“We broke up.”
The woman nods and makes some notes on her pad. I watch as her biro loops and swirls across the page, trying to make out what she’s writing. I catch a few words, but nothing that tells me how the meeting is going.
As Grace details every interaction Allegra has had with social services, anger floods through my veins. There are the situations I know about; the time when Daisy disappeared with Darren for a whole week, the overdose that left her unconscious on the walkway outside their flat. But there’re a million other little incidents I’m unaware of, too. Visits to A&E for a broken finger and lacerations, reports from her school about bruising on Allegra’s arms. All of them occurring during the periods that Darren had been staying with Daisy.
The myriad of indicators stand out so boldly I’m no longer worried Allegra won’t be going back home.
I’m more worried that she will.
> Next, the group home representative gives us a run-down of his findings. He confirms what we already know—that Allegra is a very private little girl. She’s found it extremely difficult to settle there. When he explains the highlight of her week has been our trips out on Saturdays it brings fresh tears to my eyes.
Thank God I never listened to Simon.
When we finally arrive at the conclusion, Daisy is still staring out of the window; it’s as if she’s not really with us. Grace has to say her name three times before her head snaps around.
“We’ve come up with a series of recommendations we feel will best serve your daughter’s safety and security,” Grace explains. “For the next two weekends we are recommending weekend visitation rights. You will be able to pick Allegra up at 5:00 p.m. on a Friday and return her to the home at 4:00 p.m. on a Sunday.”
Finally, Daisy pays attention. “I only get her on weekends?”
“For the first two weeks. Thereafter, if the weekend visitations go well, we will return Allegra into your full custody.”
“I’m getting her back?” A beaming smile breaks across Daisy’s lips. “For real?”
“She’ll remain on the At Risk Register for a period of six months, and then we will have a case review.” Grace starts to outline the multi-agency action plan they’ve developed, which includes close monitoring, home visits and the requirement for Daisy to attend the clinic on a weekly basis. For her part, Daisy just nods, agreeing to everything without really paying attention.
“Did you hear that, Beth?” she asks. “I’m getting my baby back.”
I nod at her, barely able to meet her stare. “I heard.”
Grace starts passing over some papers for Daisy to look at, and though I lean forward I can’t even focus on them. I’m still thinking about the lacerations and the bruises and the broken finger. How did I miss all that? I’ve been seeing Allegra regularly for the last two years, and I never noticed a single scratch.
What kind of friend does that make me? I’m an adult, I should have known, I could have protected her. A sick feeling lodges inside me, nestling in as if it’s here to stay, and I start to think about all the times I’ve defended Daisy, and explained that although she’s an addict, she’s a good mum who really loves her daughter.
What kind of mother allows her boyfriend to abuse her child? I don’t care if it’s just a scratch or a fracture, Darren hurt Allegra.
When Grace calls the meeting to a close, Daisy and I walk back to the lobby, handing in our temporary passes. I’m in a daze when we finally emerge into the bright morning air, my mind full of bruises and hospitals. I can’t look at Daisy when we say goodbye. Instead I rifle through my bag as if I’ve lost something, smiling tightly at her thanks. Watching as she heads to the Tube station, punching the air as if in victory.
I hail a cab in an altogether more sombre mood. Sliding into the backseat, I make Allegra a silent promise that no matter what happens, no matter what I end up having to do, Darren Tebbit will never, ever, touch her again.
I mean it, too.
19
There’s one more thing I need to do. Even in the midst of everything else, all I can think of is Niall Joseph. For almost six weeks I’ve heard nothing from him except the occasional excuse via Michael. It’s beginning to feel as if he was a figment of my imagination.
Christ, I miss him.
What will make you happy, Beth?
I want to mend my fences with Niall. I hate the way we left things, so frantic and up in the air. If I’m really going to take back control of my life, the way Louise has urged me to, then I don’t want to regret anything else.
And I regret hurting him so very much.
In the end, I send him a text. Simple, but effective. A few words to see if he bites, if he’ll actually speak to me again.
I know you’re not sick.
Of course, he doesn’t reply. I’m not sure I was even expecting him to. I just wanted to let him know I’m not stupid, that I’m thinking of him. He needs to know I won’t give up that easily.