Cynthia had enjoyed three years of more or less complete autonomy over the children, but now her daughter, with the help of her antidepressants, was finally getting herself back on her feet. She had taken Vincent’s departure very badly, and lost interest in everything and everyone – even her little boy. As Cynthia had pointed out, that ponce had left her holding the baby twice; any other woman would have legged it, but not her Gabriella. Cynthia conveniently ignored her own part in Vincent’s arrest – she had long ago convinced herself she did everything for her daughter’s own good. Gabriella would never have understood that it was for the best. She had taken losing Vincent very badly indeed. The doctors had blamed it on postnatal depression, and she had not disputed that.

Then, when little Vincent was five months old, Gabriella had had a complete nervous breakdown. She had needed to be hospitalised, and she had stayed there for eight months. Those had been the happiest eight months of Cynthia’s life. She had moved into a house closer to Gabriella’s and she had taken the children. She had made herself a lovely little family and, on top of all that, she had been given benefits, actual money, to look after them! This country was wonderful really, with its welfare state – she got more than her daughter would have, what with Carer’s Allowance, and all the other perks. A right little scam if truth be known and it was easily abused – they even paid for her car! But, more than that, the money made them even more hers – she had the Child Benefit book, everything in her name. Legally, that was worth a fortune to her as they were in her custody. Possession, as they say, is nine tenths of the law.

Now Gabriella was being difficult, wanting them back home with her. Cynthia intended to make sure that didn’t happen – these were her babies now, and she would fight to the death to keep them.

‘Why are you scowling, Nanny?’ This from nine-year-old Cherie who was very observant.

Cynthia forced a smile on her face as she said quietly, ‘I was just wondering how you would both cope if you had to go back to your poor mummy.’ Her voice sounded as if that was inevitable, and she was gratified to see the alarm in the child’s eyes.

‘They won’t make us, will they, Nanny?’