Lizzie

Tom stayed in hospital last night.

I slept beside him on a narrow pull-out bed. Actually, I didn’t sleep much. It was hot, bright and uncomfortable, and I had a lot on my mind.

I’m home now, getting Tom a few bits and pieces – fruit, tea, snacks, clean clothes. I’ve packed a bag, showered off the hospital smell (putting too much shampoo in my new short hair as usual – I’m still not used to the length) and now I’m dressing.

While I’m pulling on my jeans, I hear a knock at the door. I freeze, one foot hovering off the ground, jeans halfway up.

There’s a long pause.

Then another knock – louder this time.

I creep to the window, peeking through the line of daylight shining between the curtains. If it’s my mother, I can’t handle her right now. I just can’t.

In the front garden, I see the top of a woman’s head. Black, curly hair. A leather holdall over her shoulder. Glasses.

Thank God. It’s Kate Noble. I need to talk to her.

I pull on my jeans, doing them up as I hurry down the stairs.

Common sense tells me Kate won’t wait long. Social workers don’t have time to stand on doorsteps.

Sure enough, the letterbox rattles as I reach the bottom step.

I cross the living room at speed, but I’m too late.

Kate is gone, leaving an unstamped brown envelope on the doorstep.

Inside is a letter:

Dear Miss Riley,

I’d like to arrange a strategy meeting as a matter of urgency. Dates and paperwork will follow.

In the meantime, if Tom is absent from school this must be accompanied by a medical note.

Please call or email using the details below.

Sincerely,

Kate Noble

Oh my God. A strategy meeting. Social workers don’t organise those for no reason. And that line about needing a medical note – they’re trying to stop me keeping Tom off school.

I feel there is a net hanging over our heads.

And it’s about to drop.