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Authors: Casey Watson
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I was getting really uncomfortable. ‘Tell you what,’ I suggested to Riley, ignoring Sophia’s comment. ‘Why don’t you walk David back, and we’ll head to the market with Levi?’ I had a few bits to buy, and she could easily catch us up. And it might stop her bursting a blood vessel.
But as soon as we were alone with the baby, Sophia turned to me, oblivious. ‘Oh, Casey, he’s well fit,’ she said, stopping me in my tracks. ‘How old did you say he was?’
‘I didn’t,’ I pointed out. ‘But way too old for you, young lady. And also taken,’ I added pointedly.
She giggled again, then, but was happy to push Levi to the market. She chatted animatedly to me as she did so, as well, even though one of her comments was that pushing a baby was great because it always made you such a ‘man magnet’.
I made light of it, but by now I was having serious concerns. She was attracting male attention not because she was a young girl pushing a pram. She was attracting it by the way she was wiggling as she did so. This girl had been sexualised – and to a increasingly worrying degree. Which rang alarm bells. What had happened to her that we hadn’t been told about?
We’d been told to expect it at some point, of course, but when the letter arrived that Friday from social services it was to inform us that Sophia’s next visit to her mum would be taking place just a week on Sunday.
My musings about why Sophia behaved around men the way she did were now nudged out of pole position by my worrying about that. I didn’t know why, quite – I’d dealt with plenty of bad things in my time – but I was filled with this sense of foreboding. The tone of the letter didn’t help, either, making it clear that the whole thing would be emotionally exhausting for her, and that we’d have to be extra vigilant about her taking her medication, as her stress levels would be particularly high. We might even, the letter warned, have to make her take more hydrocortisone, as the stress might deplete her reserves. Finally, it advised that the visit might be upsetting for us to witness; in short, the letter seemed to say, brace yourselves .
The timing, I thought, was very poor as well. We’d already been told that these visits were infrequent, so why arrange one in the midst of so much upset in her life? She’d have barely been with us a fortnight! I gathered up the rest of the post and went into the kitchen. I could hear Sophia coming down, accompanied by Bob. She’d definitely made a friend in our little mutt, at least. Which was pleasing; pets were so good at soothing troubled souls. And so uncomplicated with it. Just what she needed.
‘All right, love?’ I asked her as they both came into the kitchen. I was pleased to see she was wearing her new pyjamas and dressing gown.
‘Yeah, fine,’ she said, smiling. ‘And it’s a lovely day, isn’t it?’
‘Nice to see some sun,’ I agreed. ‘Even if it’s perishing out there. Let me just let Bob out then I’ll make you some breakfast.’
‘I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘Out through the conservatory, is it? I can stay and keep an eye on him too.’
‘Don’t forget your tablets.’
‘I won’t!’ she responded brightly.
‘Then I’ll make us both a nice fry-up, shall I? I’ve got bacon, I’ve got mushrooms, I’ve got eggs …’
‘That would be lovely,’ she said, grabbing her meds from the fridge. ‘But no mushrooms for me, thanks. Mushrooms are yuk!’
Well, well, I thought cheerfully, as she followed Bob into the conservatory. Was I at last seeing a glimpse of the girl behind the mask? The girl she might once have been?
And could be again, I hoped, if she got the right kind of help and support. Poor, poor kid. None of us could make things right for her – not where her mum was concerned, anyway. But at least we could all go some way towards making her life more manageable; give her some tools with which to better deal with her demons. But
But as soon as we were alone with the baby, Sophia turned to me, oblivious. ‘Oh, Casey, he’s well fit,’ she said, stopping me in my tracks. ‘How old did you say he was?’
‘I didn’t,’ I pointed out. ‘But way too old for you, young lady. And also taken,’ I added pointedly.
She giggled again, then, but was happy to push Levi to the market. She chatted animatedly to me as she did so, as well, even though one of her comments was that pushing a baby was great because it always made you such a ‘man magnet’.
I made light of it, but by now I was having serious concerns. She was attracting male attention not because she was a young girl pushing a pram. She was attracting it by the way she was wiggling as she did so. This girl had been sexualised – and to a increasingly worrying degree. Which rang alarm bells. What had happened to her that we hadn’t been told about?
We’d been told to expect it at some point, of course, but when the letter arrived that Friday from social services it was to inform us that Sophia’s next visit to her mum would be taking place just a week on Sunday.
My musings about why Sophia behaved around men the way she did were now nudged out of pole position by my worrying about that. I didn’t know why, quite – I’d dealt with plenty of bad things in my time – but I was filled with this sense of foreboding. The tone of the letter didn’t help, either, making it clear that the whole thing would be emotionally exhausting for her, and that we’d have to be extra vigilant about her taking her medication, as her stress levels would be particularly high. We might even, the letter warned, have to make her take more hydrocortisone, as the stress might deplete her reserves. Finally, it advised that the visit might be upsetting for us to witness; in short, the letter seemed to say, brace yourselves .
The timing, I thought, was very poor as well. We’d already been told that these visits were infrequent, so why arrange one in the midst of so much upset in her life? She’d have barely been with us a fortnight! I gathered up the rest of the post and went into the kitchen. I could hear Sophia coming down, accompanied by Bob. She’d definitely made a friend in our little mutt, at least. Which was pleasing; pets were so good at soothing troubled souls. And so uncomplicated with it. Just what she needed.
‘All right, love?’ I asked her as they both came into the kitchen. I was pleased to see she was wearing her new pyjamas and dressing gown.
‘Yeah, fine,’ she said, smiling. ‘And it’s a lovely day, isn’t it?’
‘Nice to see some sun,’ I agreed. ‘Even if it’s perishing out there. Let me just let Bob out then I’ll make you some breakfast.’
‘I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘Out through the conservatory, is it? I can stay and keep an eye on him too.’
‘Don’t forget your tablets.’
‘I won’t!’ she responded brightly.
‘Then I’ll make us both a nice fry-up, shall I? I’ve got bacon, I’ve got mushrooms, I’ve got eggs …’
‘That would be lovely,’ she said, grabbing her meds from the fridge. ‘But no mushrooms for me, thanks. Mushrooms are yuk!’
Well, well, I thought cheerfully, as she followed Bob into the conservatory. Was I at last seeing a glimpse of the girl behind the mask? The girl she might once have been?
And could be again, I hoped, if she got the right kind of help and support. Poor, poor kid. None of us could make things right for her – not where her mum was concerned, anyway. But at least we could all go some way towards making her life more manageable; give her some tools with which to better deal with her demons. But
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