That brings a smile to my face. ‘I wasn’t that much better,’ I say. ‘Do you recall my home economics class when I had to make vegetable soup? You packed the spice jar in among my ingredients, and I thought I had to pour the whole thing in.’
Maggie laughs. ‘We were barely able to keep a straight face when you brought that home. One spoonful and our mouths were on fire.’
I’m suddenly overcome by the need to ask the question I have asked many times before but which she’s steadfastly refused to answer. She has never told me the truth about Dad. My mouth opens, only this time, I have second thoughts. I’m so used to being consumed by resentment towards her that this ceasefire has come out of the blue. And I find myself appreciating the moment we’ve found ourselves in.
‘She’s done it again!’ Maggie yells, bringing me back to the present. My eyes dart back to the window. ‘Did you see it? She just slapped her daughter again!’
I was too busy looking at Maggie to see it, but looking across the road I recognise another argument taking place between mother and child. I watch carefully, waiting for another physical outburst, but instead there’s only shouting. Did Maggie really see what she thinks she’s seen? Can I take her word for it?
‘We have to help her,’ says Maggie adamantly. ‘We need to call the police.’
I’m swayed by her passion but I shake my head.
‘Why not?’
‘Because they’ll want to know where I witnessed the attacks and I can’t see into that bedroom from the ground or the first floor.’
Maggie glares at me, and I feel like a child who has disappointed a parent with naughty behaviour. But I can’t afford to fly above the radar and put myself at risk of outside scrutiny.
‘What if you were to contact Social Services?’ she says. ‘Anonymously.’
‘I don’t know. They must get malicious tip-offs every day. How long does it take to investigate an allegation? Both parents are going to deny cruelty and if there are no obvious injuries and the girl doesn’t back up my claims, they’ll get away with it and make things worse for her.’
‘Well, we can’t just do nothing.’
I feel her frustration. ‘I’m not saying that. I’m saying I need to think this through.’
‘I’m not going to be able to rest knowing what she’s going through on my doorstep. She and her brother will be better off in care than living in that house. They should give those kids to someone who wants to look after them properly ...’
She trails to a stop mid-sentence, aware of her error. Now she won’t look at me.
‘Go on,’ I say. ‘I assume you were going to add, “Look after them properly like a foster parent would.” That’s another opportunity you took away from me, wasn’t it?’
CHAPTER 34
NINA
TWO AND A HALF YEARS EARLIER
I’m so nervous my hands are trembling. I slip them inside my jacket pockets so that no one else can see.
I am having second thoughts. What if they take one look at me and reject me on sight alone? What if they tell me I’m too old or too unqualified or don’t even give me a reason before turning me down? Now I don’t think I want to go inside, but the sensor has already picked up on me and the sliding doors open. Heads turn to look at the latest arrival and I’m greeted with warm smiles. It temporarily disarms my apprehension.
Northamptonshire County Council’s building recently opened and has that new smell attached to it. It’s in stark contrast to the mustiness of my library. I’d forgotten that workplaces can smell of thick carpets and wooden furniture and not just old pages and people. Lining the corridors are movable noticeboards, each with details of tonight’s event. Most have posters pinned to them containing images of children – models, I assume – of all ages, and there are pamphlets and information packs on trellis tables.
‘Hello there, I’m Briony,’ a chirpy woman begins as she approaches me. She thrusts out her hand and her smile swallows the lower portion of her face. She’s probably about the same age as me, but she has fewer creases around the eyes.
‘Nina,’ I say. ‘Nina Simmonds.’
‘Nice to meet you, Nina. I assume you’re here for the adoption and fostering open evening?’
I nod.
‘Great, and have you registered with us online yet?’
‘No, I haven’t. I only decided that I was coming as I left work.’
‘Not a problem.’ She hands me a clipboard and a biro to write down my details. ‘Bit nervous?’
