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

‘This will be your very last chance,’ I said. ‘One more naughty thing and we go home.’

‘Will you be quiet?’ the woman in front said, turning again.

‘Sorry,’ I said. Although a bit of patience from her wouldn’t have gone amiss – she could see I was dealing with a difficult situation.

Samson sat back in his seat and I tried to relax back in mine. My heart was racing and I felt completely stressed. I held Paula’s hand in the dark and waited for Samson’s next outburst, when we would leave straight away. But it didn’t come. He sat back as good as gold for the rest of the film, and eventually I relaxed too. Samson had tested the boundaries, tested me to the limit and had finally accepted my guidelines for good behaviour – in this situation at least. I knew that if I brought him to the cinema again he’d remember how to behave and it would be that little bit easier.

Chapter Nineteen

Unwelcome News (#u206d05bf-9aa4-5829-bb4a-75e3e6cd5388)

When I took Samson home on Wednesday evening it was raining and the window to his flat was closed. We went in through the main entrance and I pressed the doorbell to his flat – number 17. Bruno immediately started barking loudly on the other side and pounded down the hall, landing heavily against the back of the door. Adrian jumped back and I reassured him again that we wouldn’t go in until the dog was safely shut away.

‘Bruno!’ Samson yelled at the top of his voice, banging his fists on the door and winding up the dog even more. I picked up Paula just in case someone opened the door before the dog was shut away. He was so big he would have knocked her flying.

Eventually someone dragged him away and his barks subsided. As we waited for the door to be opened Samson put down his backpack and took out the birthday card and presents we’d given to him, ready to show his family. It was his gran who opened the door.

‘Look what I’ve got! Birthday presents!’ he cried, holding them up for her to see.

‘It’s not your birthday, you silly bugger,’ she said, leaning heavily against the wall for support.

‘I know that!’ Samson cried indignantly. ‘But we pretended it was. I had jelly and ice cream and we played games and won prizes. They’re in me bag.’

Most parents or grandparents would have said something like, ‘That sounds great. Come in and tell me all about it.’ But Samson’s gran said, ‘Are you coming in or what, you daft bugger? I can’t be standing here all day. Me legs are killing me.’

I don’t think she meant to be unkind, it was just her way, but I saw the look of disappointment on Samson’s face. I was now expecting him to assume his usual tough exterior and run indoors shouting, without giving us a second thought, as he’d done before. But he didn’t. He stayed where he was and looked up at me. ‘Thanks for me party,’ he said sweetly. ‘It was nice of you to go to all that trouble.’

I could have cried. ‘You’re very welcome, love,’ I said, and touched his shoulder. ‘We all enjoyed it.’

Then, turning to Adrian, he said, ‘Bye. Thanks for sharing your toys.’

‘That’s OK,’ Adrian said.

Samson reached up to Paula who was still in my arms, wanting to say goodbye to her, so I set her on the ground. ‘Bye, Paula,’ he said, gently tickling her under the chin. She chuckled. ‘Thanks for coming to me party.’ I swallowed hard. All that bravado and underneath he was a kind-hearted, thoughtful child who had so much appreciated our pretend party. I felt guilty, and silently renewed my promise that if he ever needed a permanent foster home, I would look after him. It would be hard work, but I’d manage.

We weren’t invited into the flat. Gran said to him, ‘Now you’ve said goodbye, boy, you’d better get tidying ya room – ya social worker’s coming tomorrow.’

He shrugged and disappeared down the hall.

‘He’s been fine,’ I said to her.

‘That makes a change,’ she said, and shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other she began to close the door.

We said goodbye and as we turned the door closed behind us. Bruno barked loudly from inside, which set off another dog in a neighbour’s house. It was unlikely I’d hear the outcome of the social worker’s visit, or what decisions were made regarding Samson’s father and girlfriend, unless I looked after Samson again. Foster carers are told what they need to know about a child’s situation while they are fostering them, but once they’ve left their care they’re rarely given updates, which is a pity, as we often think about them and wonder how they’re getting on.

We were now already halfway through the summer holidays and making the most of every day. John was due home in two weeks and the date was circled on the calendar on the wall in the kitchen, although we didn’t need a reminder. The following day one of Adrian’s friends came to play and stayed for dinner, and then on Friday I took the children swimming again. The week after followed a similar pattern of days out and time at home, and included a day trip to the coast with my parents. I hadn’t seen Laura since I’d been invited to her house for tea to say goodbye to Gina. I assumed all was well. It had crossed my mind a couple of times to telephone her for a chat in the evening, but then the time had disappeared and it was too late to phone. Although I didn’t have another foster child, I was on standby. A social worker had telephoned and said she was trying to bring a teenager into care but she’d run away. She’d asked if I could take her at short notice when they found her – they would bring her straight to me – and I said I could. I’d be told more once she was found and was with me.

It was early on the Saturday evening at the end of that week and I was in the living room with Adrian and Paula. We were on the floor playing Snap. Adrian and I were trying to teach Paula the game. She was too young really, but she wanted to join in. The telephone rang and I answered it in the living room. There was a short silence before a half-familiar voice said, ‘Cathy, I’m sorry to disturb you. It’s Geraldine.’

‘Oh, hello,’ I said, surprised. ‘How are you? Is everything all right?’

‘I’m sorry to bother you on a Saturday night,’ she said, ‘but I need your advice.’

‘Yes,’ I said, puzzled. ‘I’ll help if I can. Is it urgent? Or could I phone you back once the children are in bed?’

There was another pause before she said, ‘I was wondering if I could come and see you. It would be easier to talk face to face rather than over the telephone.’

‘Yes, of course,’ I said, concerned. ‘Is Laura all right?’

‘It’s partly about Laura, yes, but I’ll explain when I see you.’

‘All right. Would you like to come here this evening? About eight o’clock?’

‘If that is convenient with you.’

‘Yes. I’ll have the children in bed by then. I’ll see you at eight.’

‘Thank you, Cathy,’ she said stiffly, and hung up.

It was clear from her tightly controlled manner that she’d carefully planned what she needed to say. Given that she was not a person who easily shared her feelings or asked for help, I appreciated that whatever she wanted to talk about must be very serious indeed.

I returned to sit on the floor and play with the children, but my mind wasn’t on the game as I ran through the possible reasons for Geraldine wanting to see me. She’d said it was ‘partly’ about Laura, and I hadn’t pressed her as I respected that she preferred to talk in person, which I understood. At seven o’clock, when we finished playing, I took Paula upstairs for her bath and bed, and once she was settled I fetched Adrian. As I lay propped on his bed beside him, having our little goodnight chat, I told him that Kim’s grandma, Geraldine, was coming later, just in case he heard the door go and wondered who it was.