Crying for Help (14 page)

‘Nor would I!’ Mike agreed once he was home from work and I’d filled him in on the day and the latest Sophia drama. Kieron had popped to the bus stop to see Lauren safely on her bus. I was so glad she’d turned out to be such a generous-minded girl. It couldn’t be easy for her having a boyfriend with a family like ours. We were enough of a culture shock on our own, I thought ruefully, but with the fostering – well, there was certainly never a dull moment.

‘But I’m going to do as Kieron suggested, and ignore the outburst,’ I said. ‘Kind of play her at her own game and pretend everything’s all right. Perhaps if we start ignoring all the outbursts, she’ll feel less inclined to have them in the first place.’

‘Good idea,’ said Mike, as Kieron returned. ‘Be nice to have a meal without some woman causing a hysterical hoohah, eh, son?’ he winked at me. ‘Now, shall I make the mint sauce?’

And the meal did actually go without a hitch. I called Sophia down, and she smiled sweetly, and helped me dish up, was polite and cheerful, and couldn’t have been more different. It really was as if she was just an everyday 12-year-old girl – having a flounce and a tantrum one minute, sweetness and light the next. It also seemed that, just as I’d said to Mike earlier, by the miracle of just ignoring bad behaviour – as a psychologist would tell you to do with a toddler – it really could be spirited away.

Like magic. But that was precisely what we didn’t have. And however appealing it was to think that simple behaviour modification would work, putting her on the points system that was central to our fostering programme would be, I was becoming increasingly sure, just a plaster on a big gaping wound.

But I did want to talk to her. Talk was what was needed; it was the only way to try and understand her better. So I suggested as we cleared the tea things that, while the men watched their football, she and I watch a DVD in the conservatory together, which she agreed to both readily and meekly. She even ran in and tidied it, plumped up the sofa cushions and got a throw from her bedroom for us to snuggle in.

‘
Mama Mia
,’ she said. ‘Can you stand that again, Casey?’

I nodded. I could recite the script in my sleep. She’d already had it on three or four times since she’d been with us, and I’d already seen it a couple of times myself. But that didn’t matter. I was more concerned with getting her out here, just the two of us, in the hopes she’d open up to me some more.

We watched for about forty minutes, when I suggested we take a ‘commercial break’ so I could rustle up two hot chocolates and nibbles. In her case they were a bag of crisps – like most people with her condition, she craved and needed salt – and in mine, a couple of my favourite chocolate biscuits. ‘And a quick chin-wag, I thought,’ I added, as I passed her her drink.

She frowned. ‘Is this about earlier in the garden? Because I’m so sorry, Casey, I really
am
. I just lost my temper. I promise I won’t do it again.’

‘No, it’s not about that,’ I said. ‘Though that was immature of you, and you know that. We just don’t speak to one another like that in this house, and while you’re with us you mustn’t either.’ She looked chastened. ‘No,’ I went on. ‘It’s about what happened when you were bowling. Kieron and Lauren told me, and they have no reason to tell me anything but the truth. And I just need to know, lovey, what were you thinking?’

‘It was just a joke, all that, Casey. I swear it was. I just thought – well, that Kieron would find it funny.’

‘Sophia,’ I said gently. ‘You have to understand. There is
no way
Kieron would find something like that funny. He is a grown man, and you are 12. Much too young to be touching him like that. But you are also old enough, I think, to know that, don’t you? All this touching men – well, it’s not right, is it?’ I almost asked her to reflect on how she had felt about it when the tables were turned and she was being molested by those grown men. But something held me back. Something told me that now wasn’t the moment to go there. I wanted her to reflect on her own behaviour. Here and now. She looked on the edge of tears.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, her chin wobbling. ‘I do know that. I just didn’t think about it. I just did it. I don’t
know
why. And then Lauren looked at me as if I was a piece of dirt, and – I dunno. It just made me so angry. And when I get like that I just don’t seem to know how to stop it.’

Her tears were spilling over now, and I put my arm around her. ‘Sweetheart, you’ve lived with us for over two months now. You must know that we all care about you very much. We’re here for you. That’s why we do what we do – and that includes Kieron and Lauren – to help you and support you through a bad time in your life. So you need to think about him the way he wants you to think about him – like a big brother. Not some boy at school you fancy. Not a conquest.’

She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘I do think of him that way. I do, honest, Casey. It’s just like, well, it’s just like I can’t stop myself. I wouldn’t have done it if had just been me and him, honest I wouldn’t. It’s just like Lauren tries to keep him all to herself, and I feel left out.’

Never a truer word
, I thought.
Never a truer word has she yet spoken
. This was surely the nub of it, this instinctive behaviour. Learned, no doubt, at her mother’s knee. Only metaphorically, maybe, but wasn’t that the crux of it? That she knew no different than to compete for male attention in this way? To compete with her mother for the attention of the apparently countless boyfriends, and to play up to them too – to punish her mother for her lack of love by focusing that male attention on herself instead? I was no psychologist, but this was hardly rocket science, was it?

‘You are a silly sausage,’ I said, pulling her close. ‘First off, Lauren’s entitled to keep Kieron to herself – she is his girlfriend, after all! And you’re all wrong about that anyway – it was
her
idea to take you bowling! She wants to be friends with you. They both do! Which is why you must try to think before you act. And as I’ve said before, there’s plenty of time for you to be having boyfriends. Ones your
own
age. Not wrinkly old guys like my Kieron. That a deal?’

‘That’s a deal.’

‘So shall we get back to that movie?’

In answer she clicked the remote and snuggled in even closer. And for the next hour, bar my dead arm pinioned under her, you could almost believe that just by talking and cuddling and being patient and really listening, you could fix all the ills in the world. Which you could, in many cases. I did actually believe that.

But this child, I’d soon learn, was just too broken.

Predictably, the next few days passed without incident. A pattern of behaviour seemed to be emerging. We would have an outrageous tantrum or outburst, which Sophia would then try to explain away or ignore, and then she’d be especially good for a few days. Until the next event, anyway (which we rarely could predict with any certainty), when the cycle would start up again.

Both the agency and Sophia’s social worker deemed this a good thing. That there was a pattern at all – all this repeated blowing up and then reining in – was seen to be evidence of ‘progress’. In time, they felt, we would learn to read her and expose her ‘triggers’: which events or interactions (the illness aside) caused her to lose control, upon which ‘we’ could set about tackling them. That ‘we’, however, felt very much a royal ‘you’. It was me and Mike, our whole family in fact, that would be at the sharp end of all this.
Great
, I thought.
We’ll just keep on being emotionally battered – just as long as you’ve decided it’s a ‘good’ thing
.

Privately I wasn’t so sure. I felt the pattern was just evidence of a structured routine, no more, no less, and that while we might make some progress with Sophia’s behaviours it wasn’t actually addressing the root problem.

But it wasn’t for me to play psychiatrist, was it? I’d told John my concerns and that was all I could do. My job was to care for her, not treat her – I wasn’t qualified, so best I get on with doing the stuff I
was
qualified for – giving our little lady an unforgettable thirteenth birthday.

By the time we reached the Wednesday before the big day I had pretty much got everything organised. I’d also asked Riley to come round and help me with some of the decorations while Sophia was at school.

Well, I say help me, but in reality it was me who was the helper. Ever since she became old enough to display her talents as an artist, it was Riley who became the family’s creative consultant. She’d been on the internet and printed several photos she could work from, and soon had me busy cutting out all the giant witches and wizards she’d drawn. But then it came to the painting, and I was never much good at painting. Emulsion, yes, works of art, no.

I looked out of the window – it was a beautiful spring morning. Cold but clear. And Levi was getting fractious, which gave me an idea.

‘Listen, love,’ I said. ‘Now we’ve got everything cut out ready, d’you mind if I go for a walk with Levi? He’d probably enjoy an hour in the fresh air and I’ll just be a spare part watching you do all this, won’t I?’

Riley grinned. ‘Skiver! But no, be my guest, Mum. You’ll only be under my feet hanging around here, anyway.’

‘Charming!’ I chided, pulling my coat on. But we both knew I’d be more hindrance than help if I stayed. As well as being artistic, Riley had a real artist’s temperament – i.e. she’d trash my nice clean kitchen in no time, splattering it with poster paint and strewing bits of card and globs of glue everywhere. And I’d be bustling around then, trying to clear everything up, wiping surfaces that were due to get splattered again shortly, and generally getting on her nerves. I bundled the buggy out of the house before she changed her mind.

Levi was five months old now, and really beginning to notice the world around him. We walked down to our local duck pond and he laughed in delight as I tried to imitate their quacking noises for him. And as I sat there, my gorgeous grandson gurgling happily on my lap, I wondered how my life would be now if I didn’t foster. It was like being in another world, sitting there with Levi. And another time, too, surrounded only by nature. No cars speeding by, no modern buildings, no hustle and bustle; just trees and dappled sunshine and early daffodils and crocuses. And the newest member of our family, who couldn’t have made me happier. I sighed wistfully as I thought of life ever being that simple for me, of not always feeling pushed to do more. But it wouldn’t happen. I knew fostering
was
me. And it was something I needed to do. All the years working with troubled kids in school had simply served to lead me to my vocation.

‘Ah well, baby,’ I said to Levi, ‘better start heading back now. Don’t want you catching a cold, do we?’ He smiled lovingly up at me and dutifully clapped his hands – his new trick. And as we retraced our steps to home I found myself thinking just how lucky most children were, to have loving families, who would do anything to protect them and care for them. I felt a surge of love for my own two, who I knew I’d always feel proud of. I was so lucky. And I knew for certain that I would
always
foster, and no matter how bad things seemed we’d get through it – all of us as a family, I knew, would do our very best for the sad kids, the damaged kids, the unloved kids, the hurt kids –
any
child that came to us could be sure of that.

I couldn’t believe how much Riley had accomplished by the time we got home. She’d painted two life-size witches and a wizard already, and laid them out on the conservatory floor to dry. They would make quite an impact when up on the walls – she was so clever. And better still, she’d even started clearing up.

‘Leave that, love,’ I said. ‘I’ll see to it. You put the kettle on.’

‘Mum,’ Riley grinned at me, ‘don’t think I didn’t see your face when you left. You were itching to follow me round with the dustpan. I’m almost done, anyway. Go on,
you
put the kettle on.’

I laughed. My children knew me so well.

Five minutes later we were both out in the garden with coffees, while Levi slept soundly after our small adventure.

‘I have just one problem,’ I said, as we ran through the party plans. ‘And that’s what I’m going to do with Sophia while we get the place ready. I know it’s only for a couple of hours, but I don’t feel I can ask Kieron to take her out, not with how delicate things have been between them. And I need you here to help me, of course, to do your creative magic.’

‘I know,’ said Riley. ‘Why don’t you ask Lauren if she’ll do it?’

‘What?’ I said, shocked. ‘I can’t see that happening. I don’t think there’s much love lost there, either.’

‘No, listen. It might be the perfect way to help smooth things over. If Lauren agrees to it, it will prove an important point to Sophia – that adults don’t hold grudges against kids about stuff. And also prove to her that Lauren does want to be her friend. Go on, ask her. I bet she says yes.’

Riley, it turned out, had been spot on. Not only was Lauren delighted to be able to help out, she even went one better and invited Sophia over to hers for a birthday sleepover. And as Lauren was a dance and arts student at college, she also knew exactly what to do with her.

‘I thought we could start the evening off with some beauty treatments,’ she told Sophia, once she’d put the suggestion to her. ‘And then we could get into our PJs – gotta do that, haven’t we? As it’s a sleepover – and then I thought I could show you some of the stuff I’ve been learning for our end-of-year performance. I’m playing the part of Sandy in
Grease
.’

‘Oh, my gosh!’ Sophia squealed. ‘I
love Grease
. Oh, I’m so jealous, Lauren! I know all the moves and everything!’ She turned to me now. ‘I can go, Casey, can’t I? Please say yes!’

I was pleased to see that she was remembering her manners and asking for permission. Such a huge change from the imperious manner of her early days with us. ‘Of course you can, love,’ I said, laughing at her enthusiasm. All her doubts about Lauren seemed to be gone now. ‘You can consider it one of your birthday treats, can’t you?’

She lunged at me then, giving me an impromptu hug, and almost knocking me over in the process. ‘Oh, thank you! Thank you, Lauren! Oh, it’ll be just like
Grease
, won’t it? Like that bit when all the girls are in Frenchy’s bedroom, singing about Sandra Dee, won’t it?’

I loved to see Sophia like this. But it was funny. When she acted older she seemed so much older than her years, and when she acted younger she really did seem like a much younger child; more like a 10-year-old than a high-school-hardened 12-year-old. Seeing her like this, you’d find it hard to believe she was going to be a teenager in just a couple of days – that event that all kids think will magically transform their lives. Such a paradox, she was. Such a conundrum.

So everything now was in place. Lauren would pick her up on Friday evening, then, after their girlie sleepover, would take her into town on the Saturday morning, where she’d treat her to breakfast. They’d then go shopping, so Sophia could choose her own birthday present from her and Kieron, now that she was ‘going to be so grown up’. Odd, it occurred to me, and also rather sad, that we were busy reclaiming her childhood in order to help her leave it behind.

It was a great help having Sophia away at Lauren’s on the Friday evening, not just because it meant we could get the decorating under way earlier, but also because it gave Mike and me a precious evening to ourselves, which was something we both badly needed. And that meant that I woke up feeling refreshed rather than frazzled, and looking forward to the special day ahead.

Not everyone shared my serenity, however. I came into the living room to find Riley, having put the finishing touches to the decorations, transforming a very reluctant Kieron into a wizard.

‘Riley, please,’ he whined. ‘Can’t Dad be the wizard? I wanted to be the prince,’ he added petulantly.

‘Oh, stop moaning, Kieron! The prince stuff is too big for you, I told you! Besides, the wizard is the
real
star of the show.’

‘Riley,’ he huffed. ‘I’m not eight years old now. You can’t con me like you used to, so don’t try.’

I smiled to myself. There were many downsides to fostering for my ‘apparently’ adult children. But the upside was the chance to continue their own childhoods by dressing up in silly outfits and squabbling like little kids. It was enriching in the most unexpected ways. For me anyway – I loved hearing them together.

‘Hey, you two,’ I called to them, from my precarious perch on the step-ladder in the conservatory, ‘once you’ve finished bickering you can come in here and help me pin up all these goats and munchkins, or whatever they bloody are!’

I really needed Mike with me, so he could pin up the high bits, but by now he was off upstairs transforming himself into a handsome prince. Riley, too, was all done – she made a brilliant bad witch Elphaba – so it was just me all behind, undressed and unpainted. I really needed to get a move on.

Upstairs all was ready for Sophia. We’d got her a Glinda costume, Glinda being the beautiful Good Witch of the North, which we knew would be the costume she’d most want for herself, and the best suited with her pretty face and blonde locks. That said, now that I’d at last familiarised myself with the story, I couldn’t help thinking she was more of an Elphaba, the witch that didn’t start out bad, never wanted to
be
bad, but the one who ended up bad – the tragic product of her circumstances. The one who, by the end of
Wicked
(which was before
The Wizard of Oz
story started) had become the witch we all knew and loved to hate. I got down from the step-ladder and had a moment of sad reflection. I could only hope Sophia’s future wasn’t so certain.

But this wasn’t the day for negative thoughts or amateur philosophy, so I popped ‘Defying Gravity’ on the CD player – my favourite song from the musical – which shook off my melancholic musings about the birthday girl and put me in a party frame of mind again. We had quite a lot of people coming and they’d soon be arriving: my eldest brother, who was visiting from Ireland and his children, my sister and hers, plus my mum and dad, of course, and Jack Boyd, Sophia’s social worker. He was clearly her favourite and seemed genuinely fond of her, and was keen to make the effort to come and join us for an hour.

I’d also managed to invite three mates from her school. Despite her protestations that all the girls hated her, it seemed Sophia had made a few friends, and fortunately I already knew the mothers of three of them. So I’d secretly invited Mollie, Corin and Dannika, and had them promise to keep things quiet till the big day.

Which was fast disappearing, I thought, as I bolted upstairs to get myself ready. A quick five-minute transformation and I was finally good to go, and Riley and I could lay out the buffet. I’d gone overboard, as always, and Mike’s two pasting tables were groaning with food. We had sandwiches, sausage rolls and all the usual savouries, plus lots of themed stuff – green cupcakes, green jellies with bugs in and a green trifle, as well as a big green-and-black birthday cake, in the shape of a witch’s hat, which came courtesy of my very clever mum. Riley was just finishing filling the gaps between the plates with plastic spiders when Mike came down to help us finish off.

‘This looks great, Case – you’ve surpassed yourselves as usual, girls,’ he told us.

‘And so have you, Dad,’ Riley answered. ‘You almost look handsome.’

‘And you,’ he came back, quick as you like, ‘darling daughter, look like the little witch I always knew you were!’

‘Ahem!’ I coughed, doing a little twirl. ‘And
moi
?’

Father and daughter both shrugged and pretended they hadn’t heard, which earned the pair of them a friendly slap on their rears.

‘You look gorgeous, love,’ Mike said eventually, laughing. ‘No matter how many warts you start to grow. But listen, it’s nearly one, and Jack Boyd will be here any minute. How about I go make us all a quick coffee?’

He was just pouring them when the doorbell rang. Kieron answered. It
was
Jack. ‘Hello, young man!’ he said, in his booming Irish brogue. Sophia’s favourite social worker was nothing if not a character. ‘Look at you!’ he exclaimed. ‘I wish I’d known you were all going to be dressing up. I’d have brought my own witch along, so I would!’ Kieron ushered him into the kitchen and Mike got another mug down for coffee. ‘But as it happens,’ Jack continued, ‘she’s taken the kids shopping …’