Читать книгу Skin Deep - Casey Watson - Страница 11

To say I was relieved when the start of September came around was a bit of an understatement. It wasn’t the fact that I had two full-on children in the house particularly; I’d obviously dealt with that many times before. It was that having our very own Minnie the Minx around – as Tyler had taken to calling Flip – was physically and emotionally draining, and I was exhausted.

Flip simply didn’t seem to have an off switch. She chattered on ceaselessly, about anything and everything, from the minute she woke up to the minute she went to sleep. And if she had no actual human available to chat to, she chattered on to Pink Barbie instead.

‘Mummy, why is the sky blue? Mummy, what are leaves made of? Why do they taste nasty and peas don’t? Where do clouds live when they go home at night? Why has the daddy got silver bits in his hair?’ The stream of never-ending questions (not to mention the answering of them, which invariably threw up even more questions) was beginning to take its toll, even if it did at least point to a healthily enquiring mind, and even if the Mike-centred questions did make me giggle. Where we used to stay up until around 11 o’clock, we found ourselves clock watching from eight, when Flip went to bed, and would follow her and Tyler (who would be back to bed at nine on school days) as soon as we were confident they would be asleep – so keen were we to get our heads down ourselves. We knew we had to; the small-hours screaming sessions could start at any time, and seemed to be happening two nights out of three, and at least that way I was sure to get some sleep in before they started and I had to begin the laborious process of settling Flip back down again.

No, she needed to be back in school, badly. Though I’d had a fight on my hands to get her placed where I wanted her, because Ellie’s manager felt it best that she return to her old school, thereby making the transition into care less traumatic. I disagreed. ‘I just don’t see that,’ I’d argued, when Ellie had popped over at the end of August. ‘She’s already made that transition. And from what I can see in her notes, she was barely attending anyway; I certainly get no sense that she’s pining for a gang of girlfriends. She’s mentioned no one, and it seems clear to me that she’s not really formed any real attachments. To my mind, it makes more sense for her to have a fresh start at the local school.’

It was also a lot closer, which was a big consideration too. It made no sense to cart her several miles there and back every day – no sense for either of us. Plus if she did make some friends, they’d be local as well, which meant she’d at least have the option of seeing them out of school too.

Thankfully, Ellie agreed with me. ‘Leave it with me,’ she’d said firmly. And within a matter of no more than 48 hours she’d not only got her hands on Flip’s school files for me to look through, she’d also spoken to the school Special Educational Needs Co-ordinator (Senco) there, a lady called Sonia, who’d said she’d be more than happy to chat to me and answer any questions she could. For a relative rookie, Ellie was proving to be a pretty good ally, clearly unafraid to state her case.

And Sonia was extremely helpful too.

‘Oh, I’m so pleased that someone has acted at last,’ she said after I introduced myself. ‘Well, perhaps not in the best of circumstances, but you know what I mean. That poor mite was such a worry for me. You know, it was almost as if she were bringing herself up,’ she explained. ‘Some days she’d turn up for school half starving. And I mean really hungry – give her a biscuit and she’d wolf it down like an animal; I often got the impression that she might not have had a single thing to eat since her school dinner the lunchtime before.’

‘She certainly seems to love her food,’ I said. ‘Though I’m not sure where she puts it.’ Despite her eating like the proverbial horse, Flip was no less scrawny than when she’d come to us – no doubt a result of using up so much nervous energy.

‘Oh bless her. Such a terrible business. And there would always be some excuse; Mummy was asleep, Mummy was ill, Mummy was out … And we reported everything, naturally, not least because she’d turn up at school at such odd times as well. Mid-morning, mid-afternoon – well, when she turned up at all, that was. You know, one day she fetched up at half past four in the afternoon, seemingly oblivious – and, of course, there were only a handful of us left. It was only luck that someone glanced out and saw her crossing the playground. By the time I got there, she’d hung up her bag and coat on her peg and was just sitting there in her seat, smiling. I honestly don’t think she had the slightest idea what time of day it was.’

Which all seemed to fit. Sonia paused. ‘Well, until I explained to her that school had finished and that everyone had gone home. Soon as I told her that she burst into tears and it took an age to calm her down. Said she’d come in specially because she wanted to do some drawing. I feel dreadful about sending her away that day, I really do.’

I didn’t doubt it. For all that Flip had come into our lives like a small fizzing tornado, the thing that screamed most loudly at me – louder than she did – was her extreme vulnerability. No, it was absolutely right that she come to our local school, where I’d only ever be ten minutes away.

Not only that, our local primary was the school that Levi attended, and that little Jackson was starting at this term as well. It really made no sense to send her anywhere else, so I was glad when John confirmed, after stating my case to social services as well, that they’d agreed she could be educated in our area, even if it was slightly reluctantly.

A trip into town to get a new uniform was therefore a priority, as Flip would need the whole kit and caboodle, including a pair of shoes. It would also give me an opportunity, thankfully aided and abetted by Riley, to make my first foray out into the wider world with our new charge, who thus far had only ventured as far as Kieron and Lauren’s, when I’d popped over with her to drop some milk and a loaf of bread round for the pair of them, as their flight back from holiday brought them back in the wee hours.

No, this trip would be something of a learning curve, I reckoned, giving me an opportunity to observe how she managed out in the wider world and whether the business of her wandering off was one I needed to be hyper-vigilant about. Not that we were short of pairs of watchful eyes. As well as Riley, who was driving (she being the one with the people-carrier), we also had Levi and Jackson with us, plus Tyler, who needed a new uniform as well. He was starting in year 8 – he’d be 13 in no time at all now – and, as boys often do, he seemed to have grown three or four inches in as many weeks. Well, if not quite that, certainly in less than as many months. Needless to say, with Marley-Mae in her buggy, we were all but mob-handed. And with the lads being lads, somewhat rowdy.

‘Ha-ha! Girls have to wear PE knickers,’ Levi pointed out to Flip as we browsed through the list in the school uniform section of the department store. ‘Big black ones. HUGE black ones,’ he added helpfully. ‘Really baggy.’

Although Levi and Flip were almost exactly the same age, the huge social and intellectual gap between them was often apparent. Flip immediately began to fret about this nugget of information. ‘But I don’t wanna do PE. Or wear them knickers. What if I need a poo?’

Levi grinned widely. ‘Ha-ha!’ he said, laughing. ‘Mum, she said poo! She said she might need a poo in PE!’ Then something else seemed to occur to him. ‘I hope you’re joking,’ he told her, ‘because you can’t say things like that at school. People will laugh at you,’ he added, looking suddenly anxious. ‘And at me,’ he said, as if becoming aware of a worrying possibility. ‘Mum, she’s not gonna be in my class, is she?’

Riley and I exchanged glances as Flip beamed at a now concerned-looking Levi, then threw her arms around his neck. ‘I think I will be in your class,’ she said, as he wriggled free from her clutches. ‘It’ll be good, won’t it? We’ll be just like a real brother and sister!’

She then turned and patted Jackson. ‘An you can be my brother too,’ she said, pinching his cheek, while Levi watched them, clearly appalled.

He wasn’t the only one. ‘God,’ Tyler said, with some feeling, looking at me. ‘I am so glad I don’t have to be a part of this. You’re all right, Flip,’ he said, as her attention turned towards him. ‘And if anyone asks, I’m the black sheep of the family, okay? No relation.’

Which set Marley-Mae off on an impromptu rendition of her current favourite song, so that anyone who hadn’t heard our arrival in the school uniform department could be assured of at least noticing our exit.

Having lunch in town with five children and a buggy is never easy; not if you want it with a modicum of decorum and your coffee served in mugs rather than cardboard. Fortunately, there was a big friendly café just off the high street, which just so happened to be run by my younger sister, Donna, and was invariably the obvious choice. So, with the kit part done (and just the shoes, and the caboodle part, presumably, left to deal with) we headed there to get everyone fed.

Less fortunately, it was busy and there was no large table left, so the logical thing seemed to be to spread across two adjacent ones. ‘There you are, boys,’ Riley told them, as she unbuttoned Jackson’s jacket. ‘You boys can have a boys’ table – you’re officially in charge, Tyler – and we girls can have a nice quiet one next door.’

‘Ye-ess!’ Levi said, doing the little fist-pump he’d learned from Tyler.

‘So, Flip,’ he finished, ‘would you like to help take off Marley-Mae’s coat?’

But it seemed Flip didn’t want to take off Marley-Mae’s coat. It seemed Flip didn’t want to do anything.

Except scream. Which she immediately did, at an ear-splitting volume. As ever, it seemed incredible that so many decibels could come out of such a tiny pair of lungs. I jumped from the seat I’d been just about to park my bottom on and knelt down in front of her in the aisle between the tables, conscious that every head in the place had turned towards us.

‘Flip! Stop that!’ I tried, speaking sternly in the hope that it might work. It didn’t. In fact, her face started to go an alarming shade of purple. She threw back her head then and screamed even louder. I knew my own face was probably well on the way to matching hers for colour; even though my focus was on her, I could hear Tyler groaning, and also the low but rising hum of incredulity from our fellow diners – well, former diners; I doubted anyone was enjoying a quiet lunch any more.

Riley squatted down beside me and placed her mouth close to my ear. ‘God, mother,’ she whispered. ‘I mean, I know you told me, but, oh my word … Look, can I try?’

I leaned to the side, only too happy to accept a third-party intervention, it coming to me immediately that a less familiar figure might bring her ‘back’ more readily than I seemed to be able to.

Riley placed her hands on Flip’s shoulders. ‘Flip,’ she said, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze to get her attention. ‘Something has upset you, clearly, but we don’t know what, do we? And unless you stop this silly screaming, you won’t be able to tell us what it is, will you? We’ll just have to get the boys … are you listening to me, Flip? Get the boys and leave here. Are you listening? Are you hearing what I’m saying?’

Flip’s mouth clamped shut. It was almost an instantaneous action. From one state to a different state in the blink of an eye. She then glared at Riley. ‘Thems are my boys!’ she shouted at Riley. ‘Thems my brothers and I wanna sit with them!’ Then – ping! Blink of an eye again – the screaming started up again.

My mind was whirling with thoughts as I took in the components of this short exchange. Was this simply a manipulation tool? Was this just a classic toddler tantrum? No, it wasn’t that, clearly. No toddler could switch emotions on and off in that way. When a toddler had a tantrum there was a long tail at the end of it; the child in question was invariably an emotional wreck immediately afterwards – a limp rag, hot-cheeked, shuddering with the last remnants of tears. No, this was different. This was knowingly manipulative behaviour, and the name Violet Elizabeth popped unbidden into my brain. Violet Elizabeth from the Just William books I’d read to my own children. Violet Elizabeth, who when crossed always said ‘I’ll scream and I’ll scream and I’ll scream!’

Despite the spectacle we were making of ourselves, it even made me smile. Though somewhat grimly, and I could see Riley was thinking the same. This was no spoilt brat – not in a million years – but this was possibly a learned behaviour; a blunt instrument of a communication tool, in order to get her way. And it was one that we didn’t do her any favours by giving in to for the sake of peace. To give in to it would simply be to reinforce it.

I could read Riley’s thoughts as she took Flip’s hand, and, smiling at the boys (the younger two of whom looked like they might start crying), stood up again. ‘Right, boys, everything is fine,’ she reassured them. ‘Levi, could you help take off your sister’s coat while your nan orders some drinks, sweetheart? Me and Flip here just need to go outside for a minute or two.’ And with that she tugged on a now stunned Flip’s arm, and pulled her, thankfully mute again, out of the café door.

The low hum around us mushroomed into a more familiar burble; cutlery clinked, chairs scraped and normal service seemed to be resumed. ‘Help Levi with Marley-Mae, will you, Tyler?’ I asked him, before heading up to the counter and prefixing my drinks order with a profuse apology to the new woman manning the till, Donna having nipped home for her break. I wasn’t sure how much luck Riley would have with Flip out there, but if it looked like we’d have to cut and run rather than actually eating – or, indeed, without finishing our shopping – I at least wanted a decent slurp of coffee before we did so.

Riley and Flip still hadn’t reappeared when I brought the tray back to the table but, as far as I could see (not to mention hear) through all the menus and various ‘dish of the day’ stickers, Flip had at least not resumed screaming. I duly sat down and sipped my scalding drink. Fingers crossed then.

‘I don’t like her when she does that, Nanny,’ Jackson said quietly. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

Before I could think of an answer, Tyler provided one for him. ‘She’s not right in the head, kiddo,’ he said conversationally. ‘We get it all the time at home, don’t we, Casey?’

I shook my head. ‘Tyler!’ I admonished, albeit equally quietly. ‘How many times have I told you? “Not right in the head” is not a nice thing to say! She has some problems, sweetheart, that’s all,’ I corrected for the benefit of Levi and Jackson. ‘But we’re working to help her – all of us; Tyler’s doing his bit, too – and hopefully you boys can just be a little bit patient while we try to work out how best we can do that right now. Is that okay?’

Jackson nodded and then pointed at the door. ‘It’s all right, Nan, she’s all better now. Look, they’re coming back in again.’

She did indeed seem largely ‘all better’. Riley winked at me as she sat opposite and pulled Flip into the chair next to hers. ‘All sorted, Mum,’ she said, turning to smile at Flip, who seemed to be looking up at her adoringly. ‘Flip just wanted to sit somewhere different, didn’t you, sweetie? But she now sees why we ladies should all sit together, and I’ve explained that screaming is most definitely not a good way to get people to listen to her. In fact it’s more likely to get people to close their ears and not listen. Isn’t that right, Flip?’

Flip nodded and picked up the orange juice I placed in front of her. ‘I was just scared, Mummy,’ she told me.

‘Scared?’ I asked her. ‘Scared of what?’

She glanced past me to where the boys were. ‘Scared I wasn’t allowed to sit with my brothers because they didn’t like me –’

‘I never said that!’ Levi interrupted indignantly. ‘I never!’

Oh, God, I thought. Here we go again. But Tyler was already shushing him.

‘Because I’m so ugly,’ Flip finished, with a new sob in her voice, and clearly so taken up with her own train of thought that she wasn’t even listening to him.

‘Well, what a silly sausage thing to think!’ I said, reaching across to pat her hand reassuringly. ‘As if those boys would even think that! Nobody could possibly think that, sweetie. I keep telling you how pretty you are.’

‘I did too,’ Riley said, looking at me. ‘In fact, we’ve even had a chat, Flip and I. And the next time you bring her round to our house she’s going to play Princess Dress Up with me and Marley-Mae, and we’re doing hair, make-up, the whole girly lot, aren’t we, love? I might even get Lauren over too, now she’s back from holidays. Now, who’s for food? Are you all Hank Marvin over there, Ty? I know I could eat a whole woolly mammoth.’

With woolly mammoth not on the menu, it was chicken nuggets and French fries for the kids, and while Riley and I shared a plate of spaghetti and meatballs we tried to ignore the glances of the customers who had witnessed the performance and seemed so keen to express their feelings – via the medium of dark looks and meaningful stares as they exited.

Which was fine. I’d been in similar scenarios more times than I cared to remember, and it was odds on I’d be in similar scenarios many times again. Indeed, likely as not before the week was out, with our little pocket rocket. Which reminded me that I should perhaps be a little more proactive; rather than wait to be told, I should get down to the GP’s and get Flip registered and re-assessed, because it seemed clear things were not working out with her medication.

Seemed crystal clear, in fact. Because lunch finished, and while Riley was off in the ladies with Flip and Marley-Mae, a kindly-looking older lady stopped on her way out of the café. ‘Bless you, you have got your hands full,’ she remarked.

‘We have indeed,’ I agreed ruefully, while I helped Jackson with his coat.

‘Not meaning to interfere,’ she added, obviously keen to tell me something. ‘But she reminds me of my grand-daughter, that little ’un with the lungs on her. I was saying to my friend. She might have that ADH thingy.’ She lowered her voice a touch. ‘You can get pills for it. Like a miracle, they are. Like a different girl, she is now. Anyway, dear, just thought I’d mention.’

‘Erm …’ I began. But where to start? In fact, why start at all? After all, she’d just proved my point.