Mummy’s Little Helper: The heartrending true story of a young girl secretly caring for her severely disabled mother. 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

       Chapter 21

       Chapter 22

       Chapter 23

       Chapter 24

       Chapter 25

       Chapter 26

       Epilogue

       Exclusive sample chapter

       Casey Watson

       Copyright

       About the Publisher

       To my wonderful and supportive family

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

      I love my family. I really do. They’re the best in the world in almost every respect. But sometimes they do tend to gang up on me.

      ‘Mum, that’s bonkers,’ my daughter Riley said, as I brandished the clutch of paint-colour cards I had collected that morning from the local DIY superstore. ‘You said it yourself. Trust me, I remember very clearly. You said, “The upstairs is just fine as it is.”’

      ‘Perfect,’ my husband Mike chipped in pointedly. I glared at him. ‘Honest!’ he persisted, ignoring it. ‘That’s what you said, love. That the whole house was perfect. Perfect as it was, you said. Remember?’

      That was true, certainly. But I chose to pretend I hadn’t heard him. Instead I looked at my Kieron, for support. If I could rely on one person at this point, it would be my son. He wouldn’t let them browbeat me in this scurrilous fashion, surely? But I was sorely mistaken.

      ‘Come on, you did, Mum,’ he said, his face a picture of innocence, even as he threw me to the lions. ‘And we did do the downstairs …’

      ‘The whole of the downstairs,’ added Riley. ‘And in a week. Look. I still have the blisters to prove it!’

      I fanned my rainbow of blues and pinks and fixed them all with a steely glare. ‘All right then,’ I said. ‘I’ll be the little red hen, then. I shall just have to do it by myself!’

      Except I wouldn’t. I knew I’d talk them round eventually.

      That had been a week back, and true to my prediction I had managed to persuade Mike of the logic of my plan, and with him on board the kids had caved in and helped too. It had been, I’d decided, an inspired idea. With one bedroom for us, and one earmarked for visitors, we had two bedrooms free for our fostering needs. Two bedrooms, to my mind, meant one blue and one pink. That way, I explained to Mike, we’d be always at the ready, whichever СКАЧАТЬ