Casey Watson - Mummy’s Little Helper

‘I’m sure social services will be in touch with you as well,’ I reassured him. ‘Oh, and just so you know, she’ll be coming by taxi each day for the time being, and picked up by taxi as well. I was just phoning myself so we could have a chat about Abby. Under the circumstances, she has a number of issues, as you can imagine …’

‘Circumstances? Forgive me, but as I say, I’m not up to speed.’

‘As a result of her mother’s MS,’ I began.

‘Really? She’s been diagnosed with MS? The poor woman.’

‘Yes, but not recently,’ I explained, once again shocked. He didn’t know this? ‘She’s been suffering with it for years,’ I went on. ‘Abby’s been her carer since she was little, apparently.’

Mr Elliot was even more stunned by this information and maintained he had absolutely no idea. So I spent a few minutes describing the situation, and filling him in on what had been going on at home – as described to me by John and Bridget – after which Mr Elliot seemed flabbergasted.

Not to mention embarrassed. ‘I don’t think anyone here knew anything about this,’ he confirmed. And I believed him. He didn’t sound like he was just covering his back. ‘And you know, Mrs Watson, it explains a great deal. The lateness, the tiredness, the days she’s come in missing kit or uniform …’

So they had noticed something . ‘So why didn’t the school get in touch with her mum?’ I asked him.

‘Oh, believe me, we have. I can think of at least half a dozen letters that have gone home – by post, this is. Not to mention countless phone calls as well. But you know, there’s always been a response from Abby’s mum. And with a plausible excuse as to why, as well. We just – well, I hesitate to say it to you now – but we just thought she was a slightly introverted, slightly difficult child. Only child, of course, and sometimes they can have their own challenges, can’t they? You know – with sharing and so on – connecting with their peers. Oh dear …’ he tailed off. ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’

I wasn’t about to engage in a debate about only children. I’d dealt with children from all sizes of family in my past career, and if I knew one thing it was that you couldn’t make blanket judgements about why children were the way they were. Some only children thrived, some kids from big families didn’t. But, to be fair to Mr Elliot, he was somewhat on the spot, and probably feeling awful about not picking up on all this before.

‘I know,’ I said, ‘but I can see how it happened. And you’ll have only had her in your class for a term and a bit, anyway, wouldn’t you?’ He agreed he had. ‘And from what I’ve seen so far, I think her mum’s been very keen to be self-supporting. It’s just that perhaps she was being unrealistic about just how sick she was. The collapse has at least brought things out into the open. Perhaps now she’ll get some proper help and support. Anyway,’ I finished, ‘I’m glad I’ve been able to put you in the picture. Let’s hope that between us we can help Abby through all this. School’s an important routine right now for her, of course, and she does have a need to keep to routines. Just one last thing –’

‘Of course,’ Mr Elliot answered.

‘Friends. Abby’s adamant she doesn’t actually have any. Is she really that isolated from her peers? Only she has her birthday coming up and I wanted to arrange something for her, but without some friends to invite I don’t know if it’s even feasible.’

I heard a sigh. ‘I’m afraid she’s telling you the truth,’ Mr Elliot said sadly. ‘I mean she mixes okay in class – well, up to a point – as best as can be expected. But, well, between you and me, she has something of a temper. Very easily irritated. She does tend to turn other kids off. I’ve not had a parents’ evening with her mother yet, to be honest. But it would definitely be something I’d be mentioning to her. It’s not that she’s bullied or anything. Just that, well, as I say, she doesn’t seem to want friends. She really is a loner, I’m afraid.’

And now I knew that Sarah always had answers to the school’s concerns, I could see how easy it had been for Abby to remain under the radar.

Schools were busy places, and this one was a large one. And there were likely to be all too many kids constantly above the radar and causing a whole lot more grief.

Kids like the ones I generally fostered myself.

I called John afterwards, both to update him on things generally and to fill him in on school and pass on the message that Abby’s teacher had been completely in the dark. And then I put the whole thing out of my mind and decided to get on with my day. After all, my role in all this was simply to take care of Abby for as long as was needed – not concern myself with whatever was going on with her mother. Of course I couldn’t know then just how dramatic the consequences of ‘concerning myself with Sarah’ would be.

But for now, it was just a small itch of curiosity, easily put out of sight and out of mind. I did my housework with my mind on my own family, mostly, happy that Riley would be over with the little ones the following day. I adored my grandsons as much as any self-respecting nanna, and time spent with them was always very precious.

It would also, I thought, be nice for Abby to meet them, and something of a distraction for a little girl who had way too much of the weight of the world on her shoulders and not a soul – from what Mr Elliot had said – to support her. That she was feeling it was growing ever more obvious as well. When Abby arrived home from school I’d intended to sit her down and see if we could make a little progress with that, at least in relation to school. Once John had fed my news through to Bridget, and she’d been in touch with them herself, perhaps they could start taking measures to keep a closer eye on her and help her through this difficult period.

I made some pancakes, which I could microwave for when she got in, and pondered this odd little girl. Because she’d come to us so suddenly we still hadn’t really had a chance to get to know all her likes and dislikes. As this obviously hadn’t happened, filling it in with Abby now might be the perfect way to get her to open up a little about herself and give me an opportunity to probe a little deeper into school and friendships.

But I was unprepared for how strung out she clearly was. She’d come in from school pale and drawn-looking, and with half her packed lunch uneaten. And though she accepted a hot chocolate, she refused anything else, adamant that she wasn’t hungry. I didn’t press it. I had a feeling it would just stress her more, and at a time when she had more than enough to contend with. And not just with her mother – though she was co-operative enough about answering my questions (even a little animated describing the things she most enjoyed on TV, however unusually adult her choices), as soon as I mentioned having spoken to her teacher her eyes immediately filled with tears.

‘It’s all right, sweetie. You’re not in any trouble,’ I reassured her. ‘I just needed to have a chat with Mr Elliot this morning, so he knows who I am and that you’re staying here, that’s all.’

‘But I couldn’t help it!’ she spluttered, as if she wasn’t even taking in what I was saying, the tears now spilling onto her cheeks. ‘I couldn’t!’

I felt mortified. The last thing I wanted was to upset her. But upset her I clearly had. She was looking really distressed. ‘Couldn’t help what?’ I asked her gently, getting up from the kitchen table and returning with some tissues. ‘Sweetheart, you’re not in trouble, I promise,’ I said. ‘What is it? What couldn’t you help?’