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‘And one last thing, Dawn, before we put all this behind us.’

‘Yes?’

‘Where have you been going when you haven’t been in school?’

She shrugged. ‘Just wandering around. In and out of the shops, McDonald’s, anywhere that was warm. It was horrible. I really wanted to come home to you, but I daren’t.’

‘OK, love. Thanks for telling me. Now let’s get you that hot drink and a snack. I take it you won’t be going to your bedroom to do your homework tonight?’

She met my gaze and returned my smile. ‘No, I’m sorry. I hated deceiving you and John. And it was so boring sat up there alone.’

‘All right, we’ll say no more about it.’ Before I got up from the sofa Dawn planted a big kiss on my cheek.

‘Thanks, Cathy. You’re great! I love being here.’

When John arrived home from work, at his usual time of 6.30 p.m., it was to a calm and happy household. Adrian was in his recliner in the kitchen being entertained by Dawn, while I put the finishing touches to the dinner. The three of us chatted as we ate, mainly about the liquidised food I was now introducing into Adrian’s diet in the hope that he would start to sleep through the night. I waited until Dawn had gone up for her bath before I told John what had happened. And because the matter had been dealt with, it wasn’t a big issue: just something else we discussed in the evening when we swapped details of our day.

The following morning I took Dawn into school and, while she joined her class for registration, I saw Jane Matthews.

‘I’ve got just the answer,’ Jane said helpfully after I’d explained Dawn’s problem with making friends. ‘We’ve got a new girl arriving in school on Monday, Natasha, and she will be in Dawn’s class. I’ll speak to Dawn today and I’ll ask her if she’d like to be Natasha’s “buddy”. We usually team up anyone new with another student for the first few weeks. The buddy shows them around, sits next to them in lessons and generally helps them settle in. They often remain good friends.’

‘That sounds terrific,’ I said. ‘I’m sure it will help. Thank you so much.’

‘You’re welcome. Let’s hope it has the desired effect. Dawn can’t afford to miss any more school.’

‘She won’t.’ I said confidently. ‘I’m sure of it.’

When Dawn came home from school that Friday afternoon, the first thing she told me was that she was going to be a ‘buddy’ for a new girl starting on Monday. I understood from what she said that it was quite a privilege to be asked, and buddy status was much coveted by the other students.

Friday evening passed with John, Dawn and me relaxing at the end of the school/working week, together with the maths homework Dawn produced, which John helped her with. The three of us then watched a television movie, and Dawn went up to bed when it had finished at 10.30 p.m.

With Adrian now on solids, and it being the weekend, I was hoping for a lie-in. But at 2.00 a.m. I was suddenly awake. In the small light coming from the street lamp, I saw Dawn in her pyjamas, enter our bedroom and cross to Adrian’s cot. As before, she moved mechanically, with her eyes wide and staring. I was just waking John, when Dawn leant forward over the cot, about to pick up Adrian.

‘No, Dawn!’ I cried, and leapt out of bed.

Chapter Eight

Womanhood

S
he must have heard my voice, because she froze.

John was beside me at the cot; Adrian’s eyes flickered open and closed again. Dawn remained where she was, leaning over Adrian’s cot. Very slowly she began to straighten, and turning, she ‘looked’ at me. But as before when she had been sleepwalking, her eyes were glazed, and I was sure, sightless. She didn’t blink, and seemed to be staring through me rather than looking at me.

‘Dawn,’ I said. ‘Go back to your bed.’ I felt my heart pounding with the shock of waking suddenly to find her in our room.

‘Dawn go to your own bed,’ John repeated, more firmly. He put his hands on her shoulder to turn her in the right direction. But as his hands made contact she suddenly took a step back, as though she had felt his touch and recoiled. John and I started as she spoke.

‘No,’ she said in a slow, heavy voice. ‘No, it wasn’t me. I wouldn’t do that.’ She stopped, and still staring straight through me, raised her arms and began making a ‘chopping’ motion with the edge of her right hand on her left wrist.

We watched, transfixed in the half light, as Dawn continued to ‘chop’ her wrist; then, as though satisfied, she lowered her arms to her sides. She slowly turned to face the door and began to cross the room. John and I followed; Adrian had returned to sleep. We went out of our bedroom and along the landing. When Dawn reached the top of the stairs she paused, as she had done before, and then continued into her bedroom. We waited at her bedroom door, watching the dim outline of her shadow as she approached the bed. Slowly lifting back the duvet, she climbed in. She sat upright for a moment, staring straight ahead, then lay down and pulled the duvet up around her.

We came out, quietly closed the door and returned to our bedroom. I checked on Adrian, who was still sleeping, and then got into bed beside John.

‘We’re going to have to say something to her,’ John said, flopping back on the pillows, exhausted. ‘This isn’t normal. Perhaps if we tell her it will help.’

‘Do you think she is worrying about school?’ I suggested. ‘When she said “No, it wasn’t me,” it sounded as though she was being blamed for something. Do you think she’s in trouble at school?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ John sighed. ‘But why would she come to Adrian’s cot if it was to do with school? If it happens again, I’ll put a lock on our bedroom door. At least then we’ll know Adrian’s safe.’

‘I’m sure she wouldn’t harm Adrian,’ I said with a start. ‘I think she just wants to cuddle him like she does during the day.’ But even as I said it I knew that picking up Adrian while sleepwalking could easily have resulted in her harming him, even though Dawn wouldn’t have intended it.

‘We’ll raise the subject with her mother and social worker when we see them on Tuesday,’ John said. ‘Perhaps they can throw some light on it. It’s very disturbing.’

* * *

Dawn came into our room again half an hour later. We were still awake, and we steered her straight back to bed, where she remained until morning. John and I spent the rest of the night tossing and turning, and each time I woke my eyes immediately went to the bedroom door to check it was still closed. Adrian didn’t wake for a feed again until 5.00 a.m. I fed and changed him and he went straight back to sleep. As it was Saturday, John and I were able to doze until 7.30, when Adrian woke again, and we brought him into our bed.

We had breakfast together just before nine o’clock; Dawn was still asleep. John ate his breakfast with Adrian on his lap, with Adrian making repeated little attempts to grab John’s spoon on the way to his mouth, and giggling when he missed it.

‘I
will
say something to Dawn,’ I said to John as we ate. We had been talking about Dawn and her sleepwalking on and off since waking. ‘But I won’t actually tell her the details of what she did. It could make her even more anxious. And I’ll try to find out what’s worrying her.’ John and I had agreed that we thought Dawn’s sleepwalking, together with her comment ‘No, it wasn’t me’, must be caused by worrying.

When Dawn finally came downstairs at just gone ten o’clock she was washed, dressed and very relaxed. John was playing with Adrian in the lounge, having some quality time, and a father-to-son ‘conversation’ in which Adrian answered by babbling. I made Dawn the toast she asked for and then sat at the table with my mug of coffee while she ate.

‘Did you sleep all right?’ I asked her after a moment.

‘Yes, thanks. I always do.’

I hesitated, looked down at my coffee, and then summoned up the courage to say what I had rehearsed in my head, which I hoped was tactful and wouldn’t make her anxious. ‘Actually, love, you were quite restless last night. You got out of your bed, and I had to resettle you.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?’ she asked, surprised and embarrassed.

‘Yes, but that doesn’t matter. I am more concerned that something could be worrying you. You were talking in your sleep.’

She looked at me anxiously. ‘Was I? What did I say?’

‘It sounded as though you were being blamed for something you didn’t do. You said, “No, it wasn’t me.”’ The words seemed to register with Dawn and she looked away, almost guiltily.

‘Is there something worrying you?’ I asked. ‘Remember what we said about sharing worries?’

She brought her gaze back to mine. ‘No, Cathy. There isn’t, really. I don’t know what I was talking about. I did it at my mum’s and she said I was sleepwalking, but I don’t remember. I hope I haven’t been sleepwalking here.’

I didn’t know what to say. As sure as I was that Dawn was worrying about something, although she had denied it, I was now equally sure she had no idea that she had been sleepwalking. If I told her, wouldn’t it make her even more anxious? I decided not to. ‘You were very restless,’ I said. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing bothering you? Often worries can play on our minds at night.’

‘No,’ she said, leaving the rest of her toast. ‘I would tell you if there was. I’m so sorry I woke you and John. I hope I don’t do it again.’

* * *

Dawn and I had a pleasant day on Saturday. Leaving Adrian with John, I took Dawn clothes shopping and, among other things, bought her a new winter coat, which she loved and was also warmer than the leather jacket she had been wearing. In the afternoon she helped me with some housework and seemed to enjoy chatting as we worked together. That evening John, Dawn and I had a Chinese takeaway, which Dawn thoroughly enjoyed; then we watched a video together, and she went up to bed at 10.30 p.m.

However, at 2 a.m., John and I, either sensing her presence or hearing our bedroom door open, woke to find Dawn entering our room. We immediately got out of bed. As before, Dawn went to Adrian’s cot, but this time she didn’t lean over to try to pick him up. She stood beside the cot, slightly turned away, staring straight ahead with her eyes glazed and unfocused. After a moment she raised her arms and began making the same chopping motion she had done the night before, with the side of her right hand coming down on to her left wrist. Only now it was harder, more insistent, as though she was punishing herself. As she ‘chopped’ she grimaced, as if she was inflicting and experiencing pain, although of course the soft flesh of one hand striking the other couldn’t have caused her real damage or pain. She continued this chopping for about half a minute; then, as though she had finished what she had set out to do, she turned and left our room, and we saw her back to bed.

On Sunday morning, after John and I had spent another sleepless night, and had become beside ourselves with worry, John went to the large hardware store on the edge of town and bought a lock. While he fitted it on our bedroom door, I took Dawn out for a walk with Adrian in his stroller so that she wouldn’t know what we were doing. John and I both felt guilty about locking Dawn out of our bedroom, but what else could we do? We were both exhausted, and if we were honest, we no longer felt safe in our own bed. We were also worried that the next time it happened we might not hear Dawn enter; visions of her taking Adrian from his cot and then dropping him while we slept on haunted me.

When Dawn and I returned home, John nodded to me that the job was done, and the next time I went upstairs I had a look. The key was in the lock on the inside of the door and only a small hole was visible on the outside. I was immensely relieved, but also still uncomfortable that we were having to use a lock at all. I had decided, while strolling in the park, that on Monday, when Dawn was at school, I would visit the library and try to find out more about sleepwalking and how to deal with it. If we could stop Dawn from sleepwalking, the lock wouldn’t be needed.

That night John locked our bedroom door before he got into bed and we slept soundly, only waking when Adrian cried for a feed at 4.00 a.m. In the morning John was up first and said that Dawn’s bedroom door was still closed, so we assumed that she hadn’t been sleepwalking and therefore hadn’t attempted to enter our room. I was doubly relieved, for what had started to worry me was that if Dawn did sleepwalk, where would she go now our door was locked? Would she simply try the door and, unable to get in, return to her own bed? Or would she sleepwalk somewhere else and put herself in danger? Downstairs possibly, with all the hazards that entailed. We could only wait and see what happened.

For now I had to concentrate on the day ahead – it was Monday and the start of a new week.

Once John had gone to work, I fell into the weekday routine – feeding and changing Adrian, washing and dressing myself, then waking Dawn. She had her usual toast and honey, and although I had offered to take her in the car to school and see her in, she wanted to catch the bus. I had to trust her to go to school, and I didn’t envisage a problem because she was looking forward to meeting Natasha, the new girl she was going to buddy. Checking Dawn had her dinner money and bus pass, I wished her luck, told her how smart she looked in her new coat and said I would be thinking about her. She gave me a kiss and I saw her off at the door. Adrian had an appointment for a routine check-up at the baby clinic that afternoon, so after a quick tidy-up in the kitchen and putting the washing machine on, I drove into town and to the library to research ‘sleepwalking’. This was in the days before homes had Internet access – now I would have simply googled ‘sleepwalking’.

I pushed Adrian in his stroller up the ramp and, with my ever-present bag of baby paraphernalia over my shoulder, entered the too-quiet library. I had Adrian’s dummy in my coat pocket, and bottle of boiled water in the bag in case he became unsettled while I searched for what I wanted. Silently crossing the carpeted floor I went to the non-fiction section and began scanning the shelves. I have always found the Dewey system of classification confusing, even after having had it explained to me as a student, although I’m sure it makes good sense to all the librarians who use it daily. I’d no idea which category ‘sleepwalking’ would come under and I tried psychology, but it wasn’t there. Eventually I wheeled Adrian over to the information desk and asked the librarian where I could find information on sleepwalking. She checked on her computer and found it was listed under ‘Health’, sub-category ‘sleep disorders’, Dewey number 616.84. I went to the relevant section and, parking Adrian’s stroller so he was looking out over the main body of the library and could see what was going on, I began scanning the shelves.

I found four books on sleeping disorders and, taking them down one at a time, had a quick look at the chapter headings and what looked like relevant pages. Two of the books were highly academic, detailing research that had been compiled for doctorates, but the other two appeared more aimed at the general public. Fishing my library card out of my purse, I wheeled Adrian over to the desk where the librarian checked out the two books. I had entertained a brief idea about a coffee in the library coffee shop but Adrian was becoming restless and refusing his dummy, so I went back to the car and returned home.

Once I had fed Adrian and had settled him for his lunchtime nap, I made myself a sandwich and mug of tea, and took these through to the lounge, where I began reading the first book. It was entitled
Relief from Sleep Disorders
.

I quickly learned that sleepwalking was more common than John or I had thought, and tended to affect children and young people. ‘Sleepwalking is a disorder characterised by walking or other activity while seemingly still asleep,’ the book said, which obviously described what Dawn had been doing. It said that sleepwalkers often performed tasks like eating, washing, dressing, or even going to the toilet or having sex while asleep. ‘Sleepwalkers do not walk around with their eyes closed and arms outstretched as portrayed in films,’ it stressed, but have their eyes open, although they often appear glazed or ‘empty’. If the sleepwalker speaks, it said, their voice is often slower than usual, which had been true of Dawn. I read that ‘contrary to popular belief it is not dangerous to wake a sleepwalker’, although it would make them confused and disorientated, and it was better to steer them back to bed than wake them. More worryingly, I then read that it was another misconception that sleepwalkers couldn’t harm themselves – ‘they can’, the book stated categorically. It continued to say there were also cases of sleepwalkers harming others, some even committing murder. This was referenced to some actual court cases where sleepwalking had been used as a defence and the defendants had been found not guilty on the grounds that they were not responsible for their actions. However, the author said that it was unusual for a sleepwalker to harm others, and that they were more likely to accidentally hurt themselves. One man had crashed his car while driving while sleepwalking, having driven over thirty miles from his home in his sleep.

When sleepwalkers wake they don’t remember sleepwalking, the book confirmed, and I gathered that the causes of sleepwalking remained largely unknown. However, research suggested that sleepwalking could be triggered by ‘extreme fatigue, stress, anxiety, drugs (prescription and illegal substances), alcohol, and psychiatric disorders’ – i.e. mental illness. There was a whole chapter on ‘dealing’ with sleepwalkers and the conclusion was that they should be directed back to bed before they injured themselves, ‘though the person,’ it continued, ‘will often keep getting up again until they have accomplished the task they set out to do.’ This appeared to be what Dawn had been doing. It said that sleepwalkers were in a ‘highly suggestive state’ and that it was all right to talk to them, and talk them through whatever they had got up to do, and then direct them back to bed.