by Casey Watson
Sarah was crying again now, so I reached for another tissue. This time she took it but just balled it in her fist.
‘So I hid,’ she said. ‘I looked for a new place to rent – by now I couldn’t work, and was living on benefits, with help from Vicky – so I found a new place, a little flat, far enough away that I thought she wouldn’t find me. I didn’t even register with a new doctor.’ She looked at me with dark-rimmed eyes. ‘What was I thinking?’
I placed a hand on her arm. ‘You just weren’t thinking straight.’
She sniffed loudly. ‘And I didn’t think straight again for years. And now it’s happened anyway. Here you are, here I am. And Abby is in care, just like Vicky always said she would be … God, Sarah! Stop it!’ She glanced up at the clock.
She leaned forward, then. ‘Casey, in the drawer there. My diary. Can you get it out? I’ve written the last details I had for Vicky on a piece of paper in there for you. I’ve got no access to a computer right now, but I’m sure you could track her down pretty easily. Even if she’s moved I’m sure you could do that. It’s not a common surname. And she worked for years at the place I’ve put on there – see? That practice of physiotherapists …’
‘She’s a physio?’
Sarah nodded. ‘I know. Ironic, isn’t it?’
‘But what about your cousins? They’d know where to track her down, wouldn’t they?’
‘Oh, I doubt it. We were never a close family. We barely knew them. And after Mum died …’ She looked down at her hands in her lap. ‘Well, let’s just say I’d be surprised if they even remembered our names. So, no. I don’t think so.’ She looked imploringly at me as I pulled out the piece of paper. ‘So, do you think you could? Could just try? I’d be so grateful. I can’t even bring myself to dial that phone number. I really can’t. But if you could just try … tell her what I’ve told you. Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her …’
I looked at the paper now. ‘Oh, this is a London address. Were you in London?’
Sarah shook her head. ‘No, that’s where she went. That was the last time I was in touch with her. She’d tracked me down, of course. She wasn’t going to give up that easily. But I didn’t want to know. I refused to see her, refused to speak to her, to answer her letters, and the last thing was that she wrote to me, telling me she’d been offered this post in London, and that she’d happily turn it down – and I’m sure she meant it – if I’d only let her back into our lives. I told her to shove it.’ Sarah sighed. ‘Like you say, I wasn’t thinking straight. Don’t think I’ve been thinking straight ever since. Except finally, now …’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I think I know what to tell her. I’ll do my very best. Though, Sarah, you know, I have to tell someone about this. Protocols …’
She smiled a wan smile. ‘Stuff protocols, Casey. I mean, do whatever you have to. But if you can find my sister I’ll never be able to thank you enough. I’ve sacrificed too much of Abby’s childhood already, I have to make this right again. I have to.’
I don’t know if Chelsea had been waiting just outside the door with Abby, but it seemed that just the right amount of time passed – time to mop tears, time to regain composure – before the two of them were back again. We’d been talking for almost an hour by now, and Sarah looked exhausted.
‘Are you okay, Mummy?’ Abby asked anxiously. ‘Did they change your leg dressings okay? Do you want me to check –’
Sarah shook her head. ‘They’re all fine, poppet, honestly.’
I glanced at Chelsea, who mimed holding a phone to her ear. ‘Anyway,’ she said brightly, ‘I’m afraid I led Abby somewhat astray while you were tied up. Do we confess, then?’ She looked at Abby, who giggled.
‘We had chips!’
‘At this time?’ Sarah chided. ‘You’ll have spoilt your tea now, young lady.’
‘Oh, I dare say we could have it a little later,’ I said.
‘And what about our surprises?’ Sarah said. ‘Did you remember the surprises?’
Abby’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh! No, we didn’t get you anything!’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Sarah assured her. ‘But you know, I’d love a new book. How about you get me one of them instead?’
Abby didn’t need asking twice.
‘Thanks, Chelsea,’ Sarah said, as soon as the door had closed behind her. ‘I really appreciate it.’
Chelsea smiled warmly. ‘Any time,’ she said.
‘And, Casey, obviously don’t say anything to Abby – not just yet. Not until I know there’s any point.’
I felt a surge of energy. I would do my darndest – after observing all due protocols, obviously – but I would do my darnedest to make sure that there was a point. To my mind, there couldn’t not be. I thought of Donna, I thought of sisters. Like puppies, you had them for life. There had to be a point.
Ten minutes later we were back in the car, pulling out of the car park, my mind in overdrive, brain whirring with everything Sarah had told me. All of which I had to keep under my hat right now. All of which could make the biggest difference imaginable. I smiled to myself. Drug user, criminal, abuser … instead, what we had here was just an issue of territory. That and a surfeit of love. And a surfeit of love was almost always a good thing.
I glanced through the rear-view mirror to see Abby’s eyes meet mine. She grinned. ‘It’s so great that you and Mummy are friends again,’ she said.
I laughed. ‘We were always friends, love.’
Abby waggled a finger. She really did have such a lot of emotional intelligence. ‘Oh no you weren’t,’ she said knowingly.
I laughed again. ‘You are one funny onion, little Abigail. Now what say we play some really loud music, all the way home?’
‘Yay!’ she said brightly. ‘And we’ll sing along too. But you mustn’t dance.’
‘Mustn’t I?’ I jiggled in my seat. ‘Not even a little, like this?’
‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Old ladies look funny when they dance.’
So that was me told. We headed home.
Chapter 23
Too late to do anything about the sheet of paper I now had safely tucked into my handbag. I would have to wait until the morning before I could sort anything out. But I was fit to burst, so by the time Abby was in bed and I could at last fill Mike in properly about Sarah’s revelations, it tumbled out of me like the Niagara Falls.
‘You are not going to believe what I have to tell you,’ I began, practically dragging him into the living room, and turning down the volume on the TV remote at the same time.
‘Oi!’ he protested. ‘I wanted to watch that.’
‘You can watch it on Plus 1,’ I said, throwing the remote onto the sofa. ‘Oh, Mike, you are not going to believe this.’
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Tell me then. What exactly is it that I’m not going to be able to believe?’
I poured out the whole story, hardly pausing for breath. ‘See?’ I said. ‘I knew she was hiding something about that sister of hers. I knew it!’
‘And you were right,’ he conceded. ‘Well done, Dr Watson. But let’s not run away with ourselves. You haven’t found her yet, have you? And even if you do, there’s still no guarantee she’ll want to know.’
‘Rubbish,’ I said. ‘Of course she will. How could she not? She’s her sister. She loves her.’
Mike grabbed my hand and squeezed it. I looked down at it. ‘What’s that for?’
‘For being you,’ he said. ‘Just for being you, love.’
Mike was right, though. He always was. Nothing was guaranteed here. And it wasn’t just a case of Vicky being amenable to helping out, either. Social services would see it as a positive – I felt sure of that – but in terms of Abby’s future it was more complex than them saying, ‘Cheers, then! Over to you!’ Abby was now officially in the care of social services, and now they’d taken on that responsibility they had a duty of care. You didn’t simply hand children back to people, just because they happened to be relatives. Th
e usual protocols would obviously need to be followed. To be less than thorough – to check that Vicky would be a positive influence in Abby’s life; to assess her properly – would mean they were failing in that duty.
‘But my hunch is they’ll jump at it,’ I told Mike. ‘Isn’t yours?’
‘And you think she’ll be up for just moving in and taking over and them all living happily ever after, just like that?’ Mike countered. ‘Would it really be that likely? I imagine she’ll have her own life to think about. She could be married, have kids …’
I flapped a hand to silence him. ‘Shh,’ I said. ‘Positive mental attitude, okay?’
No, it probably couldn’t help. But neither could it hurt.
I was too excited to sleep properly that night. And the next morning – the hour that I spent with Abby before school – seemed to stretch interminably. I was trying to be as normal as possible, but was operating mostly on autopilot. And Abby being Abby, she could tell something was up. ‘Casey, what’s wrong with you this morning?’ she wanted to know. ‘You’re all fingers and thumbs today, like Mummy.’ She narrowed her brows. ‘You’re not having trouble with your joints, are you?’
I laughed out loud at this, but she was clearly still concerned I was making light of something serious. ‘You’re not doing things right, Casey. Look – you’ve put a knife next to my cereal bowl instead of a spoon, and you’ve put the milk back where the orange juice goes. Do you know that MS can come on all of a sudden?’ She frowned at my bemused expression. ‘Casey, it’s not a laughing matter.’
She really didn’t miss a trick, and it was bittersweet to know it. ‘Silly me,’ I said. ‘It’s because I stayed up too late last night. Me and Mike watched a scary movie and then I couldn’t sleep.’
This seemed to convince her. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘That’s why. I have nightmares if I watch something scary. You could always press the “i” button on the remote – that tells you all about the programme that’s coming on. That way, you’d know if it was going to be something scary, and then you can choose something else.’ She tutted, and I imagined Sarah saying all these things to her. All these little life skills she had needed, which I’d never even thought about. She really had turned into such a singular child. Oh, I thought, but wouldn’t it just be so wonderful if she could return to being an ordinary one now?
Abby opened the fridge and restored the contents of the door to their rightful positions. ‘There,’ she said. ‘The way you are this morning, you’d have probably poured orange into your coffee.’
I called John first, and then redialled and got in touch with Bridget. Happily, today, she had no meetings. She was as pleased as John had been to hear the news – not to say surprised. And she couldn’t see any reason why I shouldn’t try to get in touch with Vicky, since that was what Sarah had asked me to do.
‘And maybe, assuming you do get hold of her, you could give her my number. If she wants to be brought up to speed with what’s happening, I can also then put her in touch with Sarah’s social worker, Andrew. I’ll call him in the meantime and fill him in.’
‘I will,’ I promised. ‘So – any suggestions on what to say?’
Bridget laughed. ‘Not a clue! I mean, how do you start a conversation like that? But knowing you, Casey, I’m sure you’ll come up with something. I can’t imagine you ever being lost for words. Good luck anyway, and give me a ring back to let me know what she says.’
This meant that nothing now stood between me and that piece of paper, which contained three phone numbers – one I knew was about fifty miles away, one down in London and one mobile – plus the name of a private physiotherapy clinic. All I had to do now was pick up the phone. But now I felt strangely nervous.
Mad, I thought, making a very naughty decision. Mike had recently brought a swing seat, in preparation for our first summer in our lovely new garden, and since the sun was out I decided I would sit outside and have a cigarette, and make the calls from there. I’d not had one in ages, and I had no intention of falling off the wagon, but right now it would steady me to make the call.
I ferreted around above the freezer, found my stash, grabbed my coffee and, with the phone tucked under my arm, went outside.
I’d only smoked half the cigarette before deciding I didn’t really need it. What I needed, I realised, was to just get on and do it. So, placing my coffee on the grass beneath me, I dialled one of the numbers, opting, for reasons of positive mental attitude, for the local home phone. The one I most feared would be the wrong one.
‘Okay, what did you forget?’ a cheerful female voice answered.
Which completely took me aback. ‘Oh!’ I spluttered. ‘Is this Vicky?’
Now the woman had to change gear. ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said, flustered. ‘I thought you were someone else! Yes, this is Vicky. Who is this?’
A. Maz. Ing. I thought. Bingo. First strike and I’d got her. Well, someone called Vicky, anyway, and what were the chances? ‘My name’s Casey,’ I told her. ‘Casey Watson. You won’t have heard of me …’
And then I began to tell her about Sarah.
To this day I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I do remember that, despite all my careful rehearsals, I ended up blurting everything out in one seemingly endless stream. This produced a result that was so spectacularly pleasing that I couldn’t help but do a secret high five to myself. She was crying, then apologising for crying, then laughing, then thanking me and making me go over everything again.
‘I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for this day to come,’ she told me. Then she laughed. ‘Actually I can,’ she said. ‘About seven and a half bloody years! How is she? How is Abby – oh, I can’t believe she’s ten now! Does she still look like Sarah?’
‘Yes, she definitely looks like Sarah. She’s just a sweetheart …’ No point in going into detail at this stage. One thing, one bombshell at a time.
‘You didn’t go to London, then? Sarah was so sure you’d go to London.’
‘Yes, I did, for a trial, but I hated it down there. And I kept coming back to Abby. Suppose Sarah changed her mind? I’d given up trying to track her down by then, but I knew she had my number, and that maybe one day, if she needed me, she’d get in touch. I’d not burned my boats anyway – just rented my house for three months. So back I came. Oh, I can’t believe this. I really can’t!’
‘Sarah thought you might have married the man you’d been seeing …’
Vicky snorted. ‘Fat chance. Let’s just say I had my fingers burned in that regard. No, I’ve been in a relationship, but it didn’t work out. It wasn’t really going anywhere. I’m assuming you know about the whole IVF thing …’
‘Some,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry …’
‘But let’s not dwell on that. What do I need to do? In the here and now? Which hospital is she in? Oh, God, I know it sounds crazy, but it’s so good to hear she’s okay. I mean, I know she’s not okay, but I’m sure you can imagine what I’ve been thinking …’
Yes, I told her, I could imagine all too well.
Of course, there were still plenty of hoops to be jumped through. Pleased as I was with Vicky’s reaction to my phone call, it was important I still said nothing to Abby. Much as Vicky obviously wanted to do what she could for her niece and sister, you couldn’t expect someone to just drop her whole life and embark on a new one. And it seemed to me, judging from what little I knew of Sarah’s long-term prospects, that in order for Abby to avoid being placed permanently in the care system, that would be pretty much what she’d be required to do.
In the short term, however, my priority was to tell Sarah. I’d explained to Vicky that Abby was currently being fostered by me – and what my role was – and that social services, now her legal guardians, were looking for a permanent placement for her, since the home situation was no longer tenable. I gave her Bridget’s number, and also told her about Andrew, Sarah’s social worker, and that if she spoke to both of them she’d have more facts than I had, pa
rticularly as regarded the MS. I also told her that, as far as I knew, Abby didn’t even know of her existence; that if she knew anything it would only be that there had been someone called Vicky in her life once – which was the only thing, I think, that really upset her.
‘Oh, my,’ she’d said, after an audible exhale of breath. For a moment I wondered if it would be a deal-breaker. I tried to imagine being in her shoes, given the amount of care she’d lavished on her beloved baby niece, and how it must feel to know the child in question didn’t even know of you, let alone love you. But she rallied. ‘I suppose that was the only way,’ she added. ‘Under the circumstances.’
‘I think you’re right. Under the circumstances then,’ I agreed.
But when I tried to get hold of Sarah on her mobile, I failed. I tried half a dozen times, left messages on voicemail, and eventually decided that she was probably having some treatment, and that I’d wait for her to pick up my messages and get back to me.
Which she duly did, mid-afternoon. ‘Oh, Casey, I don’t know how to thank you!’ she told me.
‘Thank me?’ I said. ‘I haven’t even told you my big, big news yet!’
Sarah laughed. ‘You don’t need to. I already know it.’
‘How come?’
‘Because Vicky’s already called me!’
‘She has?’
‘Called me right after she spoke to you. That very instant.’
Which was the best news I could have wished for. There was still a string of hurdles ahead, obviously, but the finish was in sight. We had definitely jumped the first of them now.
And we were half way over the second one as well, it transpired, because Vicky had apparently also spoken to Bridget and Andrew, and was keen to hear what she could do.
‘One step at a time, of course,’ Sarah said, ‘but they certainly seem amenable to having a meeting to discuss what would need to be done to ensure Abby wouldn’t need to go into care. I mean, I know she is in care – and I can’t begin to thank you enough, Casey – but if we could halt this horrible process, find a way to get back home again …’
