Chapter 24
‘Hello, this is Trudy Barnes, I’m a social worker for Leicester City Council.’
My breath froze in my chest. A dozen thoughts began pinwheeling through my brain.
Why was a social worker calling me? Was Mum in hospital? Did social services call you if someone died? I had always thought that was the police. Had Dad done something terrible? If so, how did they get my number, and why hadn’t Lacey called? Oh, my goodness – please let it not be the kids.
‘Hello?’
‘Um. Yes. Hi.’ It was Monday morning; I’d just stepped out of the shower after taking Ernest for his walk. The advent challenge word was NATURE, and I’d posted some beautiful pictures of him exploring the forest.
‘I’m calling in relation to your sister, Lacey Nixon, and her children.’
My internal organs collapsed into a heap of rubble.
‘It has recently come to our attention that if your sister is found guilty and receives a custodial sentence, then there is no one at home to look after the children.’
Excuse me, what?
‘Your parents, Ralf and Amanda Nixon, have agreed that due to Amanda’s ill health they would not be in a position to take on this responsibility.
Given that neither of the children’s fathers are a viable option, we are looking to other family members in the hope of avoiding the children having to go into foster care.
Would that be something you’re prepared to consider?
Only, time is ticking and we would need to conduct a suitability assessment, DBS check, medical and so on.
Everything in child protection takes even longer than usual during the Christmas period.
The combo of staff on annual leave and vulnerable families facing seasonal strain means those of us who are masochistic enough to be working are swamped. ’
‘Wait, what? I don’t understand what you’re asking me.’ I sank onto my bed, clutching the towel to my chest.
There was a brief pause. The seconds before the bomb went off.
‘I’m asking if you’ll look after Lennon, Harley and Kaylynn while their mum is in prison.’
‘Lacey’s going to prison?’ I knew I was coming across as totally clueless – the kind of person who probably shouldn’t be trusted to take care of three children, one of whom had complex needs.
However, I was hearing everything this woman said as a distant echo, as if the words were muffled and distorted, impossible to understand without hearing them at least twice.
‘Well, let’s hope not. But we need to cover all bases.
And, to be honest with you, Alexis, after my initial visit yesterday, I will be recommending further assessments are done as to whether the children are being adequately cared for even if she doesn’t.
There were multiple causes for concern regarding the children’s welfare. ’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying we might seek for a court order to remove the children from your sister’s care even if she’s found not guilty.’
‘You’d take them into care? Like foster care?’
‘Well, that’s for a judge to decide. As I said, both myself and your sister are very much hoping you will consider the children coming to live with you rather than strangers.
It’s never easy finding foster carers with space to take in three siblings, let alone at Christmas.
The chances are they’ll be split up. Lennon may well end up in a residential home, or with a family a considerable distance away, given his high level of needs, so even if you could agree having either him or the younger two, that would be brilliant. ’
‘What about Bronte?’ I was asking every question except the ones roaring inside me.
Why were we even having this conversation? My sister was going to prison?
Dad had stood in Leicester Magistrates Court enough times over the years for me to know this wasn’t something petty.
What on earth had Lacey done?
Why had no one told me?
‘Bronte?’
‘Lacey’s daughter.’
‘There’s another…?’ There was another pause. ‘Hang on. Just a second. Um… did you say Britney?’
‘Bronte.’
‘Oh, yes. Right. Hang on, let me have a quick look… Okay. If she was a few years older, we might consider her, but at her age and still being at college, she’s not going to get a positive assessment.
I suppose that depending upon how long Lacey is in prison for, that could be revisited at some point in the future. ’
‘I don’t mean to look after the others, I mean what happens to her!’ I was beside myself. This conversation had more triggers than a firing squad. ‘She’s only eighteen.’
‘Right. A legal adult, so not the local authority’s responsibility.’
I was too distraught to reply.
‘I mean, I can ask someone to signpost her towards information about benefits, or housing, if your parents won’t allow her to stay with them.’
‘Bronte doesn’t need benefits or housing. She needs a mum.’
‘Yeah.’ I could hear the implied response: perhaps her mum shouldn’t have broken the law, then. ‘Are you able to let me know your initial thoughts? It would be good to get a visit booked in as soon as possible.’
My initial thoughts?
I thought this must be what falling off a cliff felt like. I thought my heart would shatter into smithereens if Lacey went to prison. It still seemed utterly surreal – prison! No thoughts could comprehend what the hell was going on. What have you done, Lacey?
My most pressing thought, the one drowning out all the others: What am I going to do?
Well, to begin with, I was going to throw up if I didn’t end this call in the next few seconds.
‘I’ll take care of them. All of them. Bronte, too. For as long as they need.’
And just like that, with one phone call, my life flipped upside down for the second time in a month.
I stuffed a few basics into my shoulder bag, then threw my one big suitcase in the boot of the car – empty – along with Ernest’s essentials and whatever else I could manage to think of while my entire being was drowning in adrenaline.
I called Will on speakerphone while I was pulling out of my drive.
‘Hey!’ His voice was a balm to the storm raging inside my head.
‘Hi, um, I’ve had a family emergency come up. Can you have Ernest for the rest of the day, maybe longer?’
‘Of course. Leave him here as long as you need.’
Will was waiting for me at the front door with a worried crease between his eyebrows and a hug that nearly broke me.
‘Can you tell me what’s happened?’ he asked once I’d managed to wrench myself away, because as much as part of me wanted to stay inside that hug forever, I had to get to my family.
‘I don’t even know the details yet. I just need to get there and find out what’s going on. Sorry. I might have to miss the Friends Wanted Christmas do.’
‘No, don’t be sorry. I’m sorry this has happened. Whatever it is. I’m sorry I can’t come with you. I’m not going to ask you to let me know if you need anything, because when crisis hits it’s usually impossible to know what you need. But I’ll call later to see how things are, if that’s okay?’
‘Yes please. Or maybe wait for me to call you? In case it’s not a good time.’
‘I’ll message. Reply whenever you want.’
He pulled me in for another hug, pressing a kiss on the top of my head, and I could only wonder how I could endure such fear and yet in that moment also feel utterly safe.
Then I realised, as I headed off through the gloom. This was how it felt to not be alone.
I knew then that whatever was going on in Crandon, the best thing I could do for my sister, for her beautiful children, was to make sure they knew they weren’t alone, either.
I tried calling Lacey on the way over. Her not picking up was probably a good thing. Sharing my scrambled thoughts in that moment wouldn’t have been productive. Instead, I walked through the front door unannounced and was greeted only by the stench of overflowing rubbish bins and sour bodies.
Stepping into the cramped hallway, I caught a glimpse of Dad sitting at the tiny kitchen table, facing away from the door. As I expected, Mum was sprawled on the sofa under a thin blanket, Bargain Hunt blaring from the giant screen on the opposite wall. Lacey was nowhere to be seen.
‘Who is it?’ Mum demanded, hearing the front door close. She made a horribly feeble attempt to swing her legs around so she could sit up, the blanket sliding off onto the floor as she gave up.
‘It’s me.’ I ventured far enough into the room for her to see me without moving.
‘Alexis.’ She turned back towards the screen, as if my first visit in months was less interesting than a random couple debating between an antique jug and an inkwell. ‘Not thrown yourself off your millionaire’s balcony, after all.’
Every time I came here, it felt as though a boa constrictor had coiled itself around my chest. The longer I stayed, the tighter it squeezed.
‘How are you, Mum?’
Mum appeared even worse than when I’d taken the kids out for the day back in July.
The patches of bald skin on her head were now more prevalent than the stringy clumps of grey hair.
Her pallid cheeks were crisscrossed with broken veins, eyes tiny slits in a bloated face.
The bare legs protruding from her grubby dressing-gown were grotesquely swollen, feet an alarming shade of mauve.
After recent events, I wasn’t one to judge, but she really needed to put on some underwear before the kids came home.
She looked like a woman on borrowed time. Mum was sixty-three.
‘I’ve not made myself a national laughing stock, so I guess I’m doing better than you.’ She reached about on the sofa until one hand located an almost empty packet of chocolate digestives. ‘Thought you might come crawling back now everyone else has ditched you.’
I could already feel myself shrivelling into teenage Alexis again.
‘A social worker called me. Trudy Barnes.’
Mum instantly tensed, a biscuit halfway to her mouth. ‘Ralf!’
‘What the hell do you want now?’ Dad hollered back. ‘The race is about to start.’
‘Alexis is here. She’s been fraternising with the child-snatcher.’