Angels with Dirty Faces: Five Inspiring Stories. Casey Watson

know what it was to be happy. I had a feeling Darby fitted into the latter category.

      Which was why it mattered so much that we gave her a Christmas she could revisit as a happy time in her memory in years to come. And hopefully to an extent that it went some way to softening the memory of being taken away from all she knew.

      Because the developments with her mother had brought it home to me that she was done with her former life now. That, although she didn’t know it, she’d in all likelihood never see either parent again. A clean break. Which, given she was still so young, was probably best. ‘Should I go wake her now?’ I asked Mike for the tenth time in as many minutes, having finished the bacon and eggs we’d prepared to set us up for the day.

      He checked the time: 7 a.m. And, at long last, relented, even if it was while bearing his ‘you’re a fifty-year-old woman, for heavens’ sake’ expression. ‘Go on then,’ he said. And I was straight out of the blocks.

      As Mike had already predicted, Darby was still half asleep – there was clearly no 4 a.m. badgering of parents in her repertoire. I shook her gently awake and she started, her eyes struggling to focus. ‘Father Christmas?’ she asked then, sitting upright, and presumably remembering the carrots, mince pie and sherry that we’d put out for Santa and his reindeer before she went to bed. ‘Has he left me stuff?’

      ‘He most certainly has,’ I said, pulling back the covers for her.

      ‘But Casey,’ she said as she slid her warm little body out of bed, ‘I was thinking last night. How did he find me?’

      ‘I sent him a letter, of course,’ I said. ‘That’s what we always do when we have children staying at Christmas.’

      ‘To the North Pole?’

      ‘Of course! Here, pop your dressing gown on. No need to get dressed yet, because it’s Christmas!’

      Darby pushed her arms into the sleeves of the fluffy pink dressing gown I’d found for her in my just-in-case box, and, bleary-eyed, tied the belt with clumsy fingers. I wasn’t sure she was even half as excited as I was, but if I had one aim today it was to instil in her an understanding that family life could be all about laughter and love.

      And presents, which, on seeing them, did elicit a response. One of disbelief. ‘Did Santa send all these for me?’

      I was only too happy to answer in the affirmative, and was then able to enjoy the simple pleasure of seeing a small child who had nothing, and whose life had been so brutal, opening gifts that had been chosen just for her.

      ‘Oh, look!’ she cried, ‘Look, Casey! My very own baby! And she’s got a bottle and food and – look – even her own potty!’ and, ‘Oh, Casey – look – he’s sent a buggy! How did Santa know I wanted a buggy? I can take my doll for walks now! Can we take her for a walk today? And – oh – pink fluffy pyjamas! Can I wear them today? Can I wear them for Christmas?’

      I grinned at her. ‘Yes, sweetie, you can wear them for Christmas if you want to. But not just yet,’ I added, forestalling an immediate strip. ‘Let’s have breakfast first, eh? Don’t want to get them dirty, do we?’

      Her expression changed then, and she looked up at me with those enormous blue eyes. ‘What about after? When I go home? Can I take everything with me?’

      Mike and I exchanged glances, both thinking the same thing. That there was to be no going home now. ‘Yes, of course, you can take everything,’ I reassured her, and her mouth opened in a smile.

      ‘That’s all right, then!’ she said, and returned to her raptures.

      By the time Mum and Dad arrived mid-morning, Tyler had opened his presents too, and with the pair of them fully occupied with the construction set he’d wanted – to build a remote-control car – my to-do list was shrinking fast, and I had already allowed myself a small glass of sherry to get into the spirit of things.

      Mike and I had dressed, but had purposely kept Darby in her nightwear because I knew my mum had bought her a beautiful red velvet pinafore dress with a silver and white striped T-shirt to go underneath it. They had yet to meet Darby, but there was no question of them not getting her something; one of my enduring joys was the support my parents had always given us with our fostering. And not just on a practical level. On an emotional one as well, in that any child who stayed with us was treated as one of the family, which, from chats I’d had with other foster carers, wasn’t always the case – leading to children who were already feeling lost and unwanted being treated differently, and so feeling more unwanted still.

      Needless to say, my mum and dad found Darby as adorable as we had. ‘Oh! Aren’t you just lovely,’ my mum said after I made the introductions. ‘And what a lovely, lovely name!’

      ‘My mummy picked it,’ Darby said as she held her hand out shyly to shake. ‘And guess what? Casey wrote to Santa so he’d know I wasn’t at home. And he found me all by himself,’ she explained, warming to her theme, ‘and bringed me loads and loads of stuff. I never had so many presents in my whole life!’

      ‘How lovely,’ Mum said. ‘And do you know what? He must have known we were coming to see you today because he dropped an extra present off for you at our house as well!’

      Darby’s eyes grew wider still. ‘Oh, lady!’ she said, as Mum gave her the parcel and she ripped into it like a pro. ‘Oh, lady! Another present, all for me?’ She gasped then, as the dress tumbled free of the paper. ‘This is just like a proper princess dress, like in Disney! Oh, thank you!’

      But again, in a moment, her expression completely changed. ‘I don’t have to work, do I?’ she said, looking up at me now.

      ‘Work?’ I said, confused.

      She held the dress up. ‘Like Snow White and Belle,’ she said. She might easily have added ‘stoopid!’ ‘Like Cinderella did,’ she explained, as if Mum and I were clueless. ‘Everyone knows! She was a princess, but nobody knowed it and she had to work all the time.’

      ‘Of course not,’ my mum said. ‘It’s Christmas, you silly sausage. No one works on Christmas Day. Well, bar Casey here, obviously.’ She winked at me and grinned. ‘And doctors and nurses and firemen and so on …’

      ‘And me,’ piped up Tyler. ‘I’ll be on plate clearing and washing up, as per.’

      ‘That’s okay, then,’ said Darby, who, to Mum’s consternation, whipped her dressing gown off and started pulling down her pyjama bottoms.

      ‘Hold your horses,’ I said, rushing to pull up her pants. ‘Tell you what, let’s leave my mum and dad to sit down for a minute, and we’ll go upstairs to get you changed, yes? I can fix your hair, too. I’ve got a bow that will match that dress exactly. How about that? Get you looking all Christmassy and pretty?’

      Which, being a little girl, Darby accepted without dissent, gathering up the dress, and the dolly – so she could be ‘made Christmassy too’ – and trotting upstairs with me gleefully.

      It didn’t take long to get Darby washed and dressed and ready, me pulling her hair into a ponytail and tying the red bow into it, while she did the same with her dolly. The dress, too, fitted perfectly, and she couldn’t wait to show it off. Well, till she came down the stairs and saw Kieron in the hall, at least.

      Which seemed to completely startle her. She stopped dead on the second to bottommost step, and so suddenly that I nearly cannoned into her and knocked her flying.

      ‘What’s the matter, love?’ I asked her.

      She pointed at Kieron. ‘Him! That man!’

      The penny dropped. A strange man had come into the house. Was that a regular occurrence at home?

      But her response, given the fact that this was obviously her ‘normal’, seemed a little OTT. Because she immediately burst into tears, and pushed me aside so she could run back up the stairs.