Cathy Glass - Will You Love Me? - The story of my adopted daughter Lucy - Part 1 of 3

Also by Cathy Glass Damaged Hidden Cut The Saddest Girl in the World Happy Kids The Girl in the Mirror I Miss Mummy Mummy Told Me Not to Tell My Dad’s a Policeman (a Quick Reads novel) Run, Mummy, Run The Night the Angels Came Happy Adults A Baby’s Cry Happy Mealtimes For Kids Another Forgotten Child Please Don’t Take My Baby Contents Cover

Title Page Also by Cathy Glass Damaged Hidden Cut The Saddest Girl in the World Happy Kids The Girl in the Mirror I Miss Mummy Mummy Told Me Not to Tell My Dad’s a Policeman (a Quick Reads novel) Run, Mummy, Run The Night the Angels Came Happy Adults A Baby’s Cry Happy Mealtimes For Kids Another Forgotten Child Please Don’t Take My Baby Contents Cover Title Page Also by Cathy Glass Acknowledgements Epigraph Prologue 1 Desperate 2 Escape 3 Concerned 4 Too Late to Help 5 Family 6 Neglect 7 No Chance to Say Goodbye 8 A Good Friend 9 ‘I Hate You All!’ Exclusive sample chapter Cathy Glass Copyright About the Publisher

Also by Cathy Glass

Acknowledgements Acknowledgements A big thank-you to my editor, Holly; my literary agent Andrew; and Carole, Vicky, Laura and all the team at HarperCollins.

Epigraph ‘Every time I hear a newborn baby cry … Then I know why, I believe.’ ‘I Believe’ by Ervin Drake

Prologue Prologue I heard Pat, Lucy’s carer, knock on Lucy’s bedroom door, and then a slight creak as the door opened, followed by: ‘Your new carer, Cathy, is on the phone for you. Can you come and talk to her?’ There was silence and then I heard the bedroom door close. A few moments later Pat’s voice came on the phone again. ‘I told her, but she’s still refusing to even look at me. She’s just sitting there on the bed staring into space.’ My worries for Lucy rose. ‘What should I do now?’ Pat asked, anxiously. ‘Shall I ask my husband to talk to her?’ ‘Does Lucy have a better relationship with him?’ I asked. ‘No, not really,’ Pat said. ‘She won’t speak to him, either. We might have to leave her here until Monday, when her social worker is back at work.’ ‘Then Lucy will have the whole weekend to brood over this,’ I said. ‘It will be worse. Let’s try again to get her to the phone. I’m sure it will help if she hears I’m not an ogre.’ Pat gave a little snort of laughter. ‘Jill said you were very good with older children,’ referring to my support social worker. ‘That was sweet of her,’ I said. ‘Now, is your phone fixed or cordless?’ ‘Cordless.’ ‘Excellent. Take the handset up with you, knock on Lucy’s bedroom door, go in and tell her again I would like to talk to her, please. But this time, leave the phone on her bed facing up, so she can hear me, and then come out. I might end up talking to myself, but I’m used to that.’ Pat gave another snort of nervous laughter. ‘Fingers crossed,’ she said. I heard Pat’s footsteps going up the stairs again, followed by the knock on Lucy’s bedroom door and the slight creak as it opened. Pat’s voice trembled a little as she said: ‘Cathy’s still on the phone and she’d like to talk to you.’ There was a little muffled sound, presumably as Pat put the phone on Lucy’s bed, and then I heard the bedroom door close. I was alone with Lucy. Lucy and I believe we were destined to be mother and daughter; it just took us a while to find each other. Lucy was eleven years old when she came to me. I desperately wish it could have been sooner. It breaks my heart when I think of what happened to her, as I’m sure it will break yours. To tell Lucy’s story – our story – properly, we need to go back to when she was a baby, before I knew her. With the help of records we’ve been able to piece together Lucy’s early life, so here is her story, right from the start …

1 Desperate

2 Escape

3 Concerned

4 Too Late to Help

5 Family

6 Neglect

7 No Chance to Say Goodbye

8 A Good Friend

9 ‘I Hate You All!’

Exclusive sample chapter

Cathy Glass

Copyright

About the Publisher

A big thank-you to my editor, Holly; my literary agent Andrew; and Carole, Vicky, Laura and all the team at HarperCollins.

‘Every time I hear a newborn baby cry …

Then I know why,

I believe.’

‘I Believe’ by Ervin Drake

I heard Pat, Lucy’s carer, knock on Lucy’s bedroom door, and then a slight creak as the door opened, followed by: ‘Your new carer, Cathy, is on the phone for you. Can you come and talk to her?’

There was silence and then I heard the bedroom door close. A few moments later Pat’s voice came on the phone again. ‘I told her, but she’s still refusing to even look at me. She’s just sitting there on the bed staring into space.’

My worries for Lucy rose.

‘What should I do now?’ Pat asked, anxiously. ‘Shall I ask my husband to talk to her?’

‘Does Lucy have a better relationship with him?’ I asked.

‘No, not really,’ Pat said. ‘She won’t speak to him, either. We might have to leave her here until Monday, when her social worker is back at work.’

‘Then Lucy will have the whole weekend to brood over this,’ I said. ‘It will be worse. Let’s try again to get her to the phone. I’m sure it will help if she hears I’m not an ogre.’

Pat gave a little snort of laughter. ‘Jill said you were very good with older children,’ referring to my support social worker.

‘That was sweet of her,’ I said. ‘Now, is your phone fixed or cordless?’

‘Cordless.’

‘Excellent. Take the handset up with you, knock on Lucy’s bedroom door, go in and tell her again I would like to talk to her, please. But this time, leave the phone on her bed facing up, so she can hear me, and then come out. I might end up talking to myself, but I’m used to that.’

Pat gave another snort of nervous laughter. ‘Fingers crossed,’ she said.

I heard Pat’s footsteps going up the stairs again, followed by the knock on Lucy’s bedroom door and the slight creak as it opened. Pat’s voice trembled a little as she said: ‘Cathy’s still on the phone and she’d like to talk to you.’

There was a little muffled sound, presumably as Pat put the phone on Lucy’s bed, and then I heard the bedroom door close. I was alone with Lucy.

Lucy and I believe we were destined to be mother and daughter; it just took us a while to find each other. Lucy was eleven years old when she came to me. I desperately wish it could have been sooner. It breaks my heart when I think of what happened to her, as I’m sure it will break yours. To tell Lucy’s story – our story – properly, we need to go back to when she was a baby, before I knew her. With the help of records we’ve been able to piece together Lucy’s early life, so here is her story, right from the start …

It was dark outside and, at nine o’clock on a February evening in England, bitterly cold. A cruel northeasterly wind whipped around the small parade of downbeat shops: a newsagent’s, a small grocer’s, a bric-a-brac shop selling everything from bags of nails to out-of-date packets of sweets and biscuits, and at the end a launderette. Four shops with flats above forming a dismal end to a rundown street of terraced houses, which had once been part of the council’s regeneration project, until its budget had been cut.

Three of the four shops were in darkness and shuttered against the gangs of marauding yobs who roamed this part of town after dark. But the launderette, although closed to the public, wasn’t shuttered. It was lit, and the machines were working. Fluorescent lighting flickered against a stained grey ceiling as steam from the machines condensed on the windows. The largest window over the dryers ran with rivulets of water that puddled on the sill.