Lost Child, page 15
There was a welcome familiarity to the small, overcrowded room. Someone had stacked chairs on the sofa, so I took them down and put them in the corner, but otherwise nothing had changed. I opened the black bin bag and took Puppy out and set him on the table.
Jessie arrived within moments, opening the door with a flourish. ‘I’m baaaack!’ she said with a smile.
‘Yup, here we are.’
‘And there’s Puppy!’ She snatched the puppet up and cuddled it to her chest. ‘I love Puppy so much. He’s just like a real dog, but he isn’t.’ She looked up. ‘I can’t have a real dog.’
‘No, it wouldn’t work out very well here,’ I replied.
‘I can’t have one because I tried to strangle ours,’ she said cheerfully.
Not easy to respond to that, so I smiled and nodded, as if she’d mentioned something about the weather.
‘You know what I did this week?’ she asked, and set Puppy down on the table. She pulled out the chair next to me and sat. Reaching a hand up, she caressed my face. ‘I really do like you. Even though you’ve started to get wrinkles.’
I gently removed it. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you did this week?’
‘I got interviewed.’
Jessie slid her chair back and then bent forward to pull out the black bin bag from next to my chair. She started to open it.
‘The lady’s name was Dr Hughes and she said I will get three interviews and then they put it on TV! So, like, maybe I will be on Real Crime, or something!’
‘I think what they mean is that they will make a video.’
‘Yes, that’s what I said.’
‘Video is a recording. TV is a broadcast,’ I said. ‘This will be for your testimony, if it goes to trial. Do you know what a testimony is?’
‘Do you think I’m stupid?’ she replied. She pulled out the two bear puppets from the black bin bag and put one on each hand. A moment or two was taken up with manipulating the mouths up and down. She made the bears bite each other and tussle a bit.
‘This one is Magnus,’ Jessie said, indicating the bear on her left hand. ‘I don’t forget. People think I forget things, but I don’t. Sometimes I just don’t want to talk about them.’
‘I see.’
‘Dr Hughes asked me lots of questions. That’s the lady doctor. Except she’s not a real doctor. She didn’t know anything about sore throats. And she asked stupid questions, so I didn’t like her very much. She had a hair growing out of a mole on her neck, and it made her look like she might be a witch.’ Jessie made one of the bears grab the side of her own neck.
‘Do you know what her job was?’ I asked.
‘Yes. Psychologist. Like Dr Stone is, only different. I don’t like him either. I don’t like psychologists. It’s a stupid job. They ask stupid questions.’ Jessie paused, not looking up. ‘She had these dolls . . .’ She exaggerated the word ‘doll’ into ‘daaawwwwllls’ to indicate her irritation. ‘They had bits on them. Dirty bits, and she wanted me to play with them. She wanted me to do dirty things with them.’
‘I’m guessing that she wanted you to show her what happened between you and Joseph.’
‘She said, “Put his penis in her mouth.” She meant the boy doll. He had a big willy. With hair. It had black hair all around the willy. And the willy wiggled up and down when you moved the doll.’ Jessie demonstrated by flapping one of the front legs of the bear puppet. ‘She expected me to play with it.’
‘My guess is that she wanted you to show her what had happened,’ I said again.
‘I don’t play with dolls. I’m too old. And I’m certainly not going to play with those dolls. They were gross. The man doll had this big floppy willy and the girl doll had a vagina. No clothes on at all, and a vagina that you could stick your finger into.’
‘Those do sound like quite exceptional dolls, but they are important to Dr Hughes’s work. They help her understand what happens when someone says they have been touched in their private areas.’
‘She told me to make sex with them. So I did. I stuck his willy into her vagina and went like this.’ She made the two bear puppets bump against each other, belly to belly.
I sat back. ‘Okay, so first you are telling me you didn’t play with the dolls, and now you are telling me that you made them have sex. Which is it?’
‘What I said,’ she replied irritatedly.
‘You said both things.’
‘Yes, well, that’s how it happened.’
‘And the psychologist told you to do this? She told you to put the boy doll’s penis in the girl doll’s mouth?’
‘No! That would be gross!’
‘She told you to have the boy doll put his penis in the girl doll’s vagina?’
‘God, you’ve really got a perverted mind, don’t you? You should have played with those dolls. You’d like them.’
‘I’m just trying to understand what happened when you were with Dr Hughes, because I am hearing that she told you to do these things, but I also know that isn’t usually how these interviews work. I’m hearing that you didn’t play with the dolls because they were gross, but I’m also hearing that you did play with the dolls.’
‘Why don’t you ever listen properly when people tell you things?’ Jessie asked. ‘Here I go, explaining the whole thing to you and you’re still like, explain this to me again. Explain that to me. Why don’t you just listen the first time?’
Not wanting to get sucked into one of Jessie’s conversations-without-end, I didn’t reply but just sat back in my chair.
Jessie opened the bag again and took out the unicorn puppet. She had never previously played with this one, deeming it too childish. Putting it on her hand, she fingered the rainbow-coloured crown and arranged the mane around it. She clapped the jaws up and down, first in front of her own face, then in front of mine.
‘This would be good for a birthday. It looks like a party animal.’
I nodded. ‘Yes, it would be good for that.’
‘My birthday was last month. In February. February twelfth.’ She petted the nose of the unicorn, feeling gently around its cloth horn. ‘That’s why I wanted to be back here. Because we get a cake from the Swiftie Bakery.’
‘Didn’t your foster parents remember your birthday?’
She shrugged. ‘I wanted a cake from Swiftie’s because they are really good. They put these sugar roses on them when it’s your birthday and they taste soooo nice. And if it’s your birthday, the staff let you have the roses. You can eat as many as you want and you don’t have to share.’
‘Do you know why you left your last foster home?’ I asked.
‘I was going to ask for a turquoise and white cake. Melanie had one like that and it was really pretty. It had turquoise icing and white roses all around it, and it said “Happy Birthday Melanie” on it.’
‘Do you know why you left Fiona’s house and moved back here?’ I asked.
‘Because I wanted to have a cake from Swiftie’s for my birthday. That’s what I said already. Why do you keep asking me questions you know the answer to?’ She looked over at me, her expression faintly challenging.
‘Because I am here to help you, Jessie. That is my job. And it means sometimes we have to talk about difficult things. Sometimes it is all right to chatter about things that are on our mind, even if they aren’t the topic at hand. Sometimes we need to stick to the topic.’
‘I am sticking to the topic. The topic is my birthday cake, and you are the one who is trying to talk about other stuff.’
A pause came then, and it grew.
Jessie still had the unicorn puppet on her hand. She examined it carefully, fingering through the polyester fur and the mane, around the horn, into the mouth. Then she pulled it off in a rough, disapproving manner and chucked it back into the bag.
‘You know how to ruin things, you do,’ she muttered. ‘Did you know that about yourself? Because you should.’
I remained quiet, curious if my silence would get her around to the more important topics at hand.
Instead, she reached for the bear puppets again that had been left lying on the table. She put them on her hands.
‘Hello, Magnus. Long time, no see.’
‘Long time, no see, Eleanor. How are you, old bear?’
‘My bones ache. How about you?’
‘My bones ache too.’ Jessie brought the two bears together. She had their jaws open, so as they met up together, it appeared as if they were biting each other, but the legs embraced. For a moment or two, she moved the bears back and forth with each other in this manner.
‘I missed you,’ the Eleanor bear said, as they broke apart.
‘Yes, I missed you too,’ Magnus replied. ‘I thought you went away for good and I’d never see you again. I thought that was forever.’
‘I wanted to say I would see you again. I wanted to say bye. And ask you to wait for me. But I didn’t, because I didn’t know . . .’
‘Who touched you?’ Magnus said.
‘It doesn’t count if it doesn’t go inside you.’
‘Who did it? Was it Joseph?’ Magnus asked.
‘Don’t tell. They won’t believe you.’
‘Fingers down there. Down between your legs. Tickle, tickle, tickle. And nobody sees,’ Magnus said.
‘I know,’ Eleanor replied. ‘When I’m asleep. Asleep in my cave for the winter and in it goes. Tickle, tickle, tickle in the dark. And then there’s baby bears. They happen in the dark.’
‘I know,’ Magnus said.
‘Yes, I know,’ Eleanor echoed. ‘Fingers down there. It always happens in the dark.’
Chapter Nineteen
On the next visit, I brought a small cardboard box about ten inches square. The outside was a glittery, laser-cut metallic purple and the inside a pristine white. Originally it had been the gift box for a birthday present, but seemed much too beautiful to throw away after the present was opened; so in the way of such things, it had sat collecting dust in the back of my hall cupboard.
‘What’s that?’ Jessie asked with interest. Not waiting to be invited, she snatched the box up and opened it. Her face dropped. ‘Well, that’s rubbish. It’s an empty box.’
‘Ah, but this is a special empty box. This is a “Me Box”.’
She grimaced, as if I’d just told a particularly bad dad joke.
‘In a lot of cultures, people create a special bundle or box of things that are important to them. These are things that express who they are, things that are precious because of what they mean, things that, when you look at them or touch them or listen to them or even smell them, help you feel good.’
‘Puppy’s not going to fit in there,’ she said dismissively.
‘No, Puppy won’t, but you’ve got the right idea. You understand how nice Puppy makes you feel. When something important is too big for the box, we represent it symbolically in the box. For example, you could take one of these small pieces of paper here and write “Puppy” on it to put in the box. Or perhaps you would like to draw a picture of Puppy on the paper to make it extra special . . . ?’
Still unconvinced about the value of what I was doing, Jessie shook her head. I went ahead and dropped a piece of paper saying ‘Puppy’ into the box.
‘While some things are too big to fit in here, the thought of them isn’t. So we write the thought down and put it in. Some important things will fit just fine. Maybe you have a special necklace or a photograph, or maybe a CD that makes you feel calm when you listen to it. Or maybe a special stone that looks pretty or a pressed flower or a piece of cloth that is nice to feel.’
‘This is stupid. I don’t want to do it.’
‘The me box is personal. You don’t have to explain it to anyone. You don’t have to show it to them. You fill it with things that feel special to you. And when you are feeling upset or stressed, you can open it and use the things to help you feel happy again.’
‘I don’t want to do it.’
‘Maybe not, but let’s try just a little bit of it. Let’s put three things into the box. Then we will stop and do something else,’ I replied. ‘And you’ve already put one thing in. You chose Puppy, so we put the paper saying “Puppy” in. Next time you are feeling worried or lonely, you can take the paper out and envision Puppy in your mind. You can imagine Puppy’s fur and think about how cuddly Puppy feels and this will help with the bad feelings. Puppy is a good thing to put into the box. What else can go in?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Take your time.’
‘I don’t need time. I don’t know.’
Silence. Initially it felt hostile. Jessie was doing her usual control thing where whatever I suggested had to be opposed, but as we continued to sit quietly it mutated into a more thoughtful silence. A couple of minutes passed without any words.
Then Jessie tipped her head. ‘Can I have one of your pens to put in the box?’ She shrugged slightly, as if to deflect the fact she was allowing herself to take part in this activity.
‘Which pens?’
‘One of these.’ She stood and leaned over to open my satchel. She took out the packet of felt tips. ‘Could I have one of these for my box? Because they make me happy. They remind me of drawing.’
‘All right,’ I said.
‘I wish I could have them all,’ she said, her tone wheedling. I didn’t respond. She fingered through them and finally picked out a dark green one. ‘Know why I took this one?’ she asked, holding it up.
‘Tell me.’
‘Because it’s the first pen I used in here. Remember? That first day you came. You let me open the packet and it was brand new. And I drew with this one first.’
‘That’s a nice memory,’ I said, despite the fact that my memory of the green pen was as an instrument for exorcising the devil.
She put the pen into the purple box. ‘And I know what I really want to put in’ She leaned over my satchel again and sorted through it for the drawing paper. ‘One of my pictures. Are any of them in here?’
Jessie was referring to her skylark drawings, but I only had blank sheets of paper with me, so she decided that she would draw a new one to put into the box. Taking out a clean sheet and the packet of felt tips, she sat down in the chair next to me and began the drawing.
The small bird soon took shape down in the right-hand corner of the page. Jessie seemed more focused than she usually was. There hadn’t been much belligerent behaviour, and now when she settled on the drawing she stayed on task.
As always, the bird was brightly coloured. The body was a vibrant yellow and the wings the dark green colour of the pen she had selected for her box.
‘Have you seen many skylarks?’ I asked as she worked. I kept my tone casual because I didn’t want her to take my query as disapproval of what she was doing, but I was curious if she was consciously choosing to colour them so brightly.
‘Yes, of course I have,’ she replied dismissively.
I didn’t respond immediately, and when I didn’t, she looked up. ‘Of course I’ve seen skylarks. Don’t think I’m stupid.’
‘I’ve never thought you were stupid, Jessie. I was asking, because we have many skylarks up where I live. I was thinking that maybe you would like to come see them sometime. But if you have seen them many times, then I expect you wouldn’t be interested.’
‘It would be okay to do that sometime,’ she replied, not looking up from the drawing. Her tone was still faintly dismissive.
Silence.
‘Where do you live?’ Jessie asked, her focus still on the drawing.
‘Up beyond Llanfair. Across the high moor. We aren’t on the moor ourselves, but you have to go across it to get to our farm. When it is spring and summer, the skylarks all fly up as the car goes by. You can hear them, if your window is down.’
‘Do you have a husband?’
‘Yes. And a little girl. And two dogs and two cats and some ducks and some turkeys and some sheep. And a grandpa.’
Jessie looked up. ‘A grandpa?’
‘Yes, my little girl’s grandpa lives with us. And his little dog too.’
‘How old is your little girl?’
‘Five.’
Jessie bent back over the drawing. Several moments passed in silence as she coloured in the bird and added depth to the surroundings.
Then she said, ‘I’ve been up on the high moor.’
This seemed questionable to me. The moor remained an entirely natural area, treeless, boggy and windswept. There were no developments for sports or outdoor activities, and consequently they weren’t a popular destination for outings, not even for walkers because of the bogs. So I asked, ‘When did you go there?’
‘Joseph used to take me out in the minibus. You know, that one they use to take us to swimming. Sometimes we went up on the moors. We saw the places you saw. We probably even saw your farm.’
This sounded unlikely to me, but I didn’t challenge her.
‘Sometimes Joseph sexed me up there.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
Jessie kept her focus on the bird drawing. She was making a much more elaborate drawing than she usually did with the skylarks. There was grass and trees and flowers, all in vibrant colours. ‘When Joseph wanted to do sex with me, he took me to the moor. We went there lots of times.’
‘Just you and Joseph?’ I asked.
‘Yes. Me and him. It was a date. And then he sexed me. Behind the picnic shelter.’
That was patently false, because there were no picnic shelters on the moors. There were no picnic tables, no parking areas. I was also highly doubtful that Joseph would try to take any child out alone in the minibus because that was a serious breach of policy. Someone would have noticed.
Indeed, the whole event seemed fabricated. The moor was a long drive from the coast. Both people and vehicles would have been missed if they’d made the journey, and even if she had gone there Jessie couldn’t have been molested behind a picnic shelter, because there were none. My sense was that she was attempting to show a connection to me by saying she had been in the same places I had. What about the rest of it? Had she chosen to talk about Joseph for the same reason? As shorthand for wanting to show she had a connection to him? Or was it because she knew talking about sex with him was a good attention grabber? People paid attention to her when she was on that subject. Or was there truth threaded through her story? Had the picnic shelter, wherever it was, been a genuine site of rape? Was the rapist Joseph? Or had someone else been transmogrified into Joseph because he was safer to talk about?
