Allegation

by R. G. Adams

  Allegation

  ALLEGATION

  Title

  ALLEGATION

  R. G. Adams

  Copyright

  First published in Great Britain in 2020 by

  an imprint of

  Quercus Editions Ltd

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © 2020 R. G. Adams

  The moral right of R. G. Adams to be

  identified as the author of this work has been

  asserted in accordance with the Copyright,

  Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication

  may be reproduced or transmitted in any form

  or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

  including photocopy, recording, or any

  information storage and retrieval system,

  without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available

  from the British Library.

  HB ISBN 978 1 52940 466 1

  TPB ISBN 978 1 52940 468 5

  EBOOK ISBN 978 1 52940 465 4

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

  businesses, organisations, places and events are

  either the product of the author’s imagination

  or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to

  actual persons, living or dead, events or

  locales is entirely coincidental.

  Ebook by CC Book Production

  www.riverrunbooks.co.uk

  Dedication

  For my husband and children

  and in memory of my mum and dad.

  Contents

  Allegation

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 1

  Sandbeach Council Child Services Office, South Wales

  Kit sat looking at the referral a while longer. Then she reached under her desk, slipped her feet into her white Converse, stood up and made for Vernon’s office.

  ‘Vern, can I have a word?’ Vernon was midway through a bacon bap. He motioned towards the chair in front of his desk with an oily finger.

  ‘Vern, this referral . . .’

  ‘Which one is that? You know what Mondays are like. I’ve had a shed-load across my desk this morning. What did I give you? The toddler with the suspected bite mark, was it?’

  ‘Ah, did you mean to give me that one? That would be fine.’ She’d seen plenty of bitten children, knew the drill with those. ‘No, it’s the Cooper family. It must have been a mistake. I don’t think I’m quite ready for that one yet, do you? Maybe Nazia could take it.’

  Vernon held out his hand and Kit passed the referral to him with a sense of relief. Nazia was the most experienced social worker in the team and she handled all the high-risk cases. Vernon had absolute trust in her. Kit watched as he scanned the referral, popping the last chunk of bread into his mouth. When he handed the form back, it had grease marks on the edge. Kit took it from him gingerly. Vernon shoved a ball of bread and bacon over into his cheek so that he could speak.

  ‘Ah yes, I remember. Look, Kit, I know it’s a lot to ask. But Nazia’s just rung in sick, not expected back for at least three weeks. She’s dropped me right in it. I can’t send any of the others, they just wouldn’t handle something like this. It’ll be good experience for you, look at it that way. Those clowns in the Intake Team have done the screening right for once; they’ve already discussed it with the police and it’s definitely one for us. It needs an investigation and a full assessment. You’ve had enough time to get the hang of things. You need to start picking up some of the tricky stuff now.’

  ‘Tricky’s a bit of an understatement, isn’t it?’ Kit stayed in her chair while Vernon stood up and started towards the door. He glanced back at her and, catching her expression, stopped in the doorway.

  ‘All right,’ he sighed. ‘If you’re really that worried, you could take someone with you, I suppose. Who have we got out there doing nothing today?’ He crossed to the door and leant out to look across the main office. ‘What about Maisie?’

  ‘No thank you very much. I’d sooner not.’

  ‘Yeah, all right, point taken. Might be safer without her. Useless bunch, aren’t they? Well, looks like you’re on your own then, kid. Now, I must love you and leave you. I’ve a hot date with Judge Peters.’ Vernon took his court jacket and tie from their permanent position on the back of his office door. The jacket had been hanging there for years and wouldn’t do up across his stomach. Kit wondered why he didn’t just buy a new one and why Nell, a smart woman judging by the photo on Vernon’s desk, would allow her husband out in public looking like that. She watched as he tied his scraggy tie, then drew a battered plastic comb from his pocket and dragged it through his wiry grey hair, making no impression on it at all. Then he turned to leave.

  ‘But, Vern—’ Kit started again.

  ‘Look, Kit, I have not got time for this. I’m already in for a hammering from Judge P. over that cock-up of Ricky’s, I can’t be late to court on top of that. I know this one’s looking like trouble. But try to treat them like any other family. They may be better off than we’re used to, nice house, et cetera, but all the usual applies to them, just like it does to everyone else. So, go and ring Dai Davies and find out what the police are planning for the dad. Then get on to Legal and get a letter drawn up. Get the parents in this week with their lawyer. Go from there. No, don’t bother with a gateway meeting,’ he said firmly, seeing Kit open her mouth and knowing that she was about to suggest just that. ‘I’m not having some agency manager who’s been here five minutes making the decisions on my cases. I’ve said that all along, so it’ll come as no surprise to anyone. Anyway, Mr and Mrs Cooper are obviously intelligent people so hopefully they will cooperate, in which case it will be straightforward enough. Make sure the kids are protected, get your assessment going, decide whether to take it to conference. That’s that.’

  Vernon was trying to convince her, or maybe himself. Either way, he was trying too hard, and Kit wasn’t fooled. She couldn’t even begin to think about the bomb she was about to detonate into the heart of this family.

  Vernon turned in the doorway again. ‘Actually, now I’m thinking about it, before you do all that, they’ve come up as known on the system, haven’t they? Seems one of the kiddies is disabled – Lucy, I think it is – so you’d better get downstairs and have a chat with that Jean Collins in Child Disability, see what she makes of the family. I wouldn’t expect much from her, judging by past experience, but it’s protocol and all that, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And don’t be put off by the Coopers, Kit. Don’t be intimidated.’

  Only Vernon knew about her background. She hadn’t wanted it spread around the team, and he had promised to keep it to himself. But he had a knack of knowing when it was bothering her.

  ‘No. I won’t.’

  ‘Good, so get going then. See what she’s got to say downstairs, pretend you care, th
en disregard every word of it and see for yourself, that’s my advice. Now I really have got to run.’ He headed across the team room and out of the door, shouting instructions to the duty social worker about a medical on an injured baby as he went.

  After he’d gone, Kit gathered up her notebook and the referral for the Cooper children and went downstairs to find the Child Disability Team. She hoped she’d get a clue about how to handle things. Perhaps Jean Collins would even come out on a joint visit to the Coopers. Maybe Kit could drop quietly into the background and let her handle it. Vernon had been disparaging about Jean, but then Vernon viewed every team in the building as a soft option compared to his own. He thought the rest of the staff were simply people who couldn’t hack working on the front line. He wasn’t necessarily right about Jean Collins.

  Kit arrived at the Child Disability Team and asked for Jean. The receptionist pointed towards a desk in the far corner. The woman sitting behind it gave a tight smile as Kit approached. Jean was in her late forties and quite glamorous. Her hair was glossy and toffee-streaked, and her make-up immaculate. Kit was willing to bet that the luminous Jean didn’t feel out of place in the Coopers’ kitchen in Meadow View Crescent.

  ‘Hi, Jean. I’m Kit from the First Response Team. The Intake Team have had a referral from the police about one of your families. They’ve had a strategy discussion and agreed it needs to be investigated so it’s come through to us.’

  Jean held out her hand for the referral. As she did so, Kit could see that Jean was looking downwards, taking in Kit’s Converse and her beaded anklets. In turn, Kit stared at Jean’s patent black high heels and her long fingernails, each one of which had a tiny white bow set dead centre in its pale pink lacquer. Kit wondered how anyone could be arsed to get bows put on their nails.

  ‘Oh, I am sorry, but this is just total rubbish!’ Jean jumped up, shoving her chair backwards. Her tone was furious. She waved the referral under Kit’s nose.

  ‘Which bit?’ Kit asked. Jean couldn’t have had time to read more than the first page.

  ‘All of it. It’s bloody nonsense. You are not seriously telling me you are going to go over there and ruin this . . . this lovely family on the basis of this . . . this . . . crap? They have a very seriously disabled daughter, you know, plus the two little ones.’ She sat back down and threw the referral onto the desk in front of Kit.

  ‘Yes, I do know, Jean, that’s why I’m here,’ Kit started. She felt that she was doing quite well so far, keeping her patience. ‘Vernon asked me to—’

  ‘Oh, yes, I might have known he had a hand in it. Well, you can tell Vernon Griffiths from me that there’s no need to bother going in there all gung-ho. I’m the case manager for this family and this can be NFA’d right now. Mr Cooper is marvellous with the oldest girl. He is a fantastic father and a very nice man. As if he would need to . . .’

  Jean’s nose wrinkled slightly. She couldn’t bear to say it out loud, Kit realised.

  ‘I can tell you what this is,’ Jean continued. ‘It’s jumping on the bandwagon. End of.’

  Kit could feel a burn forming in her stomach. She thought back to anger-management group and how she had learnt to breathe in and count to ten, and she tried to keep the heat down and not let it up into her throat. She seemed to remember something about becoming aware of the real reason behind your anger, but she found that the only reason that she could come up with was that Jean Collins was such an idiot.

  ‘No one’s saying he isn’t marvellous with his daughter, Jean. That’s not really the point, though, is it? It’s a historical sexual abuse allegation, it’s been referred to us and we need to make sure the children are safe and make a decision about conference and—’

  ‘Conference?’ Jean’s tone was rising. People at nearby desks were looking around to see what the commotion was. ‘You do know he’s a very successful accountant? The only reason they’re known to us at all is because they were unfortunate enough to have a child with severe cerebral palsy, and a very good job they do looking after her, Mr Cooper especially. He is totally committed to Lisa—’

  ‘Lucy,’ Kit interjected.

  ‘Yes. Whatever.’ Jean was not deterred. ‘Conference? No. You are joking. He’d make mincemeat of you. This is not a family off a council estate, taking drugs and giving the baby Coca-Cola in its bottle. These people are well connected. They are capable of ending your career, and believe me, they won’t think twice about it.’

  At this, Kit breathed again and told herself three times in a row to keep her temper. Then she lost it.

  ‘No, Jean, I am not joking. This is a serious child-protection matter and we cannot treat it differently to any other referral just because they’re a little bit up-and-coming and you fancy the dad.’

  Jean was speechless, which Kit enjoyed no end. She picked up the referral and left, taking the stairs two at a time, buoyed by the horrified expression on Jean’s face. She re-entered the open-plan office and headed towards her team’s section. The noise level was rising as dozens of phones rang and social workers rushed out on urgent visits, or in to make phone calls and get advice from their seniors. Impromptu meetings were going on all over the place: at desks, in corridors, in the coffee area and outside the toilets. Snippets of conversations reached Kit above the hubbub as she passed each team. One social worker was anxious about a teenager, a regular self-harmer who had gone missing from care over the weekend and had not yet turned up. In another team, the manager was trying to allocate the usual batch of domestic-violence referrals resulting from the weekend’s rugby-related drinking, her staff trying not to meet her eye. Wales had lost, Kit remembered, so no wonder they were reluctant to volunteer.

  As Kit passed the Youth Justice Team, she spotted a young social worker sitting in silence with the phone to her ear, tears rolling down her face. Even from a few feet away, Kit could hear the furious shouting at the other end. She diverted slightly to the team manager’s desk and tapped him on the shoulder to turn his attention from his computer.

  ‘Caitlin’s crying,’ Kit pointed out.

  ‘Oh Christ, not this again. She just can’t cope. What the hell am I supposed to do with her?’ He looked at Kit as if she might have the answer. Kit shrugged and moved on. She liked Caitlin, a lively young woman who was about her own age and also newly qualified, but she didn’t have the time to get involved. She needed to get her head round the Cooper case. It was a new one for her. Burns, bruises and broken limbs she was already used to. But not this.

  Kit arrived at her own desk and sat down, doing her best to ignore the noise and focus on what she needed to do. The altercation with Jean had made her even more determined to treat the Coopers exactly like any other family. She looked Lucy Cooper up on the system. She checked the details against the referral and saw that Lucy was fourteen and that she had two siblings, Cameron and Chloe, who were nine and six. She moved to Lucy’s care plan, where she saw that Lucy had cerebral palsy affecting four limbs, but with three more severely affected than the other one. Jean hadn’t bothered to specify which limb was the least affected, of course. Lucy was PEG-fed, which Kit had to google in order to find out it meant she was fed by tube through a hole in her stomach. Lucy attended Green Trees School during the day. It was seven miles away from her home, and she was transported there by minibus. Kit found that the Coopers had a large direct-payments package to pay for Lucy’s care, and that they topped it up themselves, so that she had cover from carers most of the time, including through the night. This was necessary, Kit saw, because Lucy was very unsettled, sleeping little. Unusually, there was no respite provision in place to give Mr and Mrs Cooper a break from caring for Lucy.

  Moving on to Jean’s case notes, Kit saw a lot of breathless praise of Mr Cooper and his care of Lucy but noticed that less was made of Mrs Cooper’s contribution. Jean mentioned in passing that Mrs Cooper was an active member of the local support group for parents with severely d
isabled children, but then seemed to lose interest in her altogether.

  Lucy herself was almost invisible in the file, except as a problem to be solved. It looked as if Jean had turned up once a year to review the care package and drink coffee with the Coopers, and she had certainly made sure that they had everything they were entitled to, plus a bit more than Kit reckoned most families would get. But it seemed Jean had never thought it her business to spend any time with Lucy. Kit remembered what that felt like, and her determination to do a good job of this one hardened still further. The file showed that Lucy had no speech, and Kit saw with irritation that the section of Jean’s assessment form which should have told her about Lucy’s communication needs had been left blank.

  Kit read the referral one more time, then picked up the phone and dialled the number for the Public Protection Unit.

  ‘D.S. Davies.’ Kit was glad to hear Dai Davies’ voice. Like his drinking buddy Vernon, Dai was middle-aged and definitely old school, operating with the bare minimum of political correctness and somehow getting away with it. But he was experienced. Kit felt sure he’d know how to handle the Coopers.

  ‘Dai, it’s Kit. About the Cooper referral. I’ve been looking into the family a bit.’

  ‘The Cooper case?’ Dai’s tone betrayed his surprise, sending Kit’s heart down into her feet.

  ‘Nazia’s off sick.’ Kit knew this would be sufficient explanation.

  ‘Ah, right. Well, it’s not going to be easy, but I’m sure you’re up to it.’

  ‘Yeah, and you’re lying, but there’s no one else to do it so I guess you’re stuck with me.’

  Dai laughed. ‘Well, we can look after each other then.’

  ‘Is it going to be that bad?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so. Better brace yourself, my lovely. Now, what do we know about them?’

  ‘They’ve got a disabled daughter, so they’re already known to us. Dad’s a bit of a superhero, according to the social worker. Gorgeous, fantastic with the children, that kind of thing.’