Angels with Dirty Faces: Five Inspiring Stories. Casey Watson

it were going to be that simple.

      But apparently it might be. ‘There’s no question of Darby having any contact with her biological family going forwards,’ John confirmed on New Year’s Eve. ‘The mother is the only child of a long-absent single mother, and the father’s brothers have both been charged with the same crime. It’s one big unholy mess, but, in one sense, this is better. Because it will be altogether less messy just to place Darby out of harm’s way. She’s still young enough …’ He didn’t finish. We both knew what he meant. That there was still a fighting chance that she could be, as it were, rewired. Have that part of her life, and the resultant impulses, whittled away to a few fragments of memory. How much did any of us remember of our lives before we were six, after all?

      ‘And in answer to your next question,’ John said, ‘both Darby’s parents have agreed to the adoption unreservedly. Not that we needed it, given everything.’

      ‘I should hope so,’ I said, though actually I would have preferred the word ‘reluctantly’. But now I was living in la-la land. Though I couldn’t say it professionally, nor would, privately was a different matter and, as far as I was concerned, Darby’s parents were animals themselves.

      I felt the weight of guilt lift as I ended the call. I could see Darby running around the garden, chasing Tyler and shrieking. Her cheeks were a lovely deep pink, and with the new red coat, tartan scarf and smart black boots we’d bought her in the sales, she looked the picture of happiness and health. Nobody would have guessed that underneath that rosy glow and joyful laughter there lay such a deeply skewed and abused soul.

      Because I wasn’t naïve, any more than was John or Mike. There would be years of counselling ahead for Darby; because of what her parents had subjected her to, and the emotional distress she had suffered, she’d probably continue to suffer, one way or another, for years to come – both because of the abandonment and the inevitable consequence of getting older and understanding more.

      As John had concluded when he’d called just that morning, she would doubtless get worse before she got better. Which made it doubly good that there were people like the Burtons to take care of her. Without anyone to consider but the child they were adopting, they could ensure they had the best chance of seeing her through, out of the darkness and on to a better life.

      I glanced at the clock on my mobile. A process that would be starting now. All being well. This was to be Darby’s first introductory visit with the Burtons and for all that they’d intimated that they already felt committed, I was also aware how much a part instinct played. If things didn’t feel right, all the rationalising in the world wouldn’t help make a placement ‘stick’ – and that held true for both parties.

      True, from Darby’s perspective this was all going to be fun. A visit to a farm, where there’d be sheep and cows and chickens. ‘And horses!’ she’d enthused when she returned from her briefing the previous day with Katy Morris. ‘And a sheepdog called Socks. But no dressing-up clothes. I don’t have to work, no more never,’ the words running together as she’d gabbled them out, and Katy’s and my eyes meeting. My sense of relief.

      My relief once again, when we’d laid Darby’s clothes out, all ready for the trip out to the country the following day, and she’d grabbed me and kissed me and thanked me for having her. ‘I’ve had the best Christmas ever,’ she’d said. And then, very solemnly, ‘Will you let Santa know where I’m going to be next year? Because the country is a very big place.’

      I felt Mike’s hand on my shoulder as I rapped on the conservatory window. ‘Come on you two,’ I called. ‘Time to get off!’

      ‘It’s the best thing,’ my husband said, reading my mind, the way he always did.

      ‘I know,’ I said, nodding, but feeling the same pang I always did. That, for all that it was best, that I had nevertheless failed. In the misguided business of trying to be all things for everyone.

      But there were Tyler and Darby now, running across the garden towards the back door, and Tyler veering off to squish his nose against the conservatory glass. And I thought of my kids, and my grandkids, and of this cherished adolescent, and I thought there was possibly another way of putting it. That, for Darby, now, thankfully, there was someone.

      I never needed to be all things for everyone in the first place.