Crying for Help (21 page)

Riley and I exchanged a look. I hardly knew where to start.

In the end, Sophia didn’t put up much of a fight with Phil, the paramedic. No sooner had he gone upstairs than the racket had ceased, his rap on the bedroom door and their subsequent exchange of words being replaced by the low murmur of calm conversation and then, eventually, a reassuring silence. From downstairs in the kitchen, in my still-raddled state, he had made subduing Sophia all seem ridiculously easy and I wondered why he’d succeeded where I’d failed.

‘I’m so sorry to have called you out again,’ I said, when he came back downstairs and I’d seen off a now-reassured Riley. ‘You must think I’m hopeless.’

He shook his head. ‘Absolutely not,’ he reassured me, accepting a cup of tea from Bev. Somehow, in the midst of everything, she had made a pot for us all. It was some measure of the kind of state I must be in that I accepted one too. I can’t stand tea.

‘You did the right thing,’ Phil said with conviction. ‘That’s what we’re here for.’

Bev had said as much when I’d outlined some of the background to the outburst, and had reminded me that it wasn’t in any sense silly to have called them. I should – indeed, must – take all her threats seriously. She had the means with which to kill herself, and having stated her intention it would be irresponsible if I
hadn’t
made the 999 call.

‘Anyway, it’s all calm up there now, love, so don’t worry. I’ve given her a mild sedative – had to, to calm her down, and get her to take her medication. She was adamant she was never taking any, ever again – well, at least till she realised that I wasn’t taking “no” for an answer, that is.’

‘So she hadn’t taken any pills then?’

Phil shook his head. ‘She said not, and I believe her. Here.’ He spread a haul of drugs onto the table for me to look at, including the emergency injection kit. ‘Not unless she has some other secret stash squirrelled away.’

I felt relief flood through me. ‘She can’t have more. I can only get a limited amount on repeat prescription, and it looks like it’s all there.’

‘Nothing to worry about anyway. Well, obviously, you’ll want to speak to her doctor about the whole
situation
, of course –’ he said, grimacing. ‘But an overdose of hydrocortisone isn’t life-threatening anyway. Not in the short term. Hugely harmful if done over the long term, as you probably already knew, but, as a one-off it’s not a goer if you want to be a goner.’

I couldn’t help smiling. But the smile didn’t stay on my face long. She was still up there, after all. Still very much my problem. And Phil’s sympathetic expression told me he understood. ‘Thanks so much,’ I said gratefully. ‘So she’s sleeping now, is she?’

‘Like a baby. And I doubt she’ll stir till morning now, so you can enjoy a bit of breathing space. Keep an eye on her, obviously, but don’t be surprised if you don’t hear a peep till tomorrow. Not after the fight she put up, and that sedative.’

I looked at my watch. It was still only 3.30 in the afternoon. Yet the morning suddenly seemed a lifetime ago. I felt very tired.

‘I could do with one of those myself,’ I joked, as I let them out. But the smile left my lips again as soon as they drove away. Alone with Sophia now, I recognised a new feeling building, one that I’d never experienced to quite the degree I did now, not in my professional capacity, at any rate. I felt frightened. Of her. Of being in the house alone with her. I hoped Phil was right. I really hoped she didn’t wake.

I had plenty to keep me occupied for the rest of the afternoon, at least. First, I had to record everything in my journal, which I did, sitting at the dining-room table, a large mug of coffee at my elbow, carefully including every tiny detail I could remember. I then called John Fulshaw and updated him similarly, repeating what Phil had said about getting her to see our GP to discuss her Addison’s management and restating my case for the urgent need to get her that psychiatric assessment, too.

John was predictably reassuring, but had nothing new to say. Yes, it was in hand with CAMHS; no, he’d heard nothing further; yes, he would give them another chase.

Finally, I called Mike, and simply poured my heart out to him – the very last thing he needed in the middle of his working day. He listened patiently and sympathetically but I felt really bad when I put the phone down. What on earth had I been
thinking
? It was so unlike me to burden him like that. Not while he was at work. That was all wrong.

But it did make me feel better. And with Sophia asleep upstairs, I decided to end the day the same way I’d started it. I threw some chicken fillets and vegetables into a casserole for dinner, then went back outside to enjoy the last of the spring sunshine, hoping I could absorb something of the sun’s strength and warmth.

The contrast I found there struck me forcibly. Here the garden, with all the toys strewn over it and with its playful, happy look, seemed so at odds with what was happening both in the house and in our lives. While the sun spangled prettily on the grassy water in the little paddling pool, upstairs, snoring softly, was a child in such a mess – and one seemingly hell-bent on self-destruction. Did I really have any hope of pulling her back? I was seriously beginning to doubt it.

When I woke the next morning, and the events of the previous day came flooding back to me, I experienced that same sense of fear I’d had yesterday, and I stretched out across the duvet to find Mike. Kieron had slept over at Lauren’s the night before, and taken Bob, and I felt almost panicky to think Mike might already have gone to work, leaving Sophia and me in the house alone.

But I needn’t have worried. Just as I began berating myself for my stupidity, he was in the open bedroom doorway, bearing coffee and toast.

‘Treat,’ he said, grinning. ‘For the lady of the house. Since it’s the school holidays I thought you could have a bit of a lie-in.’ He placed the tray on the bedside table and bent down to kiss my forehead.

‘Oh, thanks so much, love,’ I said, shuffling up to a sitting position. ‘What’s the time?’

‘Almost eight, so I really do need to get my skates on. But listen, love, you know where I am if you need me. So if you want to call me, don’t you worry about it. I’ve told them what’s happening, they know we’ve got some problems, so …’

‘Not today, fingers crossed,’ I said, willing myself to believe it. ‘Going by past experience there’s usually a couple of days of calm after a big blow-out, so I’m hoping today will be a good one.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ he said. ‘She’s up and about, by the way.’

‘Have you spoken to her?’

He shook his head. ‘No, but I could hear her pottering about in her room, humming to herself. I dare say she’ll be down, suitably contrite, when she’s ready.’

I nodded. ‘Contrite would be good. Anyway, Riley’ll be over later to give me moral support. Don’t worry. You get off, love. I’ll be fine.’

Mike kissed me goodbye, and then went off to work, and in the ensuing silence I too could hear Sophia pottering in her room. Despite my optimistic words, I still felt anxious about facing her. I was glad when I remembered that Kieron was off from college. Glad that I’d have him around all this week, too. I hoped he wouldn’t be too long in coming home from Lauren’s, but I forced myself not to ring and check.

Chickening out of looking in on Sophia right away, I then went straight down to the kitchen and felt immediately brighter to see Mike had already brewed me a full pot of coffee. ‘
To cheer you up!
’ a post-it stuck to it declared. I poured myself a second mug and set about a spate of light cleaning; anything, I realised, as I wiped already-wiped kitchen surfaces, to put off the moment when I would have to go up and see her.

Yet I
would
have to, I realised, when the clock showed it was way past ten and she’d yet to emerge from her bedroom. No, there was no school, but at the very least I needed to get food and medicine down her. Either that, or make another call to Phil.

Get your act together, Casey!
I chided myself, as I headed up the stairs on heavy legs. It was so unlike me to be reluctant to engage in a situation. Taking bulls by their horns was what I’d always been best at – wimping out, I told myself, was for wimps. She was probably hiding away in her room for exactly the same reason that I had been hiding away in the kitchen downstairs – in truth, perhaps we couldn’t face each other.

But I was wrong. I could sense it in the way the hairs rose on my neck as I pushed the bedroom door fully open.

I knocked as I entered, not wishing to startle her. She was sitting sideways on to me, at her dressing table, rhythmically brushing her hair. ‘Sophia, love,’ I started. ‘It’s way past breakfast time – are you coming downstairs?’

She was staring into her mirror. Though not at it, but through it. She wasn’t looking at her reflection. That was obvious. She was staring sightlessly into the far distance. She made no response. Didn’t even twitch. ‘Love?’ I said, a sense of foreboding building in me. ‘Are you okay? Come on, come down and let’s get you something to eat, eh? You must be starving.’

Still she said nothing, but now she did stand and, still brushing her hair, began walking towards me. At first it was as if she was sleepwalking, oblivious, but then I realised she was just doing what I’d asked her to do, so I turned and, sure enough, she followed me placidly down to the kitchen, where she sat at her usual place at the table and went back to brushing her hair.

This isn’t right
, I thought anxiously.
This is scary
. What the hell was wrong with her? I’d never seen her like this. Ranting, yes, raving, yes, throwing her toys out of the pram, double yes. But this strange vacant state was altogether more frightening. Was this the beginning of a real crisis or was it all in her head?
Please, Kieron
, I thought.
Hurry home.

‘Sophia?’ I tried again, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘Sophia, love. You don’t seem very well. You need to take your meds and you need some food inside you.’ This time, to my relief, she seemed to register that I was speaking. She didn’t reply to what I said, but at least she nodded.

Relieved, I hurried over to the cupboard and pulled out the pills Phil had brought down last night. I was further reassured to see her calmly take both drugs, while I scurried across the room to make some toast. Still, she didn’t speak – she was back brushing her hair again – but when the toast was done and I’d buttered it she ate both slices obediently, even passing her empty plate to me when done. At least that was one thing I no longer had to worry about, I thought, taking it. But this was serious. It was like she was in the middle of an extended trance and I didn’t have the first idea what to do next. What I really needed to do was to call for help.

Leaving her to it – she seemed engrossed only in her hair, and showed no sign of moving – I took the house phone and my phone book out into the garden. So what did I do? Call an ambulance? Call John? What made most sense? Some instinct, however, led me to the number of her consultant, the man with whom she seemed to have this peculiarly intense relationship. If I was going to call anyone, it might as well be him. Of all the numbers I had, his was the one that made most sense. He knew her, knew her well. The others didn’t.

I was stunned, even so, to get through to him immediately. Despite my determination to speak to him, it had occurred to me while dialling that there’d probably be layers of administration to get through before being granted access to the expert himself.

But he was happy to speak to me. And he sounded concerned. Especially when I told him about the suicide threats. Which made them suddenly seem very real. It was one thing to read on a file from social services ‘has attempted suicide’, quite another to have a child in your care who might at any moment try, and perhaps succeed in, taking their own life.

‘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?’