She seemed a nice woman – well, girl. She looked a cliché of a social worker, all flat sandals and fat ankles. Her thick dark hair looked like a furze bush, but she had kind brown eyes, and that gave Gabby hope.

‘Do I have to go?’

Miss Bellamy looked at the pretty girl with the long blond hair and blue eyes and sighed inwardly. She had not liked the mother of this child, who had seemed overly adamant that the child should not be left with her grandparents. Most parents would prefer their children with family – it was rare that they opposed that – but Mrs Cynthia Tailor had been convinced she was in no fit state to care for the child herself. Since her husband’s suicide she had been on medication and suffering from depression – understandable, of course. But she had also stipulated that her parents were not fit role models; as well as their advanced ages, they were also supposedly drinkers, smokers and gamblers, among other more sinister things, not said but hinted at.

So, as always, these cases had to be investigated and, in the interim, the child would be taken into the care of the local authority. Just going on this initial visit though, Miss Bellamy felt the girl would be all right here. The house was clean and well kept, the couple, though old and smokers, were agile enough, and there was genuine affection between them. There was also undisguised animosity against the child’s mother, and that was coming from every one of them.

That there was a brother in a secure unit also had to be taken into the equation. The mother had washed her hands of him, saying he was far too disturbed for her to deal with under the present circumstances. James Junior had had a meltdown when told about his father’s death and had attacked everyone around him. And the next day he had knifed an orderly. He would not be going anywhere for a good while.

Miss Bellamy shook her head at the state of some people’s lives. There was money in this family, good looks and wonderful homes, yet she wouldn’t leave her dog with any of them for the day, let alone allow them to procreate. But such was life; you needed a licence to own a dog or a TV, and you were fined if you didn’t have one, whereas there wasn’t anything to regulate who had a child. It was scandalous really, but there was nothing she could do about any of it. Except pick up the pieces when it went wrong.

‘Who would you like to stay with, Gabriella?’

Gabby smiled then. ‘I’d like to stay here. I’ve been here for the best part of my life – I only lived at home recently.’