Part 11 (2/2)

I heard a door slam upstairs, followed by more bangs and screams, then Mike appeared at the top of the staircase, looking ashen and dishevelled. He started down them. G.o.d, I thought, he looks ten years older! And bizarrely, a stray thought popped into my head, that perhaps I'd better dye his hair too.

He reached the bottom and tried to flatten it down. 'She can stay up there for the rest of the night. I've had it,' he said.

'Are you okay, love?'

'No, I'm raging.' He shook his head and touched my shoulder. 'I'm not hurt, love, if that's what you mean. She's b.l.o.o.d.y strong, though, I'll give her that. Jesus. Don't ever take her on at martial arts, love, I mean it. She'd be b.l.o.o.d.y lethal, I tell you!'

It sort of defused the tension, him saying that. But this was serious.

'I'm going to have to call EDT, aren't I?' I said.

EDT are the emergency duty team, a service you could access if you had a crisis at the weekend or out of hours. You told an unknown and therefore uninvolved social worker the problem and they logged all the details for you. They would then decide what to do according to the specific situation. For example, if you were reporting a child who had run away, they would take a description, log the details and then call the police. Going through the EDT was an important first step for a carer, as it not only supported you, but also created a formal record of events. And in this case it was important that we involved them right now, in case things got worse and the situation escalated, or Sophia put in a complaint with her own version of events. This did happen from time to time, so it was made clear to us in training that we must be very thorough about recording all incidents like this, particularly if actual physical contact had taken place. And, truth be known, I also wanted my thoughts on her mental instability to be recorded in as many places as possible. Her team might be keen to make light of her 'behaviours', but no one who had witnessed what we had just witnessed could be in any doubt that this wasn't just a particularly ranty teenage tantrum but clear evidence that her mind was all over the place. When would someone else accept that this child was ill?

I phoned EDT while Mike made more coffee. This was going to be a long night we both felt sure of that and we wanted to feel we were prepared. I spoke to a really nice, sympathetic social worker, who a.s.sured me I'd done the right thing. Her name was Christine and she promised me she'd get everything logged and be at the end of the line, any time, all night.

But as it turned out I didn't need to call Christine again, as the rest of the evening was quiet. Sophia did as she was told and remained in her room, only coming down, at around ten, to get a drink. None of us spoke; she clearly felt as disinclined as us to engage. And after making a big huffy show of banging around the kitchen, she went back up to bed, and I, for one, was grateful. I did sleep eventually, Mike too we were both shattered. But I woke on Sunday morning with that horrible sinking feeling as the events of the previous day immediately clamoured for my attention. I gently shook Mike.

'Are you going to get up and come down with me, love?' I didn't feel able to face the day and potentially Sophia on my own yet.

'Course, love,' he said, stretching and then gathering me close for a cuddle. 'But let's give it ten minutes first, eh? I've been thinking about last night.' He gave me a squeeze. 'You and me both, eh? And it's so obvious Sophia is a lot more disturbed than anyone thought. I mean, she was scary to watch. That wasn't just a show of temper, was it? It was horrendous. And we're just not equipped to deal with that sort of stuff. I think she's mentally ill, and I think it needs dealing with. But not by us. By the right people.'

I nodded. 'I agree. I was thinking the same. When I speak to John tomorrow I'm going to ask him if we can enlist the help of CAMHS or something.'

CAMHS was the child and adolescent mental health service. Social services used it as a first port of call when a child displayed the sort of disturbing behaviours Sophia had. The only snag was that I knew from my time in school that they always had a long waiting list. And they were very particular about who they'd work with, too. Their rules generally allowed for them to work only with children in long-term, settled placements. The reasoning was simple that their input would not then be interrupted by things like a move or a change to a new school.

But it had to be worth a shot. This needed addressing as a matter of urgency. I was more convinced than ever that this child needed help we couldn't give her.

'Right, that's settled, then,' Mike said, swinging his legs out of bed. 'Come on, shorty, let's get going. But an easy day for you, today. Starting with food. No cooking dinner. We're going out for Sunday lunch. And treating Riley and David as well, I think, yes? They deserve a treat after all the hard work they put in yesterday. And we need to get some normality back into our b.l.o.o.d.y lives.' He frowned then. 'But best leave Kieron and Lauren out of the mix, eh? I think he'll need a couple of days away from it all, you know, to calm down.'

I felt wretched all over again, thinking of my poor son. And also unsure about taking Sophia anywhere today.

'You think that's wise?' I said, pulling on my dressing gown. 'Us all going out? I'm not sure I have the energy to deal with her here, let alone take her out in public.'

Mike sat down on the bed. 'I think that's exactly what we need to do, Case. Take control of the situation, not let it control us.'

I smiled then. 'That's what you used to say when Riley was a baby and she was off on one d'you remember?'

'Oh, yes,' he said. 'And the same applies here.' He nodded towards the direction of Sophia's room. 'I reckon she's going to be in there dreading facing us today, don't you? So the best we can do is to play everything down. We've got a plan on now, we've logged what happened, we're dealing with it. No point in ranting. It'll just fall on deaf ears. Today we just accept her apology and I'm sure there'll be one and get on with the business of having a normal happy family Sunday. Agreed?'

I nodded. He was right. 'Agreed.'

'Though if I'm wrong, and she comes out all guns blazing, like Paul Newman and Robert Redford at the end of Butch Ca.s.sidy ...'

'Then what?'

He winked. 'Then I'm packing a bag and leaving home.'

But as it turned out he didn't need to. No sooner had we got downstairs and brewed the coffee than Sophia arrived in the kitchen. She was belted up tight in her PJs and dressing gown, her eyes looking like she'd gone ten rounds with a cage fighter. She must have been crying for hours.

'Oh, Mike,' she said in such a tiny voice. 'Oh, Casey.'

And then she sat down and promptly burst into tears.

Chapter 16.

I'd purposely not told Riley about the night before when I called her, but between then and now she'd obviously spoken to Kieron. And he'd obviously filled her in on all the details.

'Well, if it isn't little Miss Wonderbra,' was how she greeted my young charge when we arrived at the pub. I winced as I watched Sophia's face redden.

'I'm sorry, Riley,' she said. 'I didn't mean any harm, honest. I just kind of had a funny turn, I think.' She lowered her gaze and began fiddling with her cutlery. I interjected.

'Yes, she certainly did have a funny turn, love, that's for sure. But as your gran used to say, least said soonest mended. Come on, let's have that baby off you. Come and sit down. So. Which is it to be, everyone? Beef or pork?'

Mike had been right. It had been a good idea to get out. The house felt closed in after so much shouting and upset, and luckily our favourite pub, in the next village to our one, had a big enough table free to accommodate us all.

Following the drama of Sat.u.r.day night, Sunday morning had been a surprisingly calm aftermath. We'd just sat down with Sophia, and while I hugged her and tried to comfort her Mike had calmly told her that we were a little worried about these 'funny turns' of hers, and that we were going to see if we could get some proper help for her. She was meek and acquiescent clearly as shattered as she looked and agreed that she didn't understand why these rages overtook her. Or this urge to be so provocative all the time.

And then we told her that was the end of it, and that we were going out for a big roast lunch, and she immediately brightened, before us mentioning that Riley and David would be there too.

'You won't tell them?'

'No,' I said. 'As Mike says, it's all done with. Now why don't you take your medicine, have a quick bite to eat, then perhaps go back to bed for a couple of hours?'

It was a shame, then, that Riley had felt the need to have a dig, but I completely understood sibling loyalty ran deep with my children. And because of his Asperger's, Riley felt particularly protective towards her little brother, so I knew how enraged she'd probably have been.

But lunch was fine; perfectly pleasant, not least because Levi stole the show, taking pride of place in his high chair, which I'd parked next to Sophia, keeping everyone's minds otherwise occupied. And, once we were done with the main course, and Sophia asked if she could take him out into the pub garden for a push around in his buggy, I was only too happy to say yes. Riley and I could join her, in fact, and cram in a sneaky cigarette while she did so.

We waited till Sophia was out of earshot, at the play area, before discussing what was uppermost in both of our minds. 'But, Mum,' said Riley, once I'd explained how we wanted to play it, 'surely you turning a blind eye isn't going to help her. If you do that, how's she going to know the things she does are wrong?'

In many other circ.u.mstances Riley would have been right. But not this one. 'That's just it, love. She already knows it's wrong. I know she does. The problem is that she doesn't seem to be able to control herself. She's like a completely different person when she acts out in that way.'

'So just ignore it, then? Is that what you're saying?'

'Well, no. We still have to acknowledge what she does. But it's becoming increasingly obvious that telling her off gets us nowhere. No, this is the long game, I think, love. We have to cry for help ourselves this time, and loudly. And not stop until we actually get some.'

I could see Mike gesturing from inside the pub, poking his finger towards his open mouth. 'C'mon, love,' I said, putting out my cigarette. 'I think Dad wants to order desserts.' I waved to Sophia and beckoned her back as well. 'And, look, thanks, love. It's a trial, I know, but I really think she's ill.'

Riley frowned. 'Just as long as she doesn't make you ill, that's all. Or Dad.'

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