Not that we had enough chairs in the dining room, for that matter, and I winced inwardly as I realised he was off to get more from the conservatory; ones that I hadn’t thought to wash down.
I mentally scolded myself. It didn’t matter if the chairs weren’t completely pristine. This was about Sophia’s welfare, not what people put their bums on!
I glanced across at her to smile again, but now she was in whispered conversation, speaking close to the ear of one of the women she’d come in the car with. A woman who’d looked nervous from the off. I was just wondering whether this might be her social worker, when the woman promptly burst into tears, grabbed Sophia and pulled her in for a hug.
Glancing first at me – I clearly looked as dumbfounded as I felt – one of the other women took a step and pulled the two apart. ‘Come on,’ she said smartly, though not unkindly, at the two of them. ‘Jean, you promised me you wouldn’t do this. Come on, let Sophia go and then perhaps we can start the meeting. We haven’t even got as far as introductions!’
Ah, so this was Sophia’s carer, I thought. The one we’d heard was ill. So that would explain her rather strained and strange demeanour. But even so, as we all sat down, I reached under the table for Mike’s hand and squeezed it. Something definitely didn’t feel quite right here.
While introductions were made, I studied Sophia more carefully. In fact, it was hard to keep my eyes off her. She was only 12 years of age but she was a startlingly well-developed girl. With her height – she was around five foot eight, to my five foot nothing – she could easily pass for 16 or over. She was also seriously tanned – so much so that she looked like she’d just come back from the Med. Which she obviously hadn’t, so did it come from a bottle? It certainly fitted – she dressed to kill, clearly knowing she had a figure to die for, emphasising her large boobs with a tight low-cut top, over skinny jeans and a pair of high-heeled boots. She was also sitting back, looking composed, with a strange smile on her face, as if allowing the proceedings to wash over her. All in all it was an arresting first impression.
Linda Samson, the supervising social worker, kicked off, explaining the facts that John had already outlined: that Jean was unable to look after Sophia temporarily and that as a consequence she needed a short-term placement.
Sophia leaned forward then, and to both my and Mike’s astonishment said, ‘Linda, could you please make a record of the fact that it’s Jean who has asked for this, it’s Jean that can’t cope? Because I’m sure,’ and her eyes flicked towards Jean as she spoke, ‘that real mothers don’t just dump their kids at the first sign of illness.’
I was gobsmacked. And Jean had started crying again. Linda’s face reddened. ‘Sophia, sweetheart,’ she entreated. ‘We have explained all this to you. You know what’s going on. Please don’t make matters any worse.’
Jean’s tears, as Linda spoke, had become increasingly voluble. Was she really in any fit state to be here? Clearly not – because she then asked my unspoken question. ‘Why did I come?’ she sobbed. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have! Oh, this is all just too much! Sophia, please, darling, don’t do this!’
I was absolutely stunned, and could see Mike was, too. He was looking at John with a plea in his expression. Was John going to say something, or should he?
‘Okay, everyone,’ John said, only moments before Mike did. ‘Let’s all try to calm down a little, shall we? Sophia?’ He waited till he had her full attention. ‘How about you and I have a quick tour of the house. See your room and so on. That will be okay, won’t it, Casey?’
I nodded. ‘And Bob’s in Kieron’s bedroom, John. Perhaps Sophia would like to meet him as well.’
Bob was Kieron’s dog, a scruffy and adorable little mongrel whom he and his girlfriend Lauren had got from a rescue centre the previous year. I watched as the two of them left the dining room together, and almost felt the air stir as everyone exhaled. It was a bizarre situation and I knew Mike could sense it too. It was as if everyone in there was going out of their way not to upset this 12-year-old child in a woman’s body.
‘Erm, I’m a little confused,’ I admitted, once I knew they’d be out of earshot. ‘I thought all this had already been arranged.’ I leaned forward. ‘Are you okay, Jean?’
Jean nodded sadly, though she said nothing. It was Sam Davies, Sophia’s social worker, who spoke up. ‘It has,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s just that it’s all a bit raw for Jean and Sophia. It’s Jean’s first ever foster placement, you see, and she’s obviously upset that she has to let go of Sophia so soon. What makes it worse, of course, is that Sophia sees it as so much of a rejection, however much we all reassure her that isn’t the case. We can all see where she’s coming from, I’m sure.’ Everyone nodded. ‘She really is terribly alone in the world. The only family she has left is the uncle, as I think you know, and he’s made it very clear he doesn’t want her. Packed her off the minute his wife got pregnant, by all accounts. Very difficult for a child who’s already been through so much …’
‘Which is why we feel it’s so important that Sophia has a solid team around her,’ added Linda. Yes, but more like an adoring retinue, I silently thought. ‘Jack?’ Linda went on. ‘Would you like to explain your role?’
Jack Boyd was a small, jovial-looking Irishman. His job, he explained, had been to be a ‘friend’ to Sophia, taking her out once a week, to an outing like bowling or the cinema. He’d carry on, he said, to ensure continuity, if we wanted. Sophia had his mobile number, he added, and often liked to call him, especially if she was upset. Mike, who’d stayed silent, taking everything in, now chipped in. About something that, in the midst of all the upset, I had completely forgotten about myself.
‘Sophia’s Addison’s disease,’ he said to Jean. ‘Can you tell me about that? We have to visit the doctors to find out a little more about the management, but can you shed any light on the challenges it throws up for you?’
Jean looked slightly nonplussed. ‘Oh, I’m sure the medical team will tell you everything you need to know,’ she said. ‘You just have to watch out for the warning signs of her getting stressed, really, because that’s dangerous. Like getting a bit snappy and irritable. That’s when I know, because she’s normally such a sweetie.’
The rest of the posse smiled an indulgent group smile when Jean said this, and once again I got the sensation of this group of people treading on eggshells, even when the girl wasn’t in the room!
But then she was – she and John re-entered the dining room at that moment, and she immediately went over to behind Jack’s chair, where she stopped a moment, to ruffle his hair. It seemed an unlikely gesture, and a little out of place. He lurched forward slightly, having not anticipated it, as those of us had who were sitting opposite, saying, ‘Ah, give over, you little rascal!’ He glanced across to us. ‘She’s always picking on me, this one. I have to have my wits about me, so I do.’
‘It’s just because I love your accent, Jack,’ she told him, sitting down again. She turned to me now. ‘Don’t you just love the Irish, Casey?’ she wanted to know. She was laughing out loud now and everyone else looked uncomfortable.
I smiled at her. ‘Well, you’ll meet some more Irish people in our house, Sophia. My two brothers married sisters from Ireland – from Belfast. We often visit them. And they come here with their kids all the time.’
Sophia stopped laughing now. Abruptly. ‘Oh, I don’t think that’ll be the same, will it? Not if they’re women.’
‘Sophia,’ John interjected, before I could close my now open mouth. ‘Have you anything you’d like to ask Mike and Casey, before we finish up?’ The sense of tension in the room was almost palpable.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said mildly. ‘The room is lovely. Really lovely. And your dog is