‘Wait!’ the woman shouted as people started to stare. ‘Please! You can’t just leave them here!’
‘What’s up, Mum?’ Mason asked as she came back to them.
Ruth knelt down and pulled him into her arms. She beckoned to Jamie and hugged him too. ‘I want you to be good boys now,’ she said. ‘Can you do that for me?’
‘Why, where are you going?’ asked Jamie.
‘I – I won’t be a minute,’ she said. ‘I need to pop out for something. Wait here, will you?’ She turned to Mason and touched his face lightly. ‘Look after your brother, Mason. You’re strong enough to do that. I’m not. Always keep him safe and…’ she swallowed her anguish and kept her tears inside, ‘look after him. Please.’
‘Mum, what are you doing?’ Sensing something was wrong, Mason clung to her. She pushed him away gently but firmly.
‘I love you both,’ she whispered. Then she walked away.
‘Mum!’
‘Where is she going, Mase?’ asked a bewildered Jamie. He ran to her.
Ruth hugged him fiercely. ‘I’ll be back in a moment. Go and sit with your brother.’
She was stopped at the door by a man with a child in a pushchair. ‘You won’t be back,’ he said. ‘You can’t leave them here. They’re too young to understand.’
‘I can’t…’ Ruth fought to control a scream building up inside. She turned to look at them one more time. ‘I can’t… I just can’t anymore.’
Before anyone could stop her, she ran out of the building and disappeared into the shoppers on the high street. She didn’t stop, she didn’t look back for fear of returning. Instead, she walked until she could see no more for tears and sat down. She ended up in the bus station; sat there for over an hour before climbing on a bus and heading back to Stanley Avenue. She had never felt so alone in her life. But she knew she had made the right decision.
Caren spotted their car returning and went out to John. Desperate to hear how he’d got on at the interview, she ran down the path.
‘Well?’ she wanted to know. ‘How did it go?’
John shrugged. ‘It was okay, I suppose. But there were so many guys after it. Some of them were much younger than me.’
‘You’re hardly an old-timer,’ she said, noting his dejection.
‘It didn’t feel that way.’
‘Did they say when they’d let you know?’
John locked the car up and walked up the path with her. ‘No, they said they’d contact me in due course.’
Caren tried hard not to show how miserable she felt. It didn’t sound too hopeful, especially if there were a lot of men out for it.
‘Was the pay good?’
‘Not bad, but I doubt it matters now.’
‘Don’t be too down-hearted.’ She took his hand.
Suddenly, John grinned. ‘Oh, ye of little faith. I got it!’
‘What – they told you, just like that?’
‘Yep, I was the last one to be interviewed so they made we wait outside while they had a chat and then called me back in to tell me!’
Caren squealed and jumped into his arms. ‘That’s fantastic! Oh, I knew you could do it!’
‘Like hell you did!’
‘I did!’ She paused. ‘Wait a minute! You tricked me, you git!’
‘You’re so easy to fool.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Let’s go out for lunch to celebrate. I’m starving – all that nervous energy.’
‘You mean she left them in reception?’ Josie said, her tone incredulous.
‘Exactly that, poor mites. They had no idea she wasn’t coming back. I haven’t been able to get hold of her since.’
Josie was making coffee for Sarah Cunningham, a social worker she had known for about seven years. Sarah had been helping her out at The Workshop since it opened too, and Josie knew if it wasn’t for her, some of the women would never have come along. Both known for their persuasion tactics, between them, they were a great team – which is why Sarah had called in especially to see Josie.
Josie handed her a mug of coffee. ‘And have you caught up with her since?’
‘No.’ Sarah shook her head, messy but stylish curls flicking from side to side. ‘I’ve called several times over the past couple of days but either she’s not in or she’s not answering the door. I’ll keep on trying over the next few days but I’m not sure what to do after that. I’ve taken the case on but I’ve never had anything like this happen before. She said she wasn’t a fit mother and they’d be better off without her.’
Josie sat down at her desk with her drink. She swivelled from side to side on her chair. ‘She must have been in one hell of a state to get to that conclusion,’ she noted. ‘I’ve been calling for weeks now, only managed to get in a couple of times before the barrier dropped completely. I haven’t seen her since.’
Sarah sighed. ‘It really gets to you when you can’t get through to someone, doesn’t it?’
Josie nodded.
‘How was she when you did see her?’
‘She’d only just moved in so I assumed she was busy, and maybe a little pissed off to be moving into Stanley Avenue.’
‘It’s not that bad.’
‘Not unless you live opposite or next to one of the Bradleys,’ Josie retorted.
The next morning, when Sarah Cunningham knocked on her door again, Ruth lay in bed curled up in the foetal position, a photo of her boys in her hand. It was half past eleven and she hadn’t got up yet. She ignored the knock but the next one was much louder. She closed her eyes and drew her feet up further. Whoever it was would go away soon.
The letterbox clattered and she heard something drop onto the floor. She wondered who it would be this time – the housing office; the social; the police? Of them all, she was scared of the latter most. It must be a crime to dump your children in an office and run away, like she had, surely? To leave a ten and an eight-year-old to fend for themselves, chuck them into a new way of family life, or worse, into a children’s home because no one would want two brothers – she’d heard stories on the news and read them in the papers. Some adoptive parents only wanted one child; they didn’t want to take on the responsibility of two. But then again, what did the media know? Maybe they’d got it wrong. She pushed the thought to the back of her mind and imagined Mason and Jamie being put into the loving care of a man and woman who would look after them as their own, not for the money as she’d read about people doing too.
She began to cry again. She’d let her boys down; she’d had to or else she might have killed one of them instead of herself. But what right had she to give her children away, like the booby prize of a raffle? How would they feel later, realising that she had abandoned them? Right now, they were probably thinking that she was coming back for them; she’d had a bit of a breakdown and once she was better they’d be home again.
She leaned forward, picked up an empty vodka bottle and put it to her lips. There wasn’t even a drop left for her to devour. On the drawers beside it, she noticed the craft knife covered in blood. She held her wrist up and then dropped it. It too was covered in blood, so were some of the covers around her. She couldn’t remember hurting herself last night; couldn’t remember the feel of the blade splitting her skin, the blood oozing out. And that upset her, because to take away the pain, she had to feel it. And if she didn’t feel it, she couldn’t make things better. Hurt heeled hurt. But not this time.
She reached for the craft knife and placed it on her wrist. It would be so easy to draw it across and go to sleep. Really, it was the arm that was a better place. Just above the elbow. She’d seen that on a television program. It bled just as much as slashing at the wrists and looked easier to do as it was fleshier. Simple, clean, and effective. It was perfect. But she knew the blade might not be strong enough to do the job properly. Maybe she needed a Stanley knife for that – or a heavy duty pen knife. Or maybe it didn’t have to be heavy duty. Maybe it was the action of drawing the blade across her skin that needed to be heavy duty.
She threw the craft knife across the room. It stuck in the wall before falling to the carpet. Next went the bottle. This too hit the wall but fell without smashing.
She screamed in frustration. ‘I can’t even break a fucking bottle!’
The following day as Josie drove along Davy Road towards The Workshop, she decided to call into Stanley Avenue and see if she could catch Ruth. But after banging on her door three times with no answer she left, disappointed yet again. She was getting back into her car when she spotted Ruth walking towards her. She went to meet her.
‘Hi, Ruth,’ she smiled. ‘I’ve been meaning to catch you but you’re always out. I wondered if I –’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘Sorry?’ Josie frowned.
‘I said no, I’m not.’ She looked up at Josie with glazed eyes. ‘I’m not always out. I’ve just been avoiding you.’
‘Oh!’ Jose was taken aback. ‘Well, I’m here again,’ she laughed nervously. ‘Might I come in for a chat?’
‘Please yourself.’ Ruth walked through the gate, letting it fall back in place. Josie sighed, opened it and followed her into the house.
‘I heard about what happened with your children,’ she said. ‘I’m really sorry that you felt that way. I wish I could have helped you.’
‘What could you have done?’
Josie paused. Ruth’s tone wasn’t scathing but she was right. What could she have done?
‘Maybe I could have talked to you, offered you a friendly ear? Maybe I could have got some help for you.’
‘I didn’t need help.’ Ruth switched on the kettle.
‘Do you mind if I sit down?’ Josie pointed to a seat at the table.
Ruth shrugged.
As she made coffee, Josie studied her. It was so obvious she’d been taking something. Not heavy drugs but some kind of a sedative to calm her down. Trouble was, it had calmed her down so much that she was acting like a zombie.
‘Why give the boys to Children’s Services?’ she asked once Ruth was sitting opposite her. ‘It must have been a hard decision to make?’
Ruth shook her head.
‘Was this place getting to you so much?’ Josie clocked the sparse kitchen. ‘I’m sorry. I could have done more, got you some help with the decorating. I’ve been so busy lately and –’ she stopped herself. ‘Hark at me. Ruth, I don’t have any excuses. I should have been here for you.’
‘You’re not my keeper.’
Josie faltered. ‘I know, but I do feel responsible for you. Only in the same way I do for all my tenants’,’ she added hastily as Ruth began to glare at her.
‘It isn’t easy living my life,’ she spat out.
Josie shook her head. ‘No, I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?’
‘So you can go running back to the office and tell everyone my business?’
‘I would never do that!’ Josie looked horrified. ‘What you tell me is confidential as long as it is within the law.’
Ruth opened her mouth to lay into Josie again but she saw the concern on her face. She was being genuine. She felt her shoulders droop.
‘I didn’t know what to do,’ she admitted finally. ‘And I was afraid of myself, that I might hurt one of them and live to regret it. Did you know that I’m a widow?’
Josie nodded: she’d seen it on Ruth’s paperwork.
Tears misted over Ruth’s eyes. ‘Me and Glenn were so happy. I could cope when he was around. We had a really great relationship. I lost my soul mate when he died, yet I had to go on with my life. I had two children to look after. They took up all of my time, and I was coping, in a fashion, until I had my breakdown. If it wasn’t for my mum and dad, the boys would have been in care a long time ago.’
‘Had you spoken to your parents about how you were feeling?’
‘My dad’s dead and my mum hasn’t spoken to me for ages now – not since I started seeing Martin. She didn’t like him.’
Josie sighed. It must be so hard to live the lives of these women.
‘I can’t have them back,’ Ruth said matter-of-factly. ‘I can’t have it on my conscience that I was the one who ill-treated them; I was the one who didn’t look out for them; I was the one who made them into the anti-social thugs they would have turned into. They’re a handful now: imagine how they’d be when they got to their teens.’ Ruth shook her head. ‘It’s not fair on them.’
‘It’s not fair on you, either,’ said Josie.
‘I don’t care about me.’
‘But this is –’
‘They won’t make me take them back, will they?’ Ruth rang her hands together over and over. Then she began to pick at the top of the bandage around her wrist. ‘I couldn’t do that.’
Josie knew that wasn’t about to happen. Ruth hadn’t even asked about the boys yet.
‘But don’t you want to know where they are? Who they are with?’
‘Yes, but please don’t make me have them back.’
It wasn’t often in her role that Josie was lost for words. Most of the time she could talk someone around to her way of thinking, but that was easy to do when she wanted them to attend a mother and toddlers club because she knew they were lonely; when she wanted to help them sort the house out, get it cleaned and decorated to an acceptable standard; when she needed a tenant to pay their rent or just a little bit more off their arrears every week to stave off eviction proceedings.
But this was different. She didn’t know what to do, what to say, to ease this woman’s pain. There were only so many words she knew but none of them were good enough for this situation. Sometimes it was best to sit and listen. Make some sense of it when she had left the property.
‘Is someone nice looking after them?’ Ruth spoke, her voice barely audible.
Josie nodded. ‘They haven’t been separated and have gone to live with a foster family who I’ve met several times. There are three girls there at the moment too. Every time I’ve visited, there’s always been a happy atmosphere.’
Ruth nodded through fresh tears. ‘I just want them to be happy.’ She began to sob.
Josie felt tears welling in her eyes too. How the hell was she going to deal with this case?
On his first morning at his new job, John had been hoping to sneak out of his house early without Pete seeing him but was dismayed to see him in the front garden. He tried not to catch his eye, knowing he wouldn’t be happy with him, but Pete spotted him eventually.
‘Hey, John, haven’t seen you lately,’ he shouted across the street to him. ‘You up for a cash in hand job, later in the week?’
‘Can’t mate,’ John shouted back. ‘I’m a bit busy.’
‘What’s more important than making a bit of dough?’
John stopped before getting into his car; he might as well tell Pete now, get it over with.
‘I’ve got a job, mate. I needed something steady.’
Wearing baggy grey joggers spotted with stains and a particularly nasty scowl, Pete crossed the road. As he reached him, he threw his hands up in the air.
‘You’re deserting me?’
‘It’s regular hours.’
‘I bet you can make more with me in one day than what anyone will pay you for a week’s work.’
‘It’s not that.’ John paused. ‘I just want to get into a routine.’
‘This is Caren’s idea, isn’t it?’ Pete pointed to his forehead. ‘She’s put ideas into your head. She thinks she’s better than anyone else. I can’t believe you’ve fallen for it.’
‘Got to keep her happy.’
‘By selling your soul to the devil?’
John laughed nervously. ‘It’s not that bad.’
‘You don’t need a job when I’m around. She’s got a fucking nerve; you should show her who the boss is. Don’t you wear the trousers in your house?’
‘It’s only a job,’ John stated. ‘We’ve been through a shit time lately so I’m trying to make things better. What’s wrong with that?’
Pete shrugged. ‘You’ve joined the other side, pal, not me.’
‘I need the security!’ John shouted as Pete walked off.
‘Pussy whipped, that’s what you are,’ Pete shouted back. ‘Under the thumb good and proper.’
As John drove off down Stanley Avenue, Pete glanced across the road. Spotting Caren standing at the front window, he shook his head at her slowly, laughing as she moved away quickly. Women! He and John had something good going on; he’d never get half of the gigs without two of them going together. And he’d been wrong about Caren. He thought she’d heed his warning when they’d had their little chat but it seemed not. He wondered for a moment. There must be a way that he could teach the interfering bitch a lesson; something to upset Miss High and Fucking Mighty over there?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ruth ignored the front door that morning when someone knocked at half past nine. She sat at the kitchen table nursing a hangover: she seemed to have been in constant headache mode for the past few days.
Another knock – why couldn’t everyone leave her be!
‘Ruth? It’s me, Pete.’
Ruth groaned inwardly. What did he want? Because he’d left her alone for a few days, she was hoping he was going to stay away for good.
‘I know you’re in there. Come on, let me in.’
Ruth dragged herself to the door.
‘Hi, I was wondering – Christ, you look rough.’ Pete’s smiled dropped. ‘Are you okay?’
Ruth shook her head. ‘I – I –’ She felt herself sway, her knees buckle.
Pete stepped in and caught hold of her arm. ‘You’ve gone the colour of pea soup.’ He guided Ruth into the living room and sat down next to her on the settee.
Ruth began to gulp in big mouthfuls of air as panic took over.
‘You need to calm down. Breathe easy, in, then out. In then, out. Look at me.’
She did as she was told.
‘In, then out. In, then out.’
A few minutes later, panic subsiding, she gave an embarrassed smile. ‘Sorry,’ she eyed him nervously, ‘I haven’t eaten anything since last night.’
Fighting for Survival (The Estate, Book 3) Page 16