Crying For Help Part 17

'Well, all the kids were out on the field after lunch, as is usual. And Mrs Cronin, the PE teacher, was out supervising a game of rounders, when she happened to notice a circle of boys standing in a circle further up the field, on the gra.s.s. And she was alerted straight away that something untoward might be happening, because she could tell one of the boys there was keeping a lookout.'

I remained silent as he paused, dreading what might be to come.

'Anyway,' he went on, 'Mrs Cronin naturally went to investigate, and that was when she saw Sophia. She was the only girl, apparently, in the middle of a circle of six boys, and I'm afraid she was ... well, not fully dressed, shall we say, and, well, doing some sort of ... well ... erotic dance.'

'Oh, for G.o.d's sake!' I couldn't help but blurt out.

'I know. And I'm sorry to be the bearer of such unedifying news, believe me. Anyway, Mrs Cronin stepped in, of course, and sent Sophia immediately to my office, and then she corralled the boys together. And from what I can gather, they all told the same story: that Sophia had invited them to see her do some, ahem, "gymnastics" for them ... And, well, they're teenage boys, Casey. Doubt they were slow in coming forward.'

'I don't know what to say to you, Alan, I really don't. What on earth am I meant to do with her? I have no idea why she does these things.' Which wasn't quite true. I had all sorts of theories on that, backed up by some pretty unpalatable evidence.

'Look,' he said. 'I'm not suggesting you "do" anything, to be honest. We're not suspending her for this. We're not even going to discipline her. These are a bunch of 12-and 13-year-old children, after all. I just wanted you to know. And maybe, if you have an opportunity, you could speak to her about the vulnerable situation she could put herself in if she continues to encourage such silly games.'

I felt relieved. At least that was one less stress to worry about. 'Of course I will,' I rea.s.sured him. 'And thanks for being so understanding.'

'That's okay,' he said. 'We all realise you have your hands full with this one.'

Never a truer word had been spoken.

I was canny, though. Much as I intended to deal with it, I made the decision to wait until later in the evening, when she'd already had her final meds for the day. That way, I figured, if there were any repercussions, at least an Addison's-related trauma wouldn't be one of them. In the meantime, preparing dinner, eating dinner, clearing away dinner, I kept my counsel. Though I'd put it in my log and mentioned her 'playing up' a bit at school to Mike, I decided I'd only go into details with him if I had to. No sense in the both of us getting stressed. Instead, I spent the time racking my brains trying to fathom the unfathomable, getting nowhere bar the same realisation as always: Sophia had multiple issues in her psyche and with her condition, so to try and tease logic out of her actions was futile. She was on such a balancing act with her meds, her illness had warped her personality, she'd almost certainly been the victim of some very erratic parenting, she had attachment issues and my instinct she had almost certainly been abused. How the h.e.l.l did you make sense out of that lot?

I broached the incident on the field when we were in the kitchen together, making coffee. She was already in her night clothes, and we were all in that winding-down stage, Mike and I to go and watch something mindless on the telly, Sophia to head off up to bed.

But the winding down changed instantly into the opposite a winding up.

'Whaaat?' she squawked indignantly. 'That is just such a lie!'

Mike had wandered back in from the living room at that point.

'Sophia,' I'd begun. 'I know what you did. One of your teachers saw you. You ...'

'I did nothing!' she railed. 'f.u.c.king nothing, okay?!'

'Sophia,' Mike snapped. 'That's enough!'

She swung around. 'And you can shut the f.u.c.k up as well!' she said, her face reddening and contorting. 'You!' she spat. 'You are just s.h.i.t on my shoe! You pathetic excuse for a man, you!'

It was such a shock, both the words and the way she'd suddenly unleashed them, that the pair of us were temporarily rendered speechless.

I wasn't having this again. 'Sophia!' I barked, hoping to stun her into silence. 'We are not going down this avenue, you hear me? We are not going to listen to that vicious tongue of yours tonight! Now get to your room and go to bed!'

I glanced at Mike then, whose expression was still one of incredulity. He'd been at the end of some barbs by her by this time, of course, but this one had completely caught him off-guard. I half-expected him to stand there and say, 'But what have I done?' He didn't, though. He couldn't. He'd been struck dumb.

But I hadn't. 'Move it!' I yelled at her again. And move it, to my grat.i.tude, she did. She still stomped up the stairs screeching every profanity she could think of, but at least I'd got through to her this time. At least she'd gone.

'You okay, love?' I asked Mike.

'What the f.u.c.k was that about?'

I almost pulled him up on his language, but then I realised there was no one there to hear it, so who cared? I shrugged. 'What's it ever about, love?'

'But why me? Why all the vitriol? What had I done? Why me?'

We didn't hear another peep that night. Hurricane pa.s.sed. Tornado over. But he kept shaking his head and saying it all evening.

My positive mood didn't extend to Tuesday morning. Even though it had been less of an outburst than he'd had to deal with previously, Sophia's vitriolic attack on him the night before had left Mike concerned for my welfare. Which in turn made me jittery. And he had a point.

'Look, love,' he said, as he brought me a coffee in bed. 'D'you want me to get her up for you, before I leave for work? Kieron's already gone' we'd not said a word to Kieron, by agreement 'and, well, you know, check out the lie of the land for you?'

I checked the time. It was still only seven. 'No, don't worry, love,' I said, shaking my head. 'You get off. I'll give her an extra ten minutes, so that if she is in a bad mood I'll only have twenty minutes of it to cope with till she leaves.'

It was incredible, I thought to myself as I kissed him goodbye, how we were beginning to normalise such outlandish and unpredictable behaviour. That was what happened, though; that was human nature. We'd taken to calling the sort of aggression and language that I would have pilloried my own two for things like 'bad moods', 'acting up', 'going off on one'. And when she went into those fugues that trance-like state, and all that talking to herself she did that was 'funny' or a 'bit odd' or just 'spooky'.

But help was coming, I kept reminding myself. We'd have her hospital appointment through soon. And in the meantime well, what else was there but to live with it?

I gave her the promised extra minutes, and went downstairs to the kitchen to get a second coffee. Bob, who'd shown no lasting effects of his own ordeal, thankfully, was already desperate to get out into the garden, so I unlocked the door for him, and by the time I'd done that it was time to call her down for her breakfast.

'Sophia?' I shouted up the stairs. 'Time to get up!'

No answer. I called again. Again, silence. I trudged back up the stairs to the landing. 'Sophia!'

Now I did get an answer. 'f.u.c.k off!'

Oh, G.o.d, I thought. Not all this again. I opened the door and put my head around it. 'Come on. I'm in no mood for your games or your foul language. So get up now, please. Come on. I mean it!'

And that morning it seemed she meant it too.

In an instant the duvet was hurled from on top of her and she'd sprung up, in bed, onto her knees. She then began making snarling sounds horrible, scary noises then picked up a teddy bear and hurled it at my face. As weapons went, it probably wasn't the most dangerous, but it took me by surprise and had been thrown with some force. And as such it couldn't have been a more provocative thing to do. But something told me a different tack might work here. So instead of yelling at her some more, I threw my head back and laughed. Perhaps that would confuse her into changing her own tack.

'Oh, dear,' I said brightly, picking up the unfortunate bear. 'Now poor teddy's going to need the doctor! Anyway,' I finished, 'spit spot. Time to get ready. Five minutes! Don't make me come back up here ...'

I walked to the door then, very calmly, and went downstairs.

I was shaken, though. Very badly shaken. She'd looked like a cornered animal, poised to attack me. She'd been practically foaming at the mouth. Once again the word 'normalise' floated through my mind. There was nothing normal here. I felt we were on the edge now, a real precipice. Her behaviour was becoming more and more erratic. I went outside and had a cigarette, then came back in and poured some cereal into a bowl, then went back into the hall and called her downstairs again.

'f.u.c.k you, b.i.t.c.h!' came the answer. Oh, G.o.d.

I raced back up the stairs again. I had to take control of this situation. 'Get out of that bed!' I yelled, even as I marched into the room. 'Get up and get dressed or I will dress you myself!'

She laughed manically. 'You stupid f.u.c.king little f.u.c.king wh.o.r.e! I thought I'd already taught you a lesson last time!'

She's 13, I kept saying to myself. She's only 13. She's a child. I marched over to the bed and stood over her. But before I could speak, before I could even think what to say, she had punched me, hard, in the side of my head. I tried to grab her arm, but, still kneeling, she launched herself at me and began a full-on attack punching me, pulling my hair, biting me and head-b.u.t.ting, and I soon realised that simply trying to defend myself was going to prove no defence at all. I couldn't think coherently; all I knew was that I had to restrain her. But how?

We'd been taught all sorts of things about how to handle violent situations with children, but it was something my dad had told me when I was a child that sprung to mind now. He'd been a boxer when he was younger, and one of the things he'd taught his children was that in self-defence you needed to remember it was all in the eyes. 'Watch your opponent's eyes,' he'd said, 'and then you'll know where the next punch is coming from.' What b.o.l.l.o.c.ks, I thought now. I couldn't even see her eyes. The slaps were coming thick and fast and she was just a blur of hair and limbs, but something else my dad said kicked in instead. Grab her arms and cross them. I must grab her arms and cross them. Being so much smaller it was vital that I use my whole body, if I had a hope in h.e.l.l of overpowering her.

And I did it. I grabbed her wrists and quickly yanked them across each other, launching myself, at the same time, on top of her. We fell in a heap on the bed, her below and me on top, in as ungainly a position as it was perhaps possible to be in, being jerked up and down by her bucking, furious body.

'Get off me, you f.u.c.king wh.o.r.e!' she screamed.

And all I could do was scream right back at her. 'Is that right? I'm not some silly little girl you can knock about, you hear me? What exactly do you think you can do to me, eh?'

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d, wh.o.r.e, motherf.u.c.ker!' she spat in my face, writhing.

'I'll let you up when you shut the h.e.l.l up!' I screamed back.

I was then startled by hearing a commotion downstairs, which had the effect of stunning us both into silence. 'Mrs Watson?!' The man was shouting so loud through the letter box that I could hear my name clearly. 'It's the police! Is everything okay?'

'Oh, thank G.o.d!' I thought. My neighbour must have heard the noise and called them! I sprung from Sophia. Now I'd be safe, even if she chased me. And she did manage to kick me, hard, as I bolted for the staircase, almost falling down them in my haste to open the front door.

'Oh, thank G.o.d you came!' I said, yanking it open to reveal two big policemen. 'Thank G.o.d someone called you!'

The younger of the two, stepping inside, shook his head. 'No one called us. We're here to follow up an incident report. But it sounds like you're having one right now!'

I nodded and explained, marvelling at this piece of good fortune, trying to flatten down my hair as I did so, feeling the sting of a cut as I smoothed my hand over my face. They were PCs Turner and Jamieson, PC Turner explained, upon which I promptly burst into tears.

The taller one, PC Jamieson, ushered me into the living room, while PC Turner set off up the stairs. 'Mrs Watson,' he said calmly, pulling out a small black notebook, 'you've clearly been a.s.saulted. You're quite within your rights to press charges. Would you like to?'

I shook my head and sniffed. 'No, I wouldn't. She's sick, you see. She's got a health condition. She has psychological problems ... But it's all being sorted ... She's ...'

But I was stopped mid-sentence by the sound now coming from the hallway.

'Morning, boys!' It was Sophia, who'd come halfway down the stairs in her pyjamas. 'Oh, I see the witch has got to you first.' She pulled a face at me. 'Oh, boo-hoo! Is poor Casey crying?' Only she p.r.o.nounced it 'cwy-ing', along with contorting her face into an exaggerated frown.

She then turned to the two policemen. PC Jamieson had stood up now. 'Jesus f.u.c.king Christ,' she observed. 'Aren't coppers young these days!'

PC Turner boomed so loud that I nearly exploded up from the sofa. 'Shut your filthy mouth, young lady, and get down here!'

'It's not me,' she said. 'It's her!' She jabbed a finger in my direction. 'She came up and attacked me in my f.u.c.king bed!'

PC Turner ran up the stairs then, closely followed by his colleague, and when he reached her he skilfully twisted her arm behind her back, before frogmarching her back towards her bedroom. First, though, holding her at the top of the stairs, he turned to me.

'Mrs Watson, Sophia is going to go and get dressed for school now, but if she doesn't I take it I have your full authority to take her to school in her pyjamas? And don't think I won't do it!' he growled at her. 'I'll march you right across the playground in them, if I have to. You get me?'

Numb with shock at this bizarre turn of events, I could only nod at him. But then something else occurred to me. 'But we mustn't forget to make sure she takes her pills first.'

Ten minutes later, fully dressed, and with her meds inside her, Sophia went to school in their police car.

Chapter 24.

Alone in the house, finally, I burst into tears again. I was so tired of all this and it was made doubly worse because I didn't know what to do to make things better. I looked at the livid scratch that ran down my left cheek, and fresh tears spilled from my eyes. It would be joined tomorrow by some equally livid bruises, I knew. I felt useless utterly useless. Unworthy of my position. How could a 13-year-old girl have driven me to this?

I paced the floor, then, trying to calm myself down. The policemen would be back soon, to take the statement they'd come to take from me in the first place. I couldn't bear the thought of them seeing me in this state. I didn't trust myself to phone John Fulshaw yet, either. Not without breaking down and wailing at him. I wasn't even sure I had it in me right now to write an accurate, unemotional record in my log.

Instead, I went out into the garden with my cigarettes, but lighting one, rather than calming me, just made me feel angry at myself. I was even too weak to give up smoking! I'd promised Mike I'd cut down, and had been doing so well lately, chomping away on horrible nicotine chewing gum and really making a sustained effort. But at the first hint of stress, what did I reach for? My f.a.gs. Hopeless, that was what I was. Hopeless.

But the minutes pa.s.sed and, as I sat in the sunshine, I began to feel calmer, forensically replaying the morning's events in my mind. Rationally, I knew I couldn't have played things any other way. When Sophia wanted a fight, she wanted a fight, and that was that. Even John Lennon and Yoko Ono couldn't have pacified her. But the look as she'd left for school had made me shudder. If looks could kill ... I knew what that saying meant now. She had lost it, really lost it, and I was the subject of her loathing. There was no getting away from that fact.

'Are you sure you're okay, Casey? Really sure?'

It was an hour later, the police constables having come and now gone, and I'd finally felt able to ring John with an update.

'I am now,' I said. 'Still a bit shaken, but I'll live. It's not the first time I've been in a scuffle with a teenager.' In fact it was the first time alone in my own home, without the support network of a whole school behind me. But there was no point in saying that. It just made me feel even less up to the job than I did already.

John sighed. 'Look, Casey,' he said. 'I know more bad news is the last thing you need to hear right now, but I'm afraid I have some none the less.'

'Go on,' I said. 'I don't think anything else could upset me today. Not after this morning.'

'Okay ... They withdrew Grace's life support at 9 a.m. this morning. She died at 9.20.'

'b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l! Since when was that sanctioned? I thought they'd planned on waiting till Sophia could say goodbye to her.'

'So did I. But apparently the grandmother told them to do it. Just her and Sophia's granddad were present. The uncle's apparently furious.'

'Oh, G.o.d, John. How am I going to break all this to Sophia?'

'You're not. Not today, anyway. Let me check on the funeral arrangements first. Given what's happened this morning, I think we should leave it for a couple of days. And look, are you sure you don't want me to come over or something?'

'No, John,' I said. 'There's only one thing I want right now, and that's to hear that you've made progress in finding help for Sophia. I just don't feel we're up to the task any more.'

'We have done, I promise. We have a provisional slot with Panel, just as soon as she's been a.s.sessed by the psychiatrist. They know how urgent this is, Casey. I've made that abundantly clear.'

This was a relief to hear. 'Panel', as they're called, are a team of senior professionals within social services, whose primary role is to decide what kind of fostering a child needs and, crucially, how much funding will be made available for it. Having a slot with Panel, in which Sophia's markedly more complex needs could be rea.s.sessed, meant there would finally be some action and an end to what felt like this constant fobbing off. It was all very well, all this 'we're doing this', 'we're sorting that', 'we'll have progress on this shortly', but and I gingerly touched the scab on my cheek urgent, in the real world, meant now.

As soon as I'd said goodbye to John, I called Riley. Not to give her chapter and verse on my morning I was determined not to burden her with it but to see if she fancied bringing Levi into town, so we could do lunch and a bit of girlie shopping. Levi was over the worst of his chickenpox now; happy in himself, even if still a little scabby. It would be good to see him, and have a much-needed hug.

Thinking about Grace, cold and dead now, was weighing heavily on my mind. Would this be the straw that broke the camel's back for Sophia? Much as I knew it needed to happen to enable her to grieve and move on, I tried to put myself in her shoes, and it felt horrible. She was already so unstable, so full of rage, so full of heartache and, selfishly, perhaps, given what she'd already told me, I was gritting my teeth mentally at the prospect of having a suicidal teenager in my house. Yes, I'd sworn to help her, but it was so hard. It was one thing to rationalise her extreme violence as not her fault, quite another to accept that when it was squarely aimed at you.

But I knew Riley and Levi would prove to be the antidote, and I'd been right. After a lovely lunch, and the purchase of yet another bag, I began to feel my mental strength returning. And the bag was a beach bag, because the other thing I'd vowed to do while out with Riley was to plan a holiday to jet away, somewhere hot and sunny and away from it all, just as soon as our circ.u.mstances allowed. In the meantime, however, it was very nearly end-of-school time, and I needed to get home and start on tea.

It was Kieron, however, who was home first. 'Guess what?' he said, almost the very second he arrived back. 'I've been invited to go on holiday with Lauren and her parents! To Cornwall! Which'll be great, don't you think?'

Bless him, I thought, knowing that what my 20-year-old son was really doing was asking my permission seeking my approval. He hated making decisions, and was also stressed about change, so he needed me to tell him it was a really good idea before he'd have the confidence to actually go.

'How fantastic!' I enthused. 'You will love it! And it'll be good for you to get away from this madhouse for a bit.'

'Actually,' he said, 'about that ... I've been thinking. I'm going to ask Riley if she'll look after Bob. Is that okay? I know you'll miss him, Mum, but I just couldn't bear it if ... well, you know. I'd just feel happier knowing he's at Riley's.'

I nodded. 'Of course, love, I completely understand. And I'm sure Riley would love to have him.'

'And you've got enough on your plate, haven't you?' he added ruefully.