‘In the hide at the quarry,’ she said clearly.
I felt my heart lurch. I knew exactly where she meant. A couple of miles away there is a disused quarry which, some years before, had been filled with water and turned into a nature reserve. Anglers, with a permit, were allowed to fish in it during the day, and part of the surrounding land had been made into a bird sanctuary with a hide for watching the birds. The hide was no more than a wooden shack with small openings in one side, through which you could observe the birds. While it had a roof on it, the cold wind ripped through the observation slits and there was no door. I’d taken the children up there one bright spring morning the year before to watch the birds nesting and it had been cold even then. However, while all this was true – there was a quarry with a hide – I also knew that since vandals had got in and terrorized the nesting birds the area had been patrolled by security at night.
I looked at Alice and wondered: could she have made it all up? Would a mother really take her child up to that cold, remote spot to sleep for three nights? I supposed she might if she was unstable, or desperate, or both. Then, as though hearing my doubts, Alice looked up at me and said, ‘We lay on the benches in the hide, but I couldn’t sleep. The benches were too hard. And when the man came with his torch, we had to lie on the floor, under the benches, and keep very still until he went away.’ At that point I knew Alice was telling the truth, for there was no other way she could have known and described in such detail the night security patrol unless she’d been there at night.
‘Snatched from her nana! On the run for four days, and three nights sleeping at the quarry! It’s a wonder she’s not more traumatized than she is,’ I said. ‘Alice is quiet, but not obviously disturbed.’
‘It might come out later,’ Jill warned. ‘The poor child must have been petrified. But you say she’s been well cared for?’
‘She appears to have been. She hasn’t got any of her own possessions with her, but what she was wearing was new and clean. Her hair has been well looked after and she seems very bright, although naturally she’s still wary of us. When Alice talks she has a wide vocabulary and she’s very polite. The grandparents’ influence, I expect.’ It was 9.45 a.m. on Monday and Jill, my link worker from the fostering agency, had phoned for an update. I’d been doing most of the talking.
‘Martha should be in touch soon,’ Jill said. ‘I haven’t had any more information. Have you?’
‘No. The duty social worker who placed Alice didn’t have the paperwork. I guess Martha will bring the essential information forms when she visits.’
‘I’ll phone her when we’ve finished and remind her. If possible I’d like to be there when Martha visits to check and sign the placement forms.’ Jill paused. ‘Cathy, the duty social worker who placed Alice?’
‘Yes?’
‘Was there a problem?’
‘What do you mean, “problem?” He was a bit rude on the phone. I think he was stressed. He said he was the only one on duty on Sunday night for the whole of the area.’
Jill paused again, as though uneasy about what she had to say. ‘Unfortunately, Cathy, he’s put in a complaint about you.’
‘What?’
‘I’m sorry, but apparently the police were concerned that Alice was left at the police station for so long before she was collected. They complained to the social services manager, who contacted the duty social worker through his agency. He said the delay was because you refused to take Alice straightaway.’
‘What!’ I exclaimed again. ‘You must be joking! That’s not true. I even offered to collect Alice from the police station.’ Alice, who was sitting at the coffee table a little way in front of me doing a jigsaw, looked up on hearing her name. ‘It’s all right, love,’ I reassured her; then I lowered my voice as I spoke again to Jill on the phone. ‘He was the one who delayed collecting her, not me.’
‘I’m sorry, Cathy, but I’m going to have to ask you for some details. The manager wants a full report. I’ve already told him you are one of our longest-serving foster carers and that you’ve never had a complaint made against you before.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, tightly, glancing at Alice again. Little wonder there was a shortage of foster carers, I thought, with an annual drop-out rate of over 10 per cent, if we were treated like this!
‘Let’s start at the beginning,’ Jill said. ‘Go slowly, because I’m taking notes. I understand you were out when the duty social worker first phoned?’
‘Yes. I’d been waiting for Alice to arrive since Thursday evening and hadn’t heard a thing,’ I said, forcing myself to speak slowly. ‘So on Sunday afternoon we all went to a friend’s birthday party. I had my mobile with me but no one phoned.’ I paused to allow Jill to write. ‘When we got home, it was about half past nine and there were four messages on the answerphone from the duty social worker. I remember the first was left at eight thirty and I think the last was about nine fifteen, and he was quite rude. I phoned him back straightaway and asked why he hadn’t phoned my mobile.’
‘Hold on a minute,’ Jill said. I waited as she wrote. Alice looked at me again, and I raised a smile. I wasn’t happy going through all this in front of her, but I couldn’t do anything else. Jill needed this information now and Alice wasn’t confident enough yet to be left in a room by herself. ‘Right,’ Jill said after a few moments. ‘What happened then? Why didn’t he phone your mobile?’
‘He said he didn’t have my number.’
‘That’s not true,’ Jill said. ‘It was included in your details, sent to his agency.’
‘Yes, he found it when he looked further, but said it wasn’t obvious.’
Jill tutted. ‘I’ll check, but I’m sure it is included on the front page. Then what happened?’
‘He told me Alice had been found, and was at the police station. He said he’d collect her as soon as he could but it wouldn’t be straightaway as he was the only one on duty. He was obviously stretched to the limit, so I offered to collect Alice myself, but he said it needed to be a social worker. He was pretty short tempered on the phone, but by the time he arrived with Alice he seemed to have calmed down and was just a bit terse.’
‘And what time was that?’
‘About half past ten.’
Jill paused again and I heard her sigh. ‘I can see why the police were concerned. Alice was taken to the police station just before eight. The police informed the duty social worker at eight fifteen, but Alice wasn’t collected until ten. The poor child was at the station for over two hours.’
‘Jill, if I’d had any idea Alice had been found I’d have left the party immediately and gone straight home. Of course I wouldn’t leave a child sitting at the police station, but I’m not clairvoyant. If the duty social worker had phoned my mobile when he first knew Alice had been found at eight fifteen, I could have been home by the time he’d collected her from the station; we were only twenty minutes away.’ I felt hot and shaky – a mixture of anger and upset. Alice shouldn’t have been left all that time at the police station, and although I was angry that the duty social worker was blaming me, I was also thinking I shouldn’t have gone to the party, for it was my absence that had caused all this.
‘It’s not