by Jacqui Rose
Dr Berry pushed the pen and papers forward. ‘She’ll be in good hands. There’s nothing to worry about. I promise.’
Taking the papers, Bronwin’s mother grabbed at the pen and hurriedly scrawled her name on the papers. Dr Berry passed the papers to the other man, talking as he did so. ‘We need another signature you see, so that’s why this gentleman’s here. You’ll get a copy of this for yourself.’
The other man took out his own pen. Bronwin’s mother watched, loathing etched on her face as her eyes traced the flamboyantly written signature.
Dr Berry smiled, his tone over-jovial for the sentiment of the occasion and his clichéd remark inappropriate.
‘Right then, that’s all done and dusted.’
‘Now take me to see my daughter.’
‘You’ve done the right thing.’
‘So why doesn’t it feel like it?’
Staring through the glass pane of the door, Bronwin’s mother wiped away her tears before opening it. Quietly, she walked into the room, feeling the air of hush as she entered. She stared at her daughter. So tiny. So elf-like. So beautiful.
‘Bron. Bron, it’s me.’
Bronwin’s eyes stayed closed.
Dr Berry crept up silently behind. ‘It’s all right; she’s had some medicine to calm her down. She’s just in a heavy sleep.’
‘Can I wake her up?’
‘It’s best to leave her. She needs all the rest she can get.’
Leaning forward, Bronwin’s mother swept her daughter’s mass of blonde hair away from her forehead. She kissed her head before speaking to her sleeping child. ‘Bron, mummy’s got to go now. But always remember I love you and I’ll see you soon. And Bron? I’m sorry.’
Turning to the doctor, Bronwin’s mum stood up and went into the pocket of her torn jacket. ‘Can you give her this? It’s her birthday card.’
‘Yes of course. The nurse will see you out. The social workers will be in touch in the morning to sort the other details out.’
Once Bronwin’s mother had left, Dr Berry took a quick glance at the card before throwing it into the bin in the corner. In deep thought, he stood observing Bronwin as she began to stir.
The door opened, jarring him from his thoughts. He smiled at the entering visitor and reached out his hand with a welcoming greeting. ‘Thanks for signing those papers by the way. I thought for a moment the mother was going to be difficult. I’ll just wake her up.’
Walking across to Bronwin, Dr Berry gently nudged her. He spoke quietly. ‘Bronwin? Bronwin? Hey birthday girl, you’ve got a visitor. Someone’s here to see you.’
Bronwin slowly opened her eyes before rubbing them gently. She sat up then screamed. It was the man from the woods with the black shiny shoes.
‘She’s all yours.’ Dr Berry smiled, tapping the man on his back as he left the room, leaving him sitting on Bronwin’s bed as he began to unbutton his shirt.
The bed was hard and the chair was too. Sparse and unwelcoming. And Bronwin didn’t know why she couldn’t go home instead of having to stay in a house where she didn’t know anybody and didn’t want to be. It was the same recurring thought she had each time they sent her somewhere new.
The only place she’d ever wanted to be was with her mum. But they’d never let her. Telling her it was for the best. Only allowing her to speak to her at birthdays and Christmas.
The people who’d met her and her social worker at the door had smiled and had seemed pleasant enough, but she knew; knew they didn’t like her. Didn’t really want her there, but that was fine with her because she didn’t want to be there either.
She’d been in more care and foster homes than she could possibly remember and over time she’d developed a sixth sense. Knowing when people really wanted her or when all they really wanted was the few hundred quid caring allowance they got for taking in the likes of her.
People wanted cute. Sweet. And once upon a time she’d been just that. The cute child with the button nose and the chocolate box freckles. Blue eyes staring out from under a mass of blonde hair. The tiny frightened child. But then the tiny frightened child had grown up, yet Bronwin knew she’d lost her childhood a long time before that ever happened.
How long had it been now? Eight years, nine even. Nine years of going from one home to another. Settling in, only to have to move again a few weeks, a few days, even a few hours later because someone hadn’t filled in the forms, courts hadn’t signed the appropriate documents or her file had got lost. But mainly, Bronwin knew she was unwanted because she was no longer a child. No longer someone’s toy, someone’s plaything to do what they liked with. She was sixteen now and had a mind and an opinion of her own. But most of all she had a voice. A voice that had begun to say, ‘No.’
She no longer wanted to be or feel like the unwanted teenager. A problem child. Hard to place. Hard to love. She didn’t want to become bitter; hardened to life before she’d reached eighteen. But she could feel it. Feel herself slowly being cemented into the drudgery and pitiful existence of her life.
But she was determined to change it. To take control. And as Bronwin stared out of the window at the rainy night she made a decision. The time was right. She was old enough not to have to listen to a bunch of jumped up social workers telling her what to do. All they really did anyway was find a roof over her head; the rest of it was left to her.
Bronwin stuffed her things back in her bag, pausing at the sight of the bedraggled Mr Hinkles, her teddy bear she’d kept for all these years. She held it tight. Closing her eyes for a moment before opening them wide. Quickly she pushed the bear down to the bottom of her bag, not wanting to deal with the memories it brought up. Of her sister. Of her mother. Of the day in the woods.
Bronwin opened the window. She felt the chill of the evening air and the spray of the rain on her face blown in by the wind. Making sure no one could hear her, Bronwin shuffled on to the ledge. It wasn’t so far down. Seven feet perhaps, maybe eight. Eight feet to freedom.
After a count of three in her head and then another one of five, Bronwin jumped, hitting the ground harder than she thought she would. She rolled on the grass and felt a sharp pain in her ankle; shooting pains up the outside of her leg. But she didn’t care. All that mattered to her was that she was out. Out of the care system which had never cared for her, and out of the system which had taken away the one person she’d cared about and who, in her own way, had cared about her.
Getting up from the wet ground, Bronwin ignored the pain. She picked up her bag, quickly making sure no one in the house had seen her. It was clear.
Hobbling along the tiny pathway, Bronwin smiled. The rain hit down hard on her but instead of it feeling cold, it felt warm; invigorating. She was free. She was finally free. Today was her sixteenth birthday.
Acknowledgements
I loved writing this book but none of it would be really possible if it wasn’t for an array of wonderful people behind the scenes. I’d especially like to thank Caroline Hogg, my editor who now has sadly left, Caroline Ridding who steers the helm of the wonderful ship which is Avon/HarperCollins and my new editor Lydia Newhouse and of course the fab art team behind the fantastic covers of my books. I’d like to thank my agent, Judith Murdoch who is constantly in the background, supporting and giving me invaluable advice.
On a personal note I’d like to thank my best friend of twenty five years, Timothy Daniels, who sat and listened whilst I read endless chapters to him then was brave enough to give me his honest opinion. Big love and thanks to ‘Denzel’ and his wonderful boys who light up my life and bring me so much joy. And of course I’d like to thank all my friends, family and my beautiful children who continue giving me love and support on this rollercoaster ride of life. Thanks to Sanja and Sheeja from Solace women’s aid for their continual, unwavering support and lastly thanks to you, the readers who make this wonderful fairy tale possible.
Full of strong women, devious gangsters and compelling twists …
A gritty,
gangland Romeo and Juliet …
About the Author
Jacqui Rose is a novelist who now lives in London, although she hails from South Yorkshire. She has always written for pleasure but the inspiration for her novels comes from her own experience. Her previous novels Taken and Trapped were Kindle bestsellers.
For more information about Jacqui please visit www.jacquirose.com or follow her on Twitter @JacPereirauk
Also by Jacqui Rose
Taken
Trapped
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
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First Published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2013
Copyright © Jacqui Rose 2013
Jacqui Rose asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © 2013 ISBN: 9780007503605
Version: 2013-09-02
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