were sunken and there was a slightly wild glint in her eyes as they travelled over me, scrutinising. A few bubbles of adrenaline announced their arrival in my stomach, which performed a small flip in greeting. ‘Hello, Nicki,’ I said, arranging my mouth into a smile. Staying close to the door as instructed, I leaned forwards into a half-crouch and softened my voice. ‘And hello there, Angell. I’m Rosie.’
Angell stared at me blankly but Nicki took a sharp breath in response and continued the unabashed inspection. Her mouth twisted as her eyes ran over me, the silver ring through her bottom lip temporarily disappearing from view. ‘I still don’t understand why you can’t sort somewhere for both of us,’ Nicki barked, eyeing Jo resentfully. Her voice was deep and croaky, as if she’d just woken up.
Jo inhaled and then took a full ten seconds to blow the breath out. I wondered whether she was silently counting to herself, one of my trusty old tricks when patience was running thin. ‘We’ve been through this, Nicki. You need to be seen by a doctor and the on-duty social worker wants to do an assessment before you’re allowed to take Angell home.’
Nicki scowled and muttered something under her breath. She scraped at her teeth with an extraordinarily long fingernail, examined the haul and then snapped her eyes back to me. ‘You got other kids?’ she asked sharply, running a hand roughly across her forehead. It lingered there for a moment before trailing down her face and pulling on her jaw.
Mesmerised by the jazzy decorations stuck to her fingernails, I hesitated for a moment then countered her stare with a steady gaze of my own. ‘Yes, I have a daughter who’s 16,’ I said brightly, hoping to lighten the tension. ‘And then there’s Jamie, he’s 12. They both love younger children so they’ll be thrilled to meet Angell.’
Her demeanour altered slightly, the stubborn slant of her chin softening just a fraction. I put her somewhere in her early twenties, at most, though her wolfish scowl reminded me of a much younger, defensive teenager.
‘Angell don’t like nuffink hot for dinner,’ she warned, ‘nor the dark neither.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ I said softly.
A moment later Angell yawned and then gave a little moan, wriggling on his mother’s lap in search of a snug position to sleep. With his roughly chopped but wavy dark hair and big eyes, he was a beautifully delicate-looking child. His Ben 10 tracksuit was rolled back several times at the cuffs and on his feet he wore a pair of black, frayed trainers that looked far too clumpy for him. Beyond tired, his head flopped wearily against his mother’s chest and another small cry escaped his lips. The sight set off an itch in me: a strong desire to give him a hug and make him comfortable.
‘Right,’ Jo said briskly. ‘We need to get this little chap sorted. He’s exhausted. Is there anything else you’d like to ask the foster carer before she leaves?’
Nicki’s eyes flicked towards the door as if considering her options but then she looked back at Jo and her shoulders sagged in defeat. The officer approached but Nicki jerked away and then flinched as if in pain. She took in a sharp breath and rubbed her side.
‘Not yet,’ she snapped, flattening her hand against the air. ‘You lot make me sick, going round taking everyone’s kid off ’em all the time. Baby snatchers, that’s what you are.’
‘We have to have good reason, Nicki,’ Jo said with feigned patience. ‘And we certainly don’t take everyone’s baby. It’s rare for us to remove children actually.’
‘No it ain’t,’ Nicki shouted, adamant. Her chin jutted out aggressively. ‘Everyone I know has ’ad a kid taken off ’em.’
At first her comment struck me as grossly exaggerated, but then I realised that not everyone shares the same version of reality. It was quite possible that, in Nicki’s world, there was a heavy involvement with social services and so, from her perspective, it might not have been such a stretch of the imagination.
Nicki whispered something into Angell’s ear and he pulled back, eyes widening in horror. Pointing in my direction, she nodded and spoke louder, her tone reassuring but insistent. Angell glanced at me and began to cry, clinging tightly to Nicki’s shoulders. She stroked his hair, a loving gesture from someone who seemed so volatile. After cupping his face in her hands and planting a gentle kiss on his nose, she gave Jo a bitter stare. For a moment, as the officer leaned forwards, I thought that Nicki looked dangerously close to lashing out.
My throat constricted and my ears pounded as I braced myself for an ugly struggle. It was a surprise, then, when Jo slipped her hands under Angell’s arms, to see Nicki gently easing him away.
On separation, Angell’s chest puffed out and he began to pant, his mouth falling open in terror. I waited for the resultant wail but, although his face contorted, no sound escaped him. With tears streaming down his cheeks, he pummelled the air with his fists. Clearly desperate to get back to his mother, it was strangely disconcerting to see that his protest remained silent. Distraught, Nicki spoke rapidly, her voice trembling but supplicating. It’s rare for a foster carer to be present at the moment a child is removed. Most placements are carefully planned so we usually only witness the aftermath, but in emergency situations gentle introductions are rarely possible. Seeing Angell’s mouth distorted in panic and his eyes full of fear had a profound impact on me. The violence of the act really hit me then, more than ever before.
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