Taken: Part 2 of 3. Rosie Lewis

      

       Copyright

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

      HarperElement

      An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

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      London SE1 9GF

       www.harpercollins.co.uk

      First published by HarperElement 2017

      FIRST EDITION

      © Rosie Lewis 2017

      Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

      Cover photograph © Victoria Haack/Trevillion Images (posed by model)

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

      Rosie Lewis 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.

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      Source ISBN: 9780008113018

      Ebook Edition © January 2017 ISBN: 9780008171315

      Version: 2016-12-19

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Copyright

      

      

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Chapter Twenty-Four

       Chapter Twenty-Five

       Chapter Twenty-Six

       Chapter Twenty-Seven

       Chapter Twenty-Eight

       Chapter Twenty-Nine

      

      

       Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

       About the Publisher

       Chapter Sixteen

      The children’s play area was swathed in ribbons of feathery mist, grey clouds swelling above our heads. It really was cold, but several hardy children were playing on the ice-covered equipment, their mothers stamping their feet and rubbing their gloved hands together nearby. I parked the pram near a small scooter propped up against the black metal railings and walked around the front, reaching a hand underneath the rain cover and pulling the blankets up around Nailah’s chin. Megan stretched out her short arms as soon as she saw me, a sight that never failed to melt my heart. ‘Come on then, sweetheart,’ I said, zipping her thick coat up as high as it would go, straightening her hat and then unclipping her straps again. I pulled her to me and planted kisses on her forehead.

      She lifted her face and sucked my chin affectionately, her mouth warm on my skin. Her small hands clamped my cheeks possessively and soon she began to gnaw, her gums clamping down with surprising pressure. ‘Hey, you!’ I cried, laughing as I arched my face away. I lowered her into the nearest swing. She gurgled a laugh, two bright red teething spots glowing above the dimples on her cheeks.

      I grabbed her blanket from the pram and rolled it up, squeezing it between her and the back of the swing to keep her steady. ‘Ready? Are you steady?’ She bobbed around, answering with a stream of excited babble. ‘Right, up we go then. Whee!’ I pushed gently on the swing and her mouth dropped in a wide smile, eyes shiny and bright. With her hearing problems I wasn’t sure how much she took in, but she was making lots of sounds in response to my own, new ones each day.

      ‘Mama-mama-ma,’ she said, smiling at me lovingly.

      ‘Not Mama, R-o-sie,’ I corrected, though my heart stirred at the sound.

      ‘Mama-mama-ma,’ she said.

      I smiled and turned around, my attention caught by a small boy as he charged across the sandpit behind us. He was a stocky little chap around two years old and something in the way he moved evoked memories of Harry, one of the siblings I had cared for years earlier. After years of fostering it was often that way; children floating into my mind, their faces slightly out of focus, like little ghosts. I hadn’t seen Harry since he moved onto adoptive parents with his sister, but I never forgot his special ways and how fearless he was. I always had to make sure the first-aid box was well stocked when he was around. Smiling to myself, I watched as the little boy clambered to the top of the slide then raised his hands in triumph. Without warning he cheered then leapt off, landing on his bottom with a thud and, after a moment’s hesitation, a whimper. His mother shouted at him in exasperation