Wednesday's Child (6 page)

‘What happened to you back at the school?’ I asked Andi, not looking at her as I spoke.

I felt her shift uncomfortably in the seat.

‘Sorry. I wasn’t ready for how far she’s gone. Sorry I left you in the lurch.’

‘That’s okay. I’m getting kind of used to it today.’

‘Look in her file when you next get a chance. There are some photos of her … before.’

‘What she said about what that girl – Maggie – said about her mother. I take it that they’re just childish insults?’

Andi rolled a cigarette and offered me the pouch. I took it from her and began to roll one for myself.

‘Well, the O’Gormans are the local shit-kickers, so it’s kind of a normal insult in these rural areas to suggest that you’re having relations with the livestock. But there have been stories.’

‘That she’s fucking one of the dogs?’

‘Yup.’

‘One of those dogs?’

‘The one at the back of the house.’

I looked over at a beast that seemed to be mostly Labrador but with the pointed ears of a terrier. It was chained, just like the others, but there were also some boards nailed up to separate it from the rest of the animals. It was obviously considered different in some way, but I baulked at the notion that it was being kept for carnal reasons.

‘Handsome beast.’

‘Gorgeous.’

Five o’clock rolled around. Andi looked at me.

‘I’m getting pissed off, Shane.’

‘Well, do you want to call it a day?’

Andi leaned her whole weight on the car’s horn. And stayed there. The horn was surprisingly loud. It, incredibly, silenced the dogs for a moment. They stood there in surprise, their tongues lolling out over yellow teeth. Then the barking erupted again in competition.

‘Watch
Countdown
now, you bitch,’ Andi muttered.

It took ten more minutes of barking and horn competing before the front door opened and a woman came out.

I put her in her early forties. She was dressed in faded jeans and a raggedy woollen jumper, and her brown hair looked as if it hadn’t been washed in weeks. As soon as she set foot outside the door, the dogs became silent and stood quietly watching her. She approached us smiling, walking easily and in a relaxed manner, as if we hadn’t been there for an hour and a half waiting for her to deign to speak to us.

‘And here’s the lady of the house,’ Andi said, finally letting go of the horn.

As Libby O’Gorman got closer, I saw that she had once been extremely beautiful. Harsh circumstances had taken their toll, but the residue of how stunning she had been was still very much in evidence. As she came to stand outside my window and Andi pressed the button to lower the glass, I became aware of a
powerful sexuality. She exuded it from every pore, and I could see how she had such a huge hold over her daughter and how she had proven such a problem for so many Health Board workers. There was a strong intellect at play here – albeit tempered by psychiatric problems of deep complexity. She smiled at me, and I smelled alcohol from her. Cheap whiskey.

‘Well, I didn’t know you were here at all,’ she said. Her voice was husky and full of humour. We all knew she was lying. It was a game.

‘That’s okay, Mrs O’Gorman. We weren’t in a hurry. It’s a pleasant afternoon to be out of doors in the country. Those are some fine dogs you have.’

She looked appreciatively at the animals, now sitting and dozing in the late-afternoon light.

‘They’re grand, aren’t they?’

I smiled and tried to steer the conversation to the subject of her daughter. I needed to introduce the concept of me as Gillian’s new worker, and also instruct her to bring the child to the doctor for a checkup as soon as possible. I had to assert that, while I would try to work in partnership with her, I was, fortunately or unfortunately, in charge to a large degree. I had statutory power, and could have Gillian taken into care. This is a factor that is always underlying any interaction between a parent and a state-appointed child-protection worker. Since the development of the Child Care Act 1991, the Health Board and the gardaí have the power, if they feel that a child is at serious and immediate risk, to remove
that child without a warrant. This means, effectively, that at any moment, if I felt that Gillian was in danger, I could call for garda assistance and have Gillian placed in care without reference to the courts or anyone else. I would have to secure an Emergency Care Order within three days of this, but that would not be difficult under the circumstances. I always had a policy of not pulling rank with a parent unless it was necessary, but I had a sense that Libby was going to give me plenty of cause during our relationship.

‘Mrs O’Gorman, my name is Shane Dunphy, and I’ve been appointed to work with Gillian for the next while. Did you receive any letters about that?’

She laughed aloud in a great guffaw.

‘Do you think that any postman is going to want to bring letters out here? I pick up letters in the post office in town every now and again. It’s usually nothing I would have wanted delivered anyway.’

She eyed me with suspicion and some interest. I wasn’t sure quite what to make of her inspection. It seemed almost an invasion.

‘They’ve sent you? That’s a new approach, I’ll give you that. She’ll not want to work with you, Mister. You might as well just fuck off back where you came from.’

‘I’d like the chance to try. I talked to her at her school today. She … talked back. It was a start.’

‘She’s a little flirt. She’s like her mother.’

This was followed by a rolling of the eyes and a
licking of lips in a mock of sexuality that was just a little disturbing, as I could see Gillian very clearly in her.

‘Mrs O’Gorman —’

‘Call me Libby.’

‘Thank you. Libby, Gillian is dangerously underweight. I don’t know if you’re aware, but she doesn’t look like she’s eaten in several weeks. Has she been eating meals at home?’

‘Dunno. She sits down with me.’

‘Is she vomiting it back up?’ Andi piped up from beside me. ‘Libby, we’ve talked to you about Gillian’s anorexia before. She needs to be watched.’

‘Ah, she’s a wilful creature. I can’t watch her all the time. She eats and then she pukes. She’s been at that since she was a young one. I can’t follow her into the toilet! What do you want me to do?’

‘Follow her into the toilet,’ I said quietly. ‘When she’s like this, you do what you have to, Libby.’

‘Easy to see you’re not a parent of a teenager, Mister. You try following a fifteen-year-old into the bathroom.’

‘I have done so in the past.’

‘You’re full of shit, Mister.’

I let that one slide. There was nowhere to go with it that was productive.

‘Libby, I want you to make an appointment to take Gillian to your GP. I need to have her looked over. When the weight of a person drops to the level she’s
at it has fairly severe knock-on effects on the organs. She’s putting herself at risk now, and she needs to be seen by a medic as soon as possible. I know you have a medical card – it’ll cost you nothing. If transport is a problem, I can organise that also. But Libby, I will be checking to make sure she goes. I want you to go with her tomorrow.’

I knew that I had crossed a line with her. Her eyes narrowed and she stepped back from the window. Just like her daughter, she had shut down.

‘Right,’ she said, moving back towards the house, her eyes still fixed on me as she slowly paced backwards.

The dogs seemed to sense a change in mood, and the growling resumed as the beasts rose, their hackles up as if by some unspoken command. Then she was at the door of the house and was gone, and the air about us exploded into noise and ferocity again.

Andi turned the key in the ignition and we reversed back up the dirt path for half a mile until we could turn. We said nothing.

When we reached the main road she looked over at me, sunk in my seat and deep in thought.

‘So what did you make of that, Mister?’

I smiled and looked over at her, mental and emotional exhaustion settling over me like a shroud. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt this way. It was like every drop of emotional resistance had been wrung from me. My brain felt like cotton wool.

‘I don’t know what to think.’

‘Well you must have some comment. How do you think you’re going to get on with them?’

‘I think,’ I said, struggling for anything useful to say, ‘that I am in way over my head.’

Andi laughed aloud and patted me on the knee.

‘Once you know that, Shane, you’ll do fine.’

We drove through the beautiful midlands countryside as the sun dipped over the hills, and my first day of casework came to an end. As we headed back towards the office, I reflected on the fact that I had not achieved one single thing that day, other than probably alienating two sets of clients and the Principal of a local school. I reckoned that I could be thoroughly proud of myself.

‘How d’you think I did?’

‘You seemed to do grand so far as I could see. But then, I don’t know shite.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Shane, go home, have some dinner, watch something mindless on the television and forget about it. There’s tomorrow and the day after and the day after that etc., etc., etc. The O’Gormans and the Kellys and all the others you have on your caseload aren’t going anywhere. You might be public enemy number one today, but in a week or three weeks the phone will ring and there will be Libby O’Gorman on the other end looking for you to do something for her, and you’ll be the
man
. She’s a manipulator. And Gillian is learning the same behaviour. She’ll flutter her eyelashes and expect you to come running. You did the
right thing today. You laid some solid ground rules about how your relationship will work. The trick with the O’Gormans is to stick by them.’

I knew she was right.

‘You in a hurry to get home?’

‘Not especially.’

‘Let me buy you dinner?’

‘I like Indian.’

‘Indian’s good. Muriel won’t mind?’

‘She works nights at the shelter. She won’t be home until around midnight. Until then, I’m a free agent.’

‘Well drive on then. I presume you know a good place.’

‘Oh no. The Indian place in town is terrible. I said that I liked Indian. I didn’t say the restaurant was any good.’

‘Oh. Well, let’s go somewhere else then.’

‘No! I like Indian!’

‘But I thought you said …’

‘We will go to the Indian place and will put up with it! It might not be any good, but it’s the only place in town.’

‘I tell you what. Just as long as it doesn’t give me food poisoning, I’ll give it a shot.’

‘Can’t promise that.’

I looked over at her, and in the failing light I could see that she was barely suppressing a huge grin. I was glad of her company, and as we made our way back into town the ridiculous conversation continued and
Andi and I put the day behind us and effortlessly became friends. It was a friendship I would come to value a great deal over the next year and, when everything began to fall asunder, she would be there for me when few others were.

The next day dawned bright and cold.

I was renting a small cottage in a tiny hamlet about twenty miles from town, and was still very much living out of boxes. I had moved in on the Monday, started work on the Tuesday and was unpacking as I went along. The cottage consisted of two tiny bedrooms, a good-sized and quite cosy living room which had an open fire and an old (but very comfortable) suite of furniture, a shower and toilet, and a kitchen that was so small I reckoned that the previous occupants must have been the Seven Dwarves. I crawled out of bed, stumbled into the shower and, after I had scrubbed myself into an acceptable level of consciousness, made a pot of coffee. I had to dig around in a cardboard box and unwrap a clean cup from newspaper, only to find of course that I had to wash it anyway to get the newsprint off.