by Casey Watson
‘No, no,’ she argued. ‘Sounds to me as if what you’re doing is just fine. You know, in cases like this it’s not unusual for a child’s compulsions to escalate; for them to develop new ones, even, on what can be almost an hourly basis. Today it’s those sevens, but tomorrow you might find it’s something else entirely. The important thing is to keep calmly doing what you’re doing; bring the compulsion out into the open, and try to get the child to take on board that actually she’s in charge and that she has the power to fight the thoughts she has. If this is stress related, things will settle once the stress in her life lessens.’
‘But what if it’s long-standing? I’m really not sure we’ve got to the truth there.’
‘Then that’s a whole other issue, but please don’t worry about it. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it and, if we do, there are good treatments. Drug therapy, CBT – I’m sure your GP has told you. But let’s not jump the gun. I need to properly assess her. Which is one of the reasons I’m calling, to fix that up with you.’
So an appointment was fixed, and though I felt little the wiser I was at least pleased to know something was finally happening about this bizarre and crippling disorder. But as I rejoined the family, a strange thought popped into my head. My parents, who’d always run pubs, had once again moved to a new area, and, as would happen, once again, I felt isolated and alone. I hated always being the new girl and having to try and make new friends, and would brood on it daily while walking to school. And I would also, I remembered, count the cracks in the pavement. Every day, from our newest place to my new school.
I did this without fail, but one day I was crossing the final road when I almost got hit by a car. I dodged it, and it sped on, and I continued on to school, but minutes later I was gripped by a sudden, intense panic. In my terror, as a result of the near-accident with the car, I had forgotten to count the remaining cracks.
Even though I knew it would make me late for school, I simply had to go back. I had to run back to the place where the car had almost hit me, and then retrace my steps, counting as I went. It was a terrible feeling; I remember being churned up with anxiety. So much so that whatever the consequences – and there would obviously be some – I couldn’t go into school without doing it.
I was breaking into a slight sweat even now, remembering. But at the same time, I finally got empathy for Abby. Sympathy was one thing, empathy quite another. I now felt even more determined to help her. And now there was Elise. Who would make all the difference. Touch wood.
Chapter 21
Wednesday morning arrived all too soon, and so did more sunshine. As I opened the bedroom curtains, I tried to tell myself it was a sign. Perhaps the day wouldn’t be as horrible as I was expecting – not with this glorious weather.
I woke Mike up and set the shower going for him. He’d offered to take the day off work to support me – had insisted, in fact – but I wouldn’t let him. ‘No, you go to work, love,’ I’d told him. ‘It’s bad enough that I’m to feel like a naughty child, without you having to witness it.’ He’d finally agreed as long as I promised him that I’d phone the minute the lynch mob had left.
Though it was actually ridiculous to think like that. Yes, Mel Darwin would be there, which was a slightly scary prospect – a bit like being hauled up before the head teacher. But other than that it would just be Bridget and John, for heaven’s sake. Bridget, who was hardly Attila the bloody Hun, and John, who I counted as a friend.
Even so, I was glad to pack Abby off to school, because I could tell myself these things every minute of every hour, yet it didn’t make any of this less scary or humiliating or downright horrible. Once Abby was gone, however, I had the solution right in front of me. With an hour still to kill before the doorbell ushered in my fate, I could at least do something physical to take my mind off it. Which in my case meant cleaning – a bout of heavy-duty cleaning – and which I did till my arms ached from polishing and scrubbing and the cleaning-fluid fumes caught in my throat.
That done, I checked the clock for the umpteenth time that morning, and returned to the kitchen to get things set up for coffee. I was still trying to decide what sort of signals would be sent out if I used my posh sugar bowl and milk jug when I heard the doorbell. Swallowing deeply, I walked into the hall.
And there they all were. Had they travelled together? I imagined so. John Fulshaw, Bridget and Mel Darwin. John looked his usual self, but the other two looked pretty starchy. Just workday suits, of course, but in some indefinable way, more so. Or perhaps I was just seeing them differently because of this strange circumstance. I tried to fix a smile in place as I invited them through to the dining area. ‘I’ll just pour these drinks,’ I began. ‘So, well, just make yourselves comfortable. I really don’t know how these things go, so I’ll just carry on as normal and …’
‘Casey,’ John interrupted me, ‘relax. This is just a meeting, okay? So stop looking so nervous. We’re not a bloody lynch mob!’ God, I thought. Could the man read my mind?
But it did the trick. I did begin to feel some of the tension leave me. John had always been good at doing that.
‘I know,’ I admitted, carrying the rattling tray of pots to the table. ‘I’m just a bit nervous, that’s all. To be perfectly honest’ – I glanced at the three of them – ‘I’ve never been disciplined by an employer before.’
I sat down opposite John, glad that he’d be the one in my eye line, with the two women either side of me. ‘Don’t mind me,’ I smiled at Mel. ‘I’ll be okay once we’re under way.’
‘Well, let’s get straight to it, then,’ said John, a little over-brightly. Very much so, given what he followed it up with. ‘Casey,’ he said, holding up a typed sheet in front of him. ‘I’m just going to read out the full official complaint. And then Mel will add what she wants to say, okay? Just to explain, Bridget is here just to observe, really – that is, Bridget, unless you have something to add?’ Bridget smiled and shook her head. So nothing new would be forthcoming, at least. No late additions to the long list of my crimes. ‘In that case,’ concluded John, ‘I think we’re sorted. Casey, you’ll obviously have the opportunity to respond to the allegations afterwards, and that will be it, basically. Bridget will take the notes.’
It was horrible to have to sit and listen to Sarah’s complaint. It had initially been made verbally, and then followed up in writing, though I didn’t question how or when or by whom. It was just grim, but in essence no different from what I already knew: I had listened to what she had termed ‘idle gossip’, tried to grill staff at the hospital for further information, and then taken it upon myself to try to investigate the matter without consulting either Abigail’s social worker or herself first.
I had compounded the first crime by acting as some sort of gang boss, recruiting a nine-year-old child to go and work in my sister’s café, and apparently expecting her to ‘work for her keep’. And finally, I had committed a breach of confidentiality by discussing Abby’s current situation ‘in a public place with a stranger’ and had also been irresponsible in not having gone to one of my superiors, and instead ‘traumatised her greatly’ by bringing it up with her. The local authority had agreed with this and wanted me to understand that it was my duty to report disclosures of this nature to them and not to a child’s parent. They were of course paraphrasing, taking most of what Sarah had reported and wrapping it in social services speak so that it didn’t sound quite so bad.
When John had finished recounting his litany of misdemeanours, he didn’t look at me, but straight across at Mel, and in what was a clearly well-rehearsed two-hander (I imagined then she must have done this many times before) she simply added that she had read and understood the allegations. ‘Casey,’ she said mildly, ‘you should have approached the authority first. I’ll give my recommendations after you’ve been given the opportunity to speak.’ I wasn’t sure if I should answer. Say ‘Yes, ma’am’ perhaps? I really did feel that much like a naughty school child.
I felt awful, generally. Set out like that, I really did sound awful – some nosey busybody who should have known better. How could I deny any of the charges that had been laid out to me? On a strictly factual basis – give or take some degree and some of Sarah’s language – everything John had read out was true. No matter what my intentions were – and they really had been all about helping Sarah – I absolutely shouldn’t have done it. And I knew that, which was why I could have kicked myself so soundly. Not so much for what I’d done but for being such an idiot that I had failed to think about how they might have been construed.
I looked around at the trio of expectant faces. They were all patiently waiting for me to say my piece. I took a deep breath and cleared my throat, suddenly wishing myself away – to be spirited away, anywhere but here.
But I knew what I would say and I had practised it regularly. I cleared my throat once more, for good measure. ‘Okay,’ I said, pushing my coffee cup away from me, ‘I realise how that all looks. But I promise you, I never set out to upset anybody. I never intended to go against any protocol or procedures and I certainly never meant to cause Sarah any distress.’ I looked directly at Mel. ‘I genuinely thought I was helping. I absolutely didn’t discuss Abby in public with a stranger. The woman – Mrs Shelley – was the one to approach my sister, after seeing Abby in her café, and recognising her, and naturally being curious. Not to mention concerned about her welfare, as well. My sister didn’t tell her anything that she didn’t already know and the woman simply expressed her surprise – as you would – that Abby wasn’t being looked after by her family.’
I took a breath.
‘I have thought about this a lot, and it’s my absolute belief that Sarah got angry because she didn’t want anyone to know about her sister’s existence. And I also believe it’s why I’m sitting here right now. Yes, I do accept that I should definitely have taken the information to someone before talking to Sarah about it – it was in the heat of the moment and it just came out, and it shouldn’t have. I was wrong, and I admit that – I realised it immediately afterwards. I can only apologise and assure you that it won’t happen again.
‘I would also like to make it clear that Abby has never been employed as “slave labour” by my family. She helped at a charity event which my son ran – which she loved. Nothing different from what any child of that age might. No different from helping at a school fête. And which under the circumstances – you’re all aware of how fragile her emotional state is – I can’t believe anyone would think was anything but beneficial. That she helped out a second time was directly related. She enjoyed herself so much, and pressed to go back so enthusiastically, that my sister let her – as a favour to me, to help Abby. Which is all any of my family has ever tried to do, just as they all have for all the kids I’ve fostered …’
Upon which, my voice gave up the ghost. In fact, I was almost in tears now. I swallowed hard. I knew I was just over-emotional because I felt both silly and misunderstood and self-pitying. Why should I even have to defend my actions, when all I’d ever wanted was to do the right thing? My hands were shaking as I reached to pour myself a second cup of coffee, and I scowled at my cheerfully arranged plate of biscuits. I would have choked if I’d tried to eat anything, frankly, and now felt silly for having put them on the table.
Once again, John had seemed to read my mind. He reached across and grabbed one, and started munching as he smiled his encouragement, presumably waiting for me to gather myself before carrying on. I was done, though. I had said everything I needed to say. There’d be no further justifications from me. If they didn’t like what they’d heard, well, tough luck.
Mel, who had been listening and taking notes, cleared her own throat. ‘Right then,’ she said. ‘Thanks for that, Casey. It’s really clear that you thought you were acting in Abby’s interests. I’m also confident that you also understand that you went against official policy in not informing us before approaching Sarah. As to the other allegations, there is no case to answer,’ she said firmly. ‘So, in my opinion, we can leave it there. My recommendation is that no further action is to be taken and there is no need to offer you any extra training at this time. The incident, unfortunately, does remain on your record, but your response and your explanation will go in alongside it. Is that all clear, Casey?’
Crystal clear, I thought, hearing that. Crystal clear! It would remain on my record? I was shocked about that, for sure – it wasn’t something that had occurred to me. I couldn’t believe that this whole mess was going to be on my record – there in perpetuity, for the entire world to see. I was being dramatic, I knew, but even so it rankled. Because we still hadn’t even addressed the whole issue of the reasons why such allegations might be made.
I took a mental leap while Mel, too, helped herself to a biscuit. It was okay. It didn’t matter. It was pretty much over. And it had been nothing like as bad as my imagination had been preparing me for. ‘Yes, that’s fine,’ I said to Mel. ‘Just as long as I get to read everything over before it goes official. I can do that, can’t I?’
To which I did catch a raised eyebrow snaking up over her glasses. I was pretty sure what it meant, too – cheeky mare!
‘Well, now,’ said John, who was obviously planning on missing lunch. ‘Biscuit anyone, now that’s over and done with?’ I noticed something in his expression, too – a touch of relief. Perhaps, like me, he was pleased I’d got off so lightly. And I remembered that, as a foster carer who worked for his agency, this incident potentially impacted on him too.
Mel stood up, though. ‘Not me, I’m afraid,’ she said, smiling. ‘I have a very irate colleague trying to sort out a case for me, back at the office. But it was nice to see you, Casey, and I hope our paths cross again – though, ideally’ – she grinned – ‘in different circumstances.’
‘Phew!’ said John, dramatically wiping his brow, after she’d gone. ‘That went better than I expected it to, hey Bridget?’
Bridget was still at the table, finishing collating all her notes. ‘It was okay, I suppose. Although you know what? I have to admit that I’m with Casey on the whole “Mum hiding something” scenario. In fact, when I visited her yesterday, to ask if there was anything she’d like to add to this meeting, she said that she’d had a bit of a rethink.’
‘What?’ John and I said together. Bridget nodded. ‘Well, as you just heard, I knew Mel had dismissed the whole slave-labour complaint anyway – and who wouldn’t? Ridiculous allegation – so I didn’t need to bring it up, but Sarah had actually mentioned it. Said that perhaps she’d got the wrong end of the stick about all that, and sort of put it out there that perhaps – since Abby was clearly so keen on going there – it might be okay for her to go down from time to time.’
I had to stop myself laughing out loud. ‘Unbelievable! So Sarah thinks about it, and decides that some of my “misdemeanours” quite suit her, so changes her mind. Just like that! It’s a shame she didn’t rethink the whole complaint really, isn’t it?’ I realised I sounded childish, but it was out now.
‘I know it sounds like that,’ added John, ever the pragmatist. ‘But actually, well – great! It’s what you wanted. Abby seems to really get something out of helping out at your sister’s place, and she’s also got a strong bond forming with Kieron, so I suppose all’s well that ends well, eh? Yes?’
‘You see, silly,’ said Mike, when I called him. ‘I told you it’d be nothing.’
‘I know,’ I retorted. I was still feeling a bit huffy. It still rankled that anything would be placed ‘on my record’. ‘But can you imagine bloody Sarah? Retracting all that about slave labour at the last minute and even asking if Abby can do it regularly! Talk about making the system work for you.’
‘Casey, leave it, love,’ Mike counselled. ‘It’s done with. It’s all fine. It could have been so much worse if she’d really wanted to press it. Let’s just be grateful it’s done with.’
But it wasn’t over, was it? The question still remained.
Who was this sister anyway, and what was the story? I was both mystified and intrigued. And I wasn’t the only one. The phone rang a couple of hours later, just before Abby was due home from school. It was Bridget.
‘I have rather interesting news for you,’ she told me.
‘Go on,’ I said, mentally preparing myself.
‘Well, it’s just that I’ve had a telephone conversation with Sarah. Seems she feels terrible about recent events, and puts it down to her being in a lot of pain at the time and not being able to think straight. Anyway, she’s keen for you to return to bringing Abby – fine by us – and wants the opportunity to apologise to you personally.’
This almost beggared belief. Why couldn’t she have done that all before my supervision meeting? ‘Really?’ I said sarcastically.
‘Yes, really. Though this isn’t out of the blue. I think she partly feels terrible because, in the light of her allegations, we’d told her we’d look for a different temporary carer. Which was what, at the time, she said she wanted, but she now seems to have had a change of heart. I think she’s also worried that you’ll refuse to keep Abby anyway, and given that she’ll be going into permanent foster care at some point, a further chop and change wouldn’t be good for Abby.’
I tried to rein in my anger. Sarah wouldn’t have been privy to dates and details, would she? Probably didn’t even know I’d had the meeting. ‘So Sarah knows she isn’t going home?’
‘Oh, yes, now she’s been appointed her own social worker, she does.’
‘So now she wants to make things right with me, just so that Abby stays put temporarily? God, did she really think I’d refuse to keep Abby, just to get her back? She has a very low opinion of me, I must say!’
‘No, no, Casey,’ Bridget was quick to correct me. ‘I’m sure she is genuinely sorry. I’m just saying that it probably took this to make her see that she was hurting you needlessly, I suppose. Anyway, the main thing is that she’s desperate to apologise, and wants to know if there’s any way you can bring Abby up tomorrow, so she can do that.’
