Casey Watson - Let Me Go: Abused and Afraid, She Has Nothing to Live for

This book is a work of non-fiction based on the authors 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 2020

FIRST EDITION

Casey Watson 2020

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

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Cover layout design HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Casey Watson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780008375577

Ebook Edition May 2020 ISBN: 9780008375584

Version: 2020-03-20

Dedicated to my wonderful, supportive family and to all of my fellow foster carers out there. To these earth angels I say, keep on keeping on, youre doing a great job, and even in those darkest moments I know that you will find something to smile about.

As always I need to thank my fabulous agent, Andrew Lownie, and the wonderful team at HarperCollins. We have two team members now, too. Our lovely new editor, Kelly Ellis, who has been so patient with us and such joy to work with (even when work at the coal face got in the way of meeting deadlines, Kelly gave me the precious time I needed in my real life, so thank you ever so much) and Georgina Atsiaris, who has been equally patient, waiting for me to find moments to read the proofs. Again, thanks! And no thanks would be complete without my eternal gratitude to my friend and mentor, Lynne who also has the patience of a saint!

You okay, love? I asked Mike, as the motorway spooled out ahead of us. Hed been silent for some time now. A good twenty minutes. I knew why, too. He was feeling the same way as I was. It was something wed come to learn was an inevitable part of fostering, and which wed come over the years to refer to as happy-sad. Mostly sad, but at the same time knowing we should, and would, be happy; the strange, bittersweet feeling we both often got when wed just said goodbye to a child. Sad that they had left us, but happy that they were moving on to a safe, loving home.

We were both happy-sad twice over in this case, our most recent placement having been a sibling one. Wed spent a month now looking after four-year-old twins called Annie and Oscar, who we had just dropped off exactly where they were meant to be. The best place. Back with their loving parents, in a new home.

Mike glanced across at me and smiled. I will be. What about you? Bearing up?

I smiled back at him. I will be too. Though Im going to miss them big time. I hope their mum keeps her promise and allows us the odd visit.

As if she wouldnt, Mike pointed out, and he was, I knew, right, because Annie and Oscar were obviously not our usual kind of placement, having not spent their early years suffering from any kind of abuse or neglect. And not usual because during the time they spent with us, we took them to visit their mum and dad almost every single day, in hospital, where both were patients, after a horrendous house fire that had been caused by an electrical fault. Theyd rescued their children both of them, miraculously, unharmed but had both suffered severe and widespread burns. It was our proximity to a dedicated burns unit as much as the fact that we were between placements that made us so well suited to the job.

Which hadnt really felt like any kind of job. Far from it. Yes, the little ones were distressed and bewildered in the beginning, obviously, but wed soon settled them into a reassuring rhythm, anchored by those daily visits to see Mummy and Daddy, and the knowledge that soon theyd be properly reunited.

Needless to say, it wasnt just Aunty Casey and Uncle Mike whod become besotted with them, either. They were so easy to love, and the entire family duly did. My mum and dad, especially, as just after Annie and Oscar had come to us, Dad had suffered a nasty fall and been unable to drive, which meant me spending a lot of time shuttling back and forth between our houses, with the little ones in tow of necessity. Mum and Dad were usually sanguine about these kinds of partings they were usually the ones always telling me to buck up but this time it was me having to hand round the Kleenex, because the pair of them were crying like babies.

But say goodbye we must, and we were all buoyed by the uncomplicated happy ending which in our line of work was never a given. So I knew wed shake the blues off in no time. In the meantime, Mikes stomach was already moving on.

Im starving, he declared. And in need of a large coffee. Shall we pull into the next services and grab some lunch?

It had been a long drive the family came from an area many miles away from the specialist burns unit and I too was desperate for a coffee. Mostly because Id forgone a cup earlier in the interests of not further irritating a bladder that was irritable most of the time anyway these days. The menopause, Id been finding out, had a lot to answer for. Hot flushes, cold sweats, and now logistics too; as soon as I arrived in any public place these days, the first thing I did was always scope out the loos.

So I headed straight into the ladies while Mike joined the queue at the caf, and it was there not the most professionally well-appointed of environments that I saw a text come in from my rather grandly titled supervising social worker or, in old money, my link worker, Christine Bolton.

She wanted me to call her as soon as I was able, so my obvious first thought was that wed forgotten to pack something that belonged to the twins, but running through a mental checklist, I was sure that we hadnt. The next thought equally obvious was that she had another child for us, but I brushed that aside too, because there was no way it would be that. It had only been hours, after all, since wed signed off on Annie and Oscar. No supervising social worker could want that much blood out of a stone, could they? Plus, she knew we had a lot on the family plate anyway, with a new Watson grandchild on the way.

Shell be just checking in, Mike suggested when I joined him in the queue and wondered aloud what she could want to speak to me about. Asking how it all went, and so on. Tell you what, heres a good idea, Case. Why dont you phone and ask her?

With no tea towel immediately to hand, I couldnt flick him with one. Thats exactly what I was about to do, I huffed, and duly did so.

Even Christines soft, relaxed Liverpool accent couldnt disguise the urgency in her voice. Casey, youre going to have a few choice words for me, she guessed correctly. I mean, I imagine youve not even had time to strip the beds yet, but

Seriously? I asked, re-visiting my thoughts on blood and stones. Were not even back home yet. You need us to take someone else? Like right now,