Taken: Part 2 of 3

Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.

HarperElement

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First published by HarperElement 2017

FIRST EDITION

© Rosie Lewis 2017

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

Cover photograph © Victoria Haack/Trevillion Images (posed by model)

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Rosie Lewis asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780008113018

Ebook Edition © January 2017 ISBN: 9780008171315

Version: 2016-12-19

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

About the Publisher

The children’s play area was swathed in ribbons of feathery mist, grey clouds swelling above our heads. It really was cold, but several hardy children were playing on the ice-covered equipment, their mothers stamping their feet and rubbing their gloved hands together nearby. I parked the pram near a small scooter propped up against the black metal railings and walked around the front, reaching a hand underneath the rain cover and pulling the blankets up around Nailah’s chin. Megan stretched out her short arms as soon as she saw me, a sight that never failed to melt my heart. ‘Come on then, sweetheart,’ I said, zipping her thick coat up as high as it would go, straightening her hat and then unclipping her straps again. I pulled her to me and planted kisses on her forehead.

She lifted her face and sucked my chin affectionately, her mouth warm on my skin. Her small hands clamped my cheeks possessively and soon she began to gnaw, her gums clamping down with surprising pressure. ‘Hey, you!’ I cried, laughing as I arched my face away. I lowered her into the nearest swing. She gurgled a laugh, two bright red teething spots glowing above the dimples on her cheeks.

I grabbed her blanket from the pram and rolled it up, squeezing it between her and the back of the swing to keep her steady. ‘Ready? Are you steady?’ She bobbed around, answering with a stream of excited babble. ‘Right, up we go then. Whee!’ I pushed gently on the swing and her mouth dropped in a wide smile, eyes shiny and bright. With her hearing problems I wasn’t sure how much she took in, but she was making lots of sounds in response to my own, new ones each day.

‘Mama-mama-ma,’ she said, smiling at me lovingly.

‘Not Mama, R-o-sie,’ I corrected, though my heart stirred at the sound.

‘Mama-mama-ma,’ she said.

I smiled and turned around, my attention caught by a small boy as he charged across the sandpit behind us. He was a stocky little chap around two years old and something in the way he moved evoked memories of Harry, one of the siblings I had cared for years earlier. After years of fostering it was often that way; children floating into my mind, their faces slightly out of focus, like little ghosts. I hadn’t seen Harry since he moved onto adoptive parents with his sister, but I never forgot his special ways and how fearless he was. I always had to make sure the first-aid box was well stocked when he was around. Smiling to myself, I watched as the little boy clambered to the top of the slide then raised his hands in triumph. Without warning he cheered then leapt off, landing on his bottom with a thud and, after a moment’s hesitation, a whimper. His mother shouted at him in exasperation then, but picked him up and gave him a hug.

I looked back at Megan, wondering whether it might really be possible for us to keep her.

At home Megan sat in her high chair sucking on some thin slices of apple while I warmed some milk for Nailah. At the sight of the bottle Megan started to fuss, so I quickly made one up for her as well, though I knew what was likely to happen when I gave it to her. After testing it on the inside of my wrist I offered it to her, but as soon as the teat touched her tongue she pulled a lemon face and pushed it away.

I pulled up a chair and sat in front of Megan while I gave Nailah her bottle. I loved watching her eat; the intrigue crossing her features as she worked her way through the nibbles on her tray. I couldn’t stop smiling as her small hand hovered over a stick of carrot like one of those robotic arms in a fairground machine full of soft toys. With Herculean effort, her fingers descended until she finally closed her fist around the prize. Turning the sliver first one way and then the other, she examined it with exceptional diligence and then stuck it in one of her ears.