I told her about our activities: ‘We went to the park, and as a special treat on Saturday we had dinner at Pizza Hut.’
‘How was she in public?’
‘A bit quiet. She was quite pleased to leave. On Sunday we took a long walk in the woods with the dogs, and came back to a huge roast.’ Then I went through the rest of the weeks’ activities. ‘Kira seemed happy enough,’ I said, and I believed it was true.
By that point we noticed Kira standing by the front door, wearing her coat. Awkward doesn’t begin to describe that moment, and Roz leant over to me and whispered: ‘I think she wants to go.’ I was wounded for a split second then quickly reminded myself that it was Kira’s needs that were important, not mine. Then Roz said: ‘She’s probably just been a bit overwhelmed. As there’s only one other child where she is it might have been a shock coming into all this chaos.’ She smiled. I knew this was just good-natured banter; she didn’t really think we lived in chaos.
I was expecting her to say, ‘Thanks for helping out, we’ll take it from here,’ but she surprised me as she went on: ‘Would you be prepared to have Kira on a regular respite basis if we need you? I’ve spoken to her carers and Claire will be in a wheelchair for a couple of months, maybe three. They want Kira to stay with them as she’s been with them for a few months already. She found it really hard to settle at first, but she’s been making some progress and they don’t want to disrupt her unless they really have to.’
‘I’ll be happy to help if you need me,’ I said as I walked over to Kira and picked her up. She looked uncomfortable and gave me a withering look.
I put her down gently and opened the front door. The social worker took Kira’s small, limp hand, which she quickly snatched away, and led her down the garden path. ‘Bye, Kira,’ I said. ‘Bye,’ she said, but neither of them looked back and neither waved, so I shut the door and took a brief moment to reflect.
I began to mull over what had just happened, and I felt hurt and worried about whether Kira had enjoyed her stay with us. My thoughts were interrupted by the phone ringing so I put the problem to one side. Later, I spoke to the kids and was happy that nothing traumatic had happened to Kira while she was with us. I just put it down to her wanting to be in a more familiar setting.
Life carried on and I had little time to think about Kira again. The truth is, I was just another adult who had come into her life for a short period.
Christmas was on its way and I love Christmas with all my heart. It’s like re-entering my childhood again – Christmas time was when I was at my happiest when I was little. Somehow my parents managed to put aside their differences for a few days and made a supreme effort to get into the spirit of things, and that has always stayed with me.
I decorate my home with two trees, one in the front room and one in my enormous kitchen. I cover the house in fairy lights and make sure I light a log fire at night. I dig out all the Christmas songs. ‘Not Nat King Cole again!’ Martin will shout from the other room. ‘Bing’s on next!’ I shout back, and I sing along to Bing Crosby and Wizzard while I’m cooking the dinner. I love the smell of Christmas too, particularly mulled wine and mince pies.
I’m no cook. I can handle the basics, but my mum could have been a professional and she makes the best Christmas cake you’ve ever tasted – rich and moist, but not too heavy, and just the right amount of brandy to bring it alive. I’ve never had one that could compare and my mouth waters just thinking about it. On Christmas Eve at about 4 p.m., a friend and I race down to the supermarket to pick up any Christmas bargains we can find. ‘How many turkeys do you need this year, Mia?’
‘Two as usual.’
‘Well, hopefully they’ll be knocked down in price by now.’
‘Fingers crossed.’
I never go away at Christmas and there is usually twenty-plus for Christmas dinner. I always just want to be at home with my family, and with the preparations taking up every spare minute, there was no chance to think of Kira.
Christmas and New Year ended, and the pure volume of traffic had made our house look somewhat sad and tired. I felt a bit like a wilted Christmas tree myself, my sparkle had gone and I was worn out.
It never did snow in December but by January there was so much snow it covered the front door step, and it became impossible to get out of the house. We were all milling around at home waiting for it to thaw, but the kids had plenty of new games and toys to keep them occupied, so everyone was happy.
On 6 January I was in the middle of taking the decorations down and clearing up the debris of the festive season when I heard Francesca shout: ‘Mum!’ She had picked up the phone, which I had missed ringing as I had been vacuuming. ‘It’s for you!’
I turned the vacuum off and took the handset from Francesca. ‘It’s Roz,’ a voice said. I was stumped for a minute. ‘It’s Roz from social services. I collected Kira from you in December,’ she said. ‘Of course. How are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ she replied. She went through the niceties, asking how my Christmas had been, but we both knew she hadn’t called just for that.
‘I’m calling about Kira,’ she said. I hadn’t thought to ask about Kira because I assumed that, as I hadn’t heard anything, her carers were coping and Roz was calling about another child. I was wrong. ‘I was wondering if you could have her on a regular respite care basis. We’re trying to save her placement but physiotherapy is taking up more time than they expected. Not surprisingly, Kira is being quite demanding and they’re struggling a bit.’
I paused, remembering Kira looking at the front door with her coat on, waiting to escape. ‘I think it’s a good idea if I meet her carers before I make that decision, and we would really need to like each other for this to work,’ I said. It’s like any relationship that involves children and multiple adults. A child will thrive if they see you getting along with the other adults in their life. Kira needed to see us together so I thought we should organise to meet.
‘We can do that,’ Roz said. ‘Are you free tomorrow?’
‘I can be,’ I replied.
‘Okay. I’ll pick you up at nine in the morning and drive to meet James and Claire.’
‘Fine. See you then.’
Claire and James were both teachers and their five-bedroom detached house was lovely. James was about fifty and greying at the temples, but he still had a full head of hair. He was average build and smartly dressed in corduroys and a checked shirt. Claire was about forty-five and short. She looked like a stern school teacher, I thought.
They welcomed us with tea – always a good sign, I think – and we sat round their large kitchen table. Kira wasn’t there but would be coming back at lunchtime, they said.
Claire explained: ‘My hip is taking longer to heal than I thought. My sister can help out with Jo, but because Kira is quite “difficult”, my sister doesn’t think she can manage both of them.’
‘I understand,’ I said.
‘She’s a lovely girl really,’ James said, ‘but she needs more than we can give her at the moment.’ They looked at each other, but I wasn’t unduly concerned. I knew that Kira would be struggling and that it would all be coming out in her behaviour. ‘If you could take her at weekends we can probably cope during the week,’ James added. I liked them, they were honest and I could see that we could work together, so I said, ‘Yes. I’d like to take her.’
Just then the doorbell rang and it was Claire’s sister with Kira. ‘Hello Kira,’ I said. ‘Do you remember me?’ She nodded.
‘Mia’s going to look after you at weekends while