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

‘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.

‘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.

‘Even so, I still think she’d be pleased if you did get in touch. I know I am when a child I’ve fostered leaves and we lose contact, and then they suddenly phone or send a card or arrive at my door. Foster carers never forget the children they look after, but once the child has left the social services don’t tell us how you are doing.’

‘I didn’t realize that,’ Shelley said, slightly surprised. ‘I’ll think about it.’ She took another biscuit.

‘Are you sure I can’t make you something proper to eat?’ I asked.

‘No, really, I’m fine. I must go soon.’ But she didn’t make any move to go and I was happy for her to sit and talk. ‘When I found out I was pregnant,’ she continued, ‘Darrel’s father had already left me. I told the social worker getting pregnant was an accident, but it wasn’t a complete accident. I mean, I didn’t plan on getting pregnant – I wanted to go to college – but neither did I take any precautions. I was pretty messed up at the time, and I sort of thought that having a child would give me the family I’d never had. I wanted to be loved and needed.’

‘We all want that,’ I said. ‘It’s such a pity you weren’t found a forever family. I don’t understand why the social services didn’t look for an adoptive family for you, with both your parents dead.’

‘They did,’ Shelley said in the same matter-of-fact way. ‘I was adopted. But it didn’t work out.’

‘Didn’t work out?’ I asked, dismayed. ‘Adoption is supposed to be for life. In law, an adopted child is the same as a birth child.’

‘I know. They even changed my surname to theirs. I was with them for two years, from when I was nine. But then the woman got pregnant. They thought they couldn’t have kids and when the baby was born they were all over it and I was pushed out. That’s what it felt like. So I started playing up and being really naughty. I remember doing it because I felt like no one loved me, so they put me back into care.’

‘That’s awful,’ I said. ‘I am so sorry to hear that.’ It was such a sad story, but Shelley didn’t appear bitter.

‘That’s life,’ she said with a dismissive shrug. Draining the last of her tea, she returned the cup and saucer to the tray. ‘I’d better be going. Thanks for listening. I hope I haven’t kept you.’