Mia Marconi - Little Girl Lost - The true story of a broken child

Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve About the Author Also by Mia Marconi Moving Memoirs eNewsletter Write for Us About the Publisher

Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.

HarperTrueLife

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpertrue.com

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperTrueLife 2015

FIRST EDITION

© Mia Marconi and Sally Beck 2015

Cover photo © Shutterstock 2015

Cover layout © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2015

Mia Marconi and Sally Beck 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.

Find out about HarperCollins and the environment at

www.harpercollins.co.uk/green

Source ISBN: 9780008105150

Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780007584406

Version: 2015-03-06

Cover

Title Page Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve About the Author Also by Mia Marconi Moving Memoirs eNewsletter Write for Us About the Publisher

Copyright Copyright Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve About the Author Also by Mia Marconi Moving Memoirs eNewsletter Write for Us About the Publisher Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy. HarperTrueLife An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpertrue.com www.harpercollins.co.uk First published by HarperTrueLife 2015 FIRST EDITION © Mia Marconi and Sally Beck 2015 Cover photo © Shutterstock 2015 Cover layout © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2015 Mia Marconi and Sally Beck 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. Find out about HarperCollins and the environment at www.harpercollins.co.uk/green Source ISBN: 9780008105150 Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780007584406 Version: 2015-03-06

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

About the Author

Also by Mia Marconi

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

Write for Us

About the Publisher

I’ve always said that giving birth to a child does not make you a mother and simply fathering a child does not make you a father. What makes you a mother and a father is what comes next: sitting up all night with your little one while they’re fighting a fever; watching The Lion King on a loop; covering the kitchen with poster paint, sticky tape and cake mix; and endless visits to the park to swing your beautiful son or daughter on the same swing and slide them down the same slide. It’s repetitive and, dare I say it, occasionally boring, but that contact with your child makes them feel loved and valued. It’s called unconditional love, not childcare. But over the years I had begun to realise that not all parents are capable of loving their children, and that those children who enter the world cocooned by the love of their mother and father are the lucky ones.

Kira initially came to live with us for respite care, and she was a child who could not comprehend the meaning of the word ‘love’. Kira could have written a doctorate on rejection, but love was a mystery to her.

She came into our home one Friday night. When you work on the frontline in foster care you very quickly realise that the most urgent calls come on a Friday, usually just as you’re about to head out of the door to take your other kids somewhere, or as you’re snuggling up in bed with a good book. There’s something about having to face the weekend with a demanding child that galvanises people into action.

On this particular Friday I was trying to make dinner, surrounded by chaos. My own five children were demob-happy and already getting into the weekend spirit. ‘Mum, I can’t find my football shorts,’ shouted Alfie. ‘Mum, Ruby’s got my favourite pyjamas.’ ‘No I haven’t, she’s got mine!’ ‘Mum, Jack’s eating my slippers. Mum!’ Sleepovers were being planned and sporting activities discussed at top volume as usual, but through the noise I somehow heard the phone ring.

I picked it up. ‘Can you hear me?’ said a calm, professional voice that sounded vaguely like a social worker. I couldn’t, and took the phone into my quiet room, one that the children knew to stay out of. It was my room, peaceful, with warm red walls and a thick fluffy carpet, and as soon as I entered it I felt instantly peaceful. ‘Sorry, I can now.’

‘We need an emergency placement for the week. It’s respite for another set of carers. One of the carers has been in an accident. She’s broken her hip and is struggling to cope. Can you help?’

‘How old is the poor little mite? And are we her only option?’ I said, playing for time. As much as I wanted to help, all our weekend plans would take time to change and I had to be sure I could change them before I committed.

‘Kira is three,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid you are the only option. She hasn’t been with these carers for long and she’s only just come into care, so obviously this is all incredibly disorientating for her. She can’t cope as they are in the midst of a crisis. She is quite needy and her behaviour can be challenging, and the carers are struggling with her. They say she’s being quite difficult.’

My mind was racing. From what she had said, I knew that Kira would need one hundred per cent of my attention, and I wondered how I would juggle everything I had to do and give her the care that she needed.

‘Please,’ said the desperate voice on the end of the phone.