of assault and grievous bodily harm, pouring boiling water onto his own newborn daughter and scarring her for life. Katie’s mother had testified
against him, under police protection, and he would not be out of prison for a number of years.
Now that her ex-partner was out of circulation, Katie’s mother was allowed to have her daughter back. She had visited as regularly as she could afford to, and was overjoyed to have Katie
at home with her again, without further threat of harm. The local authority had even re-housed her and helped her change her name by deed poll to make sure.
We did miss Katie when she left, but we were very happy for her and her mother to be safely together at last.
A fortnight later, I had a phone call from my friend, who did a lot of the admin and reception work. She told me about a local school who had called the police to report their
concerns about cruelty to a little boy, and they’d also called Social Services as they felt his home circumstances were unsafe.
‘I can’t tell you his name, of course, but when his teacher asked him why he was so tired and hungry, he told her his dad had thrown him into a skip and he had to stay there all
night.’
‘That’s terrible,’ I gasped, knowing how cold it had been. ‘How old is this boy?’
‘I think he’s five.’
‘So where is he now?’
‘With Social Services I think. I’ll let you know if I hear anything else.’
Poor lad, I thought as I put the phone down. Just then, Lizzie arrived and I forgot about it till later, when I told Mike what little I knew.
‘He could have died,’ I said, as an afterthought.
‘Yes, it was cold enough, poor mite. Maybe they’ll put him into care,’ he suggested with a smile. ‘We’ve got room for another, haven’t we?’
Sure enough, first thing next morning, the phone rang. We had finally got another phone installed in the kitchen, so that I could keep an eye on the kids while I was talking.
‘Good morning, Mrs Merry,’ a male voice said. ‘I’m Mark, a case-worker, calling from Social Services. I see from our records that you may have a space available for a
neglected little boy we’re trying to place on a temporary order. Would you be able to take him?’
‘Yes,’ I decided straight away, knowing who this probably was, but I couldn’t let on. ‘When do you want us to have him?’
‘Today,’ he said. ‘The sooner the better. We had to put him in a home with teenagers last night, but that wasn’t suitable for him. I could go and collect him and bring
him to you within the next couple of hours. Shall we say eleven o’clock this morning?’
‘That’ll be fine.’ As soon as I put the receiver down, I realised I hadn’t asked his name, but I’d soon find out.
Luckily, it was a Saturday and Mike was home, so he took all the kids for a chaotic walk, while I cleared away the breakfast things and dashed upstairs to prepare a bed for this boy. I decided
to put him in with three-and-a-half-year-old Paul and Ronnie, who was now nearly five, so the closest in age. I wondered whether the new boy would think it beneath him to have a cuddly by his
pillow, but I guessed he would bring nothing of his own with him, so I chose him a stocky dog with a black patch around one eye.
As I stood on the front doorstep to welcome our new arrival, I was shocked to see how pale and thin he was. His eyes looked dull in their hollow sockets and his hair looked matted.
‘This is AJ,’ said the friendly looking social worker. ‘He’s five years old.’
‘Hello AJ,’ I said in my warmest voice. ‘Come in and I’ll find our special biscuit-tin. Do you like chocolate biscuits?’
‘Yes,’ said AJ with a nod and a wary expression, like a hurt animal. I noticed that somebody had found him a warm jumper, though it was a couple of sizes too big for him and the
cuffs had been rolled over at least twice.
I took them into the kitchen first, to let the boy acclimatise, and made him a drink