The Silent Cry

by Cathy Glass

  I checked on Paula, who was sound asleep, and then I went into Adrian’s room and sat with him. I praised him for helping me make Samson’s day enjoyable and the sports day a success, for I couldn’t have done it without his cooperation.

  ‘I guess Samson is OK really,’ Adrian said. ‘He just tries to be tough.’

  Which I thought summed him up quite perceptively.

  The following morning Samson was awake and out of bed at 5.30. I quickly threw on my dressing gown and went round the landing to his room. Quietening him down I told him he had to stay in his room and play until I was ready to go downstairs. I never leave young children unattended downstairs.

  ‘That’s why you need to get a PlayStation,’ he said cheekily. ‘To keep me quiet.’

  ‘There are lots of other enjoyable things you can do,’ I said. ‘Stay there.’

  I hurried downstairs and brought up one of the toy boxes containing puzzles and cars, which I placed on his bedroom floor. I told him to play quietly until I was dressed. But ‘quietly’ wasn’t a word Samson was familiar with, and I could hear his brum-brumming as he played with the toy cars from the bathroom, although he did stay in his bedroom. By six o’clock Adrian and Paula were awake too, and I got Paula up as Adrian dressed himself. We were all downstairs having breakfast at seven – unheard of on a day when we didn’t have to be up for school. If Samson had been staying with me for longer I would have settled him into a better routine, insisting that if he woke early he amuse himself quietly in his room until seven o’clock when I would come in and tell him it was time to get dressed (using rewards and sanctions to achieve the goal). But because he was only with me for a short while it was impossible to achieve very much, which I’m sure the other respite carers who’d looked after Samson had found too.

  Samson was eager to hold another sports day and Adrian was happy to go along with this, but by mid-morning the novelty had clearly worn off and Samson was becoming disruptive and in need of a new activity. I took the children indoors and arranged various board games, then Play-Doh modelling and crayoning, all of which Samson enjoyed, although he couldn’t be left to play unattended, even for a short while – he needed constant supervision. By lunchtime, when he was growing fractious again, I realized a change of scenery was required. There wasn’t enough time for a full day out, so I suggested that after lunch we went to a fairground that was in the area for the half-term holiday. Although predictably Samson had been to fairgrounds before, he was more than happy to go again and quickly pointed out that I’d have to give him money to spend at the fair. Adrian had only been to a fair once before, so it was a treat for him, and Paula had never been. It was a successful outing and I gave each boy £5 to spend, although I had to keep a close eye on Samson, who darted off as soon as a ride ended.

  We had another early start on Friday morning, although Samson was quieter once I’d resettled him with some toys, and then after breakfast we went into the garden again, this time playing fairgrounds. The bikes, tricycle, skateboard and roller skates were the fairground rides, and we had various sideshow stalls: throw three balls in a bucket for a prize, knock the tin can off the wall (using tennis balls), hook the duck and so on, using anything we had. The boys and I were quite inventive. That afternoon, as promised, I arranged a little prize-giving ceremony, where I stood on the patio and presented each child with a few small gifts for the races they’d won. We applauded after each presentation and Paula had a prize for making a good attempt.

  Samson had to be home by six o’clock that evening, as he kept reminding me: ‘I see me dad at six on Friday and you can’t be late.’

  I left our house in plenty of time and we arrived at the flats at 5.45. I wanted to give Samson’s gran some feedback on how the respite had gone, which was usual practice. The window of Samson’s flat was slightly open and as he ran past he banged on the glass and yelled ‘Bruno!’ at the top of his voice, which set the dog barking manically.

  We went in the main entrance, but no one was at the door of Samson’s flat, so he banged on the wood and yelled, ‘I’m home!’ The dog went frantic.

  Then a man’s voice shouted, ‘Shut up, Bruno!’

  The barking stopped and the door was opened by the man I’d previously seen in the living room with a mug of tea. ‘You’re back then,’ he said flatly to Samson as he shot in. ‘Thanks,’ he said to me and closed the door. So I didn’t get the chance to give his gran feedback or to say goodbye to Samson, which was a pity.

  However, I felt that the three days had gone reasonably well, although looking after Samson had been hard work. I hadn’t done any laundry or housework, let alone worked on my dissertation, as my time had been completely taken up with Samson. Had he been staying for longer, or if I had him again on respite, I would start encouraging him to play independently. So often children who spend a lot of time in front of a screen for their entertainment (PlayStation, television, handheld consoles, etc.) never learn how to play creatively and amuse themselves, which is important for social development, problem solving and decision making now and in later life.

  That evening after Adrian and Paula were in bed I had a good tidy up and then sat in the living room and enjoyed the peace and tranquillity. There’s never a dull moment in fostering, and while I loved the challenge each new child brought I knew I really needed time to complete my dissertation. I decided that if I was asked to do more respite I’d have to be firm and say no for the next month or so. However, as it turned out it wasn’t a foster child who occupied me, but someone much closer to home.

  Chapter Ten

  The Devil’s Child

  School resumed on Monday after the half-term break and the air temperature rose dramatically by ten degrees, as it can do in England, catching everyone unawares and causing the weather reporter to pronounce a heat wave. The sun shone in a cloudless sky and the air was alive with birdsong and the scent of summer flowers. We didn’t need to wear our jackets to walk to school that morning.

  Adrian was pleased to see his friends again and they ran around in the playground before school began. Parents chatted to each other, catching up on their news and asking each other if they’d had a nice holiday, and sharing what they’d done. Some families had spent the week at home just relaxing, pleased to be out of the school routine, while others had been more energetic, going out most days, and a couple of lucky families had been abroad for the week. As I talked to my friends I looked around for any sign of Laura, hoping she was now feeling well enough to bring Kim to school, but I couldn’t see her. Then just before the start of school Geraldine walked into the playground, with Kim beside her pushing the pram. Kim was looking around her, proud to be in charge of her baby brother, while Geraldine kept her gaze straight ahead, her face expressionless. I assumed therefore that Laura still didn’t feel up to coming out, or possibly she was just having a lie-in. I’d ask Geraldine how she was if I got the opportunity.

  When the Klaxon sounded the children said goodbye to their parents and then lined up ready to go into school. The little groups of parents began dispersing, making their way towards the main gate. I looked over to where Geraldine had been standing. She was now walking briskly towards the exit. She was always one of the first out, slipping out ahead of everyone else, but this time her progress was slowed by the pram. I caught up with her as she waited for her turn to pass through the main gate.

  ‘Good morning,’ I said. Paula was holding my hand and toddling beside me.

  Geraldine threw me her usual tight smile.

  ‘Baby,’ Paula said, pointing to the pram.

  ‘Yes. Baby Liam. How is he doing?’ I asked Geraldine. I could just see his little face over the cover, sleeping.

  ‘He’s well,’ she said.

  ‘And how’s Laura?’

  ‘These things take time.’

  ‘She didn’t feel up to coming here today then?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  We were now through the main gate and on the pavement outside a
nd it was clear Geraldine didn’t want to walk with us.

  ‘Give her my love,’ I said.

  She nodded stiffly and then, head down, she set off, pushing the pram at a brisk pace.

  ‘Baby Liam,’ Paula said again.

  ‘Yes,’ I said absently. ‘With his grandmother.’

  As we passed number 53 Paula and I both glanced at the house, but there was no one to be seen, and we continued our haltingly slow journey home. It didn’t matter that it took us ages; it was a beautiful day and Paula was finding plenty to interest her along the way: ants scurrying across pavements, a cat basking on a sun-drenched wall, front gardens with an array of brightly coloured flowers, all of which were wonderfully new and inspiring to the enquiring young mind of a small child. I wished I had Laura’s telephone number – I could have phoned her; just a friendly call to see how she was, for I didn’t feel I could simply arrive on her doorstep. The last time I’d visited, Geraldine had made it clear that she’d let me know when Laura was up to having visitors again.

  Once home, Paula and I went straight into the garden and I played in the sandpit with her. It was nice being able to give her some one-to-one time again, and she enjoyed it. Mid-morning I settled her for a nap and continued my dissertation. I wondered if Samson’s social worker would telephone for feedback on Samson’s respite, but she didn’t. However, at lunchtime Shelley’s social worker telephoned to ask if I could foster a four-month-old baby they were bringing into care the next day. Reluctantly I had to say no, and I explained about my degree.

  ‘OK. Good luck with it,’ she said. ‘I’ll make a note on the whiteboard.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  That afternoon Geraldine was in the playground again with Liam in the pram, and as usual she stood by herself with her eyes fixed firmly ahead. When the children came out I saw Kim pushing the pram towards the exit, but they were well ahead of us by the time we left the playground, as Paula wanted to walk. The next day was the same: Geraldine brought Liam to school in the morning and the afternoon. I didn’t know what this said about how Laura was feeling, but I had to believe that Geraldine and Laura’s husband, Andy, knew what was best for her, as they were close to her and had helped her through a difficult time after the birth of Kim. There’s a fine line between being friendly and neighbourly and being intrusive and a nosy parker, so I felt any further enquiry from me about Laura at that time would be unwelcome and probably resented. If Laura had been an old friend it would have been very different, but for now I just had to accept that Geraldine was in charge and knew best.

  However, all that changed the following morning.

  It was another fine day and we were walking to school. Paula, as usual, was in her stroller with the promise that she could walk back. As we passed number 53 the front door suddenly burst open. Kim ran out and down the path as Geraldine stood in the doorway. ‘Gran says can you take me to school today,’ Kim said. ‘She has to stay with Mum.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. I looked towards the open door, but Geraldine gave a cursory wave and closed it.

  ‘Is your mum all right?’ I asked Kim.

  ‘I don’t know. She had a bad night. Gran didn’t want to leave her alone, and my daddy had to go to work. We’ve been looking out for you.’

  ‘Is your mum sick?’ I asked, worried. I had no idea what a ‘bad night’ meant in this context.

  ‘Not really,’ Kim said, and looked uncomfortable. I knew not to question her further. She was only seven and I didn’t want to place her in an awkward position by asking questions that she couldn’t or didn’t want to answer.

  ‘I gave Liam his bottle this morning,’ Kim said proudly, brightening, as she fell into step beside us.

  ‘Well done. That was a big help,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t like helping to change his nappy, though,’ she said, pulling a face.

  ‘Yuk!’ Adrian agreed. ‘She still poos in a nappy,’ he said, pointing at Paula, and dissolved into laughter. He was at an age when he and his friends found toilet talk hilarious.

  ‘Baby Liam?’ Paula asked, leaning out of her stroller for a better look at Kim.

  ‘Hi,’ Kim said sweetly. ‘Liam’s at home.’

  She took hold of Paula’s hand and we continued down the street with Kim on one side of the stroller and Adrian on the other. Adrian and Kim began talking about school and then a popular children’s television programme, while I thought about Laura. Why didn’t Geraldine want to leave her alone? It didn’t sound good, and I thought maybe this was the excuse I needed to call in on the way home.

  Once in the playground I let Paula out of the stroller and she immediately crouched down and began examining the tarmac, poking her finger at a couple of loose chippings. It’s incredible what little ones can spot and play with. A mother approached me with a child of a similar age to Kim. I knew her slightly from seeing her in the playground.

  ‘You’ve brought Kim,’ she said. ‘Is Laura all right? I’m Fran. Our girls are friends. How is she?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said honestly. ‘Her mother-in-law asked me to bring Kim to school this morning.’

  ‘I’m worried about her,’ Fran confided. ‘I’ve tried phoning and I’ve left messages, but she hasn’t got back to me.’ The two girls took skipping ropes from their bags and began skipping.

  ‘I’m thinking of stopping by her house on the way back this morning,’ I said. ‘We live in the same street. I’ll tell her you were asking after her.’

  ‘Oh yes, please do.’ She hesitated. ‘I hope I haven’t done anything to upset her. We were both relatively new to the area and seemed to hit it off as friends. But I haven’t seen or heard from her since she was in the playground that morning weeks ago.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing like that,’ I said.

  Clearly I didn’t know how much Laura had confided in Fran, and Geraldine’s words about not discussing Laura in the playground rang in my ears – although, of course, we were only concerned for her wellbeing.

  ‘Give her my best wishes,’ Fran said. ‘And tell her I hope to hear from her soon.’

  ‘I will.’

  The Klaxon sounded and I said goodbye to both Adrian and Kim and watched them line up. ‘We’re going to see baby Liam on the way home,’ I told Paula, taking her hand.

  ‘Baby Liam,’ she said and chuckled excitedly.

  I wasn’t excited, I was very apprehensive, partly from having to confront the formidable Geraldine again, but also because I wasn’t convinced I was doing the right thing in just dropping by. Perhaps I was turning into the busybody up the road – ‘You know, that woman, the foster carer who thinks she knows everything.’ But on the other hand I had a gut feeling that I should stop by and try to see Laura, and sometimes I think it’s best if we follow our instincts or intuition.

  With the promise of visiting baby Liam, Paula walked faster than usual and didn’t stop to examine every little thing that caught her eye. ‘Baby Liam,’ she said every so often with a smile.

  ‘Yes, I hope we can see him.’ For obviously we might not be invited in.

  Undaunted, Paula continued at her best toddling pace along the street until we arrived at Laura’s house. ‘Baby Liam,’ she announced, trying to open the gate.

  I lifted the latch, opened the gate and we went up the front path. I parked the stroller in the porch and pressed the doorbell. I felt my pulse speed up a notch and my stomach tighten. I had no idea what to expect, and as we waited for the bell to be answered I prepared myself for most eventualities, including the door not being opened or opened and then shut in my face – most eventualities except … Geraldine answering the door in tears.

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry,’ I said, embarrassed and completely taken aback. ‘I’ve called at a bad time.’

  She looked at me, a tissue pressed to her lips and despair in her eyes. I didn’t know what to do. My instinct was to hug and comfort her, but given her previous hostility I didn’t think she’d want my comfort, yet I couldn’
t just walk away.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ I asked awkwardly. Paula looked at her, also concerned.

  Geraldine shook her head and wiped her eyes, but fresh tears formed. Usually so capable, determined, even hard, her vulnerability shocked and deeply saddened me. With a heartfelt sigh she turned from the door and walked down the hall, leaving the front door wide open. I assumed she wanted me to go in, so I helped Paula over the doorstep and then once in the hall I closed the door. The house was quiet – unnaturally quiet considering there was another adult and a baby inside. There was a stale smell of burning as though food had caught fire. Geraldine had disappeared down the hall and into the living room. Still holding Paula’s hand, I followed her. Paula had fallen silent, perhaps sensing the atmosphere.

  In the living room Geraldine was standing with her back to me, gazing through the glass patio doors. There was no sign of Liam or Laura, but there were a few of his soft toys propped on the sofa and, dropping my hand, Paula went over to them. I crossed the room and stood beside Geraldine. She was staring, unseeing, down the garden.

  ‘Is there anything I can get you?’ I asked after a moment. ‘A drink of water or a cup of tea?’

  She wiped her eyes and shook her head. ‘It’ll take more than tea to put this lot right, Cathy,’ she said.

  She’d never used my name before and I sensed a shift in her attitude towards me. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I asked gently, touching her arm.

  ‘It wouldn’t do any good,’ she said, her eyes filling again.

  Then a terrible thought struck me. ‘Are Liam and Laura all right? They’re not hurt?’

  ‘No. Laura is in bed upstairs and Liam is asleep in his cot in the front room.’

  I remained standing beside Geraldine, not sure what to say or do but feeling I should stay. Paula began playing silently with the soft toys as Geraldine and I gazed down the garden, the joy of the summer outside now at odds with the unhappiness inside. Sometimes silence is more empathetic than words, so I stood quietly beside Geraldine, close but not touching. I sensed she wanted to talk, possibly to confide; that was why she’d left the front door open for us to come in. With her guard down she was less hostile to me, but she was finding it difficult, almost impossible, to know where to begin. I’d seen this before in children I’d fostered who were trying to disclose and tell me about something dreadful that had happened and which they’d kept a secret for a long time. They needed to tell but were fearful of the consequences, so I did now what I did then and waited until they found the strength to start.