Copyright

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

HarperElement

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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

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Source ISBN: 9780008398743

Ebook Edition © September 2020 ISBN: 9780008405304

Version: 2020-09-07

Note to Readers

This ebook contains the following accessibility features which, if supported by your device, can be accessed via your ereader/accessibility settings:

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 Page numbers taken from the following print edition: ISBN 9780008398743

Contents

1  Cover

2  Title Page

3  Copyright

4  Note to Readers

5  Contents

6  Chapter Nineteen: A Message

7 Chapter Twenty: More Photographs

8  Chapter Twenty-One: Hiding Something

9  Chapter Twenty-Two: A Terrible Secret

10  Chapter Twenty-Three: A Family Split

11  Chapter Twenty-Four: Police Interviews

12  Chapter Twenty-Five: Difficult Meetings

13  Chapter Twenty-Six: Worrying News

14  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Emma

15  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Bonnie

16  Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Difficult Decision

17  Suggested topics for reading-group discussion

18  Cathy Glass

19  Moving Memoirs

20  Praise for Cathy Glass

21  About the Publisher

LandmarksCoverFrontmatterBackmatter

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Chapter Nineteen

A Message

‘Even when Mum found the photo, she didn’t tell me!’ Tilly said, with rising anger.

‘Because I knew you’d be angry with me, and I was right,’ Heather returned, trembling with emotion.

‘Tilly is angry because you didn’t tell her,’ I pointed out. ‘The fact that you have received a copy of the photo changes things.’

‘Will someone please tell me what’s going on?’ Nancy asked with another heartfelt sigh.

‘I’ve tried to explain to you, Gran,’ Tilly said. ‘Someone sent a photo of me in my underwear to Mum and me.’

‘Yes, I know, but why?’

‘That’s what we’d like to know,’ I said.

‘Who took the photo?’ Nancy asked.

‘I suppose I did,’ Tilly said, ‘when I was living with Mum, but I don’t remember taking it.’

‘So what’s the problem?’ Nancy asked.

Tilly looked at me, clearly frustrated, but Nancy was of a different generation. She would have taken photographs on a camera, had them printed at the chemist and then mounted them in an album. There’d been no malicious and anonymous circulating of images online.

‘Gran, I need to know who sent them and why,’ Tilly said firmly, putting it as simply as possible.

‘You don’t have any clue?’ I asked Heather again.

She shook her head but didn’t make eye contact.

There was no point in pressing her further. It was clear that if she was harbouring any suspicion as to who was responsible, she wasn’t going to say now. They’d all exchanged angry words and Tilly had probably said more than she should have, but she had my sympathy. Nancy could be forgiven for not appreciating the seriousness of what had happened, but I felt Heather could have shown more empathy. Tilly was her daughter.

‘I’m tired,’ Nancy said.

‘We’ll go,’ I replied. Then to Heather, ‘If you do remember anything, can you let Tilly or me know straight away, please?’

‘Yes.’

‘OK, let’s go then.’

Tilly said a subdued goodbye to her mother and gran without her usual warmth, and we left the two of them sitting in awkward silence.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked her as we went down the front garden path.

‘Gran says she can’t cope with all this upset. I think she means she can’t cope with me.’

‘I’m sure she doesn’t mean that,’ I said. ‘She’s struggling to understand.’ We paused by the car before getting in. ‘Your gran is recovering from cancer and chemo. Things are bound to get on top of her. Perhaps you can now see why Isa wanted you to wait before moving in?’

Tilly nodded and we got into the car.

‘I remember Gran used to be so strong,’ Tilly said, fastening her seatbelt.

‘Yes, and she will be again. Give her time and try to keep her stress levels down.’ I started the car and pulled away. I was still thinking about something that had occurred to me while we’d been in the living room. ‘Tilly, not many people know your mother’s mobile number, do they?’

‘No. Me, Gran, you, and I think she gave it to the doctor.’

‘Dave will have it too,’ I pointed out. ‘Have you checked her phone for spyware recently?’

‘Yes. I looked today. It’s clear. That’s how I discovered the photo, while I was checking.’

‘Is it possible Dave sent the photos?’ I said.

‘No, I wouldn’t have sent it to him.’

‘Could he have taken it?’ I asked.

‘What? No! I would never have posed in my underwear for him! Not in a million years. What do you take me for?’

I paused and chose my words very carefully. ‘Tilly, I’ve been fostering a long time and sadly many of the children and young adults I’ve looked after have been sexually abused. It’s never their fault, but often they have been persuaded, threatened or bribed with gifts, to do sexual things for the abuser. It’s called grooming. They are made to feel very guilty, like it’s their fault. They are often too scared to tell as they fear they will be punished or are worried what others will think of them. Mostly the abuser is someone they know, sometimes a family member who they loved and trusted. That can make it even more difficult for them to tell.’ I paused and glanced at Tilly.

‘I know where you’re coming from on this,’ she said. ‘But no, Dave didn’t sexually abuse me. And I certainly wouldn’t have posed for him in my underwear no matter what he said or gave me.’

‘OK, love.’

Was she telling me the truth? I wasn’t sure, but I had laid the foundations and opened the door for her to tell me if she did have a terrible secret. It had always concerned me that Dave had given her a lot of gifts – for example, nice clothes, a smart phone and an iPad. She’d been treated specially, spoiled by him, when he’d hardly given his wife anything. Had he been grooming Tilly into posing for the photo, or worse?

I remembered her original comments when she hadn’t wanted to show me the photo on her phone – ‘You’ll hate me,’ she’d said. It fitted with the guilt she might have been feeling if Dave had coerced her into posing in her underwear. Tilly despised her stepfather but claimed it was because of the way he treated her mother. Was there another, even more sinister reason? While I wasn’t going to let my speculations run away with me, I’d seen enough in all my years of fostering to know that, sadly, this was an option I couldn’t rule out.

Tilly was subdued that evening but managed to do a little of her schoolwork before saying she was going to have an early night. The following morning before she left for school I reminded her that my new supervising social worker, Joy, would be here when she returned. Joy had timed her visit so she could meet Tilly. I also wished Paula good luck, as her exams started today.

That morning I did a large food shop, packed it all away and then gave the house a tidy in preparation for Joy’s visit that afternoon. I collected together all the information and certificates she would need for my annual review and set them ready with my log book and fostering folder in the living room. Joy arrived promptly at 2.30. Of average height and build, she looked to be in her late forties. She was dressed smart-casual, in light grey trousers and a short-sleeved blouse, and had neatly layered chin-length brown hair.

‘Lovely to meet you,’ she said with a smile. Coming in, she shook my hand. ‘I’m sorry you have been left so long without a supervising social worker.’

‘It’s OK. It wasn’t your fault,’ I said.

‘No, but it’s poor practice.’ Which was true.

I showed her through to the living room where the patio doors were slightly open on another lovely June day. Sammy was sitting on the patio in the shade. Joy admired the garden and then accepted a coffee. She came with me into the kitchen while I made it, telling me a bit about herself and her work history, first in child protection and now in fostering. We took our drinks into the living room.

‘We’ve got a lot to get through,’ Joy said, sitting on the sofa and placing her coffee on the table. She opened a folder and then her laptop. ‘Thanks for completing your review forms online. Your DBS [Disclosure and Barring Service – a police check] is still current, but I noticed you’re due for a medical this year.’

‘Yes, I am.’ Foster carers have a medical every two years and they and their families are police-checked every three years. The UK has some of the most stringent vetting and monitoring practices for foster carers in the world.

‘I’ll email the form you need for the medical,’ she said as she typed. ‘Now let’s talk about Tilly. I’m looking forward to meeting her later. How is she getting on?’

I spent the next twenty minutes or so bringing Joy up to date about Tilly while she asked various questions and made notes on her laptop. I included school, health, friendships, family ties and yesterday’s upset when Tilly had found the photo on her mother’s phone. I didn’t share my speculation about Dave possibly abusing Tilly.

‘So you really don’t know where the photo came from?’ Joy asked, puzzled.

‘No. Tilly thinks she might have taken it, but she can’t remember sending it to anyone.’

Joy nodded as she typed, and I continued with my update. Joy was very sympathetic to Nancy’s ill health and Heather’s suffering, but like Isa her first priority was the well-being of Tilly. She felt that being in care offered her the best chance of stability and routine at present. Joy then began the Health and Safety Checklist. We went into all the rooms in the house, and then into the garden as she checked and ticked the boxes and asked me various questions. She even needed to check the padlocks on the shed door and side gate. The garden, like the house, had to be well maintained and safe for children of all ages. It was a ten-page document and took us the best part of an hour. At the end I was asked to sign it.

We returned to the living room with another cup of coffee and Joy asked me about our household routine, what we did in our leisure time and if there had been any changes to the household. I told her Lucy was no longer living with us and the reason why. Paula came home having completed her exams for the day; there were more the following week. I introduced her to Joy, who asked her how she’d done. Paula said she wasn’t sure but had tried her best, which is all any of us can do. Joy also asked her how she liked fostering. Paula said, ‘Fine. It’s interesting. We’ve been doing it a long time.’ Then she excused herself and got a drink before going to her room. I think she was exhausted, and of course fostering was the norm for her.

It was now gone four o’clock and I was expecting Tilly home soon.

‘Does Tilly attend any out-of-school activities?’ Joy asked me.

‘No. She feels that with going to her gran’s and schoolwork there isn’t time. I’ve suggested she may like to enrol in one of the summer sport activities at our local leisure centre.’ The schools broke up in seven weeks and places filled quickly.

‘What did Tilly say?’ Joy asked, making a note.

‘She wasn’t keen. She said she was planning on spending more time with her friends and Gran.’

‘Has Isa agreed to the additional contact?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Have you booked to go away?’ Joy asked.

‘Just for a long weekend to a holiday village. I booked it a while ago, so I’m hoping Tilly will come with us. It’s just Paula and me going, as Lucy won’t be coming and Adrian is going away with Kirsty.’

I heard a key go in the front door and Tilly let herself in.

‘We’re in here,’ I called from the living room.

‘I’ll get a drink and then come in,’ she replied.

A couple of minutes later Tilly appeared with a glass of juice. She looked reasonably happy, so I assumed she’d had a good day.

‘Lovely to meet you,’ Joy said, smiling. ‘I’m Cathy’s new supervising social worker. How are you?’

‘All right,’ Tilly said, and sat beside me on the sofa.

Unlike the child’s social worker, the foster carer’s supervising social worker doesn’t have to spend time alone with the child, so I stayed as Joy talked to Tilly. She asked her how she was getting on at school, what she liked to do in her spare time and finally if there was anything she needed.

‘More phone credit,’ Tilly said, throwing me a knowing look.

‘You’ll have your allowance on Saturday as usual,’ I reminded her. It was reasonable that Tilly learnt to budget her money, just as we all have to.

Joy agreed and asked her how much allowance I gave her and what she liked to spend it on. As we’d been talking Tilly’s phone, lying between us on the sofa, had been vibrating with incoming messages, which she’d resisted the urge to check. A few minutes later she asked Joy if she was going to be much longer as she had homework to do. I thought it was probably more about answering all the messages. Joy said she’d finished, thanked her and said she hoped to see her again soon.

Tilly went upstairs to her bedroom as Joy packed away her laptop and folders, thanking me for my time. ‘I know how busy you foster carers are,’ she said, which I was pleased to hear. I saw her out and then cleared away all my paperwork and the certificates Joy had needed to see. My first impression of her was that she was caring, efficient and level-headed. More like Jill than Edith – my previous supervising social workers.

I went into the kitchen, fed Sammy and began opening and closing various cupboard doors, wondering what we could have for dinner. Suddenly I heard Tilly’s raised voice on the phone. ‘What? You’re kidding me! Cathy said that.’

She sounded very emotional and, wondering what was wrong and what I’d said, I went upstairs to her bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. I knocked and pushed it open. Tilly was standing in the middle of the room, clearly agitated, her phone pressed to her ear. As I entered, she turned to me.

‘You were right,’ she said. ‘It was him. Can you speak to my mother?’ She thrust the phone into my hand.

‘Heather, it’s Cathy,’ I said. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I knew Tilly would be angry,’ she said in a small voice. ‘Which is why I didn’t want to tell her, but Mum said I had to.’

‘Tell her what?’ I asked, meeting Tilly’s gaze.

‘When I switched on my phone today a text message came through. It was from the same number that sent the photo. The message said, You should be ashamed of yourself allowing your daughter to dress like that.’

‘I see,’ I said.

‘Dave sent it.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘It’s the type of thing he used to say to me. He was always giving Tilly money for new clothes, but then he’d have a go at me about what she’d bought. Her skirt was too short, her trousers too tight, her top too low so you could see her breasts. He was always accusing me of letting her dress like a tart. I’m sure at some point he actually used those very words that are in the message – You should be ashamed of yourself allowing your daughter to dress like that.’

‘Have you tried phoning the number or replying to the text?’ I asked.

‘No. I’m too afraid. I’m sure it’s him.’

‘Probably best not to respond, but don’t delete the message for now.’

‘I’m not using my phone ever again,’ she said, her voice catching.

‘We’ll get you a new SIM so he won’t know your number.’

‘But he knows where I’m living,’ she said, all her old fears returning.

‘If he does show up there, call the police.’

‘I felt so scared getting that text. Just like I used to,’ Heather admitted. ‘I know he’s not actually threatening to kill me or anything, but just receiving it was enough.’

‘I understand.’ Victims of domestic violence can be threatened or controlled by their abuser with just a look or tone of voice, which might not be obvious to anyone else.

‘Do you think we should tell the police about the message?’ Heather asked. ‘Mum says it’ll be a waste of time.’

‘It’s up to you, but I will tell Tilly’s social worker. Heather, can I ask you something? It’s a bit personal.’

‘Yes.’

‘Did Dave ever act inappropriately towards Tilly? You know, in a manner which made you feel uncomfortable?’ Tilly was watching me carefully, her eyes widening at my question.

There was silence before Heather said, ‘I’m not sure. I’m so confused about everything that happened in my life with him. He always liked Tilly better than me. I could never do anything right, but she was faultless in his eyes. He spoilt her.’

‘OK, but as far as you know, did he act inappropriately?’

‘I don’t think so. Say goodbye to Tilly for me. I’m going to have a lie-down. I don’t feel so good.’

’I will. Take care.’

Chapter Twenty

More Photographs

On Saturday I gave Tilly extra money in her allowance so she could buy a new SIM card for her mother’s phone. Replacing it was something that should have been done when the tracking software had been discovered. Now Tilly was going to have to explain to her mother and gran that the new SIM carried a new number, which Dave wouldn’t know so he wouldn’t be able to contact Heather again. I thought Heather would need a lot of convincing.

I emailed an update to Isa, copying in Joy, as I was supposed to. While the text message hadn’t been sent to Tilly but her mother, it was relevant to her and part of the wider picture so they needed to know. I also noted it in my log.

Lucy and Darren came for lunch. It was another lovely day and we ate outside. After, when I was in the kitchen putting the finishing touches to the trifle I’d made for dessert, Lucy came in and propped herself against a cupboard with a small sigh.

‘You OK, love?’ I asked her.

She gave a half-hearted nod. ‘Does it hurt a lot when you have a baby?’ she asked.

I stopped what I was doing to look at her. ‘It’s very uncomfortable, but you can have pain relief if you need it. And your body soon forgets the discomfort once you have your baby.’

‘I’m really scared,’ she admitted.

‘Oh, love.’ I went to her and hugged her, wrapping her protectively in my arms as I used to when she was a child. ‘You’ll be fine,’ I reassured her, and kissed her cheek. ‘Darren will be with you and you can ask for an epidural if the pain becomes too much.’

‘I want to try a water birth first and see how it goes,’ she said.

‘All right, but don’t feel you have to prove anything. Ask for pain relief as and when you need it.’ For many women, including myself, giving birth is painful, but as soon as your little bundle is placed in your arms it all becomes worthwhile and you forget the pain and all the hours of discomfort.

‘Someone I know was in labour for two days,’ Lucy said, looking worried. ‘She had to have a blood transfusion and a forceps delivery and loads of stitches. She said it was a nightmare and she’d never do it again.’

How insensitive to tell someone who was heavily pregnant that, I thought!

‘She obviously had a very bad experience,’ I said. ‘But for most women the pain is manageable and the birth goes to plan. Some women hardly feel any pain at all.’

‘I hope that’s me,’ Lucy said, with a grimace.

‘Is everything else all right?’ I asked.

‘I guess.’

‘Come on, Lucy. What’s the matter?’ I took her hand in mine. ‘You’ve been quiet all afternoon. Is it just that you’re worried about giving birth or is there something else bothering you?’ I wondered if her and Darren were having problems.

‘I’m really worried I’m not going to be a good mum, and I’ll make a mess of it like Bonnie did,’ she admitted, and her eyes filled.

‘Lucy, that won’t happen, love,’ I said, hugging her again. ‘You’ll make a fantastic mother.’

‘But how can you be sure? Bonnie was crap.’

‘Because I know you and you’re my daughter. You are kind, sensible and caring, and you love children. You chose a career working with children. You’ll be a wonderful mother and if you do need any help, you’ve got Darren and all of us. Bonnie didn’t have anyone and struggled with a lot of problems. You and she are two very different people with different life experiences. History won’t repeat itself. Good parenting isn’t inherited, it’s learnt, so stop worrying. You are going to be the best mother ever.’

I passed her a tissue and waited as she wiped her eyes, then asked. ‘What’s brought this on? Have you heard from Bonnie again?’

She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve just been thinking and worrying. Darren said it’s probably my hormones. I feel very tearful at times. I get tired and sometimes things seem to get on top of me.’

‘That can happen in late pregnancy. Have you mentioned it to the doctor?’

‘No, I’ll be OK.’

‘Do you think you should stop working earlier than you planned so you can rest? We could spend more time together.’

She smiled. ‘I’ll see how it goes. I’ve only got another four weeks anyway. Then, after the baby is born, we will spend lots of time together.’

‘Good. I’ll look forward to that. I’m glad we’ve had this chat.’

‘So am I, Mum.’ We hugged some more.

‘Are you feeling a bit brighter now?’ I asked after a moment.

‘I am, thanks. Shall we have that trifle now?’

‘Yes, you take it and I’ll bring the fresh fruit salad.’

We returned to the garden carrying the bowls of dessert and Lucy seemed happier for our chat. I would keep an eye on her, though, and text or phone her each day and make a point of asking how she felt. I didn’t think she was depressed, just a bit up and down, which – as I’d told her – can happen in pregnancy. It was reassuring that she’d confided in Darren and I felt sure he would persuade her to go to the doctor if he felt it was necessary.

On Sunday Adrian and I went to see Mum in his car. Paula was doing some last-minute studying in preparation for her final exams the following week. We ate out and then Adrian did some odd jobs for Mum as I cleaned the kitchen floor. Some of the housework was becoming too much for Mum and I’d talked to her about getting a cleaner. She didn’t want one, claiming she could manage, so if I spotted something needed doing then I quietly did it.

Adrian and I returned home just before Tilly, then he went out to see Kirsty. Tilly said she’d had a nice weekend and that she, her mother and gran had walked to their local park. This was a first as far as I knew. Due to Nancy’s ill health and Heather’s ongoing concerns about Dave, the three of them hadn’t gone that far before. It was an achievement and gave hope for the future. Tilly said she’d replaced the SIM in her mother’s phone and had reassured her it was safe. She’d left it fully charged and switched on.

On Monday, after I’d seen everyone off, I booked an appointment online at my doctor’s for the medical I needed for my review, then did some housework and two loads of washing, which I hung on the line to dry. Shortly after one o’clock I took a sandwich lunch through to the front room and switched on the computer, ready to do some admin work. I was just about to start when the landline rang. I answered it at my desk. My heart fell as I heard Miss Jenkins’s voice. I knew it had to be bad news for the deputy head to phone halfway through Monday.

‘I’ve got Tilly with me in my office,’ she said. ‘She’s very distraught. When she switched on her phone at lunchtime some indecent images came through. She says they are of her, although her face isn’t visible. She’s claiming they are from her stepfather.’

‘They can’t be,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t have her phone number. When we converted her phone to pay as you go she had a new SIM, which gave her a new number. Unless he’s obtained it from someone or Tilly has given it to him, which I doubt.’

‘I’m not convinced the images are of Tilly or that her stepfather sent them,’ Miss Jenkins said. ‘Tilly was hysterical. But they are indecent and sending them is an offence. After everything I’ve said to the students! I’ve notified the police and also Tilly’s social worker, but she’s in court. Tilly’s in no fit state to return to lessons this afternoon so can you come and collect her, please?’

‘Yes, of course, I’ll leave straight away.’

‘Thank you. I’ve returned Tilly’s phone to her, but don’t let her delete the images as the police will want to see them.’

‘All right.’

I got into my car and drove as fast as the speed limit allowed to Tilly’s school, all manner of thoughts flashing through my mind. Tilly was waiting in reception when I arrived, as the deputy head’s room was being used for a meeting. She looked pale and shaken but relieved to see me. ‘Miss doesn’t believe me,’ she said as I signed us out. ‘It is me in the photos and Dave did send them.’

‘How can you be sure?’ I asked as we left the building.

‘The phone number is the same one that sent the other photo and text to Mum. She’s sure it’s him.’ But it was still supposition. We crossed the playground and let ourselves out of the main gate.

‘The police will get to the bottom of it,’ I said, unlocking the car doors. ‘Do we know when they are visiting us?’

‘No. But it is me,’ Tilly persisted. We got into the car. ‘Look,’ she said, tilting her phone towards me so I could see the screen. She swiped through three images. They were different shots of a naked female, who looked about the same age, colouring and build as Tilly. They weren’t posed photographs as the previous one she’d received had been, but more casual shots. The subject was always turned away, so it was impossible to identify the girl, but they were indecent. In two of them the subject had been caught bending over, exposing her bottom and genitalia. The background seemed to have been Photoshopped as it was a country scene.

‘That’s my mole, there,’ Tilly said, pointing to the mark visible on the third photo.

Just above the subject’s left buttock was a mole. I’d never seen Tilly naked, but she would know if she had a mole or not. Yet how many thousands of other young women had moles in a similar place? I could understand why Tilly was so upset, and if they weren’t of her, why had they been sent to her?

‘OK, love,’ I said. She put away her phone and I started the engine and began the drive home.

‘I think Dave took them in my bedroom,’ Tilly said after a moment.

‘Without you knowing?’ I asked sceptically.

‘Yes. I didn’t let him take them!’ she said, her upset and anger flaring again.

‘I know, love. I’m not suggesting you did, but how could he have taken them without you knowing?’ Yet as I said it, I realized there was a way. ‘Through your phone,’ I added.

Tilly looked at me.

‘Spyware can be bought online that allows the user to look through the lens of a camera, laptop or tablet.’

‘Yes! That’s what’s happened. It must be!’ she cried.

‘No, Tilly calm down. I could be wrong.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ she insisted. ‘We’ll tell the police. I know those photos are of me. I didn’t take them and neither did Abby, and I certainly didn’t pose for him. I bet he took that other one too, and what else has he taken that I don’t know about?’ She stared at me, horrified. ‘The bastard! I’ll fucking kill him!’

‘Tilly, we’re jumping to conclusions. We’ll tell the police and they can investigate. Your friend who found the tracking software on your phone that time on the bus, he didn’t say he’d found spyware too, did he?’

‘No, he would have said. Perhaps Dave removed it before I left home.’

‘It’s possible, or maybe there is another explanation we haven’t thought of yet,’ I suggested. I pride myself on being level-headed and I was really struggling to believe someone, possibly Dave, had placed spyware on Tilly’s phone and taken indecent images of her. It was like a scene from a spy movie. Yet tracking software had been found on Tilly’s phone, so was it really such a huge leap to believe Dave had done this too? Assuming it was him, which had yet to be proved.

‘I hope the police come soon,’ Tilly said as I drove. ‘I’m seeing Gran and Mum this afternoon.’

‘You might have to give that a miss today,’ I said. ‘You’ll need to stay in until the police have been. They might not arrive until this evening or tonight.’ I’d had to wait in for the police before with other young people I’d fostered. They arrived when they could. I doubted this would be a priority, given all the other, more serious crimes and incidents they’d probably be responding to.

I was wrong.

As I pulled into our road and our house came into view, we could see a police car parked outside. ‘They’re here!’ Tilly cried.

‘Yes.’

I drew up and parked. A policewoman was at our front door.

‘Hello,’ I said, getting out. ‘Have you come to see Tilly?’

‘Yes. I’m Police Constable Macie Byrne.’

‘I’m Cathy Glass, Tilly’s foster carer.’

She said hello to Tilly. I let us in, and we went through to the living room.

‘I’ll need to take some details,’ PC Byrne said. ‘Are you able to stay with us?’ she asked me.

‘Yes.’ All minors should have an appropriate adult with them when they are interviewed by the police.

We sat down and PC Byrne took out a notepad and pen and asked Tilly for her full name, date of birth, mobile-phone number and address. She gave her the details, this address and also her gran’s, explaining she stayed there at weekends.

‘She used to live with her mother and her stepfather, Dave, at his house,’ I added. ‘He still lives there.’ I gave her that address too.

‘But this is where I can reach Tilly if necessary?’ she asked, meaning my home.

‘Yes,’ I confirmed.

‘Your teacher telephoned us and said you’d received some indecent images on your phone?’ she said to Tilly.

‘She’s not my teacher. She’s the deputy head,’ Tilly corrected.

‘Can I have a look at your phone, please?’

Tilly stood, went over and showed her the images on her phone, pointing out the mole that she felt confirmed the photos were of her.

‘It’s not nice for a young girl to receive these,’ PC Byrne said, and noted the number they had come from.

‘And there is this one,’ Tilly said, showing her the previous one of her posing in sexy underwear. ‘I convinced myself I’d taken it and had forgotten, but I knew I hadn’t really.’

‘Do you know who sent them?’

‘Dave, my stepfather,’ Tilly said decisively, and returned to sit next to me. ‘I used to live with him and Mum.’ She then explained the situation that had led to her coming into care: the dreadful arguments that had become physical, the abusive way Dave had treated her mother until she couldn’t stand it any more.

‘But why do you think your stepfather is responsible?’ the PC asked.

‘I know it’s him. He’s weird, and he’s angry because Mum and I escaped him. He sent us both the photo of me in my underwear. Who else would do that? Mum doesn’t know anyone apart from him, me and Gran. He saw to that.’

As PC Byrne finished writing, I said, ‘The other thing you need to know is that tracking software was found on Tilly’s phone. It was removed and we changed her number, so I’m not sure how Dave would have got hold of it, if it is him.’

‘Presumably you gave your new number to your friends?’ PC Byrne asked Tilly. ‘Could one of them be responsible?’

‘No! Why doesn’t anyone believe me!’ Tilly cried.

‘We do,’ the PC said. ‘But you have to understand, I need evidence your stepfather is responsible. I appreciate that all the photos have come from the same number, but couldn’t it be someone at school misguidedly thinking they’re having a bit of fun?’

‘I’ve never had a boyfriend and even if I had I wouldn’t let him take photos of me like that. They’re disgusting.’

PC Byrne nodded sympathetically, although I suspected she’d probably seen far worse indecent images in her job. Some of those circulating online are unbelievably shocking and depraved.

‘And you’re convinced they are of you?’ she asked Tilly. ‘You can’t really tell, as your face isn’t visible.’

‘Yes, I’ll show you my mole.’ Tilly jumped up from the sofa and pulled down the waistband of her trousers just far enough to reveal a small mole above her left buttock.

‘All right, thank you,’ the PC said, throwing me a small smile.

‘Will you arrest him?’ Tilly asked, sitting down again.

‘We’ll certainly speak to your stepfather and see what he has to say.’

‘He’ll lie. He always does,’ Tilly snapped.

‘We’re used to that,’ the PC reassured her. ‘Can I take your phone?’ she asked.

Tilly’s face fell. ‘I need it. I use it all the time. I can’t manage without it,’ she exclaimed.

‘I won’t take it now then, but we might need it in the future.’

Had Tilly been accused of taking or sending indecent images, as had happened with one teenager I’d fostered (see my book Finding Stevie), the police officer would have taken her phone as evidence against her. But Tilly was the innocent party in this, and she knew not to delete the images.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ PC Byrne said, and stood. ‘Here is my card if you think of anything else.’ She handed it to me.

I thanked her and saw her out. Tilly was still wound up and I calmed her down. There was time for her to visit her gran and mother, so she went upstairs to change out of her school uniform, then left to catch the bus.

Five minutes later Paula arrived home, made herself a drink and a snack and went to her room to study. She had her last exam the next day.

Ten minutes later Isa telephoned from her mobile, having just come out of court. I could hear the rumble of traffic in the background as I brought her up to date. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll speak to the police officer tomorrow.’

Twenty minutes after her call, as I was updating my log, Tilly telephoned, distraught. ‘He sent those photos to Mum too, with a nasty text message saying I was a slut just like her. The bastard! Mum’s in pieces. Can you tell that police officer? I haven’t got her number.’

‘Yes, I will. Were they sent from the same phone?’

‘Yes.’

This seemed to add weight to the assumption that Dave had sent them. ‘Does your gran know?’

‘No. I haven’t shown her. I’d be too embarrassed.’

‘OK. She doesn’t need another upset now.’

‘I’ll phone PC Byrne, and obviously don’t let your mother delete the photos or the message.’

‘No, I won’t. I’ve got her phone.’

‘Good. And Tilly, none of this is your fault. I want you to remember that.’

There was a small pause before she replied. ‘Thank you. I’ve been feeling it was.’

‘No. Absolutely not. I don’t know what’s going on, but it’s certainly not your fault, love.’

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