Rosie Lewis - Angels in Our Hearts

Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Introduction by Casey Watson Dedication Helpless A Small Boy’s Cry Two More Sleeps Unexpected Introduction by Rosie Lewis Dedication Just a Boy At Risk Also Available Moving Memoirs eNewsetter About the Publisher

HarperElement

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London SE1 9GF

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Helpless first published by HarperElement 2013

A Small Boy’s Cry first published by HarperElement 2014

Two More Sleeps first published by HarperElement 2014

Unexpected first published by HarperElement 2015

Just a Boy first published by HarperElement 2013

At Risk first published by HarperElement 2016

This edition HarperElement 2019

FIRST EDITION

© Rosie Lewis 2013, 2014, 2015, 2019

© Casey Watson 2013, 2016, 2019

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers 2019

Cover photograph © Plainpicture/Dombrowski (posed by model)

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Rosie Lewis and Casey Watson assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

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Source ISBN: 9780008305956

Ebook Edition © January 2019 ISBN: 9780008305963

Version: 2018-11-29

Cover

Title Page Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Introduction by Casey Watson Dedication Helpless A Small Boy’s Cry Two More Sleeps Unexpected Introduction by Rosie Lewis Dedication Just a Boy At Risk Also Available Moving Memoirs eNewsetter About the Publisher

Copyright

Introduction by Casey Watson

Dedication

Helpless

A Small Boy’s Cry

Two More Sleeps

Unexpected

Introduction by Rosie Lewis

Dedication

Just a Boy

At Risk

Also Available

Moving Memoirs eNewsetter

About the Publisher

It is such an honour to be able to share these pages with fellow foster carer and author, Rosie Lewis. Not only are her stories inspiring for you all to read, but they continue to inspire me. As a carer for many years I know that all children are very different and come from very different backgrounds, so there are no hard and set rules for looking after them. Fostering can often seem like an isolating job, and there are days when you feel that you’ve emptied your tool box and have nothing left to work with. These moments, thankfully, are fleeting, and somewhere, from the depths of our hearts, we always manage to find some clarity – and then it’s sleeves rolled up and business as usual.

Reading Rosie’s stories makes me realise that although all the children may be different, the trials and tribulations of fostering are universal. We love, we nurture and we try to find the key to a child’s happiness – or at least the key that unlocks their demons – and then we can try help to break them down and pave the way to the future. What is similar about Rosie and myself is that we both understand what a rollercoaster our career choice has been, but we take the knocks, the red tape and the teenage angst in our stride and we try to see the lighter side. I’m certain that Rosie would agree with me that sometimes, if we didn’t laugh, we would cry – but this only serves to make us stronger.

I’m sure you will enjoy these short snapshots into our daily lives, and I’m delighted to introduce Rosie Lewis.

I dedicate this book to the children who have found themselves a place in our home over the years, and taught us more than we could ever teach them. I’d also like to spare a thought for all the dedicated social workers out there who work so hard to make a difference and rarely get any credit. And finally, to all the foster carers, adopters and readers who care so much – as Casey says, hats off to you all!

Rosie

‘Course, I seen it all, love,’ Bob, my police escort, says as we drive through the cold November night towards the hospital. ‘Twisted car wrecks, stab victims, the lot, but I couldn’t do what you do, not for twice my police pension.’

Smiling, I re-check the contents of the hurriedly packed nappy bag on my lap, mentally running through the items I might need to get through the next twenty-four hours. Bob’s reaction isn’t surprising. Who wouldn’t be overwhelmed by the prospect of being permanently on duty? When I’m fostering, every second of my existence is dominated by the needs of the damaged child, but I don’t mind. Like many foster carers, I’m driven by a powerful need to ease their pain.

I remember myself as a child, walking by our local newsagents on the way to school. Outside the shop stood a little wooden figure of a beggar boy with polio, both legs fixed in metal callipers and a forlorn expression painted on his face. He held up a sign saying ‘Please give’ and there was a slot in the top of his head for pennies. Undeterred by the bird droppings across his shoulders, I would give him a quick hug, longing to take him home and make him better.

My pulse quickens as we pass over a deserted bridge lined with old-fashioned street-lamps. After seven years of fostering I still feel an intense excitement when taking on a new child. It’s only been a few days since my last placement ended and already I’m itching to fill the void.

As we drive past the riverside council blocks I’m reminded of one of my previous charges – three-year-old Connor, a boy who spent a large part of his day roaming the second floor of the grim building with his overfull nappy hanging at his knees while his mother familiarised herself with a string of violent, resentful partners. How fragile their lives are, I think, when nothing is certain and the events of one day can turn everything familiar upside down.

Soon we turn into a main road and the functional, rectangular building of the city hospital looms into view. Bob pulls the police car into the large parking area outside the maternity wing and I reach for the infant seat with trembling fingers, gripped by a sudden fear that I’m too out of practice to care for such a young baby.

Coming in from the knife-like wind, the warmth of the maternity unit engulfs me like a blanket. Another police officer stands guard outside the delivery suite and the sight causes my stomach to flip. What if the birth family find out where I live? Am I putting my own children at risk?