Crying for Help

by Casey Watson

  She sat up in bed then, and flicked her blonde hair behind her. Then raised her arm and jabbed a finger in my direction.

  ‘You don’t tell me what to do,’ she said. ‘I thought I made that clear last night. Now get out of here, little woman, and next time you want to come in here, kindly wait to be invited, okay?’

  I don’t know if it was that ‘little’ or just the jaw-dropping cheek of her, but I felt as furious as I’d felt in a long time. A 13-year-old, barking orders, in my house?

  I don’t think so! I thought, as I raised my own finger. All the outbursts, her instability, our fears for her sanity notwithstanding, this statement sounded like nothing more complicated than the petulant, bare-faced defiance of a spoilt adolescent. ‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that!’ I rounded on her. ‘Who the hell do you think you are? Get out of that bed, right now, before I really lose my temper. Two minutes!’ I marched out and slammed the door.

  I needed to calm down, I realised, as I headed back downstairs again. Slamming doors was a teenager’s department, not mine. But Jesus! This girl would try the patience of a saint!

  Almost as if on cue, then, I heard the door slam again, and turned to see her coming down the stairs behind me, her face contorted, her eyes wild, her whole demeanour scary.

  ‘You fucking bitch!’ she screamed at me. ‘You ugly fucking bitch! I’m going to fucking kill you when I get my hands on you!’

  I was shocked to the core now, but some instinct seemed to kick in and instead of continuing to the bottom I turned and, facing her now, spoke clearly and calmly. ‘I suggest that you stop right there, Sophia,’ I told her. ‘Think about your next move and what its consequences might be.’ I licked dry lips. ‘I think you know I’m not joking now.’

  I stood my ground, but I knew I was out of my depth here. I had never encountered such a venomous outburst. I’d come across violence and threats many times from kids over the years – Justin, early on, had even threatened me with a kitchen knife. But there was something about Sophia that felt in a different league. I knew I had to tread carefully here, for my own protection as much as her sanity.

  I was immensely relieved, then, to watch her turn and walk slowly back up the stairs. Perhaps, I thought gratefully, this would be the end of it.

  It wasn’t. ‘I’m still not going to school,’ she said, back now on the landing. ‘You sad cow. Why don’t you just go and fuck yourself?’

  Oh my God, I thought, as I mentally regrouped to respond to this. I knew I could walk away now, and that might be the best course, but I also knew that if I did, this scenario could get really ugly – I felt Sophia was capable of anything right now, and I knew she was certainly not ready to concede. And if I let that happen, the monster inside her would have won. Which would simply confirm to her that she was indeed a monster. No, the hard course was the only course; I must assert my authority. Take control. She had nothing to attack me with here, after all.

  I walked back up the stairs again, never taking my eyes from her. And it was then that it occurred to me that my position was quite precarious. Three steps lower than her, Sophia literally towered over me. ‘Sophia, love,’ I said quietly. ‘Let’s just calm down and stop this silliness, shall we? You know full well it’s wrong to speak to adults like that, don’t you? Come on, love. What’s brought this on?’

  She looked down at me and laughed. It went through me. ‘Do you know what a silly little woman you are?’ she spat at me. ‘You don’t get it, do you? If I don’t want to do something, what the hell do you think you can do about it?’

  I felt the anger surge again in me and fought to press it down. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’ve had just about enough of this now. You’re the child, I’m the grown-up.’ I paused so she could digest this. ‘Now bloody well get dressed before I dress you myself. Do not underestimate me, Sophia!’

  What happened next was all a blur but will remain with me for ever. Because, sudden though it was, it all seemed to happen in slow motion. One minute I was preparing to take a step and march her back to her bedroom, and the next I saw her grin – and it was a grin of pure malevolence – as she raised her hand and shoved me in the chest.

  I was falling now, and instinctively tried to grab something. Flailing wildly, I was able to wrap my hand around the banister, but such was the force of her hand slamming into me that in doing so I was violently twisted around, which arrested my fall to the bottom of the staircase, but wrenched my arm and slammed me hard against the wall.

  From there I could only look on in shocked horror as her hand flew to her mouth and she let out a shriek. ‘Oh my God!’ she started screaming at me. ‘Oh, my God, Casey, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! What have I done? Oh my God!’

  She ran back into her room then, still shouting apologies, and I could hear her huge convulsive sobs even as I stumbled back downstairs.

  Right away, listening to her, I was in my own turmoil. What had I done wrong? What could I have done differently to defuse things? What other course of action should I have considered in all this that might have had a less damning outcome? I was all too aware of what could have happened. Had my fingers not managed to get a grip on that banister, I could be lying on the hall floor right now, badly hurt.

  Or worse … I thought of Grace and swallowed. I realised I was shaking, so I reached for my cigarettes and cold coffee, and, almost on autopilot, went back into the garden. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Didn’t have a clue, in fact. My head was empty. All I could think of was my own uselessness, my own complete lack of foresight in going back up those stairs, my lack of memory about the demons that must haunt Sophia about what happened to her own mother, how her losing control – and its subsequent consequences – would surely colour everything now. God, I thought. This was terrible. Why was I failing so badly with this girl?

  I started crying then, crying at the contrast of my warm sunny garden with what had happened, in my own home, just minutes before. I pinched my cheeks in an effort to stop myself weeping, trying to re-channel my emotions down a less self-pitying route. But I felt wretched. What kind of a foster carer was I if I couldn’t control a girl who’d just turned 13?

  I didn’t hear Sophia when she came through the conservatory, but as I rubbed at my cheeks angrily and puffed furiously on my cigarette, there she was, suddenly, all dressed for school.

  ‘Right, I’m off now,’ she said, her expression still hard-faced and angry. I wasn’t sure if she was spoiling for further conflict. I wasn’t.

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Go. We will speak about this later.’

  She turned on her heel then and stalked back inside, slamming each door she went through, one by one. First the glass conservatory door, which rattled in its frame alarmingly, then the kitchen door – bang – then the front door, a loud thud. It was only when I heard that, that I left my safe haven. I needed more coffee – a very big mug of coffee. I felt like I’d gone five rounds with Mike Tyson.

  It was still early – much too early to hope to get hold of John Fulshaw – but I needed to speak to someone, two someones, in fact. I first called Riley, who I knew would be up and about with Levi, and then Mike, who’d had an early start, and might by now be on a break at work. Both were understandably concerned and also furious, and both wanted to come straight home and check I was okay.

  I held them off, though, grateful as I was for my family. There was no point in either of them rushing home to me. The storm had passed now. Its perpetrator had gone to school, and the house was now empty. I’d just needed to vent my feelings, that was all.

  It was John I needed really, so I could log this latest incident, and once it was past nine I dialled his number. I must be his favourite caller, I mused ironically, as I listened to the ring tone. Always calling him with bad news, these days. Never good. Even so, I couldn’t help feeling a surge of irritation at getting his answerphone. Had he known it was me? I also hated talking to the wretched things at the best of times, and this was definitely not the best of
times. I left what probably sounded like a very garbled message, finishing with a heartfelt request that he ring me back.

  Right, I thought, that done, now you have to cheer up, Case. So I flicked the switch on the kettle – at times like this, you couldn’t ever have too much coffee – and ramped the volume on the radio up to max. Then I turned it down just a little, so I could still hear the phone, and forced myself to sing along to the Three Degrees.

  And after around fifteen minutes the phone did indeed ring. Assuming it would be John, I ran to get it.

  But it wasn’t john. It was Edith Thomas, the school nurse.

  ‘Mrs Watson?’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry to bother you, but we need you to come to school as soon as you can.’

  I listened, dumbstruck. What now? Silly question. ‘We’ve called an ambulance,’ she was saying. ‘But if you could come as soon as possible, we’d appreciate it. We think Sophia has had some sort of collapse. She’s unconscious …’

  ‘Oh, Christ,’ I said. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. You do have the emergency kit in school, though, so …’

  ‘Yes, we know,’ she said patiently. ‘But there’s no one here who can administer it. It must be either you or a paramedic.’

  Why? I thought. Why? Suppose I’d been unavailable? Would they have just sat there and done nothing? God! Where were the protocols for this? Surely they could give it! I mentally re-focused. This wasn’t the time to row with her. Hopefully the ambulance would beat me anyway. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Ten minutes, okay?’

  As I raced upstairs to dress – I was still in my pyjamas – I couldn’t shift the nagging doubt that had lodged in my mind. She’d caved in so easily, in the end, after all. Still angry, yes, but at least she’d gone to school. Was this development just a tactic, of the kind Kieron had mentioned, to draw attention from what she’d already done?

  I was dreading the thought of injecting her. I’d got away with it the last time, but would I strike lucky again? I just had this sense that my luck had run out. I wasn’t a nurse or a doctor, and I was terrible with needles, but I just knew I would have to do it, that the buck stopped right here. With all this in my mind I was beginning to feel completely frazzled. And even more so when I pulled into the school car park to find no reassuring ambulance was already parked. Please just get here, I thought, as I ran down the school corridor to the medical room and Sophia. Please, please just get here.

  Chapter 19

  Sophia was lying face down on the medical bench, her face turned to one side and her cheek pressed against the mattress. There was a teacher sitting beside her, one I didn’t recognise, who was rhythmically stroking her hair back from her brow. Her eyes were closed. She did indeed look as if she might be unconscious, but, equally, she could have just been asleep.

  Nearby, Edith, the school nurse, was standing with a clipboard, writing notes. She looked up as I entered. ‘Ah, Casey,’ she said smiling a weak, troubled smile. ‘Sorry to have to ruin your morning like this, but it looks as though we are going to need you to inject Sophia with her medicine. She’s been like this for a good ten minutes now.’

  The ten minutes it had taken me to get there, in fact. I looked closely at Sophia. I felt sure I could see her mouth twitch. The trace of a smile, perhaps? I just couldn’t seem to shift the idea that this was all part of an elaborate grand plan. I felt like a puppet having my strings jerked.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ I said, frowning at Edith. ‘I’d hoped the paramedics would have been here by now. You know I’ve never done anything like this before, don’t you?’

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ she soothed. ‘There’s nothing to it, really there isn’t.’

  Then why couldn’t she do it, then? I thought crossly, even though I already knew the answer. I fumbled in the emergency bag, my fingers beginning to quiver, and prepared the syringe as I’d been shown to. I then took one last hopeful glance through the still open medical room door, willing the paramedics to come belting down the corridor and save me. But there was nothing. Nope! I thought, trying to still the shakes. You’re on your own.

  I took a deep breath, to steady myself. This really wasn’t complicated. All that was required was for me to jab the needle into her leg and to push the plunger till the contents had gone in. Simple, at least in theory. But, in practice, still quite difficult. It was all I could do not to close my eyes as I jabbed the needle into her – just the idea of wilfully sticking a needle into another person felt wrong, even though I well knew how silly I was being.

  I winced as I pushed on the plunger to deliver the vital hydrocortisone, and then sighed as I heard the sound of boots in the corridor. Typical, I thought. The paramedics had arrived now. I pulled the needle out of Sophia’s thigh just as they entered the room.

  She had, almost immediately, come round. She rolled onto her side now, and then pulled herself upright. Her face, though, was a shock. It was a picture of anger. ‘I bet you fucking loved doing that, didn’t you?’ she snarled at me. ‘Couldn’t wait to stick the needle in, eh? Bitch!’

  I felt a rush of heat in my cheeks. ‘Don’t be silly, Sophia,’ I answered. ‘I was just doing what had to be done. You were unconscious.’

  I was confused then – hang on, I thought, if she’d been unconscious, how had she even felt that? I also felt embarrassed, because I could sense the shock in the room at the way she’d spoken to me. And what the hell was I doing, defending myself to her? I bent down a little. I was not having this. Not again. ‘Anyway,’ I said solicitously, maternally, patting her. ‘How are you feeling, love? Better?’

  One of the paramedics was now getting some background from Edith, making his own notes about what had happened. The second now came over to speak to Sophia, who was sitting there, doggedly ignoring me.

  ‘Now then, missy,’ he said, getting down on his haunches. ‘What d’you think happened?’

  Sophia slowly looked him up and down before answering. ‘Aren’t you a little young to be a paramedic?’ she asked him. ‘And I had an Addisonian crisis – heard of them, have you?’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ he said, seeming completely unruffled. ‘And I also see we have a little madam on our hands. Sophia, I think we both know that you haven’t had a crisis, because if you had, that would have been the fastest recovery in history – Guinness World Records kind of fast. Come on,’ he said, rising again. ‘Let’s check your blood pressure.’

  Scowling, she rolled her sleeve up so he could get the cuff around her, and said nothing while he pumped it up and took the reading. He smiled and shook his head then, and glanced across at me. ‘I think you’ve been giving your mum the run around,’ he told her. ‘Your vital signs look perfectly fine to me.’

  ‘She not my mother,’ she barked at him. ‘She’s just a carer. And I’m telling you, I did have a crisis, okay? I know my own body, thank you very much!’

  ‘Sophia!’ I interjected. ‘That’s quite enough, thank you very much! This man knows his own job, too!’

  The nurse, who’d watched all this, beckoned to me then, and I followed her and the other paramedic outside. He introduced himself as Phil and led me a little way down the corridor.

  ‘My colleague’s right,’ he said. ‘That sort of recovery doesn’t happen, Mrs Watson. Just so you know for the future, it normally takes some time for the hydrocortisone to take effect. And you’d know it. Right now we’d be rushing her to hospital and putting her on a drip. But as you can see, she’s just fine. Seems like young Sophia’s leading everyone a merry dance here.’

  I felt stupid, then, but also quite angry. My first instinct had obviously been right. ‘But what do I do?’ I said. ‘How am I supposed to know the difference? I can’t not follow the procedure for a crisis, can I?’

  He shook his head. ‘There’s the rub. You can’t, I’m afraid. It’s a tough one. You can always try to shake her and get a reaction. But if she wants to play dead … well, then, you’re right. You have no choice. An unnecessary injection of steroid won’t do anything terrible
in the short term – not if it’s only occasional, anyway, whereas, if it is a crisis, the consequences of not giving it are very dangerous.’

  ‘I’m just so glad you got here,’ I said, ‘and know what you’re doing!’

  ‘Stroke of luck,’ he said. ‘Colleague of mine’s the expert – not me. He genned me up on the way over.’

  So there was a God, after all. I nodded. ‘I think I’ve met him.’

  He nodded sympathetically at me, having obviously spoken to Edith, now, as well. ‘Quite a handful you’ve got on your hands with that one, eh? On all fronts …’

  And that, of course, was the problem. Every day that went by it was just hammering itself home to me. I was just so woefully ill-equipped to help Sophia. I listened quietly as the other paramedic lectured her on the dangers of ‘crying wolf’ and also about how wrong it was to use emergency resources when they had other real emergencies to deal with. I knew it was important that they do this, but I was listening half-heartedly, pretty certain that she’d heard all this many times before, and that not a bit of it was even sinking in. It also occurred to me that, from what I’d read, these crises were really rare – how likely was it that she’d have had two in as many months? And if she had, she’d be really very ill. And the vomiting, too. I realised that it had never been confirmed that she had actually been sick that previous time in school. We’d only had her word for it, after all.

  God, this child was so ravaged, so bent out of shape by her wretched life, that her anger at the world seemed to take precedence over everything, causing her to lash out at anyone and everyone – no matter the cost to her own health. It was almost as if she couldn’t allow herself happiness; every instance of pleasure had to be immediately expunged, beaten off by her self-imposed punishments. It was as if she really did want everyone to hate her.