The young boy that I had known only for a short time, but whose face I already knew I would never forget, had the beginnings of tears in his eyes as he interrogated me.
“I mean will I have to go into a home or somethin'? I don't to, I want to go home.”
I smiled, trying to reassure him and buy myself some time while I framed the most honest and yet kind response to his entreaty;
“The thing is, under the circumstances you are going to need an adult or two in your life. Do you have any grandparents?”
His eyes lit up, suddenly there was hope;
“Well, you know that my real Dad died in Iraq?”
I nodded,
“His mum, my real gran, is still alive. I haven't seen her for about six years, and I don't know where she is, but Mum told me only last week that she'd had a letter from her, with money in it for me, to hold until my birthday.”
I nodded again;
“Do you know her full name? We will probably be able to trace her anyway, but it may help.”
He pondered for a moment, then;
“I'm pretty sure it's Fenella Cartwright.”
No comments:
Post a Comment