Jane Renshaw - Watch Over Me

Alec nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yep, mothers who lose custody of their children also tend to be of below-average intelligence, which is also massively hereditary. So I reckon, quite honestly, that if the child is backward or shows challenging behaviours , there’s probably nothing much we can do about it. The heritability of IQ is around eighty per cent. And you can’t cure bipolar disorder or schizophrenia or foetal alcohol syndrome by putting the kid on the naughty step.’ And he’d flapped his hands in that dismissive way of his, as if to say I don’t expect any of you to understand, though, so what’s the use .

But then he’d smiled, his wonderful, bashful, infectious smile, and laughed, and said, ‘So should I go on the naughty step, then, Ben?’ and all of them, even Ben, had laughed too, and the women had given him the indulgent maternal looks that women tended to bestow on Alec, while Mr Chin-Rubber had beamed at him in something close to awe.

But she was pretty sure Deirdre wouldn’t appreciate a repeat performance.

‘Don’t mention anything to do with the child’s probable gene pool. Don’t say you dislike children. Don’t say you were quite happy that I couldn’t have any, and that at least adopting a toddler will cut out the earliest years of maximum noise and mess. Don’t say you feel like a bit of a mug for volunteering to bring up someone else’s child, like reed warblers would feel about cuckoo chicks if they had brains bigger than a pea, but you’re hoping your own preprogrammed nurturing neural pathways will kick in if and when the child is dumped on us.’

Alec opened and closed his mouth.

Pippa said Alec was socially incontinent, like a child, blurting things out regardless of context or appropriateness – and Ruth had to agree, but she also liked to think it was a sort of social courage, a refusal to compromise himself to fit in with what was seen as acceptable just to be popular – and, ironically, it was this very quality that made him popular. That, and his self-deprecating sense of humour, and a sort of quiet exuberance that had attracted her to him straight away.

He wasn’t in your face, he didn’t dominate a room, he listened more than he spoke, but he had an air of childlike wonder that she loved, an eagerness to be told about the world, a way of being fascinated and delighted by what people were telling him about quite ordinary things; an awareness that he was a hopeless novice at life and needed to be schooled in it by those more capable than he. At the same time he came across as quite confident, opinionated, prickly at times, easily exasperated by stupidity – but that just seemed to make people want to please him all the more.

As he laughed shame-facedly at himself now – the sound a cross between a donkey braying and a seal barking – she found herself laughing too, and apologising for being such a pain, such a Stepford nightmare; and felt all the tension that had been lodged in her body, in her brain, in the sore place behind her eyes leaving her as he pulled her to him and kissed her on the lips she’d so carefully made up an hour before.

It was going to be fine.

‘Now, Mrs Johnson,’ says the sheriff. ‘I realise that this is a difficult and emotional time for you. But please keep your language under control and respect the court, or I’ll have to ask you to stop and sit back down. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, My Lady.’ I set Shrek on the wide bit of the sheep pen in front of me. ‘I’m sorry about before. I’m just that wound up, you know?’

I cannae look at Mair or I’ll lose it. I concentrate on Mr Lyall’s eyes behind his glasses as he goes, ‘I believe you’ve prepared a statement to read to the court.’

‘Aye. And it’s all my own work by the way.’ I fold out my statement and give a wee cough. ‘Our Bekki means the world to us. She’s our wee angel and we all love her to bits. She should be with us, her family, where she belongs. We may not have much money but we have plenty of love to give. Bekki has had a difficult time with Shannon-Rose and she needs the security of her family around her, not strangers who don’t know her and don’t love her, and who can never love her like we do.’ Oh God. Oh fuck . I’ve got to stop. I cannae even breathe.

‘You’re doing very well, Mrs Johnson. Just take your time.’ He’s a nice wee man, Mr Lyall.

‘Aye. I’m sorry. This is a bit hard.’

‘Of course it is.’

‘Every grandma loves her grandkids, but Bekki and I have a special bond because of Shannon-Rose being the way she is. I always stepped in when I could, but often Shannon-Rose wouldn’t let me in her flat and when I went to her social worker she said there was nothing they could do about that.’ I heave in another breath. ‘We aren’t in the best of circumstances financially and as a family we’ve had a hard time of it lately, but we are turning our lives around. I’ve got a wee job at the Co-op, and my manager Mrs Shaughnessy has written me a reference which Ms Mair said she never got, but it was sent recorded delivery and Mrs Shaughnessy has the tracking document to prove it… She’ll give it you if you want, the document that proves the receptionist at Social Work signed for it, so she did –’

‘Please just continue with your statement, Mrs Johnson,’ goes the sheriff.

Mr Lyall’s nodding at me, so I take another breath.

‘The reference says: “Lorraine Johnson is a valued and well-liked member of the Co-op team. She is a very conscientious worker and can be relied on to perform any task in the store to an exceptional standard. She is particularly popular with the older customers, sometimes even helping them carry bags to the bus stop, and with children, with whom she has an obvious connection, never too busy to chat and raise a smile. I join with the rest of the staff in hoping she will be successful in gaining custody of her granddaughter Bekki.”’

Mr Lyall nods. ‘Well… That’s a glowing reference if ever I heard one. So, Dr Fernandez’s assessment of your IQ as low enough to put you in the category of “learning disability” is perhaps wide of the mark, given your success in your new job?’

‘“Dr” Fernandez never visited us. This is the first time I’ve laid eyes on the bitch.’

‘ Mrs Johnson ,’ goes the sheriff.

‘Sorry. On the lady in question . She never interviewed us. Ms Mair never visited us except for that one time. That’s a pack of lies in her report about three more visits by the way. And she must have turned round and told “Dr” Fernandez a pack of lies about us, and “Dr” Fernandez put them in her report, making out she’d interviewed us. She never.’

Mr Lyall frowns. ‘I see.’

‘My neighbour’s CCTV proves it. Sonia McLeckie’s CCTV. That proves Ms Mair only came the once, and there was no one with her. On the other dates she claims to have come, and the date she claims to have come with “Dr” Fernandez, she never.’ And now I do eyeball Mair, and the bitch sitting next her. Mair’s bright red, and Fernandez’s got a face on her like she’s chewing a wasp.

Gotcha .

They’re not to know Sonia McLeckie wouldnae piss on me if I was on fire.

‘I also sent Ms Mair a reference from one of the teachers at my old school, which she also apparently never got. I’ve got that here an’ all?’

‘Please read it, Mrs Johnson.’

I cough. ‘Mr Ingrams taught maths at my school. He’s been retired for years and he’s eighty-odd but he still remembers me. “Lorraine Johnson, or Slorrach as she was then, was a bright and likeable pupil who, despite many difficulties at home, more than managed to keep up with her peers in class. She was in the top stream for maths, and it was hoped that she would stay on for her Highers and perhaps apply to university. Sadly, in S4, due to unfortunate circumstances, she missed a lot of school and ended up leaving without any qualifications. However, this was in no way a reflection of Lorraine’s ability or potential.” Aye? Let’s get that wee windae-licker in the top maths class for a wee joke, is it?’