A Last Kiss for Mummy Read Free Page A

Mum, a baby? Oh, that will be such a lovely change for you.’
    I grinned. ‘Um, yes, it will,’ I agreed, ‘but not just a baby. This one does come with a teenaged mum attached, don’t forget.’
    ‘Yes, I know that, Mum,’ she said. ‘But you’ll be fine. Teenagers to you are like toddlers are to me – easy peasy.’
    I raised my eyebrows. Oh, really? I thought. She must have a short memory. Or just that selective amnesia that parents need to have, if every child in the world isn’t to be an ‘only’. Bless them, I loved them, but my grandsons had not been ‘easy peasy’ at all; they had been as demanding as any other little boys I ever knew, made worse by the fact that they were so close in age.
    Still, I was flattered that Riley assumed teenagers were ‘easy peasy’ for me to handle, even if that wasn’t strictly the case either. I did have some considerable experience of them to draw on, it had to be said, having spent many years handling them in large numbers in a behavioural unit in a high school, but dealing with kids in a school setting and having them in your home were two completely different things, as our experience of fostering so far had shown us.
    But I was pleased Riley was happy for me, and felt so positive about it. It was generally Riley who sided with Mike in all situations where jumping in with both feet was my normal way of carrying on.
    Kieron and Lauren had reacted in a similar fashion. They’d probably not be that involved in any case because they were both busy with their own lives. Right now, specifically, they revolved around working as many hours as they could manage, to save up for getting their own place.
    ‘It’s up to you and Dad,’ Kieron had said, laughing, when I asked him how he felt about it. ‘I don’t even know why you feel you have to ask us, because you’ll only do what you want to do anyway!’
    I jumped out of the shower, towelled myself dry and began to ferret in my wardrobe for something suitable to wear. Kieron was right, I supposed, though I’d keep asking him anyway. Because one day he might have strong opinions about a placement, and I knew that however headstrong I was I would respect that. In the short term, however, I had to get a move-on. Mike was taking time off from work to attend this afternoon’s meeting, so would be home before I knew it, for an early lunch.
    And then we’d be up and running – and there was no mistaking the little shiver of excitement I felt about it. And also intrigue. The start of a new placement didn’t just mean getting to know a new child – in this case, children – but also the start of a new relationship with the child’s social worker, too, and I wondered what this one might be like. It might be someone I’d worked with already, of course; I’d certainly had dealings with plenty over the years. But in reality that had never actually happened. Every new child seemed to come with a new social worker, too, so it was no surprise that I didn’t recognise the name of this one.
    Her name was Maggie Cunliffe, and I wondered what she was like. With the name Maggie, I pictured her to be in her mid-forties to fifties, which pleased me for some reason. I tutted to myself – how very ageist of me!
    The truth was, of course, that good social workers, like the kids in their charge, came in all sorts of shapes and sizes. I’d met young, fresh-faced types, just out of university and keen as mustard, right through to the battle-worn, tattered-suited, ready-for-retirement types. Where would Maggie fit in here, I wondered? Well, we would soon see.
    Very soon, as it turned out, the already short morning having disappeared from beneath me, with Mike dashing in with less than fifteen minutes to spare. And my response to his greeting of ‘Get the kettle on, love, will you? While I run up and shower’ was greeted, in return, by my usual pre-meeting answer of ‘Don’t you dare leave so much as a drip on my bathroom