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

‘That’s lovely,’ Shelley said, clasping her hands together in delight. ‘I’ll have to remember that – “If you give extra kisses, you get bigger hugs!”’

Adrian grinned; he loved that Christmas movie and the saying, as I did.

Shelley and I carried the holdalls upstairs and into Darrel’s room, with Darrel following. Having checked she had everything she needed, I left Shelley to get Darrel ready for bed and went downstairs. I’d got into the routine of putting Paula to bed first and then spending some time with Adrian. He usually read his school book, then we’d play a game or just chat, and then I’d read him a bedtime story and take him up to bed. It was our time together, set aside from the hustle and bustle of him having a younger sister and fostering. Now, as I sat on the sofa with my arm around him, we could hear Shelley moving around upstairs while she saw to Darrel.

‘It’s strange having another mummy in the house,’ Adrian said.

‘Yes, it is,’ I agreed. ‘But it’s rather nice.’ It was touching and reassuring to hear another mother patiently and lovingly tending to the needs of her child.

Once I’d finished reading Adrian his bedtime story, he put the book back on the shelf and then went over to say goodnight to Toscha as he did every night. She was curled on her favourite chair and he gently kissed the top of her furry head once and then twice. ‘Remember, Toscha,’ he said. ‘“If you give extra kisses, you get bigger hugs!”’

‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Although I’d be very surprised if she got up and hugged you.’ Adrian laughed loudly.

‘Mum, you are silly sometimes.’

We went upstairs and while Adrian went to the toilet I checked on Paula. She was fast asleep, flat on her back, with her arms and legs spread out like a little snow angel. I kissed her forehead and crept out, again leaving her door slightly open. Shelley was in Darrel’s room now and through their open door I could hear her telling him that she would only go once he was asleep, and then she’d come back for him as soon as possible the next day. There was anxiety in her voice again, and I hoped it wouldn’t unsettle Darrel, for it could take hours before he went to sleep.

I ran Adrian’s bath and waited while he washed – even at his age I didn’t leave him unattended in the bath for long. I also washed his back, which he often forgot about. Once he was out, dried and dressed in his pyjamas, I went with him to his room. Following our usual routine, he switched on his lamp and I switched off the main light, then I sat on his bed while he snuggled down and settled ready for sleep. He often remembered something he had to tell me at this time that couldn’t wait until the morning. Sometimes it was a worry he’d been harbouring during the day, but more often it was just a general chat – a young, active boy delaying the time when he had to go to sleep. But tonight we heard Shelley talking quietly to Darrel in the room next door.

‘Will Darrel still be here when I come home from school tomorrow?’ Adrian asked.

‘I don’t think so. His mother is hoping to collect him in the early afternoon.’

‘He’s nice, isn’t he?’ Adrian said.

‘Yes, he’s a lovely little boy, just like you.’

Adrian smiled and I stroked his forehead. ‘Time for sleep,’ I said.

Then we both stopped and looked at each other in the half-light as the most beautiful, angelic voice floated in from Darrel’s room. Shelley was singing him a lullaby and her soft, gentle voice caressed the air, pitch perfect and as tender and innocent as a newborn baby – it sent shivers down my spine. First Brahms’s ‘Lullaby’ and then ‘All Through the Night’:

‘Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee,

All through the night,

Guardian angels God will send thee,

All through the night …’

By the time she’d finished my eyes had filled and I swallowed the lump in my throat. It was the most beautiful, soulful singing I’d ever heard, and I felt enriched for having been part of it.

Chapter Four

Shelley (#ua795b969-a622-5dea-b063-7dfce1291e87)

‘You’ve got a lovely voice,’ I said to Shelley when she finally came downstairs from settling Darrel for the night.

‘Thank you. I wanted to become a professional singer, but that won’t happen now.’

I was in the living room with the curtains closed against the night sky, reading the sheet of paper Shelley had given to me on Darrel’s routine. ‘Would you like that cup of tea now?’ I asked her.

‘Yes, please. Shall I make it?’

‘No, you sit down,’ I said, standing. ‘You’ve had a busy day. Milk and sugar?’

‘Just milk, please.’

‘Would you like something to eat now too?’ I asked. ‘It’s a while since you had dinner.’

‘A biscuit would be nice, thank you,’ Shelley said. ‘I usually have one with a cup of tea when I’ve finished putting Darrel to bed.’

I went through to the kitchen, smiling at the thought of Shelley’s little evening ritual, not dissimilar to my own, of putting the children to bed first and then sitting down and relaxing with a cup of tea and a biscuit. I guessed parents everywhere probably did something similar.

I made the tea, set the cups and a plate of biscuits on a tray and carried it through to the living room. ‘Help yourself to biscuits,’ I said, putting the tray on the occasional table and passing her a cup of tea.

‘Thank you. You’ve got a nice home,’ she said sweetly. ‘It’s so welcoming and friendly.’

‘That’s a lovely compliment,’ I said, pleased.

‘Do you find it hard with your husband working away?’ Shelley asked, taking a couple of biscuits.

‘I did to begin with,’ I said. ‘But we’re in a routine now. And my parents will always help out if necessary.’

‘I wish I had parents,’ she said.

‘Where are they?’ I asked. ‘Do you know?’ It was clear that Shelley wanted to talk, so I felt it was all right to ask this.

‘My mum’s dead, and I never knew my dad. I think he’s dead too,’ she said without self-pity.

‘I am sorry.’

She gave a small shrug. ‘It was a long time ago. It happened when I was a child. They were both heavy drug users. It was the drugs that killed my mum and I think my dad too. I remember my mum from when I was little, but not my dad. I never saw him. I have a photo of my mum at home. I keep it by my bed. But even back then you can see she was wasted from the drugs. When the kids at secondary school started boasting that they’d been trying drugs I used to think: you wouldn’t if you saw what they did. My mum was only twenty-six when she died, but she was all wrinkled and wizened, and stick thin.’

‘I am sorry,’ I said again. ‘You’ve had a lot to cope with in your life. And it must be difficult bringing up a child completely alone. Although you are doing a good job,’ I added.

Shelley gave a small nod and sipped her tea. ‘I was a week off my eighteenth birthday when I had Darrel,’ she said, setting the cup on the saucer. ‘All my plans had to be put on hold. I had great plans. I wanted to be something. Go to college and study music and try to become a professional singer. I thought I’d get a good job, buy a house and a car, and go on holidays like other people do. But that’s all gone now. I know other young single mums and, although we all love our children, if we’re honest we’d do things differently if we had our time over again – get a job and training first, meet someone, set up home and then have a family. You can’t do that if you have a child.’

‘It is difficult,’ I agreed. ‘You’re not in touch with any of your foster carers?’

‘No. I was moved so often I can’t even remember most of their names. Some of them were nice, others weren’t. The only one I really felt was like a mother to me was Carol. I was with her from when I was fourteen to when I was seventeen. She was so nice. She helped me through a really bad time. But when I was seventeen the social worker said I had to go and live in a semi-independence unit ready for when I left care. Carol tried to stay in touch – she phoned and put cards through my door – but I never got back to her.’

‘That’s a pity. Why not?’

Shelley shrugged. ‘Not sure. But I was dating then and I sort of put my trust in him.’

‘Have you thought about trying to contact Carol now?’ I asked. ‘I’m sure she’d be pleased to hear from you.’

‘It’s been over three years,’ Shelley said.