Part 7 (1/2)

'Erm,' Sophia interrupted him, grinning. 'I think you'll find that it's my body, my disease and my problem,' she responded. 'And I'm not taking it, and that's that, okay? If the world looks like ending, then I'll call the doctor. End of.'

She walked out of the living room and started up the stairs. 'Sophia!' I called after her. 'Get back down here. Stop being silly.'

'Just forget it!' she shouted down. We then heard the slam of her bedroom door.

'What the h.e.l.l was all that about?' Mike said.

Kieron, too, looked stunned. 'G.o.d, she's mad, she is. Is this all about the visit to her mum?'

'I don't know,' I said. 'But I imagine so.'

Mike frowned. 'Well, she obviously can't not take it.'

'I know,' I said. 'I know. But let's just leave her for a bit, eh? Then I'll go up and talk to her. See if I can persuade her.'

I spent half an hour watching but not seeing the telly I think we all did. The whole thing with her mother had really been playing on my mind. After the allegations she'd made about the boyfriends, and the ultimatum she'd given her mother, it was hardly complicated psychology to figure out how badly her mother's attempted suicide must play on her mind. It was unfinished business of the worst kind. It couldn't ever be finished, could it? So here she was, having to keep returning to those horrible memories; she'd wished her mother ill, and then her wish had come true. And every few weeks or so she had to stare that reality in the face. Though I felt awful thinking it, it would be better if her mother had died, because no one seemed to hold out any hope of a recovery. The chances this far down the line were frankly negligible.

Once I felt I'd waited long enough, I made my way upstairs to her room. I couldn't find her pills, so I a.s.sumed she'd taken them with her, perhaps taken one, even. I knocked softly on the door. 'Sophia?' I called gently.

'Go away.'

'Can I come in, love? I just want to talk.'

'No. Go away. I just wanna be left alone.'

'I'm sorry, love,' I said, 'but I need to come in. I'm responsible for you and I need to know you're okay.'

As she didn't respond to that, I turned the handle and pushed the door open. She was lying on the bed, fully clothed. The lights were off but I could tell she'd been crying, and my heart went out to her. She wiped her eyes and sat up, her expression stony.

'How dare you come in when I said no!' she barked angrily. 'Get out! I mean it, Casey! Get out! Leave me alone!'

She stood up then, and straight away I could see she was unsteady. She had to put her hand out against the wall to get her balance. 'I'm not taking it, okay? I'm not taking it, so just f.u.c.k off!' She was really yelling at me now, as she staggered towards me. Realising she meant to push me out bodily from her own body language I began slowly backing towards the landing. 'Go away!' she shrieked. 'Go away, go away!' Her eyes weren't focusing, and I could see she was losing all control. And in that state she was scary; I knew I was no physical match for her. 'All right, love,' I tried to soothe, 'that's fine. Go back to bed now. I can see you're upset, so I'll go back downstairs again, okay? You lie back down, now. Look, I'm going. See?'

This seemed to satisfy her and she turned and lurched back onto the bed. Mike had come upstairs now, hearing the shouts. 'What the h.e.l.l?'

'Shh!' I whispered, frantically gesturing him to go down again. I followed close behind and went straight for the phone. 'I'm calling an ambulance,' I said, as I dialled 999. 'She's in a right state. G.o.d, this disease is a b.l.o.o.d.y nightmare!'

Ten minutes later ten minutes during which the three of us sat, not knowing quite what to do, bar drink coffee and fret the ambulance arrived, disgorging a brace of paramedics, who were rea.s.suringly smiley and in control. I felt immediately calmer just showing them through the door.

One went straight upstairs while the other asked for details.

'So what have you done so far?' he asked me.

'Nothing,' I said. I felt such an idiot. 'I should have made her take her pill, shouldn't I? Forced it down her somehow.'

'Love, you think she would have let you, state she was in?' Mike countered.

'I suppose not,' I agreed. Though it didn't make me feel any better.

But the paramedic did. 'It's not life and death,' he said, obviously seeing my concern. 'Don't panic. She'll be fine. Probably just low blood sugar.'

'There,' said Mike. I could see the relief on his face. 'Listen,' he said, turning to the paramedic. 'Can we get you a coffee or something?'

'Coffee? Who said coffee?' came a voice from the doorway. 'Stiff drink, more like.' He was grinning. 'Proper little madam you've got there, haven't you? Told me I could 'eff off out of her bedroom. Charming! Is she always this delightful?'

It broke the tension a little, having the paramedics laughing in my kitchen. They dealt with all sorts, and seemed to take everything in their stride. I explained that we were fostering Sophia, and that we were still feeling our way.

'Absolutely understand,' he said. 'And you might find her a bit less demanding from now on. She gave me plenty of att.i.tude, so as well as her tablet I gave her some back. About frightening everyone and wasting our time. Listen, you really don't need to worry too much about something like this. There's a simple rule of thumb here. And it's stress, physical stress. If she has any sort of fever gets the flu, say or has a bout of diarrhoea and vomiting, that's when you have to call the doc about upping her meds. The other thing, obviously, is emotional stress. The body doesn't differentiate between a temperature and a mental trauma it'll go into shock just the same. So again, if in doubt, call the doc or give her more steroid. You have an injection pack?' I nodded. 'Well, you mustn't be afraid to use it. Jab it in, do it fast, get it done.'

I felt the colour drain from my face, but the paramedic grinned. 'It's rare for that to happen,' he said. 'So you'll probably not have to. As I say, don't worry. Forewarned is just forearmed.'

I smiled at this. How many times now had Mike and I said it? 'I'm just so sorry we had to call you out,' I said. 'This is all new to us, and I just wasn't sure what else to do.'

The paramedic shook his head. 'No, no. You did absolutely the right thing, Mrs Watson. Any time. That's what we're here for. Anyway, we'll get off oh, and our notes will go off to her GP. And you get a good night's sleep. Don't lie awake worrying. She's fine now.'

But none of us were fine. I saw the paramedics out, and when I came back into the kitchen to make us all another coffee the expressions on Mike and Kieron's faces. .h.i.t me like a slap. They were sitting in silence, both looking so upset and bewildered, and it hit me did they deserve all this, really? It was my job. My responsibility, and yes, they'd both been such rocks. And Mike had gone through the training with me I couldn't have decided to foster without my husband's full support. But, hand on heart, was I asking too much of my family? This wasn't just a case of bringing my work home work was home. It was the business of bring children to live with, and be supported by, our family, that our kind of fostering any kind of fostering was all about. But was my desire to make a difference actually making the worst kind of difference? Committing my own family to much more than they'd bargained for? To all this?

It had been so hard at first, with Justin. We'd all been new to it, and had had to make adjustments. But this felt different. Where with Justin I had a clear plan and all my experience to draw on, here I felt completely out of my depth. And it wasn't just the illness, it was the whole situation. She was so complex, so unpredictable, so difficult to manage. I really didn't know where to start.

Mike must have seen the look of despair on my face. 'Stop beating yourself up, love. It's not your fault. We all know we can't pick and choose the kids they send us.'

I know, I said, mechanically making more coffees. 'But I hate that you and Kieron have to be witnessing it all. It was different in school. I know I would sit down and tell you about some of the kids. But at least it didn't affect you. Not in this way.'

'It's your job, Mum,' said Kieron. I could have hugged him. 'We all knew it would be the problem kids we'd be having, didn't we? So it was never going to be a bed of roses. But if you didn't do what you do, where else would kids like Sophia go? If it wasn't for people like you, Mum, they'd be dumped in secure units, wouldn't they?'

I nodded, but sadly. Already my son, who up till a couple of years ago had been so innocent, knew the language of social services, and all about the kids on the sc.r.a.p-heap. And he was right. The kids we were trained to take in were on the sc.r.a.p-heap. They were the kids with such intractable problems and attendant 'challenging' behaviours (how was that for an understatement?) that no one else, literally, would have them.

'It'll get better,' said Mike. 'I'm sure it will. And remember, we're only going to have her for a short while anyway. Once Jean recovers she can have her back and we can get back to normal. Well,' he grinned, 'as normal as it ever is in this house, anyway. And when she does, I think we should plan a nice little holiday. All of us. Invite Riley and David and little Levi as well.'

'Perfect,' said Kieron. 'Brilliant idea, Dad. Somewhere nice and hot. Right, then when's she going?'

We all laughed then, and I felt much better. My family were perhaps not as badly affected as I'd feared, and, if they were, they were prepared to slog it out. So who was I to question it? Let's just get this wretched weekend over with, I thought, as I climbed into bed, and fell into a fitful sleep. Little did I know that, after the weekend, I would be questioning absolutely everything.

Chapter 10.

I was awake at six on the Sunday morning, the prospect of the day ahead being grim enough to ensure that, as soon as I was conscious, my brain wouldn't let me sleep again. I knew it didn't affect me personally, but there was something deeply unsettling about the prospect of taking a 12-year-old girl to visit her comatose mother, and it made me anxious in ways I couldn't quite pin down. I didn't know if we'd be going in with Sophia, but I suspected we might be. It would be distressing for her, surely, and she'd need our support.

But what would it be like to go in there, seeing Sophia's mother like that? I had this vision learned from years of watching hospital dramas on TV of her lying there, motionless, wired up to stuff, the rhythmic sound of a ventilator hissing the only noise in the deathly hush. What did you do in a situation like that? Did Sophia talk to her? Did she have any sense of the hopelessness of the situation? And what about the future? What was it doing to her, psychologically? I found it creepy and disturbing. I couldn't help it.

But it wasn't for me to think about the future. I needed to concentrate on the here and now. I crept soundlessly from the bed and went downstairs, a delighted Bob, who could hear a pin drop, trotting along excitedly at my heels. I felt like death warmed up and he felt a million dollars. A dog's life, I thought. I'd quite like one of those.

Sat.u.r.day, surprisingly, had been a good day. Sophia had come down bright and early, immediately apologised somewhat sheepishly for her 'strop' the night before, and then, having done her homework, happily accompanied me to Riley's. Once there she'd played with Levi for much of the afternoon, letting Riley and me have a good chin-wag. We couldn't talk about my number one stress of the moment, of course, but then that was probably a good thing. I didn't want to burden her.

We'd then all gone to a ribs restaurant in the evening a planned treat for Sophia as the chain was one of her favourites. And everyone had had a nice, uncomplicated time. Perhaps this was something I should get used to, this seesaw existence. It would just be nice not to be thumped down so hard, and so often; to stay at that good end a bit more often.

After I'd made myself a coffee and let Bob out, I then, having not had a moment to myself yesterday, sat down with my laptop and emailed John Fulshaw, detailing the events of Friday night.