Angels in Our Hearts

by Rosie Lewis

  ‘It’s alright, there’s nothing to be scared of, love,’ I said softly, but she was so fearful that it took several minutes to coax her out. I took her hand, helping her to her feet, and noticed how clammy it was. Absolutely terrified, her face was scarlet. She took deep, gulping breaths.

  ‘I can see that you’re frightened, Angell,’ I said, putting words to her feelings in the hope that she would recognise that I was in tune with her. ‘Can you tell me why?’ I ventured.

  She gulped, her chest heaving as she tried to calm herself. I sat back on my feet and drew her onto my lap. Surprisingly, she submitted, pressing her warm back against my chest. She looked up at me with big eyes. ‘Is nuver man coming yet?’

  I frowned. ‘Sorry, honey?’

  ‘Shall I hide again before nuver one comes?’

  ‘No one else is coming up here, Angell,’ I said slowly, the truth behind Nicki’s abandonment of her daughter beginning to take shape in my mind. ‘Chris came in to help collect the presents, that’s all.’

  Angell’s eyes flitted between the door and the wardrobe, unsure whether to trust my word. I rubbed her back and swayed, the events of Christmas Eve coalescing into a feasible scenario. I knew that, if I was anywhere near the truth, Nicki was going to need all the help she could get if she was to stand a chance of getting her little girl back.

  ‘Do you know what I do when I’m feeling unhappy or scared, Angell?’ I asked, wrapping my arms around her middle and rocking slightly. Her head was tucked beneath my chin, her hair tickling my skin as she shook her head. ‘I imagine that I have a special balloon that I can climb into whenever I want. It can float through the air or rest on the ground but do you know what’s really special about it?’

  She shook her head again, glancing sideways at me.

  ‘Well, it’s made of glass, so not only can I hear what everyone around me is saying but I can see everything as well. I tuck myself away, warm and safe, and I stay in there for as long as I want to.’

  Her breathing began to slow as she stared at me, one eyebrow cocked.

  I smiled and her lips twitched, almost responding with one of her own. ‘And do you know what’s even more special?’

  ‘What?’ she asked in a croaky, mucus-filled voice.

  ‘Anyone can have a balloon like that.’

  She frowned, thinking about it for a minute. ‘Can I have one?’

  ‘Yes. It’s ready for you, whenever you need it.’

  ‘I can get in it now, can I?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, if you want to.’

  We walked downstairs together, Angell moving robotically, as if she was frightened her balloon might be too fragile to take her weight. She spent the next hour or so in a trance-like state, quietly removed from the merriment going on around her.

  It wasn’t until after 7 p.m. that I noticed the home telephone flashing with a recorded message. Pressing my right hand flat against my ear to drown out the sound of Strictly Come Dancing in the background, I pressed play and leaned my head against the wall, listening. It was a duty social worker with a strong Liverpudlian accent, who introduced himself as Ben. ‘Hello, Rosie, sorry to disturb you on Christmas Day but I need to talk to you about Angell.’

  I straightened, a wave of anticipation rushing over me.

  ‘We’ve had some, um,’ there was a pause, and then the light male voice issued through the air again, ‘enlightening disclosures from Mum.’

  I held myself still, readying myself.

  ‘I won’t go into detail here. Can you call me as soon as you can, please?’ He left a mobile number and then cut off, the message ending with a resounding buzz. An automated voice announced the time of the call – 1.05 p.m. I pressed my lips together and played the message again, scribbling the mobile number he’d left on the back of my hand and then quickly dialling it. There was a click and then Ben’s voice regurgitated a standard ‘Sorry I’m not available right now’ message. Frustrated, I sank back against the wall, immediately jumping away as the phone jangled into life.

  ‘Rosie?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me. Ben?’ I apologised for not picking up the message sooner.

  ‘That’s OK,’ he said, his accent less pronounced than it had been in his message. ‘I just wanted to give you the heads up, love, to keep you in the picture, like. Mum’s still in Queen Mary’s Hospital but I’ve been to see her this morning and what she told me put a very different light on things, I have to say.’

  ‘Oh, right?’

  ‘Yes. The thing is, Nicki was w-o-rking yesterday morning when Angell was found,’ Ben said, ‘if you get what I mean?’

  ‘Ah-ha,’ I said, ‘yes, I see.’ Ben’s emphasis made it clear. The possibility had popped into my head when Angell had hidden herself in the wardrobe after seeing Chris in my bedroom. When she went on to ask about other men I had gathered I was on the right track. ‘So she was nearby then?’

  ‘No, that had been her plan – she takes Angell with her when she works, I’ll tell you why in a minute – but the punter didn’t stick to the rules. He dragged her off and she fought to keep Angell within sight, hence the pummelling she took. I expect you noticed.’

  A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach told me that Nicki’s chances of getting Angell back were looking decidedly grim. Des, my supervising social worker, had told me soon after we first met that there were lots of mothers who earned a living from prostitution. Apparently, as long as the children were well cared for in all other respects and kept away from ‘tricks’, social services didn’t intervene. Nicki had opened up and been honest, which in a way was a good thing, but the trouble was that, by admitting that she took Angell to ‘work’ with her, the authorities had proof that she wasn’t safeguarding her daughter. I pictured Angell as she clung desperately to her mother on Christmas Eve and my heart lurched. ‘Oh dear, poor Angell.’

  ‘Hmmm, don’t worry, Rosie. You haven’t heard the half of it yet. It’s not all bad news.’

  ‘O-kay …’ I said, noticing for the first time that it wasn’t just Ben’s accent that made him sound cheerful. There was a fighting spirit in his tone.

  ‘I wasn’t too hopeful either, when I first heard the facts. But then I heard what Nicki’s been going through. Rosie, she’s being run by her partner, Angell’s dad. Nasty thug, by the sounds of it. He forced her to work right through her pregnancy and throughout the years since.’

  ‘Oh no,’ I cupped my hand to my brow, leaned my shoulder against the wall.

  ‘He’s highly manipulative and she’s so terrified of him that she won’t let Angell out of her sight. That’s why she takes the child with her while she works – a screwed up way of being protective, but I can see where she’s coming from, if you understand what I mean?’

  ‘Well, yes, absolutely. That does put another slant on things. But why didn’t she ask anyone for help?’

  ‘She was convinced that Angell would be taken away from her.’

  I sighed at the irony.

  ‘Yes, it’s taken a lot to convince her to trust us. You know, stalking has come a long way in the digital age, Rosie. It’s not a case of calling someone and then hanging up any more. Her partner has used geo-location software, to pinpoint her exact whereabouts, and listening devices, planted into Angell’s clothes. Whenever Nicki has made a run for it in the past, he’s always managed to track her down.’

  As Ben spoke, the fragmented thoughts that had been floating around in my head finally organised themselves into a mosaic I recognised, the last pieces of the jigsaw falling into place. I was pretty sure the reason Angell had been made to look like a boy was another misguided attempt to protect her from the attention of Nicki’s clients. And Angell’s silent protests suddenly made sense as well – heaven knows what she may have witnessed during her short life, but whenever she was distressed, it was probably unsafe to make a sound.

  Before he ended the call Ben filled me in on the plans he had made during the day – he had found a room for Nicki in a women’s re
fuge over two hundred miles away. She had agreed never to return home and had handed her mobile telephone over to police officers so that all tracking devices could be disabled. After leaving hospital she would be moved to a safe house and would wait there until Tuesday, the day after Boxing Day. Angell would join her there and together they would make the long journey towards their new life.

  Spontaneous dancing and an appalling but loud Bruce Forsyth impression (courtesy of Chris) had broken out in the living room, so I asked Angell to join me in the kitchen where I could tell her the news. Sliding from the sofa, she carefully stretched her blanket over the carpet, arranged her toys one by one on top and then lifted one corner, dragging it behind her as she followed me.

  ‘I’ve just been speaking to someone who is taking care of Mummy,’ I said, crouching on the floor in front of her and holding one of her hands.

  The blanket fell to the floor as her hand flew into her mouth. She frowned, nibbling at the skin of her knuckles with her teeth.

  ‘It’s alright, it’s very good news. They told me that Mummy is feeling much better now and guess what?’

  Her eyebrows lifted as she squeaked a breathless: ‘What?’

  ‘You’re going back to stay with her very soon.’

  She took a rapid breath in, clasped her hands together and performed a little jump. ‘Yes! Ray! Ray!’ she said, clapping and bobbing up and down on her toes. ‘See Mummy, yay!’

  I laughed. ‘I can see you’re happy about that! I’m happy too.’

  And then she melted my heart, throwing her arms around my neck and holding tight. I drew her to me and straightened, lifting her up high and spinning around on my heel. When I set her back on her feet she looked up at me, her face finally free from fraught anxiety. ‘So how long time is it till I can see Mummy, Rosie?’

  I held up my middle and forefinger. ‘Two more sleeps, sweetie, that’s all. And then it will be time to see Mummy.’

  Observing a long-held Lewis family tradition, towards the end of the evening I invited everyone to join me in the garden to watch the launch of some Chinese lanterns. Angell, no longer my reluctant shadow, stood happily beside me on the patio, one of her gloved hands tucked into the warmth of my coat pocket. The air was crisp, a bitter wind extinguishing my brothers’ initial attempts to get the lanterns airborne. Impatient, my nieces and nephews began a rhythmic clap. Angell looked up at me with uncertainty. With a nod of reassurance she joined in, stamping her feet into the bargain.

  Soon ten fiery bulbs were suspended in the darkness above our garden. Enchanted by the flames, Angell’s face was luminescent, her breath fogging as she gasped and cooed. The lanterns drifted quickly but it was so lovely to see her looking carefree that I could barely tear my eyes away from her. We stayed outside until the golden thread of lights faded, leaving just a faint, smoky footprint over the trees.

  The journey to the safe house took over an hour, and every mile or two Angell, her new toys piled high on her lap, bobbed up and down in her booster seat and asked, ‘Nearly Mummy time, Rosie?’

  It was a relief to reach our destination: a large semi-detached house in an affluent suburban street with shiny bay windows and a herringbone drive. As I pulled up outside I noticed a slight twitch of one of the curtains upstairs and before I’d even cut the engine and retrieved my keys, the front door was opened. Nicki tore across the driveway towards us so I quickly climbed out, opened the rear door, swept Angell’s toys from her lap and released her seat belt. ‘Mummy!’ Angell shrieked, clamouring out. Nicki swept her up in one swift movement and the pair clung to each other, Angell burying her head into her mother’s neck.

  ‘I love you so much, baby,’ Nicki said with a little sob. I rubbed a circle on each of their backs and then walked back to the car to retrieve Angell’s things. Inside the house, Angell remained glued to her mother’s lap while Nicki showed me photos she had been given of the refuge they would soon be moving to. The hard lines of her face were softened with affection and her cheeks were crimson, eyes glistening. She was dressed in the same clothes that she had worn in the police station, but with her feet bare and a sweatshirt over the flimsy top, she looked much less fierce. Younger too, with her face free of make-up and her dark hair tied in two plaits, one resting on each shoulder. She seemed positive about the future and, with Angell clearly thrilled to be back in her arms, after about half an hour or so I made a move to leave.

  Angell looked up sharply. ‘I not coming with you,’ she said, gripping Nicki’s shoulders. ‘I stay here!’

  Nicki looked embarrassed but I laughed. ‘Of course you are, sweetie. But thank you for spending some time at Rosie’s house. We loved having you.’

  ‘Angell,’ Nicki said chidingly. ‘Say goodbye nicely.’

  Angell cocked her head, smiling shyly. She raised her hand in a little wave and then buried her face back into her mum’s neck.

  ‘Goodbye, Nicki. All the best, honey,’ I said, patting her arm. I kissed the top of Angell’s head and then headed for the door.

  ‘Oh, just a minute, Rosie.’ I turned to see Nicki peeling herself away from Angell. She grabbed a tiny white handbag and rummaged around, pulling out a bunch of keys. A moment later she was on her feet and crossing the room, Angell clinging to her leg as she went. She reached for my hand and pressed a small, sparkly object into my palm, cupping her other hand around mine and giving it a squeeze. ‘Thank you for looking after Angell,’ she said, her eyes misting over. I smiled, reaching out and squeezing her arm.

  It was only when I reached my car that I took a proper look at what Nicki had given me. As I had guessed, it was a key-ring, the scratched plastic case housing a faded picture of Nicki with a new-born Angell cradled in her arms. I still treasure the impromptu gift, even though it’s a little battered. When I think of all that Nicki had to leave behind to keep herself and her daughter safe, it can’t have been easy to part with one of the few possessions she had managed to hold on to.

  Angell’s placement was one of the shortest I’ve ever had, but reuniting her with her mother and witnessing their joyous reaction is one of the fostering moments that I hold dear. It’s such a privilege to be able to offer a soft landing to a child during a low point in their life, a moment of tranquillity away from the stress they’ve known. When that moment’s rest becomes a bridge towards a better life, being part of the transition is all the more rewarding.

  Unexpected

  All things considered, it couldn’t really get any worse. Or at least that’s what Ellen told herself when she woke to find Mark’s side of the bed cold and last night’s awful, heavy sensation still pressing on her midriff. As she blinked in the darkness, the memory of their final conversation seemed to bounce off the walls like an echo, with stress making her windpipe burn and her hands tremble. What she couldn’t work out was why her body was reacting to his exit with such shock. Hadn’t she known that he’d scramble for the door as soon as he discovered the truth?

  While other women worried about infidelity, Ellen regarded Google as one of the greatest threats to her happiness, with old newspapers coming a close second. Christ, if anyone should have been used to abrupt endings it was her, but with Mark somehow – she chewed away at her jagged fingernails as she thought about it – she’d imagined that he wouldn’t freak out like the others. For the first time in her life she had felt safe, but then the dream imploded after a single, ill-thought-out confession. It was her own stupid fault. After his proposal, she’d told herself it was only fair to tell him that she would never have kids. But why hadn’t she just concocted some story about blocked tubes or faulty eggs?

  Did she really believe anyone in their right mind would tie themselves to a liability like her, once they knew the full story? Not a chance, she thought, with another angry gnaw at her reddened fingertips. That’s why she’d always been careful about contraception, even asking her doctor about sterilisation. The GP had refused, declaring that, at twenty-eight, she was ‘too young to make that sort of decisio
n’. But she could see by his wavering gaze that he understood why she wanted it done. Of course he did – he knew her history.

  ‘Whatever it is, nothing will change between us,’ Mark had reassured her, when she told him she had something important to say. ‘I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you,’ he’d said. A small, hopeful part of her had dared to believe him then, until she saw the doubts bleeding into his face. The next two months passed awkwardly, and it was as if they were stuck in a cold departure lounge waiting for a flight to some far-off place – she knew the parting was coming, she just didn’t know when.

  ‘It’s you, El,’ he’d said last night as he stuffed unfolded clothes into a suitcase. ‘Why must you push everyone away? I don’t give a monkey’s about all that other crap. You’re your own worst enemy, you know that?’ Fixing his gaze anywhere but on her pale, stricken face, he hadn’t even stayed long enough to pack up his beloved rock CDs. Do you think I’d stick around if I didn’t have to? Ellen had wanted to scream, sorely tempted to hurl one of the Metallica CD cases at the back of his head. Instead she had folded her hands in her lap and sat quietly, with unseen tears rolling down her cheeks.

  It was strange to think that she might almost have felt relieved if Mark had run off with someone else – or if not relieved, then at least normal. She’d belong to the same club generations before her had unwittingly joined. After all, there was no shame in being tossed aside for someone richer, sassier or fitter, was there? Why, she could go into work today, wail about Mark’s callous disregard and wallow in the kindness of her colleagues; some might even take twisted pleasure in raking over the sordid details and tearing him to shreds. Oh, how she’d love to oblige them.

  Her body protested as she trudged to the bathroom, Bow nudging his damp muzzle into her hands as she went. She leaned over and stroked his velvety ears, breaking into a sweat when she straightened up. Massaging her lower back with her knuckles, she groaned as she stepped into the shower, the sad ache in her chest weighing her whole torso down as she washed her hair and then afterwards, standing heavily at the sink to brush her teeth. Bow yawned and sank to the floor, resting his chin on her toes. He looked up at her with a mournful expression, the whites of his eyes visible below a deep molasses brown. With Mark gone, Ellen was worried about the elderly dog being in the house on his own all day. She felt bad for him, but she’d never taken a sickie in her life, and anyway, Bow was going to have to get used to being alone – they both were.