The Silent Cry

by Cathy Glass

  ‘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

  ‘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.’

  ‘Of course not. I’ve enjoyed having your company. And please don’t worry about Darrel. I’ll take good care of him. I hope the operation goes well.’ The clock on the mantelpiece showed it was nearly ten o’clock
. ‘Shelley, I don’t really want you going home on the bus alone at this time. Can I call a cab? I’ll pay for it.’

  ‘That’s kind of you. I’m not usually out this late,’ she said with a small laugh. ‘I’m usually at home with Darrel. But is it safe for a woman to be alone in a cab? I mean, you read bad stuff in the papers.’

  ‘It’s a local firm I know well,’ I said. ‘They have at least one lady cab driver. Shall I see if she’s free?’

  ‘Yes, please. I’ll pop up to the loo while you phone them.’

  I called the cab firm and the controller said they had a lady driver working that night, so I booked the cab. He said she would be with us in about fifteen minutes. Shelley had been right to be concerned, a young woman alone in a cab, but I was confident she’d be safe using this firm or I wouldn’t have suggested it. I heard her footsteps on the landing, but before she came downstairs she went into Darrel’s room. A few moments later she returned to the living room. ‘He’s fast asleep,’ she said, joining me on the sofa. ‘He should sleep through, but he’ll wake early with a sopping wet nappy. I’m trying to get him dry at night, but it’s difficult.’

  ‘You could try giving him his last drink in the evening earlier,’ I suggested. ‘Perhaps with his dinner, or just after. That’s what I did with Adrian and the children I’ve fostered who were still in nappies at night. After all, what goes in must come out!’

  She smiled. ‘Yes, very true. I’ll give it a try.’

  I told her the cab was on its way and, taking out my purse, I gave her a twenty-pound note to pay the fare.

  ‘It won’t be that much,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you change.’

  ‘No. It’s OK. Buy yourself something.’

  ‘Thank you. That is kind.’

  We continued chatting, mainly about Darrel and being a parent, until the doorbell rang. I went with her to the front door and opened it. The lady driver said she’d wait in her cab.

  ‘Good luck for tomorrow,’ I said to Shelley. ‘And phone me if you change your mind about a lift back from the hospital.’

  ‘All right. Thanks for everything,’ she said, and gave me a big hug. ‘How different my life would have been if I’d been fostered by you,’ she added reflectively.

  I felt my eyes fill. ‘Take care, love, and see you tomorrow.’

  I waited with the door open until she was safely in the cab, and then I closed and locked it for the night. Shelley’s unsettled past was sadly not a one-off. Too many children are bounced around the care system (for a number of reasons) and never have a chance to put down roots and have a family of their own. These young people often struggle in adult life, and feeling unloved can lead to drink and drugs or abusive relationships. Since I started writing my fostering memoirs I’ve been heartbroken by some of the emails I’ve received from young men and women with experiences similar to Shelley’s. Far more needs to be done to keep children in the same foster family or adoptive home so that they grow up and meet the challenges of adulthood with the confidence and self-esteem that comes from being loved and wanted.

  Before I went to bed I checked all three children were asleep, leaving their bedroom doors ajar so I would hear them if they called out. I never sleep well when I have a new child in the house. I’m half listening out in case they wake and are upset. As it happened, Darrel slept through, but I woke with a start at six o’clock when I heard him cry, ‘Mummy!’

  I was immediately out of bed and going round the landing in my dressing gown. The poor little chap was sitting up in bed, his round face sad and scared. ‘Where’s Mummy?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s gone to the hospital to have her tooth made better,’ I said, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘I’m Cathy. Do you remember coming here yesterday? You’re staying with me while Mummy is at the hospital, then she’ll come and collect you.’

  But he wasn’t reassured. His face crumbled and his tears fell. ‘I want my mummy.’

  ‘Oh, love, come here.’ I put my arm around him and held him close. It was only natural for him to be upset, waking in a strange bed and being separated from his mother for the first time.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I soothed, stroking his head. ‘I’ll look after you until Mummy comes back.’

  ‘I want my mummy,’ he sobbed. ‘Where’s my mummy?’

  I felt so sorry for him. ‘She’s not here, love. She’s at the hospital. You’ll see her later.’

  But he wouldn’t be consoled. ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ he called out with rising desperation. I knew it was only a matter of time before he woke Adrian and Paula.

  Sure enough, a moment later Adrian’s feet pitter-pattered round the landing and he came into Darrel’s room in his pyjamas, looking very worried.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I reassured him and Darrel. ‘Darrel will be fine soon.’

  ‘Don’t be upset,’ Adrian said, coming over to Darrel and gently rubbing his arm. ‘We’ll look after you. You can play with my best toys in my bedroom if you like.’

  ‘Wow. Did you hear that, Darrel?’ I said to him. ‘Adrian says you can play with his best toys.’ He kept them in his bedroom out of harm’s way, as Paula at thirteen months was still rather clumsy.

  The offer to play with an older boy’s best toys was too good to refuse, and far more comforting than my well-meant words of reassurance. Darrel’s tears stopped and he climbed out of bed. ‘I have to take my nappy off first,’ he said to Adrian.

  I knew from Shelley’s notes that she used baby wipes to clean Darrel in the morning, and then he went to the toilet. So once he was clean and dry, he stayed in his pyjamas and went into Adrian’s room where Adrian had already set out some toys for them both to play with. With the boys occupied and Paula still asleep, I took the opportunity to shower and dress. By the time I’d finished Paula was awake and jumping up and down in her cot wanting to be ‘Out! Out!’ so I got her dressed. I took her with me into Adrian’s room, thanked him for looking after Darrel and left him to dress while I helped Darrel in his room. Aged three, Darrel could mostly dress himself but needed some help, especially with his socks, which are difficult for young children – he kept getting them on with the heel on top.

  By the time we arrived downstairs for breakfast Adrian was Darrel’s best friend and he wouldn’t let him out of his sight. I had to push his chair right up close to Adrian’s at the table so they were touching, and he chatted away to Adrian. I warmed up the porridge Shelley had made for him and poured it into a bowl. Before Darrel began eating he asked Adrian if he’d like some. ‘Mummy won’t mind,’ he said cutely.

  ‘That’s OK, you have it,’ Adrian said. ‘I’ve got wheat flakes.’ In truth, Adrian had gone off porridge and didn’t eat it at that point.

  Paula was sitting on her booster seat at the table, opposite Darrel, and was far more interested in watching him than she was in feeding herself. He was a new face at the table and she didn’t understand why he was there. I was sitting beside her and kept filling her spoon from her bowl of hot oat cereal and reminding her to eat. Darrel finished his porridge and I gave him the fruit his mother had prepared. He gave us a grape each, which we thanked him for and ate. ‘Very nice,’ I said.

  Mindful of the time ticking by, I shepherded everyone upstairs and into the bathroom to brush their teeth and wash their faces. It was quite a logistical exercise getting three small children ready to leave the house on time, but eventually they were all in the hall with their jackets done up and their shoes on. Paula wanted to walk, but there wasn’t time, so I told her she could walk on the way back from school and lifted her into the stroller and fastened her safety harness before she had a chance to protest. Outside she wanted to hold Darrel’s hand as he walked beside her stroller and he was happy to do so, finding the novelty of a little one quite amusing. The boys talked to each other as we walked and Darrel told Adrian he would be starting school in September when he was four.

  We arrived in the school playground with a few minutes to spare and I glanced around for any sign of Kim,
but she wasn’t there. The Klaxon sounded for the start of school and Adrian began saying goodbye to us all. Although I’d already explained to Darrel that Adrian would have to go to school, I don’t think he understood the implications, for he suddenly looked very sad. ‘Don’t leave me,’ he said. I thought he was going to cry.

  Adrian looked at me anxiously. ‘You go in,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry. Darrel will be fine.’ It was possible they might see each other at the end of school, but I couldn’t promise, as that would depend on what time Shelley was discharged from hospital and came to collect Darrel.

  Saying goodbye, Adrian ran over to line up with his class and I turned to Darrel. ‘I could do with your help,’ I said to distract him. ‘Paula’s going to walk back and she obviously likes holding your hand. When I let her out of the stroller could you hold one of her hands, please, and I’ll hold the other? She doesn’t understand about road safety yet, so it’s important she holds our hands.’

  Darrel rose to the occasion. ‘I’m good at helping,’ he said proudly, looking less sad. ‘I help my mummy.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  I undid Paula’s harness and helped her out of the stroller. As I did I saw Geraldine rush into the playground with Kim. Neither of them looked at me as they were concentrating on getting Kim into school on time. I still intended to call on Laura the following week if she didn’t appear in the playground. With Darrel on one side of Paula and me on the other, we made our way out of the main gate and began our walk home. It was a slow walk – very slow – but it didn’t matter, as it kept Darrel occupied and distracted him from worrying about his mother. He found Paula’s habit of stopping every few steps to examine something in detail very funny. ‘What’s she looking at now?’ he said, laughing. ‘It’s a twig, Paula!’ Or, ‘It’s another stone. You are funny.’ It was nice to see him happy, and Paula was enjoying his company, although I don’t think she understood why her behaviour was amusing. At one point Geraldine overtook us on the opposite said of the street, although she didn’t look in our direction.