her up alone. One-night stand, far as I know. Certainly no father in the picture. And then a tragedy: the mother – name of Grace Johnson – had mental health problems, by all accounts, and had a near-fatal fall down the stairs when Sophia was 11, which was thought to have been a suicide attempt.’
‘Suicide?’ Mike asked. ‘That sounds grim.’
John nodded. ‘There was a difficult family situation, apparently. Compounded by Sophia’s illness. But I’ll tell you more about that in a mo.’ He consulted his notes, obviously scanning them for the important bits. ‘Ah, here we are,’ he said. ‘The mother went into a coma – didn’t die – from which she has never recovered. She’s been classed as being in a persistent vegetative state, from which they don’t expect her to recover. Very sad.’
We both nodded.
‘So then it seems,’ he went on, ‘that Sophia went to stay with an uncle and his family – they formally fostered her – but after a year, when the uncle’s wife fell pregnant, apparently, they decided they could no longer keep her. Even sadder. So at that point a different fostering team were approached, and that’s when she was placed with her current carer, Jean. But, as you know, Jean’s not well now, so that’s where we’re at.’
He sat back. ‘God,’ I said, ‘the things some kids have to go through. And of course we want to help Sophia, don’t we, love?’ I turned to Mike.
He nodded. ‘Absolutely. But tell me, John. You mentioned something about an illness. What’s wrong with her?’
John sat forward again. ‘That’s what we need to discuss. Have the two of you ever heard of a condition called Addison’s disease?’
We shook our heads. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Never.’
‘I doubted you would have. Neither had I, until now. It’s rare, apparently – a disorder which destroys the adrenal glands. And it’s even more rare for it to be diagnosed in someone so young. But it’s controlled – she has to take tablets every day, which replace the hormones she’d be producing naturally – cortisol and, let me see, yes – something called aldosterone, so, in that sense, it won’t present you with too much of a problem. Apparently, it only becomes one if she gets stressed or feels under pressure …’
‘Which she might well do at the moment, mightn’t she?’ asked Mike.
John nodded. ‘Fair point. But I’m not really the one to tell you
how
it might become a problem. Apparently, social services are going to arrange for you both to have a quick tutorial with her doctor and her specialist nurse.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘That sounds sensible. Better to know what we’re doing than not. But how is she generally? Sounds like she’s been to hell and back, from what you say.’
‘I don’t know, to be truthful,’ John answered. ‘There really isn’t a great deal more on her file.’
Where have I heard that line before, I thought ruefully. It had become almost a catch phrase when we’d taken on Justin. John caught my expression and looked apologetic. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just that she hasn’t been in care that long, and when they are fostered with other family members, they never seem to be as strict with the record keeping. I’ll see what else I can find, obviously, but, in the meantime, how are you placed for taking her next Wednesday?’
‘That’s quick,’ said Mike. ‘How will we manage to fit in an initial visit? I’m sure neither she nor we would want to commit until we’ve met each other.’
‘I know,’ John said, the hope in his face clear as day. ‘But I was hoping we could do that on Monday. Jean goes into hospital on Wednesday, you see, for tests, so it would get complicated if …’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Monday is fine. The poor thing. But one thing, John.’
He nodded. ‘Yes?’
‘Why us? Why me and Mike? It sounds to me that this is a pretty mainstream and also very short-term placement. Why have you picked us and
‘Suicide?’ Mike asked. ‘That sounds grim.’
John nodded. ‘There was a difficult family situation, apparently. Compounded by Sophia’s illness. But I’ll tell you more about that in a mo.’ He consulted his notes, obviously scanning them for the important bits. ‘Ah, here we are,’ he said. ‘The mother went into a coma – didn’t die – from which she has never recovered. She’s been classed as being in a persistent vegetative state, from which they don’t expect her to recover. Very sad.’
We both nodded.
‘So then it seems,’ he went on, ‘that Sophia went to stay with an uncle and his family – they formally fostered her – but after a year, when the uncle’s wife fell pregnant, apparently, they decided they could no longer keep her. Even sadder. So at that point a different fostering team were approached, and that’s when she was placed with her current carer, Jean. But, as you know, Jean’s not well now, so that’s where we’re at.’
He sat back. ‘God,’ I said, ‘the things some kids have to go through. And of course we want to help Sophia, don’t we, love?’ I turned to Mike.
He nodded. ‘Absolutely. But tell me, John. You mentioned something about an illness. What’s wrong with her?’
John sat forward again. ‘That’s what we need to discuss. Have the two of you ever heard of a condition called Addison’s disease?’
We shook our heads. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Never.’
‘I doubted you would have. Neither had I, until now. It’s rare, apparently – a disorder which destroys the adrenal glands. And it’s even more rare for it to be diagnosed in someone so young. But it’s controlled – she has to take tablets every day, which replace the hormones she’d be producing naturally – cortisol and, let me see, yes – something called aldosterone, so, in that sense, it won’t present you with too much of a problem. Apparently, it only becomes one if she gets stressed or feels under pressure …’
‘Which she might well do at the moment, mightn’t she?’ asked Mike.
John nodded. ‘Fair point. But I’m not really the one to tell you
how
it might become a problem. Apparently, social services are going to arrange for you both to have a quick tutorial with her doctor and her specialist nurse.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘That sounds sensible. Better to know what we’re doing than not. But how is she generally? Sounds like she’s been to hell and back, from what you say.’
‘I don’t know, to be truthful,’ John answered. ‘There really isn’t a great deal more on her file.’
Where have I heard that line before, I thought ruefully. It had become almost a catch phrase when we’d taken on Justin. John caught my expression and looked apologetic. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s just that she hasn’t been in care that long, and when they are fostered with other family members, they never seem to be as strict with the record keeping. I’ll see what else I can find, obviously, but, in the meantime, how are you placed for taking her next Wednesday?’
‘That’s quick,’ said Mike. ‘How will we manage to fit in an initial visit? I’m sure neither she nor we would want to commit until we’ve met each other.’
‘I know,’ John said, the hope in his face clear as day. ‘But I was hoping we could do that on Monday. Jean goes into hospital on Wednesday, you see, for tests, so it would get complicated if …’
‘Fine,’ I said. ‘Monday is fine. The poor thing. But one thing, John.’
He nodded. ‘Yes?’
‘Why us? Why me and Mike? It sounds to me that this is a pretty mainstream and also very short-term placement. Why have you picked us and
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