AlsobyCathyGlass

DamagedHiddenCut

TheSaddestGirlintheWorldHappyKids

TheGirlintheMirrorIMissMummy

MummyToldMeNottoTellMyDad’saPoliceman(a

QuickReadsnovel)Run,Mummy,Run

TheNighttheAngelsCameHappyAdultsABaby’sCry

HappyMealtimesForKidsAnotherForgottenChild

PleaseDon’tTakeMyBaby

Contents

CoverTitlePageAlsobyCathyGlassAcknowledgements

EpigraphPrologue

PARTONE

1Desperate2Escape3Concerned4TooLatetoHelp5Family6Neglect

7NoChancetoSayGoodbye8AGoodFriend9‘IHateYouAll!’

PARTTWO

10‘AFamilyofMyOwn’11Lucy12NoAppetite13‘DoOurBest’14Control

15‘IDon’tWantHerHelp!’16TestingtheBoundaries17Progress18‘I’dRatherHaveYou’19HappyHoliday20‘WillYouLoveMe?’21‘NoOneWantsMe’22 A New Year, a NewSocialWorker23‘She’sOKforaGirl’24SpecialDay

25Thunderstorm26‘I’llTryMyBest’27SpecialLove

ExclusivesamplechapterCathyGlassCopyrightAboutthePublisher

Acknowledgements

Abigthank-youtomyeditor,Holly; my literary agentAndrew; and Carole, Vicky,Laura and all the team at

HarperCollins.

‘EverytimeIhearanewbornbabycry…

ThenIknowwhy,Ibelieve.’

‘IBelieve’byErvinDrake

Prologue

I heard Pat, Lucy’s carer,knock on Lucy’s bedroomdoor, and then a slight creakas thedoor opened, followed

by: ‘Your new carer, Cathy,ison thephone foryou.Canyoucomeandtalktoher?’Therewassilenceandthen

I heard the bedroom doorclose. A few moments laterPat’s voice came on thephone again. ‘I told her, butshe’s still refusing to evenlook atme. She’s just sittingthere on the bed staring into

space.’MyworriesforLucyrose.‘What should I do now?’

Patasked,anxiously. ‘Shall Iask my husband to talk toher?’‘Does Lucy have a better

relationship with him?’ Iasked.‘No, not really,’ Pat said.

‘She won’t speak to him,

either. We might have toleave her here untilMonday,when her social worker isbackatwork.’‘Then Lucy will have the

wholeweekendtobroodoverthis,’Isaid.‘Itwillbeworse.Let’s try again to get her tothe phone. I’m sure it willhelp if she hears I’m not anogre.’

Pat gave a little snort oflaughter. ‘Jill said you werevery good with olderchildren,’ referring to mysupportsocialworker.‘That was sweet of her,’ I

said. ‘Now, is your phonefixedorcordless?’‘Cordless.’‘Excellent. Take the

handset up with you, knock

on Lucy’s bedroom door, goin and tell her again Iwouldliketotalktoher,please.Butthis time, leave thephoneonherbedfacingup,soshecanhearme,andthencomeout.Imight end up talking tomyself,butI’musedtothat.’Pat gave another snort of

nervous laughter. ‘Fingerscrossed,’shesaid.

I heard Pat’s footstepsgoing up the stairs again,followed by the knock onLucy’sbedroomdoorandtheslight creak as it opened.Pat’svoicetrembledalittleasshesaid:‘Cathy’sstillonthephone and she’d like to talktoyou.’There was a little muffled

sound,presumablyasPatput

thephoneonLucy’sbed,andthen I heard the bedroomdoor close. I was alone withLucy.

Lucy and I believe we weredestined to be mother anddaughter; it just took us awhiletofindeachother.Lucywas eleven years old whenshecametome.Idesperately

wish it could have beensooner. It breaks my heartwhen I think of whathappened to her, as I’m sureit will break yours. To tellLucy’s story – our story –properly,weneedtogobackto when she was a baby,before I knew her. With thehelp of records we’ve beenable topiece togetherLucy’s

earlylife,sohereisherstory,rightfromthestart…

PART ONE

Chapter One

Desperate

It was dark outside and, atnine o’clock on a Februaryevening in England, bitterlycold. A cruel northeasterlywind whipped around the

small parade of downbeatshops:anewsagent’s,asmallgrocer’s, a bric-a-brac shopselling everything from bagsofnailstoout-of-datepacketsofsweetsandbiscuits,andatthe end a launderette. Fourshops with flats aboveforming a dismal end to arundown street of terracedhouses,whichhadoncebeen

part of the council’sregeneration project, until itsbudgethadbeencut.Three of the four shops

were in darkness andshutteredagainstthegangsofmarauding yobswho roamedthis part of town after dark.But the launderette, althoughclosed to the public, wasn’tshuttered. It was lit, and the

machines were working.Fluorescent lighting flickeredagainst a stainedgreyceilingas steam from the machinescondensed on the windows.The largest window over thedryers ran with rivulets ofwaterthatpuddledonthesill.Inside, Bonnie, Lucy’s

mother, worked alone. Shewasinhermid-twenties,thin,

and had her fair hair pulledbackintoaponytail.Shewasbusy heaving the dampclothes from the washingmachines and piling themintothedryers,thenreloadingthe machines. She barelyfaltered in herwork, and thebackground noise of themachines, clicking throughtheirprogrammesofwashing,

rinsing, spinning and drying,providedarhythm;itwaslikea well-orchestrated dance.While all the machines wereoccupied and in mid-cycle,Bonnie went to the ironingboard at the endof the roomand ironed asmany shirts asshe could before a machinebuzzedtosoundtheendofitscycle and needed her

attention.Bonnie now stood at the

ironing board meticulouslypressingtheshirtsofdivorcedbusinessmen who didn’tknow how to iron, had noinclinationtolearnanddrovepast the launderette from thebetter end of town on theirway to and from work.Usually they gave her a tip,

which was just as well, forthe money her boss, Ivan,gave her wasn’t enough tokeep her and her baby.Nowherenear.With her earphones in and

thevolumeturneduphighonher Discman, plus the noisecoming from the machines,Bonnie didn’t hear the mantapping on the window and

then rattling the shop door.Withherconcentratingontheironing and her back turnedaway from him, he couldhave stood there indefinitelytrying toattractherattention.The door was Chubb lockedand double bolted, as it wasevery evening when Bonnieworked alone. It was lucky,therefore, that after a few

moments Bonnie set downthe iron to adjust thevolumeon her Discman, because asshe did so she caught aglimpse of movement out ofthe corner of her eye.Turning, shepeered from thebrightnessoftheshopintothedarkness outside and was alittle startled to see thesilhouette of a man at the

door. Then, with relief, sherecognized the silhouette asthatofVince.Bonnie crossed the shop

floor, taking out herearphones and switching offherDiscmanasshewent.ShewasexpectingVince;hewasthe reason the shuttersweren’t down. He’d phonedearlier and said he needed to

see her urgently as he wasleaving – for good. Bonniehadn’t been shocked to hearthat the father of her babywas leaving. Vince (not hisreal name, which he’d toldher was unpronounceable toEnglish people) had comeover from Thailand on astudent visa four yearspreviously,althoughasfaras

Bonnieknewhe’dneverbeena student. His visa had longsince run out, and in thefourteen months Bonnie hadknownVincehe’dsaidmanytimes that immigration wereafter him and hewould haveto leave. But after the firstfew times, as with many ofthe other things Vince hadtold her – like his age and

where his money came from–Bonniehadbegun todoubtthatitwastrue,andsuspecteditwasjustanexcusetocomeand go from her life as hepleased.However, as Bonnienow slid the bolts aside andopened the door, letting thecold night air rush in, shecouldseefromhisexpressionthat something was different

tonight. Vince’s usuallysmooth manner was ruffledand he appeared to besweating, despite it beingcoldoutside.‘My sister phoned,’ he

said,slightlyoutofbreath,ashe stepped in and locked thedoorbehindhim.‘Mymotherisill.Ihavetogotoher.’Bonnie looked at him. He

was thesameheightasher–aboutfivefooteightinches–with pale olive skin and jet-blackhair;shesawhischarmandappealnowasshealwayshad, despite the way hetreated her. Her mother hadsaid it was her fault that sheallowedmen to treat her likeadoormat, but at leastVincedidn’t hit her, as some men

had.‘Yourmotherisalwaysill,’

Bonnie said, not unkindly,but stating a fact. ‘You toldme your sister looks afterher.’Vince rubbed his forehead

withtheheelofhishand.‘Mymotherisinhospital.Shehascancerandwillnotlivelong.Ihavetogohome.’

Bonnie looked into hisdark, almost black eyes andsearchedforthetruthinwhathe said, which was alsoprobably the key to herfuture.‘You’regoinghome?Ona

plane?’sheasked,raisinghervoice over the noise of themachines,forhe’dneversaidbefore that he was going

home,onlythathewasgoingaway.Vince nodded and stuffed

his hands into the pockets ofhisleatherjacket.‘For how long?’ Bonnie

asked.He shrugged. ‘Maybe for

good.’‘And your daughter?’

Bonnie said, irritated by his

casualness, and still not fullybelievinghim.‘WhatdoItellLucywhensheisoldenoughtoaskaboutherfather?’‘I’llwrite,’hesaidwithno

commitment. ‘I’ll write andphoneonherbirthday.’‘Likeyourfatherdoeswith

you?’shesaidbitterly,awarethat Vince only ever heardfrom his father on his

birthday. But if she washonest, she knew Vince hadnever wanted a baby; it hadbeen her decision not toterminatethepregnancy.‘I have to go,’ he said,

glancing anxiously towardstheshopdoor.‘Ineedtobuymytickethome,butIhaven’tthemoney.’Bonniegaveasmall,sharp

laugh. ‘So that’s why you’rehere?Toborrowmoney.No,Vince,’ she said, before hecouldask.‘ThelittleIearnisformeandmybaby.There’snever any left over, as youknow.’‘You live rent free here in

the flat,’ he said, an edge ofdesperation creeping into hisvoice. ‘Youmust have some

cashyoucanlendme?’‘No. I have to pay bills –

heatingandlighting.Ihavetobuy food and clothes. I’vetold you before I have nosavings. I don’t have enoughfor Lucy and me.’ She wasgrowing angrynow.Abettermanwouldhaverealizedandnotasked.‘I’m desperate,’ Vince

said, almost pleading. ‘Youwouldn’tstopmefromseeingmymotherwhensheisdying,wouldyou?’Bonnieheardtheemotional

blackmail, but it didn’t stopher feeling guilty. ‘I don’thave any money,’ she saidagain.‘Honestly,Idon’t.’Vince’seyesgrewcold,as

they did sometimes, though

not normally in relation toher. It made her uneasy, asthough there was a side tohimshedidn’tknow.‘The till,’ he said, shifting

hisgaze to thefarendof theshop where the till sat on atable fixed to the floor. ‘Youhave the day’s takings.Please. I’m desperate. I’llrepayyou,Ipromise.’

‘No. It’s impossible,’Bonnie said, an icy chillrunningdownherspine.‘I’vetold you what Ivan’s like.He’salwayssayinghe’llbeatme if the day’s takings aredown. He would, I’m sure.He’s capable of it. Youwouldn’tputmeindanger?’But she could tell from

Vince’s eyes that he could

andwould.Hisgazeflickeredto the till again as henervously licked his bottomlip. ‘You don’t understand,’he said. ‘It’s not just aboutmy mother. I owe peoplemoney.Peoplewho’llkillmeifIdon’tpaythem.I’msorry,Bonnie, but I don’t have anychoice.’His mother’s illness or

creditors? Bonnie didn’tknow the truth and it hardlymattered any more; hisbetrayalofherwascomplete.Shewatchedinhorroraswithsingle-minded determinationhe walked the length of theshop to the till. Shewatchedfrom where she stood as heopened the till draw,struggling to accept that he

thought more of his ownsafety than hers and wouldput her in danger to savehimself. But as he begantaking out the money – themoneyshehadcollectedfromhand washes, dry cleaningand ironing; which could be£500ormore;andwhichshetooktotheflateachnightforsafe keeping, ready to give

Ivanthefollowingmorning–herthoughtswenttoIvanandwhat he would do to her ifany of the money wasmissing.SheknewshehadtostopVince.‘No, Vince!’ she cried,

rushing to the till. ‘No!’ Shegrabbed his arm. ‘No! Stop.ThinkofLucy.Ivanwillhurtheraswellasmeifyoutake

themoney.’‘NotasmuchasthegangI

owe will hurt me,’ hesneered.He pushed her fromhim and continued filling hisjacketpockets.‘No. Stop!’ Bonnie cried

again. In desperation shegrabbedhishandsandtriedtostop him from taking themoney,butheshookheroff.

She grabbed his handsagain but his next push wasmuch harder and sent herreelingbackwardsagainstthehardmetaledgeofawashingmachine.Shecriedoutastheimpact winded her and painshot through her. Vincequicklystuffedthelastofthemoneyintohisjacketpocketsandwithoutlookingbackran

fromtheshop.

Bonniestayedwhereshewas,tryingtocatchherbreath.Shewas also trying to come toterms with what had justhappened. Vince had gone,probably for good, and he’dtaken all of Ivan’s money –themoneyIvanwouldexpectto collect at 8.00 the

following morning. Tearsstungthebacksofhereyesasshe stood and leant againstthe washing machine, tryingtoworkoutwhattodo.The launderette was

uncannily quiet. The dryersthat had been working whenVince arrived had completedtheir cycles and now stoodstill; the washing machines

were in mid-cycle, theirdrums gently swishing waterfrom side to side. Bonnielooked at the shop door,which was still wide openfrom Vince’s exit. The chillfrom the night was quicklyreplacing the previouswarmth of the shop. Beforelong, if she didn’t close thedoor,adrunk,druggieoryob

wouldcomein.Notthattherewas any money left to steal,shethoughtgrimly;therewasjusthersafetytoworryabout.Heavingherselfawayfrom

the support of the machine,Bonnie rubbed her back andbegan to make her waytowards the open door.Despite Vince’s behaviour,Bonnie didn’t condemn him

for what he’d done; shebelieved she deserved it.Abuse was always her fault.Thingslikethisdidn’thappentonicegirls.Shewasbad,somentreatedherbadly.Itwasas simple as that. She closedand locked the door, slid thebolts across and turned tosurvey the shop. Baskets ofwashing waited to be loaded

intomachinesanddryers, theironingwashalfdoneandthewhole shop needed to becleaned and tidied ready forwhen it opened at 7.30 a.m.the next day. Bonnie usuallydidallthisbeforeshewenttobed. Ivan expected it andliked a clean and tidy shopwhen he called to collect hismoneyat8.00a.m.Evenifit

took her until midnight tofinish, she alwaysmade sureeverything was done, just asIvanlikedit.But not tonight, Bonnie

thought. There’s no point infinishing the laundry andcleaning the shop, for thecrimeoflosingIvan’smoneywasfargreaterandcouldnotbe put right by a clean and

tidy shop. It briefly crossedher mind that perhaps shecouldsaythey’dbeenbrokenintoandtheday’stakingshadbeen stolen, but with noforcedentryshedoubtedIvanwould believe her, and shedidn’t dare take the risk.Bonnie lived in fear of Ivan,as she did most men whocameintoherlife.

With a very heavy heartand her back paining her,Bonniewent to the cornerofthe shop and opened theinternal door that led to theflat above. She pressed thelight switch and the staircasewas illuminated, then sheturned off the lights in theshop – all except the nightlight, which always stayed

on. Closing the door on theshop,shebeganupthestairs,and as she did so she heardLucy crying. Bonnie knewfrom the distress in herscreams that she’d beencryingforaverylongtime.

Chapter Two

Escape

Halfway up the damp andfoul-smelling staircase, withitsdangerouslyfrayedcarpet,the light went out. Ivan hadthe light switches at the top

and bottom of the stairs ontimers so as not to wasteelectricity: he paid for theelectricityonthestairsandintheshop;Bonniepaidforitinthe flat. As usual, Bonnieclimbed the last six steps indarknessand thengroped forthe light switch on thelandingandpressed it,whichgave her another ten seconds

oflight–enoughtoopenthedoortotheflatandgoinside.The door opened directly

into the room where Lucylay, and her screams weredeafening now. The livingroom was lit by a singlestandard lamp that Bonnieleft on whenever Lucy wasalone–whichwasoften.Themain overhead light had

never worked, and Ivan hadneveroffered to fix it. In thehalf-light Bonnie crossed towhere her daughter lay in aMoses basket on the floor.Lucy’s eyes were screwedshutandhermouthwasopenin a grimace of crying. Thesmell was putrid, acombination of the diarrhoeaand vomit that had been

festering since the last timeBonniehadcheckedonLucyand changed her nappy, overfivehourspreviously.Bonnieknewitwaswrongtoleaveababy unattended for so long,butshehadtowork.Shealsoknew that, at sixmonthsold,LucywastoooldforaMosesbasket, but she couldn’tafford a cot. She kept the

basket on the floor so that ifLucy did tumble out shewouldn’thavefartofall.Lucy’s eyes shot open as

hermotherpickedherupandshe stopped crying. But herexpression wasn’t one ofrelaxed reassurance sensingthat, as a baby, all her needswere about to be met. Shedidn’t smile on seeing her

mother, as most six-month-oldbabieswould.No,Lucy’slittle brow furrowed and hereyes registered concern andanxiety,asthoughshesharedher mother’s fears andresponsibilities for theirfuture.The sheet in the Moses

basket and the Baby-gro andcardigan Lucy wore were

caked with dried vomit.Roundthetopsofthelegsofthe Baby-gro were freshbrownstainswherehernappyhad overflowed. Lucy’ssickness and diarrhoea werein their third day now andBonnie knew she shouldreallytakehertoadoctor,butif she did she would beregistered on their computer

system, and then it wouldonly be a matter of timebefore concerns were raisedand a social worker cameknocking on her door. Atpresent, no one knew whereshewas,notevenhermother.OnlythehospitalwhereLucyhad been born – over 100miles away – knew of herbaby’s existence, and that

wasalltheyknew.Bonnie felt Lucy’s

forehead. Thankfully shedidn’t feel hot so Bonnieassumed she didn’t have atemperature. Bonnie washoping, praying, that naturewould take its course andLucywould get better of herown accord, although howlong that would take she

didn’t know. Ignoring thesqualor of the living room,Bonnie carried her daughterthrough to the bathroomwhereshepulledon the lightcord. Filthy broken tilesformed the splashback to anoldchippedandbadlystainedbath. What was left of thelino on the floorwas stainedfromtheleakingtoiletandthe

ceiling was covered withlarge, dark, irregular-shapedwatermarksfromtheleakingroof above. This room, likethe rest of the flat,was cold,and mould had formedbetween the tiles, around theedge of the bath and aroundthe window, which couldn’tbe opened but rattled in thewind. Bonnie knew that this

room – like the others shewasallowedtouseintheflat:thelivingroomandkitchen–was unfit for humanhabitation. Ivan knew it too,and that she wouldn’tcomplain, because she wasdesperate and had nowhereelse to go. The doors to thetwo bedrooms werepermanently locked and Ivan

hadthekeys.He’dnevertoldher what was in them andshe’dneverdaredtoask.Spreading the one towel

she owned on the filthybathroom floor, Bonniecarefully laidLucyon topofit.Lucyimmediatelybegantocry again, as if sheanticipatedwhatwas comingnext.

‘There, there,’ Bonniesoothed. ‘I’m sorry, but Ihave to wash you.’ Bonniealways felt a sense of panicwhen Lucy cried, as thoughshe was doing somethingwrong.Lucy’scriesgrewlouderas

Bonnie began taking off herdirtyclothes. ‘Youmust stopcrying,’ she said anxiously.

‘Themannextdoorwillhearyou.’TheAsianmanwhoranthe

newsagent’s next door andlived in the flat above withhiswifeandtwochildrenhadtwice come into thelaunderette worried thatthey’d heard a baby cryingforlongperiodsandthattheremight be something wrong.

Bonnie had reassured him,butnowlivedindreadthathewould voice his concerns tothepoliceorsocialservices.Bonnie placed Lucy’s

soiledcardigan,Baby-groandvest to one side and thenunfastened the tabs on hernappy. The smell wasoverpowering and Bonnieswallowed to stop herself

from gagging. BeforeremovingLucy’s nappy, in awell-practised routine shereached into the bath andturned on the hot tap. Coldwater spluttered out as thepipesrunningthroughtheflatcreaked and banged. Bonnieheld her fingers under thesmall streamofwateruntil itlost its chill and became

lukewarm.Thiswasashotasitgot,sosheandLucyalwayswashed in lukewarm water,andLucyalwayscried.Leaving the tap running,

BonnietookoffLucy’snappyand lifted her into the bathwhere she held her bottomunder the tap. Lucy’s criesescalated. ‘Sssh,’ Bonniesaid, as shewashed herwith

an old flannel. ‘Please bequiet.’ But Lucy didn’tunderstand.Having cleaned her back

and bottom, Bonnie turnedLucy around andwashed herfront, finishingwith her faceand the little hair she had.Lucygaveaclimacticscreamandshiveredasthewaterranover her head and face.

‘Finished. All done!’ Bonniesaid.Turning off the tap, she

lifted Lucy out of the bathand onto the towel. Thecomparative warmth andcomfortof thefabricsoothedLucy and she finally stoppedcrying. ‘Good girl,’ Bonniesaid,relieved.She knelt on the floor in

front of her daughter andpattedherdrywiththetowel.Lucy’s gaze followed hermother’s movementsapprehensively as though atany moment she might havereason to cry again. OnceLucy was dry, Bonniewrappedthetowelaroundherdaughter like a shawl andthencarriedherintothehalf-

light of the living room,where she sat on thethreadbaresofawithLucyonher lap. ‘Soon have youdressed,’shesaid,kissingherhead.Bonnie took a disposable

nappy from the packet shekept with most of her otherpossessions on the sofa.Bonnieownedverylittle;her

and Lucy’s belongings wereeasily accommodated on thesofa and armchair. At least Iwon’t have much packing todo, she thought bitterly.Whereshewouldgoescapedher,butsheknewshehadnochoicebut to leave, now thatIvan’smoneyhadgone.Lying Lucy flat on the

sofa, Bonnie secured the

clean nappy with the stickyfasteners,andthenreachedtotheendofthesofaforLucy’sclean clothes.One advantageofworking in the launderettewas that she’d been able towashanddrytheirclothesforfree.Taking the clean vest,

Baby-gro and cardigan(bought second-hand),

Bonnie dressed Lucy asquickly as she could. Theonlyheatingintheroomwasanelectricfire,whichwasfartoo expensive to use, soBonnie relied on the heatrisingfromthe launderette totake thechilloff the flat,butit was never warm. Lucydidn’t cry as Bonnie dressedher; in fact, she didn’t make

anynoiseatall.BonniefoundthatLucywaseithersilentorcrying; there was nocontentedin-between.Neitherhad she begun to make thebabbling and chunteringnoisesmostbabiesofheragedo. The reason was lack ofstimulation,butBonniedidn’tknowthat.Once Lucy was dressed,

Bonnie replaced the sheet inthe Moses basket ready forlater and then carried herdaughter into the squalidkitchen. Balancing Lucy onher hip with one arm, shefilled and plugged in thekettlewiththeother,andthentook the carton ofmilk fromthewindowsill.Therewasnofridge so the windowsill,

draughty from the ill-fittingwindow, acted as a fridge inwinter. Bonnie kept her‘fridge foods’ there – milk,yoghurt and cheese spread.An ancient gas cooker stoodagainstonewallbutonly thehobs had ever worked, sosince coming to the flat fivemonths previously Bonniehad lived on cold baked

beans, cheese spread onbread, cornflakes, crisps andbiscuits. Lucy was on cow’smilk – the formula was tooexpensive – and Bonniewonderedif thiscouldbethereason for Lucy’s sicknessanddiarrhoea.Bonnie prepared the milk

for Lucy in the way sheusuallydid,byhalffillingthe

feeding bottle with milk andtopping it up with boilingwater.Withoutahobormilkpan it was all she could do,and it alsomade themilkgofurther. She made herself amug of tea and, taking ahandful of biscuits from theopen packet, returned to theliving room. She sat on thesofaandgaveLucyherbottle

while she drank her tea andnervously ate the biscuits.Shewouldhavelikedtomakeher escape now so she waswell away from the areabefore Ivan returned in themorningandfoundhismoneyand themgone, but the nightwascold,soitmadesensetostay in the flat for as longaspossible.Bonniedecided that

if she left at 6.00 a.m. she’dhave two hours before Ivanarrived – enough time tosafelymaketheirgetaway.Physically exhausted and

emotionally drained, Bonnierested her head against theback of the grimy sofa andclosed her eyes, as Lucysuckled on her bottle. Shewondered if she should head

north for Scotlandwhere hermother lived, but hermotherwouldn’t be pleased to seeher. A single parent with aprocession of live-in lovers,many of whom had tried toseduce Bonnie; she had herown problems. Bonnie hadtolerated her mother’slifestyle for as long as shecouldbuthadthenleft.Aged

seventeen and carrying asingle canvas holdall thatcontained all her belongings,Bonnie had been on thestreets, sleeping rough orwherever she could find abed. Bonnie’s two olderbrothershadlefthomebeforeher andhadn’t kept in touch,soasLucyfinishedthelastofher bottle and fell asleep

Bonnie concluded that shedidn’thaveanywheretogo–which was how she’d endedupatIvan’sinthefirstplace.

Dioralyte! Bonnie thought,her eyes shooting open.Wasn’t that the name of themedicineyougavebabiesandchildren when they haddiarrhoeaorsickness?Hadn’t

she seen it advertised ontelevision last year whenshe’dstayedinasquatwherethey’d had a television? Shewassureitwas.Shehadabitofmoney– the tips from theday – she’d find a chemistwhen they opened in themorning and buy theDioralyte that would makeLucy well again. With her

spirits rising slightly, Bonnielooked down at her daughtersleeping peacefully in herarmsand felt a surgeof loveand pity. Poor little sod, shethought,notforthefirsttime.Shedeservedbetter thanthis,but Bonnie knew that betterwasn’t an easy option whenyou were a homeless singlemother.

Careful not towake Lucy,Bonniegentlyliftedherfromher lap and into the Mosesbasket,where she tucked herin, making sure her littlehandswereundertheblanket.Theroomwasverycoldnowthe machines below hadstopped. It then occurred toher that tonight neither ofthem had to be cold – she

didn’t have to worry aboutthe heating bill as shewouldn’t be here to pay it.Theycouldbewarmon theirlastnightinIvan’sdisgustingflat! Crossing to the electricfire she dragged it into thecentre of the room, closeenough for them to feel itswarmth,butnottooclosethatit could burn or singe their

clothes.Shepluggeditinandthetwobarssoonglowedred.Presentlytheroomwaswarmand Bonnie began to yawnand then close her eyes. Shelifted up her legs onto thesofa,kickedoffthepacketofnappies to make space andthen curled into a foetalposition on her side, restingher head on the pile of

clothes,andfellasleep.

She came to with a start.Lucywascrying,andthroughthe ill-fitting ragged curtainsBonniecouldseetheskywasbeginning to lighten. ‘Shit!’shesaidout loud,sittingboltupright. ‘What time is it?’Groping in her bag she tookout her phone. Jesus! It was

7.00 a.m. The heat of theroom must have lulled herintoadeepsleep;Ivanwouldbe here in an hour, possiblysooner!With her heart racing and

leaving Lucy crying in theMoses basket, Bonniegrabbed the empty feedingbottlefromwhereshe’dleftiton the floorand tore through

to the kitchen. She filled thekettleand thenrinsedout thebottle under the ‘hot’ watertap. While the kettle boiledshe returned to the livingroom and, ignoring Lucy’scries, changed her nappy. Itwas badly soiled again; shewouldfindachemistassoonasshecould.ReturningLucyto the Moses basket, Bonnie

flew into the kitchen, pouredthe last of the milk intoLucy’sbottleandtoppeditupwith boiling water. Back inthe living room she put theteat into Lucy’s mouth andthen propped the bottleagainst the sideof thebasketsoLucycouldfeedwhileshepacked.Opening the canvas bag,

Bonniebeganstuffingintheirclothes and then the nappiesand towel. She put on herhoody and zipped it up; shedidn’t own a coat orwarmerjacket. Bonnie then ran intothe bathroom, quickly usedthe toilet, washed her handsin the lukewarm water and,takinghertoothbrushandtheroll of toilet paper, returned

tothelivingroomandstuffedthoseintotheholdall.Bonniedidn’t have any toiletries orcosmetics; they were tooexpensive and she neverrisked stealing non-essentialitems; she could livewithoutsoapandmake-up.In the kitchen Bonnie

collected together the littlefood she had left – half a

packet of biscuits, twoyoghurts and a tub of cheesespread. She remembered totake a teaspoon from thedrawer so she could eat theyoghurts, and then returningto the living room she putthem all in the holdall. Thebag was full now so shezipped it shut. She’d packedmost of their belongings; all

that remained were Lucy’ssoiledclothesandtheywouldhave to stay. There wasn’troom for them and theywouldsmell.Bonnie checked the time

again. It was now 7.15. Herheart quickened. She’d haveto be careful as she left thearea and keep a watchfullookout for Ivan. He arrived

by car each morning, butfrom which direction shedidn’t know. With a finalglance around the dismalliving room and with mixedfeelings about leaving – atleasttheplacehadprovidedaroof over their heads and awage–Bonniethrewherbagover her shoulder and thenpicked up the Moses basket.

She felt a stabofpain inherback from where Vince hadpushed her into the washingmachine.Opening the door that led

from the flat to the staircase,Bonnieswitchedonthetimedlight and then manoeuvredthe Moses basket out andclosed the door behind her.Shebegancarefullydownthe

stairs, her stomach crampingwith fear. The only way outwas through the launderetteand if for any reason Ivanarrivedearly, ashehaddonea couple of times before,there’d be no escape. Theback door was boarded shuttokeeptheyobsout.Halfwaydownthestairsthelightwentout and Bonnie gingerly

made her way down the lastfew steps, tightly clutchingthe Moses basket andsteadying herself on thewallwithherelbow.Atthefootofthestairsshepressedthelightswitch and saw the door tothe launderette. Opening it,she went through and thenclosed it behind her. Withnone of the machines

working the shop was eerilystill and cold. She beganacrosstheshopwithhereyestrained on the door to thestreet lookingforanysignofIvan;herheartbeatwildly inher chest. With one finalglance through the shopwindow,sheopenedthedoor.Thebellclangedand,leavingthe sign showing ‘Closed’,

sheletherselfout.

Chapter Three

Concerned

The cruel northeasterly windbit through Bonnie’s jeansandzip-up topas sheheadedfor town, about amile away.Shehadnoclearplanofwhat

she should do, but she knewenough about being on thestreets and sleeping rough toknow there would be aMcDonald’sinthehighstreetopen from 6.00 a.m.; someevenstayedopenallnight. Itwould be warm in there andas long as you boughtsomethingtoeatordrink–itdidn’tmatterhowsmall–and

satunobtrusively inacorner,the staff usually let you staythere indefinitely. That washow she’d met Jameel lastyear,sheremembered,sittinginaMcDonald’s.He’dsatatthenext table andhadbeguntalking.Whenhe’dfoundoutshewas sleeping rough, he’dtakenherbacktothesquatheshared with eight others –

men andwomen in their lateteens and early twenties,many of whom had been inthe care system. One of thegirls had had a four-year-oldchildwithher,andatthetimeBonnie had thought it waswrong that the kid should beforced to live like that andfeltitwouldhavebeenbetteroff in foster care or being

adopted, but now she had ababy of her own it wasdifferent; she’d do anythingtokeepherchild.Bonniehadlived at the squat for twomonths and had only leftwhen Vince had reappearedinherlife.Badmove,Bonniethought resentfully, as shecontinued towards the townwith Lucy awake and gazing

upather.‘You all right, love?’ a

male voice boomed suddenlyfromsomewherecloseby.Bonnie started, stopped

walkingandturnedtolook.Apolicecarhaddrawnintothekerb and the male officer inthe driver’s seatwas lookingat her through his loweredwindow,waitingforareply.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said,immediatelyuneasy.‘Bit early to be outwith a

little one in this cold,’ hesaid, glancing at the Mosesbasket she held in front ofher.Bonnie felt a familiar stab

ofanxietyatbeingstoppedbythe police. ‘I’m going onholiday,’ she said, trying to

keep her voice even andraising a small smile. Shecouldseefromhisexpressionthat he doubted this, whichwas understandable. It wasthemiddle ofwinter and shedidn’texactly look likea jet-setterofftoseekthesun.‘Tomy aunt’s,’ she added. ‘Justfor a short break while myhusband’saway.’

The lie was so ludicrousthat Bonnie was sure he’dknow. Through the openwindow she could see thetrousered legs of a WPCsittinginthepassengerseat.‘Where does your aunt

live?’ the officer drivingasked.‘On the other side of

town,’ Bonnie said without

hesitation.‘Nottoofar.’TheWPCduckedherhead

down so she, too, could seeBonnie through the driver’swindow. ‘How old is thebaby?’sheasked.‘Sixmonths,’Bonniesaid.‘Andshe’syours?’‘Yes. Don’t worry, she

won’tbeoutinthecoldlong.I’ll get a bus as soon as one

comesalong.’Bonnie saw the driver’s

hand go to the ignition keys.This was a bad sign. Sheknew from experience that ifhe switched off the engine itmeant they would ask hermore questions and possiblyrunacheckthroughthecar’scomputer. When that hadhappened before she hadn’t

had Lucy, so she’d legged itand run like hell. But thatwasn’t an option now. Itwould be impossible tooutrun the police with theholdall and Lucy in theMosesbasket.‘Where does your aunt

live?’ theWPCasked, as thedrivercuttheengine.Shit! Bonnie thought. ‘On

the Birdwater Estate,’ shesaid.Shedidn’tknowanyoneon the estate, only that itexistedfromseeingthenamein thedestinationwindowonthefrontofbuses.Suddenly their attention

was diverted to the car’sradio.Amessagewascomingthrough: ‘Immediate supportrequested for an RTA’ – a

multi-vehicle accident on themotorway. Bonnie watchedwith relief as the driver’shand returned to the ignitionkeyandhestartedtheengine.‘As long as you’re OK

then,’ the WPC said,straightening in her seat andmoving out of Bonnie’s lineofvision.‘I am,’ Bonnie said.

‘Thankyouforasking.’The driver raised his

window and the car spedaway with its lights flashingandsirenwailing.‘That was close,’ Bonnie

said,andquickenedherpace.She knew she’d attract the

attentionofanypoliceofficerwith child protection on hismind, being on the streets so

early with her holdall and ababy. That was how she’darrived at Ivan’s launderetteat 7.30 a.m. when Lucy hadbeen one month old. Livingrough, she’ddodged a policecar thathadbeencircling thearea,andBonniehadrunintothe launderette, which hadjust opened, to find Ivancursingandswearingthat the

woman who should havebeenopeningupandworkingforhimhadbuggeredoff theday before. They’d startedtalkingandwhenshe’dheardthatthejobcamewiththeflatabove she’d said straightaway she would work forhim.Now she crossed the road

andwaitedat thebusstop. It

was only a couple of stopsinto town, and she could justaffordthefare.Shealsoknewfromexperience thatshewasless likely to be stopped bythe police while waiting at abus stop than she was whilewalking.

Itwas a little after 8.00 a.m.when Bonnie entered the

brightly lit fast-foodrestaurant, with its usualbreakfast clientele. She wasthirsty, her arms and backached from carrying theMosesbasketandbagandshedesperately needed a wee.She was also hungry; apartfrom the handful of biscuitsshe’d eaten the eveningbefore, she’d had nothing

since lunch yesterday, andthat had only been a cheese-spread sandwich made fromthe last of the bread.Although she had enoughmoney to buy breakfast, shehad no idea how long she’dbelivingrough,soshewasn’tabout to spend it until itbecame absolutely necessary.Bonnieopenedthedoortothe

corridorthat ledtothetoiletsandoneofthestaffcameout.‘Oh, a baby!’ she said,surprised,and thencontinuedinto the restaurant to cleartables.Bonnie manoeuvred the

Mosesbasketandholdallintothe ladies. Fortunately itwasempty,sosheleftthebagandMosesbasketwithLucy in it

outside the cubicle with thedoor open while she had awee. Flushing the toilet, shecame out, washed her handsandthenheldthemunder thehot-air dryer. As the dryerroared, Lucy started andcried. ‘It’s all right,’ Bonniesoothed, and quickly movedawayfromthedryer.She picked up the Moses

basketandbag,andasshedidshecaughtsightofherfaceinthemirroronthewall.Underthe bright light she lookedevenpalerthanusualandsheseemed to have lost weight;hercheekbonesjuttedoutandthereweredarkcirclesunderher eyes. With a stab ofhorror,Bonniethoughtthatifshedidn’tchangeherlifestyle

soon she’d end up lookinglikehermother,haggardfromyears of drinking andsmoking and being knockedaround.Returningtotherestaurant,

Bonnie ordered a hotchocolate for herself and acartonofmilk forLucy. ‘Eathere or takeaway?’ theassistantasked.

‘Here,’Bonnieconfirmed.Shepaidand then, lodging

the drinks upright at the footof the Moses basket so shecouldcarryeverythinginonego, shecrossed tooneof thelong bench seats on the farside–awayfromthecashiersand the draughty door.Placing theMoses basket onthe seat beside her, Bonnie

quickly began drinking herhot chocolate. The warmthand sweetness wascomforting and reminiscentof the hot milky drinks hergran used to make for herwhenshe’dstayedwithherasa child. Bonnie wonderedwhathergranwasdoingnow.Her mother had fallen outwith her and they hadn’t

spoken for some years.Bonnie loved her gran,although she hadn’t seen hersince she’d left home eightyearspreviously.She took the packet

containing the last fewbiscuits from her bag andkeptitonherlap,outofsightofthestaff,asshequicklyatethem. The sugar rush lifted

her spirits and helped quellher appetite for the timebeing. Lucy was watchingher, but didn’t appear to behungry so Bonnie decidedshe’dkeepthecartonofmilkshe’djustboughtforlaterandtuckeditbackinatthefootofthe Moses basket, ready forwhenitwasneeded.Shealsohad the yoghurts, one of

which she’d give to Lucylater.She’dstartedgivinghersome soft food – yoghurt, achip chewed by her first tosoften it or a piece of breadsoakedinher tea.Whentheyweresettled,shethought,andshe had more money, she’dstart buying the proper babyfoodsforweaning.‘It won’t always be like

this,’ Bonnie said out loud,turning to her daughter andgently strokingher cheek. ‘Itwill get better. I promiseyou.’ Although how andwhen it would get betterBonniehadnoidea.

At 9.00 a.m. Bonnie hitchedthe bag over her shoulders,picked up the Moses basket

and left the fast-foodrestaurant in search of achemist. Lucy was asleepnowand,althoughshehadn’tbeensickorhadadirtynappyyet that morning, Bonniewanted to buy the medicineso shehad it ready in case itwasneeded.Shetriedtobeagood mum, she told herself,but itwas very difficultwith

no home, no regular incomeandhavingherownmotherasa role model. When she’dbeen a child she’d assumedthatthechaosandpovertysheand her brotherswere forcedtoliveinwasnormal,thatallfamilies lived like that. Butwhen shewas old enough toplay in other children’shouses she realized not only

thatitwasnotnormalbutthatothersontheestatepitiedherand criticized hermother forneglecting her and herbrothers. Bonnie wonderedwhy no one had intervened;perhapsitwasbecauseofhermother’s ugly temper, whichshe’d been on the receivingend of many times and wasalways worse when she’d

been drinking. This mightalso have been the reasonwhythesocialserviceshadn’trescued her and her brothersastheyhadsomeoftheotherkids on the estate, shethought; that,or theyweren’tworth saving – a view shestillheldtoday.Bonnie spotted the blue-

and-white cross on the

chemist’sshopalittlefurtherup and went in. There weretwocustomersalreadyinside:a lady browsing the shelvesandamanbeingservedatthecounter. Bonnie scanned theshelves looking for themedicine she needed butcouldn’tfindit.Oncethemanat the counter had finished,shewentuptothepharmacist

– a rather stern middle-agedAsian woman dressed in acolourfulsari.‘I think what I need is

called Dioralyte,’ Bonniesaid.‘Is it for you?’ the

pharmacist asked, givingBonnietheonceover.‘No,formybaby.’‘Howoldisit?’

‘Sixmonths.’She glanced at the Moses

basketBonnieheldinfrontofher. ‘What are thesymptoms?’‘Sicknessanddiarrhoea.’‘How long has she been

ill?’‘Twodays,’Bonniesaid.‘She needs to see a doctor

if it continues,’ the

pharmacistsaid.Reachingupto a shelf on her right, shetook down a box markedDioralyte. ‘Thisboxcontainssixsachets,’shesaid,leaningover the counter and tappingtheboxwithherfinger.‘Youfollow the instructions. Mixone sachet with water ormilk. You understand thisdoesn’t cure sickness and

diarrhoea?Itreplacesthesaltsand glucose lost from thebody. If your baby is nobetter in twenty-four hours,you must take her to yourdoctor.’‘Iwill,’Bonniesaid,taking

herpursefromherpocket.‘Four pounds twenty,’ the

womansaid.‘That’s a lot!’ Bonnie

exclaimed. ‘Can’t I just buytwosachets?’The pharmacist paused

from ringing up the item onthetillandlookedatBonnie.Bonnieknewsheshouldhavekept quiet andpaid.Throughthe dispensing hatch Bonniecould see aman, presumablythe woman’s husband, stopwhat he was doing and look

ather.Thenthewomancameout from behind the counterand leaned over the Mosesbasket for a closer look atLucy.‘Icansmellsick,’shesaid,

feeling Lucy’s forehead tosee if she had a temperature.Lucystirredbutdidn’twake.‘It might be on the

blanket,’ Bonnie said

defensively. ‘I didn’t havetimetowashthatbeforeIleft.Herclothesareclean.’‘Haveyoutakenthebaby’s

temperature?’ the womannowasked.‘Yes,’ Bonnie lied. ‘She

doesn’tfeelhot,doesshe?’‘No, but that isn’t

necessarilyagood test.Whatwashertemperature?’

‘Normal,’ Bonnie said,withnoideawhatthatwas.The woman looked at her

and then returned to behindthe counter. ‘Babies canbecome seriously ill veryquickly,’shesaid.‘Youneedtowatchhercarefully.Ifyougotoyourdoctor’s,theywillgive you a prescription forfree.Wheredoyoulive?’

‘Eighty-six HillsideGardens,’Bonniesaid,givingtheaddressofthelaunderetteshe’djustleft.Itwastheonlylocal address she knew byheart.‘Do you want the

Dioralyte?’‘Yes,’ Bonnie said, and

quickly handed her a fivepoundnote.

‘Remember, you see yourdoctor if she’s no bettertomorrow,’ the woman saidagain, and gave her thechange.‘I will,’ Bonnie said, just

wanting to get out. Onceshe’d tucked the change intoher purse, she dropped italong with the paper bagcontaining the Dioralyte into

theMosesbasketandhurriedfromtheshop.

However,insidetheshopMrsPatel was concerned. Theyoung woman she had justserved looked thin and gauntand her baby was ill. She’dappeared agitated and thebasketshecarriedherbabyinwas old and grubby; she

hadn’t seen one like it foryears. And why was themotheroutonthestreetswithherbagspackedinthemiddleofwinterwhenherbabywasill? It didn’t add up;something wasn’t right. MrsPatel was aware that in thepast chemists had missedwarning signs whenintervention could have

stopped suffering and evensaved a life. Half an hourlater, having voiced herconcerns to her husband, heserved in the shopwhile shewent into their office at thebackof the shopandphonedthesocialservices.‘Thismaybenothing,’she

began,asmanycallers to theduty social worker do. ‘My

name is Mrs Patel, I’m thechemist at 137 High Street.I’ve just served a youngwomanwith a sick baby andI’m concerned. Is it possibleforsomeonetocheckonher?Ihaveanaddress.’Andthatwasthefirst time

Lucy came to the notice ofthesocialservices–asasix-month-old baby with an

addressbutnoname.

Chapter Four

Too Late toHelp

Three days later, in the earlyafternoon, Miranda parkedher car in the first available

spaceontheroad,alittlewaypast the launderette, and gotout, extending her umbrellaas shewent. Shewas a first-year social worker, havingqualifiedtheyearbefore,andhad been assigned thisrelatively straightforwardcase. The duty socialworkerat the Local Authority hadnoted Mrs Patel’s concerns

and passed the referral toMiranda’s team manager,who’dallottedthecasetoher.Miranda had duly contactedthehealthvisitorwhosepatchincluded86HillsideGardens,but having checked theirrecordsshehadcomebacktoher and said they had norecordofayoungmotherandbaby registered at that

address. Now Miranda wasvisiting the address toinvestigate Mrs Patel’sconcerns.It was only as Miranda

stood in the street that sherealized the address she’dbeengivenwasn’tahousebuta launderette – the last shopinaparadeof four.With therain bouncing off her

umbrella, she checked thestreet sign to make sure shewas in the correct road, andthen looked round theendofthebuildingtothesideofthelaunderettetoseeiftherewasa door to Number 86. Therewasn’t,soshereturnedtothefront of the launderette,collapsed her umbrella andwent in. Thick, dank and

unhealthilyhumidairhither.Although most of themachineswereworking,therewere only two people in theshop: an elderly man sittingon the bench in front of themachines, presumablywaiting for his washing tofinish, and a rather largewoman in her late thirtiesironing at the far end of the

shop. The woman lookedoverasMirandaenteredand,seeingherhesitate,askedinastrong Eastern Europeanaccent:‘CanIhelpyou?’Mirandawalkedovertothe

woman before she spoke. ‘Isthis Number 86 HillsideGardens?’sheasked.‘Yes,’ the woman

confirmed, pausing from her

ironing.‘Areyoutheowner?’‘No.Iworkhere.Why?’‘I’mtryingtofindayoung

womanwithababywhomaylivehere,’Mirandasaid.The woman looked at her

suspiciously, and Mirandathought that perhaps shehadn’t fully understood her,so she rephrased: ‘I would

like to see the woman livingherewhohasababy.’‘No. I live here. Me –

Alicja,withmyhusband,’shesaid, pointing to the ceilingandflatabove.‘Do you have a baby?’

Miranda asked. AlthoughAlicja didn’t match thedescription Mrs Patel hadgiven, she was possibly a

relative.‘No baby. My boy eight.

HeinPoland,’Alicjasaid.‘Doesanyoneelselivehere

withyou?’‘Are you the police?’

Alicja asked, her eyesnarrowing. ‘Wehave right tobe here. My husband hasvisa.’‘No, I’m not the police,’

Miranda said with a smile,tryingtoreassurethewoman.‘Iamasocialworker.’Alicjafrowned,puzzled.‘Social worker,’ Miranda

repeated, wishing that likesomeofhercolleagues she’dmasteredthebasicsofPolish.‘Me good lady,’ she said,pointing to herself. ‘I helppeople. I want to help the

womanwiththebaby.’‘Not police?’ Alicja asked

again,seekingconfirmation.‘No. Social worker. Do

you have amother and babylivingwithyou?’‘No. No baby. Only me

and husband,’ Alicjaconfirmed.‘Doyouknowawomanin

herearly twentieswithasix-

month-old baby?’ Mirandanowasked,foritwaspossiblethat the mother she waslooking for had stayed withAlicjaorjustvisited.‘No. I show you our

room?’ Alicja said again,pointingtotheflatabove.Mirandahadn’tintendedto

ask to see the livingaccommodation; she really

didn’t have a right, but asAlicja had offered it madesenseforhertoseetheflatsoshe could rule out the babybeingthere.‘Yes, please,’ she said.

‘Thatiskindofyou.’Alicja gave a small nod

and, unplugging the iron, ledthewaytothedoorinthefarcorner of the shop. Opening

it,shetappedthelightswitchandMirandafollowedherupthe dingy, damp-smellingstaircase.‘Ivan very angry with the

girl with baby,’ Alicja said.‘Ivanownshopandshestealhismoneyandgo.’‘I see,’ Miranda said. ‘So

there was a girl with a babyliving here before you, and

she left?’ Then she gave alittlecryandstoppeddeadasthelightswentout.‘Noworry. Ipress,’Alicja

said, going up the last fewstepsandpressing the switchatthetoptorestorethelights.Miranda joined her on the

smalllanding.‘Yes. She go,’Alicja said,

opening the door to the flat.

‘Me and husband come lastnight.Nounpackingyet.’Miranda followed Alicja

into the flat, which, like thestaircase, smelled damp andmusty. A drizzle of winterlight filtered through thegrimy windows, but even inthe half-light Miranda couldsee the flat was unfit forhumanhabitation.

‘We unpack later,’ Alicjasaid, almost apologetically,waving a hand at the bags,cardboard boxes and carrierbags that littered the floor.‘Notimeyet.’Mirandagaveaweaksmile

and nodded; her gaze hadgone to the nylon sleepingbagsopenonthegrimy,wornsofaandarmchair.

‘No beds,’ Alicja said,following Miranda’s gaze.‘Ivan say no bed. He lockdoor to bedrooms. He havekey. Me and husband sleephere.’Not for thefirst timesince

Mirandahadbegunhercareerin social work, she wasappalled at the conditionssome people were forced to

livein.Andwhileitwastruethat this wasn’t the worseshe’d seen – not by a longway–itwasbad,andshefeltAlicja’s humiliation that sheandher husband – twohard-working adults – had beenreduced to living like this.She also felt anger towardsthe landlords who exploitedimmigrantlabour.

‘And there was a babyliving here?’ Miranda asked,now concerned that a babycould have been living insuchconditions.‘Yes,’Alicjasaid. ‘Mother

leavedirtynappyandclothes,babyclothes.Ishowyou.’Miranda followed Alicja

roundtheboxesandbagsintowhat passed for a kitchen.

Freezing cold, withcrumbling plaster and filthylike the rest of the flat,Miranda noted it didn’t evenhave the basics of storagecupboards or a fridge.Alicjawent to a rowof knottedbinbags propped against the oldcooker, which had its ovendoorhangingoff.Untyingthetopofoneofthebags,Alicja

tilted it towards her so shecouldseein.Mirandasawthesoilednappyandbabyclothesamong theothergarbageandtook a step back, away fromthe smell coming from thebag.‘I put these out later, and

clean when I finish work,’Alicja said quickly, retyingthebag.

Miranda was tempted toask how much she and herhusbandwerepayingIvanforthisdump,butitwasnoneofher business. She’d learntearly on in her career thatsocial workers couldn’t saveeveryadult living inpoverty;the social services budgetdidn’t stretch that far. Asthere was no child or

vulnerable adult living here,her involvement waseffectively finished. Therewasnothingshecoulddo.‘I show you bathroom?’

Alicjaoffered. ‘Then Iwork.IvanangryifInotwork.’‘Thankyou,’Mirandasaid.

ShefollowedAlicjaoutofthekitchen, around the bags andboxes in the living room to

the bathroom. It was prettymuch as Miranda hadexpected: basic, with mouldgrowing on the walls andaround the window, an oldcrackedbathandsink,rippedlino, a leaking toilet and noheating.Thatababyhadbeenlivingherewasappalling.‘Do you know where the

woman and baby went?’

Miranda asked, as theyreturned to the top of thestairs and Alicja pressed thelightswitch.‘No. Good that Ivan not

know,’ Alicja said. ‘He veryangry. She take his money,but he badman. He frightenme, but not frighten myhusband.’Alicja went ahead to the

bottomof the stairs and keptthe light switch pressed soMiranda could complete herdecent without suddenlybeingplungedintodarkness.‘Now Iwork,’Alicja said,

as they returned to thelaunderette.‘Thank you verymuch for

your time,’ Miranda said.‘You’ve been very helpful.’

She took a social servicescompliment slip, which sheusedasabusinesscard,fromher bag and handed it toAlicja. ‘That is the telephonenumberofwhereIwork,’shesaid.‘Ifthegirlandherbabycome back, will you call meplease?’Alicja nodded and tucked

the slip of paper into the

pocket of her jeans andpicked up the iron. ‘She notcome back here. She keepaway from Ivan.Maybe youtalk to the man in the shopnextdoor?Hecomeherethismorning.Askaboutbaby.Heworried–hiswifehearbabycrying.’‘I will,’ Miranda said

gratefully. ‘Thank you. Take

care.’‘You’rewelcome.’Wishing that there was

something she could do tohelp Alicja and her husbandand the thousands like thembeing exploited for cheaplabour, she left thelaunderette. Not bothering toput up her umbrella, shestepped quickly into the

newsagent’snextdoor.Beinga social worker ofteninvolved detective work –asking questions ofneighbours, friends andfamily and trying to build apicture of the person theywere investigating. Somepeople were happy to help,others were not; some wererude and even threatening. It

waspartofthejob.

Twoteenageladscameoutofthe newsagent’s as Mirandaentered. She went up to thecounter where an Asiangentleman wearing glassesand a thick jumper wasserving.Helookedatherandsmiled.‘CanIhelpyou?’Miranda smiledback. ‘I’m

asocialworker.I–’‘You’ve come about the

baby next door?’ he said,before she could get anyfurther.‘Yes,’Mirandasaid,alittle

takenaback.‘You’re too late. She’s

gone,’hesaid.‘MywifesawthemgoonMondaymorning,at about half past seven.We

have been very concerned.You should have comesooner.’‘Wedidn’tknowtheywere

here,’ Miranda said, takinghernotepadandpenfromhershoulder bag and making anoteofthedateandtime.‘The mother and baby

moved in about five monthsago,’hecontinued. ‘Mywife

and I heard the baby crying.We heard it every eveningwhile the mother workeddownstairs in the launderette.It’s not right to leave a babycrying for so long.We werevery worried. We have twochildren andwhen theywerebabies we comforted themwhen they cried. We neverleftthem.’

‘Do you know thewoman’s name?’ Mirandaasked, writing and thenglancingup.‘No. But the baby was

called Lucy. I know becausewhen I went round to see ifthey were all right, themother referred to her asLucy. She was ironing andthe washing machines were

going and making such anoise, she couldn’t hear thebabycryingintheflatabove.When I told her we couldhear the baby through thewallshe lookedveryworriedandstoppedironing.Shesaid,“I’m going to see to Lucynow.” Sheworked very longhours,toolongwiththebaby.I suppose she needed the

money.’‘Yes. Thank you. I see,’

Miranda said, frowning, andwriting quickly to catch up.‘CanItakeyourname?’‘MrSingh.’Mirandamadeanote.‘My wife offered to look

after the baby while thewoman worked,’ Mr Singhcontinued. ‘But she didn’t

want our help. It’sunderstandable, she didn’tknow us. But it would havebeen better for us to lookafterthebabythantoleaveitcryingforhours.’‘Did the woman have a

partner or boyfriend livingwithher?’‘Not as far as I know.

There was a man, oriental

origin I think, who used tovisitsometimes.Idon’t thinkhewaslivingthere.’‘Did you see the baby?’

Mirandanowasked.Mr Singh shook his head.

‘No.Thebabywasalwaysinthe flat. It never went out.The only time we saw thebaby was when they left onMonday morning. My wife

was looking out of thewindow and called me over.We sawher leavingwith thebaby in a funny type ofbasket. She had a big bagwithhersoitwasobviousshewas going. Running away, Ithink. She seemed veryanxious and kept lookingbehindherasshewentuptheroad.Thatwas the only time

wesawthebaby.’‘Thankyou,’Miranda said

again,asshewrote.‘The mother always kept

herself to herself,’Mr Singhadded. ‘Perhaps she was introuble with the police. Idon’tknow.’Hegaveasmallshrug. ‘Shewasyoung,earlytwenties;whiteskin, fairhairand very thin. My wife said

she looked like she needed agoodmeal.’‘Idon’tsupposeyouknow

where they might havegone?’ Miranda now asked,knowingitwasalongshot.‘No. As I say, she never

spoketous.Wejustheardthebabycrying.’‘Thank you, you’ve been

very helpful,’ Miranda said

again, returning her pen andpad to her bag. She took outanother compliment slip andpassedittoMrSingh.‘Ifyousee the girl again, perhapsyouwould phonemeon thatnumber?’‘Yes.’ He nodded and

placed the compliment slipbeside the till. ‘I hope youfind them. My wife and I

were very worried about thebaby. Children are soprecious.’‘Yes, they are,’ Miranda

agreed. ‘I’ll try my best tofindthem.’Thanking him again,

Miranda left the shop, moreworried than when she’darrived. Clearly baby Lucywas being badly neglected,

butwithnosurname,nationalhealth number or address,therewasverylittleshecoulddo to trace and help them.Dodging the rain, she ran tohercar,got inandclosedthedoor. On her return to theoffice she would discuss herfindings with her linemanager who would makesure she hadn’t overlooked

anything and then she’d fileherreport.ItwasagreatpityMr and Mrs Singh hadn’tcalled the social services orthepolicewhileLucyandhermotherhadbeenlivingintheflat,thenshecouldhavebeenhelped.Butlikemanypeoplewho didn’t report theirconcerns,they’dprobablyfeltthattheywouldbepryingand

hoped someone else wouldassumetheresponsibilityandphone.

As Miranda returned to heroffice, Bonnie was threemiles away boarding a trainfor thenext big town– fortymilessouth–whereherAuntMaggie lived. Having spenttwo nights sleeping rough,

desperate and worried aboutLucy’s health, Bonnie hadreluctantly telephoned hermother and asked for help.Her mother, sober for once,was surprised to hear fromher after so long, but notwholly surprised to hear shehadababy.‘Ialwaysthoughtyou’d end up getting up theduff,’ she said, with a

smoker’s cough. ‘Likemotherlikedaughter!’Bonniehadstoppedherself

from snapping back that shewasn’t like her and neverwould be, not in a millionyears, for she needed hermother’s help. But Bonniedidn’tgetanyfurther,forhermother said: ‘And if you’rethinkingofasking ifyoucan

come home, forget it. Mynew bloke’s moving in withhis kids soon so there’s noroom.’Therejectionwasnomore

than Bonnie expected fromhermother,who’dalwaysputherownneedsfirst.‘What about Gran?’

Bonnieasked. ‘PerhapsLucyandIcouldlivewithher like

Iusedto?’Hermother gave a cynical

laugh. ‘You’re well out oftouch.Gran’sinacarehome.Lost her marbles and on herlastlegs.’Bonniewassadtohearthat

her gran was poorly, andhatedhermotherforbeingsocallous. She wished she’dmademoreofanefforttosee

her gran. She was about tohangupwhenhermotherhadsaid: ‘You could try yourAuntMaggie.She’s a suckerforkids.’Apart from Gran, Maggie

was the only familymemberher mother had any contactwith, and although Bonniehad no recollection ofMaggie, having not seen her

since she was about threeyearsold,Maggiealwayssenther mother a Christmas cardwith an open invitation tovisit.‘Give me her address and

telephone number,’ Bonniesaid.‘Say please,’ her mother

said.‘Please,’Bonniesaid.Then

she noted down the detailsthathermotherreadout.‘Goodbye,’ her mother

said, andwith no ‘take care’or ‘stay in touch’ the linewent dead. Bonnie felt littleresentment towards hermother, who saw nothingwrong in putting her latestboyfriendandhiskidsbeforeher daughter and

granddaughter; her reactionhad been no more than shewas used to and expected.Her mother was damagedgoods, and it was doubtfulshe’deverchange.AslongasI don’t follow the same pathwith my daughter, Bonniethought.

Having used the last of her

moneytobuythetrainticket,and with no credit on herphone to call ahead and tellMaggie shewas on herway,Bonnieplanned to just arriveandhopeforthebest.AllsheknewofAuntMaggie–apartfrom that she was marriedand likedkids–was thatshewas mixed race. She andBonnie’s mother had shared

the same mother, butMaggie’s father had beenblack. With Lucy asleep inthe Moses basket on thebench seat beside her, themotionofthetrainsoonmadeBonnie doze. At some pointduring the journey shereceiveda textmessagefromVince: Plane leaves in 30mins. Bye. Vince. She didn’t

reply, and that was the lastBonnie heard from Lucy’sfather.

Chapter Five

Family

Itwasnearly6.00p.m.whenBonnie arrived at AuntMaggie’s – a mid-terraceVictorian townhouse on theoutskirts of the city. She

struggled up the path, coldandaching fromcarrying theMosesbasketand theholdallall the way from the station,over a mile away. She setdown the Moses basket,grateful to be able to relieveher arms of the weight, andpressedthedoorbell.Already,sheknewthishousewasverydifferentfromhermother’sor

anyof the places she’d livedin since. The neat frontgarden, the freshly paintedred door, the large pottedplant in the porch and thedoormatallsuggestedahousethat was well looked after –and that those living insidewereequallywellcaredfor.Bonnie pressed the bell

again and felt her heart beat

faster.Supposingnoonewasin, what would she do then?Or supposing Aunt Maggiedidn’t want to help her?Bonniewasn’tevensurewhatshe wanted from AuntMaggie, who was after all astranger to her. But she wasso desperate she’d havejourneyed to any address hermother or anyone else had

given her. It was impossibleto sleep rough with a baby,and she prayedAuntMaggiewouldhelpher,forshedidn’tknowwhatelsetodo.Eventually she heard

footsteps scurrying down thehall towards the door –children’s footsteps, Bonniethought. The door sprungopenandaboyandgirlaged

aboutnineandtengrinnedupat her. They were of similarheight, with large dark eyesand brown skin; the boy’sAfrohairwascutshortwhilethe girl’s was neatly plaitedintocornrows.‘Who is it?’ a woman

called from inside the house,as the children gazedinquisitivelyupatBonnie.

‘Dunno, Mum!’ the boyshouted.‘It’sawoman.’‘What’s she selling?’ their

mothercalledback.The children’s eyes fell

from Bonnie to Lucy in theMosesbasket.‘Ababy!’theboyreturned.Both children exploded

intolaughter,andforthefirsttime since Bonnie could

remember she found herselfactuallysmiling.‘No,I’mnotselling my baby,’ she saidquietly. ‘Tell your mummyI’mBonnie.’But there was no need for

the children to relay this totheir mother, for Bonniecould see she was alreadycoming down the hall. Shewasofmediumheight,witha

cuddly figure, and wore abrightlypatternedblouseoverblacktrousers.‘CanIhelpyou?’shesaid,

arriving at the door andtaking in Bonnie, her bagsand the baby in the Mosesbasket.Herchildrenmovedtostandeithersideofher.‘AreyouMaggie?’Bonnie

asked.

Thewomannodded.‘Mum gave me your

address.I’mBonnie.’A brief puzzled frown

flickered across Maggie’sface before she realized whoshe was looking at. ‘Mysister’s girl!’ she exclaimed.‘Goodheavens!Whatareyoudoing here?’ Steppingforward, she threw her arms

around Bonnie and huggedhertightly.‘Youshouldhavetoldmeyouwerecoming.I’dnoidea.’Bonnie felt uncomfortable

at being hugged; she didn’tlike physical contact,especiallyfromstrangers.Shewas relieved when Maggiereleased her and steppedback.

‘So, what are you doingcoming all this way in thecold with your bags and ababy?’ Maggie began. ButbeforeBonniehadthechanceto reply, toher reliefMaggiewelcomed her in. ‘It’sfreezing out there, come onin. Good heavens, girl. Letmehelpyou.’Maggie scooped up the

Mosesbasket from theporchandcarrieditindoors,peeringat Lucy as she did. UsuallyBonniewasveryprotectiveofLucy and never let anyonenear her, but now she foundshedidn’tmindAuntMaggieholding the basket; indeedthere was somethingcomfortinginhavinghertakecontrol.

‘Leaveyourbagandshoesdown there,’ Maggie said,pointingtoaplaceinthehalljustbelowarowofcoatpegs.‘Don’tyouhaveacoat,girl?’‘No,’ Bonnie said, still

shivering.Maggietutted.‘Well,come

andwarmyourself.’Bonnie slipped off her

trainers as the children

watched. She saw that theyand Maggie went barefoot,butunlikeBonnie’stheirfeetwereclean.‘Sorry,’ she said,

embarrassed. ‘I’ve beensleepingrough.’Maggie tutted again.

‘Throughhere,’shesaid,andled the way into their neatfrontroom.

Bonnie took in the thick-pile mauve carpet, the chinaornaments that filled theshelvesandtheframedfamilyphotographs dotted on mostofthewalls.Itwaswarmandfriendly, a proper home, likenoothershe’deverknown.‘So my sister sent you

here?’ Maggie said, settingtheMosesbasketonthefloor

andpullingbackthecoversoshe could see Lucy. Herchildrenpeeredintoo.‘Sort of,’ Bonnie said. ‘I

didn’t have anywhere to goandshesuggestedyou.’‘Andyourmotherwouldn’t

have you home?’ Maggiesaid.‘No.’‘All right. Let’s get your

babysortedoutfirstandthenyou.What’shername?’‘Lucy.’‘When was she last fed?’

Maggie asked. For havingpulled back the cover shecould see little Lucy wassucking ravenously on herfist.‘About twelve o’clock.’

Bonnie said. ‘I guess she’s

hungrynow.’‘I bet she is, poor little

mite,’ Maggie said. ‘That’ssixhoursago.Toolongforababytogowithoutfood.Howoldisshe?’‘Justoversixmonths.’‘It’sall right,pet,’Maggie

said, cradling Lucy in herarms. ‘We’ll soon have youfedandcomfortable.’Thento

her children she said: ‘Goupstairsandfetchyoursister.Tell Liza I need herdownstairs now to keep aneye on the dinner. Tell hernow,notwhenitsuitsher.’The children scuttled off

and Bonnie knew they wereusedtodoingastheirmothertold them and that Maggiewas used to being obeyed.

Yet while Maggie was firm,Bonnie sensed she was alsovery caring and loving – sounlikeherownmotheritwasdifficult to believe theywerebloodrelatives.She heard the children’s

footsteps disappear upstairsand then their shouts of:‘Hey, Liza!Mumwants younow.Guesswhat!’

Maggie looked at Bonnieassheperchedawkwardlyonthe edge of the sofa. ‘Relax,girl. You can tell me laterwhat’s been going on. First,we need to get this little onefed and bathed. Is she ill? Icansmellsick.’‘She was sick, but I gave

her medicine from thechemist.’

‘You didn’t take her to adoctor?’‘No. She stopped being

sick.’‘So what does she eat?’

Maggienowasked,takingtheempty milk-stained feedingbottlefromtheMosesbasket.‘Milk, yoghurt and

anythingsoft Ihave,’Bonniesaid.

Maggie didn’t voice herthoughts. ‘OK, let’s start herwithabottleofmilkfirstandthen we’ll bath her. Then,once she’s more comfortablewe’ll give her some dinner.We’ll also need to wash herclothes and the covers fromthebasket.’‘Ihave somecleanclothes

for her in my bag,’ Bonnie

said, grateful that Maggieknew what to do to helpthem.Footsteps sounded on the

stairs and the childrenreappeared, with a teenagegirl dressed fashionably inleggings and a long jerseytop.ShelookedatBonnieandthen at Lucy in hermother’sarms.

‘Liza, this is Bonnie,’Maggie said. ‘My sister’sgirl, your cousin. I need youtohelpmewithdinnerwhileIgetthislittleonesortedout.’Bonniethoughtshesawthe

faintest flash of resentmentcrossLiza’s faceas shegavea small nod and then left thefront room to go into thekitchen.

‘YouholdyourbabywhileI fix her a bottle,’ Maggiesaid toBonnie, placingLucyin her arms. She took thebottle,whichwasinneedofagood wash, and disappearedinto the kitchen, while thetwo younger children stayed,staringquizzicallyatBonnie.‘Are you going to sleep

here?’ the boy asked after a

moment.Bonnie shrugged. ‘I

dunno.’‘Haven’tyougotahome?’

thegirlasked.Bonnieshookherheadand

concentrated on Lucy, whowassuckinghardonherfist.‘How come?’ the boy

asked. ‘How come youhaven’t got a home and a

mumanddad?’‘I just haven’t. That’s all,’

Bonnie said, niggledby theirintrusivequestions.Shecouldhear muffled voices comingfrom the kitchen and hopedMaggiewouldreappearsoon.These kids had so muchconfidence they frightenedher. She felt safe withMaggie, andLucywasgoing

tostartcryingagainsoonandworryherfurther.Inthekitchen,Maggiewas

using boiling water and abottle brush to thoroughlyclean the bottle of congealedmilk.‘Littlewonderthebabywassick,’shesaid,scrubbingthe rim of the bottle for thethirdtime.Milk was warming in a

milkpanonthehobandLizawas keeping an eye on itwhilestirringthepanoffoodfordinner.‘Is she staying?’ Liza

asked,glancingathermother.‘She’ll have to tonight,’

Maggie said. ‘It’s late andcold.Shecan’tbeoutwithababy. They’ve nowhere elsetogo.’

‘You weren’t thinking ofgiving her Bett’s bed?’ Lizasaid,givingthespoonasharptap on the edge of the panbefore setting it on the worksurface.‘Yes,justfortonight.’Liza knew better than to

complain;itwashermother’sdecision to allow Bonnie touse her elder sister’s bed

while she was away atuniversity.‘What about the baby?’

Lizaasked.‘Isshecominginmyroomtoo?’‘She’ll have to until I get

somethingelsesortedout.’Maggiepouredthewarmed

milkintothecleanbottleandtook it into the living roomwheresheleftBonnietofeed

Lucywhileshewentupstairstopreparethebedroom.

Thatevening,onceLucywasfed, dressed in clean clothesand asleep, and the familyhadeaten,MaggiehadalongtalkwithBonnie,fromwhichit soon became clear thattherewasnopointinphoningher sister as she couldn’t, or

wouldn’t, help her daughter.So Maggie assumed theresponsibility, although shemade it clear from theoutsetthatBonnie stayingwasonlytemporary, until she couldfindsomethingmoresuitable.The social services’ recordsshow that Bonnie and Lucystayed for two months andthatBonniecametoviewthis

periodasthebesttwomonthsofherlife–livinginalovingfamily headed by a womanwhoactuallycaredforher.EveryeveningwhenLeon,

Maggie’s husband, camehome from work they atearound a large circular table,with a spotlessly cleantablecloth and cutlery thatgleamed. Dinner was a

sociableevent,witheveryonetalking and laughing, sharingtheirnewsandcatchinguponthe day’s events – it wasunlike anything Bonnie hadexperiencedbefore.Tobeginwith she felt uneasy andslightly intimidated by thisnoisy family and ate insilence, but gradually shebegantorelaxandjoininthe

conversation, although shenever had that much to say.Leon didmost of the talkingand was a great storyteller.Bonnielovedtolistentohim;to her, he was a proper dadand far removed from themen her mother had broughthome. He was from a largeJamaican family and wasused to accommodating

members of the extendedfamily, so he was relaxedabout Bonnie and Lucystaying.Heworkedatthebusdepot as a mechanic,servicing and repairing thecouncil’sfleetofbuses,whileMaggie, primarily ahomemaker, supplementedtheir income by workinglunchtimes as a canteen

supervisor at the localprimary school. Liza soonforgot her grievances athavingtoshareherroomandhappily traded in the lack ofspace and privacy for thenovelty of helping to lookafter baby Lucy, who rarelycried at night now she waswarmandfed.ToBonnie,heraunt’s family was the ideal

family,liketheonesyousawon television at Christmas,and shewould have loved tohavestayedforever.That first morning after

Bonnie had arrived, MaggieinsistedtheytakeLucytothedoctor’s for a check-up. Sheregistered both Bonnie andLucy at her doctor’s astemporary patients, living at

her address. The doctorchecked Lucy’s heart, chestandstomach;askedBonnieanumber of questions aboutthe illness and if Lucy wasup-to-date with herimmunizations, to whichBonnie replied that she‘thought so’.Thedoctor saidhewouldcheckonthesystemand a card would be sent to

her if there were anyvaccinations outstanding. HealsosaidLucy’ssicknessanddiarrhoea was very likely ‘abug’ and, as long as thevomitinganddiarrhoeadidn’treturn,shewouldbefineandhe needn’t see her again.While Bonnie was relievedthat Lucy had beenpronounced fit and well, she

wasconcernedthatherdetailswere now on the system andthat a health visitor mightcall.‘Don’tworry,girl,’Maggie

toldher,whenBonnievoicedherconcerns. ‘Healthvisitorshelp mothers with theirbabies.It’snothingforyoutoworry about. You’re not inany trouble.’ Although, of

course,Maggiewasn’t awareof the shocking conditionsBonnie and Lucy had beenliving in prior to coming toher, nor that the socialserviceshadbeenalertedandthat a social worker hadcalled at the launderette andfoundhergone.During Bonnie’s stay,

Maggie looked after her as

shewouldadaughter.Shefedandclothedher,andgaveherpocket money in exchangefor her helping with thechores around the house asthe other children did. Sheshowed Bonnie how to cookbasic meals, established aroutineforLucyandbegantoteach her how to play withher daughter to stimulate her

– of which Bonnie had noidea. Maggie also beganweaning Lucy properly – byintroducing her to smallnutritious meals, which shemashed down. Bonnie washappy to accept her aunt’sadvice and Maggie formedthe opinion that Bonnie wasable to successfully parentLucy,forasshesaidtoLeon:

‘While Bonnie isn’t thesharpest pencil in the pencilcase, she loves her baby andhasaninbuiltsurvivalkit.’Staying at Maggie’s not

only showed Bonnie what aproper family life was, butalso gave her new skills. Forthe first time in her lifeBonnie felt wanted ratherthansomethingthathadtobe

tolerated–asshe’dfeltathermother’s and later in herrelationships with men.Realizing the gaping chasmbetween her life and that ofher cousins, Bonnie grewincreasingly angry with hermother, for not only had shefailed to provide the basics,but she’d allowed her to beabused. She said so to

Maggie and then onemorning,whentherewasjustthe two of them at home,Bonnie asked Maggie if shecould use the phone to callher mother, and Maggieagreed.Maggie was in another

room but she could hearBonnie clearly as her voicequickly rose until she was

shouting at her mother,ripping into her for all shehad failed todo andblamingher for the abuse she’dsuffered and the life she’dbeen forced into. EventuallyMaggie stopped the call asBonniewasnearlyhysterical.She put the phone down andthen held and comfortedBonnieuntil shewas calmer.

Late thatnight,whenBonniewas asleep, her motherphoned Maggie. Drunk andbelligerent, she blamedMaggiefor‘puttingideasintoBonnie’s head’ and turningher against her.Maggie triedreasoning with her sister butwithout success, andeventually Leon took thephonefromherandhungup.

Although Bonnie knew thatlivingwithAuntMaggieandher family was only evergoing to be temporary, andthat Maggie was activelylooking for suitableaccommodation for her, itwas still a shock whenMaggie returned home fromwork one afternoon andannouncedthatshe’dfounda

small furnished self-contained flat just right forBonnieandLucy.Itwasonlya mile away, Maggie said,and had a large bedroombigenough to take a bed and acot, and a small kitchenetteand bathroom. Furthermore,andunlikemanyof theotherlandlords Maggie hadcontacted, this one didn’t

mind benefit claimants.Maggie explained to Bonniethatonceshehadapermanentaddress, and until she couldfinda joband sortout child-care arrangements, she couldclaim benefit to pay the rentand liveon.Worried that theflatmightgoquickly,Maggiehad paid the deposit and thefirst month’s rent. Bonnie

thanked her, but Maggiecould see she was sad athaving to go and she feltguilty,eventhoughshedidn’thave the room to let Bonniestay.Bettwasduehomefromuniversity for the Easterholiday and ultimately shewould return to live at homewhen shehadgraduated, andMaggie’s two younger

children already shared abedroom.Out of her own money

Maggie bought a cot,bedding,apushchair,awarmcoat forBonnie and the nextsizeofbabyclothesforLucy,and filled the cupboards inthe flat with food. Then shehelped Bonnie move in andgave her fifty pounds to ‘see

her over’ until her benefitmoneycamethrough.MaggiefeltshehaddoneherbestforBonnie and, having madesure she and Lucy hadeverythingtheyneededattheflat, she promised to phoneand look in regularly, tellingBonnie tovisitwhenever shewanted and phone if she hadanyworries.

All went reasonably well forthe first few weeks; Maggievisited twice a week, andalthough Bonnie’s flat wasoften untidy, Lucy appearedclean, comfortable and wellfed. But then, over the nextmonth,Maggiebegantohaveconcerns. Bonnie oftenwasn’t up when Maggiecalledonherway toworkat

the school, although it was11.30 a.m. When Bonnieeventually answered thedoorshe was often still in hernightwear andLucywas stillin her cot. Although Bonnietold Maggie that she’d beenup early and had fed andchangedLucy,Maggiebeganto doubt this. Lucy’s nappy,her clothes and the cot

bedding would be saturated,suggesting she hadn’t beenchanged for some time,possibly not since the nightbefore, and she was alwayshungry. A couple of times,while Maggie waited forBonnie to answer the door,she heard Lucy crying, verydistressed, from inside. ThenMaggie found that there

wasn’t any food in thecupboardsandonlymilkandyoghurt in the fridge, despiteBonnie now being in receiptofbenefit.‘What are you two living

on?’ Maggie asked,concerned.Bonnie became defensive;

sheshruggedandtoldMaggieshe had to leave as she was

goingoutsoon.Now very concerned,

Maggie returned to Bonnie’sflat afterworkwith a bag ofgroceries for them, butBonnie refused toanswer thedoor. Maggie knew she wasin as she could hear Lucycrying, so she called throughtheletterbox,butBonniestillrefused to come to the door.

Eventuallysheleftthebagofgroceriesonthedoorstepand,wondering what she’d donewrong, returned home. Thatevening and the followingday Maggie telephonedBonnie many times but shedidn’tpickup,neitherdidshereturn Maggie’s messages.Unable to understand whatwas going on, but very

concerned for Bonnie’s andLucy’s safety and wellbeing,shewent to her doctor – theone she’d taken Bonnie andLucy to when they’d firstarrived. She explained herconcerns and said that shewasn’tsurewhattodoforthebest. The doctor said thatwhile confidentiality forbadehim to discuss Bonnie and

LucywithMaggie, hewouldaskthehealthvisitorattachedto the practice to visit them.When he checked theircontact details he found thatthey were still registered astemporary patients atMaggie’s address, soMaggiegave him their new address,which he entered on thecomputer system. Two days

laterahealthvisitorcalledonBonnieandLucyand,havingbeen allowed into the flat,subsequently alerted thesocialservices.

Chapter Six

Neglect

Doris was in her late thirtiesand an experienced socialworker with two children ofher own. She had a goodworking relationship with

Bonnie’s health visitor, whowas also a qualified nurse.Doris trusted her opinion, sothatifshehadconcernsaboutaclientandmadeareferral,itwas acted on immediately.Doris had wanted to visitBonnie and Lucy the daybefore, but with anemergency child-protectioncase conference in the

morning and then having toplace five siblings in fosterhomes in the afternoon, theday had disappeared. Nowshe was calling on Bonniefirst thing the followingmorning. It was 9.30 a.m.when she rang the doorbell.Doris wasn’t expectingBonnietobeupanddressed–notmanyof her clientswere

at this time–sosherangthebellasecondtime.Aminute later the door to

theflatnextdooropenedandan elderly lady poked herhead out. ‘You the social?’sheasked.‘Yes,’ Doris said with a

smile,wonderingwhy itwassoobvious.‘Good. That baby’s been

crying far too much for myliking, but the mother don’ttalk to me,’ the neighboursaid, and then disappearedback inside, closing the frontdoor.DorispressedthebelltoBonnie’s flat again, moredetermined than ever to gainentry. If the mother didn’tanswer then she’d call backlater,andiftherewasstillno

response she’d return with acourtorderandthepolice.Giving the bell another

push, Doris stooped so shewas at eye-level with theletter box and peered in.Herview was blocked by adraughtexcluder,soshetriedcallingthroughtheletterbox:‘Bonnie,love,areyouin?Myname’s Doris. I’m a social

worker. Can we have a chatplease,love?Nothingforyouto worry about.’ Doris knewfrom experience that youdidn’t go straight in talkingabout child-protection issuesif you could help it.Sometimes it wasunavoidable – if a child wasin danger and had to beremoved – but in cases like

this itwas likely thatBonniecouldbehelpedwith supportandmonitoring.Straightening, Doris

pressed the bell again andwaited.A fewmoments latershe heard the lock turn, andthenthedooropened.‘Hello,love,’ she said, smiling. ‘AreyouBonnie?’Theyoungwomannodded.

DressedinacrumpledT-shirtand shorts, with her hairdishevelled,she’dclearlyjuststumbled out of bed. ‘Whatdo you want?’ she askeddefensively.‘I’m a social worker. I’d

just like to have a chat tomake sure that you and yourbabyareOK,andthatyou’reaccessing everything you’re

entitledto.Yourhealthvisitoraskedme to drop by. Iworkwith her,’ she added. Thehealth visitor had told Doristhat while there were noobvioussignsthatbabyLucywas being physically abused,the level of care she wasreceiving fell below anacceptable standard and wasbordering on neglect –

although Doris wouldn’t besayingthatyet.‘Can I come in?’ Doris

askedwithanothersmile.Clearly resenting the

intrusion, the young motherstoodasideandDorissteppedinto the short hall, where abagofrubbishwaswaitingtobe taken out. She closed thefront door behind her. She

couldn’t hear a baby crying,but there was a strong smellofsoilednappies.‘Youcansit in therewhile

I get her up,’ Bonnie saidgrudgingly, nodding towardsthe door to the living room,while sheopened thedoor tothebedroom.‘It’s all right. I’ll come

with you,’ Doris said

brightly. ‘We can talk whileyouseetoyourbaby.’Alessexperienced social workermight have sat in the livingroom and waited for themother to return, therebymissingtheopportunitytoseemoreoftheclient’shomeandhowtheyrelatedtotheirchildorchildren.As Doris followed Bonnie

into thebedroomshe took inthe rumpled double bedwithonly one pillow, seeming toconfirmwhatBonniehadtoldthehealthvisitor:thatshehadno partner or live-inboyfriend.Dorisalsosawthepile of dirty laundry in onecorner, the overflowingclutter on the windowsill,which was being used as a

shelf, and the cot against thewall where the baby sat insilence,holdingontothebarsand staring out like a littlecagedanimal.‘What a lovely baby,’

Doris said, joiningBonnie atthe cot and trying to put themotheratease.ShecouldfeelBonnie’s hostility and itwouldn’t help in building a

relationship. ‘Her name’sLucy,isn’tit?’Bonnie nodded, reached

intothecotandliftedoutherdaughter. Doris noticed thetoys in the cot – the infantactivitycentreandrattle.Thatwaspositive,shethought.Butshe also saw that the baby’ssleep suit was saturated, aswas the cot bedding, and

there was a strong smell offaeces and ammonia,suggesting that Lucy hadbeen in thesamenappyforalong time. She watched asBonnie laidLucy on the bedand then, taking a roll oftoilet paper from thewindowsill, began removingLucy’s sleep suit. Doris sawthe baby stiffen and brace

herself, as though she wasexpecting pain. Havingremoved the wet and soilednappy,Bonnietoreoffastripof toilet paper and begancleaning Lucy’s red rawbottom. The baby cried outand Doris looked at Bonnieexpecting a reaction. Therewas none. The motherseemed impervious to her

daughter’s distress andcontinued cleaning Lucy’sbottom with strips of drytoilet paperwithout trying tosootheherinanyway.‘Don’t you have any baby

wipes or cream for herbottom?’ Doris asked, asBonnie reached for a cleannappy.‘No,Iranout.’

‘You need to get somemore, and a pot of antisepticbarrier cream from thechemist today.Orgo toyourdoctor for a prescription.You’re on benefit so themedication will be free. Assoon as you can,’ Dorisadded. ‘Her little bottom’svery sore and causing her alotofdistress.’

Bonnie gave a tight nodand picked up her daughter,whohadnowstoppedcrying.Shecarriedherintothelivingroom. Doris followed. Shewasn’tworriedthatLucywaswearing only a vest andnappyas itwas Juneand theflatwaswarm.However,shewasconcernedbythelackofinteraction between mother

and baby. At ten and a halfmonths of age a babywouldnormally be seeking out itsmother’s attention, but Lucydidn’t, and the most likelyexplanation was that she’dbeen ignored for so long thatshe’d given up trying toengage with hermother, andso far the mother had madenoattempttoengagewithher

daughter. She held her, butdidn’ttalktoherormakeeyecontact.Doris noted that the living

room was very bareconsidering a mother andchild lived there. Two oldchairs and a chipped coffeetablewere theonly furniture,andtherewerenotoysinthisroom apart from a heap of

plasticbuildingbricks inonecorner. Clutter free andunlived in, it suggested toDoris that mother anddaughterwereeitheroutalotor lived mainly in thebedroom, possibly staying inbedformostofthedayifthemother was very depressed,as the health visitor hadthought. Doris sat in one of

the chairs and Bonnie sat intheother,settingLucyonthefloor. As soon as Lucy wasdown she went onto herhandsandkneesandbeganaslow and cumbersome crawlacross the room towardsDoris. Doris took somecomfort from seeing this, forshe hadn’t crawledwhile thehealth visitor had been

present, and babies who areseverely neglected often failto meet this developmentalmilestone, remaining likenewborn infants from beingleftintheircotallday.‘She’sdoingwellwithher

crawling,’ Doris saidencouragingly, taking anotepad and pen from herbag.

Bonnienodded.‘You are a clever girl,’

Doris said, smiling at Lucy.Lucy stared back, her largeeyes unresponsive. ‘Is shetryingtopullherselfupintoastanding position yet?’ Doristhen asked Bonnie. Thiswould be one of the nextdevelopmental milestonesand was often achieved by

babiesofLucy’sage.‘No,’Bonniesaid, fiddling

withherhair.‘I expect she will soon,’

Dorissaidpositively,makinganote. ‘WhatdoesLucy liketoeat?’‘The health visitor asked

me that,’ Bonnie saidresentfully.‘Itoldher–milk,yoghurtandporridge.’

Doris nodded. ‘And Ibelieve the health visitorsuggested some new foodsforLucytotry?’Bonnienoddedagain.‘Good. We’ll have a look

inyourkitchen laterandyoucan show me what you’replanningtoeattoday.’‘I haven’t been shopping

yet,’ Bonnie said tersely.

‘That health visitorwas onlyhereafewdaysago.’Threedays,Doris thought;

plentyoftimetogoshoppingandtostart implementingthehealth visitor’s suggestionsforfeedingLucy.Sheglanceddown at Lucy who, havingarrived at her chair, wassittingquietlyather feet likeanattentivepuppy.

‘Hello, love,’ she said toLucy, with a smile. But thelook on Lucy’s face waspretty much the same as hermother’s – suspicious andwatchful.‘It’sverydifficultbringing

up a child on your own,’Doris said, returning herattention to Bonnie. ‘Do youhave any family living close

by who can help you?’ Shewas aware that this referralhadcomefromadoctorafteran aunt of Bonnie’s hadexpressedconcerns.‘No,’Bonniesaid.‘You were living with an

aunt?’Dorisasked.‘For a while. But she has

familyofherown.’‘And your mother and

father?’‘Idon’tseethem.’‘Dotheylivelocally?’‘No.’Doris made notes as she

talked,allthewhilewearingasmile and trying to put themother at ease. However,althoughshewassmiling,shewas quickly forming theimpression, as the health

visitorhaddone, that allwasfar from well here; that themother could be verydepressed and, as a result,wasneglectingherchild.‘Have you been able to

find Lucy’s record bookshowing her checks andvaccinations?’ Doris nowasked, for when the healthvisitor had asked to see it

Bonnie had said she wasn’tsure where it was and thatshe’dtrytofindit.She’dalsotold the health visitor shecouldn’t remember if Lucy’sdevelopment checks andvaccinationswere up-to-date,whichhadaddedtothehealthvisitor’sconcerns.‘No,’Bonnie said. ‘I can’t

findtherecordbook.’

‘All right, don’t worry.Your previous doctor willhave a record of all of that.We’ll arrange to have yournotes transferred to yourcurrent doctor. This is yourpermanentaddressnow?’Bonnienodded.‘Sowhatwasthenameand

address of your last doctor?’Doris now asked, pen poised

tonotethis.‘Ican’tremember,’Bonnie

said,bitingherlittlenail.‘A street name and town

willdo.Wecantraceit fromthat.’‘Idon’tknow,’Bonniesaid

again.‘I’llfindout.’Doris knew it was

impossible not to know thename of the town that you’d

lived in a few monthspreviously, unless you hadsevere learning difficulties,which Bonnie did not. Shewondered what it was thatBonniewas trying to hide orrunawayfrom.‘Doyouknowthenameof

the hospital where Lucywasborn?’ Doris now asked.‘They’ll have details of your

doctor.’‘St Mary’s, I think,’

Bonniesaid.‘Inwhichtown?’Bonnie shrugged and

continued to nibble her littlefinger. St Mary’s was themost common name for ahospital and Doris knew itwould be impossible to tracetheonewhereLucywasborn

withoutknowing the townorat least the area.Bonniewasplayinggameswithher.‘It can be very isolating

living in a new town with ayoung baby,’ Doris saidevenly,changingdirection. ‘Iunderstand the health visitorgave you somedetails of themother and baby groups inthisarea.’

‘Yes,’Bonniesaid.‘Do you think these are

somewhere youmight go? Itwould be good for Lucy’sdevelopment and will alsogive you a chance to meetother young mothers andmakesomefriends.’‘Yes,’Bonniesaid.‘And how do you feel in

yourself?’Dorisnowasked.

‘OK,’ Bonnie said with ashrug.‘Areyousure?Youseema

bitdowntome.’‘I’mfine.I’mcoping.’‘Only coping?’ Doris

asked,hopingthismightleadthe way in, but Bonnie justlookedbackandnodded.‘Can you talk me through

youraverageday,fromwhen

you get up in the morning?’Dorissaid.Bonnielookedather.‘Start with when you get

up?’ Doris prompted. ‘Whattime is that usually?’ Sheknew that those sufferingfrom severe depression oftenstayed in bed for very longperiods, sometimes most oftheday.

‘About now I guess,’Bonniesaid.‘Then what happens? Do

you shower and dress or gobacktobed?’‘We have breakfast,’

Bonniesaid.‘Lovely,’Dorissaid,trying

to give positive feedbackwherevershecould.‘Whatdoyouhave?’

‘Lucyhasmilk and Ihaveacupoftea.’‘Nothingelse?’‘I give Lucy porridge as

well.’‘Good. Has she had her

porridgethismorning?’‘No, onlymilk.You came

before Ihad time togiveherporridge,’Bonniesaid.Doris wrote and then

smiledatLucy.‘Thenwhatdoyoudoafter

breakfast?’ she asked,lookingatBonnie.Bonnieshrugged.‘Nothing

really.Wegooutsometimes.’‘Wheredoyouliketogo?’‘To the shops sometimes,

or the canal. I walk by thecanal. I like it there,with thedeep water.’ Doris gave an

involuntary shudder andmade a note, for in herpresent state of mind itwouldn’t take much, shethought, for this youngmother who clearly wasn’tcoping to step into the canalwith her daughter and end itall. She agreed with thehealthvisitorthatwhiletherewere no obvious signs that

the mother was harming herchild,thelevelofcarewassolow that this in itself was aform of abuse. Mother andbabyneededhelp.‘What do you do for the

rest of the day?’ Doris nowasked.‘Wecomehome.’‘And?’Bonnieshookherhead.

‘Why don’t you see yourauntanymore?’Dorisasked.‘She’s been worried aboutyou.’‘I dunno.Shehasherown

family.’‘But she’d still like to see

youaswell.Doyouthinkyoumight be able to start seeingher again? Go round fordinner?She’dlikeyouto.’

Bonnie nodded, but notveryconvincingly.DorisglancedatLucy,who

was looking up at her, herlarge eyes round andimploring. ‘Can I pick herup?’ Doris asked. She knewbetter than to simplypickupa client’s child, withoutasking theparent first.Socialworkers were often seen as

the enemy and she wouldn’tbe the first social worker tobe assaulted for touching aclient’schild.Bonnie gave a stiff,

indifferent nod and Dorisbent down and lifted Lucyonto her lap. She was light,Doris thought, lighter thanshe should be for ten and ahalf months old. She hadn’t

had a bath and was wearingthe same vest, so there wasstill a smell of ammoniacoming from Lucy, whichwould probably transfer toher skirt, but she kept achange of clothes in the carfor just such eventualities;that, and having drinks orworsethrownatherbyangryparents.

‘Who’salovelygirlthen?’DorissaidtoLucy.Lucy looked at her but

didn’tsmile.‘Is she smiling and trying

to talk?’ Doris asked,glancingatBonnie.‘Yes,’ Bonnie said.

‘Sometimes,’ althoughthere’d been no evidence ofeither since Doris had been

withher.‘Comeonthen,’Dorissaid

cheerfully to them both,standing. ‘Show me aroundyour flat.Let’s startwith thekitchen.’‘There’s nothing much to

see,’ Bonnie said, rising toherfeetwithasmallsigh.‘Nevermind.Ijustneedto

haveaquicklookround.’

Itwasclear that thenatureof the social worker’s visithadchanged from‘achat’ toascrutinizingassessment,andDoriscouldsensethatBonniewas trying to stifleher risingfearthatshewasabouttoloseherbaby.‘I’mgoingshoppinglater,’

Bonnie said, as they enteredthesmallkitchen.

Doris opened the door ofthe fridge, revealing only acarton of milk and twoyoghurts.Shethenopenedthedoors to the cupboards, butall theycontainedweresomecrockery and pans suppliedby the landlord,andapacketofporridge,somebiscuitsandafewteabags.‘What does Lucy drink

from?’Dorisasked.‘Cansheuseatrainercup?’‘No. She has a bottle. It’s

inhercot,’Bonniesaid.Still carrying Lucy, Doris

left the kitchen, had a quicklook in the bathroom,which,while basic, was functional,andthenreturnedtothelivingroom. Doris passed Lucy toBonnie and they returned to

their chairs. Doris looked atBonniecarefully.‘Ihaveconcerns,love,’she

said evenly. ‘I think Lucyisn’t doing as well as shecould, and I think you arefinding things difficult too. Iwanttohelpyou.’Shepausedand waited for Bonnie’sreaction, but therewas none.‘When I return to my office

I’m going to arrange what’scalled a case conference so Ican work out how best tosupport you andLucy.Don’tlook so worried, I’m notgoingtotakeLucyaway.Butyou will need to make somechanges,allright,love?’Bonnie nodded. ‘I know,’

she said, though by now shesounded like she’d agree to

anything just to get rid ofDoris.‘One of the options might

beforyouandLucytoliveinamother-and-baby unit for awhile, where you will beshown parenting skills andmonitored. Or – and I willneed to discuss thiswithmymanager – you could stayhere with support. You’d be

monitored and assessed andwould need to attendparentingclasses.’Bonnie nodded. ‘Yes,’ she

said.‘Good.I’llgonowandI’ll

phone you later today, afterI’ve discussed the optionswithmymanager.CanIhaveyourphonenumberplease?’Bonnie reeled off eleven

digitsasDoriswrote.‘Thanks,’Dorissaidwitha

reassuring smile. ‘I’ll leavethe two of you to have yourporridgenowandwe’llspeaklater.’Bonnie nodded and,

carrying Lucy, went withDoris to the front door andsawherout.AsDorisleftthebuilding she was already

calling her office. Althoughshe wouldn’t be taking Lucyinto care today, the motherwould need to startcooperatingandmakingsomechanges, otherwise she’dhave no alternative but toapply to the court for a careorder. While this wasn’t theworst case of neglect Dorishad seen – far from it – she

agreedwith thehealthvisitorthat the warning signs werethere, and withoutintervention she had littledoubtLucy’s situationwoulddeterioratefurther.

Three hours later, havingspoken with her manager,Doris phoned Bonnie toarrange a meeting. An

automatedvoicemessagetoldher the number wasunobtainable, so Dorisconcluded that Bonnie hadeither accidentally ordeliberately given her thewrong number. As Bonnieand Lucy’s case wasn’t themost urgent she wasresponsible for, and hercaseload was so heavy she

had toprioritize,Doris set inmotion the case conferenceand then putBonnie’s file toone side to concentrate onanother, more pressing case.She decided to call in onBonnie on her way homefrom work, check the phonenumberandadviseherof thedateof themeeting. Itwouldalso give her another chance

toseehowtheyweredoing.When Doris returned to

Bonnie’sflatat5.45p.m.andrang the bell there was noreply. She was about to callthrough the letter box whenthedoor to the flatnextdooropened and the elderly ladyDoris had seen that morningappeared.‘She’s gone,’ the woman

said bluntly, as if it wasDoris’s fault. ‘Packed herbags and left with the babyabout an hour after you leftthismorning.’‘Idon’tsupposeyouknow

where they’ve gone?’ Dorisasked,herheartsinking.‘No.LikeIsaid,shenever

spoke tome.’And, returninginside, she closed her front

door.

Chapter Seven

No Chanceto Say

Goodbye

Itmayseemincredibleinthis

age, when there is so muchdata stored on people, thatsomeone could simplydisappear. But on that fineJune day when the sun wasshining and the airwas alivewithbirdsong, andLucywasnearlyelevenmonthsold,thatis what Bonnie did. FearingLucy would be taken awayfromher, shequicklypacked

her bags and vanished. HadLucy been the subject of acourt order the police wouldhave been alerted, and amissing person bulletin putout. But there was no courtorder, only a concern ofneglect, the level of whichhadn’tmeritedthemeasureofapplying to the court for anemergency protection order.

It’s true that the socialservices could have appliedforacourtorderafterBonniehad gone, but they didn’t,presumably for the samereason one hadn’t beenapplied for before: thatthough Lucy had beenneglected she wasn’t, as yet,at risk of significant harm –the threshold that needed to

be reached before the socialservices applied for a careorder. Had they done so, thepolice would have beenalerted, resulting in a betterchanceoffindingBonnieandLucy, and Lucy would havebeentakenintocare.Withnocourtorderandno

verifiable details of Bonniethat might have helped trace

her, it is likely their casestayed open at the socialservices for a few months –while Doris checked withMaggieand localagencies toseeifanyonehadheardfromBonnie – before being filedaway until such time asBonnieandLucyreappeared.It’s on record that Maggietold Doris she’d telephoned

her sister a couple of timesduring this period to see ifshe’dheardfromBonnie,butshe hadn’t, and Maggie saidhersisterwassoimmersedinher own problems that shehad little interest inwhatherdaughter and granddaughterwere doing or even inwhethertheyweresafe.Withnoevidencetogoon,

it’simpossibletoknowofthelife Bonnie and Lucy ledduring the next fourteenmonths while they were‘missing’,butonecanguess.Living ‘underground’, awayfrom the attention of theauthorities, relies on a hand-to-mouth existence, fundedby cash-in-hand jobs if youare lucky, but more likely,

borrowing, begging, stealing,prostitution and sleepingwherever you can: indoorways, under bridges, insquats,onsomeone’sfloor,incheap bed and breakfasts, orin beds with no breakfast. Itwould have been even moredifficult with a baby, butunregistered,unregulatedandunscrupulous landlords can

be found down thebackstreets of any big city,theirclientelehearingoftheirlocation by word of mouth.These ‘landlords’ cram asmanymattresses into a roomas it will hold and chargeonly a few pounds for thenight. They are always full.Not only with runaways, butthe short- and long-term

homeless, drug addicts,alcoholics,thosewithmental-healthproblemsandcriminalswantedby thepolice–of allages and both sexes. Suchplacesarehealthhazardsandare often responsible forpassing on infections; forexample, tuberculosis. Withno fire escapes they can alsobedeathtraps.Butifyouare

avoiding the authorities asBonnie was, you are unableto obtain benefit moneywithout risk of beingdiscovered.When Bonnie and Lucy

reappeared, fourteen monthslater, it was in the AccidentandEmergencydepartmentofahospitaltwocountiesaway.ItwasaFridayafternoonand

theywerebothsufferingfromhighly inflamed rashes thatcovered large areas of theirbodies.Theywere diagnosedas having scabies. Scabies iscaused by parasitesburrowingundertheskinandlaying their eggs. It is mostcommonly found in thoseliving in overcrowdedconditionswithpoorhygiene.

The irritation caused by theinfestation is unbearable andmost sufferers go to theirdoctor in the early stages ofthedisease.Thedoctoratthehospitalnotedthatthesecaseswere very severe, especiallyin the child, and had clearlybeen left untreated for sometime, causing the child a lotof distress. The doctor

prescribedalotion,whichhadto be applied after a bathfrom the neck down to thetoes, left on overnight andthen washed off. Heexplained to Bonnie that asecond treatment would beneeded a week after the firstandtoldhertogotoherowndoctor to get the prescriptionfor it and also to have their

condition checked. He wasconcerned that some of thechild’s sores were becominginfected,sohealsoprescribedan antibiotic cream. Heexplained that scabies washighly contagious and allclothing, bedding and towelsusedbythemmustbewashedinveryhotwateranddriedinahotdryertopreventanother

infestation. When registeringat the hospital, Bonnie hadgiven her address as the flatshe’d lived in near her AuntMaggieandherdoctoras theone she’d seen when she’dfirstarrivedatMaggie’s.ItisunknownifBonnietookLucyto a doctor for a follow-upappointment; she certainlydidn’tgotothatdoctor.

Bonnie and Lucy thendisappeared again andreappeared when Lucy wasnearlythreeyearsold.Bonniewasnowlivingwithamaninhis thirties called Freddie –andusinghissurnameforherand Lucy. She registeredLucy at a nursery so shecouldstart justafterher thirdbirthday, and two nursery

teachers made a home visitprior to Lucy starting. Thesehome visits are normalpractice in England; they areinformal, last about half anhourandgivethemotherandchild a chance to meet thenursery teachers and ask anyquestions. However, thesetwo teachers were veryworried by what they found,

especially as their visit hadbeen pre-arranged and wastherefore expected. The one-bedroom flat was dirty,smellyandclutteredwithbitsof car engines, empty beerbottles, plastic fizzy-drinkbottles, old pizza boxes andempty crisp packets, all ofwhich Lucy was encouragedtoplaywithintheabsenceof

any children’s toys. Therewerenobeds:LucysleptwithhermotherandFreddieunderblanketsonmattressesonthebedroom floor; none of therooms in the flat had carpetsorcurtains.Therewasausedcat-litter tray in the kitchen,which was badly in need ofemptying,andthekitchenandbathroom were filthy. The

nursery teachers also laternoted that the flat reeked ofstale beer, cigarette smokeand a slightly sweet smell,which could have beencannabis.During their conversation,

Bonnieadmittedthatshewasstruggling to cope and, farfrom being supportive,Freddie–whowasn’tpresent

– spent most of hisunemployment money onbetting, so they never hadenoughtoeatorpaythebills.They were behind with therent and the landlord wasthreatening to evict them.Bonnie told the nurseryteachers that sheandFreddieoften argued and hesometimes hit her – in front

of Lucy. The teachers notedthat Lucy was grubby, smallfor her age and afraid ofstrangers. They couldn’t saymuch about her developmentfrom their visit as she hidbehind the sofa all the timetheywerethere.Whenoneofthem tried to coax her out,shescrewedhereyesshutandscreamed. Bonnie said they

should just leaveher thereasshe was scared of strangersbecause of some badexperiences they’d had,although she didn’t saywhatthese experiences were.Bonnie also said she hopedLucy would learn to be lessfrightened of strangers whenshewent tonurseryand‘metsomenicepeople’.

The nursery teachers werewithBonnieforoveranhourandwhentheyreturnedtothenursery they immediatelyheld a meeting with theirhead teacher to report theirconcerns. The head teachercontacted the social servicesand two days later a socialworker telephoned Bonnieand made an appointment to

visit her the following day.Although Bonnie knew inadvance that the socialworker was visiting (as shehad with the nurseryteachers), she made noattempttocleantheflat,soitwas in much the samecondition as the teachers hadreported. Freddie was therewhen the social worker

arrivedbutleftstraightaway,pushing past her in the hallwithoutsayinghello.Bonnie admitted to the

socialworker thatshewasn’tcopingand said she felt verylow and thought she wassuffering from depression,althoughshehadn’tbeentoadoctor. The social workerexplainedtoBonniethatthere

were concerns about Lucyand tried to persuadeBonnieto see a doctor for herdepression. They thendiscussed various optionswith regard to Lucy’s care.Shewasrelieved thatBonniewas cooperative and quicklyagreedthatitwouldbebestifLucy went into caretemporarily as an

‘accommodated child’ (underSection 20 of the ChildrenAct). Often referred to as a‘Section 20’, this is avoluntary arrangementbetween the social servicesand the parent(s) of a childwhoagree to the child livingwithafostercarerforashorttime.Theparent(s)retainfulllegal parental rights, which

they wouldn’t do under anyother care order.Approximately a third ofchildren in foster care are‘accommodated’.There isnocourt order and thearrangement shouldencourage a better workingrelationship between thesocial worker, the parent(s)and the foster carer. The

parent(s) feel less threatenedastheyretainlegalcontroloftheir child, have regular andunsupervisedcontact andcanremove the child from fostercare at any time. It issupposed to be a short-termmeasureandshouldneverbeused when a child is indangerofbeingabused;onlywhen there is a good chance

of the child beingrehabilitatedbacktolivewiththe parent(s) within areasonableperiod.Having gained Bonnie’s

consent, the social workerreturned toherofficeandsetaboutfindingasuitablefostercarer for Lucy. Annie wasidentified: she was married,with two young girls of her

own, and had been fosteringforeighteenmonths.UnderaSection 20 the parents knowwhere the foster carer livesand can go with the socialworker to the carer’s homewhenthechildisplaced,andsoitwaswithBonnie.

It was a hot day in lateAugust when Bonnie and

Lucy arrived in the socialworker’s car. Bonnie carriedLucy into Annie’s hallway.Lucy had her head buried inher mother’s shoulder andwas wearing a little pinkcotton dress and plastic jellysandalsandwassuckingonagrubby rag as a comforter.Bonnie, slightly built, withher hair in a ponytail, was

dressed in jeans, T-shirt andbadly worn plimsolls. Shelooked tired and veryanxious.LoopedoverherarmwasasupermarketcarrierbagcontainingLucy’sclothes.Straight away Annie set

about making Bonnie andLucy feel welcome. Sheshowed them into her livingroom,madethemcolddrinks

and introduced them to herchildren,whowereoffschoolforthesummerholiday.Theytalked for a while, with herand the social worker doingmost of the talking, and thenshe showed them around thehouse. Bonnie marvelled athowniceAnnie’shousewas,andAnniefeltsorryforher–she formed the impression

that Bonnie hadn’t been inmany decent homes, as herswas average and no differentfrom many others. All thistime Lucy wouldn’t be putdownandwhentheyreturnedto the living room she againsat on her mother’s lap withher face buried in her chest.Annie asked Bonnie aboutLucy’s likesanddislikesand

her routine, explaining thatthemoreinformationshehadabout Lucy the easier itwouldbetosettleher.Bonniesaid that Lucy ate ‘anythingreally’ and went to bed andgot up when she felt like it.AnniethenaskedifLucyhada favourite toy – one sheliked to take to bed – andBonnie said, ‘Just that,’

referring to the frayed anddirty rag Lucy was suckingon.Bonnie and the social

workerstayedforanhourandduring that time Lucy didn’tsay a word or leave hermother’slap.Despitealotofencouragement from Annieand her two girls, Lucy satfacinghermother,refusingto

look at anyone. Even whenAnnie’s two girls suggestedthey could all play in thegarden and maybe Lucywould like an ice cream, shedidn’t look at them. Bonnietold Annie, as she had thesocial worker and nurseryteachers, that following‘somebadexperiences’Lucywas afraid of strangers,

althoughshedidn’telaborate.Eventually the social

workersaidtheyshouldleaveso that Annie could settleLucy.Anniesaidshe’dphoneBonnie to reassure her thatLucy was all right. BonniegaveLucyaquickkissonthetop of her head and said:‘Mummy has to go.’Standing,sheplacedLucyon

Annie’slapandrandownthehallandoutofthefrontdoor.Lucy immediately beganscreaming. Rigid with fear,she gripped Annie’s blouseand buried her head inAnnie’schest.Concerned for Bonnie’s

safetyandhavingpromisedtotakeherhome inhercar, thesocial worker said a quick

goodbye and went afterBonnie. She later noted thatLucy’s screaming was soloud it could be heardoutside.TherewasnosignofBonnie in the street, so shegot into her car and returnedto the office, intending tophoneBonnielater.Inside the house, Annie

was sitting on the sofa with

her arms around Lucy,rocking her gently andquietly, talking to her, tryingtoreassureheraswellasherownchildren,whowereveryworried at seeing a child soupset. It tookhalf anhour tocalmLucysufficientlysothatAnnie could persuade her torelaxhergripalittleandraiseherheadsoAnniecouldwipe

away her tears. As she did,Annie saw Lucy’s faceproperly for the first time.With her petite features,porcelain skin, black silkyhair and large dark eyes shewas like a little doll; a trulybeautiful child, but one whowas clearly very scared.Annie also noticed whatlooked like a bruise on

Lucy’s cheek, just below herleft eye, which she wouldmention in her log noteswhenshewrotethemuplater.Allfostercarershavetokeeplog notes. This is a dailyrecordofthechildorchildrenthey are looking after andincludes appointments thechild has, the child’s healthand wellbeing, significant

events and any disclosuresthe child may make abouttheir past. When the childleaves the foster carer, thisrecordisplacedonfileatthesocial services and can belooked at by the child whentheyareanadult.

Lucy didn’t speak at all thatevening, refusedall foodand

drink and cried so much atbedtime that Annie had tosleep on the floor in Lucy’sroom, holding her hand andcontinuously reassuring her.Thefollowingtwodayswerelittle better; Lucy didn’tspeakoreat,criedincessantlyandkepttakingrefugebehindthe sofa, although after a lotof persuasion Annie did

manage to get her to comeoutanddrinksomemilk.Toofrightened to tell anyone sheneeded the toilet,unsurprisingly Lucy keptsoilingherselfandAnniewasconstantlymoppingupwithabucket of hot water anddisinfectant, especiallybehind the sofa where Lucywould run and hide. When

Annie telephoned Bonnieeach evening, notwanting toworry her, she told her thatLucy missed her but wasgradually settling in. It wasdifficulttoknowifLucywasso upset because she wasmissing her mother. Shedidn’t ask for her or say‘mummy’; she just seemedpetrified of everyone and

everything.Annie wrote in her log

notes that it was three daysbeforeLucyateanything,andthen it was a yoghurt. Shealso stated that Lucyscreamed hysterically whenAnnie’ssupportsocialworkervisited, when Annie’shusband returned fromwork,when the postman rang the

doorbellandwhenafriendofAnnie’s stopped by in theevening. It was clear (asBonnie had said) that Lucymust indeed have had somebad experiences withstrangers to make her soscared.Aswell asnoting thebruiseonLucy’scheekinherlog notes, Annie alsomentioned it to the social

worker. She subsequentlyasked Bonnie how Lucy hadgot the bruise and Bonniereplied thatLucyhad trippedand fallen at the flat the daybefore. Perhaps she had.Therewasnowaytoknow.It soon became clear to

Annie that Lucywasn’t usedto a routine of any sort, soAnniebeganestablishingone,

explaining to Lucy why itwas important that wewash,brushourteetheachmorningand evening and eat regularmeals. On day five Annieintroduced bath time intoLucy’s evening routine, andalthough Lucy shied awayfromthebathtobeginwith–as Annie turned on the tapsandranthewater–afteralot

of persuading and cajolingLucy climbed in. Once shewas in and felt the warmwater lappingaroundher shebegan to relax and thenactually enjoyed her bath,playing with the bath toysthat Annie provided, whileAnniewashedherhair,whichwasverydirty.Bytheendofthat first week Lucy had

begun responding slightlymore to Annie and herfamily, saying the oddword,pointing to what she wantedandansweringtheirquestionswith a nod or a shake of herhead, pretty much as a one-year-oldchildwould.Annie desperately needed

togoshoppingtobuyclothesfor Lucy as hardly anything

inthecarrierbagthatBonniehad brought with her wasusable. Annie was dressingLucy in the clothes she keptfor emergency placements,but she wanted to buy newthings so Lucy would haveclothesofherown.However,she knew from her foster-carer training that, as adeprived child, Lucy

shouldn’t be subjected to toomany new experiences all atonce,asshewouldpanicanditcouldsetbackherrecovery.On day eight, just over aweek after Lucy had arrived,whenshewascryinglessandletting the girls take her bythe hand and spend a littletime playing in the backgarden,Anniedecidedtorisk

taking her shopping. SheexplainedtoLucywheretheywere going and why andLucynoddedinresponse.Butonce in the shopping centre,Lucywassoscaredofallthepeople, noise and lights thatshe wouldn’t let Annie puther down and had to becarried everywhere. Anniekept their shopping trip short

andjustboughttheessentials.LaterAnnienotedthatLucy’slife seemed to have been soconfined and limited thateven a routine shopping tripscaredher,andshewonderedif Lucy had ever beenshoppingbefore.Gradually,overthecoming

days,weeksandthenmonths,Annie introduced Lucy to

new experiences: playing inthe park and feeding theducks,forexample;aswellasslowly getting her used tomeeting people – Annie’sextended family, friends andotherchildren.TobeginwithLucyhadnoideahowtoplayor interact with otherchildren,presumablybecauseshe’d never mixed. Any

thoughts of nurserywere putonholdasLucywouldneverhave coped, so Annie begantaking her to a mother-and-toddler group two afternoonsa week where Annie stayedwhile Lucy slowly found theconfidence to leave her lapand tentatively play with theother children. Although thechildren were much younger

than Lucy, Lucy was so farbehind in her developmentthatshecouldrelatetothemalittle, rather than to childrenherownage.Annie had registered Lucy

at her doctor’s and Lucysubsequently had a medical,and also a developmentalcheck-up. Physically, Lucywas small for her age –

probably as a result of poornutrition – but equallyworrying was that she had avocabularyofonlytenwords,a milestone usually reachedbyachildateighteenmonths.However, thegoodnewswasthat the tests appeared toshow Lucy had normalintelligence, so it was hopedthat with a lot of help she

would eventually be able tocatch up with her peers.Speech therapy wassuggested and Lucy was puton thewaiting list.At home,Annie continued with thework she’d already begun todevelop Lucy’s skills,experiences and language –throughplayandbytalkingtoher and encouraging her to

talk back. It is to Annie’scredit that Lucy improved asmuch as she did during thetimeshewaswithher.Lucy’s newdoctor applied

forLucy’smedicalnotes,butall that came back was therecordofthevisitBonnieandLucy had made to Maggie’sdoctor. Their visit to theAccident and Emergency

department at the hospitaldidn’t show up, presumablybecause of the way visitswere logged and recorded atthat time.Also, therewasnorecord of Lucy having hadany of her infantvaccinations, and whenBonnie was asked if she’dhad them she said shecouldn’t remember. So, with

Bonnie’s consent, over thenext six months Annie tookLucy to the clinic for thevaccinations she should havehadasababy.Annie had been

telephoning Bonnie everyevening to reassure her thatLucywasallright,andifshedidn’t answer – which wasoften–sheleftamessagefor

her. After a few weeks thesocialworker toldAnnie sheshould stop, as the emphasiswas on Bonnie telephoningAnnie to find out how herdaughter was doing – itwould be seen as anindication of her level ofcommitmentandhowseriousshe was in wanting herdaughter back. Annie did as

shewas told andBonnie fellinto the pattern of phoningonce a week and visitingLucy about once every tendays. Bonnie usually stayedfor a whole morning orafternoon and never wantedto take Lucy out, evenwhentheweatherwasgood.Bonnieseemedtoenjoythecomfortsof Annie’s home and being

lookedafterasmuchasLucy.Annie formed the impressionthat Bonnie wasn’t a viciousor uncaring mother, but hadhad such a bad start in lifeherselfandnowhadsomanyproblemsofherownthatshestruggledtolookafterachild.Annie also noted thatsometimes she thought shecould smell cannabis on

Bonnie’s clothes when shecame into the house, butobviously she didn’t know ifBonniewasauserornot.Lucy improved

dramatically in the eightmonths she livedwithAnnieandherfamily.Shegraduallylost her fear of strangers,began playing and talkingmore, and was starting to

catchupwithherpeergroup.Annie took lots ofphotographs of Lucy duringthis time and some of themost poignant are of Lucy’sthird birthday and her firstproper Christmas, where thelook of astonishment andsheer joy on her face says itall. She was clearlyoverwhelmed, having never

experienced anything like itbefore. Annie also tookphotographs of Bonnie andLucytogether,someofwhichsheframedandputinLucy’sroom,tokeepthememoryofher mother alive betweenvisits. She gave BonniecopiesofthephotographsandBonnie thanked herprofusely. She was really

touched, having never had aphotograph of her daughterbefore;she’dneverbeenableto afford a camera. Lucyclearly became very secureand settled with Annie andbegan calling her mummy,although Annie alwayscorrected her and said: ‘I’mAnnie. You’ll be seeingmummy next Tuesday’ – or

wheneveritwasshewouldbeseeing her, and pointed toBonnie’sphotograph.Although Annie and her

familyknewthatLucy’sstaywaslikelytobetemporaryona Section 20, and that onceBonniehadsortedoutherlifeshewouldwant her daughterback, Annie had reasonablyassumedthat thetransitionto

return Lucy to her motherwould be gradual. Bonniewould visit more often andthen take her daughter homefor short periods that wouldeventually include overnightstays and finally lead to amove home. This is how aplannedmoveshouldbedonefor any child in care tominimize disruption and

confusionforthechild.Itthereforecameasagreat

shockwhen, inthemiddleofonemorningwhen Lucy hadbeenwithAnnieforjustovereight months, Annieanswered the telephone toBonnie who told her shewould be coming to takeLucy that afternoon. Bonniesaid she now had a new

partner–Dave–whotreatedher right, and theywanted tobetogetherasafamily.Anniewas shocked, upset and veryconcerned about the effect asuddenmovewould have onLucy. She tried to persuadeBonniethattheyshouldspeakto the social worker andarrangeamoregradualmove–forLucy’ssake.ButBonnie

was adamant and knew herrights.Shesaidshe’dalreadytoldthesocialworkerthatsheand Dave would be comingfor Lucy that afternoon, andasked Annie to have Lucyready by one o’clock. Assoon as Bonnie hung upAnnie called the socialworker, who confirmed thatBonnie had telephoned her

and that, although shewouldhave preferred a gradualreintroduction, as Lucy wasplaced under a Section 20BonniewasfreetotakeLucywhenever shewanted to.Sheadded that Bonnie had givenhertheirnewaddressandshewould be visiting them tomakesureallwaswell.Ifshehad any concerns, Lucy

would be brought back intocare – preferably withBonnie’s agreement, but ifnecessarywith a court order.This reassuredAnnie a little,butnotmuch.With a very heavy heart,

fightingbacktearsandtryingto put on a brave face forLucy’s sake, Annie used thelittle time they had left

together to try and prepareLucy for going to live withhermotherandDave,aswellaspackingallLucy’sclothesandtoys,ofwhichtherewerenowmany.Lucybecameveryquiet andwithdrawn, refusedlunch and then asked Anniewhy she had to go. WhenAnnie explained that hermummy loved her and she

wantedhertolivewithherinher new home Lucy said:‘Can’t Mummy come andliveherewithus?’Clearly that wasn’t

possible and it was verydifficult to try and explainthis, and why she wassuddenlyhavingtoleave,toasmallchild.Annie thenspentthe next hour cuddling Lucy

on her lap and reading herstories to try to distract heruntil thedoorbell rangatoneo’clock. Lucy went withAnnie to answer the door.Bonniewasintheporch,andparked outside was an oldwhite van with its enginerunning and a man –presumablyDave–waitinginthedriver’sseat.

‘Comeandmeetyournewdaddy,’ Bonnie said, takingLucybythehand.GivingAnnieandLucyno

chance to say goodbye,Bonnie hurried Lucy downthepathtowardsthevan.Sheput Lucy in the front andslammed the door shut. Shethen returned for Lucy’sbelongings,whichAnniehad

ready in bags and boxes inthe hall. Without any thanksfor all Annie had done or apromise to stay in touch andlet Annie know how Lucywas, Bonnie began loadingthe van. Annie helped her.Therearofthevancontaineddecorating materials, soAnnie assumed Dave was apainter and decorator. He

didn’tturnorsayhello.OnceallLucy’sbelongings

were in the van,Bonnie shutthe rear door while Davestayedinthevan.BonniesaidatersegoodbyetoAnnieandclimbed into the front of thevan next to Lucy. Lucy wassmall, and, as she wassandwiched between theadults,Anniecouldn’tseeher

from the pavement, but shewaved anyway. With Lucynowgone, therewasnoneedfor Annie to put on a braveface any longer and by thetime she reached her frontdoor she was crying openly.Not only for the uncertaintythat Lucy faced, but for herown loss and that of herfamily, who would come

home and find Lucy gone,having not been able to saygoodbye.

Chapter Eight

A GoodFriend

MrsBridgesstoodatthefrontof her class of six-year-oldsandwaitedfor themtofinish

packing away theirworksheets before dismissingthem for morning break. Itwas mid-September and twoweeks into the new schoolterm, before the coughs andcoldshadtakenhold,sononeof the children was absent.Thirty boys and girls, seatedaround five tables, werelooking back at her and still

smart in their new schooluniforms. Some, though,looked smarter than others,for even behind the schooluniforms it was obvious toMrsBridges–asitwastotheother children in the class –who came from comfortablywell-off, nurturing familiesand who did not. A second-hand uniform that

accumulated a week’s stainsbefore it was washed; cheapplastic shoes that tore ratherthan scuffed; hair that waslong, matted or unevenlyshort from a home cutting;and faces that were slightlygrimy from missing themorning wash. But it wasn’tonly appearance that singledout a child from an

impoverished home; it wasthe personality of the childtoo – either loud andattention-seekingorquietandwithdrawn. Mrs Bridges’sgazefelluponthetabletoherleft and two of the childrenwho sat there: Sammy andLucy, who had joined theschoollastyearwithinaweekof each other and were now

inseparable.‘Off you go then,’ Mrs

Bridges said, dismissing theclassformorningbreak.The usual clamour of

excited voices rose as chairsscraped back and childrenjostled each other out of theclassroom,eager tomake themostofeverymoment in theplayground. All the children

except one, who having puthis chair under the tableremainedstandingbehindit.Mrs Bridges smiled at

Sammy. ‘I haven’t got anyjobs for you to do thismorning,’ she said kindly.‘Go and join your friends inthe playground and get somefreshair.It’saniceday.’Jabbing his hands into his

trouserpockets,Sammycameoutfrombehindthetableandtook a couple of stepstowards his teacher. ‘I will,Miss, but can I talk to youfirstplease?’Mrs Bridges paused from

collectingtheworksheetsandlooked at him. She alwaysmade time for Sammy. Hewas a thin ladwith a shaved

head,andastheeldestoffivechildren in a one-parentfamily he had far moreresponsibility than he couldcope with. His frustrationsgot the better of himsometimes, when he ventedhis anger in the classroom,butunderneathhewasakindlad. The social serviceswereinvolvedwith his family and

hadput in support to try andkeep them together, but itwasn’tlookingveryhopeful.‘Of course you can talk to

me.How’syourmumdoing?’MrsBridgesasked.Sammy gave a small

dismissiveshrug.‘Allright,Iguess.But it’snotmeIwanttotalkabout.’‘No?’

Heperchedon theedgeofthe table, his face fixed andserious. ‘It’s about Lucy,Miss.’‘Your friend Lucy, in this

class?’MrsBridgesclarified.‘Yes, Miss. She needs to

tell you herself. I’ve told hershe has to. But she can’t,she’stooshy.’‘Tell me what?’ Mrs

Bridgessaid,settingasidethepaperstogiveSammyherfullattention. As an experiencedteacher she’d developed asixthsenseforknowingwhena child was just telling talesorabouttotellhersomethingimportant.‘Lucy’s being bullied,

Miss. Some of the kids callher “smelly” and “nit head”,

but it ain’t her fault. At herhouse she has to wash herclothesincoldwater.Andheraunt won’t get her the stuffsheneedstokill thenits’cositcoststoomuch.Itoldherifshegoestothedoctoryougetitfornothing,likewedo.Butshe won’t. Can you tell her,please?’Mrs Bridges looked at

Sammy carefully, trying toidentify which part of whathe’d said had set alarm bellsringing.SheknewLucyoftencame to school smelling andwearing badly stainedclothes, and that she wassometimes picked on by theother children. She kept alookout for this and severelyreprimanded anyone she

caught name-calling –bullyingwas never tolerated.Mrs Bridges also thoughtLucyprobablyhadhead lice;her long hair was unkemptand she often saw herscratching her head in class.In line with school practice,she’d sent a printed notehomewith each child askingthe parents to check their

child’s hair and treat it ifnecessary.All this sheknew,but what had set off alarmbellswasSammy’s referencetoLucy’s aunt andhaving towash her clothes in coldwater.‘I thoughtLucywas living

with her mother andstepfather?’MrsBridgesnowasked.Oftenthechildrenwho

livedontheestateknewmoreabout family arrangementsthantheschooldid.Sammy shook his head.

‘Nah, Miss. Not for a longtime.Hermumwentoffwithsomeblokeandherdad’sgothimselfanewgirlfriend.’‘And the girlfriend is the

auntyou’retalkingabout?’‘Yes, Miss. Lucy has to

call her Aunt, and do all thewashing. I told Lucy herbleedin’auntshouldbedoingthewashing,notgivingittoasix-year-oldtodo.Excusemelanguage,Miss.’MrsBridgesstifledasmall

smile. Despite Sammy’srough-and-ready nature, hewas a real character andalwayspolite.‘AndLucytold

youthis?’‘Yes,Miss.’‘Hasshetoldyouanything

else about her home life youthinkIshouldknow?’Theboyscratchedhishead

thoughtfully, making MrsBridgeswonderifhetoohadnits.‘Notreally,Miss.Onlythat

she hasn’t seen hermum for

agesandherauntdoesn’tlikeher. You know Lucy, Miss,she don’t say much. Shekeeps things bottled up. Notlikeme.Itellyawhenthingsare bad at home. So I wasthinkingthatasLucytoldmethis itmustbeverybad,’coskids likeherdon’t tellunlessthey really have to, do they,Miss?’

‘No, you’re right, Sammy.Thankyou.I’llspeaktoLucylater.’

In the hour and a half oflesson time between the endof morning break andlunchtime, as well ascontinuing with the class’sproject,MrsBridgesgavethewhole class a lecture on the

unkindness of bullying. Shesaid that everyone deservedtobetreatedwithdignityandrespect, and that anyonecaught bullying would loseprivileges for a whole weekand their parents would beinformed. As she spoke, shepurposelykepthergazeawayfromSammyandLucysotheother children in the class

wouldn’t be alerted to theidentity of those who’dsparked the lecture, as thiscould have led to morebullying and accusations of‘telling’.At12.30p.m.MrsBridges

dismissedtheclassforlunch,butaskedLucytowaitbehindfor a moment. ‘It’s all right,love, you haven’t done

anything wrong,’ she added,for Lucy always looked asthough she expected to betoldoff.‘Ijustwanttohaveachatwithyou,that’sall.’She waited until the last

child had left the classroomandthenclosedtheclassroomdoor so they wouldn’t beoverheard. ‘Let’s sit down,’she said, pulling out two

children’s chairs from underthe table. She found that ifshe was sitting it helped thechild relax and invitedconfidences.Still looking very serious,

Lucysatononeofthechairs,while Mrs Bridges took theother. ‘Sammy is a goodfriendofyours,isn’the?’shebegan.

Lucygaveasmallnod,herlarge dark eyes growingrounder.Shewasanattractivechild, though small for herageand, likeSammy,alwayslooked as though she coulddo with a good wash andgenerallymorenurturing.‘Did Sammy tell you he

came to me this morningbecausehewasworriedabout

you?’MrsBridgesasked.Lucynoddedagain.‘Hesaysyou’relivingwith

your stepfather and a ladyyoucallAunt?Isthatright?’She gave another small

nod.‘Is everything all right at

home?’ Mrs Bridges nowasked.Lucy gave a little shrug

andthensaidquietly,‘Iguessso.’‘You don’t sound very

sure,love,’MrsBridgessaid.Another shrug, and then

Lucy shook her head, whichwas enough forMrs Bridgesto continue. ‘Tell me whatmakes you happy and whatmakes you unhappy,’ MrsBridges prompted. ‘What do

youliketodointheeveningsandweekends?’‘Iliketoplay,Miss,’Lucy

saidsoftly.‘Whatdoyouliketoplay?’‘I watch television, Miss,

andsometimesIplayoutsidewithSammyandhissisters,ifI’vebeengood.’‘Thatsoundsfun.Whatdo

you have to do to be good?’

Mrs Bridges now asked, forshe couldn’t imagine Lucybeing anythingbut good, shewassoquietandconforming.Shegaveanothershrugand

thensaid:‘Ihavetowashthedishesandcleantheflat,thenIcanplayout.’‘Andhowoftendoyoudo

that?’ Mrs Bridges asked,withareassuringsmile.Many

children had chores to do,which was fine, as long astheyweren’texcessive.‘I don’t know how often,

Miss,’ Lucy said, with aworried expression. ‘Everyday,Ithink.’‘All right, love. It’s

nothing to worry about. I’mjust trying toget apictureofyour life at home. Who

makes the meals in yourhouse?’A pause, then: ‘My aunt

andDad,Iguess.’‘And who washes the

clothes?’Therewas a longpause as

Lucy’s gaze fell from MrsBridgesand sheconcentratedon the floor. ‘The same, Ithink.Idon’tknow.’

Clearlythechildwasbeingvery guarded in what shesaid, possibly fearingrecrimination if she told andwasfoundout.‘All right, don’t worry.

Have you seen your mumrecently?’Lucyshookherhead. ‘She

sent me a card for mybirthday,butIdidn’tseeher.’

Lucy had had a birthday theweek before and as usualwhen a child in the classcelebrated a birthday all thechildren had sung ‘HappyBirthday’; what othercelebrations had taken placethateveningforLucyathomeMrs Bridges didn’t know.Most children told her, butLucyhadn’t.

‘Did you have a nicebirthday?’Lucyshrugged.‘Did you get some

presents?’‘Ithinkso.’‘Butyou’renotsure?’‘No.’Mrs Bridges continued to

look atLucy as she stared atthe floor. All her senses

screamedthattherewasabigproblem at home and thechild was too frightened tosay. But she neededsomethingconcretetotaketothe headmaster, which hecould then act on. Lucy’sevasiveness was making thisdifficult. Sammy was rightwhen he’d said that Lucydidn’tsaymuch;she’dhardly

spokenawordtoMrsBridgesall term, and it seemed shecouldn’ttalktohernow.‘If you could change

anything at home, whatwould it be?’ Mrs Bridgesasked, making one lastattemptbeforeLucyhadtogofor her lunch. ‘I know it’s adifficultquestion,butcanyouthink of anything you’d

change? If I was asked, I’dsayI’dliketoseemoreofmysister.’Lucylookedthoughtfulfor

a moment and then, raisingher eyes to meet MrsBridges’s, she said: ‘I’d liketo live in Sammy’s family,Miss.’‘Wouldyou?’MrsBridges

asked, surprised. Sammy’s

family was about as farremoved from the idealfamily as you could get.‘Why’sthat?’Lucy took a moment

beforereplyingandthensaid:‘They’vegotasocialworker.She helps Sammy. I wouldlike a social worker to helpme.’

‘CanIhaveawordwithyou,please?’ Mrs Bridges said,giving a perfunctory knockon the door to theheadmaster’s office as sheentered.Theheadoperatedan‘open-door policy’ – to staffand pupils – so that, to hiscredit,hewasaccessiblemostofthetime,andalsoknewthenames of all the children in

hisschool.‘Have a seat,’ he said,

waving to the easy chair atthe side of his desk. ‘Whatcan I do for you on thisbeautifulautumnday?’MrsBridges smiled as she

sat in the chair. Some of thestaff found his effusivemanner irritating, but shefounditquiterefreshingafter

thedournessoftheirprevioushead. And he had thechildren’s best interests atheart.‘Lucy, in my class,’ Mrs

Bridges began. ‘Her friendSammy came to me thismorning at break veryworriedaboutLucy.’‘Oh, yes?’ The head

frowned and drew his

fingertips together under hischin in a characteristicgesture.‘He said Lucy was being

bullied,whichI’vedealtwith,buthe’salsoworriedthat thewomanLucy is livingwith–her stepfather’s girlfriend –isn’t treating her well. I’vespoken to Lucy. She’s notsayingmuch,butshedidsay

that if she could changeanythinginherlifeshe’dliketolivewithSammyandhavea social worker, whichconcerns me. I waswondering what we knewaboutLucy’shomelife.Mumseems to have left a whileback.’‘That’s news to me,’ the

headsaidwithanotherfrown,

lowering his hands. ‘ThereweresomeconcernslastyearwhenLucyfirststartedatthisschool, but as far as I knowthe problems were sorted.AlthoughI’msurehermotherwas living there then. Whobrings Lucy into school andcollectsher?’‘She comes with a

neighbour and her child. She

usuallybringsSammyandhisyoungerbrotheraswell.’‘I see. So we haven’t met

theaunt?’‘No.’The head looked

thoughtful.‘Leaveitwithme.I’llchecktherecordsandgetback to you. I take it Lucy’snot in any immediatedanger?’

‘Idon’tthinkso.I’veneverseen any marks on her,although she’s far too quietformyliking.’The head nodded. ‘That

was one of the commentsraised by her teacher lastyear. Pity she’s left – youcould have had a chat withher. Anyway, give me acouple of hours and I’ll look

intoit.’Thanking the headmaster,

MrsBridgeslefttoeataveryquick sandwich before theclass returned after lunch fortheafternoonsession.

AllschoolsinEnglandhaveaset procedure for reportingconcerns about a child, andmembers of staff have to

follow them. Mrs Bridgescouldn’t simply pick up thetelephone and call the socialservices; she had to pass herconcernstoherlinemanager,who in her school was theheadmaster, and he wouldtake the necessary action.Despite all his otherresponsibilities, theheadmasteralwaysprioritized

any matter relating to achild’swelfare,sobytheendof that day he had checkedtheir records, contacted thesocial services and updatedMrs Bridges. It seems thatalthoughtherehadbeensomeconcerns about Lucy’swelfare the previous yearthey were around inadequateparenting rather than child

abuse or neglect. A socialworker had visited Lucy’smother and stepfather, Dave,and no further action hadbeen taken, other thanadvising Lucy’s mother andstepfather to enrol in someparenting classes to improvetheir parenting skills.Whether they had done thistheschooldidn’tknow,norif

any follow-up visit had beenmade by the social services,but the filewasclosedat thetime. Following the newconcerns and theheadmaster’s phone call tothe social services, the filewas reopened and the headtoldMrsBridgesthatasocialworker would be visitingLucy’s homewithin the next

few days. In the interim, heaskedMrsBridgestopreparea short report coveringLucy’seducationalandsocialdevelopment, as well as theconcernsthathadbeenraised.

On the Monday morning ofthe following week, whenLucy came into school, MrsBridges noticed that she

looked very downcast, moreso than usual, so at morningbreaksheaskedLucyiftherewas anything worrying her.Lucy shook her head andwentoutintotheplayground.Mrs Bridges tried again atlunch break, but Lucy said:‘No,Miss. Nothing’s wrong.I’m fine,’ and ran off tolunch.

Lucy looked anything butfine,andduringtheafternoonMrsBridges thoughtshewasclose to tears. At the end ofthe day, when she dismissedthe class at home time, sheasked Sammy if she couldhave a word with him. Sheasked him if Lucy was allright.Sammy,alwayswillingto share his thoughts and

worries, shook his headadamantly and said: ‘No,Miss.Lucy certainly ain’t allright. She’s very upset. Asocialworkerwenttoseeher,Friday I think it was, Miss.Aftershe’dgone,thatwickedaunt andDad yelled at Lucyfor causing trouble. She’sright scared. She won’t betalkingtoyouagain,Miss.’

Chapter Nine

‘I Hate YouAll!’

‘It appears it was handledvery insensitively,’ theheadmaster said, when Mrs

Bridges told him what hadhappened. ‘Do you think itwould help if I talked toLucy?’‘To be honest, I think it

might make matters worse,’MrsBridges said. ‘Lucy toldSammy that I mustn’t sayanything more about her toanyone, and to forget whatshe’d already said, or she’ll

runaway.’The head nodded. ‘I’ll be

guidedbyyou.I’llphonethesocial services and find outexactly what happened whenthesocialworkervisited,andalsowhatstepsthey’retakingto safeguard Lucy. Did shesay anything else to Sammyaboutthevisit?’‘Ifshedid,he’snot telling

me.’

It was two days before thehead managed to have aconversation with the socialworker who’d visited Lucy,and afterwards he told MrsBridgeswhathe’dlearnt.‘The social worker said

that Lucy’s home wasreasonablycleanandheraunt

and stepfather werecooperative and polite. Infact,shesaidthattheaunthadbeen more cooperative andopen to suggestions thanLucy’s mother had been theyear before.When the socialworker explained what Lucyhad told Sammy andyourself,’theheadcontinued,‘the aunt was shocked and

saidshehadnoideaLucyfeltthatwayorthatshehadheadlice, and blamed herself fornot noticing her scratching.Shesaidshe’dbuy the lotionimmediately.Sheshowed thesocial worker around theirhouse. Lucy has her ownbedroom, where there weresome toys and clothes in thewardrobe. There was also

food in the fridge and awashing machine in thekitchen.’‘Just because there’s a

washing machine doesn’tmean it’s being used,’ MrsBridgesputin,unabletohideherfrustrationanylonger.‘I know,’ the head said.

‘But Icanonly tellyouwhatthe social worker has

reported. I can’t tell her howtodoherjob.’Mrs Bridges gave an

apologetic nod and the headcontinued:‘Theauntsaidshedoes most of the cooking,although she admitted thatLucy doesn’t have a verygood appetite and sometimesprefers a sandwich to acooked meal. The social

worker said the aunt cameoverasgenuineandcaringofLucy.’‘SowhywouldLucymake

up these allegations and sayshe would rather live withSammyifthey’renottrue?’‘The aunt said itwas very

likely because Lucy resentsher role as mother. Lucyobviously wants her own

mother back, but that’s notpossible. She’s cleared offand no one knows whereshe’s gone. The stepfathersaid he was very grateful tohisgirlfriendfortakingontheresponsibilityoflookingafterLucy, because he couldn’thave coped alone, so if shehadn’t Lucywould have hadtogointocare.’

Shemighthavebeenbetteroff in care, Mrs Bridgesthought but didn’t say, andshe didn’t share the socialworker’s confidence that theaunt was acting in Lucy’sbest interest. A gut feelingsaid that Lucy wasn’t beinglookedafterandthattheauntwas manipulative andpossiblyalsoaliar.‘So,what

action are the social servicestaking to safeguard Lucy?’Mrs Bridges now asked thehead.‘They’re going to make a

follow-up visit in a week orso,althoughtherearenorealconcerns. The aunt said shethoughtitwouldtaketimeforLucy to accept her as astepmother, which of course

soundsreasonable.’Mrs Bridges held the

headmaster’s gazethoughtfully. ‘I suppose it’spossiblethatLucyresentsthisnew woman …’ she began.‘But…Didthesocialworkerspeak to Lucy alone –separate from the aunt andstepfather?’‘I don’t know,’ the head

said. ‘But I thinkwehave toaccept the social services’findings, although I agree itcould have been handledmoresensitively.You’llkeepan eye on Lucy, and if youhaveanymoreconcernswe’llactonthemstraightaway.’Mrs Bridges nodded,

thanked the headmaster andlefthimtoattendtohisother

business.Itwasalltheycoulddo.

The following morningLucy’s aunt brought her intoschool. Lucy looked cleanerthan she had done since thestart of term: her hair wasfreshlywashedand tiedbackneatlyintoaponytailandherclotheswerestainfree.Atthe

end of the day, Mrs Bridgesstood in the playgrounddispensing children to theadults responsible forcollecting them, and Lucy’sauntapproachedher.‘Nice tomeet you at last,’

she said, smiling. ‘Sorryabout the misunderstanding.Lucy and I have had a chatandwe’regettingalongmuch

betternow.’Mrs Bridges smiled and

nodded, although, apart fromlooking cleaner, Lucy hadbeen no less withdrawn thatdayandhadn’tseemedmuchhappier. Lucy’s aunt was inherearlythirties,withblondehair,andwasdressedintightblack leggings, knee-lengthbootsandanimitationleather

jacket.‘LetmeknowifIcanhelp

Lucy with her school work,’theauntoffered.‘You could hear her read

each evening to help hercatch up,’ Mrs Bridgessuggested.‘Andalsogivehersome help with her weekendhomework.’‘Sure will,’ the aunt said

enthusiastically, and went totakeLucy’shand.Mrs Bridges noticed that

Lucyshiedawayandrefusedto take her aunt’s hand, andthen walked some distancebehind her as they left theplayground.

WhatimpressionMrsBridgesformedofLucy’sauntwasn’t

noted in the records.However, what was notedwas that the improvement inLucy’s appearance lasted fora week and then quicklytailed off. Two weeks laterLucy was again coming intoschool looking unkempt anduncaredfor,andsheremainedquietandwithdrawninclass.

Amonthlater–attheendofOctober – the class waspreparingforHalloween.Thechildren were cutting outsilhouettes of ghouls andwitches to stick on a wallfrieze when Sammy casuallyremarkedtoMrsBridges:‘Atleast Lucy’s witch has gone.Flownoffonherbroomstick.Hopeshefallsoff.’

Mrs Bridges paused fromcuttingouttolookatSammy.‘Lucy’s aunt has left?’ sheaskedhimquietly,sononeoftheotherchildrencouldhear.‘Yes,Miss.Goodriddance,

Isay.’‘So who’s looking after

Lucynow?’‘Herdad.’‘You mean her stepfather,

Dave?’‘Yes, Miss. But he’s no

better than that aunt. Lucyhateshim.Pity shecan’t livewithme.Iaskedmemumbutshe saidwe ain’t got enoughroom,andLucyneededtotellhersocialworker.’

‘Lucy’s aunt has gone, andLucy told Sammy she hates

her stepfather and wants tolive with Sammy,’ MrsBridges said to theheadmasterassoonashewasfree. ‘And I don’t think it’sappropriate for a six-year-oldgirltobeinthesolecareofastepfather whom she doesn’tevenlike.’‘Butwhatrealconcernsare

there?’ the head asked. ‘Is

Lucy saying he’s abusingher?’‘No, she’s not saying

anything,or if she isSammyisn’ttellingme,’MrsBridgessaidalittletersely.‘It’snotasthough there haven’t beenconcernsbefore.’‘But they were unproven,’

theheadsaid.There was a pause asMrs

Bridges and the head lookedat each other, both deep inthought. Mrs Bridges knewtherewasn’tenoughevidencetoactionaninvestigation,butshecouldn’tjustdonothing.Fortunately, neither could

the head. ‘I’ll speak to thesocial worker as soon as Ihave a free moment andexplain that Lucy’s home

situation has changed. I’llsuggest they make anotherhomevisit.’‘Thankyou.’

Two weeks later theheadmaster informed MrsBridges that a social workerhad visited Lucy and herstepfatherand thatno furtheractionwouldbetaken.Anote

to this effect was placed onfile at the school, and MrsBridges couldn’t do anymore, other than to keep aneyeonLucyasshecontinuedin her role as class teacher;there were, after all, otherchildren in the class apartfrom Lucy. Two monthspassed, Christmas came andwent,andonthemorningthe

children returned to schoolmostofthemwerefullofthewonderful time they’d hadover the holiday and thepresents they’d received.ButLucy, as usual, hardly said aword, andwhenMrsBridgesaskedher if she’dhadanicetimeatChristmassherepliedwithasmallnod,whichcouldhave meant anything. Mrs

Bridges knew better than topress Lucy and possiblyembarrassherbyaskingwhatpresents she’d had, for itmight have been somethingvery small or perhaps evennothing. However, Sammy,being Sammy, was moreforthcoming.‘I got a brand-new bike!’

he announced to the class.

‘Frommemum’snewbloke.I’vedecidedhe’sallright,soI’ve told me mum he canstay.’ Even the class of six-year-olds appreciatedSammy’s humour andlaughed.But later that morning, at

break time, Sammy hungbackas thechildrenfiledoutof the classroom. ‘Can I

speak to you, Miss?’ heasked.‘Inprivate,please.’Mrs Bridges waited until

the last child had left theclassroom and closed thedoor.SheassumedthereasonSammy wanted to speak toher related to worries abouthis mother’s new partner.TherewasanextrovertsidetoSammy,whichkept theclass

entertained, but there wasalsoamuchdeeper,sensitiveside thatworried and fretted.Heoftenconfidedhisworriesabout his mother’s newpartners to Mrs Bridges. Asusualshedrewouttwoschoolchairs from under the table,andtheysatdown.‘It’s about Lucy, Miss,’

Sammy began, immediately

serious. ‘Don’t tell her I toldyou, but she had a rottenChristmas. Dave broughthome his new bird, and Idon’t mean the turkey sort.He and his woman spent allChristmasdayinbedandleftLucy to play outside byherself. I couldn’t play outwithher,Miss.Iwaswithmefamily. I mean, you have to

spend Christmas with yourfamily,don’tya,Miss?’‘Yes,indeed,’MrsBridges

said, upset at the thought ofLucy alone and outside onChristmas day. ‘It’s not yourfault,Sammy,’sheadded,forclearlySammyfeltguilty fornot playing with her. ‘Butyou understand that in orderto help Lucy I’m going to

have to share what you’vetoldmewith theheadmaster,who will tell the socialworker?’‘Yes,Miss,Iknow.Ithink

you should. Lucy needslooking after. Evenmymumsaysso.’

MrsBridgeswenttotheheadwith what Sammy had told

herandhedulycontactedthesocialservices,whosaidtheywould make a home visit.Following that home visit, itwas felt that although thechangeincareprovider–thatis, Dave’s new girlfriend(also referred to as Lucy’s‘aunt’) – was unsettling, atleast the other caregiver –Dave – had remained

constant, which gave Lucysomedegreeof stability.Thedecision to take a child intocareisnevertakenlightlyandhas to be carefully weighedup,possiblyleavingachildina less-than-perfect homeenvironment, rather thanplacingtheminafosterhomewhere they would lose thefamilytheyknewandallthat

wasfamiliar.A second home visit was

scheduled to take place amonth later, but the recordsshow that before thishappened a fight broke outbetween Dave and his newgirlfriendandthepolicewerecalled.As soon as the policehad gone, the new girlfriendpacked her bags and moved

out.Dave,ayearbehindwithhis rent and having ignoredalldemandsandsummonsforpayment, was then servedwithacourtordergivinghimnotice to leave the property.Dave took Lucywith him tolive with his older sister,whose home was twentymiles away, which made itimpossible for Lucy to

continue to attend the sameschool.Without prior notice,andthereforegivingtheclassno chance to say goodbye toLucy, she vanished. Theschool informed the socialservices; they traced Dave’ssister and a social workervisited. The social workermust have decided that theliving arrangements were

satisfactory, as no furtheractionwastakenatthistime.

ItwastwoyearsbeforeLucycame to the attention of thesocial services again. Nowaged eight, shewas living intheMidlandswithhermotherand her mother’s newboyfriend. One night, aneighbour became so

concerned by the adultsarguing and throwing thingsnext door that she called thepolice. When the policeenteredtheflattheyfoundtheliving-roomfloorlitteredwithbroken items that had beenthrown and Lucy coweringunderablanketinabedroom.The police calmed the adultsand, once satisfied that they

wouldn’t resume theirfighting, they left. However,concerned for the child, andfollowing normal procedure,they reported the incident tothe social services. Lucy hadbeen using Dave’s surnamesinceshe’dfirstbeentakentolivewith him andher detailscame up on the socialservices computer system,

together with the previoussocial services involvement.A social worker visitedBonnieandsheadmitted thatshewasn’tcoping.Whyshe’dtaken Lucy from Dave andhissisterisn’tknown,butshetold the social worker thatDave,whomshe’dpreviouslyencouraged Lucy to lookupon as a father and had

happilyleftLucywith,wasa‘no-good piece of shit’, andthey wouldn’t be havinganything to do with himagain.Aftersomediscussion,BonnieagreedforLucytobetakenintofostercare–underaSection20.The foster carer Lucywas

sent to live with already hadtwo fosterchildren, abrother

and sister who’d been therefor nearly three years. It’sclear from the records thatLucystruggledtofitintothisfoster family right from thestart. The carer commentedthat Lucy wasn’t a sociablechild; didn’tmake any effortto get along with the othertwo children; had low self-esteem; rarely smiled or

laughed andwas ‘difficult’ –hardly surprising given themomentous upheavals andanxieties thathadbesetLucythroughout her short life. Itcanbehardinanycaseforanew child to fit into anestablishedhouseholdsuchasthis one, and the situationrequires a lot of time andpatience from the carer. But

this carer seems to havelabelled Lucy as sullen anduncooperative from the start,with every disagreementbetween the three childrenbeingputdowntoLucy’sbadtemper and lack ofcooperation. Whether Lucywas ill-tempered andobstinate or not, the carer’sattitude meant that the

placement was doomed tofail. Bonnie visited Lucy atthe foster homeonce aweekto begin with, then once amonth, and then there wasnothingforthreemonths.WhenLucy had beenwith

this foster carer for elevenmonths, thecarergavenoticeon the placement and askedforLucy to bemoved, citing

the negative impact Lucy’spresence was having on theothertwochildren.Placementbreakdowns, as they areknown, happen; sometimesthey are unavoidable and amove is in everyone’s bestinterest. However, at othertimes, if support is given tothe foster family, rather thanjust leaving the carer to get

onwith it, theplacementcanbe saved and the child doesnot have to be moved.Whether support would havehelped Lucy stay in thisplacement will never beknown,buttheresultwasthatLucy had to pack and leave.This meant another move,more insecurity and anotherrejection for Lucy in a

lifetime of insecurity andrejections.

Lucy was now sent to livewith a foster carer fivemilesawaywhowasasingleparentwithadaughter thesameageas Lucy. When Lucy firstarrived the carer commentedto her support social workerthat Lucy was more like a

child just coming into care(from a neglected home),rather than from anothercarer. She looked unkempt,had head lice and camewithvery few possessions. Thehope is that all foster carersprovide a high standard ofcare for all the children theylook after, but sadly this isnot always so. Although

foster carers are trained andcarefully monitored, thestandard of care-giving canvary.Whenthepreviouscarerwas questioned by hersupport social worker, shesaid she washed Lucy’s hairregularly, but Lucy insistedon taking out her plait atschool,whichmadeherproneto catching head lice. She

also said that she’d boughtLucylotsofthings,butwhenLucy got angry she brokethem. Maybe she did, ormaybe she wasn’t lookedafteraswellas theother twochildren.Lucy’snewplacementwas

quite different.Her carer puta lot of effort into makingLucy feel welcome and part

ofherfamily.Lucygotalongwellwiththecarer’sdaughterandfinallybegantosmileandplayasachildshould.Sadly,this was a small oasis ofsecurity and happiness in anotherwise vast desert ofchange and anxiety. Threemonths later, Bonnie, havingbeennotifiedofthechangeincarer (which the social

services were obliged to dounder aSection20), said shewanted Lucy back. She wasnow living in a small rentedflat, so she gave the socialserviceshernewaddressand,with a day’s notice, tookLucy home with her. Thecarer said that Lucy hadn’twanted to go but didn’t feelshe had any choice. Bonnie

promised to keep in touchwith the carer and meet up,but sheneverheard fromheragain.Bonniehadn’tbeenableto

look after Lucy before andthere was no reason to thinkshecoulddosonow.Nothinghad changed in her life apartfrom a different flat and anew boyfriend. The social

servicesmonitoredthefamilyfor six months and asconcerns grew, and thethresholdforinterventionwasreached,Lucywas taken intocare.This time itwaswith acourt order and not under aSection 20, which gave thesocial services more power,and should have given Lucymoresecurity.

ThefostercarersLucywasnow sent to livewithwere amarried couple who had twoteenage children and lived ina comfortable modern houseon a new estate on theoutskirts of the city.Unfortunately the motherdidn’t drive and the schoolLucy had been attending forthe previous six months –

when she’d been living withher mother – was over anhour’s bus journey away. Itwas felt that thiswas too farfor a child Lucy’s age totravel and that, in any case,Lucy might find itembarrassing to arrive atschool with a foster carerwhenshehadpreviouslybeenseenwith hermother. It was

thereforedecided thata freshstart at a new school wouldbe beneficial, so Lucy wassent to the local primaryschool. By now, excludingnursery school, Lucy hadattended at least six differentprimaryschoolsinfiveyears.Exactly how many differentaddresses Lucy had lived atby then is hard to ascertain,

butaconservativeestimateatthe time put it in excess ofthirty.Although Lucywas nearly

three years behind with herlearning she began to makesome progress at this schooland also enjoyed a pleasantChristmas with her fosterfamily.However,whenLucyhad been living with these

carers for five months, thefamily’s fortunes abruptlychanged: the factory wherethefosterfatherworkedgavenotice to all its employeesthat itwashavingtoclose.Itmade the offer that anyemployee who had beenworking at the company foroverfiveyearscouldrelocatetotheirotherfactory–eighty

miles north. Withunemployment high and jobsscarce, the familyunderstandably felt theyshould accept the offer torelocate, and they suggestedto the social services thatLucy could go with them.Although Lucy was in careunderacourtorder,itwasanInterim Care Order, which

meantthatLucy’smotherstillhad a say in any decision-making about Lucy. Bonniehad seen Lucy twice duringthis five-month period, butnow invoked her rights andobjected toLucymoving outoftheareaincaseshewantedto see hermore often,whichwould be difficult if Lucywas living so far away.As a

result, the familymoved andLucy was moved to anotherfosterhome.The only carer free in the

area at that timewas a babycarer – that is, she wasapproved to foster babies upto the age of two. Lucy wasplaced with her temporarilyuntil amore suitable carer inthe area became free.

Repeated moves for childrenin care for reasons like theseare all too common and thewhole system needs athorough overhaul to ensurethat unnecessary moves areeliminated as much aspossible.Two months after being

placed with this carer, Lucy,now eleven, began at the

localsecondaryschool–abigenough step in itself withoutthe uncertainty of notknowingwhereshewouldbelivinginafewmonths’ time.Six weeks later a moresuitable carer became free inthe area and Lucy arrivedhome from school oneafternoon to be told that shewould be moving at the

weekend.AlthoughLucyhadalways known at the back ofher mind that she’d have tomove again one day, on topof just starting secondaryschool and the accumulatedyears of neglect, misery andcontinuous upheaval, it allbecame too much. As thecarer began explaining toLucy that her social worker

would take her for a visit tomeet her new foster carer,Cathy, and her two children,Lucy let out themost blood-curdlingscreamandthenfledupstairsandlockedherself inthebathroom–theonlyroomin the house with a lock onthedoor.Thecarer,frightenedatthe

sudden outburst from a child

whowasusuallyveryplacid,quiet and obedient, ranupstairs after her. She thenspent over half an houroutside the bathroom doortrying to reason with Lucyandpersuadehertocomeout.Lucy’s sobs grew louder andmore disturbing.By the timethe carer’s husband camehome from work, Lucy’s

hysterical shouts could beheard from outside: ‘I hateyou all! I’m not goinganywhere! I’m going to killmyself!’shecried.

PART TWO

Chapter Ten

‘A Family ofMy Own’

‘It’s a nightmare,’ Jill, mysupport social worker, saidover the phone. ‘The carer’s

husband had to break downthe bathroom door to getLucy out, and she’s stillrefusingtospeaktoanyone.’‘The poor child,’ I said.

‘You can’t blame Lucy forbeing so upset. Her life hasbeen a misery, more or lessfrom day one. No wondershe’s so angry and feelsunwanted.Noonehaswanted

her.’‘I know. You’ve read the

referral?’‘Yes.’ Because Lucy had

been coming to me as aplanned move, I’d had achance to read thereferralsothatIcouldbetterunderstandLucyandcaterforherneeds.Aswell as briefly describingLucy’s strengths and

weaknesses, the referralgaveashorthistoryofherpast.Ifachild came to me as anemergencyfosterplacementIknew very little about thechild, sometimes nothing.‘Yes,I’vereadthereferral,’Isaid. ‘I nearly cried. Lucydeserved so much better.She’s been treateddreadfully.’

‘Absolutely,’Jillsaid.‘Butthe fact remains, she stillhastomove and at present she’srefusing to evenvisit you,orsee her social worker. I’msure she’d feel a bit betterabout the move if she couldmeet you, Adrian and Paulabeforehand, see her bedroomand have a look around thehouse. But we can’t force

her.’ And of course if Lucywas refusing even to meetme, how on earth were theygoingtomoveher?Jill and I were both quiet

foramomentandthenIsaid:‘Iwonder ifLucywould talktomeonthephone?Itwouldbe better than nothing. Is itworthatry?’‘Yes, it’s a possibility, I

suppose. I’ll phone Lucy’ssocial worker and see whatshe thinks, and then I’ll getbacktoyou.Ifyoudidphoneit would have to be thisevening – they’re stillplanning on moving hertomorrow, although I’m notsurehow.’‘I’m in all evening,’ I

confirmed.‘Speaklater.’

Wesaidgoodbyeandhungup. Jill had beenmy supportsocialworker for the last sixof the thirteenyears I’dbeenfostering. We had a closeworking relationship and Irespected her decisions andopinions. But as I walkedawayfromthephone,visionsof a screaming, strugglingeleven-year-old girl being

forcibly brought to my doorflashedthroughmymind.I’dexperiencedyoungerchildrenbeingtakenfromtheirparentsand handed to me in a verydistressed state. I’d sat andcuddledthemforaslongasittook to calm them and untiltheir sobbing eased. Rarelydoes a child willingly leavetheirparents–usuallyonlyin

the worst cases of sexualabuse.ButLucywasn’t littleandcouldn’tjustbeleftinmyarms. And also, she wasn’tcoming to me from herparents,butfromatemporaryfoster placement. I thought itwasanindicationofallshe’dbeen through that she’dbecome hysterical at havingtomove from a family she’d

only been with for threemonths.

It was now 5.00 p.m., and acold winter evening inFebruary.My two children –Adrian, aged thirteen, andPaula, nine – were watchingtelevisionwhileIwasmakingthe evening meal. Havinggrown up with fostering,

they’d seen many childrencome and go, of all ages, ofbothsexesandfromdifferentethnic backgrounds. Theytookanynewaddition toourfamily in their stride, andwhen I’d told them a coupleof days ago thatLucywouldbecomingtostayforawhile,Paula had predictably said,‘Oh good, a big girl to play

with,’ while Adrian,preferring aboyhisownagefor company, had pulled afaceandsighed:‘Notanothergirl in the house!’ Although,in truth, we all welcomed asfamily any child who cameintoourhome.Jill, efficient as usual,

phoned back fifteen minuteslater. ‘The socialworkerwas

busy so I telephonedPat, thefoster carer,’ she said.‘Lucy’s still refusing to talkto her and she’s certain shewon’t talk to you either, butPat said she’s happy for youto try. Also, and moreworryingly, Lucy is refusingtoeat–shehasn’teatensinceall this blew up the daybeforeyesterday.I’llgiveyou

Pat’snumber.Itoldheryou’dphoneataboutseveno’clock.Isthatallright?’‘Yes,’ I said, now even

more worried for Lucy.PickingupthepenIkeptwiththe notepad by the phone, Iwrote down the carer’stelephone number and thenread itback tocheckIhad itright.

‘Good luck,’ Jill said. ‘Patand her husband were goingto move Lucy tomorrow –Saturday – but if she’s stillnot cooperating then they’llhave to wait until Monday,when the social worker isbackintheofficeandcansortitout.’‘And what will she do?’ I

asked.

‘No idea. There doesn’tappear to be a plan B,’ Jillsaid, trying to lighten anotherwisediresituation.‘The whole thing is so

tragic,’Isaid,myheartgoingouttoLucy.‘Yes, and the most tragic

aspectofLucy’scaseisthatitneedn’t have happened,’ Jillsaid. ‘Lucy’s life could have

been so different if someonehad made the decision toremove her early on. Shecouldhavebeenadopted.It’stoo late now. She’s too old.Thedamagehasbeendone.’

Adrian and Paula had beenexpecting to meet Lucy thatFridayevening, justas Ihad,soonceI’dfinishedspeaking

to Jill on the phone andbefore I served dinner, Ireturned to the living roomand explained to Adrian andPaula that Lucy wouldn’t becomingforavisitasshewastoo upset, but that I wouldphone her carer later and trytotalktoLucy.‘Whydoesn’tLucywantto

come?’Paulaasked.‘Doesn’t

shelikeus?’‘She doesn’t even know

us,’ Adrian put in quickly,always ready to correct hisyoungersister.‘I think she’s just had all

she can take,’ I said. ‘She’sneverhadaproperhomeandshe’s been treated verybadly.’‘Tellherit’sOKforherto

come here. We won’t treather badly. We’ll be kind toher,’Paulasaid.I smiled. ‘That’s nice,

love.’ If only it was thatsimple,Ithought.

Once we’d eaten and I’dcleared away the dishes, andbefore I began Paula’sbedtimeroutine,I leftAdrian

and Paula playing a boardgameinthelivingroomwhileIwentdownthehalltophoneLucy’s carers. I neededquietinordertothinkwhatIwouldsay to Lucy if I got thechance, and also I wasnervous. Even after manyyears of fostering, I still getanattackofnervesjustbeforethearrivalofanewchild,and

it’salwaysworseifthemovedoesn’t go smoothly. Butthen, I thought, how muchworse must Lucy be feeling,rejected and having to moveinyetagainwithstrangers?‘IsthatPat?’Iasked,asthe

callconnectedandawoman’svoiceanswered.‘Yes.Speaking.’‘It’sCathyGlass.’

‘Oh,yes,Lucy’snewcarer.Hello.’ I could hear relief inher voice. ‘Jill said you’dphone.’‘So, how is Lucy now?’ I

asked.‘Still shut inher roomand

refusingtocomeoutorspeakto us. I don’t know what todo. I feel awful, so doesmyhusband. Lucy’s blaming us

for her having to move, butwe’re only approved to lookafter babies. To be honest,Cathy, I regret ever havingagreed to take Lucy in thefirst place. It’s so upsettingandwefeelveryguilty.’‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘It’s not

yourfault.Thesocialservicesweredesperate toplaceLucyin the area after her mother

complained,andyouweretheonly carer available. It’s notgood practice, but it happenswhen the system is stretchedto the limit. Have you beenabletotellLucythatIwouldbephoning?’‘Sort of. I called through

her bedroom door and toldher. She didn’t answer, but Ithinksheheardme.’

‘Howlongagowasthat?’Iasked.‘Abouttwohours.’‘Allright.Couldyougoup

now please and tell her I’mon the phone. I assume herbedroomdoorisn’tlocked?’‘No.Weneverputlockson

thebedroomdoors.We’renotallowedto.’Patwasreferringto the ‘safer caring’

recommendations for fostercarers, which advise againstlocks being fitted to thechild’s bedroom door, as itcould prevent the carer fromenteringinanemergencyorifthechildisdistressed.‘Good,’ I said. ‘This is

what I’d like you to do. Goup now, knock on Lucy’sbedroom door and then poke

your head round and saylightly:“There’saphonecallforyou.It’sCathy,yournewcarer. She’s hoping she canhavealittlechatwithyou.”’‘You think I should open

her door and go in?’ Patasked, concerned. ‘I thoughtshewantedtobealone.’Notusedtofosteringolder

children,Pathad thought she

was respecting Lucy’sprivacy in leaving her alone,butasanexperiencedcarerofolder children I knew that,once a child had had time tocooloff, theyusuallywantedyou to go to them and givethemacuddle.Iwouldneverhaveleftachildaloneintheirroom for any more thanfifteen minutes if they were

asupsetasLucywas.‘Yes, Pat. Open her

bedroom door and go in alittle,’Iconfirmed.‘All right, I’ll do as you

say.’Iheardthephonebeingset

downandthenPat’sfootstepsrecedingupstairs.AsIwaitedI could feel my heartthumpingloudlyinmychest.

Adrian and Paula’s distantvoices floated through fromthe living room. I heard Patknock on Lucy’s bedroomdoor, then a slight creak asthedooropened,followedby:‘Yournewcarer,Cathy,isonthe phone for you. Can youcomeandtalktoher?’There was more silence

andthenIheardthebedroom

door close. A few momentslaterPat’svoicecameon thephone again. ‘I told her, butshe’s still refusing to evenlook atme. She’s just sittingthere on the bed staring intospace.’MyworriesforLucyrose.‘What should I do now?’

Patasked,anxiously. ‘Shall Iaskmyhusbandtotrytotalk

toher?’‘Does Lucy have a better

relationship with him?’ Iasked.‘No, not really,’ Pat said.

‘She won’t speak to him,either.Jillsaidthatwemighthave to leave her untilMonday, when her socialworkerisbackatwork.’‘Then Lucy has the whole

weekendtobroodoverthis,’Isaid. ‘It will be worse. Let’stry again to get her to thephone.I’msureitwillhelpifshehearsI’mnotanogre.’Pat gave a little snort of

laughter. ‘Jill said you werevery good with olderchildren.’‘That was sweet of her,’ I

said. ‘Now, is your phone

fixedorcordless?’‘Cordless.’‘Excellent. Take the

handset up with you, knockon Lucy’s bedroom door, goin and tell her again Iwouldlike to talk to her. But thistime, leave the phone on herbedfacingupsoshecanhearme, and then come out. Imight end up talking to

myself,butI’musedtothat.’Pat gave another snort of

nervous laughter. ‘Fingerscrossed,’shesaid.I heard Pat’s footsteps

going up the stairs again,followed by the knock onLucy’sbedroomdoorandtheslight creak as it opened.Pat’svoicetrembledalittleasshesaid:‘Cathy’sstillonthe

phone and she’d like to talktoyou.’There was a little muffled

sound,presumablyasPatputthephoneonLucy’sbed,andthen I heard the bedroomdoor close. I was alone withLucy.Thiswasmychancetotalktoher,totryandconnectwith her and reassure her.Maybemyonlychance.

I took a deep breath andsaid gently: ‘Hello, love. It’sCathy. Can you hear me,pet?’I paused. Although I

wasn’t expecting a replystraight away, I wanted togive her the chance. Ipictured the handset on thebed,presumablynearenoughforLucy tohear. Iwondered

if she’d looked at the phoneas my voice had comethrough.‘I know how dreadful this

isforyou,’Ibegan,myvoicegentle but hopefully loudenough for her to hear. ‘Iknow how you must befeeling at having to moveagain. You’ve had so manymoves, Lucy. I think you’ve

coped remarkably well. Idon’t think I would havecopedaswellasyouhave.’Ipausedagainandlistened

for any response, but therewasnone,notevenasighorasob.ForallIknewshemighthave stuffed thephoneunderherpillowsoshedidn’thaveto listen to me, but at leastshe hadn’t severed the call;

thelinewasstillopen.‘I’d like to tell you a bit

aboutmyselfandmyhome,’Icontinued. ‘So itwon’t seemso strange to you when youarrive.Iliveinahouseabouta twenty-minute drive fromwhereyouarenow,soyou’llbe able to go to the samesecondary school, which isgood. You don’t want to

change schools again. I havetwo children:Adrian,who isthirteen, and Paula, who isnine. They are both lookingforward to meeting you andhaving you stay. Paula isplanning lots of games foryoutoplaywithher.There’sjust the three of us, as I’mdivorced,sothey’llbefourofus in the family when you

arrive. Five including ourcat.’Ipausedagain,buttherewasnothing.‘I’vegotyourroomready,’

I said. ‘But I’m sure you’llwanttochangethingsaroundto suit you, which is fine.You’ll be able to put postersandpicturesonyourbedroomwalls to make it look nice.Justasyouwantit.Aswellas

the bed, there’s a wardrobeanddrawers foryourclothes,plentyofshelfspaceforyourcuddlies and a toy box.There’s also a small table,whichyoucanworkatifyouneed quiet for yourhomework, or you can doyourhomeworkdownstairs ifyou wish. I’ll always helpyouwithyourschoolworkif

you want me to, just like Ihelp Adrian and Paula. Wehave quite a big gardenwithsome swings. We like to goout in the garden when theweather is fine.We also likeplaying games. Adrian andPaula are playing a boardgame now. Do you likeplayinggames,love?’I stopped and waited,

hoping for a reply, but nonecame. Was Lucy listening?Had I caught her attention?Or was she still in denial,refusing to acknowledge me,and perhaps sitting with herhandspressed toherearsnothavingheardawordI’dsaid.Iwaitedamomentlongerandthencontinued.‘So, Lucy, I’m wondering

what else I can tellyou? I’msure you’ve got lots ofquestions. Our cat is calledToscha.You’lllikeher.She’svery gentle and loves beingstroked. The only time sheever scratched anyone wasyears ago when Adrian waslittle and he pulled her tail.Cats don’t like having theirtailspulledandAdrian learnt

his lesson. He never did itagain.Paulasometimesputsadoll’s bonnet on Toscha andpushesheraroundthegardenin her doll’s pram. She doeslookfunny.’I stopped. I thought I’d

heard a faint sound, possiblya movement. I waited, notdaring to breathe, my pulsethrobbing. Then I heard

another noise and I stoodperfectly still. I had thefeeling Lucy had picked upthe phone; I thought I heardthe faintest sound ofbreathing.Iwaitedamomentlonger to see if she wouldspeak, then, lowering myvoice, I said softly: ‘Hello,Lucy.’A pause, and then an

almostinaudible:‘Hello.’Relieffloodedthroughme.

I could have wept. Her littlevoice sounded so very sad.‘Well done, love,’ I said.‘You’re being very brave. Iknowhowdifficultthisisforyou. Pat does, too. How areyoufeeling?’Another pause, and then a

veryslight:‘OK,Iguess.’

I swallowed the lumprisinginmythroat.IwishedIcouldreachoutandhugher.‘We’reall lookingforward

to meeting you,’ I said.‘Adrian, Paula, me andToscha.Canyouthinkofanyquestionsyou’dlikedtoask?’Silence; then her small

voice again: ‘What’s thenameofthegameAdrianand

Paula are playing?’ So shehadbeenlistening.‘It’s called draughts, love.

Doyouknowthegame?’Averyquiet:‘Ithinkso.’‘You play it on a board

with round pieces, and youtaketheotherperson’spiecesby hopping over them. It’seasytoplayandgoodfun.’‘I don’t know many

games,’Lucysaidquietly.‘We’ll teachyou.Wehave

a cupboard full of games.When you arrive I’ll showyou where everything is andyou can choose a game toplay. Adrian and Paula arealways playing games whenthey’renotatschool.’‘Do they watch television,

too?’Lucyaskedquietly.

‘Oh yes, too muchsometimes. Do you have afavourite televisionprogramme?’Asmallpause,thenatiny:

‘Not really. I watch whateveryoneelsewatches.’‘So, what do you like to

eat?’ I now asked. ‘And I’llmake sure I’ve got some ofyour favourite foods in ready

fortomorrow.’‘I don’t mind,’ Lucy said,

in the same small, self-effacing voice that made mewant to cry. ‘I don’t reallyhave any favourite food. Idon’tlikeeatingmuch.’Although I was pleased

thatLucywasnowtalkingtome,sheseemedsosadandfartoo compliant – probably a

resultofhavingtocontinuallyfit in with other families. Iwasalsoconcernedaboutherlastcommentinrespectofnotliking to eat, for the referralhadsaidshewasunderweightandhadraised thepossibilityofaneatingdisorder.‘What else can I tell you

aboutus?’Inowasked.There was a pause, and

then Lucy asked the onequestion I’d been dreading.‘IfIcometoyou,willIhavetomoveagain?’I took a breath. ‘What did

your socialworker tell you?’Iasked.‘She said my mum would

have to go to court if shewantedmeback,astherewasacourtordernow.’

‘That’s right. You’re incarenowunderwhat’scalledan Interim Care Order. Didyour social worker explainwhatthatwas?’‘I think so, but I didn’t

reallyunderstand.’‘I know, love. There was

too much going on. I’ll tryand explain. Until recently,whenyouwereincareitwas

underwhat’scalledaSection20, which is an agreementbetween your mum and thesocial services. It meant thatyourmumcouldtakeyououtofcarewhenever shewantedto, which is one of thereasons you’ve had so manymoves. That can’t happennow there is a court order.The social services will be

applying for a Full CareOrder, when the judge willmake the decision on whereyou should live permanently:if you can live with yourmother or if you would bebetter off in foster carepermanently. But we won’tknowthejudge’sdecisionformany months, possibly ayear,astheyhavetoreadlots

of reports to make sure it’stherightdecision.’Istopped.‘Doesthatmakeanysensetoyou,love?’There was a long pause,

which was hardly surprising;the workings of the caresystem are difficult enoughfor adults to grasp, let aloneaneleven-year-oldchild.When Lucy spoke again it

brought tears to my eyes. ‘Idon’t want to live with mymum,’ she said. ‘But I don’twanttohavetokeepmoving.Otherkidshaveproperhomesandfamilieswholovethem.Ijust want a family of myown.’

Chapter Eleven

Lucy

I couldn’t lie to Lucy. Icouldn’t tell her she wouldneverhavetomoveagain,butIcouldtellherthateventuallyshe would be found a

permanentfamilyofherown.‘Lucy, from what I know

of your history I think it’shighlyunlikelythejudgewilldecide you should live withyour mother. So the socialserviceswillseeifyouhavearelative who can look afteryou,andifnotthentheywillfind you a long-term fosterfamily to suit you.’ I didn’t

say‘onethatwillmatchyourcultural heritage’, although Iknew that would be part ofthe criteria. Lucy was dualheritage, as her father wasThai, so the social serviceswould want to find her afamilythatreflectedthis.‘Butallthatwilltakemany

months,’Isaid,‘maybeuptoayear,andyouwon’thaveto

moveagainduringthattime.’ItwasthebestIcouldoffertoreassureLucy and, bless her,itwasenough.‘So I won’t have to move

again for a whole year?’ shesaid, her voice lightening alittle.‘That’s right, love. Only

once the judge has made hisor her decision will you

move,andthatwillbetoyourforeverfamily.’‘That’s good,’ she said.

‘WillyourcatbetherewhenIcometomorrow?’‘I’llmakesureofit,love.’Wesaidgoodbye,butLucy

didn’t sever the call. I heardmuffledsoundsasshecarriedthe handset downstairs andgave it toPat,whoIguessed

waswaitingforanynews.‘Hello,’shesaidanxiously.‘Is half past eleven

tomorrow morning all rightfor you and your husband tomoveLucy?’Isaid.‘Oh, yes, of course,’ Pat

said, surprised. ‘Has Lucyagreedtocomethen?’‘Shehas.’‘How did you manage

that?’‘I think the cat did it,’ I

said,with a small laugh. ‘Sohalf past eleven is all right?I’d rather not leave it anylater as the waiting willunsettleLucyagain.’‘Yes, we’ll get going on

thepackingstraightaway.’‘Good. And you may not

knowthisbut,whenanolder

childmoves, it’susuallybestifthecarerssaygoodbyeandleavereasonablyquickly,soIwon’tbeofferingyoucoffee.I know it’s different whenyou move babies topermanency.’‘Yes, it is. Thanks for

tellingme.’‘You can phoneLucy in a

week or so. That would be

nice,andvisitinafewweeks–once she’shada chance tosettlein.’‘We will. See you

tomorrow then. And thanksforallyourhelp.’‘You’re welcome. Enjoy

your evening. You want topartongoodterms.’‘Yes,we’lltry.’In truth, I hadn’t really

donemuch to persuadeLucyto move other than use myskills and experience fromyearsoffostering.Patandherhusband were used tofosteringbabiesandhadbeenout of their depth lookingafter an older child,which iswhy carers are approved andtrainedtofosteraspecificagegroup.Ireturnedtotheliving

roomwhereAdrianandPaulawerejustfinishingtheirgameofdraughtsandtoldthemthegoodnews:thatI’dspokentoLucy and she would becoming tomorrow. ‘She’slooking forward to playingwithyouboth,’Iadded.‘AndweneedtomakesureToschaisin.’‘Why?’ Adrian asked,

glancing up from the board.‘What’sthecatdone?’Ignoring his stab at

humour, I said, ‘Lucy’s verykeentoseeher.’He threw me an old-

fashioned look, took the lastof Paula’s pieces from theboard and, punching the air,shouted:‘Winner!’‘Wellplayed,’Isaid.

Paulascowled.‘You played well too,’ I

saiddiplomatically.

They packed away the gameand then Adrian went off toplayonhisNintendo,whileItook Paula up for her bathand to get her ready for bed.It was Friday, so bothchildrenwereuplaterthanon

a school night. Paula cansometimes be a real littlechatterbox, especially atbedtime, and tonight all shecouldtalkaboutwasLucy.‘I’m very excited that

Lucy’s coming,’ she said,flappingthewaterinthebathtomakemorebubbles.‘Whatdoessheliketoplay?’‘I’mnotsure.Youcanask

her. I don’t think she knowsmany games, so you canteachhersome.’‘I will. And I’ll show her

mytoysandletherplaywiththem, even my newChristmas toys. And if itsnows, we can go in thegardenandbuildasnowman.Ihopeitsnows.I’mgoingtolikeplayingwithLucy.’

While Paula was happilyplanningallshewasgoingtodo with Lucy, I was alsothinking about Lucy, and,amongotherthings,abouttheschool run onMonday. Likemost foster carers, I had tojuggle my children’scommitments with the childor children I was fostering.Adrian, at thirteen, went to

schoolwith his friends, but Istill took Paula, at age nine,to her primary school andcollected her. Lucy’s schoolwas a twenty-minute busjourney away, and althoughmost secondary-schoolchildren use buses I wasn’tcomfortablewith hermakingan unfamiliar journey alonewhen she’d just moved in.

Once I knew what time herschool started, I was hopingI’d be able to work outsomething that would allowme to take both girls toschool and collect them.Whenanewfosterchildfirstarrives, there’s always aperiod of readjustment andthen,once thenew routine isestablished, the household

runssmoothlyagain.

The following morning –Saturday – I was up,showered and dressed earlierthan usual for the weekend,and with a mixture ofexcitement and apprehensionI double-checked thatLucy’sroom was ready. Paula wasupearlierthanusual,too,and

the first thing she said whenshecamedownstairswasthatshe was looking forward tomeetingLucy.Adrian,truetoform,onlystumbledfromhisbed when he smelled baconfrying. We usually have acooked breakfast at theweekend; it’s the only twodays in the week when wehave time to enjoy it. By

eleven o’clock Adrian wasshowered and dressed, too,and caught in the frisson ofexcited expectation that hadenvelopedthehouse.So,withhalf an hour to go beforeLucy’s arrival, we were allreadyandwaiting,except…‘Where’sToscha?’Iasked,

suddenlyrealizingshewasn’tin her favourite spot on the

chairbythewindow.We looked around the

obvious places and couldn’tsee her. Then the childrenhelped me search the housefromtoptobottom:underthebeds; in corners (especiallyby radiators); in and behindcupboards; even in theairingcupboard, where she’d oncebeenfound;but therewasno

signofToscha.‘Iexpectshe’sout,’Adrian

said. ‘I take it she isallowedtousethecatflap?’‘Very funny,’ I said,

unimpressed.Ipeeredoutofthewindow

butcouldn’tseeToschainthegarden. I slipped onmy coatand, taking her bag offavouritecatbiscuitswithme,

wentintothegarden.Ishookthe bag while calling hername, but no Toscha camerunning. It was now nearly11.20, and apart from Lucybeing disappointed when shearrived that there was noToscha when I’d promisedthere would be, I was alsogrowing concerned. Toschawas a creature of habit and

didn’t normally go outsideand vanish in the middle ofthe morning, especially inwinter.Then I heardAdrian shout

frominsidethehouse:‘Mum!Comein.ShewasonthebedinLucy’sroom!Youshutherin!’Relieved, I returned

indoors, thinking she must

have crept into Lucy’s roomwithout me seeing her whenI’d checked it earlier. I’dclosed Lucy’s bedroom doorasI’dcomeout,andherroomhad been the one room Ihadn’t thought to search.Fortunately,Adrianhad.‘Welldone,love,’Isaid,as

he set Toscha on the sofaready to receive our new

arrival.It wasn’t a moment too

soon, for as Toscha curledherself into a ball,comfortably resting her headon her front paws andunawarewhatallthefusshadbeenabout,thedoorbellrang.‘That’llbethem,’Isaid.Paulaslippedherhandinto

mineandcamewithmedown

the hall to answer the door,while Adrian stayed on thesofa strokingToscha. I felt alittlerushofnervousnessasIopened the door, and Paulasqueezedmyhand.‘Hello,’ I smiled at the

threeofthem.‘Hi, Cathy,’ Pat said

brightly.‘ThisismyhusbandTerry,andthisisLucy.’

‘Hi, Terry. Hello, love,’ IsaidtoLucy.‘Comeonin.’Lucy’s large dark eyes

roundedasshelookedatme.She was a petite, slenderchild with gorgeous longblack silky hair, which hungloosely over her shoulders.She was wearing a smartwintercoat,openatthefront,with new jeans and a pink

jumper underneath. I smiledatheragainasshecamein.‘I’ll get the cases,’ Terry

said.‘Thanks.I’llleavethedoor

on the latch,’ I said, as hedisappeared back down thepath.Then toLucyandPat Isaid: ‘This is Paula. Adrianand Toscha are in the livingroom – straight down the

hall.’‘What a nice house,’ Pat

saidencouraginglytoLucyaswewentdownthehall.Lucy didn’t reply; I didn’t

expect her to – even Paulawasnervousandstillhadherhandinmine.As we entered the living

room,Adrianlookedupfromstroking Toscha and said,

‘Hi.’‘Hi,’ Pat said. ‘Nice to

meetyou.ThisisLucy.’AdrianthrewLucyasmall

self-conscioussmile.Shewasstanding close to Pat, headslightlybowedandlookingatthecatfromunderherfringe.‘ShallItakeyourcoat,love?’I suggested. ‘It’s warm inhere.’

Without speaking orlooking at me, Lucy slippedoutofhercoatandhanded ittome.Thepoorchildlookedsolostandillatease,itbrokemy heart. ‘I’m sure Toschawouldlikeastrokefromyou,too,’ I said, trying to makeherfeelathome.AdrianlookedatLucyand

threw her another smile.

Then, very gingerly, almostcat-like herself, she lightlycrossed the room and sat onthe sofa on the other side ofToscha and began gentlystrokingher.Paula found thecourage to letgoofmyhandand went over to join Lucyand Adrian, standing just infront of them to form a littlesemi-circleastheyallstroked

thecat.Toschahadneverhadso much attention and waspurring loudly. Pat and I satin the chairs watching themand made light conversationasTerrybroughtLucy’sbagsinto the hall. He closed thefrontdoorand then joinedusin the living room, sayinghello to Adrian. ‘Nicegarden,’ he said, nodding at

the view through the patiodoors.‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘We

make the most of it in thesummer.’Therewasashortawkward

silence and then, turning toPat,andfollowingmyadviceaboutkeeping theirdepartureshort, Terry said, ‘Well, Isupposewe’dbetterbeoff.’

Pat nodded. ‘We’ll phoneyou in a week,’ she said toLucy.Lucy didn’t reply or look

up but concentrated onpettingToscha.Patthenwentover and kissed the top ofLucy’s head. I thought Lucymight havewanted a hug or,perhaps finding separatingdifficult, cry, but she didn’t.

Shejustgaveasmallnodandthen said in a very quietvoice, without looking up:‘Goodbye.’Lucy’s face was

emotionless, and Iinstinctively felt she was achild used to hiding heremotions, probably as acopingmechanismtostopherfrombeinghurtagain.

‘Goodbye then, Lucy,’Terry called from across theroom.‘Takecare.’Lucy gave another small

nod and continued strokingToscha.I showedPat andTerry to

the front door. ‘Don’tworry,Lucywillbefine,’Ireassuredthem. ‘I’m sure she won’tstaythisquietforlong.’

They both looked at me alittle oddly. ‘She will,’ Patsaid. ‘She’s hardly said awordtousinthewholethreemonths she’s been with us.To be honest, we found hersilence quite unnerving. Themost she ever said was theother day when we told hershe would be moving. Thenshe shouted and screamed.

Perhapsshe’sschizophrenic?’‘More like traumatized,’ I

said, a little tersely,concerned that a seriousmedical condition could beassignedsoloosely.I reassured Pat and Terry

againthatLucywouldbefineandwesaidgoodbye.Closingthe front door, I returneddown the hall, still thinking

of Pat’s comment. It wasn’tthe first time I’d heard anadult – carer, parent, teacheror even a social worker –resort to labelling a child forbehaviour they didn’tunderstand. Schizophrenia,ADHD,dyslexia,autism,etc.–thesewordsshouldonlybeused after a medicaldiagnosis, because labels can

stick.Ihopedtheyhadn’tsaidanything similar withinearshotofLucy.Inthelivingroom,Adrian,

Paula and Lucy were stillgrouped around Toscha,strokingher.‘I’ll go and play in my

room then, Mum, if that’sOK?’ Adrian said, standing,and eager to be on his

Nintendo.‘Of course, love, and

thanks for your help findingToscha.’‘It’s OK!’ he called,

disappearingoutofthelivingroom.I went over to Lucy and

Paula, who now slipped intothe seat Adrian had vacated.Both girls were very quiet,

still shy, so squatting on thefloorinfrontofthemIbeganmaking conversation. I wassure once they got talkingthey’dbefine.‘Beforeyouarrived,’Isaid

to Lucy, ‘we had quite ascare, didn’t we, Paula?’Paula nodded. ‘We couldn’tfind Toscha anywhere. Welookedalloverthehouseand

even in the garden. You’llnever guess where we foundher?’ Ipaused,allowing timeforLucytoofferasuggestionor perhaps say, ‘No? Wherewas she?’ But she was tooshy.‘Shewasonyourbed!Fast

asleep.’Paulasaid,supplyingthe answer. ‘She’s not reallysupposedtobeonthebeds.’

Lucy slowly raised herhead and looked at me, herlarge dark eyes growingrounder with astonishment.Then, very quietly, she said:‘Wasshereallyonmybed?’‘Shewas,love.Imusthave

shut her in when I checkedyour room first thing thismorning.’The smallest, almost

imperceptible smile nowcrossedLucy’sface.Then,inthe same quiet voice, shesaid, ‘I think if Toscha wasonmybeditmeansshelikesme,don’tyou?’I felt my eyes brim. ‘It

does love. It most certainlydoes.Wealllikeyou.’

I hadn’t planned any

activitiesfortheweekend.I’dkept it clear so that Lucywouldhaveachancetosettleinandfamiliarizeherselfwithus,hernewhomeandroutine,andhopefully start to relax alittle. She came across as avery gentle child who couldeasilybe takenadvantageof;someone who neededprotecting. I thought again

howfrighteningitmustbetocome into yet anotherstranger’s house, where youwereexpectedtofitin.Ialsofelt she was tense, on guard,almostinapermanentstateofalert,asifatanymomentshewasreadytorun.Iknewfrommy previous fosteringexperience and training thatthis heightened anxiety

wasn’t unusual for a childwho’d been severelyneglected or abused; even apin dropping canmake themjump. I also knew it wouldtake many weeks, if notmonths, and a lot of workbefore Lucy felt safe enoughwith us to lower her guardandcompletelyrelax.Presently Paula tired of

stroking Toscha and said toLucy, ‘Would you like toplayagamenow?’Lucygaveasmallnod.‘Or would you like to see

yourroomfirstandthenplayagame?’Paulasaid.‘I don’t mind,’ Lucy said

quietly, with a little self-conscioussmile.‘It’s your decision,’ I

encouraged.‘Shall we see my room

first?’LucyaskedPaula.Iwasinnodoubtthat,had

Paula said no, Lucy wouldhave gone along withwhateverPaulawantedtodo.‘Yes. Let’s see your room

first,’ Paula said. ‘Then wecanplayagame.’Both girls stood and we

went out of the living roomand upstairs, where I openedthe door to Lucy’s bedroomandweallwentin.‘Do you like it?’ Paula

asked, crossing to thewindow. ‘It’s got a niceview.’I smiled. The view was

something I usually pointedout when I showed a new

child and their social workeraroundthehouse,astheroomoverlookedthegarden.Lucygaveasmallnod,but

didn’t goover to lookout ofthewindow.‘Your room will be better

once you’ve got all yourbelongings in it,’ I said. ‘I’llbringupyourbagsshortly.’Shegaveanothersmallnod

and then looked to Paula fordirection.‘I’ll show you the rest of

theupstairs,’Isaid.Leaving Lucy’s room, we

wenttothenextroom,whichwasAdrian’s.Itappedonhisbedroom door. ‘Can Lucyhave a quick peek in yourroom,please?’Icalled.‘Yes, come in,’ he

returned.‘We always knock and

waittobeaskedintosomeoneelse’s bedroom,’ I explainedto Lucy, taking theopportunitytomentiononeofourhouserules.‘Itkeepsourroomsprivateandsafe.’Opening the door, I went

in.Lucy took a little step in,just big enough for her to

glance at the room, and thensteppedoutagain.‘Thanks, love,’ I said to

Adrian,comingout.‘I’llgiveyou a call when lunch isready.’Paulaledthewayalongthe

landing to her room. ‘I don’thave to knock on my door,’she said with a mischievousgrin, ‘because it’s my room

andI’mnotinit!’I laughed. ‘I’ve got a

family of jokers,’ I said toLucy, and she managed asmallsmile.‘Youcancomealltheway

into my room,’ Paula said,eager for Lucy to see herroom, of which she wasproud.Lucytookacoupleofsteps

in and gazed around. Thetheme in Paula’s room wasDisney’s Winnie the Pooh,and images of the cartooncharacterswereon theduvet,pillowcase, wallpaper andcurtains. Her shelves werebrimming with soft toys andgames that she’d been givenfor birthdays and Christmas.Paula’s bedroom wasn’t any

morespecialthanmanygirls’herage,but Icould tell fromLucy’sexpression that itwastoher.‘It’s lovely,’ she breathed

after a moment. ‘You arelucky.’Paula smiled self-

consciously, and I could seeshe felt a bit uncomfortable.Lucy wasn’t the first child

we’dfosteredtobeinaweofwhatwetookforgranted,anditwas a timely reminder thatnoteveryonewasas luckyaswewere.We came out of Paula’s

roomand I showedLucy thebathroom and my bedroom.ThenwewentdownstairsandI showed her the front roomwhere the computer was,

explaining that shecoulduseit for homework. Then wewent into the kitchen-cum-dinerandIsawfromthewallclock that it was nearly oneo’clock.‘I thoughtwe’dhavesome

soup and a sandwich forlunch,’ I said to both girls.‘We usually have our mainmeal in the early evening,’ I

added,forLucy’ssake.LucyglancedatPaula,and

then said quietly tome, ‘I’mnotreallyhungry.’‘Did you have a big

breakfast?’Iasked.She shook her head. ‘I

really don’t like eatingmuch.’Lucy had said similar to

me on the phone, but she

couldn’taffordtomissmeals.I knew from the referral thatshe was underweight, andfromwhat I could seeof herframe – through her jumperandjeans–shewasslendertothe point of thin; plus,concerns had already beenraised about her not eating.Whenshefirstcameintocareshe would have had a

medical, so when I saw hersocial worker I would askaboutthis.Inthemeantime,IneededtotryandgetLucyinthe habit of eating byestablishing a regular patternof mealtimes. Children fromneglected backgrounds oftenswing between bingeing andthen going without foodaltogether. I didn’t know

what the previous carers haddone to address this and itwas something else I wouldneedtoaskhersocialworker.‘WhileMummakes lunch,

shall we play?’ Paula nowaskedLucy.Lucygaveasmallnod.‘What would you like to

play?’Paulaasked.Predictably, Lucy gave

another small shrug and thensaid,‘Idon’tmindreally.’‘Paula,’ I said, ‘why don’t

youshowLucy thecupboardwhere we keep the games,and then the two of you canchoose something to playtogether?’‘I will,’ Paula said, now

feeling more at ease. Andsensing that Lucy needed to

be looked after as a muchyounger child would, Paulagently took her by the handandledheroutofthekitchen.

Chapter Twelve

No Appetite

Mealtimes in many familyhomesareoftenas importantfortheirsocialinteractionandfamilybondingastheyareforeating food. In our house, as

in many others, we eat ourmeals together wheneverpossible, seated on diningchairs around a table, talkingbetween mouthfuls andsharingournews.Apartfromin exceptional circumstances– birthdays, Christmas orwhen a child is upset andmightwantacuddlytoywiththem–Idon’tnormallyallow

toys, books, games consoles,mobile phones or any otherdistractionsat thetablewhilewe’reeating. I encourage thechildren in their tablemanners, as they not onlyensureapleasantmealforall,butwill stand the children ingoodsteadforlaterlife,whenmuch socializing andbusiness takes place over a

good meal. However, Irealizethatwhilemychildrenare relaxed around the mealtable, it could seemdauntingforanewcomer:anothernewcustomwithitsownritualsina house of strangers. So Ikeep a watchful eye on thenewchildanddoall Ican tomakethemfeelcomfortable.In the thirteen years I’d

been fostering I’d seen alltypesofbehaviouratthemealtable, including shouting,screaming,tantrums,standingon the table, hiding under it,nose-picking, burping,farting, throwing food,grabbing food from others’plates and, very commonly,children who only ate withtheir fingers because they’d

neverusedcutlery.But inallthose years I’d never seen achildasanxiousasLucywaswhenshecametoourtable.IcalledherandPaula tocometo lunch three times beforetheyfinallyappeared.AtfirstI thought itwasbecausetheywanted to finish their game,butwhenPauladrewLucybythe hand into the kitchen I

realizeditwasmorethanthat.‘Lucy doesn’t want

anything to eat,’ Paula said.‘She’snothungry.’I looked at Lucy with a

reassuring smile, but I couldseehowtenseshewas.‘Well,sit down, love, and just havealittle,’Iencouraged.‘You’llneed something to eat; youdidn’thavebreakfastand it’s

alongtimeuntildinner.’Idrewoutthechairnextto

Paula and smiled again atLucy.‘Wethoughtyou’dliketo sit here, next to Paula,’ Isaidbrightly.‘Yes,sitnexttome,’Paula

said. Adrian was alreadyseated, opposite Lucy – he’dbeen the first to come whenI’dcalledeveryoneforlunch.

Lucy hesitated, her browcreasing with worry. Thenshe slipped silently onto thechair next to Paula, and Ihelped her ease it closer tothe table. Igaveeachofusabowl of soup and set theplatter of sandwiches, crisps,cherry tomatoes and slicedcucumberinthecentreofthetable ready for when we’d

finishedoursoup.Isatdown.Adrian and Paula werealready tucking into theirsoup as I picked up myspoon, but Lucy sat stifflyupright,staringatherbowl.Ididn’tknowhowmuchofheranxiety was due to theintimacyofsittingandeatingwithstrangersandhowmuchof it was about the actual

food. When I’d asked her ifshe liked tomato soup she’dsaidshedid,butasIwatchedher out of the corner of myeyewhile I atemy soup shedidn’t make any attempt tostarthers.‘Try a little,’ I encouraged

after a while. ‘You must behungry.Youdon’thavetoeatitall.’

Slowly, reluctantly almost,Lucy picked up her spoonand,dipping it into thebowl,took out the smallest amountpossibleandputittoherlips.I saw Adrian and Paulasurreptitiously watching herand I motioned for them notto stare. Poor Lucy felt self-conscious enough alreadywithout having an audience.

Lucytookasecondandthirdspoonful as slowly and asmeasured as the first, then,when Adrian and Paulafinished their soup, she putdownherspoon,leavingoverhalfabowlful,andsatbackinherchair.‘There’s no rush,’ I said,

hoping shemight have somemore.

‘I’mfull,’shesaidquietly.I finished the last of my

soup, collected together thebowls, took them through tothe kitchen and left them inthesink.‘Help yourselves,’ I said,

returning to the table andreferring to the sandwiches,crisps and salad. ‘Thosesandwiches are ham and

those are cheese,’ I said,pointing. I’d previouslychecked with Lucy that shelikedboth.Adrian and Paula began

filling their plates withsandwiches, salad and crisps,while Lucy took one littlesandwich. I’d cut themdiagonally into quarters sothat one sandwich amounted

tohalf a sliceofbreadandalittlebitoffilling.‘Are you going to have

some crisps and salad?’ Isuggested, offering Lucy theplates as she might not haveliked to help herself, but sheshookherhead.She ate the one sandwich

slowly,takingsmallbitesandchewing endlessly before

swallowing. I made lightconversation to try and helpherfeelatease,andIalsoputon the radio in thebackground, but it didn’thelp. Lucy only had onesandwich and half a glass ofwater. It was her first mealwith us and I didn’t want tomake her feel more self-conscious than she already

did by encouraging herfurther. So once everyoneelse had finished and it wasclear Lucy wasn’t going toeat anymore, I cleared awaythe dishes and hoped she’dmakeupforitatdinnertime.As soon as Lucy left thetable, shevisibly relaxedandhappily went with Paula tofinish their game of

dominoes.Shortlyafterlunch,afriend

of Adrian’s who lived in thenext street telephoned andaskedifhe’dliketogotohishouseforafewhours.Adrianasked me if it was all rightand I said yes. I knew fromexperience that a new childwould feel at home morequickly ifwecarriedonwith

normal family life. I toldLucy that Adrian was goingto a friend’s house for a fewhours and he called goodbyeasheleft.Ithenreadacoupleof pages of my book in theliving room while the girlsplayedsnakesandladders.Inher playing and interactionLucy was doing well, muchbetter thanPatandTerryhad

led me to expect, so I waspleased.Once thegirlshad tiredof

snakes and ladders, Isuggested we unpack Lucy’sbags, which I’d previouslytakenuptoherroom.Iknewthat once she had herpossessions in her room andhad arranged them to herliking shewould start to feel

moreathome.‘We can both help you,’

Paula said enthusiastically,jumping up and clapping herhandsinexcitement.I saw that Lucy looked a

bit uncomfortable. ‘Is it allright if Paula and I help youwiththeunpacking?’Iasked.ForIwouldn’thaveexpectedan eleven-year-old child to

unpackbyherself.Lucygaveasmallnodand

then said quietly, ‘It’s justthat I’ve got some privatethingsIdon’twantanyonetosee.’ She said it so sweetlyand self-effacingly it was asthoughshedaren’tbreatheforfear of upsetting others. Iguessed these private thingswere small mementoes she

was attached to. I’d seenchildren I’d fostered beforearrivewith all sorts ofweirdandwonderful objects they’dgrown attached to and didn’twantanyonetosee,includingone little boywho brought aclothes peg with him, whichhe said reminded him of hismother, and a girl who wasinseparable from her father’s

(expensive) watch. I laterfoundouthewasinprisonforbreaking into a jeweller’sshop!‘I understand, love,’ I said

toLucy. ‘Wecouldhelpyouunpack, and then when youtake out your private thingsPaula and I will close oureyes.Howdoesthatsound?’A small smile flickered

across Lucy’s face and Itouchedherarmreassuringly.‘You don’t have to worryaboutupsettingme,’Isaid.‘Iwant you to feel relaxed andat home here. You must tellmewhatyouwant.’She gave a small nod and

then said to Paula: ‘I canshow you one of the privatethings,butnottheother.’

‘Great!’ Paula exclaimed.Taking Lucy’s hand, shedrewher toher feetand thenscampered off, with Lucyclosebehind.Upstairs inLucy’s room, I

asked Lucy which case weshould unpack first and shepointed to the largest case,whichcontainedherclothes.Ibegan hanging and folding

them into the wardrobe anddrawers,showingLucywhereI was putting them, whileLucy began unpacking herbag of toys, with Paula’shelp. Lucy didn’t havemanypossessions compared to theaverage eleven-year-old but,havingbeeninfostercareforawhile, shehadmore thanachild coming straight into

care from a neglected home,who would often arrive withnothing.‘This is the private thing I

can showyou,’ I heardLucysay.I glanced over from the

wardrobeasshedelvedintoasmall pink rucksack andcarefully drew out a soft toyrabbit. Clearly much loved

andpetted,ithadchewedearsand a missing tail. Holdinghim against her chest, shehuggedhimhard.‘Why’s he private?’ Paula

asked,voicingmythoughts.‘Because I don’t usually

show him to anyone,’ Lucysaidquietly. ‘The children inonefosterhomewerehorribleto me, because he’s old and

has bits missing. So I don’tlet anyone see him. But Ithinkyou’rekind.Iknowyouwon’tlaugh.’I could see that, far from

laughing, Paula was close totears at the thought ofchildren being unkind toLucy because her favouritetoywasold.Ididn’tknowinwhich home this unkindness

had taken place, but childrencan be cruel without anyonerealizingit.‘What’s his name?’ Paula

asked, as Lucy held the softtoy to her chest and strokedhimprotectively.‘He’s called Mr Bunny,’

Lucysaid.‘MrBunnyRabbitif he’s been naughty.’ IsmiledandthoughtthatLucy

hadasenseofhumourburiedbeneath all her worry andanxiety.‘How old is he?’ Paula

asked, meaning: how longhaveyouhadhim?‘I don’t know,’ Lucy said.

‘He’s always been with me,for as long as I canremember.Myother toysgotlost when I kept having to

move, but Mr Bunny stayedwith me. I used to take himout, but I don’t any more.He’sprivate.’Andsosaying,Lucy leant on the bed andtucked Mr Bunny under theduvet, so that only his earswere visible on the pillow.‘You can have a little sleep,Mr Bunny,’ she said softly.‘You’vehadabusyday.’

I continued unpacking asLucy and Paula exploredLucy’s toys, slowly puttingthemintothetoybox.ThenIheard Paula ask: ‘What’syourotherprivatething?’‘No, Paula,’ I cautioned

lightly, turning from what Iwasdoingtolookather.‘Wesaid we’ll close our eyeswhen Lucy unpacks her

private things. She’s alreadyshownyouMrBunny.’Lucy gave a small nod. ‘I

can show you the cover, butno more. Not yet. Not for along time, because it’s veryprivate.’BeforeIlookedawayIsaw

her slide a large scrapbookfromherbag.Onthefrontofthebookwasaphotographof

herself. I thought itmight beher Life Story Book, startedby a previous foster carer.Life StoryBooks are usuallycompiled by foster carers forchildren in long-term care.They contain photographsand some written history tosupportthechild’smemories.Children who are raised bytheir own families share

collective memories, butfoster children don’t havethis, and memories canbecomeconfusedorevenlostover time. If Iwas right andthis was Lucy’s Life StoryBook, then it would be verypersonal to her and I couldappreciate why she didn’twanttoshareitwithusyet.‘It’sgot somephotographs

in it and some writing aboutme,’ Lucy said to Paula, asshe hid the book under thebed.‘Why don’t you put it

safely in one of yourdrawers?’ I suggested,pointing to the chest ofdrawers. ‘No one comes intoyour bedroom without yourpermission,soitwillbesafe.

Noonewillsee.’Lucygaveasmallnodand

reached under the bed toretrievethebook.‘Eyes closed,’ I said to

Paula.Paula and I both screwed

shut our eyes and I heardmovements as Lucy placedthe book in a drawer andclosedit.

‘You can look now,’ shesaid.

Ataboutthesametimeasthegirls and I finished Lucy’sunpacking, Adrian returnedfrom his friend’s house. Helethimself in, calledup, ‘Hi,ladies!’ and then went intothe kitchen for a snack. Likemost active thirteen-year-old

boys,hewasalwayshungry.I stacked Lucy’s empty

suitcase and bags on thelanding. ‘I’ll put them up intheloftlater,outoftheway,’I toldLucy,forIdidn’twanther to think that I’d just gotridofthem.AsIwentdownstairs,with

Lucy and Paula following, Iheard Lucy tell Paula: ‘I

won’t need my bags for along time, maybe a year.Your mum said I can stayuntil the judge makes adecision.’‘I’m pleased,’ Paula said.

‘I like playing with you. Ithinkwe’regoing tobegoodfriends.’‘That’snice,’Lucysaid.‘I

think I’m going to be happy

livingherewithyouandyourfamily.’You will, love, I thought.

I’llmakesureofit.

Iserveddinneratsixo’clock,but far from making up atdinnerwhat she hadn’t eatenat lunch,Lucy looked just asuncomfortable, still had noappetite and picked at her

food. I’dmadecottagepie, adishthatiseasilyeatenwithaforkorspoon,andafavouritewithmostchildren.WhenI’daskedLucybeforethemealifshe liked cottage pie, she’dsaidyes.Butthelittleshehadsheateveryslowly,almostasthough she was scared ofeatingordidn’t like the tasteorfeeloffoodinhermouth.

‘Are you feeling all right,love?’ I asked at length,wonderingifperhapsshehadasorethroatorwassickeningforsomething.Lucy nodded and

continued slowly, eating atinybitatatime.PaulaandIfinishedours,andAdrianwasalready on seconds. ThenLucy looked up and said, ‘I

reallycan’teatanymore.’‘All right, love, don’t

worry,’ I said quickly. ‘Justeatwhat youwant and leavetherest.’Shesetdownherknifeand

fork; I guessed she’d eatenabout four mouthfuls – notenough for a growing child,but I didn’t say anythingmore. I served pudding –

apple crumble and ice cream–andLucyhadonescoopofice cream, but no crumble.Had Lucy’s poor eating notalready been mentioned, Imight have put it down tobeing in a new house – andthat might well have beenpartly responsible – but Iknew that if her appetitedidn’t start improving over

the next few days then Iwould be raising the matterwith her social worker andseekingadvice.Afterdinnerwewatcheda

filmontelevisionandwhenitfinished I made everyone ahotmilky drink,which Lucyhad,andthenIbeganthebathandbedtimeroutine.Iusuallyput the children to bed in

ascending order of age, soPaula first, then Lucy, andAdrian last. Adrian usuallywentupataboutnineo’clockand read for a while in bed.SowhenPaulawas snuggledin her bed, I called for Lucyto come up and together wecollected her toothbrush,flannel, towel and pyjamasfrom her bedroom and took

them into the bathroom. Ishowedherwhereeverythingwas and ran her bath. Iwouldn’t normally bath aneleven-year-old unless theyhad learning difficulties andneededhelp,soonceherbathwas ready I checked thatLucy had everything sheneeded and then came out,telling her to call me if she

needed anything. I’m alwaysvery cautious when a newchild arrives, until I am surewhat they can safely do andwhattheyneedhelpwith,soIhoveredon the landingwhileLucy was in the bathroom.But fifteen minutes later sheemerged, washed, dressed inherpyjamasandbrushingherlovelylongblackshinyhair.

I showed her where thelaundry basket was for herdirty clothes and then wentwith her to her bedroom. Iasked her if she liked hercurtains open or closed atnight, and she said open alittle.Ialsofoundoutthatsheliked to sleep with the lightoffandthedoorslightlyajar.‘It’s bound to be a bit

strangeatfirst,’Isaid,assheclimbed intobed. ‘Callme ifyouneedmeinthenight.I’ma light sleeper, so I’ll hearyou.’Shegaveasmallsmileand

snuggled beneath the duvet.She looked very comfortablewithMrBunnyonthepillowbesideher.‘All right then, love? Is

thereanythingyouneed?’Sheshookherhead.‘Would you like a

goodnightkiss?’Ialwaysaskachildwhen they first arriveif theywant a kiss. Somedoand some don’t, and it’s aninvasion of their personalspace to just assume they doandgoahead.‘Yes,I’dlikeakiss,’Lucy

saidsoftly.Ileanedforwardandkissed

herforehead,andasIdidsheslid her arms around myneck.‘CanIhaveahugtoo?’sheaskedquietly.‘Ofcourse, love.’ I looped

myarmsunderher shouldersand gave her a hug. I couldfeel her smooth,warmcheekresting lightly against mine.

It’s unusual for a child towant this degree of physicalcontactontheirfirstnightandI thought that Lucy musteither be a very tactile child,or she’d been starved ofaffection.AfterawhileIgentlydrew

awayandkissedherforehead.‘You get some sleep now,love.Youmustbeexhausted.

You’ve done very well foryourfirstday.’‘Have I done well?’ she

asked,herdarkeyesgrowingwider.‘Yes, you have. I’m very

pleasedwithyou.Andyou’llfind it will be easiertomorrow, and the next day.Everything won’t be sostrange – well, apart from

me!’ I added, with a smalllaugh.She smiled. Then her eyes

flickered and began to close;thepoorchildwasexhausted.‘Night, love,’ I said,

standing.‘Sleeptight,andseeyouinthemorning.’‘Night,’ she said. ‘And

thanksforhavingme.’‘There’s no need to thank

me, love. I’m glad you’rehere.’

ThatnightPaulagotherwish–itsnowed.WhenIwokeinthe early hours to check onLucy,whowas asleep, Iwasaware the air outside seemedbrighterandthesoundmuted.Returning to my bedroom Ipeeredthroughthecurtainsto

see awhite blanket of snow.Not enough to cause travelchaos,butabouttwoinches–enough to smooth the edgesof reality so that everythinghad a magical, dreamlikesoftness to it. Yippee, Ithought, we’ll have funtomorrow!I returned to bed; it was

only3.30a.m.,butIcouldn’t

sleep.Excitedby the snow, Iwanted the children to wakesotheycouldseeittoo,butIwasalsothinkingaboutLucy.I find the early hours are agood time for worrying andfrettingovertheday’sevents,and I had plenty to worryaboutwithLucy.Thereferralhad said very little and Ihopedtolearnmorefromthe

social worker. But when achild has been seriouslyneglectedovera longperiod,as Lucy had – unprotectedand living with a series ofstrangers – there’s a strongpossibility that at some pointthey’ve fallen victim to apredatorpaedophileandbeensexually abused. There wasno suggestion in the referral

that Lucy had been sexuallyabused, and obviously thiswas a huge relief, but Lucyhad spent so long living ahand-to-mouthexistencewithher itinerant mother that Iknew she would have seenand experienced more thanany child should have. Somechildren deal with their painand anger by attention-

seeking and aggressivebehaviour, but Lucy seemedtobeinternalizingherpain.Iknew at some point itwouldcomeout,justasithadattheprevious carers’ when she’dbeen told she would have tomoveagain.

‘Snow!’Adrian cried at 7.30a.m., his voice reverberating

aroundthehouse.Within minutes Paula and

Lucywere out of bed and attheir bedroom windows,echoing: ‘Snow! It’s beensnowing!’ Paula then wentinto Lucy’s room,rememberingtoknockonthedoor first, and joined her atherbedroomwindow.Still inmy dressing gown, I joined

Adrian at his bedroomwindow.‘Isn’titbeautiful?’Icalled,

loud enough for the girls tohearinLucy’sroom.‘Yes! Can we play in it?’

theyreplied.‘Of course!’ Adrian

shoutedback.Asthefourofusgazedout

from the two bedroom

windows over the backgarden, thewinter sun beganto rise, a fiery glowing ballthatcastapinktingeoverthewhitesnow.‘It’smagic,’Paulacalled.Andittrulywas.

I’d never seen children dresssoquickly(well,notsincethelast time we’d had snow the

previous winter). Twentyminutes later, they weredressed, with coats, scarvesand gloves on, and in thegarden, making footprints inthe virgin snow, throwingsnowballs and generallyhaving fun. I joined them inthe garden for a while andthen said I would go in andfeed Toscha – who’d taken

one look at the snow anddashedbackinside–andalsoget some breakfast going.‘How does egg, bacon andbeanssound?’Iasked.‘Great,’theyreplied.As I turned, a large

snowball hitmeon theback.‘You wait!’ I called toAdrian.‘I’llgetyou!’Butmyfeebleattemptfellfarshortof

its target as Adrian ran forcover.I hoped the fresh air and

exercisewould give Lucy anappetite, but when I calledthem in for breakfast shedidn’t want the cookedbreakfast, just a bowl ofcornflakes. I suggested shemight likeapieceof toastaswell,butsheshookherhead.

However, she did have milkand sugar on the cornflakesand ate them all, which wassomething. After breakfastthe children returned to thegarden, while Toscha and Istayedinthewarm.Thethreeof them played in the snowuntil their hands and feetwere cold and their nosesglowedred.When theycame

inIhungtheirwetglovesandcoats on the radiators to dryand made them a hotchocolate, which Lucyenjoyed.Ataboutoneo’clockIsaid

I’dmake a light lunch and IaskedLucyifshelikedpasta.She said she did, but at thetablesheonlyateabouthalfadozen pasta shapes and one

thin slice of warm Frenchbread. I didn’t try toencouragehertoeatmore,asI didn’t want to turn hereating into an issue, butPaula, who had a goodappetite, said: ‘Is that allyou’rehaving,Lucy?’Lucygaveasmallnodand

I could see how self-consciousshefelt.

‘It’s fine, just have whatyou want,’ I said lightly, forpressuringhertoeatwouldn’thelp.As we neared the end of

lunch the phone rang andAdrian, guessing it was hisfather, flew from the tableand answered it in the livingroom. John, my ex-husband,usually saw the children

every third or fourth Sundayand telephoned on theSundays he didn’t see them.Paula,hearingAdriansay‘HiDad’,leftthetableandjoinedhimon the sofa in the livingroom,waiting for her turn tospeaktoherfather.I explained to Lucy who

John was. She had finishedeating,butstayedatthetable

withme. ‘Isheaniceman?’sheasked.Difficult question, I

thought,consideringhe’drunoffwithayoungerwomansixyearspreviously.‘Yes,’Isaidgenerously. ‘He lovesAdrianandPaula.’There was a moment’s

pause and then Lucy said:‘Mydadusedtohitme.That

wasn’tnice,wasit?’

Chapter Thirteen

‘Do Our Best’

I looked at Lucy and for thefirsttimesinceshe’darrivedIcaughtaglimpseoftheangershe must have been feelingabout everything she’d been

through, and then it wasreplacedwithsadness.‘No, it certainly wasn’t

nice,’ I said. ‘Adults shouldnever hit a child, not even ifthey are naughty, which Ican’t imagine you were.’ Aswell as being concerned bywhat Lucy had just told meabout her father, I was alsopuzzled, as it didn’t tie up

with what I’d read in thereferral. ‘Lucy,’ I said, ‘Imight bewrong, but I didn’tthink you ever saw yourfather?’Shegaveasmallshrugand

looked away. ‘The socialworker told me he was mystepfather,butIalwayshadtocallhimDad.’‘I understand,’ I said. ‘His

namewasDave?’‘Yes.Ilivedwithhimfora

longtime.’‘Youdid,’ I said, recalling

this from the referral. ‘Didyou ever tell anyone Davewashittingyou?’‘ItoldMum,’Lucysaidin

a small, tightvoice. ‘But shedidn’t believe me. He neverhitmewhenshewasthere.’

‘He doesn’t sound like aniceperson,’Isaid.‘Notlikeafathershouldbe.’Thismaysound obvious, but it wasn’tnecessarily to Lucy, whoseonlyexperienceofafather,asfarasIknew,hadbeenDave.‘He was all I had,’ Lucy

said softly. ‘Hewas the onlyone around when my mumwasn’t there and my aunts

left. So I tried not to upsethim.’‘Your aunts?’ I asked,

againpuzzled.‘Dad’s girlfriends,’ Lucy

clarified. ‘I had to call themAunt.Davesaiditwaspolite,because they lookedaftermesometimes.’Not very polite of him to

be hitting a young child, I

thought.‘Sowherewasyourmother

when theseauntswere livingwithyouandDave?’Iasked,trying to fill in some of theblanks and get a betterunderstandingofLucy’spast.‘Mum used to go out and

not come back for a longtime.Shewasn’t theremuch.I don’t see her often now.’ I

knew this from the referral,buthearingitonachild’slipsmade it all the moreimmediateandupsetting.‘Did you tell the social

worker about Dave, and theaunts, and your mum notbeing there?’ I now asked,wondering why Lucy hadn’tbeen brought into long-termcaresooner.

Lucy paused and I sawsomeoftheangerflashacrossher eyes again, before itwasreplacedbyhurt.‘Itwouldn’thavedoneanygood,’shesaiddespondently. ‘He was nicewhen anyone came.’ Thenshe quickly changed thesubject and said: ‘Is it allrightifIgotomyroomuntilPaula’s finished on the

phone?’‘Yes, of course, love.You

don’t have to ask. This isyourhome.Doasyouwish.’

Leaving the table,Lucywentupstairs. I felt so sorry forher. What an appalling,disruptive past she’d had,withhermotherinandoutofher life, Lucy in and out of

careandastringofunrelatedstrangers looking after her.HowmuchofwhatLucyhadtold me was known to thesocial services I couldn’tgauge from the referral, butwith Lucy upstairs andAdrian and Paula still in theliving room talking to theirfather, I took theopportunitytoaddwhatLucyhadsaidto

my log notes. I’d alreadybegunLucy’s folderwith thereferralandnowIaddedwhatLucy had told me about herstepfather. Sadly, from mypast fostering experience, Iknew that more disclosureswerelikelytofollowandthatthey could get worse. Onlywhenachildfeelssettledandsecure do they find the

courage to reveal what hashappened to them, and oftenit’sshocking.

On Sunday afternoon wewent for a short walk to ourlocalpark,takingsomebreadtofeedtheducks.Weweren’tout for long as it began torain,whichquicklyturnedthesnow to slush. Iwas pleased

the children had made themost of playing in the snowearlier, for if the raincontinuedthesnowwouldbegonebymorning.Inowknewfrom Lucy that her schoolopenedat8.00a.m.,soontheway home from the park Itold the girls that thefollowing morning I plannedto take Lucy to school first

and then take Paulaafterwards. Lucy said therewas no need for me to takeher as she could go on thebus, but I said she could goby bus the following week,once she was more familiarwith the area and I’d shownher the route, and as long ashersocialworkeragreed.Forthisweek,I’dfeelhappierifI

took and collected her in thecar. I explained that itwouldalso giveme the opportunityto introduce myself at herschool’s office, check thatthey had my contact detailsand hopefully make anappointment to see herteacher.‘Why do you want to see

my teacher?’ Lucy asked, a

little suspiciously, as shesquished through the puddlesofmeltingsnow.‘Tosayhelloandaskhow

I can help you with yourschoolwork.IsthatOK?’‘Sure,’shesaideasily.‘It’s

just thatnooneeverdid thatbefore.’Well, they should have

done,Ithought.

I made roast chicken fordinner that evening, withroast potatoes, peas andcarrots, having checked withLucyfirstthatshelikedthesefoods. However, I wasquickly realizing that Lucylikingafooddidn’tmeanshewould eat it. At dinner shemanaged a few carefullychewedmouthfulsofchicken,

one roast potato and aspoonfulofpeas;notenoughto feedagnat, asmymotherwouldhavesaid.IsawPaulaand Adrian glance at Lucy’splate as she set down hercutlery,havingleftmorethanshe’d eaten, but they didn’tsay anything and neither didI. Once the rest of us hadfinished,IsimplyaskedLucy

ifshe’dhadenoughandwhenshe nodded I took her plateaway, hoping that when shefelt more settled her appetitewould grow. Toscha ate thechicken. Lucy didn’t wantany pudding, but did have afewgrapes.

That evening Imade sure allthree school uniforms were

laid out ready for thefollowing morning, and thenbegan the bath and bedtimeroutine.When it was Lucy’sturn to go up, she said shedidn’t need a bath as she’dhad one the night before. Isaid that we usually had abath or a shower every day,butthenshesaidshewastootired.

‘Evenforaquickshower?’Iasked.‘Yes,’shesaid.SoIgaveherthebenefitof

thedoubtanddidn’tinsist.Soofteninparentingwehavetodecide which issues to focuson and which we canreasonablyletgo.Whilegoodhygiene is important, as longasLucyhadabathorshower

the following day then littleharm would be done. Whenshe’d been with us longer,she’d fall into our routine ofbathing or showering eachday,justasshewouldtakeonother aspects of our familylifeandroutines.

As Iwent tobed that night Iwas feeling quite positive.

The weekend had gone farbetter than I’d expected,considering that on Fridayevening, only forty-eighthours previously, Lucy hadbeen shut in her bedroom ather previous foster carers’house, refusing to come outoreven talk toanyone.Now,here she was, just two dayslater, talkingandplayingand

making herself at home. Ishouldhaverealized,withallmy years of fostering, thatthis was the ‘honeymoon’period, aswe refer to it, andLucy’s behaviour woulddeteriorate.

The following morning Iarrived at Lucy’s school at8.25 a.m. and parked in one

ofthevisitor’sbays.IknewIwas short of time: Paula’sschool started at 8.55 and Ihad a return journey oftwenty minutes. We’d lefthome later than I’d planned,asLucyhad forgottenoneofher school books and we’dhadtoreturntocollectit.‘Reception is over there,’

Lucy said helpfully, as we

climbed out of the car and Ipressedthekeyfob.I hurried across the car

park, a child on each side ofme. Most of the otherchildren arriving werewithout parents or carers,coming to school alone orwith friends. I wondered ifLucyfeltembarrassedhavingmehere. ‘I’lldropyouoffat

the gates tomorrow,’ I said,reassuring her. ‘I’m justcominginfortoday.’Shenodded,butdidn’tsay

anything.Inside the building, I

introduced myself to thereceptionist while Lucy andPaulasaton thechairs in thewaiting area. I find thatreceptions in large secondary

schools can sometimes beimpersonalcomparedtothoseof smaller primary schools,where friendly office staffknow all the children byname and welcome visitors.Having introduced myself, Iexplained that I was Lucy’snew foster carer and askedthereceptionist ifmycontactdetails were on file. She

checked and found theyweren’t, so I gave her myaddress and telephonenumber,whichshewroteonapieceofpaper.‘Is this Lucy’s permanent

address?’sheasked,glancingup.‘Yes,fortheyear.’She made another note,

although I couldn’t see what

itwas.‘Also,’ I said, ‘I’d like to

make an appointment to seeLucy’steacher,MissConnor,please.’‘You’ll need to arrange

that with Miss Connorherself,’ she replied – notterriblyhelpful.‘HowdoIdothat?’‘Phone the school at

lunchtime; she won’t beteachingthen.’‘Thank you,’ I said, and

turnedtothegirls.Theystoodreadytoleave.‘Have a good day then,

love,’ I said to Lucy, as sheswung her school bag overhershoulder.She gave a small nod.

‘Bye,Paula,seeyoulater.’

‘Bye,’ Paula said, with alittlewave.We watched Lucy go

through the swing doors thatledintothemainbodyof theschool, and then Paula and Ileft the building and hurriedto the car. Fortunately, mostofthetrafficwasgoingintheopposite direction, so Iarrived at Paula’s school just

as thebellwasgoing. Igaveher a big kiss, said a quickgoodbye and drove home. Ihadn’tbeeninlongwhenthephoneranganditwasJill,mysupport social worker, fromtheagencyIfosteredfor.‘Well done,’ she said, as

soonasIanswered.‘Pat tellsme you performed a miracleandLucyiswithyounow.’

‘She is,’ I said,appreciating the praise. ‘I’vejust returned from taking hertoschool.’‘Excellent. So how’s she

doing?Settlingin?’‘Yes,she’sdoingfine.’‘HasLucy’ssocialworker,

Stevie,beenintouchyet?’‘Notyet.’‘She’ll be phoning you

later to arrange a visit, and IneedtoseeyouandLucytoo.Can I come after schooltomorrow?’‘Yes, half past fourwould

begood.Giveusachancetohave a drink and a snackfirst.’ Both the child’s socialworker and the carer’ssupportsocialworkerhavetovisitassoonaspossibleafter

achildhasmovedin.‘I’ll see you at half past

four then,’ Jill confirmed.‘Doyouhaveany immediateconcernsaboutLucy?’‘Only her eating,’ I said.

‘ButI’lldiscussthatwithyoutomorrow.’‘All right. See you

tomorrow.Andwelldone.’‘Thankyou.’

I was smiling as I put downthe phone.We all like praise– a verbal pat on the back –and foster carers are noexception.IreallyappreciatedJill’s words, her recognitionthat I had done well topersuade Lucy to move inwithout a big scene, and Icontinued the day withrenewedenergy–evenwhile

doingthehousework.An hour later the landline

rangagain.‘Hello, it’s Lucy’s social

worker, Stevie. I need to seeLucy, but my diary’s fulluntilFriday,soI’llcomethenathalfpastthree.’‘Can we make it a bit

later?’ I said. ‘We won’t behome from school then.Half

pastfourwouldbebetter.’I thought I heard a small

sigh before she said: ‘Verywell. See you at half pastfour.’ Andwith no goodbye,shehungup.I excused Stevie’s

brusqueness on the groundsthat,likemostsocialworkers,she undoubtedly carried ahugeworkloadanddidavery

difficultjob.

It was only as twelve noonapproached that I realized Ihadn’t thought to ask theschool’s receptionist whattime the school broke forlunch – the time I wassupposed to phone Lucy’steacher – so I took a chanceand telephoned at 12.30. I

gavemynameandsaidthatIwould like to speak to MissConnor.‘She’s at lunch,’ the

receptionistsaid.‘Yes, I know,’ I said. ‘I

was asked to telephone atlunchtimetospeaktoher.’‘Hold the line and I’ll see

ifshe’sinthestaffroom.’The line went quiet and

then a series of clicksfollowedbeforeamalevoicesaid:‘Hello,staffroom.’‘Is it possible to speak to

Miss Connor, please?’ Iasked, in my best speakingvoice.‘Should be,’ he said,

sounding friendly and jovial.‘I’llaskher.’Iheardhimcallacross the staff room: ‘Miss

Connor,areyoufree?’‘Yes, she is,’ he said.

‘She’sonherway.’A moment later a young

woman’s voice answered.‘Hello?’Igavemynameagainand

said that I was Lucy’s newfostercarerandthatIthoughtitwouldbeagoodideaifwecouldmeetsoon.

‘Yes, absolutely, thesooner the better,’ MissConnor said enthusiastically.‘I’mpleasedyou’vephoned.Iknew Lucy was having tomove again. I could see youafter school this afternoon, ifthatsuitsyou?’‘Yes, please.Although I’ll

have my younger daughterwithme.’

‘Noproblem.Come tomyclassroom when you arrive.It’s E1; reception will directyou. I’ll keep Lucy with meattheendofschool.’‘Thankyou.’‘I’ll look forward to

meetingyou.’‘Andyou.’Miss Connor came across

as a very pleasant, well-

organized and approachablelady. I was looking forwardtomeetingherandhavingtheopportunitytodiscussLucy’sprogress and what help shemightneedwithherlearning.

Thatafternoondisappearedina trip to the local shops forgroceries, and then it wastime to collect Paula. Paula

knew she had to come outquicklythisweekandnotlagbehindchattingtoherfriends,as we would be collectingLucyfromschool.Adrianhada front-door key and wouldlethimselfinasusual.Paulacameoutontimeand

IdrovetoLucy’sschool.Thereceptionareawasbusywithother parents and it was a

couple of minutes before Iwas seen. I explained that Ihad an appointment withMiss Connor and asked fordirectionstoherclassroom.‘E1 is through the swing

doors, then turn right, downthe corridor, up the staircaseon your left, and MissConnor’s room is on yourleft,’thereceptionistsaid.

Ithankedher.‘Didyougetall that?’ I joked toPaula,aswe went through the swingdoors.Paulagrinnedandpulleda

face. But finding MissConnor’sclassroomwasn’tascomplicated as it hadsounded, and a couple ofminutes later we were at thetop of the stairs, standing

outside classroom E1.ThroughtheglassinthedoorIcouldseeLucysittingatoneofthetablesnearthefrontofthe room, but there was nosignofherteacher.Iknockedonthedoorandwewentin.Lucy looked up and

smiled. ‘That’s my teacher,overthere,’shesaid,pointingtotheyoungwomanworking

onthewalldisplayattherearoftheclassroom.MissConnor stoppedwhat

shewasdoingandcameover.‘Lovely to meet you,’ shesaidpleasantly.‘And you,’ I said, shaking

herhand.‘I thought the girls could

wait inherewhilewehaveachat,’MissConnorsaid.‘We

can use the English officenextdoor.’‘You’llbeallrightinhere,

won’t you?’ I said to Paula.‘I’ll be in the room nextdoor.’Paula nodded and,

droppingmyhand,wentoverandsatbesideLucy.‘Come and fetch us if you

needus,’MissConnorsaidto

thegirls,asweleft.‘Yes, Miss,’ Lucy said

respectfully.Thedoor to thenext room

was labelled English Office,E2. ‘We call it “TheCupboard”,’ Miss Connorsaid, as she opened the doorand we went in. I could seewhy.It was a small room that

clearlydoubledastheEnglishdepartment’s stock cupboardaswell as their office, and itwasfull.Asmallsteel-framedtable and three matchingchairs stood in the centre ofthe room and the walls werelined with cupboards andshelvesfullofsetsofEnglishbooks.Therewasjustenoughroom to draw out a chair

eithersideofthetable.‘I’m Lucy’s English

teacher as well as her formteacher,’ Miss Connorexplainedaswesatdown.‘Thank you for seeing me

so quickly,’ I said. ‘I knowLucy’s behind with herlearning and I want to helpherallIcan.’‘That’sgreat.Whydidshe

have tomove?’MissConnorasked.It was a question I’d been

expectingandIexplainedthatlivingwithPatandTerryhadonly been a temporaryarrangement.‘She’s had so many

moves,’ Miss Connor said.‘Willshebestayingwithyoupermanentlynow?’

ItwasanotherquestionI’dbeen expecting. ‘Lucy willlive with me until the finalcourt hearing,’ I said. ‘Thenthe judge will make adecisiononwheresheshouldlive permanently. The wholeprocessusually takesaboutayear.’‘But it’s not likely Lucy

will return to live with her

mother, is it?’ Miss Connorasked, concerned. ‘I didn’tthink she ever saw hermother.’ As her teacher, shewould have some knowledgeof Lucy’s background fromtheschool’srecords.‘Lucy doesn’t see her

mother often,’ I said. ‘Andshe’d have to complete asuccessful parenting

assessment to convince theauthoritiesthatsheiscapableoflookingafterLucy.’‘And if the judge decides

Lucy shouldn’t go to livewith her mother, she’ll staywithyou?’For thosewhodon’t know

the workings of the social-care system, a child stayingwiththeirpresentfostercarer

oftenseemsthemostobvioussolution.‘If the judge decides Lucy

can’t live with her mother,then the social services willtry to find a relative to lookafterher,’Iexplained.‘That’salways considered the nextbest option. If there is nosuitable relative then thesocialserviceswillfindLucy

a long-term foster family tomatch her cultural needs. Asyouknow,she’sdualheritage–herfatherisThai.’There was a pause when

Miss Connor lookedconcerned.‘AndLucyknowsallthis?’‘Yes. I’ve explained it to

her and so has her socialworker.’

‘Poor kid. How veryunsettling. It makes yougratefulforyourownfamily.’‘It does,’ I said. Then

steeringMissConnorbackontrack, I said, ‘But whileLucy’swithme Iwant to domy very best for her, and Ihopetomakeabigdifferenceinayear.’‘Yes, of course.

Absolutely. We must do ourbest for Lucy. I’ll start bytellingyouwhere she iswithherlearning.’

Chapter Fourteen

Control

Half an hour later I wasdriving home, mulling overeverything Miss Connor hadtold me while the girlschatted in therearof thecar.

I’d told Lucy that MissConnorwaspleasedwithherprogress, although she stillhad some catching up to do,soMissConnor and Iwouldhelpherdothat.I’dreassuredLucy that this wasn’t herfault, but the resultof all thetimesshe’dbeenabsentfromprimary schools. What Ihadn’t told Lucy was that

Miss Connor was moreconcerned with Lucy’s lackof friends than with hereducation,which she felt shecouldcatchupon. ‘Isolated’,‘solitary’, ‘lacking in self-confidence’, ‘low self-esteem’ and ‘doesn’t trustpeople’ were some of thewords and phrases MrsConnorhadusedaboutLucy.

And while I knew, as MissConnor did, the reasonswhyLucy was like this, it wasdifficult to know what to doabout it. Certainly tellingLucy she needed to makefriendswouldn’thelp.IcouldsupportLucy inher learning,help build her self-esteemthroughpraise,but Icouldn’tmakefriendsforher.

‘Lucy, you know you canalways invite friends homefortea,’Isaid,glancingatherin the interior mirror. ‘Iwouldtakethemhomeinthecar afterwards,’ I added, forLucy’sclassmateslivedinthecatchment area of the school–aboutatwenty-minutedrivefromus.‘Thanks,’ Lucy said, and

continuedchattingtoPaula.I didn’t knowwhat else to

say, but I was worried, asMiss Connor was, for socialisolationcansoeasilyleadtodepression – in children aswellasadults.

Adrian was already backwhenwe arrived home. I setabout making the dinner

while the children unwoundfrom their day at school.Once we’d eaten (with Lucyeating very little again), Iexplained to her that I likedeveryone to do theirhomework before theywatchedanytelevision.‘I haven’t got much

homework,’Lucysaid.‘Nevertheless, I’d like you

todo it first,’ Isaid. Ihad tostartasImeanttocarryon.A little reluctantly, Lucy

fetched her school bag andbrought it to the table,whileAdrian, used to our routine,had already disappeared intothe front room to research apiece of homework on thecomputer. He knew thesooner he completed his

homework the sooner hecouldwatch some television.Paula was playing, and Iknew that on Mondays shejusthadreadinghomeworktodo, so Iwould hear her readonceI’dseentoLucy.‘We’ve got maths and

science homework,’ Lucysaid with a sigh. ‘I’m in thebottomgroupformaths.’

‘Well,let’sseeifIcanhelpyou change that,’ I said.‘Although maths was nevermystrongpointatschool.’With another sigh, Lucy

opened her maths exercisebookwhere a worksheet hadbeen stapled in. ‘Fractions,’she said, and propped herhead on her handdespondently.

IscannedthepageandfeltconfidentIcouldhelpher,forthe sums were quite simple,although I could see that inthe previous exercise she’dgot quite a few wrong. ‘Doyou understand what afraction is?’ I asked, goingbacktobasics.‘A part of a whole,’ Lucy

said.

‘That’s right. Well done.Thenumberunder the line isthe whole number and thenumber above is the numberofparts.Soifyoucutacakein two and eat half, you areeatingonepartoftwoparts.’‘Andthenumberbelowthe

lineinafractioniscalledthedenominator,’ Lucy said.‘Andthenumberatthetopis

thenumerator.’‘Excellent,’Isaid.‘I understand that,’ Lucy

saidgloomily.‘It’swhenyouhave to add and take themawaythatIdon’tgetit.’‘OK, let me talk you

through thestages foraddingandtakingawayonestepatatime.’ Starting with the firstquestion, I went through the

stages for adding fractionswhile Lucy did the mathsinvolved. Although I washelping her, itwas importantshe did the calculationsherself so she would gainconfidence and learn. I didthe same with the secondfraction, which was asubtraction, and shecompleted the third by

herself,withmebesidehertogivehelpifnecessary.‘Excellent,’ I said. ‘See,

youcandoit.’She smiled, pleased with

herself. ‘You like helpingkids, don’t you?’ she said,glancingatmebeforestartingthenextquestion.‘Yes, I suppose I do,’ I

said.

‘Why?’Iwas slightly takenaback.

It seemed a strangequestion,and wasn’t one I’d beenaskedbefore. Iwas surprisedby the candidness of myreply.‘Well,weallfeelbetterabout ourselves when we dosomethingright.Ifoundsomeof my school work difficult.Not like some kids, who got

everything right. I remembersitting in class and keepingmy head down, hoping theteacher wouldn’t ask me aquestion.Icanalsorememberhowrelieved Iwaswhenmyparents helped me with myhomework and showed mewhat to do. Like you, I justneeded it explained again, soI do the same for my

children.’‘And while I’m here I’m

one of your children?’ sheasked.‘Yes,ofcourse,love.’And I knew from Lucy’s

smile just how much thatreassurancemeanttoher,andmyheartached.As Lucy tackled the next

question,IcheckedonAdrian

to see ifheneededanyhelp,but he didn’t. Then, tellingLucytocallmeifsheneededme, I went through to theliving room to hear Paularead.‘Is Lucy’s homework hard

likeAdrian’s?’Paulaasked.‘Yes,’ I said, aware that

Lucy could hear me. ‘Andshe’sdoingverywell.’

Lucy didn’t need myassistance while I washearing Paula read, so oncewe’d finished Iwent throughto see how she was gettingon.‘I’ve nearly finished,’ she

said.‘Canyoucheckthem?’‘Yes,ofcourse,love.’Ilookeddownheranswers

and saw a couple of errors.

‘Have another look at thosetwo,’Isaid,pointing.‘They’re wrong, aren’t

they?’ she said, immediatelylosing confidence andbecoming annoyed withherself.‘You’vemade a couple of

small errors, that’s all. Therestarefine.’I waited while Lucy

corrected them, and then shedidthelastsum.‘Well done,’ I said.

‘What’snext?’‘Science,’ she said with a

groan.She put away her maths

bookandtookouthersciencebook together with a roughnotebook. ‘We have to writeupascienceexperiment,’she

said,openingbothbooks.Thepreviouspieceofwork

in her science book wascovered in the teacher’spencil corrections, and thenotes Lucy had made in herroughnotebookaboutthelastexperimentwere litteredwithspelling mistakes and verypoorgrammar; Icouldn’tseea single full stop. Without

makinganissueofit,Ipickedup Lucy’s pencil and begangoingthroughtheroughdraftof the experiment, correctingthespellingandgrammarandexplainingwhatwaswrong.‘Thanks,’shesaid.I left Lucy to copy the

science experiment into herbook under the variousheadings of ‘Aim’,

‘Apparatus’, ‘Method’ and‘Conclusion’, while I playeda game with Paula and thensaw her up to bed. When IreturneddownstairsLucyhadfinished her sciencehomework and was packingawayherbooks.‘Alldone?’Iasked.She nodded. ‘Thanks for

yourhelp.’

I then mentioned to LucythatJillwascomingtoseeusafter school the followingday. ‘And Stevie is comingon Friday,’ I said. ‘I expectyou’reusedtosocialworkersvisitingfromlivingwithyourotherfostercarers.’Lucystoppedwhatshewas

doing and her face set. ‘Youcantalktothem,butI’mnot.

I hate fucking socialworkers!’ Throwing herschool bag on the floor, shestormed out of the room andupstairs, slamming herbedroomdoorbehindher.I was shocked by the

sudden change in Lucy’sbehaviourandthevehemenceof her outburst. I’d lookedafter children before who

swore, sometimes at me –many children in care areangry because of the waytheyhavebeentreated.ButasecondbeforeLucyhadbeensweetly thanking me forhelping her with herhomework, and now she’djust blown up, and oversomethingquitesmall.I gave her a fewmoments

to calm down, but not verylong.Not as long as Iwouldhave given a child I’d beenfostering for many monthsand therefore knew well andthat they could be safely leftalone. Iwas aware thatLucyhad locked herself in thebathroomforhoursatPatandTerry’s, and while shecouldn’tlockherselfinanyof

theroomsinmyhouse,asallthe doors were fitted withsafety locks that could beopened from the outside, Iwas worried she might dosome something desperate –possiblybarricadeherselfintoher room or even harmherself in anger. As anexperienced foster carer I’ddealt with all types of

behaviour before and myinstinct now told me thatLucy shouldn’t be left alonefor longand that I shouldgouptoher.At the top of the stairs I

quickly looked into Paula’sbedroom to see if she hadbeen woken by Lucy’sshouting, but she hadn’t. Ithen knocked on Adrian’s

door, poked my head roundandsaid,‘YouOK?’‘What’s the matter with

Lucy?’heasked.‘She’s upset. I’m going to

hernow.Don’tworry.’He nodded and, partly

reassured, returned to thebookhewasreading.Closinghisdoor,Iwentto

Lucy’s room. It was quiet.

‘Lucy?’Isaid,givingasmallknock on the door. ‘Can Icomein?’More silence, so giving

another knock I slowlyopened the door. The roomwasindarknessandit tookafew seconds for my eyes toadjust after the brightness ofthe landing light. Lucy waslying face down on her bed

with her face buried in thecrookofherarm.‘Areyouall right, love?’ I

askedgently, takingacoupleofstepsintoherroom.‘Go away,’ she said,

without raising her head.‘Leavemealone.’Icouldtellfrom her voice that she wascrying.I stayed where I was, a

little way from her bed. ‘Ican’t leave you alone whileyou’re upset, love,’ I saidgently. I heard her sob. ‘Canyou try talking to me andtellingmewhat’sthematter?’‘Ihatesocialworkers,’she

said. ‘And I’m not seeingthem.’‘All right. I won’t force

you to see them ifyou really

don’t want to. But they onlywant to help you. As youknow, they have to visitregularly. Jill, to make sureI’m looking after youproperly, and Stevie tomakesureyou’reOK.’‘She doesn’t care!’ Lucy

blurtedfrombeneathherarm.‘Noonedoes.’Taking the couple of steps

toherbed, I saton theedge.‘Icare,’Isaid.‘No, you don’t,’ she said

vehemently. ‘Fostering is ajobtoyou.’‘It’sfarmorethanajob,’I

said. ‘Fostering is my life. Ilove looking after childrenand it hurts me when I seethemupset.’‘Don’tcare,’Lucysaid.

‘Ithinkyoudocare,oryouwouldn’tbecrying.’ Iplacedmy hand gently on hershoulder. ‘I know it’sdifficult, love. You’ve beenthrough so much, but don’tshut all the hurt inside you.It’ll make it worse. Can youtry and tell me what’s reallyupsettingyou?I’dliketohelpif I can.’ For I felt sure this

wasmorethanjustthevisitoftwosocialworkers.‘No. You won’t

understand,’ Lucy said, facedown into her arm. ‘Youcan’t understand unlessyou’vebeenthere.’‘Youcouldtryandhelpme

understand,’ I said, my handstill lightly resting on hershoulder.‘Iknowyou’vehad

alotofchangesinyourlife.Iknowthatsomeofthepeoplewho were supposed to lookafter you, didn’t. I’m surethere’salotmoreyoucantellme.’There was a long pause

when I thought shemight besummoning the courage totell me, but then she said,‘Notnow.’

‘Sure? There’s no rush. Ican sit here all night if ithelps.’‘No,’ she said, and shook

her head. I knew I shouldn’tpursue it, as she clearlywasn’tready.‘All right, another time

then,’ I said. ‘Now, let’s drythose tears and get you intobed. Worries are always

worse if you’re tired, andyou’ve got school againtomorrow.’Lucy finally raised her

head and, sitting up in bed,turnedtofaceme.Iwipedhercheeks with a tissue. ‘There,that’sbetter,’ I said. ‘You’vegotsuchalovelyface;Idon’tliketoseeyoulookingsad.’Shegavemethefaintestof

smiles, her anger gone now.‘Can I have a hug?’ sheasked, as she had the firstnight.‘Of course, love. I’m

alwaysreadyforahug.’She slid her arms around

meandburiedherheadinmyneck. I held her close.‘Remember, love, whenyou’re ready to share your

worrieswithme, I’ll be hereready to listen. It doesn’tmatter how busy I am; yousay,“Cathy,IhavesomethingtotellyouandIneedtotalk.”AndI’lllisten.OK?’‘I’ll remember that,’ she

said,andhuggedmetighter.

‘So thehoneymoonperiod iswellandtrulyover,’Jillsaid,

with a knowing laugh, as Ifinished updating her thefollowing day. ‘That wasquick.’As Lucy had threatened,

she’d refused to see Jill andhad stormed up to her roomwhen she’d arrived, shoutingasshewentthatshewouldn’tcome down until Jill hadgone.

‘You could say that,’ Isaid, returning Jill’s smile.‘Lucy’s anger is very fiercebut short-lived. She recoversquickly, although I thinkthere’s plenty more to comeout.’‘Absolutely,’ Jill agreed.

‘And the longerLucy’s here,themoresecureshe’llfeel,sothe easier it will be for her

angertocomeout.’‘Thanks, Jill,’ I said. ‘But

on the positive side, she issleeping well; she’s madefriends with Paula andAdrian, she’s talking to usandI’veseenherteacherandwe’re giving her some extrahelp to catch up. Lucy washappyformetohelpherwithherhomework.’

‘Excellent. It’s good shewantstolearn,’Jillsaid.‘I’veupdated Stevie about theallegations Lucy madeagainst her stepfather andshe’ll be talking to Lucyabout that on Friday,assumingLucywillseeher.’‘I’ll try to persuade her,’ I

said. ‘I’ll explain that it’simportant.’

‘Good. Now thepaperwork,’ Jill said. ‘Haveyoureceivedit?’‘No.’ Usually the

placement and essentialinformation forms camewiththe social worker when thechild first arrived, butbecause Pat and Terry hadbrought Lucy this hadn’thappened.

‘I’ll speak to Stevie,’ Jillsaid, taking out her notepadandmakinganote.‘Youneedthose forms. She can postthem or bring themwith heronFriday.’‘Thankyou.’‘And Lucy’s eating?

How’s that going?’ Jill nowasked.I frowned, concerned.

‘Well,asIsaidonthephone,she’s eating, but not nearlyenough. Lucy’s very slim.She can’t afford to loseweight.Ihaven’tweighedherbecauseIdon’twant todrawattention to it, and anyway itwouldn’thelp–notknowingwhat she weighed before, Iwon’t know if she’s losingweight.She’sveryanxiousat

the meal table and doesn’tseemtogetanypleasurefromeating.IalwaysaskherifshelikesthefoodI’mplanningtocook. She says she does, butthenhardlyeatsanything.’‘Does she have school

dinners?’‘Yes, but I’ve no idea if

she’seatingthem.’‘No, and at secondary

school the staff won’tencourage the children to eatastheydoinprimaryschool.I’ll speak to Stevie and seewhatsheknowsaboutLucy’seating.’ Jill made anothernote.‘IbelieveconcernswereraisedaboutLucy’seatingbyherpreviouscarers,’Jillsaid.‘AndSteviewillhaveacopyof Lucy’s medical. We may

need to seek medical help ifLucy’s eating doesn’timprove, andwe’ll alsoneedtoraiseitatherreview.’Jill was referring to the

regular reviews that allchildren in care have. Atthesemeetings,issuessuchasthe child’s health, educationand general wellbeing arediscussed to make sure

everything that needs to bedoneisbeingdonetohelpthechild.‘And in the meantime I’ll

continue as I have beendoing?’InowaskedJill.‘I’mgiving Lucy a variety offoods inmanageableportionsand letting her eat what shewants. Ihaven’tbeenovertlyencouraging her to eat, as I

didn’t want tomake her feelmore self-conscious than shealreadydoes.’‘No, that’s right,’ Jill said,

and looked thoughtful. ‘It’spossible Lucy is sufferingfrom an eating disorder, likeanorexia or bulimia. I take itshe’s not going to the toiletstraight after a meal andmakingherselfsick?’

‘No!’ I said, shocked. ‘I’dhave noticed, although I’llobviously keep an eye onher.’Jill made another note. ‘It

might be that, once she feelsmoresettledhere,herappetitewill improve, but we can’trule out anorexia, which ismoreaboutcontrolthanfood.GivenhowlittlecontrolLucy

hashadinherlife,youcouldsee how she might use foodto gain control. You’veattended training on eatingdisorders,haven’tyou?’‘Yes,awhileback. I think

I need to read up on thesubject.’‘Goodidea.Makesureyou

give Lucy as much controlover her food as is practical

for an eleven-year-old. Lether helpwith the preparationandcookingofthefoodwhenpossible, and allow her toserveherselfratherthanplateit up forher. If she feels shehas control over her food,she’s likely to feel lessanxiousandmayeatmore.’‘Thanks, Jill,’ I said,

grateful for her advice. ‘I’ll

dothat.But isn’televenveryyoungtobesufferingfromaneating disorder? I thought itwas teenagers who had thecondition.’‘It’s more prevalent in

teenagers – boys and girls –but it’s becomingincreasingly common inchildren, even those underten. I blame the girly

magazines and media, whichportray thin girls asbeautiful.’Inodded.IagreedwithJill,

for I’d often felt glossywomen’s magazines showedunrealisticbodyshapesastheideal.CertainlyIcouldneverlooklikethosemodels.Jill concluded her visit, as

she usually did, by reading

and then signing my lognotes, and I then saw her tothefrontdoor.‘Goodbye, Lucy, Adrian

and Paula!’ she called fromthehall.‘Goodbye!’ Adrian and

Paula returned from upstairs,but there was nothing fromLucy.‘No worries,’ Jill said.

‘TellherIsaidgoodbyeandIlook forward to meeting hernexttime.’

I went upstairs and relayedJill’s message to Lucy, whowas now playing with Paulain her room, and she justshrugged. A quarter of anhour later I called everyonedownstairs for dinner.

Following Jill’s advice,instead of serving the mealontoplatesasIusuallydid,Iset the casserole dish in thecentre of the table and,warning them that the dishwasveryhot,Itoldeveryonetohelpthemselves.Theresultwas a verymessy tablecloth.Adrian, Paula and I ate ourusual-sized portions, and

Lucy,who took a very smallamount,finishedwithacleanplate. Whether this wasprogressornotIdidn’tknow,butonethingIdidknowwasthat the following day,wheneveryone was at school, Iwouldgoonlineandresearcheatingdisorders.

Chapter Fifteen

‘I Don’t WantHer Help!’

Twentypercentofthosewhodevelop anorexia will diefrom their illness, I read. I

read thewords twice.What Iwas reading was shockingand I was having difficultytaking it all in. I’d been onthe computer reading andscrolling for nearly an hourandIwasshakentothecore.All I needed to know aboutanorexia and other dreadfuleating disorders was online.Gruesome photographs of

emaciated young peopleaccompanied agonizingtestimonials from devotedparents who’d battled foryearstotrytohelptheirchildovercome an eating disorder.Some families had won thebattle and were now givingsupport and advice to otherfamilies facing the sameillness, while others had lost

the battle and their child haddied. It was heartbreaking,andmore than oncemy eyeswelled as I read the painfulaccounts of young livesruined and even ended bythesehorrendousillnesses.Jill had been right when

she’dsaidthatchildrenunderten were being diagnosedwith eating disorders – some

wereasyoungas fiveor six.There was mention of themedia being partly to blameby using very thin models,and also discussion aboutvarious therapies fordiscovering the underlyingproblems of the sufferer. Itseemed that anorexia andother eating disorders wereneveronlyabouteatingfood,

but the manifestation of adeeper unhappiness, whichoften needed to be addressedby the whole family goingintotherapy.Aswell as parents sharing

their experiences, there wereblogs and forums run bysufferers or those who hadrecovered,andtheydescribedincandiddetailthehorrorsof

beingatthemercyofasevereeating disorder. One of themostharrowingIreadwasbya woman, aged twenty-two,who’dsufferedfromanorexiasince the age of sixteen.Herblog stopped abruptly oneday, and then her best friendhad added a ‘Rest in Peace’message, stating that herfriend had died the day

before, having literallystarved herself to death.Oneof the most heartening postswas from a mother who’dtwice brought her daughterback from the brink of deathandshehadnowmadea fullrecovery. The mother wassharing what she’d learnt totry and help other parents,and her advice made good

sense and fitted inwithwhatJill had said: give the youngperson as much control overtheir food as possible, foreating disorders are tied upwithafeelingofhelplessnessand being at the mercy ofothers. I also learnt thatweighingscalesshouldbeputaway, as someone withanorexia will often weigh

themselves repeatedly –upwardsof ten timesaday–andiftheygainanouncetheypurge themselves withlaxatives.WhileIdidn’tthinkLucywasdoing this,assoonas I’d finished on thecomputer Iwentupstairsandtook the scales out of thebathroomandputthemattheback of my wardrobe. We

didn’tneedthem.What I’d read played on

my mind. While Lucy’seating problems seemedrelatively mild compared totheaccountsI’dreadonline,Ifelt a huge responsibility tomakesureshedidn’tdevelopfull-blown anorexia, whichshecouldeasilydo,givenherpast.

In line with what I’d read, Idecided not to do a bigsupermarket shop during theweek as I usually did, but towait until Saturday whenLucy would be home fromschool and could come withme to help choose our food.In the same mode, I left thepreparationof the ingredientsforthefishpieIwasplanning

fortheeveningmealuntilthegirlswerehomefromschool.Adrian had an after-schoolactivity and wouldn’t behomeuntillater.‘Would you both like to

helpmemakethefishpie?’Iasked the girlsenthusiastically, once they’dtakenofftheircoatsandhadadrink.

Paula looked at me a bitoddly. ‘Fish pie? I likehelping make cakes, butmakingfishpiedoesn’tsoundmuchfun.’Lucysaid,‘Dowehaveto?

I wanted to watch televisionbeforedinner.’‘No, you don’t have to,’ I

said, for it seemedcounterproductivetoinsist.‘I

justthoughtyoumightliketohelp, and it wouldn’t takelong.’The girls looked at each

other and then at me. ‘We’dratherwatch television,’ theychorused.‘OK.Anothertimethen.’

When dinner was ready Icalled everyone to the table

(Adrian was home by then).As I had done the previousevening, I placed the dishcontainingthemaincourseinthecentreof the tablewithaserving spoon and, with awarning that the dish wasvery hot, told everyone tohelp themselves. The resultwas the same: Adrian, Paulaand I ate heartily, and Lucy

took the tiniest of amounts,but ate it all. She also had aglassofmilk,whichwouldbegoodforher.Shedidn’tgotothe toilet straight after themeal, so I assumed shewasn’tmakingherself sick. Itherefore remained hopefulthatwithlotsofTLC,andbyencouraginghertotalkabouther problems, her issues

surrounding food and eatingwouldgraduallydisappear.

That first week Lucy waswith us, I’d taken her to andcollected her from school,and on Friday, when wearrivedhome,Lucyremindedme: ‘Don’t forget to ask mysocial worker if I can go bybusnextweek.’

‘Or you could ask heryourself?’Isuggested.‘She’llbeheresoon.’‘No, thank you. I’ll be in

my room,’ Lucy said, andflouncedoffupstairs.‘I’ll be in my room too,’

Paula said, following Lucyupstairs.Adrianwasn’thomeyet,so

when Stevie arrived fifteen

minutes later there was justToschaandmetogreether.Iopened the front door andStevie took one look at thecatandcriedout:‘Ihatecats!They make me sneeze. Canyouputitout?’Toschadidn’tneedputting

out. Stevie’s cry had startledher so much that she’d shotout right past her,which just

left me to welcome Lucy’ssocialworker.‘Nice tomeetyou,’ I said.

‘ShallItakeyourcoat?’‘No. I’ll keep it on,

thanks.’IshowedSteviethroughto

the living room and thenofferedheradrink.‘Water,please,’shesaid.Ipouredtheglassofwater

and when I returned to theliving room Stevie was stillstanding.‘Dositdown,’Isaid.‘Where?Which chair does

the cat sit on? I can’t sitwherethecatdoesorIwon’tstop sneezing.’ So I guessedshehadabadallergytocat’sfur.‘Shesitsoverthere,’Isaid,

pointingtoToscha’sfavouriteseat by the window.‘Although I do vacuum thecushionsregularly.’Stevie sat on the sofa

furthest from Toscha’sfavourite seat and set herbriefcase on the floor besideher. ‘Where’s Lucy?’ sheasked,quitebrusquely.‘In her room,’ I said. ‘I’ll

try to persuade her to comedown later. I’m afraid she’sstill a bit anti social workersat themoment.Shewouldn’tseeJill,either.’‘I’ll need to see her at

some point,’ Stevie saidbluntly.‘Yes, I appreciate that,’ I

said. ‘I can always take youup to her room, if she really

won’t come down.’ For Iknew it was a requirementthat the socialworker had toactuallyseethechildwhenheor she visited. The samewasn’t so for my supportsocialworker.Stevieopenedherbriefcase

and took out a wodge ofpapers. ‘Here’s thepaperwork you need,’ she

said, handing me theplacement and essentialinformation forms. ‘You canlookatthoselater.’‘Thankyou,’Isaid,setting

thembesidemeonthesofa.‘So, how is she?’ Stevie

asked, taking a pen andnotepad from her briefcase.‘Jilltellsmeyou’vegotsomeproblems.’

‘Not somuchproblems,’ Isaid.‘Lucyissettlinginwell.Moreworries.’‘Goonthen,’shesaid,with

herpenpoised.Iwasfindinghermanner ratherabruptandI wondered if this was thereasonwhyLucyhadfounditdifficultrelatingtoher.‘Well,hereating,’Ibegan.

AndIexplainedmyconcerns

abouthowlittleLucyate,heranxiety around food and thatshe was thin. I then askedaboutthemedical.‘Lucy had a medical,’

Steviesaiddefensively. ‘Youcan’t have a copy, it’sconfidential. But I can tellyoushe’singoodhealth.’‘Sonothingwassaidabout

hereatingorweight?’

‘Her weight’s low. At thevery bottom of normal. Thelast carer thought she couldbe anorexic, but it wasn’tconfirmed. We’ll start Lucyintherapyonceshe’swithherpermanent family – after thefinalcourthearing.’‘But that’s a year away,’ I

said,concerned.‘Yes.Butwedon’tusually

starttherapyuntilthechildissettled, and she won’t bestaying here. As anexperienced foster carer I’msure you know the reason –therapy is long-term and itreleasesallsortsofemotions,behaviourandpainwhicharebest dealt with in a settledenvironment. If you’ve stillgotconcernsinafewmonths,

we’ll send her for anothermedical. But too manymedicalsareaformofabuse.You wouldn’t like to keephaving to take off yourclothes in front of strangers,wouldyou?’Ithoughtthiswasastrange

comment. We were after alltalking about a doctor and apossible life-threatening

condition. But I didn’tcomment.‘Was there anything else?’

Stevieasked.‘The allegations Lucy

made about her stepfather,Dave…’Isaid.‘Yes. Jill told me. The

matter’s already on file. Itwas investigated at the timeandtherewasnoevidence.’

‘Isee,’ Isaid thoughtfully,meeting Stevie’s gaze. I wasexpecting her to give me alittle more detail andclarification, but she justlooked back, waiting for metomoveontowhateverelseIhadtoraise.‘I’ve seenLucy’s teacher,’

Isaid.‘Asyouknow,Lucyisbehindwith her education so

I’llbehelpingherathometocatchup.’‘Don’t put the child under

pressure,’Steviesaidbluntly.‘There’s enough going on inherlife.’‘Of course Iwon’t puther

under pressure,’ I said.‘Lucy’shappyformetohelpher.Shewassopleasedwhenshe got all her maths

homework right. You couldseeherconfidencegrow.’‘Sowhat are you doing to

meet her cultural needs?’Stevie now asked. Before Ihadachancetoanswershe’dadded: ‘I wanted a fosterfamilytomatchherethnicity,butwedidn’thaveone.’AndI felt she could have added,‘Soyou’llhavetodo.’

Iwondered if thiswas thereason for the sharpness inStevie’s attitude towardsme.She was dual heritage,although not of the sameracial origins as Lucy, sopossibly meeting Lucy’sculturalneedswasasensitiveissue for her, and higher onher agenda than it mightotherwise have been.

However, like most fostercarers, Iwas used to lookingafter children from differentethnic backgrounds andprided myself on meetingtheir needs, although many,like Lucy, had been born inthe UK and saw themselvesasBritish.‘I’m right in saying Lucy

was born in this country and

her mother is English?’ Iasked.‘Yes, and her father is

Thai, which seems to havebeen forgotten,’ Stevie said.‘Lucyhasbeenraisedmainlybywhite English people. I’lltry and trace her father andarrangesomecontact,butyouneed to start engendering apositive cultural identity in

her. Talk to her aboutThailand, cook some Thaifood and hang the Thai flagon one of the walls in herbedroom along with somepicturesfromhercountry.’I knew better than to say

that England was Lucy’scountry, so I just noddedagreeably. I heard the frontdoor open and close as

Adrian returned home fromschool. ‘That’s my son,’ Isaid to Stevie, and Adriancalled‘Hi’fromthehallashewentthroughtothekitchen.‘I’ll be trying to set up

some contact with Lucy’smother too,’ Steviecontinued. ‘Lucy hasn’t seenhermotherinoversixmonthsand only twice the year

beforethat.AtpresentIdon’thave her current contactdetails,butassoonasIdoI’llarrangeforLucytoseeher.Ithink that’s everything,’Stevieconcluded.‘Is thereanythingelseyou

can tell me about Lucy’sbackgroundthatwillhelpmelookafterher?’Iasked.‘Everything you need to

knowis in thosepapers,’shesaid, nodding to theplacement and essentialinformation forms besidemeon the sofa. I doubted it.Theseformsusuallyprovidedbasic information on thechild, but gave little morebackground information thanthe referral. It wouldn’t givemeaclearerunderstandingof

Lucy’spast.Fostercarersrelyon thesocialworker for that;some are forthcoming andothersarenot.‘Lucy doesn’t have any

other relativesapart fromhermother,doesshe?’Iasked.‘Yes, she does,’ Stevie

said, quite curtly. ‘There’sherfather,althoughwe’renotsure if he’s in this country.

AndLucyhas twouncles onher mother’s side, althoughshe doesn’t see them. Shealso has a maternalgrandmother and a distantaunt on her mother’s side.Lucystayedwiththeauntfora short timewhen shewas ababy.’‘So Lucy has a

grandmother?’ I asked,

slightly surprised that Lucyhadn’t mentioned her whenwe’dtalkedaboutmyparents,whomshewouldmeetsoon.‘As far aswe know, Lucy

has never seen hergrandmother,’ Stevie said.‘Bonnieisestrangedfromherfamily. She’s had a hard lifetoo.’I nodded sadly. ‘Well, at

least Lucy has been savedfromfurthersuffering,’Isaid,trying to focus on thepositive.‘The care plan forLucy is

a Full Care Order,’ Steviesaid, oblivious to mysentiment. ‘Then for arelativetolookafterherlong-term,ifthereisone,or,ifnot,a long-term foster placement

tomatchherculturalneeds.’Inodded.‘Lucywouldlike

tousethebustogotoschoolfrom next week,’ I said. ‘Isthatallrightwithyou?’‘Yes.Whyshouldn’titbe?

She’snot likely to runaway.She hasn’t got anywhere torunto.’‘I just wanted to check

withyoufirst.’

‘Well, if that’s everything,canyoutakemeuptoseehernow?’Steviesaid,puttingherpen and notepad into herbriefcase.Istoodandledthewayout

of the living room andupstairs to Lucy’s room,where I knocked on herbedroom door. ‘Lucy, Steviewantstoseeyou,’Isaid,and

openedherdooralittle.‘Canshecomein?’‘No!’ Lucy said loudly.

‘Shecan’t!’I glanced at Stevie, but

opened the door slightlywidersoIcouldseein.Lucywas sitting on her bedcuddling Mr Bunny. ‘Sheneedstoseeyou,love,’Isaid.‘Tomakesureyou’reOK.’

‘Tell her I’m OK,’ Lucysaidrudely.‘AndIneedtotalktoyou,’

Stevie added, over myshoulder.‘Go away. I’m not talking

toyou,’Lucysaid.‘Don’t be rude, love,’ I

said. ‘Stevie only wants tohelp.’‘I don’t want her help,’

Lucysaid.‘Suit yourself,’ Stevie

retortedwith a shrug. I thinkitwas supposed to be a joketodefusetheatmosphere,butitdidn’twork.‘Bugger off!’ Lucy

shouted.‘Lucy!’ I cautioned. I felt

embarrassed by her rudenessand, as her foster carer,

responsibleforherbehaviour.‘If you don’t want me to

comein,youcancometothedoor,’Steviesaid.‘No.’ Lucy said. ‘I’m not

moving.’Lucy could be very

determinedwhen shewantedto be, and I thought of herprevious carers, Pat andTerry, who’d spent hours

trying to talk her out of thebathroomandhadthenhadtobreak down the door. It wasclear that Lucywasn’t goingtocomeoutor evencome tothedoor,soImovedasidesothatSteviecould see into theroomandseeLucy.‘Is there anything you

need?’Stevieasked from theopendoor.

‘No!’Lucysaid.‘I’m trying to arrange

contact for you to see yourmother,’ Stevie said. Lucydidn’t reply. ‘I’m also tryingto trace your father and yourunclestoseeiftheycanofferyouapermanenthome.’While all this was correct

social-work practice, Ithought that mentioning

another move now, whenLucyhad only beenwithmea week, could be veryunsettlingforher.‘Don’t care!’ Lucy said.

‘Dowhatyouwant.Youwillanyway.’Again, I felt embarrassed

by Lucy’s behaviour,although I appreciated thatshewasangryandfrustrated.

‘Lucy, you’re a big girl,’ ItriedfromwhereIstood.‘TrytalkingtoStevieproperly.’There was no reply. Then

Stevie said, ‘All right, I’veseen you. I’ll be in touch.Takecare.’She closed Lucy’s door,

went along the landing andheadeddownstairs.Ifollowedher down, but as we neared

thebottomaloudcrashcamefrom Lucy’s room. I shotback upstairs while Steviewent to fetch her briefcasefromthelivingroom.Igaveaperfunctory knock on Lucy’sdoor and went in. Lucy wassitting on the bed with MrBunny clutched to her chest,having overturned the table.Her expression was one of

anger, but her eyes glistenedas though she was about tocry. ‘I’ll be with you in asecond,’Isaid.Iquicklywenttothetopof

the stairs. Stevie had fetchedher briefcase from the livingroomandwasreadytoleave.‘Lucy’s upset. Can you letyourselfout?’Iasked.‘Will do,’ Stevie said.

Then without any trace ofirony she added, ‘Have agood weekend,’ and letherselfout.

Chapter Sixteen

Testing theBoundaries

AdrianandPaulaappearedonthe landing, wondering whatthe noise was. ‘It’s all right.

Lucy’stablefellover,’Isaid.‘I’m going to have a chatwith her now and then I’llmake us some dinner.’We’dbeen fostering long enoughfor them toknow that a loudnoisecomingfromthechild’sbedroom and a chat meantthat the child was upset andangry and needed me. Theyboth returned to their

bedrooms and I returned toLucy’s room. The light wasonandIsatonherbed,close,but not quite touching. Shewas now holding Mr Bunnyinasittingpositiononherlapfacing her, as though she’dbeen talking to him. Neitherof us spoke for a fewmoments, and then I said,‘Stevie says you can start

going to school by bus nextweek,sothat’sgoodnews.’Lucy shrugged, as though

itnolongermattered.There was silence again

and then I said, ‘You know,it’s all right to be angry andupset sometimes, but it’sbetter to talk if you can. Ithinkthere’salotgoingoninyour thoughts that needs to

come out. Have you triedtalking to your socialworkers?’‘There’s no point,’ Lucy

said firmly, her expressionhard.‘Theydon’tlisten.’‘I’m sure the social

workers do listen,’ I said,‘although they may notalways be able to do as youwould like them to.’ Many

children in care want to gohome and blame their socialworkers for not making thishappen, although I didn’tthink this was the reason forLucy’shostility.Lucy shrugged

dismissively. ‘Mr Bunnythinks the same asme, don’tyou?’ she said, looking athim. ‘He doesn’t talk to

social workers, either. He’salways with me when theyvisit. He was before. Heknowstheydon’thelpme.’‘Mr Bunny has been with

youalongtime,’Isaid.Lucynodded. ‘So what do youthink Mr Bunny would tellme if he could?’ I asked.Childrencansometimessharetheir worries by using a

favourite doll or toy as amouthpiece – to say whattheycan’t.Lucysatverystillforsome

moments, her eyes stillglistening with unshed tearsas she concentrated on MrBunny.‘Doyouthinkthere’ssomething he’d like to tellme?’Iprompted.There was more silence

and then, still looking at MrBunny, Lucy said: ‘He’d tellyou thatsocialworkerscameto see me lots of times, butthey didn’t help me. HewouldsayIwasoftenhungryand cold, and I had to do allthe washing in cold water.He’d say my aunts andstepdadwere horrible tome,andthatIwantedtolivewith

Sammy,orsomeoneelse,butthey didn’t talk to me. He’dsay they talked to my auntsand stepdad,butnot tome. Iwas so unhappy I wanted todie.’Acoldshiverrandownmy

spine at Lucy’s last words.This is when it would havehelped to have known moreof Lucy’s past. ‘You must

have been very unhappy,’ Isaid gently. ‘Who isSammy?’‘He was my friend at

school,’ Lucy said,concentrating on Mr Bunny.‘Sammy lived near me. Hehad social workers whohelpedhim.Iwantedthemtohelpme.Butwhentheycametomyhousetheybelievedmy

stepdad and his girlfriend.They were good liars. MrBunny knows, don’t you?’She gave Mr Bunny a littlejerksohenoddedhishead.Itwas pitiful and touching. Imoveda little closer toLucyand slipped my arm aroundherwaist.‘Does Mr Bunny know

how old youwerewhen this

happened?’ I asked, trying tofit this into the jigsaw ofLucy’spast.‘Iwassix,’Lucysaidwith

conviction.‘IknowbecauseIwas sobad that year I didn’tget anyChristmaspresents. Ididn’t have any birthdaypresentseither,becauseIwasbad.’‘You weren’t bad,’ I said,

horrified by this crueltreatment.‘I was,’ Lucy said. ‘My

aunt said Father Christmaswouldn’t come because I’dbeen telling lies about her atschool. But I didn’t. MrBunny knows I didn’t. I toldSammy because I was sounhappy and he told myteacher. It wasn’t my fault.

The social worker came andtold my aunt to get somelotionformynits.Shewassoangrywhenthesocialworkerwent.Butthenshetookmetoschool and was friends withmy teacher. I thought theywereganginguponme, so Ididn’t tellanyoneagain.Andbecause I told, we had tomove and I lost my only

friend, Sammy. There weremore social workers afterthat,butnoonehelpedme,soIdon’ttalktothemanymore.There’snopoint.’What a shocking

indictment of our child-protectionservices,Ithought.All that social servicesinvolvement, on and off formuch of Lucy’s life, while

she waited for someone torescueher–andnoonehad.‘Didn’t any of the social

workers speak to you byyourself, away from yourauntorstepdad?’Iasked.‘No. I would have asked

themtotakemeawayiftheyhad. I knew I couldn’t livewithmymum,butshewasn’thorrible to me. She just

couldn’t look after me. IthoughtthatwhenIcameintocare it would be better, butit’snot,isitMrBunny?’‘Isn’tit?’Iasked,shocked.

‘Itshouldbe.What’swrong?’Lucy gave a little shrug

andIheldhercloser.‘If you can tell mewhat’s

wrong,I’lltrytoputitright,’Isaid.

She gave another shrug. ‘Iknow foster carers have hotwater and they do mywashing. And I have niceclothesandnonits,butIstillkeephavingtomove.It’slikenoonewantsme.Idon’thavea family of my own, and noonelovesme.’My eyes welled. I felt so

sorry for her, but pity

wouldn’t help her. ‘Youwillhave your own family oneday,’Isaidpositively.‘Stevieis going to find you one.Doyou remember I explainedthatwhenthejudgemakeshisor her decision – in about ayear–youwillgotolivewithyour forever family? I knowit will mean another move,butitwillbethelastone.’

‘I guess,’ Lucy saiddespondently. Then,addressing Mr Bunny, shesaid: ‘At least I’ll alwayshave you to love me, won’tI?’ She gave the soft toyanother little shake so henodded his head. The scenewas so tragic I could havewept.

There wasn’t much more IcouldsaytoLucy,otherthanreassure her as I had beendoingandalsoconcentrateonthe present. I suggested shecome downstairs to help mewithdinner.Ididn’twanthersitting alone in her roomwhileshewasfeelingsolow,and also I was trying toinvolveherinthepreparation

of her meals and hopefullyimprovehereating.Lucydidcome down with me andhelped – peeling andchoppingvegetablesandthenlaying the table – but shedidn’t eat any more. In fact,she ate less. I thought thismight be due to the previousupset,asshewassubduedformost of the evening. At

bedtime I asked her if therewas anything else she orMrBunnywantedtotellme,butshesaidno.I tuckedher intobed,kissedhergoodnightandwent downstairs where I satin the living roomandwroteup my log notes. When I’dfinished,IlookedthroughthepaperworkSteviehadleft.The placement formswere

as I’dexpectedand included,amongother things, the formthatgavemethelegalrighttofoster Lucy on behalf of thelocal authority. The essentialinformation forms, whichStevie said would give mewhat Ineeded toknow,werea disappointment,withmanyof the information boxes leftblank. Lucy’s full name and

date of birth were given,together with her mother’sname, date of birth andethnicityaswhiteBritish,butthere was no otherinformation. The box forLucy’s father’s details waseven barer, without so muchasaname,but itdidgivehisethnicity as Thai. Under the‘Other Relatives’ section it

stated that Lucy had twouncles who were in theirthirties and a great-aunt, butthat they weren’t known toLucy, and there were nonames, dates of birth orcontactdetails.Lucy’sdoctorwasgivenasher last–whenshe was at her previouscarers’ – and I’d register herwithmydoctorsoon.

I read thatLucyhadhadamedical nine monthspreviously, the test results ofwhichwerenormal, althoughshe was in the bottompercentile for her height andweight, and itwasnoted thatshehadapoorappetite.Therewere no details of her birth,andunder‘Education’itgavethe contact details of her

present secondary school andstatedthatLucyhadmissedalot of primary schooling andwas therefore three yearsbehindwithher learning.Allof which I knew. The nextbox was headed: ‘Does thechild have any behaviouralissues?’ and the answerinserted was ‘Yes’. It thenstated that a foster carer had

notedthatLucyhaddifficultyexpressingheremotionsinanacceptable way, and couldeasily become angry andaggressive. It didn’t saywhich carer had made thisobservation and it didn’tmatter.FromwhatI’dseensofar, I thought that the secondpart of this statement mighthave some truth in it –Lucy

couldflyoffthehandle–butthe first part certainlywasn’ttrue.Lucyhadjustspenthalfanhour talkingtome,soshecouldexpressheremotionsinanacceptablewaygiventimeandencouragement.Thecareplanwasincluded

in these forms and was as Iexpected: the social serviceswouldapplytothecourtfora

Full Care Order, and then asuitable relative or fostercarer would look after Lucypermanently.Whatwasmoststriking in these essentialinformation forms was thecondensed bullet-pointedhistory it gave of the socialservices’ involvement. Itbegan when concerns hadfirst been raised, when Lucy

was six months old, andcontinued to the present andher placement with me. Icouldn’t remember everhavingfosteredachildbeforewhere there’d been so muchsocial services involvement,withsolittleresult. Iknewitwouldn’t be the fault of anyone person, but I felt thesocial services held a

collective responsibility formonitoringacase,ratherthanintervening.I finished reading and

closed the folder with aheartfeltsigh.Thepoorkid,Ithought. Little wonder Lucyfelt no one cared for her orlovedher;noonehad.

On Saturday morning, with

no school, we had a moreleisurely start to theday,andas usual I made a cookedbreakfast,althoughLucyonlywanted one rasher of baconandhalfasliceoftoast.Ithenhelped Lucy with herhomework – there was nopressure; she’d asked formyhelp – while Adrian did hishomework. After which

Lucy, Paula and I wentsupermarket shopping whileAdrianwenttohisfriend’stowork on a school project.Atthe supermarket the girlsdecided I should push thetrolley and call out the itemsfrommy list and theywouldload the trolley. I also toldLucy to select anything shefancied from the shelves. I

wouldn’tnormallyhavegiventhis invitation to the childrenI fostered, as we’d haveendedupwithatrolleyfullofsweets,biscuitsandicecreamand no fruit and vegetables.ButIwantedLucytohaveasmuch say in what she ate aspossible, and I was pleasedwhen she selected a bagelfrom the fresh-bread counter

and also a packet ofhoneycomb cereal. It was astart.Halfway round the

supermarket we came to theaislesdedicatedtofoodsfromaroundtheworld–shelvesoflabels from exotic countries:Indian spices, poppadoms,naan and ready-made currysauces;Chinesenoodles,egg-

fried rice and sweet-and-soursauce; Mexican fajitas,tortillas and tacos; and thenwe came to an assortment ofThaifoods.‘Let’s make some Thai

food for dinner tonight,’ Isuggested, hoping it didn’tsound too contrived. I didn’twant tomakeLucy feel self-conscious by stating why I

was suggesting we ate Thaifood.Ididn’thaveto!‘My social worker’s been

talking to you,’ Lucy saideasily, with a theatrical sigh.‘She told my last carer Ineeded to know more aboutThailand.’ Then turning toPaulasheexplained:‘Mydadis fromThailand, but I don’tknow him or anything about

his country, and my socialworker says I should.’ Sherolled her eyes upwards inexasperation and both girlsgiggled.Somuchforpoliticalcorrectness,Ithought.‘We’ll discover Thai food

together,’ I saidenthusiastically. ‘It’ll be fun.I’veeateninThairestaurants,but I’ve never cooked Thai.

We’ll make something easytobeginwith.’‘Isn’t itvery spicy?’Paula

asked, not a great fan ofhighlyspicedfood.‘Itneedn’tbe,’Isaid.The girls stood either side

of me as we surveyed thebewildering assortment ofpackets, tins and jars.Then Ispotted a holder containing

leafletswith recipes for Thaifood, with a sign beneathtelling customers to helpthemselves. The girls and Ibegan flicking through therecipe leaflets until we cameto a Thai stir-fry. ‘I’ve got awok,’ I said. ‘A stir-fry iseasyandfuntomake.’‘Yes, I like stir-fry,’ Paula

said.

‘SodoI,’Lucyagreed.Holdingtheleafletbetween

us, we gathered together theingredients needed and thencompleted the rest of ourshopping. That evening, allfour of us, including Adrian,made the stir-fry, andworking together as onefamilywasfunandrewardingin itself. I would like to say

that Lucy ate heartily thatnight, having chosen andcooked the food, but shedidn’t. While she’d beenhappy preparing the food, asbefore, when it came toeating it her anxietiesreturned and she ate verylittle. I knew from myresearch that this behaviourwas typical of many who

sufferedfromeatingdisorders– they are happy to prepareandcookthefood,butnoteatit.Iwasworried,anddecidedthat if Lucy’s eating didn’timprove soon I’d put it toStevie that we should seekmedical advice sooner thanshe’dsuggested.

That evening, Pat, Lucy’s

previous foster carer,telephoned as promised, butLucy refused to come to thephone.‘Are you sure you won’t

speaktoPat?’IaskedLucy.‘Yes.’‘Don’ttakeitpersonally,’I

explainedtoPat.‘Lucy’shada lot of changes in her lifeand is feeling a bit rejected

rightnow.’‘Not by us, I hope,’ Pat

said defensively. ‘It wasn’tourfaultshehadtomove.’‘Iknow,andI’veexplained

that to Lucy. She doesn’tblame you.’ But of course,deep down, as far as Lucywas concerned, having tomove from Pat and Terry’swasjustanotherrejection.

Lucy was in the livingroomandoutofearshot,soItook theopportunity tosee ifI could find out moreinformation about Lucy thatmight helpme look after herbetter. ‘Pat, I know Lucydidn’t talk to you much,’ Isaid, ‘but I understand youraised concerns about hereating.Steviementionedit to

me,asIhaveconcernstoo.’‘Yes, I took Lucy to my

doctor,’Patsaid.‘ButwhenItoldStevieshewentonatmesomething awful. ApparentlyI should have got herpermissionfirst.’‘Whatdidthedoctorsay?’‘That Lucy might be

borderline anorexic, and thatwe should try to talk to her

about her feelings. But Lucydidn’twanttotalktous.HowdoyougetonwithStevie?’‘I’veonlymetheronce,’ I

said,notwantingtobedrawninto a conversation aboutLucy’s social worker. ‘Canyou tell me anything elseaboutLucyorwhatthedoctorsaid?’‘Not really. Would Lucy

seeStevie?’Patnowasked.‘No.’‘Shewouldn’tseeherhere

either,’Patsaid.‘Steviemademe feel it was my fault, butwhenLucy decides she’s notdoing something there’s nochanging her mind.’ I didn’trespond. ‘Oh, well, best beoff then,’ Pat said. ‘GiveLucyourbestwishes.’

‘Iwill,’Isaid.‘Andthanksforeverything.’ForIdoubtedwe’dhearfromPatagain.When I toldLucy that Pat

sentherbestwishes,shegaveoneofherdismissive shrugs.However,Iwasnowrealizingthatshrugging,farfrombeinga sign that Lucy didn’t care,wasanindicationofjusthowmuch she did care and was

hurting; not wanting to behurt again, she pretended itdidn’tmatter.

Sunday was bitterly cold(thoughitdidn’tsnowagain),so I suggested a trip to thecinema.Lucyhadbeentothecinema a couple of timesbeforewith a previous fostercarer and was eager to go

again. The four of us had alovely afternoon laughing atthe cartoon and eatingpopcorn. Little outings suchasthishelpbondafamilyandcreateasenseoffamilyunity.Interestingly, in the dark andwith her mind on the film,Lucyforgotheranxietyabouteating and absent-mindedlyate a large hotdog.However,

thateveningsheateverylittleat dinner – just a couple ofmouthfuls–whichshedidn’tenjoy. Ignoring her eatinghabitsanylongerseemedlikeignoring the elephant in theroom,and later,when Iwentto say goodnight to her, Isaid, ‘Love, I am concernedthatyou’renoteatingenough.You won’t get fat, you

know.’ My research hadmentioned that thosesuffering with eatingdisorders often obsessedaboutputtingonweight.‘It’snot that,’Lucysaid,a

little tersely, as thoughsomethingsimilarmighthavebeen said to her before. ‘I’mjustnothungry.Ididn’thavemealsbefore.’

‘Beforeyoucameintocareyoumean?’‘Yes.’Inodded.‘Ithinkyouneed

to try toget into thehabit ofeating.Willyoutrytoeatjustalittlebitmore?I’msureMrBunnywouldwantyouto.’She smiled. ‘OK. I’ll try,

forMrBunny.’‘Goodgirl.’

Ikissedhergoodnightandcameout.

On Monday Lucy begantaking the bus to and fromschool. I gave her the busfare, checked she had theschoolbooks sheneededandthen waved her off at thedoor. When I returned fromtaking Paula to school I

phoned the office at Lucy’sschool to let them know thatLucywouldbeusing thebusinfuture.Mostschoolsliketoknow their pupils’ means oftransport to and from schoolasasafetyprecaution,incasetheydon’t arrive, andalso totry and reduce the instancesof truanting. The schoolreceptionist made a note in

theirrecords.Theweekwentwell and I

thought I saw a slightimprovement in Lucy’sappetite, so I crossed myfingers, hoped for the bestand quietly thanked MrBunny. On Sunday, myparents came for dinner andmet Lucy for the first time.All the children I foster love

my parents, and Adrian andPaula adore their nana andgrandpa. They are thearchetypalgrandparents:kindandverygenerous.Myfatheroften tells silly jokes andloves to play board games,and my mother has endlesspatience for reading thechildren stories and listeningto their news.Asmymother

andIclearedawaythedinnerthings, my mothercommentedthatLucyseemedalovelychild,butwhatasadlife she’d led. Whileconfidentialityhadprohibitedme from telling my motherabout Lucy’s past, Lucy hadeasily confided in her thatshe’d had to move lots oftimes and had lived with

some horrible people, andthat she didn’t have a propermummy or daddy. ‘She getsonverywellwithPaula,’mymotheradded.‘She does,’ I agreed. ‘And

Adrian,althoughathisagehetends to be out with hisfriendsmore.’That evening, after my

parents had left, I overheard

Lucy telling Paula that shewasveryluckytohaveanicegran and grandpa, as shedidn’thaveany.‘Iknow,’Paula said. ‘And

while you’re here they areyourgranandgrandpatoo.’‘That’sgood,’Lucysaid.‘I

likethemnearlyasmuchasIlikeyou.’

Now we were in a weekdayroutine, theweeksslippedbyandverysoonLucyhadbeenwith us for over a month. Itwas March and spring wasjust around the corner. Onmany levels, Lucy had fittedeasily and successfully intomy family, and I knewAdrianandPaulafeltthattoo.However, the more relaxed

and at home Lucy felt, themore easily she let goof herangerandfrustration.Whileitwaspositivethatshewasableto express herself, whatwasn’t so positive was hermode of expression: objectshurled across her bedroomand often broken in temper.Triggers that caused her toflareupincludedanymention

of her social worker, anunkindwordorasnubfromapupil at school, a lengthy ordifficult piece of homework,general frustration, andsometimes there was noobvious reason at all – she’djustarrivehomefromschool,burstingwithangerandpent-upfrustration,goupstairsandtrashherroom.

I spent hours talking toLucy about her feelings,reassuredherthathurtingwasto be expected and madesome suggestions formanaging her anger. Then,when her behaviour didn’timprove, I stopped some ofher privileges, and some ofher pocketmoney to pay forbreakages (with the social

worker’s permission). Andfinally,exasperated,ItoldherIwasverydisappointedinherbehaviour and that sheneeded to find otherways toexpressheranger.‘Don’t care!’ Lucy

shouted. But of course shedid care and, when she’dcalmeddown,shewasalwaysverysorry.

IshowedLucyhowtotakeout her frustration and angerby pummelling a pillow,rather than breaking objects,which she tried. Shepummelled the pillow on herbed and then trashed herroom.IknewLucyhadsomecontrol over her actions,because while most of theobjects in her room had at

some time all been thrown,MrBunnyhadescaped.‘I’m sure Mr Bunny isn’t

impressedbyyourbehaviour,Lucy,’Isaid,whenyetagainthecontentsofhershelveslaystrewnacrossherroom.‘Yes, he is!’ she retorted.

‘He’sonmyside.’And sometimes it felt like

we were on warring sides –

opposingarmiesinabattleofwills.

‘You know why Lucy’sbehavinglikethisandtestingthe boundaries?’ Jill said,whenIupdatedheryetagain.‘ToseeifIreallycareorif

Iwillrejectherlikeeveryoneelsehas,’Ireplied.‘Exactly. She’s making

you prove that you care bypushingyoutothelimit.’‘I know, Jill, and I’ve told

herIcaremany,manytimes.Don’t worry, we’ll workthroughthis.Wehaveto.’Seeing my resolve

strengthen, Lucy upped thetesting and became the mostobnoxious, argumentativechild I’d come across in a

long time. Teenagers can beconfrontational andchallenging, but Lucy, agedeleven, perfected the art, andI now appreciated wheresome of the comments fromherpreviouscarershadcomefrom. Cooperation hadvanished and LucyquestionedeverythingIdidoraskedofher,oftenrefusingto

doeventhesimplestoftasks,likegettingupinthemorningor having a wash andcleaningherteethatbedtime.When she refused to have abathforthreenightsinarow,I stopped her watchingtelevision, and when sherefusedtodoherhomeworkIstoppedherfromgoingonthePlayStation, which of course

ledtoaccusationsthatIhatedher, and she stamped offupstairsandtrashedherroom.Gone was the quiet,undemanding and convivialchild who’d first arrived.Lucy constantly looked fornew ways to provoke me.‘Don’t like your smellyhouse!’ she said one day.‘Don’t like you or your

children.’WhichIignored.‘Why is Lucy being

horrible to us?’ Paula askedonebedtime.‘Idon’tlikeit.IwanttheoldLucyback.’‘Lucy’s angry, love,’ I

said. ‘She’s had a difficultlifeandnowshefeelssettledshe’s letting go of her anger.Try not to worry. She’s notangrywithyou.’Andindeed,

when Lucy wasn’t in a badmood she played nicelywithPaula,andAdriantoo.But Paula did worry, and

notforthefirsttimesinceI’dbegun fostering I wasconcerned about the impactthis was having on mychildren. Adrian, that bitolder, seemed able to ignoreLucy’s outbursts and unkind

wordsandriseabovethemasI did, but Paula – two yearsyounger than Lucy – lookedup to her and was hurt. Ihoped that at some pointLucy’sbehaviourwouldpeakand thenwe’d turn a corner.In themeantime, I continuedwith my strategy of alwaysmaking time to talk to andlisten toLucy, rewardingher

good behaviour andsanctioning her badbehaviour. At the end ofMarch we celebratedAdrian’sbirthdayandthen,atthebeginningofApril,itwasPaula’s birthday. Lucy waspleasant on both occasions,butonceourvisitorshad leftsherevertedtoherobnoxiousbehaviour, and I wondered

how much longer this couldgo on. Then somethinghappened, somethingunplanned that completelychanged everything, almostovernight.

Chapter Seventeen

Progress

‘I wouldn’t ask but we’redesperate,’ Jill said. ‘I knowwe agreed you’d wait untilLucy had been with you forlonger and had calmed down

before you fostered anotherchild, but Lucy’s taking hertimetocalmdown,andnoneofourothercarersarefree.Itwouldonlybefortwoweeks’respite and David’s verysweet. It’s just while hismotherisinhospital.’‘Ireallydon’tknow,Jill,’I

saidagain,wishingshehadn’tasked. Although I had the

space in my house to fosteranotherchild,Ihadmyhandsfull with Lucy, and Davidwassure tobeupsetatbeingseparated from his mother.‘Will I have to take him tovisithismotherinhospitalaswell?’ I asked, feeling thiswould be impossible witheverything else that wasgoingon.

‘No, his aunt will takehim,’Jillsaid.‘Shecan’tlookafter him during the daybecause she works full time,but she can take him to thehospital in the evenings andat theweekend.Davidwon’tgive you any trouble,’ Jilladded. ‘And we’d be verygrateful.’‘When do you need to

knowby?’Iasked.‘Now, please. His mother

would need to bring him toyou tomorrow morning,beforeshegoesintohospital.’‘Andtherereallyisnoone

else?’‘No.’‘Allright,I’lldoit,’Isaid.

‘Although I have bigreservations.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ Jill said,with a confidence I didn’tfeel.‘Andyouneverknow,itmight do Lucy some good.Give her someone else tofocus on for a change, ratherthan herself.’ Although Jillwas highly sympathetic toLucy, as I was, I think shewas starting to lose patienceandfeltthatmaybeLucywas

revelling in all the attentionher outbursts evoked.‘Thanks,Cathy.’We said goodbye and I

went straight upstairs to thespare bedroom and made upthe bed with a fresh duvetcover and pillowcase. Thatevening over dinner, Iexplained to Adrian, Paulaand Lucy that David would

be coming the following dayto stay for two weeks whilehis mother was in hospital.Adrian and Paula were veryenthusiastic, probablybecauseawell-behavedthree-year-oldwouldbelightreliefafter Lucy’s recent tantrums.Lucy looked at me, amazedby the news, shocked even,and then became

confrontational.‘You’re fostering another

child as well as me?’ sheaskeddisparagingly.‘That’sright, love.Justfor

twoweeks.’‘Areyouallowedto?’‘Yes, of course. I’m

approved to foster twochildrenorasiblinggroupofup to three. Don’t worry. It

won’taffectmycareofyou.’Lucyscowled,whilePaula

and Adrian wanted to knowmore about David. ‘Why’shis mother having to stay inhospital?’ Paula asked,concerned.‘She’s got to have an

operation, and she’ll needtime to recoverafterwards,’ Isaid. Jill had told me that

Beth, David’s mother, washaving a hysterectomy, butPaula didn’t need to knowthat.‘Hasn’t David got a gran

and grandpa to look afterhim?’Adrianasked,whichiswhatwouldhavehappenedtoAdrianandPaulahadIhadtostayinhospital.‘Unfortunatelynot,’ I said.

‘David’s grandparents aredead.’‘That’ssad,’Paulasaid.ThenLucyasked,orrather

demanded, ‘What about hisdad?Hasn’thegotadadwhocanlookafterhim?’‘No, he died last year,’ I

said.‘Hewasn’tveryold.’And just for a moment I

saw on Lucy’s face the

briefest acknowledgementthat there could be at leastone other child in the worldwho’dhadasadanddifficultlifejustasshehad,albeitinadifferent way. Paula lookedclose to tears, so I changedthe subject and talked aboutthegameswecouldplaywithathree-year-old.Thatevening,whenIwent

to say goodnight to Lucy, itwas obvious she’d beenthinkingaboutDavid,forshehad some questions abouthim. ‘Does David still misshisdaddy?’shesaidquietly.‘I’msurehedoes,’Isaid.‘Will he miss his mummy

andcryatnight?’‘Very likely, but I’ll look

after him. Then, when you

comehomefromschool,youcanhelpmeifyoulike.’But Lucy had lowered her

guardenoughforoneeveningand retorted with a sharp,‘No.That’syourjob.’Ignoring her ill humour, I

said goodnight, kissed herforeheadandcameout.

Beth arrived with David at

9.30 the following morning,just after I’d returned fromtaking Paula to school. Bethwas a lovely lady in herthirties, although she wasanxious at the thought of theoperation she was about tohave, and also about leavingDavid,whomshe’dneverleftwith anyone before. Shebrought with her a suitcase

containingDavid’s clothes, atoy box of his favourite toysand books and a cuddly toy,whichshetoldmehetooktobedwithhimatnight–allofwhich would help him settlewithme.AlthoughBethwasworriedabout leavingDavid,as we talked, David – notfully appreciating what wasabout tohappen–washappy

tochaseToschaandthenplaywith the toys I’d put out inthe living room. Beth hadwrittendownDavid’sroutine,whichwouldbeusefulformeto follow, and had alsoincludedhislikesanddislikesin food, which again wouldbeveryhelpful.‘Jen,mysister,willcollect

David after work tonight,’

Beth said, ‘at about half pastfive, and bring him to thehospital. She’ll have himbacktoyoubyseven–that’sthe timehe normally goes tobed. I won’t see himtomorrow as it’s the day ofmy operation, so Jen willcollect him again the dayafter.’IreassuredBeththatDavid

would be fine and then Ishowed them around thehouse,withDavidholdinghismother’s hand. When wewentintoDavid’sroom,Bethexplained to him that hewould be sleeping here fortwo weeks while she was inhospital and then he wouldcome home again, but Idoubted that at his age he

really understood. Beth leftshortlyafter,asshehadtobeat the hospital for 10.30.David and I waved her offand then,once I’d closed thedoor and his mother hadgone, he began to cry. Ipicked him up, took himthrough to the living roomwhere I sat with him on mylap and cuddled him,

explaining that he would seeMummy later. Then Idistracted him with toys andgames, which I played withhim for most of the day.Everysooftenhewouldask,‘Where’s Mummy gone?’ Isaid, ‘To the hospital. Youwill see her later, afterdinner.’ Soon he beganrepeating very sweetly,

‘Mummy gone to thehospital, see her later afterdinner.’ He was so cute. Icuddledhimalot.Whenitwastimetocollect

Paula from school, I helpedDavid into thecarseat in therear ofmy car andhe asked:‘Going to see Mummy inhospitalnow?’Blesshim.‘No, love, later,’ I said.

‘Auntie Jen is taking youafterdinner.’Butofcourseatthree years of age thesearrangements must haveseemed very confusing tohim.Paula treated little David

like a large doll and herevelled in the attention. Sheplayed with him while Ibegan making an early

dinner, as Jen would becollecting David at 5.30.Soon I could hear chucklingcoming from the living roomas Paula made him laugh.David’s chuckle was veryinfectious and was lovely tohear. However, when Lucyarrived home from school, IknewassoonasIopenedthedoor she was looking for

trouble.‘Myfriendsays it’swrong

ofyoutofosteranotherchildwhen you have me, andyou’re only doing it for themoney.’WhileIwaspleasedtohear

thatLucyhadafriend,Iknewthat telling me this wasobviously designed toprovokeme.

‘Idon’t expectyour friendknowsmuchaboutfostering,’I said lightly, asLucy glaredat me antagonistically.‘Perhaps she’d like to comehere for tea so she can seewhat really goes on. ComeandmeetDavid.’‘No!’ Lucy said, and

stormed off up to her roomwhere she stayed sulking

until I called her down fordinner.Adrian and Paula kept

DavidamusedatdinnerwhileImadesureheatesomething.Idon’tthinkhe’deverhadsomuch attention and I couldtell from Lucy’s expressionthatshedidn’tlikeitandmaywell havebeen jealous.Eachtimehechuckledshescowled

athimandthenfinallysaidtome: ‘Tell him to be quiet.He’smakingtoomuchnoise.It’sdoingmyheadin.’‘No. I’m pleased he’s

happy,’ I said. ‘And he’seating.’Lucy glowered at me and

carried on picking at herfood, but even she wasn’timmune to David’s sweet,

smiling face and infectiouslaugh, despite missing hismother. I saw her snatchingglancesathim,andgraduallyduring the meal herexpression lost its resentmentand finally she allowedherselftosmile.Bytheendofthe meal she was laughingwith the rest of us each timeDavidchucked.

After dinner Lucy camewith Paula and me into thelivingroomwhereweplayedwith David until Jen arrivedat 5.30 to take him to thehospital. David was verypleased to see his aunt’sfamiliar face and threwhimself into her arms andgave her a big kiss. Jenpicked him up and hugged

him, thankedme for lookingafterhimand thenconfirmedthat she’d have him back byseveno’clock.Ithinkshefeltabitguiltyfornothavinghimto staywith her, but she hadtowork.While David was out, I

took the opportunity tounpack his suitcase and takesome of his toys up to his

roomsohefeltmoreathome.The rest of his toys wouldstay downstairs for him toplaywith in the living room.Lucywasinherbedroomandmust have heard me movingaround in David’s room, forpresently she appeared at hisbedroom door. She stoodwatching me for a fewmoments and then said, ‘I’m

sorry I was horrible aboutDavid coming. I like himreally.’‘I know,’ I said. ‘That’s

good.’ But Lucy was oftensorry after the event, and Iwas used to hearing herapologize.However,shethensaidsomethingIhadn’theardhersaybefore:‘Idon’tknowwhy you still want to look

afterme.Theothersdidn’t.’I paused from unpacking

and looked up at her.‘Because I like looking afteryou,’Isaid.‘Ilikeyou,andIunderstand why you’rehurting.’She lookedaway. ‘There’s

a lot you don’t understand,’she saidquietly. ‘Thingsyoudon’t know about me. Some

horrible things thatmakemebehavebadly.’Ismiledsadly.‘You’renot

the first child I’ve lookedafter who’s had secrets. Ihope one day you may beable to tellme, orwhen youstarttherapyyoucantellyourtherapist. But one thing I doknow,Lucy, is thatwhateverhappened toyouwasn’tyour

fault. No matter what youweretold.Allright,love?’She gave a small shrug. ‘I

guess.’ Then, with a smallpuzzled frown, she asked,‘How did you know I wastolditwasmyfault?’‘Because that’s what bad

adults tell the children theyhurt.Sothechildrenwillfeelguilty and won’t tell anyone

else.’She held my gaze for a

moment and then lookedaway. ‘I won’t be horriblewhileDavidishere.’‘Good.He’sgoingtoenjoy

playingwithyou.’

Forthenexttwoweeks,whileDavid was with us, Lucy’sbehaviour did indeed

improve.Wedidn’thaveanyangry outbursts, so I didn’tfeel I was continually on aknife edgewaiting for her toexplode. Lucy became politeandcooperativeandwentoutof her way to help me lookafter David. She’d alwaysbeennicetoAdrianandPaulaand my parents; it was meshe’d directed her anger

towards.MaybeJillhadbeenright when she’d said thatLucy had been receiving toomuch attention and thathaving David to stay wouldgiveusanotherfocalpoint,orperhaps Lucy realized thatthere were other children intheworldwho’dhad sadnessin their lives as she had, butcould still laugh. I didn’t

know. But whatever thereason, Iwasgrateful for thechange in Lucy – theatmosphere in the houseimproved tremendously. Ialso noticed that her eatingimproved; not hugely, butsince David had arrived shewas more relaxed at thedinnertableandwaseatingalittlemore.

Stevie paid us one of herscheduled visits during thesecond week that David waswithus.Itwas4.30p.m.andLucywas downstairs playingwith David and Paula whenStevie arrived. Lucy blankedStevie when she said hello,and then went up to herbedroom. I apologized toStevie, but didn’t go up and

trytopersuadeLucytocomedown; Stevie didn’t expectme to. Stevie stayed for halfan hour, andwhile I updatedheronLucyPaulakeptDavidamused.Amongotherthings,Stevie asked what I wasdoingtomeetLucy’sculturalneeds. I told her about theThaimealswewere cookingand that I talked to Lucy

about Thailandwhenever theopportunityarose.‘Have you got her a Thai

flagforherroom?’sheasked.‘No, but I will,’ I said,

making a mental note to doso, as I’d previouslyforgotten.I told Stevie that, while I

still had concerns aboutLucy’s eating, it had

improved since David hadbeen with us. Stevie made anote and said she was stilltrying to trace Lucy’s family– her parents and uncles.Steviethensaidthat,althoughshe’d seen Lucy briefly, shestill needed to have a quicklookintoherbedroom(itwasa requirement of the socialworker’svisit).So I tookher

up, knocked on Lucy’sbedroomdoor and opened it.Lucystill refused tospeak toStevie, but Stevie had seenenough to be able to includeit in her report. As wereturned downstairs, Toschasuddenly appeared fromLucy’s room. Stevie turnedandshrieked.‘I’msorry,’ I said, rushing

to pick up the cat, who waslooking pretty scared. ‘I putheroutearlier. Ididn’tknowshewasuphere.’IheardLucylaugh.Later, after Stevie had

gone, I reminded everyonethatToschahadtobekeptoutwhileSteviewashere,asshewasallergictocats.Lucy grinned. ‘Toscha

wanted to say hello toStevie,’shesaid.Adrian exploded into

laughter.‘Well, please don’t do it

again,’ I said. ‘You knowStevie’s got an allergy tocats.’Of course Lucy knew,

that’swhy she’ddone it – tocauseSteviediscomfort.

After David had returnedhome, Lucy’s behaviourdidn’t immediatelydeteriorate as I was halfexpectingitto:she’dbeenonher best behaviour forDavid’s sake, after all, andnow therewasnoneed tobeanymore.Iwouldn’tsayshewas an angel, but theimprovement in her

behaviour continued, and shewas also still eating a littlemore.‘You’llhavetohelpusout

with respite more often,’ Jillsaid,whenIupdatedher.Inodded.‘Althoughnotfor

awhile,’ I said. ‘I need timeto recover.’ I’m not alwayssuresocialworkersappreciatejust how tiring it is looking

afterchildren.

Spring gave way to summerand Lucy continued to makeprogressathomeandschool.WhenIsawherteacher,MissConnor, for the end-of-termconsultation,shesaidshewasvery pleased with Lucy’sacademic improvement. Shethanked me for all I was

doingathometohelpher,butsaid that Lucy was stillstruggling to make friends.She said she felt Lucy haderected a protective barrieraround herself to stop othersgetting close. Lucy talked toother children, but didn’tform meaningful friendshipsas most children of her agedid. Miss Connor had

partnered Lucy with a newgirl in the class to be herbuddy: to show her aroundthe school, be with her atlunchtime and generally helpher settle in. Lucy had donewhatwasrequired,buthadn’tdeveloped the friendship asMiss Connor had hoped.WhenMissConnorsuggestedtoLucythatshemightliketo

be friends with the girl andtake her home for tea, Lucyreplied it wasn’t worthmaking friends, as she’d losethem when she moved in ayear. This had upset MissConnor, as it didmewhen Iheard, although we bothrecognized the truth in whatLucy had said. When thecourt made its decision

Lucy’s forever family wouldalmost certainly live out ofthearea,whichwouldmeanachangeofschool.‘I just hope the court

hurriesup,soLucycangetonwiththerestofherlife,’MissConnorsaid.But I knew from

experience that thewheelsofthelawturnslowly.

ByJuly,whenLucyhadbeenwithusforfivemonths,Iwasfeeling quietly confident thatshewasovertheworstofherbehaviour. She got annoyedandfrustratedsometimes,butthensodomostchildren.Theonly time Lucy really grewangry now was when therewas any talk of her socialworker or when she visited

us, which she had to do. Itwasn’t so much that Lucydidn’t like Stevie, more thatshe was anti social workersper se, because they hadfailedtoprotectherwhenshewasyounger.TellingLucy itwasn’t Stevie’s fault didn’thelp, and each time Stevievisited Toscha appeared.WhileIcouldseethehumour

in this, I was concerned byLucy’s blatant disregard forStevie’s welfare, so I toldLucythatifithappenedagainI’dstophertelevision.‘Don’t care,’ Lucy said.

‘Dowhatyouwant.’Later,sheapologizedtome

forbeingrude.

Stevietelephonedmetheday

before the schools broke upfor the summer holiday andvery excitedly told me she’dmanaged to trace Lucy’smother, Bonnie, and had setup contact for the followingweek. While I knew thatStevie had been looking forLucy’s family, and that thiswas correct social-workpractice, I wondered what

effect this would have onLucy, who’d come to termswith not seeing her mother.Also, if everything went toplan,Lucywouldbewithherpermanent foster family inabout eight months, and shewould be expected to bondwiththemasherownfamily.I thereforewasn’t sure aboutthe benefits of reintroducing

her natural mother to hernow.‘I hope it doesn’t unsettle

Lucy,’Isaid.‘Why should it?’ Stevie

asked,quite sharply. ‘It’s thechild’smother, forgoodness’sake.’‘Itmight giveLucymixed

messages,’Isaid.‘Shemightthink there’s a chance of her

returninghome.’‘I doubt it,’ Stevie said.

‘But if you’re worried,explain to her again what’shappeningwith thecourtandsoon.Shewon’tseeme,soIcan’t.’ Stevie soundedextremely put out and Iwondered if she’d expectedme to congratulate her ontracingLucy’smother.

‘I will,’ I said. ‘Also, I’dlike to take Lucy on holidaywithusat theendofAugust.DoIhaveyourpermission?’‘Ishouldthinkso.Sendme

the details, and we’ll needLucy’s mother’s permissionas well, as she still hasparental rights. You canmention it to her when youmeetheratcontact.’

‘Willdo,’Isaid.

WhenI toldLucy thatSteviehad traced her mother andhad set up contact, sheshruggedasifshedidn’tcare.‘It’s for an hour,’ I added.

‘At the contact centre. I’lltake and collect you. It willbe nice for me to meet yourmother.’

‘Will it?’ Lucy saidblankly.‘Yes,’ I said, trying to be

positive. ‘And I’ll be able totalk toheraboutyoucomingon holidaywith us.Reassureher thatyou’llbesafeby thesea.’ I’d already told Lucy Iwas hoping to take her onholiday.‘She won’t care where I

go,’ Lucy said, and changedthesubject.

I thought that as Stevie wason amission to trace Lucy’sfamily, and had alreadysucceeded in tracing hermother, then she mightsucceed with Lucy’s otherrelatives, specifically herfather.ItalkedtoLucyabout

this and theThai culture andput renewed effort intoacquiring a Thai flag, whichwasn’t proving easy. I knewwhattheThaiflaglookedlike– it was horizontally stripedin red,white and blue, but itwasn’teasytofindonetobuyinEngland. I phonedvariousshops and department stores,and even our local Thai

restauranttoseeiftheyknewwhere I could buy one, butwithout any success. Then Iwent online,which iswhat Ishould have done to beginwith. The Flag Store soldflags from all around theworld, in various sizes andmade from differentmaterials. I could havebought a thirty-foot bunting,

but I thought that was a bitover the top, especially asLucywasn’tevenkeenontheidea of having a flag. Thesmallest flag I could orderwas three feet by two feet. Iputinmycarddetailsandtheflagarrivedthreedayslater.IhandedtheparceltoLucyandsaid, ‘I’llhelpyouhang it inyourbedroomlater.’

Sheshookout theflaganda lookofdisdain crossedherface. ‘I’m not having that inmybedroom!’shesaid.‘Perhaps I could trim it to

makeitsmaller,’Isuggested.‘No. I want to keep my

posters.’ Lucy’s bedroomwalls were covered withpictures of cuddly animalsand cuttings from her

favouritemagazines.‘You can keep those as

well,’ I said. ‘The flag willonlytakeuppartofonewall,and it will make Steviehappy.’‘No,’ Lucy said, her face

setting.‘We could pin it on your

bedroomdoor?’Isuggested.‘No,’Lucysaid.

‘Whataboutontheoutsideof the door, so you can’t seeit?’‘No,’Lucysaid.‘Or we could use it as a

throw-over on your bed?Flags make popularbedspreads, especially withfootballsupporters.’Lucy glared at me and

pushedtheflagintomyarms.

‘No,Cathy.I’msorry,you’vewasted your money. I don’twantit.’WhichIaccepted.Iputthe

flag away. At least I’d tried,andIcouldunderstandwhyayounggirlwould ratherhavepictures on her wall than aflag. There were other, moreimportant issues toconcentrateon,likepreparing

Lucy for seeing her mother,which I did over the comingweek.

Chapter Eighteen

‘I’d RatherHave You’

I’d arranged for Adrian andPaula to spend the afternoonattheirfriends’houses,rather

thanhavingtositinahotcarwhile I took Lucy to contactand then wait while she sawher mother. As the contactwas only for an hour, itwasn’t worth me returninghome, soonce I’d seenLucyinto the centre and met hermother, Iplanned togoforawalkin the localparkuntil itwastimetocollecther.When

I’d talked to Lucy aboutseeing her mother, she’dseemed quite unfazed by theprospect; she hadn’t had anyquestions to askme and saidshe remembered the contactcentre fromwhen she’d seenher mother there the yearbefore. However, now wewere in the car and on ourway she’d fallen very quiet,

and I appreciated howunsettledandanxiousshewasprobably feeling, althoughshewaskeepingatightlidonher emotions. I felt nervous.Lucy hadn’t seen hermotherfor over six months, and Iwas imagining a veryemotionalreunionwheretheyfell into each other’s armsandcriedopenly.

‘Stevie said if it all goeswell today she’ll set upregular contact,’ I said toLucy,as Ipulled into thecarpark at the centre. ‘She’sthinking ofmaking it once aweek.’‘Mum won’t be around

long enough for that,’ Lucyreplied.I thought Stevie wouldn’t

have suggested it if shewasn’t sure it was feasible,but I didn’t say so. ‘Wheredoes your mother go whenshedisappears?’Iasked.‘Doyouknow?’‘No,’ Lucy said bluntly.

‘She never toldme. She justwent.’I thought I’d said enough.

Lucy clearly resented my

question and now she’dwithdrawnintohershell.‘Noworries,’ I said. Iparkedandcuttheengine.I turned inmyseat to face

Lucy. ‘It’s bound to bestrange for you both,’ I said,tryingtoreassureher.‘But ifyouhaveanyworries,tellthecontact supervisor.Sometimes parents don’t

know what to say in contactand can say the wrong thingwhen they don’t mean to.’They often talk about theirhome lives, which can bevery upsetting for a child incare.Lucyshrugged.‘Come on then,’ I said,

with a cheerful smile. ‘Let’sgo in.We’re a bit early, but

we can wait inside, ratherthaninthehotcar.’I got out of the car and

went round to open Lucy’sdoor,whichwaschild-locked.She clambered out and Ipressed the fob to lock thedoors. As we went up thepath leading to the mainentrance, Lucy slipped herhandintomineandIgaveita

reassuring squeeze. Shehadn’t held my hand beforeand I thought it was anindication of how vulnerableshe must be feeling that sheneededthisextrareassurance.Arriving at the door to thecentre, I pressed the securitybuzzer and the door clickedopen. Inside, I said hello tothe receptionist, who was

seated behind the opensliding-glass window of theoffice. She knew me a littlefrommypreviousvisitstothecentrewithotherchildrenI’dfostered.‘This is Lucy,’ I said.

‘She’s seeing her mother,Bonnie,atthreeo’clock.’The receptionist smiled.

‘Bonnie isn’t here yet, so if

you’dliketosignin,youcanhave a seat in the waitingarea.’Lucy and I signed the

visitors’ book and then wentround the corner to thewaiting area, which wastucked away from the mainreceptionarea andhada fewbooks and games to keepchildren occupied while they

waitedfortheirparents.Oncetheparentsarrived,theywentintooneofthecontactroomswith a contact supervisor.Thereweresixcontactroomsin the centre and they werecosily furnished, like livingrooms,withcarpet,curtains,asofa, a television and lots ofbooksandgames.Althoughitobviously wasn’t home, it

was made to look home-likesothatthechildrenrelaxedasmuchaspossibleandenjoyedthe short time they had withtheirparents.We were the only ones in

the waiting area, but Iassumed other children withdifferent contact times werein the rooms with theirparents. It was now one

minute before three o’clockandIhopedBonniewouldn’tbe late. One of the mostupsettingthingsforachildincare isbeingkeptwaitingbyaparentat contact,orworse,the parent not arriving at all.It’s stressful enough for thechild to be separated fromtheirfamilyandthenreunitedbriefly at contact, without

being kept waiting or letdown. For this reason, thecontactrulesareveryfirm:ifaparentdoesn’tphonetosaytheyhavebeendelayed,or ifthey don’t arrive withinfifteen minutes of thescheduled time, then thecontact is terminated and thefoster carer takes the childhome. Although this is

upsetting for the child, it islessupsettingthaniftheyareleftwaitingendlessly,onlytobedisappointedyetagain.ItriedtointerestLucyina

book or a game of cardswhile we waited, but shepreferred to just sit andwait.Uprightonherchairandwithher hands folded loosely inherlap,IthoughtIwasmore

nervous than sheappeared tobe. She was dressed smartlyin new summer clothes I’dbought for her, and her hairwas shining and tied in aloose plait. I always makesure the child or children Ifoster look nice when theysee their parents. It reassuresthe parents that their child isbeing well looked after, and

alsogivesthemeetingasenseof occasion – which it is, averyspecialoccasion.At 3.05 we heard the

security buzzer sound,followed by the outer doorclickingopen.Thenweheardthe receptionist say to theperson who’d just arrived:‘They’re here.’ So I thoughtshemustbereferringtous,as

wewere theonlyones in thewaitingarea.Ifeltmyheartstarttorace

at little, but Lucy remainedoutwardly calm. We heardfootsteps coming along thecorridor,andthentwowomenappeared from around thecorner;one I recognizedasacontact supervisor, and theotherIassumedtobeBonnie.

She looked at Lucy andsmiled.I stood, so too did Lucy.

‘Hello,’ Bonnie said to herdaughter.‘Howareyou?’‘I’m well, thank you,’

Lucy said politely. ‘How areyou?’‘I’mgood,thanks.’Formal and distant, they

madenomovetohugorkiss

each other, which fell farshort of the emotional sceneI’d envisaged. There wassilence, so I stepped forwardand offered Bonniemy handfor shaking. ‘I’m Cathy,’ Isaid,‘Lucy’sfostercarer.’Bonnie didn’t shake my

hand, but gave a smallnervous laugh. ‘Nice tomeetyou, Cathy. I hope Lucy

hasn’t been giving you anytrouble.’‘Not at all,’ I smiled.

‘She’s an absolute treasureand a delight to look after.’But my enthusiasm seemedstrangely out of place in thisemotional void, as BonnieandLucycontinuedtolookateach other from a distance,not embarrassed, but just not

connecting;more like distantacquaintances than motheranddaughter.‘Shall we go into the

contact room now?’ thesupervisor suggested, thenturning tome she said, ‘YouandBonniecouldhaveachatlater when you come tocollectLucy.’‘Yes,that’sfinewithme,’I

said.The three of them turned

and the supervisor led theway down the corridortowards the contact rooms.Before they disappearedthrough the double doors Iheard Bonnie ask Lucy: ‘So,whathaveyoubeendoing?’‘Goingtoschoolandother

things,’Lucyrepliedflatly.

Outside, I left my car in thecarparkandcrossedtheroadtotheparktogoforawalk.Itwas a lovely summer’s dayand theplay areawas full ofchildrenrunningandshoutingexcitedlyunder theirparents’watchfulgaze. I followed thepath that ran around theperimeter of the park, undersometreesandbesideasmall

lake. I breathed in thebeautiful scent of summerflowers, fresh from a recentwatering by the gardeners. Iknew from the originalreferral that Bonnie wasthirty-six,buthavingmethershe looked a lot older.Therehad been a suggestion in thereferral that she’dbeendrinkanddrugdependentatvarious

times in her life, and thiscould explain her prematureageing. I’d met parents ofother children I’d fosteredwho’dlookedoldbeforetheirtime from drug and alcoholabuse; many far worse thanBonnie. Some had beenskeletally thin with missingteeth, a hacking cough andlittle or no hair. Apart from

lookingolderthansheshouldhave done, Bonnie appearedwell nourished and wassmartly dressed infashionable jeans and a T-shirt. I’d noticed that, whileLucy had inherited herfather’s dark eyes and blackhair, there was a strongfamily likeness between herand her mother. Although

their initialmeetinghadbeenawkward, I assumed that asthe hour passed and they gotto know each other againthey’d relax and feel morecomfortable, so that when IarrivedtocollectLucythey’dbe laughing, chatting andplayinggames.I completed the circuit of

the park and stopped off at

thecafeteriatobuyabottleofwater, which I drank on thewayback.Itwasexactlyfouro’clockwhen Iarrivedat thecontactcentre.‘You can go through and

collectLucy,’thereceptionistsaid.‘They’reinBlueRoom.’Sometimes the carer collectsthe child from the contactroom and at other times the

supervisor brings the childinto reception once they’vesaid goodbye to their parentsintheroom.Each of the contact rooms

wasnamedafter thecolour itwas decorated in. I wentdown the corridor, throughthe double doors and arrivedoutside Blue Room. Iknocked on the door.

Through the glass at the topof the door I could see thecontactsupervisorsittingatatable,writing. She looked upandwavedformetogoin.Inside,Lucywassittingon

the sofa next to her mother,close, but not touching.Usually at the endof contactthe child is very excited –often over-excited – and has

tobepersuadedtopackawaythe games they’ve beenplaying and say goodbye totheir parents. But there wereno games out and apparentlynoexcitement.Theroomwaseerilyquiet.Bonnie and Lucy looked

overatmeasIentered,andIsmiled.‘It’s time for you to go,’

BonniesaidevenlytoLucy.‘Yes,’ Lucy said, and

stood.‘Have you had a nice

time?’Iasked.Bonnie glanced at her

daughter. ‘Itwasgood to seeheragain,’shesaid,inatonedevoid of emotion. Lucylooked sombre and subdued.Then Bonnie said to me:

‘Thank you for bringingLucy. We might meet againsometime.’Ihesitated,notsurewhatto

makeofthiscomment.Itookacoupleof steps further intotheroom.Thesupervisorwasbusywriting.IfIwasfeelingconfused, then surely Lucywastoo?‘I believe Lucy’s social

worker is going to set upregular contact,’ I said toBonnie. ‘She was talkingaboutonceaweek.’Bonnie gave another tense

little laugh and lookedslightly embarrassed. Then,glancing at her daughter, shesaid, ‘Oh,no,Lucywon’t beexpecting that,willyou?Sheknows what I’m like. I’m

sure I’ll see her again sometime,though.’‘So you won’t be seeing

her regularly?’ I asked,unable to believewhat Iwashearing.‘No, that’s not possible,’

Bonniesaid.‘It’sniceofyouto lookafterher, though; sheseemshappywithyou.’Ismiledweaklyandlooked

at Lucy. Her face wasemotionless. She appeared tobe taking this in her stride;perhapsshe’dbeenexpectingthisreactionfromhermother.‘Well, goodbye,’ Bonnie

now said tome, ready to go.‘IunderstandIhavetowaitinthis roomuntilyou twohaveleftthebuilding.’‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’swhat

usually happens.’ Then:‘There’s something I need toaskyoubeforewego.’‘If it’sanything todowith

Lucy, ask her,’ Bonnie said.‘She knows more aboutherself than I do.’ She gaveyetanothernervouslaugh.‘No,it’snothinglikethat,’

I said. ‘I know Lucy quitewellnow.It’sthatIneedyour

permission to take Lucy onholiday. I think Stevie wasgoingtomentionittoyou?’‘Oh, yes, she did,’ Bonnie

saidnonchalantly,wavingthequestionawaywithherhand.‘It’sfinewithme.Ihopeyouhaveanicetime.’‘Thank you,’ I said. I had

planned to give Bonnie thedetailsofourholiday–where

we were going and when –but she didn’t seeminterested. She was nowslipping her bag over hershoulder, getting ready to goafter we had left the centre.‘Goodbyethen,’shesaid.I said goodbye and then

waited to one side while shesaid goodbye to Lucy. I wasanticipating that she would

give her daughter a hug orgoodbye kiss – even friendsdo that – but she didn’t.Standing a little in front ofLucy, she said, ‘Goodbye,love.Lookafteryourself.’‘Goodbye,’ Lucy said, not

expecting any more. It wasone of the saddest goodbyesI’veeverwitnessed.Without saying anything

further, Lucy came over tomeandslippedherhand intomine.‘Be good,’ Bonnie called,

asweturnedtoleave.‘Shealwaysis,’Isaid.We walked down the

corridor and through thedouble doors. My immediateimpression of Bonnie wasthat she wasn’t callous or

uncaring, but just completelydetached from her daughter.Thereappearedtobenobondbetween them,other than thegenetic link. I was shocked,and sad for Lucy, but it didexplain a lot ofwhat I knewabout her. I was sopreoccupied and choked upby what I’d just seen that Iwalked straight past the

visitors’book.‘Hey, Cathy!’ Lucy said,

drawingmetoahalt.‘You’veforgottentosignout.’Wereturnedtothevisitors’

book and both signed ournamesandwroteour timeofdeparture. Then outside wewalked in silence. Lucy hadherhandinmineagainandacouple of times I glanced at

her, feeling I should saysomething, but not knowingwhat. She clearly knew hermother better than I did, andhad known what to expect,while I’d had a completelydifferent set of expectations,basedonhowIwouldfeelatbeing reunited with mydaughter after six months’separation. Quite clearly

Stevie had had differentexpectations too – unrealisticexpectations. If she phonedI’d tell her what hadhappened, or she’d read thesupervisor’s report in acouple of days. Either way,regular contact wasn’t goingto happen, and for reasons Ireallydidn’tunderstand.

InthecarIturnedinmyseatto face Lucy, who wasfastening her seatbelt. ‘Areyou all right, love?’ I askedgently. ‘How are youfeeling?’‘I’m all right,’ she said

quietly. ‘Mum’s like thatbecause she was hurt badlywhenshewaslittle.Shecan’tlet people close to her, not

even me, because of thehorrible things some peopledidtoher.’I lookedatLucy, shocked,

and my heart ached – notonlyforLucy,butforBonnietoo. How easily Lucy’s lifecould have followed that ofhermother’shadshenotbeenbroughtintocare.‘It’snotherfaultshe’slike

she is,’ Lucy added. ‘I don’tblameheranymore.’‘No, it’s not her fault,’ I

saidsadly.Lucy had previously told

me things about her motherand her life before cominginto care – usually on theSundays when Adrian andPaula were out with theirfatheranditwasjust thetwo

ofus–butshehadn’ttoldmethis before. ‘I think yourmother had a very difficultlife,’Isaid,stillturnedinmyseat facing her. ‘I think shegets by as best she can. It’ssuch a pity someone didn’thelp her, like you’re beinghelped now. I’m pleasedyou’ve forgiven her.’ For sooftenwhenchildrenarefailed

by their parents they becomeconsumed by anger, whichcan easily blight the rest oftheirlives.

That night I gave Lucy anextra-bighug.MrBunnywastucked in beside her on thepillow, and sometimes, liketonight, she askedme tokisshim goodnight. Although

Lucymusthavebeenaffectedby seeing hermother and allthe emotions, memories,hopes and disappointments itno doubt resurrected, shewasn’t showing it. Iwondered what was reallygoingoninherthoughts.‘Isthereanythingyouwant

totalkabout?’Iaskedgently,asIsatonthebed.

Lucyshookherhead. ‘Notreally.Mumwillbefine.Shecan look after herself,’ shesaid, as though reassuring usboth.‘I’m sure she can,’ I said.

‘Andwhenshefeelsupto it,she’llgetintouchwithStevieandarrangetoseeyouagain.’Lucy looked thoughtful

andthenfrowned.‘IthinkI’ll

haveleftyoubythen.’‘Yes, if it’s in sixmonths’

timeormore,you’llprobablybe with your forever family,but they’ll take you tocontact.’Lucy frowned again and

thensaid,‘IwishIcouldstayherewithyou.’‘Oh, love,’ I said, stroking

her forehead. ‘I know how

unsettling this must be foryou.’‘Mum asked me if I was

staying with you and I toldherIcouldn’t.Butwhycan’tIstay,Cathy?’Thiswassodifficult.Lucy

knewthecareplan,asBonniewould, and I wondered whatthey’d said about this incontact. ‘Doyou remember I

explained that Stevie wastryingtofindyourrelativestoseeifoneofthemcouldlookafter you?’ I said. Lucynodded. ‘And if there isn’tanyone suitable, Stevie’sgoing to find a permanentfoster family for you, whereone of the parents is Thai orAsian,soyou’llfitin.’‘But I fit inhere,don’t I?’

Lucysaid.‘Yes, of course you do,

love.Ithinktheworldofyou,so do Adrian and Paula, butit’s not my decision. Socialworkers like children to bewith families that have thesame ethnic background. Doyou remember I explainedwhatthatmeant?’Lucy nodded solemnly.

‘WhatifIletyouputthatflagup in my bedroom? Could Istaythen?’‘Oh, love,’ I said again, a

lump rising in my throat. ‘Iwishitwasthatsimple.’Lucy then gave a small

mischievous smile. ‘If Stevielets me stay, I’ll stop lettingToschainwhenshevisits.’I laughed. ‘You need to

stoplettingherinnow,’Isaidplayfully. ‘Stevie’s comingnext week for your review,andIdon’twanthersneezingthewholetime.’‘I’m not coming to my

review,’Lucysaidmatter-of-factly.‘I know, and no one is

goingtomakeyou.Butifyoufeel able, you could come in

for a few minutes. We’rehaving it here, so you canstay for as longor as short atimeasyoulike.’Lucyshookher head. The socialworkersusually expected a child ofherage tobepresent forpartof their review, unless therewas a good reasonwhy theyshouldn’torcouldn’tattend.‘No,notgoingatall,’Lucy

said, her face setting. ‘I hatesocialworkers.’‘All right, I hear you,’ I

said. ‘ButnowIwantyou toforget abouthatingand thinkof some nice things so youcan get off to sleep. We’regoing on holiday in a fewweeksandtheninSeptemberit’s your birthday. You’llhavetotellmewhatyouwant

to do for your birthday treat,andwhatpresentsyou’dlike.’A smile replaced Lucy’s

frown.‘That’sbetter,’Isaid.‘I’m looking forward to

going on holiday, and mybirthday,’ Lucy said,snugglingherfaceagainstMrBunny.‘Willyoutakelotsofphotographs of me, so I canrememberthenicetimeIhad

afterI’vegone?’‘Yes, of course, love.

You’ll have lots of happymemoriestotakewithyou.’‘I’dratherhaveyou,’Lucy

said,andIcouldhavewept.

Chapter Nineteen

HappyHoliday

Lucy’s review began ateleven o’clock the followingTuesday. Stevie, Jill, Peter

(the reviewing officer) andmyself were seated in myliving room with coffee andbiscuits. The children wereamusing themselves upstairs,and I’d said thatLucy didn’twant to attend her review.Lucy’s mother would havebeen invited to the review,but she’d disappeared again,without leaving a forwarding

address.Lucy’steacher,MissConnor,hadbeeninvited,butbecause it was the schoolholidays she was away, soshe had sent in her report,which the reviewing officerhad just finished readingout.ThegistofherreportwasthatLucy was making steadyprogress, but still found itdifficult to make friends,

which I knew from theconsultation evening. MissConnor had included sometest results and finished bystating that she was gratefulforthehelpI’dgivenLucyathomeandthatLucywouldn’thave made the progress shehad without it, which waskind of her. Having finishedMiss Connor’s report, the

reviewing officer, Peter, nowturned to me: ‘Cathy, wouldyou like to tell us howLucyisdoing,please?’I glanced at my notes,

readytobegin,butasIdidalleyes went from me to theliving-room door,whichwasnow slowly opening. Ithought itmustbeoneof thechildren having come down

from upstairs for something,perhaps even Lucy feelingbrave enough to attend herreview. However, once thegapwaswideenough,Toschasauntered in with a loudmeow.Stevie shrieked, and Iwas immediately on my feetgoing after Toscha who,frightened by the noise, hadfledintothekitchen.Ilether

out the back door andreturnedtothelivingroom.‘Sorry,’IsaidtoStevie,as

Isatdown.‘I’msureIputheroutearlier.’Jill,whoknewaswellasI

did how Toscha had got in,threwmeaknowinglookandwe both stifled a smile.Fortunately, Toscha hadn’tbeenintheroomlongenough

to trigger a sneezing fit inStevie,andPeterwaslookingrather bemused by herhysterical reaction. OnceStevie had finishedexplainingwhyshehatedcatsso much and how she wasallergictothem,Peterlookedtome to givemy report. Hemade notes as I spoke and Ibegan by saying how well

Lucy had settled into myfamilyandthatshehadaverygood relationship with mychildren,myparentsandme.I said Iwaspleasedwithherprogress at school and thatshewantedtodoabitextraathome.Idescribedherroutineand what she liked to do inher spare time. I said thatwhile I was encouraging

Lucy to bring friends homeshehadn’tdonesoyet,andImentioned Lucy’s commentto Miss Connor about it notbeing worth her makingfriends as she would beleaving the school inunderayear.‘That’s a great pity,’ Peter

said,ashewrote.‘She could still make

friends,’ Stevie said. ‘Andkeepintouchwiththemaftershe’sleft.’I nodded, and continued

with my report, saying thatLucy was much better atmanagingherangernow,andthathereatinghadimproved,although I still had concernsas her eating fluctuated andshewasn’teatingasmuchas

sheshouldforachildherage.IthensaidthatLucyhadseenher mother the week beforeand that I didn’t think it hadbeenagreatsuccess.‘Perhaps we could leave

contact for now and discussthat when Stevie gives herreport?’Petersaid.‘Yes, of course,’ I said. I

finishedmy report by saying

that Lucy was lookingforward to our holiday andherbirthdayandthatshewasadelighttolookafter.‘Thank you,’ Peter said.

Then turning to Jill: ‘AsCathy’s support socialworker,doyouhaveanythingtoadd?’‘Not really,’ Jill said.

‘Because of all the upheaval

and Lucy’s early lifeexperiences, she struggled tobegin with, but she’s settleddown now. I’m sure Lucywill benefit from therapywhen she goes topermanency, which shouldaddressherissueswitheatingaswell.’‘Are there plans for Lucy

to have another medical?’

Peter now asked Stevie. ‘Iremember the previous carerraised the same concerns asCathy and took Lucy to herdoctor.’ Peter had been thereviewing officer at previousreviews so was aware ofLucy’shistory.‘Lucy will have another

medical before she goes topermanency,’ Stevie said. ‘If

necessary, we can bring thatforward,butIdon’tthinkit’snecessaryyet.’She looked toJill and me for confirmationandwenodded.Petermadeanote.Jill didn’t have anything

further to say, soPeteraskedStevie for her report. Shebegan by outlining the careplan: that the social services

would apply for a Full CareOrder and then Lucy wouldgo to a suitable relative or along-termfosterplacement.Peterasked,‘Sohowisthe

search going for a suitablerelative? You were lookingintothatatthelastreview.’‘I haven’t been able to

trace Lucy’s father,’ Steviesaid.

‘Andhe’shardlyasuitablerelative,’ Peter put in. ‘He’snever featured inLucy’s life.He hasn’t seen her since shewasababy,andas farasweknow he’s not even in thiscountry. Does his nameappear on her birthcertificate?’‘No,’Steviesaid.‘SoIthinkwecanrulehim

out,’ Peter said. ‘Unless hesuddenly materializes andapplies to look after Lucy,which is highly unlikely.’Stevie nodded. ‘What aboutthe other relatives?’ Peternow asked Stevie. ‘We needto get this moving so thatLucy is settled. She’s hadenoughuncertaintyinherlife.At the last review you were

looking for two uncles, anaunt and a grandmother?’Peter said, checking back inhisnotes.‘Wherearethey?’‘Lucy’s maternal

grandmother lives inScotland,’ Stevie said. ‘Shehas had her own problemsand Bonnie is adamant thatshe doesn’t want Lucy to goand live with her. I agree;

because of her lifestyle, it’snotanoption.Bonniedoesn’tknowwhere her brothers are– there’s been no contact formany years – and Lucy hasnevermetthem,soI’veruledthemouttoo.’‘And theaunt?’Petersaid,

checking back in hispaperwork. ‘This was thelady who gave Bonnie and

LucyahomewhenLucywasa baby. We thought thatsoundedhopeful.’Stevie shook her head.

‘I’vespokentoMaggieonthephone. She’s a lovely lady,but she can’t offer Lucy ahomeassheisinpoorhealthherself.’‘So that leaves us with a

long-term foster family for

Lucy?’Petersaid.‘Yes,’ Stevie confirmed.

‘The family-finding team arelookingforagoodmatch.’‘Well, I hope they don’t

take too long,’ Peter saidquite forcefully. He finishedwriting and then said toStevie: ‘Perhaps you couldnow tell us about the contactLucyhadwithhermotherlast

week?’Stevie sighed. ‘It wasn’t

good. The contactsupervisor’sreportshowsthatbothBonnie and Lucy foundthemeetingverydifficult.’‘How long was the

contact?’Peterasked.‘Onehour.’Hemadeanote,andStevie

continued: ‘Bonnie andLucy

didn’tengagewitheachotheratall.Theystruggledtomakeconversationandweren’tableto communicate at anymeaningful level.Therewerelong, awkward silences andtheywereawkwardwitheachother,andnotatalltactile.’‘Youmeantheydidn’thug

or kiss each other?’ Peterasked.

‘That’s right. Not evenwhen they met or saidgoodbye.’ Which of courseI’dalsonoticed.‘According to the

supervisor’s report,’ Steviecontinued, ‘Lucy suggestedthat they play some gamestogether – draughts,dominoesandScrabble–butBonnie said she didn’t know

how to play any of thesegames.Lucyoffered to teachher and said that Cathy hadbeenteachingher,butBonniesaid it was better she playedthem with Cathy, who knewhow to play the games. Infact, Lucy talked a lot aboutCathyandherfamilyandthethingstheydotogether.’‘Did Bonnie resent this?’

Peterasked.‘Surprisingly, no,’ Stevie

said. ‘In fact, Bonnie toldLucyshewaspleasedshewashappywithCathy.CathymetBonnieatthestartandendofcontact.’‘How did that go?’ Peter

asked,turningtome.‘All right,’ I said. ‘I only

met Bonnie for a couple of

minutes,butshewaspolitetome.’‘And how was Lucy after

contact?’Peteraskedme.‘Lucy wasn’t upset; she

seemed to take it in herstride,’ I said. ‘I formed theimpression that she hadn’texpectedmuchmorefromhermother.Lucytoldmethatshedidn’t expect to see her

mother regularlyand thathermother couldn’t help beingthewaysheis,becauseshe’dbeenabusedasachild.’‘Howvery sad,’Peter said

as he wrote. Then he lookedat Stevie. ‘You were hopingto set up regular contactbetween Lucy and hermother; I take it that’s notgoingtohappennow?’

‘No,’ Stevie said. ‘It’s notpractical.’‘IsBonniegoingtocontest

thecase incourt?’PeternowaskedStevie.‘No.Bonnierecognizesshe

can’tlookafterLucy.’‘It took her long enough,’

Peter commented dryly. ‘So,we’re just waiting for yourfamily-finding team to come

up with a good match forLucy?’‘Yes,’Stevieconfirmed.Then turning to me, Peter

said, ‘And while the socialservicesarefindingasuitablefamilyforLucy,shecanstaywithyou?’‘Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘For as

long as it takes to find afamily. The night she had

contact, wewere talking andshetoldmeshewouldliketostay with us permanently.I’veexplainedwhythat’snotpossible.’Peter looked at Stevie.

‘AndasLucy’ssocialworkeryou’ve explained all this toLucy?’heasked.‘Asmuchas I can,’Stevie

said. ‘Lucy won’t have

anything to do with me atpresent.’‘Well, someone needs to

explain the recentdevelopments toLucy,’Petersaid. ‘That none of herextended family has comeforward to look after her, soshe’llbegoingtoalong-termfoster family. I take it she’stoooldtobeadopted?’

‘Yes,’Steviesaid.‘I think Lucy understands

most of this already,’ I said.‘But I can have another chatwith her if you like and tellher,asshewon’tseeStevie?’‘Yes, please,’ Peter said.

‘It’s a pity Lucy didn’t feelable to join us for herreview.’IfeltIwasreceivinga little smack on the legs.

‘And her Life Story Book?’PeternowaskedStevie.‘She should have it here,’

Steviesaidtome.‘It’s in a drawer in her

bedroom,’ Isaid. ‘She’sveryprotectiveof it andhasn’t letany of us see it. I’m takinglots of photographs that canbeaddedtoit.’‘Good,’Petersaid,making

a note. ‘Now, is thereanything else?’ He lookedaround the room, but no onehad anything to add. ‘In thatcase,we’ll set a date for hernextreviewandI’llclosethemeeting.’We took out our diaries

andadatewassetinJanuary,in five months’ time. Peterthanked us all for attending,

which is customary, and heand Stevie left while Jillwaitedbehind.‘That went reasonably

well,’ Jill said, once they’dgone.‘Yes, although it’s a pity

Lucywouldn’tcomedown.’‘She did once,’ Jill said

with a smile. ‘To let the catin.’

‘Iknow!’‘Hopefully she’ll come to

her next review. It will bevery close to her going topermanency so it will be animportant one.’ I nodded.‘Cathy, how do you feelabout doing another shortrespite?’ Jill said, changingthe subject. ‘Just for nextweek.’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Isaid. ‘Everyone was happyaboutDavidstaying.’‘Thanks. His name is

Toby. He’s twelve and hasbeen with his foster familyfor a year. His carers hadbooked to take him onholiday, but the socialservices didn’t get him apassport in time, so rather

than have the whole familycanceltheirholiday,I’vesaidwe’ll arrange a week’srespite.’‘That’sallrightwithme,’I

said. ‘Although it’s a pityTobycouldn’tgoonholiday.’The dilemma that facedToby’s family highlighted anongoingproblemexperiencedbymany foster families: that

thechildorchildren theyarelooking after don’t havepassports,andtheapplicationto acquire one can only bemade by the social services,not the foster carer. Whilethis might not seem a highpriority, it often resulted ineither the foster family nothaving a holiday (sometimesforyears),havingtocancela

pre-booked holiday andlosing their money or thefoster child being left behindinrespitecare.Jill called goodbye to the

children upstairs as she left,and once she’d gone I wentup and told them that weweregoingtolookafterTobyfrom Friday evening for aweek. Adrian was delighted

tohaveaboyofasimilarageto himself for company, andLucy and Paula were happyfor Toby to stay too. Wemade the best of the goodweather that week and wereoutside most days, either inthegardenorthelocalparks.

When Toby’s foster father,Sid, brought Toby on Friday

evening, he and Adrianimmediatelywentofftoplay.Sid was still angry that hecouldn’t take Toby onholidaywiththemand,outofearshot of the children, hesaidtome:‘Mywifetoldthesocial services ten monthsagothatwewerebookingthisholiday. We had permissionto take him abroad. You’d

havethoughttheycouldhavegothimapassport!Howlongdotheyneed?’Isympathized,for had I wanted to take myfamily abroad I could havebeen in the same position;Lucy didn’t have a passportand she’d been in care forthreeyears!IreassuredSidthatIwould

giveToby a goodweekwith

lotsofoutings,whichiswhatIdid.Wewentouteverydayand I included a day at thezoo and a day trip to thecoast.WhileTobyenjoyedallofthis,itwasn’tasgoodasaholiday abroad, which Tobyhad clearly been lookingforward to – it would havebeenhisfirsttimeonaplane.Apart from missing out on

this experience, he alsomissedhis foster family, as Iwas sure they were missinghim. When Sid returned tocollect Toby, they huggedeachotherhardandIthoughtthey were close to tears.While Toby went up to hisroom to collect his bag, IaskedSidifheandhisfamilyhad had a nice time. He

shruggedandsaid,‘Wemadethebestofit,buttobehonestwe all felt guilty aboutleaving Toby behind. I thinkweshouldhavecancelledandlost the money.’ I felt sorryfor him and thought: all this,for the sake of somepaperwork!

It was now halfway through

August and our thoughtsturned to our own holiday,whichwas in aweek’s time.Adrian,LucyandPaulawereall very excited and wereplanning all the fun thingstheywere going to do: buildsandcastles,paddleandswimin the sea, eat loads of icecreams,watch thePunchandJudyshowonthebeach,stay

up very late and lots, lotsmore.They’dbeensavinguptheir pocket money so theycouldgoonplentyofridesatthefunfair,andwhenthetimecametopacktheircasestheywere more than happy tohelp.Itwasafive-hourdrivetothecoast,butwelefthomeat 6.00 a.m., stopped at theserviceson themotorwayfor

breakfast and arrived attwelve. We dropped off ourcases at the self-cateringbungalowwewerestayinginand were on the beach byearlyafternoon.Westayedonthebeachuntil thesunbegantodropand thenwe returnedto the bungalow, unpackedourcasesandwentout toeatin a family restaurant

overlooking the sea. Itwas alovely start to the holiday,and that evening three tiredbut very excited childrenclimbed into bed and wereasleep as soon as their headstouchedtheirpillows.Wemadethemostofevery

day of our holiday; on thebeach, in the sea, visitinglocal attractions. The resort

was popular with familiesand, like all the other happyfamilies aroundus,we had agreat time.Lucywasecstaticand kept thanking me andtelling me what a fantastictime she was having – overandoveragain.‘It’s OK, love,’ I said.

‘You don’t have to keepthanking me. I’m pleased

you’rehavingagoodtime.’‘I am! Thanks, Cathy. It’s

the best holiday I’ve everhad.’AsfarasIknew,itwasthe

onlyholidayshe’deverhad.As I sat on the beach

watching Adrian, Lucy andPaula playing in the sea, Ithoughtmore than once howmuch of a family unit we

really were. Perhaps it wasbecause Lucy had no properfamily of her own that she’dbonded with us so quickly,and uswith her. She’d fittedin so easily, and I often feltshewasmydaughter,andthethreechildrenweresonaturaltogetherthattheycouldeasilyhave been siblings by birth.True,Lucy’s hairwasdarker

than Adrian’s and Paula’s,and she had some of herfather’sThaifeatures,butthedifferencesweresonegligiblethat she didn’t stand out asdifferent. Many families arenow comprised of childrenwith different fathers, and Imight have been marriedmorethanonceforallanyoneelseknew.Steviewaslooking

for a good ethnic match forLucy, but I knew such afamily would be difficult tofind. How long would sheand the family-finding teamleave Lucy in uncertaintywhile they looked?And howmuchdiditreallymatter thata perfect ethnic match wasfound?Surelyastable,lovingfamily should be the first

priority?I ran through these

questions inmymindquiteafewtimesduringtheholiday,and by the end of the weektherewassomethingpressingIneededtoaskJillassoonaswereturned.

Chapter Twenty

‘Will YouLove Me?’

‘Jill,wouldyoubackme if Iwere to apply to look afterLucy permanently?’ I asked,

myheartpoundingnervouslyin my chest. ‘I haven’t saidanything to Lucy, Adrian orPaulayet;Iwantedtodiscussitwithyoufirst.’It was 5 September, the

dayaftertheschoolsreturnedfrom the summer holiday, sotherewasjustJill,Toschaandme in the house. Jill waslooking at me carefully,

clearlydeepinthought.I continued, ‘I appreciate

that Stevie is looking for along-term foster family withthe right ethnic mix forLucy,’ I said. ‘But is findingsuch a family realistic? Andhow long will it take? Lucysees herself as British. Shedoesn’t have issues with hercultural identity, and I’m

doingallIcantopromoteherdualheritage.She’shadsucha rough life, with so manymoves and so muchuncertainty.She’ssettledherewith us. Adrian, Paula and Ithink the world of her and Iknowshedoesus.Morethanonce she’s asked if she canstay,andwewantherto.’I’dspoken passionately, straight

from my heart. Jill was stilllookingatmeintently.‘Well?Whatdoyouthink,Jill?’‘Do you love Lucy?’ Jill

askedafteramoment.‘Yes, Ido,’ I said,without

hesitation. ‘She’s like adaughtertome,andasistertoAdrian and Paula. I knowtheyfeelthesameasIdo.Atpresent they understand that

Lucy will leave us one day,just as all the other childrenwe’ve fostered have. That’ssomethingyouhavetoacceptwhen you foster, but I knowtheywouldbeoverthemoonifLucycouldstay.’Jillgaveasmallthoughtful

nod and then her face brokeinto a smile. ‘Yes, I’ll backyou,’shesaid.‘I’dbepleased

to. I can see how settled andhappy Lucy is with you.She’sintegratedperfectlyintoyourfamily.’‘Oh, thank you!’ I cried,

clasping my hands together.‘Thankyousomuch!’Istoodand, crossing the room, gaveJillabighug.‘You’reastar!’Jill laughed. ‘You’re

welcome.Now,thefirstthing

I need to do is to approachStevie. As Lucy’s socialworker, her view will beparamountinthis.’In all my excitement I’d

almostforgottenStevie’srolein this. ‘Do you think she’llsupport my application?’ Iasked, immediately growingconcerned.‘Yes, I’m sure she will,’

Jill said. ‘No social workerwants to move a childunnecessarily. And Steviewillknowthatthechancesoffinding a perfect match forLucy are very remote. If Iwas Stevie, I’d be on mykneesthankingyouforgivingLucy a permanent home. I’llphoneherassoonas I returntomyoffice.’

Iwasgrinning fromear toear. ‘So how long do youthink the process will take?Canyoutalkmethroughit?’‘Sure. Now, let me see.

The final care hearing is setfor December, but thedeadline for submitting thepaperwork to court will benext month. Included in thatpaperwork will be a copy of

thecareplan.Steviewillneedto revise that before shesubmits it, toshowthatLucywillbestayinghereasalong-term foster placement. Then,after the final court case inDecember, when the socialservices will have beengranted the Full Care Order,yourapplicationtokeepLucywill go before the

permanency panel. Morepaperwork, I’m afraid, andthat will need to be in amonthbeforethepanelmeets.It meets once a month, so ifyour application misses theJanuary deadline then it willbe included in February.You’ll have to attend thepermanencypanel,butnotthecare proceedings.’ I gave a

small gasp. ‘Don’t worry,you’llbefine.I’llbewithyouand I’m sure the panel willapprove your application. SomyguessisthatbytheendofFebruary it should all bepassed.’‘Wonderful!’Icried.I could hardly contain my

excitement and could havehappilykissedJill.She’dnow

takenapenandnotepadfromher bag and was writing. Iwaited patiently until she’dfinished.‘I’mgoingnow,’ she said,

standing. ‘Iwant to get yourapplication moving. I’llphone Stevie and then phoneyoutoconfirmthetimescale.’She grinned, and I could seeshewasashappyformeasI

was. ‘You’vemademyday,’shesaid,asIwentwithhertothefrontdoor.‘You’ve made mine,’ I

said. ‘Thanks again.’ I gaveher another big hug beforesheleft.

For the rest of that morningandtheearlyafternoonIwason a cloud. I skipped around

the house, doing thehousework as though on acushionofair.IknewAdrianand Paula would beoverjoyed when I told them,and as forLucy,well, itwasher birthday soon, and whatbetter birthday present wasthere than a family of herown!IfelttheluckiestpersonaliveandIsaidasilentprayer

of thanks. There’d been atimeinmylifewhenI’dbeentold that tests showed I wasunlikelytohavechildren,andnowhereIwaswiththreeandstill fostering. ‘Thankyou!’ Isaidoutloud.Attwoo’clockthelandline

rang and I rushed to answerit,expecting it tobeJillwiththe confirmation I’d been

anticipating.ItwasJill,butassoon as she spoke I knewsomethingwasbadlywrong.‘Cathy, you’d better sit

down.’ Her voice was tightand tense. ‘I’ve spoken toStevieandit’snotgoodnews,I’m afraid.’ For a second Ithought shewasgoing to tellme that Stevie had found afamily for Lucy – the match

she’d been looking for –whichwould have been verydisappointing, but not theblowJillnowdelivered.‘Stevie won’t consider

your application as a long-termcarerforLucy,’Jillsaid,‘because she feels you can’tmeet her needs. I tried topersuade her you could, butshe’sadamant.Shewon’tput

youforward.’My stomach churned.

‘What needs?’ I asked, orratherdemanded.‘Lucy’sculturalneeds,’Jill

saidbluntly.‘So tell me what else I

need to do,’ I said, sickwithfear. ‘And I’lldowhatever ittakes.’‘It’snotaboutwhatyouare

doingornotdoing,’Jill said.‘I know you’re positivelyreinforcing Lucy’s culturalidentity,butyoucan’tchangewhoyouare.’‘YoumeanI’mnotThaior

partThai?’Iasked,myvoicerising.‘That’s right. And no one

in your extended family is,and neither are any of your

closefriends.’My anger flared. ‘That’s

Stevietalking,isn’tit?’Isaid.‘It’s racism as well as beingridiculous. We live in amulticultural society, Jill. Ihave friends from manydifferent cultures. Lucyblends in, she doesn’t standout. You said yourself she’dfitted in perfectly. Yet

because my family isn’t thesame racialmix,we’re beingruled out. I think this hasmore to do with Stevie’shang-ups about culturalidentity than what’s best forLucy. That woman’s beenobsessedwith this right fromthestart.NevermindthatweloveLucyandcangiveherapermanent loving family.All

that has been forgotten,sacrificed, because Steviethinks the right ethnicmix ismore important!’ I stopped.My breath caught in mythroat and tears stung myeyes. I’d probably said toomuch,butIfeltIhadnothingtolose.Jill was very quiet on the

otherendof thephoneand it

was a moment before shespoke. ‘I’m so sorry,Cathy,’shesaidgently.‘Ireallyam.Ishouldn’t have built up yourhopes before I’d spoken toStevie, but I genuinelythoughtshewouldbepleasedandsupportyourapplication.’I sighed. ‘It’s not your

fault.’ I said. ‘Was thateverything? I’ve got to go

now.’‘Yes.’And without saying a

proper goodbye, I put downthephoneandwept.

Laterthatafternoonwhenthechildren were home fromschool they asked me acouple of times if there wasanythingwrong, as I seemed

quiet. I said therewasn’tandtried to put on a brave facefor their sakes, but it wasn’teasy.Duringtheweekofourholiday, and when we’dreturned, I’d planned what Iwanted to say to Jill, andwhenshe’dbeensopositiveIfelt elated. All this time I’dbeen quietly confident thatLucywouldstay,andthenthe

blow – the shatteringdisappointment of Stevie’srejection.I’mnormallyaverypositive, optimistic person;someonewhoseestheirglassas half full, rather than halfempty.WhenIhaveasetbackIconsolemyself that itcouldhave been worse, but at thispointallIcouldcomeupwithwas that at least I hadn’t

shared thiswith the children,so they’d been spared thedisappointment, and thatLucy would be staying untilStevie found her a family,which could take manymonths.But while I found some

consolationinthesethoughts,my anger didn’t go away. IgenuinelybelievedthatStevie

wasmisguidedinherattitude.I knew political correctnessreigned supreme in someareas of the social services,sometimestotheexclusionofother equally importantfactorsandgoodsense.Iwasdoing all I could to promoteLucy’s cultural inheritance,and had she seemeddistressed or started saying

she didn’t fit in with myfamily then I would haveagreedwithStevieandhopedthat she would find Lucy apermanent home very soon.Butthatwasn’tthecase–farfrom it. Lucy fitted in andwantedtostay.I don’t give up easily and

bythetimeIwenttobedmydisappointmentandangerhad

galvanized into action. Idecided that the followingmorning, when I’d returnedfrom taking Paula to school,I’d telephone Jill. And withthat thought, I fell asleep,emotionallyexhausted.

‘Sorry I hung up on youyesterday, Jill,’ I began. ‘Iwasveryupset.’

‘Understandably,’ Jill said.‘Look, Cathy, if it’s anyconsolation, I think Stevie iswrong too, but there’snothingwecandoaboutit.’‘That’s what I wanted to

askyou.Isthereanythingwecando? Iwaswondering if Icould appeal against Stevie’sdecision.Maybetakeittohermanager?’

Jillpaused.Icouldtellshewas choosing her wordscarefully. ‘I discussed thiswithmymanager yesterday,’she said, ‘straight after I’dspoken to Stevie. He and Ithink that to raise this withStevie’s manager wouldcreatealotofbadfeelingandwouldn’t do any good. Hermanager is almost certainly

going to uphold Stevie’sdecision, and furthermore itcould result in Lucy beingmovedearly.’‘What do you mean,

“movedearly”?’Iasked,witha sinking feeling. ‘Theyhaven’t found a suitablefamilyforLucy,havethey?’‘No, but the department

mightfeelthatasLucy’srace

has become an issue shewould be better off in anAsian family. Social servicesare very sensitive tomeetingchildren’sculturalneeds.’‘Tell me about it!’ I

snapped. ‘This is politicalcorrectnessgonemad.Worsethan that, it’s discrimination!The only person making anissueoverthisisStevie.Little

wonderthesocialservicesgeta bad name!’ I was fuming,butImeantwhatI’dsaid.Jill allowed me a moment

tocalmdownbeforeshesaidevenly, ‘Cathy, I’m onlytellingyouwhatmymanagerandIthink.Wewouldn’tfeelcomfortable lodging acomplaint. I’ve tried talkingto Stevie, but she won’t

change her mind. As Lucy’ssocial worker, she has everyright tomake this decision. Iwouldn’twanttoseeyouhurtmore than you already havebeenbyLucybeingsuddenlymoved.’‘I hear what you’re

saying,’ I said sharply.‘Thanks.’Andforthesecondtime in two days I hung up

withoutsayinggoodbye.

I was trembling as I walkedaway from the phone, butrealisticallyIknewtherewasnothingmore I could do. Jillwas right when she’d saidStevie could make thedecision, and that tochallenge her could makemattersworse.AllIcoulddo

was hide my disappointmentas best I could andconcentrate on Lucy’sbirthday, which was thefollowingweek.Shewantedanew bike as a present and Iwas takingher tochooseoneon Saturday, although shewouldn’t be having it untilher actual birthday. Thatevening, when I asked her

how she’d like to celebrateher birthday and suggestedinviting a few friends fromherclass toaparty,shesaid:‘There isn’t really anyone atschool Iwant toask. I’d liketo spend it with my family.Can we invite Nana andGrandpa, and all go on afamily outing? I’d like that.’Which brought tears to my

eyes, for reasonsLucydidn’tknow and I couldn’t sharewithher.

Lucy decided she wanted togo bowling for her birthdayouting, at the new leisurecentre, which had justopened.She’dheard someofher classmates talking aboutthe new leisure complex and

we hadn’t been yet. When Itelephoned my parents andtold Mum that Lucy wouldlike her andDad to come toher birthday outing, she wasastouchedasIhadbeen.‘It just shows how much

Lucy thinks of us all,’Mumsaid. ‘Youknow she calls usNanaandGrandpa?AndI’veheard her calling you Mum

sometimes. It just slips outand then she corrects herselfandsaysCathy.’‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s

difficult.Carersaresupposedto discourage their fosterchildren from calling themMumorDad. It’s consideredtobeconfusingforthem,andcan also antagonize thenaturalparents.’

Mumtutted. ‘IfLucy feelshappy calling you Mum, Idon’tseeaproblem.Shejustwants a proper family of herown,that’sall,love.’Andmy heart ached again

for the family I could nevergiveLucy.‘We’ll see you at twelve

o’clock on Sunday then,’ Iconfirmed with Mum. ‘After

bowling, we’ll come backhere for a tea party. I’veordered a special birthdaycake.Lucywillloveit.’‘Shall Imake some ofmy

cupcakestoo?’Mumasked.‘Oh, yes please. That

would be nice. And, Mum,it’s fine forLucy to call youandDadNanaandGrandpaifshewants.It’sjustthatIhave

to be careful, as she’ll begoing to a permanent familybefore long, with a new“mother”.’‘Iunderstand,love.’IwishIdid,Ithought.

BothLucy’sactualbirthday–the following Wednesday –and her birthday outingwerea great success. As

Wednesdaywasaschoolday,I woke everyone up a littleearlier thanusualand,still inour nightwear, we gatheredaroundLucy’s bedwhile sheunwrapped her presents andcards. Mum and Dad werebringing their present andcard with them on Sunday,and, with nothing arrivingfrom Lucy’s mother, Lucy

just had our presents andcards to open, plus a cardfromJill.Therewas thebikeshe’d chosen and a box ofchocolates from me, twobooks from Adrian, somegamesfromPaulaandachinaornamentintheshapeofacatfrom Toscha. I think sheloved that most of all. Lucydidn’t comment that there

wasnothingfromhermother– she didn’t seem to expectanything. Once dressed, shehad time for a quick ride onher new bike in the gardenwhile I made breakfast, andthenafterbreakfastshehadtoleaveforschool.That afternoon, while

everyone was out, I laid thetable with a party tablecloth

and matching napkins andprepared the meal Lucy hadrequested.All thechildren inmy house choose what wehave for dinner on theirbirthday, and Lucy wantedchicken casserolewith chips.I’dalsoboughticecreamanda small iced birthday cake.She’d have her properbirthdaycakeafterourouting

onSunday.When Lucy came home

from school she was excitedand delighted with the partytableware. She also ate areasonable amount of themeal.ButIthinksheenjoyedeven more all the attentionthat came with being the‘birthday girl’ and beingmade to feel very special.

After dinner she chose somegames for us to play, butbecauseitwasaschoolnightwecouldn’tstayuptoolate.As I tucked Lucy in and

kissed her goodnight, shesaid, ‘Thank you for a nicebirthday, Cathy. You’vemademefeelveryspecial.’‘You are special, love,’ I

said,givingherabighugand

a kiss. ‘Very special indeed.And don’t you ever forgetthat.’She returned my kiss and

then suddenly said, ‘I loveyou all so much! I know Ican’t stay forever, but I stilllove you. Will you love mewhileI’mhere?’‘Oh,Lucy,darling,’Isaid.

‘Of course. I love you

already.Wealldo.’‘That’s nice,’ she said,

withacontented smile. ‘Thisis my best birthday ever.’Then turning to Mr Bunnyshe said, ‘There! I told youthey loved us, and I wasright!’

On Sunday Lucy gave myparents a big hug and a kiss

as they arrived. ‘I’m sopleased you could come tomyparty,’shedeclared.‘We’repleasedtobehere,’

Dadsaid.‘Thank you for inviting

us,’Mumsaid.We went through to the

livingroomwheremyparentsgave Lucy her birthdaypresent, and we all watched

whilesheopenedit.Lucyhadpreviously told my motherthat she wanted to be afamous beautician when shewasolderanddothemake-upforfilmstars.Now,toLucy’sunimaginable delight, thepresent frommy parentswasa largeplaybeauty salon, setin a big red sparkling case.We all admired it. It was

fascinating, with rows androws of little colourful potscontaining make-up and nailvarnish. There was a mirror,false nails, hair extensions, abattery-operated hairdryer,littlebottlesofcleanser,tonerand perfumes. In fact,everything a girl couldpossiblyneedtorunabeautysalon for the stars.Lucywas

overjoyed, and while shewould probably change hermindonacareer–manygirlsgo through a phase ofwanting to be a beautician –shewashappy,whichwasallthat mattered. She read thecard frommy parents,whichcontainedsomelovelywords,and then stood it on themantelpiece next to our card

and the one from Jill. Threecards; not many when youthink what some childrenreceive, but Lucy had neverknown anything different.And I knew that previously,before coming into care, herbirthdayhadbeencompletelyforgotten and she’d receivednothingatall.Lucy won the bowling –

we made sure of it – andwhenwereturned,she,Paula,my father andAdrian playedsome games while Mumhelped me prepare the tea.Afterwe’deaten,wereturnedto the living room whereLucyset aboutpractisingherskills as a beautician on usall.Itwasgreatfunandlastedmostoftheevening,although

I’m not sure the film starswould have been thatimpressed.Paulahadeachofher nails painted a differentcolour to accompany herbright-red lipstick and blueeyeshadow.Ihadafacialandmy hair set on rollers. Mumescaped lightly with a footmassage with aromatherapyoil. Adrian had false

eyelashes applied and ayellowribbonclippedintohishair,whileToschahadapinkribbonlooselytiedaroundhertail. But funniest of all wasmyfather,who’dsatpatientlyasLucyappliedpinklipstick,luminous silver eye shadow,false nails and blond hairextensions. We were all infitsoflaughterandItooklots

ofphotographs.We’d had one of Mum’s

cupcakes each at the end ofdinnerandnowthatwe’dhadtimetodigestourmealitwastime for Lucy’s surprisebirthday cake,which I’d hadmade.IwentintothekitchenwhereI’dhiddenthecake,litthecandlesandthencarrieditinto the living room as we

sang ‘Happy Birthday’. Thejoy on Lucy’s face wasindescribable. Icouldseehereyesglistening as I set downthe cake on the coffee table.Madein theshapeofafairy-tale princess’s castle, it hadfour turrets and was indifferentshadesofpinkicing.‘Wow!’ Lucy and Paula

exclaimedtogether.

‘Fantastic,’ my parentsagreed.‘That’s cool,’ Adrian

added.Lucy blew out the candles

inonegoandweclappedandgave three cheers. I then Ihelpedhertocutthecakeandshe handed out a slice on apartyplatetoeachofus.Thecake tasted as good as it

looked and we all hadseconds,whichwasafirstforLucy – she’d never had asecond helping of anythingbefore.‘This is my best birthday

party ever,’ she exclaimed tousall.Wesmiled,and Iput from

mymindthethoughtthatthiswould be Lucy’s only

birthdaypartywithus,forbynext September she wouldhavemoved.

Chapter Twenty-One

‘No OneWants Me’

OnMonday afternoon Stevietelephoned. ‘A card hasarrivedhereintheofficefrom

Lucy’s mother,’ she said.‘I’m due to visit you, so I’llbring it with me. I’ve got acard forLucy too.’ It’s usualforsocialworkerstogivethechildren they are responsiblefor a card, and sometimesthey manage a small presenttoo. ‘What time is she backfrom school?’ Stevie nowasked.

‘Halfpastfour.’‘Seeyoulaterthen.’

When Lucy arrived homefromschool I toldherSteviewascomingsoonandthatshehad a birthday card for her,andalsoonefromhermother.‘Tellmewhenshe’sgone,’

Lucy said, and went straightuptoherroom.

Lucyremainedveryhostiletowards social workers, asshe still held themresponsible for not rescuingher when she’d most neededit,andalsobecausetheykeptmoving her and didn’t listento what she wanted. This, ofcourse, was without herknowing that Stevie hadstopped my application to

keepher.Before Stevie arrived I

checked the house forToscha, including upstairsand in Lucy’s room, but shewasnowhere tobeseen,soIassumed she was out. Steviearrived punctually at 4.30p.m.,andassoonasIopenedthe door she asked, ‘Is thatcatout?’

‘Yes,’Iconfirmed.IshowedSteviethroughto

thelivingroom,toldherLucywas in her bedroom andoffered her a drink, but shedidn’twantanything.‘I’ll have to see Lucy at

some point,’ Stevie said, asshe always did. Then added:‘To give her the birthdaycardsandalsoupdateher.’

My heart clenched.‘Update her?’ I asked. ‘Haveyou foundLucy a permanentfamily then?’ In some waysthis would have been goodnews, as Lucy needed to besettledandfortheuncertaintytoend.‘No. I need to update her

aboutoursearch,’Steviesaid.‘You mean tell her you’re

stilllooking?’Iqueried.‘Yes.’‘Sheknows,’Isaid.‘Itold

herafterthereview.’‘Even so, as her social

workerIneedtotellher.Shecan’t just hear it from thefostercarer.’Steviehadratherabrusque

manner sometimes, and evenif she hadn’t refused my

application to keep Lucy Ithink Iwould have struggledto like her; but then, as ‘thefoster carer’, I didn’t have tolikeher,justworkwithher.Ithought that updating Lucywhen the only update wasthat they were still lookingfor a permanent family wasunnecessary and unsettling.Wouldn’t it havemademore

sense to wait until a familyhad been found and then tellher?ButIdidn’tsayso.‘Lucyenjoyedherbirthday

andparty,’Isaidpositively.‘Did she invite friends

fromschool?’Stevieasked.‘No. I suggested that, but

Lucy said there was no oneshe wanted to invite, so wehadafamilyouting.It’swhat

she wanted to do. Bowlingandthenteahere.’Stevienoddedwithoutalot

of enthusiasm and wrote onher notepad. ‘And you’repreparing her for movingon?’sheasked.‘As much as I can, given

that a family hasn’t beenfound yet. Once we knowwhereshe’sgoingI’llbeable

toprepareherbetter.’Steviemadeanothernote.‘I’mdoingallIcantogive

Lucy a positive culturalidentity,’ I continued. ‘Andshe had a good summerholiday, both here and whenwe went away to the coast.Would you like to see thephotographs?’‘Another day,’ she said.

‘I’m a bit pushed for timeright now. Did you buy hertheflag?’‘Yes,but shedoesn’twant

itinherbedroom.’‘So put it on the wall in

this room then,’ Stevie said,glancing around the livingroom. ‘The flagdoesn’thavetobeinLucy’sroom.Infact,it’sbetterifitisdownherein

acommunal room.Lucywillfeel you are acknowledgingand celebrating her culture,ratherthanshuttingitawayinherbedroom.’Iheardthecriticismandbit

my tongue. I knew thatnothing I could say or do inrespectofLucy’s racewouldsatisfy Stevie. I was white,Stevie was dual heritage, so

she had the advantage overmewhen itcame toknowingwhat was best for Lucy. Itwasn’tthefirsttimesinceI’dbegun fostering and enteredthe world of the socialservicesthatIfeltstigmatizedfor being white. I knewStevie didn’t approve of mefostering a child with adifferent ethnic identity, but

therehadn’tbeenanychoice,and Lucy and I were bothvery happy with thearrangement.‘I’ll find a place for the

flag in here,’ I said, andcontinuedtoupdateStevieonthe progress Lucy had madesince her last visit, as Steviemadenotes.IincludedLucy’seating, that she was sleeping

well,makinggoodprogressatschool and was generallyhealthyandhappy.When I’d finished, Stevie

said, ‘Well, if that’s all, I’llgoandseeLucynow.’Shetuckedhernotepadand

penintoherbag,stood,andIledthewayupstairstoLucy’sroom. Lucy’s bedroom doorwas shut, but she knew that

Steviewouldneed to seeherat some point. I knocked onthedoorandthenopeneditalittle. ‘Stevie’s here,’ I said.‘Canshecomein?’Lucywassittingonthebed

flicking through a magazineand, to my surprise, shereplied,‘Yes.’‘Goodgirl,’Isaid,pleased.I stood aside to let Stevie

in and as I moved away Iheard Stevie say, ‘Hello,Lucy.’ Then I heard Stevieshriek, and both she andToschashotoutoftheroom.‘I’m so sorry,’ I said,

grabbing the cat. ‘She musthave been hiding.’ Or beenhidden,Ithought.I carried Toscha

downstairs, put her out the

back door and returnedupstairs. I would speak toLucy later about hidingToscha in her room. She’dgonetoofarthistime.‘I’vemadesureshe’sout,’

I reassured Stevie, as Iarrived on the landingwhereStevie was still waiting. Shewasn’t sneezing, so no realharm had been done, other

thangivingherashock.We returned to Lucy’s

roomwherethedoorwasstillslightly ajar. Stevie went in.Full marks for tenacity, Ithought.‘I’veboughtyouabirthday

card,’ I heard her say. ‘Andthere’s one here from yourmother.’There was no reply from

Lucy and I hovered on thelanding, just to make surethey were all right. I heardStevie say, ‘Cathy tells meyou had a nice birthday andyou got a new bike,’ whichwasanicecommenttomake.Stevie was trying hard and Ihoped Lucy would respond,buttherewassilence.Then I heard a floorboard

creek as Stevie took anotherstep into the room. ‘I won’tkeepyoulong,’shesaid.‘ButI need to tell you what I’vebeen doing to find you apermanent home. I believeCathy told you we’ve ruledout your extended family –your gran, aunt and uncles –so we’re now concentratingon finding you a long-term

foster family. You’ll be ableto stay there until you’reeighteen and come out ofcare.’Stevie didn’t get any

further. I heard a loud crashassomethinghittheinsideofLucy’s bedroom door. ThenLucywasshoutingat the topofhervoice: ‘Getout! Ihateyou! Leave me alone!’ The

vehemence of her anger wasfrightening.Stevie rushed from the

roomasanotherobjecthittheinside of Lucy’s bedroomdoor. I went in. Lucy wasstanding in themiddleof theroom, her face set hard inanger and her eyes blazing.She had another ornament inher hand and was about to

throwit.‘Putitdown,’Isaidfirmly. ‘You’ll be sorry laterthat you’ve broken yourthings.’‘Don’t care.Hateyouall!’

she cried. ‘Get out!’ Shethrew the ornament, not atme, but at the door, and itbrokeintwo.‘I’ll be going then,’Stevie

called from the landing. ‘I’ll

letmyselfout.’Lucy screamed, ‘I hate

you!’ I hadn’t seen her thisangry since the early days,and for a moment I thoughtshe was going to go afterStevie.Isteppedforwardand,takingachance,laidmyhandlightly on her arm. ‘Calmdown, Lucy,’ I said. ‘Takesome deep breaths and calm

down.’She pulled her arm away

and reached for anotherornament. ‘Don’t!’ I saidsharply. ‘You don’t need todo this. I understand whyyou’reupset.’‘I hate you all!’ she cried

again. ‘Iwish I’dneverbeenborn.’ Then she threw theornament onto the floor and

collapsed, sobbing, into myarms.

Standinginthemiddleof theroom, I heldher and soothedher until her sobbinggradually eased. Once shewas calmer, I reached for atissue from the box andgentlywipedherface.‘There,that’s better,’ I said. I could

hearPaulaandAdrianonthelanding, clearly worried forLucy.‘It’sallright,’Icalled.‘We’llbewithyoushortly.’IdrewLucytotheedgeof

the bed and we sat side byside.Itookherhandgentlyinmine. ‘Feeling a bit betternow?’She gave a small nod. ‘I

wish I wasn’t in care,’ she

said, her anger now replacedby sorrow. ‘I wish I didn’thave social workers. I justwant tobenormal, likeotherkids.LikeAdrianandPaula.Ididn’tasktobeborn.IwishIhadn’t been. No one wantsme.’‘Oh, love,’ Isaid.Slipping

myarmaroundher,Iheldherclose.

While I felt desperatelysorryforLucyandwantedtosay something to help her, Iknew I had to be careful inwhat I said. ‘I want you,’ Isaid. ‘And so will yourpermanent family, whenSteviefindsthem.’Lucy shrugged. ‘Maybe. I

just wish she wouldn’t keepgoing on about it. It makes

meangryandupset.’‘Iunderstand,love.’She was quiet for a few

moments and then, leaningforward,shepickeduponeofthe two birthday cards thatwerelyingonthefloor.‘I’vegot a card from my mum,’shesaid,showingme.‘That’slovely,’Isaid.The

cardhadaprettypictureofa

bouquet of flowers on thefront,butitdidn’tsay‘ToMyDaughter’orsimilar.Itwasageneral birthday card of thetype you might send anacquaintance.‘She’s written inside,’

Lucy said, now opening thecardandholding it forme toread.The printed words in the

card said: Happy Birthday.May your day be special.Then underneath Lucy’smother had written: Have alovelyday.Iknowyouwill. Ihopeyougetlotsofpresents.I’ll give you something nexttime I see you. Love Bonnie(Mum).It seemed a distant

message from a mother to a

daughter, but in some waysappropriate, given thedistance I’d previouslywitnessed between them.Lucy’s only comment was:‘She’llforget.’‘Forgetwhat?’‘Tobuymeapresent.She

always does. I don’t mind.Shecan’thelpit.’Aswithallher mother’s other failings

and shortcomings, Lucyforgave her mother. I wastouched.IdoubtIwouldhavebeen so forgiving in herplace.‘You’rea lovelyperson,’ I

said,andgaveherahug.She shrugged and I kissed

hercheek.‘Shallweputyourcardon

the mantelpiece in the living

room with your others?’ Isuggested.Lucy nodded and then

picked up the card fromStevie,whichwasstillonthefloor. ‘I’d better put this oneonshowtoo,’shesaid.‘That would be nice.’ I

smiled.We went out of Lucy’s

room. Paula was still on the

landingandshecamewithusdownstairs.WebothwatchedLucy position the two cardsbeside the others on themantelpiece, making five inall. It was a nice display. Inour house, birthday cardsusually stay on show for acouple of weeks after thechild’sbirthdayandIthenputthemsafelyaway.

Lucy and Paula watchedsometelevisionwhileImadedinner.We were eating laterthan usual and I assumedeveryone would be hungry.Lucy, however, hardly ateanything–farlessthanusual– and I thought that, whileoutwardlysheseemedtohaverecoveredfromherupsetwithStevie, inside she was still

hurting and in turmoil. I’dnoted before that distresscaused Lucy’s eating toplummet, and I’d learnt frommy reading that this was herwayof trying to regain somecontrolinherlife.‘I’m really not hungry,’

Lucy said, pushing her plateaway.So I cleared away andhoped that, as had happened

before, her eating wouldimprove when she wascompletely over the upset. Iwondered if Stevie fullyappreciated the impact herwordswouldhaveonLucy.Itwas a week before she waseatingnormallyagain.

I hung the Thai flag on thewall in the living room as

Steviehadsuggested,andtwoweeks later I took it down –at Lucy’s insistence. Apartfrom it looking slightlyridiculous – I mean, howmany people have a big flaghangingintheir livingroom?–visitorsnaturallyaskedwhyit was there. I then had toexplain that Lucy’s fatherwas Thai, which to Lucy –

who just wanted to blend inandhaveanormalfamilylife– singled her out and madeher feel conspicuous. Lucycomplained, so I took downthe flag and continued as Ihadbeendoing,byeducatingLucyonherculturalheritagein more subtle and, I wouldsay,moremeaningfulways.September gave way to

October and autumn arrived.The leaves changed fromgreen to magnificent shadesof orange, yellow, red andbrown. At the weekends weput on our coats and bootsand,bracingourselvesforthechilly air, went for walks inthe woods, where wecollectedpineconesandsawsquirrels burying acorns for

the winter. The daysshortenedandthenightsdrewin, and although I lovesummer I think there issomething cosy andcomforting in being at homeonacold,darkevening,whenthe curtains are drawn, thelights are on and the fireglows, and the family issafely cocooned away from

theoutsideword.At the end of October we

celebrated Halloween. Thechildren dressed up in scarycostumes and I went withthemtothoseneighbourswhohadapumpkinintheirporch,confirming that theywelcomed trick or treaters.Then,onGuyFawkesNight,we went to a fireworks

display on the playing fieldsat Paula’s school. As usualtherewasahugebonfirebuiltby the parents, staff andpupils,andadazzlingdisplayof fireworks. After thedisplay, while the bonfirecrackled in the night air, westood in small groups andchattedwithotherfamiliesaswe ate barbecued hot dogs

withfriedonionsandlashingsoftomatoketchup.Christmas was now fast

approaching and by the endof November most of theshops were festivelydecorated and sellingChristmas gifts. Some evenhadChristmasmusicplaying.I hadn’t heard from Steviesince she’d visited us in

September, and shewasnowwell overdue for her nextvisit.Itcrossedmymindthatperhaps Lucy’s reaction toheronherlastvisithadupsetSteviemorethanshe’dshownat the time, although as asocialworkershewouldhavehad to deal with a lot worsethan Lucy throwing a fewornamentsandtormentingher

withthecat.Lucyonlyhadtosee Stevie or hear her namementioned and she becameangry and upset. I hopedStevie wouldn’t make hernext visit too close toChristmas, as I didn’t wantLucy upset over the festiveperiod. However, when Jillnext visited – the first weekin December – she said,

‘Stevie has left thedepartment and has gone towork for another authority.Herpostwon’tbefilleduntilafter Christmas, so if youneed to contact thedepartment in the meantime,phoneherteammanager.’‘Allright,’Isaid.‘Hopefully Lucy will get

onbetterwith thenewsocial

worker,’Jilladded.‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘And

hopefully her new socialworker won’t be allergic tocats!’

Chapter Twenty-Two

A New Year,a New Social

Worker

IloveChristmas,andsodoes

my family. I always makesurethechildrenI lookafter,as well as my own, have afantastic Christmas – onetheywillremember.Somanyof the children I foster haveneverhadaproperChristmasbefore,andIcancryatsomeof the stories they tell meabout their Christmasesbeforecomingintocare.Over

theyears I’veheardof everydisappointment and atrocityyoucanimaginetakingplaceonChristmas day: having noChristmasatall,despitebeingpromisedone;havingnofoodin the house and having tobeg fromneighbours;parentsbeingtoodrunk,hungoverorhigh on drugs to look aftertheir children, so that they

wereleft togetonwith it,astheywere everyotherdayofthe year; and, worst of all,children being abused onChristmas day.Abuse is evilat any time,but atChristmas– a time of good will andpeace–itseemsanevenvileroutrage, andmy heart aches.One child I looked after hadbeen badly beaten by his

parentsonChristmasmorningfor waking them up early,hoping that Father Christmashad been. He hadn’t. Theparents locked him in thecellaruntiltheywerereadytoget up in the afternoon andstartdrinkingagain.Lucy had been in care the

previous Christmas, so sheknewtherewasplentytolook

forwardto.Mostfostercarersgo out of their way to makesure the children they lookafterhavealovelyChristmas,because they know howimportant it is to them.School broke up four daysbeforeChristmas,andAdrian,Paula and Lucy’s excitementescalated until ChristmasEve, when they hung their

sacks on the front door inanticipation of FatherChristmas coming – only, ofcourse, in our house it wasMummy Christmas. Theywereallsoexcitedtheydidn’tgo to sleep until after eleveno’clock, and then I heardthem wake with shouts of‘Father Christmas has been!’justbeforeseveno’clock.

Adrian, now fourteen, nolonger believed in FatherChristmas, but hewas happyto keep the magic alive foreveryone else’s sake. Paula,nowagedten,hadherdoubts,but put them aside, helpedthis year by Lucy who,thoughtwelve,hadneverhadthe opportunity of believinginFatherChristmasasachild

and embraced itwholeheartedly, so dispellingPaula’sdoubts.Astheystartedunwrapping

the presents in their sacks,whichhadmiraculouslyfilledandbeenplacedbytheirbedsduring the night, I slippedinto my dressing gown andwent in and out of theirbedroomstowatchthemopen

theirgifts.‘LookwhatFatherChristmas has brought me!It’sjustwhatIwanted!’Lucycriedoverandoveragain.‘And me!’ Adrian and

Paula called back from theirbedrooms, as they tore thepaperfromtheirpresents.Seeing their little faces

light up with unbridled joymade all the preparation and

hard work that goes intoChristmas completelyworthwhile. Once they’dfinishedopeningtheir‘FatherChristmas presents’, theyadmired each other’s giftsand then, when washed anddressed, we all wentdownstairs for a lightbreakfast.I’dset theovenonthe timer so the turkey was

already cooking, and I nowpreparedthevegetableswhilewewaitedformyparentsandmybrother and his family toarrive, which they did ateleven o’clock. Thehappiness and excitementgrew as we exchanged giftsand thenplayedgames, ate ahuge Christmas dinner withall the trimmings and then

played more games. Thehouserangwith thesoundoflaughter – from adults andchildren – and eventually,when everyone left justbeforemidnight,weagreeditwas the best Christmas ever;butthen,wealwayssaythat.

Adrian and Paula’s fathertook them out the following

day (Boxing Day), asarranged. This allowed Lucyandmetospendsomeone-to-one time together, as on theother Sundays the childrensawtheirfather.‘We’re not going to do

school work today, are we?’Lucysaid,pullingaface,asIreturned from seeing off thechildren.Lucyusuallydidan

hour or two of school workwhenAdrian andPaulawereoutwiththeirfather,asitwasagoodopportunity forher tohave my undivided attentionandhelp.Ilaughed.‘No.It’sBoxing

Day–stillpartofChristmas,’Isaid.‘Anyway,youtoldmeyoulikeddoingextraworktocatchup.’

‘Yes, I don’t mind. I’mpleasedI’mnotbottomoftheclassanymore.Ihatedthat.’I toldLucy Iwasgoing to

have to clear up fromyesterday before we didanythingelse.‘Can I help you?’ she

asked, followingme into thekitchen.‘Yes, if you’d like to,’ I

said. ‘Or you can play withyour Christmas presents.’ Irarely asked Lucy to help inthe house, as she’d had fartoo much responsibility fordomestic chores beforecomingintocare.‘Idon’tmindhelpingyou,’

she said, picking up a teatowelas Ibeganwashing thefirst pan. ‘I like to help you,

you’re like amum. I used tohatedoingitformyauntsandDave.’‘Youweremade to do far

toomuch,’ I said, as I’d toldherbefore.‘Itwaswrong.’‘But I got through it, and

all theotherstuff,’Lucysaidstoically. ‘There’smany kidsworseoffthanme.’I smiled sadly. ‘Yes,

you’reright.’SinceLucyhadbeen with me she’d grownincreasingly positive in heroutlook, which I thoughtwouldserveherwellinlife.‘Some of my aunts were

worsethanothers,’Lucysaid,takingthepanI’djustwashedanddryingit.‘Therewasonecalled Pinky. What a sillyname!Shewasa realcow to

me. She used to have menround when Dave wasn’tthere.Theyusedtodrinkandsmokestuff.She toldme if Itook my knickers off andshowed my bare bottom tothe men they’d give memoney.EnoughtobuyallthesweetsIeverwanted.’My hands froze in the

washing-up water and I

stopped cleaning the pan.‘And did you show them?’ Iasked.‘No!Iwasonly littlebut I

knewitwaswrong.’‘And they didn’t force

you?’ I asked, hardly daringtolookather.‘I don’t think so. It’s

difficult to remember. Therewere so many different

people in different flats andhouses. I remember Pinkykeptaskingmetotakeoffmyknickers. She said she tookhersoffforthemen,soitwasOKforme todo it.ShealsosaidIshouldn’ttellDave,buthe threwher out anyway.Orsheleft.Idon’tknowwhich.’IcontinuedtolookatLucy

assheabsentlydriedthepan.

‘Haveyou toldanyoneaboutthis?’Iaskedgently.‘Oneofyour social workers or apreviousfostercarer?’‘No.I’dforgottenallabout

it until just now. It suddenlypoppedintomyheadasIwasstandinghere. Is thatnormal,Cathy; to forget and thensuddenlyremember?’‘Yes, perfectly normal,’ I

said. ‘Especially with badmemories. Because you feelsafenowyourmindisslowlyallowing you to remember –only what it feels you candeal with. There may havebeenatriggertothismemory– possibly being in thekitchen. But suddenlyremembering is normal, andwhen you eventually start

therapythetherapistwillhelpyou deal with thosememories.’‘You help me already,’

Lucy said, planting a kiss onmycheek.I smiled weakly. ‘Lucy,

whatyoutoldmejustnowischild abuse, and I’ll bepassing on what you said toyour socialworker, as Ihave

the other things you’ve toldme. If there is enoughevidence, the police willinvestigate.It’simportantthatpeople like Pinky and thosemen are brought to trial, tostop them harming otherchildren. Idon’tsupposeyoucanrememberPinky’ssecondname? Or the names of themen, or where you were

livingatthattime?’‘No.Idon’t thinkIknew,’

Lucysaid,withasmallshrug.‘I remember I didn’t haveSammyatthattime,andtherewasn’t a teacher I could talkto.ButIdon’tknowhowoldI was or where we wereliving.’‘All right, don’t worry,’ I

said.‘You’vebeenthroughso

much; you’re doing verywell.’‘Much better than you’re

doing with the washing up,’Lucy said with a laugh.‘You’veonlydoneonepan!’I laughed too and, taking

the next pan, began washingit, as Lucy started talkingaboutChristmas: thepresentsshe’dreceivedandthegames

we’dplayed,andreliving thehighlights.Likemanyabusedand neglected children, Lucyhad developed a copingmechanism that allowed hertorecountamemoryandthenreturntothepresentandpickupwhereshe’dleftoff.

NoChristmascardorpresenthad arrived via the social

services fromLucy’smother,so I assumed none had beensent. Lucy hadn’t mentionednot receiving a card orpresentfromhermotherandIdidn’tthinksheexpectedone.However, now she suddenlysaid, ‘I hope my mum’s allright.IworryaboutherwhenI don’t hear from her forages.’

‘I’m sure she is all right,love,’ I said. ‘She can lookafter herself. But if you’reworried, I’ll phone the socialservices when they reopentomorrow and ask if anyonehas heard from her. Or youcouldphonethemyourself,ifyoulike?You’reoldenough.’‘No, you do it,’ she said.

Then,takingthenextpan,she

looked at me thoughtfully.‘Cathy, do you ever makeNewYear’sresolutions?Youknow,thingsyou’resupposedtodoorstopdoing?’‘Sometimes,’Isaid.‘Likewhat?’‘Usuallynottoeatsomuch

cakeandchocolate.’Lucy laughed loudly.

‘You’llbreakthatforsure!’

‘Iknow.’‘I was thinking I should

make a New Year’sresolution to try and be nicetomynewsocialworker,andto forgiveall thepeoplewhohurtme. Then I’ll be a nicerperson,won’tI?’‘Oh, love,’ I said, turning

toher.‘Youareanicepersonalready.Iloveyoujustasyou

are.’‘I love you too,’ she said,

with another kiss on mycheek.‘AndIalwayswill.’

I telephoned the socialservices the following day,but therewasonlyaskeletonstaff in the offices until aftertheNewYear,soasitwasn’tan emergency I said I’d

phone back in aweek. Iwasaware that the final courthearinghadtakenplacesometime in December and Iassumed Stevie’s managerhad represented the socialservices in court. As theoutcomeofthehearingdidn’tdirectly affect me lookingafterLucy,Ihadn’tbeentold,butitseemedlikelythejudge

wouldhavegrantedthesocialservices a Full Care Order,which would give them fullparental rights, although itdidn’tchangethecareplan.Iwondered if Bonnie hadattended the court hearing orwhether she’d left it to hersolicitor and lawyer. Allparties in care proceedingshave legal representation; if

they can’t afford the legalcosts,thenthosecostsaremetby thestate through the legalaidscheme.All toosoontheChristmas

holidays came to an end andwe had to take down thedecorationsandstowtheminthe loft for next year. Thechildren were very slowgetting up on that first

morning back at school, so Ihadtochivvythemalong.‘Six weeks until half-term

holiday,’ Adrian sighed atbreakfastthatmorning.Lucy groaned and Paula

pulleda sulky face. Itwasn’tthattheydidn’tlikeschool;itwasthewrenchofgoingbackafterawonderfulChristmas.Ifelt the same reluctance to

starttheschoolroutineagain.‘Ihope it snows like itdid

lastyear,’Lucysaid,perkingupalittleatthethought.‘I hope so too!’ Paula

agreed.‘Wehadsuchfun!’Incredibly, in February

Lucy would have been withus for a year. We thoughtbackand rememberedhow ithad snowed on her first

weekend with us, and wesharedourhappymemories.

The following week, on theTuesday morning, havingheardnothingfromthesocialservices, I prepared forLucy’s review, which wasscheduled to take place ateleven o’clock. Jill hadtelephoned the department to

confirm the review wastaking place, and the teammanager said that itwas andthat anewsocialworkerhadjust taken up the post andwould be attending thereview. As with Lucy’sprevious review, itwas tobeheld at my house and Lucycould have attended, but hadchosen not to, preferring to

gotoschoolinstead.Jill arrived first, ten

minutes early. I made uscoffeeandwetookitthroughto the living room,which I’dpreviously dusted, vacuumedandtidiedasIhadtherestofthe house. Peter, thereviewing officer, arrivednext. I made him a cup ofcoffee and then joined them

inthelivingroom.‘I understand Lucy’s new

social worker will beattending,’ Peter said. ‘Haveyoumether?’‘No,’JillandIsaid.‘I’mnotexpectingmanyto

attend this review,’ Petercontinued, addressing usboth. ‘It seems that becauseno socialworker has been in

place the invitations to thereviewhaven’tbeensentout.’Normally,twoweeksbeforeareview the social workersendsinvitationstoallpartiesinvolved with the child, butthishadn’thappenedasLucyhadn’t had a social worker.‘I’msureyou’llbeabletotellus what we need to knowabout Lucy,’ Peter added,

lookingatme.‘Yes, I’m sure I will,’ I

said. ‘I know Lucy verywell.’Wesippedourcoffees,and

Jill and Peter took out theirnotepads and pens, ready tobegin as soon as the newsocial worker arrived. Fiveminutes later the doorbellrang and I went straight to

answer it. A smartly dressedlady in her forties smiled atme. ‘Cathy? Have I got therightaddress?’‘Yes.Comein.’‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said,

slightlyflustered,offeringherhand for shaking. ‘I’m Lily,Lucy’snewsocialworker.’‘Nicetomeetyou,’Isaid.‘Sorry I didn’t have a

chancetomeetyouandLucybefore the review,’ Lily nowapologized. ‘I only took uppost yesterday and it’s beenratherhectic.’‘Icanimagine,’Isaid.But

I wondered how much useshe was going to be, havingjust taken up post and notknowingLucy’scase.‘We’re through here,’ I

said, leading the way downthe hall and into the livingroom.Peter and Jill stood,

introduced themselves andshook hands with Lily. Ioffered her a drink, but shedidn’t want one. As wesettledonthesofaandchairs,Toscha, inquisitiveas towhowashere,saunteredin.

‘What a lovely cat,’ Lilysaid,andimmediatelyroseinmy estimation. ‘I bet Lucylikesher,’sheadded.‘She does,’ I said. Jill

threwmeaknowingsmile.Peternowofficiallyopened

the review and, aswas usualpractice, we introducedourselves. He then spoke toLily. ‘I’m assuming that as

the invitations weren’t senttherewill just be the four ofus?’‘Yes,I’msorryaboutthat,’

Lilysaid,apologizingagain.‘It’s not your fault,’ Peter

replied.‘We’llsendacopyofthe minutes to all parties.Let’s make a start then.Cathy, would you like tobeginbytellingushowLucy

hasbeendoing sinceher lastreview?’I glanced at the sheet of

paper I held where I’d listedthekeypoints.PeterwroteasI spoke. ‘Lucy is still doingvery well at home andschool,’ I began. ‘She hasfully integrated into myfamily and has a lovelyrelationshipwithmychildren,

myparentsandme.Shesaysshe loves us all, and wecertainly love her. Shecelebrated her birthday inSeptember and although shedidn’t want to invite anyonefrom school we still had alovely time.’ I then told thereview what we’d done forLucy’sbirthdayandaboutthepresentsshe’dreceived.

‘Very good,’ Peter said ashewrote.‘Lucy is stillmaking good

progress at school,’ Icontinued.‘AtthestartofthenewschoolyearinSeptembershe went up a year with herclass.Iamincontactwithhernew form teacher,MrMace,and he is pleased with herprogress. I sent a copy of

Lucy’s end-of-year report,which included her testresults, to thesocialservices.She’s catching up fast and isnow only twelve monthsbehindherpeergroup.’‘Excellent,’ Peter said.

Then glancing up at Lily, heasked, ‘Do you have a copyofLucy’sschoolreport?’‘Notwithme,’shesaid.‘It

will be on file. I’ll read itwhenIreturntotheoffice.’Peter nodded, then looked

tome tocontinue. I said thatLucy was much better atmanaging her anger andfrustration now, and thatwhile her eating hadimprovedIstillhadconcerns,asitdidn’ttakemuchforhertostopeatingafteranupset.I

said I thought her eatingproblems were more to dowith her emotions and pastexperiencesthananydesiretobe thin. She didn’t ever sayshewas fat or spend a lot oftimeinfrontofthemirror,orpurgeherselformakeherselfsick, as some suffering fromeatingdisordersdo.‘Well, that’s hopeful,’

Petersaid.‘So,we’llcontinueto monitor Lucy for thepresent, without medicalintervention?’‘Yes,’Iagreed.‘I’mhappy

with that.’ I concluded myreportbysayingalittleaboutthe fantastic Christmas we’dhad.‘Thank you very much,’

Petersaid.‘DidLucyseeher

motheratChristmas?’‘No.Therehasn’tbeenany

face-to-face contact since thelast review,’ I confirmed.‘Although Bonnie did sendher a birthday card via thesocialservices.’‘Oh,thatremindsme,’Lily

said, dipping her hand intoher briefcase. ‘There’s aChristmascardhereforLucy

from Bonnie. It was left onmydesk.’Better late than never, I

thought, but didn’t say. Itwasn’t Lily’s fault the cardwassolate.‘Iopenedittomakesureit

was appropriate,’ Lily said,handing the card to me. It’susualforthesocialworkerorsometimes the foster carer to

open cards and letters fromthe child’s family, to makesure nothing threatening orupsetting has been writteninside. This may seemintrusive,butchildrenincarecan be easily scared intosilence or badly upset by aninappropriate word orcomment.‘Thank you,’ I said, and

laid the card on the sofabesideme.Peternowasked Jill if she

had anything to add to whatI’dsaid.‘Not really,’ Jill said. ‘As

Cathy’s support socialworker, I visit every monthand I’m pleased with theprogress Lucy has madeunderCathy’scare.Asfaras

the agency is concerned, it’sbeen an excellent placement.Lucy has come on in leapsand bounds, and Cathy andher family have foundlooking after Lucy veryrewarding.’‘Thankyou,’Petersaid,as

he finished writing. Thenturning to Lily he said, ‘Iappreciate you’ve just taken

up post, but can you updateusasbestyoucan,please?’‘Yes,ofcourse,’Lilysaid,

taking some papers from herbriefcase.‘IreadasmuchasIcouldofthefilelastnight,soI’ve got a feel for the caseandwhat has been going on,although you’ll have toexcuse me if I can’t answerall yourquestions. I alsohad

a quick meeting with mymanager this morning, andbriefly spoke to the family-findingteamfortheirupdate.’IcouldseethatPeterandJillwere as impressed as I was;Lily had been very diligentandconscientious.‘Let’s start with the

outcome of the final courthearing,’ Peter said, pen

poisedandreadytowrite.Lily nodded. ‘The hearing

wasn’t contested,’ shebegan.‘The social services havebeen granted a Full CareOrder in respect of Lucy.Bonniewasincourt,butonlyspoke through her lawyer.Essentially,shetoldthejudgethat she was happy for Lucyto stay in long-term care, as

sheknewLucywouldhaveabetter life than the one shecould give her. Bonnie saidshe’dliketoseeLucytwiceayear and also be allowed tosend her Christmas andbirthday cards, which thesocial services have agreedto. However, Bonniecomplained through herlawyertothejudgeabout the

number of different fostercarers Lucy has had sincecoming into care, and theamountof time itwas takingto find Lucy a permanenthome. Our lawyer explainedthat it was because of thematching process – that wewere trying to find apermanentfamilyforLucytomatchher cultural heritage. I

understandfrommymanagerthatBonnie’s lawyer told thejudge that Bonnie hadn’t aclue what they were talkingabout,asLucywasEnglish.’Jill and I exchanged a

meaningful glance, whilePeter looked up from hiswriting. ‘The mother has agood point,’ he said. ‘Howlong are the social services

going to be looking for thisfamily before they widentheir search to include otherfamilies? It’s a pity wehaven’t anyone from thefamily-findingteamhere.’‘I’m sorry,’ Lily said.

‘WhenIspoke to thefamily-finding team this morningthey said they were stillcontacting independent

fosteringagenciesforthebestmatch.’Peter sighed. ‘And Lucy

can’t possibly stay here withyou?’heasked.It took me a moment to

realizehewastalkingtome.

Chapter Twenty-Three

‘She’s OK fora Girl’

I was stunned, speechlesswith shock. Then I began

grappling for the words Ineeded to reply. ‘We’d loveto have Lucy staypermanently,’ I said. ‘Butwe’renotallowedto.’‘What do you mean – not

allowedto?’Peterasked.I lookedatJill tohelpme,

andshelookedatPeterasshespoke.‘LastSeptemberCathytoldme shewould like to be

consideredtolookafterLucylong term. I said I wouldsupportherapplication.LucyhadsettledinwellwithCathyand was making goodprogress. However, when Iapproached Stevie she saidshe wouldn’t put Cathy’sapplication forward becauseshe felt she couldn’t meetLucy’sculturalneeds.’

‘I wasn’t aware of this,’Petersaid,frowning.‘This happened after

Lucy’s last review,’ Jillclarified.‘Are you aware of this?’

PeternowaskedLily.‘No,’Lilysaid.‘Presumablyyourmanager

is?’‘I would think so,’ Lily

said. ‘Stevie would havediscussed it with him at thetime.’Peter paused and, giving a

small cough to clear histhroat, looked at us all. ‘Iwould have liked to havebeeninformedatthetime.Noonehastowaituntil thenextreview to advise a reviewingofficerofadevelopment ina

case or a change incircumstances, especiallywhen it is important. I’mcontactable between reviewsby phone and email. And ifthereissomethingweneedtodiscuss I can bring forwardthe date of the next review.’NoneofwhichIknew,andIdoubted many other fostercarerskneweither.

‘I’m sorry you weren’tinformed,’Lilysaid,althoughof course she hadn’t beenresponsibleforthis.Peter looked thoughtful

and then said to Lily: ‘Iappreciate you’ve onlyrecently joined the team, butwhat is your view onsupporting Cathy’sapplication,assumingshestill

wants to keep Lucy longterm?’‘I do,’ I said, before Lily

had a chance to reply. I feltmy pulse quicken and mycheeksflush.IlookedatLilyand waited, as Peter and Jillweredoing.‘I don’t know,’ Lily said

after a moment, shiftinguncomfortably in her chair.

‘I’mnotfamiliarwithLucy’scase, and I haven’t evenmetLucyyet. I’dhave todiscussit with my manager and thefamily-finding team. Itwouldn’t just be mydecision.’‘No, I appreciate that,’

Petersaid.Jill was looking as though

she was bursting to say

something, but was wiselywaiting to hear what elsePeter had to say, for clearlyhehadn’tfinishedyet.‘It’s not my decision

either,’ Peter continued,mainlyaddressingLily.‘ButIhave an opinion, and havingbeenLucy’sreviewingofficerfortwoyearsIknowthecasewell. I shall be includingmy

view in the record of thisreview. I would like to seeCathy’sapplicationgivenfullconsideration; indeed, Idon’treally understand why itwasn’t before. If Lucy’smother isn’t asking for afamily forLucy thatmatchesher daughter’s dual heritage,then I don’t see why thesocial services should

continue in their search andprolong the uncertainty forLucy. First and foremost,Lucy needs a permanenthome and a loving family,whichCathycanoffer.Whenyou return to your office, Ishould like you to set up ameeting with your managerand the other professionalsinvolved in Lucy’s case, to

consider the possibility ofLucy staying here as a long-termfosteringplacement.’‘Yes, Sir,’ Lily said. ‘Sir’

didn’t seem out of place,given Peter’s now veryauthoritativemanner.‘Iwill,’shesaid,andmadeanote.Peter also wrote and then

looked up. ‘Is there anythingelse we need to discuss?’ he

asked,lookingatusall.Stunned into silence, Lily

andIshookourheads.‘No,Ithink we’ve coveredeverything,’Jillsaid.‘InthatcaseI’llsetthedate

forthenextreview;notinsixmonths’time,butinamonth,sowe can see what progresshas been made. But, Cathy,’he said, now turning to me,

‘youcanexpect tohear fromthesocialserviceswellbeforethe next review – within thenext couple of days, andcertainly by the end of theweek.’Lily nodded in agreement

andmade another notewhileIlookedagainatJill.ShewasclearlyastakenabackbythissuddendevelopmentasIwas,

butIcouldalsoseecautioninher gaze, warning me not toget my hopes up yet. It wasthe first time I’d been at areview when the reviewingofficer had been as proactiveas Peter. Usually they justrecorded and reviewed. Ithought it was fantastic thatPeterwasmaking full use ofhisrole.

Having set a date for thenext review for the secondweek in February, Peterthanked us all for attendingand closed the meeting. Hestood to leave, said goodbyeand I saw him out. When Ireturned to the living roomLily was packing her papersinto her briefcase. The poorwomanlookedquiteshocked,

and Iwasn’t surprised, givenwhathadhappened.‘I’ll need to see Lucy as

soon as possible,’ she said,standing. ‘Can I visit you onFridayafter school? I’llhavehad a chance to talk to mymanagerbythen.’‘Yes,ofcourse,’Isaid.‘What do you think your

manager will say?’ Jill now

asked.‘Idon’tknow,’Lilysaid.‘I

haven’tdiscusseditwithhimbefore.’‘Hemayhavehadachange

of heart after Bonnie’scomplaint in court and nowthe reviewing officer’scomments.’‘I really don’t know,’Lily

said again, clearly flustered.

‘I’ll do as the reviewingofficersaid,I’llspeaktohimand set up a meeting. I’llphone you when I have anynews.’‘Thankyou,’Isaid.Lily said goodbye to Jill

andIsawhertothedoor.‘I’llphone,’ Lily said again, asshe disappeared down thepathtowardshercar.

Iclosed thefrontdoorandreturned to the living room.My mouth was dry and mythoughts were whizzing.‘Well, well! What a turn ofevents,’ I said, as I floppeddown onto the sofa with aheartfeltsigh.Jillwas lookingatmeand

was clearly as bemused as Iwas, but I could see that her

expression was also serious.‘Cathy, I don’t want youdisappointed twice. Pleasedon’t raise your hopes yet,and don’t say a word to thechildren.Thiscouldallcometo nothing if the departmentstill feels that Lucy’s needswould be better met byanotherfamily.’‘Iknow,’Isaid.‘ButIcan

hope.’WhichiswhatIdid.Ispent

the rest of the day wishing,hopingandprayingthatLucywouldbeallowedtostay.

WhenLucycamehomefromschool that afternoon, whileomitting any reference topermanency, I told her aboutthe review, which as her

fostercarerIwasexpectedtodo. She wasn’t reallyinterested,but I toldherwhowaspresentandthateveryonewas very pleased with herprogress. I said that her newsocial worker was verypleasant,andIgaveLucytheChristmas card from hermother. ‘It was sent beforeChristmas,’ I said.

‘Unfortunately it gotoverlooked.’Lucy didn’t comment that

it was late, nor that the cardhad been opened. I guessedthat, having been in care forsome time, she was used tohaving her post opened. Asshe slid the card from theenvelope, her whole face litup. ‘Mr Bunny!’ she

exclaimed. ‘Thank you,Mum.’I moved closer so I could

seethecard.Onthefrontwasa traditional snow scene, butsittingon thepileof snow inthemiddlewasapictureofatoy rabbit, the image of MrBunny.‘How lovely!’ I cried. ‘I

wonder where your mother

managed to find that card.She must have spent a longtime looking.’ I didn’t knowif Bonnie had spent timelooking for the card or ifshe’d just stumbled across it,but it was a thoughtfulgesture and clearly meant alot to Lucy. She opened thecard and, still smiling, readthe words inside. Then she

passedthecardtometoread.The printed words saidsimply:MerryChristmasandA Happy New Year. Bonniehad added… to you andMrBunny. Ihopeyouallhavealovely Christmas. See you inthe New Year. Love Bonnie(Mum)xxx.‘That’s lovely,’ I said.

‘You’ll have to put it

somewheresafe.’‘I’ll put it in my drawer

with my other cards and myspecialbook,’Lucysaid.Ihandedherback thecard

and she disappeared upstairsto her room to put the cardsafely away. It didn’t matterto Lucy that her motherhadn’t sent her a present, orthat shehadn’t seenherover

Christmas.Lucyacceptedhermother’s behaviour and hadrealistic expectations ofwhather mother could and couldnotdo.Itwasenoughthathermotherhadsentacard,whichreassured Lucy that she wassafeandwell.

I heard nothing from Lily orJill on the Wednesday or

Thursday of thatweek, but Iknew they would phone iftherewasanynews.AlthoughI continued as best I couldwith the weekday routine,what was going on at thesocial services was never farfrom my mind. I regularlyimagined thediscussions thatwere taking place,hypothesizing on what was

being said and the variousoutcomes. This includedeverything from the positive– it had been decided that IcouldapplytokeepLucy–tothenegative–myapplicationstill wouldn’t be upheld. Soby the time Friday arrived, Ithought I could handle anynews; that was, until Lilyphoned.I’djustreturnedfrom

taking Paula to school andwas in thehall takingoffmycoat and shoes when thephone rang. ‘Hello,’ I said,pickingupthehandset.‘Cathy.’AssoonasIheard

Lily’svoicemylegstrembledand I sat on the chair besidethe phone. ‘Sorry I haven’tbeen in touch sooner. It’sbeen constant meetings here

since I saw you on Tuesday,mainly about Lucy. I’m dueto see Lucy after schooltonight,butIwantedtospeakto you first. The departmenthasreviewedLucy’scaseandwe have come to theconclusion that, assumingLucy wants to, we wouldsupportanapplicationbyyoutokeepherlongterm.’

Iopenedmymouth,butnowords came out, as Lilycontinued talking in thebackground, explainingprocedure. Had I heard hercorrectly? Had they changedtheirminds?WasLilysayingthatLucydidn’thavetomoveandcouldstayandbepartofmyfamily?’‘So you’ll support my

application?’Iasked.‘Yes. Assuming Lucy

wants to stay, which fromwhat I know I’m sure shewill.WhenIseeLucytonightI’ll explainwhatpermanencywillmean for her. I’ll phoneJill when we’ve finished.We’re too late for theFebruary permanency panelso I’d like to take this to the

March panel. We should beable tomanagethat ifwegeta move on.’ There was apause and then she said:‘You’vegoneveryquiet.AreyouOK?’‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I said,my

eyes filling. ‘Just trying totakeitallin.’‘Well, I’ll leave you to it

then. I’ll see you and Lucy

afterschool,atabouthalfpastfour.’‘CanItellLucy?’Ithought

toask.‘Yes,ifyou’dliketo.’‘Thankyou.Seeyoulater.’

I put down the phone andremained sitting in the hall.Sometimesmonumentalnews– good or bad – is so

overwhelming that we areunabletoprocessitallinonego, and have to digest itpiecemealtofullyunderstandwhat we’ve been told. So itwas with Lucy. I’d heardwhat Lily had said andgradually I understood. Lucycouldstay forgood.Tearsofrelief and overwhelminghappiness rolled down my

cheeksasIcriedandlaughed,and Toscha looked at me asthough I’d gone completelymad.

During the rest of the day,while I was going about mychores, I quietly rejoiced inthe news and pictured tellingthe children. At first, Ithought I would gather the

threeofthemtogetherandtellthem all at once, but then Idecided they should be toldseparately, taking intoaccounttheirindividualneedsand levels of understanding.Paula, I would tell as wewalked home from school –we often spoke of importantmatters then,when therewasjust the two of us. I’d tell

Adrian and Lucy separatelyas they arrived home. Myeyes filled each time Ipictured telling them thewonderfulnews,andalsomyparents,whoIknewwouldbeaspleasedasIwas.Jill telephoned during the

afternoon, having spoken toLily. ‘Congratulations!’ shesaid,assoonasIanswered.

‘Thank you, Jill. I stillcan’tbelieveit.’‘I’m so pleased for you.

Weallare.’Homefinderswasasmall fosteringagency,andI knew they all shared in thegood news of their fostercarers. ‘I hope someone hasthought to tell Peter thedepartment’s decision,’ Jilladded with a laugh. ‘I’ll

remind Lily the next time Ispeak to her, or there’ll beanothertelling-offat thenextreview.’‘Yes.’ I smiled. ‘Jill, did

Lily tell you what promptedthe department to changetheir minds and support myapplication?’Iasked.‘Not exactly. But reading

between the lines, I think it

was a combination ofBonnie’s complaint in court,the reviewing officer’scomments and the change ofsocial worker. Lily was 100per cent behind you andsupported your application.She didn’t have the samereservationsasStevie.’‘Thank goodness,’ I said.

‘But I dowonder howmany

otherchildrenareinthesameposition as Lucy and havehad to wait years for apermanent family with the“right”ethnicmatch.’‘Too many,’ Jill said

bluntly. ‘Attitudes arechanging, but gradually.There is still a long way togo. Of course, culturalidentity is important, but

more important to a child ishaving a loving family.Anyway,at leastLucy’swaitisover.She’sgother family.I’llpreparethedocumentsweneed and then I’ll come andseeyou.And,Cathy?’‘Yes?’‘It’sessentialthatLilysees

Lucytonightwhenshevisits.Lucy can’t hide in her

bedroom as she has beendoing. As her social worker,LilyneedstohearfromLucyherself that she wants tostay.’‘Iunderstand,’Isaid.‘Well, there’s no need to

say“haveahappyweekend”.Iknowyouwill.I’llphonetoarrange a visit as soon as Ihavethepaperworkready.’

‘Thank you, Jill,’ I saidagain. ‘Thanks foreverything.’‘You’re welcome. I

couldn’t be happier for youall.’

Laterthatafternoon,wrappedupagainstthecold,Istoodinthe playground chatting toothermothersas Iwaited for

school to finish. I wasburstingtotellPaulathegoodnews. As soon as the bellrangIsteppedforward,awayfrom the othermothers,withmy gaze concentrated on thedoor shewould comeout of.She saw me straight away,smiled,andranover.‘Hello,love,’Isaid,giving

her a kiss, as I always do.

‘Haveyouhadagoodday?’‘We had fish fingers,

mashed potato and bakedbeans for lunch,’ she said.‘Myfavourite.’‘Good. And did you

remember to change yourreadingbook?’‘Yes, and we’ve got

comprehension and mathshomework.’ She pulled a

face.‘It’sdifficult.’‘Don’tworry,I’llhelpyou

over the weekend,’ I said,helping her do up the topbuttononhercoat.Paula slipped her gloved

hand into mine and calledgoodbye toher friendsaswecrossed the playground. Iwanted to be away from thecrowd so that no one could

hearuswhenItoldPaulaournews. OnMonday she couldtell her friends, but for nowthiswasprivateandpersonal– just for us. Once we werethe other side of thecongestion at the schoolgates, I gave Paula’s hand alittle squeeze and began:‘Paula,youknowyou’vetoldmeinthepasthowmuchyou

like having Lucy living withus, and that you look uponherasasister?’‘Yes,’shesaid.‘She’slike

family and I wish she couldstay.’‘Well, love, I have some

very good news.Lucy’s newsocial worker phoned metoday and the social serviceshave decided that Lucy can

staywithus,ifshewantsto.’‘She will!’ Paula cried.

Then, thinking this might betoo good to be true, sheasked, ‘Really? Are yousure?’I smiled. ‘Absolutely

positive. Lucy can stay andbe part of our family forgood.’‘Yippee!’ Paula cried,

giving a little skip. ‘I’m sopleased. I love Lucy, and Ilove you andAdrian, and allmyfamily!’Which was enough to

make me emotional again,and it was a few momentsbefore I could talk. ‘I loveyou too,’ I said. ‘Very, verymuch.’As we continued to walk

home, I reminded Paula thatLucy’s social worker wascomingtoseeherafterschooland that she would want totalk to Lucy alone. ‘Iunderstand,’ Paula said, inher grown-up way. ‘WillLucy still have to see socialworkers now she’s stayingwith us? And have all thosereviews, when you spend

ages cleaning the house andgetoutthebestmugs?’I smiled at her. ‘Yes, but

after permanency has beengranted the reviews willhappen less often, althoughLucy will still see her socialworker regularly.’ This wasbecause,asalong-termfosterplacement, Lucy wouldtechnicallystillbeinthecare

system.

Whenwearrivedhome,Paulawanted to wait in the frontroom and watch at thewindow for Lucy to arrive,butItoldherIthoughtitwasbest if she carried on asnormal,andthatIwouldliketospeaktoLucyalonefirst.‘All right, Mummy,’ she

said sweetly, and barely abletocontainherexcitementsheranofftoplay.I went into the kitchen to

begin the preparations fordinner so that it would beready for when Lily hadgone.Presently, as Iworked,I heardAdrian let himself inthe front door. ‘I’m home,Mum!’ he called, as he did

every afternoon on arrivinghome.‘Hi, love. I’m in the

kitchen,’Ireturned.Following his usual

routine, Adrian dumped hisschool bag in the hall,together with his shoes andcoat, and then came into thekitchen to find himself asnack to see him through to

dinner.‘Have you had a good

day?’Iasked.‘Yes, thanks. What’s for

dinner?’ He peered into thepans and then startedrummaginginthefridge.‘Adrian, I need to talk to

you about somethingimportant,’Isaid.He paused and met my

gaze.‘Yes?’‘You know how well you

get along with Lucy? Am Iright in thinking you wouldbe happy if she stayed?’ButassoonasIsaidthewords,Irealized I’d phrased it badly.Supposinghesaidno?Tomy utter relief he said,

‘Yeah, sure. She’s OK for agirl. I’llmiss herwhen she’s

gone.’‘That’swhatIthought.I’m

pleased, because the socialservices are going to allowLucy to stay, assuming shewantsto.’‘She will,’ he said. ‘She

likesithere.She’stoldme.’‘And what about you,

Adrian? Are you completelyhappywithherstaying?It’sa

bigcommitmentforusall.’‘Yes, of course,’ he said,

tearing off a lump of crustybread togowith thepieceofcheese he’d cut. ‘I’m happyfor her to stay. But twosisters!’ He pulled a face.‘Howcouldyou,Mum!’‘And one amazing son,’ I

said, kissing him on thecheek.‘Loveyou.’

‘Loveyoumore!’NowallIhadtodowastell

Lucy.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Special Day

When I heard the doorbellringIwasimmediatelyinthehall to answer it. I hadn’t

given Lucy a front-door keyyet, but now shewas twelveand was staying for good Iwould give her a key. Paulawas in the living room andAdrianwasinhisbedroom.Ifelt a heady mixture ofexcitement and nervousnessasIopenedthefrontdoor.‘Hi, love.Howareyou?’ I

said,asshesteppedinside.As

usual, she offered her cheekforkissing.‘I’m not seeing that social

worker,’ Lucy said straightaway. ‘I know you said shewas nice, but I’m still notseeing her. Sorry. I’m goingtomy room.’ She kicked offher shoes, dumped her coaton the hall stand and beganupstairs.

‘Lucy!’ I called after her.‘There’s something I need totellyou.Youhavetoseeyoursocial worker. She has goodnews.’‘I doubt it,’ Lucy replied

glumly, and continuedupstairs. ‘You can tell melaterwhatIneedtoknow.’‘Shehastospeaktoyou!’I

cried, going after her. This

wasn’t how I’d visualizedtelling Lucy, not at all; andshe had to see her socialworker. ‘They’re letting youstay!’ I shouted, as I ranupstairs.‘Iknow,you toldme,’she

retorted. ‘Until they find meanotherfamily.’‘No!Forgood!’Shepausedonthetopstep,

with her back to me, thenturned and stared at me.‘What do you mean, forgood?Whatareyousaying?’I joinedheron the landing

and took her hand. ‘Lucy,your new social workerphoned me today. She saidthat if you wanted to stayhere permanently, thedepartment will support my

application to keep you. Soyouwon’thavetomoveeveragain; we’ll be your foreverfamily.’Lucy stared at me

completely bewildered, and Iknew how she felt. This hadallcomesoquicklyandwasashock after a year ofbelieving she was going.‘Why?’ she asked, her brow

furrowing. ‘I don’tunderstand.’‘BecauseIaskedforyouto

stay,love.Iknewyouwantedto, andwe loveyou.Youdowanttostay,don’tyou?’She nodded dumbly, still

unabletotakeit in.‘Let’sgoand sit in your room and I’llexplain what’s happened,’ Isaid.

I ledheralong the landingtoherroomwherewesatsidebysideonthebed,aswehaddone many times in the pastforourchats.Iheldherhandand gave it a reassuringsqueeze.Shelookedatme,solost and out of her depth, itreminded me of when she’dfirst arrived, adrift and veryafraid.

‘Lucy,’ I began, ‘halfwaythrough last year I realizedhow settled you were hereand thatyou’dgrownto loveus,aswehadyou.Morethanonce, you asked me if youcould stay and I always hadto tell you that Stevie waslooking for a permanentfamily for you – to matchyour cultural identity.’ Lucy

frowned.‘Iknow,love.Ifeltasyou

did, and thought you shouldstay. You were happy hereand looked upon us as yourfamily. When we returnedfrom our lovely summerholiday I asked Jill if shethoughtIcouldapplytohaveyou permanently, and shethought it was a good idea.

She told me not to sayanything to you, Adrian orPaula until she’d spoken toStevie, because she didn’twant you to be disappointed.ItwasjustaswellIdidn’ttellyou, because Stevie believedshe should keep looking forthe right family for you.’Lucyscowledagain.‘But since then, things

have happened that havemade the social serviceschange their minds. Yourmothertoldthejudgeincourtthat she was worried abouthow many moves you’d hadand how long it was takingthesocialservicestofindyouapermanentfamily.Thenyouhad a change of socialworker, and your new social

worker is happy to back myapplication. Lilywill explainall about this when shecomes, and she will need toseeyou.Shehastoaskyouifyouwanttostay.’‘Of course I do!’ Lucy

cried. ‘Oh my God, I’mstaying! I’ll see her and tellher, of course I will.’ Herface had lost its fearful

hunted look and she wasgrinningfromeartoear.‘Oh,is this really happening? Ican’t believe it. I’m sohappy.’ Then she frowned.‘They won’t change theirminds, will they? I couldn’tbearitiftheydid.’‘No, although it will have

to be approved by thepermanency panel, but you

don’t have to worry aboutthat.’‘Oh, Cathy!’ Lucy cried

again, finally accepting thatshecouldstayforgood.‘I’venothingmoretoworryabout.Thank you. I love you all somuch.’ Slipping her armsaroundmywaist,shelaidherhead against my chest and Iheld her close as she quietly

cried. ‘I’ll be normal now,’she said. ‘Like all the otherkids at school. I’ll beable toinvite a friend home for tea,now I have a family of myown.’It’s often the little

comments that take youunaware and make you wellup, and so it was with whatLucyhad just said. I realized

how much she must havebeen craving what mostchildren took for granted – afamily – and tears sprang tomyeyes.‘Inviteyour friendas soon

as you like,’ I said, when Iwasabletospeak.Wedidn’thavetimetotalk

further as the doorbell rang.‘That’ll be Lily,’ I said.

‘Come with me and we’llanswerittogether.’Lucy wiped her eyes and,

without offering anyobjection to seeing her newsocialworker, she stoodand,holdingmy hand, camewithme downstairs. Paulaappeared from the livingroom and skipped down thehall to us. ‘Are you happy?’

sheaskedLucy.‘Iam!’‘Very,’Lucysaid,smiling.I opened the door with

Lucy on one side ofme andPaula on the other. ‘What awelcomingparty!’Lilysaid.‘This is Lucy and this is

Paula,’ I said, introducingthem, as Lily hadn’t meteitherofthembefore.‘Hello ladies,’ she said,

shakingtheirhands.‘Howareyouboth?’Paula smiled sheepishly

while Lucy said, ‘I’m good,thankyou.’Lilyflashedmeaknowing

smile as she came in. I hunghercoatonthestandandthenwewentintothesittingroom.Adrianwas still in his room,so rather than interrupt him

now I’d tell him later whatLilyhadsaid.‘Asyoucanguessfromall

thehappyfaces,I’vetoldthechildren the good news,’ IsaidtoLily.‘DoyouwanttospeaktoLucyalonefirst?’‘Yes,Ithinkthatwouldbe

best,thenI’llhaveachatwithyouafter.’Paula and I left the living

roomasLilyandLucysatonthesofa.Itwasnearlyhalfanhour before Lucy came tofind us, now completelyrelaxedandsmiling.‘Youcancome in,’ she said. ‘Lily hadto make sure I understoodwhatwashappening,andaskme if Iwanted tostay. I toldheryes,yes,yes!’ShepickedPaulaup,gaveher abighug

and then swung her round,which made Paula laughloudly.We returned to the living

room. Paula sat on my lapwhile Lucy sat on the sofanext to Lily. ‘I’ve explainedto Lucy what permanencywillmean forher,’Lily said,addressing me. ‘And she’shappyforustogoahead.I’ve

also explained that she willstill be in care and I will bevisiting her to make sureshe’sallright.’‘I don’t mind now,’ Lucy

said.‘IlikeLily.’PaulashotLucyaquizzical

glance,clearlytakenabackbyhersuddenchangeofattitudetowards social workers,having previously refused to

see any. I could understandwhy Lucy felt differently.Nowshewasnolongerlivingunder the constant threat ofbeingmovedagain,hersocialworker had changed frombeingherenemytoherally.‘I’ve also spoken to

Bonnie,’ Lily continued,addressing me. ‘She’sconfirmed she’s happy for

Lucytostaywithyou,and,asyou know, shewould like toseeLucya coupleof timesayear. It’s over six monthssince she last saw her andshe’s back in town for awhile,soI’mgoing tosetupcontact for next week. I’mthinking of Wednesday. AreyouabletocollectLucyfromschool and take her to

contact?’‘Yes,’Isaid.Lilymade a note. ‘Bonnie

has asked if she can haveyourtelephonenumbersoshecan phone Lucy on specialoccasions – Christmas andbirthdays. Before I give heryour number, I wanted toconfirm it was all right withyoufirst.’

‘Yes, that’s fine with me.It’llbeniceforLucytospeaktohermotherbetweenseeingher.’Iftherearesafeguardingconcerns, then the parents ofa child in care are not giventhe foster carer’s contactdetails, but there were nosuchconcernshere.‘Well, I think that’sall for

now,’ Lily said, as she

finished writing. ‘Do youhaveanyquestions?’‘I can’t think of any,’ I

said. I looked at Lucy, whoshookherhead.‘Phoneme if you think of

anything,’Lilysaidtous.She packed away her

notepad and pen and stood.‘I’ll letyougetonwithyourdinner then – something

smellsgood!’‘It’s casserole,’Paula said,

finallybraveenoughtospeak.‘Hmmm, my favourite,’

Lilysaid.‘You’re welcome to stay

and have some, if you’d liketo,’ I offered. ‘There’splenty.’‘That’s kind of you, but I

needtobegoingnow.Thanks

anyway.’We all stood and then, to

Lily’s surprise, Lucy wentover and threw her armsaroundher.‘That’sforlettingme stay,’ she said. ‘Andthankyourmanager.I’mveryhappy.’ From which Iguessed that Lily hadexplained hermanager’s roleinthedecision.

‘I’mverypleasedforyou,’Lily said. ‘It’s at times likethis that I know why Ibecameasocialworker.’ShekissedLucyonthehead.ThegirlsandIsawLilyto

the front door and saidgoodbye. Once she’d gone,Paula went upstairs to fetchAdrianfordinnerwhileLucyhelped me serve. Lucy ate

well, and after we’d eaten Itelephoned my parents andtold them the good news.They were of coursedelighted.‘Will you continue

fostering now Lucy isstaying?’Mumasked.‘Ohyes.Wehavetheroom

and it worked out well withthe children we looked after

onrespite.’‘As long as you don’t

overdoit,’Mumcautioned,asshehadbefore.‘Don’t worry. Adrian,

Lucy and Paula are a bighelp. In fact, I couldn’tmanage without them.’Which was very true.Fostering is a whole familycommitment.

The children stayed up laterthan usual, and by way of alittle celebration we hadmicrowave popcorn andlemonade while watching aDVD. We would haveanother celebration inMarchwhen the permanency panelpassed my application andLucystayingbecameofficial.But fornow, thismarked the

day when our lives changedforever–althoughinpracticenothingchanged,asLucywasalreadypartofmyfamily.That night Lucy’s second

wishwasgranted–itsnowed.We woke on Saturdaymorning to find the worldoutsidehadbeen transformedinto a winter wonderland, aswe had done almost a year

before. I didn’t need toprovide entertainment for thechildrenthatweekend;itwasready-made. We spent themornings in the gardenbuilding a snowman andhaving snowball fights, andthen in the afternoons wedraggedour toboggans to theparknearby,whichhadahillideal for tobogganing and

was very popular when itsnowed.We saw friends andneighbours there; children ofall ages and their parents,gliding down the slipperysnow-covered hill onanything they had available,including tea trays. The fourofustookturnsusingourtwotoboggans, climbing to thetopand then flyingdown the

shiny slope, over and overagain.Itwasgreatfunandwedidn’t notice the cold. Weonly started for home in thelate afternoon, when the airchilled and the sun began tosink,turningthewhitesnowamagical,glisteningicypink.Monday was a normal

school day, as there wasn’tenough snow to keep people

athome.Atschool,PaulatoldmostofherfriendsthatLucywasstaying,soshenowhadasister.Ididn’tknowifAdriantoldhis friends–he’s averyprivate person and doesn’talways share news – butwhenLucyarrivedhomeshehad told at least one friend,for she said, ‘Canmy friendJosette come to tea on

Friday?’‘Yes, of course,’ I said,

delighted.‘AndCathy,I’mseeingmy

mumonWednesday.I’msureit’sherbirthdaysoon. Iwantto get her something, but Iwon’t have a chance to gointo town.Can you getme acard and present for her,please?’

‘Yes.I’llgotomorrow,andweneedtomakeanoteofthedatefornextyear.’‘Don’tgetheroneofthose

sloppy cards, though,’ Lucyadded matter-of-factly. ‘Theones that say things aboutbeing a wonderful mother.She knows she’s been crap.You’ve been more of amother to me than she ever

was.’I couldn’t find it in my

hearttotellheroffforsaying‘crap’. That Lucy couldaccept her mother for whatshe was, and still care abouther,touchedmedeeply.‘I’ll find something

suitable,’Isaid.

The following day, after I’d

takenPaulatoschool,Idroveinto town, and after muchdeliberation found a birthdaycard I thought would beappropriate. I bought apresent for Lucy to give toher mother: a silverphotograph frame in which Iwould put a photograph ofLucy,aboxofchocolatesandaboxof toiletries. I alsohad

another front-door key cut,which I gave to Lucy whenshe arrived home fromschool.‘And when do I have my

own front-door key?’ Paulademandedhaughtily,withherhandsonherhips.‘Whenyou start secondary

school,’ I said. ‘That’s whenAdrianhadhiskey.’

‘And suppose I’m homebefore you, how will I getin?’‘Paula, you’re ten. I meet

you from school and you’reneverhomealone.’‘I suppose I’ll just have to

accept that then,’ she saidwith the same air, and withherhandsstillonherhipsshemarchedofftheatrically.

I’msuretheyoungestchildin a family grows up fasterthantheolderones.

I showed Lucy the presentsand card I’d bought for hermother. She was pleased.‘The card’s good,’ she said,and I was relieved. On thefrontwereprinted thewords:To Someone Special. Inside

therewasashortverse,whichended: ‘…althoughwecan’tbetogether,I’llbethinkingofyou on your special day.Happy Birthday’. I didn’tknowwhatLucywroteinthecard–shetookittoherroomto sign, and I didn’t ask.Whatshewrotewaspersonal,betweenherandhermother.Jilltelephonedthenextday

and said she needed to seeme. She had the paperworkreadyformetoreadandsignas part of my application tothepermanencypanel.‘That was quick,’ I said,

aware of how many formsneededtobecompleted.‘I started completing the

forms last September,’ Jillsaid. ‘Then, when your

applicationdidn’tgoahead,Ifiled them away. I’vecompleted the agency’s part,but there are some boxes onthe forms for you to fill in.’Wemadeanappointment forJill to visit on Thursday athalfpastten.

OnWednesday,thedayLucywas having contact with her

mother, I arranged for Paulatogotoafriend’shouseafterschool,ratherthanspendoveran hour in the car on a coldwinter’s night.Adrianwouldlethimselfinasusual.Italsomeant that I didn’t have somuch rushing around to do,andIarrivedatLucy’sschoolin plenty of time. Thewrapped presents and card

wereinagiftbagonthebackseat. I parked in one of thevisitors’ bays in the school’scar park, where I’d arrangedtomeetLucy.WhileIwaitedforschooltofinish,Ilistenedtotheradio.Iwasn’tanxiousat the thought of meetingBonnie again, just sad thatlife hadn’t been kind to herandhadresultedinherhaving

to give up her daughter. Ithought it said a lot aboutBonniethatshehadbeenableto put her daughter’s bestinterests first. Knowing hermotherhadaccepted that shewould be better off in carehad without doubt helpedLucy settle in and fullyintegrateintomyfamily.Lucywasoneofthefirstto

comeout of school. She sawmycar,ranoverand,jumpingintothepassengerseat,kissedmycheek.‘Hi, love,’ I said. ‘Have

youhadagoodday?’‘Yep!’ she said, and

fastened her seat belt.‘Josette’smothersaysJosettecan come to tea on Friday,but she wanted your address

and telephone number, so Iwrote it down and gave it toJosette.Ihopethat’sOK?’‘Yes. Absolutely. Parents

need to know where theirchildrenareandthat theyaresafe, nomatter how old theyare.I’ddothesame.’‘Josette’salreadyaskedifI

can go to her house thefollowingFriday,’Lucy said,

excited. ‘Is that OK? I’ll getheraddress.’‘Yes,ofcourse.’‘And hermum said to say

thankyouforofferingtotakeJosettehomeafterwards.’‘She’s welcome,’ I said.

‘Theysoundanicefamily.’‘Yes,theyare.’Lucycontinuedchattingas

I drove,mostly about Josette

and another girl she wasmaking friends with. Wearrived at the contact centrewith ten minutes to spare. Iparkedthecarandwegotout,with Lucy carrying the giftbag. Inside the centre wegave our names to thereceptionist and then signedthe visitors’ book. Thereceptionist said that Bonnie

had already arrived and wasinRedRoom.‘Goonin,’shesaid. ‘The contact supervisorwillbewithyoushortly.’Now that the care

proceedings had finished andastherewerenosafeguardingissues, having a contactsupervisor present wasn’t socriticalandwasreallyonlytomonitor contact and make

sure it was a positiveexperience for Lucy. It wasquite possible that futurecontact would take placeawayfromthecentre–inthecommunity, as it is known –and without a supervisor,which would make the timeLucy spent with her mothermorerelaxedandnatural.Thedoor to Red Room was ajar

and I followed Lucy in.Bonniewassittingonthesofaflicking through a magazine,which she returned to themagazinerackasweentered.‘Hello,’ she said to Lucy,

standing and taking a steptowardsher.‘Hi,’ Lucy said. Going

over,shekissedhermother’scheek.

I saw that Bonnie wassurprised. She drew backslightly.Shedidn’treturnthekiss or hug her daughter. Idon’tthinkshecould.‘Hello, Bonnie,’ I said,

going over. ‘Nice to see youagain.’‘Andyou,’ she said softly,

withasmallsmile.‘Happy Birthday,’ Lucy

said, handing hermother thegiftbag.‘For me?’ Bonnie said,

genuinely amazed. ‘How didyou know it was mybirthday?’‘I thought it was about

now,’Lucysaid.‘ButIdidn’tknowtheexactdate.’‘It’s tomorrow,’ Bonnie

said. ‘Thank you so much.

How lovely of you toremember.’My heart went out to her;

she was so pleased, Iwondered ifshe’deverhadapresent and card on herbirthday before. As I lookedat Bonnie, I saw that,although it was only a littleoversixmonthssinceI’dlastseen her, she’d aged. She

looked as though she’d lostweight and was very pale.She was again dressedfashionably in jeans and azip-uptopandevenhadonalittlemake-up, but there wasa remoteness about her. Hereyes looked distant andslightlyglazed.Irememberedreadinginthepaperworkthatshe’d been on anti-

depressants at various timesinher life,andIwondered ifshewasonthemnow,tohelphercope.The supervisor came into

the room, introduced herselfand sat at the table. ‘I’ll gonow,’Isaid.‘Youcan stay if you like,’

Bonniesaid.The supervisor was as

surprised as I was by thisoffer; usually the naturalparents can’t wait for thefostercarertoleave.‘No, this is your special

time, for you and yourdaughter,’ I said to Bonnie.‘I’ll comeback in anhour attheendofcontact.’‘Open your presents,

Mum,’ Lucy said, sitting on

thesofa.‘Yes, I will,’ Bonnie said,

sitting beside her daughter.‘I’ll open my card first, andthen my presents. I’ve gotthree presents!’ sheexclaimed, peering into thebag. There was a touchingchildlike naivety in herenthusiasm and, as I left, Ithoughtthatiftherewasever

acaseofamotherinneedoflooking after asmuch as herchild,itwasBonnie.IwishedI could have taken her homeandlookedafterhertoo.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Thunderstorm

IwentforashortwalkwhileLucysawhermother,buttheevening was so cold I soonreturnedtothecontactcentre,where I sat in the waiting

room and flicked through acouple of old magazinessomeone had left there. Mythoughts returned to BonnieandLucy,nowinRedRoom.A lot had happened in theinterimsince they’d lastseeneachother and Iwondered ifBonnie would talk to Lucyabout thecourtcaseandwhyLucywas stayingwithme. I

feltIshouldsaysomethingtoBonnie, perhaps to reassureher that I would take goodcare of Lucy, and therebyacknowledge theresponsibility I felt forlookingafterher longterm.Idecided to see what Bonniesaidandtotakemycuefromher.Thehour’scontactcameto

a close and, leaving thewaiting room, I went to RedRoomwhereIknockedonthedoor and went in. The roomwas unusually quiet for theend of a contact, as Iremembered it had been thelast time Lucy had seen hermother. Bonnie and Lucywere sitting side by side onthe sofa, close, but not

touching, just like the lasttime. I smiledas they lookedup, and then the contactsupervisor said to them:‘Time to pack away now.’Although the only item thatneeded putting awaywas thepack of playing cards Lucyheld inherhand.Therewerenoothergamesortoysout.Lucy stood and crossed to

the toy cupboard and putawaythecards.‘What have you been

playing?’ I asked, filling thesilence.‘Snap,’Lucysaid.‘It’s the only card game I

know,’ Bonnie said, with anembarrassedlaugh.‘It’s a fun game,’ I said.

‘We play it at home.’

Although in truth it was agame for much youngerchildren, andweonlyplayeditwhenwehadsmallchildrenvisitingus.The room fell silent again,

andLucyreturnedtothesofaand took her coat from thearm of the chair. Bonniestood and picked up herjackettoo.‘Thankyouforthe

presents,’shesaidtome.‘You’re welcome,’ I said.

‘Did the social worker giveyoumytelephonenumber,asyouasked?’‘Yes. Thank you,’ Bonnie

saidquietly.‘Itwillbenicetotalk to Lucy sometimes. Butdon’t worry, I won’tmake anuisance of myself and keepphoning.’

Once againmy heartwentout to her. ‘Phone wheneveryou want,’ I said. I knew Iwas taking a chance, asBonnie might have phonedcontinuously, which wouldhavebeenveryunsettlingforLucy, but fromwhat I knewof Bonnie I didn’t think shewould.‘I’ll take good care of

Lucy,’Iadded.‘I know youwill,’ Bonnie

said. ‘Lucy’s told me howhappysheiswithyou.Ican’tthankyouenoughforlookingafter her. She’s had somanymoves, andnot everyonehasbeen as kind to her as youhave.’A lump immediately rose

in my throat. Bonnie’s self-

effacingmanner,withnohintof resentment that I hadstolen her role as parent,made me want to reach outandhugher.Ididn’t,becauseI knew she would find thatverydifficult.‘There’s no need to thank

me,’ I said. ‘We are all verypleased Lucy can stay.Hopefullyone timeyou’llbe

able to meet Adrian andPaula.’‘Yes,I’dlikethat,’Bonnie

said. ‘Thank you. Well,goodbyethen,love,’shesaid,turning to Lucy. ‘Take care,andbegoodforCathy.’‘Goodbye,’Lucysaid.There was something so

verysadandalittlestrangeinthis emotionless farewell,

especially as Lucy wasalways so tactile with us athome.Ididn’toffermyhandto Bonnie for shaking – Idoubted she would haveacceptedit–soIsaidsimply,‘Look after yourself then,Bonnie. Phone when you’reready.’‘I will,’ she said, with a

smallsmile.

I felt I had missed anopportunity to say more toBonnie, but I didn’t knowwhat else I could say.Anything I consideredsounded trite and evenpatronizing. Bonnie pickedup the gift bag and returnedtositonthesofatowaituntilwehadleftthebuilding.‘Bye, Mum!’ Lucy called,

aswewent.‘Bye, love,’ Bonnie

replied.As we went through the

door, I turned and smiled afinal goodbye. Bonnie wassitting on the sofa with thegiftbagclutchedprotectivelyto her chest, as if it was hermost treasured possession,and perhaps it was. She

remindedmeofoneof thosechild refugees you see inphotographs, who have alltheirpossessionsinabagthatthey hold close, in caseanyoneshouldtrytosnatchit.Lucy linked her arm

through mine as we left thecontact centre. In somerespects it was a relief thatthere hadn’t been a big

emotional scene when Lucyhad parted from her mother.It can take days or evenweeks for a child to fullyrecover from the upset ofsayinggoodbyeat theendofan emotionally chargedcontact. I hoped Bonnie hadsomegoodfriendswhomshecould confide in and whowould support her, for she

seemedsoaloneintheworld,and we all need at least oneshouldertocryon.

Jill visited the followingmorning as arranged andaskedmehowthecontacthadgone. I told her, and then Ishared my concerns forBonnie.‘Will the social services

offer Bonnie counselling?’ Iasked. I knew they did forsomeparentswithchildreninlong-termcare.‘I’m sure Lilywould have

offered it,’ Jill said.‘Although fromwhat I knowof Bonnie’s lifestyle, shedoesn’tstayinoneplacelongenough to access counsellingor support services.’Which I

had to accept. ‘Did Bonniegive Lucy the birthdaypresent shementioned in hercard?’Jillasked.‘No, and Lucy didn’t

expect it, so she wasn’tdisappointed.’‘Just as well,’ Jill said

dryly. ‘But it’s best not tomake a promise if you can’tkeepit.’

‘I don’t suppose Bonniehas the money to buypresents,’Isaid.‘No,’ Jill agreed sadly. ‘I

don’tsupposeshehas.’Jill now took a file of

papers from her large bag,whichdoubledasabriefcase.‘Your application to thepermanency panel,’ she said,tapping the file. ‘Because

you’re already fosteringLucy, we’ve been able tostreamline theprocess. If shewasn’t here already, yourapplication would have beenfar more complex andlengthy. Don’t worry, I’ll gothroughthiswithyounow.’I moved closer so I could

seethepapersandJillopenedthe file. ‘The application

begins with the basic stuff,your essential information,which I’ve taken from ourrecords,’shesaid,referringtothetoppages.‘I’vecheckeditallandit’scurrent.’Inoddedand ran my eyes down thepages as Jill turned them.‘Thenwehaveyourfosteringhistory,’ she said. ‘Andwhatyou learnt from lookingafter

those children. This was allincluded in your last review,whichyoureadandsignedatthe time.’ I nodded andskimmedthepages.‘Thenwego on to information aboutyour family,’ Jill said,‘including family interests,and thatyouare all awareofthe implications of fosteringlong term. There is a

paragraphonyourmotivationfor offering a long-termplacement toLucy,howwellyou handle contact and howyou support Lucy. All ofwhich you do admirably, ofcourse,’ Jill added, as I read.She paused while I finishedreading and then turned thepage again. ‘Here we haveyour children’s views about

fostering Lucy long term,which are of course verypositive, followed by Lucy’sviews on staying here –again, all positive – which Iwrote after speaking to youandLily.’JillpausedagainasI finished reading thesepages.‘Thankyou,’Isaid.‘The next question is

standard, so don’t take itpersonally,’Jillsaid.Mygazefell to the next box on theform which asked: ‘Do thecarers and their familyunderstand the impact ofracism, andwhat do they doto support the child’s ethnicorigin?’I read Jill’s reply and

nodded. ‘Thank you,’ I said

again.‘I’m almost certain there

willbeaquestionalongtheselinesatthepermanencypaneltoo,’ Jill said. ‘So beprepared.’‘Iwill,’Isaid.‘Your references,’ Jill

continued, turning the nextfew pages. ‘All positive, ofcourse. Then your police

checks and medical, whichare current and alwaysincluded.Andacopyofyourlast fostering review, whichyou’ve already read.’ Thisalonewas twelvepages long.‘And, finally,’ Jill said, ‘myconclusion, with myrecommendation to the panelthat they should grant yourapplication to foster Lucy

longterm.’JillwaitedwhileIreadthis

section.‘What lovely words,’ I

said.‘You deserve it. So if

you’rehappywithallof this,signhere,andI’llsenditwithLily’s part of the applicationfortheMarchpanel.’Ipickedupmypen,signed

on the dotted line andreturned the file to Jill. Shethentoldmeabitaboutwhattoexpectatthepanelhearing,after which she read andsignedmylognotes.‘You know, you’ll still

have to keep your log notesgoing, even afterpermanency,’Jillsaid.‘Yes,Iknow.’

‘Well, if there’s nothingelse,I’llbeoff.Seeyouatthereview next week,’ Jill said.‘Ask Lucy if she would liketo attend her review. Shemightfeeldifferentlynow.’‘Iwill,’Isaid.

When Lucy arrived homefrom school that afternoon, Itold her Jill had visited and

the reason why. But when Iasked her if she’d like toattend her review, she said,‘Maybe next time. I don’twant tomiss school.’Whichwasreasonable.‘Perhaps I could ask for

your next review to be heldduring a school holiday?’ Isuggested. ‘So you won’thavetomissschool.’

‘OK,’Lucy said amicably,and went off to listen to hermusic, which was far moreinteresting than discussingherreview.

That evening, when I wentupstairs to say goodnight toLucy, shewas sitting in bed,withMrBunnyonthepillowbeside her. Her hands were

beneath the duvet and therewas a lump in the covers, asthough she was concealingsomething, something she’dpossibly hidden when she’dheardmeapproaching.‘Is everything all right?’ I

asked.‘Yes,butthere’ssomething

Iwanttoshowyou,’shesaid.‘It’s a secret and I haven’t

shownanyonebefore.’I sat on the bed, puzzled

andalittleapprehensiveastowhat it could be. I thought Iknew Lucy well and Icouldn’tthinkofanythingshemight have wanted to hidefrom me all this time. Shewas sharing her worries andpast experiences more easilynow.

‘It’s this,’ she said,producing the object fromunder the duvet. ‘I think youcall it my Life Story Book,butIcallitmydiary.’‘Oh, yes,’ I said, surprised

and relieved. ‘That’s right. IrememberPaulaand Ihad toclose our eyes when youunpacked it when you firstarrived.’

Lucysmiled.‘NowI’dlikeyou to see it, and you canreadsomeof thewriting,butI’lltellyouwhatyoucanandcan’tread.’‘Thank you, love,’ I said.

That Lucy wanted to sharethis with me now was notonly very touching, but alsohighlysignificant:shewas,ineffect,entrustingmewithher

past.Andalthoughitwasherbedtime, I knew I needed togive her all the time sheneeded.‘That’saphotographofme

on the front,’ Lucy said,tiltingthebooksoIcouldsee.‘I’mthreeyearsoldthere.’‘What a lovely dress

you’rewearing,’Isaid.‘It was my party dress,’

Lucyannouncedproudly.‘Doyouknowhow Iknow Iwasthree?’‘No.’‘There are more

photographs like this inside.I’m wearing my best dressbecause it was my thirdbirthday.’ Lucy opened thebook to revealadoublepageof photographs showing her

at the same age and in thesame dress. The top of thepage was neatly labelled:‘Lucy’sThirdBirthday’.‘I had a little party,’ Lucy

said, happy at therecollection. ‘There’s mycake, and look at all thosepresents! I can rememberunwrappingthemandplayinggames. That lady was my

foster carer.’ She pointed toan adult in one of thephotographs. ‘ShewascalledAnnie,’ Lucy said. ‘She’swritten all the names of thepeople in the photographsunderneath. Mum was theretoo.’I looked at the

photographs. Bonnie wassitting on the sofa watching

Lucyunwrapherpresents.Somuch younger and withdifferent coloured hair, Iwouldn’t have easilyrecognizedher.‘I had a lovely day,’ Lucy

said, with a satisfied sigh. ‘Iwas happy living atAnnie’s.HereIaminthegarden,’shesaid, turning the pages. ‘Andhereit’sChristmas.’

I smiled as I looked at thepictures. ‘Presumably Anniestartedthisbookforyou?’‘Yes, one of my social

workerstoldmeshedid.Thesocial worker said she’dasked Mum for somephotographs of me when Iwasababytoputinit,butitneverhappened.’‘I’ll ask Lily,’ I said. ‘It’s

important you have somephotographs of when youwere very little. I’m sureBonnie must have takensome.’‘Thanks,’ Lucy said, and

turned the page. ‘Here aresomemoreofmewithAnnieandherfamily.Wedidlotsofthings.Lookatmeatthefarmstrokingtherabbit,andhereI

amontheswingsinthepark.Idon’treallyrememberallofthose things, but I can tell Iwas happy because I’msmiling in all thephotographs. I look happy,don’tI?’‘Youcertainlydo,love.’Lucyturnedthepageagain

and the photographs taken atAnnie’s suddenly stopped.

Lucy’s face grew serious. ‘Ithink Mum must have takenmeaway then,because that’sDave,’shesaid,pointingtoapassport-size photo. ‘I wasgoingto tear itup,butIkeptit to remind me what helooked like, in case I evermeet him again. He washorrible to me. He lookshorrible,doesn’the?’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. With ashaved head, one earring, ascar running through oneeyebrow and cold, grey,staring eyes, he looked theepitomeofathug.IwonderedwhatBonniehadseeninhimandhowshecouldeverhaveentrustedherdaughtertohim.‘There he is with Mum,’

Lucy said, pointing to the

photograph beneath. It wasanother passport-size photo,presumably taken in a booth,andshowedBonnieandDavewith their heads pressedtogether and lips pursedtowardsthecamera.‘Who gave you these

photographs?’Iasked.‘Mum,’Lucysaid.‘I think

shewasproudofDave.’

I didn’t comment. Lucyturned thepage. ‘And there’sme again,’ she said,brightening very slightly.‘I’m at school.’ But I couldtellassoonasIlookedatthephotograph she hadn’t beenhappyatthattime.‘My teacher gave me the

photo,’ Lucy said. ‘All thechildren in the school had

their photographs taken. Wewere supposed to pay forthem, but Mum didn’t havethe money, so my teachersaid I could keep it anyway.Shewasanicelady.ShewascalledMrsBridges.’I looked at the posed

school photograph. Lucy’sskin was pale and her hairhung lankly around her

shoulders. Even though shewas trying to smile for thephotographer,itwasahollowsmile. Her gaze was lifeless,and it was clear to me notonly that she was hurtinginside, but she wasn’t beingwelllookedafter.‘I think I was six then,’

Lucy said sombrely. ‘Butthere’s so much I can’t

remember. It’s veryconfusing.’‘It might help if we ask

Lilytotelluswhatsheknowsabout your past. As yoursocial worker, she’ll be abletolookbackinthefiles.’‘Yes, please,’ Lucy said,

andturnedthepage.‘Istartedto write in this book then,’she said. ‘Mum and Dave

didn’tknowIhadthisbook.Ikeptithiddenandonlywroteinitwhentheywereinbedorout. I had two things thatweremine–thisbookandMrBunny.’ She gaveMrBunnyalittlekissbeforecontinuing.I looked at the page Lucy

now showed me, with itschildishscrawledhandwriting–morelikethatofathree-or

four-year-old than a child ofsix.‘I tried to write my name

here and draw a picture,’Lucy said. ‘I know it’s notvery good. I didn’t go toschool much then, so Icouldn’t write or draw well.That’ssupposedtobemeandSammy. He was my friend.WhenIwasunhappyathome

andwasn’tallowedtogoandseeSammy,Iusedto lookathispictureinstead.’The image of Lucy taking

comfort from this childishdrawing was so sad andpathetic I could have cried. Iput my arm around her andgaveher ahug.Sometimes ahugcansaymorethanwords.Lucyturnedthepageagain

and I was now looking at anumberofstickdrawingsofalady. ‘They are all of MrsBridges,’Lucysaid.‘I might have struggled to

recognize her,’ I said with asmile.‘So would I!’ Lucy said,

laughing.Thenherfacegrewserious.‘Ican’trememberallthat happened at that time,

but I know my mum wasn’taround,andDavehad lotsofgirlfriends who I had to callaunt.’ She turned the pageand I now looked at rows ofchildishly drawn faces withtheirmouthswideopen.‘Those were my “aunts”,’

Lucysaid.‘Theywerealwaysangry with me, so I drewthem shouting. I’ve tried to

write some of their namesunderneath, but I couldn’tspell.’The ‘names’ were really

only jumbles of letters,indecipherableaswords,untilwe got to the picture at thebottom of the page, whichshowed two people shouting,one with hair and the otherwithout. Underneath Lucy

had written clearly ‘Mum’and ‘Dave’. ‘That’s whenMum came back to Dave.Therewasabigargumentandshe left again. Then I hadanother aunt. That’s her,’Lucy said, pointing to thenextdrawing.‘Shestayedfora while, then suddenly I hadto leave Mrs Bridges andSammyandgoand livewith

Daveandastrangewoman.Iwas very unhappy. I didn’tknow anyone in the newschool and I couldn’t makefriends. No one wanted toplay with me. Look at allthesepicturesofmecrying.’LucyturnedthepageandI

now lookedat adoublepageofchildishlydrawnfacesthatwere supposed to be Lucy.

Theremusthavebeentwentyor more, all lookingunbelievably miserable, withlarge tears falling from theireyes. The overall impressionwasofdevastatingsadness.‘You were so unhappy

then,’Isaidquietly,shocked.‘I was,’ Lucy said. She

turnedthepageandthewholeof the next sidewas covered

indark-greycrayon.‘That’sathunderstorm,’ she said. ‘Ipinched the crayons fromschool.Wedidn’thaveanyathome. I don’t know why Idrewathunderstorm,perhapsitwasrainingatthetime.’‘Or perhaps it was your

wayofshowinghowunhappyyou were,’ I said. ‘All thatdark grey is how you felt

inside. Children cansometimes show theirfeelings in art when theycan’tputthemintowords.’‘Youcouldberight,’Lucy

said. ‘I hadn’t thought of itthatwaybefore.’Shepausedand then said, ‘I didn’t seeMumforages, thensuddenlyshecameandtookmeaway.Iwas seven. I know because I

wrote the number seven hereso I would remember.’ Sheturned the page. ‘That’s mydrawingofMumandhernewboyfriendarguing.’Her drawings were

maturing now and it wasobvious the picture was oftwo very angry people; theirfists were raised as thoughthey were about to hit each

other. Lucy had drawn aballoon coming out of theirmouths, which contained thewords:‘Ihateyou!’Ididn’tsayanything.Lucy

was turning the page againand suddenly the drawingshad gone, replaced byphotographs, and I knewimmediatelythatLucywasinfostercareagain.

‘I wouldn’t let the fostercarer see this book,’ Lucysaid. ‘So she gave me thephotos and a gluestick and Istuck them in. That’s whysomeof themarewonkyandcomingloose.’‘Don’tworry.Wecansoon

stickthoseinagain,’Isaid.Lucy nodded. ‘That’s the

carer,andthoseareherother

foster children,’ she said,pointing to the photographs.‘Thekidsdidn’tlikemeandIgot blamed for everythingthat went wrong. Perhaps itwasmyfault.Iwasn’thappythere,butitwasbetterthanatDave’s. I sawMum a lot tobegin with, and then shestopped visiting. Some timelaterIhadtoleave.Thefoster

kidssaiditwasbecauseIwasso horrible no one wantedme.’‘That was a cruel thing to

say,’ I said. ‘Of course youweren’t horrible. Just veryconfusedandupset.’Lucy gave a little shrug

andturnedthepage.Wewerenow looking at somephotographsofanothercarer.

‘ShewascalledAngie,’Lucysaid. ‘That’s her daughter,Shelly.Theywerekindtomeand I liked beingwith them,butIwasonlyallowedtostayfor a little while, then Mumtookmeawayagain.Iwouldhave liked to have stayedlonger,’ Lucy addedwistfully.Therewerenophotographs

on the next two pages. Lucyhad written the number nineatthetopandhadruledsomelines beneath it, where she’dwritten in dates with a fewshort sentences, like diaryentries. ‘I don’t want you toread this,’ she said, coveringthewritingwithherhandandthen turning the page. ‘Iwrote horrible things about

Mumandhernewboyfriend.I feel guilty now, but at thetime I was very upset andangry.’‘Iunderstand,love,’Isaid.

‘You’d been through somuch, of course you werehurtandangry.’As Lucy turned the page

again, more photographsappearedandIknewshewas

infostercareagain.Allfostercarersareexpected tokeepaLifeStoryBookfor thechildwith photographs andmemorabilia.‘That’sthecarer,Heather,’

Lucy said. ‘That’s herhusbandandtwodaughters.Itwas OK there, but I had tochange schools again and Iwasn’t doing well in any

subjects. I spent Christmaswiththem.IdidmybesttofitinandIthinktheylikedmealittle, but they had to movehouse. They told me theywantedtotakemewiththem,but my social worker said Icouldn’t go. Maybe that’strue or maybe they justwanted to be rid of me, Idon’tknow. I thenhad togo

and live with Pat and Terry.Youmetthem.’‘Yes,’Isaid.PatandTerry

were the couple Lucy hadstayedwithpriortocomingtome.‘Iknewwhen Iwent there

I couldn’t stay,’ Lucy said.‘Stevie told me it wasbecause they only lookedafter babies. I thought that

was just an excuse and that,like all the others I’d livedwith, they didn’t want mearoundforlong.Iwaseleven,andacoupleofmonthsafterIarrived I had to go tosecondary school. ThebuildingwashugeandIkeptgettinglost.Icouldn’tdomywork or make friends and Istoppedeating.Ifeltsoalone,

I really didn’t think life wasworth living. I knew Mumcouldn’tlookafterme,butnoone else wanted me either.Then one afternoon, when Igot home from school, PatsaidSteviewascomingtotellme she’d found me anotherfoster carer and I’d bemoving at the weekend.Something seemed to snap

insideme.Icouldn’ttakeanymore.Iscreamedandshoutedandthenlockedmyselfinthebathroom. Pat kept trying totalk to me through thebathroom door, but I wasn’tlistening. Nothing matteredanymore.When Terry camehome, he broke down thedoorandgotmeout.SoIrantomybedroom.Theyleftme

alone.Idon’tthinktheyknewwhat to do. I planned onstaying in my room until Istarved to death. Iwanted todie, I really did. Then in theeveningPatcame inwith thephone and left it on the bed.Your voice came through. Itried not to listen, but youkept on and there wassomething in your voice that

toldme I should pick up thephone. The rest you know,’Lucyfinishedquietly.We both sat in silence for

some time, subdued by theevents Lucy had relived.‘Thank goodness you didpick up the phone,’ I said atlast, takingherhandbetweenmine.‘You can be very

persuasive,’ Lucy said, withsmallsmile.‘Good.’Yet I saw thatLucy’sLife

Story Book had ended withthephotographsofherstayatPat and Terry’s. I wonderedwhy she hadn’t stuck in thephotographs I’d been givingher. I’d takenplenty andhadalways given Lucy a copy,

but there wasn’t one in herbook.‘Where are all the

photographs of us?’ I askedpresently.‘Inmydrawer,’Lucysaid.

‘I haven’t added thembecauseinthepasteverytimeI put the photographs in thebook I had to leave. I didn’twanttoleavehere,soIdidn’t

stick them in, and itworked.I’mstaying!’Myheartmelted. ‘It’s safe

foryoutosticktheminnow,love,’ I said. ‘You won’t betempting fate. Trust me,you’re staying. I’m certainthepanelwillapproveit.’Lucy smiled and, leaving

thebed,shereturnedherLifeStoryBooktothedrawerand

closed it.Climbingback intobedshesnuggledbeneaththeduvet.MrBunnywas tuckedin beside her. I kissed hergoodnight. ‘Thank you forsharing your special bookwith me,’ I said. ‘I’m sopleasedyouwereabletopickup Pat’s phone.’ ForwithoutdoubtthathadbeencrucialinLucycomingtome.

‘I’mpleasedIwasableto,’Lucysaid.I kissed her goodnight

againandcameout,awareofjust how close I’d come tobeinganotherentryinLucy’sLife Story Book. Had I notpursued my application tokeepLucy,hadwenothadachange of socialworker, hadPeter not been so proactive,

my family and I would havesimply become yet anotherphotograph.Ifevertherewasa story showing the failingsof the care system, it was inLucy’s book.All those yearsof missed opportunities,whereeveryone involvedhadplayed their part andinadvertently contributed toher life of rejection,

insecurity and isolation … Ifelt the collectiveresponsibility,andhopedthatin timeIcouldmake itup toLucy and undo some of theharmdone.

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘I’ll Try MyBest’

On Friday, Lucy’s friendJosette came to dinner. Theyused the bus to come home

andLucylettheminwithherfront-door key. I went intothehalltogreetthem.‘Mum, this is Josette,’

Lucysaid,introducingme.‘Come on in and make

yourselfathome,’Isaid.Josette smiled and offered

herhandforshaking.‘Lovelytomeetyou,’shesaid,withastrongFrenchaccent. ‘Thank

youforinvitingme.’‘You’rewelcome. It’snice

tomeetyoutoo.’‘We’ll get ourselves a

drink and then go up to myroom,’ Lucy said, hangingtheircoatsonthehallstand.On the way to the kitchen

Lucy took Josette into theliving room to introduce herto Paula. I kept out of their

way while Lucy and Josettewere in the kitchen makingthemselvesadrink,andwhentheywentup toLucy’s roomI continued with thepreparation of the eveningmeal. It wasn’t long beforePaulaappearedinthekitchen.‘Can I go and play with

Lucy and her friend?’ sheasked.

‘Perhaps later,’ I said. ‘Ithink they’re listening tomusic and chatting now.’ Ithought that girls of Lucy’sage needed some privacywhen spending time with asimilar-aged friend. ‘Howabout helping me with themeal?’ I suggested. But itdidn’tholdthesameappealtoPaula, so she skipped off to

amuse herself until I calledeveryonefordinner.As the children arrived at

the meal table, Lucyintroduced Adrian to Josette,andIcouldseehewasalittletaken aback when Josetteofferedherhand for shaking.But the French shake handseasily, it’s part of theircustom and charm, and

Adrian responded with acharmofhisown.Icouldseehe was quite taken with her.Theysatdownand Ibroughtin the serving dishes andplaced themon the table andweallhelpedourselves.Afteran initial awkwardnesseveryone relaxed and startedchattingastheyate.Listeningto Josette with her delightful

French accent wascaptivating, and I could seeAdrian and Paula were veryimpressed that she couldspeak a second language sofluently. Josette told us thatherfather’sworkhadbroughther family to England.They’d arrived four monthspreviously and would bestaying for at least three

years.Iwonderedifbeingthenew girl in the school hadencouraged Lucy to makefriends with her, for, havingmovedherselfsomanytimes,Lucyknewwhatitfeltliketoarrive in anewclass andnotknowanyone.When I took Josette home

in the car that evening, sheinvited me in to meet her

parents and elder brother.TheywereallasdelightfulasJosette, although we didn’tstaylongasitwasgettinglateand Paula was with me.Josette’s mother thanked mefor inviting Josette to dinnerandbringingherhomein thecar, and then confirmed thatLucy was invited there fordinner the following Friday

and she would bring Lucyhome afterwards. I didn’tknowifLucyhadtoldJosetteIwas her fostermother or ifshe’dletherassumeIwashernatural mother, but it didn’tmatter. It was up to Lucywhatshetoldherfriends,andI knew she’d tell themwhatevershefeltcomfortablewith. Clearly my old friends

knew Lucy was my fosterdaughter who was nowstaying permanently, butwhat Lucy told her newfriendswasherdecision, andIwouldgoalongwithit.

The following Tuesday,Lucy’s review was held asscheduledatmyhouse.Itwasrelatively short and consisted

mainlyofLilyupdatingPeteronallthathadhappenedsinceLucy’s last reviewthemonthbefore. Lily told him thatshe’dtakenLucy’scasebackto her manager and thefamily-finding team,and thatthey’ddecidedtosupportmyapplication to keep Lucypermanently.‘Good,’Petersaid,without

anysurprise.SoIguessedhewas already aware of thedecision, having been incontact with Lily since thelastreview.‘I’vespokentoLucy,’Lily

continued. ‘She confirmed tomethatshewantstostaywithCathy long term. The socialservices are now of theopinion that Cathy can meet

Lucy’s needs. I’ve submittedthe application to thepermanency panel, includingthe matching report, and itwill be heard at the Marchpanel.’‘Excellent,’ Peter said.

‘Andyou’vegivenCathy thedateofthepanelmeeting?’‘Yes,’Lilyconfirmed.‘You know you have to

attend the panel hearing?’Petersaidtome.‘Yes, it’s in my diary,’ I

said.‘So how does Lucy feel

aboutstaying?’heaskedme.‘She’s over the moon,’ I

said. ‘It’s what she’s wantedforalongtime.Weallhave.’LilyandJillnodded.‘And you’ve advised

Bonnie of the decision?’PeternowaskedLily.‘Yes,’Lilyconfirmed.‘I understand Lucy has

seenhermothersincethelastreview?’ Peter now said toLily.‘Yes,’ Lily said. ‘The

contactwentaswellascouldbeexpected.’‘Andcontactwillremainat

twice a year?’ he said,makinganote.‘Yes, that’s the

department’srecommendation,’ Lily said.‘Although it will largelydependonBonniekeepingintouch.’‘And how was Lucy after

the last contact?’Peteraskedme.

‘Shetookitinherstride,’Isaid. ‘I think shewas helpedbyknowingshe’ssettlednowand that hermother is happywiththearrangement.’Peter nodded as he wrote.

Then he raised a couple ofquestions with Lily aboutprocedure and, satisfied,askedJill ifshehadanythingtoadd. Jill saidonly that she

waspleasedwiththeoutcomeand thought it was a goodmatch,andPeteragreed.I thenasked if itwouldbe

possible for Lily to gothrough some of Lucy’shistory with her. ‘We havebeenlookingatherLifeStoryBook,’ I explained. ‘Lucy israther confused about someepisodes in her life and the

decisions that were made atthetime.Ithinkitwouldhelpif you could fill in the gapsandexplainwhathappened.Idon’t know enough of herpasttohelpher.’‘I’ll pull out the files and

seewhatIcanfind,’Lilysaidhelpfully. ‘There’s beensocial services involvementsinceLucywas a baby, so it

maytakemeawhiletopieceitalltogether.’‘Thank you,’ I said, as

Peter and Lily wrote. ‘Also,Lucy would like somephotographsofwhenshewasababyanda toddler,’ I said.‘The first photographs shehas inher life-storybookareof her aged three, when shefirstwentintocare.’

‘You will need to askBonnie for those,’ Peter saidtoLily.Lily nodded and made a

note.‘And,finally,’Isaidwitha

smile, ‘can I have a copy ofLucy’s birth certificate,please, so I can set up asavings account for her, andalso apply for a passport for

her.’Peter looked atLily again,

as this would be for her toinitiate. ‘Yes, I’ll apply forone,’Lily said. ‘Lucyshouldbe saving.Have you got anyplans to go abroad onholiday?’‘Notstraightaway,’Isaid.

‘ButIwouldlikethepassportreadyforwhenwedo.’

Peter nodded, finishedwriting and, with no furtherbusiness on the agenda, hetook out his diary to arrangethe date for Lucy’s nextreview. ‘April,’ he said. ‘Intwomonths’ time. After thatwe’ll go to six-monthlyreviews.’Perfect, I thought. Easter

was in April. ‘Can we

schedule the review for theEasterholidays?’Iasked.‘SoLucycanattend.’‘Yes,ofcourse,’Petersaid,

slightly amused. ‘I take itLucy’s feeling a bit happierwith us all if she wants toattendherreview?’‘Yes.Alothappier,’Isaid.

Three weeks later I attended

the permanency panelhearing,whichwas held in aconference room at the localgovernment offices. As afostercarer, Ihad toattendasimilar panel hearing everythree years to renew myregistration to foster, so Iknew it would be quitedaunting.Knowing,however,didn’thelp.AsLilycameout

of the conference room,havinggivenherreporttothepanel and answered thepanel’s questions, Jill and Iwentin.Aseaoffaceslookedup at us: ten panel memberssitting along three sides of ahuge rectangular oak table.My stomach churned. Twochairs had been left emptyfacing the other panel

members, so Jill and I satdown. I took a very deepbreathandthoughtIheardJilldo the same. I guess it wasdaunting for her too. Eachpanel member had a bundleof papers in front of them –copies of my application,with all the supportingdocumentation. They wouldhave received these a week

before the hearing so thatthey had time to read themandcomposetheirquestions.The chairperson began by

saying good morning andintroducing himself by nameand explaining that he wasthe chairperson, after whichall the other panel membersintroducedthemselves.Goinground the table, they gave

their name and position. Thepanel was comprised of twosocial workers, a doctor, afoster carer, one localauthority elected member,two parents who’d adoptedanda teacher,noneofwhomI knew. Jill and I thenintroduced ourselves: Jill, asmysupportsocialworker;meas Lucy’s foster carer. The

chairperson thanked us, andthen said a few words aboutwhy we were here: toconsider my application tofoster Lucy long term. Jillwas then asked to speak andgave a brief résumé of myfostering history, thecomposition of my familyand the reasons why shesupported my application to

look afterLucy permanently.The chairperson thanked Jillandthenlookedtome.‘We’ve all read your

application thoroughly,’ hesaid. ‘Your fostering historyis very impressive. I shouldlike to start the questions byasking you to tell us whatLucyisliketolivewithonadaily basis. Then I’ll pass to

the other panel members sothat they can ask theirquestions.’Heregoes,Ithought.Itook

another deep breath before Ibegan. I’d anticipated thisquestion or somethingsimilar, and gainedconfidencefrombeingabletoanswer – describing Lucy,andwhatshewasliketo live

with, all of which was ofcourse positive. Thechairperson nodded andthankedme, and then one ofthe two socialworkers askedme what impact I thoughtlookingafterLucyhadhadonmy children, positive andnegative. I said that she’dfitted into my family veryeasilyandwaslikeasisterto

AdrianandPaula.Idescribedhow she played with Paulaandhelpedherout.IsaidthatLucy had taught us humilityand forgiveness, becausedespite everything that hadhappened to her she wasn’tbitter. I said that she andAdrian teased each othersometimes, as siblings do.That was the only negative

commentIcouldthinkof.The other social worker

then asked me to describeLucy’s routine, which I did,although it overlapped withthe first question and Irepeatedmyselfalittle.Then,one of the adoptive parentsasked what Lucy’s interestsandtalentswere.Ielaboratedon points I’d mentioned in

responsetothefirstquestion,adding that shewanted to bea beautician when she wasolder,althoughofcoursethatmight change. Then theelected member from thelocal authority, obviously aveteranatthesepanels,asked:‘CanyoutellusaboutLucy’sability to make and sustainfriendships?’

I certainly could, and Ispoke at some length on thehuge improvement Lucy hadmade since coming to livewithus–fromnotbeingableto make friends to having anumber of school friends,including one best friendwhomshealso saw regularlyoutofschool.‘Excellent,’ he said.

‘Thankyou.’Thedoctorthenasked:‘As

an experienced foster carer,howdoyouseeLucy’sabilityto form attachments tosignificantpeopleinherlife?’This wasn’t a question I’d

prepared,buthavingattendedmany training sessions onattachment issues I knew thesignificance of the question

andhowtoanswer.Isaidthatdespite Lucy’s earlyexperiences, once she trustedanadultshewasabletoforman appropriate attachment tothem, and had done so withall members of my family,includingmyparents.Inearlyadded ‘and the cat’, butthought that might havesounded flippant. The doctor

thenaskedifIwasawarethatsometimes abuse anddeprivationinearlylifedidn’tsurfaceuntilmuchlater,andIsaid I was. Then suddenly Ifound the questions hadstopped and the chairpersonwas thanking me. So thequestion that Jill and I hadbeen convinced would comeup – in respect of Lucy’s

cultural needs – hadn’t,possibly because it had beencovered extensively in myapplication. Whatever thereason, I breathed a sigh ofrelief.‘If you and your support

social worker would like towait outside the room, we’llconclude our discussion,’ thechairperson said. ‘I’ll invite

you to return when we havemade our decision.’ I knewthistobenormalpractice.Jill and I stood and the

panel members waited untilwe’d leftbeforecommencingtheir discussion. I’d beenanswering questions for halfan hour, but it didn’t seemthat long. Once outside theroomIfloppedintooneofthe

chairs in the waiting area.Highonadrenalin,mycheekswere flushed and my heartwasracing.‘You did well,’ Jill said,

sittinginthechairbesideme.‘I hope so,’ I said. ‘I

answered their questions asbestIcould.Ijusthopeitwasgoodenough.’‘Don’t worry. You’ll be

fine,’ she said. Yet, while itwas almost certain the panelwould approve myapplication, there was a slimchance theymight not, and Iwouldn’t relax until Iofficiallyhadtheirapproval.Fifteen minutes later, the

door to the conference roomopened and amember of thepanel asked us to return.My

heart started pounding againand my mouth went dry. Asweenteredtheroomthepanelmembers looked at us, but Icouldn’t read anything intheir expressions. Once Jilland I were seated, thechairpersonlookeddirectlyatmeashespoke.‘We’venowconcludedour

discussion,’ he said. ‘I’m

pleased tobeable to tellyouthat the panel unanimouslyendorses your application tofoster Lucy long term.Congratulations.’‘Thank you,’ I said,

grinning. ‘Thank you verymuch.’‘Well done,’ Jill said to

me.Other panel members also

added their own‘congratulations’ and ‘welldones’. Jill then thanked thechairperson and pushed backher chair, ready to leave. Itsuddenlyhitmethatitwasallover and I stood too. If I’mhonest, it seemed a bit of ananti-climax: hearing thechairperson’swordsand thenjust walking from the room

afterallthoseanxiousmonthsof hoping, planning andwaiting.Iwouldhavelikedafanfare with thousands ofcongratulatory balloonsreleasedintothesky.Instead,I heard the door to theconferenceroomclosebehindus and a little voice in myhead offering a silent prayerofthanksfortheoutcome.

‘Come on,’ Jill said,touching my arm. ‘Let’s goandgetacoffee.’‘Goodidea,’Isaid.‘And there’s something I

needtoaskyou,’sheadded.‘Ohyes?’I’d seen that look on Jill’s

facebefore.‘I’ve been thinking, now

Lucyissettledandwe’vegot

the panel hearing out of theway’, she said, as we madeourwaydownstairs,‘thatyoumight like to start fosteringagain properly, rather thanjustdoingrespite?’‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve been

thinkingthattoo.’‘Good,’ Jill said. ‘Because

I’vehadareferralthroughforafour-year-oldgirl.’

‘Jill,you’reincorrigible!’Iexclaimedwithasmile.‘I know.What would you

dowithoutme?’‘Ihonestlydon’tknow.’Over coffee, Jill explained

that the referral was for alittle girl called Alice. Hersocialworkerwasapplyingtocourt the following morningfor an InterimCareOrder. ‘I

understand she’s a realsweetie,’ Jill said. ‘She’sbeen staying with hergrandparents for the last fewmonths, as her mother hasmental-health issues. They’rein court at ten o’clocktomorrow so, assuming theorder is granted, she’ll bewithyouaboutoneo’clock.Ihaveacopyof thereferral in

mybag.’

That afternoon, when Lucy,Adrian and Paula returnedhomefromschool,Ihadalotto tell them. First andforemost was that the panelhad said Lucy could staypermanently, so it wasofficial. Everyone clappedandwhooped for joy.Then I

told them about Alice andtheirresponseswere:‘Goody,alittleonetoplay

with,’fromPaula;‘She’ll be very upset, so

I’ll help settle her in,’ fromLucy;‘Not another girl!’ from

Adrian.

ItellAlice’sstoryinmybook

IMissMummy,soIwon’tsayany more about her now, oranything about the veryworrying circumstances ofherarrival,whichdidn’tgotoplan, not at all. Instead, Iwant tomove on tenmonthsto when Alice was about toleave us. It was a cold nightin January. Paulawas in bedasleep, Adrian was in bed

readingandIwentupstairstosaygoodnighttoLucy.We spent a few moments

talking about various things,as we often did last thing atnight before she went tosleep.Mr Bunny was on thepillow beside her as usualand, once we’d finishedtalking, I kissed them bothgoodnight. I stood, ready to

go, but as I did I had thefeeling Lucy had somethingonhermind.‘Is everything all right?’ I

asked. ‘There’s nothingworryingyou,isthere?’Shepaused,toyingwiththe

edgeoftheduvet,andIknewthere was something on hermind. I sat on thebed again.‘Yes?’ I asked gently. ‘What

isit?’‘I need to ask you

something,’Lucysaidquietlyand avoiding eye contact.‘You can say no if you like.I’ll understand. I won’t behurtordisappointed.Well–Iwill be, but I’ll try not toshowit.’‘Yes?’ I prompted,

wondering what on earth it

could be that Lucy wasfindingsodifficulttotellme.Shedidn’tnormallyhavethismuchtroubletalkingtome.‘Well, it’s this,’ she said,

looking very serious andfiddlingwith theduvet. ‘YouknowI thinkofallofyouasmyproperfamily?’Inodded.‘Yes,weare.’‘And you know I

sometimescallyouMum?’‘Yes.’‘Well, I’ve been doing

someresearch,readingbooksin the school library, andonline,aboutadoption.AndIwas wondering if you couldadopt me? I love you all somuch, and I promise Iwon’tbe any trouble. You can saynoifyouwant.’

Myeyesimmediatelyfilledand I took Lucy inmy armsandheldherclose. Iwas toochokedup to speak.Shewasquiet,butIfeltthewarmthofherloveandthetrustshewasputtinginmeinherembrace.After a fewmoments I drewslightly away and looked ather.IknewwhatIwouldliketo say, but I had to be

realistic.‘Lucy, love,’ I said, ‘I

already lookuponyouasmydaughter, and I couldn’t loveyoumore.While I would bevery happy to adopt you, itwouldn’tbemydecision.’‘I know,’ Lucy said. ‘I

understand.’‘I’ll speak to Lily

tomorrow and see what she

says. You still have somecontactwithyourmotherandher views will be taken intoaccount. It may be that shewon’t want you to beadopted. I can ask, but if itdoesn’thappenwedon’tneedapieceofpaper tosaywe’remotheranddaughter,dowe?’Lucysmiledsadly.‘Iguess

not, but it would make me

veryhappy.’‘Iknow,love,Iunderstand.

I’lltrymybest.’

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Special Love

The following morning, assoonasIreturnedhomefromtaking Paula to school, I

telephoned Lily and told herof the discussion Lucy and Ihad had in respect of meadopting her. Lily said shewould need to consult herteam manager, but shethought that if Lucy and Iwanted adoption, then thedepartmentwouldsupportmyapplication. However, as Iexpected,sheaddedanoteof

caution: she would need tospeak to Bonnie to ascertainherview.Webothknew thatmost parents of children incare, while agreeing to along-term foster placementfortheirchild,wouldstronglyoppose adoption, as it tookaway all their legal status asparents. Even the birthcertificateofanadoptedchild

can be changed to show theadopted parents’ names,replacing thoseof thechild’sbirthparents.That evening I told Lucy

thatLilywaslookingintoourrequest,butthatitmighttakesome time before we knewanythingfordefinite.Itwas threemonthsbefore

Lily was able to contact

Bonnie,andLilytoldmethatto begin with Bonnie hadreservations about meadoptingLucy,asshethoughtshe wouldn’t be able to seeLucy again. Once Lily hadreassured her that I washappy to continue with thepresentcontactarrangements,Bonnie said she wouldn’toppose the adoption, as she

wanted whatever Lucywanted. Not only wasBonnie’s attitude completelyselfless, it was also veryunusual. Needless to say,Lucy was overjoyed, and Ibegantheapplicationprocess.A year later, when Lucy

had been with me for twoyears, theadoptionorderwasgranted and Lucy officially

became my daughter. AtLucy’s request, we changedher surname to our familyname, and I applied for asavings account and passportin her new name. An addedbonus for Lucy that camewith being adopted was thatthere was no more socialservices involvement – nomore reviews or visits from

social workers – as she wasnolongerincare.We celebrated Lucy’s

adoption with a party athome,wheremyparents,mybrother and his family, Lily,Jill, Josette and Vicky (nowanother good friend ofLucy’s) all came for theevening and I made a buffettea.LucyhadtoldJosetteand

Vicky about her adoption,but, apart from her teacher,nooneelseatschoolknew.Although the social

services’ involvement hadfinished with the granting ofthe adoption order, Lilyofferedtocontinuetoarrangeand supervise contact if Iwished. As I had a goodworking relationship with

Bonnie, I felt there was noneed for supervised contact,so it was left to Bonnie andme to organize between us.This arrangement workedwellandBonniecontinuedtosee Lucy twice a year andphonedoccasionally–usuallyon birthdays and atChristmas. Sometimes LucysawBonnieatmyhouse,and

on those occasions she metAdrian and Paula. Othertimes,BonnieandLucywentout, and I always gave Lucyextra money so they couldhave some lunch and dosomething fun – go to thecinema, for example – asBonnie was permanentlybroke. IoftenwishedBonniewould change her lifestyle

andgetoffwhatevershewason, but I didn’t say anythingtoherorLucy.Bonnieclearlystruggledwithlife,andtellingher she needed to changewouldn’t have helped. I wassure shewouldchange if shecould,andhopedthatonedayshewould.Lucy was always slightly

pensive and quiet when she

returned from seeing hermother.Oftenshedidn’twantany dinner or just picked ather meal. While her eatinghad improved drastically, ifshe was upset or worried itshowedinalossofappetite.Iwas still keeping an eye onLucy’s eating, but I didn’thavethesameconcernsasI’dhadwhen she’d first arrived.

She’d put on some weightand was within the normalweight range forher age andheight, but she’s naturallypetite and slim, so she’llnever be very big. Lucywasoffered counselling justbefore the adoption, but sherefused. Entering counsellingor therapy is a personalchoiceandthetimehastobe

right. She knows she can gointo it when she feels ready.Verytouchingly,whenitwasmentioned she said, ‘Havingmy own family is my besttherapy.’ Which made metearup.

One day, when Lucy wassixteenandhadbeenoutwithBonnie, she returned home

andwentstraighttoherroom.Igavehersometimeandthenwent up after her. I knockedon thedoorandwent in.Shewas sitting on her bedcuddling Mr Bunny, a suresign she had something onhermind.‘Areyouall right, love?’ I

asked, going further into theroom.

‘Sort of,’ she said quietly,glancingupatme.‘Sort of isn’t good

enough,’Isaid,sittingonthebed. ‘I need to know you’recompletely all right. Pleasetellmewhat’swrong.’She threw me a small sad

smile and then, lookingdown, concentrated on MrBunny. ‘It’s difficult,’ she

said,afteramoment.‘I’mnotsureyou’dunderstand.’‘Try me,’ I said, touching

herarmreassuringly.Shepausedagainand then

said, ‘When I’m out withBonnie I feel guilty that Ican’tlovehermore.She’smybirthmother, but I don’t feelforherwhat I feel foryou. Ican’t love her as I love you,

andthatmakesmefeelguiltyandunhappysometimes.’‘Ohlove,Idounderstand,’

I said. ‘Perfectly. Letme tryand explain something. Weare not born loving ourparents.We bondwith thosewholookafterus,andlovingsomeoneispartof thatbond.I love you and you love mebecause of the time we’ve

spent together and all thethings we’ve done and beenthrough together. I’vebeen amother to you and you’vebeenadaughtertome,soweloveeachotherasmotheranddaughter. Sadly, Bonnie wasnever able to give you thatspecial mother–daughterrelationship, so it’s naturalthat you feel differently

towardsher,althoughIknowshelovesyou.’‘ButIfeellikeI’vealways

been your daughter,’ Lucysaid, as she’d said before.‘Likeyouhadme.’‘I know. I feel the same. I

couldn’t love you more if Ihadgivenbirthtoyou.That’show strong our bond is. Butin your heart, even though

youmight not know it, thereisa specialplace forBonnie,separate from the love youfeel for me. It will bedifferent,but itwillbe there,so there’snoneed foryou tofeel guilty. Bonnieunderstands and just wantsyou to be happy. That’s averyselflesslove.’Lucy was silent for a

moment, and then looked atme, her expressionbrightening. ‘Yes, that helps.I understand,’ she said, andkissed my cheek. ‘I’ve gottwo mothers and it’s OK tolove them differently.Thanks,Mum.Iloveyou.’‘Iloveyoutoo.’

InspiredbyCathyGlass?

DiscoverToreyHayden.

Readanexclusiveexcerptnow.

Chapter 1

The article in the newspaperwas tiny, considering thecrime.Ittoldofasix-year-oldgirl who had lured a localtoddler from his yard, taken

him to a nearby woodland,tiedhimtoatreeandsetfireto him. The boy, badlyburned, was in hospital. Allthat was said in whatamounted to no more than aspace filler below the comicstrips on page six. I read itand, repulsed, I turned thepageandwenton.Six weeks later, Ed, the

special education director,phoned me. It was earlyJanuary, the day we werereturning fromourChristmasbreak.“There’sgoingtobeanew girl in your class.Rememberthatlittlegirlwhoset fire to the kid inNovember…?”

I taught what was

affectionately referred to inour district as the “garbageclass.” It was the last yearbefore congressional lawwould introduce“mainstreaming,” therequirement that all specialneedschildrenbeeducatedinthe least restrictiveenvironment; and thus, ourdistrictstillhadthemyriadof

small special educationclassrooms,eachcateringtoadifferent disability. Therewere classes for physicallyhandicapped, for mentallyhandicapped,forbehaviorallydisordered, for visuallyimpaired…youname it,wehadit.Myeightwerethekidsleftover,theoneswhodefiedclassification. All of them

suffered emotional disorders,but most also had mental orphysical disabilities as well.Outofthethreegirlsandfiveboysinthegroup,threecouldnot talk, one could butrefused and another spokeonly in echoes of otherpeople’s words. Three ofthemwerestillindiapersandtwo more had regular

accidents. As I had the fullnumber of children allowedby state law for a class ofseverely handicappedchildren, Iwasgivenan aideat the start of the year; butmine hadn’t turned out to beone of the bright,hardworking aides alreadyemployedby the school, as Ihad expected. Mine was a

Mexican-American migrantworker named Anton, whohad been trawled from thelocalwelfare list.He’dnevergraduated from high school,never even stayed north allwinter before, and certainlyhadneverchangeddiapersona seven-year-old. My onlyother help came fromWhitney, a fourteen-year-old

juniorhighstudent,whogaveup her study halls tovolunteerinourclass.By all accounts we didn’t

appear a very promisinggroup, and in the beginning,chaos was the byword;however, as the monthspassed, we metamorphosed.Anton proved to be sensitiveand hardworking, his

dedication to the childrenbecomingapparentwithinthefirst weeks. The kids, inreturn, responded well tohaving a man in theclassroom and they built onone another’s strengths.Whitney’syouthoccasionallymadehermorelikeoneofthechildrenthanoneofthestaff,but her enthusiasm was

contagious, making it easierforallofustovieweventsasadventures rather than thedisasterstheyoftenwere.Thekids grew and changed, andbyChristmaswehadbecomea cohesive little group. NowEd was sending me a six-year-oldstickofdynamite.

Her name was Sheila. The

next Monday she arrived,being dragged into myclassroom by Ed, as myprincipal worriedly broughtup the rear, his handsflapping behind her as if tofan her into the classroom.Shewasabsolutelytiny,withfierce eyes, long, mattedblond hair and a very badsmell. I was shocked to find

she was so small. Given hernotoriety, I had expectedsomething considerablymoreHerculean. As it was, shecouldn’t have been muchbiggerthanthethree-year-oldshehadabducted.Abducted? I regarded her

carefully.Bureaucracy being what it

is inschooldistricts,Sheila’s

school files didn’t arrivebefore she did; so when shewentofftolunchonthatfirstday, Anton and I took theopportunitytogodowntotheoffice for a quick look. Thefilemadebleakreading,evenbythestandardsofmyclass.Our town,Marysville,was

inproximitytoalargementalhospital and a state

penitentiary, and this, inaddition to themigrants, hadcreated a disproportionateunderclass, many of whomlived in appalling poverty.The buildings in the migrantcamp had been built astemporary summer housingand many were literallynothing but wood and tarpaper that lacked even the

mostbasicamenities,buttheybecamecrowdedinthewinterby those who could affordnothing better. It was herethat Sheila lived with herfather.Adrugaddictwithalcohol

problems, her father hadspent most of Sheila’s earlyyearsinandoutofprison.Hehad no job. Currently on

parole, he was attending analcohol abuse program, butdoinglittleelse.Sheila’s mother had been

only fourteen when, as arunaway, she took up withSheila’s father and becamepregnant. Sheila was borntwodaysbeforehermother’sfifteenth birthday. A secondchild, a son, was born

nineteen months later. Therewasn’t much else relating tothe mother in the file,although it was not hard toread drugs, alcohol anddomestic violence betweenthelines.Whatever,shemusthave finally had enough,because when Sheila wasfour,sheleftthefamily.Fromthe brief notes, it appeared

that she had intended to takeboth children with her, butSheila was later foundabandonedonanopenstretchof freewayabout thirtymilessouth of town. Sheila’smother and her brother,Jimmie, were never heardfromagain.The bulk of the file

detailedSheila’sbehavior.At

home the father appeared tohave no control over her atall. She had been repeatedlyfound wandering around themigrant camp late at night.She had a history of firesettingandhadbeencitedforcriminal damage three timesby the local police, quite anaccomplishment for a six-year-old. At school, Sheila

oftenrefusedtospeak,andasa consequence, virtuallynothingwas contained in thefile to tell me what or howmuchshemighthavelearned.Shehadbeen inkindergartenand then first grade in anelementary school near themigrant camp until theincident with the little boyhad occurred, but there were

noassessmentnotes.Inplaceof the usual test results andlearning summaries was acatalog of horror storiesdetailingSheila’sdestructive,oftenviolent,behavior.Attheendofthefilewasa

briefsummaryoftheincidentwith the toddler. The judgeconcludedthatSheilawasoutofparentalcontrolandwould

be best placed in a secureunit, where her needs couldbebettermet.Inthisinstance,he meant the children’s unitat the state mental hospital.Unfortunately,theunitwasatcapacity at the time of thehearing, and thus, Sheilawould need to await anopening. A recently datedmemo was appended

detailing the need to providesome form of education,givenherageandthelaw,butno one bothered to mincewords. Her placement wascustodial.Thismeantshehadto be kept in school for thetime being, because of thespecifics of the law, but Ineed not feel under anyobligation to teach her.With

Sheila’sarrival,myroomhadbecomeaholdingpen.Youth was my greatest

asset at that point in mycareer. Still fired withidealism, I felt strongly thatthere were no problem kids,only a problem society.Althoughinitiallyreluctanttotake Sheila, it had beenbecause my room was

crowded and my resourcesoverstretched already, notbecause of the child herself.Thus, once I had her, Iregardedher asmine andmyclasswasnoholdingpen!Mybelief inhuman integrityandthe inalienable right of eachandeveryoneofmychildrentopossessitwastrenchant.Well, almost. Before she

was done, Sheila had givenallmybeliefsagoodshakingandshestarted thatveryfirstday. As Anton and I weresitting in the frontoffice thatlunch hour, reading Sheila’sfile, Sheila was in ourclassroom scooping thegoldfish out of the aquariumand,onebyone,pokingtheireyesout.

Sheila proved to be chaosdressed in outgrown overallsand a faded T-shirt.Everything she said wasshrieked. Everything shetouched was broken, hit,squashed or mangled. Andeveryone, myself included,was The Enemy. Sheoperated in what Antonchristened her “animal

mode.” There was not much“child mode” present in theearly days. The slightestunexpected movement shealways interpreted as attack.Her eyeswould go dark, herface would flush, her bodywould take on alert rigidity,and from that point it was afinely balanced matter as towhether she would fight, or

panic and run away. Whenshewas in her animalmode,ourmethodswereawholelotmore akin to taming thanteaching.Yet…Sheilawasdifferent.There

was something electric abouther,abouthereyes,aboutthesharpness of her movementsthat superimposed itself over

evenhermostferalmoments.I couldn’t articulate what itwas,butIcouldsenseit.

I loved my children dearly,but the truth was, they werenot a very bright lot. Mostchildren with emotionaldifficulties use so muchmental energy coping thatthere simply isn’t much left

for learning. Additionally,other syndromes often occurin conjunction withpsychological problems,eithercontributingtothemorresulting from them. Forexample, two ofmy childrensuffered from fetal alcoholsyndrome and another had aneurological condition thatwas causing a slow

deterioration of his centralnervous system. As aconsequence, none of thechildren was functioning atanaveragelevelforhisorherage, although undoubtedlyseveral were of normalintelligence.Thus, itcameasa surprise to me to discoverduring Sheila’s early dayswith us that she could add

andsubtractwell,becauseshehad managed only threemonthsoffirstgrade.A bigger surprise came

days later,whenIdiscoveredshe could give the meaningsof unusual words. One suchwordwas“chattel.”“Whereverdidyou learna

wordlikethis?”Iaskedwhenmy curiosity finally

overwhelmedme.Sheila, little and dirty and

very smelly, sat hunched upon her chair across the tablefrom me. She peered upthroughmattedhair toregardme. “Chattel of Love,” shereplied and added in herpeculiar dialect, “it be thenameofabookIfind.”“Book? Where? What

book?”“I don’t steal it,” she

retorteddefensively.“Itbeinthegarbagecan.Ifindit.”“Where?”“Idofindit,”sherepeated,

obviously believing this wasthe issue I was trying toexplore.“Yes,okay,”Ireplied,“but

where?”

“Intheladies’toiletsatthebus station. But I don’t stealit.”Ismiled.“No,I’msureyou

didn’t. I’m just interested inhearingaboutit.”She regarded me

suspiciously.“Whatdidyoudowiththe

book?”Iasked.Sheila clearly couldn’t

puzzle out why I wanted toknow these things. “Well, Iread it,” she said, her voicefull of disbelief, as if I’dasked a very silly question.Therewas aworried edge toit,however.Shestillsenseditwasanaccusation.“Youreadit?Itsoundslike

arathergrown-upbook.”“Well,Idon’treadallofit.

But on the cover it sayChattelofLoveandsoIdobecuriousaboutit,’causeofthepicture,’ cause of what theman be doing to the lady onthecover.”“I see,” I replied

uncertainly.She shrugged. “But I

couldn’tfindnothinggoodinit,soIthrowitawayagain.”

With an IQ we soondiscovered tobe inexcessof180, Sheila was electric allright. Indeed, she was morelikenuclear.

Discovering Sheila was ahighly gifted childintellectually did nothing tochange the facts of hergrindingpoverty,herabusive

backgroundorhercontinuingand continually outrageousbehavior.Uncertainwhere tostartwhentherewassomuchthat needed improving, Ibeganwith the very smallestthings, those I knew werewithinmypowertochange.Sheila’s hygiene was

appalling. She literally hadonly one set of clothes: a

faded brown-striped T-shirtand a pair of worn denimoveralls, a size too small.Withthesewentapairofred-and-white canvas sneakerswith holes in the toes. Shehadunderwear,butnosocks.If any of these were everwashed, there was littleevidenceofit.Certainly Sheila wasn’t

washed.Thedirtwasworninon her hands and her elbowsandaroundherankles,sothatdark lines had formed overthe skin in these areas.Worse,shewasabedwetter.The smell of stale urinepermeated whatever part ofthe classroom Sheilaoccupied. When I quizzedSheila about washing

facilities, I discovered theyhadnorunningwater.Thisseemedthebestplace

to start. She was sounpleasant to be near that itdistracted all of us from thechildherself;soIcamearmedwith towels, soap andshampoo and began to batheSheilainthelargesinkatthebackoftheclassroom.

I was washing her when Ifirst noticed the scars. Theywere small, round andnumerous, especially alongher upper arms and theinsides of her lower arms.The scars were old and hadlong since healed, but Irecognized them for whatthey were—the marks leftwhenalitcigaretteispressed

againsttheskin.“Does your dad do things

that cause these?” I asked,trying to keep my voice ascasual and conversational aspossible.“My pa, he wouldn’t do

that! He wouldn’t hurt mebad,” she replied, her toneprickly. “He loves me.” IrealizedsheknewwhatIwas

asking.Inoddedandliftedherout

of the water to dry her. Forseveral moments Sheila saidnothing, but then she twistedaroundtolookmeintheeye.“You know what my mamadone,though?”“No,what?”She lifted up one leg and

turneditformetosee.There,

on the outer side just abovethe ankle, was a wide whitescar about two inches long.“Mymama, shepushmeoutofthecarandIfalldownso’sarockcuttedupmylegrighthere.See?”I bent forward and

examinedit.“My pa, he loves me. He

don’t go leaving me on no

roads.You ain’t supposed todothatwithlittlekids.”“No,you’renot.”There was a moment’s

silence while I finisheddryingherandbegantocombout her newly washed hair.Sheila grew pensive. “Mymama, she don’t love me sogood,” she said. Her voicewas thoughtful,but calmand

matter-of-fact. She couldhave been discussing one oftheotherchildrenintheclassor a piece of schoolwork or,for that matter, the weather.“Mymama, she take JimmieandgotoCalifornia.Jimmie,he be my brother and he befour, ’cept he only be twowhen my mama, she leave.”Amomentortwoelapsedand

Sheila examined her scaragain. “In the beginning, mymama taked Jimmieandme,’cept shegot sickofme.So,she open up the door andpushmeoutandarockcuttedupmylegrighthere.”

Those early weeks withSheila were a roller-coasterride. Some days were up.

Delighted awe at this newworld she found herself inmade Sheila a sunny littlecharacter. She was eager tobe accepted into the groupandinherownoddwaytrieddesperately to please Antonandme.Otherdays,however,we went down, sometimesprecipitously. Despite herbrilliant progress right from

the beginning, Sheilaremained capable of trulyhair-raisingbehavior.The world was a vicious

place in Sheila’s mind. Shelived by the creed of doingunto others before they dounto you. Revenge, inparticular, was trenchant. Ifsomeone wronged Sheila oreven simply treated her a bit

arbitrarily, Sheila exactedprecise, painful retribution.On one occasion, she causedhundredsofdollars’worthofdamage in another teacher’sroom in retaliation for thatteacher’shavingreprimandedherinthelunchroom.What saved us was a

complicated bus schedule. Inthe months prior to coming

into my room, Sheila’sbehavior had gotten herremoved from two previousschoolbusesandtheonlyoneavailable to her nowwas thehigh school bus.Unfortunately, this did notleave for the migrant campuntiltwohoursafterourclassgot out. Thus Sheila had toremain after school with

Antonandmeuntilthattime.IwashorrifiedwhenIfirst

foundout,because those twohours after school were myplanningandpreparationtimeandIcouldn’t imaginehowIwould get on with thingswhile simultaneously havingtobaby-sitasunpredictableachild as Sheila. There was,however, no choice in the

matter.Initially,Iletherplaywith

theclassroomtoyswhileIsatatthetableandtriedtogetonwith my work, but afterfifteen minutes or so on herown, she’d inevitably pullawayandcometostandovermewhile Iworked. Shewasalways full of questions.What’sthat?What’sthisfor?

Whyareyoudoingthat?Howcome this is like this? Whatdo you do with that thing?Constantly. Until I realizedwewere talkingmuchof thetime. Until I realized howmuchIenjoyedit.She liked to read and she

could, I think, read virtuallyanything I placed in herhands.Whatstoppedherwas

not her ability to turn thelettersonthepageintowords,but rather to turn them intosomething meaningful.Sheila’s lifewas so deprivedthat much of what she readsimplymadenosensetoher.As a consequence, I beganreadingwithher.There was something

compelling about sharing a

bookwith Sheila.Wewouldsnuggle up together in thereading corner as I preparedto read aloud to her andSheila would be so ravenousfor the experiences the bookheld that her entire body’dgrow taut with excitement.Winnie the Pooh, Long JohnSilver and Peter Pan provedsturdiermagicthanChattelof

Love. However, of all thebooks,itwasSaint-Exupéry’sThe Little Prince that wonSheila’s heart. She adoredthis bemused, perplexinglittle character.His othernessshe understood perfectly.Mature one moment,immature the next, profound,then petty, and always,always the outsider, the little

princespokedeeplytoSheila.We read the book so manytimes that she could quotelongpassagesbyheart.When not reading, we

simply talked. Sheila wouldlean on the table and watchmework,orwewouldpauseat some point in a book forme to explain a concept andthe conversation would go

from there, never quitereturningtothestoryathand.Progressively, I learned

moreaboutSheila’slifeinthemigrant camp, about herfather and his lady friendswho often came back to thehousewith him late at night.Sheila told me how she hidhisbottlesofbeerbehind thesofa to keep him from

drinking too much, and howshe got up to put out hiscigarettes after he had fallenasleep. I came to hear moreabouthermother,herbrotherand the abandonment. And Iheard about Sheila’s otherschoolandherotherteachers,aboutwhatshedid to fillherdaysandhernights,whenshewasn’t with us. In return, I

gave her my world and thehope that it could be hers aswell.Those two hours were a

godsend. All her short lifeSheila had been ignored,neglected and often openlyrejected. She had littleexperience with mature,loving adults and stableenvironments, and now,

discovering their existence,shewasgreedyforthem.Thebusy atmosphere of theclassroom during the day,supportive as it was, did notallow for the amount ofundivided attention Sheilarequired to make up for allshe had lacked. Itwas in thegentle silence of theafternoon when we were

alone, thatshedaredtoleavebehindheroldbehaviorsandtrysomeofmine.

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