Taken. Rosie Lewis

take a walk, grab something on the way.’

      Megan wailed as I secured her into her baby harness, but the noise softened to a whimper as she curled herself up against my chest. With one cheek pressed against my top, she blinked in the sunlight and gave a contented sigh. The air was perfumed with the sweet summery scent of newly cut grass, but in the light breeze I could still smell Megan; her soapy cleanness, and the faint spice of freshly washed linen.

      As we walked along, the movement soothed her and she nuzzled further down into her cocoon. I curled my arms around the bulk of her, even though the support wasn’t needed, and listened distractedly as Des told me about the foster-carer recruitment drive being initiated by Bright Heights. I think he mentioned something about the agency looking for volunteers to stir up some local interest. Normally I would have been happy to help out, but I was too absorbed by Megan’s movements against my chest to take much notice. I found myself concentrating on her tiny, bird-like breaths, making sure that she was getting enough air.

      ‘C’mon,’ Des said, when we passed a café. He guided me up the shallow steps with one hand, and then held the door open for us. At the table I loosened the straps of the carrier, but Des insisted on taking Megan so that I could have a rest and drink some tea.

      He lifted her out and sat across the table from me, shushing and rocking her when she mewed. I rolled my shoulders, lifted the carrier over my head and let out a long breath. I felt two stone lighter whenever I put Megan down.

      Des was a lively character who always seemed to take up so much space, so it was funny to see him metamorphosing in front of my eyes; his big hands arranging Megan’s blanket with such gentle attentiveness, his usual booming voice softly controlled. It was at times like that I thought it was a shame he’d never had children of his own. It was easy to imagine him surrounded by adoring, slightly rowdy kids, gales of laughter rippling around their comfortable home.

      I smiled involuntarily. It didn’t escape his notice. ‘Something funny?’ he said, lifting his brow. I shook my head, but I couldn’t rid myself of the smirk. He didn’t comment, but I detected the faint flicker of a smile on his lips, creases of amusement around his eyes.

      I started to tell him about the LAC review, but stopped abruptly when the waitress arrived to take our order. Des glanced up at her and made some comment I can’t quite remember, but it made her laugh. From that standing start, they very quickly progressed to discussing a joint love of rock music and geometric art. I sat watching them in silent admiration. Des always seemed to fall into easy conversation with people, no matter where he went. It was a gift that never ceased to amaze me.

      When the drinks arrived I offered to take Megan back while Des drank his, but she had fallen asleep in his arms and he didn’t want to disturb her. I told him more about the meeting and he nodded here and there, but for most of the time he kept his gaze down, fixed on the baby’s face. He looked up sharply when I told him about Christina coming over for contact though. ‘Why did you’s agree to that?’ he said, looking annoyed. ‘You’re under no obligation to host. Ach, it’s my fault, I should have been there. I’ll call Peggy this afternoon; tell her it’s not happening.’

      I put my cup down, shook my head. ‘No, don’t do that. I’ve agreed to it now. Let’s just see how it goes.’ Supervising contact was rarely an appealing prospect for foster carers, but there were advantages to holding the sessions at home. Bungled arrangements, overstretched contact supervisors and transport issues meant that sessions held at family centres were often delayed or cancelled.

      Hosting the contact at home, as well as providing a relaxed, comfortable environment for what was sometimes a difficult, stressful experience for children, gave foster carers an opportunity to observe and record any changes in their behaviour while their parents were around. In my experience, children found it reassuring to know that the people responsible for caring for them were able to interact positively.

      Megan was too young to worry about the politics of it all of course, but staying at home meant that her feeding routine and nap times weren’t interrupted, and she wouldn’t need ferrying around in unfamiliar cars by a stream of different contact supervisors either.

      ‘Aye, OK, but you call me if you feel you’re in over your head, right?’ He kept his gaze fixed on me until I nodded, then he looked away, but his heavy brows were still knitted together, his lips set in a stern line. Something about his irritation pleased me, I think because I felt that there was someone looking out for me. I was grateful for his concern.

      We left the café in silence, Megan back in place on my chest. We walked on together for maybe 200 yards or so, but then Des stopped. I went on for a pace two before I realised he wasn’t beside me. When I turned he said, ‘Rosie?’

      It seemed as if he were about to ask me something, but our attention was snatched by a whirling buzz as a helicopter passed overhead. We both looked up, watching as its bulk faded to a distant dot and then out of sight. I looked back at him questioningly, but the moment had passed. He took a few brisk strides towards me and went on ahead. I fell into step beside him.

       Chapter Eleven

      Later that afternoon I awaited Christina’s arrival with trepidation. The session had been scheduled for 2 p.m., but the hour came and went with no sign of her. At first I wondered whether she might have had trouble finding our house, but by half past two I decided she probably wasn’t coming and got ready to go to the shops. Just as I was about to strap a sleeping Megan into the pram though, I heard a commotion beyond the front door.

      I stood in the hall for a moment with Megan in my arms, my head tilted as I tried to work out what was going on outside. The silhouettes of two people were visible through the frosted glass of the door, and from the way they merged, parted, then crossed over again, there seemed to be some sort of scuffle going on between them. Instinctively, I held Megan closer and ducked out of sight, but then I heard loud outbursts of laughter. A few seconds later, the doorbell rang.

      ‘Oh, hello,’ I said, my eyes drifting from Christina to the man standing behind her. At least a decade older than her, he was skinny, with a drawn, pale face and bedraggled, shoulder-length hair. ‘I’d almost given up on you.’ I didn’t bother trying to disguise the thread of irritation in my tone.

      Christina, who was holding an ice cream, gave me a blank look. Her companion stared at me, equally vacant. After giving her a brief shove in the back, propelling her towards the house, he took a puff of his cigarette, blew a smoke ring in the air and then dropped the stub on the path. I stared at him with incredulity, but neither he nor Christina batted an eyelid, although she jabbed him hard in his chest and threw out one leg, grinding the stub under her shoe.

      ‘You’ll have to wait for Christina outside, I’m afraid,’ I said, as they readied themselves to come in. I tried to sound as if I wasn’t going to brook any argument, although my pulse was beginning to race. Megan stirred in my arms.

      ‘This is Lee,’ Christina said, as if she thought that was enough to prove his credentials. ‘He’s all right.’ She was wearing leggings, shoes with extraordinarily high heels and a stringy long-sleeved black top that slipped off one shoulder as she climbed the front step. Once in the hall she took Megan from me without a word and tottered off out of sight. Lee made a move to follow her but I quickly took a step sideways, blocking his way.

      ‘Sorry, Lee. There’s a café in the park along the way if you’d like a cuppa while you’re waiting.’ My pulse quickened again, but I stood firm.

      He stared at me for a second or two, shrugged and then craned his head around the doorjamb, his face just a few inches from mine. ‘Laters, Chris,’ he shouted down the hall, his fusty breath hot on my face. I turned, partly because of the overwhelmingly strong stench of nicotine and stale aftershave, but also to see if I could work out where Christina had taken herself off to. There was no sign of her, but from somewhere downstairs she grunted a noise of acknowledgement.

      ‘Oh, Lee?’

      He