CHAPTER SIX of "Everything Is Going to Be Okay"

By Samantha Baldwin

Everything Is Going to Be Okay is a captivating novel about a mother who finds herself in Family Court fighting desperately to maintain custody and protect her children. It is based on the author’s own experience.

In the last chapter, Mandy finally, a month after the forensic interview in which her boys disclosed horrific sexual abuse, takes them to a physician, since the detective did not order the sexual assault exam. The doctor says it must be done through the police and makes a mandated report.

A new, female detective is assigned to the case after Mandy complains to a supervisor about the first one. She interviews the boys multiple times, even though best practices is that a specially trained therapist or social worker conduct it, not law enforcement. But still the boys bravely disclose even more incidences and types of horrific sexual abuse. They also describe ritual abuse and being abused by individual men who give their father money.

A sexual assault exam is finally conducted, but it is conveniently too late to detect physical evidence, except the scarring on Lewis’ anus from a sexually transmitted disease. Mandy has to insist the doctor take hair samples to prove the drugging since she is inexplicably reluctant to do so.

The new detective tells Mandy she believes the boys but that there is not enough evidence to charge Damien. But she assures her it will be enough for Family Court. Mandy is horrified. How can a family court get sex offenders off the streets? And isn’t social services supposed to protect children? Where are they?

Mandy believes that when the hair samples come back positive, there will surely be enough evidence to indict Damien. She does not realize yet how deep the cover up goes…

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CHAPTER SIX

It was a bright, sunny day in the middle of May. The garden was now in full bloom.

I looked out of the large window to see if I could see any new flowers sprouting up and was greeted by the sight of vivid red poppies swaying in the slightest of breezes. For a few seconds I forgot the pain. I reached up and opened a window to let in some fresh air, just as a car pulled up right outside. A slim woman dressed in a summer dress and sandals got out and started walking towards the house.

‘Hello, Amanda, I’m Sergeant Katy Spencer.’

‘Oh, hello, I was expecting Alice?’ My chest tightened as I opened the door to yet another stranger.

‘She’s been moved to a new department,’ she spoke loudly, which seemed odd. She walked past me, with a familiarity that made me uneasy. DS Spencer was in her late forties, at a guess. She had a stern face, framed with strands of long poker straight hair, dyed jet black. It was a contrast to her pale skin and features. I followed her into the lounge.

‘So, you called the department to say your sons had made more disclosures?’

‘Yes, that’s right, please, take a seat.’

She had already made her herself comfortable on the sofa. The scent of strong perfume filled the air and made me want to gag. ‘Okay, Amanda, can you tell me what your sons said?’ Her voice had a coldness to it.

Reaching for my red and white spotty notebook, I began to read out the latest horrors. My words came out breathy and rushed, as I felt an air of impatience coming from DS Katy Spencer. My anxiety further heightened when I realised that she wasn’t taking notes.

‘I have names,’ I said, looking up.

‘Okay, what are they?’ she asked.

It felt like I was annoying her. I listed the band members who had been pointed out, and some of the other friends of Damian’s who had been mentioned or described. DS Spencer interrupted when I got to Stan Lee, the guitar player. Taking out her note pad she scribbled something down.

‘Stan Lee?’ she repeated his name.

‘Yes,’ I nodded.

This seemed to interest her.

‘There’s been a conviction of a ‘Lee’ but it’s not Stan, it’s Duncan,’ she said. ‘He was convicted for rape and attempted murder.’

‘Yes. Duncan is Stan Lee’s brother,’ I replied.

I remembered the photo on Facebook of Damian with two other men. One was Duncan Lee, Stan Lee’s brother.

‘There’s something else I need to tell you. Lewis described being abused by several men at his father’s office, and I’ve noticed that there’s CCTV next door at the entrance to some flats. Could you check the camera to see if you can get footage?’

‘No, we can’t do that,’ she said, glancing at her watch.

‘Why not?’

‘I would have to hear it from the boys. And I am not going to request that they are interviewed again.’

‘So, what are you going to do about these disclosures?’ I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Nothing. Nothing will be done.

‘I’ll pass it onto the CPS and add it to your existing file,’ she said, getting up to leave.

I couldn’t face walking her to the door. Moments later, I heard the sound of loud music blaring from her car. I looked out of the window and saw her applying lipstick in the rear-view mirror before speeding off. My eyes fell on to the blooming poppies. Why weren’t the police investigating? Why were they not testing the boy’s hair samples for drugs? Was this all because I had complained about DC Webster? How could we stay here if the police weren’t taking us seriously? Every question led to same answer, if the police weren’t going to charge Madford then we couldn’t stay.

* * * *

Within a matter of months, we had abandoned our house and relocated to a small historical market town nestled in between Nottingham and Lincoln. James had already been living there for a couple of years, and we had visited many times, so it made sense. Naomi moved into the enormous, ultra-modern detached house James was renting over-looking the largest park in the town. Me and the boys rented a tiny but quaint “two up, two down” on a leafy road five minutes away. Mum had also rented a small house, close by. I had one bedroom; the boys had the other. Our furniture just about squeezed in, with the exception of a few items that I had to sell on eBay. The loft had been converted and made a fantastic play area, much to the boys’ delight. We had a tiny bit of green that passed for a garden. At least the boys had somewhere outdoors to go. On the upside, there were children of a similar age living next door.

On the first morning in our new home, I awoke to the sun streaming in through the paper-thin curtains. Stretching, I welcomed the new day. It was so much warmer down here. I pulled on some shorts and a t-shirt and opened the window to let in some air before heading downstairs. For the first time in ages I was feeling positive and safe.

‘Good morning, little guys!’ I smiled at my precious boys who were already up and about and playing in the lounge.

‘We like it here, Mummy!’ Daniel said, beaming.

‘Yeah! It’s cool,’ Lewis agreed. ‘It’s like being on holiday.’

The boy’s eyes sparkled in a way that I hadn’t seen since they were babies.

It was a good move all around, and within a matter of weeks, we had connected with a group of home schoolers and enrolled Daniel at a local school. The boys had made firm friends with the neighbour’s children who were in and out of our house every day. Now that they hadn’t seen their father in ages, Lewis and Daniel began to blossom in ways I could never have imagined. It was a pure joy to see them happy and relaxed. Lewis had even begun to learn how to read. My heart sang. My children were finally starting to enjoy life.

It was a warm September afternoon when I got a phone call from Sergeant Katy Spencer. I was sitting sipping an afternoon cuppa and flicking through the local paper.

‘I’m just ringing to inform you that the CPS have said that there is not enough evidence to proceed,’ she said.

‘I see,’ I replied, sighing. ‘What now?’

‘That’s it I’m afraid. Damian Madford, Jeremy Green and Adam Wood have now been released from their bail terms.’

I looked out of the kitchen window, at the boys playing outside on the decking. They were safe, at least. I could keep them safe. We would just need to be careful that no one found out where we were living. Pushing down the slightly sick feeling at the pit of my stomach, I headed into the garden and picked up the ball that had rolled my way.

‘How about a game of piggy in the middle, boys?’

* * * *

Autumn arrived, and with it bursts of vivid red, burnt orange and ochre danced in the tress, before a few nights of storms shook everything to the ground, leaving behind bare branches. The holiday feeling of being somewhere new and warm was also fading. The postman had left a large brown envelope on the floor below the post-box. Picking it up I inspected the stamp in the corner, just about making out the words ‘Nottingham Family Court’ around the inked crown. Tearing open the envelope, my heart racing as I read the letter. It was an application from Damian Madford. He was asking for shared custody of the boys. I quickly scanned the pages. ‘The mother has caused emotional harm to the children by falsely accusing their father of sexually abusing them.’

The weekend passed in a daze. I focused on the boys and the house, trying to keep myself busy changing sheets and washing the carpet. Every time I thought of the letter, I felt weak with fear and reached for another surface to clean. No court would let a man accused of gang raping the boys near them. Surely? But the police had let them all walk free, and I could never have seen that happening.

First thing Monday I rang my old solicitor, Amy Martin, who had represented me a few years back, when Damian had taken me to court for overnight stays. ‘He’s got some nerve applying for custody,’ she said. ‘I don’t want you to worry, Mandy. The boys will be assigned a guardian to put forward their views.’

Amy’s words rang in my head long after our phone call had ended. It was all well and good for her to say not to worry, but I’d heard that line a few times. At the back of my mind there was a voice urging me to up and leave. To get out of this country and start a fresh in some far-flung place at the other end of the Earth. I could put the house on the market and use the proceeds to set up a new life. But thoughts fleeing quickly left my mind and instead I took the more realistic approach, to accept and face the reality of going through the justice system that was here to uphold the law and protect the vulnerable. The thought of seeing Madford again made my stomach turn.

Shortly after I had instructed Amy, she emailed to inform me that the first hearing had been scheduled. It was to take place at Nottingham Family Court on the 1^st December 2015.

I rang Naomi.

‘I’ve got a court hearing on the 1^st December,’ I blurted out, as she answered the phone in her usual cheery voice.

‘Mandy, it’ll be fine,’ she reassured me. ‘James will go to court with you.’

James parked in a large multi-story car park opposite the court. The freezing cold air hit me as I stepped out into it. Shivering, I pulled the collar of my coat up to cover my neck and put on my gloves.

‘We’re early, let’s go for a coffee,’ James suggested.

‘I’ll get the coffees; you go and sit down.’

James joined the queue as I headed over to the seating area. Walking through to the back of the café, I immediately saw the familiar shape of the back of a dark, narrow-shouldered man wearing a pin striped suit, sitting in the corner, facing the wall, reading a newspaper. His black hair slicked down with too much gel. I rushed back to James who was in the middle of ordering the coffee.

‘Madford is here,’ I whispered. ‘Please, can we just go?’

The court was grey and oppressive. Walking through the security area I noticed a woman crying as she left the building. A man in a suit hovered awkwardly at her side. Barristers donning wigs and court ushers carrying clipboards milled around. A blonde-haired, heavily made-up, middle-aged woman suddenly appeared from nowhere.

‘Amanda?’ she asked, holding out her hand to shake mine.

‘Yes. You must be Michelle.’

‘Well, I’ve got us a meeting room. Let’s go and talk.’

I got up and followed her. James waited behind. After Michelle had briefed me through the court process, an usher popped her head around the door. ‘You’re in now,’ she said.

I followed my barrister into the court room. It was a little smaller than I had imagined, with three benches laid out facing a raised area for the judge. Madford was already there with a young male barrister. He had dark hair and glasses and a haughtiness about him that mirrored Madford’s.

After a couple of minutes of relative silence, the usher spoke. ‘All rise.’

Everyone stood up, as the judge, a sixty-something-year-old man, walked in and sat down in the raised chair behind the desk, facing the rest of the room. He smiled and everyone sat down, apart from Damian’s barrister who remained standing.

‘Your Honour, I am Sebastian Ramsbottom, counsel for the father. This is the case of Madford and Taylor in relation to Lewis Madford, aged eight, and Daniel Madford, aged four. The applicant father is applying for shared custody. The father’s position is that the mother has caused emotional harm by leading the two boys into believing that they have been sexually abused by their father. It is unfortunate that Mr Madford hasn’t seen his sons since December 2014.’

‘Thank you,’ said the judge, as he nodded towards my barrister.

‘Your Honour, I represent the respondent mother.’

The judge nodded.

‘The mother’s position is that the boys have indeed been subject to sexual abuse by their father, so therefore she is not in support of any contact with between her sons and the father.’ Michelle sounded almost apologetic.

‘Thank you,’ said the judge.

Sebastian Ramsbottom rose again. ‘Your Honour, given the complex and serious nature of this case, I am requesting transfer to a circuit judge.’

The judge glanced over at Michelle. She quickly rose.

‘Agreed, Your Honour.’

The judge nodded. ‘Permission granted.’

A subsequent hearing was scheduled for the following April in 2016. Four months away. Good. We would have a bit of breathing space.

* * * *

With the first court case behind us and Christmas upon us, we decided to celebrate in style. For a week or so we managed to put the spectre of the looming court case to the back of our minds and concentrate on festivities and making it as special as possible for the boys. Naomi and James’s house was the perfect place to host a family Christmas. It sparkled with fairy lights in every room and two of the finest Norwegian Christmas trees on sale locally, one in the kitchen and one in the vast lounge, decorated with beautiful ornaments. The smell of fresh pine and roasted turkey filled the air. Champagne and laughter flowed.

There was an excitement to the atmosphere which was alive with expectation and hope. The boys were healing. Life was good. Justice would come. The family court would protect my sons and keep their father away from them. Once the court case was out of the way, then we could get on with the rest of our lives.

* * * *

It was a cold March morning and I had not long returned home from the school run. Lewis was quietly colouring in as I flicked through the news section on my iPhone. An article caught my eye. “IICSA and Operation Hydrant investigating institutional failure within historical cases of CSA.”

I immediately called Mum. ‘Can you call them, Mum? Our case is classed as historical’

‘Yes, I’ll call them as soon as I come off the phone,’ Mum promised.

‘I’m taking Lewis to forest school today. Shall we all come over for tea?’

The few hours in the forest went quickly, with Lewis enjoying activities with his friends and plenty of fresh air. After collecting Daniel from school, I pulled up outside Mum’s, so the boys could race over to the back of her house. I watched them running over to hug her as I parked the car.

After the boys had finished their fish and chips followed by ice cream, they settled in front of a film. Mum and I quietly slipped into the small conservatory.

‘I was on the phone to the IICSA for four whole hours!’ Mum exclaimed as soon as we sat down. ‘They’re going to put us in touch with a police officer from Greater Manchester Police. They assured me it wouldn’t be Wright or Webster.’

‘Thank God,’ I whispered, barely aware of the tears flowing down my face.

Mum raised her glass of red wine. ‘This could be our breakthrough, love.’

A few days’ later, my phone rang. ‘No Caller ID’. I quickly answered.

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, is that Amanda?’ A man with a deep voice spoke.

‘It is,’ I replied.

‘Hi, Amanda, my name is Detective Chief Inspector Martin Murray, on behalf of Operation Hydrant. I am going to be looking into the investigation of your case.’

‘Oh, great, good to speak to you.’

‘Okay, so firstly I am going to have the “ABE” interviews of your sons reviewed,’ he explained, ‘to see if they meet our standards.’ He spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘And then I’ll be looking into why the officers didn’t proceed in testing your sons’ hair strands.’

‘Are the hair samples still in the forensic department?’ I asked.

‘Yes, they should be. I’ll call you back in a couple of weeks when I’ve got more to tell you.’

I felt a relief and a lightness after I had spoken to DCI Martin Murray. His straightforward and efficient approach gave me a glimmer of hope. Maybe Mum was right? Maybe this was our turning point?

That evening I received an email from my solicitor.

Hi Mandy, I have the DVDs of your sons’ police interviews here. I know it’s short notice, but are you free tomorrow?

It was far from an ideal day to drive the two-hour trip to Manchester. The rain poured relentlessly the entire journey. Once parked up in Manchester city centre, the rain subsided, and I walked the five-minute walk to my solicitor’s office, right in the heart of the city. Stepping into the large modern glass office building I headed over to the reception. A young woman smiled from behind the desk. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

‘Yes, I’m here to see Amy Martin,’ I told her, adding, ‘I’m Amanda Taylor.’

‘Okay, can you take a seat and I’ll let her know you’re here.’

Walking over to a large sofa I took a seat. My stomach began to churn, and I felt faint at the thought of watching my precious sons give their testimonies to the police. Lifting up my head, I could see Amy walking towards me.

‘Mandy, how are you?’ she said.

‘I’m dreading seeing the videos, to be honest,’ I confided

‘I’m sure you are. Let’s go to one of the meeting rooms and get a coffee.’

Amy led me into a bright meeting room, with a large table in the centre. I took a seat opposite the large TV at one end.

‘I’ll go and get you a coffee, Mandy, you get comfortable. You can take notes, if you wish,’ she said. Moments later, Amy reappeared, placing a mug down onto the table.

I wrapped my hands around the mug of hot coffee.

Amy took a seat opposite me and pressed ‘play’ on the remote control. The DVD started playing. It was Lewis’s first ABE interview. I braced myself as I stared at the TV screen in front of me. Then I saw the interviewing room, my boy sat on the sofa. The policewoman sat opposite him on another chair. My precious boy looked so young. Fifteen months had passed, but what a difference? He moved around fidgeting on the sofa.

‘Sit still, please, Lewis,’ barked the interviewing officer. ‘We have even younger children in here than you who manage to behave themselves.’

How could she say that to him? Couldn’t she imagine how hard it was to tell a stranger thing he had taken years to tell me? I started to sob.

‘Do you want me to pause it, Mandy?’ Amy handed me a tissue.

Shaking my head, I continued to watch as the horror in front of me unfolded.

‘He made me think that I had done something wrong… He said, “if you tell anyone, then you’ll never see Mummy again”’

He repeated “Mummy”, and my heart bled.

‘What did he do to you, Lewis?’

‘He touched me on my willy and on my bum,’ he said. ‘He always used to lie to Mummy about where he was taking us. He did terrible things to us. He said Granddad Bill did the same things to him when he was little, but “just get over it, it’s nothing”.’ As he said the phrase, his face contorted with anguish. I expected her to pause and try and comfort him, but she seemed to see him more as a suspect than a victim, and certainly not as the frightened child he clearly was. Where the hell had she got her training? After just over an hour the interview ended. Amy walked over and put the next disc into the DVD player.

‘Do you want to take a break?’ she asked, kindly.

I shook my head. I wanted to get out of there. It felt the room was eating oxygen, but I wanted to bear witness to my son’s truth.

‘This is Lewis’s second interview, Mandy. I’m sorry, it must be so difficult for you.’

I controlled my breath by counting silently, and I controlled my rage by pulling at the threads of my fitted jumper. I watched as my then seven-year-old boy bared his soul to the callous police officer who I’d assumed would take care of him.

‘Daddy and Mark went up to the loft. And Jeremy and Adam, sometimes, but this time Daddy and Mark. There was a light coming from the loft. They weren’t talking or anything. They were getting the injection stuff out. That’s where Daddy kept the injections.’

‘How did Daddy do the injection, Lewis?’ DC Scott asked.

‘Like with a really, really, really, really, really thin needle. So thin that it felt like a mosquito bite.’

‘Where was the injection?’

‘Here.’

Lewis patted his bottom.

‘Whereabouts, Lewis?’

I knew she was a police officer doing her job, but it was devastating to watch my son have to share such detail.

‘On my bum cheek.’

‘Where did the injection come from, Lewis?’ DC Scott didn’t miss a beat.

‘Daddy. And he got it out of the loft.’ Lewis’s eyes flashed round the interview room as if he was afraid his daddy might show up.

‘What was the injection for?’

‘For me. And Daniel. And he said if we ever told anyone then we would never see Mummy again,’

‘Did Mark see what Daddy was doing?’

‘Of course he did because he was helping him.’

‘How was Mark helping him?’ the detective asked.

‘By doing the same bad things to us as Daddy did.’

‘So, what did Daddy do then?’

‘Well, he gave me a little injection at first to make me go to sleep. In fact, it was like this.’ Lewis leaned back slowly into the sofa.

‘Like that.’

‘Using the dolls on the table, Lewis, can you show me where Daddy was when he put his willy in your bum?’

‘Like this.’

Lewis positioned the dolls accordingly, and I felt the whole room spin. My precious, precious child, what had they done to him?

‘Did Mark do anything to you at this time?’

‘No. He did things to Daniel, not me.’ Guilt flashed through my son’s eyes, as if he’d somehow got off easier.

‘You also said to me, Lewis, that your dad’s friends, Adam and Jeremy, did things to you as well,’ DC Scott’s abrasive interviewing style continued.

‘Yeah,’ Lewis nodded his head as he spoke. He looked so tired, like he’d had enough of the relentless questions.

‘What did they do?’

‘They put their willy in my bum and hit me.’

Lewis’s second interview was finally over. It had taken longer, this one. I got up from my chair, unsteadily.

‘I’m going to nip to the loo,’ I said, heading out of the meeting room.

Once in the toilet cubicle, I took some deep breaths. All I could think of was getting out of this building and going home to my boys. My beautiful boys. I splashed some cold water on my face and hardly dared look at my haunted eyes, before heading back to the meeting room where Amy was waiting, patiently.

‘Okay, Mandy, are you ready for Daniel’s interview?’ she asked quietly.

I nodded my head and sat down, wringing my hands together as my little boy came into view. He looked and sounded so young. A baby. All wrapped up warm in his knitted cardigan. He sat playing with a soft spider toy and hiding behind the sofa. DC Scott leaned forward on her chair and began talking in a kind of slightly forced sing-song voice.

‘Okay, let’s play the spider game for a bit then, Daniel, but then I want to ask you some questions.’

‘Okay.’ Daniel peeped out from around the back of the sofa, his big brown eyes looking fearful.

‘Okay, good boy, then after your game, you can start talking about what you told Mummy about what Daddy did?’

Daniel carried on playing with the spider toy. He climbed over the top of the sofa, dropping the toy behind.

‘Find it!’ he said to D C Scott. She hesitated and then got up from her chair, reckoning to be looking for the toy for a few seconds, until she held it up in the air.

‘Here it is!’ she sang, although the agitation in her voice was beginning to show. She sat back into her chair opposite Daniel. ‘So, Daniel, you’re here to see me because you told Mummy about some things about Daddy. Can you tell me exactly what those things were?’ Her voice softened a little.

After about half an hour of moving about, my little boy started to open up. ‘Daddy’s a bad guy. But he was a good guy when Mummy was there. He tells lies, lies, lies, lies.’ He started throwing the spider up into the air.

‘Daniel, what was it that you told Mummy?’

Give him a chance.

He threw the spider again, but this time DC Scott reached across and took the toy.

‘No! Give it back.’ Daniel cried, running towards DC Scott, who passed him the toy, shaking her head.

Daniel’s little face dropped as he climbed onto the sofa, placing the spider at his side and hugging his knees into his little body. ‘He did bad things to us. He made us cry, me and Lewis. We cried and cried and cried.’

‘What things does he do, Daniel?’ DC Scott asked, her voice softening again.

‘He made me drown in the bath.’

‘How does he made you drown?’

‘He pushed me under the water, and so I can’t breathe. He killed me.’

His little cheeks had flushed pink. I wanted to reach inside the screen and pull him away from her, away from it all.

‘Me and Lewis are always sleeping when we go to Daddy’s. All the time. Sleeping.’

‘You were sleeping a lot at Daddy’s? Do you know why, Daniel?’

‘Of course not. Mummy didn’t know either. She didn’t know what Daddy was doing to us. But now we’re safe. Mummy keeps us safe now.’ Daniel stood up. ‘I need a wee!’ he announced.

DC Scott abruptly got up from her chair. ‘Come on then. I’ll show you where the toilets are.’

‘Then I want to see my mummy.’

My little boy. I bent forward onto the desk and cupped my head in my hands.

‘Mandy, not much longer to go now,’ Amy said kindly. ‘I’ll fast forward this bit, for the rest of the interview.’

After a few minutes of Daniel playing with the spider and avoiding DC Scott’s questioning, he started to open up again.

‘My daddy’s a bad guy. He wee’d in my mouth. Daddy’s horrible because he’s a naughty guy. He doesn’t do nice things to us.’ Daniel rushed his words together, desperate to be heard.

‘What are those not nice things?’ DC Scott asked.

‘He wees in my mouth and in Lewis’s mouth.’

* * * *

It was almost tea-time when I left the solicitor’s office, running through the dimly lit streets in the pouring rain. By the time I got back to the carpark I was wet through. Peeling off my saturated coat, I climbed into the car and dried my hands and face with tissues. As I fought to get my breath back, I took out my mobile phone and rang DCI Martin Murray.

‘Hello, Martin Murray speaking,’ he said in his deep voice.

‘Hello, Detective Murray, it’s Amanda Taylor. I have just watched the boy’s ABE interviews Martin. The boy’s hair samples need testing urgently. Lewis gave such clear descriptions.’ My words came out rapidly.

‘Okay, just answer a couple of questions from me, please, Mandy. When did the boys last see Damian?’

‘The 1^st December 2014. The day before Lewis’s first disclosure.’

‘Okay, and when were the hair samples taken?’

‘6^th January 2015. I can’t understand why the police didn’t do a test back then?’

‘I can’t answer that Amanda. I’ll instruct forensics to go ahead and analyse the hair samples.’

The drive home seemed to take forever. I fought to concentrate as the rain came down in torrents, and the spray back from lorries flooded my windscreen as I overtook them. Approaching the East Midlands, the downpour eventually subsided. I no longer had to keep my focus on getting safely home. I started to scream. I screamed, and I cried, and I shouted at the top of my lungs. No one could hear me on the windy stretch of road, and I didn’t care if they could. My throat felt raw, but my anguish eventually gave way to a sense of calm, and I drove the last part of the journey in silence. Parking the car up outside my house, I could see the front bedroom lit up. Good, the boys were still awake. Walking around to the back of the house, I saw Mum at the window, washing the dishes. She smiled in a knowing way.

‘Are you okay, love?’ she asked, as I tossed my handbag and soaking coat on the kitchen counter.

‘No,’ I replied honestly, ‘but I have to see the boys right now.’ I climbed the stairs to at a time. Daniel was alone in the boy’s shared room, tucked into bed, his eyes barely open.

‘Hi, Sleepy,’ I said, bending down to stroke his soft hair.

‘Hi, Mummy, I missed you,’ he mumbled.

‘I missed you too, darling.’ I whispered, leaning in to kiss his cheek before he turned around to face the window, holding onto his favourite teddy. Tiptoeing out, I crept into my bedroom, where Lewis was waiting in my bed. He still slept in my bed, most nights.

‘Mummy, where have you been?’ Lewis asked.

‘I had to go and see a lady in Manchester. I missed you, sweetheart. Come here.’ I pulled him close into me, running my fingers through his hair. ‘It’s late, Lewis, better try and get some sleep.’

‘Mummy, can you stay here?’

‘Of course, sweetheart,’ I promised. ‘I’ll always be here. Always.’

* * * *

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AUTHOR

Samantha Baldwin: Proud mum to two awesome children.

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