’m her foster carer, Cathy Glass.’

She flicked through a pile of cards beside her on the desk and pulled out one, which I assumed related to Dawn. She read the few handwritten notes on the card and then looked up. ‘The doctor has seen Dawn. Go through those double doors and turn right. She’s in a cubicle on the left.’

I thanked her, and crossing the waiting area to where she had pointed I went through the double doors and turned right. Six cubicles were on my left, all with their curtains drawn around the beds. A nurse came out of one.

‘Can you tell me where Dawn Jennings is, please?’ I asked.

She pointed to the third cubicle.

I went over, and stopped. The curtains were completely closed and there was no sound coming from the other side. I hesitated, uncertain whether I should go in, but I hadn’t come this far not to see Dawn. Slightly parting the curtains, I said, ‘Dawn?’ I could see her on the bed, with her mother seated beside her. I opened the curtains just enough to go through and, stepping in, closed them behind me.

Dawn was on her back, propped up on three pillows, with a drip coming from the bandages on her left arm. I hid my shock. Both her arms were heavily bandaged from just below her elbows to her wrists, with only her fingers jutting out; I assumed she had cut her wrists. She was very pale and her pupils were dilated, perhaps from the pain relief she had been given. She looked at me and managed a small smile. Barbara looked at me too but didn’t smile.

‘Hello, Dawn, Barbara,’ I said.

‘Cathy,’ Barbara acknowledged evenly.

Barbara was as pale as Dawn. She was dressed in a light grey suit and white blouse, presumably having arrived home from work and found Dawn and then come straight here. She was leaning slightly forward, towards her daughter, as though she had been talking quietly to her before I had come in. I hovered at the end of the bed, not wanting to intrude on their privacy.

‘How is she?’ I asked awkwardly, addressing Barbara.

Barbara nodded. ‘She’ll live, but she’s made a right mess of my bathroom. Blood everywhere! I’ve told her she can clean it up when she’s better.’ It was said lightly, as a stab at humour. Barbara didn’t appear hostile towards me, and seemed very concerned for Dawn. I moved further in and closer to the bed.

‘What did the doctor say?’ I asked after a moment.

‘They’ve stitched her up,’ Barbara said, ‘and they’re keeping her in for a few days. Hopefully she’ll get the help she needs now, after all this.’

Dawn didn’t say anything but looked at me with the same wistful smile.

I assumed by ‘help’ Barbara meant another appointment with a psychiatrist, which would only help if Dawn actually attended. But that wasn’t what she meant.

‘I’ve tried,’ Barbara said quietly, looking at me. ‘You’ve tried, her father has tried and the teenage unit was no good. They need to find her somewhere else to live before she makes another attempt on her life and succeeds.’

I acknowledged the truth of Barbara’s words, and again felt a surge of responsibility for Dawn being here. I had failed her, as had her mother and father; only the results of my failure appeared to be far worse than theirs. I looked at Dawn and her expression remained blank.

‘Has anyone told her social worker?’ Barbara asked, looking at her daughter.

‘I reported Dawn missing to the social services, but I haven’t told them Dawn’s in hospital. Perhaps the police have.’

Barbara shrugged.

‘I’ll phone the duty social worker when I go home,’ I offered. ‘And if Dawn is staying here for few days I’d better get her nightdress and wash things.’

‘Thanks, Cathy.’ Barbara said evenly with a small sigh. She seemed far less critical of Dawn than when I had first met her, and was also more attentive and caring. I supposed coming home and finding Dawn like that had perhaps given her the shock she needed, yet there was an air of resignation as she spoke, as though this was yet another incident in Dawn’s litany of self-abuse.

‘All your birthday presents are waiting for you,’ I said quietly, glancing at Dawn. ‘And your birthday cake.’

Barbara looked at Dawn. ‘Some birthday this turned out to be.’

Dawn threw me another small smile, apparently more bemused by what had happened to her than upset or distressed, I still wasn’t sure what to say or do for the best. I would have liked to have sat on the edge of the bed and given Dawn a big hug, but that seemed inappropriate and intrusive with her mother there.

‘Are you staying with Dawn?’ I asked Barbara presently.

‘Until they take her up to the ward. Then I’ll go. I’ve got work tomorrow. I’ve told Dawn I’ll come back tomorrow evening.’

‘Shall I come in during the day tomorrow, then?’ I suggested. ‘So she has some company?’

Barbara and Dawn nodded.

I still hesitated, reluctant to go but feeling I should leave them together. ‘I’ll get your things, then, Dawn,’ I said. ‘And I could bring your birthday presents in tomorrow, once you’re settled on the ward.’

Dawn nodded again. I looked at her. Lost in the pile of starched white pillows, she looked so young and vulnerable. ‘Dawn, love,’ I blurted out. ‘I so wish you could have told me how you were feeling. I’d no idea.’ Tears stung the back of my eyes and I swallowed hard.

Dawn gave me the same small smile as Barbara looked at her daughter. I turned and, parting the curtains, left the cubicle. As I did I heard Barbara’s voice behind me saying to Dawn, ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’ Then, ‘Cathy, can I have a word?’

I stopped on the other side of the curtains and waited as Barbara appeared through them. ‘I’d like to talk to you – not here, though. Let’s go where we can’t be overheard.’ She nodded behind her, so I assumed she meant so that Dawn couldn’t hear.

Barbara fell into step beside me, and we went through the double doors and to the waiting area. Choosing some seats in the far corner, away from where others waited, we sat down. Barbara leant back and sighed, pushing her hair away from her face. ‘Look, Cathy, there’s stuff you need to know about Dawn. Things you should have been told a long time ago. Ruth told me not to say anything: she said it was confidential and you didn’t need to know. But I think you do, especially as you have a young baby. I don’t want to be held responsible’

A feeling of deep disquiet settled within me as I looked at Barbara and waited. Her face was tired and drawn, and set in an expression of earnest, anxious sincerity. ‘I’m telling you now,’ she continued, ‘because I want you to help me get Dawn the care she needs, before it’s too late.’

I nodded, wondering what on earth she was about to tell me, while Barbara took a breath and collected her thoughts.

‘I’m not the best mum,’ she began. ‘In fact I’m probably the world’s worst, and her father’s no better. Our marriage was shaky from the start and we only married because I was pregnant with Dawn. We struggled in a one-bedroom flat and things got worse and worse. Although if you asked Dawn she would probably say those were the best years of her life. But I guess that’s kids.’ She gave a small tight laugh. ‘When Dawn was nearly five, my ex and I decided to call it quits. We weren’t doing each other any good, and the continual fighting wasn’t doing Dawn any good either. We both needed time by ourselves to recover and think what to do for the best. I know what Ruth told you about the next four years – that I claim Dawn was with her father and he says she was with me, but it’s not true.’ I held Barbara’s gaze as she continued. ‘I have family in Ireland, and an uncle and aunt offered to have Dawn while we sorted things out. I’d never been close to them, but it seemed a good idea: they’d got grown kids of their own who were doing OK. So my ex took Dawn over to Ireland. It was supposed to be for a couple of months. I stayed on in the flat and my ex moved out. I tried to find a job, but I hadn’t any qualifications. It was a difficult time for me and I got very depressed. Dawn’s dad quickly met someone else and wasn’t interested in me or my problems – or Dawn, come to that. It wasn’t the same woman he’s with now, but that’s another story.

‘Anyway, weeks passed, then months. I missed Dawn, though not as much as I should have done – I was too wound up in my own problems. I phoned Dawn when I could afford it, and my aunt and uncle always said she was fine and had settled in well. But I rarely got to actually speak to Dawn. She was always out on the farm, playing, and I didn’t like to have her called in if she was having so much fun. She began school out there, and my uncle said she was doing well. Then suddenly I found a year had passed. I had a job by then, cleaning, and was starting to get my life together. I wanted Dawn back, but when I phoned and asked, my uncle said it was selfish of me, as she was so settled. He said she was having a far better life than I could give her, with all the fresh air and a stable family. I didn’t have the fare to go and see Dawn, so I believed what he said and she stayed. During the next three years, I still phoned, but not so often; I felt that my uncle and aunt had become her family and I didn’t have the right to intrude.’

Barbara paused and glanced up as a man passed near our chairs; she waited until he had gone before continuing. ‘The first thing I knew that something was wrong was when Dawn was nine, and I got a phone call from the social services saying they had Dawn in their office. It was late one afternoon and I’d just got in from work. By that time I’d stopped cleaning and was working in the department store where I am now. I was shocked. I thought Dawn was in Ireland. My uncle and aunt hadn’t phoned me to say she was coming to England. I found out later that they’d just put her on a plane, and the police had been called to the airport when no one arrived to collect her.’

I looked at Barbara, horrified, and she nodded.

‘Anyway, the social worker brought her to me that same night. I was her mother, after all, and I hadn’t done anything wrong, so there was no reason why I shouldn’t have her back. But as soon as I saw Dawn, I knew something was wrong. She was a different child. I mean obviously she had changed in appearance – four years had passed. But she was so unruly and aggressive that she was like a wild child. She spat and hit me and screamed that she hated me. When I tried to find out what was wrong, she went quiet and said she couldn’t remember.

‘I couldn’t cope with Dawn,’ Barbara continued. ‘And eventually I got in contact with her father. He had just moved in with his present girlfriend and they offered to share the care of Dawn. That was before they had their baby and I think his girlfriend quite liked the idea of playing happy families, but it soon wore off. Dawn started spending time with them and time with me. But none of us could really deal with her and she got worse. By the age of ten she was doing whatever she wanted. She was out on the streets, rarely went to school and then started getting in trouble with the police. She was also having horrendous nightmares and began sleepwalking. It was really scary to watch and I didn’t feel safe in my own house. I wanted her to go the doctor and talk to him, but she wouldn’t. Then she began harming herself. To begin with she was pulling her hair out or banging her head against a wall. Later she began burning herself and jabbing pins into her arms and legs. Six months before she went into care she started cutting herself. I couldn’t believe it when I first saw what she had done. But she was relaxed about it and said it helped her to cope.’

I nodded seriously. ‘She told me that too.’

‘And in some ways it’s true,’ Barbara said quietly. ‘Dawn’s behaviour has improved. It’s as if the cutting is her way of controlling her anger. She no longer hits me or swears at me, and she can be very polite. But when she started hanging out with that bad lot off the estate I knew she would get into even more trouble, and she did. Ruth thought that if she came to you it might help. But clearly it hasn’t. It’s not your fault, Cathy.’ Barbara paused and sat back, taking a deep breath. ‘I don’t know what happened to Dawn in Ireland during those four years, but whatever it was took away my little girl and gave me someone who hates me, herself, and life, so much that she wants to end it.’

‘And she’s never told you or your ex husband what happened?’ I asked.

‘No, never.’ Barbara shook her head. ‘When I have asked her, she says she can’t remember anything of that time. Maybe she’s telling the truth. Ruth says that maybe it was so bad that she’s blocked it out. I’ve tried phoning my aunt and uncle, but as soon as they hear my voice they hang up. Ruth said you didn’t need to know all this, but I’ve realised that unless someone speaks up, Dawn won’t get the help she needs, and then it will be too late.’

Barbara fell silent, and I looked at her, shocked by everything I had heard. It had taken Barbara a lot of courage to tell me all this, and I was thankful that she was now putting the needs of her daughter first in order to get her the help she so badly needed.

‘If only Ruth had told John and me,’ I said at last. ‘It might have helped us understand some of Dawn’s behaviour. We’ve been so very worried, not knowing what to do for the best.’

Barbara nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Cathy.’

‘It’s not your fault. Ruth should have been the one to tell us. But what’s this got to do with my son? You said I should have been told because I have a baby.’

Barbara met my gaze and looked deathly serious. ‘As you know, Dawn spends a lot of time hanging out with her mates – sometimes on the streets, sometimes at their houses when their parents are out. I can’t stop here. The week before she was taken into care she was babysitting with one of those mates, a girl called Tina. She’s fifteen. Tina’s mother has a young baby, and she had gone out with her boyfriend, leaving Tina and Dawn babysitting. I wouldn’t have left two young girls in charge of a baby, but that was her decision. What happened next is unclear. Dawn was so hysterical at the time she couldn’t tell the police, and hasn’t been able to tell them since. But it seems the two girls were either playing with matches or smoking and the flat caught fire. They fled in panic and called the fire brigade. By the time the fire crew arrived at the flat it was ablaze. The baby was burnt on one arm and suffered severe smoke inhalation.’