Authors: Susan Lewis
She had one now, but that had only happened since she’d met Nelson Barrall and managed to turn her life around. Until then, she’d spent most of her teens and all of her twenties knocking about with gangs, living on the streets, or banged up in jail. She’d had few real friends, no money and zero prospects. No one could have hated her more than she’d hated herself, until Nelson had been assigned her probation officer and gradually, patiently shown her what it was to be loved.
They’d been together for almost ten years now, four of them as a married couple and six as the parents of Tyler and Marie. It still dazzled Tracy at times to think of her luck in coming from such wretched beginnings to be the wife of a clever and good-looking bloke like Nelson – and the mother of their two fantastic kids. What was more, thanks to Nelson’s encouragement she’d managed to get herself a degree, and now she had a damned good job.
If you called social work a good job, and she most definitely did.
It meant the world to her to be in a position where she could help make a difference to a child’s life. Knowing what it was to be neglected and abused, moved from one family to the next to the next, she was determined to do her very best by every child that came on to her caseload. Being pretty, jolly and generous to a fault made her popular with her charges. Just about everyone seemed to like Tracy, including her boss, Wendy Fraser, who’d chosen her, above anyone else, to go to New Zealand to bring back Ottilie Wade.
‘Try to call her Chloe from now on,’ Tommy Burgess had said when they’d spoken on the phone early this morning. ‘She has very bad memories of being Ottilie.’
Tracy had no problems understanding that, since she knew all about Ottilie’s history, so she’d immediately stopped using the name, pretty though it was. She’d make a note of the change when she came to write her report, but not that it had come as Tommy’s suggestion. She’d have to say that Chloe had insisted, or maybe that she’d been told by one of the New Zealand social workers, since she was very well aware that Tommy wasn’t supposed to be involving himself in this case at all. However, Tracy wasn’t much of a stickler for the rules when it came to the best interests of a child. She wasn’t sure she’d ever go as far as Charlotte Nicholls had, but probably only because she didn’t have the courage, since she’d certainly felt tempted at times.
Even though she knew very well that there were foster families out there who were kind and loving and gave the most wonderful support to a child, she also knew that there were far too few of them. And even they couldn’t always offer a child a home for life, or repair the damage that might already have been done.
In Chloe’s case it was hard to gauge the extent of the damage, as she wouldn’t speak. Not that Tracy thought, for a single minute, that Charlotte Nicholls had harmed the child. To the contrary, she imagined the dear little soul had been better cared for in New Zealand than she had at any other time in her tragic young life. It was the damage the father had caused that needed to be assessed and sorted, but there would be plenty of time for that in the coming days and weeks. For now, all that really mattered was getting the child and her funny, tatty old bear settled into their new home on the Devonshire border with Maxine and Steve Kosey. Since the Koseys had an excellent track record as carers, Tracy felt sure it wouldn’t take them long to coax a few words out of Chloe. They were so good at drawing people out that here she was probably doing far too much of the talking, as she sat in their elegant new conservatory, drinking Earl Grey tea and soaking up the lovely afternoon sun.
‘Yes, New Zealand certainly looked like the kind of place you’d want to live,’ she sighed wistfully, while fighting the jet lag, ‘at least what little I saw of it. Aren’t you going to drink your apple juice?’ she asked Chloe, who was sitting next to Maxine Kosey on the wicker-framed sofa that creaked and rocked when Maxine pushed her foot to the ground.
As all eyes went to Chloe she kept her own lowered and clung on to her bear.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Maxine said gently. ‘If you’re not thirsty you can always have some later.’
Maxine Kosey was the kind of woman, Tracy realised, that she used to want to be, plump, blonde, with large blue eyes, quite a posh voice and a trendy sort of look that seemed to suggest horses and cocktail parties. Not that there was any sign of a horse in the fields that sloped away from the backs of the semis on Swingley Walk, though there were several donkeys. Beach troopers, every one of them, Tracy suspected, though they were at least forty miles from the coast here. Maybe it was some sort of refuge.
‘This chocolate cake is very good,’ Steve Kosey was telling Chloe, offering her a slice. ‘If you don’t have some soon I’m going to eat it all up.’
Chloe didn’t even look.
Lifting a hand to stroke Chloe’s hair, Maxine said, ‘I expect she’s tired after that long journey, aren’t you, sweetie?’
Chloe seemed to sink closer to her bear.
‘Do we know the bear’s name?’ Steve asked Tracy.
‘Not yet,’ Tracy confessed, ‘it’s still a secret, but I expect we’ll find out soon. He might even talk so he can tell us himself. Does he talk, Chloe?’
Chloe didn’t answer.
Maxine smiled fondly and smoothed Chloe’s hair again. ‘I hope you’re going to like it here,’ she said, ‘because I think we’re going to like having you, aren’t we, Steve?’
‘We certainly are,’ he agreed. ‘You’re going to be our special little angel.’
Sorry that Chloe wasn’t being more responsive, Tracy put her dainty cup back on its saucer and got to her feet. ‘I guess I should be going, time’s . . .’ She stopped as Chloe got up too. ‘Oh, honey, you’re staying here,’ she said, as Chloe came to take her hand.
Chloe shook her head.
‘But you have to, sweetheart. Maxine and Steve are going to take care of you . . .’
‘Go to Mummy now,’ Chloe whispered.
Relieved that she’d spoken at last, even though it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, Tracy went down to Chloe’s height as she said, ‘You’re going to have your very own bedroom with lots of toys to play with, and you’ll be able to make new friends.’
A tear dropped on to Chloe’s cheek.
‘Oh dear,’ Tracy groaned, wiping it away. ‘You don’t have to be upset. You’re a very lucky girl, you know. Maxine and Steve are lovely people.’
‘Want Mummy,’ Chloe said brokenly.
‘I know,’ Maxine said, lifting her up, ‘why don’t we go upstairs to see your room? I expect your little bear is very sleepy after that long flight, so you can both have a nap.’
‘Want Mummy,’ Chloe sobbed as Maxine started to carry her into the house. ‘
Want Mummy,
’ she cried, straining to get back to Tracy.
Feeling utterly wretched as they disappeared inside, Tracy turned to Steve. ‘I guess you knew this might not be easy?’ she said.
‘They almost never are,’ he reminded her, and his deep brown eyes seemed to smile sadly as they went to the small bag that belonged to Chloe. ‘She’ll be fine,’ he added confidently.
Though Tracy was accustomed to leaving a child in distress she’d never found it easy, and today was no exception. In fact, it was proving a lot harder to make herself walk out of the Koseys’ front door than she’d expected, though she couldn’t exactly say why. After all, it wasn’t as though she’d developed any sort of rapport with Chloe; that hadn’t been possible, with Chloe not speaking. Nor was she in the least bit anxious about the Koseys, though in truth she’d have felt better if she were leaving Chloe with a single woman. It wasn’t as though Family Placements hadn’t gone all out to find someone, because they had, even Wendy had got involved in the search, but there simply hadn’t been anyone suitable who was available to take her in at this short notice. Still, the Koseys had a good track record, and it wasn’t as if Tracy was fearful that anything bad would happen to Chloe while she was here. Maybe it was because Chloe was seeming like the child of a friend that Tracy was finding it so difficult, though she hadn’t known Charlotte all that well. More likely it was because, instead of having just rescued a child from a dangerous or abusive home, she’d removed her from the heart of a family that loved her.
It didn’t feel right.
It didn’t feel right at all.
Still, she must remember that the law was the law, and no one, no matter who they were, could be allowed to steal a child and get away with it. Especially not a social worker who people trusted to do the right thing for the kids in their care.
‘Obviously, I completely understand why she did it,’ Tracy said to Tommy Burgess, who rang while she was on her way home, ‘but she surely had to know it would end like this.’
‘I expect she did, at least on one level,’ he replied, ‘but on another I guess she became so attached to the child that she wasn’t thinking rationally. It happens, as we know, in many different ways, and this definitely isn’t the worst. Far from it, in fact. Anyway, I expect you’ve heard that she’s been remanded in custody.’
‘No, I hadn’t heard. I didn’t want to put the news on while Ottilie – Chloe – was in the car. Poor Charlotte. I don’t suppose they were ever really going to give her bail though, were they?’
‘Maybe not, but I think her lawyer was optimistic.’
‘So what happens now?’
‘She’s in Crown Court on Wednesday and there’s talk of another bail application, but I’m not sure whether or not it’ll happen.’
‘Do you know what she’s going to plead when the time comes? I guess it’ll be hard to try saying she’s not guilty when they’ve just brought her back from New Zealand.’
‘You could be right, but I haven’t seen her, or spoken to her yet. It’s all happening through the lawyer.’
‘And I’m guessing you’re calling now so you can pass on some news about Chloe?’
‘Only to reassure her the child’s all right.’
‘Well, you can do that. Tell her she’s fine, because even if she weren’t there’s nothing she can do about it, so why worry her?’
‘You’re worrying me now.’
‘She’s gone silent,’ Tracy confided, ‘which according to the file is how she was when Charlotte first took her on. The only words I’ve managed to get out of her so far happened just now when she asked to go to Mummy, and I don’t think there’s much doubt that Charlotte is Mummy.’
‘Oh God,’ Tommy groaned. ‘No, I’m not going to tell her that. Like you said, there’s nothing she can do about it, so there’s no point in upsetting her when she’s already got enough to be dealing with.’
Feeling suddenly very weary, Tracy promised to continue passing on what little information she could, and rang off. She guessed it was all in the lap of the gods now, or the hands of good lawyers, though Charlotte surely had to know that even if she managed to get off the charge of abduction, which seemed to Tracy most unlikely, the chances of her ever being allowed to see Chloe again had to be even less than nil.
Charlotte was sitting on the brutal iron-framed bed in her cell, arms wrapped around her knees, her face hidden from the drab green walls holding her captive. The letter box of a window set close to the ceiling was allowing through a vivid band of sunlight, while on the chipped and broken chest of drawers where she’d stored her few belongings a TV was showing a programme she had no interest in. All she cared about right now was dealing with the fear that she might never get out of here.
She would, of course, at some point, but the maximum sentence for child abduction was seven years, and the mere thought of losing so much of her life, of not seeing Chloe in all that time, or her mother, or the rest of her family in New Zealand, was filling her with so much dread it was virtually impossible to move. She was so tense, so bound up in the horror of what was happening to her that every muscle in her body seemed to ache with it. She was still shuddering from the indignity of the strip search she’d been forced to endure on arrival, while the sweaty stench of her cell was invading her lungs and making her nauseous.
The TV was helping to block the noise from outside her cell: the screeching and banging, clanging of doors and sudden blasts of music. Occasionally footsteps seemed to pause outside her door before moving on. Had she made a mistake in choosing to go on the rule? Was she labelling herself a harmer of children by using this system of protection? The trouble was, at least two women whose children she’d taken into care had been sent to this prison. If they were still here she didn’t even want to think about what kind of revenge they might seek, given the chance. Both were in for violent crimes, one for attempted murder, the other for aggravated assault, so the very idea of attempting to explain to them that her actions hadn’t been personal was so delusional it could almost be laughable.
Dragging her hands over her face, she tried to clear her mind of fear and focus on how she was going to get through this. It wasn’t easy to come up with positives when there seemed so few, but at least Kim had promised another shot at bail, and if they got it this time she could be out of here on Wednesday. That would mean five nights in this small form of hell.
Springing from the bed as though to escape an attack of paranoia, she paced over to the stainless steel lavatory and back again. She couldn’t concentrate on the film which was now beginning, and knew it would be no different if she picked up one of the tatty magazines someone had left in a drawer. Fear was like a hornet in her mind, buzzing around all her anxieties, stirring up mischief and stripping her of reason. Uppermost of all was the dread that she and Chloe might never see one another again. Knowing there was a chance they might not was a reality she had somehow to make herself face, but even as she tried she could feel herself swerving away from it.
What had she done to that dear little girl? Why hadn’t she handed her over to the proper authorities after rescuing her? What on earth had made her hang on to her the way she had?
Love was the answer, of course. But loving a child was no defence for abduction, nor would it ever be. If she was found guilty when she went to trial, Chloe could be eleven by the time she came out. She wouldn’t know her any more; she’d have moved on, become a very different person to the one she might have grown into in New Zealand. Far worse was the fear that the system would have added its own forms of damage to those inflicted by her father – and by the woman who’d stolen her when she was three, loved her, made her all sorts of promises, shown her what it was to be happy, and then abandoned her.