LITMIR.BIZ

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and one of his special talents is asking questions, making statements and issuing instructions all at once. It’s been the same since he was little; as if he makes these mental lists of every passing thought, before opening his mouth.

      ‘No problems we can’t handle,’ I told him. ‘And yes, they are having fun. And, yes, time flies – I can’t believe Jackson is ten already either. And yes, I’ll make more coffee. Anything else?’ I added, laughing at his confused expression.

      ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, handing me my mobile, which I hadn’t spotted. ‘Here you go. John Fulshaw’s on the phone.’

      ‘Oh Kieron, honestly,’ I said, snatching it from him. ‘You could have started with that, couldn’t you? Sorry, John,’ I added, as I put the phone to my ear. ‘As you probably noticed, you’ve caught me mid-party. Hang on, let me find somewhere quieter to talk.’

      I wove a path through a dining room full of small people, and some unfamiliar adults, into the conservatory, en route to the back garden – the one place, because of a heavy April shower earlier, we had opted to make out of bounds. I’d happily agreed to Riley’s suggestion that we hold Jackson’s party at our house – it was a good bit bigger, so it made sense – but I’d forgotten just how many friends the average ten-year-old simply must invite to their parties. These days, a whole form’s worth, plus a couple of extras, seemed to be the norm. Throw in a couple of cousins, and friends from various clubs and activities, plus half their parents (did they not have anything better to do?), and there didn’t seem an inch of our downstairs that wasn’t occupied by a human, and the house seemed to be creaking under the strain of it all.

      Literally, I thought, as I clacked across the squeaking floorboards.

      ‘You sound a bit ruffled, Casey,’ John said, once I’d shut both the door and noise behind me. ‘I could always call back later if you’d rather?’

      ‘No, no,’ I said, perching myself on an upturned log at the bottom of the garden. ‘It’s just a birthday bash for one of the grandkids, and it’s a good excuse to escape for a few minutes, to be honest. I think I’m getting a little old for all this mayhem. But nothing that won’t be over within the next hour or so. Anyway, long time no speak. To what do I owe the pleasure? Have you got a child for us?’

      In reality, it had been no more than three weeks or so, but John, being our fostering link worker, was so much a part of the regular fabric of our lives that three weeks was actually quite a while. We’d been in limbo for the last three months or so – ‘recuperating’, for want of a better word, after our last long-term child had left us.

      Though Keeley hadn’t been a child, quite. She’d turned sixteen while she was with us. And had taken us down some intense, uncharted waters. Since then, Mike and I had quite enjoyed being on the back burner. We’d been doing respite work – where you step in short term to support other full-time foster carers – a few days here, a week there, nothing too challenging. And though we had experienced the odd trauma (one weekend visitor, for instance, was so fond of absconding that she arrived complete with a tracking bracelet on her ankle, and decided to abscond anyway), these were short bursts of fostering activity in a largely calm, family-orientated landscape, for a change. And with four grandchildren now, I was kept pretty busy as it was.

      I never thought I’d say it, but I wasn’t feeling the usual tug that always used to happen when I didn’t have a child in. And I also had Tyler, our permanent foster son, to think about. He had GCSEs coming up in a few weeks now, and we wanted to support him as well as we could.

      ‘Actually, no,’ John said, surprising me. ‘It’s news of a slightly different kind. News I wanted to share with you and Mike before it becomes public knowledge. So I was wondering if I could pop round for half an hour in the next day or so.’

      ‘What kind of news?’ I demanded.

      He chuckled. ‘I’d rather tell you face-to-face.’

      ‘Oh, don’t go all coy on me, John. What?’

      ‘When are you free?’

      ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ I said. ‘But okay, you win. This evening?’ I looked at my watch. ‘Mike will be home within the hour – on pain of death, I might add – and we should have cleared everyone out soon after. Why don’t you come over around seven? Assuming you’re in the office, that is?’ John was famous for never leaving work much before that.

      ‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘Now I’ll let you get back to the party.’

      His tone was bright and chirpy, so why did I fear bad news so much?

      ***

      ‘Because it will be?’ Mike said, as he shovelled the last of the paper plates into the recycling.

      He had narrowly avoided being hung, drawn and quartered by showing up a full twenty minutes before the designated end time and entertaining the kids with some high-octane rough and tumble, while Riley and I divvied up the birthday cake and wrapped sticky slices to shove into the thirty-five-odd party bags. Yes, they’d leave hitting the ceiling with over-excitement, but once they’d calmed down they would all sleep well tonight.

      Now it was just a case of sluicing down and tidying up. ‘He didn’t sound as if it was,’ I said. ‘But my antennae are twitching.’

      ‘And definitely not a new child?’ Mike asked.

      ‘He said not. Though there’s a thought. Perhaps an old one?’

      This did happen sometimes; you thought a child had moved on from you successfully, only to have things break down – perhaps at home, or with a ‘forever’ foster family – months or even years down the line. It hadn’t happened to us, but that wasn’t to say it couldn’t.

      ‘Well, there’s no point in speculating,’ Mike said, as he knotted the green bag. ‘It will be what it will be. And he’ll be here any minute to put you out of your misery. In fact …’ We heard the bing-bong of the doorbell simultaneously. ‘Speak of the devil. Get the kettle on. I’ll go and let him in.’

      Mike did so, and moments later John was standing in my kitchen in his ‘lucky’ jacket. A raggy tweed number, which couldn’t have screamed ‘public sector’ louder, and which he’d had for as long as I’d known him. For all his teasing earlier, he shrugged it off and came straight to the point. ‘I’m leaving,’ he said. ‘End of this month.’

      ‘Whaaaatttt?’ I said, teaspoon of coffee in mid-scoop. ‘As in leaving? As in two weeks from now? Just like that?’ I knew my face was probably reflecting my emotions a little too much, but I couldn’t help it. How could this be happening so suddenly, and so soon?

      Or, more accurately, why didn’t I already know? Jobs like John’s weren’t the kind that you just walked away from with a couple of weeks’ notice. They had long notice periods, and complex, structured handovers. John was the fostering agency as far as I was concerned. He knew everything and everyone; how could it possibly cope without him? Yes, a bit melodramatic, maybe, but not too far from the honest truth.

      ‘I know it’s a bit out of the blue,’ he said, ‘and it’s not how I’d planned it. It’s just that my dad’s not well, as you know, and we really need to relocate, and –’

      ‘Oh, God, John, I’m sorry,’ I said, feeling awful. I knew his dad had been ill. I knew he lived alone, some way distant. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Of course, you must. Just ignore me. Sorry – but, God, it’s just so sudden.’

      ‘So leaving the service entirely?’ Mike asked, pulling out a chair and gesturing that John should sit on it. ‘Quite a big life change for you, then.’

      ‘Yes and no,’ John said. ‘And, Casey, really, don’t worry. I’m not dashing off to attend him on his death bed or anything. He’s getting a kidney transplant and all being well it’s going to revolutionise his life, so it’s all positive. And the truth is that I’ve been offered this promotion

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