BETRAYED. Jacqui Rose
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stays here with us. Permanently.’
Bronwin’s mother stood up. Her body shook with fear and fury. ‘Oh no you don’t. You ain’t going to mess my little girl up.’
‘We won’t be doing that; what we’ll be doing is untangling the mess that has already been put there in her short life.’
‘That ain’t going to happen. You ain’t going to take my daughter.’
‘Of course not. That’s why I’m asking you to sign these papers.’
‘I’m not signing nothing. I want my daughter and I want her now.’
‘I’m sorry, but that won’t be possible. We’ve had an extension of the interim care, which means you can’t take her.’
The shock and hurt on Bronwin’s mum’s face was naked. Dr Berry turned away quickly as the shouting began.
‘You bastards. You fucking bastards.’
‘We’re not doing this to upset you, we’re doing this for Bronwin’s benefit. You’ll be able to get on with your life, knowing Bronwin is getting the help she needs. She’ll thank you in the end, I know she will. You can give her what you didn’t have yourself. You can give her a chance and a start in life.’
‘But I’m her mother. She should be with me.’
‘Yes, but only if it’s right for her – and at the moment, it isn’t right.’
Bronwin’s mother headed for the door, catching Dr Berry raising his eyebrows at her skirt. She pulled it down quickly.
‘Well I’m sorry, but no way. I would never hand my child over to the likes of you. I might not be what you think a good mother should be, and I’m not saying I haven’t got my faults, but I love Bronwin. I loved both my kids.’
Dr Berry’s face was twisted with cruelty. ‘Fight us? Fight me and you’ll lose – and then you’ll never see Bronwin again. Do it this way and you’ll be able to see her. It’s your choice.’
‘You … you can’t do that.’
‘We can and we will. Do you really think the courts will agree to you keeping her after both myself and the social workers give evidence of you being unstable and incapable of giving Bronwin what’s needed?’
‘I love her. Ain’t that enough?’
‘In an ideal world it is, but then we’re not in an ideal world, are we? Can you excuse me one moment?’
Not waiting for any sort of reply, Dr Berry picked up the phone on his desk. He spoke quietly into it. ‘Would you mind coming in now?’
A moment later the glass door opened. The man who walked in didn’t bother to introduce himself. He stood with a frozen frown on his face as Bronwin’s mum stared at him. ‘Who’s he?’
Once more, Dr Berry chose to ignore a question he saw as irrelevant. He walked over to Bronwin’s mum, picking up the papers as he passed his desk, then reached out with the pen that was always kept in his breast coat pocket.
‘Sign them. It’s for the best. If you say you love her, which I believe you do, you’ll listen to me. No one’s the enemy here.’
Bronwin’s mother took in the doctor’s face. Deep entrenched lines circled his eyes and cold small green eyes stared back at her. ‘You’ll let me see Bronwin?’
Dr Berry pushed the pen and papers forward. ‘She’ll be in good hands. There’s nothing to worry about. I promise.’
Taking the papers, Bronwin’s mother grabbed at the pen and hurriedly scrawled her name on the papers. Next, Dr Berry passed the papers to the other man, talking as he did so. ‘We need another signature, you see, so that’s why this gentleman’s here. You’ll get a copy of this for yourself.’
The other man took out his own pen. Bronwin’s mother watched, loathing etched on her face as her eyes traced the flamboyantly written signature.
Dr Berry smiled, his tone overly jovial for the sentiment of the occasion and his clichéd remark inappropriate.
‘Right then, that’s all done and dusted.’
‘Now take me to see my daughter.’
‘You’ve done the right thing.’
‘So why doesn’t it feel like it?’
Staring through the glass pane of the door, Bronwin’s mother wiped away her tears before opening it. Quietly, she walked into the room, feeling the air of hush as she entered. She stared at her daughter. So tiny. So elf-like. So beautiful.
‘Bron. Bron, it’s me.’
Bronwin’s eyes stayed closed.
Dr Berry crept up silently behind her. ‘It’s all right, she’s had some medicine to calm her down. She’s just in a heavy sleep.’
‘Can I wake her up?’
‘It’s best to leave her. She needs all the rest she can get.’
Leaning forward, Bronwin’s mother swept her daughter’s mass of blonde hair away from her forehead. She kissed her head before speaking to her sleeping child. ‘Bron, Mummy’s got to go now. But always remember I love you and I’ll see you soon, and Bron … I’m sorry.’
Turning to the doctor, Bronwin’s mum stood up and went into the pocket of her torn jacket. ‘Can you give her this? It’s her birthday card.’
‘Yes, of course. The nurse will see you out. The social workers will be in touch in the morning to sort the other details out.’
Once Bronwin’s mother had left, Dr Berry took a quick glance at the card before throwing it into the bin in the corner. Deep in thought, he stood observing Bronwin as she began to stir.
The door opened, jarring him from his thoughts. He smiled at the entering visitor and reaching out his hand with a welcoming greeting. ‘Thanks for signing those papers, by the way. I thought for a moment the mother was going to be difficult and start making a noise about her parental rights. I’ll just wake her up for you.’
Walking across to Bronwin, Dr Berry gently nudged her. He spoke quietly. ‘Bronwin? Bronwin? Hey birthday girl, you’ve got a visitor. Someone’s here to see you.’
Bronwin slowly opened her eyes before rubbing them gently. She sat up, then screamed. It was the man from the woods with the black shiny shoes.
‘She’s all yours, come and find me when you’ve finished. Oh, and have fun.’ Dr Berry chuckled unpleasantly, tapping the man on his back as he left the room, leaving him sitting on Bronwin’s bed as he began to unbutton his shirt.
Nine years later
The bed was hard and the chair was too. Sparse and unwelcoming. And Bronwin didn’t know why she couldn’t go home, instead of having to stay in a house where she didn’t want to be and didn’t know anyone. It was the same recurring thought she’d had each time they sent her somewhere new.
She’d been in more care and foster homes than she could possibly remember and over time she’d developed a sixth sense. Knowing when people really wanted her or when all they really wanted was the few hundred quid caring allowance they got for taking in the likes of her.
How long had it been now? Eight years, nine even. Nine years of going from one home to another.
She no longer wanted to be, or to feel like, the unwanted teenager. The problem child. Hard to place. Hard to love. She didn’t want to become bitter; hardened to life before she’d reached eighteen.
She was determined to change it. To take control. And as Bronwin stared out of the window at the rainy night she made a decision. The time was right. She was old enough not to have to listen to a bunch of jumped-up social workers telling