Casey Watson - A Dark Secret

This book is a work of non-fiction based on the author’s experiences. In order to protect privacy, names, identifying characteristics, dialogue and details have been changed or reconstructed.

HarperElement

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperElement 2019

FIRST EDITION

© Casey Watson 2019

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

Cover image © Clive Nolan/Trigger Image (posed by model)

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers 2019

Casey Watson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author 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.

Find out about HarperCollins and the environment at

www.harpercollins.co.uk/green

Source ISBN: 9780008298616

Ebook Edition © May 2019 ISBN: 9780008298654

Version: 2019-03-28

1 Cover

2 Title Page

3 Copyright

4 Contents

5 Dedication

6 Acknowledgements

7 Chapter 1

8 Chapter 2

9 Chapter 3

10 Chapter 4

11 Chapter 5

12 Chapter 6

13 Chapter 7

14 Chapter 8

15 Chapter 9

16 Chapter 10

17 Chapter 11

18 Chapter 12

19 Chapter 13

20 Chapter 14

21 Chapter 15

22 Chapter 16

23 Chapter 17

24 Chapter 18

25 Chapter 19

26 Chapter 20

27 Chapter 21

28 Chapter 22

29 Chapter 23

30 Chapter 24

31 Chapter 25

32 Epilogue

33 Also by Casey Watson

34 Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

35 About the Publisher

Landmarks CoverFrontmatterStart of ContentBackmatter

List of Pages iii iv v vii 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63646566 67686970717273747576 77787980818283848586878889 90919293949596979899100101102 103104105106107108109110111 112113114115116117118119120 121122123124125126127128129130131132133134135136 137138139140141142143144 145146147148149150151152153154155156 157158159160161162163164165 166167168169170171172 173174175176177178179180181182 183184185186187188189190191192 193194195196197198199200201202203204205206207 208209210211212213214215216217218 219220221222223224225226 227228229230231232233234235236 237238239240241242243244245246247248249 250251252253254255256257258259260261262263264265 266267268269270271272273274 275276277278279281

This book is dedicated to the army of passionate foster carers out there, each doing their bit to ensure that our children are kept as safe as possible in such a changing and often scary world. As technology is reinvented and becomes ever more complicated for those of us who were not brought up amid such advances, we can only try to keep up, in the hope that we continue to learn alongside our young people.

I remain endlessly grateful to my team at HarperCollins for their continuing support, and I’m especially excited to see the return of my editor, the very lovely Vicky Eribo, and look forward to sharing my new stories with her. As always, nothing would be possible without my wonderful agent, Andrew Lownie, the very best agent in the world in my opinion, and my grateful thanks also to the lovely Lynne, my friend and mentor forever.

Aqua aerobics in February. In February. Had I completely lost my marbles? I couldn’t remember which of my so-called friends had suggested it, but by now I was sorely regretting having agreed to it. Not only was it absolutely Baltic outside, but I had just suffered the most embarrassing incident ever, and as we huddled in our respective changing cubicles in the leisure centre (which were only marginally less Baltic) the same so-called friends – not to mention my sister Donna – were still teasing me about it relentlessly.

‘Oh, Casey,’ Donna said, laughing, ‘such a priceless Barbara Windsor moment!’

‘I must, I must, improve my bust!’ my friend Kate added, gleefully.

And all I could do was take the teasing, and grin and bear it. Or should that have been ‘bare’ it? Definitely. It was such a basic error, after all.

Having not gone swimming in any form for a good couple of years now, I no longer had a suitable swimsuit, and given that this wasn’t the time of year for ‘summer holiday essentials’, the stores didn’t have a great deal of choice. Luckily I had spotted a sale rail and found a front-fastening, gold (of all colours) bikini. And were that not enough to mark me out as a rookie, during a rather robust arms-out-to-the side-and-do-a-windmill thrust, my all-singing, all-dancing, shimmering gold bikini had unclasped with a ping, giving me no choice but to do a duck dive, and leaving me scrabbling around under the water, trying to regain both the shreds of my bikini top and my dignity. But not before the whole class, including the instructor, had witnessed it. I was going to have to seriously rethink how I approached this whole ‘me time’ malarkey.

‘Okay, okay,’ I called out from my own changing booth. ‘I’m so happy I’ve brightened up your morning. And I’m so happy that mobile phones aren’t allowed in the frigging pool, either, because I can only imagine the pleasure you’d have all taken in capturing it for all time.’

Amid the ensuing laughter, as if I’d summoned it, my own phone started to ring. Delving into my changing bag – one that would put Mary Poppins to shame, obviously – I found it and saw it was a call from Christine Bolton, my still relatively new fostering link worker.

Had she called to tease me too? If so, news travelled fast. Quickly drying one side of my face, I put the phone to my ear, first explaining where I was, so she’d understand all the cackles, bumps and bangs.

‘I’m surprised to hear from you again so quickly,’ I added, as I parked my damp bottom on a towel slung on the wooden-slatted bench. I’d only spoken to her the day before and I knew there was nothing on the horizon. Though there had been – up until a few days ago, we’d been earmarked for a particularly difficult teenager badly in need of a calm, stable home. But as often happens in fostering, there was a game-changer. Just a day before all concerned were due in court, a grandparent had kindly stepped forward to offer to take the child in and so the case had been dropped. And to the great relief of all concerned. So we were expecting a lull now – hence all the ‘me-time’. Till another long-term placement came up we were only really doing respite, and that mostly for our most recent child, Miller, who was now in a residential school and with a new primary carer, Mavis.

‘I know,’ Christine replied, ‘and I’m so sorry to bother you in the middle of your swimming, but that mini-break you said you and Mike were hoping to jet off on – have you booked anything yet?’