The Silent Cry: Part 3 of 3: There is little Kim can do as her mother's mental health spirals out of control

‘Tanzy,’ he said, squirting a very generous measure of paste onto his toothbrush.

‘I’ll need to tell your social worker so she can stop it happening.’

‘That’s OK with me,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to see me dad any more when she’s there.’

I waited while he brushed his teeth and then I saw him into bed. I tucked him in, dimmed the light, as he liked it, and then gave him a kiss and hug as his gran did.

‘What are we seeing at the cinema tomorrow?’ he asked as he snuggled down.

‘There’s a cartoon film showing about dinosaurs,’ I said.

‘Do they fight each other and eat people?’ he asked, his eyes widening in anticipation.

‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ I said, although I hoped the film wouldn’t be frightening, as Paula would be with us. I’d chosen a film with a Universal rating that was suitable for all ages of children and with a subject matter that would appeal to Samson and Adrian. ‘Night then, love,’ I said, smiling at him.

‘Night,’ he said, and then looked at me thoughtfully as though he had something to say.

‘Yes?’ I asked.

‘While you’re telling me social worker about Tanzy hitting me with a broom you’d better tell her about the other stuff too. Like when I stay there and she shuts me out of her flat. And locks me in the bathroom when her and Dad go to the pub. Gran never does that. And the time she really lost it and tried to strangle me. Me dad stopped her. Just as well or I’d be bleedin’ dead.’

I looked at him carefully. ‘She did all those things?’ I asked, appalled and trying to hide my shock.

‘Yeah.’

‘That’s very wrong,’ I said. ‘I will tell your social worker and I expect she’ll want to talk to you about what happened. She’ll want the details, so it’s important you tell her, all right?’ It was best if I left further questioning to his social worker who, having worked with the family for some time, knew the case well.

Samson nodded. ‘It is wrong of her to do these things, isn’t it?’

‘Yes. Very wrong.’

‘I told me dad she shouldn’t be treating me like that, but he said if I made trouble she’d chuck him out and he’d have nowhere to live.’

‘He’s an adult,’ I said. ‘He can look after himself. He’ll find somewhere else to live if necessary. Where he lives isn’t your problem. And as your father he should be protecting you and keeping you safe. Not letting you get hurt.’

‘I wish me mum had stayed,’ Samson said thoughtfully. ‘But I guess that’s life.’ With a shrug he turned over, ready for sleep.

I touched his shoulder. ‘Night then, love. Sleep tight, and see you tomorrow.’

‘Night,’ his voice came from under the duvet. ‘Thanks for me party.’

‘You’re welcome, love.’

Sad and worried, I came out, closing the door behind me. I believed what Samson had told me about his father’s girlfriend. His matter-of-fact resignation to being punished and his childlike description convinced me it was true, but it would be for the social services to investigate. I’d telephone his social worker first thing in the morning. The poor kid, I thought, and I wondered how much of his bad behaviour resulted from the abuse he was suffering. He must be angry, and in children anger often comes out in challenging behaviour.

I went into Adrian’s room, spent some time lying with him, then said goodnight and checked on Paula. She was sound asleep. Downstairs, I wrote notes on what Samson had told me and then I finished washing the dishes and tidying up from the party, although I left Samson’s birthday card on the mantelpiece. With my dissertation finished I didn’t feel guilty watching some television, then after the ten o’clock news I let Toscha out for a run and went up to bed. I didn’t sleep. As soon as I started to drift off my thoughts went to Samson and what he’d suffered, and would still be suffering if something wasn’t done. I appreciated how much patience it took to look after him, even for a short while, but there was no justification for hitting him or locking him in or out of the flat. My anger rose, not just towards the girlfriend, but also towards Samson’s father, who’d put his own needs first and failed to protect his son. By standing by and doing nothing he’d been an accomplice in the abuse and was as much to blame as his girlfriend.

It was after midnight before I finally fell asleep and then the following morning Samson was wide awake at six o’clock. I settled him in his bedroom with some toys while I showered and dressed. After breakfast, and as soon as the social services’ offices opened at nine o’clock, I told Samson and Adrian that I needed them to look after Paula while I made an important telephone call. Samson rose to the responsibility and held Paula’s hand, which was sweet. I left the three of them seated on the floor in the living room playing with a selection of games, while I went into the hall to make the call. I could hear them from there. I think Samson knew what the call was about, but there was no need for me to tell Adrian; he was used to me making and receiving important calls in connection with fostering.

Samson’s social worker was at her desk and she went very quiet as I described the bruise and what Samson had said. Then she gave a heartfelt sigh, which seemed to say, ‘Not more suffering … When will it end?’

‘We’ve had concerns about the level of care Samson has been receiving for some time,’ she said. ‘But this is new. I’ll need to speak to him. I can’t make it today or tomorrow. My diary is full. I’ll see him on Thursday morning when he’s home. Does he know you’re telling me?’

‘Yes. I told him I’d tell you.’

‘Good. Reassure him he’s done the right thing in telling you and I’ll see him on Thursday. I think I’ll need to set up supervised contact at the family centre for Friday so he can still see his father, but I’ll explain that to him on Thursday. How is he?’

‘Not too bad. He wasn’t upset when he told me. He seemed to think he deserved being treated like that because he was naughty.’

‘The poor kid. And how is his behaviour generally with you?’

‘Very manageable.’

‘So if we do need to bring him into care, you could foster him, rather than just do respite?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you, Cathy.’

We said goodbye and I put the phone down and returned to the living room. Just in time! Samson was pretending Paula was Superwoman and had stood her on the coffee table and was now telling her to leap off.

‘That’s not looking after her,’ I said to both boys as I lifted her off.

‘Sorry, Mum,’ Adrian said guiltily. Samson glared at me.

‘Can’t have any fun here,’ he grumbled. And from then on the day went downhill. Perhaps it was because he knew that what he’d told me would have repercussions, or maybe he was just testing me, I didn’t know, but he spent the entire morning trying to wind me up, teasing Adrian and Paula, and unable to settle to anything for more than five minutes. Eventually, although I didn’t like doing it, I said that unless his behaviour improved we wouldn’t be going to the cinema, and he settled down – until we were in the cinema. Then, with limited sanctions available in the cinema to curb his behaviour, he made the most of it by throwing popcorn, kicking the back of the seat in front, jumping up and down, whooping, shouting, giving a running commentary on the film at the top of his voice and generally making a spectacle of himself. Those around us kept turning and shushing him. Adrian looked embarrassed (as I was) and even told him to sit down and be quiet. Some of Samson’s behaviour was natural exuberance – excitability – but most of it wasn’t. He was testing the boundaries to the limit. The word ‘manageable’ I’d used earlier to describe his behaviour to his social worker came back to haunt me and I wondered what on earth I’d done by offering to foster him more permanently.

‘Samson,’ I eventually hissed in his ear. ‘You have to settle down, now. Do you understand me? You’re spoiling it for others.’

‘Don’t care,’ he said rudely.

‘Well, I do, so sit still, stop kicking the seat and shouting or we’ll have to leave, and you’ll miss the rest of the film.’ Indeed, I didn’t know why a member of staff hadn’t asked us to leave already. Perhaps no one had reported us yet.

‘You wouldn’t do that,’ he challenged me. ‘You paid for the tickets. It would be a waste if we didn’t see the film.’

‘Try me,’ I said, meeting his gaze.

He did, and kicked the seat in front so hard that the boy sitting in it jolted forward. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to his mother, who’d turned round and glared at me, annoyed. Then to Samson I said, ‘Right, that’s it. You’ve been warned. We’re going now.’ I picked up my handbag from the floor and moved to the edge of the seat.

He looked shocked. ‘Not really?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Yes. I’ve warned you so many times.’ I turned to Paula, ready to help her off her seat.

At that point Samson finally realized that I meant what I said. ‘All right, I’ll be good,’ he said in a loud whisper.

‘No. You’ve had your chances. It’s not fair on the others here.’ I made another move to go.

‘I promise,’ he pleaded. ‘Really, I won’t do it again.’ I looked at him and hesitated. ‘Pleeeeze,’ he said.