by Rosie Lewis
‘Morning!’ he greeted me. ‘What’s for breakfast? I’m starving.’
I immediately went to feel his forehead, which was neither hot nor clammy. ‘Are you sure, love?’ I asked, still concerned that he really might have some bug. ‘I was going to let you have the day off because you were so sick last night. You might be better off resting up for the day. We could watch TV and just chill out if you like.’
I was half-hoping he would choose this option for selfish reasons too, as I had barely slept at all and felt shattered. But apparently he had other ideas. ‘Oh please, no,’ Adam said, his face dropping markedly. ‘Please don’t make me stay home, Casey. It’s not fair. I feel fine,’ he added. ‘Really. I promise.’
And he looked it and seemed it. Curiouser and curiouser. ‘Adam, it’s okay, sweetie,’ I said, concerned not only at his crumpled expression but also at what sounded like fear in his voice. ‘I wouldn’t make you stay at home if you didn’t want to. Of course not. Not if you’re feeling okay. I just wanted you to know that you can have the day off. That was quite a broken night you had there.’
He visibly relaxed, which made me wonder if similar conversations happened regularly in his day-to-day life. Was every school day a battle between mother and son? But why? Since she worked, didn’t she need him to go to school?
He plonked himself down at the table. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘It’s just that it’s almost end of term today, and I don’t want to miss out. Specially not today. We’re having an Easter egg hunt.’
I smiled as I opened the fridge. ‘Well, in that case, of course you must go. So long as you save me some chocolate if you find any. Deal?’
Adam grinned. ‘Deal.’
‘So, how about an egg for breakfast too, now, since you’re starving?’
He nodded. ‘Can I have two?’
Still nothing wrong with his appetite, I noted.
Some gentle probing on the way to school revealed that, as I already knew, Adam didn’t like being kept off school, and, as I suspected, he was frequently made to. ‘Mum keeps me home all the time,’ he said, his tone betraying a rare glimpse of exasperation. ‘Even when I ask her not to.’
‘Because you’ve been sick?’
‘Not actually sick-sick. That’s only sometimes. Just because of my tummy. But I’m always okay the next day.’ I heard him sigh. ‘It’s only when I don’t go to school that I stay sick. ’Cos I get upset, because I’m lonely – and then mum says I set my dicky tummy off all over again.’
I dropped Adam off, feeling desperately sorry for him – a feeling only heightened by his obvious joy at being reunited with his friend Harry. And the feeling soon resolved itself into anger. What the hell was wrong with some parents? Here was a perfectly well-behaved, seemingly balanced little boy, and his mother – problems of her own or not – was emotionally suffocating him.
I decided I would stop holding back from interfering. This was clearly a relationship out of kilter. And, quite apart from the emotional toll it seemed to be taking, all these absences meant he was missing out on education.
No, I’d email John again, share my misgivings, and the disclosures Adam had made to me. Hopefully, he would feel them of sufficient importance that he’d have a word with Adam’s social worker and suggest some intervention. And who knew? Perhaps Mandy was so wrapped up in her own problems that she didn’t even realise she wasn’t doing right by her child. Perhaps if she was told – in a gentle, supportive tone – she might learn to let him go a little. No, some family therapy, I thought, could definitely be of value.
And my feelings were only strengthened when, later that afternoon, once I’d collected Adam from school again, Kieron and Lauren popped by with Dee Dee and a bag full of booty. They too were taking off for the Easter holidays, early the following morning, but wanted to drop Easter eggs off for Riley’s kids and Tyler before they left. And, sweetly, knowing Adam was staying with me temporarily, they’d even brought an egg for him as well.
‘Hope you like chocolate, mate,’ Kieron said as he handed it over. It was a huge egg, and caused Adam’s eyes to grow in consternation. ‘Because I think there’s a bunch more chocolate inside there as well.’
‘Are you kidding?’ I asked, eyebrows raised, as I ruffled Adam’s hair. ‘I haven’t found anything this boy doesn’t like yet!’
Adam was almost stunned into speechlessness. ‘Wow!’ he managed eventually. ‘This is really all for me?’
‘Long as you manage to hold onto it, mate,’ Kieron told him. ‘Which might not be guaranteed with this menace around.’
We all looked down at Dee Dee, who, oblivious to the bad-mouthing going on around her, was sitting in her pushchair, innocently playing with her favourite ragdoll.
‘Can I play with her?’ Adam asked. It was a question that surprised me. After all, as far as we knew, he didn’t have any little ones in his life. But perhaps that was why.
‘I’m a reading buddy,’ he said, as Lauren unstrapped her. ‘I’m good at reading. I’m in the top set, and once a week I go and read with the reception class.’
‘Well, I never,’ I said. ‘Good for you. Though I can’t say I’m surprised. Adam here’s a clever lad,’ I explained to Kieron and Lauren. ‘He’s teaching me chess.’ To which Kieron politely refrained from guffawing or making some crack about impossible tasks.
Kieron and Lauren didn’t stay long – they had a pre-dawn start to drive to the Lake District in the morning, but all the while they were there I found myself mesmerised by Adam and Dee Dee. Which once again fuelled my anger – surely his mum could see how much richer his young life would be if he was allowed more interaction with other children?
So irritated was I by Mandy and all I now knew that when we arrived at the hospital an hour or so later, it was a real effort of will to act as if everything was okay. Specially as the first and only conversation between us consisted of a run-down of how grim she’d been feeling and how useless the nursing staff were.
So I didn’t linger, heading straight off to the café once more, where I bumped into the nurse I’d first spoken to on the Monday.
‘Becoming your second home, this,’ she observed, as I joined her in the queue.
‘A bit,’ I agreed. ‘Though it’s only for a few days. And it could be worse. As hospital coffee goes, this is in the Premier League – it’s almost drinkable.’
‘It’s warm and wet – and in a good way, unlike lots of things I have to deal with. You get used to it. Though in your case, here’s hoping you don’t have to. Mrs Conley should be discharged in a couple of days.’
I told her that was what I’d heard, but that she’d told me she’d been feeling pretty poorly, and the nurse pulled an unmistakable face.
Then shook her head. ‘She’s doing fine. She’s a bit of an odd one, is that one, between you and me.’ Then she corrected herself. It wasn’t her place to gossip either. ‘No, she’s recovered well. Don’t you worry. They’ll discharge her.’
More food for thought, to go with my flapjack. Which I was just biting into when I heard my phone vibrate. Was that an evolutionary development, I found myself wondering, as I put the cake down to fish it out – that, in a world where people were endlessly exhorted to switch their phones off, we’d evolved the power to actually hear vibration?
It took me a while – my handbag being one to rival Mary Poppins’ – so by the time I’d located it, whoever had called – my husband hopefully – had already rung off. But pressing the home button revealed that I hadn’t missed a call. It was a text – including a video – from Tyler.
Trying to ignore the urge to huff about the probable expense of such a missive, I read the text, and was richly rewarded.
Dad dropped his phone and it won’t work. Soz. Was sposed to text you yesterday but it didn’t go through. Anyhoo – I don’t think his legs will either after this!!!!! The message ended with the now obligatory row of kisses, followed by a video that I had to click to play.
And, to my
delight, Tyler had captured the moment perfectly. Goodness only knew how many videos he’d had to record to capture this gem of a mini-film. It was of Mike, setting off skiing – down a ridiculously steep run by the look of it – then risking a wave and paying a pretty heavy price. Head over backside, or backside over head – all detail was lost in a blur of limbs and poles and snow, as he careered off and ended up hugging a tree.
No wonder his mobile was broken.
I headed back to the ward in high spirits – that would learn him. And hopefully scotch any ideas for a skiing break that included me. But I was surprised, when I got onto the ward, to see Adam already emerging from his mum’s room and taking care to shut the door very softly.
‘Oh, sorry, love,’ I said, confused. ‘Am I late?’
Adam shook his head. ‘No, it’s just that Mum’s feeling a bit sleepy, so I thought I’d leave her in peace.’
So, what? Dismissed? Or perhaps a disagreement? Had he been telling her about his Easter egg bonanza and got a ticking off? He was definitely looking a bit subdued. ‘All right, love,’ I said. ‘I’ll just pop my head in and say goodbye, then, okay?’
Adam nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll just wait here.’ Which made me feel even surer some words must have passed between them.
I opened the door, to find Adam’s mum indeed looking sleepy.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said. ‘Sorry, I’m all of a fog. Can’t keep my eyes open. I had to have my meds upped because I’ve been in so much pain. Knocked me for six.’
‘Oh dear,’ I said, remembering what the nurse had said to me earlier. ‘I thought you were doing so well.’
She looked at me sharply. ‘Who told you that? Honestly – they’d throw you out on your ear, this lot. Anything to free up a bed. The sister, was it? Honestly, the left arm doesn’t know what the right one is doing here! I’ve seen that many different doctors and nurses, I’m surprised they even know my name.’
I didn’t know what to say to that, so managed only a ‘yes, well’, before she continued, albeit in a slightly softer vein. ‘I probably am recovering just fine. But it’s all about pain control, isn’t it? It’s just the morning nurse forgot to give me my tablets, and then by the time the lunchtime shift came on I was in agony, of course. They’re just kicking in now. As you can see.’ She smoothed the covers down. ‘Anyway, thank you. I hope Adam’s okay.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be fine,’ I assured her.
Adam didn’t seem to want to talk during the journey home so I didn’t press it. Besides, what his mother had said did make some kind of sense. If she had only just been given her meds and they were strong, then she would feel like that, and there was nothing to be done about it.
But I was distracted from my musings by a sound from the back seat. Adam was retching again. I immediately pulled the car over and jumped out, but too late. Adam had vomited all over the back seat of the car. I opened the back door anyway and helped him clamber out, where he was promptly sick again all over the side of the road.
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ I said, as he continued to retch. ‘I’m beginning to think we need to get you to the doctor’s, love.’
‘I’m all right,’ Adam insisted, spitting a bit from his mouth.
‘No, you’re not. It’s not right you being sick like this all the time. Even if you do feel okay after you stop.’
He certainly didn’t look better. He looked ashen.
‘No, you need the doctor’s,’ I told him, though even as I said it I realised the impracticality of re-routing all the way to our local surgery. It was hardly going to be helpful to pitch up at a busy afternoon surgery, and this was hardly a situation that required us to rush to A&E either. He was already getting his colour back and looking better.
‘Well, home then,’ I said. ‘And then I’m going to ring the doctor. Come on,’ I added, looking miserably into the fetid back seat. ‘Into the front, then. We’ll get you back and cleaned up at least.’
He climbed into the front seat and strapped himself in. At least little had gone over his clothes. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know why this keeps happening.’
Neither did I – I really couldn’t make head nor tail of it. But it seemed I was soon to find out.
I ran a bath as soon as we got in, and while Adam had a soak, I went outside, tooled up with rubber gloves, disinfectant and an old T-shirt to use as a disposable cloth, and set about trying to clean my car.
And that’s when I saw it. Saw something. What was it? A pink Smartie? My thoughts went immediately to the Easter egg. No, it couldn’t be that – I knew he hadn’t even opened Kieron’s Easter egg. I picked it up gingerly. No, not a Smartie. It was a pill of some sort.
My thoughts then flew, with a jolt, to my medicine box. My locked medicine box. In the cupboard in the kitchen. Could I have left it unlocked? Surely not. It was too automatic. Years of training. I’d have never left it unlocked.
I looked closer, holding my nose, and other shapes started to reveal themselves. Shards of pink. Other pieces of tablet as well. Recoiling a little, I scooped the sick out as best I could, scraping what I could into a plastic bag, bound for the dustbin. I then disinfected all the wet areas and finally closed the door, leaving the back window open a bit to help dry it out. Then took stock. What the hell was going on?
I went upstairs to where Adam was just getting into his pyjamas. And asked him straight out if he could tell me what was going on. And he looked at me, at first warily. Then blankly. Too blankly. He had no idea. No, he hadn’t taken anything he shouldn’t. He didn’t know what I was talking about. He’d just been sick, and now he was feeling better. He didn’t know.
And there was no point in interrogating him further, I knew. So I tucked him in, went downstairs, and I wondered. What should I do now? No Mike to talk it over with, and it was too late to call John Fulshaw. And though I knew I could call the emergency duty team, I didn’t. They were chronically stressed, and this wasn’t an emergency. What exactly, at this hour, could or should they do?
But something was nagging at me – nudging forcefully at my consciousness. I didn’t know what, but I needed to get on the internet. And there, my vague hunch resolved itself into something more concrete. And if I was right – and I hoped I wasn’t – this short, simple placement was about to turn into something that wasn’t simple at all.
Chapter 7
Thursday
I was on a mission from the minute I got up the next day. A grim mission, too – the potential implications of which hardly bore thinking about. I decided to give Adam another opportunity to tell me what was going on over breakfast, by asking him if there was anything at all he wanted to talk about. There wasn’t. In fact, it was clear that he’d rather discuss anything but. Which only added fuel to the fire, not to mention my anguish at the way things might soon start unravelling. So after joining him for beans on toast (at his request, and with me feeling I was feeding a hearty breakfast to the mythical ‘condemned man’) I dropped him off at school as usual, then rushed straight back home to make the phone calls I had been waiting all night to make.
I had searched long and hard, my ideas forming and changing as I read – I had that infuriating ‘tip of the tongue’ thing going on, because I knew I knew something of what might be going on with Adam but, infuriatingly, couldn’t pin down a name for it. But, of course, as soon as I saw it – outrageous though it seemed – my instinct was as strong as it had ever been. And the more I read, and the more search words I fed into my laptop, the more convinced I became that I knew what we were looking at – a variant of something called Munchausen Syndrome, a psychiatric disorder in which sufferers feign illness to get attention, spending all their time at the doctor’s with imagined illnesses, and even getting themselves admitted to hospital. Adam’s picture, I thought. Was this what was going on here?
That was chilling enough, but in this case it was Adam who was being affected too; if I was right, his mother might also have Munchausen Syndrome
by Proxy (or MBP) in which sufferers feign symptoms of illness in children in their care, again, to get attention – and in some cases (in this case?) actually cause them.
Was that it? Was Adam’s mum actually poisoning him? I had heard of Munchausen’s, of course. It had come up as part of our fostering training. And I had seen films and news stories about it. But I had never personally encountered it. I shuddered again as I thought about the implications. Was it really possible that Mandy Conley had actually been poisoning her own son? Drugging him to make him sick so that she had ‘proof’ that Adam really was unwell?
I had been up half the night reading about different forms of the disorder, and it didn’t make for pleasant bedtime reading. I read of mothers who had poisoned their newborn babies with doctored milk, and of others who had gone so far as to cause physical accidents so that their children would actually break limbs. And all of this so that they could spend even more time at the GP’s or in hospital, getting attention, getting solace, being cared for. And the more I read, the more ghoulish and tragic it all seemed. What a complicated thing the human brain was.
And very quickly it all began to make sense. Keeping Adam out of school, keeping him close and not allowing him to socialise, the vomiting – had she been slipping pills to him under my and the nurses’ noses? How I regretted those trips to the café. The fear of germs, the business of Adam not being allowed to eat in other children’s houses – all part of the elaborate construction, created, if I was right, by a severe and dangerous mental illness.
Or was I the mad one, barking up completely the wrong tree?
‘No, you’re not mad,’ John Fulshaw reassured me, after I’d gone on in this vein for a full five minutes on the phone to him. ‘In fact, wow. Though I can’t quite believe it myself, I fear you might just have hit the nail on the head.’