Let Me Go

‘It seems the nurses and psychiatrists agree with you on that score,’ I said, ‘I think everybody assumes that Harley is attention-seeking, and yes, I know that’s not PC to say these days, but that’s the top and bottom of it. That’s what it amounts to.’

Tessa’s expression told me she thought I’d hit the nail on the head. ‘Well, we can’t argue with the professionals, can we?’ she said. ‘They must see thousands of kids presenting like Harley, so they’ll know what they’re looking at. Well, in theory. What can I say?’

Nothing I wanted to hear, that was for sure. In fact, the more I heard, the more despondent I felt. It was no wonder the mother felt at her wits’ end. And as Tessa outlined the family situation in more detail it became clear that the perfect storm that had brought Harley to us had been brewing for some time. Her poor mother had suffered a terrible loss when her husband had died in that road accident and had consequently gone down a suffocating spiral of drink and drugs. Her eldest daughter, whom she relied on for everything, had now gone, and, crucially, it seemed, taking her boyfriend with her.

Because it seemed it wasn’t just Millie who’d held the family together – her boyfriend Zar had apparently also been something of a rock for the family. In the last few months before he and Millie had left to set up home together, he’d even moved in with them, providing much-needed help with their always-behind rent, as well as contributing more than his fair share for all the bills and doing odd jobs around the house. ‘I met him a couple of times,’ Tessa told me. ‘Lovely, lovely lad. He genuinely wanted to help support them, but, again, it was too big a job, not least because Mum didn’t ever really acknowledge that she needed any help.’ She tutted. ‘Well, till she realised she did.’

‘And I guess by then it was too late,’ I said. I had a thought then. I knew Millie was still a teenager, so was her boyfriend as well? It seemed odd that he’d be in a position to help with the rent. ‘Is Zar older than Millie?’ I asked Tessa.

Tessa nodded. ‘Mid-twenties. And mature, by all accounts. He certainly seemed that way to me. In fact, when they were first visited by social services, the on-duty social worker thought he was with the mother. Easy enough mistake to make, given how young Mum is – she’s still only in her thirties now – and easy enough to see why Millie would be attracted to someone a bit older too – losing her dad that young meant she was probably looking for a father figure. But not a father – and it seemed pretty obvious to me that it was too much to expect the lad to take on a role like that.’

And perhaps understandably – because who could blame them, really? – the young couple had made the painful decision that enough was eventually enough and left to make a new life for themselves away from the burdens of the family.

‘Does Millie stay in touch?’ I asked, because it seemed so obvious to me that she would. She had clearly been the biggest influence on Harley’s young life and for that to be ruptured so completely must have taken a huge toll. ‘Maybe she’s the one who is best placed to help Harley out of this. I know it’s a lot of responsibility to place on such young shoulders, and making the decision to leave must have been a hard one, but—’

‘That’s just it,’ Tessa said. ‘Whether because of apathy or, more likely, self-preservation, Millie has now pretty much cut off all contact. They spoke often in the beginning, but it became less and less and I believe now that contact has pretty much stopped completely. I spoke to her myself just after she left and she was nothing if not forthright. Said she was sorry, but she just wasn’t up to it anymore – that she needed some time out to have her own life, unencumbered by her mum and sister’s problems.’

‘Sounds a bit harsh,’ I said, trying to imagine a scenario where someone would completely turn their back on their sibling. But even as I thought it, I knew the reality was that it did, sadly, happen. And in the world that I had made myself part of, the fostering world, it happened with depressing regularity.

But who was I to judge? I’d put money on the fact that if I asked her myself she’d tell me that the only way to get her mum to address her issues was, in her view, to make her face up to them – a dose of very necessary tough love. Plus, she’d clearly decided she’d done all she could, as had her boyfriend, and was bailing before she was sucked under herself.

Tessa nodded. ‘I know. It does sound harsh,’ she agreed, ‘but all we can do now is work with what we’ve got, and respect the fact that Harley’s sister and her partner have every right to make a life for themselves, and who knows – perhaps Millie is right, it will make Mum face up to and actually deal with her addictions. And though it’s perhaps not ideal that Harley’s no longer in a secure environment, given what’s happened, I’m hoping the ticking clock will at least concentrate Mum’s mind to really engage with the intensive work we are going to do with her, the plan being to hopefully get her to a point where she feels able to trust herself to look after Harley with minimal ongoing intervention.’

‘But what if Harley is clinically depressed?’ I asked. ‘Can’t they start her on some medication?’

‘Tried that, a number of times, but she refuses to take it. The thing is, the general consensus, silly as it sounds, is that Harley actually thrives on the attention of the professionals. A kind of Munchausen’s thing, if you like. She knows refusing meds will mean more time spent with doctors and refusing to speak to psychologists means more time spent with child and adolescent mental health services. Seems a ridiculous merry-go-round to anyone not on it, but for Harley, well, the proof seems to be in the pudding, doesn’t it? Her “suicide” attempts are all just that. Attempts.’

I saw Tessa off soon after, feeling little had changed. She’d go away and continue her work with the mother, and, in the meantime, I would continue my ‘caretaking’ role – continuing to care for Harley’s physical needs till the twenty-eight days (twenty-five days now, in fact) were up and she would ‘hopefully’ be returned home.

But for one thing, which could hardly escape anyone’s notice – not all suicide attempts end in failure.

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