Her mum says she’s definitely on drugs. I haven’t told her about what I found in Eleanor’s jacket pocket. I know I should, but I can’t bear to. It would be too harsh. Eleanor has been locked in her room properly: the window has been padlocked from the outside. Seems like a fire hazard to me, but I suppose it is necessary. I can’t see a way out, and neither can her mum, Ruth, but addictions are awful, and will motivate her to find one, I can tell.
I told my youth leader at church what was going on. He wanted to tell everybody so we could all pray for her, but I didn’t think her mum wanted too many people to know. Ruth, at first, blamed Elle - she was ashamed that a daughter of hers was being such a trouble to the police. Now she’s realised that Elle’s a victim, and that none of it’s her fault, but she still wants to keep it private. We prayed for her together, instead. I felt better afterwards, more peaceful and less tense. But so far there’s been no change with Eleanor.