A Last Kiss for Mummy: A teenage mum, a tiny infant, a desperate decision. Casey Watson

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      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

       Dedication

       Acknowledgements

       Chapter 1

       Chapter 2

       Chapter 3

       Chapter 4

       Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Chapter 20

       Epilogue

       Exclusive sample chapter

       Casey Watson

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

Acknowledgements

      I would like to thank all of the team at HarperCollins, the lovely Andrew Lownie, and my friend and mentor, Lynne.

Chapter 1

      I’ve known my fostering link worker, John Fulshaw, for something approaching seven years now, so I’ve got to know his face pretty well. I’ve seen his happy face, his sad face, his ‘I don’t know how to tell you what I’m about to tell you’ face, his concerned face, his angry face and his ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got your back’ face as well.

      So there wasn’t much that got past me, and today was no exception. There’d been this glint in his eye since the start of our meeting; a glint that told me that today he was wearing his ‘I can’t wait to tell you’ face. He’d had ants in his pants since he’d arrived.

      It was a chilly autumn morning at the end of October. Not quite cold enough to put the heating on mid-morning, but certainly cold enough for me to be wearing my standard winter months outfit of leggings, a fluffy jumper and boots. My husband Mike had taken a rare day off from his job as a warehouse manager, and we were all grouped around the dining table, drinking coffee and trying to avoid eating too many biscuits, because it was the day we had our annual review.

      It’s something all foster carers have, as a part of what we do – a summing up of how things have gone during the previous year. It’s a time to look back to previous placements, discuss what went well and what didn’t, talk about any complaints and allegations (none for us, thankfully) and, if appropriate, talk about what new things might happen in the coming year. It’s also an opportunity to discuss further training. As specialist foster carers we usually attend at least three training courses per year. In our case, today, everything had been positive, thank goodness. Not every placement works out well – that’s the nature of the job – but we had had a good year and Dawn Foster, the reviewing officer, who was also present, had praised me and Mike for the way we’d handled our last placement: two unrelated nine-year-old boys. Both had certainly been in need of support. Jenson was somewhat wayward, being the child of a neglectful single mother – one who’d left him and his sister home alone while going off on holiday with her boyfriend for a week. Georgie’s problems were different. He was autistic and had come from a children’s home that was closing down; the place where he’d spent almost all of his young life. Individually, both boys came with their own challenges, but our biggest challenge was that we’d had them both together. It had been a rocky ride at times, but, thankfully, they ended up friends.

      The review over, and with Dawn on her way back to the office, I closed the front door with a now familiar tingle. We were between placements at the moment and the warm glow I’d felt when Dawn had been singing our praises had now been replaced with a feeling I knew all too well; one of excited anticipation. Just why did John have those ants in his pants? At last I’d have a chance to find out.

      When I went back into the dining room – well, dining area, actually; the downstairs of our house is open plan – John was grinning and rubbing his hands together.