by Casey Watson
I pulled her close and let her cry. ‘Sweetheart,’ I said, ‘you don’t need to ask for a chance because you have done nothing wrong. And I swear to you, Adrianna, John knows this. He is just following protocol. He has to follow protocol. You understand protocol? Procedure? Lots of new words today, eh?’
I felt her face change against my chest. A wan smile, I hoped.
‘I know protocol,’ Adrianna said. She sniffed and then looked up at me. ‘And you promise me, Casey? You can promise me about Ethan again soon? I will not go out again, I swear. I will be good mother. This I swear on my life.’
Two things, I thought. One, that she would, and must, go out again. No stupid boy – or spiteful man – was going to put paid to that. Two, that, in reality, I could promise her nothing. Should promise her nothing, moreover. But, just on instinct, I decided to go against protocol myself. I didn’t care, and I would fight this one to the end all by myself if I had to. I raised my hand solemnly. ‘I swear to you, sweetheart,’ I told her, ‘this will all be over, very soon, and you will see Ethan again.’
Then, when she went upstairs to shower, I crossed my fingers.
Chapter 20
In the meantime, fingers crossed still, I continued to seethe. I seethed all the rest of Monday and I seethed all of Tuesday. Seethed internally, obviously, because I was a grown-up and knew how to, but every hour that passed – with the whole imbroglio still not sorted out and no contact visit on the horizon – just made me seethe all the more.
We talked it all through, Mike and I, and we were both of a mind. That we could absolutely trust Tyler and Adrianna, and that whatever was the driving force behind that cruel, destructive act was something that had nothing to do with any of us.
‘We’ve got to look at it logically,’ he said on the Wednesday evening, as we both lay in bed staring at the ceiling again. ‘The way I see it, it’s either one thing or the other. Either he’s got some personal reason for wanting Adrianna not to have her baby back – which she is entirely unaware of – or he’s got his own unrelated reasons for having a downer on teenagers generally, with a special emphasis on teenagers in care – with whom he’s obviously had quite a few dealings.’
‘I can’t believe it’s the first,’ I said. ‘Well, unless by some incredible coincidence he’s one of the customers at whatever illegal brothel that gang of trafficking scumbags was running.’
‘No, you’re right,’ Mike said. ‘I can’t see it either. We’re much too far away.’
‘Plus,’ I added, ‘he was so moody when he came to us. As in immediately moody, you know? And that was before he’d so much as clapped eyes on Adrianna. As in he didn’t want to do the job at all.’
‘But isn’t that his job?’
‘Apparently not. He was helping out, as far as I can remember. His real job is translating other stuff – written stuff – for social services. Reports. Pamphlets. Information packs and so on. You know, a desk job. Well, as far as I know.’
‘So his axe to grind is more about young people generally. Which makes me think he’s got’ – he put his fingers in quote marks – ‘“issues”.’
‘Well, yah boo bloody sucks to him, frankly,’ I fumed. ‘He’s got issues? He should try losing his father, having his stepfather sexually assault him, having to run away to Britain only to find he’s been brought over as a sex slave. He should try all of that, and see how many “issues” he ends up with. And don’t get me started on –’
Mike placed a hand on my arm. ‘I have absolutely no intention of doing so,’ he said. Then, sensibly, he pinged off the light.
Since there was nothing I could personally do to help sort it all out, I did as I was told, i.e. nothing. Just kept jollying Adrianna along, promising her she would see Ethan soon, and desperately hoping I was telling her the truth. It actually wasn’t that hard, because I knew Adrianna better than anyone else who was involved with her and I was supremely confident that she would see him again. After all, when the police provided the paperwork that would refute Mr Kanski’s claims, it should be a simple formality to put the whole thing to one side. And with my more philosophical head on, I even managed to become reasonably sanguine – this was, after all, probably just the first of many injustices, irritations and plan-wrecking events that were likely to occur in Adrianna’s new life. There were still so many hoops to jump through that it was insane to get in such a flap over this one.
But when a week passed, and then another, and there was still nothing doing, I began to get ants, bees and bugs in my own pants, and seriously considered going down to the police station myself, sneaking under the counter and doing a smash and grab raid on their evidence room.
But then the call came. And, thankfully, on a Thursday. Had John been spying on me from behind a hedge, worried I might actually do just that? Lauren and Adrianna had literally just driven off.
‘You might want to sit down,’ he said.
‘Oh, no …’ I groaned.
‘Don’t worry. It’s not bad news. All good. Sanction lifted. Everything’s full steam ahead again.’
My sigh of relief was so huge that all the air left my lungs. I gulped in a huge, happy in-breath. Then I sat down and listened. And John surprised me. Really surprised me.
If you put us side by side and had to choose which of us was the more generally fiery and gung-ho, you’d say me – I’d say me – every time. We were both professionals, but John was very much the ‘professionals’ professional’, in that, generally speaking, he did everything by the book, which, as a senior member of the fostering agency he absolutely should.
But in this, so frustrated by the lack of forward motion, he went off piste, mixed his metaphors and stuck his neck out.
‘I just couldn’t stop myself,’ he admitted. ‘Because it was driving me nuts. So once it was clear that the wheels of justice had got stuck in a metaphorical M25 tailback, I simply picked up the phone and asked Mr Kanski what he thought he was doing myself.’
‘You never,’ I said, shocked. ‘Isn’t that harassment or something? Are you even allowed to speak to him at all?’
‘Erm, pass,’ he said.
‘Go you!’ I said. ‘A man after my own heart! Go on, then. Shoot. What did he say?’
‘Well, at first, exactly what we probably both thought he would, i.e. pretty much the same thing he’d said in his letter. After a lot of bluster of the “Why would you imagine I’d speak to you about this?” kind.’
‘To which you said?’
‘That I was just wondering, that was all. Wondering if he was completely sure of what he had seen, because it seemed so at odds with both the young people I knew quite well.’
‘God, yes, Tyler. He wouldn’t know Tyler’s connection to you, would he?’
‘Exactly. And I think it floored him a bit.’
‘Good. And?’
‘And I told him that I also wondered why he was so sure Adrianna had done the things he’d said, given that the police had seen the incident rather differently.’
‘And?’
‘And that was it.’
‘What was it?’
‘That was the key thing. That was really why I couldn’t stop myself from calling him. I mentioned the police. That’s why I called him, Casey. Because it had suddenly hit me that he couldn’t possibly know about the police being involved. I worked it out. He’d made no mention of it in his letter – and you’d expect that, wouldn’t you? If he had known they were there? Surely? That he’d either say something like ‘the police had to be called’ or have even called them himself. But he did neither. And then I looked at the date – and he had written his letter about Adrianna the next day. And I didn’t get your log report about the incident till I picked up your email on the Monday morning, and it didn’t make it into the file till the Tuesday.’
I was trying to keep up. ‘But that still doesn’t explain the disparity, or why he did it.’
‘Patience. I’m coming to that now. So, as soon as he heard about
the police coming he went quiet, so of course I said, “Oh, weren’t you there when the police arrived, then?” And he blustered again a bit – you know, “I didn’t need to be. I’d already seen enough” and so on – at which point I told him that the police had taken statements from everyone involved and that they had, in fact, charged the other boy with assault. I also told him the other boy was already known to the police and that nobody had been under the influence of alcohol. At which point he began back-tracking, big time. Specially when I told him the police correspondence on the matter was in the post – and that it would effectively put the lie to his mad, trumped-up version of events. Well, I didn’t say that last bit, obviously. Not in those exact words. But I’m sure he got the gist. As he should. Because, in reality, he could even be sued for libel, couldn’t he?’
‘So what’s he going to do now?’ I asked. ‘Write another letter, explaining that he got it all wrong?’
‘Pretty much. Though it’s a moot point now anyway. The statements have already arrived, so it’s just a question of filing paperwork and putting it to bed really.’
Which was obviously a relief, but I still didn’t get it. ‘But why did he do it in the first place? That still doesn’t figure. What possessed him? What did she ever do to him?’
‘Okay,’ said John. ‘So this bit’s strictly between you and me. I did some digging,’ he said. I smiled to myself. That was us two – always digging. ‘And though it’s all hearsay, it does make some sense of it.’
‘What does?’ I said, exasperated. He was enjoying this far too much.
‘So here’s what I’ve heard, in a nutshell. Married man. Two kids. Working as a translator for the service. Though not the desk job – out in the field, then. On call. Home visit stuff. Interviews. Mostly dealing with immigrants who have little or no English, and so on. And he gets involved with a girl – this was a good half dozen years ago. A young Polish girl who he’s been working with regularly. Has some sort of midlife crisis, and has an affair. The girl gets pregnant. Puts pressure on. The wife chucks him out. Takes the kids. Moves away. End of marriage. Then the girl leaves him too. Et voilà. One deeply, deeply unhappy divorcee. Can’t cope. Changes area. Moves to desk job.’
‘Oh, my word …’ I said, shocked. ‘So Mike was spot on. He said it would be personal. He said he’d have issues. And you know what? I saw something on Facebook just the other day. Let me think how it went. Something like, “When somebody is cruel to you, remember that it’s nothing to do with you and a reflection on them. No normal person tries to destroy someone else’s life.” That’s the gist, anyway. Blimey.’
‘It’s more than that, Casey, in all seriousness. He’s only just back after a long period off sick with stress. Not just issues, I’d say. Major mental health issues. And, of course, now it comes to light – now it’s chugged up the line a bit – that this letter isn’t an isolated incident.’
‘So he’s a serial letter writer, then. A serial “offender”. And our poor Adrianna just happened to be in the firing line. Jeepers.’
John sighed, as if, depressingly, it had all worked out as expected. ‘So I suppose we should feel sorry for him, shouldn’t we?’
‘You know what? I think I do, John. In a weird sort of way. He’s obviously ill.’
‘And there but for the grace of God, eh? That’s what I can’t help thinking. Anyway, it’s over.’
I did feel a bit sorry for Mr Kanski, now I knew more. It must be no joke to have so much bitterness lodged in your heart that it spills so corrosively into your head. But it being over at least meant it could begin again.
After all the upset – and, no, I never spoke a word of my new intelligence to Adrianna – it felt a little like finally breathing out. And, sure enough, two days later Jazz called with the news that we could travel back down to London to see Ethan the following week.
And it had clearly been a shrewd move to get Adrianna working, because she put the couple of weeks’ worth of pocket money to very good use, and was able to arrive at the house bearing presents. She’d bought Ethan a teddy bear, and a beautiful little striped sailor outfit, which the foster mum, Sarah, made a quite delightful fuss over, commenting on how amazing Adrianna was for getting the size absolutely perfect, as if being able to do so was some divine maternal gift few were lucky enough to have been bestowed with, and generally making Adrianna feel wonderful.
‘And he knew me. I am sure of it,’ she enthused on the way home. ‘Did you see the way he smiled? Casey, you were right – he didn’t forget me.’
‘You see?’ I said. ‘A baby knows. That’s the thing. A baby knows its mother.’
‘And I must buy a mobile phone next time I get paid. Just a cheap one, to take photos of Ethan,’ she added. She then sighed deeply. ‘Oh, Casey, I wish they lived nearer to us. I hate to leave him. My heart hurts so much.’
I really didn’t think she could have put it any better.
I hadn’t told Adrianna, and wouldn’t be doing so, but the day before the visit I’d made a decision of my own while Adrianna was with my sister. Having chewed it over with Mike, I’d driven down to see John in his office and run a plan by him – that in the short term Ethan should simply come to us. ‘Only in the short term,’ I emphasised, ‘because I do see it as short term. She’ll be 17 soon, and once she’s acclimatised to motherhood it should be no problem to move her on to supported lodgings.’
I also mentioned that, should she want it, Adrianna could work more hours in Truly Scrumptious, which would help her save up for the necessary expenses that lay ahead.
But John wouldn’t budge – not even an inch – on his resounding ‘no’.
He also raised a hand, all the better to tick his reasons off on it, and this was before he’d even offered me a coffee. ‘If Adrianna wants her baby back,’ he’d said, ‘then she has to be assessed properly. Which means the assessment has to take place in a neutral setting. And before you jump down my throat, I know you’ve had a mother and baby placement in the past, and –’
‘Exactly,’ I squeaked. He ignored me. ‘What happened with Emma was different, Casey. You know that. She came to you pregnant. The circumstances here are totally different and, in order to fairly assess this as viable, we need to be able to see how Adrianna copes, on her own, with these gradual introductions to her baby’s life.’
‘Okay, I accept it,’ I said sulkily. ‘But I still don’t understand it. It would make things so much simpler if she just stayed with us.’
‘Ethan is four months old now,’ John continued gently. ‘He has routines and is used to his life as it is, simple as that may be. So it’s for Adrianna to show that she can fit in with him, which she won’t be able to do with you hovering in the background and her life continuing very much as before.’
‘I don’t hover,’ I said indignantly.
‘Casey, you do,’ he said firmly. ‘And how will you stop yourself? No way can she make the transition she needs to while billeted at the Watson Boutique Hotel. Seriously, there is a reason for everything we do, and this is one such – she needs to do this bit on her own. But what I can tell you is that we are actively looking for a placement a lot nearer to you. A temporary set of carers who are trained to do this very job. They keep babies in their home solely for these kinds of assessment purposes.’
‘Really?’ I asked, surprised. I hadn’t realised such specialist foster carers even existed. But then I didn’t know everything about everything, clearly. Because it seemed they did.
‘Really,’ John assured me. And he graciously didn’t rub my nose in it. ‘And we even think we might have found the very people for the job.’
Now my ears pricked up. This was more like it.
For the next couple of weeks I didn’t have time to wonder what might be happening in the background because I was obliged to start thinking about what I’d been sidelined from thinking about; namely that there were three birthdays coming up. Not to mention Easter, which was late this year, which meant I m
ight as well lump everything together: Jackson’s eighth, Marley Mae’s third and, of course, Adrianna’s seventeenth, all kind of sprinkled with an Easter-ish theme.
It seemed the only sensible option was to hold one massive joint party. And as constant checks online seemed to confirm that the weather was being kind for a change, I decided to make it a garden party too.
Which was not big stress – should the heavens open, we’d simply decamp inside again, and either way I’d benefit because a triple party meant only one manic bout of cleaning, and since Mike, Kieron and Riley’s David turned into master chefs at the very mention of the word ‘barbecue’, I wouldn’t have much cooking to do either.
In fact, I thought, pleased with myself for such excellent forward thinking, it would be a perfect opportunity to further Adrianna’s domestic education. I had a long list of items she had to start becoming proficient at, and two perfect birthday cakes, one for Jackson and one for Marley Mae, seemed as good a place as any to start.
‘How’s she doing anyway?’ Riley asked, nodding into the garden at Adrianna on the morning of the big day. We were all busy doing our own final preparations before anyone else arrived, and Adrianna was outside with Mike, unwrapping burgers and sausages. She glanced up and, spotting us, waved.
I waved back, feeling excited at the prospect of her seeing the surprise birthday cake I’d organised for her. Not made for her. My domestic skills didn’t quite run to Premier League party-cake-baking, and since I imagined she’d not had a birthday cake in years, I’d had Riley – who was the party-cake supremo bar none – concoct a huge spiral of lavishly decorated cupcakes, their toppings a riot of eye-popping spring flowers.
‘Fine,’ I said to my clever daughter, who’d just stashed the surprise away for later. ‘In fact better than fine. She’s coping really well, considering. Amazingly well.’