Jane Renshaw - Watch Over Me

‘Ms Mair,’ goes Fwah . ‘Mrs Johnson claims that she never received notification of the meetings and hearings held to discuss Bekki’s future.’

‘That’s not the case. Mr and Mrs Johnson were sent invitations to all the meetings they were entitled to attend. I can produce copies of the letters…?’

‘That won’t be necessary. As for the character references…?’

‘I never received any character references. I can assure you that if I had done so I would have followed them up and, if appropriate, included them in my report.’

‘Now, as to the injuries that are detailed in the doctor’s report on Bekki when she was first removed from the Johnson family home. Mrs Johnson maintains that they were old injuries inflicted by her daughter Shannon-Rose. Is this, in your view, a plausible explanation for the injuries to the child that were documented?’

‘I’m afraid not. If you look at the doctor’s report, you’ll see he talks about “fresh bruising” and says that he’d estimate most of the injuries were inflicted less than twenty-four hours previously.’

‘And Bekki was last with Shannon-Rose…?’

‘Two weeks beforehand.’

‘I see. That seems clear-cut… Now, another allegation of Mrs Johnson’s is that in fact you only visited the Johnsons’ address on one occasion, not four, and that neither you nor Dr Fernandez visited the property on the twenty-second of August.’

‘The dates in my report are correct. I visited the Johnsons four times, and was accompanied by Dr Fernandez on the twenty-second of August visit. The suggestion that we would collude in falsifying evidence… My professional reputation, I think I can say, is unblemished. As is that of Dr Fernandez.’

‘Am I correct in saying that you have an impeccable fifteen-year record of employment in the Social Work Department of South Ayrshire Council, followed by an impeccable four years in your current position with Glasgow City Council?’

Blah fucking blah.

‘I’m sorry to say,’ says the sheriff, ‘that I found Mrs Johnson to be a somewhat unreliable witness, in marked contrast to Ms Mair, Dr Reid and Dr Fernandez. In particular, I would like to commend the professionalism shown by Ms Mair in what has evidently been a challenging and upsetting case. Although I have no doubt that the Johnson family’s affection for Bekki is genuine, I am persuaded that there is a significant risk of harm should Bekki be placed in their care, and in such cases the safety of the child must always be the paramount concern. I am persuaded that it is in Bekki Johnson’s best interests that the permanence order, with authority to adopt, be granted, with the recommendation that neither Shannon-Rose Johnson nor her parents or siblings have any further contact with Bekki and, should she go on to be adopted, that it should be a closed adoption with no contact between the child and her biological family. Under the terms of the closed adoption, when she reaches the age of eighteen Bekki will be given information that will enable her to resume contact, but this will be entirely Bekki’s decision.’

Out in the lobby, Mr Lyall goes, ‘We’ll appeal of course, but… You mustn’t hold out too much hope, I’m afraid.’

‘We’ve lost her,’ says Mandy. ‘We’ve lost our wee darlin’.’

‘I’m very sorry. Mrs Johnson, you spoke most eloquently on the stand, but…’ He lifts his skinny shoulders.

‘Aye, no so eloquent though, eh, when that bastard started in on me? If I’d been all “I can assure you”, if I’d been a snobby bitch like fucking Mair, the sheriff might have taken a wee bit notice of what I was fucking saying, eh? I was daft so I was, thinking playing it straight was gonnae get us anywhere with these bastards.’

Mr Lyall’s thinking Thank fuck these fucking schemies are outta my hair .

I hold out Shrek. ‘Here’s her wee toy. We were keeping it for her, you know? Can she have her Shrek? She takes it with her to her bed.’

‘She needs it,’ goes Connor in a wee choked-up voice. ‘Bekki needs her Shrek.’

Oh aye, now he’s giving it Disneys, now it’s too fucking late.

Mr Lyall angles the top half of his body away from Shrek. ‘I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible. You can rest assured that she’ll be well looked after. I’m sure – I’m sure she’ll have plenty of – of other, um, cuddly animals… to, um, take to bed with her…’

I take a hold of Mandy and she takes a hold of me.

As we leave the court building and the wind hits us, I’ve still got fucking Shrek cuddled in to my tits. Stupid fucking thing. Stupid cheap fucking toy that needs a wash, and Mr Lyall’s right – Bekki, wherever she is, will have a nice dolly or teddy to take to her bed, not a cheap knock-off from the market that’s probably got illegal fucking chemicals in it.

But in my head I’m going, It’s okay, wee Shrek. It’s gonnae be okay .

Ruth and Pam leant side by side on the gate, sharing a sneaky packet of smoky bacon crisps while they watched their daughters. Although the sun had finally appeared and the Met Office was promising high pressure for the whole weekend, it seemed to have been raining for most of September, and this corner of the paddock was a dubby mess.

Which was why Ruth and Pam weren’t venturing in there.

In the middle of the paddock, Emma slithered to a halt as Beckie and Hobo trotted up to her, Alec floundering along at their side, mud spattered all up his jeans. Emma threw her arms round the pony’s neck and flopped against him, wailing: ‘I surrender!’

Beckie kicked her feet from the stirrups and slid off Hobo’s back.

Pam shook her head. ‘Beckie, sweetheart!’ she yelled across at them. ‘Have a longer go! Don’t let Emma bully you!’

‘I’m not!’ Emma, indignant, yelled back. ‘Beckie wants to be hunted!’

Beckie, grinning, dashed across the grass towards them while Emma waited impatiently for Alec to lengthen Hobo’s stirrups. At eight, Emma was a year older than Beckie and several inches taller, a raven-haired girl with long supple limbs and a dancer’s grace.

Which was where any resemblance to Tricia Fisher began and ended. Ruth would never have let the two families become so close if she’d had any doubts on that score.

This new craze of theirs, ‘Hunting’, involved one of them chasing the other down on horseback. Well, ponyback, and with Alec running alongside and grabbing girl and/or reins at the first sign of trouble.

The paddock was ideally situated between the two cottages. Opposite this gate was another they’d made into the paddock from Pam and James’s back garden, so the girls could nip across it without having to go on the road.

‘Look at him running,’ said Ruth as Emma, Hobo and Alec trotted after Beckie. Alec had an exaggerated, uncoordinated, John Cleese-ish running style, managing to look gawky and stork-like at five foot six.

Pam was trying not to smile. ‘I’d swap James’s athletic ability for Alec’s willingness to spend his whole Saturday morning running about a muddy field any time.’

‘He is pretty good that way.’ Ruth dived in for another handful of crisps. ‘He never really wanted kids, you know, in the abstract. When it was just a generic child we were talking about.’

With most people, she rarely if ever referred to the fact that Beckie was adopted, as if it was something she had to keep a secret, as if one day someone was going to look at her and narrow their eyes and say, ‘Oh my God. They let you adopt a child?’

Pam was different. She’d never had a friend like Pam. For the first time in her adult life, she felt she had a friend she could trust. She had even, in her madder moments, wondered if she would some day be able to tell Pam.