Trapped: The Terrifying True Story of a Secret World of Abuse by Rosie Lewis

Author:Rosie Lewis [Lewis, Rosie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2014-02-26T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Letting myself back into the house after the school run the next morning, I felt a sudden invigoration. Lifted by being alone in the house, I felt the strain of the past few weeks slowly ebbing away. However temporary, it was a wonderfully freeing sensation and I wanted to hold onto it for as long as possible.

Making myself a coffee, I considered turning my phone off for a couple of hours. There was something festering in my mind, an inkling that I wasn’t piecing together an accurate picture of Phoebe’s troubles. What I wanted was to sit and absorb her words from the day when we sat on the swing, to examine the message she was giving me through the silence and then the violence that followed. To make sense of it all I needed time alone, away from the usual everyday demands.

After 10 minutes, guilt-ridden and anxious, I switched the handset back on – mums don’t get to turn their phones off and still feel relaxed. Instead, I slipped it onto one of the shelves of our desk and settled myself in front of the computer with a fresh cup of coffee.

Unsurprisingly, it rang within minutes. When I saw the caller ID I rolled the office chair backwards and, in anticipation of being irritated, automatically began pacing.

‘Hi, Lenke.’

‘Hi, Rosie. I’m sorry I couldn’t talk yesterday, I was so busy.’

‘That’s OK.’ I was just speculating on the best way to motivate her into taking action when she took the wind out of my sails.

‘There has been an emergency strategy meeting. The local authority has decided to apply for an Interim Care Order, so all future contact between Phoebe and her parents will be supervised.’

‘Oh, OK,’ I said, relieved. At least it was a move in the right direction. As we ended the call I wondered how Phoebe would react to the changes. It should only take the local authority a day or two to secure the order and then dealings with her parents would be on a much more official footing. With all contact supervised, there would be far less flexibility in meeting times and places. Robin Steadman would not like it, not one little bit. The thought pleased me, to such an extent in fact, that I wished I could be present when the news was broken to him.

It was unlike me to be so cold. For most of my placements I had felt sympathy for the birth parents. It was usually the case that they had been dealt an unfortunate hand in life and many simply lacked the ability to overcome such challenges, their children suffering alongside them. Robin Steadman had no such excuse: as far as I could see, he had it all.

There’s no proof the man has done anything wrong, I chastised myself, settling back into the swivel chair behind the desk. Besides, I had no idea what miseries he may have gone through in his life. Money didn’t guarantee immunity from suffering; I only had to look at Phoebe to know that.

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