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The Silent Witness: Part 2 of 3
Casey Watson


‘I’m so sorry, Casey,’ my link worker John said, sounding weary. ‘I know this is probably the worst time I could ring you, but we desperately need someone to take a child tonight.’It’s the night before Christmas when Casey and Mike get the call. A twelve year old girl, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Her father is on a ventilator, fighting for his life, while her mother is currently on remand in prison. Despite claiming she attacked him in self-defence, she’s been charged with his attempted murder.The girl is called Bella, and she’s refusing to say anything. The trouble is that she is also the only witness…










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Copyright (#ube83fefb-7f97-5647-8086-a913db5cfa6f)


This book is a work of non-fiction based on the author’s experiences. In order to protect privacy, names, identifying characteristics, dialogue and details have been changed or reconstructed.






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First published by HarperElement 2017

FIRST EDITION

© Casey Watson 2017

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Ebook Edition © May 2017 ISBN: 9780008142681

Version: 2017-04-21




Contents


Cover (#ua7e7f35d-a153-5841-96b4-6ebb2ff37edf)

Title Page (#u3b129ed0-bc24-5893-a2ba-20f8b9e183d2)

Copyright (#u89969ecf-052d-5ca7-a3b5-2f507b68b26f)

Chapter 9 (#u6dd31ed9-5dd2-5cb5-ac1c-44f90412a374)

Chapter 10 (#u3954ed15-2d61-5735-b244-4bf86e78e6d2)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter 9 (#ube83fefb-7f97-5647-8086-a913db5cfa6f)


It was a good thing that the prison was so far away as I had more of a fight on my hands than I’d imagined. I knew there were protocols for when a child’s location was discovered, but had thought some sort of investigation would be in order as a next step, not the knee-jerk reaction I was hearing.

But the evidence of my ears was incontrovertible. John Fulshaw was telling me the next step was clear – putting plans in place to remove Bella from us as soon as possible.

‘What? Why?’ I spluttered, unprepared for him taking such a radical stance. ‘No, John, please. We don’t need to do that. It was just a crank letter! It could be from anyone.’

‘An “anyone” who just happens to know your address,’ John pointed out. ‘Come on, Casey, you know as well as I do that a carer’s information is kept strictly confidential. This could be a potentially dangerous position for you. I mean we are possibly talking about attempted murder charges here, don’t forget. This isn’t your regular “parents are fighting” situation. Not by a long shot. The stakes couldn’t be higher.’

‘I know that,’ I conceded, the reality and gravity of the situation finally beginning to properly hit me. ‘But surely we don’t have to give Bella up just yet. Can’t we – you, someone – do a bit of digging first? See if we can find out who it might be? From the writing it looks like it could be another kid, even. Oh, please, John. Seriously. Let us hang onto her for now, please? Leaving us, particularly now, would definitely set her back.’

The line went silent for several seconds and I knew John’s mind was ticking away as he thought about the best course of action. A course of action, no doubt, that he felt would both keep me happy and all of us, myself and Mike included, safe.

‘So how do you think this happened, Casey?’ he asked me, after what seemed ages. ‘How do you think someone got hold of your address?’

I had been racking my brains with the very same question, and had come up with only one possible answer. ‘Well, it has to have come from Bella herself, obviously,’ I said. ‘Tyler has been with us long enough to know all about confidentiality, so he certainly wouldn’t have been blabbing about it at school or anywhere, though I will obviously ask him just to be sure. Not that his circle of friends and Bella’s would even overlap. No, I think Bella must have told someone, mustn’t she?’

I hadn’t mentioned that first time when it occurred to me that she might have gone on Facebook, and I didn’t now. But I also thought back to the nights when I’d allowed her on my laptop to do her homework, and immediately felt stupid for trusting that’s what she was doing. No, she’d not talked to us about any close friend up to now, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have them. Or, indeed, want to make contact with them. ‘She could have been chatting to friends online,’ I admitted sheepishly, feeling like I was in a headmaster’s office. ‘She’s not been going to school, has she? Which has obviously isolated her from social contact, so it’s probably been naïve of me to assume all she’s been doing on the laptop is visiting her school website and a bunch of educational sites. I’ve been lax is the bottom line, John. This is all my fault, probably. I began by watching her like a hawk, but you know how it is …’

I heard something like a splutter from the end of the line. ‘If you think that “all my fault” line is going to soften me up, Casey, you’re wrong,’ John said sternly. ‘And it’s certainly not your fault anyway. You’re not expected to be hovering over her shoulder every moment of every day, and she’s almost a teenager, so of course she’d want to reconnect with her friends. Yes, I imagine that’ll be what’s happened. Okay, so here’s what I propose. Ask her. Let’s see if that is what’s happened here. A worthwhile discussion anyway, as she obviously needs to know how important confidentiality is – that she must not divulge her whereabouts to even her closest friends.’

Relieved beyond measure that no one was going to swoop in and whisk Bella away, I agreed to do just that, and assured John that I’d be more careful in the future. In truth it was my fault, whatever he’d said. No, I wasn’t expected to hover over her like the proverbial ‘helicopter parent’, but I should have been more savvy, and mentioned security to her every flipping time she used the computer. Kept at it till it had sunk in. Not blithely assumed that because she acted like she had no one in the world – she hadn’t mentioned a single friend to us, after all – she didn’t have a whole bunch of them she wanted to chat to. Stupid, stupid me.

We also decided that, though John would have to report the letter to both social services and the police, we would be better not mentioning it to Bella just yet. There was no point in worrying her further if we didn’t need to. And the last thing I wanted was to dampen her good spirits the minute she returned after her long-awaited visit with her mum.

No, I wouldn’t mention the letter yet, but I did need to address the situation because John was right about one thing for sure. On no account did we want our address bandied about in cyberspace for anyone to see. Bella herself was obviously only a part of the picture. We’d been fostering a long time, and looked after children from all sorts of scary backgrounds. I dreaded to think who else might now know exactly where we lived.

That’s the thing about fostering. It never ceases to bring you up short and confront your preconceptions. Not to mention keeping you on your toes. Even though you are doing your best for a child, and in most cases trying to work to get them into a better place with their parents, so that, if possible, they could be returned to them, some parents didn’t see it like that.

For some parents – and, sadly, it was often the least able and responsible parents who responded to intervention like this – we weren’t helping at all. No, we were either misguided do-gooders, or meddlesome professionals with ulterior motives, who were interfering in their lives and being pivotal in tearing their families apart. Which is why I have the utmost respect for social workers; they are truly on the front line of what very often feels like a war zone.

It’s also the reason why children have sometimes been placed into care and the parents are often not told where their children are. But in our modern world, it’s no longer as simple as that, and, of course, older children, these days so ‘social media-savvy’, aren’t stupid. Also, in cases where unsupervised contact is permitted, you’d have to be pretty naïve not to realise that if a child wanted to they could just tell their parent where they now lived. That said, if unsupervised contact is on the table, it’s invariably because things are moving towards reunion, and the mum or dad are well aware that they must never use that information to turn up at a foster carer’s house unless invited.

Over the years Mike and I have had many parents come to us, in fact; usually for their annual or twice-yearly LAC (looked-after child) review, which is mandatory for all children in care. But the thought of someone lurking in the neighbourhood, possibly watching what we were up to, was never going to be anything but worrying.

But for the moment we had a stay of execution, at least, and for what it was worth (which was probably little, given my silly laptop blunder) I didn’t think our ‘concerned citizen’ posed any real threat. No, it seemed obvious it was just someone fighting Adam Cummings’s corner; perhaps a nosy neighbour who was batting for his team. And why should I assume I knew better? Perhaps Bella’s mum was guilty of whatever she’d been accused of. I’d never met her, and from what I did know about her (giving as good as she’d got – all that fighting – was a theme that had been established early) it was all entirely possible.

It was also not my concern and none of my business. My job was simple: to keep Bella safe and well. And with a couple of hours still before I had to return to that particular duty, I decided to blow away the cobwebs and the jitters by doing a round trip of my own kids.

I fetched up at Kieron and Lauren’s first – Kieron worked all sorts of odd shifts, so could sometimes be found at home on a weekday – happy to spend an hour in the company of my youngest (and gorgeous, naturally) grandchild, little Dee Dee. She was going to be two in March, only a week or so after the wedding, but Kieron and Lauren had sensibly kept me out of the planning for that particular soirée, busy as I was with the ones for what he’d taken to calling the Wedding of the Century – ever the enthusiast when it came to winding his sister up. ‘And that’s with ninety-odd years of the century still to go, remember,’ he always added, drily. And usually got a slap for his trouble, too.

It was good to flop down on their big squashy sofa and relax, with a ticklish granddaughter giggling on my knee. Though not for long; the ‘baby’ was a long way from babyhood now, of course, confident at walking and as prolific a chatterbox as my other granddaughter was. What was it about the girls in our family? I often wondered that. Till Riley reminded me – as she invariably did. ‘Er, looked in the mirror lately, Mum?’

‘I’m sorry we haven’t been round these past couple of weeks, Mum,’ Kieron said, smiling as Dee Dee wriggled and writhed under my onslaught of tickles. ‘But with you having your hands full with Bella, and our Riley taking up all your free time, we thought it best to let things calm down a bit.’

‘Oh it’s fine, love,’ I said, touched at Kieron’s pragmatic assessment of the situation. ‘Though in truth, with Bella not up to going back to school yet, I’ve been a little bit stir crazy. Still, seeing her mum today will hopefully be a big boost to her spirits. Perhaps she’ll even feel like testing the waters.’

‘That’s no small thing, is it?’ Lauren mused. ‘You know, school. She must have only just found her feet at her own high school, mustn’t she? So the thought of having to be the newbie at a completely new one … scary. I suppose there’s no chance of her going back to hers in the short term, is there?’

I shook my head. ‘Much too far away, particularly as this is all so open ended. Who knows where she might end up, if her mum goes to prison. My hunch is it’s not going to be with her stepdad. No, scrub that. There’s no way it’ll be with her stepdad. So if her mum does get a prison term, who knows?’

‘You can’t even imagine it, can you?’ Kieron said. ‘You know, your mum being sent to prison. Being sent away to live with strangers, knowing they’re locked up. Doesn’t even bear thinking about …’

‘So don’t think about it,’ Lauren told him firmly. She knew my son and his sensitive nature oh so well. ‘Anyway, listen, Casey, in the short term, d’you think she’d like to come along to my dance class? Now Dee has a nursery place, I’m starting them up again, part time, straight after the wedding. I just confirmed the hall rental this morning, as it happens.’

Lauren was a beautiful, classically trained dancer and had run popular local dance classes locally for several years now. From toddlers to teenagers, she instilled grace in them all. Our last long-term foster child, Adrianna, had benefited from them hugely, though in her case, as she was an older teenager, and a dancer herself, more from passing on her own talent, and helping Lauren out, than having lessons.

Either way, Bella seemed a graceful girl too, and I thought she’d probably enjoy it. ‘That would be brilliant,’ I said, mentally crossing my fingers that we’d still have her with us at that point; that she wouldn’t be dragged off to start again with a whole new foster family. Because one thing was for sure. She wasn’t going home to her own family any time soon.

Having come away from Kieron’s, I then quickly popped into Riley’s, though as she had a couple of her friends round (and, of course, their own selection of manic pre-schoolers) I only stayed long enough to be given the latest to-do list, including such fine-tuning details as ‘Ask Father Brennan if he’ll make sure to remember to put the heating on at least an hour before the service!’

That was my daughter, I thought, the delegating supremo. She knew as well as I did that getting Father Brennan to move his thermostat would require almost as big a miracle as Moses being able to part the Red Sea.

Smiling to myself, I pocketed the list, wondering if Mike putting a solar panel on the church steeple might be the easier option. I then hurried home to wait for Sophie and Bella, feeling hopeful. Seeing her mum could – would – surely work wonders.

It hadn’t. I could tell that the very moment I saw Sophie’s expression. And then again, more clearly, as they came up the path, and Bella, her face tear stained, gave me a wan look by way of greeting and headed straight up to her bedroom.

I could also tell by the look of defeat on Sophie’s face.

‘Not good then?’ I asked quietly as I ushered her into the living room.

‘Not quite what we expected,’ she said, shaking her head. I asked her if she wanted a coffee and she nodded, slipping her coat from her shoulders. ‘It was all just a bit weird, to be honest,’ she said. Here,’ she added, as I turned to head into the kitchen to get the drinks for us, ‘let me come with you and help you, so we can chat.’

She followed me into the kitchen, drawing the door almost closed behind her. ‘Casey, it was so weird,’ she said again. ‘They were both so uncomfortable. You know, seriously odd together, and not just the usual stiffness because you’ve got this great fat social worker stomping all over your privacy –’ she said, grimacing. ‘You know what it’s like … But weird with each other. Like they couldn’t find a single thing to talk about. Really strained, like they were both searching for mundane topics of conversation they could talk about, while having a completely different conversation with their eyes.’

‘I’m sure it must have been because you were there,’ I mused. ‘And perhaps not strange at all, given how Bella’s been so consistent in not saying anything about that day. You were there. Subject off-limits. Don’t you think? God,’ I said, ‘and how they must want to talk about it. And need to. Must be like a ticking bomb for both of them. Well, I say both – we’ve no idea what her mother’s told the police, have we? Or how much it differs from her partner’s version of events. But as far as Bella’s concerned … I mean, as a mother myself, I can completely understand how awful Laura must feel and how desperate she must be to explain her actions to Bella. Talk her through it. Help her make sense of what she witnessed. Truly awful position to be in, don’t you think?’

Sophie sighed. I knew she was struggling as much as I was with trying to reconcile the legalities of the situation – a probable charge of attempted murder – with the reality of how it really might have been. She was a social worker, and I was a foster carer. We both knew how women in challenging relationships were often powerless to escape them, either financially or emotionally and, as a result, were very often pushed to breaking point.

‘What was she like, anyway? Bella’s mum?’ I asked.

‘Thin,’ Sophie said. ‘Gaunt, in fact. Same eyes as Bella. If I had to choose one word to describe her, I’d say haunted.’

The coffees made, my next job was to ruin Sophie’s day further by imparting the news about the letter – something I’d promised John when we’d rung off earlier, since I’d be the one to speak to her first.

She groaned. ‘Good grief! So are we removing Bella, then?’

I shook my head. ‘Not yet. That was John’s first thought, obviously. But I asked him – no, begged him – to reconsider. The risk just doesn’t seem to warrant such drastic action. Not to my mind. The way I see it, if the threat was real then it wouldn’t be just a warning note, would it?’

I gave Sophie the letter. She read it and digested what I’d said. ‘I take your point,’ she said. ‘Still, my line manager might not see it like that. She might decide that it’s absolutely in Bella’s best interests to move her. It’s not good if people with a grudge know exactly where she is, is it?’

‘I know,’ I admitted. ‘But I’m really not seeing it. I don’t think there’s any threat towards Bella herself in all this.’

Sophie smiled at me over her mug. ‘So just towards you and Mike, then? So – phew – that’s all right.’

For all that the idea of Mike taking on all comers was amusing, none of this was really funny in the least. I was actually quite surprised by how seriously those in charge seemed to be taking this – did they know something we didn’t?

Before Sophie left, I reiterated what I’d said to John about getting to the bottom of the leak. Perhaps if I could trace it back to a specific source they’d be in more of a position to assess the level of threat. I also wondered if all my years in fostering had hardened me up to real life, to an extent that while I was obviously concerned that our location might be out there, I no longer saw threats such as this as something to be lie-awake-at-night afraid of. I’d only been half joking with Sophie, truth be known. I really did think Mike could see off anyone who dared to threaten us.

Which was clearly insane, I chastised myself, as I waved Sophie off. We didn’t have a clue who we were dealing with. Which meant my next job (and before Tyler got home from football practice, ideally) was to tackle Bella about it. Though after the emotional day she’d had, I didn’t hold out much hope of getting to the bottom of things.

As it was, when I went up to Bella’s room the poor girl was far too upset to even speak. It took a long period of hugging her and stroking her to even still her racking sobs.

‘It was awful, Casey,’ she told me, still crying freely, once she was calm enough to speak. ‘It was so old and dirty, and so cold, and Mum looked so thin. And so scared. She kept looking round all the time, you know? Like she had the jitters. Like she was waiting for someone to pounce on her or something. Do you think that happens in her prison? People attacking people, people fighting? I can’t bear it. I didn’t know what to say to her. What could I say to her? I just want to make it better.’ Her shoulders heaved again. ‘I just want them to let her come home!’

‘It’s okay, baby,’ I soothed. ‘And I’m sure she’s safe. No, I know she is. She won’t have anything to do with any bad people, I promise you. She’ll be in a special part of the prison. A less “prison-y” part, if you like, where she’s safe. They’ll be sure to take care of her and protect her. That’s their job. And of course she’s thin. She’s been through a terrible time, just like you have. You found it hard to eat when you first got here, didn’t you? Were sick and everything … Well, it’s just the same for your mum. She’ll be coping. She’ll be strong for you … And everything will work out … it will get better, I promise.’

I stopped myself there. Who was I to be so bloody optimistic? For all I knew, things would work out really badly, and I felt even surer that the thing that was driving all this misery was that Bella knew exactly what she had witnessed that day. And her mother knew exactly what she’d done that day, too. What was the saying? That the devil was in the detail? Well, the devil here was the business of trying to decide if she’d been pushed beyond reason by the man she’d attacked. That the attack really was self-defence.

But the truth was that I should be optimistic with Bella. There would come a point in the future when things would get better. That was how life generally panned out. She might have a stormy sea to navigate before that, but, one day, her life would be better than it was now, wherever these events meant life ended up taking her.

‘But how?’ Bella cried, sobbing louder than ever. ‘How will anything ever be the same again? Why did Mum have to tell them what she did?’

‘Because it was the right thing to do, love,’ I said. ‘It’s always right to tell the truth, whatever the consequences you have to face. She’d have been in more trouble if she’d have lied about it, wouldn’t she?’

Bella took this in, and it occurred to me that now might be the time to ask her the question I wanted to ask about social media, but she surprised me by pulling away from me and flinging herself face down onto the bed, her little fists pummelling the duvet at either side of her.

I had clearly hit a nerve. I rubbed her back and, after a time, she stopped shaking and rolled onto her side. She pulled her legs up, and I took her ankles and rested them in my lap.

‘Casey,’ she said quietly, ‘is it ever right to tell lies?’

‘That’s a hard one to answer,’ I told her, ears pricked with anticipation, running with wherever she was about to take me. ‘But, off the top of my head, I’d say there will be the odd occasion where it’s the right thing to do. A white lie, for instance, to cheer someone up, or not to upset them. I remember Riley once coming back from the hairdressers having had all her hair cut off, and she hated it, and regretted it bitterly, and cried and cried and cried, and I told her she looked lovely every day for days and days, even though I hated it too. Because there was nothing she could do, was there? They couldn’t stick it back on. And then, well, it grew a bit and we both got used to it.’

Bella slipped her hands under her cheek. ‘But a big lie?’

‘Have you told a big lie, then, Bella? Is that it?’ I stroked her back again. ‘Something you want to tell me about?’

She chewed her bottom lip for a long time before speaking. Was she about to recount what she’d witnessed at long last? The silence stretched. ‘Because you can, you know,’ I added eventually. ‘If you want to. If you think it’ll help.’

She shook her head then, and I wasn’t sure how to respond. Did I ask her if the headshake was because she hadn’t told a lie, or if she had but had opted not to share it?

‘It’s okay, love,’ I said, conscious that to press her would be inappropriate. I must never lead. Only listen. That particular fostering edict was, rightly, set in stone. Instead, I returned to the currently pressing matter of our address being known.

‘Sweetheart, listen,’ I said, after she’d stared into the middle distance for so long that it was almost as if she’d forgotten I was there. (If this had been a moment, then it had, for the moment, passed.)

She turned her gaze back on me. ‘Have you been chatting to friends on Facebook?’ I asked.

Her answering nod was instant. Something else that had been weighing heavily?

Another pause, then: ‘You know last week, when you came up and asked me how the geography project I was researching was going? I hadn’t been doing it. I’d been on Facebook, even though I knew I wasn’t allowed to.’ I remained silent. ‘I just so wanted to speak to my best friend,’ she finished.

Her best friend. She’d been almost a month with us now and this had finally been acknowledged.

‘What’s her name?’ I asked.

‘Ruby.’

‘Ruby and Bella,’ I said. ‘Two lovely names together. You must miss seeing her. And her you. Have you been friends a long time or did you meet at high school?’

‘Since I was eight,’ she said. ‘When she came to my primary school. She doesn’t go to my high school. I wish she did.’ Bella’s chin wobbled. ‘She hates her new school. I miss us going to the library together. That’s what we did lots, at the weekends. Everyone calls us both geeks.’

‘Well they’re idiots,’ I said firmly. ‘And what utter nonsense. Don’t they realise? Libraries are one of the cornerstones of a civilised society. I read that somewhere,’ I added. ‘Probably in a library book, come to think about it …’

This elicited a ghost of a smile. I decided to seize this new moment. All these moments were still steps on the longer journey, after all. ‘Listen, sweetheart,’ I said. ‘I’m not cross about Facebook. You know you did wrong, and that’s good enough for me. And you know, as long as you don’t put our address on it – same as with your mum – you can write a letter to Ruby, too – every day, if you like. And she can write back to you, care of social services. But listen, love, might you have accidentally told Ruby where you’re staying? You know, have you told her our address?’

She lay still for a moment, then screwed up her eyes. ‘I did …’ she said, finally. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry, Casey. I did. We were just chatting …’

‘What, in a private message?’ I asked hopefully.

She frowned. ‘No, on her timeline, under a comment. Just under a comment to each other, not on the main thread, to everyone … so it’s not like people would see it automatically or anything … but … oh, I’m such an idiot.’

She might as well have been speaking to me in Finnish. ‘But her friends could still see it …’

‘Yes, but not properly. Not without clicking on the “replies” button. Oh, God, I’m so sorry. She was just asking how far away I was.’ She heaved herself back up to a sitting position. ‘And I only said your road … not your number – I didn’t even remember the number, so I wouldn’t have done. It was only because her auntie lives round here, that’s all … and she thought she might know it …’ She wiped her eyes against the backs of her hands. ‘Why? Does it matter? I can delete it all. I can do that straight away. I’m so sorry. I thought you’d be cross because I was looking at all the horrible things people have been saying … I didn’t think it was –’

‘Have they?’

She nodded miserably. ‘About my mum. And my dad, too. But mostly my mum. I hate them. They don’t know anything!’

Antennae all a-twitch now, I reached out to comfort her. ‘Hey, hey,’ I said, drawing her to me again. ‘Let’s not even given them a second thought. You’re quite right. What do they know? Nothing. About anything. Which is exactly why they are best ignored.’

And because I could sense we had arrived at a new level of openness, I decided to back-track a little, for fear of saying something that might slam the door shut again.

‘Listen,’ I said again. ‘Let’s just sort out what we can. You know, you putting where you’re staying up on Ruby’s Facebook. Let’s get that sorted, eh? And you know, it’s not even about you. It’s just that Mike and I have to be very, very careful about things like that – about who knows where we live. Because of all the other children we look after, it has to be kept private.’

Bella nodded and sniffed. ‘Well, if I go back on I can delete it all right now. Would that help?’ she asked.

‘Absolutely,’ I said, rising from the bed and holding out my hand. ‘And maybe you could message Ruby and explain you’ll write to her – the old-fashioned way – instead. Come on, kiddo,’ I said, ‘let’s go and do some damage limitation, then, shall we?’

The question, of course, was where the damage had been done. Who had seen what. Who had decided what. Who had said what. What network of connections flowed out from those timelines. What wider feeling was prevalent re Bella’s parents. Mostly about my mum, Bella had said, re all the vitriol.

This time, I would hover very closely.




Chapter 10 (#ube83fefb-7f97-5647-8086-a913db5cfa6f)


If Bella’s response to seeing her mum had been both emotional and regressive (her appetite was extremely poor for the next few days – in solidarity, perhaps?) her response to news of her stepfather was entirely different.

‘He’s been discharged from hospital,’ Sophie told her, at the beginning of the following week. She’d come round specifically for the purpose of imparting this news.

Bella’s reaction was immediate. ‘He hasn’t gone home to our house, has he?’ she wanted to know. She looked anxiously at me. ‘They wouldn’t let him, would they? There’s all the forensics! And what if he’s seen where I’m living?’ She was becoming increasingly agitated. ‘He might be angry at me and come looking for me!’

So, finally, the reasons why Bella should avoid putting stuff on Facebook had sunk in. And she was right. Her father could have seen her whereabouts as easily as anyone else. Not that our joint foray onto the site had borne much other fruit; not in terms of actual intelligence. Well, other than the fact that Bella – not long twelve – had already amassed some three hundred-odd friends, including old friends and new friends and various mums of friends, too, because, she told me, ‘Mums always like to be friends with you if you let them. It’s so they can see what you’re up to once you’re a teenager.’

I had elicited Tyler’s view on that point. ‘Course they do,’ he’d told me, looking surprised that I’d even asked about it. ‘She’s completely right. How else d’you think they’re going to keep an eye on them. D’oh, Mum!’

He’d then gone on to point out that people used social media in different ways. Some used the ‘don’t put up anything you wouldn’t want your granny seeing’ system, which obviously meant much of interest to interested adults was filtered out. ‘Anyway, we’ve got WhatsApp and Snapchat for important stuff now,’ he added, winking mysteriously.




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