‘Both Mr Taylor and his mother believe a foster-home is the best solution,’ Susan said firmly. She had stated this right at the start of the meeting almost an hour earlier. Since then the discussion had gone round and round in circles and she was very afraid that nothing would be resolved today. ‘They have no behavioural problems, they are doing well at school, and they will be much happier in a family environment.’
‘But fostering is an expensive way of caring for children, and really only suitable in the very short term, Miss Sims.’ The most elderly of the women looked disdainfully over her glasses at Susan. ‘Also the Taylors are Catholics, and most of our foster-parents are Church of England.’
Susan couldn’t really see why the religious denomination of foster-parents mattered. But Father O’Brien had already gone on at length that they should be kept in ‘the Faith’, as he put it.
‘It’s my belief that the father should be compelled to offer them for adoption,’ one of the men insisted, not for the first time during the discussion.
Susan’s blood ran cold each time this man spoke. His name was Arkwright, a big bully of a man of around sixty, with eyes as dead as those of a fish on a fishmonger’s slab. How he managed to become a Children’s Officer she couldn’t imagine. He appeared to have little liking for children, even less knowledge of their needs, and no understanding of parental love.
‘In all likelihood the girls will be adults before Mr Taylor is released from prison. Why should the taxpayers be compelled to keep his children during that time when we have dozens of prospective adoptive parents only too willing to take one of these girls?’
‘But that would mean they’d be split up,’ Miss Denning spoke up. She had had considerable contact with the girls during the summer months, taking them out for trips and picnics, and she was the only person in the group who was backing up Susan. ‘I believe May could manage quite well without her sister, but Dulcie would certainly suffer enormously.’
Susan shot her a look of gratitude. The woman looked formidable, thin as a stick, with a long pointed nose and a very unflattering short grey bobbed hairstyle which only accentuated the length of her face and nose. But she was intelligent, a staunch believer in keeping families together at all costs, and the only one here today who hadn’t spoken of Reg as if he was a degenerate.
‘It seems to me the ideal solution all round is for the children to go to the Sacred Heart Convent,’ the second of the two men from the Children’s Department volunteered.
‘Hear, hear,’ Father O’Brien applauded, his already bulbous eyes almost popping out of his head. ‘Untold damage has already been done to the children by their immoral mother and their bully of a father. Their great-uncle isn’t the least bit interested in them either. At the Sacred Heart the Sisters will see that they are both spiritually and physically cared for. They will be able to put aside the regrettable memories. It is a small convent with beautiful grounds, and the children will attend a school outside. I know too that Mr Taylor and his mother will find this an acceptable solution.’
It was true Reg and Maud had tentatively agreed to accept this convent if a good foster-home couldn’t be found, mainly because Father O’Brien had been so voluble in its praise, but Susan had visited the place, which was situated in South London between Lee and Downham, and found it cheerless, the nuns dour, cold and unimaginative.
‘Well, we really cannot spend any more time discussing this matter,’ Miss Denning said, glancing at her watch. ‘We must make a decision today. We have agreed that we are likely to run into problems with fostering, and adoption is out of the question, which leaves only children’s homes.’
She paused to look around the table. ‘I have spent some time with Dulcie and May, and weighing up everything I know about them, their individual characters and the family’s strong religious views, I believe the most suitable home
is
the Sacred Heart. I suggest we have a show of hands if you are in agreement.’
Susan was unhappy that a decision should be made so hurriedly and she was reluctant to agree with something she didn’t support wholeheartedly. Yet she was here only to present Reg’s and Maud’s views, not her own. They believed the convent was a good one, they had faith in Father O’Brien’s judgement. As everyone but Arkwright raised their hands in agreement, she added hers to them.
Father O’Brien looked triumphant. The motion was carried.
‘Would you like to accompany me when I tell the girls?’ Miss Denning asked Susan as the meeting closed and the others began to pack their files away. ‘I’m sure your presence would reassure them.’
Susan glanced around the room. The rest of the group were chatting amongst themselves as if nothing more important had been discussed today than what they should eat for dinner tonight. She wondered if any of them was really aware what this ‘solution’ would mean to Dulcie and May. They had lost their mother in the most shocking way, their father had been imprisoned and their family home was gone for ever. They had barely come to terms with the idea that their father wasn’t going to come home again for many years, and now they were to be snatched from their loving grandmother and the school they’d only just settled in. Perhaps it might be for the best in the long term, but she was terribly afraid that for two such young, vulnerable children it was going to look very much like abandonment.
‘Yes, I’d like to come,’ she said, tears prickling at her eyes. ‘It wouldn’t do for them to think I’d stopped caring too.’
Miss Denning put a comforting hand on Susan’s shoulder as she saw the young teacher’s eyes swimming. ‘Don’t reproach yourself about anything, my dear. You have been a good friend to the family and you did your best for them today. I can’t count the times when I’ve felt, as I’m sure you do now, that I’ve only reached a compromise rather than perfection. It saddens me, but then this isn’t a perfect world.’
Susan looked up at Miss Denning and saw real understanding in her eyes. All at once she knew this woman wasn’t entirely happy with the decision either.
‘When are you going to tell the children?’ she asked.
‘As soon as possible.’ The older woman sighed. ‘It’s better to get it over quickly. They have room for them now at the convent, and they’ll adjust to the new school better if they don’t miss too much of this term. Could you come with me tomorrow afternoon? I could pick you up in my car after school.’
When Susan arrived home and found her mother sitting by the fire in the sitting-room putting the finishing touches to the two little tartan pinafore dresses she’d made for Dulcie and May, she began to cry. She sank down on the settee beside her mother, allowed herself to be drawn into her arms and sobbed out her disappointment.
The fire crackled, table-lamps cast pools of soft light on to the Persian rug and the heavy dark green velvet curtains. It was a beautiful room, the furniture well-loved family heirlooms, the many fine paintings on the walls all of exquisite pastoral scenes. But it was very much a family room, childhood photographs of the four children crowding the mantelpiece, Daphne Sims’s sewing-machine on the table, more needlework equipment strewn on the floor, Christmas decorations spilled out of a box waiting to be put away for another year.
Daphne bit back her own tears. The girls had been to tea here several times in the past months, they’d had a special tea party on Dulcie’s ninth birthday in December, and she’d been charmed by them. But in her heart of hearts she was relieved that a long-term arrangement for their care had been found for she was worried by her daughter’s ever-increasing involvement with this family and the depth of her feelings for Reg Taylor.
‘I think it’s for the best,’ she said reassuringly. ‘You’ll still be able to visit them, they’ll be going out each day to school. You know May finds friends everywhere, and I really think Dulcie will be a great deal happier with an ordered, sheltered life.’
‘You always seem to know everything,’ Susan said with a deep sigh. ‘Even what I’m thinking.’
Daphne laughed gently. ‘No, your thoughts are quite safe from me, but any mother watches out for danger, and in the past few months I’ve seen how much all this has changed you.’
‘I thought I’d changed for the better!’ Susan said indignantly.
Daphne took her hand and squeezed it. ‘So you have, darling, you’ve finally learned that this house and our family isn’t the axis the world turns on, and that out there are many new challenges and experiences for you. Find a new job, Susan, soon, get to know new people. You can still see the children, maybe see Maud too. But let Reg go.’
When Dulcie heard a car coming up Akerman Street on Friday evening, she ran straight into the parlour to look out of the window. Very few people in Deptford owned a car, there were none at all in her grandmother’s street, and in the seven and a half months Dulcie had lived here, she’d come to see that cars invariably meant trouble for someone. A doctor calling on someone who was very sick, the police trying to find someone, or the Welfare, sticking their noses into other people’s business.
It was pitch dark although it was only five o’clock, yet Dulcie recognized the green Morris as Miss Denning’s car straight off, and her heart sank. It wasn’t because she didn’t like the lady, she had after all taken her and May out several times, and she seemed very nice. The only reason for her trepidation was that Gran wouldn’t like her coming again, she claimed Miss Denning was a busybody who peered into corners and asked too many impertinent questions.
But when Dulcie saw Susan was in the car too, she instinctively knew it meant something bad had happened. She adored Susan, if she’d been walking up the street alone Dulcie would have run to greet her – even Granny, who was suspicious of anyone posh, liked and trusted her. But in the time Dulcie had been living here, one of the things she’d had drummed into her was that when a Welfare person called with support from someone else, that was something serious.
Dulcie ran into the back room to warn Granny. She was dozing in her chair by the stove, May was sitting at the table doing a jigsaw, squinting at it because the gas wasn’t turned up properly.
‘Granny, it’s Susan and Miss Denning,’ she said, shaking her shoulder. ‘Wake up!’
Maud’s eyes shot open. Dulcie repeated herself as she pulled the old lady forward in her chair and snatched off her dirty pinafore. Then, going over to the window-sill, she got her teeth which were soaking in a cup. By the time the knock came at the front door, Dulcie had turned up the gaslight, but that only made her notice some mice droppings on the floor.
‘Maybe I should take them in the parlour?’ she suggested.
‘You can’t, it’s too cold – besides, they’ll see how bad my legs are,’ Maud said. ‘I’ll move over to the table and they won’t see anything.’
‘Won’t see what?’ May asked, carrying on with the jigsaw as if nothing unusual was happening.
Dulcie wasn’t going to explain. May was oblivious to such things as swollen legs, mice droppings and black mould creeping up the walls, but if she was asked not to speak of them, she would go out of her way to mention them.
‘Hello, Dulcie,’ the two women chorused as she opened the door to them.
Dulcie made herself look really surprised and pleased. But she noticed immediately that Susan wasn’t herself. She usually enveloped her in a tight hug and bounced into the house, so jolly that none of them ever considered she might be looking around her and thinking what an awful place it was. She had the bag in her hand which usually contained all sorts of little treats for them. But her wide smile was missing, she was stiff and holding back.
‘Miss Denning offered me a lift so I could come and see you with her,’ she said. ‘I hope Granny won’t mind us turning up when it’s nearly tea-time?’
‘She hasn’t started it yet,’ Dulcie said. ‘We were all doing a jigsaw together in the kitchen. Come in there because we haven’t lit the fire in the parlour yet.’
By the time they got into the kitchen, Granny was sitting at the table, her legs tucked away. She greeted both women as if there was nothing unusual about them coming together, then asked if they’d like some tea.
‘I was hoping for a private chat with you, Mrs Taylor,’ Miss Denning said, looking pointedly at the two children. ‘Maybe Dulcie and May could find something to do upstairs for a little while?’
All hope that this was purely a friendly visit vanished then for Dulcie. Grown-ups only got children out of the way when they had something serious to discuss.
‘Go on then, buzz off, you two,’ Maud said in a jocular manner, giving Dulcie a nudge. ‘You can come down in a minute when I call you and make us all some tea.’
‘I don’t want to go upstairs,’ May pouted. ‘It’s cold there, and there’s nothing to do.’
‘We’ll play tents,’ Dulcie said immediately – she didn’t want May to start showing off on top of everything else.
‘You’ve come to take them away, ain’t you?’ Maud said once she could hear the girls in the room above the kitchen.
Susan couldn’t reply, she let Miss Denning tell her. But as she saw Maud’s wrinkled old face crumple and the bleakness in her faded eyes, she knew this old lady had nothing more to live for.
In her many visits to the house Susan had come to see Maud was like a crab, a hard shell on the outside, inside as soft as marshmallow. She wouldn’t cry today, not in front of Miss Denning, she’d bottle that up until after the children were taken, then she’d let it go. She guessed too that Maud was sitting at the table instead of in her usual chair just to hide her legs. Last time Susan had come they were swollen to twice their normal size and she could barely walk, but she’d made light of that just as she made light of the struggle it was to keep the girls’ clothes and the house clean, and to do the cooking and shopping.
Susan knew now that when Reg was arrested, Maud’s pride took a severe tumble. He was the one she could boast about – his craftsmanship, his honesty, sobriety and the fact that he had always looked after her. While she had lost none of her love for Reg, and strongly upheld his innocence to her neighbours, she was dented, and the only way she could keep her head up was by transferring all that fierce pride to his daughters, and caring for them. Without them she would be like a three-legged chair, unable to hold her head up in her community. The girls’ removal would be like signing her death warrant.