Copyright

Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.

HarperElement

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First published by HarperElement 2020

FIRST EDITION

© Cathy Glass 2020

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Cover photograph © Tanya Gramatikova/Trevillion Images (photograph posed by a model)

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Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780008398743

Ebook Edition © September 2020 ISBN: 9780008398750

Version: 2020-09-30

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Acknowledgements

A big thank you to my family; my editors, Kelly and Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; my UK publishers HarperCollins, and my overseas publishers who are now too numerous to list by name. Last, but definitely not least, a big thank you to my readers for your unfailing support and kind words. They are much appreciated.

Contents

1  Cover

2  Title Page

3  Copyright

4  Note to Readers

5  Acknowledgements

6  Contents

7  Chapter One: Angry and Upset

8 Chapter Two: No Going Back

9  Chapter Three: A Call for Help

10  Chapter Four: New Year

11  Chapter Five: Lucy’s Decision

12  Chapter Six: The Meeting

13  Chapter Seven: Good and Bad News

14  Chapter Eight: Can’t Leave Mum

15  Chapter Nine: Threatening Behaviour

16  Chapter Ten: A Shock

17  Chapter Eleven: Grandmother

18  Chapter Twelve: The Visit

19  Chapter Thirteen: ‘I Can’t Believe It!’

20  Chapter Fourteen: Revenge

21  Chapter Fifteen: ‘What a Dreadful World we Live In’

22  Chapter Sixteen: Accused

23  Chapter Seventeen: ‘You’ll Hate Me’

24  Chapter Eighteen: The Photograph

25  Chapter Nineteen: A Message

26  Chapter Twenty: More Photographs

27  Chapter Twenty-One: Hiding Something

28  Chapter Twenty-Two: A Terrible Secret

29  Chapter Twenty-Three: A Family Split

30  Chapter Twenty-Four: Police Interviews

31  Chapter Twenty-Five: Difficult Meetings

32  Chapter Twenty-Six: Worrying News

33  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Emma

34  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Bonnie

35  Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Difficult Decision

36  Suggested topics for reading-group discussion

37  Cathy Glass

38  Moving Memoirs

39  Praise for Cathy Glass

40  About the Publisher

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Chapter One

Angry and Upset

Lucy was pregnant. It was all I could think about.

As an experienced foster carer, I am used to dealing with other people’s problems. Indeed, I pride myself on being rather good at it. However, now faced with a problem of my own, I found I was not as good as I thought. Lucy, my twenty-four-year-old daughter, had arrived home unexpectedly on 14 December, when she should have been at work, and announced she was pregnant. Two weeks later she and her boyfriend still hadn’t decided what they were going to do about it, and I was worried sick.

In addition to this worry, I was now waiting for Tilly Watkins to arrive with her social worker. Tilly, aged fourteen, was upset and angry. Before Christmas she’d gone to the social services’ offices and asked to be taken into foster care, claiming that her parents’ continuous fighting was making her depressed and she couldn’t stand it any longer. I had been told to expect her, but then she’d changed her mind and had decided to stay at home over Christmas, feeling that the festive season might help sort out their differences.

It didn’t.

Far from helping, it had caused the situation to quickly deteriorate, and this morning – 28 December – her neighbours had called the police after hearing an hour of shouting, china smashing, and Tilly and her mother crying. When the police arrived, Tilly had a graze on her cheek and had demanded she be taken into foster care. Her social worker, Isa Neave, had telephoned me half an hour ago to say they were now on their way, so Tilly would be living with me for the foreseeable future.

My son Adrian, twenty-six, was at work, as was Lucy. Adrian worked for a firm of accountants and Lucy in a nursery. My youngest daughter, Paula, twenty-two, attended a local college but the new term didn’t resume until the following week. She was out shopping at the sales with a friend, so there was just our cat, Sammy, and me at home. I was divorced, my ex having run off with a work colleague many years before – painful at the time, but history now. Sammy and I were in the living room, which is at the rear of my house. I was sitting on the sofa, gazing though the patio windows to the garden beyond, bare in the heart of winter. Sammy was in his usual spot curled up asleep by the radiator and blissfully unaware of the turmoil I was going through. How lovely to be a cat! I thought.

Even though I’m a very experienced foster carer, I still get anxious when I’m waiting for a new child or young person to arrive, hoping they will take to me and settle, and wondering how best I can help them. Now my thoughts and worries remained with Lucy, as indeed they were every waking moment, and often during the night. No one else in my family knew Lucy was pregnant apart from me. She’d didn’t want anyone to know while she made the difficult decision – to terminate the pregnancy or keep the baby. She’d already discounted the other option of having the baby and putting it up for adoption. ‘I couldn’t bear to go through all that and give it up,’ she’d said tearfully.

I’d nodded understandingly and listened.

The father of her baby, Darren, was aware of the situation and apparently also thinking what to do for the best. He was the same age as Lucy and a colleague of hers at the nursery where she worked. I’d met him briefly a couple of times and he seemed nice enough, but they’d only been dating a few months. Lucy told me nothing had been further from their minds than starting a family. They both had careers and she’d admitted to me she didn’t think she was mature enough to parent a child yet, and in some ways I agreed. Although as most parents know, you mature very quickly once you’re responsible for a baby. Lucy and I had had a few long conversations before Christmas and I’d said I’d support her whatever she and Darren decided, but it had to be their decision.

How we managed to get through Christmas I’m not sure, but we did and had a nice time. ‘I’m not going to ruin everyone’s Christmas,’ Lucy told me. ‘I’ll make the decision in the New Year, on the first of January.’ Which seemed a bit dramatic, but then Lucy can be dramatic sometimes. She knew she couldn’t leave the decision any longer, for she would be ten weeks pregnant by then and if she was going to have a termination, it needed to be done as soon as possible.

Lucy hadn’t had the best start in life. She’d come to me as a foster child, unsettled, unloved, with an eating disorder, and nowhere to call home. She’d done incredibly well to move on from her past and I’d adopted her, so she was a permanent member of my family. I loved her as much as I did my birth children – Adrian and Paula – and she loved us. She was usually lively, vibrant and outgoing, and could sometimes be impulsive and hot-headed, but that’s just who she is. I tell Lucy’s story in Will You Love Me?

Still gazing through the patio windows, I was suddenly jolted from my thoughts by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Sammy’s ears pricked up. I immediately stood. It would be Tilly with her social worker, and they deserved my full attention.

Putting aside my own worries, I went along the hall and raised a smile as I opened the front door. ‘Hello, love, nice to meet you. Come in,’ I welcomed. ‘I’m Cathy.’

The first thing I noticed about Tilly was the red graze on her cheek, the second was how scared she looked. I guessed that now she was here reality had set in as she realized she’d left home and put herself in care. She stepped quietly into the hall.

‘I’m Isa Neave,’ Tilly’s social worker said, following her in, and shook my hand.

I took their coats and hung them on the hall stand. Tilly was slender, delicate-looking, about five feet six inches tall, with shoulder-length dark hair and a sallow complexion.

‘I haven’t got any of my things with me,’ she said, clearly worried.

‘I’ll collect what you need later today. Once I’ve got you settled here,’ Isa said to her, then to me, ‘The police brought Tilly straight to the social services’ offices so I’ll need to speak to her mother and arrange to collect some of her belongings.’

I smiled reassuringly at Tilly and then led the way back down the hall to the living room where I offered them both a drink. Neither of them wanted one.

‘Nice house,’ Isa said, glancing around the living room as she sat on the sofa.

‘Thank you.’ Isa had short-cropped hair and wore a bright blue jumper over black leggings. I guessed she was in her mid to late twenties so was probably a newly qualified social worker. She had the alacrity and zeal of a young social worker just embarking on their career, before they became exhausted from dealing with child abuse day after day.

Tilly sat beside Isa on the sofa and I took an easy chair opposite them.

‘I think Tilly is going to fit in well here,’ Isa said positively. ‘It will be nice for her to have the company of other young people.’ So I guessed she’d read the form containing my details, which would have been sent to her.

‘Yes, good,’ I agreed.

‘Tilly’s the only child living at home, so it can be a bit intense.’

I nodded and smiled at Tilly, who was looking self-conscious.

‘As I mentioned on the phone,’ Isa continued, ‘the situation at home with Tilly’s parents has become very difficult.’

‘He’s not my parent,’ Tilly said forcefully.

‘Sorry, stepfather,’ Isa corrected. Then to me, ‘Tilly lives with her mother and stepfather. She has an older stepbrother and stepsister, but they don’t live at home.’

‘And neither will I, ever again!’ Tilly replied, looking at me. ‘My mother has chosen him over me. If she wants to ruin her life that’s up to her, but he’s not going to ruin mine.’

‘I think everyone needs a cooling-off period,’ Isa said. Taking a form from her briefcase-style bag, she handed it to me. ‘The placement forms.’

‘Thank you.’ I put them to one side to read later. These forms would contain the basic information I needed for looking after Tilly – her full name, date of birth, address, parents, religion, school, any special needs, dietary requirements and allergies, etc.

I saw Tilly gingerly touch her sore cheek. ‘Is that hurting you?’ I asked.

‘It’s a little sore,’ she admitted.

‘Nothing appears to be broken,’ Isa said. ‘But if it doesn’t heal or gets worse in the next few days please take her to a doctor.’

‘I will. When did it happen?’ I asked.

‘Last night,’ Isa replied.

‘Dave threw a plate at my mother,’ Tilly said. ‘It hit me instead.’

‘And Dave is your stepfather?’ I asked.

‘Was. They’re always arguing.’ Which I knew from Isa. ‘Mum won’t stand up to him and he treats her like dirt. I can’t bear to watch it any more.’ Her face clouded and she looked close to tears.

Domestic violence often plays a significant part in many child-care cases. Even if the child themselves hasn’t been abused, for them to have to watch one parent repeatedly assault, threaten, humiliate and control the other is deeply damaging for the child. Also, there is the possibility that the abuser could turn their anger on them.

‘How long has it been like that at home?’ I asked Tilly.

‘Years, although it’s got worse recently.’

‘It must be very distressing for you,’ I said gently.

Tilly nodded sadly. ‘I gave them one last chance over Christmas but nothing has changed, and Mum won’t leave him. I don’t want to be in foster care, but I’ve got nowhere else to go.’ Her eyes filled.

‘You’ve done the right thing,’ Isa said, touching her arm reassuringly.

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘I know it’s difficult coming into a stranger’s house, but I’ll look after you, and my family and I will help you settle in. Try not to worry.’

‘Thank you,’ she said with a little sniff. ‘You’re so kind.’

I passed her the box of tissues. My heart went out to her. Like so many children and young people I’d fostered, all she wanted was a safe place to call home.

Isa went through some formalities, including the placement agreement form, which I had to sign. She checked I knew how much pocket money to give Tilly, asked about the bus she would need to catch to school, where she could do her homework and what time she would have to be in if she went out in the evening. Coming-home times can be an issue with teenagers. Although Tilly didn’t appear to be in the mood for partying now, once she’d settled in and was happier, she might be, so it was worth setting the ground rules from the start.

‘You have your phone with you?’ Isa checked with Tilly.

‘Yes, it’s in my coat pocket. But it’s on Dave’s contract. He pays for it, so he’s bound to cancel it.’

‘If he stops paying then let Cathy know and she’ll sort out a new contract,’ Isa told her. This was usual and there was an amount included in the fostering allowance that carers receive to cover expenses like this. I would also be saving a set amount each week for Tilly, which she would take with her when she left. If she didn’t leave I’d give it to her when she became an adult at eighteen.

‘I need my laptop for schoolwork,’ Tilly said. ‘We’ve got an assignment to do for next term.’

‘I’ll collect it with your other things this afternoon,’ Isa replied. ‘Can you make a list of everything you need so I can ask your mother to pack them?’

‘She won’t know where anything is in my room,’ Tilly said. ‘It’s better if I phone her.’

‘All right. If you’re happy to do that.’

Tilly nodded.

‘What’s happening about contact?’ I asked. When young children come into care, contact with their parents is usually arranged by the social worker and is often supervised, but it can be different for older children.

‘Tilly wants to see her mother, but not her stepfather,’ Isa told me.

‘I can go home when he is at work,’ Tilly said.

Isa looked unsure. ‘As long as you’re not placing yourself in danger.’

‘I’ll leave before he gets home,’ Tilly said.

‘How often will you go?’ I asked.

‘Not sure,’ Tilly shrugged.

‘Tell Cathy when you are planning to go,’ Isa said. ‘And if you go there after school, make sure Cathy knows, otherwise she will expect you to come straight home.’

I would have preferred some firmer contact arrangements, but it was Isa’s decision.

‘I’ll give you my mobile and landline numbers to put in your phone,’ I told Tilly. ‘And I’ll put your number in my phone so you can let me know if you’re going to be late back.’

‘OK,’ Tilly said amicably.

Isa then asked to look around the house before she left, which is usual when a child is placed. We stood and I led the way into our kitchen-diner and then to the front room and upstairs. Tilly didn’t say much and I knew she was finding it difficult. Even though her house hadn’t been a happy one, it was still her home. ‘Your room will look much better once you have your belongings in it,’ I said as we went in.

‘It’s nice and bright and looks out over the garden,’ Isa said encouragingly, looking through the window. Tilly nodded and I continued to show them the rest of the upstairs.

Once we’d finished and were downstairs again, Tilly took her phone from her coat pocket and went into the living room to call her mother to tell her where her belongings were while I saw Isa out. My first impression of Tilly was that she wasn’t the angry young person I’d been told to expect. However, that changed the moment her phone connected and she began talking to her mother.

Chapter Two

No Going Back

‘I’m not coming home! I’ve told you!’ Tilly shouted into her phone. ‘I need my things, so just stop thinking about yourself for once and do as I ask! The social worker is going to collect them.’ There was a pause as Tilly listened to what her mother was saying. I remained in the hall. ‘You’re as bad as him!’ Tilly cried. ‘It’s your fault, not mine.’ Another pause and then she burst into tears. I went in.

She was sitting on the sofa, phone to her ear, tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked up at me helplessly, a child in need of help. ‘Let me speak to her,’ I said. I held out my hand for the phone and she passed it to me.

Her mother was still talking, believing Tilly was listening, and clearly emotional. ‘What’s your mother’s name?’ I asked Tilly quietly.

‘Heather.’

I nodded.

‘Heather,’ I said into the phone, ‘it’s Cathy Glass, Tilly’s foster carer.’ The talking stopped.

‘Who? What did you say?’ she asked.

‘Cathy Glass, I’m Tilly’s foster carer. She is very upset.’

‘So am I.’

‘I know it’s difficult for you both, but Tilly needs some of her belongings. She was going to tell you where her things are so her social worker, Isa, can collect them later. If I put Tilly back on could you make a list?’

There was a pause, then, ‘I’m not sure I can,’ she said timidly.

‘Sorry, why is that?’

‘Her father wouldn’t like it. He thinks she should stop all this nonsense and come home.’

‘Is that her stepfather, Dave?’ I checked.

‘Yes.’

‘Going home isn’t really an option for Tilly at present,’ I said as gently as I could. ‘She is in care. I think Isa will have explained the situation to you.’ Tilly was in care voluntarily so in theory she could return home at any time, but if she did and the social services felt she was in danger they could apply for a court order to bring her back into care.

Heather had gone quiet. ‘Will it be OK if Tilly tells you what she needs so you can have it ready for when Isa arrives?’ I asked her. ‘She only has what she is wearing.’

‘She has her phone with her,’ Heather said tersely. ‘I bet she didn’t tell you her father pays for that. He’s good to her. I don’t know why she’s trying to break up our family.’

‘The social worker thinks a cooling-off period may be helpful,’ I said diplomatically.

‘Tilly and her father are both hotheads. I get caught in the middle,’ Heather said, as if she bore no responsibility. I didn’t point out that as a parent she had a duty to protect her fourteen-year-old daughter.

‘If I put Tilly on, can she tell you what she needs and where to find it?’ I said, trying to advance the conversation.

‘I suppose so, but don’t tell her father.’

‘Thank you. Do you have a pen and paper handy or shall I ask Tilly to text the list to you?’ Which I thought might be preferable, as they were both emotional right now.

‘I don’t have a mobile phone,’ Heather said. ‘Wait a minute and I’ll get a pen and some paper.’

The line went quiet. ‘It’s all right,’ I told Tilly, who was watching me. ‘Your mother is going to write a list. She is upset too.’

‘I know, but what can I do? She won’t help herself.’

I nodded. Heather came back on the phone. ‘Go ahead, put her on,’ she said.

I returned Tilly’s phone to her and sat in one of the armchairs, on hand to help if needed. Although Tilly was fourteen, she was very vulnerable at present and part of my role as a foster carer was to protect her from further upset. She began telling her mother what she needed and where the items were in a quiet, dispassionate voice. The list wasn’t as long as it might have been for a young woman who had arrived with nothing – school uniform, some casual clothes and toiletries. I could guess why. Apart from any objection Dave might have, packing one’s belongings is a defining moment for a child or young person going into care. It’s a landmark, an acknowledgement that their life so far has failed miserably and that they are having to leave home, possibly for good. Often belongings are moved from home piecemeal, a few at a time, as it’s less painful.

Once Tilly had finished, she said a sombre, ‘Goodbye, Mum, I’ll see you soon.’ Her mother must have asked when, for Tilly replied, ‘I don’t know, in a day or so.’ As she ended the call she looked close to tears. I went over and sat beside her on the sofa.

‘I know it’s difficult, love, but it will get easier. I promise.’

‘Mum’s upset and it’s my fault. Perhaps I should just go home like she says.’

‘Do you really think that’s the right decision?’ I asked. ‘It didn’t work out last time.’

‘But I feel sorry for Mum. Who’s going to protect her now?’

‘Tilly, I know you love your mother, but it’s not your job to protect her from your stepfather. She is an adult. Isa will advise her where help is available for victims of domestic abuse.’

‘Is that what she is?’

‘It sounds like it to me.’ I paused. ‘Why does Dave pay for your mobile phone when your mother hasn’t even got one?’ I asked. It was bothering me.

‘He says she doesn’t need one. She doesn’t go out to work so she can use the landline.’

‘What about a computer? Does she have access to email, social media and so on?’

‘No. She doesn’t use the Internet. I don’t think she knows how to.’

‘Does she have friends she keeps in contact with?’

‘Not as far as I know. She doesn’t really go out alone; he’s always with her.’ Which was classic for a victim being coercively controlled by their abuser.

‘Do you have other relatives?’ I asked.

‘Only my gran.’

‘That’s your mother’s mother?’

‘Yes. Mum and I talk to her on the phone sometimes, but I haven’t seen her in ages.’

‘Why?’ I could almost guess the answer.

‘Dave doesn’t get on with her. He says she’s manipulative. Mum doesn’t drive and relies on him to take her, and he doesn’t.’

No surprise there, I thought, although the only one who was likely to be manipulative was Dave, isolating Heather further by keeping her from her mother. I’d been a volunteer in a refuge some years before and knew the signs of coercive control.

‘Try not to worry,’ I told Tilly. ‘Have you got something you can do while I start some dinner?’ It was 4.30 and Lucy, Adrian and Paula would be home later.

‘I’ll phone my friends – they keep texting to find out how I am – unless you want some help?’

‘No, that’s fine. Thank you, but you call your friends. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. I was going to make spaghetti bolognaise. Do you eat meat?’

‘Yes, although –’ she stopped.

‘What’s the matter? I can soon make you something else.’

‘No, it’s not that.’ A small, reflective smile crossed her face. It was the first time I had seen any sign of a smile since she’d arrived. ‘I was going to say Dave doesn’t like it, but I don’t have to worry about that any more.’

‘No, you don’t, love.’

‘He gets very angry if Mum makes him something he doesn’t like to eat.’

‘Have you told your social worker things like this?’

‘Some, but not all – not about the food.’

‘Mention it next time you talk to her. Call your friends now.’

I would make a note of this and any other disclosures Tilly made about her home life in my log and update her social worker. It might seem a small point now, but it could form part of a bigger picture. All foster carers in the UK are required to keep a daily record of the child or young person they are looking after. This includes appointments, the child’s health and wellbeing, education, significant events and any disclosures. As well as charting the child’s progress, it can act as an aide-mémoire and also be used as evidence in court. When the child leaves this record is placed on file at the social services.

I left Tilly in the living room about to call her friends while I went into the kitchen. Before I began cooking, I messaged my family’s WhatsApp group to let Paula, Lucy and Adrian know Tilly had arrived, so they didn’t just walk in and find her here. Then I set about making the bolognaise sauce for later.

As I worked, I could hear the rise and fall of Tilly’s voice through the open door of the living room as she talked to her friends. She said pretty much the same thing to all of them, recounting the horror of another fight between her mother and Dave, the police arriving, her mother refusing to press charges and defending Dave, being taken to the social services’ offices and then coming to me. One friend must have asked about me, for I heard her say, ‘Yes, she seems OK, and the house is nice. But I worry about Mum.’

I hoped Tilly would find the strength to stay with me for the time being at least, for if she returned home I felt the situation was likely to deteriorate, and there was no guarantee the social services would apply for a court order to remove her. Their resources are stretched to the limit, and with over 70,000 children in care, and more coming in each day, a baby or young child whose life was in danger would probably have priority over a fourteen-year-old who had removed herself from care.

I heard the front door open and Paula return home. I left what I was doing to go into the hall to greet her. ‘So you had some success at the sales then,’ I said, pleased. She was carrying a number of store bags.

‘I’ve spent a fortune!’ she sighed.

I knew she wouldn’t have done. Paula was careful with her money and only bought what she needed after much deliberation. I knew whatever she’d purchased would be a good buy. We went into the living room and I introduced her to Tilly. Tilly finished on the phone and the two girls said a shy hello. It would be some time before we all relaxed around each other.

‘I’m going to get a drink,’ Paula said to Tilly. ‘Would you like one?’

‘Yes, please. I’ll come with you.’ She stood.

I left the two girls to go to the kitchen and I heard cupboard doors opening and closing as Paula showed Tilly where the juice and squashes were and told her to help herself. I’ve found before that the child or young person we foster often bonds with one of my children before they do with me. Presently both girls appeared carrying a glass of juice. ‘I’m going to my room,’ Paula told me.

‘Is it OK if I go to my room?’ Tilly asked.

‘Yes, of course, love. You do as you wish, make yourself at home.’

‘Thank you.’ She followed Paula upstairs and I heard them talking on the landing for a few moments and then go into their own rooms.

Ten minutes later Lucy arrived home, earlier than usual because the staff at the nursery were working shorter shifts in the week between Christmas and the New Year, as they didn’t have many children in. Most companies had closed for the whole week, but the nursery was open with reduced hours.

‘How are you?’ I asked Lucy, as I did every time I saw her. It was a question laden with hidden meaning now, given her condition.

‘OK. I feel fine.’

‘Good.’ She looked it. She hadn’t had any morning sickness so far; indeed, she seemed to be blossoming. ‘I’m going to get a drink of water,’ she said. I followed her into the kitchen.

‘How’s Darren?’ I asked as she ran a glass of water.

‘He wasn’t in work today. There were only three of us, as there are so few children in this week.’

‘But you spoke to him?’

‘He texted. We’re fine, Mum, don’t worry. Where’s Tilly?’

‘In her room.’

‘How is she?’

‘Finding it a bit difficult at present. I’m sure a few words from you would help.’

‘I’ll talk to her.’

‘Thank you, love, I’d appreciate that.’

Lucy went upstairs. Having been a foster child herself, she knew what it felt like to arrive in a stranger’s home and could usually say something to help. I tried not to think of the new life growing within her while she made the difficult decision of whether to go ahead with the pregnancy or not. Abortion is a highly contentious and emotional subject, but for me it has to be the couple’s right to choose. If Lucy decided to have the baby then I would start to think of it as her unborn child. If she didn’t then it would remain a foetus, not a viable life, harsh though that may sound. I love children and have dedicated my life to looking after them, but unwanted pregnancies ruin lives, and an unwanted child faces the ultimate rejection. Until there is a 100-per-cent effective means of contraception, safe and affordable to all, and available to men and women, then I believe termination has to be kept as an option. Also, it would be inhumane and barbaric to force a woman who’d been raped to go through an unwanted pregnancy and to give birth if they didn’t want to. That’s how I feel, at least, although I appreciate others feel differently.

Adrian returned home just before six o’clock and I introduced him to Tilly. I cooked the spaghetti and called everyone to dinner. We’d just sat down when the doorbell rang.

‘I’ll go,’ I said.

Leaving everyone eating, I went to answer the front door. It was Isa, with four large bin liners stuffed full. ‘There’s more in my car,’ she said.

‘Really? I didn’t think Tilly had asked for that much.’

‘She didn’t. Her stepfather was there and had packed the lot. He’s a nasty piece of work, and angry she’s gone.’

‘He sounds very controlling,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘Tilly has been telling me things.’

‘Yes, she’s told me a few things too. Where is she now?’

‘Having some dinner.’

‘Leave her to eat until we’ve finished unloading, then I’ll have a chat with her. She’s better off away from him. Her mother was in tears, but don’t tell Tilly that.’

I took my coat from the hall stand, then went out into the cold dark night to Isa’s car. We began unloading the bin liners and stacking them in the hall and front room. Her car was full. Once we’d finished, I counted thirteen in all, each one filled to bursting. I guessed this was most, if not all, of Tilly’s belongings. Her stepfather was giving her a clear message: You’re gone for good. There is no coming back. You’re not welcome here any more.

As I shut the front door Tilly came into the hall and stared at all the bags. ‘Are they all mine?’ she asked, clearly shocked.

‘Yes,’ Isa said. ‘I need to have a chat with you. Is there somewhere private we can go?’

‘In the living room,’ I said. ‘Where you were this afternoon.’

‘Thank you.’

Tilly and Isa went down the hall into the living room and Isa closed the door behind them. As a foster carer you have to accept that sometimes you are excluded from meetings in your own home. Isa had a right to talk to Tilly in private and she should tell me what I needed to know when they’d finished.

I returned to the kitchen-diner where Adrian, Lucy and Paula had finished eating but were still at the table talking.

‘What’s the matter?’ Lucy asked, worried, aware that Isa hadn’t simply dropped off Tilly’s belongings and the two of them were now in the living room.

‘Her stepfather is being quite nasty,’ I said. ‘Isa’s having a chat with Tilly.’

‘Tilly hates him,’ Lucy said vehemently.

‘Did she tell you that?’ Paula asked.

‘Yes, and she’s angry with her mother for putting up with him and choosing him over her.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘He’s sent most of her belongings. It’s all in the hall and front room. Could someone help me take the bags upstairs? We’ll stack them along the landing so Tilly and I can sort them out slowly in her own time.’

‘Sure,’ Adrian said, and they all stood ready to help.

‘Not you, Lucy, you’re excused,’ I said.

‘Mum, I have to lift toddlers at work who are heavier than a bag of clothes.’

‘Have you pulled a muscle?’ Adrian innocently asked.

‘No, I’m fine,’ Lucy said, while Paula looked at me questioningly.

I avoided her gaze. I hated having secrets in our family – I encourage openness and discussion – but I respected Lucy’s wish not to say anything at present, difficult though it was.

Chapter Three

A Call for Help

Adrian, Paula and Lucy helped me carry all the bin liners containing Tilly’s belongings upstairs and stack them along one side of the landing out of the way, then they went into their rooms for some me time. I returned downstairs to the front room where I took my fostering folder from the drawer. While Tilly was with her social worker and I had the chance, I would read the essential information contained in the placement forms Isa had given to me earlier.

I sat in a chair in the front room and flipped through the half-dozen printed pages. As well as the child’s full name, address and date of birth, it gave a few details of the parents. I saw that Tilly’s mother was forty-nine and her stepfather fifty-two. Tilly was Heather’s only child, but Dave had two other children – Tilly’s stepbrother and stepsister, although she didn’t see them. Neither did she see her natural father, and there were no details about him. Her ethnicity was given as British and her first language English. The box on the form for religion showed none, and her legal status showed she was in care voluntarily under a Section 20, which I knew. She had no special dietary requirements or known allergies. In the section on challenging behaviour it stated that Tilly could become angry sometimes. The name and address of her school came next, and the box for special educational needs was empty. The box for contact arrangements stated that Tilly could visit her mother at home by prior arrangement. I heard the door to the living room open and, setting aside the folder, I went into the hall. It was nearly seven o’clock.

‘Tilly wants to visit her mother tomorrow,’ Isa said. Tilly was standing just behind her social worker. ‘I’ve told her I think she should meet her away from the family home for the time being, in case her stepfather returns.’ This was slightly different from the contact information on the placement form and I assumed it was because of what had happened today. ‘Tilly is concerned that her mother won’t be able to leave the house to meet her because Dave won’t let her,’ Isa continued. ‘But I’ll speak to Heather tomorrow and see what can be arranged.’

‘So we’ll wait until you’ve spoken to her mother before Tilly sees her?’ I clarified.

‘Yes, please. I’ll call you tomorrow.’ And saying goodbye to us both, she left.

I turned to Tilly, who was looking anxious and overwhelmed. I wasn’t surprised, given everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Best keep her occupied, I thought.

‘Your bags are upstairs,’ I said. ‘Let’s start unpacking and sort out what you need for tonight.’

Tilly gave a small nod and, still looking lost and bewildered, came with me upstairs. When she saw the long row of dustbin liners full of her belongings snaking its way around the landing she began to cry. ‘I hate him! I don’t feel like I’ve got a home any more.’ I thought that Dave’s actions had had the desired result and Tilly had got his message.

‘This is your home now,’ I said, putting my arm around her.

‘He’s such a bastard,’ she said, weeping as I held her. ‘I don’t know why Mum stays with him.’

‘I know.’ I soothed and comforted her as best I could.

Lucy’s bedroom door opened and she came out. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked Tilly, very concerned.

Tilly straightened and rubbed her hand over her eyes.

‘I’ll fetch some tissues,’ I said, and went to the bathroom.

As I did, I heard Lucy tell Tilly: ‘Your stepfather is a creep, but at least you won’t have to do your own packing. I used to hate packing when I moved. I found it really upsetting.’

Lucy rarely talked about those times now, of when she had to move from one home to another – it was all so long ago – but clearly some memories remained. I passed Tilly the box of tissues and she wiped her eyes. Lucy’s phone sounded from her room. ‘Got to get that,’ she said. ‘I’ll catch up with you guys later. It will get better,’ she told Tilly.

‘Yes, thanks,’ Tilly replied, and looked a bit brighter.

A few words from Lucy acknowledging she knew how Tilly felt had helped.

‘I’ve no idea what each bag contains,’ I said to Tilly. ‘We’ll have to open them so you can decide what you need.’ I went to the bathroom for the scissors, at the same time returning the tissues. I then snipped through the tape binding the top of each bag and Tilly began looking in them.

‘This one,’ she said, after a few moments. ‘It’s got my night things and underwear.’ She heaved the bag into her bedroom and came out again. ‘I’ll need the one with my laptop.’

‘That shouldn’t be too difficult to find,’ I said. A few moments later I’d identified the bag containing the laptop and dragged it into Tilly’s room. She took out the laptop and set it on the small table, which acted as a desk.

As she began to unpack I saw that all her belongings had just been stuffed in, not folded or rolled, as though they had been grabbed in anger and shoved in. There was rubbish in the bags too, like sweet wrappers and empty cartons of juice, which you’d normally throw away when packing, not include. It was disrespectful of Dave and I wondered where Tilly’s mother had been and what she’d said – if anything – when he’d been throwing all her daughter’s belongings into these bin liners.

‘I think he just tipped in the whole drawer,’ Tilly said in dismay, and I agreed.

Halfway down the third bag was an open box of sanitary towels. ‘I hate the thought of his hands on my personal things,’ she said, disgusted.

‘I know. Did you have any privacy at home?’ I asked as we worked.

‘Some. I could lock the bathroom door. He wasn’t supposed to go in my bedroom, although I think he did when I wasn’t there.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘He wears a strong deodorant and I could smell it sometimes when I went in. I told Mum, but she stuck up for him as usual and said I must be mistaken.’

‘Here we all respect each other’s privacy,’ I said, thinking it was a good time to explain a household rule. ‘We don’t go into each other’s bedrooms. This is your space. If any of us wants you, me included, we will knock on your door and wait until you call “come in”. I expect you to do the same to all of us.’

‘Yes, of course.’

I helped Tilly unpack another two bin bags and at the bottom of one was a heap of ornaments. Like everything else, they had just been thrown in and some were chipped and broken. ‘These were my gran’s,’ she said, and looked close to tears again. ‘She gave them to me the last time I saw her.’ At that point I loathed Dave for what he had done, unprofessional though that might have been.

We carefully took out the broken pieces and set them on the table. ‘I should be able to glue some of these,’ I said optimistically.

There was also a framed photograph, which thankfully hadn’t been broken. ‘That’s my gran,’ Tilly said.

I admired the photo of a white-haired lady sitting in a garden on a summer’s day. ‘Would you like to see your gran again if possible?’

‘More than anything in the world,’ Tilly said.

‘I’ll speak to Isa and see what can be arranged, although I’m not promising anything.’

‘Thank you, Cathy. You are kind.’ I could have wept.

Having unpacked four bags, Tilly had what she needed for tonight and tomorrow and said she was going to do some work on her laptop. I carefully gathered up the ornaments and took them downstairs where I glued them back together as best I could and left them to set overnight. I then went into the living room and wrote up my log notes. At nine o’clock Tilly came down and said she was going to have a shower and an early night and could she have a glass of water. I poured it for her, checked she had everything she needed and told her to call me in the night if she was upset. I knew from experience that the first few nights could be very difficult for a looked-after child, regardless of how old they were – alone in a strange room. Tilly promised she’d call if she needed me and, thanking me again, went upstairs.

Later I heard the shower running and then her cross the landing and return to her bedroom. It went quiet and I assumed she was asleep. However, when I went up to check if she was all right I heard her talking on her phone, so I didn’t disturb her.

She was still on the phone when I went up to bed. I got ready, hoping she’d wind up the call before long, but half an hour later, at 10.45, when Lucy, Adrian and Paula were asleep or going off to sleep, I decided it was time to explain another household rule. Although I felt sorry for Tilly and what she’d been through, it was important I established our rules, as I do for all the children and young people I look after.

With my dressing gown on, I went round the landing and knocked lightly on her bedroom door. There was no reply. ‘Tilly, can I come in?’ I asked quietly.

‘Yes,’ came her small reply.

I opened the door. She was lying in bed, her phone in her hand.

‘I think you should get some sleep now, love. It’s late and I like all phones to be switched off for the night or left downstairs. It’s a rule that applies to everyone in the house so we don’t disturb each other and we all get enough sleep.’

‘It’s my friend,’ Tilly said, as if that made a difference.

‘But I’d still like you to say goodbye and then speak to her tomorrow. When school starts again you won’t be up this late.’

‘OK,’ she said.

I returned to bed, her phone went silent and eventually I fell asleep. I never sleep well when there is a new child or young person in the house. I’m half listening out in case they wake, frightened, not knowing where they are and in need of reassurance. It didn’t matter that Tilly was fourteen and had assured me she’d call out if she needed me; I was still worried about her, and when I wasn’t, I was worrying about Lucy.

However, Tilly did sleep well and as far as I knew was still asleep the following morning. I was up first, as usual, followed by Lucy and Adrian, who had to go to work. At 8.30 Tilly came downstairs, dressed. The graze on her cheek looked much less angry. ‘I don’t think you’ll need to see a doctor about that, do you?’

‘No, and I’ve got to go out now.’

‘Why?’

‘Mum’s just phoned me. She’s upset. Dave’s not there, he’s gone to work.’ One of the downsides of mobile phones for young people in care is that this type of contact cannot be controlled. I had concerns.

‘Your social worker said she wanted you to meet your mother away from your home, and to wait until after she’d spoken to her.’

‘I can’t. Mum needs me now,’ Tilly said, with an edge of desperation.

‘Is she in danger?’ I asked.

‘No, but she’s very upset.’

‘I think you should wait until you’ve spoken to Isa. What if Dave comes home and finds you there?’

‘He won’t, he’s at work. Mum needs me,’ she said again. ‘Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.’

I wish I had a pound coin for every young person who’d told me that! I’d be very rich indeed.

‘She really does need me,’ Tilly persisted. ‘Sorry, I need to go.’ She turned and headed for the front door.

It was clear I wasn’t going to be able to dissuade her and she was too big for me to stop, so reluctantly I had no choice but to watch her go. Foster carers are not allowed to lock doors to stop a child from leaving, but I was concerned that Dave might suddenly appear, and this type of contact was against her social worker’s wishes. It also crossed my mind that this could be a trap to entice Tilly home. Her mother was in Dave’s control and he was angry. I wouldn’t have excluded any possibility. Years of fostering has taught me to expect the unexpected.

I now needed to report what had happened. As it was close to nine o’clock, I decided not to phone the emergency out-of-hours duty social worker, who probably wouldn’t be familiar with Tilly’s case, but to call Isa’s work mobile, which would be on during normal office hours. It wasn’t an emergency as such, as it is when a child goes missing. I knew where Tilly was going.

My call went through to Isa’s voicemail and I left a message explaining what had happened. Ten minutes later Isa returned the call. ‘I got your message. So Tilly’s on her way home?’

‘Yes. She seemed settled last night. She ate with us, did some unpacking and slept well, but then her mother phoned this morning, upset.’

‘Do you know why she’s upset?’

‘No, Tilly didn’t say, only that her mother needed her.’

‘Has Tilly got her phone with her?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll phone her now and try to persuade her to return to you, but I won’t be able to do much more until this afternoon. I’m about to go into court for an emergency protection hearing.’ I knew social workers often carried huge caseloads and were stretched to the limit.

I thanked her, and then waited for news.

Fostering a teenager is clearly different from fostering a baby or young child. Teenagers have the ability to make their own decisions, although they don’t always have the life experience to make the best ones. I’d been anticipating a pleasant day helping Tilly unpack, spending time with her and getting to know her better. Now I was left with uncertainty, worry, a row of black bin liners on the landing and the ornaments I’d done my best to repair.

Half an hour later Paula came downstairs. ‘Where’s Tilly?’ she asked. ‘Her bedroom door is open but she’s not there.’

‘Against advice she’s gone to her mother’s,’ I said. ‘I’ve informed her social worker and I’m hoping to hear something before long.’

As Paula made herself some breakfast the landline rang and I quickly answered it, but it was my mother phoning for a chat. Since my father had died a few years previously, we spoke regularly on the phone and saw each other most weekends. We talked for a while, although I didn’t tell her about Tilly as it would only have worried her and there was nothing she could do. She and my father, when he was alive, had always been very supportive of me fostering, and also when my husband had left me many years before. Mum would meet Tilly at some point, assuming Tilly returned to us. Once I’d finished talking to Mum, Paula spoke to her, then she returned upstairs to get dressed.

An hour passed and I assumed I wouldn’t hear from Isa until this afternoon when she’d come out of court and had had a chance to speak to Tilly and her mother. However, five minutes later my mobile rang and to my surprise Tilly’s number came up.

‘Hello. Are you all right?’ I asked.

‘No. I haven’t got my bus fare back.’

‘Can’t your mother give it to you?’ Had Tilly not left in such a hurry, I would have checked she had enough for her return journey.

‘I’ve already left and I don’t want to go back and ask her.’ Tilly sounded moody rather than upset.

‘Where are you now?’

‘At the petrol station at the end of my road, and I’m freezing.’

‘I’ll come and fetch you, but it’s going to take me at least fifteen minutes to get there. Wait inside the shop.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, subdued.

She couldn’t have been with her mother for very long before it had all gone wrong. Doubtless I would find out in time what had happened, and hopefully this had taught Tilly a lesson. I made a note of the postcode of her mother’s home address from the essential information form, and then went upstairs and told Paula where I was going.

‘Be careful, Mum,’ she said, concerned. ‘The roads are icy. There have already been some accidents.’ She had newsfeeds on her phone.

‘I will,’ I said, and kissed her goodbye.

Downstairs I took my coat from the hall stand and went out into the cold morning air. The car still had a layer of frost on it. While I waited for the windscreen to defrost, I entered the postcode of Tilly’s house into my satnav, then carefully pulled away. The side roads were treacherous, as they hadn’t been gritted, but the main road was clear. I knew roughly where I was going but not the exact location. Although Tilly had disrupted my day, I was pleased she’d had the sense to phone me and hadn’t panicked. Eventually I approached her road and saw the petrol station, and then Tilly standing outside. She looked very cold, coat collar up and stamping her feet to keep warm.

I pulled up and she got into the passenger seat. ‘Couldn’t you have waited in the shop?’ I asked her.

‘The guy in charge said if I wasn’t buying anything I had to wait outside.’

I tutted. I would have liked to have gone in and given him a piece of my mind, but I didn’t. I waited for Tilly to fasten her seatbelt, then drove off. Her hands were so cold they were trembling.

‘Haven’t you got any gloves?’ I asked.

‘I forgot them.’ Here was something else I could have checked she had with her had she not left the house in such a hurry.

‘Did Isa phone you?’ I asked after a few moments.

‘Yes, but I didn’t answer.’

‘Why not?’ I glanced at her.

She shrugged.

‘So what happened at your mother’s?’

‘We had another argument.’

‘About what?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Because?’

‘I’ll just get upset again.’ Her voice caught.

‘OK. You know you can tell me if you want to.’

She gave a small nod but was then silent for the rest of the journey, occasionally checking her phone.

Once home, I telephoned Isa and left a message on her voicemail saying I’d collected Tilly and she was with me. I made a hot lunch for us and Paula, which the three of us ate at the table in the kitchen-diner. Paula and I tried to make some conversation, but Tilly was very quiet. After lunch I gave Tilly the china ornaments I’d repaired and her allowance for the week, which she thanked me for. I suggested we did some more of her unpacking and she reluctantly agreed. We managed three bags before she said she’d had enough. I knew she was feeling very unsettled.

‘Do you want to talk about what happened this morning?’ I asked her.

‘Not really. Nothing has changed at home. I just wish she’d leave him.’

‘I understand, but that has to be your mother’s decision. My priority is to keep you safe, so in future I don’t want you rushing off home. Isa is going to speak to your mother about how the two of you can see each other. OK?’

She nodded.

‘Good.’

But the following morning exactly the same thing happened. Tilly’s mother phoned her, distraught, and Tilly rushed out of the front door.

Chapter Four

New Year

I hadn’t heard any more from Isa, so at 9.a.m., with Tilly on her way to see her mother and not answering my call, I phoned her. If a looked-after child is away from the placement without authorization – as Tilly was – then their social worker needs to know.

‘I got your message,’ Isa said straight away. ‘Thanks for collecting Tilly yesterday. I didn’t have a chance to call you. It was too late by the time I’d placed the children we brought into care.’

‘Tilly’s gone again,’ I said bluntly, ‘despite all I said to her. Her mother phoned upset around eight-thirty this morning and Tilly is on her way there now. I’ve tried calling her mobile but she’s not answering.’

Isa sighed. I guessed this was the last thing she needed to hear after a previously busy day. ‘I’ll phone her and ask her to return,’ she said.

‘Hopefully she’ll answer. But, really, it’s her mother who needs to stop putting her under pressure. Tilly is angry with her, but at the same time she can’t ignore her cries for help. She’s not going to settle like this. Doesn’t Heather have any friends who can support her?’

‘Apparently not.’ Which is what Tilly had told me. ‘She’s very isolated. I’m trying to help her, but it is difficult. I’ll call Heather as well as Tilly.’

‘Thank you. Just one more thing. Tilly hasn’t seen her maternal grandmother in a long time, and she would like to. I said I’d tell you.’

‘I’ll mention it to Heather. I must go. I’ll phone Tilly now before my first meeting.’ I could hear office noise in the background as the call ended.

I now faced another day of uncertainty and I couldn’t go far from home in case Tilly suddenly reappeared. I purposely hadn’t given her a front door key and I wouldn’t until she had proved herself trustworthy and mature enough to own one. I’d learnt the hard way many years before, when I’d first started fostering. Wanting to make the young person feel at home, I’d given them a key straight away and they’d abused it by stealing from me. Now those I fostered who were of an age to have their own front door key had one when I could be sure they would use it responsibly. Some of the social workers didn’t agree with this, but ultimately it was my house and I needed to keep us all safe. I always made sure I was home to let in the young person, so they were never left waiting on the doorstep. If they decided to return home unexpectedly then they knew they could phone or text me and I’d arrive very quickly.

I cleared up the breakfast things and then set about doing some administrative work that I did mainly from home for a local firm. As I sat at my computer filling in spreadsheets, Isa telephoned between meetings. She said she’d spoken to Heather and Tilly, and had agreed that Tilly could stay at her mother’s for two hours and then she’d return to me. ‘I’ve also suggested to them both we have a meeting to discuss contact arrangements,’ she added.

‘Good idea.’

‘I’ve provisionally booked next Tuesday, the day before the new term starts. Nine o’clock, here at the council offices. Heather says Dave will want to be there.’

I made a note of this on the pad beside the phone. ‘Shall I tell Tilly?’

‘I think her mother will have done so already, but check.’

We said goodbye. I wrote the appointment in my diary and continued to work on the spreadsheets. I doubted Tilly would be pleased Dave was going to the meeting, but it might help calm the situation if we all got together and talked and agreed on contact arrangements.

As I continued with my work it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard from Edith, my supervising social worker (SSW), for some time. All foster carers in the UK have a supervising social worker. Their role is to monitor and support the carer and their family in all aspects of fostering. They also act as a link between the child’s social worker and the carer. Often the referral for the child comes through the SSW, although that hadn’t happened with Tilly. I assumed Edith was still on holiday, as many workers had taken the whole week off between Christmas and New Year. I could manage fine without her, but new carers need the support and guidance of a good SSW.

Half an hour later the doorbell rang and it was Tilly, earlier than expected. She was clearly not in a good mood.

‘Dave phoned Mum from work and said he was on his way back, so I left,’ she said, scowling. ‘He does it just to check up on her. He phones and she jumps.’

‘Hopefully we can get some better contact arrangements in place at the meeting next Tuesday. Isa told you about that?’

‘Yes, but I’m not going if he’s there. My life has nothing to do with him.’

‘Well, it does really, love,’ I said. She took off her coat and threw it over the hall stand. ‘Dave is your stepfather and is living with your mother. I know you don’t like him, but it might help if we all sit down and talk.’

‘I’m not talking to him,’ she said fiercely. ‘He’s a control freak. Mum could have come to the meeting alone, but he has to be there. And the reason the meeting is so frigging early is because of him. So he doesn’t have to miss work!’ Which seemed reasonable to me. ‘And he’s stalking me online,’ she added.

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, immediately concerned, and looked at Tilly carefully as she took off her trainers.

‘He sent Facebook friendship requests to people in my class and some of them were stupid enough to accept. He’s been messaging them and asking about me.’

‘Have you told Isa this?’

‘No, I only just found out. My friend Abby phoned me while I was on the bus.’

‘We’ll need to tell Isa.’ I didn’t like the sound of this. ‘In the meantime, your friends could “unfriend” him and ignore or even block his messages.’

‘They could if they wanted but he’s charming to them. Some of them like the attention. Abby sees through him because she knows what he’s like. Can I have some lunch, please? There was nothing at Mum’s. He hasn’t taken her shopping.’

‘Yes, of course. But doesn’t your mother go food shopping alone?’ I asked, surprised.

‘There wouldn’t be any point as she never has any money. Also, she gets very anxious about going out alone. She never does it. He makes sure of that.’

‘I see.’ The more I learnt about Dave the more I disliked him and the more worried I was for Heather. ‘Does your mother not realize his behaviour is very controlling?’ I asked Tilly.

‘I’m not sure. He’s always been like it – well, for as long as I can remember. Can I have a sandwich?’

‘Yes.’

I called up to Paula, who was in her bedroom doing some college work, and asked her if she’d like lunch too. ‘Yes, please. Toasted cheese sandwich,’ came her reply.

Tilly said she’d like the same and came with me into the kitchen. As I made the toasties I said to her, ‘I know it’s difficult for you at present, but I don’t think running to your mother every time she phones is good for either of you.’

‘She won’t be phoning me again,’ she returned. ‘Dave checked the calls on the house phone and saw my mobile number come up. He has banned her from calling me again. He checks bloody everything she does!’

‘It is abusive control,’ I said, horrified by what Heather was going through. ‘Does he hit her?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Did he hit you?’

‘No, but he threatened to.’

‘He sounds nasty. I know you worry about your mother and I’m worried about her too, but there’s nothing much you can do. It will need to come from her.’

‘She won’t do anything. She’s too scared of him,’ Tilly said. ‘Pity she can’t come here to live.’

I smiled weakly. Of course that wasn’t an option. ‘Isa is giving your mother some support, so let’s hope that helps.’ But I could tell from Tilly’s expression she was very doubtful. She’d lived with her mother and stepfather so knew them better than Isa or me. I felt sorry for Heather, but helping Tilly and keeping her safe was my priority.

Once the toasties were ready, Paula, Tilly and I sat at the table and had lunch together. In the afternoon Paula went to see a friend who was having a New Year Eve’s party at her parents’ house and wanted some help getting it ready. I suggested to Tilly that we unpack some more of her bags and she sighed but agreed to do a few. As we worked, I asked her if she had any plans for tomorrow – New Year’s Eve. I wasn’t just making conversation; if she was going out, I needed to know where she was going and how she was getting home. Tilly said she hadn’t any plans to go out and didn’t really feel like partying.

‘We could see in the New Year together,’ I offered. ‘I expect Adrian and Lucy will be out.’

‘Do they have lots of friends?’ she asked as we set about the second bag.

‘I suppose they do. We’ve lived in the same area since they were little, so we know a lot of people.’

‘I’ve got friends at school, but I never felt able to invite them home,’ Tilly admitted sadly. ‘It would have been too embarrassing with Mum and Dave the way they are.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘I’ve been to some of my friends’ houses, but it’s awkward if you can never invite them back.’

I understood. ‘Well, if you want to invite a couple of your friends here to see in the New Year, that’s fine with me as long as their parents agree.’

She stopped what she was doing and her eyes rounded in amazement. ‘Do you mean it?’ she exclaimed.

‘Yes, of course. Your friends are welcome here, although I would like some notice if they are staying for dinner any time.’

She smiled. ‘Fantastic! Thank you so much! I’ll ask Abby. She’s my best friend and she knows I’m in care and living here. Shall I phone her now?’

‘Yes, love, if you wish. Suggest she stays the night and I’ll take her home in the morning. If her mother wants to speak to me then put her on.’

I was pleased. It was important Tilly felt she could invite friends back. It was her home while she was with us. She phoned Abby straight away. She hadn’t any plans for New Year either and jumped at the idea of joining Tilly. ‘I’ll call you later,’ Tilly told her. ‘I’ve got to finish my unpacking now.’

Which is exactly what we did. Spurred on by wanting her room to look nice for when Abby stayed, Tilly worked diligently. An hour later we’d unpacked all the bags. Her clothes were hanging neatly in the wardrobe or folded in the drawers, and her books and knick-knacks were on the shelves with the ornaments I’d repaired, together with the photograph of her grandmother. It was starting to look like home. I got rid of all the dustbin liners. If and when Tilly eventually left us it would be with her belongings packed in cases, not thrown in bin bags.

Tilly spent the rest of the afternoon on her phone to Abby planning their New Year’s Eve celebration, which I understood included pizza, popcorn, ice cream and soft drinks. It was lovely to see Tilly so enthusiastic and happy. My own children took it for granted that their friends were always welcome, but for Tilly, like many children I’d fostered, inviting friends home was a first for her.

After dinner Tilly spent some time choosing what she was going to wear the following evening. Although it was just her and Abby, planning the event and dressing up gave it a sense of occasion. She had plenty of clothes to choose from and she told me that Dave had given her a generous clothing allowance as he liked her to look nice.

‘What about your mother?’ I asked, feeling slightly uncomfortable about this remark. ‘Does she have a clothing allowance, too?’

‘No. He buys what she needs.’

I didn’t say anything as I didn’t want to dampen Tilly’s spirits with talk of Dave, but here was another example of coercive control. I was sure Heather was a victim of domestic abuse whether she knew it or not.

As I thought might happen, Adrian was seeing in the New Year with his long-time girlfriend, Kirsty, and Lucy with Darren. They were both spending the night with their partners, so I wasn’t expecting them home until New Year’s Day.

‘Remember, we’re going to have that chat tomorrow,’ I reminded Lucy before she went out in the evening.

‘Yes, I know,’ she said and, kissing my cheek, left.

Abby’s parents dropped her off at 7.30 on their way to a party. They didn’t come in and Abby said one of them would collect her the following morning at 11 o’clock. Tilly had their evening planned so I left them to it. Paula was at a friend’s party and I sat in the living room and telephoned my mother to wish her a Happy New Year, as I knew she wouldn’t be staying up until midnight. I then settled down to watch a film. I’d received invitations to a couple of parties, but I’d sent my apologies when Tilly had arrived. It wouldn’t have been appropriate for me to leave her and Abby in the house alone, and it was more important that Tilly had a good time after all she’d been through. However, ten minutes later a friend of mine, Marie, who lived in the next road, texted:

My plans for the evening have fallen through.

If you are in, I could come round with a bottle of wine?

I texted back: Yes. Great. See you soon.

Twenty minutes later Marie arrived, dressed up, with two bottles of wine, one red and one white, and in the mood to party. We went into the living room where I put on some music and opened the first bottle of wine. Tilly and Abby were in Tilly’s bedroom with their music on loud, laughing and having fun. Halfway through the first glass of wine Marie told me that the reason she was suddenly free was because the guy she’d been dating had just dumped her.

‘That wasn’t very nice of him on New Year’s Eve,’ I said.

‘Never mind, there’s plenty more fish in the sea,’ she said brightly, refilling her glass. ‘You should try online dating.’

‘I don’t go looking for trouble,’ I joked. ‘It comes to me.’

Marie found dates online easily, but all her romances seemed to end the same way. A few months of intense dating and then it was all over. My feeling was that it had something to do with the nature of online dating. It was so easy to find a date that no one was interested in building and sustaining a relationship. She already appeared to be over this one and moving on, and proved it by messaging a guy who’d been in touch using the website’s dating app on her phone. She showed me some of the guys’ profiles she thought might interest me. It was a laugh if nothing else and she refilled her glass again.

Marie and I joined up with Tilly and Abby to eat pizza and ice cream, and then later at midnight to see in the New Year. We gathered in the living room with the television on so we could see and hear Big Ben. We counted down to midnight and as the clock struck we sang ‘Auld Lang Syne’ together with the revellers gathered in London. My children and I texted each other ‘Happy New Year’, as did some of my other friends. Marie’s phone was busy too, and not just with messages from her family and friends, but guys from the dating website. By the time she left at one o’clock she was very tipsy as she’d drunk most of the wine, but we’d had fun.

Before I went to bed I checked on Sammy, as fireworks were going off outside, then I went upstairs. I lay in bed listening to the fireworks, party-goers on their way home, and Tilly and Abby laughing. We’d all had a good evening. I’ve found before that often these small impromptu get-togethers are just as much fun as big organized events.

Then my thoughts turned again to Lucy. It was now New Year’s Day and she’d promised that when she returned she would tell me her decision. I was filled with dread and longing.

Chapter Five

Lucy’s Decision

The following morning, I briefly met Abby’s father when he collected her at eleven o’clock. He was very pleasant and thanked me for having Abby and wished me a Happy New Year. Tilly then came with me to collect Paula from her friend’s house. Paula could have caught the bus home, but it was a bank holiday so there was a reduced service and she might have ended up waiting a long time. Paula had had fun but was very tired, as was Tilly, so once home, both girls went up to their rooms for a lie-down. It wasn’t long before they were asleep.

An hour passed and I was sitting in the living room with Sammy when Lucy let herself in the front door. Immediately my heart rate increased. ‘Hi, love, I’m in here,’ I called, my voice unsteady.

I heard her take off her coat and shoes, and then she came into the living room.

‘Did you have a nice evening?’ I asked her.

‘Yes, although I fell asleep before midnight. I’ve been quite tired lately. I think it’s the –’ She stopped, leaving the sentence half complete. ‘Darren and I stayed in and had a takeaway,’ she said. ‘I didn’t have any alcohol. It’s not good for the –’ Another unfinished sentence, but I could guess what she’d been going to say.

She sat down beside me on the sofa. ‘You look worried, Mum,’ she said, taking my hand between hers.

‘I am.’

‘Because of me?’ I nodded. ‘I’m sorry, but I needed time to think, to be certain I am doing the right thing. I know what it feels like to be an unwanted child.’

‘Oh Lucy,’ I began.

‘No, don’t get me wrong, I know I’m wanted now, but all those early years before I came to you. I didn’t want to bring a child into the world unless I could commit to it unconditionally, one hundred per cent. It’s not fair on the child. That’s why I needed time to think.’

‘I understand, and presumably you needed to discuss it with Darren too?’ I said.

‘Yes, that as well, but I felt the decision ultimately had to be mine, as we hadn’t been going out for very long. I thought if I went ahead, the child would be my responsibility. I mean, I couldn’t expect Darren to commit after we’d only been in a relationship for a few months.’

I nodded sombrely.

‘So we’ve done a lot of talking,’ Lucy continued, ‘and he’s saying he does want to commit. But even if he drops out along the way, it won’t affect my decision. Mum, I’m going to have the baby. I’ll give them all the love and care in the world. I know how to be a good mother thanks to you.’ She kissed my cheek.

I felt so emotional I couldn’t speak, and while I was pleased, I could also see all the problems that lay ahead. I hugged her.

‘So you are going to be a grandma,’ Lucy said after a moment. ‘What do you think about that?’

‘I think I’m too young,’ I replied, laughing, and blinked back a tear. ‘I am pleased for you and Darren as long as you’re sure this is what you want.’

‘Yes. We are.’

‘Have you told his parents?’

‘He’s doing it now.’

‘It will be nice for us to meet before long,’ I suggested.

‘Yes, once they’re over the shock. Darren wasn’t looking forward to telling them. His sister is a single parent and they hoped he would get married first and then have children.’

‘Will you get married?’ I asked tentatively.

‘It’s not something that’s top of our agenda. We’ll see how things work out between us first.’

‘Where will you live?’

‘We’ll find somewhere to rent, not far from here. I’ll take maternity leave from work, but I’ll have to return at least part-time.’

Clearly Lucy had thought this through.

‘I’m proud of you,’ I said. ‘And I am happy. New life in our family is just what we need.’

‘Do you think Nana will be pleased?’ Lucy asked, stroking my hand as I used to do to her when she was little. ‘Things were different when she was my age.’

‘I think she will be delighted, although it will come as a surprise.’

‘You tell her so she has time to recover before I see her,’ Lucy said with a smile.

‘We’ll also need to tell Adrian, Paula and Tilly,’ I said, thinking aloud.

‘Yes. I’ll do that. And my work will have to know.’

‘When is the baby due?’

‘The doctor said 26 July, but that could change once I’m seen at the hospital and have a scan.’

‘Will Darren go with you for the antenatal appointments?’ I asked. There was so much to consider.

‘Yes. I think so. If not, will you come with me?’

‘Of course, love.’

‘There is something else I need to talk to you about,’ she said seriously.

‘Yes, what? You’re not expecting twins, are you?’

She laughed, ‘No, not as far as I know. It’s about Bonnie. Do you think I should tell her?’ Bonnie was Lucy’s birth mother and she saw her once or twice a year at the most. I hadn’t seen her in years and she was rarely mentioned now.

‘What do you think? What is your heart telling you to do?’ I asked Lucy.

‘To tell her.’

‘Then do so.’

‘You don’t mind?’

‘No, of course not, love. Does Darren know about Bonnie?’

‘Yes. He assumed I was your daughter to begin with.’

‘You are, and always will be. I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

I slipped my arm around her and we sat quietly for some time, as close as any mother and daughter can be, enjoying the moment. Then our peace was shattered by Tilly’s bedroom door flying open and her running downstairs. ‘Cathy!’

‘In the living room!’ I called, wondering what on earth was the matter.

Lucy eased away from me as Tilly ran into the living room.

‘Hi, Lucy,’ she said quickly. Then, ‘Cathy, look at this message!’ She pushed her phone towards me so I could read the text. It was from Dave. Happy New Year. As you are not answering my calls I’ve stopped your clothing allowance.

‘Is that it?’ I asked, thinking I must have missed something.

‘He’s stopped my allowance!’ Tilly exclaimed indignantly.

‘I’m not surprised. Don’t worry. I’ll give you your clothing allowance.’

‘Can I have it now?’ she asked.

‘Yes, shortly.’

‘It’s all right, Mum,’ Lucy said. ‘You sort out Tilly’s allowance. I can remember how important clothes were at her age.’

I smiled at her and was reminded of the huge difference in maturity between a fourteen- and twenty-four-year-old.

‘Are Adrian and Paula in?’ Lucy asked.

‘Paula is, she was having a sleep. Adrian will be back later.’

‘I’ll see if she’s awake.’

Lucy went upstairs as I took my purse from my handbag. I heard Lucy knock on Paula’s door and ask if she was awake. She must have been for her bedroom door opened and Lucy went in. I gave Tilly her clothing allowance.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘Remember, that’s for the month,’ I reminded her. ‘Are you planning on going shopping today?’

‘No. But I’ll tell Dave to stuff his allowance.’

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea – best not to antagonize him.’

‘Why?’ Tilly asked with attitude. ‘He thinks he can control me just like he does Mum.’

‘I know, but let it go. It won’t do your mum any good if you wind him up. She has to live with him.’

Tilly looked at me thoughtfully. ‘You could be right. I won’t say anything.’

‘Wise choice. Does he still text you a lot?’ I asked.

‘A bit.’

‘Are you happy with that?’

She shrugged. ‘Not bothered. I don’t reply unless I want to.’

I supposed that, as Dave was her stepfather, it was reasonable he maintained some contact with her, as long as it wasn’t threatening or abusive.

‘Let me know if it becomes a problem and I’ll speak to Isa,’ I said.

‘OK,’ Tilly replied and returned upstairs.

It’s usual for a young person of Tilly’s age to be given their clothing allowance if they are responsible enough to spend it reasonably wisely. Tilly was used to having an allowance and buying her own clothes, so I thought she could manage it. The money I’d given her was in addition to her weekly pocket money. Children in care often receive more cash than the average child of their age, which can cause a problem with the carer’s own children, who may receive less and be on a tight budget.

Fifteen minutes later Paula came downstairs. ‘I’m going to be an aunt!’ she declared, delighted.

‘Yes, and I’m going to be a grandmother,’ I said.

‘Lucy and I think “Nana” sounds better.’ I wasn’t so sure. I was starting to feel much older since I’d learnt I was going to be a grandmother, lovely though it would be.

‘I can babysit,’ Paula said happily. ‘It’ll be fun. We can all help Lucy.’

‘Yes. We will,’ I agreed.

Presently Lucy appeared and said she’d told Tilly her good news but she hadn’t been interested and was too busy texting to say much. I think she was a bit hurt.

‘Tilly has only recently joined our family,’ I said. ‘We can’t really expect her to appreciate just how much this means to us. And of course she’s got her own family to think about.’

‘I know,’ Lucy said. ‘Have you told Nana yet?’

‘No, I will this evening.’

Adrian arrived home just before six o’clock. I was in the kitchen preparing dinner and he came to find me.

‘Did you and Kirsty have a good New Year?’ I asked him as he kissed my cheek.

‘Yes. It was great, thanks. And you?’

‘Marie came round with a bottle of wine.’

‘I’m pleased you had some company. I telephoned Nana this morning and wished her a Happy New Year. She was fine.’ Adrian is a thoughtful, sensitive, level-headed and sometimes conservative young man. Thankfully, his father leaving us when he was young didn’t appear to have harmed him, although my father, when he’d been alive, had stepped into that role and more than compensated as a good male role model.

Lucy must have heard Adrian arrive home, for she joined us in the kitchen. ‘Guess what, big brother,’ she said playfully. ‘You’re going to be an uncle. I’m expecting.’

‘What? A baby?’ Adrian said, taken by surprise. The look on his face was priceless!

‘Well, I assume it’s a baby,’ Lucy laughed. ‘Although I don’t know if it’s a boy or girl yet.’

I could see Adrian was struggling with what he should say. ‘Right. I see. Goodness. Well, that’s a surprise. When?’ he asked.

‘July, but don’t worry, you won’t have to be there, and I’ll have moved out by then.’

‘Oh, OK. Will you? You don’t have to go, do you? I suppose you do. Well, congratulations,’ he finished, and kissed her cheek. ‘I am pleased for you if this is what you want.’

‘It is. I’m happy,’ Lucy said. ‘I knew before Christmas, but I told Mum not to say anything as Darren and I had a lot of talking to do.’

‘Christmas. You kept that quiet,’ he said to me. I nodded. ‘So I can tell Kirsty then?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Lucy said. ‘Now the decision is made the news is on general release.’

‘Decision?’ Adrian queried.

‘As to whether to have it or not,’ Lucy replied.

‘Which is why I couldn’t say anything until now,’ I explained.

‘Oh, I see.’ Adrian paused and looked at Lucy thoughtfully. ‘I think you made the right decision. You’ll be a good mum. I’m happy for you both.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, clearly touched. ‘And maybe one day I’ll be an aunty.’

It took Adrian a moment to realize what she meant. ‘Not just yet,’ he said with an embarrassed laugh. ‘I’m saving up first.’

That evening, when everyone else was occupied, I sat in the living room, telephoned my mother and gently broke the news to her. ‘It wasn’t planned, but we’re pleased,’ I explained. ‘We’ll do as much as we can to help Lucy.’

‘And the young man?’ Mum asked. ‘You say you’ve only met him twice. Can he be relied upon to support the child and look after Lucy?’

‘I hope so, but time will tell.’

‘Why aren’t they getting married?’

‘It’s different now, Mum. Lots of couples live together and have families without getting married.’

‘I know, but marriage gives you security.’

‘That wasn’t my experience,’ I reminded her. My ex had run off, leaving me with a young family, a large mortgage, little income and a divorce bill from my solicitor. The children and I had recovered and done all right since then, and I’d always made sure they hadn’t missed out, but in terms of marriage offering security, it hadn’t.

‘Let’s hope Lucy’s young man is committed, then,’ Mum said, and I agreed.

Now Lucy had made her decision I was looking at her slightly differently – as an expectant mother, although of course she was no different physically to the day before. I think Paula and Adrian were viewing her in a different light too. Their sister, my daughter, had suddenly blossomed into a woman. It was a strange feeling and one it would take time to adjust to, but that’s the cycle of life: our parents grow old and a new generation is born.

The following day, 2 January, Adrian and Lucy were both back at work after the New Year. Tilly said she was going clothes shopping with Abby and would be back in the afternoon. Around 3 p.m. she texted to say she was going to see her mother but would leave before Dave returned at 5 p.m. I was concerned that, against advice, she was going home again but pleased she’d followed my instructions and told me her plans had changed.

She arrived home just before six o’clock. ‘Everything all right?’ I asked her as I let her in and closed the front door against the dark, cold evening.

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ she said.

‘Did you have any success shopping?’ I asked. She wasn’t carrying any bags.

‘I didn’t buy clothes,’ she admitted.

‘OK, never mind. I expect you’ll have more luck next time.’ I appreciated what it was like to go clothes shopping but not find anything suitable. Tilly would keep her clothing allowance for another time.

However, that evening, as I was working at the computer in the front room, Tilly came down from her room, phone in hand. ‘Mum’s upset and needs me,’ she said anxiously. ‘Could I have some money for a cab so I can go to her?’

I stopped typing and looked at her. ‘Why is she upset?’ I asked, concerned.

‘Dave’s been horrible to her.’

‘Is he there now?’

‘No, he’s gone out, but she needs me.’

‘Has she just phoned you?’ I asked, mindful that Dave had forbidden Heather to use the landline.

‘Yes, but she used the mobile I –’ Tilly said, and stopped, realizing her mistake.

‘The mobile phone you bought with your clothing allowance?’ I asked.

‘Yes, I’m sorry, but she can’t use the landline and I hated the thought of her being all alone. I bought her a pay-as-you-go phone today and showed her how to use it.’

I nodded. I’d fostered children before who’d felt so responsible for their parents that they’d secretly given them their allowances, sometimes after the parent had asked them for money, although that didn’t appear to be the case here.

‘I understand why you did that,’ I said. ‘But I don’t want you going to your mother’s now. Would it help if I spoke to her?’

‘It might,’ Tilly said. She was about to call Heather when her phone buzzed as a text came through. ‘No, you can’t phone her now,’ she said anxiously. ‘He’s come back. I’m so worried for her.’

So was I.

Chapter Six

The Meeting

There was no point in telling Tilly again that she wasn’t responsible for her mother. Of course she worried about her and wanted to help, but if Heather – an adult – didn’t want to make changes to her life there was little Tilly, Isa or anyone could do. There is support available for victims of domestic violence wanting to flee their abusive partners, but the victim has to make the decision to leave, with all the emotional and financial implications that accompanies it. Heather would have little confidence from years of abuse and didn’t have an income so relied heavily on Dave. I appreciated what a mammoth decision she faced. It’s said in fostering that you don’t just take on the child but the problems of the whole family. It was certainly true now.

That evening Tilly and I talked for over an hour about her mother’s options. I said I’d email Isa an update as I wouldn’t have a chance to speak to her before the meeting at 9 a.m. the next day. Once Tilly had gone to her room, I returned to my computer and sent an email to Isa. I also emailed an update to Edith, my supervising social worker, who I still hadn’t heard from. She would have been notified that Tilly was with me.

To my surprise Isa replied almost immediately, although it was out of office hours.

Hi Cathy. Thanks. I’ll talk to Heather again. Sorry, it was me who advised her to buy a pay-as-you-go phone for her own safety. I should have realized Heather would ask Tilly to get it. Don’t mention the phone at the meeting. Dave mustn’t know about it.

I replied, confirming I wouldn’t mention it.

‘I hope Dave hasn’t found Mum’s phone,’ Tilly said the following morning as I drove us to the meeting at the council offices. ‘She hasn’t been in touch since yesterday.’

‘She won’t dare use the phone while he’s there,’ I replied, concentrating on the traffic. The roads were busy at this time in the morning.

‘I got rid of all the packaging,’ Tilly said. ‘She’s just got the phone and charger. I set it on silent and put it at the back of her wardrobe.’

‘That should be fine.’ Although it was appalling that such steps needed to be taken, and indicative of the fearful situation her mother lived in. ‘Isa is going to have another chat with your mother,’ I said.

‘And say what? She’s not going to leave him.’ Which was probably true, for now at least.

Tilly fell silent as I parked outside the council offices. I felt apprehensive too. It would be the first time I met Heather and Dave, although I’d formed impressions of them both from what I knew so far. The parents of a child in care are often angry to begin with that their child is in care. They can take out their anger on the foster carer, who they see as being part of the system and who has usurped their role as parents. I knew Dave could be violent and controlling, and I thought there was a good chance he would vent some of his anger at me and Isa. If a parent has a history of threatening social workers, the security guard – usually positioned in reception at the council offices – stands outside the meeting room for the duration of the meeting. As far as I knew that wasn’t true of Dave.

With some trepidation, Tilly and I registered at reception, hung our ID passes around our necks and went upstairs to the meeting room. It was just before nine o’clock. I knocked on the door and opened it. Isa and another, older woman, who Isa introduced as her manager, Nikki Bets, were already there. ‘Nice to meet you,’ Nikki said to us. ‘Come and sit down.’

We sat opposite them. Apart from the table and chairs, there was no other furniture in the room. It was used purely for meetings.

‘How are you settling in with Cathy and her family?’ Nikki asked Tilly.

‘All right, thank you,’ she replied. ‘Are both Mum and Dave coming?’

‘I think so,’ Nikki said. ‘We’re aware of your concerns and Isa is doing all she can to help your mother.’

‘She won’t help herself,’ Tilly said passionately. ‘Dave controls her.’

‘Can you give me your mother’s mobile number,’ Isa said, opening her notepad. ‘In future I’ll phone her on that, so my call won’t show up on the statement for their landline.’

Tilly told her the number.

‘Thank you. Try not to worry. Have you got everything you need for school tomorrow?’

‘Yes,’ Tilly said, then started as the door suddenly opened.

I looked over as a man I assumed to be Dave came into the room first, followed by a woman – Heather. He was tall, heavily built, with fair hair thinning at the front. Heather was short and gaunt, and her dark hair was streaked with grey. They were both dressed smartly, although Heather’s shapeless woollen dress suggested comfort rather than attractiveness. Dave, by comparison, was dressed to impress and wearing a smart light-grey tailored suit, presumably because he was going to work after the meeting. I knew from the placement information forms that he held a middle-management position with a local company. He had the presence of someone used to being in charge. He said a confident hello to everyone and then shook my hand. I caught a strong whiff of the deodorant Tilly had told me he used. He went to kiss Tilly, but she moved away. Unfazed, he went to the other side of the table and shook hands with Isa and Nikki, while Heather slid unobtrusively into the chair on my left at the end of the table. I noticed she had a small cut and a bruise just below her right eye. Nikki noticed it too.

‘That looks painful,’ she said to her as Dave sat beside his wife.

‘It’s nothing,’ Heather said quietly. ‘I tripped and fell.’

‘Too much gin,’ Dave joked, but he was the only one who laughed.

I saw Tilly looking at her mother, concerned. ‘Would you like to swap seats with me so you can sit next to your mother?’ I offered.

‘Yes, please.’ We changed seats and Tilly reached for her mother’s hand and held it protectively. Isa and I exchanged a glance.

‘Thank you, everyone, for coming,’ Nikki said, starting the meeting. ‘Let’s begin by introducing ourselves.’ Introductions are usual at most social services meetings even if there are just a few present and they know each other. ‘I’m Nikki Bets, Isa’s manager. I’ll take some notes of our meeting but I’m not planning on circulating formal minutes.’

‘Why not?’ Dave asked.

‘I don’t think it’s necessary,’ Nikki replied. ‘This is a short, informal meeting to give us the chance to get to know each other and decide on contact arrangements that will suit everyone.’

‘You won’t mind if I take notes, then,’ Dave said, and set his phone on the table in front of him.

‘Not at all,’ Nikki replied, unfazed. ‘Shall we continue with the introductions.’

I was next. ‘Cathy Glass, Tilly’s foster carer,’ I said, as Dave made a note on his phone.

‘I’m Tilly Watkins,’ she said. Then to Dave, ‘You’re not going to note that too, are you?’ He ignored her.

Heather was next. ‘I’m Heather Mitchel, Tilly’s mother,’ she said in a quiet, self-effacing manner as if she had no right to that title or to be here.

‘Thank you,’ Nikki said with an encouraging smile, and looked at Dave.

He took a moment before he said in a confident voice, ‘Dave Mitchel, Tilly’s stepfather.’

‘Not any more,’ Tilly said under her breath but loud enough for him to hear.

He didn’t respond, but I could see from the tightness in his jaw he was struggling to maintain his composure.

Isa introduced herself and then said, ‘Mr and Mrs Mitchel, is there anything you would like to ask Cathy or tell her about Tilly’s care that might be of help.’

Silence, then Heather said quietly, ‘I don’t understand why my daughter can’t come home.’

‘Because we have safe-guarding concerns, regarding her emotional and physical wellbeing,’ Nikki said. ‘I believe Isa has explained this to you.’

‘I’m assuming these so-called concerns are a result of the silly argument between my wife and myself,’ Dave said haughtily, pausing from typing on his phone. ‘I’ll admit it got out of hand, but no harm was done.’ I was amazed he could think that.

‘Tilly was hurt,’ Nikki said bluntly. ‘She had a graze on her cheek from something that you threw at your wife. And the emotional damage of living in a violent household cannot be overstated.’ Nikki wasn’t mincing her words. I guessed as a senior social worker she would have seen too many cases of the damage done to children living with domestic violence, as indeed I had as a foster carer.

‘All couples argue sometimes,’ Dave said dismissively. ‘I seem to be the villain in this, but I’ve always provided well for Tilly. She’s never wanted for anything – clothes, the latest phone. I probably indulged her too much and spoilt her. Now, for reasons I don’t understand, she has turned against me and her mother.’

‘Just you,’ Tilly said angrily.

Dave shrugged. ‘Well, if she wants to stay in foster care that’s fine with me, but I object most strongly to her carer allowing her to stay out all night on New Year’s Eve. She’s fourteen, a minor. An all-night party isn’t appropriate at her age. I shall be lodging a formal complaint.’

Isa and Nikki looked at me for an explanation and Tilly was staring daggers at Dave.

‘Tilly wasn’t at a party,’ I said. ‘She was at home with me. She invited a friend to see in the New Year and stay the night, but they didn’t go out. They were at my house.’

‘What made you think Tilly had been to a party?’ Nikki asked Dave.

‘There was a photo.’ He stopped. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he added, backtracking.

‘You’ve been stalking me online again,’ Tilly snapped at him. ‘Leave me and my friends alone.’ Then to the rest of us, she said, ‘I took some selfies of Abby and me on New Year’s Eve and put them on Facebook.’

Tilly had shown me the photographs she’d taken on her phone, of her and Abby glammed up and with raised glasses (of fruit cocktail). Dave had mistakenly believed they were at a party rather than at my home. But more worrying was that it seemed he had been actively looking for Tilly on social media again. She wasn’t Facebook friends with him and neither was Abby, but clearly someone had shared the photo with him.

‘My mistake,’ Dave said. ‘Shall we move on? I’ve another meeting to go to after this one.’

‘I’d like to establish some regular contact,’ Isa said.

‘Tilly is welcome to come to my house anytime,’ Dave said, sounding very reasonable.

‘I think it would be more appropriate for Tilly to see her mother either at Cathy’s home, in the community or at the Family Centre.’

‘That would be difficult for me,’ Heather said in a small voice. ‘I don’t go out much.’

‘She has agoraphobia,’ Dave said.

‘Because of you,’ Tilly snapped.

‘Has it been medically diagnosed?’ Nikki asked, making a note. There’d been no mention of it so far.

‘We don’t need a doctor to know what is wrong with her,’ Dave retaliated. ‘She hardly ever leaves the house.’

‘Because of you,’ Tilly said again, which he ignored.

‘Are you receiving help?’ Nikki asked Heather.

‘Yes, I help her,’ Dave said before she could answer.

‘How do you suggest Tilly sees her mother, then?’ Nikki asked him curtly.

‘Tilly will need to come to our house. If you like, I will give you an undertaking that I won’t be there.’ Which made Dave appear very reasonable and helpful. ‘I only want what’s best for my stepdaughter,’ he added. Tilly gave a snort of derision.

‘Heather,’ Nikki said, looking at her, ‘if we booked a cab to take you to Cathy’s for contact and to collect you at the end, would you feel able to go?’

She shook her head.

‘I’ve told you Tilly can see her mother at my house and I promise I won’t be there,’ Dave said firmly. ‘I can’t be more reasonable than that, and realistically it’s the only way they will be able to see each other, as my wife doesn’t go out.’

Nikki said something quietly to Isa, who then said, ‘OK. We’ll see how it goes. The new school term starts tomorrow so I suggest Tilly visits her mother after school for an hour three times a week, perhaps Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Would that suit everyone?’

Heather, Tilly and I nodded, and Dave typed. ‘So just to confirm, it will be four to five?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ Isa said.

‘I’ll make sure I don’t return from work early on those days.’

‘Thank you,’ Nikki said.

‘And what about phone contact?’ I asked. I was hoping we could firm up some rules, as it was unsettling for Tilly to have her mother keep phoning, often upset. She needed to be able to concentrate on her schoolwork and get on with her life.

‘Shall we set phone contact for the days Tilly doesn’t see her mother?’ Isa suggested. ‘Tuesday, Thursday and once over the weekend.’ This level of contact wasn’t unusual.

‘That’s fine with me,’ Dave said as he typed. Then, looking at Tilly, he added, ‘You can phone the landline. Your mother won’t know how to use the mobile. It was a waste of your money.’ I went cold.

‘Arsehole,’ Tilly snapped, as Nikki and Isa exchanged pointed looks.

‘See what I have to put up with,’ Dave said disparagingly.

‘Couldn’t your wife be shown how to use the mobile phone?’ Nikki calmly asked him.

‘No,’ he said flatly.

I glanced at Heather and saw the fear in her eyes. Was the injury to her face a result of Dave finding her phone? Tilly had dropped her mother’s hand but now took it again.

Isa wisely changed the subject. ‘As it’s Tilly’s first day back at school tomorrow, I suggest contact starts on Friday,’ she said.

‘Agreed,’ Nikki said. ‘Is that all right with you, Tilly?’

She nodded.

I made a note of the contact arrangements, aware Dave was staring at Tilly as if he had scored a point. The tension in the room was palpable. Isa asked if there was anything else anyone wanted to raise. There wasn’t, at least not in front of Dave. ‘Thank you all for coming,’ she said, and ended the meeting.

Dave tucked his phone into his jacket pocket and stood. ‘I’ll take you home,’ he said to Heather, and cupping her elbow drew her to her feet.

‘Keep your hands off her,’ Tilly said angrily and, leaning over, pushed his hand away.

‘Grow up,’ Dave sneered. Taking his wife’s arm, he steered her out of the room. The door closed and I allowed myself to breathe. Nikki and Isa visibly relaxed too.

‘He’s such a bastard,’ Tilly said, seething. ‘I hate him, but Mum won’t leave him.’

‘I know it must be difficult for you,’ Nikki said. ‘Isa is doing what she can to help your mother.’

It would be difficult to explain to Tilly at her age all the reasons that could be keeping her mother in the abusive relationship, including fear of leaving Dave and what he might do to her, the prospect of becoming homeless and low self-esteem from years of being a victim.

‘I’m going to contact our local police safeguarding unit,’ Isa told Tilly. ‘They provide support and practical assistance to victims of domestic abuse.’

‘Dave mustn’t find out,’ Tilly said anxiously. ‘He’d go ballistic and take it out on Mum.’

‘Don’t worry. They have specially trained officers who are used to dealing with those in your mother’s situation. They won’t do anything that could jeopardize her safety.’

‘In the meantime, I suggest you’re careful who you share things with on online,’ Nikki added.

‘I will be, but I shouldn’t have to be,’ Tilly said. ‘It’s him who needs to be stopped. They’re my friends.’

‘If the police find evidence he is grooming your friends he will be stopped, trust me,’ Nikki said with feeling.

It seemed that everything that could be done was being done to help Heather and protect Tilly. Isa said she’d be in touch, and we all stood and left. Tilly and I went out of the room first and made our way downstairs to reception where we handed in our ID badges. I could see Tilly was still anxious, angry and worried about her mother, so I suggested that rather than go straight home we should go into town. I needed to get a few things, and it would give Tilly something else to think about. She agreed and said she’d like to buy her mother a little present, but then added that she didn’t have any money as she’d spent it all on the phone. I said I’d advance her next week’s allowance.

Tilly was quiet as I drove to the shopping centre, but once there and we were wandering around the brightly lit shops among other shoppers, her mood lightened. She spent some time choosing a gift for her mother and settled on a spa gift-box set, which included jasmine-scented bath oil and candles, designed to help you unwind and relax at the end of the day. It was an attractive gift that I was sure her mother would appreciate, although I knew it would take more than a few scented baths before Heather truly relaxed. Victims of domestic violence are continually on guard, waiting for the next attack.

We had lunch in the shopping centre and on the way home Abby phoned. Tilly told her about the meeting; that Dave had found her mother’s phone and seen the photograph of them on New Year’s Eve online. Abby must have apologized for sharing it, as Tilly said, ‘It’s not your fault. It’s him.’

Once home, I checked Tilly’s school uniform was ready for the following morning and that she had her bus pass, and I gave her some lunch money. That evening I heard her talking to Abby again. She was a good friend and a similar age so could offer empathy and understanding in a way I couldn’t. Tilly slept well and the following morning I saw her off to school. She seemed in a positive frame of mind and was looking forward to seeing her friends again. However, the next time I saw her it was very different. She was so angry and upset she could barely speak.

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