Crying for Help: The Shocking True Story of a Damaged Girl with a Dark Past. Casey Watson

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘And I am going to start re-decorating right away. And just you make sure you book that time off on Friday, okay? Honestly, love, I am more than bloody ready.’

      Which was just as well, because it looked like we needed to be.

      ‘It’s a sad story,’ John told us on the Friday morning. He’d arrived on the dot of eleven, as he’d promised, and come armed with a folder full of papers. I thought back to when he’d visited to tell us about our first placement, and how madly I’d rushed around the house, tidying and polishing. So much water had passed under the bridge since that time. John was very much like a friend now. So no big cleaning-fest; just three big mugs of coffee, as we gathered around the kitchen table to discuss the facts.

      ‘Sophia only came into care about a year and a half ago,’ he went on. ‘Prior to that she lived with her mother – no siblings – who had been bringing her up alone. One-night stand, far as I know. Certainly no father in the picture. And then a tragedy: the mother – name of Grace Johnson – had mental health problems, by all accounts, and had a near-fatal fall down the stairs when Sophia was 11, which was thought to have been a suicide attempt.’

      ‘Suicide?’ Mike asked. ‘That sounds grim.’

      John nodded. ‘There was a difficult family situation, apparently. Compounded by Sophia’s illness. But I’ll tell you more about that in a mo.’ He consulted his notes, obviously scanning them for the important bits. ‘Ah, here we are,’ he said. ‘The mother went into a coma – didn’t die – from which she has never recovered. She’s been classed as being in a persistent vegetative state, from which they don’t expect her to recover. Very sad.’

      We both nodded.

      ‘So then it seems,’ he went on, ‘that Sophia went to stay with an uncle and his family – they formally fostered her – but after a year, when the uncle’s wife fell pregnant, apparently, they decided they could no longer keep her. Even sadder. So at that point a different fostering team were approached, and that’s when she was placed with her current carer, Jean. But, as you know, Jean’s not well now, so that’s where we’re at.’

      He sat back. ‘God,’ I said, ‘the things some kids have to go through. And of course we want to help Sophia, don’t we, love?’ I turned to Mike.

      He nodded. ‘Absolutely. But tell me, John. You mentioned something about an illness. What’s wrong with her?’

      John sat forward again. ‘That’s what we need to discuss. Have the two of you ever heard of a condition called Addison’s disease?’

      We shook our heads. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Never.’

      ‘I doubted you would have. Neither had I, until now. It’s rare, apparently – a disorder which destroys the adrenal glands. And it’s even more rare for it to be diagnosed in someone so young. But it’s controlled – she has to take tablets every day, which replace the hormones she’d be producing naturally – cortisol and, let me see, yes – something called aldosterone, so, in that sense, it won’t present you with too much of a problem. Apparently, it only becomes one if she gets stressed or feels under pressure …’

      ‘Which she might well do at the moment, mightn’t she?’ asked Mike.

      John nodded. ‘Fair point. But I’m not really the one to tell you how it might become a problem. Apparently, social services are going to arrange for you both to have a quick tutorial with her doctor and her specialist nurse.’

      ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘That sounds sensible. Better to know what we’re doing than not. But how is she generally? Sounds like she’s been to hell and back, from what you say.’

      ‘I don’t know, to be truthful,’ John answered. ‘There really isn’t a great deal more on her file.’

      Where have I heard that line before, I thought ruefully. It had become almost a catch phrase when we’d taken on Justin. John caught my expression and looked apologetic. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just that she hasn’t been in care that long, and when they are fostered with other family members, they never seem to be as strict with the record keeping. I’ll see what else I can find, obviously, but, in the meantime, how are you placed for taking her next Wednesday?’

      ‘That’s quick,’ said Mike. ‘How will we manage to fit in an initial visit? I’m sure neither she nor we would want to commit until we’ve met each other.’

      ‘I know,’ John said, the hope in his face clear as day. ‘But I was hoping we could do that on Monday. Jean goes into hospital on Wednesday, you see, for tests, so it would get complicated if …’

      ‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Monday is fine. The poor thing. But one thing, John.’

      He nodded. ‘Yes?’

      ‘Why us? Why me and Mike? It sounds to me that this is a pretty mainstream and also very short-term placement. Why have you picked us and not a general foster carer? Is it the illness?’

      He shook his head. ‘Well, okay, partly,’ he agreed. ‘But mainly because her behaviour apparently can be a little challenging. Nothing major – and you’ll know from experience that I don’t use the word lightly. She’s just a little undisciplined, it seems. And the feeling is – and this is strictly between you and me, okay? – that there’s been a general lack of discipline in her life since she’s been with Jean, and what with the complication of the Addison’s – well, you can see how easily a child with that sort of issue can become manipulative if allowed to.’

      ‘I get it,’ I said. ‘She needs some boundaries, then?’

      ‘I think that’s about the size of it. So it’s right up your street. No points, as I say, as this really is just temporary, but just do what the two of you do so well. And don’t let your heads swell, because I shouldn’t tell you this, but it was my boss who suggested we place her with you. He said, “If anyone can turn her around, the Watson family can. After all, look how well they did with Justin.”’

      ‘That’s nice,’ said Mike, though I could tell by his voice that he knew he was being sweet-talked.

      ‘And just as well I cracked on and got the room ready, then,’ I added. ‘Why don’t you take John up to see it, love, while I put the kettle on again.’

      My head was whirring while they went up to admire my creative efforts. The poor child. How tragic. To lose her mum – to lose all she had in the world – and to have to cope with what sounded like such a debilitating condition on her own. I wondered if she ever got to see her mother in hospital at all, and when John and Mike came back downstairs I asked.

      ‘Yes, she does,’ John said. ‘Every six weeks or so, for an hour. Not that she gets anything out of it. She apparently gets really upset after each visit, which is why she doesn’t go there more often.’

      ‘Poor kid,’ I said. ‘It must be awful.’

      ‘The world we live in, I’m afraid, Casey,’ he said. ‘Hey, but a great job on the bedroom. Fit for a princess! Oh, and be prepared, because it’ll seem like she really is a little princess. She has quite an entourage, this one, in terms of a team. So you’ll need plenty of cups at the ready …’

      When John had gone, Mike and I retreated to the living room, where we sat and talked about what was to come. A pointless exercise really, though one which we’d go on to repeat СКАЧАТЬ