Crying for Help

by Casey Watson

  I smiled then. ‘That’s what you used to say when Riley was a baby and she was off on one – d’you remember?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘And the same applies here.’ He nodded towards the direction of Sophia’s room. ‘I reckon she’s going to be in there dreading facing us today, don’t you? So the best we can do is to play everything down. We’ve got a plan on now, we’ve logged what happened, we’re dealing with it. No point in ranting. It’ll just fall on deaf ears. Today we just accept her apology – and I’m sure there’ll be one – and get on with the business of having a normal happy family Sunday. Agreed?’

  I nodded. He was right. ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Though if I’m wrong, and she comes out all guns blazing, like Paul Newman and Robert Redford at the end of Butch Cassidy …’

  ‘Then what?’

  He winked. ‘Then I’m packing a bag and leaving home.’

  But as it turned out he didn’t need to. No sooner had we got downstairs and brewed the coffee than Sophia arrived in the kitchen. She was belted up tight in her PJs and dressing gown, her eyes looking like she’d gone ten rounds with a cage fighter. She must have been crying for hours.

  ‘Oh, Mike,’ she said in such a tiny voice. ‘Oh, Casey.’

  And then she sat down and promptly burst into tears.

  Chapter 16

  I’d purposely not told Riley about the night before when I called her, but between then and now she’d obviously spoken to Kieron. And he’d obviously filled her in on all the details.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t little Miss Wonderbra,’ was how she greeted my young charge when we arrived at the pub. I winced as I watched Sophia’s face redden.

  ‘I’m sorry, Riley,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean any harm, honest. I just kind of had a funny turn, I think.’ She lowered her gaze and began fiddling with her cutlery. I interjected.

  ‘Yes, she certainly did have a funny turn, love, that’s for sure. But as your gran used to say, least said soonest mended. Come on, let’s have that baby off you. Come and sit down. So. Which is it to be, everyone? Beef or pork?’

  Mike had been right. It had been a good idea to get out. The house felt closed in after so much shouting and upset, and luckily our favourite pub, in the next village to our one, had a big enough table free to accommodate us all.

  Following the drama of Saturday night, Sunday morning had been a surprisingly calm aftermath. We’d just sat down with Sophia, and while I hugged her and tried to comfort her Mike had calmly told her that we were a little worried about these ‘funny turns’ of hers, and that we were going to see if we could get some proper help for her. She was meek and acquiescent – clearly as shattered as she looked – and agreed that she didn’t understand why these rages overtook her. Or this urge to be so provocative all the time.

  And then we told her that was the end of it, and that we were going out for a big roast lunch, and she immediately brightened, before us mentioning that Riley and David would be there too.

  ‘You won’t tell them?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘As Mike says, it’s all done with. Now why don’t you take your medicine, have a quick bite to eat, then perhaps go back to bed for a couple of hours?’

  It was a shame, then, that Riley had felt the need to have a dig, but I completely understood – sibling loyalty ran deep with my children. And because of his Asperger’s, Riley felt particularly protective towards her little brother, so I knew how enraged she’d probably have been.

  But lunch was fine; perfectly pleasant, not least because Levi stole the show, taking pride of place in his high chair, which I’d parked next to Sophia, keeping everyone’s minds otherwise occupied. And, once we were done with the main course, and Sophia asked if she could take him out into the pub garden for a push around in his buggy, I was only too happy to say yes. Riley and I could join her, in fact, and cram in a sneaky cigarette while she did so.

  We waited till Sophia was out of earshot, at the play area, before discussing what was uppermost in both of our minds. ‘But, Mum,’ said Riley, once I’d explained how we wanted to play it, ‘surely you turning a blind eye isn’t going to help her. If you do that, how’s she going to know the things she does are wrong?’

  In many other circumstances Riley would have been right. But not this one. ‘That’s just it, love. She already knows it’s wrong. I know she does. The problem is that she doesn’t seem to be able to control herself. She’s like a completely different person when she acts out in that way.’

  ‘So just ignore it, then? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘Well, no. We still have to acknowledge what she does. But it’s becoming increasingly obvious that telling her off gets us nowhere. No, this is the long game, I think, love. We have to cry for help ourselves this time, and loudly. And not stop until we actually get some.’

  I could see Mike gesturing from inside the pub, poking his finger towards his open mouth. ‘C’mon, love,’ I said, putting out my cigarette. ‘I think Dad wants to order desserts.’ I waved to Sophia and beckoned her back as well. ‘And, look, thanks, love. It’s a trial, I know, but I really think she’s ill.’

  Riley frowned. ‘Just as long as she doesn’t make you ill, that’s all. Or Dad.’

  ‘We’re fine, love,’ I reassured her. ‘I promise.’

  And that was exactly how I did feel. A new Monday, and I was full of a new determination to make progress. I was intent on getting the support Sophia needed and, just as I’d said to Riley, I wasn’t going to stop until I got her some. I was feeling better in all senses. We’d had a peaceful afternoon, I’d had a much better night’s sleep, and best of all was that Kieron had called on Sunday evening and promised to come home again after college this evening, provided we had settled Sophia down.

  But once Sophia had left for school and Mike for work, I still took some time to get my facts in order, going through my log and listing each occurrence separately, so I could present a coherent case for more support. I really needed to paint a clear picture of how things were escalating, making it clear that her medical condition, initially deemed to be the main challenge, was now secondary to the stability of her mind.

  ‘I think you’re right, Casey,’ John conceded after I’d read my list out to him. ‘It does seem like she’s unravelling emotionally, doesn’t it? This obviously runs deeper than we’ve been led to believe. And I’m sorry. Sorry that you and Mike are having to go through all this upset.’ He sighed. ‘Victims of your own success, you two, I think. We all just assume that you’re dealing with everything. We’ve not been very supportive here, have we?’

  ‘We don’t feel like that, John,’ I said. ‘We know you’re there if we need you. I just feel very strongly that this needs to be flagged up as urgent – we need to access appropriate help for her.’

  Happily, John promised me that’s what we’d get. He would, he said, get in touch with social services for me, plus contact CAMHS and see what could be sorted. ‘And I’ll call you later,’ he finished, ‘so we can arrange for us all to meet up.’

  Ah, meetings, I thought, as I put down the phone. There was always the promise of a meeting to hang on to. Nothing immediate, of course. Just another meeting. That was the way it was in social work, miles of red tape that couldn’t be cut. And, great as social services were – and they were – there was rarely a sense of any urgency to make or break lives at these meetings. Perhaps the real trick would be to kindly ask these poor kids if they could just put their emotional breakdowns on hold for a couple of weeks.

  I went into the kitchen to make some toast. I felt frustrated. There was nothing I could do now but wait. But in the meantime I could perhaps go and shop for a new handbag. Now that would cheer me up, I thought. A brilliant idea. And then I smiled to myself at the way my mind worked. Here I was, almost at breaking point, my poor son struggling with living in his own home, and all I could think about was buying handbags!

  I didn’t rush, however, and John was back on the phone before I le
ft, with the news that CAMHS had agreed to see Sophia as a one-off and that he would speak to all involved re the timings. No promises, as she would still need to fulfil their criteria, but at least it was a start.

  I went off to the shops in happier mood. One which sadly, however, wasn’t to last. It was around 1 p.m. by the time I’d scratched my handbag itch sufficiently, buying a beautiful, shiny, red patent number, that was gorgeous and perfect but still not so costly that it would need to spend time hidden from Mike at the back of the wardrobe. I was just thinking about some lunch when my phone rang.

  ‘Hellooo!’ I answered chirpily, not even glancing at the display, as I’d fully expected it to be Riley.

  ‘Mrs Watson? Casey? It’s Mr Barker. Sorry to disturb you, but can you talk?’

  My heart sank. Mr Barker as in Sophia’s head of year. ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘Is she ill again?’

  ‘Not this time,’ he answered. ‘Though it’s rather serious even so. Were you aware she brought a mobile phone into school this morning?’

  Shit, I thought. I didn’t even think about that.

  ‘No, I wasn’t,’ I said, thinking privately that he was going a bit overboard. Loads of kids took their phones into school. ‘But listen,’ I went on. ‘That’s my fault. It was a birthday present and I never thought about telling her they weren’t allowed in school.’

  ‘It’s not the fact that she brought it in,’ Mr Barker said. ‘It’s what she’s been doing with it that’s the problem.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘We’ve just had a visit from a very angry parent. Jake Enfield’s mum just brought him back in from lunch, complaining about some disturbing pictures on his phone that had apparently been sent to him by Sophia.’

  Oh, no … ‘What kind of photos?’

  ‘Naked photos, essentially. And I gather from Jake that quite a few of the boys have had them.’

  ‘Oh good Lord! I’ll come straight up. Assuming you want me to. Is she in class at the moment?’

  ‘No, we’ve got her in the medical room. She’s refusing to hand over her phone to us, and we were hoping you might be able to persuade her. We need to know who else has the pictures so we can be sure they’re all deleted.’

  I felt both angry and dismayed as I left town and drove to the school. After all we’d said yesterday! What on earth had possessed her? But what point was there in trying to fathom her out? That was the problem. You couldn’t try to rationalise such unfathomable behaviour. That was precisely why we needed the mental health team.

  When I arrived in the medical room she was sitting stubbornly in the corner, clutching her school bag as if her life depended on it. Think, Casey, think. How to play this.

  I sat opposite her, trying to focus her attention on me, rather than the angry-looking teacher who’d followed me in there. Mr Barker was there too, standing to one side of her.

  ‘You okay, love?’ I said gently. ‘I’ve just been saying to Mr Barker that this is partly my fault for forgetting to tell you this morning. Mobiles aren’t allowed in school.’

  Sophia just stared incredulously. ‘Everyone brings their phones into school, Casey.’

  ‘I dare say,’ I agreed. ‘But now you’ve been caught with yours, you’re not going to be allowed to bring it in again.’

  ‘Fine!’ she snapped. ‘So I’m being sent home now, right? In which case, can we just leave now?’

  ‘In a minute, sweetheart. I just need to delete those silly pictures first. We don’t want everyone looking at them, do we?’

  ‘I’ve already deleted them,’ she said, looking daggers at the other teacher. ‘You think I wanted these pervs gawping at me?’

  ‘Don’t be rude,’ I said mildly. ‘And I still need the phone. It’s not just that they’re gone, it’s who else already has them. You don’t want a load of other parents seeing them, do you?’

  It seemed to dawn on her, then, that this was now out of her control. She undid the zip on her bag and practically threw the phone at me, and we soon had, even with my limited phone skills, the numbers of six other boys she’d sent the pictures to.

  Thankfully, the school were happy to leave things at that, even though I knew that they had their own view on my softly-softly approach to disciplining her. But I was reticent about mentioning the mental health team as yet, because I didn’t want to destabilise her life further by having them get involved and ‘label’ her. At least not until I knew where we were going.

  As for Sophia, we were going nowhere fast. On the way home she simply made good use of her right to silence and doggedly refused to answer any of my questions. Which did the trick. I decided to give up trying.

  I kept the phone, though. If she refused to play ball, then so did I. Perhaps it would at least make her reflect on the consequences of her actions. But what I didn’t expect was that it would do exactly that – while Sophia reflected on the consequences of her actions, I’d be reflecting on the possible consequences of Mike’s.

  It was Thursday when it happened. Around 9 p.m. Mike and I were sitting watching the news when the phone rang in the hall. Kieron was in his room and Sophia was asleep in bed, and my first thought – my only thought – was that it must be my mum. She often called at this time, when she knew we could chat in peace and, like many her age, she didn’t much do mobiles.

  But it wasn’t my mum, it was Jean, Sophia’s previous carer.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ I said, once she’d introduced herself to me and I’d had that whole ‘Jean? Jean who?’ thing run quickly through my mind. I’d only met her once, after all. ‘How are you?’ I said, conscious of how ill she’d been.

  ‘Oh, I’m fine,’ she said, her voice clipped and curt. ‘Thank you very much. Although I can’t say the same for Sophia.’

  Both the words and the tone did two things. One was to get my hackles up. Who’d speak to a near stranger in such an aggressive way? And the other was to make me do a double take. How would she know how Sophia was? We were the ones looking after her. Very odd. Then I had a thought. Had John said something to her? I doubted it. But even if he had, what was with the sarcasm?

  ‘I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Jean,’ I answered pleasantly, albeit with gritted teeth. ‘What about Sophia?’

  ‘She hasn’t rung me for three days, so I know something’s wrong.’ Again, that accusatory tone. ‘I’ve been trying her mobile,’ she continued, ‘and it’s going straight to voicemail. Now why would that be?’

  Now I was confused as well as irritated. Three days? What did she mean? When had she been speaking to Sophia?

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Have you been on the phone to Sophia?’

  Mike had turned down the TV and come out into the hall. He was watching me, puzzled, making a ‘what?’ face.

  ‘Yes, of course, ‘Jean replied. ‘She phones me often. Well, when she can get to the phone and have some privacy, that is … I had hoped that with her mobile it would get a little easier, but it seems you’ve put a stop to that too, have you?’

  Had it been long enough, my jaw would have hit the floor about now.

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘Jean, Sophia has no business phoning you. Not without our permission, anyway. And the mobile we bought her is none of your business. And, frankly, I don’t like your tone.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll bet you don’t,’ she barked back at me, almost shouting now. ‘Were you afraid she might tell me all about how she was dragged bodily up the stairs by your husband? Well, you’re too late, because …’

  Now it was my turn to raise my voice. I couldn’t help it. I was furious. ‘How dare you speak to me like that!’ I replied. ‘I’m going to hang up now and I suggest that you don’t ring my house again, okay?’

  Whatever she said in reply I didn’t hear, because I slammed the receiver straight down. ‘Oh. My. God!’ I seethed.

  ‘What?’ Mike said. ‘What was all that about? Who the hell was it?’

  I had started crying now, as you do when you’ve been up
set out of the blue. And shaking, too. ‘God! That bloody woman! I’m so mad, Mike, I could scream!’

  ‘But what did she say?’

  ‘Sophia’s been ringing her, apparently, and since she’s been here, presumably. Giving her updates on how we’re treating her – well, that would seem to be the gist of it. God, I can’t believe it! Who the hell does she think she is?’

  ‘But what did she say?’

  ‘She was cross that her mobile’s going to voicemail. The cheek of it! The mobile we bought her!’

  I tried hard to mentally gather myself together. I didn’t want to tell Mike what she’d said about him. That wouldn’t help. But, God, I felt betrayed. And also terrible. Why had she done this? No, that was stupid. Why did Sophia do anything? But even so I still felt like I’d been slapped in the face. We were trying so hard, but she was clearly unhappy with us all. Why else would she go behind our backs like that?

  It took a massive effort of will not to confront Sophia the following morning, fruitless though the act would probably be anyway. I’d doubtless be met with another bout of sullen silence, which in my current mood I wouldn’t have taken quite so gently as I had earlier in the week. But Mike was firm. We must try to avoid escalating another outburst. And the fault lay not with Sophia, not really. Despite my pique, her feelings about us – me – were her own affair. It was the subterfuge I couldn’t stand – that and Jean’s tone. How dare she stand in judgement based on the complaints of an unstable 13-year-old child? She’d been trained as a foster carer, hadn’t she? So she bloody well should have used some judgement of her own!

  No, it was John that I needed to speak to. Right now. I called him as soon as I had the house to myself and spent five minutes trying to keep from losing my temper as I related the conversation.

  ‘So I hung up on her,’ I said. ‘And I’m still seething. What makes her think she had a right to do this? I tell you, I feel totally undermined.’