Angels with Dirty Faces: Five Inspiring Stories. Casey Watson

sleazy ‘film set’ – perhaps even derived some weird, non-sexual pleasure from her parents’ doubtless lavish attention and stage direction. And the worst of it was that she had no idea that what she did, and what they did to her, was depraved. That her parents, whom she loved, were so abusing her. For money. The term ‘ill-gotten gains’ never seemed so apt.

      So she was an innocent victim, clearly. But Mike was right, too. Perhaps we weren’t the best people for her to be around. In a situation like this, did we have the luxury of putting her needs first? I doubted it. We had to think of the well-being of our own family.

      You’re right,’ I said, my mind made up. ‘I will go and phone John and see if there is somewhere else she can go. Perhaps someone who doesn’t have any children.’

      But Riley surprised me, as she does sometimes. She immediately shook her head. ‘You can’t do that, Mum,’ she said. ‘Dad, she can’t. That would be too cruel. There was no harm done,’ she added, as my eyes widened in shock. ‘Marley is too young to have understood what was going on, and Darby didn’t know any different, did she? No, it would be too cruel to abandon her – especially so close to Christmas. We’ll just have to make sure we don’t leave any of the kids alone, won’t we?’

      ‘Too bloody right,’ Mike said, pushing his chair back and standing up. ‘Not for a moment,’ he said, going to unfold the partition doors. ‘It’s all right us knowing that she can’t help it,’ he added before he opened them. ‘But there’s no way our family should suffer for it. No way. And, Casey, you make sure you report it.’

      ‘And now she knows it’s unacceptable, perhaps that will be the end of it,’ I soothed.

      Perhaps. After all, she was only a little girl.

      Chapter 6

      John Fulshaw was sympathetic when I called him the following morning, obviously. But he was also anxious to confirm that we’d keep Darby for a bit longer, which I assured him we would, because Riley’s unexpected words had hit home. She was right. We couldn’t abandon Darby. Not at Christmas. Not at all, perhaps. Not once she’d settled in.

      About which I was beginning to feel very ambivalent. ‘So we’ll be keeping a very close eye on her,’ I told John. ‘And, if you’ve no objections, I’ll have my whole our bodies are private chat with her. She’s old enough to hear it. Though whether it sinks in or not is another thing.’

      ‘A good idea,’ John agreed. ‘Because I’m certainly not going to be able to get anything organised with CAMHS before Christmas. Flying pigs being pretty thin on the ground right now.’

      CAMHS stood for the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service. Usually, with foster children, anything that constituted counselling was dealt with by them. Which was the best way – we provided care, and a safe place and routine; matters of emotional health, when it came to the big, complicated things, were best left to those who’d been trained to give such help. ‘And I’ll stop by tomorrow, if you’re around,’ he said, ‘because some other things have come to light now, and I’d like to put you properly in the picture.’

      ‘Oh dear,’ I said, ‘that sounds ominous. Is it more bad news?’

      ‘I’m afraid so,’ he said.

      Visit arranged, I hung up, took a deep breath and joined Mike and Darby in the living room. No visit from Riley today, but Mike being home was a blessing. Though I was only too happy for Tyler to be off round at his friend Denver’s, because the events of the previous day had made me doubly cautious about him acting as any kind of child-minder either.

      Mike was helping Darby do a jigsaw on the coffee table. And the peaceful domestic scene was so at odds with the reality that it sunk me into an uncharacteristic gloom. Darby was beautiful to look at. And clearly a sweet, polite girl. It made me feel sick to know that she had been exploited by the very people who were meant to protect her, and I realised that her exquisite features probably added to the allure that attracted sick paedophiles to seek her out.

      ‘You okay, sweetie?’ I asked as I knelt down at the table to help. ‘Oh, The Little Mermaid. This is my absolute favourite jigsaw.’

      ‘I love The Little Mermaid,’ she said, inspecting a piece she’d just picked up. ‘I’m a little mermaid sometimes, too.’

      I braced myself. ‘Are you?’

      ‘Yes, sometimes, at bath time. We don’t have bubbles, though.’ She looked up at me. ‘It’s all right if you both want to bath me. I don’t mind.’

      I was going to grab a puzzle piece, but I stopped mid-reach. Mike was growing pale again. He looked horrified. ‘No, no,’ I quickly answered. ‘It will be just me who baths you, Darby. And as you’re such a big girl now, I think you’re probably big enough to wash yourself. I’ll just help you with your hair. How about that?’

      Darby shrugged. Then she looked at Mike. ‘You can still watch, though. If you want to.’

      ‘No, darling,’ I said quickly. ‘Mike definitely doesn’t want to watch.’ This was probably as good a time as any, and Mike was clearly lost for words. ‘Darby, you know your body is a very private thing. Do you understand that? Do you know what “private” means?’

      ‘Course I do,’ she said, discarding the piece in her hand in favour of another.

      ‘Good,’ I said, ‘so you’ll understand that when something like your body is private, only you get to choose who sees it. D’you understand that? And you should never have to feel uncomfortable about it. Do you understand that too?’

      She nodded, but I could see that her attention was all on the jigsaw. And even had it not been, this conversation – which, in theory, should be so straightforward – was very difficult. How could I tell a child that she shouldn’t allow strangers to see her naked, when I was a stranger myself? Yet here I was, calmly telling her that I’d be bathing her later.

      It was all wrong. At her age, I should have been able to explain that it was safe for her mummy and daddy to see her body, but, of course, in this case, I couldn’t even do that. Which was why issues around child abuse and grooming were all so fraught in such young children. Bar the usual sanctions about hitting – lashing out and being lashed out upon – they’d yet to have the first inkling that certain types of non-hostile touching were also wrong.

      She had no such anxieties, which made it all doubly depressing.

      ‘It’s okay,’ Darby said. ‘A body’s just skin and bones. Nothing to worry about.’ She attempted to fit the piece into the jigsaw in the wrong place. I looked helplessly at Mike. What a peculiar thing to say. She’d obviously been told it often. Skin and bones. Nothing to worry about. It was sick.

      But for Darby herself it was all completely normal. And that was the sickest thing of all.

      Darby was still running around in her pyjamas when John was due to arrive the next day – the pyjamas we’d bought for her and which she’d whooped in delight about, and which she was only too happy to allow me to change her into after she’d had her bath and I’d washed her hair. She was an affectionate little thing, but I keenly felt the abuse she’d suffered. And Mike, usually so physical with the little ones we fostered – the king of tickles and bear hugs – was at constant pains to avoid being physically close to her.

      And I completely understood that. In fact, when he had offered to take her to the park with him and Tyler while John visited – at Ty’s suggestion; he would be playing a game of five-a-side football – it was me who had vetoed the idea. Awful as it sounds, I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. Should such a vulnerable child be alone with a male adult? I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to risk it. I had heard of such things before and knew that, as a precaution against any allegations, it was always better to have two adults around at all times. Instead, we decided that when John got here I would take him through to the conservatory, and Mike and Darby could make a game of preparing lunch.

      She