Watching Over Me

by M K Farrar

  She had her meeting with the woman from social services at lunchtime, but before then she wanted to go and talk to the bank manager at the Swains’ local branch. It might be a long shot, but there was a chance Susan Swain had stuck with the same bank and they might have a record of her at a different address, under her maiden name. The police had most likely already checked during their initial investigation, but if Edward’s mother had lain low for several months after she’d left, the police would have closed any investigations by then, and it would have slipped through the net.

  Maybe she should be fixating less on what might have happened to Edward Swain’s mother, and more on who had stolen her purse and made purchases in her name, but for some reason she was focused on the case. Would bringing Edward’s mother back into his life help him? She was sure Susan Swain hadn’t left of her own accord. And she couldn’t stop thinking about the mark she’d seen on Edward’s neck either. It was taking all her self-control not to go around to the house so she could look Robert Swain in the face when she asked him where the boy had got the bruises. She didn’t believe for a second that he’d got them while falling into a door handle. So that only left two other possibilities—Edward had hurt himself, or someone else had.

  The morning went quickly, and a cancelation of an appointment before lunch meant she was able to leave work earlier than expected. She took the Underground and travelled across the city to the bank local to where the Swains lived.

  She felt hugely self-conscious as she walked down the high street, certain she was going to run into either Robert or Edward, even though Robert should have been at work at this time. She didn’t want to have to answer any awkward questions. The bank hadn’t yet hit the lunchtime rush hour, and the banking hall only contained a couple of older people who were waiting to be seen. Amy got into the queue behind them and waited her turn.

  She reached the front of the line, and the bank teller smiled brightly at her. “Hi, how can I help?”

  “I’m actually looking for some information. My name is Doctor Penrose, and I’m a psychotherapist. One of my patients is searching for his mother. He’s underage, so I promised him I’d help.”

  “I see.”

  “I wanted to see if you have any record of his mother having any accounts. We believe she may be going under her maiden name now.”

  Someday soon, she suspected laws would exist where places that held this kind of information on their customers couldn’t just hand out all the details to people who walked in off the street. But today wasn’t that day, so with the right justification, she thought she might just pull this off.

  The bank teller’s gaze darted over her shoulder. “It’s something I should get my manager to handle really.”

  “I understand. I can wait.”

  “Okay. Take a seat, and I’ll see if he’s free.” The bank teller rose from her chair and slipped out the back, into the rear offices.

  Amy crossed the banking hall, ignoring the curious stares of those who might have overheard what she’d said, and sat in one of the cheap, scratchy fabric chairs. She set her handbag down at her feet and waited.

  Within a few minutes, a stern-looking man in a grey suit, with a receding hairline and glasses, appeared from the back of the banking hall.

  He stuck his hand out towards her. “Doctor Penrose?”

  She got to her feet and shook his hand. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “I’m Peter Boyd, the bank manager. Do you want to come through to my office?”

  “Thank you.”

  She followed him out to the back and down a short corridor which had a couple of doors leading off. He stopped in front of one that had ‘bank manager’ on a small plaque attached and gestured for her to enter.

  The bank manager took a seat on the other side of the desk, and Amy perched on the chair opposite.

  He picked up a pen from his desk and rolled it between his fingers. “So, you’re searching for the mother of one of your patients, is that correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I hope we can keep this between ourselves, though. I don’t want to upset other family members.”

  “Of course. Discretion is my middle name.”

  “Wonderful. I’m searching for Susan Marjory Swain, but I believe she may be going by her maiden name now, which was Greenwood.”

  “Okay, do you have an address?”

  “Yes, but it’s her old one. She won’t be using that now.”

  “What about a date of birth?”

  Amy nodded and reeled it off.

  Peter Boyd typed the details into his computer, and rows of green numbers and text against a black screen came up.

  He frowned at the screen from behind his glasses, his lips pursed as he read through the details. “Hmm. Nothing coming up here under either her married or maiden name.”

  “Really? Not even as a joint account with Mr Robert Swain?”

  “No, not that I’m seeing here.”

  That was strange. “What about a closed account? Do you keep those records?”

  “Yes, we do. But nothing is showing here for Mrs Swain. Oh, there is an account for Mr Swain, but it’s one he’s had open with us for many years now.”

  “But he never added his wife to the account?”

  “Not according to our records. Of course, he or she may well have had an account with a different bank.”

  “That’s true.”

  Was she really going to go to every bank and try to get information out of them? If she was this concerned, shouldn’t she go directly to the police? Amy checked her watch and offered Peter Boyd an apologetic smile.

  “Thank you for your time. I have another appointment I have to get to.”

  “Not at all,” he replied, getting to his feet and shaking her hand across the desk. “If there’s anything else, please, don’t hesitate to get in touch.”

  “Thank you.”

  Not wanting to be late, she hurried out of the bank and back down the road towards the Tube station. The spot where she was due to meet the social worker was only a few stops away, and as long as there weren’t any holdups on the trains, she should make it on time.

  BY THE TIME SHE REACHED the café where she’d arranged to meet Edward’s social worker, Ros Sampson was already waiting for her.

  The two women seemed to instinctively recognise each other, and Amy offered Ros a smile and crossed the café towards the table she was already seated at.

  Ros Sampson was older than her voice sounded. Her waist size was almost the same as her height, and her grey hair was short and cropped as though it had been done with a bowl. But she had bright, kind blue eyes and a smile that lit up her whole face. She gave the impression of being one of those people who could scold just as easily and quickly as she could hug.

  “Ms Sampson,” Amy said when she reached the table, “thank you so much for meeting me.”

  “It’s Ros, please, and it’s no problem at all.”

  They sat at the café table, selecting seats opposite each other. A waitress appeared holding a notepad, and Amy quickly ordered a pot of tea and a chicken salad sandwich.

  “I’ll have the same, thank you,” the social worker said.

  “I’ll make that a pot of tea for two, then.” The waitress scribbled in her pad.

  Amy waited until the waitress had moved away again and then clasped both her hands on top of the table. “I wanted to talk to you about Edward Swain.”

  Ros smiled. “Yes, of course.”

  “I have his file, but I wondered if you’d be able to give me a little more background on his case.”

  “Well, as you know, getting a child to this point, where they’re able to receive help with their mental health, has been a long road. As far as I’m aware, Edward’s teachers raised concerns during weekly staff meetings, and these were picked up by the headteacher, who then contacted social services. Edward’s behaviour was observed for some time before we were able to refer him to you, and that only happened because the
decision was finally made to exclude him. You understand that expelling a pupil is not done lightly, and it’s a choice a headteacher will only make once they’ve explored every possible other avenue to help the child.”

  The waitress arrived with the pot of tea and their sandwiches. She placed the plates and teapot, together with two cups and saucers, and a small jug of milk, onto the table.

  Ros picked up the teapot. “Shall I pour?”

  Amy nodded. “Yes, thank you.” She waited for a moment, while they both added milk to their cups and the tea was poured, then she continued. “And was it only his behaviour that was found to be concerning?

  Rose frowned slightly, her eyes narrowing. “How do you mean?”

  “I wondered what you made of Robert Swain, Edward’s father.”

  “Made of him?”

  “Yes.” Amy cleared her throat. “I’ve seen concerning marks on Edward, and even though they’re both claiming Edward makes the marks himself, I can’t help but wonder if that’s the truth.”

  “You think that Edward’s father might be hurting him?”

  “I think it’s possible, yes. Mr Swain seemed less than affectionate when he came into the initial session.”

  Ros frowned and stared down into her tea, twisting the cup in the saucer, round and round. “I referred Edward to you because I was concerned about his mental health rather than any concerns about violence in the home. In particular, it was the self-harm and violence towards other pupils that worried me.”

  “Of course, I understand that.”

  “Because he was no longer in a school setting, I wanted him to have someone he could talk to.”

  “Was there no possibility of him being allowed to stay at school?”

  She shook her head. “Not when we have to consider the safety of the other pupils and the staff as well.”

  “I understand Edward was expelled for fighting, but what do you mean about the staff?”

  “There were some members who didn’t feel comfortable around him.”

  Amy frowned. “The staff didn’t feel comfortable around him? Why not? Was he violent towards them, too?”

  “No, it wasn’t anything violent. It’s hard to explain.”

  “Edward isn’t an easy boy,” Amy said, trying to find her way around what she wanted to say, “but surely he can’t be expelled because some of the teachers didn’t feel comfortable around him.”

  Ros flapped a hand. “Oh, I wasn’t trying to imply that was the sole reason he was expelled. It was definitely for the safety of the other children at the school. I just thought it was something worth mentioning, considering how closely you’re working with him.”

  She’d come here for clarification, but Amy’s confusion deepened. “I thought Edward was being bullied and the violence was due to him trying to stand up for himself. Children can be cruel, and the differences in Edward would be enough to make him vulnerable.”

  “I don’t know what side of himself Edward has shown you, but he isn’t always vulnerable. He’s used the bullying as a reason for the fighting, but some of the stories from the other pupils seemed to point towards Edward being the one who started the fights.”

  She was instantly defensive on the boy’s behalf. “Well, they would say that, wouldn’t they? The kids aren’t going to admit they’re the ones responsible.”

  “Maybe not, but it does tie in with some of the stories I’ve heard from teachers as well. Edward is very clever and can be extremely manipulative. There is a possibility that the other children were telling the truth.”

  “A possibility, yes, but is it surprising his behaviour is bad considering his mother vanished overnight? I’m concerned about what he might have seen and been exposed to before she left as well. He’s told me that his mother barely went out of the house, and that she and his father used to fight all the time. I have my concerns that we don’t actually know the whole truth about what happened with Mrs Swain.”

  Ros shrugged. “Mrs Swain couldn’t cope with Edward either. She packed her belongings and disappeared one night. It happens.”

  “Yes, but there’s been no sign of her since. Unless she got help that we’re unaware of, how does a woman who has no means of supporting herself, or apparently any friends or family outside of the home, just up and leave?”

  Ros pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I don’t know. This is surely the job of the police. As far as I’m aware, they were involved at the time, and they didn’t find anything to indicate the story was any different to the one Robert Swain told.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that,” Amy admitted reluctantly.

  “But you don’t think they’re right.”

  She sighed heavily. “I don’t know. Call it a gut instinct.”

  “Doctor Penrose,” Ros said, clasping her teacup between her hands, “when you asked to see me, did you want to talk about Edward, or his mother?”

  “I think both may be intrinsically linked. Isn’t it possible that his behaviour originates from some trauma, such as seeing his father hurting his mother, and then his mother disappearing?”

  “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you your job, Doctor Penrose. If you feel strongly enough that there is more to the story than we know, then you have a duty to report it. With new information, the police could reopen the case. As for violence in the home, I’m afraid I can’t help you. Mr Swain is a brusque man, and he’s struggled with managing Edward—something I actually feel for him about, it can’t be easy raising a boy like that on his own—but I haven’t seen any sign that Robert Swain is violent towards his son. I’m sorry if that isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

  Amy let out a sigh and raked her fingers through her hair. “Of course, I wasn’t hoping to hear that Edward might be being abused at home.”

  “And I’m not saying for sure that he isn’t,” she added. “Simply that my observations didn’t point to that being the case.”

  Amy nodded. “Okay, thank you.

  She’d wanted to have someone who would back her up, she realised. Despite all her years of training, she was still new in this role, and she didn’t completely trust her own instincts. At least if the social worker had backed her up, she’d have felt more confident going to the police, but instead she only doubted herself even more. And what about Edward? Was everything she’d said true? Edward had never come across as violent or manipulative towards her—if anything, he was the shy, quiet one.

  That could be part of his manipulation—making her think he was someone he wasn’t.

  That was possible, but it didn’t change how she felt about Robert Swain. He’d been furious with her for asking questions about what had happened to his wife, and there must be a reason for that.

  She finished her sandwich and checked her watch. “Thank you so much for all your help, but I really do have to get back to the office.”

  “You’re welcome. It’s no problem at all.”

  The social worker reached for her purse, but Amy held up a hand. “I’ll get the bill. It’s the least I can do.”

  “That’s kind of you. If you think of anything else you need to ask, I’m just on the end of the phone.”

  The two women shook hands and went their separate ways.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Despite her planning, Amy was late back to the office.

  Her next patient was already waiting, but worse than that, Timothy was standing beside Linda’s desk, so he saw her walk in. He deliberately looked at his watch and raised his eyebrows, silently reprimanding her. She mouthed ‘sorry’ at him, but he just pursed his lips and shook his head.

  It wasn’t as though she could tell him the truth about where she’d been either. He’d already warned her off asking about Mrs Swain, and even though she could try to pass the meeting off as her making enquiries around Edward’s school life, she worried he’d see the truth in her eyes.

  She remembered the talking to she’d given to herself about having a duty of care towards Edward and t
hat if she believed the boy to be in danger, then she needed to be able to act on it. She had to talk to Timothy, even if it meant going against his instructions to leave Edward’s mother out of things.

  If it had been anyone else she’d needed to talk to, she’d have done so easily, but she wasn’t herself around her boss. Her defences instantly went to high alert when she was around him.

  Amy saw that afternoon’s patients, and, at the end of the day, quickly packed up her belongings, eager to get out of the office.

  But before she could escape, a knock came at the door.

  Her heart sank. She already knew who it was, and she wished she could do something to get out of having this conversation.

  “Yes?” she called.

  The door opened, and Timothy entered.

  “Amy, I know you’re on your way out, but I think you and I need to have a little chat.”

  She forced a smile. “Of course. I was hoping to talk to you about something as well.”

  “Well, won’t that be pleasant.” He gave a slick smile that made her skin crawl. “Please, sit down. This won’t take long”

  Reluctantly, she dropped into her chair, and he took up position opposite. She wished she’d placed her seat behind her desk in anticipation of this moment, so at least they’d have the solid piece of furniture between them, but she didn’t normally like to have physical barriers between her and the person she was talking to.

  “I’m sure you know that it didn’t escape my notice that you were late back today, Amy. I’ve also been informed that you left early, too.”

  “Yes, you’re right, I did.” She opened her mouth to launch into the story about going to see Edward Swain’s social worker, but he lifted a hand to stop her.

  “You understand that we’re a private company and we’re only paid by billable hours. If you’re not in the office, those hours won’t get paid for.”

  Her cheeks burned. “Yes, of course.”

  He leaned forwards and placed a hand on her knee that felt a little more than reassuring. “I’m glad we’re working from the same sheet, Amy. I hope we’ll have a long and intimate working relationship ahead of us.”