by Casey Watson
‘She very nearly has,’ he told me gravely, ‘on several occasions. And I’m not just talking about since she’s been in the care of social services either. Sophia’s been with me since she was quite young – five or six – and she’s attempted suicide, by refusing her meds, several times – and on at least two she very nearly succeeded.’
‘Well, that’s great!’ I said, stung into anger instead of fear now. ‘So none of this is recent, is what you’re saying? Wouldn’t it have been helpful for us to have known all this when we started fostering her?’
‘It’s a fine line,’ he said, obviously unwilling to be browbeaten by me. ‘And, to my knowledge, social services did have access to her files. But you must understand that patient confidentiality is something I am obliged to take seriously …’
‘I understand that. But I’m obliged to take the wellbeing of the children in my care equally seriously. And that’s only possible if I know the full picture! We’ve clearly been looking after a child with longstanding psychological problems – problems that neither myself or my husband are qualified to deal with. Don’t you think it might have been helpful for us to have been told all this stuff when we first saw you?’
Once again, a familiar phrase stuck in my head. If we’d known all this stuff would we have ever considered taking her? No, of course we wouldn’t. We weren’t qualified … no foster carer would have been. But it was too late to think about that now. I said so. She was clearly in a very bad place.
‘I agree,’ said her consultant. ‘And perhaps you should take that up with social services. But, as a priority, I suggest you get in touch with your GP immediately. I’m too far away to be of much immediate use to you, but perhaps they can assess her and then liaise with me after that.’
Yup, I thought. Too far away. So no use. And though I knew my GP would be helpful and understanding, it was odds on that her medical notes hadn’t even reached him yet, either. Though, like all GPs, he had a duty of care to take on children in the care system, in practice, we’d been told, a child’s medical records could be very slow in following. I got Sophia’s meds from him, obviously, but as to the chequered nature of her past – well, he would be none the wiser, would he? I decided to call John for advice first.
Frustratingly, I got his answerphone, so was forced to leave a message. Which I did, making it clear that both Mike and I, and her consultant, felt she was having some sort of breakdown and that I was now going to get the GP out. Failing that, I’d have to phone 999 again. I was just finishing relating this into the machine when I heard a clear voice – Sophia’s – from behind me.
‘Who the fuck was that?’ she said. I swivelled in my seat to find her standing in the conservatory doorway, the faraway expression having been replaced by one I knew: that terrible twisted mask of rage and loathing.
‘Please don’t swear like that, Sophia,’ I said, trying to keep my eyes fixed on hers. She looked almost deranged with fury. ‘And that was a private phone call,’ I added, albeit pointlessly. She’d obviously heard at least the end of it. Heard her name.
‘No it wasn’t. It was about me,’ she said, confirming it. ‘You fucking liar.’
I felt my mouth go dry, and licked my lips. ‘I said stop that!’ I continued. ‘And yes, as it happens, it was about you. We’re all very worried about you. You’re …’
She thumped the door with her fist. It made me jump, it was so sudden. ‘Fuck you! I’m not having any doctors coming here sticking me with needles again. Got that? Got that?’
I stood up now, but was acutely aware that I couldn’t get back inside the house without passing her. I was trapped out here. ‘Sophia, don’t be silly,’ I began. ‘No one is going to come here and inject you. You’ve just taken your meds, haven’t you? So why would anybody have to do that? I just need a doctor to come here and see you. To try to understand why you’ve been getting so unwell, that’s all.’
‘You’re the one making me unwell!!’ she screamed at me. She took a step towards me, and I felt myself stiffen. ‘Why can’t you just keep your big nose out?!’
There was no point in just standing there. I had to act. I walked towards her, trying to look dismissive of her outburst as I placed a hand on the door jamb. ‘Come on, Sophia, out of my way now,’ I snapped. ‘Let’s get inside, put the kettle on and talk about this.’
But it seemed she had other ideas. She didn’t move a muscle. She was no longer just standing in the doorway to the conservatory, but actively blocking my path. If I was going anywhere I really would first have to shift her, and the difference in our height and strength fully hit home.
Just then, however, I heard another door bang. Kieron! Oh, thank God, I thought. Kieron. It must be Kieron! He was in the conservatory seconds later, calling, ‘Mum! Mum, you there?’
He then looked at the pair of us – Sophia had swivelled her head when she’d heard him – and his expression became puzzled. ‘Hiya, Sophia,’ he said. ‘Mum, is everything okay?’
Sophia had fully turned now, giving me the opportunity to squeeze past her. I took it.
‘Mum, is everything okay?’ she mimicked. ‘No, Kieron,’ she spat then. ‘It’s fucking not! The bitch –’ she jabbed a finger in my direction – ‘thinks it’s funny to have me stuck with needles to knock me out!’
I watched Kieron’s jaw drop before he regained his composure. ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘don’t you dare speak to my mother like that! Get to your room, now!’
In the midst of everything, some part of me found a moment to observe that this business of my kids sending my foster kids to their rooms was becoming something of a regular occurrence.
‘Do as he says,’ I chipped in. ‘And I will speak to the doctor. This isn’t you, Sophia. I know it isn’t. This might all be down to your medication. I think it is. Maybe your dosage needs looking at again.’
And maybe, I thought, recalling the notes about mental health side-effects, this is partly an effect of the illness. ‘Do as he says!’ she parroted again, ignoring me. ‘Casey’s kids are always right. Perfect fucking Casey. Perfect fucking Casey and her perfect fucking kids!’ She was hysterical now, spitting the words with real venom, and then – shocking both of us – she launched herself at Kieron, who only just managed to jump out of the way. She lunged again. ‘Okay, let’s see how you like this, then, Mr Fucking Perfect!’ But this time, as Kieron sidestepped, she simply swept past him, then ran back upstairs, laughing manically.
‘What the hell was all that about?’ he asked me, dumbfounded.
‘Oh, love,’ I said. ‘I can’t even begin to explain. I just need to ring the doctors. And I need to do it now.’ I ran back outside to grab the house phone and brought it inside. It was late morning. With any luck I would be able to get a house call. And if not, well, I’d just ring for yet another ambulance. We absolutely, definitely, could not go on like this.
I went into the kitchen and dialled the GP’s number with shaking fingers. Typically, I got the engaged tone three times before eventually hearing the sound of the mechanical menu. Press one for appointment, press two for prescriptions, press three for home visits …
I pressed three and willed my heart to stop thumping quite so hard. I then crossed my fingers as I explained to the receptionist who I was, and my concerns for Sophia’s current condition. Luckily, she was able to offer me an afternoon slot, though, even as I disconnected, I worried whether I was doing the right thing. Should I have just called for an ambulance, after all? No, I thought, it was ridiculous to call an ambulance. There was nothing here that the GP couldn’t handle. I couldn’t keep whistling up ambulances willy-nilly, after all.
But Sophia wasn’t done yet with testing us. As I put down the phone I could hear Kieron calling the dog. ‘Mum,’ he said, coming in. ‘Did you see Bob go out into the garden? I’ve lost him …’
I shook my head. ‘Lost him? How could you have lost him? Have you checked your room?’
‘Mum, I just brought him back from Lauren’s. And h
e’s starving. I think my room would be the last place he’d go. He wants breakfast.’
‘No,’ I said, distracted, my mind focused elsewhere. ‘No, I don’t think so. No, he didn’t come past me. He’ll be somewhere. Keep looking. Right now I have rather a lot on my mind …’
‘But where could he be, Mum? He can’t just have disappeared into thin air!’
I think we both thought the same thing at exactly the same instant. See how you like this, then, Mr Fucking Perfect … Oh, God, I thought. Bob. She must have him. In any event, neither of us said anything more – just turned around, the pair of us, and thundered up the stairs.
Kieron beat me, and thundered into Sophia’s bedroom. It was empty. He then marched out again and went across the landing to the bathroom, the door of which – as wasn’t generally the case – was closed. He tried the handle. The door was locked. He began banging on it furiously. ‘Sophia!’ he was yelling. ‘You’ve got my dog in there, haven’t you? I know you have! Let him out! Let him out right now!’
‘Fuck off!’ she screeched back, just as I got there. ‘The dog hates you! And if I’m going, the dog’s coming with me!’
Kieron had tears in his eyes now, I could see, as he beseeched me – ‘What’s she doing to him, Mum? What does she mean? Mum, get Bob out! You have to get Bob out! Please get Bob out!’ his voice, too, was now becoming hysterical.
I banged at the door with all the force I could muster. ‘Sophia, you have ten seconds. Ten seconds, do you hear? You can lock yourself in there for all time, if you want to, but the dog comes out, you hear? The dog comes out right now!’
Silence. I put my head to the door, listening, despairing. I simply didn’t know what she was capable of. I really didn’t. And I was terrified. All these empty bloody useless words! All so pointless! And then I heard a thump – a solid ‘thunk’ sound, followed by a loud yelp. Kieron did too, and we could both all too readily visualise the image of our cherished pet being slammed into a wall.
‘Sophia!’ he screamed at her. ‘I am going to break this bloody door down!’
He had just raised his fists to it when it did indeed open. Just a crack, just enough for poor Bob to wriggle through it, before slamming shut again, only narrowly missing mincing his tail. But my sigh of relief at seeing him was short-lived. Bob shot past us on trembling legs, skittering wildly across the landing, before half-running, half-falling, all the way down the stairs, coming to rest, whimpering and staggering, on the hall carpet.
Kieron let out a cry of anguish and immediately thundered after him and, by the time I reached the bottom, had already gathered Bob in his arms, his tears making twin shiny tracks down his cheeks, as he watched his beloved pet twitch in terror. I had not seen my son cry for close on ten years, and seeing him cry now broke my heart. Oh, God, I prayed. Please let poor Bob be okay.
Chapter 22
Looking at Kieron’s anguished face made me feel terrible.
‘Oh, God, Mum, look at him! Do you think he’s broken anything? Oh, God!’ I carefully felt all Bob’s limbs, with shaking hands, and was relieved to find that all seemed in order. He didn’t flinch or whimper, and I felt a surge of relief. He was just terrified and traumatised. He’d be okay.
But I wasn’t. God, I was so angry. We had been here already – last year, when Justin, during a particularly dark time, had been viciously cruel to the poor animal. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t on.
‘I think he’s fine, love,’ I reassured Kieron. ‘She’s obviously kicked him, or hit him or thrown him or something, but he’s a tough little fella. He’s fine, I think. Just fine.’
Even so, I thought suddenly, even as I consoled my fraught son, I would have to keep a very close eye on him. If she had thrown him – and that sickening sound seemed to suggest it – he might have internal injuries, ones I couldn’t see. But for now I was reassured. He seemed to brighten by the moment. ‘Why don’t you feed him?’ I suggested to Kieron. ‘Get some food inside him, bless him.’
Nodding mutely, Kieron took him off to the kitchen, where Bob encouraged both of us that, actually, he was recovering by the moment, by wolfing down a huge bowl of dog food. ‘I’m going to take him to Lauren’s,’ Kieron told me as Bob finished. ‘And I’m not bringing him home until she’s sorted out.’
The ‘she’ in question, Sophia, had now returned to her bedroom – we had both heard the thunk of her bedroom door slamming. Which was fine by me. Rather than confront her again, I took the opportunity to gather my thoughts. The GP was due now in less than half an hour. I filled it by updating my journal. I left nothing out, detailing every little thing I could think of. The only thing I omitted as I recapped my pen was, ‘We are, literally, living in a madhouse …’
Our GP, Dr Shackleton, had been our family doctor for about fifteen years. He knew the whole family and was a jovial, no-nonsense sort. He’d seen everything during his long years in practice, including Addison’s, so I felt confident he’d be able to enlighten me.
When I took him upstairs, it was to find Sophia lying placidly on her bed, reading a magazine, and perfectly happy (though she spoke very little, just nodded) to submit to a thorough examination. He checked her pupils, he checked her blood pressure, he checked her reflexes and pulse, he checked things what weren’t obvious to me – vision and balance, perhaps, I wasn’t sure – he palpated her stomach, and he percussed her chest. He asked her questions about how she was, and about how she’d felt earlier, and her response, overwhelmingly, was subdued and polite. She didn’t remember anything about the events of the morning, and looked genuinely mortified when he very gently probed her about whether she might have been violent towards the family dog.
Eventually, his tests done, he suggested she get some rest, and, once again, she meekly acquiesced. She even pulled the bedspread over her to indicate the fact, and by the time we left the bedroom she’d closed her eyes.
‘So what do you think?’ I asked him, once we were again downstairs, in the kitchen. I spoke quietly, out of habit, and I also shut the door. I couldn’t shake off the feeling that she might appear out of nowhere and start raving at us all over again.
‘I think she’s quite poorly,’ he said. ‘And it’s possibly related to her condition. Possibly not. She certainly seems to be having some psychotic episodes. And from what you’ve said, it sounds like they’re increasing, which is worrying.’
I explained that we were waiting for a referral to CAMHS, so she could have her mental health properly assessed. ‘But you’re right,’ I said. ‘It is getting worse, and more frequent. I’m beginning to be really frightened about what she might do next. Especially given her history of suicide attempts, and all the traumas and distress she’s been through this past year. It’s like living with a ticking bomb, to be honest,’ I admitted. ‘And, well … I don’t mind telling you, I’m getting to the end of my tether.’
He smiled reassuringly. ‘Leave it to me,’ he said. And to my immense relief he rang the hospital then and there, to refer Sophia as a matter of urgency, and though the Easter Bank Holidays would hold things up a little we were promised an appointment for the following week.
‘But as I’m sure everyone keeps telling you,’ he said as I showed him out, ‘don’t just keep thinking you have to soldier on, Casey. If you’re worried, or frightened, just call 999. As I’m sure you know –’
‘– that’s what they’re there for,’ I finished for him. ‘I know,’ I said, smiling ruefully. ‘And I will.’
I popped up to check on Sophia straight after he’d left, mostly to reassure myself she really was asleep before embarking on all the housework I’d not had time to do. Where had the day gone? It felt like it had disappeared from beneath me. And with it, all my nice, reassuring sense of order.
But she wasn’t asleep. She was still lying just as we’d left her, under the bedspread. But her eyes were wide open, and staring at the ceiling. She turned her head as I entered and, in what felt like the first time in ag
es, her expression was perfectly normal. No glassy-eyed stare, no contorted mask of anger, just an acknowledgement that I’d come into the room.
‘I’m sick, aren’t I, Casey?’ she said quietly.
I nodded slightly. ‘Yes, you are, love, I think.’ I couldn’t lie to her. I shouldn’t lie to her. ‘But the doctor’s going to help you, okay? That’s what he’s there for. We’ve got an appointment arranged for you. Well, almost. For next week. And in the meantime, well, one day at a time, eh?’
She nodded.
‘So, can I get you anything? I’m just about to make a start on tea. But do you want a drink and a nice salty snack to keep you going?’
‘A drink would be nice. Orange juice?’
I nodded and smiled. ‘Orange juice. Coming right up.’
I turned to leave the room, but just as I was through the door, she called me back.
‘Casey, is Bob okay?’
‘He’s fine,’ I reassured her. ‘He’s absolutely fine.’
‘I had no idea I’d hurt him. Honestly, I didn’t, Casey. I’ll apologise to Kieron. I’m so, so sorry. I feel so terrible. I just don’t know why I did it … it wasn’t me … honest, Casey. It was like I was someone else … Oh, God, I’m so, so sorry.’
I hovered a moment, unsure whether to cross the room and give her a cuddle. But something stopped me. I just couldn’t bring myself to. Not yet. My own son’s anguish was still too raw for me. Instead, I smiled. ‘Love, he’s fine. And it’s all done and finished with. Forgotten. We both know you didn’t mean it. Okay?’
She nodded meekly. ‘Okay,’ she said quietly.
That was the thing, I decided, as I walked back downstairs. There was no point in berating or disciplining this child. It was as if, when she behaved as she did, she was absent. As if her life had become gradually more and more torn – more full of holes. She’d fall into one, act out, do and say terrible things, before, somehow, managing to find her way back to reality, unaware, in any useful sense, of what had happened.