Cut by Cathy Glass Page A

where I explained what was happening to her body, and reassured her that the stomach cramps she was experiencing were quite normal, and that I could give her some pain relief if necessary. I told her about the need for good hygiene at this time, that she must change her sanitary towel regularly and how to dispose of them – at home and at school. She nodded as I spoke, and when I came to the end I asked her if she had any questions.
    ‘Does it mean I can have a baby now?’ she said.
    ‘In theory your body is able to, yes. But you wouldn’t, not at your age, and without a partner.’ I hesitated, and wondered if I should talk to her about relationships and boys, as a mother would. ‘Dawn, do you know anything about boys and sex?’
    She grinned. ‘Yes, of course. I’m thirteen.’
    ‘Is there anything you want to ask me?’ I didn’t want to embarrass her, but possibly I was the only one Dawn could ask.
    ‘What age can you do it?’
    ‘What, have sexual intercourse, you mean?’ She nodded. ‘Legally not until you are sixteen, but you wouldn’t want to unless you were in a committed relationship anyway. I think that sexual intercourse, or making love as it’s sometimes called, should be part of a loving relationship, don’t you? I mean it’s easy enough to have sex, and boys will want you to, but it’s so much nicer to wait until you have found someone you love.’ I thought I was sounding like my own mother, although attitudes had changed a lot in the intervening years. My mother’s advice (read warning) had been ‘don’t until you are married.’ I recognised that for most people that view was now very dated, and felt my save-it-until-you-are-in-love was more appropriate, and indeed what I had done.
    ‘Cathy,’ Dawn said looking worried. ‘You won’t tell John, will you?’
    ‘That you have started your periods?’ She nodded. ‘No love.’
    I smiled as I remembered asking my mother the same question about my father when I had started my periods, and she had given me the same reply. It had been embarrassing enough that my body was being subjected to this monthly intimate indignity, without my father (and brother) being made aware of it.
    After I had kissed Dawn goodnight, and loaded her washing into the machine, I returned to the lounge. ‘Is everything all right?’ John asked, concerned. I had been upstairs with Dawn for over half an hour.
    ‘Yes, fine,’ I said. ‘I’ve just had a little chat with Dawn. About women’s matters,’ I added pointedly.
    He nodded, guessing. ‘Oh, I see. I’ve been looking at these books,’ he said, referring to the library books on sleepwalking. ‘I found them behind the cushion on the sofa.’
    I laughed. ‘Yes, Dawn came in with her homework while I was reading them. I thought it was better she didn’t see them.’
    I sat on the sofa beside John and I told him what I had learned from my reading. I mentioned the author’s suggestion of talking the sleepwalker through their activity. But as John pointed out, this would necessitate us leaving our bedroom door unlocked, then spending every night listening for Dawn until she did it again, with the worry that we might fall asleep and not hear her. We decided to leave trying that strategy for now in the hope that if the next time Dawn sleepwalked she found our bedroom door locked she might not bother again, and stop sleepwalking completely.
    It was a hope that was soon to be dashed.

Chapter Nine
Cutter
    T he teenage unit was a large rambling Victorian house, converted and modernised to accommodate eight teenagers and two staff. The large oak door was ajar. Dawn pushed it fully open and we went into the poorly lit but very large reception hall. A couple of girls were going up the stairs leading off to the right.
    ‘Hi,’ Dawn called. They paused and looked back, gave a little wave and continued. ‘They’re sisters,’ Dawn said to John and me. ‘They were here when I was.’
    I nodded, more intent on