Copyright

Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.

HarperElement

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperElement 2020

FIRST EDITION

© Cathy Glass 2020

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Cover photograph © Tanya Gramatikova/Trevillion Images (photograph posed by a model)

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Cathy Glass asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage 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 e-books.

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Source ISBN: 9780008398743

Ebook Edition © September 2020 ISBN: 9780008405281

Version: 2020-08-03

Acknowledgements

A big thank you to my family; my editors, Kelly and Holly; my literary agent, Andrew; my UK publishers HarperCollins, and my overseas publishers who are now too numerous to list by name. Last, but definitely not least, a big thank you to my readers for your unfailing support and kind words. They are much appreciated.

Contents

1  Cover

2  Title Page

3  Copyright

4  Acknowledgements

5  Contents

6  Chapter One: Angry and Upset

7 Chapter Two: No Going Back

8  Chapter Three: A Call for Help

9  Chapter Four: New Year

10  Chapter Five: Lucy’s Decision

11  Chapter Six: The Meeting

12  Chapter Seven: Good and Bad News

13  Chapter Eight: Can’t Leave Mum

14  Chapter Nine: Threatening Behaviour

15  Moving Memoirs

16  About the Publisher

LandmarksCoverFrontmatterStart of Content

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Chapter One

Angry and Upset

Lucy was pregnant. It was all I could think about.

As an experienced foster carer, I am used to dealing with other people’s problems. Indeed, I pride myself on being rather good at it. However, now faced with a problem of my own, I found I was not as good as I thought. Lucy, my twenty-four-year-old daughter, had arrived home unexpectedly on 14 December, when she should have been at work, and announced she was pregnant. Two weeks later she and her boyfriend still hadn’t decided what they were going to do about it, and I was worried sick.

In addition to this worry, I was now waiting for Tilly Watkins to arrive with her social worker. Tilly, aged fourteen, was upset and angry. Before Christmas she’d gone to the social services’ offices and asked to be taken into foster care, claiming that her parents’ continuous fighting was making her depressed and she couldn’t stand it any longer. I had been told to expect her, but then she’d changed her mind and had decided to stay at home over Christmas, feeling that the festive season might help sort out their differences.

It didn’t.

Far from helping, it had caused the situation to quickly deteriorate, and this morning – 28 December – her neighbours had called the police after hearing an hour of shouting, china smashing, and Tilly and her mother crying. When the police arrived, Tilly had a graze on her cheek and had demanded she be taken into foster care. Her social worker, Isa Neave, had telephoned me half an hour ago to say they were now on their way, so Tilly would be living with me for the foreseeable future.

My son Adrian, twenty-six, was at work, as was Lucy. Adrian worked for a firm of accountants and Lucy in a nursery. My youngest daughter, Paula, twenty-two, attended a local college but the new term didn’t resume until the following week. She was out shopping at the sales with a friend, so there was just our cat, Sammy, and me at home. I was divorced, my ex having run off with a work colleague many years before – painful at the time, but history now. Sammy and I were in the living room, which is at the rear of my house. I was sitting on the sofa, gazing though the patio windows to the garden beyond, bare in the heart of winter. Sammy was in his usual spot curled up asleep by the radiator and blissfully unaware of the turmoil I was going through. How lovely to be a cat! I thought.

Even though I’m a very experienced foster carer, I still get anxious when I’m waiting for a new child or young person to arrive, hoping they will take to me and settle, and wondering how best I can help them. Now my thoughts and worries remained with Lucy, as indeed they were every waking moment, and often during the night. No one else in my family knew Lucy was pregnant apart from me. She’d didn’t want anyone to know while she made the difficult decision – to terminate the pregnancy or keep the baby. She’d already discounted the other option of having the baby and putting it up for adoption. ‘I couldn’t bear to go through all that and give it up,’ she’d said tearfully.

I’d nodded understandingly and listened.

The father of her baby, Darren, was aware of the situation and apparently also thinking what to do for the best. He was the same age as Lucy and a colleague of hers at the nursery where she worked. I’d met him briefly a couple of times and he seemed nice enough, but they’d only been dating a few months. Lucy told me nothing had been further from their minds than starting a family. They both had careers and she’d admitted to me she didn’t think she was mature enough to parent a child yet, and in some ways I agreed. Although as most parents know, you mature very quickly once you’re responsible for a baby. Lucy and I had had a few long conversations before Christmas and I’d said I’d support her whatever she and Darren decided, but it had to be their decision.

How we managed to get through Christmas I’m not sure, but we did and had a nice time. ‘I’m not going to ruin everyone’s Christmas,’ Lucy told me. ‘I’ll make the decision in the New Year, on the first of January.’ Which seemed a bit dramatic, but then Lucy can be dramatic sometimes. She knew she couldn’t leave the decision any longer, for she would be ten weeks pregnant by then and if she was going to have a termination, it needed to be done as soon as possible.

Lucy hadn’t had the best start in life. She’d come to me as a foster child, unsettled, unloved, with an eating disorder, and nowhere to call home. She’d done incredibly well to move on from her past and I’d adopted her, so she was a permanent member of my family. I loved her as much as I did my birth children – Adrian and Paula – and she loved us. She was usually lively, vibrant and outgoing, and could sometimes be impulsive and hot-headed, but that’s just who she is. I tell Lucy’s story in Will You Love Me?

Still gazing through the patio windows, I was suddenly jolted from my thoughts by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Sammy’s ears pricked up. I immediately stood. It would be Tilly with her social worker, and they deserved my full attention.

Putting aside my own worries, I went along the hall and raised a smile as I opened the front door. ‘Hello, love, nice to meet you. Come in,’ I welcomed. ‘I’m Cathy.’

The first thing I noticed about Tilly was the red graze on her cheek, the second was how scared she looked. I guessed that now she was here reality had set in as she realized she’d left home and put herself in care. She stepped quietly into the hall.

‘I’m Isa Neave,’ Tilly’s social worker said, following her in, and shook my hand.

I took their coats and hung them on the hall stand. Tilly was slender, delicate-looking, about five feet six inches tall, with shoulder-length dark hair and a sallow complexion.

‘I haven’t got any of my things with me,’ she said, clearly worried.

‘I’ll collect what you need later today. Once I’ve got you settled here,’ Isa said to her, then to me, ‘The police brought Tilly straight to the social services’ offices so I’ll need to speak to her mother and arrange to collect some of her belongings.’

I smiled reassuringly at Tilly and then led the way back down the hall to the living room where I offered them both a drink. Neither of them wanted one.

‘Nice house,’ Isa said, glancing around the living room as she sat on the sofa.

‘Thank you.’ Isa had short-cropped hair and wore a bright blue jumper over black leggings. I guessed she was in her mid to late twenties so was probably a newly qualified social worker. She had the alacrity and zeal of a young social worker just embarking on their career, before they became exhausted from dealing with child abuse day after day.

Tilly sat beside Isa on the sofa and I took an easy chair opposite them.

‘I think Tilly is going to fit in well here,’ Isa said positively. ‘It will be nice for her to have the company of other young people.’ So I guessed she’d read the form containing my details, which would have been sent to her.

‘Yes, good,’ I agreed.

‘Tilly’s the only child living at home, so it can be a bit intense.’

I nodded and smiled at Tilly, who was looking self-conscious.

‘As I mentioned on the phone,’ Isa continued, ‘the situation at home with Tilly’s parents has become very difficult.’

‘He’s not my parent,’ Tilly said forcefully.

‘Sorry, stepfather,’ Isa corrected. Then to me, ‘Tilly lives with her mother and stepfather. She has an older stepbrother and stepsister, but they don’t live at home.’

‘And neither will I, ever again!’ Tilly replied, looking at me. ‘My mother has chosen him over me. If she wants to ruin her life that’s up to her, but he’s not going to ruin mine.’

‘I think everyone needs a cooling-off period,’ Isa said. Taking a form from her briefcase-style bag, she handed it to me. ‘The placement forms.’

‘Thank you.’ I put them to one side to read later. These forms would contain the basic information I needed for looking after Tilly – her full name, date of birth, address, parents, religion, school, any special needs, dietary requirements and allergies, etc.

I saw Tilly gingerly touch her sore cheek. ‘Is that hurting you?’ I asked.

‘It’s a little sore,’ she admitted.

‘Nothing appears to be broken,’ Isa said. ‘But if it doesn’t heal or gets worse in the next few days please take her to a doctor.’

‘I will. When did it happen?’ I asked.

‘Last night,’ Isa replied.

‘Dave threw a plate at my mother,’ Tilly said. ‘It hit me instead.’

‘And Dave is your stepfather?’ I asked.

‘Was. They’re always arguing.’ Which I knew from Isa. ‘Mum won’t stand up to him and he treats her like dirt. I can’t bear to watch it any more.’ Her face clouded and she looked close to tears.

Domestic violence often plays a significant part in many child-care cases. Even if the child themselves hasn’t been abused, for them to have to watch one parent repeatedly assault, threaten, humiliate and control the other is deeply damaging for the child. Also, there is the possibility that the abuser could turn their anger on them.

‘How long has it been like that at home?’ I asked Tilly.

‘Years, although it’s got worse recently.’

‘It must be very distressing for you,’ I said gently.

Tilly nodded sadly. ‘I gave them one last chance over Christmas but nothing has changed, and Mum won’t leave him. I don’t want to be in foster care, but I’ve got nowhere else to go.’ Her eyes filled.

‘You’ve done the right thing,’ Isa said, touching her arm reassuringly.

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘I know it’s difficult coming into a stranger’s house, but I’ll look after you, and my family and I will help you settle in. Try not to worry.’

‘Thank you,’ she said with a little sniff. ‘You’re so kind.’

I passed her the box of tissues. My heart went out to her. Like so many children and young people I’d fostered, all she wanted was a safe place to call home.

Isa went through some formalities, including the placement agreement form, which I had to sign. She checked I knew how much pocket money to give Tilly, asked about the bus she would need to catch to school, where she could do her homework and what time she would have to be in if she went out in the evening. Coming-home times can be an issue with teenagers. Although Tilly didn’t appear to be in the mood for partying now, once she’d settled in and was happier, she might be, so it was worth setting the ground rules from the start.

‘You have your phone with you?’ Isa checked with Tilly.

‘Yes, it’s in my coat pocket. But it’s on Dave’s contract. He pays for it, so he’s bound to cancel it.’

‘If he stops paying then let Cathy know and she’ll sort out a new contract,’ Isa told her. This was usual and there was an amount included in the fostering allowance that carers receive to cover expenses like this. I would also be saving a set amount each week for Tilly, which she would take with her when she left. If she didn’t leave I’d give it to her when she became an adult at eighteen.

‘I need my laptop for schoolwork,’ Tilly said. ‘We’ve got an assignment to do for next term.’

‘I’ll collect it with your other things this afternoon,’ Isa replied. ‘Can you make a list of everything you need so I can ask your mother to pack them?’

‘She won’t know where anything is in my room,’ Tilly said. ‘It’s better if I phone her.’

‘All right. If you’re happy to do that.’

Tilly nodded.

‘What’s happening about contact?’ I asked. When young children come into care, contact with their parents is usually arranged by the social worker and is often supervised, but it can be different for older children.

‘Tilly wants to see her mother, but not her stepfather,’ Isa told me.

‘I can go home when he is at work,’ Tilly said.

Isa looked unsure. ‘As long as you’re not placing yourself in danger.’

‘I’ll leave before he gets home,’ Tilly said.

‘How often will you go?’ I asked.

‘Not sure,’ Tilly shrugged.

‘Tell Cathy when you are planning to go,’ Isa said. ‘And if you go there after school, make sure Cathy knows, otherwise she will expect you to come straight home.’

I would have preferred some firmer contact arrangements, but it was Isa’s decision.

‘I’ll give you my mobile and landline numbers to put in your phone,’ I told Tilly. ‘And I’ll put your number in my phone so you can let me know if you’re going to be late back.’

‘OK,’ Tilly said amicably.

Isa then asked to look around the house before she left, which is usual when a child is placed. We stood and I led the way into our kitchen-diner and then to the front room and upstairs. Tilly didn’t say much and I knew she was finding it difficult. Even though her house hadn’t been a happy one, it was still her home. ‘Your room will look much better once you have your belongings in it,’ I said as we went in.

‘It’s nice and bright and looks out over the garden,’ Isa said encouragingly, looking through the window. Tilly nodded and I continued to show them the rest of the upstairs.

Once we’d finished and were downstairs again, Tilly took her phone from her coat pocket and went into the living room to call her mother to tell her where her belongings were while I saw Isa out. My first impression of Tilly was that she wasn’t the angry young person I’d been told to expect. However, that changed the moment her phone connected and she began talking to her mother.

Chapter Two

No Going Back

‘I’m not coming home! I’ve told you!’ Tilly shouted into her phone. ‘I need my things, so just stop thinking about yourself for once and do as I ask! The social worker is going to collect them.’ There was a pause as Tilly listened to what her mother was saying. I remained in the hall. ‘You’re as bad as him!’ Tilly cried. ‘It’s your fault, not mine.’ Another pause and then she burst into tears. I went in.

She was sitting on the sofa, phone to her ear, tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked up at me helplessly, a child in need of help. ‘Let me speak to her,’ I said. I held out my hand for the phone and she passed it to me.

Her mother was still talking, believing Tilly was listening, and clearly emotional. ‘What’s your mother’s name?’ I asked Tilly quietly.

‘Heather.’

I nodded.

‘Heather,’ I said into the phone, ‘it’s Cathy Glass, Tilly’s foster carer.’ The talking stopped.

‘Who? What did you say?’ she asked.

‘Cathy Glass, I’m Tilly’s foster carer. She is very upset.’

‘So am I.’

‘I know it’s difficult for you both, but Tilly needs some of her belongings. She was going to tell you where her things are so her social worker, Isa, can collect them later. If I put Tilly back on could you make a list?’

There was a pause, then, ‘I’m not sure I can,’ she said timidly.

‘Sorry, why is that?’

‘Her father wouldn’t like it. He thinks she should stop all this nonsense and come home.’

‘Is that her stepfather, Dave?’ I checked.

‘Yes.’

‘Going home isn’t really an option for Tilly at present,’ I said as gently as I could. ‘She is in care. I think Isa will have explained the situation to you.’ Tilly was in care voluntarily so in theory she could return home at any time, but if she did and the social services felt she was in danger they could apply for a court order to bring her back into care.

Heather had gone quiet. ‘Will it be OK if Tilly tells you what she needs so you can have it ready for when Isa arrives?’ I asked her. ‘She only has what she is wearing.’

‘She has her phone with her,’ Heather said tersely. ‘I bet she didn’t tell you her father pays for that. He’s good to her. I don’t know why she’s trying to break up our family.’

‘The social worker thinks a cooling-off period may be helpful,’ I said diplomatically.

‘Tilly and her father are both hotheads. I get caught in the middle,’ Heather said, as if she bore no responsibility. I didn’t point out that as a parent she had a duty to protect her fourteen-year-old daughter.

‘If I put Tilly on, can she tell you what she needs and where to find it?’ I said, trying to advance the conversation.

‘I suppose so, but don’t tell her father.’

‘Thank you. Do you have a pen and paper handy or shall I ask Tilly to text the list to you?’ Which I thought might be preferable, as they were both emotional right now.

‘I don’t have a mobile phone,’ Heather said. ‘Wait a minute and I’ll get a pen and some paper.’

The line went quiet. ‘It’s all right,’ I told Tilly, who was watching me. ‘Your mother is going to write a list. She is upset too.’

‘I know, but what can I do? She won’t help herself.’

I nodded. Heather came back on the phone. ‘Go ahead, put her on,’ she said.

I returned Tilly’s phone to her and sat in one of the armchairs, on hand to help if needed. Although Tilly was fourteen, she was very vulnerable at present and part of my role as a foster carer was to protect her from further upset. She began telling her mother what she needed and where the items were in a quiet, dispassionate voice. The list wasn’t as long as it might have been for a young woman who had arrived with nothing – school uniform, some casual clothes and toiletries. I could guess why. Apart from any objection Dave might have, packing one’s belongings is a defining moment for a child or young person going into care. It’s a landmark, an acknowledgement that their life so far has failed miserably and that they are having to leave home, possibly for good. Often belongings are moved from home piecemeal, a few at a time, as it’s less painful.

Once Tilly had finished, she said a sombre, ‘Goodbye, Mum, I’ll see you soon.’ Her mother must have asked when, for Tilly replied, ‘I don’t know, in a day or so.’ As she ended the call she looked close to tears. I went over and sat beside her on the sofa.

‘I know it’s difficult, love, but it will get easier. I promise.’

‘Mum’s upset and it’s my fault. Perhaps I should just go home like she says.’

‘Do you really think that’s the right decision?’ I asked. ‘It didn’t work out last time.’

‘But I feel sorry for Mum. Who’s going to protect her now?’

‘Tilly, I know you love your mother, but it’s not your job to protect her from your stepfather. She is an adult. Isa will advise her where help is available for victims of domestic abuse.’

‘Is that what she is?’

‘It sounds like it to me.’ I paused. ‘Why does Dave pay for your mobile phone when your mother hasn’t even got one?’ I asked. It was bothering me.

‘He says she doesn’t need one. She doesn’t go out to work so she can use the landline.’

‘What about a computer? Does she have access to email, social media and so on?’

‘No. She doesn’t use the Internet. I don’t think she knows how to.’

‘Does she have friends she keeps in contact with?’

‘Not as far as I know. She doesn’t really go out alone; he’s always with her.’ Which was classic for a victim being coercively controlled by their abuser.

‘Do you have other relatives?’ I asked.

‘Only my gran.’

‘That’s your mother’s mother?’

‘Yes. Mum and I talk to her on the phone sometimes, but I haven’t seen her in ages.’

‘Why?’ I could almost guess the answer.

‘Dave doesn’t get on with her. He says she’s manipulative. Mum doesn’t drive and relies on him to take her, and he doesn’t.’

No surprise there, I thought, although the only one who was likely to be manipulative was Dave, isolating Heather further by keeping her from her mother. I’d been a volunteer in a refuge some years before and knew the signs of coercive control.

‘Try not to worry,’ I told Tilly. ‘Have you got something you can do while I start some dinner?’ It was 4.30 and Lucy, Adrian and Paula would be home later.

‘I’ll phone my friends – they keep texting to find out how I am – unless you want some help?’

‘No, that’s fine. Thank you, but you call your friends. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. I was going to make spaghetti bolognaise. Do you eat meat?’

‘Yes, although –’ she stopped.

‘What’s the matter? I can soon make you something else.’

‘No, it’s not that.’ A small, reflective smile crossed her face. It was the first time I had seen any sign of a smile since she’d arrived. ‘I was going to say Dave doesn’t like it, but I don’t have to worry about that any more.’

‘No, you don’t, love.’

‘He gets very angry if Mum makes him something he doesn’t like to eat.’

‘Have you told your social worker things like this?’

‘Some, but not all – not about the food.’

‘Mention it next time you talk to her. Call your friends now.’

I would make a note of this and any other disclosures Tilly made about her home life in my log and update her social worker. It might seem a small point now, but it could form part of a bigger picture. All foster carers in the UK are required to keep a daily record of the child or young person they are looking after. This includes appointments, the child’s health and wellbeing, education, significant events and any disclosures. As well as charting the child’s progress, it can act as an aide-mémoire and also be used as evidence in court. When the child leaves this record is placed on file at the social services.

I left Tilly in the living room about to call her friends while I went into the kitchen. Before I began cooking, I messaged my family’s WhatsApp group to let Paula, Lucy and Adrian know Tilly had arrived, so they didn’t just walk in and find her here. Then I set about making the bolognaise sauce for later.

As I worked, I could hear the rise and fall of Tilly’s voice through the open door of the living room as she talked to her friends. She said pretty much the same thing to all of them, recounting the horror of another fight between her mother and Dave, the police arriving, her mother refusing to press charges and defending Dave, being taken to the social services’ offices and then coming to me. One friend must have asked about me, for I heard her say, ‘Yes, she seems OK, and the house is nice. But I worry about Mum.’

I hoped Tilly would find the strength to stay with me for the time being at least, for if she returned home I felt the situation was likely to deteriorate, and there was no guarantee the social services would apply for a court order to remove her. Their resources are stretched to the limit, and with over 70,000 children in care, and more coming in each day, a baby or young child whose life was in danger would probably have priority over a fourteen-year-old who had removed herself from care.

I heard the front door open and Paula return home. I left what I was doing to go into the hall to greet her. ‘So you had some success at the sales then,’ I said, pleased. She was carrying a number of store bags.

‘I’ve spent a fortune!’ she sighed.

I knew she wouldn’t have done. Paula was careful with her money and only bought what she needed after much deliberation. I knew whatever she’d purchased would be a good buy. We went into the living room and I introduced her to Tilly. Tilly finished on the phone and the two girls said a shy hello. It would be some time before we all relaxed around each other.

‘I’m going to get a drink,’ Paula said to Tilly. ‘Would you like one?’

‘Yes, please. I’ll come with you.’ She stood.

I left the two girls to go to the kitchen and I heard cupboard doors opening and closing as Paula showed Tilly where the juice and squashes were and told her to help herself. I’ve found before that the child or young person we foster often bonds with one of my children before they do with me. Presently both girls appeared carrying a glass of juice. ‘I’m going to my room,’ Paula told me.

‘Is it OK if I go to my room?’ Tilly asked.

‘Yes, of course, love. You do as you wish, make yourself at home.’

‘Thank you.’ She followed Paula upstairs and I heard them talking on the landing for a few moments and then go into their own rooms.

Ten minutes later Lucy arrived home, earlier than usual because the staff at the nursery were working shorter shifts in the week between Christmas and the New Year, as they didn’t have many children in. Most companies had closed for the whole week, but the nursery was open with reduced hours.

‘How are you?’ I asked Lucy, as I did every time I saw her. It was a question laden with hidden meaning now, given her condition.

‘OK. I feel fine.’

‘Good.’ She looked it. She hadn’t had any morning sickness so far; indeed, she seemed to be blossoming. ‘I’m going to get a drink of water,’ she said. I followed her into the kitchen.

‘How’s Darren?’ I asked as she ran a glass of water.

‘He wasn’t in work today. There were only three of us, as there are so few children in this week.’

‘But you spoke to him?’

‘He texted. We’re fine, Mum, don’t worry. Where’s Tilly?’

‘In her room.’

‘How is she?’

‘Finding it a bit difficult at present. I’m sure a few words from you would help.’

‘I’ll talk to her.’

‘Thank you, love, I’d appreciate that.’

Lucy went upstairs. Having been a foster child herself, she knew what it felt like to arrive in a stranger’s home and could usually say something to help. I tried not to think of the new life growing within her while she made the difficult decision of whether to go ahead with the pregnancy or not. Abortion is a highly contentious and emotional subject, but for me it has to be the couple’s right to choose. If Lucy decided to have the baby then I would start to think of it as her unborn child. If she didn’t then it would remain a foetus, not a viable life, harsh though that may sound. I love children and have dedicated my life to looking after them, but unwanted pregnancies ruin lives, and an unwanted child faces the ultimate rejection. Until there is a 100-per-cent effective means of contraception, safe and affordable to all, and available to men and women, then I believe termination has to be kept as an option. Also, it would be inhumane and barbaric to force a woman who’d been raped to go through an unwanted pregnancy and to give birth if they didn’t want to. That’s how I feel, at least, although I appreciate others feel differently.

Adrian returned home just before six o’clock and I introduced him to Tilly. I cooked the spaghetti and called everyone to dinner. We’d just sat down when the doorbell rang.

‘I’ll go,’ I said.

Leaving everyone eating, I went to answer the front door. It was Isa, with four large bin liners stuffed full. ‘There’s more in my car,’ she said.

‘Really? I didn’t think Tilly had asked for that much.’

‘She didn’t. Her stepfather was there and had packed the lot. He’s a nasty piece of work, and angry she’s gone.’

‘He sounds very controlling,’ I said, lowering my voice. ‘Tilly has been telling me things.’

‘Yes, she’s told me a few things too. Where is she now?’

‘Having some dinner.’

‘Leave her to eat until we’ve finished unloading, then I’ll have a chat with her. She’s better off away from him. Her mother was in tears, but don’t tell Tilly that.’

I took my coat from the hall stand, then went out into the cold dark night to Isa’s car. We began unloading the bin liners and stacking them in the hall and front room. Her car was full. Once we’d finished, I counted thirteen in all, each one filled to bursting. I guessed this was most, if not all, of Tilly’s belongings. Her stepfather was giving her a clear message: You’re gone for good. There is no coming back. You’re not welcome here any more.

As I shut the front door Tilly came into the hall and stared at all the bags. ‘Are they all mine?’ she asked, clearly shocked.

‘Yes,’ Isa said. ‘I need to have a chat with you. Is there somewhere private we can go?’

‘In the living room,’ I said. ‘Where you were this afternoon.’

‘Thank you.’

Tilly and Isa went down the hall into the living room and Isa closed the door behind them. As a foster carer you have to accept that sometimes you are excluded from meetings in your own home. Isa had a right to talk to Tilly in private and she should tell me what I needed to know when they’d finished.

I returned to the kitchen-diner where Adrian, Lucy and Paula had finished eating but were still at the table talking.

‘What’s the matter?’ Lucy asked, worried, aware that Isa hadn’t simply dropped off Tilly’s belongings and the two of them were now in the living room.

‘Her stepfather is being quite nasty,’ I said. ‘Isa’s having a chat with Tilly.’

‘Tilly hates him,’ Lucy said vehemently.

‘Did she tell you that?’ Paula asked.

‘Yes, and she’s angry with her mother for putting up with him and choosing him over her.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘He’s sent most of her belongings. It’s all in the hall and front room. Could someone help me take the bags upstairs? We’ll stack them along the landing so Tilly and I can sort them out slowly in her own time.’

‘Sure,’ Adrian said, and they all stood ready to help.

‘Not you, Lucy, you’re excused,’ I said.

‘Mum, I have to lift toddlers at work who are heavier than a bag of clothes.’

‘Have you pulled a muscle?’ Adrian innocently asked.

‘No, I’m fine,’ Lucy said, while Paula looked at me questioningly.

I avoided her gaze. I hated having secrets in our family – I encourage openness and discussion – but I respected Lucy’s wish not to say anything at present, difficult though it was.

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