LITMIR.BIZ

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me a drink if I want one.’

      With a brief smile he turned and plodded off upstairs and a few moments later I heard his bedroom door close. Caz eased herself down into one of the armchairs, then lifted her feet onto the footstool. ‘They told me at the hospital I should keep my feet elevated when sitting,’ she said. Both her feet were bandaged now and her slippers had been cut to fit.

      ‘Is there anything I can do?’ I asked. ‘I could change the light bulb in the hall.’

      ‘No. One of them can do it when they get back. It’s always going. It gets left on all night. Sit yourself down.’

      The other armchair was occupied by one of their cats, so I sat on the sofa where I was at right angles to Caz. She picked up the remote and lowered the volume on the television until it was just a hum in the background. In front of me was a glass-topped coffee table littered with teenage magazines. A bright-red glass fruit bowl stood in the centre, but instead of containing fruit it held an attractive display of sweets – small packets of Smarties and Jelly Tots, lollipops and sherbet dips and so on. Very tempting indeed. I could picture Caz and her daughters in the evening watching television or flicking through the magazines while popping sweets, as they had done at the hospital. Jo had said it was what they did – a little family ritual. The rest of the room contained the detritus of six people living in a relatively small house where the main caregiver was incapacitated. Pans were in the sink, the draining board was stacked with cutlery and crockery, while the work surface was littered with takeaway pizza boxes and half-empty bottles of fizzy drinks. A number of beer cans had been stacked beside the overflowing bin. ‘Sorry about the state of the place,’ Caz said, nodding towards the kitchen ‘They just eat and leave me with their mess.’

      ‘Where have they gone?’ I asked, making conversation.

      ‘Dan’s out with his mates, drinking, and the girls have gone to the community hall. They put extra entertainment on in the summer. I used to go. It’s nice. You can meet people and have a cup of tea and a chat. But I haven’t been able to get there since I’ve been ill.’

      ‘You’ll be able to go again soon, once your foot is properly healed,’ I said encouragingly.

      She looked downcast and shrugged. ‘Not so sure. They’ve put me on antibiotics again. My other foot is playing up. Two toes on that foot might have to come off.’

      ‘I am sorry,’ I said, shocked. ‘What a worry. Hopefully the antibiotics will start to work soon and it won’t be necessary.’

      ‘The nurse who changes my dressing didn’t seem too hopeful.’ Caz’s face clouded and she suddenly burst into tears.

      ‘Oh, Caz,’ I said, standing and going to her. ‘You poor dear.’ I went to take her hand but she pulled away. ‘Is there any other treatment you can have? Have you talked to your doctor?’

      She shook her head despondently and, taking a tissue from her cardigan pocket, quickly wiped her eyes as if she didn’t have the right to cry or be upset.

      ‘I am sorry,’ I said again, at a loss to know what comfort I could offer.

      ‘It’s not just that,’ she said. ‘I feel so worthless. Sometimes I think everyone would be better off without me.’

      ‘Caz, don’t say that. Your family loves you lots. I saw that at the hospital. Not many teenagers would give up every evening to go to the hospital, even if it was their mother. I think you should speak to your doctor about how you are feeling. I am sure he’ll be able to help.’

      ‘It’s not the girls, it’s him,’ she said in the same flat voice, and for a moment I thought she meant Max.

      ‘Max?’ I asked, wondering what he could possibly have done to upset her.

      She shook her head. ‘No. His father. Anyway, it’s not your problem.’ She blew her nose and tucked the tissue into the sleeve of her cardigan.

      ‘Do you have someone you can talk to?’ I asked, returning to my chair.

      ‘Yes, but talking doesn’t do any good.’ There was a few moments’ silence, which I broke by telling her Max was coping well and enjoying the summer holidays – something most parents of children in care want to hear. But Caz’s face clouded again and her bottom lip trembled. I made a move to go to her, but she waved me away.

      ‘It’s OK. You’re doing a good job with Max. Better than me.’

      ‘I’m doing my best to look after him until you are better,’ I said. ‘But I won’t ever replace you. You’re his mother.’ For I wondered if this might be contributing to her upset – that I was fulfilling her role. It worries many parents with children in care. ‘Max misses you very much, although he puts on a brave face. He seems to take everything in his stride, but I know he’ll be pleased when he can come home.’

      She managed the faintest of smiles. ‘He’s certainly a deep one, that kid. I don’t know where he gets it from, but I think he’ll do well, don’t you?’

      ‘Yes, I do.’

      She looked thoughtful for a moment and I saw pain in her eyes. ‘Does Max ever talk to you about his father?’

      ‘Not really,’ I said honestly.

      ‘He doesn’t tell you about how he treats me?’

      ‘No.’ I looked at her carefully and waited.

      ‘It’s not right, him seeing his father treat me like he does. It sets him a bad example.’ I nodded and waited again. ‘I’m unhappy, Cathy, dreadfully unhappy, so I comfort eat. I have done most of my life.’

      ‘Because of Dan?’ I asked gently.

      ‘He’s one of the reasons. He treats me like crap.’ Her brow creased.

      ‘Does he hit you?’ I asked.

      ‘Sometimes, but it’s what he says that hurts more. That does the real damage. He calls me names, horrible dirty names, and in front of the kids, like slut, bitch and whore. He says I’m worthless and I should be grateful he stays because no one else would.’

      ‘Those are dreadful things to say,’ I said. ‘Especially in front of the children. It’s abusing you and them. You don’t have to put up with it.’ Yet even as I said it I knew it wasn’t that simple.

      ‘But he’s right. I am a slut. Not just because of how I am now, but because of who I was.’ Her voice shook and she took a deep breath. I waited until she could continue, wondering what on earth she could mean. ‘You see, I’ve got a past, a nasty one. Dan and me were seventeen when we started going out. He was my first boyfriend, although I wasn’t a virgin. I told him everything, confided in him, and I was so grateful he still wanted me. Part of me still is. I was damaged goods, soiled. My stepfather had been having sex with me since I was nine.’

      ‘Oh Caz,’ I said, and instinctively reached out to touch her arm, but she withdrew it.

      ‘When I met Dan my stepfather was still abusing me. I didn’t know how to stop it. Dan did. He gave him a right thrashing and said if he came near me again, he’d finish the job. I don’t like being touched,’ she added. ‘Not even by my children.’ Which explained why I’d never seen her hug them. Adults who have been sexually abused can shy away from physical contact and showing affection until they work through it in therapy.

      I was reeling from what I’d heard and trying to think of what to say that might help. ‘Did you tell anyone apart from Dan that your stepfather was abusing you?’ I asked. ‘You know it’s never too late to go to the police.’

      She shook her head. ‘It is. He’s dead. I told my mother at the time, but she didn’t believe me, although I’m sure she must have had her suspicions. Then, when I told Dan and he beat up my stepfather, she threw me out of the house. I lived with Dan’s family until we got our own council house. My mum is dead now, but look at what she’s

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