Cathy Glass - The Silent Cry - Part 3 of 3 - There is little Kim can do as her mother's mental health spirals out of control

‘Good. Reassure him he’s done the right thing in telling you and I’ll see him on Thursday. I think I’ll need to set up supervised contact at the family centre for Friday so he can still see his father, but I’ll explain that to him on Thursday. How is he?’

‘Not too bad. He wasn’t upset when he told me. He seemed to think he deserved being treated like that because he was naughty.’

‘The poor kid. And how is his behaviour generally with you?’

‘Very manageable.’

‘So if we do need to bring him into care, you could foster him, rather than just do respite?’

‘Yes.’

‘Thank you, Cathy.’

We said goodbye and I put the phone down and returned to the living room. Just in time! Samson was pretending Paula was Superwoman and had stood her on the coffee table and was now telling her to leap off.

‘That’s not looking after her,’ I said to both boys as I lifted her off.

‘Sorry, Mum,’ Adrian said guiltily. Samson glared at me.

‘Can’t have any fun here,’ he grumbled. And from then on the day went downhill. Perhaps it was because he knew that what he’d told me would have repercussions, or maybe he was just testing me, I didn’t know, but he spent the entire morning trying to wind me up, teasing Adrian and Paula, and unable to settle to anything for more than five minutes. Eventually, although I didn’t like doing it, I said that unless his behaviour improved we wouldn’t be going to the cinema, and he settled down – until we were in the cinema. Then, with limited sanctions available in the cinema to curb his behaviour, he made the most of it by throwing popcorn, kicking the back of the seat in front, jumping up and down, whooping, shouting, giving a running commentary on the film at the top of his voice and generally making a spectacle of himself. Those around us kept turning and shushing him. Adrian looked embarrassed (as I was) and even told him to sit down and be quiet. Some of Samson’s behaviour was natural exuberance – excitability – but most of it wasn’t. He was testing the boundaries to the limit. The word ‘manageable’ I’d used earlier to describe his behaviour to his social worker came back to haunt me and I wondered what on earth I’d done by offering to foster him more permanently.

‘Samson,’ I eventually hissed in his ear. ‘You have to settle down, now. Do you understand me? You’re spoiling it for others.’

‘Don’t care,’ he said rudely.

‘Well, I do, so sit still, stop kicking the seat and shouting or we’ll have to leave, and you’ll miss the rest of the film.’ Indeed, I didn’t know why a member of staff hadn’t asked us to leave already. Perhaps no one had reported us yet.

‘You wouldn’t do that,’ he challenged me. ‘You paid for the tickets. It would be a waste if we didn’t see the film.’

‘Try me,’ I said, meeting his gaze.

He did, and kicked the seat in front so hard that the boy sitting in it jolted forward. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said to his mother, who’d turned round and glared at me, annoyed. Then to Samson I said, ‘Right, that’s it. You’ve been warned. We’re going now.’ I picked up my handbag from the floor and moved to the edge of the seat.

He looked shocked. ‘Not really?’ he asked incredulously.

‘Yes. I’ve warned you so many times.’ I turned to Paula, ready to help her off her seat.

At that point Samson finally realized that I meant what I said. ‘All right, I’ll be good,’ he said in a loud whisper.

‘No. You’ve had your chances. It’s not fair on the others here.’ I made another move to go.

‘I promise,’ he pleaded. ‘Really, I won’t do it again.’ I looked at him and hesitated. ‘Pleeeeze,’ he said.

‘This will be your very last chance,’ I said. ‘One more naughty thing and we go home.’

‘Will you be quiet?’ the woman in front said, turning again.

‘Sorry,’ I said. Although a bit of patience from her wouldn’t have gone amiss – she could see I was dealing with a difficult situation.

Samson sat back in his seat and I tried to relax back in mine. My heart was racing and I felt completely stressed. I held Paula’s hand in the dark and waited for Samson’s next outburst, when we would leave straight away. But it didn’t come. He sat back as good as gold for the rest of the film, and eventually I relaxed too. Samson had tested the boundaries, tested me to the limit and had finally accepted my guidelines for good behaviour – in this situation at least. I knew that if I brought him to the cinema again he’d remember how to behave and it would be that little bit easier.

When I took Samson home on Wednesday evening it was raining and the window to his flat was closed. We went in through the main entrance and I pressed the doorbell to his flat – number 17. Bruno immediately started barking loudly on the other side and pounded down the hall, landing heavily against the back of the door. Adrian jumped back and I reassured him again that we wouldn’t go in until the dog was safely shut away.

‘Bruno!’ Samson yelled at the top of his voice, banging his fists on the door and winding up the dog even more. I picked up Paula just in case someone opened the door before the dog was shut away. He was so big he would have knocked her flying.

Eventually someone dragged him away and his barks subsided. As we waited for the door to be opened Samson put down his backpack and took out the birthday card and presents we’d given to him, ready to show his family. It was his gran who opened the door.

‘Look what I’ve got! Birthday presents!’ he cried, holding them up for her to see.

‘It’s not your birthday, you silly bugger,’ she said, leaning heavily against the wall for support.

‘I know that!’ Samson cried indignantly. ‘But we pretended it was. I had jelly and ice cream and we played games and won prizes. They’re in me bag.’

Most parents or grandparents would have said something like, ‘That sounds great. Come in and tell me all about it.’ But Samson’s gran said, ‘Are you coming in or what, you daft bugger? I can’t be standing here all day. Me legs are killing me.’

I don’t think she meant to be unkind, it was just her way, but I saw the look of disappointment on Samson’s face. I was now expecting him to assume his usual tough exterior and run indoors shouting, without giving us a second thought, as he’d done before. But he didn’t. He stayed where he was and looked up at me. ‘Thanks for me party,’ he said sweetly. ‘It was nice of you to go to all that trouble.’

I could have cried. ‘You’re very welcome, love,’ I said, and touched his shoulder. ‘We all enjoyed it.’

Then, turning to Adrian, he said, ‘Bye. Thanks for sharing your toys.’

‘That’s OK,’ Adrian said.

Samson reached up to Paula who was still in my arms, wanting to say goodbye to her, so I set her on the ground. ‘Bye, Paula,’ he said, gently tickling her under the chin. She chuckled. ‘Thanks for coming to me party.’ I swallowed hard. All that bravado and underneath he was a kind-hearted, thoughtful child who had so much appreciated our pretend party. I felt guilty, and silently renewed my promise that if he ever needed a permanent foster home, I would look after him. It would be hard work, but I’d manage.

We weren’t invited into the flat. Gran said to him, ‘Now you’ve said goodbye, boy, you’d better get tidying ya room – ya social worker’s coming tomorrow.’

He shrugged and disappeared down the hall.

‘He’s been fine,’ I said to her.

‘That makes a change,’ she said, and shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other she began to close the door.