Crying for Help (7 page)

‘Move it, Sophia,’ Mike said. ‘Like Casey said.
Now!
And you can stay up there till you’re fit to be seen, too.’

‘Jesus!’ she said, before stomping from the room. ‘What is
wrong
with you all?’

Mike was the most wound up I’d seen him in a long time. Pacing the room, pushing his hand though his hair. This had obviously really affected him, and I didn’t know what to say. ‘You’re going to have to sort this out, Case,’ he said quietly.

‘She’s mad, Mum,’ Kieron said, plopping down on the sofa. He was looking pretty agitated too. ‘Honestly, she’s mad. Who’d
do
that?’

‘Do what, exactly?’ I asked. ‘What was she doing?’

‘Coming on to Dad,’ Kieron said. ‘Like really going for it.’

‘She was even trying to tickle my bloody neck!’ Mike added. ‘We really do need to sort this,’ he went on. ‘And fast. This is potentially dangerous territory. We’ve got to protect ourselves here.’

He was right, of course. We’d covered this sort of thing in training. Damaged children could display lots of inappropriate behaviours, inappropriate sexual behaviour being one of them. And it was a potential minefield for carers in a fostering situation, because damaged children could also make damaging allegations. Mike was right. We had to nip this in the bud. But just as the serious nature of what was happening was kicking in, we were startled by an unexpected explosion of laughter from Kieron.

‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ he said, trying and failing to stop the giggles; in fact he looked like he’d wet himself if he carried on much longer. ‘It was just so funny! You should have seen Dad – he was beetroot! I actually thought he was going to burst into tears!’

‘It’s not funny, Kieron!’ Mike barked, but then his mask slipped away, and he too started laughing hysterically. Which started me off. I just couldn’t help but join in. But even as I laughed I couldn’t quite believe what was happening. This wasn’t
funny
. So how was it we were all in this state? Was this girl going to drive us all insane?

We all composed ourselves eventually and, thankfully, Sophia didn’t reappear. When I went upstairs to check on her, and make sure she took her meds, she was as meek and childlike as could be.

Nevertheless, we’d have to sit down and spell out the ground rules in the morning and, once she was at school, I’d also go into her bedroom and confiscate all her unsuitable nightwear. She could have it all back when she went back to Jean, and not before.

Which made me think about Jean’s breakdown. Were jigsaw pieces falling into place here?

In any event, Monday couldn’t come soon enough.

I woke up on Sunday thinking something quite unusual. I woke up and wished it was Monday. Had it been Monday, I could have gone downstairs and rang John Fulshaw’s office, and maybe got some guidance – not to mention information – with which to arm myself before tackling Sophia. As it was, I would just have to get up and get on with it, even though what I really wanted to do was pull the duvet over my head and hibernate for the rest of the winter.

I got up, though, because the day wouldn’t sort itself out, taking care not to wake Mike, who needed his lie-in. He seldom got to sleep in, even at weekends; there was always someone needing him to pop down and sort something out at the warehouse. Best let sleeping dogs lie for a bit, bless him.

But when I came out on to the landing it was to hear the sound of the shower already going and, above that, the cheerful sound of Sophia singing. I shook my head as I went down the stairs to make my coffee; it was like she had the ability to pull a switch and forget everything that had gone before that moment. I tried to imagine myself in her shoes – after all she’d been through, and now dumped in an unfamiliar home, with unfamiliar people, and knowing she was likely to be getting yet another rollicking … yet nothing seemed to faze her at all.

Defence mechanism, maybe? But perhaps she
should
be fazed. She wouldn’t cope in the world unless she learned certain behaviours were unacceptable; and sexual behaviours in particular. Coming on to grown men was a dangerous business. She could get herself into all sorts of worrying situations. If ever a child needed a guiding hand, she did, and it felt like no one had so far stepped up to the plate.

So be it, I thought, taking my coffee and cigarettes into the conservatory for a think.

By the time I came back in, a few minutes later, Sophia was in the kitchen, dressed, and looking in the cereal cupboard. ‘Morning, Casey!’ she said brightly, her smile guileless.

‘Morning,’ I said back. ‘And I’m glad you’re down bright and early, because you and I need to have a little talk, love, don’t we?’

Now she grimaced, and then rolled her eyes. ‘Look,’ she said, as she gathered up the cereal box and a bowl and spoon. ‘If it’s about last night, I’m sorry, okay? I was only trying to have a bit of fun. Just bored, that’s all.’

I joined her at the kitchen table. ‘Love, it’s not okay. It will never be okay for you to carry on like that around grown men. And I think you already know that, as well, don’t you?’

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘And like I say, I’m sorry. And I promise I won’t do it again if it upsets you.’

That brought me up short. Not so much the words as the subtle but definite emphasis she’d placed on the word ‘you’.

‘Sophia,’ I said, ‘you didn’t upset
me
. You upset
them
. You made yourself look a bit silly, and you also made them embarrassed to be in the same room with you. You don’t want that, surely? For them to feel uncomfortable around you?’

She flushed pink now, under her tan, which immediately made her seem closer to her real age. She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said in a smaller voice now. ‘I don’t. Can you tell them both I’m really, really sorry?’

I told her I would, and that that would be the end of the matter, and decided to myself that this was what the girl needed – for the child in her to be teased out and reinstated. The sexual precocity and manipulative behaviour went hand in hand, I thought. What we needed to reclaim was the remainder of her childhood, by putting some secure boundaries in place.

And so far, so good. Because the rest of the day went so well that by the time it was Monday morning I felt confident once again that we could make headway.

I was going to drive her myself that morning, but had agreed that from the Tuesday she could walk across the field, alongside all the streams of other children who passed our house on the way – it was on one of the main routes to the high school. I was quietly pleased she’d been keen on doing this, too. I’d envisaged a few days – if not longer – when she wouldn’t have the confidence to strike out on her own in that way. I was also pleased that she seemed to be taking responsibility for her medication. She’d taken her morning pills at breakfast and carefully packed the day’s supply into their special bag and put it in her backpack. I would be taking in the school’s emergency injection kit myself.

‘There you go, love,’ I said, handing her the packed lunch I’d made for her. ‘And there’s some peanuts in a separate bag in there, in case you get tired or have PE.’

‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘But you’re not going to take me right in, are you? I don’t want the other girls to think I’m a baby.’

‘No, of course not,’ I reassured her. Poor love. Must be pretty hard for her, changing schools again. ‘I’ll just take you to the office so you can meet Miss Summers and then I absolutely promise I’ll leave you to it.’

I didn’t need to outstay my welcome anyway. I’d already had a long chat on the phone with Rachel Summers, Sophia’s class teacher, and we’d run through all they needed to be aware of in relation to the Addison’s. They’d never come across it either, but I knew I could trust the school to look out for her anyway. Not only had they risen to the challenge of my last foster child, Justin, they also knew me – well, many of them, anyway – as before fostering I’d worked there for several years. I’d run ‘the unit’, the informal name for my pastoral care classroom, where I’d take on the school’s most challenging and demanding children, trying to get to the root of their behavioural difficulties and turn them around so they could make the most of their time in school. I’d had all sorts over the years, from the bullied to the bullies; all the kids that, for whatever reason – and it was normally related to difficult home lives – were struggling to find their place in the world. It was that job that had ultimately led me to fostering, as I realised that, though I loved it, I could do so much more on a one-on-one basis, taking care of one child at a time. I dropped Sophia off at school without incident, fifteen minutes later, and decided that since I now had the luxury of a day off I’d pop round to Riley’s and see what she was up to. After the intensity of the last few days it would be good to do something normal – even if it was just to tag along when she went shopping.

It was also good to get my hands on little Levi.

‘This is early for you, Mum,’ Riley observed as she reached for the kettle and I reached for Levi.

‘I’ve just dropped Sophia at school so I thought I’d take the opportunity to see how my little baby’s doing.’

‘Not as little as I’d like to be,’ she joked. ‘Not with all the baby blubber. But still your baby, if it makes you happy.’ She was such a wag, my daughter.

We didn’t go into town in the end, Riley having decided it was too cold, so, as was normal, I somehow ended up spending half the morning helping with the washing and the ironing and with having a proper clean of the bedrooms and bathroom. Not that I minded really; I enjoyed making things sparkle and shine, and had the bonus of some quality time with her and Levi. That said, it was still lunchtime before I came back downstairs.

Riley was making tuna sandwiches and coffee. ‘Mum,’ she said, as I came back into the kitchen. ‘Does your new phone have an alarm setting or a diary function or something?’ I grinned at this. I’d had my ‘new phone’ for a couple of months now, but I was still not entirely sure what all the buttons did. Hence the ribbing. ‘Because I keep hearing this beep – every five minutes or so – and it’s just occurred to me that that’s what might be making it. Could it be? I can’t think what else it might be.’

I reached for my bag. ‘Yes, it might be. It does do that. Very irritating. I’ve never been able to work out how to switch it off. I should ask Kieron …’ I fished my phone out and immediately saw what the problem was. It wasn’t an alarm. It was telling me I’d missed a call. ‘Oh, lord,’ I said. ‘It’s the school. And – oh God – they called over an hour ago. I hope it’s not something bad.’

Riley tutted as she cut the sandwiches. ‘Oh dear,’ she said. ‘If she’s getting into trouble already, you are really going to have your work cut out, Mum!’

We both frowned simultaneously, remembering Justin. It felt like hardly a week went by when the school weren’t ringing me about some misdemeanour. And some of them pretty serious. But I shook my head. ‘I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking more the illness.’

‘Oh, of
course
.’

I pushed the return call button.

The phone was answered promptly, and when I explained who I was, I was put straight through to Alan Barker, Sophia’s head of year.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to him. ‘I didn’t have my phone with me. What’s happened?’

‘Nothing to worry about too much,’ he replied. ‘So please don’t worry. It’s just that I think Sophia might have overdone it a bit during break this morning. She’s been complaining of feeling dizzy, and she doesn’t look very well, to be honest.’

I was confused by this as I’d definitely seen her take her tablets. ‘Oh, dear,’ I said. ‘Do you want me to come and get her?’

‘If you wouldn’t mind,’ he said. ‘Just to be on the safe side. It could just be first-day nerves of course, but I’m told she has been running around a fair bit …’

‘No, that’s absolutely fine,’ I said. ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

I told Riley what Mr Barker had said, between grabbing my coat and taking mouthfuls of sandwich. ‘All a bit odd,’ I concluded. ‘She took her meds okay. She had her packed lunch and her snacks. God, I hope it’s not going to be this borderline all the time. It’s not what the doctor led us to believe, for sure.’

Riley looked sceptical. ‘Maybe it’s not that. Maybe it’s just to get some sympathy, some attention. It wouldn’t be out of character, based on what we’ve seen so far.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘But we can’t just assume that, can we? Not with something so potentially serious. Anyway, I’d better run. Thanks for the sandwich, love.’

‘What you had of it!’

Riley saw me out, and as I left she called me back. I turned around.

‘Just you keep your guard up, Mum, okay?’

I laughed it off, but was she already seeing things I wasn’t?

When I got to school Mr Barker and Sophia were already waiting for me in reception. I could see Sophia was giggling at something he was saying.

I didn’t know Mr Barker well, as he’d started at the school not long before I left to begin fostering, but I liked him and knew he’d keep an eye on Sophia. He was very upper crust, and was nicknamed ‘the dog’, because of his name, but I doubted that was the witticism he was sharing. But he’d obviously taken her mind off her malaise, and to me she looked the picture of health.

‘Ah, Mrs Watson,’ he said now. ‘Thank you so much for coming. As you can see, Sophia’s feeling a bit better now, aren’t you? But we obviously didn’t want to take any chances.’

‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘Come on, love.’ I turned to Sophia. ‘Let’s get you home so you can have a nap.’

‘I told them not to bother you,’ she said to me as we walked back across the school car park. ‘You shouldn’t have had to come out and get me. I didn’t want to come home. I told them I’d be fine in an hour, if they just let me rest.’

I patted her shoulder. She was so much taller than me that I couldn’t put a friendly arm around it. ‘Don’t worry, love,’ I said. ‘They were just being careful. They probably don’t have enough staff available to keep a proper eye on you. If you’re well you’re in class and if you’re ill you go home.’

She shrugged then, a teenage ‘whatever’ expression on her face, and I wondered if perhaps Riley had been right, that she’d feigned the dizziness to get attention – but not that much attention. They’d probably been used to managing her Addison’s in her old school. So perhaps she hadn’t figured on being sent home. Or maybe the opposite was true: she actually
liked
being sent home, and her telling me otherwise was just to keep me sweet. Oh, it was all so confusing, trying to read her.

And once at home, her manner changed again.

‘C’mon, missy,’ I said, forestalling her from flopping down on the sofa with the remote for the afternoon. ‘We need to get some water and a salty snack inside you, and then you have to go to bed for a bit.’

I was pleased by how readily the ‘rules’ came to mind. Mind you, I had studied the huge amount of info very thoroughly. She’d obviously been running around a lot, and needed to rehydrate. She also needed salt. I wasn’t sure exactly why that was – so much science! – but the advice was clear. And then she needed sleep. But she shook her head. ‘No need,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Clearly not,’ I persisted, ‘or the school wouldn’t have sent for me. Come on,’ I said. ‘Into the kitchen, so we can get you sorted before some shut-eye …’

She pointed the remote at the TV and it hummed into life. ‘I told you,’ she said slowly. ‘I am
fine
.’

Okay, I thought. Okay. Deep breath. ‘Sophia, you might
feel
fine, but I need to
know
you are. So would you please turn the TV off and come with me.’

Before I could even finish, she’d flung the remote onto the coffee table with a loud clatter, leapt up and turned the television off by hand.

‘Satisfied?’ she asked me, her tone caustic as she pushed past me.

I exhaled slowly and followed her into the kitchen. ‘Yes, thank you. Though perhaps next time we’ll have the teachers deal with this in school. That way, you’ll actually be able to
stay
there.’

I left the room feeling duped. And also cross. How did you handle something like this – something with so much scope for manipulation? You obviously couldn’t call her bluff – she might end up seriously ill. But at the same time, this amount of power over people was doing her no good. I lit a cigarette, out in the conservatory. One thing was clear. I wouldn’t be able to give my habit up any time soon. But, feeling calmer, I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. This could all be related to the stress of the visit to see her mother at the weekend. I must make allowances for that. And, as if on cue, Sophia appeared then, in the conservatory doorway. ‘I’m sorry, Casey,’ she said haltingly. ‘You know, about just now. I just get a bit ratty when I have a wobble with my meds.’