18
Simon and I talk about moving my things into the spare room. I don’t tell him I’ve tried that once already. This time I follow through. We’ve spoken more in the past few days than we have in months. With the spectre of our dying marriage finally put out of its misery, we’re able to find some middle ground.
It gives me hope we can eventually discover that holy grail of separated couples: friendship. I can’t imagine a life where Simon no longer exists. I hope I don’t have to.
On Monday we part ways amicably. He heads for his office while I take a cab to the grey concrete building which houses the social services department. Daisy waits for me outside, frantically puffing at a stub of a cigarette. Her black skirt is a little too short, and her sweater a bit too tight. I just hope they realise what an effort she’s made to clean herself up and look respectable.
She spots me and throws the butt to the floor, smashing it under the sole of her black boot. I incline my head to the metal ashtray affixed to the wall, and she quickly picks it up and stashes it in there.
“Are you ready?” I ask. We’re due to meet with Grace O’Dell in ten minutes, but it doesn’t hurt to be early. Daisy nods frantically before changing her mind and shaking her head.
“I puked my guts up this morning,” she confides. “What if they never let her come home?”
I put my arm around her and we walk into the building.
We sign in at the desk, and the security guard gives us temporary passes that we loop around our necks. There’s a bank of chairs on one side of the room and he directs us over. Daisy walks up to the cooler that’s letting out a low-level buzz in the corner, her lips quirking up as she pours some water into a paper cup. “I’ve never seen one of these in real life before. It’s cool.”
She drains the cup and pours herself a second before finally coming to sit next to me. Her legs jiggle constantly, her eyes scanning the room in a nervous fashion, and I put my hand on her shoulder to calm her down.
“It’s okay.”
Though she nods her head, the scared expression remains. “I just want her back.”
“I know.”
Daisy gets increasingly nervous as the minutes tick by. Her movements become manic and her questions breathless. When Grace finally walks through the security door, I’m not sure which of us is more relieved.
“I’m sorry I’m late, everything’s gone belly up in the office this morning. My last meeting overran by half an hour.” She gives us a tight smile. “Still, we’re all here now. Would you like to follow me?”
Before we even stand up, Daisy gives me a nervous glance. “Where are we going?”
“Just to a meeting room. A couple of my co-workers are there, and your case notes. Nothing to be alarmed about.”
This reassurance does nothing to calm Daisy. Her nervousness is palpable. I can almost feel it vibrating in the air. I reach for her hand as we walk through the security door, squeezing her cold fingers just to show I’m here,
“Please take a seat.” Grace points at two empty chairs.
The room is small, barely fitting a table and five chairs inside. We squeeze past the two people already at the table—Grace’s co-workers, I assume—and take the two vacant seats on the far side. As soon as she sits down, Daisy starts to rock on the two back legs. The movement makes the rubber feet squeak against the tiled floor. I grab on to the back of her chair to stop it, but then quickly pull my hand away.
She isn’t a kid, so why am I treating her like one?
“Okay, I think we’re ready to start.” Grace shuffles through some papers as she talks. “How are you doing, Daisy?”
“I want my kid back.”
Unflustered, Grace flashes her a smile. “Well, that’s what we’re here to discuss. Perhaps we can start with some introductions?”
We find out the man sitting opposite Daisy is a care worker from the group home where Allegra is staying, and the older woman is a representative from the council. Grace begins by outlining the main issues regarding Allegra’s case, and explains about Daisy’s hospitalisation.
Hearing the specifics from somebody else’s mouth is harrowing. I feel myself choke up as they describe the specific occasions when Allegra’s been neglected, left at home, and generally ignored. If I didn’t know Daisy myself, I’d look at her and come to the conclusion she’s a terrible mother. But she isn’t. When Allegra has her full attention, Daisy can be great. It’s her inconsistency that’s so worrying.
As Grace refers to some reports, Daisy starts to rock on her chair again. She stares out of the window, her eyes glassed over as if she’s not really here. I try to pay extra-close attention, knowing I’ll probably have to explain everything all over again when we leave.
“And you’ve cut off all relations with your former boyfriend?”
I have to nudge Daisy, who does a double take. “What?”
“You’ve cut off any ties with...” The council officer rummages through her notes. “Mr Darren Tebbit?”