by Casey Watson
I took her home in silence. She didn’t speak, not a word. And I was perfectly happy with that state of affairs, as I felt perilously on the edge of tears now. I needed to get her off to bed; crisis or no crisis, a lie-down wouldn’t hurt her, and I needed her and her demons out of my sight for a while, at least till I felt strong enough to face them.
It was this sense that I was in the presence of such anger, I imagine, which left me totally unprepared for what happened next.
I had just stepped out of the hall and into the living room when she seemed to fall, literally, at my feet. Where she’d been standing, she was now lying in a miserable, crumpled heap, grabbing my ankles and sobbing uncontrollably. My first thought was Shit, now she really has collapsed! But it was soon apparent that her problem wasn’t physical.
‘Oh, Casey,’ she sobbed up at me. ‘What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel like this all the time? I can’t bear it. Why?’
Shocked, and also shackled, all I could do was shuffle slightly, so I was perched against the arm of my sofa.
‘I can’t bear it,’ she sobbed again. ‘I hate my life. I hate it. I just want to die. I swear to you. Why can’t I just die?’
The events in school suddenly took on a chilling new complexion. But against that sat my now almost knee-jerk reaction. Crying wolf, I thought, as I leaned down to soothe her and stroke her hair. Was this more of the same? Was she crying wolf now? She was such a good actress. I’d more than ample evidence of her skill at it. And yet … and yet … this didn’t feel like it was acting. ‘It’s okay,’ I said softly. ‘It will all be okay.’
But would it? To be honest, I didn’t think so. We were currently living such a yo-yo existence, us two, neither of us, it seemed, knowing what was coming next. She couldn’t control herself and I couldn’t control her. And how exactly was that state of affairs going to change?
Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps Sophia knew exactly what she was doing. Perhaps even now she was engineering what would happen. But what difference did that make? If it were true then perhaps that was worse. I was so confused, but one thing I knew above all else was that this child – this desperate young girl – needed me.
I shuffled down then and joined her on the floor of my living room, and, forgetting the events of what had already seemed a very long day, I lay beside her and gathered her into my arms. I then gently rocked her as she cried her little heart out, tears sliding down my own cheeks as I listened to her strings of apologies – for what she’d put me through, and Mike through and Kieron through and Riley through, her wish – and here her clarity of speech and logic chilled me – that she could just die, so that she didn’t have to hurt any more. Saddest of all, though, was her desperate, plaintive crying for her lost mother, about which no one could do anything at all.
It felt like hours – in reality about one hour, perhaps longer – before she stopped crying, and, even then, her chest and shoulders still continued to heave spasmodically. It was longer still before she was able to pull herself up beside me and agree with my suggestion that she could perhaps do with a sleep.
I took her up to her room and she crawled into bed fully clothed.
It was all I could do not to take half a dozen steps across the landing and crawl under the duvet myself.
When Mike and Kieron got home I was still feeling like a zombie, and though I had managed to speak to John (keeping myself calm through sheer willpower; I couldn’t bear the thought of snivelling down the phone at him) I had achieved nothing in the way of dinner. Mike was, of course, still angry at the events of first thing in the morning, and emotionally in a completely different place to me. As was Kieron, once Mike had filled him in. I wearily brought them up to speed with everything that had happened subsequently, reflecting, as I did so, that if you wanted a definition of the phrase ‘rollercoaster of emotions’ you could take our day, wholesale, and just use it.
This was the reality of having such a badly damaged girl in our lives. All the normal emotions you’d apply to a situation – anger, frustration, irritability, exasperation – had to be taken out, shaken out, inspected and put back again; the usual rules just didn’t apply. It was one thing to sit in a psychiatrist’s office and accept intellectually that Sophia wasn’t responsible for her actions, but actually living with it … now that was a whole different kettle of fish. I knew my arm would ache tomorrow, from the wrenching it had suffered, but it was the constant snapping of nerves that was becoming the real issue. I felt drained. Wrung out.
‘Go and have a lie down, love,’ Mike counselled, once I’d finished. ‘You look exhausted. Go on. I can rustle something up for me and Kieron. I’d rather have a rubbish dinner than have my wife in this state. Please, love, just allow yourself to down tools for a change, okay?’
The concerned looks on Mike and Kieron’s faces made me feel even more wretched. Eyes once again threatening tears, I fled the kitchen before they noticed.
I slept all the way through to Saturday morning.
I woke to the smell of breakfast cooking. Bacon. Mushrooms. And, hmm. Those delicious herby sausages? And for a moment I couldn’t work out which day it was. Saturday, that was it. So Mike would have popped in to work by now, wouldn’t he? So was Kieron cooking breakfast? He was many, many good things, my darling son, but no chef. I pushed the covers away, got out of bed and pulled on my dressing gown, feeling guilty for having deserted all my loved ones the night before.
But it wasn’t Kieron standing proprietorially over the frying pan, it was Mike.
‘Oh, love,’ I said wrapping my arms around him. ‘You should have woken me. I’d have done that. Besides, shouldn’t you be at work?’
He shook his head. ‘I called the office. I’ve officially taken the whole weekend off.’
This was a rare treat, and I felt grateful.
‘Where’s Kieron?’ I said. ‘I’d have thought his nose would have already dragged him down here. And Sophia –’ Just saying her name aloud lit a small flame of anxiety. What would be next in this ever-changing drama?
Mike nodded towards the window. ‘Take a look,’ he said.
I followed his gaze, to see the pair of them outside in the garden, both tucking into their breakfasts at the table and chatting away nine to the dozen. I noticed they even had Kieron’s CD player out there. I could hear the tinny sound through the open window.
I was stunned. He’d been so angry about what had happened. Could it be that he’d decided to accept my belief that she really wasn’t quite responsible for some of the things she did? ‘Well, I …’ I began.
‘Don’t stop to analyse, just enjoy,’ Mike said, grinning. ‘Go on, sit down. Breakfast is imminent.’
It took no encouragement whatsoever for me to do exactly that, and within minutes I was wolfing it down like a woman possessed – having gone without dinner, I was ravenous.
I was just clearing the last mouthfuls when Sophia appeared in the kitchen, balancing plates and mugs precariously in front of her and still giggling about something Kieron must have said. She smiled when she saw me. ‘Hi, Casey,’ she said brightly. ‘Boy, you had a long sleep. You must have been tired! Did Mike tell you about my belated birthday card?’
I was too busy digesting her first statement to really note her second. Once again, had the previous day completely disappeared from her memory? Wiped like an old DVD?
Mike was shaking his head, though. ‘Not yet, lovey, no. Sophia had a belated birthday card in the post today, love. From her grandparents.’
‘Really?’ I mentally caught up. Perhaps this was the best way. Stick rigidly to the present. Press ‘erase’.
‘Well, from Granddad,’ she corrected now. ‘He was the one who signed it. He wrote her name on it, but it was really from him. And guess what else?’
‘What?’
‘He put a hundred pounds in it.’
I raised my eyebrows at Mike. ‘Wow,’ I said. ‘That’s a lot of money! What are you going to do with it?’
She sh
rugged. ‘I dunno yet. Maybe get a new iPod or something. Anyway, I’ve given Mike the money to look after till I decide.’
‘D’you think we should tell social services about this?’ I asked Mike, once she’d skipped back outside into the garden. ‘It’s a bit out of the blue, after all, isn’t it?’
‘I’d say so,’ he said. ‘Anyway, John’s calling later, isn’t he? Run it past him. Maybe there’s stuff going on with the family we don’t know.’
‘Well, wouldn’t that make a change, love,’ I said wryly.
John called, as he’d promised he would, mid-way through that afternoon, by which time Sophia was engrossed in a DVD in the living room, Kieron and Mike having gone off to football. I took the phone off to the conservatory to speak to him.
‘Funny you should mention that,’ he told me when I filled him in about the card, ‘because there have been some developments with the family. Not particularly edifying ones, sadly. There’s still a big rift between son and mother, not helped, by all accounts, by Grace’s consultant’s recommendation that they should perhaps consider withdrawing life support. They don’t expect anything in terms of a recovery at this stage, and it seems both grandfather and her uncle are in agreement, but gran – well, it’s her daughter isn’t it? By the grace of God and all that … She’s not budging.’
‘Oh, God,’ I sighed heavily. This was just all so sad and tragic. ‘And what about Sophia? How’s she going to react to all this?’
And just when are CAMHS going to get around to seeing her? I thought but didn’t say. Some time before her whole world implodes might be nice.
‘Oh, there’s no need to say anything to her yet,’ John said quickly. ‘All undecided. Nothing’s concrete at this stage. And if they do … well, there’ll need to be a visit arranged first, won’t there? So she can say goodbye properly to her mum. And let’s face it, might be the best thing. You know. Allow her to move on.’
Yes, John was right. In the long term, perhaps. But she’d still have to deal with it, I thought, as I put the phone back in the hall. It would be huge. It would be horrible. It could tip her right over the edge. And it would be us who’d have to deal with the fall-out.
‘God, it’s just one thing after another!’ Mike said, when I told him later. ‘When’s that lass going to cop a break, eh?’
Not yet, I thought. What were the chances she was going to get that lucky? This was real life. No magic wands to wave around.
Chapter 20
Though the news about Sophia’s mother weighed heavily on my mind, the remainder of the weekend went surprisingly peacefully. I was bemused by this sudden contact from the granddad, but also pleased. Perhaps some lasting reconciliation could be achieved within the family, even if it would take the form of coming together in grief if and when they decided to withdraw Grace’s life support.
In the meantime, however, I was just glad of the calm and as happy as everyone else to make the most of it. I was particularly touched by the way Kieron was handling things. Despite everything – and he’d borne the brunt of so much since Sophia had been with us – it was as if he’d decided to do his level best to form a bond with her, putting aside all that had happened in the past.
Bar Sophia’s quiet demeanour, I had no evidence to support that, but by Monday I’d decided that perhaps the events of last Friday had marked some sort of pinnacle. Perhaps they were a watershed we’d reached and could now move past. The idea was ridiculous, and, in hindsight, I think I just willed myself to think that. But it was the Easter break from school now, which meant Sophia was home full time, and the prospect of being in an environment so racked with tension – hard enough in term time – was an alternative I simply couldn’t contemplate.
And with the school holidays came more sun, which made everything feel better. For me, particularly, as it meant I could spend more time in my garden, and with a baby in the family, this meant a return to the simple outdoor pleasures I’d enjoyed when my own two were tiny.
‘Let’s fill the little paddling pool,’ I said to Sophia on the Monday morning. Riley was bringing Levi over and, since the temperature was so balmy, we’d planned to spend much of the day doing absolutely nothing in the sunshine.
Sophia jumped to it, seeming as infected by spring fever as I was, helping me to lay blankets on the grass, inflate and fill the little pool, and get out all the baby toys from the cupboard in the conservatory. Levi was not only sitting up now, but rolling as well, so it would be good to give him some outdoor space to explore.
By the time Riley arrived the garden looked like a nursery-school playground, but instead of the whoops of laughter and cries of ‘What are you like, Mum!’ I’d anticipated, Riley’s expression when she arrived was pinched and drawn.
‘What’s up, love?’ I asked her, because it was so obvious that something was.
‘Oh, Mum, look at him,’ she said. ‘Look at his poor little face! He’s got chickenpox. We’ve hardly slept a wink!’
It didn’t take much of a look to confirm it, either. Some get it mildly, others aren’t so lucky. Both of my two had suffered badly with chickenpox – I’d got through bottle after bottle of calamine lotion. And it looked like poor Levi was following suit. He was liberally plastered with the tiny pink blisters – he even had them inside his eyelids. ‘Oh, you poor little thing!’ I cried, reaching in to lift him from his pram. Levi, however, was having none of it. He screamed immediately and began squirming and kicking to be put down, big tears running down his cheeks and irritating his face even further. Riley lifted him back from me and laid him back down.
‘It’s no good, Mum. He’s been like this all night. I think he just wants to be left alone, to be honest. It’s like he’s angry with us because we can’t do anything to help him.’
‘And it must hurt, being held, when your skin is so sore.’
‘Exactly. But he’ll be so much better out here in the garden. He always seems to settle better outside.’ She smiled a tired smile. ‘And I could definitely use some down time. Hopefully he’ll drop off to sleep in his pram and we can enjoy a spot of girlie sunbathing and gossip, eh, Sophia?’
So, having already done my housework for the day, and seen my ‘boys’ off to their respective weekday places, I got out three sun loungers, made up a batch of drinks and sandwiches, and the three of us then spent an enjoyable hour doing just that.
It really was a gorgeous day, far warmer than was usual for the time of year, and there was a delicious pleasure in doing absolutely nothing for a while, bar chatting about the latest celebrity gossip and half-listening to the radio: Sophia had switched on the one in the conservatory and relocated it to the open French doors so we could hear it. Even Bob, normally so energetic, seemed content to lie and slumber, his eyes half closed and his tail giving only the occasional flick.
I should have known the peace and tranquillity wouldn’t last, though. After an hour or so, Levi, all done with napping, woke up. Instantly reminded of his wretched condition, he began grizzling again, plaintively and miserably. It made it all the worse that he was generally such a happy, contented baby. We just weren’t used to seeing him, or hearing him, so sad.
Sophia put her magazine down. ‘Shall I wheel him around the garden for a bit, Riley?’
I was touched by her gesture. It was sweet of her.
‘Thanks, love,’ said Riley. ‘I don’t know that it’ll help any, but, yes, why not. He might at least be distracted by the change in scenery.’
Sophia jumped up and then spent the next ten minutes duly pushing the pram around the perimeter of the garden, but, as Riley predicted, it didn’t seem to be helping. If anything, Levi’s cries were getting even louder, and I could tell this was beginning to upset Sophia.
‘Sophia, love, just fetch him back here and sit down. He’s just poorly, love. Nothing we can do. Don’t worry, he’ll be okay.’
Sophia wheeled the pram back and Riley stood up, then pulled a bottle of liquid paracetamol out of her baby bag and began
to shake it. She passed Sophia Levi’s dummy with her free hand.
‘Here, love. Can you take this? And when I give Levi his medicine, do you think you could pop it straight into his mouth after so he doesn’t try to spit it straight back out again?’
‘Okay,’ Sophia said, nodding, and, seeming pleased to have been given the responsibility, she then knelt close beside the pram ready to do as asked. But when she did, it was obvious that Levi was not happy – furiously spitting medicine, he immediately struck out, throwing his dummy way across the lawn and accidentally scratching Sophia’s nose as he did so.
She looked shocked, but not half as much as we were about to be, because Sophia’s reaction was as fierce as it was instant. She immediately slapped him on the leg, really hard.
Riley dropped the medicine bottle and yanked her away by the shoulder. ‘What the hell are you doing!’ she yelled in her face, her maternal rage rising. ‘You don’t hit babies! What the hell did you think you were doing?’
I had jumped up from my sun lounger now. ‘Sophia! Are you mad?’ I jabbed a finger towards Levi, who was now really screaming, the weal on his tiny leg reddening even as we watched. ‘Look!’ I snapped. ‘Look what you’ve done! What were you thinking?!’
Thinking nothing, I realised, even as I shouted. She just did it. An instinct as natural to her as breathing. Hit. Lash out at someone. Hurt.
Riley had by now snatched Levi up from his pram. She was almost beside herself, I could tell. She looked straight at me, perhaps sensing my hesitation about how best to handle this. Because I did hesitate. The only thing certain right now was that our nice girlie day in the garden was over.
‘Don’t you dare, Mum. Don’t try to pacify her, okay?’ She turned to Sophia. ‘Go on. Get out of my sight! I can’t even bear to look at you!’
Sophia’s own expression had now morphed from shock to defiance. Or, perhaps worse, to that glazed, look-right-through-you mask she had. ‘Fuck you!’ she spat at Riley. ‘Fuck you both! You fucking hate me!’