Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the familyâs privacy.
HarperTrueLife
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpertrue.com
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published by HarperTrueLife 2015
FIRST EDITION
© Mia Marconi and Sally Beck 2015
Cover photo © Shutterstock 2015
Cover layout © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Mia Marconi and Sally Beck assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Find out about HarperCollins and the environment at
www.harpercollins.co.uk/green
Source ISBN: 9780008105150
Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780007584406
Version: 2015-03-06
Iâve always said that giving birth to a child does not make you a mother and simply fathering a child does not make you a father. What makes you a mother and a father is what comes next: sitting up all night with your little one while theyâre fighting a fever; watching The Lion King on a loop; covering the kitchen with poster paint, sticky tape and cake mix; and endless visits to the park to swing your beautiful son or daughter on the same swing and slide them down the same slide. Itâs repetitive and, dare I say it, occasionally boring, but that contact with your child makes them feel loved and valued. Itâs called unconditional love, not childcare. But over the years I had begun to realise that not all parents are capable of loving their children, and that those children who enter the world cocooned by the love of their mother and father are the lucky ones.
Kira initially came to live with us for respite care, and she was a child who could not comprehend the meaning of the word âloveâ. Kira could have written a doctorate on rejection, but love was a mystery to her.
She came into our home one Friday night. When you work on the frontline in foster care you very quickly realise that the most urgent calls come on a Friday, usually just as youâre about to head out of the door to take your other kids somewhere, or as youâre snuggling up in bed with a good book. Thereâs something about having to face the weekend with a demanding child that galvanises people into action.
On this particular Friday I was trying to make dinner, surrounded by chaos. My own five children were demob-happy and already getting into the weekend spirit. âMum, I canât find my football shorts,â shouted Alfie. âMum, Rubyâs got my favourite pyjamas.â âNo I havenât, sheâs got mine!â âMum, Jackâs eating my slippers. Mum!â Sleepovers were being planned and sporting activities discussed at top volume as usual, but through the noise I somehow heard the phone ring.
I picked it up. âCan you hear me?â said a calm, professional voice that sounded vaguely like a social worker. I couldnât, and took the phone into my quiet room, one that the children knew to stay out of. It was my room, peaceful, with warm red walls and a thick fluffy carpet, and as soon as I entered it I felt instantly peaceful. âSorry, I can now.â
âWe need an emergency placement for the week. Itâs respite for another set of carers. One of the carers has been in an accident. Sheâs broken her hip and is struggling to cope. Can you help?â
âHow old is the poor little mite? And are we her only option?â I said, playing for time. As much as I wanted to help, all our weekend plans would take time to change and I had to be sure I could change them before I committed.
âKira is three,â she said. âIâm afraid you are the only option. She hasnât been with these carers for long and sheâs only just come into care, so obviously this is all incredibly disorientating for her. She canât cope as they are in the midst of a crisis. She is quite needy and her behaviour can be challenging, and the carers are struggling with her. They say sheâs being quite difficult.â
My mind was racing. From what she had said, I knew that Kira would need one hundred per cent of my attention, and I wondered how I would juggle everything I had to do and give her the care that she needed.
âPlease,â said the desperate voice on the end of the phone.
âOkay,â I said. I love little girls anyway and I couldnât say no to a three-year-old in need. I heard the social worker breathe a sigh of relief. She sounded so relieved, in fact, that she was close to tears. âHow long will you be?â I asked.