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

But Darrel kept his face pressed against his mother’s leg as she gently eased him over the doorstep and into the hall. I closed the front door. Adrian, two years older than Darrel and more confident on home territory, went up to him and touched his arm. ‘Would you like to come and play with some of my toys?’ he asked kindly.

‘That’s nice of you,’ Shelley said, but Darrel didn’t look up or release his grip on his mother.

Then Paula decided that she, too, was shy and buried her face against my leg.

‘Do you want to leave your bags there?’ I said to Shelley, pointing to a space in the hall. ‘I’ll sort them out later.’

She was carrying a large holdall on each shoulder and, unhooking them, set them on the floor. She was also carrying a cool bag. ‘Could you put these things in the fridge, please?’ she said, handing me the cool bag. ‘There’s a pot containing his porridge for breakfast. I made it the way he likes it, with milk, before we came, so you just have to heat it up.’

‘OK, that’s fine, thank you.’

‘And there’s some yoghurt in there as well, and diced fruit in little pots. He has them for pudding and snacks. I’ve also put in a pint of full-cream milk. He prefers that to the semi-skimmed. I give him a drink before he goes to bed. I forgot to tell the social worker that and I didn’t know if you had full-cream milk here.’

‘I’ve got most things,’ I said, trying to reassure her. ‘But it’s nice for Darrel to have what you’ve brought.’

‘Oh, the sausages!’ Shelley exclaimed.

‘Yes, I got some. Don’t worry.’

‘Thank you so much. I am grateful.’ Then, bending down to Darrel again, she said, ‘Cathy has got your favourite sausages. Isn’t that nice?’

But Darrel kept his face pressed against his mother, and Shelley appeared equally nervous and anxious.

‘Try not to worry. He’ll be fine soon,’ I said. ‘Come and have a seat in the living room, while I put these things in the fridge.’

Shelley picked him up and held him tightly to her. I thought he was probably sensing her anxiety as much as he was nervous and shy himself. I showed them into the living room. Adrian went in, too, while Paula, slightly unsettled, came with me into the kitchen. At her age it was more difficult for her to understand fostering.

‘Baby?’ she asked as I set the cool bag on the work surface and unzipped the lid.

‘No, Darrel is older than you. He’s three. He’s sleeping here for one night. You can play with him.’

I began putting the contents of the cool bag into the fridge as Paula watched. Shelley seemed to have thought of everything, and I recognized the love, care, concern and anxiety that had gone into making up all these little pots so that Darrel had everything he was used to at home. Each pot was labelled with his name, what the pot contained and when he ate the food – so, for example: Darrel’s porridge, breakfast, around 8 a.m., and Darrel’s apple and orange mid-morning snack, around 11 a.m. Once I’d emptied the cool bag I returned to the living room with Paula and placed the bag near Shelley. ‘All done,’ I said.

‘Thank you so much,’ she said gratefully. Darrel was sitting on her lap, with his face buried in her sweater. ‘I’ve written down his routine,’ she said, passing me a sheet of paper that she’d taken from her bag.

‘Thanks. That will be useful.’ I sat on the sofa and Paula sat beside me. Adrian was on the floor, playing with the toys and glancing at Darrel in the hope that he would join in.

‘I’m sure he’ll play with you soon,’ I said. Then to Shelley: ‘Would you and Darrel like a drink?’

‘No, thank you, we had one before we left. He had warm milk, and he has one before he goes to bed too. I put the milk in the bag.’

‘Yes, I saw it, thanks. Although I’ve got plenty of milk here. Has he had his dinner?’

‘Yes, and I gave him a bath this morning so there is no need for him to have one this evening. I thought it would be better for him if I did it rather than him having to have a bath in a strange house. No offence, but you know what I mean.’

I smiled. ‘Of course. Don’t worry. I’ll keep to your routine. I’ll show you both around the house before you leave, so it won’t be so strange.’

‘Thank you.’

I guessed Shelley was in her early twenties, so she could only have been seventeen or eighteen when she’d had Darrel, but she obviously thought the world of him, and, as the social worker had said, she was a good mother. She was slim, average height, with fair, shoulder-length hair and was dressed fashionably in jeans and layered tops. She had a sweet, round face but was clearly on edge – she kept frowning and chewing her bottom lip. I knew Darrel would pick up on this. Paula, at my side, was now chancing a look at Darrel as if she might be brave enough to go over to him soon. Shelley saw this. ‘Come and say hello to Darrel,’ she said. ‘He’s just a bit shy, like me.’

But Paula shook her head. ‘In a few minutes,’ I said.

‘I think I’ve packed everything Darrel needs,’ Shelley said. ‘His plate, bowl, mug and cutlery are in the blue bag in the hall. I’ve put in some of his favourite toys and Spot the dog. He’s the soft toy Darrel takes to bed. Darrel is toilet trained, but he still has a nappy at night. I’ve put some nappies in the black bag, but he only needs one. I didn’t have room to bring his step stool, but he needs that to reach the toilet.’

‘Don’t worry. I have a couple of those,’ I said. ‘They are already in place in the bathroom and toilet.’

‘Thanks. I’ve put baby wipes in the blue bag too. His clothes and night things are in the black bag, but I couldn’t fit in his changing mat.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I said again. ‘I have one of those too. In fact, I have most things children need.’

‘Oh, yes, of course, you would have,’ Shelley said with a small, embarrassed laugh. ‘You have children and you foster. Silly me.’

She was lovely but so anxious. ‘I promise I’ll take good care of Darrel and keep him safe,’ I said. ‘He’ll be fine. How did you get here with all those bags and Darrel?’

‘On the bus,’ she replied.

‘I wish I’d known. I could have come and collected you in the car.’

‘That’s kind, but we’re pretty self-sufficient. I like it that way. You can’t be let down then.’ She gave another nervous little laugh and I wondered what had happened in her past to make her feel that way.

Toscha, our lovable and docile cat, sauntered into the room and went over to Adrian.

‘Oh, you’ve got a cat!’ Shelley exclaimed. For a moment I thought she was going to tell me that Darrel was allergic to cat fur and it could trigger an asthma attack, which was true for some children. Had this not been an emergency placement I would have known more about Darrel, including facts like this. Thankfully Shelley now said excitedly, ‘Look at Cathy’s cat, Darrel. You like cats. Are you going to stroke her?’ Then to me: ‘Is she friendly?’

‘Yes, she’s very friendly. She’s called Toscha.’

Toscha was the prompt Darrel needed to relinquish his grip on his mother’s jersey. He turned and looked at the cat and then left her lap and joined Adrian on the floor beside Toscha. Paula then forgot her shyness and slid from the sofa to join them too.

‘Toscha likes being stroked,’ I said. Which was just as well, as three little hands now stroked her fur and petted her while she purred contentedly. Now Darrel was less anxious I could see Shelley start to relax too. With a small sigh she sat back in her chair.

‘I know I shouldn’t worry so much,’ she said. ‘But coming here brought back so many memories.’

I smiled, puzzled. ‘Oh yes? What sort of memories?’

‘Going into a foster carer’s home for the first time. I was in care for most of my life and I had so many moves. I hated having to move. New people and new routines. It was so scary. I felt scared most of my early life. I thought I’d got over all of that, but bringing Darrel here today brought it back.’ Which I thought explained at lot of Shelley’s apprehension and anxiety. ‘I’d rather die than let my little boy lead the life I had,’ she added.

‘He won’t,’ I said. ‘You’ll make sure of it. You’re doing a great job. Your social worker told me what a fantastic mum you are. I’m sorry your experiences in care weren’t good. It was wrong you had to keep moving, very wrong, but try not to worry about Darrel. He’ll be fine here with me and you’ll see him again tomorrow.’ My heart went out to her. Whatever had the poor child been through?

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘I worry about him so much. He’s all the family I have. I nearly wasn’t allowed to keep him when he was a baby. I had to prove to the social services that I could look after him.’

‘And you’ve done that,’ I said firmly. ‘Admirably.’ But I could see she was worried, and I understood why she had overcompensated. ‘Do the social services still have any involvement with you and Darrel?’ I asked, which again would have been something I’d known if the placement had been planned.

‘Not since Darrel was eighteen months old,’ Shelley said. ‘That’s when their supervision order stopped. It was a great relief. I was going to cancel my hospital appointment tomorrow when my friend let me down and said she couldn’t look after Darrel. But I knew I’d have to wait ages for another appointment and my teeth really hurt. I’ve got two impacted wisdom teeth and they’re taking them out under general anaesthetic tomorrow. I was really nervous when I phoned the social services to ask for help. I hung up twice before I spoke to anyone. Then I got through to my old social worker and told her what had happened. She was lovely and asked how Darrel and I were. She said she’d see what she could do to arrange something for Darrel so I didn’t have to cancel my appointment.’

I nodded sympathetically, and not for the first time since I’d started fostering I realized just how alone in the world some people are. ‘So who is collecting you from hospital tomorrow?’ I asked.

‘No one. I’ll get a cab here.’