Four Waifs on Our Doorstep (35 page)

‘See, Mum?’ wailed Carrie.

‘You’ve got to stop her,’ added Sam.

Just then some good friends of ours stopped Stacey and the lads.

I went to the bottom of the stairs in time to hear what they were saying to her.

‘I think you’d better go back down, Stacey, and your friends too. Your mum wants us to guard the landing and make sure nobody goes upstairs today.’

‘But I’m family,’ protested Stacey.

‘Yes, but she didn’t say there were any exceptions, even for family. Look’ – she pointed at the two younger ones in the hall – ‘even Carrie and Sam who live
here are not going upstairs today.’

Phew, I thought. What great friends we have. Stacey and the boys reluctantly turned and came down again.

‘Look, Stacey, I’m so glad you came, but remember our agreement?’ I said. ‘Why don’t you come back to the marquee with me and have something to eat. We can give
some food to your friends too for them to eat in the car as they leave. They can always come back for you later if you like.’

Stacey hesitated for two or three seconds and I crossed my fingers.

‘OK,’ she said, with a defeated expression.

As we walked back and I pointed people out to her, I was relieved that she had come smartly dressed, with shining clean hair. But from her eyes, the way she moved and the slur in her voice, I
could tell she was as high as a kite. I just hoped she wouldn’t cause any trouble. I dreaded a scene, especially a family confrontation, but that didn’t look likely as everyone gave her
a wide berth and shunned her if she approached them. No one in the family spoke to her at all, except for Mike and me. She just walked around like a spare part and all our friends were very polite
to her, greeting her when she came near. But she didn’t fit in – not surprising I suppose, but she made very little effort.

I don’t recall how long she stayed, but it didn’t seem more than an hour or so, perhaps two. We were all back in the house in the lull between lunch and dinner when she came to say
goodbye to me.

‘Thanks for having me,’ she said, like a little kid. I gave her a hug, but she pulled away, then turned to leave. I watched her walking through the groups of people, who parted to
let her pass. She looked so vulnerable and my heart went out to her. I followed her out, ready to wave her off.

We had put a couple of tables out in the courtyard. Anna was sitting there when Stacey went out of the door. Then the most astonishing thing happened. With several of our family and friends
looking on, Anna stood up, stepped forward, threw her arms round Stacey and gave her a kiss.

‘I forgive you,’ she said in a voice loud enough for us all to hear.

Time stopped for a moment as the tears clouded my eyes. I held my breath and my heart really did seem to miss a beat. What a remarkable thing to do. I was so moved that I was speechless, which
is very rare for me. The emotional tension held me like a vice.

As Stacey strode off down the drive, I stood arm in arm with Anna, watching her leave, ready to wave if she turned back, but she didn’t.

‘Thank you,’ I said, unable to utter any more words than that.

‘I felt I owed it to you, Mum,’ said Anna.

I shall never forget that.

After it was all over in the late evening that Sunday, I gathered the kids together before they left.

‘Thank you for giving us a wonderful day and making it so happy for us. And thank you for being civil to Stacey when she came. I know it was difficult for everybody, but it all went OK in
the end, didn’t it?’

And when I went to bed that night, exhausted but elated, I thought of Anna’s amazing gesture and the way that none of the family openly rejected Stacey. I can build on this, I thought.
Maybe things will improve . . .

A couple of months later, Stacey was in hospital after her then boyfriend attacked her. Then Social Services put her into a B & B to recuperate, as she had nowhere else to
go. Jamie came round to tell me while Laura was with us.

‘That’s awful,’ I said. ‘Maybe we should have her here.’

‘Don’t talk to me about her, Nan,’ said Laura.

‘Don’t give her any more chances, Mum.’

‘Well, how many chances have you got then, Jay, if we’re counting them?’ I said to him. ‘Is there a finite number which we won’t go beyond?’

I went to visit Stacey in the B & B and asked her to come back to our house to recover properly.

‘No, Mum. I’m OK here. I don’t want to upset any of the family.’

‘Well, can I do anything for you? Do you need anything?’

She gave me a rueful smile and looked across the room at a full black bag behind the door. ‘You couldn’t take my washing, could you?’ she asked, with a twinkle in her eyes.

Over the next few days, I took her washing back and brought home some forms that needed filling in for her to apply for a flat. Being dyslexic, I had to ask Jane to help.

‘Oh, you’re no good at anything like that, Mum! Who is this for, anyway?’ asked Jane.

‘It’s for Stacey.’

‘Well, I could have filled this form in for her . . . if I was speaking to the bitch.’

‘I don’t trust her,’ said Laura. ‘I don’t trust her. Don’t let her hurt Grandad again.’

This form-filling went back and forth for two or three weeks and all the time Jane was muttering about Stacey. But in the end she and Laura came over again one day.

‘Laura and I have been talking about it. We’ll give Stacey another chance. But if she lies or steals, that will be it.’

So the next day I went to pick up Stacey and I told her what Jane said. She had a panic attack in the car and I thought I was going to have to take her straight to the hospital.

‘I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve this!’ she kept saying.

Gradually, over the next few weeks, the relationship grew, with Jane and Laura and her boyfriend going over to Stacey’s new flat, painting and putting things up for her.

Things were definitely looking up at last.

30

T
he court case against Social Services for neglect was coming closer now and Lawrence, our solicitor, was organising for us all to go and see Dr
Robson, the new psychiatrist he knew who was apparently at least as good as the accursed Dr Boteral was bad. It was time I had a meeting with all four children so that everyone knew what was
happening.

I told the two younger ones that Stacey would need to be included and they responded predictably.

‘She mustn’t tell lies or steal anything,’ said Sam.

‘And I don’t want her going in my bedroom,’ added Carrie.

When I phoned and asked Jamie, his main condition was: ‘She’s got to let everyone have a turn to speak.’

So, for the first time in years, the four of them came together round the table for a family meeting.

We started with a discussion of the purpose of the case not being just to get their own back on Social Services, but also to obtain the therapy they all agreed they would really like.
‘When the case stopped the first time, they must have thought they’d got away with it,’ said Jamie. ‘But won’t it be harder to win the case now that we’re all
grown up?’

‘Yes, Lawrence did say that it weakened the case a bit that you were no longer small children, but it doesn’t change the fact that the local authority were totally at
fault.’

‘Do you think we will win, Mum?’ asked Carrie.

‘I can’t see how anyone can deny the damage they let you suffer, so yes, I do think you will win. And if it gets in the papers, as it should, then it will be a finger in the air to
them, to put it crudely.’

Stacey smiled. ‘That’s what I love about you, Mum. You always say it like it is.’

‘You four are still alive, you survived it, just.’

‘Only because Jamie found us food, and saved me from the canal,’ said Stacey.

‘I want to put Social Services to shame really. That’s what should happen. So they don’t do it to anyone else,’ said Jamie.

‘Carrie, do you have any worries about the court case?’

‘I don’t really know what will happen.’

‘Right, well I’m going to ask Lawrence to explain all of that to us before it starts, because I don’t think any of us know exactly how it will work.’

‘I think it will be good to tell our stories to the judge in court, because at least people will believe us,’ said Stacey. I had my doubts about that, with her record, but I’d
try and have a word with Lawrence privately about Stacey’s history of lying and her compulsion to embroider the truth.

‘What about you, Sam? Any questions?’

‘You know when they have trials on television? There’s always a guy who tries to make you look like a liar. Will that happen to us?’

‘We can ask Lawrence whether it will be like that or not.’

‘I don’t want to speak if that happens,’ said Carrie.

‘I definitely don’t want them asking difficult questions about when we were abused,’ added Stacey.

‘Lawrence said he thought you would be able to give your evidence by video, from another room.’

A few weeks later, we all trooped off together to see Dr Robson, the child psychiatrist. When we got there, he was very friendly and welcoming. I could see him watching us all
perceptively, gauging our relationships and how we reacted to each other. He sussed out Jamie very quickly.

‘Is it all right if I go to the toilet?’ Jamie asked him.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And is it all right if I go and have a cigarette after that?’

‘Yes, that’s fine, Jamie. Any time. Just say and you can go.’

It was Jamie to go in for his session first.

‘All right?’ he said, looking at me.

‘Shall I just sit here then, Jay?’

‘Yes, OK, Mum. You won’t go out and leave?’

‘No, I’ll sit here in the corner.’ So that’s what I did, quietly reading my book while the other three played a board game and constantly squabbled about whose turn it
was, with somebody always cheating. Nothing had changed since they were children.

After half an hour, Dr Robson’s door opened.

‘Mrs Merry. Could you pop in and join us for a few minutes?’

‘Yes.’ I followed him back into his room to find Jamie with his head in his hands, sobbing quietly, breaking his heart.

I sat next to him on the sofa and put my arm round him.

‘I’ve not told you, Mum, because you’ll think it’s awful, but . . .’ He couldn’t go on.

‘You can tell me,’ I coaxed him with a gentle voice.

‘There were certain things that Jill’s boyfriends used to want me to do.’ He paused for several seconds. ‘I did some of it.’ He sobbed again, more loudly than
before.

‘But, Jamie . . .’ I soothed him, reaching up my hand to stroke his hair. ‘You weren’t even seven.’

‘Well, I need to tell you now. You’ll think I’m terrible . . .’

‘Come on then, but I don’t think I will.’

Dr Robson gave me a look and I knew what he needed me to do.

‘Come on, love, you need to move away from that now. Dr Robson wants to ask you some more questions,’ I said. ‘I’m going to go out and have a coffee. And when you come
out to have a cigarette, we can have a cuddle.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep. You’re never too old for a cuddle.’

When Jamie finished his session, he came out and sat with me. ‘You don’t think that was bad of me then, Mum.’

‘No. None of it was your fault, Jay.’

The rest of the day went well, much better than with the last psychiatrist, and I was on hand for the moments when I was needed, which weren’t many this time.

On the way back in the train, I sat next to Jamie, away from the other three.

‘Can I just tell you something?’ I began. ‘There’s nothing on this earth that I’ve not heard. There is nothing on this earth that I would hold a little boy
responsible for. It doesn’t matter what it is.’ I paused. ‘As a child, you can only do what you can do, and like as a parent, you know I can only try my best to improve things as
much as I can, by agreeing with you that you need therapy, and that’s why we’re doing all this.’

Lawrence rang me up a couple of weeks later and asked me to meet him and the barrister at his office, so off I went.

George, the barrister, explained why he wanted me to come on my own.

‘I sent for all the Social Services paperwork,’ he said.

‘It’s not very detailed, is it?’

‘No, you could say that,’ he said with a smile. ‘And I’ve seen the notes you sent to Lawrence about the children’s problems at school.’

‘Yes?’ I wondered where this was going. Lawrence seemed to be as much the audience as I was, though I’m sure they must have talked to each other beforehand.

‘It all looks a bit tricky to me, Mrs Merry,’ he continued. ‘It’s Stacey I’m concerned about. You see, the other side are bound to have access to these case notes
and maybe other information that we don’t know about.’

‘So what is it about Stacey?’

‘Unfortunately, some of these incidents that have taken place . . . well, there seems to be a lot of lying going on, especially at school, and when she’s not lying, she’s
exaggerating. Would you agree?’

‘Yes, that’s a fair assessment.’

‘Well, I’m afraid that may be our stumbling block,’ he said. ‘The other side will go to town on her. They’ll push her and push her until even she doesn’t know
whether something actually happened or not.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘And being the one who seems to have suffered the most sexual abuse . . .’

‘Yes, I think that’s right. And it makes her more fragile than the others.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ added Lawrence. ‘When I first met her at the place where she was staying, she seemed very vulnerable, though she was putting on a brave
face.’

‘Yes, she does that, she can be quite gutsy – she’s had to be, but she can’t usually keep it up for very long.’

‘There has been an important change in the court proceedings for this case,’ said George.

‘Yes, Trisha,’ explained Lawrence. ‘That’s the main reason why we wanted to talk to you without the children. Of course, we all know that this is the children’s
action, but I think you will need to break it to them and see how they react.’