Until You're Mine (21 page)

‘Jesus,’ Mark said. ‘We’ve not seen her recently because she turned eighteen a while back.’ Lorraine sensed it was a sensitive washing of hands. ‘She used to be one of ours. In and out of care and foster homes, that kind of thing.’

‘Actually, she flagged up again, Mark. A few months back.’ Tina spoke softly as if trying to exclude Lorraine from the confidential information. ‘When she fell pregnant,’ she almost mouthed directly at him.

‘I’m assuming her unborn baby would have been a priority for you, knowing Carla’s background,’ Lorraine said.

Tina nodded, still absorbing the shock. ‘Yes, her lifestyle wasn’t exactly conducive to raising a child. We were working with her to get her on track ready for the baby’s birth. If she didn’t manage it then we’d have had to step in.’ Tina was sweating now. She unwound the thick scarf from her neck. Her cheeks were tinged red and she pushed her fingers through her hair as she thought. ‘We all had dealings with her over the years.’ Her voice was wavering.

‘I think her most recent contact was either you or Claudia, wasn’t it, Tina?’ Mark said.

‘It was me. I was assigned to her when we learnt she was pregnant from her GP,’ Tina blurted out, as if it was entirely her fault. She was on the brink of tears. ‘But I first met her when she was about eight years old. I’d recently qualified and she was one of my very first cases. Her home life wasn’t good at all. Excuse me a moment. Sorry.’ Tina pulled a bunch of tissues from the box on the desk and a few steps’ walk suddenly broke into an emotional stride out of the room. Her footsteps echoed down the desolate corridor although her sobs were even louder as she dashed to the toilets.

‘It’s been a tough week,’ Mark said.

Tell me about it
, Lorraine thought.

‘You mentioned that someone called Claudia had worked on Carla’s case. I’ll need to speak to everyone involved. It’s important to have as clear a picture as possible who Carla knew, who her friends were, what she did with her time. That kind of stuff. We don’t want to miss anything.’

‘No problem,’ Mark confirmed. ‘Is Carla going to be OK?’

‘It’s a bit early to tell. We’ve tried to interview her but she’s not made much sense yet. Her injuries were very serious.’

Mark pulled a face. ‘I’ve been a social worker for nearly thirteen years. Nothing surprises me any more.’

Tina came back into the office. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said crisply, over-emphasising her return to self-control. ‘I was on annual leave when Carla was originally signed off our care. She was allocated housing and seemed to be doing OK. Then a few months ago, Carla’s GP notified us of her pregnancy and that she was still taking drugs. He told us about her unstable mental state, too. She’s not one for coping, put it that way.’ Tina was obviously ready to talk now. ‘So she’s back on our radar again – or rather her unborn baby was.’

‘I’d like you to make me a list of everyone you think she knew, places she often visited, where she got her drugs from, anything to do with her life. Even if you’re not sure it’s relevant, please include everything you know. I can’t be certain if or when Carla will be in a fit state to help.’

Mark and Tina nodded.

‘I’d also like access to her case file,’ Lorraine stated.

‘I can try to find it,’ Mark said. ‘Though it’s going to be hard at the moment.’ He indicated the mess in the office.

‘I think Claudia has the file,’ Tina said to Mark, looking worried. ‘She was doing supervision on it with me and I’m pretty certain it was in her possession. She wasn’t feeling very well earlier. She went home from a meeting. I doubt she’ll be in tomorrow either.’

‘Can you let me have her address? I’ll visit her at home,’ Lorraine said.

The pair nodded and Tina suddenly rallied, fumbling for a pen and paper. Lorraine knew they worked closely with the police on a regular basis – just not usually with her department or about such serious crimes.

Lorraine turned to leave. She paused. ‘I don’t suppose the name Sally-Ann Frith means anything to you, does it?’

Mark and Tina glanced at each other and took a moment to think. ‘Only because she’s been on the news,’ Tina said. Then her eyes widened as if her thoughts weren’t far behind those of the detective.

‘Thank you,’ Lorraine said, leaving before they had a chance to ask questions. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

*

When she got home, the house was full of teenage girls. There were four splayed out in the living room, feet up on the sofa – shoes on – bowls of crisps balanced on bellies and cans of Coke lined up on the carpet within arms’ reach. A movie was blaring from the television. Two girls Lorraine didn’t recognise greeted her lazily from their perch on the stairs as they giggled at the screen of an iPhone, while a further cluster congregated in the kitchen. They were crowded round the cooker, deliberating over a big pot of something that actually smelt quite good.

Lorraine dumped her bag and keys loudly on the kitchen table. She was taking off her coat when Grace turned round with a wooden spoon halfway to her mouth.

‘Mum,’ she said brightly. ‘Fancy some curry? We made it.’

It’s as if nothing’s bloody well happened between us
, Lorraine thought angrily. Grace’s apparent cheerfulness was clearly just for the benefit of her friends.

‘But what about . . .’ Lorraine trailed off. She could hardly say
But what about your plans to move out, leave school, get married, the bloody talk we need to have?
‘Smells good,’ she said instead. ‘I’ll have some if there’s enough.’ She glanced out into the hallway. ‘There are a lot of mouths to feed.’

‘Oh, that. Yeah. You don’t mind, do you, Mum? I said you’d be cool about it. We won, you see. Twelve–four. It was an amazing match.’

‘Yeah, we slaughtered them!’ The girl had a mouthful of braces and, even though she’d changed out of her sports kit, her skin still glistened with sweat. Strands of dark hair stuck to her forehead.

‘Fab,’ Lorraine said, trying to sound vaguely cool. She didn’t understand how Grace could behave so normally: surely she understood she was about to throw her life away. ‘As long as you get it all cleared up by nine-thirty.’ They both knew that meant get rid of everyone by that time or there’ll be trouble, but, judging by Grace’s defiant expression, she wasn’t sure that was very likely.

Lorraine swiftly pulled the cork on a bottle of wine. She’d promised herself a detox week soon, much to Adam’s amusement when she’d mentioned it to him earlier. She took the bottle and a glass upstairs to escape the mess of girls. She would eat later, perhaps with Adam if he got home in time and they were still actually speaking.

On the way to the bathroom, she stopped at Stella’s bedroom door. She heard her youngest daughter talking on the phone.

‘I know, right . . . I’m gonna move into her bedroom as soon as she’s gone. She’s asked me to be her bridesmaid!’

Lorraine shuddered. Apart from anything, she was painfully aware that she’d been ignoring Stella these last few days due to the trouble Grace had slung at them, not to mention the two investigations. But sometimes life was like that. In another few weeks there might be more time to spend together as a family. She hoped so, anyway.

Lorraine took a sip of wine before tapping on Stella’s door.

‘Shit. I gotta go.’

Since when did Stella use language like that?
‘Hi, love. Just checking in. All OK?’
Jesus
, Lorraine thought,
I sound like a text message
.

‘Yep,’ Stella said, lolling about on her bed. ‘When are that lot downstairs going?’ She pulled a disapproving face.

‘Nine-thirty, with any luck. Have you got homework?’

‘Done it. I’m bored.’ She lay spread-eagled with her head hanging off the end of the bed. Her hair draped nearly to the floor.

‘I was going to have a bath but I can stay and chat if you like?’ Suddenly the idea of curling up on Stella’s beanbag, discussing make-up, magazines and boys, seemed utterly idyllic to Lorraine, taking her mind as far away from Carla Davis and Sally-Ann Frith as it could possibly be. Right now, she didn’t want to do anything else in the world. She stepped inside the messy room and took another sip of wine.

‘Sorry, Ma,’ Stella said. ‘But, you know. I’ll just go on Facebook or something.’

Lorraine felt a pang of disappointment, and then her phone rang. It was Adam. Stella had opened her laptop and was already tapping away at the keys as if she didn’t exist. Lorraine stepped back out onto the landing, feeling somewhat bereft.

‘What?’ she snapped too hastily.

‘Carla Davis has woken up. She’s given a description.’

‘Oh?’ said Lorraine keenly. This was a big development. ‘That’s sooner than they expected.’ Adam had waited as long as he could at the hospital after Carla had been brought back from theatre, but he’d eventually had to assign another officer to continue the vigil.

‘Can you come to the office? I’ve called a meeting in half an hour.’

Lorraine peered down the stairs. The two girls she’d climbed over on the way up had gone but there was a steady stream of kids carrying plates of curry and rice into her living room. She sighed. ‘OK. But tell me some good news. Tell me you’re bringing the suspect in as we speak.’

‘I wish I could,’ Adam said.

‘
TAKING A BABY
or child away from its mother isn’t as easy as you’d think.’ I’m telling this to Zoe as she sits there, watching me, shivering, her mouth slightly open and her cheeks developing a summery shade of rose pink even though it’s freezing in the house. Her expression gradually gives way to shock as I tell her about my work. To add to a bad day, the boiler has packed up so we’ve pulled our chairs close to the Aga and layered on an extra sweater each. Zoe did the same for the boys then lit the fire in the sitting room, snuggling them under a blanket with their favourite cartoon to watch.

We finger mugs of tea. I’ve been holding a bag of frozen peas to my head but they’ve melted now. Zoe reaches over and takes the dripping pack from me.

‘I mean, how can you do that? Legally take someone else’s child?’ She emphasises ‘legally’ as if there’s another way to do it.

‘It’s not easy. Children are referred to our team by a number of people – the police, GPs, hospital doctors, health visitors, midwives, teachers, friends, relatives, neighbours, you name it.’

Zoe pulls an interested face. She sips from her mug like a timid bird, watching all around her constantly.

‘Then we do an assessment. Basically that’s lots of meetings with and without the parent or parents, as well as making surprise and planned visits to their home. We have to decide if the child or children or babies, even unborn ones, are safe to stay in their environment. If not, we apply to the courts to have them removed to a safe place, usually temporary foster care, until a permanent home can be found.’

‘So the baby’s taken away from its mother,’ Zoe says in a vapid voice. I’m not sure if it’s a question.

‘It happens,’ I say, trying not to crush her with the reality. ‘But what you have to understand is that it’s always done with the child’s best interests in mind. Why let a kid grow up in a violent, abusive, dirty or neglectful household when he or she could live in a contented, loving one?’ My head is still throbbing.

‘But what about the mothers? What happens to them?’ She seems upset and distressed, as if it might one day happen to her.

‘Well,’ I say carefully, feeling as if I’m trying to explain something horrific to a small child, ‘some of them are hopeless cases from the start. Even with support, they don’t try to change their lives. Sometimes they’re actually relieved if their children are removed.’

‘More money to spend on drugs and booze.’

I nod. ‘But some of them turn their lives around and get their children back.’ I gently rub my stomach. The thought of anyone taking my little girl away from me when she finally arrives is unthinkable after all the years of longing and disappointment and trying and loss. I shiver again, unsure if it’s from what I’m thinking or the cold.

‘Is she kicking?’

I nod and smile. ‘Feel.’ I take her hand and place it on the spot. Zoe frowns a little and moves her hand to another spot. I notice the tremor. ‘I think she’s gone back to sleep,’ I say when Zoe’s face registers nothing.

‘You don’t think . . . well, you don’t think the accident . . . upset her, do you?’

I laugh. ‘Oh no, not at all. She’s been kicking loads since we got home. Don’t worry.’

‘I really think I should have taken you to hospital. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened—’

‘She’s fine. I’m fine. Trust me.’ I pat Zoe’s hand. She feels very cold. ‘I’ll call the plumber again.’ I dial the number and this time he answers. He promises to be round within half an hour.

Zoe makes the boys a late supper and I decide to read through some case files to take my mind off everything that’s happened. The last twenty-four hours have been a torrent of emotions and occurrences beyond my control. It’s not been the best day, that’s for sure, I decide, settling at James’s desk with my battered leather messenger bag. James bought the bag for me last Christmas. It’s perfect for hauling chunky files between meetings.

‘It’s second hand,’ I’d said to him curiously after pulling off the wrapping paper and running my fingers across its worn surface.

‘It’s vintage,’ he’d corrected with a laugh. ‘It’s an old mail satchel. I thought you’d like the idea of all the good news it’s delivered.’ He’d wrapped his arms around me, as if I was his Christmas present.

All I could think of was all the bad news the bag would now be conveying.

‘What’s that?’ I say out loud, shoving James’s spare study key back in my bag. There’s something on the floor. I bend down and pick up a button. It’s unusual – a dark green toggle with a purple swirl running through it. It’s certainly not from anything James wears and I don’t recognise it as my own. Shrugging, I stuff it in my pocket and get on with the pile of reading I need to do before tomorrow. Though I have no idea if I will go in to work after my antenatal class. I’m taking it one day at a time when it comes to this baby’s arrival. No one can blame me for that.