Will You Love Me?: The story of my adopted daughter Lucy. Cathy Glass

has family of her own.’

      ‘And your mother and father?’

      ‘I don’t see them.’

      ‘Do they live locally?’

      ‘No.’

      Doris made notes as she talked, all the while wearing a smile and trying to put the mother at ease. However, although she was smiling, she was quickly forming the impression, as the health visitor had done, that all was far from well here; that the mother could be very depressed and, as a result, was neglecting her child.

      ‘Have you been able to find Lucy’s record book showing her checks and vaccinations?’ Doris now asked, for when the health visitor had asked to see it Bonnie had said she wasn’t sure where it was and that she’d try to find it. She’d also told the health visitor she couldn’t remember if Lucy’s development checks and vaccinations were up-to-date, which had added to the health visitor’s concerns.

      ‘No,’ Bonnie said. ‘I can’t find the record book.’

      ‘All right, don’t worry. Your previous doctor will have a record of all of that. We’ll arrange to have your notes transferred to your current doctor. This is your permanent address now?’

      Bonnie nodded.

      ‘So what was the name and address of your last doctor?’ Doris now asked, pen poised to note this.

      ‘I can’t remember,’ Bonnie said, biting her little nail.

      ‘A street name and town will do. We can trace it from that.’

      ‘I don’t know,’ Bonnie said again. ‘I’ll find out.’

      Doris knew it was impossible not to know the name of the town that you’d lived in a few months previously, unless you had severe learning difficulties, which Bonnie did not. She wondered what it was that Bonnie was trying to hide or run away from.

      ‘Do you know the name of the hospital where Lucy was born?’ Doris now asked. ‘They’ll have details of your doctor.’

      ‘St Mary’s, I think,’ Bonnie said.

      ‘In which town?’

      Bonnie shrugged and continued to nibble her little finger. St Mary’s was the most common name for a hospital and Doris knew it would be impossible to trace the one where Lucy was born without knowing the town or at least the area. Bonnie was playing games with her.

      ‘It can be very isolating living in a new town with a young baby,’ Doris said evenly, changing direction. ‘I understand the health visitor gave you some details of the mother and baby groups in this area.’

      ‘Yes,’ Bonnie said.

      ‘Do you think these are somewhere you might go? It would be good for Lucy’s development and will also give you a chance to meet other young mothers and make some friends.’

      ‘Yes,’ Bonnie said.

      ‘And how do you feel in yourself?’ Doris now asked.

      ‘OK,’ Bonnie said with a shrug.

      ‘Are you sure? You seem a bit down to me.’

      ‘I’m fine. I’m coping.’

      ‘Only coping?’ Doris asked, hoping this might lead the way in, but Bonnie just looked back and nodded.

      ‘Can you talk me through your average day, from when you get up in the morning?’ Doris said.

      Bonnie looked at her.

      ‘Start with when you get up?’ Doris prompted. ‘What time is that usually?’ She knew that those suffering from severe depression often stayed in bed for very long periods, sometimes most of the day.

      ‘About now I guess,’ Bonnie said.

      ‘Then what happens? Do you shower and dress or go back to bed?’

      ‘We have breakfast,’ Bonnie said.

      ‘Lovely,’ Doris said, trying to give positive feedback wherever she could. ‘What do you have?’

      ‘Lucy has milk and I have a cup of tea.’

      ‘Nothing else?’

      ‘I give Lucy porridge as well.’

      ‘Good. Has she had her porridge this morning?’

      ‘No, only milk. You came before I had time to give her porridge,’ Bonnie said.

      Doris wrote and then smiled at Lucy.

      ‘Then what do you do after breakfast?’ she asked, looking at Bonnie.

      Bonnie shrugged. ‘Nothing really. We go out sometimes.’

      ‘Where do you like to go?’

      ‘To the shops sometimes, or the canal. I walk by the canal. I like it there, with the deep water.’ Doris gave an involuntary shudder and made a note, for in her present state of mind it wouldn’t take much, she thought, for this young mother who clearly wasn’t coping to step into the canal with her daughter and end it all. She agreed with the health visitor that while there were no obvious signs that the mother was harming her child, the level of care was so low that this in itself was a form of abuse. Mother and baby needed help.

      ‘What do you do for the rest of the day?’ Doris now asked.

      ‘We come home.’

      ‘And?’

      Bonnie shook her head.

      ‘Why don’t you see your aunt any more?’ Doris asked. ‘She’s been worried about you.’

      ‘I dunno. She has her own family.’

      ‘But she’d still like to see you as well. Do you think you might be able to start seeing her again? Go round for dinner? She’d like you to.’

      Bonnie nodded, but not very convincingly.

      Doris glanced at Lucy, who was looking up at her, her large eyes round and imploring. ‘Can I pick her up?’ Doris asked. She knew better than to simply pick up a client’s child, without asking the parent first. Social workers were often seen as the enemy and she wouldn’t be the first social worker to be assaulted for touching a client’s child.

      Bonnie gave a stiff, indifferent nod and Doris bent down and lifted Lucy onto her lap. She was light, Doris thought, lighter than she should be for ten and a half months old. She hadn’t had a bath and was wearing the same vest, so there was still a smell of ammonia coming from Lucy, which would probably transfer to her skirt, but she kept a change of clothes in the car for just such eventualities; that, and having drinks or worse thrown at her by angry parents.

      ‘Who’s a lovely girl then?’ Doris said to Lucy.

      Lucy looked at her but didn’t smile.

      ‘Is she smiling and trying to talk?’ Doris asked, glancing at Bonnie.

      ‘Yes,’ Bonnie said. ‘Sometimes,’ although there’d been no evidence of either since Doris had been with her.

      ‘Come on then,’ Doris said cheerfully to them both, standing. ‘Show me around your flat. Let’s start with the kitchen.’

      ‘There’s nothing much to see,’ Bonnie said, rising to her feet with a small sigh.

      ‘Never mind. I just need to have a quick look round.’

      It was clear that the nature of the social worker’s visit had changed from ‘a chat’ to a scrutinizing assessment, and Doris could sense that Bonnie was trying to stifle her rising fear that she was about to lose her baby.

      ‘I’m going shopping later,’ Bonnie said, as they entered the small kitchen.

      Doris opened the door of the fridge, revealing only a carton of milk and two yoghurts. She then opened the doors